Chapter Thirty-Two: Murtagh—Seeker

Dragons, as it turned out, laid eggs quickly if their courtship was successful.

Murtagh felt excitement surging through himself and Thorn as the dragon flew them deep into the forest towards a pair of jutting cliffs. They could see Saphira's jewel-like blue scales in the distance, though she was well-hidden in a large cave.

They didn't land immediately. Saphira's mind reached out to them and Murtagh felt the natural suspicion and protectiveness that came with becoming a parent.

He sent his reassurances to her in the Ancient Language. Saphira, you know we mean no harm. We would die for them, just as you would.

She relaxed somewhat, but Murtagh understood her agitation. Since Thorn was no longer her mate, she was essentially guarding the eggs herself. She'd been on-edge for weeks now, when it became clear that she would soon be a mother. It had only been four months since she and Thorn had mated, but both of them were as healthy as could be and it came to no surprise that their brief union had produced offspring.

When they landed, Eragon stood between them and the dragoness, who watched them piercingly. He held his hand up to stop them from getting too close, glancing at Saphira for a moment. She lifted her head high, almost to the cave ceiling, and her lip curled to expose razor-sharp fangs as she loosed a guttural growl. Murtagh and Thorn wisely stopped in their tracks. They would not approach without her permission.

Thorn lowered his head in clear submission to his one-time mate, twisting to expose his vulnerable throat to her. He had no desire to enrage her, even if the eggs were those he himself had fathered. She had the only rights to them as far as their race was concerned, and their protection was her responsibility.

Saphira studied Thorn carefully for several minutes before she backed off, moving in a careful loop and settling down around the nest she had built of stone and soft forest foliage.

She finally spoke. You may see them.

Eragon smiled and excitedly gestured to Murtagh and Thorn to come. He and Saphira had both isolated themselves for the past few days as Saphira came close to laying her eggs. They had grown agitated through her discomfort and Glaedr had finally insisted they go elsewhere before they hurt someone.

The order had come as a relief to the bonded pair. They'd fled within minutes of their Master's command.

Murtagh and Thorn approached with Eragon, slow and calm to keep Saphira at ease. Though her Rider was able to get as close to the eggs as he wished, she slapped her tail lightly on the ground when the newcomers came as close as she felt comfortable allowing them to.

It was close enough. Murtagh could see the pair of eggs nestled in a blanket of moss—Eragon must have gathered that particular material for Saphira, as she was too large to harvest it herself. Both were differing shades of purple. The one closest to him was paler, like the color of Wisteria flowers, and the other was a deep, royal violet.

Thorn made a low crooning and looked from one egg to the other with adoration in his ruby eyes. Saphira relaxed slightly at the sound. Even if they weren't mates anymore, she sensed clearly his love for them.

"Gods, but you did well, Saphira," Murtagh breathed. "I'm happy for you."

Saphira sent him a pulse of gratitude. Thank you.

Eragon carefully climbed into the nest and sat by the eggs, running a hand over the darker of the two lovingly. Murtagh didn't dare do the same. Again, Saphira only tolerated such an action because Eragon was her Rider.

He did not want to get on the bad side of the mother dragon's temper.

"Can you tell their gender yet?"

Eragon shook his head. "Not yet. It'll be another month before we can tell their gender, and five months before they can hatch."

Murtagh looked from Thorn to Saphira. "Did the two of you ever decide…?"

Thorn locked eyes with Saphira for a short time before she nodded. He spoke in her stead. We agreed to give them to the Riders. Alagaesia is not safe for wild dragons yet.

Eragon inclined his head, eyes somewhat sad. "I wish things could be different. I'm grateful they'll join us, but I wish they had another option."

"All the more reason for us to put Galbatorix in the dirt where he belongs," Murtagh told him. Saphira and Thorn both growled in agreement.

Eragon grinned and set his free hand on the lighter, Wisteria-shaded egg. "One of these eggs will probably hatch for the first dwarven Rider."

"What about the other?"

Saphira lowered her head to breathe warm air upon her clutch. We discussed it with Master Oromis and Master Glaedr, and have agreed on a cycle of sorts—human, elf, Urgal, and dwarf. However, Thorn and I both hatched for humans, even if Eragon isn't fully human anymore. We jumped an extra cycle, as it were.

Then the other egg will be gifted to the elves, Thorn concluded. Saphira hummed agreement.

