Inheritance Cycle 1. The First Beat

**An Enemy's Heart**

**A/Note: This short fanfic was inspired by LOTRRanger and her story Overcome. ~Her story can be found in my favorites.~ ****I always wanted to know a bit more about how M&T found themselves fighting with the Varden, and this is my version of what happened. **

**Also in response of a couple of reviewers, Chapter One has been revised, and several flashbacks added, so even if you have read this once, you might want to skin over it again. 4-13-2011**

**Oh yeah... I am not CP, and I own nothing... sad really...**

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Chapter one: The first Beat

The sun above beat relentlessly on the restless multitude of Varden spectators, for the morning haze had evaporated hours earlier. Sweat could be seen beading on brows and creating moisture on clothes, and yet the onlookers remained steadfast where they stood.

It seemed as though he were sitting at the center of all Alagaësia. The peoples of the Varden and the Surda made up most of the bodies that pressed close on all sides... all but one, and that side was a wall. The slightly raised platform on which the officials were gathered kept the throng at bay, as they waited to hear their leader's decision regarding the enemy rider's fate. He had claimed to have changed his 'true name,' and he had brought with him a gift of the emerald egg, but that was a guarantee of nothing. Whispers and murmurs passed through the crowd as the tension grew.

In the middle of all this was the son of Morzan. A tremor shook inside him, though no one watching was able to discern his discomfort. Only his ruby scaled dragon, who shared an emotional link with him could tell that the rider's calm cool dispassionate demeanor was merely a defense that helped protect the sanctity of his inner thoughts. Murtagh was getting nervous.

_Be strong my 'fierce warrior,'_ Thorn snorted, his light sarcasm doing nothing to lift his rider's mood. The dragon only used that particular pet-name when Murtagh was being, in his eyes, overly dramatic.

_Cut it out Thorn... _the rider silently retorted. _You're not helping._

The dragon rolled his eyes and blew a puff of smoke, before turning his attention back to the almost stoic and dominant figure of Saphira.

Ever since the arrival of the red pair, the lovely sapphire scaled female dragon had acted as if it were her personal duty to take charge of watchdogging his every move. Thorn grinned. He was fine with the situation, and enjoyed the female's close scrutiny. It was also amusing to throw the 'slightly elder' dragoness a few well placed, subtle jests, and watch her react with vexation. Of course, at the moment, she was pretending to ignore him completely, which only made his dragon-smile deepen. She was much better company than Shruikan.

_Yes, _he thought to himself, gratitude bubbling up within him at the feeling of freedom. _Life has finally taken a turn in our favor._

_They'll never accept us Thorn..._ Murtagh crashed in on the dragon's happy musings. _We'll be lucky if they agree to allow us to live._

In his mind he sent the dragon images from a week earlier as proof of his claim.

.

_A blue dragoness was tearing across the sky, heading in their direction with a furious warrior on her back. It seemed that anger was fueling the blue pair's speed, and they were gaining on the ruby pair rapidly._

Prepare to pay for the deaths of our masters, _the sapphire dragoness snarled, as they closed in._

"_Don't assume that our slow retreat to means that we are defenseless..." the red rider cautioned the approaching pair, "for we have just lead you both beyond the reach of your spellcasting elves."_

_Eragon practically snarled, but a hint of uncertainty flashed briefly in his eyes before his fury returned._

"_We don't need help to dispose of weakling traitors like yourselves... killing Oromis while he was defenseless..." Eragon choked on his words as he stumbled through his overpowering emotions. "Cowards!"_

_Murtagh cringed as much from his brother's vehemence as from his accusations. For it hadn't been the red rider who struck the old rider dead... but who would believe him... Everyone saw his hands commit the murder._

"_Don't speak of things you know nothing about," the red rider warned with a dangerous intensity._

"_I know what I saw... Murderer," Eragon spat. "Now it is you who will die!"_

_The blue rider raised his sword ready to renew the attack, and the red rider reached for his weapon as well... only it was not Zar'roc that he pulled out. It was a dazzling green ovoid, with golden flecks and ivory ribbon-like veins adorning it. It's surface fairly glowed in the midmorning light... the green egg._

_Eragon and Saphira were stunned by the sight, and only grudgingly drew their gaze back to the threat of the red pair._

"_What kind of game are you playing at?"_

"_I'm free brother..." Murtagh said evenly, dropping the iron mask of indifference that he usually wore when facing the blue pair. A haunting look crossed his features as he recalled the price of that freedom..._

"_Eka ilerneo du thorta... We are both free... Thorn and I... and so is the last dragon egg."_

_Somehow Murtagh was not surprised to see Eragon's face harden in spite of the revelation. Even as forgiving as the blue rider was, too much hurt had passed between them for things to ever be the same._

"_Land," Eragon ordered pointing to a deserted clearing. "But know this son of Morzan... Nothing has changed between us. For what you've done, I will hate you forever."_

"_So be it," Murtagh answered quietly. And with those words the red rider reclaimed his mask of indifference, and the wall around his heart refortified._

_._

Sounds of the crowd pulled Murtagh's attention back to the present. Murmurings of the multitude of onlookers, seemed to grow more and more ominous as they waited for the council to unveil their ruling. For the return of the officiates to the podium clearly signaled that they had come to a decision. No smiles were seen on the faces of the officials, and to Murtagh that spoke volumes. There would be no place here for the escaped forsworn and his scaled companion.

With a well practiced grace, a grace that defied her youth, the Varden leader rose to her feet, and a hush swept over the crowd. Nasuada was aware that whatever the council's choice, it would be ultimately her responsibility, and if anything went wrong, she would be the first to be blamed. Drawing herself up, her eyes found the red rider and she held her expression of authority as she delivered the verdict.

"Murtagh Morzansson," she said with a clear and adamant voice, "It has been decided. You and Thorn will be examined by a representative of every race, and should we feel that we can trust you, then you will provisionally be allowed to reside with us, and join our cause."

The look of horror on Murtagh's face was quickly concealed by a wall of vehement anger. His heart pounded so fiercely that Thorn momentarily feared for his rider's life... _forced examinations?... and not just one but... how many?..._

"Never," Murtagh hissed through clenched teeth. "You ask too much of us. We will not submit."

Dark eyes flashed at the rebellious words of the enemy rider, and Nasuada's matter-a-fact tone deepened to a deadly serious one.

"You have no choice in this matter... not this time," she added thinking about his previous imprisonment at the hands of the Varden. It took a great effort on her part, but Nasuada refused to let her eyes soften as she briefly recalled the past. At that time, Murtagh had chosen death rather than to be examined. But the rebels couldn't take any chances this time. Too much was at stake to let the rider's pride get in the way of their chance of victory. Morzansson would submit, and the red pair would either be accepted... or executed.

Some in the council had argued that execution was the _only_ acceptable outcome, but Eragon had pressed his half brother's cause with as much determination as she had ever seen.

In fact, the Varden leader was still feeling astonishment at the riders support of the enemy, for even as he pleaded his brother's cause, she could see the underlying struggle that he was dealing with.

.

"_I don't like it any more than most of you do... He is the enemy... He has destroyed our trust, and given away our secrets to the empire... He has broken his word, and turned to join with our enemy... He has killed our comrades, our kin, our king..."_

_The murmurs of agreement become a crescendo of voices and emotions, and Eragon waited for silence before continuing._

"_But tell me... who among you is strong enough to holdout against the king... and his power... and his torture? Who of you has the to power to defy the mental attacks of the one who was able to break the riders of old?"_

_At first there was a stunned silence, but then a bold voice spoke up._

"_I would have chosen death over bowing to that filth of a king..."_

"_Perhaps..." Eragon mused thoughtfully, his eyes meeting each of the council members one by one. "But if he had chosen death, we would not have the green egg in our possession right now... If he had chosen death, we would not have another able bodied dragon and rider willing to help us fight against the tyrant... and if he had chosen death, we would now be far worse off... For it would have been Galbatorix that I faced on the Burning Plains, and he would have showed me no mercy. The king would have taken me to Uru'baen, and there would have been no hope left of standing against him. We may not agree with Murtagh's choice, we may wish things had been different, but what matters most is now... and what we choose to do with the opportunity that is now in our grasp. I say we consider it... carefully."_

_._

The shadeslayer's words had startled Nasuada with their logic, and he even seemed to have convinced himself with his impassioned speech. The entire council had been impressed as well, leading to a more effectual deliberation. The resulting proposition was no guarantee, but as it had been the only agreeable compromise presented, and it would have to do.

Nasuada had to raise her voice over the vocal objections of the people, for many were incensed over the rider's refusal to cooperate.

"You both _will_ be examined," she stated emphatically over the din, and as the grumbling diminished, her tone returned to normal.

"However, as a courtesy, we will allow you to approve of the representatives that are chosen to be your judges."

_Oh, great! I get to choose who violates my heart and mind... _Murtagh's sarcastic thoughts were never voiced aloud, but most could read his feelings in his iron expression.

_I accept,_ the ruby dragon agreed cheerfully, his mind open to everyone within range of his boisterous thoughts. Murtagh turned his disbelieving scowl on his ruby partner causing Eragon's face to burst into a grin. The blue rider wasn't quite sure what he found more amusing... the red dragon's easy nature, or his brother's flustered aggravation.

_Come on my reckless one... this is our chance... Why are you being so stubborn?..._

_I know I will never be accepted, Thorn, no matter what I do. So why should I submit to this... this assault? Perhaps, if I thought there was a chance..._

_You still wouldn't agree to their request,_ the dragon observed solemnly. _You are too prideful. You are too angry... Murtagh, if they only knew the truth, they would understand... What is it you're afraid of?_

The rider pondered his dragon's words, though he wanted nothing more than to deny or ignore them. His silence only proved the dragon's point, and though Murtagh spoke no reply, his dragon felt the answer nonetheless.

_You fear that even when they know the truth, you will still be rejected..._

_I don't fear it, Thorn... I know it. All of this will gain me nothing._

_Perhaps Murtagh... But you have to try. You can't fight the king alone. You need them, and they need you... And I want to stay. I want to know the water scales better. I want to see the green egg hatch to a happy life. Do this for me... please..._

The emotions in his dragon's pleading tugged at him somewhere inside. Thorn was only six months old... or was it seven... and in his brief existence he had gained much wisdom, and felt much pain, but the ruby dragon still seemed young and naive to his cynical rider.

_Thorn, what good will come of baring my soul to them when I know they will never accept the truth?..._

_At least you will know that you did everything you could to reach out to them... You will know that if they still reject you, that it was a result of their own small minds and hard hearts, and not because you were too afraid of rejection to even let them see who they were rejecting._

Truth, unavoidable and undeniable crashed upon the red rider like a tsunami wave. Caught and powerless in the dragon's insightful logic, Murtagh could no longer refuse. Did he want to continue to stand firm against the unfair intrusion? Certainly. Did he still resent the council for their unconscionable verdict? Utterly. Was he convinced that his further humiliation would accomplish nothing? Undoubtedly. But in spite of all this, Murtagh came to a to a decision. He chose to try.

"Fine," the rider spoke finally, responding through gritted teeth. "I accept."

Murtagh's intensely accusing eyes found his brother's, but Eragon was suddenly grinning, completely relieved by the outcome, in spite of the red rider's obviously antagonistic mood.

* * *

Only three days had passed, but to Murtagh it had felt like months. And now it was all over, and the entire assembly had returned to the same spot to hear the verdict of the judges. King Orik of the dwarves, Arya Drottingu of the elves, Eragon of the riders, Saphira of the dragons, Nasuada of the race of humans, and interestingly enough Roran Stronghammer had been chosen to represent the urgals... all had witnessed the exposing of the red rider.

Even though Murtagh had accepted, the whole thing had been done under protest, and he continued to resent the forced intrusion. But his brother had tried to be as respectful as possible. Eragon was the one who had accessed Murtagh's mind, and he had linked what he found to the other 'judges,' exposing only those memories that had been needed to secure their trust, and answer the specific charges of each individual.

It was a grueling three days worth of struggle for Murtagh, though for Thorn's part, it had been quick and easy, as he was generous and forthright with his point of view. The dragon was truly amazed at his rider's staunch resistance, for he knew that Murtagh had little if anything to hide from them.

