You all have the right to shoot me. I am beyond sorry that it took so long for this chapter to come up but I had some important things that I had to do in my life. And I just couldn't find the time to bust out my laptop to actually start typing this chapter. And thank god, it's finally up! I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter since it took ages for me to actually post it. Next one won't be so long. Hopefully. Anyways read and review!
The weeks spent in Ellesméra went by with a somewhat painful but quick pace. The only thing he could remember clearly was the aching pain in his back caused by Durza. The wound that his father had given him had opened once again. The sun was low in the sky, signaling evening, and Oromis had put them hard at work. Eragon was off to the side studying a plant — one of Oromis's scrolls clutched in one hand— and Arya was beside, she too studying a plant and by the looks of it pointing out details for Eragon when needed, while Murtagh had to spar with Oromis. Despite his age, Murtagh, with his disabilities — his back and the fact that he was human — was no match for someone whose blood ran thick with magic. He was outmatched by Oromis as he was by Durza and Arya. And though he hated to even think of such things, he knew that even Eragon could best him. His younger brother. It tinted his thoughts with a color of shame.
Pulling back, he brought up Zar'roc in time to fend off an oncoming attack. Murtagh was thankful when Oromis lowered his sword. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he waited for his teacher's advice. "It seems that the point for us to cease exchanging blows has come." He stared at Oromis, not comprehending what he was trying to say. "I will have it arranged for you to spar every morning before you arrive here with another elf."
He frowned but felt somewhat relived that it was not with Eragon. Sheathing Zar'roc, he followed Oromis when he motioned towards the hut. As they were eating mushroom stew, the door opened and Arya walked in first, followed by Eragon. It may have sounded sound pathetic, but as much as Eragon didn't like him, he didn't like his younger brother in return. He might respect him but that was it. His life may have been unfair, even horrible. But that didn't mean everyone else lived happily. No, the knowledge that his father was Morzan had haunted him for most of his life and the thought that his mother had abandoned him had nearly torn his heart to pieces. And yet, Eragon was the given the chance to live with their mother. But he still made the most of it and that was where he and Eragon differed, Murtagh thought as he watched the two take their seats across from them.
It was during times like these that the awkwardness got the best of them. No one spoke and who did was Oromis. He asked questions of their lessons and their learning. And they would reply in a few sentences. Oromis nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it seems as if you both are very well taught. More so than I could expect or hoped."
"And what does that mean?" asked Eragon.
"That I shall have to make up a test of sorts for the two of you." And it was during times like these that he felt insanely inferior. His lack of knowledge and power, his disability, had set him far lower than Arya and Eragon as a Rider. It was almost unfair. "But tomorrow, I would like you two to spend half an hour sparring with one another before you come here."
Murtagh frowned, even if he didn't have to spar Arya nor Eragon, they were going to see him fall to another elf, and the thought of it was shameful.
When he was alone in his tree, he glared at the only thing that was his inheritance from his father. Zar'roc. It was a childish and petty thought but he was sure that Eragon would rather live the way he did now than be reborn as the son of Morzan. At least he still had two parents who loved him. You have Roran. But he didn't even know where his cousin was. Sitting on his bed, he turned the green apple in his hands. It had been a tiring day. Learning, fighting, and practicing the Rigmar. And now he had the extra task of speaking only in the ancient language during his stay in Ellesméra. Life, Murtagh thought, wasn't getting any simpler.
A knock on his screen door disturbed his quiet. "Enter," he said, wondering if it was Arya. It was. She had visited him before to show him Ellesméra, and he was grateful that she had never thought to bring Eragon along with them.
Arya greeted Murtagh and Thorn, then said, "If you're not busy, I thought that you might appreciate an opportunity to visit Tialdari hall and the adjacent gardens, since you seem very interested in Ellesméra."
"We'd be delighted to see them," said Murtagh setting down his green apple. He didn't understand the odd look in her eyes when he placed the apple on his bedside table by Oromis's time piece. When all three of them descended from the tree, Arya directed them westward toward an unfamiliar quadrant in Ellesméra. They encountered many elves on the path, all of whom stopped to bow to Thorn and Eridor. He had to admit, the attention that they gave the dragons was unnerving.
Passing by a tree, he felt himself frown when emerald eyes traveled to the open teardrop, and just barely he could see a glint of sapphire. There was something between Arya and Eragon. Something that he couldn't understand. Just then, a shadow passed by and disappeared, no doubt Eragon. "He seems busy as of late."
Murtagh nodded. That was true, he had heard from Saphira that Eragon had spent most of his time reading up on scrolls and ancient texts, like he was looking for something but he couldn't find it. "I wouldn't know, he doesn't speak to me often," he said.
Arya nodded. At last they arrived at an archway which had permitted their entry due to Arya. A vast garden laid before them, filled with such a variety of plants that he found it difficult to think that they were only in one part of Alagaësia. Flameless lanterns gave light to the area.