Murtagh's smile was soft. "Eventually, yes. But for now—I would see us treasure this moment. I can't quite believe what I'm seeing as it is."

Saphira's amusement was felt keenly. Neither can I, brother-of-my-Rider. Neither can I.

Roughly a month after Saphira's eggs were laid, Oromis came with Arya, Garzhvog, and their dragons to teach them how to cast the spell that would bind the two to the Order of the Dragon Riders. Though Saphira was wary of all the company, she had regained control of herself for the most part and only had to give Firnen and Illgra a single warning snarl when they came a little too close for her liking.

The two younger dragons wisely backed off. Their curiosity was not worth being bitten by the protective mother.

Glaedr, having seen this particular song and dance many a time before, knew better than to test Saphira's ire.

Oromis waited until Saphira gave him permission to approach the eggs, and one after another he laid upon them the enchantment that would join them to their future Riders. Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, and Garzhvog all paid rapt attention. This was one of the most important moments of their education.

The elf spoke softly and reverently, but his mind was connected to the other Riders and they heard him clearly. In a variation of the original spell used by the Riders of old, as he told them, he bound one egg to the race of dwarves, and the other to the elves—thus, they would establish the beginning of the new cycle they'd discussed.

When the enchantment was complete, Oromis ushered Eragon and Murtagh forward to claim the eggs. They looked up at Saphira and waited for the graceful dip of her head before they knelt to take them.

Murtagh held the royal purple egg close to his heart and within, he could sense the still-growing dragon infant relax into his body heat. A quick murmur had him smiling. "A male."

"So is this one," Eragon said after checking the other egg. Two males, Murtagh thought. The sons of Saphira and Thorn, and the grandsons of Glaedr himself.

"We will guard them with our lives," Oromis murmured. He looked up at Saphira with the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "I thank you, Saphira, for your gift and your sacrifice."

The dragoness accepted the elf's honors with a slow blink, but said nothing. Oromis turned then to the brother Riders. "Both of these eggs are therein your responsibility. Eragon and Saphira will ferry their egg amongst the Alfakin. Murtagh and Thorn will carry the other to the dwarves of Farthen Dur whenever you visit them. You may leave them with Glaedr and I when you must, but outside of our home, they are never to leave your protection. Always, always will you guard them until they hatch for those meant to fly at their backs. Do you understand?"

"I understand," they chanted together.

"Come. I will teach you the spells needed to safeguard them through your travels. Listen well and take them to heart."

Murtagh had not been to Farthen Dur in over a year. None of the Riders had—they'd been focusing on their training with Oromis and Glaedr, but now their teachers felt comfortable enough for them to begin traveling back and forth between the homes of the dwarves and elves.

He and Thorn flew above an elven supply convoy, keeping watch from high above as they reached the home of their allies. When the last caravan had safely passed through the hidden entrance, only then did they follow. The stone gates closed with a grinding sound behind them.

Murtagh dismounted and greeted Orik, who was waiting for them with a smile. They clasped arms tightly and brought the other into a friendly hug.

"By the gods, it's good to see you again," Murtagh proclaimed.

"And you, my friend," Orik grinned, thumping the young man's back. The dwarf looked up at the red dragon and his smile only widened. "And haven't you grown even more massive than I remember, Thorn! I pity the fool who dares to stand in your way!"

That pleased Thorn and amused him. Save your pity for fools who might actually survive.

Orik laughed and turned to lead them down the tunnels. It was a good thing they were so huge—Murtagh could see that they were big enough for perhaps even Glaedr to travel through.

They reached Farthen Dur after a good walk and when they emerged from the tunnel, Thorn stretched his neck as he had done when first they visited and bellowed to announce his return. The people and dwarves turned to the sound and cheered at the sight of the great red male.

The elven convoy was already off to the side, being handled by Yaela, another dwarf, and Jormunder, who had come out to greet them and organize the breakdown of the supplies. Orik escorted Murtagh and Thorn to Nasuada's office in Tronjheim.

They found her discussing something with Brom, and both turned when Orik opened the doors for them. Murtagh stepped in after the dwarf and Thorn snaked his head into the room, rumbling a greeting.

Brom grinned and walked over, clasping Murtagh's arm as Orik had done before. "Good to see you again."

"Aye, you as well," Murtagh agreed. He turned to the Leader of the Varden and dipped his head respectfully. "Lady Nasuada."

