A/N: Okay, so updates are going to be about once a week. June is coming up and that means graduation…I have so much to do! And prom was Saturday. So, once a week will have to do.

Anyways, I was getting bored with Murtagh's depressing illness stage. So we're going to skip forward about a week. Moving forward was an absolute must. There's nothing more for me to develop using lead poisoning (and this is not only about entertaining you, my wonderful readers, but also keeping me interested. If I loose interest, the fic goes down hill). So, in need of balance, I concocted yet another halfway pointless chapter for my own petty amusement.

Okay, enough babbling. Thanks again my loyal reviewers!

Twenty One

Queen of Hearts

A week passed before Angela told the healers Murtagh was well enough to leave his rooms. He was grateful for the absence of the stomach cramps, the headaches, the fevers, but most importantly he was glad to breath fresh air again. His room was incredibly stuffy, too quiet, and dark. Outside, he no longer felt dead and isolated.

The healers said that he made a miraculous recovery. It was quite possible that he still had a small quantum of lead in his blood, though he showed no sign of it. Even the bluish lead line running along his gums had disappeared.

Although Nasuada had visited him almost every day (and usually at night) he felt compelled to go see her. He could not explain why it was so important to find her, or why that was the first thing he wanted to do.

You're either an idiot, or you're as blind as Eragon, said Thorn. Nasuada has been sleeping in your bed and yet you will not confess that there is anything between you two.

Murtagh stopped, half flinching. His insides and his face burned. We didn't do anything, he said quickly. We just happened to sleep in the same bed. Nothing serious.

Sleeping together is a most intimate behavior. Of course, Thorn said wickedly, it is perfectly understandable to be afraid to do anything at all.

Fire burned Murtagh's face from chin to crown. I am not scared! He almost shouted it out loud, but caught himself first.

If you say so.

After awhile, Thorn wandered off, leaving Murtagh alone to his thoughts (which were mostly about Nasuada). Arya had asked him to talk to Nasuada about training. She was thoroughly convinced that Murtagh could talk her into anything. Though Murtagh agreed that training was vitally important for her, he did not want to bring it up. She already had so much on her mind, and he did not want to pressure her at all.

At a distance he heard Thorn say, Tell her you can be study buddies. You could even tell each other bedtime stories. She'll like that.

You're being a pest, Murtagh told him, irritated with all the teasing.

And you're a lovesick puppy, but I am not howling to the moon.


Saphira was right, Murtagh said darkly, your jokes aren't funny. It worked a little too well when he felt Thorn withdraw from their link entirely, leaving Murtagh under an overhang of guilt. Thorn's teasing was usually his way of getting Murtagh's attention, or making a smart remark. Murtagh, though, was more afraid of Thorn's coldness than his anger.

For a while he wandered the castle's cloisters, avoiding the sun's heat until he found Nasuada. She was coordinating the wedding preparations in the castle's giant, outdoor dinning court. Everything was dressed in white lace, satin, or flowers.

Garth was not too far away from Nasuada, who was placing candles on the long tables, while lecturing a young maid on how to set out the silverware. "The forks go on the left— little fork on the inside— then the big one," she said. "The spoon and the knife go on the right, with the spoon inside. And the desert spoon goes above the plate…I think."

Murtagh came up behind them. "I think you're right," he said.

Nasuada's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "I haven't set tables in years. So if it is wrong, then those boot licking noblemen can kiss my—"

"You used to set tables?" the maid asked, astonished.

"It's what important people do to waste young people's time," Murtagh said. He shuttered, remembering when the court made him and all the other children in the castle take etiquette classes. "They make you take classes on how to be 'proper' young people."

"There are far more interesting things to study," Nasuada assured the maid.

"Like fencing," Murtagh said.

"And archery."

"Or juggling."

"Juggling, sir?" the maid said with a funny look.

"It's better than practicing dance steps and sipping tea," Nasuada said. She smiled at Murtagh. "Although I think I would like to put those lessons to use tomorrow. Dancing, I mean. If you're feeling up to it."

"My tutor would have smacked me if I had the gall to say no."

Nasuada beamed. "I'll hold you to your word."

Finally, Murtagh summoned up courage. "Actually, I was wondering—" Before he could go on, Firacia came up to them. Her arms were full while she carried a big pile of different colored dresses. She peered behind the pile, wobbling on her feet.

"My lady," she said. "The seem tress has finished these dresses for you."

Nasuada raised a brow. "I asked for a simple gown," she said. "Not a whole tower!"

"The seamstress was unsure of what you wanted. So she sent me with these. She insisted that you had first pick of her latest ware."

Nasuada sighed. "Can this wait until later? We still have to set up for the orchestra."

"Orchestra?" Murtagh said.

"It was Orrin's idea," Nasuada told him. "He makes sure that his house is as bare bone so that when it comes time to celebrate, our festivities can knock off their socks, so he tells me."

"My lady," Firacia insisted. "You still haven't picked your dress. A dress. Any dress. The fest is tomorrow night!"