Even during Murtagh's examination, Thorn had witnessed his rider struggle against Eragon's efforts. Gaining entrance to his deeper more heavily protected thoughts and feeling had been the hardest part of the challenge, and the ruby dragon recalled the conflict.

.

_The younger brother was starting to feel frustrated with the elder. Many memories were perfectly accessible to him, such as those of his mother, but when he tried to ascertain any of his brother's feelings, he ran into a barrier of cold dark polished marble. At least that was what it seemed to be._

Murtagh... you said you'd accepted this... stop fighting me. _Eragon's mind words were laced with irritation._ I'm trying to help you here.

You don't need to give them everything... I've shown you the surface, and you've seen my intentions... What more do you require of me, brother?

Look Murtagh, you can't expect them to be satisfied with just 'surfacey' answers. They have deep wounds, and they won't accept any response that doesn't reflect that... They need to know how you feel... They need to see into your heart.

_Eragon looked long and hard at his brother, willing him to give in, and after a few tormented moments, Murtagh met his eyes and a frown twisted his already sour expression._

_"I don't have a heart..." he whispered audibly, through gritted teeth. But then looking away, the red rider finally released his defenses, bearing his soul to his brother's searching._

_._

Murtagh had hated himself for surrendering, and had done his best to block out everything that his brother viewed. He hadn't want to see it again. He hadn't want to feel it again. All he'd wanted was to just get out from under the nightmares, but instead he'd been forced to re-live them all over.

Unlike his rider, Thorn relished the chance to set the record straight. Much of his memories had flowed like a fountain, and there was nothing lacking. In fact, he had provided quite an abundance of images depicting his and Murtagh's torturous stay under the king's care, even memories from before his hatching that his partner had given him early on. And it was the dragon's memories, more-so than the rider's reluctant efforts, that had swayed the council decision in favor of receiving the ruby pair.

There were still hard feelings, that was to be sure, but no one seeing those memories could ever imagine that the son of Morzan had chosen his path. Even Eragon had been shocked by what he had seen. Murtagh had fought the king with all of his ability, he had been broken and enslaved, and had been used against his will... And even here with the Varden, he was having his private thoughts exposed for judgment... violated once again... and Eragon recognized the resentment burning within the red rider.

Looking around, Eragon saw the faces of the other 'judges' trying to come to terms with the images and feelings that they had witnessed. Arya alone looked unmoved, but the mask of hatred that she had previously worn when looking at the red rider had fallen away, to be replaced by her normal calm demeanor. Most everyone else appeared to be hovering somewhere between shock and confusion.

Then the blue rider spied his brother who had fixed his unwaveringly angry stare on a distant hillside. Cool blue eyes bored relentlessly at anything... anything other than the witnesses that had invaded his mind, and were now poised to lay down his sentence in front of all of the officials of the combined races. Eragon watched his brother flinch as the announcement began.

"The council has deliberated and come to a conclusion..." said a male voice, and after clearing his throat, he continued. "Thorn, dragon of Murtagh, you are found 'not guilty' of any deed laid at your charge."

The dragon puffed his chest out, pleased with the turn of the verdict, and sent a wave of gratitude spilling out for all who were willing to receive it. His time at Uru'baen had taught him to keep all thoughts and feelings hidden, and now that he was free, he was experimenting with his self expression. He felt good and wanted everyone to know.

The speaker paused as he felt the unusual sensation of the dragon's feelings washing over him. Considering what his next words were going to be, he sincerely hoped that he would not find himself the recipient of the dragon anger as well. Turning towards the red rider, the now nervous announcer swallowed hard before continuing.

"Murtagh, son of Morzan, you are found 'guilty' of being unable to resist the false king, Galbatorix. Because of this weakness, the counsel had generously chosen not to press charges for the many numerous and heinous acts committed by you on the peoples of Alagaesia and most specifically on the Varden."

Eragon almost looked away, as he saw Murtagh's jaw tighten at the mention of 'weakness.' The blue rider had been unable to talk the Varden elders out of using this particularly accusing and humiliating phrasing. But as he had been able to convince them to drop all the charges, he was too relieved to press the issue over the wording.

"And so, it is the decision of this council that you may remain with us, under the charge of Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales. This is a 'privilege' that you will lose the instant we see any sign of betrayal. Is that understood and accepted?"

The dragon hummed agreement, while sending calming waves of comfort to his rider. It truly puzzled the dragon to see the ill regard these people showed his rider. He had supposed that all would see the truth, and embrace the efforts of his amazing, if sometimes melodramatic rider.

_Murtagh... at least they've accepted us... We can stay and help kill the king._

It was long moments before the rider responded to the official's '_generous'_ offer. Murtagh ached, knowing that he had not been truly accepted, and that he was never likely to be truly accepted. He was Morzan's son. Without turning to face them, the red rider drew a tired breath and replied.

"I understand... and I accept... Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal."

Murtagh had no idea if anyone in the gathering saw him as a rider, or as one who would honor his word, but somehow he did not really care. None of this was about his happiness or comfort. It was about one thing and one thing only... the destruction of Galbatorix. And to that end, Murtagh was prepared to endure almost anything. Determination stole his previous expression, and he drew his attention back to his immediate surroundings... the stunned crowd surrounding him. This must not have been the decision they'd expected, as silence followed the announcer's proclamation, and settled in the open arena.

It was a strange location, just outside of town. And it had ample viewing on three of the four sides. The back section was a wall that amplified sound. That and the large stone dais that held the official entourage, made the red rider suspect this place was normally used for civic, political or possibly entertainment purposes.

Whatever its customary function was, it seemed that none of the crowd dared to take the formidable one-foot-high step and ascend to the stage. They just stared at him with varyingly degrees of hatred and fear, as he let his indifferent eyes drift over them.

Then he saw her... dark hair... blue eyes... innocent face... her forehead creased with worry and a profound sadness. It looked to Murtagh like the girl feared for the end of the world and all she loved. He briefly wondered what it was that she had lost to cause her such despair, and why it was that he had provoked such a reaction. What had he done to her...

The moment was fleeting. Shock and panic changed the girl's features as she realized the rider's gaze had found and fixed on her, and she turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

Somewhere within that fleeting exchange, Murtagh felt his heart kick in... starting to pump blood in his veins. Not that it hadn't been beating before, but he hadn't been able to feel it. Long ago it had been closed off to deaden the pain and anguish that was his daily existence. And now... it was beating again... throbbing really... flooding him with pain and guilt, and something more... And the rider wasn't at all sure that he approved the change.

The red rider was still trying to process these feelings, when from the corner of his vision, he saw Eragon start to cross the large platform toward him. But he did not think he could face his younger brother just then, and in an impromptu move, the rider turned and left the stunned gathering, making his way through the surrounding crowd, and testing, for the first time, the bounds of his newfound freedom.

Eragon gaped openly at his brother's departure, but sighed and decided to give him some time.

Both dragons had been watching from behind the sound-wall, but it was still easy to forget they were there due to the immense size of the gathering.

_Thank you little rider,_ the ruby scaled dragon told Eragon. The blue rider looked up at him in surprise, not having expected this contact. But then he half-smiled at the title Thorn had given him, and nodded in reply.

_Murtagh might not say it now,_ Thorn smiled back, _but he is grateful... and so am I._

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**A/N: Oh, and WildSkySong's "Edoc'sil" posted two new chappies?... Her works can be found in my favorites. But I warn you if you haven't yet read her amazing stories, you should begin with her "Eldunari" which is the first half of this incredible work. Enjoy!**

**I love FanFiction... :D**


	2. A Place to Rest

******And**** I revised Chapter One and added flashbacks, for any who wanted more details.** 4-13-2011  


**An Enemy's Heart**

**A/Note: I feel stupid saying this, but... I am not CP, nor do I own the idea for this story. Everything belongs to either CP or LOTRRanger from her beautiful story Overcome.**

**Also I revised Chapter One and added flashbacks, for any who wanted more details.**

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Chapter two: A Place to Rest

The crowd had parted easily before him as he strode through the encampment almost as if he belonged. But nothing could ease the tension that existed, surrounding the red rider wherever he went. It was as if his curse followed him every step of his life, but at least it was a curse that he was used to carrying. What he was not used to was the guilt that he had earned with his own deeds under the direction of the dark king. Always before, he had the knowledge that he had done nothing to earn the hatred of those who scorned him, and this knowledge allowed him to hold his head high, and clutch at the knowledge that he was a good man... that he could still be a good man in spite of everyone else's opinions. But now that illusion was shattered. All he could do now was try to be the best monster that his newfound freedom allowed him to be.

After visiting the 'prison' tent to gather his meager belongings, Murtagh made a beeline to a location the edge of the Varden perimeter that surrounded Feinster. There the red rider spoke a spell of protection on a small unused section of rocky ground. This area would be where he and Thorn would rest. It held little else but rocks, sand, dirt, and a few sparse weeds, so there was minimal chance that it would be of interest to anyone with its barren features. Having spotted it days earlier with his dragon's vision, Murtagh had decided that should the unbelievable happen, and their presence be accepted by the Varden, that this particular location would suit their needs... minimally anyways.

The son of Morzan glanced around at his colorless and lifeless choice. The ground within the protective spell was easily a span of a one hundred yard circumference stretching out away from the city. On the far side a slight incline rose, topped with an outcropping of rocks. If there were three bushes growing on the whole thing, Murtagh would have been surprised. This place seemed as unwanted as he himself was. Mutagh sighed, accepting the inevitable. It would do.

High above a ruby dragon circled the forlorn site, and did his best not to hassle his brooding rider. Even if Murtagh was planning on playing the 'Varden hermit,' he at least had succeeded in getting them a second chance, and Thorn couldn't have been more pleased. Even the appearance of gawkers along the perimeter did nothing to deter the dragon's happiness.

_Nice location my fierce one,_ Thorn smirked as he glided overhead. He noticed the visual boundary between the Varden encampment and the red rider's patch of confiscated scrubland. _Why did you mark the edge of your claim? Not hoping to attract neighbors?_

Murtagh shot an irritable look up at his trying friend, and then let his eyes drop to scan the handful of intent bystanders. A few brave idiots had decided to make the red pair feel 'really welcome' with their suspicious glares. They were the reason for the red rider's caution. Many here would dearly love to take his life and Thorn's, in spite of the counsel's decision.

Yes. He had marked the area clearly. And as desolate as it had looked before the spell, now it was even less inviting. The affected ground took on an ashy grey color... or lack of color. It was a clear message that spoke of warning and ill wyrda to any who might cross into it.

_Murtagh,_ the dragon began quietly observing everything as he circled, _do you wish to push away all, whether they wish you ill or not?_

_It's not like that Thorn. We have to be careful._

Until this moment, even Murtagh had not considered just how much risk they were taking in their efforts to join forces with the rebels. They were literally sleeping amidst the enemy. Since for the past week the pair had been under guard, their only fear was that they would be sentenced to execution. If indeed this had been the outcome, the red pair had planned to escape. But what they were facing now was even more dangerous. Now that they were technically allies, they were within easy reach of their new 'colleagues,' as well as any self appointed assassins. The pair had actually been safer when they were under arrest.

_Well, I don't know about you Thorn, but I need to find something to distract me before I take one of these fools apart with my bare hands._

Unable to stand the thought of enduring the continued stares all afternoon, Murtagh made his way along the outskirts of the community, trying and failing to be inconspicuous. He just needed a place where he could escape from the prying eyes that seemed to follow him wherever he went. His search did not seem to be going well until he noticed something of interest... a tavern.

.

Thorn watched his rider move in the general direction of the two-leggeds' and their stick dwellings, and he smiled. It made sense to him that Murtagh should find his way among his own kind. It never even occurred to the dragon that his chosen might need assistance. Murtagh had always been very self reliant, and Thorn had the utmost faith in his rider's capabilities.

With a tilt of his wings that caught the crosswinds, Thorn angled his flight towards the southwest and the sea. The ruby scaled dragon had an idea... and a taste for seafood. It wasn't far at all by wing, and in no time he found himself soaring over sparkling waves in his own search for a salty meal. He was only half paying attention though, as a sapphire flash on the horizon indicated that he was not the only hunter in the skies...