"Murtagh," she greeted in-turn, smiling at him. "You look well. The journey was easy, I hope?"

"I daresay Thorn would have appreciated more haste, but no horse alive or dead could match his standards," Murtagh said, grinning at his dragon. Thorn rolled his eyes and snorted.

"On that, I must agree," Nasuada's voice was brimming with mirth. "You look glorious, Thorn. Training amongst the elves has only made you more impressive."

Thorn took the flattery to heart (though certainly not as much as Saphira would have, Murtagh thought privately) and set kind eyes upon the young leader. It has taught me much. You seem to have grown well into your role, Nasuada. I am pleased to see it is so.

She smiled and moved around to sit at her desk—the same seat her father had once held. Murtagh, Orik, and Brom sat across from her, and Thorn was content to watch from above them.

"The convoy reached us safely, then?"

"Of course," Murtagh nodded. He adopted an air of professionalism Oromis and Glaedr had hammered into him for these meetings. "There were few delays, but none of them were serious. Jormunder and the dwarves are assisting Yaela in unloading them as we speak."

"Good. I daresay having Dragon Riders provide extra security will set the minds of our people at ease. Will we always have Riders escorting them?"

"It is likely," Murtagh admitted. "Or at least, I believe it likely for the vast majority of them. We think it wise to continue to build up trust with our allies by doing so when we visit Farthen Dur. Traveling back and forth, alternating which Riders visit so our lessons are not pushed back, will alleviate tensions."

Brom hummed in agreement. "We figured as much, but it is good to hear, nevertheless."

"Do you have any further news to deliver?" Nasuada asked.

Murtagh smiled and nodded. He reached into a pouch kept on his person at all times and with a soft murmur, lifted a protective spell from it. When his hands emerged, they held the royal violet dragon egg for their friends to see.

Nasuada gasped. Brom looked close to tears and Orik's face threatened to split for the size of his smile.

"Saphira laid two eggs in the past months," Murtagh told them softly. "She and Thorn paired for a short time and their courtship was a success. Both eggs were gifted to the Riders."

"Oh, Thorn!" Nasuada looked up at the proud red male. "Words cannot express how pleased I am for you!"

I appreciate your words, Lady Nasuada, Thorn hummed. Saphira and I were not mates for long, but we are joyful that our union has brought us offspring, nonetheless.

Murtagh explained then why Thorn and Saphira had only courted briefly, their decision to give the eggs to the Riders, and that the egg they had ferried here would be bound to the dwarves—to the first dwarven Rider.

At this news, Orik looked at the egg with a startled expression, but he quickly became pleased. "King Hrothgar will be most happy to hear that. You honor us Thorn, by trusting your offspring to mine kin."

You have been steadfast friends and allies of myself and my Rider, Thorn told him. And the other races are all represented by a Rider and dragon. It is past time, I think, that the dwarves found a Rider of their own.

Orik bowed, humbled by the words of the ruby-colored male. Brom smiled and looked at Murtagh. "What of the other egg Saphira laid?"

Murtagh took a breath. "We agreed on a cycle for the eggs to be sent amongst the races, but there was something of a jump—Saphira and Thorn both hatched for humans, even if Eragon is not entirely human now. Thus, we decided to skip them for this cycle, and so the second egg will be ferried amongst the elves. Any eggs after will be sent to the Urgals, dwarves again, so on and so forth."

Nasuada nodded. "That makes sense. It also keeps both eggs in different places. Should the worst happen, at least one of them will be kept safe on the other side of Alagaesia."

Thorn made a deep growl. No harm will befall them, even if I should die.

"I know," she told him softly, placating his aggression. "They could not hope for better guardians—better parents. But nonetheless, it is a good thing they are separate for now."

Murtagh concurred and Thorn's hot blood cooled as the egg was safely returned to its pouch and protected again by magic. Nasuada straightened in her seat. "Now, I will fill the two of you in on what has happened within the Varden of late. Then I expect you will be meeting with King Hrothgar to discuss the dragon egg."

"Of course," Murtagh crossed his arms and paid rapt attention as the Varden Leader began to speak again.

They met with the dwarves shortly after their business with Nasuada was concluded.

Hrothgar had, after receiving news of the dragon egg bound for his kin, summoned the other twelve clan leaders—the Grimstborithn—to a follow-up meeting some days later. With the leaders of their race gathered, Murtagh and Thorn greeted them at the dwarf King's request.

