Well, this is where the story proper starts. Which means... (drum roll please) OMG ACTUAL MAIN CHARACTERS.
There are (possibly) theme songs for each chapter, because I like music and I like the Butterfly Soundtrack and anyway, theme song for this chapter: Redemption, by Switchfoot. Just 'cause.
This chapter was beta'd by redneckgal, with grammar-fu courtesy of Anda.
Disclaimer: Really, not mine. (If it was mine chances are there'd be a heck of a lot more slashiness--other than Eragon perving at Oromis.)
Overture: In Which We Are Introduced to Our Protagonists, Who May or May Not Be Good People:
The peace of great doors be for you.
Wait at the knobs, at the panel oblongs.
Wait for the great hinges.
Carl Sandburg--For You (Smoke and Steel, 1922)
--
Murtagh stood very still in front of the handsome, thick door to his father's study, steadfastly not listening to the conversation going on behind it. His dark brown eyes showed no emotion as one of the study's occupants lost their temper, and something splintered.
As the occupants of the room began to shout at each other, he sighed a long-suffering sigh of one familiar with such shouting matches, and knocked on the door three times sharply. The shouting stopped, and he opened the door, poking his head into Morzan's study.
Murtagh's father and brother looked up guiltily from the shattered remains of Morzan's desk, matching who, me? expressions on their faces. He looked at them for a moment—Morzan's Rider-status meant that he looked about the same age as his younger son, which made Murtagh feel old. And kind of paternal, which, goddess knew, was necessary enough at this point.
Murtagh sighed. "What happened this time?"
Morzan grimaced and stood, brushing the remnants of his desk off his clothes. "Your brother seems to lack any form of sense; one wonders how so little time spent with peasants can instill such a low-born mindset."
Eragon, still on the floor, winced at that, but was quiet, realizing he'd better not push his brother and father any farther or he'd be lucky to be able to walk a week after.
Well, Murtagh thought, half-relieved, at least he's learned some form of restraint. Even if the lesson was a bit harsh.
Thorn said, Your father scares me. Hri is nice, though.
You're not the only one Father scares. Hri is nice, at that. Nicer than Shruikan, for sure.
Shruikan is bat-shit insane; he doesn't count.
Murtagh stifled a grin, ignoring Morzan's indulgent half-smile. He knew his father was proud of him for hatching one of the three last dragon eggs, but goddess it was irritating having it rubbed into his face that he was following exactly in his father's footsteps at every opportunity.
Although, in this case, he suspected it was being rubbed in his brother's face more than his. And Eragon knew it, as evidenced by the slump of his shoulders.
There was an awkward silence, which of course was normal for his family. Murtagh sighed, which was also common in his dealings with his father and brother. Even the King wasn't this irritating.
"So," he said at last, "What was so important to fight about that you couldn't, I don't know, notice that I have three days at home?" He knew he sounded plaintive and whiny, but goddess-damn-it, he was tired of battle.
Morzan glared at him, and he adjusted his body stance from aggressive to non-threatening. Stupid alpha-male dynamics. At court this didn't happen, and he hadn't thought he'd be missing it, but he hadn't seen his family for a couple of months, which meant he'd forgotten what they were like. Which was a mistake.
Eragon dipped his head. "I'm sorry, Murtagh. It's really good to see you again, but--"
"But you're a moron?" Murtagh interjected, half-smiling. All right, so he had missed his little brother, and yeah, he did like the kid—but no one was ever going to know, all right?
"But I don't want to go to court and humiliate myself!"
Murtagh blinked at that. Eragon? Not jumping at the chance for attention—not that he knew what kind of attention Morzan'd been trying to force on him, but Eragon was a self-confessed attention whore.
Morzan glared at his youngest. Who had apparently lost all appearance of sanity, and was glaring back. Murtagh thought, Well, this is familiar.
Morzan said, taking pity on his elder son, "Galbatorix and I think he'll hatch the blue; he thinks he'll miss out on his current girlfriend's birthday."
Murtagh choked.
--
"Kat?" Roran, son of Garrow, asked, poking his head around the door to his friend's bedroom. "You awake?"
