Murtaghs Frustration
"Just holler if ya want out," said the Dwarven guardsman, unlocking the door with a clunky key. Gandalf thanked him, and entered Murtagh's cell.
To call it a cell would be a misnomer. While it was not overly spacious, it was rather lavish, and had room enough for a number of luxuries; there was a desk, on which sat two lit candles, some parchment, and a quill and ink. There was a small bookshelf next to it, holding a few books and scrolls. On a small table next to a bed, there was a platter of crumbs and a goblet. Murtagh lay on the bed, enjoying a scroll of his own.
As soon as Gandalf entered the cell, Murtagh twisted around to face him. "Gandalf," he cried in joy. "I'm so glad to see you. First Nasuada, and now you. This is a magnificent day!"
"Murtaugh!" laughed Gandalf, amazed. "I had not hoped to see you in such a comfortable situation."
"Me neither," said Murtagh, chuckling. "I could hardly believe it myself. I mean, just yesterday I was in some dull, typical cell. But just this morning, a guard came up to me and told me Ajihad wanted me moved to another cell. They probably think I'm no real danger to them. And I probably am not. Still, if I'm not careful, I might grow fat and lazy, what with all these texts and all this food." He and Gandalf laughed.
Gandalf took the stool by the desk, and sat down by Murtagh's bed. "It seems that you have been well taken care of. You say that Nasuada visited you earlier? I do not recognise the name." Murtagh's eyes grew wistful at the name, and it seemed as if a kindly flame was lit within them.
"Ah, then you have not seen the greatest beauty of Farthen Dûr," Murtagh said. "I tell you, I have seen noble ladies in the courts of Galbatorix, who were of the highest order, and they seemed to be more fit for work in the stables, or in the pigsty, compared to her. And she was clever, too. She was well-spoken, and she knew books that few others have read, even amongst the lore-masters of Urû'baen."
Murtagh spoke for some time, complimenting Nasuada, and Gandalf saw him happier than he suspected he had been in a long time. The old wizard smiled.
At last he stopped, and looked at Gandalf embarrassed, when he saw a sly smile on the old wizards' face.
"Sorry," he said. "I don't know what came over me." Gandalf laughed merrily.
"No need to apologise, my dear Murtagh, none at all," Gandalf said. "No, I am rather glad to hear you speak so lightly. I am glad to see you be so merry. And in any case, I oft prefer to listen. But you seem to have spoken about the most interesting thing that has occurred for you, so I feel I should tell you about the most interesting thing that has occurred to me.
"I was in the library, but an hour ago, when a young lady, or rather, a lady who seemed young in appearance, came to me. Angela was her name, and she seemed a fountain of helpful information." Gandalf's voice grew low. "She told me that she had once walked amongst the Urgals,."
At once, Murtagh stiffened, and his eyes grew cold. He sat up straighter on his bed. Fear and anger burnt in his eyes.
"You need not be concerned, Murtagh," said Gandalf. "She seems trustworthy enough, and wise. She told me that it is unusual for the Urgals, especially Kull, to be out in such force, and in such a manner. She suspects some evil force hangs over them, I would think."
"There is no evil force over them except their own cruelty and warmongering nature," spat Murtagh.
"You speak from experience, I suppose," said Gandalf. Murtagh nodded.
"I still bare scars from my last encounter."
Gandalf frowned. "I see. Such dealings would inevitably lead to hate. And yet, I cannot help but think that if the cause is found, and the power over them broken, it will change the course of the future tremendously."
"I doubt it," said Murtagh, sour. "The average Urgals alone loves killing in excess. They cannot find a mate without having killed before, and the more kills, the better their chances. But Kull? They are far more vicious, and far larger. They're the elite of all clans. They kill the same type of wolves that left those tracks I found as a coming of age ritual. And some go for even larger targets.
"Kull don't leave for anything short of a great battle, or out of sheer boredom and hunger. It takes five strong men just to kill one of them, and they probably won't make it out alive. Not one of them stand beneath eight feet, and can take arrows being shot at them with mild irritation. They love fighting more than anything, and are merciless. Galbatorix wouldn't need to control their minds, or order Durza to do it for him. He wouldn't even need to offer them anything. All he need do is promise them a great battle."