Thorn smiled to himself as he considered that the blue female was likely still keeping an eye on him. He was so amused at the possibility that he almost missed the large-finned soft-scaled swimmer that passed just below him as he skimmed over the waves. If it hadn't been for the shimmering reflection of the sunlight on scales, the meal would have been lost. But the light caught the vermillion eyes, and in a flash the red flyer transformed himself into a striking-diver-swimmer. Beneath the waves Thorn's graceful movement's darted through the cool waters, in a brief competition, a race with the large fish for freedom, or for food. With a burst of speed and a snap of his jaws, Thorn's efforts were rewarded with a rather filling and delicious dinner.

The ruby dragon rose to the surface of the waves, and floated there comfortably, bobbing ruby red in the sparkling vast blue of the southern sea. The dragon slowly savored his large catch, all the while, completely unfazed by the presence of the azure dragoness that circled off in the distance.

.

The stealthy figure had entered the building from the back alley, and found a dark corner that promised at least a moment of peace. The gold coin that he'd stoically passed to the bartender bought him more than just a pint of dwarven ale. It had also bought him a fellow conspirator. The gold made Murtagh a welcome patron to the establishment, but neither he nor the proprietor had wanted the rider's presence to be discovered, and hence a common purpose of discretion had created an unspoken agreement between the two.

Hours later, the fugetive in the dark corner was finally starting to feel comfortable. His second pint was still mostly full, for his main purpose for being there was to avoid prying eyes and escape the heat of the afternoon sun. The only other customers in the bar were pretty much ignoring his presence, if they were even aware of him at all.

Running his hands tiredly across his face, Murtagh quietly sighed. He was emotionally exhausted and completely uncertain about how this unexpected turn of events would ultimately resolve. In his heart, the red rider had not expected to be received... neither well nor otherwise. He had been as stunned as the crowd had been at the announcement of his trial acceptance. How his brother had managed to convince the counsel, he had no idea. But he had to give the blue rider credit. Eragon must be more influential than he figured.

It had only been a moment of distraction, but it was enough for him to be taken completely by surprise. His head shot up with a snarl as he felt the soft brush of a female hand against the nape of his neck. With lightning fast reflexes, the rider caught her hand in an iron grip, and tore it from his person. Cursing under his breath, he realized that the woman he was restraining was actually amused rather than frightened, as her sultry chuckle confirmed.

She must have come in from behind... entered from the alleyway just as he had. This was proof of his own deficiency in the matter of his defenses, and he vowed to correct that flaw at the first opportune moment. As Murtagh took in the females smiling visage, the angry snarl drained from his expression leaving only a veneer of cold distrust on his face.

It didn't matter that she was lovely. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and hung framing her intentionally revealing bodice, and he couldn't help noticing. Raising his eyes again to focus on her attractive face, startled him anew. Her eyes were alight with amusement and invitation, and as she observed his natural reactions to her subtle provocative air, an almost smug smile tugged at her perfect lips. This wasn't the reason he was startled, though it almost made him forget why. He had seen this woman before. He couldn't place her at the moment, but the familiarity he sensed was undeniable.

"Sorry if I scared you love," she spoke easily, her rich voice matching her looks and welcoming manner. "I couldn't help wanting to join you..." And here her hand slipped over his, feeling like satin against his callouses. The slight hesitation she had at touching his hand was swallowed up in the way she boldly brushed her body against his as she took her seat next to him on the wooden bench. "When I spotted you over here, you looked so alone... and a man shouldn't have to drink alone... shouldn't have to be alone..."

The woman's tactics were having an effect on the red rider, there was no denying that. But the sheer incredulity of the event was enough to make him wary... very wary. There was too great a conflict between the aversion Murtagh was used to receiving, and the comfort this woman was now offering. It was irreconcilable. Besides that, it didn't feel right on any level.

This lovely vision was obviously a very good manipulator, and the red rider had been exposed to enough manipulation to last several lifetimes. This time Murtagh had no intention of being manipulated. Removing his hand from hers, he made to take hold of his drink. His slow movements allowed him time to clear his mind, and compose a graceful withdrawal.

"While I appreciate your concern, I must advise you that my entire reason for being in this dark corner is to find a place where I _can _be alone. So, if you are seeking company, you will no doubt do better looking elsewhere."

For whatever reason the woman seemed completely undeterred. Her laughter spilled over him like chimes, as if she had some great secret that she just couldn't contain.

"I have an even better idea. Let's combine your desires with mine..." The pause she gave was followed by a sly smile betraying her double meaning, and she laughed lightly again. "Your desire to be alone, and mine to be in your company... I happen to know of a room upstairs. It is perfect for our needs, and we can become better acquainted... away from prying eyes..."

As her hand slid up his arm towards his shoulder, something inside Murtagh snapped. The tense heat that she had fanned between them, combined with the rider's irritation at having his precious solitude stolen, erupted into seething anger. Snatching the woman's hand in his own, Murtagh held it between them like a shield. His grey eyes flashed red with barely controlled rage, but the moment was brief, as Murtagh's emotions quickly cooled to a mere level of imperturbable hatred.

"Leave... me... alone..." he hissed through clenched teeth and he released the woman's arm.

The woman's expression faltered for a split second, and then hardened to match his own.

"You won't harm me," the woman practically purred, "so don't try acting all threatening. You know as well as I do, that at the first sign of any aggression on your part, the whole Varden will turn on you. Face the facts son of Morzan... You need all the help you can get... help that I can give you..."

Murtagh couldn't help but laugh under his breath. The brazen and lustful advances of this female, as well as her ludicrous intention of intimidating him into accepting her offer, coupled with her complete naiveté with regards to what the red rider was capable, made the whole situation ironic at best. His next words left him feeling no remorse whatsoever.

"I see," he said choosing his words carefully and speaking low enough not to be overheard. "You may think yourself clever and bold, but I'm afraid that you are mistaken to think that I need anything you can give. I have all the help that I could want. And you are also mistaken to think that you could pose any threat to me... While I would never harm you, I must give you fair warning... you see, dragons do get hungry on occasion, and people do disappear if they're not careful where they tread... So I suggest that you walk with care, and find another game to play, because I am not interested... at all."

At the flash of outrage on the woman's face, Murtagh suddenly remembered why this female seemed so familiar to him. He had seen her a week earlier. She had been at the forefront of an angry mob of shouting rebels that met and surrounded both him and Thorn as they were escorted by Eragon into Feinster under heavy guard. He couldn't recall the slew of vile curses she had flung at him as he moved past her, but he did recall that she had spat on him with disgust. And now here she was, only a week later trying to seduce him?

Recognition showed in the woman's face as she realized that the rider recalled the incident. Her indignation took a back seat to momentary mortification, and then the revulsion that he had first witnessed returned to dominate her expression. Only this time it was tainted with a trace of fear. After all, this was the son of Morzan who had just vaguely insinuated that his dragon might make a meal of her. She turned and quickly left the tavern, and for once in his life, Murtagh found a benefit to being born the son of the monster. Drawing in a long breath, he leaned back with a heavy sigh.

_I could really use a drink,_ Murtagh thought lifting his mug to his lips to take a much desired draught. His gaze rose as his drink had, and that was when he spotted his brother's eyes boring into his from across the bar. Surprise caused him to catch his breath, which caused him to choke on his swallow. It seemed that today nothing was going to come easy.

* * *

******A/N: Oh, and did you all see that WSS's "Edoc'sil" posted two new chappies?...** I love FanFiction... :D


	3. Mere Tolerance

**A/N: Wow! I am really surprised to have received such supportive and some very helpful reviews. Please feel free to critique... I am not afraid of receiving advice. Let me know if something doesn't flow smoothly, or if I start to lose your interest. This chapter might be a bit confusing, as it is a conversation spliced with numerous flashbacks. Anyways...**

**Oh yeah... CP is not me... duh...**

**Chapter Three: Mere Tolerance**

Seeing his brother choke on his ale had lightened Eragon's mood considerably. He hadn't been there long, but he had observed the last part of the drama. There, in the dark corner of the tavern, he'd seen enough to know with certainty what was going on. If that woman had given Murtagh even half the trouble she had given the blue rider, then he only wished he had been there earlier to have witnessed the fun.

The sight of the angry blonde flying out of the tavern made Eragon wonder why he hadn't tried to dissuade her using similar tactics. But then, more was expected from Nasuada's rider. He had responsibility to uphold an appropriate image, and not cause his liege lord to lose face. He couldn't afford to go about pissing off the people of the Varden.

Now that he thought about it, he noted that he actually envied Murtagh that freedom. As strange as it seemed, Murtagh now had more freedom than the blue rider did, and that didn't set very well with the younger brother.

This simple thought regarding freedom triggered an involuntary response in Eragon. It was as though his mind was being attacked from within... memories unbidden flew into his mind... only it wasn't his own past he was seeing, it was Murtagh's...

**.**

_For weeks it had been the same routine... dragged from the dungeon before dawn, healed of the previous day's torture, and being presented to the king for more abuse._

What does he want?_ Murtagh asked himself, slowly lifting his gaze to meet the king's scrutinizing eyes, and shaking... always shaking._ Why doesn't he just kill me and get it over with? _he wondered._

_The king had broken his mental barriers weeks ago, and pried, ripped, stolen all his private thoughts and feelings. Most of his information had been known already, divulged by the twins upon their return. But this... this was more like being violently torn apart and then pieced back together over and over again. All the while the dark whispers of lies and truths were woven into the fabric of the prisoner's fractured remains. What was the point? Somehow the broken youth knew that there was a point. Galbatorix was not one to waste energy simply to pleasure himself. He wanted something._

_Blinding heat, pain, light suddenly seared through the prisoner, and painful memories flared up one after another, magnified for maximum agony and distress. Minutes, hours, days... it all blended together in this cacophony of anguish. Then, finally, the intensity slowly diminished, leaving a gaping openness filled with receding pain and the echos of his own screams._

_A low chuckle of amusement slowly became the predominant sound in the room, and a chill of foreboding crept up the prisoner's spine. In spite of the swirling images and emotions, a thought hit him with unbelievable clarity... Whatever the king had been searching for... he had found it._

_A shadow fell across him there on the shiny black marble floor, and then the king's reflection was right there in front of him. A smile lit with assurance and satisfaction grew stronger as the hated face bent closer still, and he whispered. The words were unfamiliar, almost nonsense... but they had a suffocating effect on the prisoner... restraining him both in body and will. Somehow that pompous bastard of a king had managed to chain his spirit._

_Eyes wide, Murtagh struggled but to no avail... Words he didn't even understand poured from his mouth at the king's bidding... And a tear of confusion rolled down his face, as he realized he was lost forever... and so was his freedom._

**.**

Eragon forced his way past the memory, and frowned. What had brought that flashback? It worried him a bit that he had yet to gain control of the images he had acquired, but he covered that up by throwing a mocking glance of accusation at his brother. Letting his eyes dart to the exit that the angry female had departed through, he told Murtagh he had seen the the improper handling of that situation.

The red rider held his brother's gaze as the younger crossed the room and took a seat across the rough wooden table.

"I suppose you want an explanation..." Murtagh began defensively.

"No, I don't think so..." Eragon responded evenly. "I just want a drink..."

The proprietor lost no time serving Eragon with some of the tavern's best ale, and just as quickly left the two to their business. For long minutes, they both drank in silence, and strangely neither seemed to mind. Perhaps it was left over from their friendship, their travels on their way to the Varden, but there was something comfortable between them. Murtagh didn't want to believe it, and Eragon didn't want to admit it, but it was there, nonetheless.

The younger boy seemed to be deep in thought, so Murtagh allowed himself to relax once again. His brother was certainly a quiet drinker. Of course that was fine with the red rider. He simply wanted to find some small sense of normalcy, even if that meant spending a few hours in a dark corner of a local tavern.

The brown eyes of the younger brother found and fixed on the grey of the older. And there in the dimly lit room, Eragon contemplated the notion of freedom. To him things were often either black or white... but with Murtagh, he realized everything had taken on varying shades of grey. Sure the red rider had been raised as a noble rather than a farm-boy, and sure he'd been exposed to a different set of values, but what galled Eragon the most was that the elder boy was almost always certain of his own decisions... How was it that he refused to regret his choices... his mistakes... Why was he so cocky?