The girl in question, a lump of blanket on her bed, made a muffled noise of discontent and rolled over.
"C'mon, Kat!" He said, sidling into her room. He reached out and poked her left shoulder—well, the blankets shrouding her left shoulder, anyway.
She bit him. Realizing what she'd done, she sat up, shedding so many layers of blanket Roran wondered how she hadn't suffocated yet, and glared at him.
He put on a wounded air and cradled his bitten hand, which was vaguely red.
She said, "Oh, grow up, Roran. You poked me. You know what I'm like in the morning."
Katrina brushed messy auburn hair out of her eyes and pulled her blankets around her like a cloak. It was cold this time of year, especially if you lived on the outskirts of the City, away from the Central Fire.
She stumbled over to the window, still half-asleep, and swore. "Roran, what in the seven hells possessed you to wake me?! It's not even—it's dark, Roran, dark."
Roran said, "Aw, Kat. Don't you think I know that? Arya and Faolin are coming in today, and you know they never arrive during daylight--"
Katrina spun on her heel and glared. "Why didn't you say so? Now shoo. I'll meet you outside Nasuada's, all right?"
He started to say something, thought better of it (she might be a bit mellowed by the prospect of seeing the elves, but it was still Katrina and also still morning—early morning, at that—and his hand was sore), nodded, waved, and left.
Katrina ran for a hairbrush.
--
Murtagh took a deep drink from the flask and coughed as the alcohol burned down his throat. He'd feel guilty for indulging in his father's favourite vice later, when he didn't need the numbness quite so much. His fingertips followed a groove down the worn kitchen table. Around him, servants were bustling, preparing that night's meal.
Tornac sauntered in. "Hey there, stranger," he said, grinning, "Drinking so early in the morning; what's the matter? Missing court already?"
Murtagh shot him an obscene gesture. "They broke the desk," he said. "Right in front of me. They broke the desk." He saw Tornac's face. "Oh, goddess. What number desk was it?"
Tornac dropped into the chair next to Murtagh, sliding a languid arm around his friend's shoulder. "It's best you don't know, Murtagh."
Murtagh moaned. "I need more brandy."
--
Nasuada swung her sword in a low, deadly arc, breathing deeply. Sweat dripped down her forehead; she ignored it in favour of the second half of the movement--a parry, then a lunge--
The knock on the door startled her, though no observer would've been able to tell; she shelved the sword next to her bed, and took her waterskin down.
"Come in," she called, scrubbing her hands over her face.
Roran pushed the door open tentatively. "You're not going to attack me, are you?"
She blinked, puzzled, then realized--Katrina, everyone knew, was not a morning person--and goddess help you if you tried to change that. The only way she'd see sunrise was if she hadn't slept the night before.
She grinned, and took a swig from her waterskin. "They here yet?"
He shook his head, advancing into the room. She sat down on her bed, yawning. He collapsed beside her. "She bit me, you know?"
Nasauda laughed, at that. "Well, Roran. It's morning. And Kat. What'd you expect?"
Roran stuck his tongue out. "You done with your sword, or?"
She nodded. "I figure; I think Ajihad wants us teaching hand-to-hand today--the kids are certainly behind enough on that."
"Right. Kat'll love that; wiping the floor with me. And you, but mostly me, if we get the girls." Roran sighed. The Varden were warriors, all of them, and Katrina, Nasuada and Roran were very good. But due to their ages (none of them had reached twenty-one) they were stuck teaching the little ones until they hit the Varden's age of majority. And when you taught little girls how to defend themselves, the male in your group had a lot of demonstration done on him.
Nasuada 'mmm'ed noncommitally and ran her fingers through her hair. Tangled, as usual. She reached for her hairbrush--Roran said, "Let me," and ran the comb through her dark hair. It felt good, and she leaned her head back into his fingers.
He was smiling, she knew it. Smug prat. She twisted around and kissed him softly--he grinned into the kiss. She poked him, and the hairbrush fell to the floor--
--
Katrina knocked on Nasuada's door. No response. She pushed it open, and, "Oh, goddess. You two! We're supposed to be meeting Faolin and Arya!"