Gandalf thought about this for a while, fishing out his pipes, and offering one to Murtagh. He lit them, and they puffed it in silence for a time, thinking. He put his hat on the table.
"So, this is common then?" he asked Murtagh. "Wiping out entire villages?"
Murtagh sighed. "No, not really. But it's likely that Galbatorix promised they would be protected from any repercussions."
"I see," muttered Gandalf. "Tell me more about them. You spoke of clans. I suspect a violent race such as theirs would not so quickly get along."
"Not in the least," agreed Murtagh. "They're horrifyingly antagonistic towards one another. It borders on beast-like, and usually crosses over."
Gandalf frowned. The Urgals were clearly many things, and none of them good. But beast-like they were not.
"Humans are often much the same, when it comes to their kingdoms," Gandalf said, with furrowed brows, and his voice was slightly sharp. "So are Dwarves, for that matter, I imagine. I do not know how the Elves here are, but in Middle-Earth, they have a distinct history." Murtagh looked at Gandalf, as though to argue, but closed his mouth. Gandalf and Murtagh sat in silence, smoking.
At last, Gandalf sighed, and blew smoke rings of many different colours. He then blew out a small, red dragon, which flew over to Murtagh and perched on his shoulder. Murtagh frowned, but smiled when it blew a puff of golden smoke at him. The smoke dragon launched off his shoulder, into an explosion of smoke.
"Regardless of either of our thoughts on the matter, you should keep your strength up, young Murtagh," said Gandalf, standing up. "There is much afoot, I suspect. Don't become a lazy scholar just yet."
Murtagh smiled, though it was filled with repressed sorrow. "Certainly, Gandalf, certainly. Thanks for visiting."
"You're quite welcome," said Gandalf. "I think I'll come by tomorrow as well." He turned to the door, and called for the guard, who let him out. He bid Murtagh a good day, and retired to his bed.
Elrond had gone to the library once again, finding a quiet corner in which to read. He found some history at last regarding the Dragon Riders. Argetlam, the Dwarves called them, meaning Silver Hand in the Ancient Language.
The Ancient Language. He had read mentions of it before, in his earlier studies. Yet nothing more than mentions. He wondered what the languages importance was. It was mentioned to be the language of the Elves, and there appeared to be some tie to it and "magic" in this realm. And yet, despite its apparent importance, Elrond could not find anything of use.
Elrond read on. The history of the Dragon Riders seemed fraught with troubles; they appeared as busy bodies, interfering with matters they seemingly had no business in.
There was, however, many a mention of history with dragons, similar to the problems the Casari, or Khazad, had with dragons, back home. This similar past they shared, and the similarity the two peoples shared with one another, likely led to this feud between them and the Argetlam.
Elrond shut his book, and returned it to its place, plumes of dust scattering as he did. Sighing softly, he found another book; it was about Dwarven customs. He desperately wished to know more about the Shur'tugal, and their history. If he knew, it would lend some insight to the oncoming storm.
However, until the time comes when he can travel to the Elves of Alagaësia, he shall have to be content. Gandalf was right, of course. It would be best to stay here for now. The battle was not the only reason to stay, although he only recently has seen it. The Dwarves and Elves here need to forge allies and friendships anew. He doubted any here would be willing to try. If he were become familiar with the Dwarves, a new alliance, perhaps even a knew friendship, despite the long memories of the two races.
After a time, Elrond finished his book, and replaced it. He searched now for the history of Farthen Dûr, and the making of Tronjheim. Upon finishing some of it, he went to sleep.
Morning came, and Elrond sought out the kitchen. There was some confusion over the meal. The Dwarf, for some reason, gave Elrond only a salad, and was confused when Elrond asked for meat. Fortunately, that mishap was soon cleared up, and Elrond thanked the chef.
After his meal, Elrond made his way to where Arya rested. She was awake, and had an empty platter on the small table beside her bed. On her lap was a book, detailing the many mushrooms that mostly found in Farthen Dûr. She smiled as he walked in.