One example of this was the red rider's delayed escape from Uru'baen. He had eventually fled the presence of the king... but only after weeks of secretly being free. The risk of being discovered by his master had been enormous. And Eragon knew that he himself would have not stayed a breath more than necessary, if it had been him. Reaching into the store of Murtagh's memories, he studied the moment when the red pair discovered their freedom. The images came welcome this time, as the younger brother strained to comprehend the elder's bizarre choice...

**.**

_Murtagh was so tired he could barely keep his head raised. And as weak as he felt, the dragon was even more drained of energy. Turning his head wearily, he beheld a scene that only a dragon and rider could imagine. It was early morning, and the landscape rolled peacefully below, as the pair flew awkwardly but steadily towards a dark smudge on the horizon. Throbbing pain flared in what would have been his tail if he had one. And concern mixed with anger flooded him over the damage done to his partner._

Thorn, we are nearly there... do you need a break?

I will make it, my fierce one,_ the dragon responded. The total lack of sarcasm worried Murtagh enough to doubt his words, but Thorn had never lied to him before. Still the rider fed as much of his own energy as he could spare into the maimed and exhausted dragon. With Uru'baen on the horizon and approaching quickly the pair tried to quell their pain and remorse at the deaths of the golden pair. It would do them no good for the king to see them mourning the enemy... mourning the growing distance between them and freedom... if there was even such a possibility for them anymore._

_Murtagh couldn't help forcibly shoving away the thoughts of the elder pair, for it could not be undone. None of it could. What good would it even do the red pair to be able to escape? There would be no place of refuge for them to pursue. They had virtually cut all of their ties to the outside world with their evil deeds. The Varden, the dwarves, his brother, and now the elves... Of all the inhabitants of Alagaësia, the only welcome they were ever going to receive would be that of the king, and as that was never pleasant. It was a welcome they would gladly pass up if they were able, but here they were, almost upon the cursed place._

_Thorn's breathing had begun to come in short gasps. Between the sheer exhaustion and the dread that crept up his long body, it nearly choked him. Noticing this, Murtagh laid his hand on his partner's scaly shoulder and sent him a surge of confidence._

We will survive this somehow Thorn. We will survive and we will escape.

I don't want to go there... he will be mad that he had to '_do it'_ for us...

Yes, he will... and he will torture us for our failure... but we... will... survive.

_Even through the thick surface of the well crafted saddle, Murtagh felt the dragon shudder beneath him, and suddenly he veered off towards the sun, and in the direction of the dessert._

Thorn... where are you going?

Anywhere but there...

But how... we were oathed to return...

_Shock resounded between them, as they both realized that their bonds had been lifted. This was the moment they had both yearned for, a chance to determine their own actions, a chance to fly free... A deep seated urge took hold of them, an urge to simply run/fly as fast and as far as they possibly could. But even as the excitement of freedom thrilled their senses, a dark heavy presence pressed against Murtagh's mind... Galbatorix..._

Murtagh, get that runt of a dragon under control, and return immediately.

_The feeling of panic and indecision flared within the red rider._

We are trying to my king, but a gale took Thorn by surprise, and without his tail he is having trouble stabilizing his flight.

Get back here now.

_The rider turned his mind from the retreating king, and back to his dragon. As much as he was tempted to just flee with his dragon... to turn tail and escape this virtual hellhole known as Uru'baen... as much as the thought of returning to his prison life caused fear and bile to catch in the rider's throat, and his chest to tighten with dread, Murtagh pressed with urgency the need for them to remain where they were._

Thorn, please trust me, this is the only way...

_Though the red rider was worried for the safety of his dragon, and the dragon for the safety of his chosen, both reluctantly accepted the unavoidable fact that they had to return to the place of their bondage in the hope of retaining their freedom._

What if he takes your memories again?...

We'll deal with that when we come to it.

_The dragon's flight wobbled, as much from emotion as from the injury, as the pair made their gut-wrenching turn back towards their captivity._

**.**

Once Eragon had finished examining the memory, he leaned forward slightly with his elbows on the table, and returned his focus on his brother.

"So, Murtagh... can I ask you something?"

Murtagh looked up at his brother's scrutinizing gaze, and nodded hesitantly.

"When you and Thorn returned from Gil'ead, and found you were free... you still went back to the king... that baffles me... even Thorn wanted to flee..."

The elder brother knew that the other had seen all of the memories regarding the incident, but he couldn't blame him for asking. As he himself struggled to come up with an acceptable reply, he had to admit that there was no real easy answer.

"It is difficult to explain. We just really had no choice. There was still the fear that the king would discover our traitorous intentions, but at least it was a chance... Remaining there at the castle while Thorn recovered, biding our time till an opportunity to escape presented itself... it was a huge gamble. But trying to escape, right there at the gates of Uru'baen, with Thorn severely wounded, and Shruikan there ready to chase us down... We would have surely been caught, and tortured again until he found our new names..."

Murtagh's voiced dropped to a whisper. "We'd have been re-shackled..." Clearly this thought made the red rider very uneasy.

"Returning to the side of the king, it seemed the only chance to remain free..." Murtagh had to loose a choked laugh at the irony of that image. "And even that depended on him choosing not to examine my mind upon our return... Having just occupied my being so recently and so completely, he must have felt no need for the usual examinations... He didn't even bother to punish us himself, but sent us to be punished by his dungeon magicians..." an expression on the edge of sincerity clouded Murtagh's normal aloofness. "In other words, we got lucky..."

Additionally, Murtagh had modified his attitude towards Galbatorix... becoming more willing... more broken... lost. And miraculously the king had believed it. It wasn't a far stretch either, for both Thorn and his rider had been badly shaken over their parts in the deaths of the elders.

But Eragon had already known all of this, as he had meticulously examined those memories. He also had focused on those images surrounding the killing of the dwarf king, Hrothgar. In Eragon's mind these two events had been the most difficult to overcome and forgive. He still didn't know if he would ever be able to look at his brother without feeling a surge of hatred well up within him.

The red riders words continued describing the event with calm cool clarity, in a voice so deep and detached that it drew Eragon's attention back to focus on his brother.

"Those next few weeks went by agonizingly slow. I had to time things right if the escape was to be successful. Thorn needed to recover... and Shruikan had to be adequately diverted, hunting would have worked...though the great black dragon didn't hunt often."

The red rider paused to take a swallow from his mug. An appreciative glint sparked momentarily in his eyes before they moved from the ale towards Eragon. Part of him couldn't fathom why his brother was interested, and the other part had no clue why he was baring himself further. But here they were, and it gave him a sort of hope that something between them might be recoverable.

"As it turned out, we didn't have to wait that long... When the king got word about the attempted theft of his precious dragon egg, his new orders provided us the perfect opportunity to escape."

Both riders recalled the moment as if with one mind, which was actually true due to the fact that it was Murtagh's memory that they were both viewing.

**.**

Murtagh, wake up!

_The voice of his dragon burst in on his colorless nightmares. It wasn't as if there was anything pleasant to dream about in Uru'baen. So even though he was jolted awake, the rider felt no irritation at the interruption. He simply blinked as dream became reality... the damp walls of the dimly lit dungeon, with its splintery bench of a bed, dissolved into the much more comfortable quarters in the rider's wing of the castle. He resided there, in one of the rooms of the foresworn. At least he did on the rare occasions that he found favor with the king. His bed felt wonderful beneath him, and the sheets were satin and cool against his skin. This was about as good as he ever felt in the king's castle._

What is it Thorn? _came Murtagh's reply. It wasn't often that the dragon sounded panicked._

There's trouble out here. There are soldiers everywhere...

Is the city under attack?

No... the focus of the activity is the castle itself. See for yourself.

_Confusing aerial images assaulted the rider... guards could be seen far below, rushing towards the castle with weapons ready, as well as small groups of men rushing off to complete whatever tasks they had been assigned._

_Murtagh shook off the dragon's vision and frowned. What could it mean? Worry gripped the red rider as he wondered if he had waited too long to attempt his escape... and he felt a similar emotion from his bonded partner. Knowing that remaining in his room now would be faulty, Murtagh rose from his bed, and stuffed some of his belongings into a large leather carrier. Once he was satisfied with the contents, he flung the bag out onto the balcony for an easy pick up, should they get the chance to flee. Clothes, coins, rations, and his dagger were among the articles stowed for the occasion. Next he threw on his regular day apparel, tunic, vest, pants, and boots, before heading out into the hallway in hopes of making his way outside unobserved. All his hopes for a well planned escape were dashed in this unexpected mayhem._

Murtagh, do you think he knows?

I don't know Thorn... I don't know.

_Moments of uncertainty flooded their connection as the red rider heard the approach of a squad of the king's personal guard. They turned up the passage and literally ran past him without a second glance. Now he was really confused._

Morzansson,_ thundered the king's mind inside Murtagh's head, making him wince with pain. But he answered immediately._

Yes my king,_ he responded mentally. He was unable to hide his confusion from the stronger mind, and in fact he hardly tried._

Get to the throne room now, there was a theft attempt on the last egg.

I'm on my way, my lord,_ the rider replied gathering a more alert and defensive stance. Was the Varden here?... his brother?... he had to be even more careful, as the thief could literally be anyone... and that 'anyone' would likely kill him as look at him. Within moments, Thorn was informed of the news, and a couple minutes more saw Murtagh at the doors to the throne room._

_As iƒ on queue, the doors parted to allow him entrance, and the rider felt the chill as he stepped into the dimly lit room. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the shiny, hard surface, and brought him halfway to the center of the room where he dropped to one knee._

_"What is your command?" the rider asked, his eyes fixed on the black marble floors._

_Galbatorix eyed the son of Morzan with a critical eye, for never before had his rider been as compliant as he had been since returning from the battle over Gil'ead. And now that the king was seeing the behavior again, he couldn't help but be suspicious. Still, he slowly imparted his orders._

_"Murtagh, you are to escort the last egg from Uru'baen to the warded treasury room at your father's old estate. You know the place I mean. You will keep the egg safe while the perpetrators are hunted down and eliminated. You will go straight to the dragonhold where Thorn is being prepared for the journey. You will leave immediately, is that understood?"_

_The red rider wished he knew just who the thieves were, but wisely accepted the orders, rather than venturing to ask._

_"Yes my king. I will leave immediately, and do as you have ordered." The rider rose to his feet as he spoke. "I will guard the egg with my life, Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal." Murtagh's voice was devoid of defiance, and yet it held a determination that seemed to make the king even more hesitant to trust his servant. Still, the rider _had_ just oathed to do his bidding. That was when it must have hit him, for the king's eyes flew open wide, startling Murtagh into near panic. The son of Morzan had never before given an oath to him freely, not in all of his days. Each and every previous order had been forced on him through the use of the boy's True Name. And here he was pledging his sword to his master, willingly, for the first time ever. Something had changed, and judging by the king's expression, he was not sure whether he liked this new forsworn or not._

_"Tell me the truth," Galbatorix said dangerously, imparting Murtagh's True Name as well, "Why is it that you are suddenly so willing to serve the one you hate?"_

_A tremor of fear coursed through the rider as he felt the distant echo of the pull that those words had once created in him. And though he was not bound by the language to speak the truth to him, for that name no longer held any power over him, he knew that the king would not accept anything less._

_"My king," he spoke through a hardened expression, "I have resolved to spare my dragon any more needless pain. And I have accepted that there is no longer anyplace in the whole of Alagaësia that will receive the son of Morzan while there is breath in his body. The deeds I have been forced to commit have destroyed all possible avenues or alliances... You've left me with nothing, but a cursed legacy to carry. Oh... I do hate you... more than ever... but I will do what I must to survive. Eka thorta du ilumëo"_

_The son of Morzan's eyes shown with the truth of his words, and the hate of his heart. He had spoken the truth. The rider simply hadn't mentioned the additional fact that he was also free of the king's power, and that he planned to desert him at the earliest possible opportunity._

_Galbatorix glared at the youth for his boldness, and Murtagh suspected that he was very close to being sent off to the dungeons and punished for his insubordination. The only thing saving him was the fact that the situation required immediate evacuation of the egg. No the king did not appear happy with his rider, but the hard edge to his expression had lost its previous spark of suspicion. At least now the king appeared to have been reassured, seeing in the rider, a flash of the Murtagh that he knew and loathed. From somewhere under the king's cloak, he drew a large black leather satchel, which he then handed to Murtagh with an ominous warning._

_"Do not disappoint me again, or there will be no place, in this life or the next, that you can hide to escape my wrath." And with that the king waved him to be on his way._

_"Yes, my king," the rider acknowledged, bowing as he turned to leave the room with the leather pack in tote. He was halfway down the long hall outside the throne room as the dull sound of the heavy doors thudded closed. And it barely registered that his feet were leading him to the dragonhold._

_Only now was the full ramification of his orders sinking in, and he had to hold back the wave of euphoria that hit as he realized it. This was their chance. They were being ordered on a mission away from Uru'baen. And once again, Murtagh found himself in the ironic position of choosing to follow the kings orders... only this time it would lead to freedom... freedom for himself and for Thorn... _

**.**

Murtagh's voice took on a relaxed tone, as the memory seemed to bring him to a place of peace.