She had showed them many interesting parts of the compound. The common room and hall, where they would stay if they were not Rider and Dragon, the gardens and each room that was available to the size of a dragon. Each room was different from one another, as if the elves considered the idea of being in the same room dull.
They saw many great works of art, from fairths to paintings, sculptures to mosaics with one motif in mind, the show plants and animals in their true beauty. Islanzadí met with them for a short time, inquiring about their training and the state of Murtagh's back, both of which he had politely answered. It had satisfied her for she left after exchanging a few words with Saphira and Arya.
In the end they had returned to the gardens, Murtagh listening intently as Arya explained to him about the different types of flowers that were grown and nourished with the energy from magic. "Is there one in particular that you like?" he asked.
She smiled and led him to a tree on the edge of the garden, where a patch of black morning glories were coiled around the tree's lowest branch. She blew on them, saying in the Ancient Language, "Open."
The petals rustled as they unfurled. It was a beautiful flower, Murtagh thought. It matched her personality quite well. A black morning glory. The name even resembled her somewhat. And the fact that she dressed in all black outside of Du Weldenvarden didn't seem like a coincidence. She was the black glory that would bloom for those whom she was willing to, he thought. But he didn't voice it to her. Their friendship didn't seem deep enough for him to get to speak freely to her.
"Is it not the most perfect and lovely flower?" asked Arya.
Murtagh gazed at her and at the flower. "It is." He didn't say this to please her nor to curry favor but he truly thought that it was indeed a beautiful flower. He glanced at her once again, wondering . . .
"Is something troubling you?"
Murtagh shook his head. "No," and as casually as he could, "Has Eragon been here yet?"
Arya stared at him, the smile on her face dimming somewhat. "He hasn't." she said. "When I asked him, he was busy with research of some sort. Was there something in particular that you wanted to know?"
He shook his head. "Not really." Research . . . . Again, the thought rushed through his mind. What was it that his brother was searching for and yet not asking for help with, not reaching out for it? "He hasn't seemed like himself lately."
She raised a brow, and he fought for words to continue. How could he say it when he didn't understand himself? And he could remember a lesson that was taught to him by Uncle Garrow. Never make assumptions when one didn't understand things by the surface of their nature. "It seems as if he's on edge . . . . He looks somewhat sickly sometimes."
The smile on her face disappeared altogether. We should leave it at that, Murtagh. There's no need to worry Arya anymore, said Thorn. He nodded. After he had told her and Eridor, they both wished the two of them goodnight.
What were you thinking? asked Thorn.
He shrugged. Arya seems to be the only person within the whole of Du Weldenvarden to know Eragon well enough to be called his friend. I was just pondering the thought of whether or not she knew what it was that ails him.
Ails? How can you be so sure that he is sick?
It's a feeling, I know it sounds pathetic, but every time I see him, he seems to be less and less himself by the day. Don't you see it?
I don't.
He frowned. Was he the only one who saw his brother's sickness? His slow change in attitude? He could remember clearly one day when they were studying the lives of ants when his brother had slumped forward without warning, a hand reaching for his eye. Was he half blind? But that idea didn't make sense either.
You shouldn't worry yourself with it, Murtagh. He will tell Arya or Oromis eventually.
But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to stop. Something was wrong with Eragon. The same thought floated through his head when he closed his eyes to let sleep take him, the only moment within time where he could finally rest.
But morning came all too soon.
He and Thorn were waiting by the tree for a few minutes before they were met by a solemn dark haired elf, and by the looks of him, Murtagh knew that things weren't going to go as smoothly as he had half hoped. The elf bowed and touched his fingers to his lips-a gesture Murtagh mirrored. "May good fortune rule over you."
"And may the stars watch over you," replied Murtagh. "Are you the elf in which Oromis had sent to spar with me?"
But he received no answer, instead, the elf turned to greet Thorn and he felt a scowl turn over on his features. It was hard to be polite sometimes, Murtagh thought. He wished that he had his brother's capacity for indifference and ability to ignore everything with ease. He was, as Oromis liked to put it, 'hot-blooded' and liked to act on emotions.
" . . . I am Vanir of House Haldthin."
Well met Vanir.
Only then did the elf address Murtagh. "I shall show you to the sparring grounds where you may practice with your blade." His eyes flickered to Zar'roc with an expression akin to distaste.
When they had arrived within the sparring grounds he felt his heart drop. It was dotted with elves of both sexes fighting in pairs and groups. Their gift for extraordinary strength and speed resulted in clashes of swords that resounded like someone hammering an anvil. To the side, he could see Arya and Eragon ferociously clashing at a level he knew he might never be able to achieve with his disability. There was no doubt he was going to make a fool of himself.
As everyone had stopped and bowed to Thorn, he watched as the large red dragon settled next to Saphira and Eridor, who were both watching the proceedings with interested eyes. Murtagh took his position opposite Vanir and unsheathed Zar'roc. I'm just going to be humiliated, Murtagh thought, as he eyed the inhuman swordsmanship about him, watching as Eragon easily dodged from Arya's always moving blade with such ease, it was as if he bend without the restraint of gravity.
