A/Notes: Posted 9-28-2013
Well, I guess that waiting 10 months is a little better than a whole year. But I must say that I am not exactly meeting my intended schedule. Still, if I sit here crying about my tardiness, I'll never get to the chapter. So let's all dive back in... Yes? XD
Chapter Ten: Eyes of the Heart
The confrontation wasn't going well. From the start there was an uneasiness between the rider and the general that rather quickly had evolved into a shouting match.
"This don't change a thing Morzansson... And the people here feel the same way I do. We might have to put up with you being here, but none of us have to like it."
"Fine," Murtagh hissed. "Don't like it."
"Then why don't you just stop all the pretending. You don't like us any more than we like you. You are just using us. You need us to maintain your freedom. And we're only helping you because... because... Hell, I don't even know why we are helping you."
"Perhaps it is because with a second rider, the Varden has a better chance of defeating their enemy."
"You ARE the enemy," the general roared, causing even the fearless red rider to pull back.
"No!" the rider insisted with a tense fierceness. Flinty grey eyes flashed with resentment. "I am not your enemy... I am your enemy's enemy. Therefore I am an ally by default."
Roran snarled his wordless denial, fists clenched and ready for the moment that the rider turned against him. But other than intensifying his hostile gaze, Murtagh made no move to react with physical force.
"You were there," Murtagh whispered accusingly to the bearded man. "You saw the answer to your accusations... taken straight from my mind. You know the truth, and yet you still condemn me. Why?"
Roran's face flinched with recognition, but then hardened again with a determination that required no explanation. So he gave none.
"I can't help but wonder what has changed. Why now after all these weeks, why are you choosing to push me?"
"It isn't a sudden change," the general clarified. "I've always hated you, and I always will..."
"I don't require your friendship Stronghammer," snarled the rider, interrupting Roran's declaration.
"No. Of course you don't... not as long as you can keep my brother fooled."
"Eragon is my brother!" Murtagh exclaimed, and an almost desperate quality was laced within his otherwise hostile tone. And the words subsided into a frosty silence as the two men glared unflinchingly.
"You'll make a mistake eventually, you know," Roran purred through his sneer. "And when you do he will see you for what you really are... a traitor. And that day I will watch you die... by your brother's hand."
The rider's heart pounded like it was seeking escape from his chest. It was all Murtagh could do to restrain his fury, and the general knew it well. Fists balled tightly, the rider narrowed his eyes, and after a momentary internal struggle, he spoke to his superior officer in a harsh, terse whisper through clenched teeth.
"Permission to withdraw... sir."
"Granted," Roran spat with disgust. "And the further the better."
The rider spun on his heels and stormed out of the tent, nearly running over a stunned woman with long coppery hair. She had been standing outside the sturdy fabric dwelling that served as a war-conference, and was patiently waiting for her husband. But the emergence of the livid rider caused her to stumble backwards. Reflexively, Murtagh reached out to catch the woman before she fell, and steadied her on her feet.
He must not have know how he appeared in that moment, impatient and still furious, with a permanent scowl etched across his face, but when his eyes met her fearful gaze, a change happened to his expression. It softened. He didn't want to be feared or hated. He didn't want to cause anger or anxiety. He just wanted to be...
Seeing that the woman was with child, the rider seemed to draw the conclusion as to her identity... Stronghammer's wife. Stormy grey eyes averted quickly, but it was too late. She had already seen the depth of the man's anger, but that wasn't all she noticed. Lurking beneath the impenetrable walls of stone, was the fleeting reflection of a boy well acquainted with loss and abandonment. And then the rider was gone, disappeared around a corner, while she was left standing, stunned and alone.
Over her own breathing, she could hear the muffled cursing, coming from inside the tent. The voice was one that she knew well, so she straightened her stance, and stepped into the canvas den.
Still fuming from his meeting with the rider, the general wasn't paying attention to the entrance. He paced the length of the tent several times before he noticed that he had a visitor.
"Roran, are you alright?" the copper haired woman asked with light concern. Her tone was ever so slightly touched with dissatisfaction.
Two brown eyes snapped open wide with surprise, for the general had thought he was alone. Then he nodded his reply, his face reverting to a less severe version of its earlier fury.
"You're fine then?..." she pressed him further. And though her words expressed concern, the tone of her voice was starting to sound more interrogative. This time the general nodded, but with a frown of confusion. But before he got the chance to inquire what was wrong, his wife -and love of his life- placed her hands on her hips and released some pent up ire of her own.
"Then may I ask exactly what it was you were just doing?" she demanded indignantly. "I don't believe I have ever heard such spite coming from your lips... Speaking against that boy like you just did now... and doing so as if you were speaking for all of the Varden... How could you be so cruel?"
Roran was momentarily stunned into silence. When he tried to respond, it started out as a stammer, but then he finally got out his reply.
"That boy?!" he blurted in disbelief. "Are you mad?... That 'boy' is the son of a monster, and the tool of the enemy. We can't let ourselves be deceived by his false face of friendship."
