I'm back, and with more fluff! Enjoy ;)
Nasuada often wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn't been queen. Out of all the events in her life that led her to this place, if only one had been different. If her father hadn't died, if she had refused the nomination, if Orrin had been a better candidate. She wondered at what it meant to have a normal life, or if such a thing even existed. She didn't know if she was capable of one, queen or not.
She often wondered what it would have been like if she hadn't fallen for the man with the quiet, serious eyes and scarred body. What it would have been like falling asleep alone on nights as dark as her skin, silence instead of the quiet, rhythmic breaths that made her feel secure. Wistful longing in place of the comfortable pressure of his arm around her waist. Reaching forward and touching only air instead of brown curls and warm skin.
Had her life been different, had she weighed her choices differently before making them decisions, had she listened to the advice of the people who loved her (and those who didn't), she wouldn't be here in this moment, right now, tracing the scar of this man with fingertips as soft as his gaze on her.
Nasuada loved to be told stories, and Murtagh indulged her. Sometimes he read to her from her own personal library, and she was lulled to sleep many nights curled up as close to him as possible, head resting on his chest, eyes slipping shut as his voice washed over her in rhythmic waves. Sometimes he told her his own stories from his childhood: old, familiar stories that she insisted on hearing again and again. He was an excellent storyteller and each time he retold a story, he would embellish it in a different way or tell it from someone else's perspective.
But most of his stories were written on his skin, and Nasuada could see and feel the proof of his tale as he told it. These stories meant more, the ones that his body told. And he wore them proudly, save one. They proved his resilience, his skill in battle, his tenacity and determination to survive. Nasuada admired the fire that burned in his eyes when he told them. The long, jagged scar on his back, however, told a story of anger and hurt so deep that it meant less than nothing to him, and that was a story that Nasuada would only ever hear once.
But more important than these were the scars that Murtagh showed her that she couldn't see. These ran deeper than any physical wound, and Nasuada knew she had a few of her own, too. Her father's death had not left her unscathed.
But these wounds were behind her now and were healing. Her father had died honorably and people sympathized with her. There were no quarrels to dig up or grievances to be made that would open and irritate old wounds.
This was not the case for Murtagh.
Every scar he owned, visible or not, began with the mark on his back. Years of mistreatment and unearned distrust had torn deep, jagged wounds of bitterness and resentment, and every look, every whisper overheard, tore a little deeper. No matter how hard he tried to ignore or push the comments out of his mind or downplay the attack on his dignity, he was not immune.
Nasuada knew this. She knew that staying in the capital, surrounded by the kinds of people he had grown up around, part of the same political game he had been introduced to as a child, would not be easy for him. And she felt incredibly guilty about it. She knew that she was the only reason he was staying, was the only thing between him and the road. She was the only obstacle to his chance of a life away from places where people knew his name and uttered it in low, judgmental whispers.
Nasuada did not ask Murtagh to remain in the capital after the war had ended. He had no obligation to stay and try to fix the mess that was Alagaesia after the king had finally been defeated. He had no duty to help mend a system that had caused him nothing but grief. That was her job. But, he did. Immediately after the war ended, he began working tirelessly day and night clearing rubble and organizing relief efforts. He supported her in her efforts to become queen when Orrin was pressuring her to step down. In the tense hours and days and weeks that followed, he became her most trusted confidante and closest friend, eventually slipping into the role of bodyguard as well. They were together all the time anyway.
There were several nobles paying careful attention to this sudden shift in roles and quickly raised their concerns. They began to protest that the appointment of the hated Morzan's first and only son as her personal bodyguard was not a good idea. He was probably just as deranged and waiting for the right chance and wouldn't she rather have one of their sons as a more appropriate choice?
Nasuada was direct but polite in her refusal. And her defense of her new bodyguard's integrity did not win him any more friends.
So she worried, because that was part of her job as queen. She worried that after all of the years of abuse and ostracism from people like these, that this was not the best place for him to heal. She despaired, but plans began to take shape in her mind to send him away. It was not what was best for her, or even for this new empire, but it was what was best for him.
She had arranged to meet with an emissary from Surda later that afternoon to discuss the logistics of the country potentially rejoining the empire, now that its dictator was overthrown. She made a mental note to also bring up the possibility of having Alagaesian citizens fill in vacant positions in the southern country to help smooth the transition, already contemplating how she would sell the idea.
She had a few names in mind.
Nasuada barely had time to collapse on the bed before he confronted her.
