A/N: Hey guys! Chapter 13 is ready. If you've read my previous updates, you've probably noticed how I'm putting off them getting to Feinster... Yeah, well I'm putting it off until next chapter. I still have some brainstorming. Anyway, I'm sorry to say, I've been having some technical difficulties :( My laptop broke and I can't use my family computer for two hours, so I devised a plan: First, I write out everything. Then, I type it onto my iPod touch notes app, and then I email it to myself, then I revise it on my family's computer, which only takes about fifteen minutes, opposed to 2 hours. Anyway, the only problem is I have homework and blah blah blah, and it takes me a longer time to get each update out :( I'm tryin'. Enough of my problems, just read the chapter :). And review, please.
Chapter 13
Nasuada stuck her head into Murtagh's new tent just evening broke.
"Murtagh?" she said softly. The rider hauled himself upright. "Yeah?" he grunted. His shoulder still pained him from the day's earlier exertion.
"I've brought Thorn."
"Hmm?" This surprised Murtagh.
You can't even give me a heads up? He demanded.
Thorn bristled. She insisted I not disturb you.
Murtagh sighed. He felt as though Thorn were on an ice floe, growing more and more distant with each passing second, and gliding off into some miserable, unbidden sea. They hadn't been conversing very much ever since they seemed to be out of mortal peril. They certainly weren't as protective of each other any longer.
I'd hate to think our entire relationship was based off of fear and a desire to keep living, Murtagh thought to himself.
Thorn sensed his feelings. Don't become too worried, Little Misery; plenty of peril surely awaits us.
You're not concerned, then? How are things going to be when we settle down and Alagaësia is finally peaceful? We'll be as bitter as two widowed old hags!
If we live that long, we'll worry about it then, said Thorn curtly. He severed the connection between them.
"I have a proposition," said Nasuada. She was still leaning into the tent, and her ringing tones made Murtagh's skin tingle.
"That would be?" he stretched and rubbed his eyes, though had been lying awake.
"For you to say more than a few choppy sentences to me at a time. And to ride Thorn to confirm that I shouldn't be sick a few hours into the flight to Feinster. It would be a shame to have to fly back and lose that much time."
She turned abruptly and left to tent, apparently intending to continue the conversation outside.
Murtagh strode over to Thorn and began scratching in between his scarlet scales. He was unable to distinguish blood from anything else.
You need a bath, he said disgustedly.
So do you, Thorn snapped.
"Can we bathe first?" asked Murtagh.
In the river, Thorn added, projecting his thoughts so Nasuada could hear.
The young lady sighed and shook her head. "We haven't the time," she said. "Though it would be favorable to ride on a clean dragon. Anyhow, you wouldn't be able to bathe in the Jiet River, it's so disgusting."
Murtagh shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, holding out a hand and hoisting Lady Nightstalker into the saddle. She looked a bit awkward, perched atop the red dragon, not knowing what to hold on to. Murtagh smirked.
The red rider slung himself up as lithely as any elf could. Once in the saddle, he expertly fastened the straps on Nasuada's legs. He'd had a replica of the saddle Brom ha firs constructed for Eragon made for him in Uru'baen. He'd grown accustomed to strapping Arya into it. A mistake, of course. Nothing in his life ever stayed the same. It was like a rug being pulled out from under his feet.
Nasuada was glancing around uneasily. Murtagh planted her clammy hands on one of Thorn's spikes.
"Just keep hold of that. You'll be fine." He smiled reassuringly, earning only a delicate frown in return.
Go easy, Thorn, he thought.
Say please.
Please.
The dragon took off with a jolt. Clouds of dust and grime billowed around them; this had not been a good place to takeoff. Nasuada's scream was reduced to a choked squeal. Murtagh studied her as Thorn gained altitude and the dust cleared. She was wearing a turquoise dress up to her knees instead of the customary ankle-length. Her eyes were still squeezed shut and her lashes were so thick that brushed her dark cheeks. She was beautiful. If he ignored Thorn's heavy stench, Murtagh could smell a faint, cinnamony scent. He turned his attention to his dragon when she opened her eyes.
How are you? He asked guardedly, ready for a scathing reply.
Alright.