"Besides obtaining the last dragon egg, the only positive thing about returning to Uru'baen was that we were able to completely heal Thorn's tail. That would not have been possible without the king's proficiency in the dark arts."

The red rider unexpectedly shuddered as his mind flashed briefly to when the great golden dragon had bitten down, severing several feet from Thorn's perfect ruby scaled tail. Agony coursed through him, almost as if he were re-living the moment. Blinking, Murtagh leaned back gripping the table, and reconstructed his mental fortification, for the brief image had shaken the reclaimed barriers of his mind. The last thing he needed was to have his brother gaining access to his inner sanctuary again... though Eragon had already seen everything he had wanted to... and more.

A fresh wave of anger and indignation rolled over the red rider anew at the reminder of the privacy that had been stripped from him. Still, Murtagh had to refrain from feeling spiteful over the incident, and admit, at least to himself, that the blue rider had been critical in obtaining permission for Thorn and him to remain among the Varden. And because of that, Murtagh grudgingly felt beholden. In lieu of an actual expression of gratitude, the red rider settled for a mere mention of the other's efforts.

"I really don't know how you did it... got them to agree..."

"Me either..." Eragon shrugged noncommittally. He had noticed a change in the demeanor of his brother. It felt like a chill had settled on their conversation. Long silent moments elapsed as each studied the other. During the pause that passed between them, the two used the opportunity to take another swallow of their drinks. But then Murtagh lifted his eyes to regard his brother intently.

"What I'd really like to know, is _why_ you did it..."

"Well it wasn't because you're my brother..." Eragon said more sharply than he had intended.

Murtagh heard something telling in the voice of the other rider, and he frowned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Eragon said looking away.

"Liar!" his brother snapped angrily.

"You can't prove that..."

"Say it in the Ancient Language," Murtagh challenged.

"I don't owe you anything Morzansson, so just drop it."

Murtagh tilted his head back with disdain at the reminder of his parentage... of _their_ parentage...

"You're in denial, brother," he spat the last word, insinuating the rest with the unspoken silence. And Eragon's self control burst like a broken dam.

"You're _not_ my brother, and Morzan's _not_ my father... Brom is."

Ice and shadow fell across the red rider's world as the truth rang out. Eragon's disgust, his hatred, his self satisfaction, his vengeance... it was sharper than any sword, and the elder 'not-brother' quickly covered up his stunned/injured expression. A frosty calm settled on him, and he forced himself not to react. Somehow it all made sense. It was ironic, tragic, poetic even, that he alone be the one to carry his father's sins though life. Eragon was never suited to the task anyway, and Murtagh was not suited to be a big brother.

"Then things are as they should be..." the red rider muttered lifting his mug of mead and turning his cold gaze towards the fireplace across the tavern. His actions clearly signaled an end to the conversation, and Eragon glared as he tried to process what had just happened.

Why should he feel bad about telling Murtagh the truth now? He would have found out sooner or later. Why should he be concerned if hurt had flashed in his not-brother's eyes? He surely seemed to have gotten over it quickly enough. And in truth, Eragon owed him a lot more pain, more than he had just witnessed.

The fact that Murtagh had all but dismissed him, suddenly began to gnaw at his pride.

Scowling at the disregard of the red rider, Eragon tried to call to mind the scenes that had always seemed to justify his hatred of his one time friend. But this only made things worse. When he attempted to picture the red rider's betrayal to the king, all he could see was the memories of Murtagh being beaten, whipped, flayed, burned, and still refusing to give in.

**.**

_Involuntary shaking had become an expected part of Murtagh's existence. Pain, weekness, hunger, shaking... but only on the outside... Inside his mind was nearly as strong as ever, in spite of repeated torture and mental attacks by both the twins and the king. Still it had only been a couple of weeks and the treatment was starting to take its toll on the youth. It was only a matter of time and they all knew it... even the son of Morzan. Eventually, everyone fell to the king._

_"Murtagh, son of my great friend, why do you insist on continuing this folly, when with a single action... 'obedience'... you could find yourself back in my good graces... Who else that you know of, has received such a generous offer from me?"_

_Sweat drenched and bloody, the prisoner's body lay prone on the floor. Still he did his best to look at the king. It was difficult to answer through the pain, but he was just able to get his answer out..._

_"no one," he gasped through his broken jaw._

_"Don't you see that these friends of yours don't deserve your efforts? They deserted you... abandoned you... just like every one else..."_

_"No... they'll come... when you're not looking..." the injured voice panted._

_"FOOL," snarled the king. "I am _always_ looking... which is more than they did. They didn't even try to look for you... Tell me this boy, why would these people waste their time trying to recover the son of Morzan?... the son of their enemy?... You are expendable... disposable... more trouble than you are worth. Believe me... they were relieved to have you gone..."_

_"Nooo," Murtagh whispered, desperate to hold onto hope._

_"Yesssss," the king purred bending close to speak his twisted words into the boy's ear. "They abandoned you... for him." At this, a heaviness gripped Murtagh's chest, and in his heart he knew the words were true. Even if they had wanted to rescue him, it would be too great a risk. It wasn't worth the possible loss of the blue rider... for the son of the traitor._

_"They abandoned you for him..." the king repeated, "just like your mother did..."_

_Murtagh's gaze widened fixing on the king, and even if he had been able to move, he would have been frozen there by the implied meaning behind the king's manipulative speech._

_"Yess, Selena... she left you... over and over again... didn't she. She didn't want you... didn't love you..."_

_"no..." came the strangled gasp._

_"Yesss... and that last time she left you, do you know where she went?... She went to Carvahall... to give birth to the son she loved... her second son..."_

_The king watched with glee as understanding dawned on the broken pawn lying on the floor. Terrible anguished understanding was more visible in the boy's expression than the pain from his torture._

_"Yesss, and you know it's true... She abandoned you to flee with him... to keep him safe... For he was the one she really loved... not you...He was the one who was raised with a caring family... not you... He is the one with friends that will fight for him... the one who is respected and loved... the one chosen to be a dragon rider... the one who is free..."_

_The agonizing cry echoed throughout the palace throne room as the king renewed his mental attack... "nooooo..." and the memory faded..._

Eragon shuddered shaking off the remnants of the image. This was only one of many he had seen that had placed a seed of compassion in his heart. Even if he wanted to, he would not be able to erase the powerful images and emotions that he had received from his not-brother. And he could tell that it was going to take a lot of effort on his part to process through it all. It seemed that the memories themselves were trying to do battle with his anger, leaving him feeling concern for the red rider, when he was trying to feel justified in his hatred. And this was not acceptable to the younger boy.

"Uhm... Murtagh," he began hesitantly, both wanting to, and not wanting to apologize for his harsh rejection of his half-brother. But he was interrupted before he could finish.

"Don't say it," the red rider hissed, his oblivious eyes still on the glow of the flames. "You don't mean it, and I don't want to hear it... You've made your position perfectly clear, so let's leave it at that."

Eragon swallowed hard. Oh, how he wished he could peek into the other rider's mind once again, just to know what he was feeling at that moment, for Murtagh was flat and unreadable. And suddenly the self righteous boy felt a pang of loss at the sad turn of their 'not-relationship,' even more so because he knew it was his own fault. Heaving a heavy sigh, he rose from the table and turned away in retreat.

"Sure... we'll leave it at that," he spoke with a resigned voice, as he left the tavern, "at least for now."

Murtagh heard Eragon's parting words as well as the regret that laced his voice. At the last moment, his eyes followed the blue rider as he disappeared out into the evening twilight. What the red rider just couldn't understand was why the actual rejection of his not-brother, was so much more painful than the assumption that he was rejected. He had fully believed that he was not acceptable, but now he felt it as well. And that was the difference.

His heart pounded, thick with pain and grief. Now that the floodgates of his feelings had been released, it was simply impossible to close it back off. Now, the best he seemed able to manage was the appearance of apathy... that, and to ride the emotional surge until it subsided.

Why was he no longer capable of shutting out the consequences of his heart. What had pried a crack in his protective armor? As if in answer to his question, the image of a girl's face flashed, her eyes, frightened and sorrowful. Somehow, seeing a misery that echoed his own had empowered the restricted emotions within him to a point where he could no longer pretend they didn't exist. There was no any escaping them.

This staggering realization did nothing to resolve the issue. This new situation was alarming, and almost as dangerous as life in the king's court had been. These cursed emotions had the power to drain your energy, distract your attention, leave your vulnerabilities open to the enemy, distort your focus on reality, and confuse your perception. Not to mention, they were just plain miserable.

Suddenly the red rider was facing a new enemy... and it was himself.

**A/N: I know I have more ground to cover, and there will be additional chapters, but I have not figured out what is going to happen next... at least not yet anyways. So because of this, it may be a while before the next chapter happens. If anyone has any thoughts or suggestions, I would willingly entertain them as possible inspiration for a more timely update. Thanks everyone for the wonderful input.**

**What do you think so far? :D**

**FYI: If you like this chapter, you might be interested in knowing that I was aided by some candid advise from SomewhereBeyondReality. And if you did not like this chapter... well that is probably my fault... ;) LMAO **

**********This chapter was edited on 5-01-2011 in response to the wonderfully helpful reviews of InkWeaverabc and SimplySupreme. The latter will also be responsible for the main subject of the next chapter... Thorn and Saphira finding "Mutual Ground." **   



	4. Mutual Ground

**A/N: I must thank SimplySupreme for suggesting a Dragon POV chapter. Also thanks to all the wonderful and encouraging reviewers. InkWeaverabc was especially helpful with her insights. {And she has rather become my unofficial BETA... Thanks InkWeaverabc.}**

**I also want to take a moment and thank LOTRRanger for her story "Overcome" that has charmed its way into my favorites and inspired the idea for this little 'prequel' fanfictionfiction. Her story is in my favorites. **

**Lastly, for reasons that I can't fathom, I've decided to post dates on my chapters. Dates of previously posted chapters are as follows... Chapter one: 3-22-2011, Chapter two: 4-12-2011, Chapter three: 4-26-2011, Chapter four: 5-17-2011. ****Not sure why anyone would really care... but I felt like doing it... and I did. Blah blah blah... Not CP either... Could you tell? XD Ha**

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**Chapter four: Mutual Ground**

Thorn could tell that he was causing both amusement as well as confusion with his little ritual. Eight times he had flown off to the ocean front, and eight times he had returned on foot. Even with his smooth loping gait, the vibrations from his rhythmic contact with the earth had gained him much attention. And truthfully, he rather liked it. This attention was far more enjoyable than the kind he had received at the hands of the empire. He and his chosen had been openly cheered and praised in the courts, though only at the king's command. Yet all he ever really sensed from those people was scorn, fear, and loathing.

The people of the Varden were a strange bunch of two-leggeds, though there was something more open and interesting about them. They professed to hate and despise the red pair, but the dragon noticed that his presence was more readily accepted here than it had been in dark-stone-prison Uru'baen. Furthermore, Thorn found that as long as he did not look any of them in the eye, he did not incite their fear, but instead was regarded with stares and curious whispers. Hadn't they ever seen a dragon making a nest?