Roran looked up guiltily, and Nasuada fumbled with her shirt. "Oh, come on, Kat. Not like you haven't seen it a hundred times before--"
"It's still keeping me from seeing Arya and Faolin, and rendering my awakeness pointless--which, in case you hadn't figured it out, makes me upset--" She trailed off, and Roran swallowed, pulling his shirt over his head.
"What are we waiting for, then?" He chirped perkily.
Nasuada grinned at Katrina, who returned it. Baiting Roran was fun.
Nasuada slung her sword over her shoulder and tossed Roran a (sheathed) dagger--you could never be too careful, unless you were a Rider or a ridiculously powerful mage, neither of which any of them were. "Kat, you got something?"
She nodded, slipping a throwing-star out of her boot and displaying it for them. Kat's particular skills were espionage-related--hand-to-hand, easily-obscured or explained weapons--while she could use a sword well she wasn't fond of them, per se. Faolin was teaching her, in-between missions (diplomatic and otherwise), and she was eager for him to be back.
Roran belted the dagger at his waist and ran his fingers through his hair. "Shall we?" He asked, and offered Katrina and Nasuada his arms. Both of them glared at him, and left.
As always, he ran after them.
--
"Lyss, I'm back from the capital. I need the largest mug of ale you can get me," Murtagh said, Tornac draped over his shoulder. "And, uh, whatever he usually has."
"That bad?" The pretty barmaid asked, pouring him a ridiculously large cup of frothing brown stuff.
Murtagh winced. "You don't want to know. Really, you don't."
Tornac nodded. "Believe me, you don't want to know; he spent the better part of three hours telling me." Murtagh glared at him. He shrugged and caught his beer, downing half the mug in a single swallow.
Lyss grinned at them, brown eyes sparkling. "I guess I won't ask. Here you go, Murtagh."
He took the ale from her with a murmured thanks and made his way over to a table, Tornac in tow. He slumped into a chair. "And here I was thinking a trip home would be relaxing. Relaxing, my ass."
His dragon made a disapproving noise in his head. Murtagh said, Oh, stuff this. Can we go to court now?
"No." Tornac said, unclasping his friend's hands from the mug.
Murtagh jerked his head up. "What?"
"I said, no you can't go back to court. You had that look on your face." Tornac grinned."And it's all you've been talking about for the past hour."
"Oh," Murtagh said, and took a deep swallow.
The door to the tavern creaked open, and Tornac wondered aloud, "Who would be depressed enough to be drinking at this hour? Excepting you, noble sir."
Murtagh was too absorbed in his drink to respond, but when Tornac poked him he looked up. And promptly took a deeper drink before swearing.
There, standing in the doorframe of the only tavern within walking distance of Morzan's castle, stood Eragon.
Thorn said, Don't make a scene. Please.
Murtagh said, The hell I'm not making a scene. My little brother has all the mind of a kree-bird! He started to stand; Tornac grabbed his arm.
"Don't lose it," he hissed.
Murtagh nodded, and forced himself down. Eragon waved to Lyss and walked over to them.
"So help me, goddess, I will punch you out, little brother. Aren't you and Father supposed to be working something out at home?" Murtagh's voice was low and hard and dangerous, perfected on patrol.
Eragon winced. "Can I sit?"
Murtagh said, "Would it matter if I said no?"
Tornac rolled his eyes. "Sit down, kid."
Eragon smiled gratefully and took a seat. "Thanks, Tornac."
"Trust me, kid, you shoulda stayed put. He's drunk."
Murtagh glared and took another swig.
Eragon said, "I'm sorry. I did--I missed you. I really did. But you know Father and I have never gotten along, and it was worse when you were gone, and things were just--building. Can we talk? Please?"
Murtagh sighed. "All right. Why is I can never stay mad with you for long?"
Eragon's smile was like the dawn breaking.
Murtagh waved to Lyss. She came over, wiping her hands on her apron. "I think I'm going to need you to bring me a steady succession of ale."
She looked at his companions. "Sure thing."
Eragon opened his mouth. Murtagh said, "No. No. And no."
Eragon deflated.
