A/N: Hey guys. I'm having problems with this fic. In my mind, I mean. Like, Murtagh's framework is so vauge. It is driving me up the wall. Let me know what you think, please. Also, I think Tuesday will be my official updating day. I always seem to finish my chapters on Tuesdays... Happy reading!
CHAPTER 14!
Nasuada was reluctant to leave her dreams. Still, they slowly drifted out of her mind as she drifted back into consciousness.
She opened her eyes and rolled out of bed. It was far less comfortable since Murtagh had slept in it and mashed down the mattress.
Murtagh. Some thinking had to be done about him.
Lady Nightstalker peered out of her tent flap. It was cloudy, though the moon could be still be seen, just disappearing under yonder. She still had some time to sleep.
But she couldn't. Her dream was coming back to her in foggy fragments.
She was on a dragon. A dragon that was as black as the void itself. There was a battle raging around them... And a sword, a sword came hurtling through the din - and struck the dragon in the chest. The ebony beast roared.
She was on a cot, clawing at her own chest. Then if felt as if a tremendous weight was being lifted off of her person. Then wild terror replaced it. She screamed a name.
"SHRU-!"
Nasuada cut the thought off as one pinches a leaking water skin. She felt feverish and dominantly sorrowful. How was it possible to feel in ones dreams? She knew not.
The young maiden considered summoning Farica, her loyal hand maid, but what good would it do? She would be in a frenzy, with the daunting prospect of having no mistress to take orders from looming over her.
So Nasuada lay in bed again, staring at the tent's red ceiling until she figured it must be time to start preparation for the voyage. It was impossible for her to tell, seeing as how she'd lost the time piece King Orrin had given her upon arriving in Aberon - when was it? Six, eight months ago? Long enough. Perhaps it was time to move the Varden, before Galbatorix located them. The expedition to Feinster presented the perfect opportunity to determine whether the city was safe enough for her people.
Nasuada pulled herself up, feeling more fatigued than she had before. By the time she had washed, dressed, found her trunk outside Farica's tent, and examined it and the saddlebags beside it, Nasuada had a TO-DO list that would have been Saphira's length had it been written out on a scroll (as she would have preferred) and not being contained in her aching head.
Just as the sun was beaming its first rays over the eastern entrance, Nasuada entered Farica's tent.
The maid had her back turned to the entry flap. When she turned around, she let out a startled exclamation. "Please, excuse my excitement, my lady," she said, realizing that her mistress stood in the doorway.
"It's alright, Farica. Shall be accompanying me to the North Gate?"
Farica's hand flew to her mouth. "It can't be time for you to depart yet! Why, your trunk, the packs-"
"Have all been readied, by you for that matter. Now stop gaping at me and let's go. We're late enough as it is."
Murtagh and Thorn stood serenely at the North gate, their backs to the approaching ladies.
Watching the sunrise, having a silent conversation, Nasuada inferred.
The bonded pair seemed almost too beautiful to look at, Thorn's blood-red scales glowing ever so brilliantly in the orange-tinged shafts of light that managed to slip through the clouds, Murtagh leaning against his rough foreleg.
The young maiden felt a twinge of envy at their intimacy and radiance. Then she noticed the contents of her trunk strewn about the ground.
It wasn't the entire contents of her trunk. About half.
"What's this?" She asked Murtagh, holding up one of her better pairs of shoes.
The young red rider turned around. His ice blue eyes shone with intensity for a moment, but the blazing look was quickly replaced with one of amusement.
"We took the saddlebags, as we were instructed. I could tell you had already looked them over, so I loaded Thorn up. He tried to take off, but the trunk was a bit too cumbersome." Murtagh's face split into a smile. "We figured if we were going to get anywhere fast, we should remove at least half your weight."
"I see," said Nasuada, thinking how Eragon and Saphira never would have done this. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance. She sighed in frustration.
"I hope you've made the saddlebags impervious to water, Murtagh."
She gathered her things from the ground, and removed various items from the bottom of her trunk before replacing them.
"Hopefully that will be satisfactory," she Lady Nightstalker said, standing. "Have these things taken back to my pavilion, Farica."
Murtagh hefted the significantly lighter trunk onto Thorn while Farica scurried off and Nasuada straightened her traveling cloak and her dress.
"How long are you anticipating this tip to take, Murtagh?" It felt so informal using the rider's first name, but Argetlam and Shur'tugal seemed even less appropriate.
"I was hoping a day and a half," the young man replied, "but Mother Nature seems to be having its own plans." Lightning flashed in the distance, emphasizing his point.
Nasuada wrinkled her nose delicately. Flying was alright. Flying in the rain – a different thing entirely.
She decided to ask the obvious of Murtagh. "Is there any way we can, perhaps, delay the flight a day or two?" It was a silly question, really. She had been the one pressing their departure for days.
"Squeamish, are we? A little rain never killed a person, you know."
Nasuada scowled. "Funny, I never knew you to be the teasing type, back in Farthen Dûr, when I used to visit you every day," she said, hard determination showing in her eyes. Whatever Murtagh thought she could take, at that moment, she was sure she could take ten times worse.
"I didn't either." There just seemed, to Murtagh, to be an excess amount of things to tease about when Nasuada was around.
"Shall we go?" He asked, dropping the subject. He held out his hand for Nasuada, just as he had the other night.
Knowing full well what might await, she took it – grudgingly.
To Nasuada's utter horror, it began raining about half an hour after they took off. Hard.
Murtagh seemed to be enjoying it, though. He held his head high and squeezed his eyes shut as the drops pelted his pale face.
Apparently he'd forgotten who was sitting behind him, getting soaked to the bone.
"Murtagh," Nasuada growled through clenched teeth.
The red rider seemed to jerk out of some unreal fantastical reality, before answering. "Yes?"
"Can we, by any chance, get out of this pleasant shower?" She saved sarcasm for when she was extra infuriated.
"I suppose," Murtagh said reluctantly. Without any audible or visible prodding, Thorn jetted upward, into the clouds.
The view would have been spectacular, had it not been obstructed by the ugly, black clouds that matched Nasuada's mood. Still, the sun was shining.
It was, actually, quite stuffy above a thunderhead, not at all like one would expect. Nasuada was just beginning to regret having had made Murtagh fly out of the storm, or having been convinced that it was better to fly ahead with him at all, when Murtagh said, "Say, have you ever tried to use magic, or touch anyone's mind?"
"Yes."
"Can you?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
"Wouldn't you like to try again, at least?" Murtagh pestered.
Nasuada sighed. "Alright. Though I've trained with the most skilled magicians of the Varden as a child. I doubt magic runs in my blood."
Murtagh snorted. "Ah, but the Varden's spell caster's can't even imagine the power Galbatorix has. And he taught me everything I know. I'll make a magician out of you yet."
One more thing: If I update on Tuesdays, then I want a bunch of REVIEWS by Thursday night! So tell your friends (if you aren't too ashmed to tell them you read fanfiction, like I am), and if you have any suggestions on how to make a fanfic popular, let me know in a REVIEW. And yes, I will always capitalize the word REVIEW.
Bye/Peace out, my homies/Chao/Sayonara (it that's even how you spell it)
-Seastar97