With each trip to the seashore, the dragon had managed to dig up and carry quite a large amount of damp, cool sand, which he smuggled packed between his body and his wings. Thus was the reason why he always returned on foot to the parcel of land that his rider had chosen. As he reached a particular spot within the warded scrubland, he would drop the sand, shake off the bits, and then fly back to the ocean for another load.

Gliding overhead, Saphira did not even attempted to be subtle in her patrolling the red scales' activities, though if she had any interest in his antics, she hid it marvelously well. Thorn thought he might have caught her reptilian sapphire eyes studying his work at one point. Her expression was a mixture of confusion and disdain, but it was so brief that he might have imagined it. His pile of sand had grown quite large, and he smiled that the female was likely still in the dark regarding his endeavor.

Satisfied that he now had enough material, the dragon used his torso to make a decent indentation adequate enough to accommodate his large body. The sand was already starting to dry out in the warm-yellow-falling-flame evening sun, and the red scaled dragon was tempted to stay there basking in its comfort. But recognizing the lateness of the hour, Thorn sighed, and resolved to make one more trip. Mighty crimson wings lifted him up once again, as he took to the sky, hurrying back to the sparkling waves. When he reached the sea he dove into the foamy surf to bathe in the salt water. It felt delightful to wash the itchy sand out of his scales, and cool off in the rolling waters.

Oh, this had turned into an unforgettable day. First, he and his rider were officially, though provisionally accepted into the ranks of the Varden, and this was something almost beyond their expectations. And then, they had found and settled on a secure roosting place... one they had chosen themselves... with their own freedom. It might seem a simple thing to most, but to him and his rider, it was nothing short of miraculous.

The droplets on his ruby scales lit up like liquid-gold-magma in the rays of the setting sun, and the floating dragon shed the excess runoff with a mighty shake. Within moments the red-fire-globe dipped behind the distant hills, making the blue of the sky begin to deepen considerably. It was time to head back. Great red wings appeared garnet against the deep blues of the now sunless sea, and Thorn sent water exploding-spraying-flying as he pressed himself up into the sky. He soon reached an altitude that let the sun once more strike his wet scales, creating a dazzling display of ruby sparkles. But it wasn't long before the sun had again dropped beyond reach, rendering him almost unnoticeable in the not-yet-diamond sky. It was thus that he glided silently over Feinster and the Varden encampment, headed for the patch of warded scrubland that was his new home.

It wasn't exactly dark yet, but it was getting pretty close, and not seeing Murtagh anywhere, he cast about mentally in search of him... and he found him, still in the tavern, and still in a dark mood.

_There you are my clever rider... you have successfully evaded doing any manual labor this afternoon, and all the while I've been hard at work securing us a nest._

_What are you talking about Thorn? _the rider grumbled.

_Come and see... and don't be such a grouch._

The dragon wondered what had marred his rider's mood, and he mentally pried to see what had happened during his absence. When Murtagh closed off his thoughts, a low angry growl expressed the dragon's irritation.

_You will _not_ keep secrets from me, my obstinate one._ Thorn's mental voice was ominously serious, negating any possibility that this was playful sarcasm the rider was hearing. And Thorn continued.

_We have to be completely honest with each other... now more than ever... _the dragon insisted._ Murtagh, our very survival may depend on this._

_Yes, sure... _the rider's mind internally snapped thoughtlessly,_ and next time someone want's to know my secrets, they can just go to you, and see it all..._

That careless thought had just slipped out. It had not been intentional, and it certainly wasn't meant for Thorn to hear, but the rider _had_ thought it, and the dragon _had_ heard it. The stunned heart-thudding-silence that followed, left both feeling empty and lost inside. Instant regret filled the rider, and Thorn sensed rather than saw his chosen pound his unfinished mug of ale loudly on the wooden table. Ignoring the sudden stares from the others in the tavern, Murtagh squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to manage all his recent emotions.

_Thorn... I didn't mean it..._

Just the act of trying to hide the memories had merely served to revive the cold heartache. And now the red rider had lashed out at his only true friend and confidant. The revelation of his 'not brother' and the rejection that came with it, would eventually be discovered anyway, so it made very little sense to put off informing his scaled companion of the incident. In light of this fact, Murtagh relented, and opened his inner self to Thorn. The son of Morzan exposed all that had happened to him that afternoon and evening... all that had happened and all that he had felt... including the guilt now washing over him at his harsh words to the dragon...

_I'm so sorry Thorn._

Thorn poured over the new information as he circled above the city in the dark-night-diamond sky, and his own mood darkened to match the surroundings. Waves of anger seemed to roll off of him, and Thorn had to fight his own urge to search out the rider of the blue dragon, and rip him apart... Freedom was a good thing, but now that he was no longer chained by other forces, he was finding it necessary to restrain himself from doing anything rash.

Murtagh had been too deep in his own regret to notice the dragon's ire, and after several long moments of silence the rider reached back out to his partner.

_Thorn?_

Murtagh's gentle contact pulled the dragon out of his anger for the moment. Normally Thorn would have given his rider a hard time for making such a hurtful accusation. He would have teased-lashed-guilted him till the dragon's pride had been satisfied... but the images he saw made him want nothing more than to comfort his chosen.

_I am fine, my brother,_ the dragon said, hoping the new title would help to ease his rider's pain. And his efforts were rewarded with the response Murtagh sent him over their still-strong life-bond. Immense relief and gratitude flowed from rider to dragon, helping to further cool the ruby-scale's anger. Relief, gratitude, and love filled the bond between them, and no words were needed in that moment.

_Take your time brother, _Thorn told his rider as he completed one last circle over the area._ I will be waiting for you at the roost when you return._

Thorn could almost see his rider's eyes blink-owl-wide in bewilderment, wondering at what exactly the dragon had been up to, and this image lightened his mood once again. The dragon never held a grudge for very long. Angling his wings, he made a steady descent towards the barren ground not far from the sandy pile that would be the nest site. His touchdown only slightly made the earth tremble, and he stretched out his neck and long body to loosen the ache-tired-tightness he had acquired through all of his labor.

Saphira's landing next to him took him completely by surprise, for the water-scales' approach had been flawlessly silent. His instinctive hiss and defensive posture lasted only a flash of a moment, but it was enough to boost the confidence and self satisfaction of the sapphire dragoness.

_Oh... it's you..._ Thorn snorted, before turning casually away from her, and facing the section of camp that Murtagh would be coming from. Slowly the ruby dragon hunkered down to wait for his bonded partner's return.

_Is there a reason for your visit Saphira?... other than displaying your awesome stealth and your dazzling lack of courtesy and decorum?_

The sapphire dragon bristled at the insinuation. Narrowed eyes pierced the air between her and the male, as her sleek and perfect tail tensed up and whipped to one side. She looked ready to strike out. Body language spoke clearly of her displeasure, and the ruby dragon's lack of reaction only increased her already aggravated demeanor.

_If you were in possession of any manners or civility, I might not have had to barge in 'uninvited.' Besides, who gave you permission to build a dwelling here? Or erect wards? How do you expect to be trusted if you won't first trust us?_

Thorn's snort of irritation left the scent of hot-fire-brimstone on the air. His rider's memories of Eragon's rejection resurfaced to stir the sparks of his anger.

_My rider and I are free now... free to do as we please... sleep where we like. You surely don't demand that every member of the Varden secure your permission in order to pitch a tent._

Thorn's previous air of disinterest had transformed into a snarl of spite. The dragon had become accustomed to being abused mentally, emotionally and physically, but the fact that it was happening here and now was enough to snap the usually good natured dragon's resolve. He had turned his back on his previous life, and he was supposed to be free and happy. But things were going so wrong... His bared fangs, and his gravelly growl bore testimony to just how wrong things had gone.

_I refuse to be silent while you sit in judgement over my every move. I am tired of being the recipient of your demeaning and disparaging attitude... What, in all of the skies above, do you have to be so contemptuous about?_

When the female didn't answer right away, he added a dismissive snort.

_You were more fun when we were enemies._

Saphira had held her tongue, letting her anger simmer into a furious rolling boil, before finally turning her livid gaze on the obnoxious male. Though her tone was almost dangerously even and controlled, there was a hint of a snarl of loathing in her demeanor that made her words sound ugly.

_I do not have to answer to you. And I don't appreciate your insulting accusations. You seem to think that you and your rider are the only ones who have known pain? How little you know... and how selfish you are. You are the _cause_ of my pain..._

The dragoness swallowed her own heart-pain-loss that had suddenly flared up at the thought of the golden dragon's death. And in an attempt to reclaim her indignation, she reached for the contempt that had fueled her only moments before.

_You and your moping-phobic-recluse of a two-legged partner will have to at least make an attempt at being useful and civil, if you expect to retain your welcome here._

Now it was Thorn's turn to be stunned. Not only was he shocked by the intensity of Saphira's vehemence, but the suddenness of it as well. Her mood had quickly turned from dismissive and haughty to a passionate animosity. And inside the ruby dragon had little time to ponder what had triggered such a change. His own defensive responses had kicked into place at the veiled threat of abandonment and at her verbal abuse of his chosen.

_No one tries harder than Murtagh to make something noble out of his existence... but who will allow him to succeed... no one, not even his own brother..._

The anger-fury-desperation welled up within the ruby dragon as he spat his thought-words at the inflexible dragoness.

_Why is it that your rider chooses to intentionally wound my chosen with his cruel tricks... first pretending to be friends, and then treating him with contempt. He is cruel. You have no idea how it injured Murtagh inside, and he is only just starting to let himself feel again._

He didn't care anymore if he was revealing his rider's pain, for he was hurting too. But the worst part was the realization that all of this was his own fault. It was because of Thorn's insistence that they stay with the Varden, that his chosen was having to endure this ongoing discrimination. And Thorn was beginning to regret his choice.

The sapphire female tensed with her own fury at the overgrown hatchling's attack on the character of her beloved rider. It hadn't been Eragon's fault. All he had done was express his feelings honestly. In her eyes it was Morzansson who was incapable of facing the truth. And the truth was simply this... No one trusted the red pair, and no one was likely to trust them anytime in the near future. They were going to have to earn the Varden's trust anew, and that would take time... time and effort.

_Eragon is _not_ cruel. This is hard for him too, and it's going to take time, _she hissed furiously._ You ungrateful scaled rat... Can't you see everything that we have done to try to help you? Can't you see that it is hard for us too? All of this is new for us... You've had months to process all that has happened to you. We have just endured all of your memories, and all of your pain in the span of a couple days. That isn't easy to work through._

_It wasn't easy to live through either,_ the ruby-scales growled back angrily.

_You can't expect to swoop in and be embraced by those you have wronged so severely. You may _never_ be accepted... and you need to face that possibility. You might do everything right from this day forward, but _nothing_ you do will _ever_ be able to erase the past... or return the dead._

Thorn thought he sensed something emotional catching in the female's last words, and then suddenly, truth dawned on him. She had said that 'he was the cause her pain'... and now he suddenly understood. This pain that he had caused her, it was the deaths of the elder pair...

Thorn shuddered with the realization. He and his rider had been used by the king... forced to kill the great golden dragon and his rider. They had been frozen, snared-fowl-netted, trapped within their own bodies while the king spoke through them... attacked through them... murdered through them... It wasn't really his fault, but an overwhelming feeling of guilt settled upon him... guilt, shame, and hopelessness.

_I know,_ the red dragon acknowledged, retreating within his scales. No longer did he project his feelings, neither happy nor sad. He withdrew himself from the world, realizing for the first time just how right his rider had been. Even though the pair was here physically, didn't mean that they were accepted or welcome.

The water-scales must have sensed the change in the red dragon's demeanor, and she couldn't help but soften her own attitude to match.

_Understand Thorn, that they were our Ebrithilar... Oromis, a second father figure to Eragon... and Glaedr..._ the blue dragoness paused, debating on whether or not to explain her own deeper grief to the not-quite-enemy. _I had aspirations of Glaedr someday being my scale-sky-mate... after the war... And now, without him, I fear I will never desire to become mother to a new generation. With his death, all of my dreams of the future died too._

Unwilling to discuss the incident further, Saphira turned abruptly, and leapt into the air, making a hasty retreat to find her own rider, and regain her emotional control. Her form quickly got lost in the inky-blue-black of night. Only the blocking out of the stars gave evidence of her passing, and the ruby dragon was left alone in stunned silence.