"I thank you for your time and attention, honored Grimstborithn," Murtagh began, dipping his head respectfully. "My dragon, Thorn, and I have not yet had the chance to meet any of you save King Hrothgar himself, and we are eager to get to know all of you."

One Grimstborith snorted disdainfully. "I heard you and your brother were mere boys. It seems the elves have made your tongues eloquent to make up for your obvious youth."

Murtagh was unperturbed by the tone. He knew the dwarves had a long, bad history with dragons. They were bound to run into some ill will at some point. It was inevitable.

Instead, he grinned at the offensive dwarf leader mischievously. "I would be pleased to revert to something more rugged, if that is what you'd prefer."

"Do not play games with me, Morzansson," the dwarf spat.

The comment made Murtagh's amusement dissipate and his expression darkened. "That…monster is no father of mine, Grimstborith. I would eagerly cut him down and feed him to maggots."

"So you say."

"Peace," Hrothgar tapped Volund's pommel to the stone floor. "Vermund, you needlessly insult one of our most valuable allies. I understand your clan suffered most from the raids of the Forsworn, but do not cast the sins of the father upon the son."

Vermund scowled, clearly aggravated. Murtagh took a moment to cool his temper and sighed. "Forgive me, Grimstnzborith Hrothgar. I spoke brashly—my father is…a stain on the name of my family."

"It is forgiven, Rider," Hrothgar waved it away. "Your rage is understandable. But let us concentrate our minds now on what you have to tell us, shall we?"

"Of course," Murtagh nodded. He reached into his pouch as he had with Nasuada and showed the Grimstborithn the dragon egg. They all paid rapt attention, curious of the object, as Murtagh spoke further.

"Grimstnzborith Hrothgar has already told you of what occurred at the Agaeti Blodhren in Ellesmera," he said. "The dwarves and Urgals were brought into the pact of the Dragon Riders. This egg, birthed from a union between my dragon, Thorn, and Eragon's dragon, Saphira, is bound to your race. It is meant for the first dwarven Dragon Rider."

Their reactions were varied—again, as expected.

They were mostly even in their response. At least five—as well as Hrothgar—were pleased by the news. Four more clan leaders looked indifferent, and the remaining four did not seem pleased, especially Vermund.

"We have no need for a Rider," Vermund grunted angrily. "Keep your egg."

"That is not entirely your decision, Vermund," Hrothgar said with firm authority. "We have discussed this before and already voted. The egg is to be ferried amongst the clans who would accept a Dragon Rider, and those who have no interest in it shall not be bothered. You will not be pestered, but you will not deny the chance to those who accept the offer."

Vermund glowered, muttering under his breath furiously. Murtagh watched the Grimstborith warily and made sure to keep the egg close to him.

"I will be willing to answer as many questions as I can answer," Murtagh told the leaders as they studied the egg with various interest. "But before I do, this must be said—and it will be said to all four races, regardless of their history with the dragons and Riders. Understand that the eggs are under the protection of the Riders and that we are more than happy to share them with you to seek out Riders amongst your kin. But anyone or anything that attempts to threaten them—man, elf, dwarf, Urgal, or any beast foolish enough to test us—will be destroyed. These unborn, infant dragons depend on us for their safety, and we have given oaths in the Ancient Language to defend them with our lives."

He swept his eyes across each face of the Grimstborithn, and even Hrothgar himself. The expression he and Thorn bore as one was deadly serious.

"I urge you not to test our resolve."

"Barzul, you come into our halls and threaten us?" Vermund snarled.

"I threaten you only if you threaten the egg under our protection," Murtagh retorted. "Or do you not understand how oaths in the Ancient Language work? Do you not understand the wrath of a parent defending their child? Would you test Thorn's fury and incite Saphira's by threatening their offspring?"

At that, even Vermund's bitter tongue silenced, though he still glared at the Rider and his dragon.

Most of the Grimstborithn were unmoved by the threat. Many of them understood well Murtagh's intent and the seriousness of his oaths. He was an ally as long as they didn't threaten the egg under his care. It made sense.

A few of them even seemed respectful towards Murtagh for having the iron in his bones to make such a declaration in their stronghold. His nerve was admirable. He could see two or three Grimstborithn assessing him with fresh eyes.