"Hail, Lord Elrond," Arya greeted. "I am glad to see you once again."
"Hail, Lady Arya," replied Elrond. "You seem rested."
Arya nodded. "I am."
"It is an interesting read," said Elrond, pointing to the book. "I read it in part myself, two nights past." He fell silent for a moment, before he spoke again. "Might I ask how you came to be here, Arya?"
Arya's gaze grew distant, and she was silent for a long time, and Elrond wondered if she would answer. At last though, she did.
"Do you… are you aware of the dragon Saphira?" she asked. Elrond nodded.
"It was her you carried, when she was still in the egg," guessed Elrond. Arya blinked, and nodded.
"I had passed into westernmost area of Du Weldenvarden, accompanied by two guards," she continued, her eyes distant. She sat up straight. "We were not far in, on the outskirts, not close enough for the power of my people to keep us safe. There was an ambush, and my guards were killed suddenly, struck down by many arrows. Were that not enough, a ring of flames encircled me, a spell cast by Durza, a Shade,
"Durza took me captive, but I had time enough to cast a desperate spell, and Saphira's egg was transported far from me. It just so happened that it found Eragon. But I was captured still, in Gil'ead. Durza strove ever to break my mind, to learn what he could of the Elves homes. But I had strength left in me to defy him. He used many methods, not least the poison Skilna Bragh."
The name rang in Elrond's mind. It was a deadly poison that killed its victims within a matter of hours. It's only antidote, Tunivor's Nectar, came from the same mushroom. This was the poison given to her?
"Each day, he would poison me," she continued, her eyes darkening. "At the end, he would give me the Nectar, to ensure I didn't die. He cast illusions, and tortured me. And when nothing worked, I was finally ordered to be sent to the king." Arya's voice grew quiet. "I feared for my life, for if I were sent thither, then the king would know at once where the Elves hide, and he would burn my people's home, and none could stand against him."
Arya sighed, and Elrond saw fear gleam in her eyes. It disappeared quickly, yet it was there, as a shadow of memory.
"It seemed that at around that point, Eragon also was captured," resumed the Elf-maiden. "Though I knew it not, nor who he even was, for I had put myself into a deep sleep, to resist the poison. He managed to escape, and after a time he spoke with me. It was an awkward conversation, to say the least." She pursed her lips, and Elrond saw she felt a tinge of shame.
"He tried to speak with within my mind," Arya said. "I attacked him, for he was strange to my mind, and I had become fearful. At last, we managed to speak, but only for a while, as I had spent too much energy all ready. The next thing I remember, I met you."
Elrond sat in thought for a while. "It is unfortunate we cannot go to Rivendell, Arya, for there you would have time and chance to rest, and your burden lifted, for a while. As is, I suggest still that you rest while you can, and let your mind wander to lighter topics."
Arya shook her head. "I cannot do that, Elrond. For I have many tasks, greatest of all is preparing Eragon and Saphira to leave for Ellesméra, as soon as is possible."
Elrond frowned. "Though this news is expected, I fear you shall have to postpone your journey to Ellesméra." Arya's eyebrows came together in confusion.
"For what reason?" she asked, and her tone was concerned.
Naturally, thought Elrond, for any delay means more time for their foe.
The Elf-lord sighed. "Gandalf foresees a battle shall come to Tronjheim soon. Seldom has Gandalf been wrong on such matters. In Middle-Earth, Gandalf was known throughout the lands as a herald of ill-tidings, to the kingdoms of Men and Dwarves, and he does not come to warn a kingdom if the danger is minor. If Gandalf says a battle is on its way, then a great battle is on its way."
Arya pursed her lips, and looked frustrated. Yet to Elrond there seemed a glimmer of relief, though for what he could not say. She sighed deeply, sat back in thought, and turned her gaze. "I see," she said at last. "I suppose I shall rest a while longer, then I will find Eragon, for I must discuss much with him, and thank him for rescuing me."
With that, Elrond bid his leave of Arya, and quietly placed upon her a small, hasty enchantment to aid her recovery.
Going once more to the library, he found Gandalf, talking to a young, dark skinned lady. They were drinking something. Tea, from the smell, though it was foreign to Elrond. Elrond greeted Gandalf.