--
Arya, princess of Ellesmera, stroked her horse's neck and fought to keep her eyes open.
Next to her, her mate Faolin was humming a discordant tune, trying desperately to stay awake. The road they were on was thickly-wooded and in the trees animals were sleeping--not exactly condusive to alertness.
She yawned, and reached for the stimulant-herbs in the pouch at her belt.
Faolin looked at her. "Arya..."
Her hand fell. "You're right. I'm just--tired."
"Hey," he said, reaching out a hand, "Me too. We'll be home soon."
"Home sounds good," she told him, voice scratchy with fatigue.
He smiled tiredly. "What do you want to bet Roran and Nasuada dragged Kat out of bed to meet us?"
"What do you want to bet she bit Roran?" Arya retorted.
Faolin laughed. "Should we do the spell now?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
"We'd better," she replied, "I don't think I could do it in five or ten minutes."
He nodded, and dismounted. Next to him, she was doing the same, twining her hands in the air.
Faolin started the chant and Arya joined him and then--
--
Murtagh stared into the depths of his mug, wondering if it would be deep enough to drown him.
Thorn said, Stop wallowing. I'm going to hunt. By the time I'm done you'd better be sober.
Oh, all right. Have fun.
Oh, I will. Possibly I will even imagine some of the animals I eat are you.
Murtagh sent an obscene gesture down their mental connection.
Thorn sent one back and detached, with an air of moral-high-grounded-ness.
Eragon continued, "Her name is Aderyn, and she has eyes like, like, loam and willow-bark and--"
Tornac sent Murtagh a look and drummed his fingers on the table.
Murtagh said, "And...Aderyn? Is why you're getting in a massive fight with Father?"
"Yes, well, she's wonderful and I really don't want to miss her birthday, and--"
"And you're pissed at him. Why?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Tornac sighed and went over to Lyss, who laughed at him and set him to cleaning old cups.
--
Katrina tapped her foot. "Where are they?"
Nasuada was worried. "They should be here by now--"
Right on cue, a flash of green-and-pale gold light heralded the elves' coming.
Roran blinked as the light seared itself onto his eyes. When he opened them, Arya and Faolin were standing in the Great Hall, horses in tow. They looked like something dragged out of the kitchen-waste, and instinctively he ran forward, catching Faolin as he stumbled.
Beside him, the girls had Arya, who looked really, really horrible.
He hoped it was ride-fatigue--they'd had to travel from the Varden to Ellesmera in a day; they couldn't risk being spotted by the Empire, so they'd expended a hell of a lot of magic, and that took a lot out of even an elf.
Faolin mumbled, "Thank you," and tried to stand.
Roran said, "Don't. We'll get you two to bed."
Arya said, "The horses--"
Katrina looked at Nasuada, who took all of Arya's weight on her shoulder. "I'll do them," Kat said, running her hands down their necks. "Get some sleep, all right? You look awful."
Arya laughed harshly. "Figures," she said, and coughed.
--
Murtagh woke up, and winced. He whispered the words of the spell, and the hangover was blessedly gone.
Thorn disapproved.
Murtagh rolled over, and raised a forearm over his eyes to shield them from the new sun.
"Goddess, I needed that," he murmured, and kissed his partner softly. Tornac mmm'ed in his sleep, and Murtagh grinned, basking in the dual warmth of his lover and the sunlight.
He ran his hand through the other man's hair, thinking. Yesterday had not gone well; what with Morzan and Eragon fighting, finding out the King's captive seer had Seen Eragon with the blue dragon, finding out Eragon was in "love", convincing his idiot brother to travel--
Tornac stirred. "Stop thinking," he said, voice sleep-mussed. "You're waking me up."
Murtagh half-smiled, and whispered a brief apology. "Hey, go back to sleep. I promise not to think so loud, all right?"
Tornac said, "S'long as you're not thinking," and burrowed back into the blankets.
"Come with me to court?" Murtagh whispered, once he was sure the other man was asleep. "I think I need you to keep me sane."
Tornac snored quietly. Murtagh sighed. He'd ask--later. Once this current mess was sorted out. He would.
--