Hrothgar cast his own eyes over his kin and nodded slightly. "Your point has been clearly received, Red Rider. If mine kin have any questions for him and the dragon Thorn, now is the time to ask."

Murtagh and Thorn stayed with them for at least an hour afterwards, answering what questions they could. Fortunately, none of them violated the oaths of secrecy they had taken.

At the end, Hrothgar once more regained the attention of the gathered dwarves. "There is an additional topic I would bring up now before we close. Lady Nasuada and I have discussed Murtagh and Eragon's role and relation to our kin and the Varden. One will be claimed by Nasuada herself as her vassal, and the other will stand for us, as we do not yet have a Rider amongst our kin.

"Murtagh is the courier of the dragon egg bound for our race. As such, I would adopt him officially into Durgrimst Ingeitum as a member of mine clan."

Just as with the topic of the dragon egg, there was a variety of reactions to the news.

Vermund glowered silently, but he had already tested Hrothgar twice in the meeting and was silent in his rage, although a few other leaders protested the topic on the grounds that Murtagh was the spawn of Morzan, one of their worst enemies.

Hrothgar pounded Volund's pommel to the ground, demanding silence. "The decision is mine as Grimstborith of mine clan. Anyone who attacks Murtagh henceforth will be punished as if they attacked a fellow dwarf."

"Think of it as this," Murtagh added with a slight smirk. "By doing so, I will be vocally and legally rejecting Morzan as any relation of mine. He will undoubtedly take the news poorly."

That had a few of the protesters quieting, as they considered Morzan's certain rage when he discovered that his own child had publicly rejected him. A number of the leaders were even grinning at the perceived insult towards the last of the Forsworn.

It was as positive an ending as they could have hoped for under the circumstances. Hrothgar motioned to end the meeting soon afterwards. After the Grimstborithn had left them, the King faced Murtagh and Thorn. "Well. Shall we officially induct you, then?"

Murtagh dipped his head politely. "Lead the way."

Two years had passed since their training with Oromis and Glaedr began.

Murtagh and Thorn had flown back and forth between Du Weldenvarden and Farthen Dur a few times throughout that time, just as the other Riders had, but of course they spent most of their time in Ellesmera. There was still much for them to learn.

Currently, he and Garzhvog were battling with their minds under Opheila's supervision. Oromis had suffered a particularly bad stroke the day before and needed to rest. The elf looked older than ever as he sat in the entrance to his hut, drinking a cup of warm, herbal tea.

It was a vital skill they would need to eventually defeat Galbatorix, Morzan, and possibly Kulkarvek if Oromis and Glaedr deemed Garzhvog ready by the time war had begun. They took turns assaulting the mind of their opponent and steeling their defenses. Sometimes, Opheila would suddenly attack one or the other and force them to double down on their protection.

Murtagh grit his teeth as such an assault was abruptly deal upon him. Garzhvog had been digging around for a weakness in his defenses when the female Eldunari drove into his mental barriers with all her might. He resisted, trying to stay focused as he pictured the vast, Beor Mountains for his protective image. With Thorn, he might have been able to keep them both out indefinitely, but alone, the goal was to simply hold them off as long as possible.

Opheila was more experienced and drilled her mind against the weak points she could find, weakening them further until Murtagh knew his barriers were too fragile to go on.

He let out a gasp. "I forfeit."

The attack ceased immediately. They didn't want to cause lasting harm to their Riders, even if the lessons were important.

Murtagh panted, sweat pouring off his body as if he had just fought for hours. Opheila flooded him and Garzhvog both with cool energy and sent warm praise to the pair of them.

Well done. You are both improving leaps and bounds faster than I dared to hope.

"Thank you, Ebrithil," Garzhvog murmured quietly. He wasn't as drained as Murtagh, but the Kull was still tired. The mental exercises were exhausting.

Murtagh closed his eyes for several minutes as he recovered from the bout. When he opened them, he looked up at the dragons flying nearby. While Glaedr often took them far away for training, he did not want to be away from Oromis today—not while his partner was weak from a seizure. The golden male was lying close to the elf at the moment, watching the younger dragons as they fought in the sky.

Only Thorn and Illgra were training with him today. Arya and Firnen were visiting the Varden at the moment, while Eragon and Saphira had taken the dragon egg in their care to the elven city of Nadindel to the east to search for its Rider.

