AN: Okay, the beginning of this chapter some of you may already have seen from the interlude, which I will delete once this chapter is uploaded, but yeah, enjoy!

ULTRA IMPORTANT AN: I'm sorry, as I pretty much always am, for the late update, but don't flame me for it this time (Puppy-dog eyes), because I have a very valid reason. And with part of this reason, I'd like to advise you all that walking around a supermarket after you've had several blood tests taken is not a very good idea. But some good has come of this; after Sadie193 visited my not-so-great-feeling self and challenged me to a much more intense nanowrimo practice, I have actually written a book –as in an Original Story kind of book, which I am very proud of, even if it's not completely finished, is much longer than intended and probably has more mistakes than Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan rolled into one...

But yeah, I am alive, readers, never fear! Wait, why did everyone run for the hills when I said that?...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance series, nor am I pregnant, but I still own the randomness that is the plot… Well, what little of it there is anyway…

ChuubChuubChuubChuubChuub

Murtagh had never been known for his patience. No, there were some good reasons why Murtagh was known primarily for his emo tendencies. At the moment, Murtagh's eyes could spot two of these reasons.

"Look Murtagh! Ice cream!" Eragon exclaimed, pointing at the ice cream and everything.

Heck, Murtagh was attached to the two reasons.

"Eragon!" We've got more important things to do than eat ice cream!" Arya snapped, tightening her hold on Murtagh's wrist painfully.

That's right; they were out shopping for things for the baby. Murtagh could understand that; the poor kid at least deserved clothes and a nice place to sleep as consolation for having such interesting parents. What Murtagh did not understand was why he has to be there.

Eragon sighed. "Fine," he muttered, dropping Murtagh's arm, grabbed in the sudden ice cream enthusiasm, and his own to his sides.

"Let's get baby clothes next!" Arya declared, still not relinquishing her hold on Murtagh's wrist as she powered towards the shop towing him along. At this rate, she'd ruin his poor wrist before his precious rusty arrow even had the chance.

Eragon seemed to perk up as soon as they were through the automatic doors because before Murtagh really knew what was happening, Eragon had shot off one way and Arya had waddled the other so he was left feeling incredibly awkward in the middle of the aisle in a children's clothing store all alone.

He wasn't alone for long though. He had barely started scanning the area for Arya, who was too round now to have gone too far and be looking at clothes at the same time, when a polite cough brought his attention to a small shop assistant whose name tag proudly proclaimed her to be named 'Maria'.

"New dad, are we?" she assumed, not giving Murtagh a chance to deny all responsibility for the horror that was lurking in the stomach of his brother's whatever-she-was. Murtagh realised in short space of time while Maria drew breath that he didn't actually know what Arya was to Eragon. "Not a problem. How old is the baby?"

"Erm, it's not yet but I-" Murtagh began, feeling increasingly awkward and embarrassed by the second.

Maria, who reminded him scarily of a cross between every single member of his unorthodox family with the possible exception of Galbatorix and Brom, cut him off. "To the newborn section then!" she announced, with a flourish.

Murtagh was probably in shock as he followed her, eyes locked onto her ridiculously bouncy ponytail, which was, Vrael forbid Durza ever comes into this shop, ginger.

"Is the baby a boy or a girl?" she asked in a chirpy, over enthusiastic manner that reminded him slightly of Eragon but exuding a helpfulness that Murtagh assumed was pure Maria.

"Er…" Murtagh didn't actually know. Neither did Eragon and Arya, which prompted him to question how they were supposed to buy clothes for this baby when they didn't know if said spawn of crazy should be dressed in blue or pink. They'd bought it a plain wooden crib but they could hardly dress it in wood…

Murtagh cleared his throat. "We don't know," he said, adding quickly, before the shop assistant could even open her mouth, "and I'm not the father."

Maria the shop assistant raised one eyebrow, suddenly looking like she'd actually got a brain. She looked almost like a normal human being. She was around his age; she'd got blue eyes – not maroon like Durza's – and she was quite short but still human height – unlike Orik. But then, you couldn't really ignore her blue, red, and yellow uniform, the ridiculously bouncy ginger ponytail, which was also rather high up on her head, and the sheer bouncy and overly happy personality that would probably have given Murtagh a headache had he not been used to annoying personalities.

"Oh. Well, you're a better man for staying with her if it's not yours. You'll be a great dad!" she consoled him. She wouldn't have been very good at it if he really had been cheated on; she was smiling.

"Actually I'm not," Murtagh answered awkwardly. "I'm the uncle. It's my brother's baby."

"Your brother!" Maria echoed. The expression of horror, followed by pity, that crossed her freckly face prompted Murtagh to realise that he'd said something wrong.

"No, no. I don't have a girlfriend," he said, a bit too quickly. "I'm here with my brother and Arya. It's their baby. I'm not with anyone."

And that was the truth of the matter. Murtagh was, he realised, after the betrayal of his precious air, all alone in the big wide world. But before he could dwell on this realisation and his beloved rusty arrow, a distraction came in the form of Arya.

"Murtagh!" she called. She had one hand on her hip and her lips were pursed. It didn't look good. "Stop chatting to women and start looking! We've got a deadline to keep to!"

"What deadline?" Murtagh asked, darkly, as Maria's ponytail deflated slightly under the pressure of the awkwardness.

Arya froze, sporting a rabbit-in-the-headlights look and a heart rate she was sure wasn't all that good for a woman in her condition. However, if she pulled this off, the look on the Red Rider's face would more than make up for it.

Murtagh, luckily for Arya, had averted his eyes at the prospect of her anger and continued with, "Not planning on popping any time soon, are you?"