"Suilad, Mithrandir," he said. Greetings, Mithrandir. Gandalf and the lady turned to greet him. The young ladies' eyes widened in surprise.
"Ai, Hîr Elrond. Mae g'ovannen," said Gandalf in return. Hail, Lord Elrond. Well met. Gandalf rose, and gestured to the lady beside him. "Lord Elrond, might I introduce you to Lady Nasuada. Lady Nasuada meet Lord Elrond, Master of Rivendell. Lady Nasuada is the daughter of Lord Ajihad, and, from her tales, she does almost as much work as her father."
Elrond turned an impressed eye towards the young Nasuada, who slightly blushed at the praise, and Elf Lords gaze. "I am honoured to meet you, Lady Nasuada." He bowed.
"Thank you, Lord Elrond," said Nasuada, rising and bowing as well. "I have heard all around Tronjheim talk about an Elven lord that seemed to glow. I fear the rumours were grossly understated."
Elrond smiled, and took a seat. The old Istar had managed to befriend another in a position of power. Millennia old habits die hard, of course. The wizard had spent the better part of his time as Gandalf befriending all the leaders of Middle-Earth, or becoming their ally. And yet he also had a habit of befriending many who were not in any position of power, and in fact would be considered unimportant.
After a long, and thoroughly enjoyable discussion (on a variety of intriguing topics, not least of all languages, of which Nasuada spoke three, to varying degrees, and that Dwarven spies had left to search for any signs of Urgals last night, for which Gandalf was glad, though he hoped there was still enough time), Nasuada had bid her leave, stating she had to collect a package. Gandalf and Elrond bid her farewell.
"She is most interesting," commented Elrond to Gandalf.
"Yes," said Gandalf absentmindedly, for his thoughts were now on the matter of the Shade. "Did you speak to Arya again?"
"I did."
"Did she tell you how she came to be here?" asked Gandalf. Elrond nodded. "She spoke of how she was held captive by some creature known as a Shade?"
Again, Elrond nodded. "Durza was his name."
"Was it? interesting. He will be here," said Gandalf, gravely. "I have found little on the subject matter, but if what I have read is true, Eragon, who I don't doubt is his target, will stand little chance against him."
Elrond nodded, and bid Gandalf share with him what he knew of Shades, and was troubled. They seemed creatures of the darkest evil, the cruellest spirits taking over a body. Lesser in power than those dark spirits of Angband, but no less evil, and their power was still great.
"I do not doubt, however," said Gandalf at the end, "That some of these reports are exaggerated, if only a little. The truest part of the book, or the least exaggerated, perhaps, would be the report of the two 'Shadeslayers', who died killing Shades. Once Durza arrives, we three shall need to challenge him together, for that may be the only way Eragon survives."
Elrond's face grew grim. "He will set a trap for Eragon, Gandalf. He will likely lure him to a place only he could get to on time."
"Yes, that is my concern," replied Gandalf. "I wonder where he shall be lured, and how to stay with him, as best I can." He pulled out an old map the side of the table. "I was studying this, before I met Nasuada. There are a number of different tunnels, some larger and some smaller, that lead into Farthen Dûr."
Elrond looked over the map. It was old, but still in good enough condition. He frowned in thought. "If any Urgals are found in time, I suspect that the Varden shall collapse these tunnels," he pointed to a number of tunnels. "They will try and force the Urgals into the larger tunnels, so that they may not swarm into Tronjheim like a nest of ants."
"Yes, I see," said Gandalf. "They will not collapse all of them, of course, but they shall try to make it look like all of them. But there stands the matter of Durza." Gandalf leaned back in his chair. Durza would not waste time with the battle. He would make his way to a far off spot, and lure Eragon there. But how?
The grey wizard sighed, and saw Elrond had similar thoughts. Yet there was no answer clear to them. Perhaps, if Saphira was willing, she could carry them with her. Gandalf decided to go talk to her.
With Elrond, Gandalf headed to where he suspected the Rochben Rovalug, the Dragon Rider, would be. And, more importantly, the Dragon.
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