Opheila gave the two Riders some time to rest their minds. Murtagh pulled his water-skin and some bread from his pack and offered a loaf to Garzhvog, who accepted gratefully. They ate in silence as they watched their dragons fight above them.

Thorn was bigger than Illgra, but she made up for it with a savagery only Saphira could match. The warrior nature of her Rider only enhanced her natural aggression, Murtagh thought.

She spat black fire at Thorn, who surged above the attack and tried to dive at her, but Illgra lunged up at him with a roar and clamped her jaws around his neck. Thorn snarled, catching her belly with his legs and pushing her away. They backed off from each other to regain their balance, and Illgra went on the assault again.

"She's relentless," Murtagh said bluntly. Thorn met her fury with his own, but Illgra's favorite tactic involved quite literally throwing herself onto the other dragon and dragging them both out of the sky as she bit and slashed at him. He always had to kick her back to regain altitude.

Garzhvog snorted. "Relentless and reckless. She cannot abide by such a move in battle against Shruikan or the nameless one. They are too large for her to overwhelm."

Murtagh included his head. "I would like to see how she fares against a Lethrblaka with such a move."

The Kull chuckled with a hint of bloodlust and Murtagh smirked.

Neither of them would mind watching Illgra savage a Lethrblaka.

Glaedr lifted his head after Thorn kicked Illgra away again, rumbling from deep in his chest as he communicated with them. The pair of smaller dragons separated from their bout and glided down to the cliffs. They were both panting and bleeding from a few minor wounds, but seemed in good spirits.

Murtagh stood and channeled some of the energy from Zar'roc's ruby to heal Thorn's wounds, while Garzhvog did the same with Domia's diamond for Illgra. Even as they were being healed, Illgra twisted her head to nip Thorn's neck playfully, causing him to yelp and snarl at her.

Murtagh looked at his ruffled dragon partner with a smirk. She caught you off-guard.

Bah, he growled.

Are you actually complaining because a beautiful dragoness bit you?

Thorn's head came down to shove the Rider onto his back and Murtagh laughed. The ruby dragon pressed his snout into Murtagh's gut until the man wheezed.

How about I bite you, Thorn growled. Then we'll see who's laughing.

I'm flattered Thorn, but you aren't my type.

Thorn snorted hot air into Murtagh's face and pulled back, still annoyed with his Rider's teasing. The man sat up, smirking at his partner. He was unfazed by the blazing red eyes.

Illgra used the distraction to nip Thorn again and Murtagh laughed.

The dwarves threw a festival each winter to celebrate the end of a year and the start of the next.

Murtagh, being an honorary—and technically legal—dwarf, was visiting to partake in the celebrations and continue searching for the Rider of the dragon egg in his care. He arrived some days before the festival began, which was when they'd allow the dwarves interested in becoming a Rider interact with the egg.

But for now, he was with Orik in the forgery. The dwarf knew of his task to discern Zar'roc's True Name, and felt it would be helpful to understand metals and smithing to expand his knowledge of the sword.

"Master Rhunon would know the steel used to make the sword better than any dwarf," he had admitted. "The metal she used to make Rider's swords is unlike anything our kin have mined in the past. It came from a fallen star, and it is the most powerful, flexible steel we know of. I cannot help you in understanding the nature of that metal, but mine clan is one of smiths—I can teach you how we forge weapons, and perhaps you'll find some insight in your search."

So Murtagh learned from the smith clan of which he was a part. He laid Zar'roc across his lap and focused, listening to the sounds of hammers on steel and roaring bellows, the crackle of flames and sharpening of blades.

Zar'roc had been stubbornly resisting his goal of discovering its True Name, but Murtagh had not faltered. He had learned much of the weapon, and yet still felt there was much to discover.

At times, he stood and slowly performed a number of careful maneuvers with the sword. He focused on it, searching for even the tiniest hint of its name. He was patient; Zar'roc would give up its truth eventually.

He was certain of that.

The Winter Festival was quite the event.

Shortly after the celebrations began, the dwarf clans who were interested in the possibility of a Dragon Rider among their ranks sent children over to Murtagh and Thorn in a steady stream. The pair sat together near the table where Hrothgar was seated, along with Nasuada, who was an honorary guest. The other Grimstborithn each sat at the head of long tables for each of their clans, and all watched with varying degrees of interest as the dwarf children took a turn to touch the dragon egg.