Thorn couldn't move, such was the shock of Saphira's revelation. No wonder her animosity ran so deep. Not only had she lost her mentor, but she had lost her choice of mates as well. And this didn't just affect her alone. She was the last known female dragon, and because of this deprivation, the dragon race would eventually be lost to the world.

A keening sound escaped Thorn as he pondered this last sad truth. The weight of the consequence of that horrible deed caused him to sag heavily. All the penitence in the world would not repair the damage that had been done, and the world had every right to scorn and reject him, as did Saphira.

_Oh no..._ the dragon despaired. Even seeing the approach of his beloved chosen didn't ease his breaking heart._ What have we done?_

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**Updated 5-17-2011**

**A/N: I am rather unhappy with my dragon POV. I don't feel I was able to portray the dragon mind quite right. I hope I didn't over do it. But I hope the emotional interaction comes across better. I wanted the red pair to see that they aren't alone in the matter of enduring pain. I hope you guys all like this chapter... Next chapter you will see the 'nest' completed. ;)**


	5. Simple Pleasures

**A/N: To help this chapter be less confusing, the following words are used interchangeably, brother, half-brother, and not-brother. The reason for the distinctions are to give indication of way that Eragon and Murtagh currently view each other. **

**Also I'd like to extend my HUGE thanks to my favorite beta: InkWeaverabc. It is probably thanks to her that this is readable at all.**

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**Chapter five: Simple Pleasures**

In the dim light of the approaching sun, a pale stripe lit the horizon. Ever so slowly it grew to illuminate the land, allowing details to become more visible. Rocks, dirt and weeds were strewn across the ashen wasteland that rose to the west of the city, but little could be made of the red pair's location. The barren patch of land that the two had appropriated -without permission- showed no sign of them whatsoever. And as always in a tight knit community, there was some eager soul watching and ready to report his every move. 'Alerting the appropriate authorities' of unauthorized situations would be the gentler way to describe their actions, but either way it ended the same... as a matter to be brought before the Varden leader.

_Why should this morning be any different from the others?_ Nasuada squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, resenting the muffled voices that called her to consciousness. She shouldn't be awake, but she was... and even with her eyes closed she could tell that the sun had not quite risen. Who could possibly need her at this hour?

"Please M'Lady... let me have entrance... I need to speak to you."

The female voice grew louder in spite of the guards urging her to keep her voice down, and even with the tent flaps closed, she could hear the struggle that was going on outside. Whoever this woman was that had awakened her, she was trying to press her way past the guards, and having very little luck.

"No you may not," Nasuada snapped loudly, trying to manage her anger over the loss. For this once she had hoped to enjoy a bit of extra much needed sleep. But now all her hopes were completely shattered.

"It is only barely morning, and there are official channels you can go through to schedule a meeting... and at a decent hour, I might add." The sharpness in the young leader's voice did nothing to deter the forward female from continuing her petition from the other side of the canvas.

"Please... you must see me now, M'Lady. For it is an urgent matter, otherwise I'd not have dreamed of disturbing you at such a time..."

Nasuada had pushed herself into a seated position even as the woman's voice pleaded, and she grasped her quilted robe from the end of her bed tugging it over her satin nightdress. It was one of the few simple pleasures that the Varden leader allowed herself. A soft bed, and pleasant sleepwear. When Ajihad's daughter finally did retire for the night, she wanted to get a good sleep. The day to follow would surely test her strength. Standing, Nasuada tied the sash around her trim waist and took a deep breath.

"Fine... Bring the woman in." Even if she agreed to see this person, she wasn't going to do so alone._ What now?_ she asked herself silently.

The flap drew back and the Varden leader watched stoically as one of her Nighthawks brought the blond female into her private tent. She noticed with a slight sense of satisfaction that the escorted woman seemed none too comfortable with her forearm being gripped by an urgal.

"Thank you Khagra," she spoke trying to hide a small smile. "If you will kindly remain as you are until the lady is dismissed, I would be grateful."

The urgal nodded, and continued restraining the visitor who bravely shot him a scathing glance, before pulling herself back to the task at hand...

"The red rider has disappeared, M'Lady."

Nasuada's shock showed on her face. This she hadn't expected. Yet in her mind she registered several facts. There had been no word of warning from Eragon, whose job it was to manage the new arrivals. Also the leader recognized this woman from a report that Eragon had given her shortly after pledging his allegiance to her. This particular woman had been causing him some embarrassment, and making scenes in an attempt to secure the boy's affections. Nasuada's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as she scrutinized the woman.

"And what is your name?" the dark skinned leader asked changing the subject, and causing the other woman's face to reflect her dismay.

"Auksha... Auksha Vivasdaughter," the blonde said after a stiff hesitation, and she flourished a brief half-curtsy. Her free hand pulled her knit shaw over her shoulders concealing the brazen neckline of her dress.

"Auksha," Nasuada repeated, observing the woman's fair face. It seemed to express disdain rather than worry. Evidently she was more concerned with her warning being ignored, than she was actually troubled over the missing rider's whereabouts. And seeing this, Nasuada suspected that this woman was only there to stir up trouble.

"While I appreciate the enthusiasm you display in regards to the safety of the Varden, I have to assure you that the Shadeslayer is quite capable of monitoring the red rider. I ask that you kindly leave the duty of Murtagh's supervision to his capable hands."

Even as she spoke the words, she had a cloud of doubt cross her mind and her features. What if something had happened... as unlikely as it seemed. Nasuada debated in her mind with the idea of going make sure. If she did it would appear as if she did not trust the new addition to their ranks, but then she wasn't really sure that she did trust him. And the safety of the Varden was much more important than her image in the eyes of the son of Morzan. Nasuada looked up and released a long breath.

"Send a messenger to Eragon to inform him, and dispatch a guard to Murtagh's last known location to investigate this matter..."

The look of smug self-satisfaction that blossomed across the Auksha's flawless countenance did not go unnoticed by the young leader. Nor did the look remain with her for long.

"In fact Khagra, I would like for you to look into this yourself... Bring the female, as she seems to know where to start looking."

Nasuada had to fight back a smirk at the changed expression that now adorned the blonde's face... stunned, trapped and quite unhappy.

"And make sure to call for a replacement as you depart."

The Varden leader turned away in dismissal. She had to or she would have burst into a grin. The urgal kull tugged on the female's arm until they were outside of the tent, and then pressed his reluctant guide into leading the way to the scene of the so-called crime. The sounds of their retreat diminished until the only sign of her disturbed morning was the fact that she was in her robe and standing, rather than snuggled in her cozy bed.

Nasuada sighed deeply, knowing that there was no going back... not to her bed... and not on the fate of the enemy rider. Another sigh escaped her. She might as well dress and start her day. So much for simple pleasures...

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_How could we have let this happen?_ Eragon lamented as he ran with elven speed towards the western flank of the encampment.

The messenger had awakened the rider from his-not-quite-sleep, even before he had arisen to perform the Rimgar. Every morning that he was able, he would get up early to greet the day and honor his masters. Though the effort was always a challenge, the act of working through the entire routine uninterrupted was one of his cherished simple pleasures.

Eragon had covertly placed a light ward around the entire area of Feinster to alert him to the straying of the ruby pair. It had successfully alerted him each time that the dragon had crossed it the day before, and he and Saphira had visually confirmed it each time. Even now he checked the spell as he rushed through the last section of tents... the ward was still intact and working... so what had gone wrong? It was infuriating to say the least.

_How did they manage to evade my detection? _

The blue blur of his dragon overtook him, reaching the warded site first, and circling overhead in search of any sign of their charges. Unfortunately, there was no trace of either dragon or rider, and the sapphire dragoness growled audibly as well as mentally through her link with her rider.

_Don't worry Young One,_ she vowed confidently. _We will find them... and when we do I'll rip every scale off the coward's hide... and every appendage off his traitorous rider._

Eragon rounded the last group of tents, bordering Murtagh's confiscated land. He had seen bits of the aerial visions that Saphira had sent him, but now he scanned the terrain from his vantage point on the ground. All he could see was scrubland... no tent... no dragon... no rider... But a moment later he noticed two things... The shape of the hill had been altered almost imperceptibly. It would never have been noticed from the air... And the other thing he noticed was that an urgal kull was leading a small guard up to the warded area escorting a human female held in his grasp. She appeared to be gesturing to the grey expanse of worthless property that was the target of his own investigation. If the woman was who he suspected, this whole affair was likely nothing but a stunt to antagonize his 'half-brother.'

_Saphira, call out to Thorn, will you?_

Understanding reached the dragoness through her link with Eragon, and though she could not yet figure how the enemy pair could be so well hidden, she trusted her rider's instincts utterly.

A wordless roar poured forth from her gaping jaw, accompanied by flame and smoke. It was a clear dragonic summons, wild, ancient and unmistakable.

Moments passed and nothing seemed to happen... But then a section of scrubland began to shimmer as if under a heated desert mirage. The effect was such that it was impossible to pinpoint the appearance of the dragon. He was suddenly there, emerging from the waning distortion and shaking the dust and sand from his back and wings.

The ruby dragon casually gazed up at the circling Saphira and roared a greeting as he pressed his great strength into an aerial leap.

_Good morning dragon-of-my-rider's-brother..._ he greeted Saphira cheerfully with regained humor. It had taken much of the night and lots of reassurance from his rider to dispel the overwhelming guilt that had arisen from his previous conversation with the sapphire dragoness. But now he seemed back to his old annoying self.

_So... tell me what brings you to my door so early in the morning._ His words reflected a human style greeting, in contrast to her purely instinctive invitation, and the female wondered briefly if he had done so as an insult, or simply in jest.

With all eyes on the Thorn, no one seemed to notice the figure walking casually up to Eragon from behind.

"Can I help you, Shur'tugal?"

Eragon nearly jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of the other rider. The snarl of irritation that seized his face actually made him look like a reflection of the man standing before him, and Murtagh's breath caught in his throat at the realization. They were undeniably brothers, whether either of them wanted to admit it or not. And the faces scowling back and forth at each other left no doubt.

The drawn out silence between them only punctuated the strain of their situation. Their conversation the night before had not ended well, and it was starting to appear that they might not have any better luck today. Brown eyes glared at cold grey, as each scrutinized the other... neither backing down.

"Just where exactly have you been?"

"Here," the elder answered evenly, nodding to indicate the warded land.

"Do you really think that hiding is the best way to elicit the trust of your new allies?" Eragon's tone was challenging if not a bit sarcastic, earning him a scowl in return.

"No, but it is the best way to survive the night while sleeping along side my new allies."

The young rider made to object, but Murtagh interjected before he was able.

"Look Eragon... I will NOT risk the safety of my dragon. I will not make myself an easy target for whoever might find reason to object to my presence. And I will not give up my freedom so soon after attaining it... This is not an accusation against the Varden, though I do have adequate reason to believe that there are those among your ranks that would love to end my life. But who knows whether a spy of the empire might see fit to please the king with my death... No, I will not give up the small security that I am able to erect for myself and my dragon."

Murtagh's expression was granite, his intentions immovable. And Eragon grudgingly admitted to himself that his half-brother had a point.

"At least put up a tent so your general presence can be felt... so any messengers sent to find you would have some way to track you down."

There was a pause as Eragon decided whether or not to press the other rider for more information. His voice lost its sharp edge as he took a chance and asked.

"Murtagh... How did you and Thorn hide all night? That had to have used a lot of energy... Surely you can't keep that up indefinitely..."

Murtagh considered letting his brother think what he liked, but then he changed his mind. With a quick turn, he began to walk, motioning for Eragon to follow. Only he didn't move towards his scrubland, but rather headed into the encampment.

"If you help me acquire a tent and raise it, then I will show you where Thorn and I spent the night..."

The elder looked over his shoulder at his not-brother, and dared to allow a hint of amusement to light his usually stormy eyes. Whether this was an invitation or a challenge mattered little; it was issued with a nuance of friendship, one that was unexpected though not unwelcome. And Eragon smiled in response, sprinting to catch up with Murtagh's long strides.