"I know what you're planning," he said flatly.
She looked over at him from where she was still lying on the bed. "Oh?"
"You're trying to send me away. I've played this game long enough to know political speak. And heaven knows I've been to enough meetings with you. You're not just trying to fill a position, Nasuada. You're trying to get me out of here."
His tone was not accusatory; he was merely stating what he saw as fact. His eyes were tired, resigned.
She did not attempt to make any denials.
"And why do you think I would be trying to get you out of here?"
He stared at her for moment without speaking. Nasuada held his gaze but felt it pierce through her. He was too perceptive.
"I've been trying to come up with that answer all evening. There are plenty of other people who could fill that position but less that could fill my current one. I know your routine, your habits, and we are well attuned to each other. And you've made it perfectly clear, to me at least, how you feel about having other bodyguards."
"Maybe I don't need a bodyguard."
He gave her a flat stare. "You know perfectly well that you do. For appearance, if nothing else. The queen cannot be allowed to walk around alone. Especially when it's only been a few months since the king was defeated and his supporters are still trying to infiltrate."
He walked over to the window and looked out at the scenery. The sun was just beginning to set and the bright colors unfurling across the sky contrasted sharply with the tone of their conversation. Nasuada marveled at how logically he had reflected on his emotional turmoil, methodically picking apart her reasoning and examining each piece. He was the most rational creature she had ever met. She absentmindedly thought to herself that if there was ever cause to go to war again, she would hire him as her strategist.
"The only reason I can think of is that you've finally gotten tired of having Morzan's son so close to you. Having me as your bodyguard isn't doing you any favors with the court," he said moodily.
She sat up and looked at him sharply, though his back was turned.
"I've never cared about that before, so why start now?" she asked. "You know I don't hold against you who your father was. What matters is your character, not his. The court needs to learn to accept that."
He turned and looked at her, uncomprehending. "Then why? Do you want me to leave?"
She sighed and broke his gaze, eyes resting on her bookshelf across the room.
"I know it's hard for you to be here. I know it hurts you what people say about you, how they treat you. No one should have to deal with that, especially when it's so undeserved. I foolishly thought that if I put you in a position so close to me, it would show them that they were wrong and that you were a person worthy of their respect. But it's done the opposite, and now I have to admit to myself that the only reasons I have for keeping you here are selfish ones. You deserve a chance to have a family and a home where you are respected and admired for who you are, not ridiculed and—"
She was talking too quickly, letting her emotions pour out in a way that she rarely allowed. He was kneeling in front of her now, hand reaching for hers. She hadn't noticed him move.
"You're not answering my question," he said gently. "Do you want me to leave?"
It would have been impossible to lie.
"No," she said. "But I think you need to."
He straightened up and sat down on the bed next to her. "Do you know," he asked, "why I decided to stay after the war ended? Why I even decided to fight for the Varden in the first place when I was so adamant that I never would?"
She shook her head.
"After that long, frustrating march through the desert and the mountains to get Eragon and Arya safely to the Varden, and after I was taken prisoner by your father for refusing to let the twins inside my head, I met someone who changed my mind."
He looked at her, mouth beginning to curl into a smile.
"I met you," he said. "One of the only people in my entire life that I've met who knew who I was but did not judge me. You know," he said pensively, "I traveled with Eragon for several months, fought with him, and even saved his life, and he was ready to forget everything he knew about me and what I'd done for him and fight me as an enemy. Even though there was no logical reason behind any of it. But you—knowing everything about my history and nothing about my character, you came in and spoke to me as an equal even as I was sitting in my cell as your father's prisoner! The nerve!"
Her lips quirked in a smile and she met his amused gaze.
"This was someone I could spend the rest of my life around. This was someone I could fight for. And I would do anything to be near her. Being around you, around someone who accepted me with no conditions and no questions asked. This is good for me."
She had been completely wrong. This was where he was healing, because she was here. And sending him away would not just be unwise, it would be destructive.
What a fool she was.
"Are you still going to send me away?" he dared, already knowing the answer.
"No," she said. "I'm going to go to bed. Besides, you would probably drive them as crazy as you drive me with your uncanny insightfulness and they would send you right back."
He laughed easily, and she smiled back at him. Honestly, she didn't know what she'd been thinking. She didn't know how she could last without him.
He crawled into bed and she climbed in after him.
"Promise me that no matter what I do, you won't leave."
He kissed her forehead and grinned at her affectionately.
"Not even if I lose to one of your silly bets."