Murtagh kept the egg close and sensed the infant within carefully whenever a new dwarf approached. The baby dragon hadn't reacted to any of them yet, and the Rider wasn't surprised. They had gotten very lucky to have four dragons hatch for them so close to each other. He would not be surprised to hear that their luck had run out for the time being.

Though the dragon infant didn't respond to the dwarves who approached and introduced themselves to him, Murtagh was satisfied and so were the Grimstborithn. They would be staying here for some time, anyways. If the dragon had encountered his Rider, he would hatch within the next day or so.

They'd wait and see.

Murtagh returned the egg to its pouch, enchanted it with several protective spells under his breath, and left it in Thorn's care as the celebration began in-full. The festival would last for a few days, and they had agreed to alternate its protection between them so each could enjoy the celebrations.

It wouldn't do if they were both drunk at once.

Murtagh knew there was a pretty good chance he'd be drinking with the dwarves soon, so he decided to enjoy a dance or two while he was still sober.

He stood up and watched the dancing dwarves for a time, who were all merry and laughing joyfully. Many humans from the Varden had joined them, but most dancers were dwarves, of course.

Thorn gave him a mental nudge. Ask. You know you want to.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I will bet you an extra day of protecting the egg that you will not do it.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow at the dragon, who met his eyes gleefully. That is hardly a bet.

So you concede?

Of course not.

Get going, then.

The young man pursed his lips, suddenly nervous, and took a breath to steel himself. He moved towards the table at the head of the celebration until he stood before Nasuada, who blinked at him in surprise, and offered her his hand.

She looked stunning, wearing an elegant purple dress that only made her natural beauty even more enchanting. Her hair was styled in elaborate curls and she donned a pair of small, ornate gold earrings. Only years of learning to be calm and steadfast under Oromis and the elves kept him from fumbling as he met her eyes. "Lady Nasuada, might I trouble you for a dance?"

She brightened, pleasantly surprised, but retained her regality as she accepted his hand. "It would not be trouble at all, Dragon Rider."

Murtagh smiled and led her around the table and onto the dance floor, where they slipped into the ranks of dancing dwarves and humans with ease. Before long, they were twirling together, laughing and singing in unison.

Nasuada looked at her partner and found it incredibly easy to relax and laugh with him. She and Murtagh had become fast friends over the years, especially since they were so close in age. He was a year older than she, though she often forgot such things. Both had large responsibilities despite their tender age.

Learning with the elves had done him wonders. Oh, Murtagh had been polite and kind when first he'd arrived at the Varden, but he'd built up a steady confidence under the tutelage of the elves. They'd refined him, and his mischievous side only made him more likable.

He donned fine clothes of deep red and black that matched Thorn, and the way his brown eyes gleamed at her was devilishly charming. Nasuada allowed herself to think, rather briefly, that he had no right being so unfairly attractive. Here she was, Leader of the Varden, a woman who had fought and bled for her people, and she found her nerves challenged by this absurdly handsome Dragon Rider who wanted to dance with her.

She caught a glimpse of Thorn off to the side and realized he was watching them with an expression that was entirely too smug.

Nasuada did not allow herself to think on it for long. The music the dwarves were playing slowed a little and the frenzied dancing slowed. The twirling stopped for the most part and the laughter fell into joyous giggles.

She set her hands on his shoulders and Murtagh held her waist. They were both still laughing a little.

"Well, this is fun," she proclaimed.

"I concur," Murtagh agreed. "You're great at this."

"I have been learning for some time. It's a necessary thing for these formal gatherings, you know."

He shrugged. "True, but I rather enjoy dancing for the fun of it."

"So do I," she admitted, and they shared a conspiratorial smile. "The elves taught you?"

"Some," Murtagh chuckled. "The more elegant dances, anyways."

"And the less formal ones?"

"Brom."

She laughed at the mental image of the old storyteller teaching a flabbergasted Murtagh how to dance at the Agaeti Blodhren. They had been rather drunk on Faelnirv and it was probably the single most enjoyable memory he had with his stepfather.

The dancers twirled their partners and Nasuada found herself spinning slowly, stopping when her back was against Murtagh's chest. "You know, it's been a while since I taught Thorn a song or two."