"If you must know," Arya snapped, in a brief moment of inspiration, "I have a baby care regime to follow before I can sleep. Not that you'd understand, alone and unloved as you are."

If pathetic fallacy reigned supreme, the entire store would have seen the swirling storm-cloud descend on Murtagh and pelt him with rain and hail until he became one with the falling pieces. As it was, Arya alone noticed the slight downwards movement of his eyebrows and considered her task of insulting her child's uncle a job well done, and her earlier slip-up well and truly covered up.

ChuubChuubChuubChuubChuub

Back at the house, something strange was going on. Well, something strange was always going on, but this was different. This was something stranger than usual. The second he was sure Murtagh was out of hearing and viewing range and neither he nor Eragon had forgotten their wallets or something equally as essential to task of baby shopping, Morzan had rallied the troops – including Durza, who had been found shiftily caressing a shoe and muttering about tyranny and 'shoe mastery'.

"Is it straight now?" Vanir, who Morzan had picked up while chasing Brom and Galbatorix into the house from the garden, where the young elf had apparently been arguing with a twig, whined.

Morzan paused in his directing of Brom and Galbatorix, who were attempting to haul the dining room table through the door into the lounge, but weren't really succeeding. After careful consideration, he simply said, "No."

"Ah, c'mon!" Vanir implored desperately. "Why does it even matter if the piece of cra-"

"Watch your language, please dear," Selena pre-empted. "There's no need for words like that in a place like this."

Vanir's eyes narrowed as he resisted the urge to award her a filthy look at the warning glance of her husband. "Why does it even matter if it ain't straight?"

"Because the banner is supposed to represent my son's evident masculinity and sexuality," Morzan explained.

Vanir eyed Morzan's representational creation dubiously. If it was supposed to represent Murtagh, it wasn't nearly gloomy enough in the elf's opinion; though he thought the hanging white sheet decorated in blue emulsion with the skills of a small child definitely had the mental instability of the individual it named down. It wasn't exactly well made or well thought out.

"And I thought Oromis and I told you to drop that accent," Morzan added. "If you are..."

Vanir did the one thing Murtagh had never been able to do when confronted with one of Morzan's infamous lectures. He blocked out the offending noise and went back to straightening the homemade banner.

Or at least, he did until Durza launched himself under the miniature, indoor ladder, making it wobble precariously. Vanir held his breath, reaching out to the wall to steady himself.

The ladder stabilised and Vanir let out a deep breath, his hands leaving the wall to return to the corner of the banner.

And as he did, he was bowled over by a larger body than the ginger shade's. Whoever it was immediately jumped up, using the back of Vanir's neck as leverage and set off after the panicked Durza, bellowing, "I'll teach you to touch my sacred shoe collection! You'll be the first victim of the wrath of my Killer Boot!"

Vanir lifted his head to see that Brom and Galbatorix had abandoned the dining room table as soon as Morzan's attention had moved away from them, and it was now wedged halfway through the door.

With a groan, Vanir picked himself up off the floor and lifted the ladder, noting that Morzan was so wrapped up in his lecture that he'd noticed nothing. He fleetingly wondered if Morzan would notice if he just left but dismissed the idea of escape with a sigh.

It was going to be a long day.

ChuubChuubChuubChuubChuub

Durza panted and gasped, clawing his way around the corner into the kitchen, the enraged Brom hot on his heels.

"I will murder you!" Eragon's joint teacher of Evilness vowed, sounding every bit Evil.

Durza scrambled up the counter, clambering onto one of the cupboards that were mounted on the walls in the hope that Brom would be too word out from the chase to reach him.

"And then I'll summon those little ginger friends of yours to dance and spit on your grave!"

Durza shuddered, shrinking back into the wall.

A voice whistled through the doorway. "Brom! That is not acceptable language!"

Durza released a sigh of relief that was metaphorically almost as big as he was as Selena continued, "And I thought you were old enough to know better. What would Supernanny say if she could hear what you just said? I am very disappointed in you. Can I trust you to take yourself to the naughty corner?"

Brom protested, "I... But he-"

"I don't want to hear it," Selena interrupted. "You've done a very naughty thing and I expect you to sit at the naughty corner until I come for an apology. Understood?"

Brom mumbled a sulky, "Yes", and trudged out of the kitchen.

Selena moved to the fridge and after waiting for a moment to ensure that Brom, and the danger of death by shoe that came with him, was really gone, Durza emerged from his hiding place and politely asked her if he could help in the kitchen.

Needless to say, he planned on sticking very close to his constant saviour for a while – at least until he'd perfected his plan to thwart Brom and his army of shoe minions. So far, it consisted of completing his training in shoe culture and besting the would-be shoe murderer in his own sport.

What he hadn't planned, however, was that Brom would catch him in his room while he was inspecting his enemy's secret stash. He'd been sure it would take Brom much longer to set up the over-sized table than it had taken him to tidy the bathroom.

And he certainly hadn't expected Brom to produce a brand new, steel-toe-capped boot, the bazooka of the shoe world, to hunt him down with. That boot was sure to complicate things, but it didn't matter; Durza had a secret weapon of his own, one much stronger than Brom's. And as soon his training was mastered... It would be his finest hour, finer, even, than the day he'd discovered the captivating beauty of the oh-so-orange flames. It was sure to be a day that nobody would ever forget.

AN: Thanks to everyone who's reading this, and all the wonderful reviewers, and those of you who have put this fic in your favourites and alerts. You all make me smile!

I really appreciate all reviews, even if they only san Hi. So yeah, if you want to make my day then please review. Reviews mean faster updates... Hint...

But yeah, thanks again, and I hope you all enjoyed it!

~ThePurpleRose