I'm really sorry, guys. You know, when I first started writing this, I totally intended for Murtagh and Nasuada to end up together. But Orrin has just, like, taken in unprecedented leap into first place, here. So, we'll just have to see what happens. As you all must know, or be sensing (probably not xD), this fic is coming to a close :'(( I really am going to miss it, it's like a child to me now. I guess it's going to end in November. Tell you what. The last update, I will save for November 8th. Deal? I PROMISE, I will start another Inheritance story after this one. I can't part with it, I really can't. I'm really happy with how well this fic is going and has gone. Sorry, this is turning into a pre-farewell message :). I'm jumping the gun a little. I need to draw this to a close, so I'll probably be switching POVs a lot. I haven't done Orrin's POV since chapter 8 J and I like him again, so here are his thoughts. Okay, I don't even know why this story is called Flattery anymore. I mean, not literally, but, it just don't make sense no more. Oh well. The next chapter will probably be a little from Orrin's and mostly from Thorn's POV. This was kind of a dumb filler chapter. Hee hee :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Inheritance or anything I used from other authors. [Insert witty comment here]. I'm not really feeling humorous today. Sorry. Now, READ.

Orrin led Nasuada into the inn by the arm. Murtagh. Wouldn't Alagaësia would be much better off if he hadn't been born in the first place. Son of Morzan. Son of Selena. Of course they had to have a son – why not carry on the legacy of terror? Like father, like son. Bred to be evil.

Perhaps Orrin should start to be more like his own father. His just, righteous father, Larkin. Orrin was a born leader, like his father, and his father before him, but he doubted himself, at times. His sister, perhaps, could be a better leader than he could. Perhaps that was the problem, he doubted himself. He let his anger get in the way of his people, ruling his kingdom. Larkin never doubted himself.

What makes a good king? Orrin thought to himself as he pushed through the crowded inn, taking no questions, lost in his own world. A good king respected himself, first and foremost… Larkin had always said the queen made the king. He glanced over at Nasuada, still drying her tears. She was not unlike his own mother, he supposed: Strong-willed, wise, beautiful. Unfortunately, he hadn't inherited much of her looks.

Jörmundur slammed the door of a sitting room he has procured earlier, avoiding, as much as possible, slamming people's arms and fingers in the process.

Nasuada was still sobbing, her eyes wild with guilt. "It's my fault, all my fault." She buried her face in her hands.

"It is no one's fault," Jörmundur said firmly.

"Yes," Nasuada snapped, "it is. Can you not see? Galbatorix must have know, must have known we were in Feinster with Murtagh. He sent the warriors to come and get him."

"Why hasn't he already done this, while Murtagh was imprisoned in the Varden?"

"He never could have, of course! What about Eragon, and Arya, and Angela, and the citizens who've already fought the men who feel no pain? He had no power, no leeway; his greatest weapon was Murtagh, and Murtagh was who he was trying to retrieve, And he succeeded – because of me." Nasuada sniffed multiple times, trying again to subdue her flood of tears.

"But what of Murtagh's powers over magic? He's a rider, for heaven's sake!" Jörmundur exclaimed. "Even with sheer willpower on his side, he should have been able to overtake the men."

Nasuada shrugged listlessly. "How can we say what happened? I haven't a clue. Some kind of spell was biding his powers – he couldn't speak, or even cry out… they were hurting him…" she choked on the memory.

Jörmundur sighed. "Either way, he is still a dragon rider, and a very powerful one, at that. Would you be so worried about Eragon?"

Orrin broke his silence. "Of course not," he interrupted. "She doesn't feel the same way about Eragon." What would Larkin do? He asked himself, but he could not staunch the torrent of words. "She's been entranced by Murtagh, ever since she met him." Memories fueled the fire in his words and his heart.

"There was a young man by the name of Murtagh being imprisoned, by order of the Twins," she had told him. "He appeared completely innocent. He was handsome," her tone grew dreamy, "he had dark eyes, and hair, pale as the moon…" she shook her head, clearing it. "Remind you of anyone?"

Orrin shook his head without really examining its contents, Something had flashed in her eyes, something he could not decipher.

He could now.

"He told me of his adventures with Eragon – they seemed noble enough. His heart was in the right place. But they questioned him, and found that –"

"Always determined to find the best in people. That will be your downfall, my lady. There is not a kind, non-conniving bone in Murtagh's body. He looks noble enough, handsome, even – but upon further examination, the person he truly is unveiled."

"And how can anything different be said of you?"

Orrin bristled. She was comparing him to Murtagh? The son of Morzan? But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to apply to him. Where had his nobility, his integrity gone? Had he thrown it away in his jealousy of Murtagh? Or had it ever really been there at all? Nasuada's words hung in the air like a lead weight as she flung open the door, and disappeared down the hall, the Nighthawks in her wake.

Jörmundur sat up straighter, as if considering how quickly he could catch up if he were to go after her. Then his eyes landed on Orrin.

They were steely, but not unkind. "I do recall your days as a child, Orrin Borromeo. How quickly one can change. I thought I saw in you what I see in Nasuada now, what I could not imagine in her then. Have the qualities of a leader left you?"

"That's just what my father would say." Orrin blinked several times. Nasuada has stirred dust up in the air, slamming the door the way she did.

"You've inherited your pride from him," Jörmundur observed, "and your inability to mask your emotions."

"I beg to differ."

"Your jealousy has not gone unnoticed. You want Nasuada to yourself. She would make a fine queen, I daresay."

I don't know what I want, Orrin thought. "Anyone is better than that scallywag (This word does npt seem to fit... at all. Maybe use 'devil' instead, it seems better to me.) Murtagh."

"That's what your father said when he married your mother. 'Anything to keep her away from that peasant, Jörmundur.' You see, your mother was a very, very wise and talented woman – well she is, I should say. But she was torn between the choice of two men, both vying for her affections. She was completely bewitched with one - a poorer man, but his intellect was promising. The other was, of course, was your father, a king.

"Larkin was determined to keep you mother from that peasant, so he promised her jewels, and a bright future, and a family. Something the poor man couldn't guarantee without a doubt. It was easy to see from my vantage point that he didn't really love her – not the way he should have.

"But your mother, Amelia, was convinced. So they married, and your sister was born, then you."

"And the point of you story?" Orrin asked impatiently; it wasn't as if Jörmundur was telling anything he didn't already know.

"This will come as a shock to you, but your sister, Mayrse, is not you sister."

Orrin sat rigid, his mouth agape. "What – I –" he sputtered.

"Not fully," Jörmundur finished. "Your father became infatuated with a lady of his court – Mayrse, if I do remember correctly. But I have reason to suspect that she was not exactly who she said she was."

"Why… why wouldn't my father tell me this? And why would my mother let my sister live as her daughter?" Orrin's heart rate sped. Lies, he thought, I've grown up in a lie. "Does Mayrse know of her parentage?" he asked shakily.

Jörmundur shook his head. "Sadly, no. To answer you questions, you father told no one. Your mother believed that she and her husband were simply adopting an orphaned child. She had no idea why your father decided on the name Mayrse, but she settled for it."

"You said that she was under an assumed name." He was almost afraid to ask. "Who…?"

"I am under the assumption that your sister's mother is Selena."

That's it. I'm sure you can see the implication this development brings. Thanks to Writer of the North for betaing. And I still don't think that's a word. Haha. Okay, like, read &, like, review, okay? Cool. Totally review. Lol, I just really wanted to use an ampersand.

Chao bella (I don't know what that means :))

-Seastar97