"It has," he hummed in agreement—the sound was low and throaty, and it reverberated through his chest and her back. She repressed a shiver until he spun her back out to continue the dance. "Were you thinking of humoring him again?"

"I was. Would you care to join us?"

"I would certainly like to. Perhaps I could persuade you to dance again at such a time. Thorn wouldn't mind singing."

Nasuada's smile widened. "I think that sounds rather enjoyable. I've never danced to the song of a dragon."

"It's quite the experience," he grinned.

"Well," she spun beneath his hand again as the music started to pick up speed. "Let us see how this dance goes, and perhaps I will humor you with another."

Murtagh's eyes gleamed. Her pulse quickened. "As you wish."

She did, in fact, humor him with another dance.

And another. And another.

More than a year had passed since that first dance at the Winter Festival. Their friendship had only grown in that time. When Murtagh visited Farthen Dur and they completed their duties for the day, it was not uncommon that Thorn would fly him and Nasuada up to the Dragonhold.

Most of the time, it was just to talk where they would not have to worry about prying eyes and ears. They would catch up, unofficially, on the going-ons of the Varden and what parts of their training Murtagh and Thorn could divulge to her. They each had secrets that couldn't be shared, but there was an understanding on that side of their duties.

Sometimes, like now, Nasuada would sing and Thorn would hum along with her tune.

She laughed and sang, and Murtagh watched with a wide smile as Thorn held his head over her so she could press a hand to his chin and spin beneath him. The ruby dragon crooned and she kissed the crimson scales above his brow before continuing her song.

Murtagh knew it would be one of their last opportunities to enjoy such festivities—the Varden and dwarves would be marching on Surda soon.

The Riders had been trained to the satisfaction of their teachers. The Varden, dwarves, and elves had recovered and prepared for war. The inevitable conflict was almost upon them.

He watched the most beautiful woman he'd met in his life dance with his dragon and treasured the memory in his heart.

Nasuada saw the stormy gray eyes cloud with foreboding and would have none of it. She strode over to him and pulled on his hands, bringing Murtagh to his feet. He willingly followed her into a dance and the storm eased.

Thorn hummed as they danced, slower and deeper than Nasuada's previously light tune. His eyes cast themselves towards the entrance to the Dragonhold, giving them what privacy he could, and continued to sing.

Murtagh and Nasuada had remained professional in their relationship under the circumstances of their situation and the war to come. They were best friends and allies, and for a long time, that was all they dared to be.

They were attracted to each other. Roran would have verbally eviscerated Murtagh at every given opportunity if he could see him now. Eragon would probably do the same if he didn't know Murtagh would, in turn, claim savage vengeance upon his younger brother's clear feelings towards the elven Rider.

But Murtagh and Nasuada had not acted on their mutual attraction, even though it was clear to both that there was something there.

Now, on the eve of a march to war, they were silent. They held each other close—certainly closer than was professional. Murtagh rested his cheek atop her head as Nasuada wrapped her arms around his neck, and his wound behind her waist at the small of her back.

No one knew. No one but them, Thorn, Eragon, and Saphira. They couldn't be public with any sort of relationship that was more than mere friendship at the moment. It was why neither of them had dared to vocalize it—the clear interest they had in one another.

Thorn would have to fly her down to her residence soon. If she was absent too long, suspicions would be raised.

Murtagh shifted and she lifted her gaze. Their noses brushed and they kissed—once, twice, just briefly, and sighed.

The Red Rider and the Leader of the Varden said nothing. They could only have silence.

"I have to leave," she whispered.

"I know."

They pressed their foreheads together and took a deep breath in unison. Then she pulled away from him, fingers lingering on his face and his on her hips, and she was gone. Nasuada climbed onto Thorn and strapped herself in—she'd learned how to ride him easily enough over the years—and then the ruby dragon launched himself into the air above Farthen Dur.

Murtagh took a shuddering breath and lifted two fingers to brush his lips.

On Thorn's back, Nasuada did the same.

A/N: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Some of you might not know this, but I'm absolute trash for romance. It's not the biggest part of my stories, but I do get the warm fuzzies writing them.

Anyways, Murtagh and Nasuada are kind-of-sort-of but not actually together at the moment. Gotta love the politics. Remember that by the time this happens, they've known each other for more than four years. They're just about to march to Surda for war on Morzan.

Next chapter will focus on Arya and Firnen! Look forward to it!

As ever, please review and thanks for reading!