Usually he would have fought with everything he had in him, but the thought of humiliation weighed him down. He dodged and fought at a distance from Vanir, trying not to trigger a fit he had been having all so much. But despite that, Vanir had managed to hit him with ease. And every time he did so, his expression began to change from emotionlessness to open contempt. Moving to the side, Vanir brought his sword forward, smashing it out of Murtagh's hand with ease. He watched as the red blade went flying.
With ease as if he was just going on a stroll, Vanir dropped his sword on Murtagh's neck. "Dead." He shrugged it off and went to retrieve Zar'roc. "I had expected better seeing how your father was Morzan, but it seems that you are just like the rest of your race, a weakling human."
"Don't speak of things you don't know of," said Murtagh coldly, his anger getting the better of him. "As I recall you've stayed hidden within Du Weldenvarden while others fought at Farthen Dûr."
Vanir stiffened with rage. "We weren't aware of such circumstances that had fallen upon the Varden. I am not a coward, human."
And just like that, he was beginning to dislike Vanir more and more. No one moved or spoke on the field and Murtagh tried his best to avoid his brother's presence. Surly he was laughing at him now. The sight of him, a Rider, being ridiculed by an elf was shameful.
"Coward, I say, your blood is as thin as the rest of your race. I think that Thorn was confused by Galbatorix's wiles and made the wrong choice of Rider." Murtagh gripped his sword, whirling about in a fit of rage, Zar'roc flashing as he charged at Vanir, ignoring the gasps of the spectating elves.
He should have known better, rage had clouded his vision and before he it even occurred to him, he was on his back covered in dirt, Zar'roc lying a few feet away from him. "Weakling. A worthless rider." Vanir's taunting words reaching his ears.
The sound of crunching grass reached his ears and he saw a hand reach out to grasp the hilt to Zar'roc. The red blade was lifted easily from the ground. But who had reached for his sword, he didn't know.
"You have no right to look down on people." Murtagh's blood chilled when he heard Eragon's cold and harsh words.
"And you have no right to interfere in such." Vanir replied. Struggling to sit up, he could see Eragon's stiff back facing him, Zar'roc gleaming in his right hand. "Your brother may be a weakling but you're no different either, considering the fact that you've been overseen by Galbatorix."
And within that instant, he was bounding for Vanir with such rage, it was hard to believe that it was his calm and usually stolid brother. "DON'T YOU LOOK DOWN ON OTHERS!" he repeated, this time the phrase coming out as a yell of rage.
He turned his head to glance at Arya; wasn't she going to help? But when he caught sight of the elven princess, he found her rooted to the spot as if struggling to make a decision. "HOW COULD YOU DISCRIMINATE WHEN HIS WEAKNESS IS FOR BEING WHAT HE IS? HUMAN? DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!"
He could just make out that Eragon was dangerously close to actually injuring Vanir, who was trying to dodge his heavy blows. But just barely. "HE'S TRYING HIS BEST AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS RIDICULE HIM! BUT I GUESS IF HE DIES YOU COULD'NT CARE LESS SINCE THERE ARE STILL TWO OPTIONS AVAILABLE TO YOU!"
He slammed Vanir's sword out of his hand, bring Zar'roc upwards in an arch, before it was deflected as Arya finally decided to intervene. But he could tell from the look on her face that she was shocked at his outburst.
They stared at each other indefinitely before Eragon turned and made for Murtagh, who felt a slight trickle of fear, but the sight of his pale and drawn face made him somewhat worried. With unnatural strength, Eragon bent down gripping the front of Murtagh's tunic and pulled him to his feet. He drove Zar'roc into the ground between them and said harshly, "Don't you ever bow to people like him. It's a disgrace."
With that he let go and without a word to anyone left the quiet field with Saphira following him from above in the air. When they were gone, murmurs and whispers began to break through around them. The elves didn't seem to like Eragon's loss of control over his emotions, but it was bound to happen; he was going to snap eventually.
But the most affected was Arya; she seemed at a loss for words about what happened. And he could share that confusion with her without problem. Murtagh was still in shock that his brother would stand in his defense. He winced mentally though when he thought of how Islanzadí was going to think of such a violent act.
Gripping Zar'roc he had a hard time pulling it from the ground. A hand shot out and grasped the hilt, pulling it for him. He found himself staring at Arya's worried green eyes as she held his sword out for him to take. "Thank you."
She nodded before motioning him to sheath his sword. "I think that would be enough for today. We should go and see Master Oromis."
Murtagh agreed, wondering if Eragon was going to be there or not.
What did you all think? Good, bad, iffy? My next chapter will be more suspenseful and I think I'm going to try to work to POVs in it but honestly, I don't like to do that in just a chapter. Usually when I write POVs I make sure that they last the entire chapter, I just don't like switching in between. But besides that, review and hopefully my next chapter shall be posted! :)