"I can't choose one right now. I—"

Firacia stuck a finger at Murtagh. "Then he will help you decide."

Murtagh stepped back. He was in incredibly dangerous territory. The feminine world of fashion and womanism was a knotty and complicated province, bound by laws far beyond any gentleman's imagination and compression. In the world of women, men were simply monkeys, as Tornac used to say. "I'd rather not," he said quickly.

Firacia glared while Nasuada looked at him with a frown. "Why not? Am I not worth your time?"

Trapped, Murtagh said, "I would be glad to help you."

That pleased both women, and Murtagh thought, Damn you Tornac for being right!

Nasuada excused the servants for lunch and returned to her office, with Faricia and her reluctant monkey in tow. The guards smiled at Nasuada, and frowned when they saw Murtagh. He wondered if they knew where Nasuada went at night.

The first dress she tried on was a satin black gown with large, draping handkerchief sleeves. The dress was long and slender, and spilled out over the ground in a giant pool of coal-black satin. Murtagh's immediate response was no.

Nasuada put her hands on her slender hips and demanded a reason why. Her monkey hung his head, intimidated by her clout words, and said, "It's a wonderful dress…if you're Queen of the Underworld."

Both women gave him a challenging look. "Underworld?"

"You look like a vampire." He'd blurted that out on accident and instantly regretted it. "I mean…you're a really pretty vampire?"

Nasuada rolled her eyes and marched back behind the dressing screen. "He's right, this is a wedding, not a funeral."

The next one she tried on was orange, and covered in lace and orange ribbon from bosom to hem. The neck was cut in a very low V-shape. The bodice was orange (plum spice as Faricia corrected) and tight around her waist. In contrast, the skirts were heavy with lace and embroidered white cloth, and curved over her hips in wide bell-shape. "Pumpkin pie," Murtagh said. "I love pumpkin pie. Very delectable." When Nasuada didn't slap him, her maid thumped him on the back of the head. "I said it was good."

"No," Nasuada said, looking in the mirror. "It's too big and the neck is far too low."

"We wouldn't want anything falling out," Firacia said, almost sarcastically.

"Wouldn't that be a shame?" Murtagh muttered and the maid thumped him again.

The rest of the dresses were inadequate for numerous reasons. It was mostly because they were too fancy, or too plain, or just flat out bizarre, or incompatible. The last one was a solid, flashing gold color that was hemmed to Nasuada's knees and clung tightly to her every curve. "I hate it," Nasuada said, before her two critics could politely protest. She ran her hands smoothly over her hips. "It makes me look chunky."

"No, not chunky. Never that," Murtagh said, trying to find the right words. "It just accents your, uh, best womanly features…with a considerable emphasis?" He ducked in time as Faricia swooped in.

"Well, I would rather not emphasize my womanliness tomorrow night in public." She smiled wryly. "I must reserve it for privet modeling only."

Faricia only shook her head. "Excuse my impatience, milady, but you must choose something for tomorrow so that I can iron and help you ready."

"Then I think you should find a new seamstress," Murtagh said. He quickly added, "I grew up in the center of Alagaësia's capital. Only trashy, wanna-be-important woman try to keep up with the latest fashions." His stomach cramped at the thought of all the persnickety women, wives of greedy pig-brained ears and lords, running around Uru-baen in their fancy attire. None of them, however, could ever compare to Nasuada.

Then, for a monkey, he did a very bold thing and went to Nasuada's wardrobe and rummaged through the dresses until he found a nice, cherry red evening gown that had short, loosely flared sleeves. The front was short and cut in an A-shape, longer in the back, and there was a dainty ruffle over the breast. "I like this one," he said. "It's classy."

Nasuada ran the soft cloth through her fingers thoughtfully. "My father gave it to me," she said softly. "I haven't worn it since he passed away. He said it was classy too."

"He had good taste," Murtagh said. "The Queen of Hearts."

A weak, forced smile appeared on her face. "As good taste as a man can get." She took the dress from him and hung it back up in the wardrobe. "I should return to the dinning court. Lunch is nearly over."

As she turned away, Murtagh caught her by the sleeve. "You could be the Queen of my Heart," he said, hoping to cheer her up in some way.

She pulled away without meeting his gaze. "I'll think about it."

I'm on a roll here, Murtagh thought grimly. I keep upsetting everyone around me. First it was Thorn, then the maid, and now Nasuada.

"Was it something I said?" he asked the maid, slumping in the chair.

Straightening out the discarded dresses, Faricia shook her head. "She just misses her father, that's all. She has a lot on her mind lately, so she hasn't had much time to grieve." She chuckled cynically. "Queen of Hearts. Ajihad would have been thrilled to hear that."

A/N: In chapter twenty, I was in a hurry and forgot to spell check. Also, I don't know how to spell Nasuada's maid's name. My Eldest book is at school at the bottom of my locker and we just got out of a four-day weekend (in which I wrote this chapter).

I know I haven't done much with Garth yet. I intend to probably by chapter twenty-two or three (no promises though). For now, he's just a fat, cute little hatchling.