"Roran Garrowsson," the saucy woman snapped. "I am surprised at you. That 'tool of the enemy' is your cousin. And what's more he is the reason you are alive and with us today."
Roran had openly spoken to her about some of the images he had received from the rider's memories. And he had confessed his confusion over why Murtagh had watched casually as he dispatched the twins at the Battle of the Burning Plains. The rider could have easily stopped him, or warned the magicians of the impending attack. But he didn't. And while Roran had pondered the rider's motivation, Katrina only focused on gratitude.
"And if that isn't enough, he is also the reason that Eragon is still alive and free, and that both of you were able to rescue me from the... that place..."
Her tirade broke off into a strangled whisper, as the memory of her time in captivity rose to choke her into silence. Many were the nights that she would awaken to dreams of her experience at Helgrind, and her helplessness never failed to move her husband to her side.
All anger forgotten, Roran threw his arms protectively around his wife, and he pulled her close, muffling her sobs.
"It's alright, Katrina. I'm sorry... I've got you," he whispered into her hair. "You are safe... you both are... we all are."
His cradling motion quickly soothed her roiling emotions, and her composure returned to her with each breath. Finally recovered, she tipped her head back, copper curls cascading down her back, and looked into his worried face.
"We are safe," she said softly, as a tear rolled down her cheek. "And that 'boy' was a part of that."
Roran schooled his disapproval, so as not to further upset his wife, but even though he disagreed, there was a part of his mind that was actually considering her words.
"Time will tell," he muttered gently. "And it would still be prudent to prepare for the worst."
"Why are you so sure he's your enemy?" Katrina's voice had softened now, and her composure had returned. "Surely you can trust Eragon's judgement."
"Eragon's judgement," the general said with a harsh bark of a laugh. "Eragon isn't able to look at this thing logically. All he sees is another rider, someone to share his burden with. But that will only work if the rider can be trusted, and Murtagh can't. Katrina, having another rider should ease Eragon's workload, and give him more time. But instead he ends up stuck guarding the devilsson and his beast." Roran threw empty desperate glances about the tent, as if searching for the right words before continuing. "They're always together, you know. Eragon spends all his time revealing what he knows, all his training, all his secrets, and right into the traitor's hands. And if he isn't doing that, he is following the red rider around like a homeless puppy..."
"Like he used to follow you around?..."
"What?!" Roran balked vehemently. "That is 'not' what this is about. This is about my brother's welfare. Spending time around that cursed forsworn will only cause Eragon trouble, and weaken him in the eyes of those who follow him. Eragon is a rider. He has responsibilities."
"And he is fulfilling them," the woman countered calmly. "By your own account, he is the only one who can secure the red rider."
"Perhaps," Roran grumbled. "But he doesn't have to enjoy his lot so well."
"Roran," she began cautiously, "are you 'jealous' of Murtagh?"
"Ridiculous!"
"Jealous that he is a rider... that he is Eragon's brother... that they are becoming friends."
"No! It's not that, Katrina."
"Then what is it that makes you so unhappy?"
For some reason this simple question and the gentleness with which it was asked, triggered an emotional reaction within him that left him open, vulnerable, and willing to -or perhaps even needing to- expose the fear at the core of his animosity. The General was a man who thrived on control, but here he had none. And in his eyes Katrina could see how lost her husband truly felt.
"I feel like I am losing my brother..." he whispered. "And he's all I have left of my family."
'All you have left of your family...'
Katrina snorted skeptically.
"Nonsense. You aren't losing anything, Roran. Just look at this through the eyes of your heart, and think about everything you do have. You have a loving wife, a baby on the way, the command of the queen's most formidable troops, the respect of your peers... 'and' the devotion of your brother Eragon."
At Roran's silent acceptance of her words, Katrina continued.
"And what does he have?" she asked wistfully. "No friends, no one to trust, no one who cares, no family except for Eragon and yourself... and you begrudge him that one small comfort?"
"He has a dragon," Roran agued weakly.
"Who is likely as much of an outcast as his rider."
A long pause transpired where the two of them held their gazes and shared their feelings, and Katrina spoke again, her words no more than a loving plea. But it pierced his determination against the red rider.
"Take a chance and get to know your cousin before you write him off."
"Dornson has told me everything I need to know. Morzansson refuses to obey him and even assaulted him during..."
"Dornson?!" Katrina exclaimed, interrupting her husband's half hearted excuse. "I do not like that man at all. If Murtagh puts him in his place, that only makes me like him better."
"Katrina..." the general whined pleadingly.
"Go!" the stubborn but beautiful woman ordered, pointing out through the tentflap. "Either you go out there and make up your own mind, or I'll make it for you."
As an open mouthed Stronghammer stumbled backwards out of the tent, he heard his wife's farewell ringing pleasantly on the air.
"Dinner is at sundown, and we are having Gertrude over to join us, so don't be late."
A/Notes:
Posted: 9-28-2013
I had more written, but last night I lost power and the unsaved portion of the chapter. Rather than to make you all wait till I get my motivation back in high gear, I am posting this bit and will re-write the rest as a continuation chapter.
Thank you all for reading and for your kind understanding and support.