They've been treating well? I'll have their heads if they haven't.
Yes. Nasuada visits me often. She is very interested in the way I was brought up and trained in Uru'baen, in comparison to Saphira.
Hmm... Murtagh thought to himself.
Perhaps that is the real reason why Nasuada wants to fly Thorn. There's no way we could be eavesdropped upon, so high in the air. Except maybe by the birds and bats. A courageous attempt, nonetheless.
Nasuada interrupted his thoughts. He would have to continue his first civil conversation with Thorn later.
"Forgive me, Shur'tugal, for I know I am reiterating a question you've been asked before - but how exactly were you trained in Uru'baen?"
Murtagh gritted his teeth. He was right. "There's plenty of time for that on the trip to Feinster," he skirted. "How do you like it up here?"
"It's beautiful." They were silent. There was no subject, other than that of Galbatorix, Uru'baen, and dragon riders, to broach.
"How have you been?" asked Murtagh in a lame attempt at conversation.
"Myself or the Varden as a whole?" asked Nasuada. She sounded extraordinarily weary.
"Yourself."
"Confused. Frustrated. Leading the Varden is a tiresome task." The young maiden sighed helplessly. "How can I concentrate on defeating Galbatorix when I must look over report after report of petty complaints and thievery? My job is so varied, that sometimes I still feel like I am still dealing with the council of Elders and civilians, when really I am conversing with King Orrin, the sole reason why the Varden is having relative good luck - and I cannot hold my tongue. And there is still the matter of finances. Unless Galbatorix himself starts to fund the Varden, I don't know what we are going to do. The elves have cut trade with us and still refuse to offer their support in warriors, the Dwarves are already lending their sustenance in too-massive amounts, and even if the humans not fighting against the accursed king feed the Varden, it still will not be sufficient." She sighed again.
"Do you ever cease worrying?" Murtagh wondered aloud. It seemed unimaginable to his that one person could have so much floating around their head at one time. Unless they weren't your own thoughts. But even so, sharing a mind with Thorn and twenty eldunarya at once probably couldn't compare to what Nasuada had to deal with day-in and day-out.
"It seems like ten more of you wouldn't be enough," he continued. "And I'm sure that's not even the half of it."
Nasuada's creased brow smoothed, and though she released the frown from her lips, she did not smile.
"Ten more of me would be nice. And a break from this chaos. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if my duties didn't take so much out of me."
"You need to learn how to relax. Tornac taught me a long time ago. Try to come to terms with your current situation. I'll teach you; we'll have the time."
Thorn bucked.
What? Asked Murtagh.
Nothing. Just an updraft. The red dragon maneuvered out of the upward stream of air. Nasuada tightened her grip on Thorn's back spike, but made no sound.
The weather had become significantly warmer since Murtagh had first arrived. Not that the cold bothered Murtagh. Uru'baen was no Hadarac. But the air, he noticed, had a bone-clinging chill to it, as if foretelling some imminent disaster.
"Shall we land?" the red rider asked politely.
"No," said Lady Nightstalker, rubbing her hands together cautiously, moving them only a fraction of an inch away from her red hand-hold. "I like it up here. I really do." Her tone rang with conviction, unlike earlier when she had responded unenthusiastically to Murtagh's question. "It's easy to take my mind off my obligations and just... Relax."
Yeah, Murtagh thought, it's easy for her to relax after she's spurted her emotions all out on me.
Nasuada, finally seeming to let go of her inhibitions, settled in the saddle behind Murtagh and released a pent-up breath.
The chill became progressively more prominent, though, until they were forced to land. Murtagh dismounted.
"I don't think the flight to Feinster should be a problem, Murtagh," said Nasuada, once on the ground. She curtsied, and then strode gracefully into the night. But not without glancing reluctantly behind her, at dragon and rider's silhouettes
I don't know about you, but I like the word breathe a lot better than the word breath. ANYWAY, I must confess, I had a barrel of monkeys writing this chapter! Not hard at all. The next one might be a little harder, though, because I'm Finally bringing it back to Nasuada's POV. REVIEW! (PLEASE?)
Peace out/ Chao/ Read my next chapter!/ Bye.
-Seastar