"Alright then..." the young rider grinned, falling into step with the other. "What color tent do you want?"

**.**

* * *

**.**

As the lazy-bright-fire-eye rose higher in the sky, the arid Surdan temperature continued to climb. Overhead two dragons, one ruby, one sapphire had settled into a series of practice flights... loops, spins, chases, and even mock attacks. It only seemed natural for them to begin to learn each other's strengths and abilities in order to work out battle strategies. Where Saphira was clearly superior at aerial performance, the younger dragon possessed a greater strength and endurance. Additionally, Thorn eagerly shared his knowledge of multiple dragon tactics that he had been taught. He had been trained to work with Shruikan in coordinated attacks. And though he did so hesitantly, Thorn revealed as many of the elder dragon's weaknesses as he could recall. He did seem saddened a bit at the thought of possibly having to injure and kill another dragon elder... Shruikan couldn't help being a slave of the king any more than the red pair.

Saphira sensed his line of thoughts and decided to break from their first training session. Both dragons headed back to where their riders had just finished erecting Murtagh's dwelling tent. It was a charcoal grey... grey to fit in with the drab environment. Thorn rolled his eyes at his rider's unimaginative choice.

_I am going fishing,_ Thorn announced to no one in particular and angled his flight towards the direction of the sea. This was one activity that he wanted to make a habit of. It was only one of the simple pleasures that he was beginning to discover, now that he was free. And though she made a pretense of distaste, Saphira veered off to follow, keeping her diligent surveillance of her charge.

Below the riders watched the dragons disappear, both knowing full well the pair would be occupied for the afternoon.

Eragon turned back to the other rider. It was only then that he realized that there were a handful of observers lingering about the warded border. Though he wouldn't exactly call the group hostile, their demeanor was distinctively wary.

"Looks like we've drawn a crowd," Eragon said causing Murtagh to spare a glance in their direction. He watched the elder shrug with apparent indifference.

"Perhaps now is a good time to show you where I stayed last night..."

Giving a slight bow and gesturing inside the tent, Murtagh made a show at half hearted courtesy, and Eragon happily entered, liking the idea of being out of the sun... not that the dark space within was any cooler.

Then Murtagh moved to the back of the sparse tent, and tipped over the wooden cot. Leaning it against the tarp wall, he whispered in the ancient tongue.

"Moi deloi"

This action did two things. First, it caused the ground to open up, exposing a steep downward stairwell leading into the darkness. It also exposed to the blue rider, the spell used to enter Murtagh's place of safety. It was an act of trust that surprised him, especially after their previous encounter.

As Eragon followed his half-brother down the steps into the much cooler air, he pondered the change in the elder... Or perhaps it was he himself that was changing... changing his perception of his former enemy... his former friend.

The drop in temperature was not the only change. The walls of the stairwell grew smoother and opened up at the end of the stairs. The flickering of an oil lamp shed enough light to appreciate the created space.

Eragon blinked in disbelief. It almost seemed like the surfaces had been carved from a giant sea shell. The two riders were standing in a roomy space larger than a typical Varden tent. This was obviously a sitting room of sorts. It contained a wall-shelf, a small table and two chairs, all of which were carved from the same pearl-like material that made up the ceilings, walls and even the floor. The young rider silently marveled at his surrounding. How was Murtagh able to create all this underground?

His brown eyes took in everything. There was also a large polished section of wall that shined like glass and he suspected it could easily be used in scrying. One entire side of the room was nothing more than a wide opening where the ceiling sloped upward creating a cavern further back into what must have been the dragon lair.

It was clear to Eragon that the far end had been designed to accommodate Thorn. The area was large enough for him to relax, sleep and even stretch, if you didn't count the wings. And a generous layer of sand filled a depression in the flooring which served as a comfortable bed for him.

Next to the sitting room was another space, a bedroom. Slightly smaller than the first room, it held a narrow bed on one wall and a small desk with a lamp on the other. This room like the other was open to the dragon lair, but additionally it was connected by narrow archways to two other rooms. Curiosity propelled the young rider to explore further, and not meeting any resistance from his host, he stepped up to the openings and peered inside...

One of these room was a storage area. Murtagh may not have possessed many items, but the few he did have appeared to be kept in here, and these included the Eldunari he had escaped with. Eragon's eyes widened again, but this time in amazement of the ancient dragon hearts. It still rather stung his pride a bit to remember, but for whatever reason the Hearts had refused to speak to the blue rider directly, preferring instead to communicate with Saphira when it was necessary. Eragon backed out of the storage room, and tried the last archway.

This room was completely unexpected... In it there were three main items, a large bath-sized basin, a smaller waist high wash basin next to it, and a chamber pot with a lid over on the far wall. A small shelf was strategically placed next to each, providing space for any necessary articles, a towel by the bath, and a partially filled jar next to the small basin.

Even though Murtagh's belongings were relatively meager, Eragon was stunned into silence by the extravagant dwelling, at least when compared to the usual Varden living space. Even Nasuada's lodgings seemed insignificant next to this.

"It's no wonder you didn't request a tent..." Eragon murmured, "but is all this really necessary?"

"It was Thorn's idea..." the red rider smiled. "He said if I was going to be a hermit, I might as well be comfortable." His grey eyes grew thoughtful with some distant contemplation. "I owe it to him to try to be happy. He deserves better than the misery he gets from me..."

"But Murtagh... How did you do it?" Eragon asked re-examining everything as they walked back to the sitting room. The red rider tried to cover up his initial reaction to the seemingly never-ending questions... It sometimes seemed that the boy hadn't changed at all since they first met so long ago. The thought softened Murtagh's expression.

"Thorn must have brought back a small mountain of sand," the elder explained with a smile. "And sand is very easily manipulated. It took us all night even with the Eldunarya helping."

Then he shrugged adding, "But it wasn't too difficult,"

Eragon wasn't sure how he felt about his brother living in such luxury while loyal Varden members resided in tents, but he refrained from a snap judgement this time, deciding instead to change the subject.

"Why don't we go get something to eat?"

Now it was Murtagh's turn to be surprised. Was his brother inviting him to eat with him? Wasn't it just a week earlier that the blue rider had pledged to hate him forever? Or was it two weeks?... And Murtagh was no fool to think that their differences were suddenly all worked out... but in his heart he felt a spark of hope.

It must have showed on his face because Eragon broke into a grin and bolted up the narrow stairwell leading back to Murtagh's tent.

"Follow me... and after we eat, maybe I'll let you show me how you worked the sand... and then perhaps I'll teach you the Rimgar."

Eragon laughed as he watched his brother's face speak more clearly than words... It said that he thought the younger to be utterly crazy. And even though Eragon hadn't wanted it to be so, he found that he was glad to have Murtagh back. He was glad to have someone to help carry the burden. And mostly he was glad to not be alone in the fight against the dark king. Suddenly the future seemed more achievable than ever, and having a brother was surprisingly turning out to be one of life's simple pleasures.

**.**

* * *

**.**

******Posted: 8-7-2011 / Revision: 8-17-2011**

**Author's Note: **

**Hey people. I've been busy and late, and I would post all my excuses but that is all they are. The good news is that I finally spit out the chapter that was giving me so much problems. The bad news is that it is seriously boring. XD I don't know what got into me to write this bit of filler, but it does reconnect the brothers. And that is the main point to my fic anyways. Will M&T ever win over the Varden? We won't know that till LOTRRanger finishes her story "Overcome." **

**My Plans for Chapter Six are rather big, so I expect it to take a couple weeks at least... {rather than the couple months that it took to motivate this last one.} XP***

**Anyways, I want to thank all of you who read and reviewed. It means a lot, and all of you who write understand what I mean. Additionally, I'd like to apologize for taking so long, and for the lack of any serious movement in this chapter. **

**Next chapter sees M&T in their first battle on the side of the Varden... Tension is high, and distrust becomes a factor, but let's face it they have to survive it or LOTRRanger would have to re-write her whole story. XD**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it**


	6. Undermined: Part I

**A/Note: Out of the one hundred and twenty three individuals that have looked at this story, fourty-two have reviewed. That is an amazing thirty-four plus percent. I am amazed and humbled. I want to thank everyone who has contributed to this unfathomable figure. I hope this chapter honors your vigilant efforts. YOU are the ones that ROCK!**

**{If there are loads of errors, I apologize. My favorite Beta has not responded yet. }**

* * *

**Undermined: Part I**

Thorn's silent laughter shook beneath the dragon's padded saddle, but Murtagh felt it all the same. Not only that, but he could also see the ridiculous image that the dragon was dwelling on, making it utterly apparent that Thorn was laughing at his irritable rider.

_Don't worry Little Brother, you will get the knack of it... eventually._

The rider's eyes narrowed at Thorn's jesting. In truth Murtagh could not remember being more embarrassed than he had been that very morning. It was one thing to lose a sparing match to the younger rider, and he'd hardly complained about losing the bet with him either, but he hadn't expected he'd have to fulfill his bargain right then and there, with all the curious spectators still watching. And all the while his not-brother had been grinning at him like a drunken dwarf. So went Murtagh's first attempt to learn the Rimgar.

_Oh come on, My Fearless One, if the Varden are laughing at you, they aren't hating you. Might not be what you want in the end, but it is a step in the right direction._

How many times had the human rider fallen during his attempts? How many bruises had he acquired? And how many of the onlookers had derived pleasure at seeing his clumsy efforts? The exercise was supposed to bring peace, balance, flexibility, and grace. But none of those benefits had been achieved this day, and he looked back on the occurrence with disdain...

**.**

_"Now try to straighten out... just straighten out the lower torso, while increasing the twist..." the younger rider tried to suggest... But Eragon's words were interrupted._

_"I can't," came the exasperated hiss of a reply. "I've tried it already... This is just stupid..."_

_"You have to keep trying... It takes practice to attain success with the Rimgar... And don't forget that you lost the bet... Now stretch..."_

_Murtagh fixed his expression into a snarl, and with teeth gritted he tried harder to stretch in the correct direction. Eragon, unable to hold back his amusement at his brother's fierce-comical-seething countenance, burst into a brief fit of laugher... thus ending the red rider's concentration. With a strangled cry, Murtagh fell into a tangle._

**.**

Having been unable to hold the convoluted position, or even attain it properly for an instant, Murtagh had fallen backwards and landed in a most undignified way. The sounds of laughter were silenced by a sweeping icy glare from the red rider, though there were a few muffled chuckles that trickled in afterwards, once his attention had been sufficiently diverted back to his endeavor. After numerous tries, Murtagh had stated emphatically that he was done with lessons for the day.

_If you think I'm ever doing THAT again, you are out of your dragon-mind!_

_Of course you will... the next time Eragon wins a match, I'd imagine._

Murtagh's only response was an angry glower. Already he was calling to mind images of his earlier spar with his brother, looking for flaws in his performance, areas where he needed to improve. Additionally he summoned every survival fight-trick he could recall, all in an effort to ensure that he never again lost a match. Beneath him, the saddle shook with more of the dragon's laughter.

_Joker..._ the rider growled.

_Critic... _complained the dragon.

_Traitor..._

_Coward..._

That last accusation caused the rider to scowl. It wasn't being a coward to avoid being laughed at. If anything he felt cowardly allowing them to mock him and poke fun.

_You are afraid, Murtagh... afraid to have fun... You will face hundreds of soldiers and magicians, by yourself if necessary... but you will not be seen having fun with your brother._

_Not-brother..._ Murtagh corrected bitterly. _And we should be concentrating on the battle we are fast approaching._

_Fine then..._ Thorn snorted, not really defeated, but well aware that his rider had a point about the battle part.

**.**

During the past month much had happened. It had been decided that the emerald egg would be transported to the elves in Du Weldenvarden for a year, in the hopes that a rider would be found among the elves. All those involved had agreed that a contingent of elves should come to retrieve the egg, rather than to have Eragon and Saphira bring it. For no one had fully trusted the enemy rider not to turn traitor again if the blue pair were to leave.

Two weeks passed as they waited for the elven party to arrive. During this time Nasuada had utilized the opportunity, allowing members of the Varden to reach out to the egg in hopes of triggering a hatching, but it hadn't happened. By the time the elves appeared to collect the egg, nearly half of the population at Feinster had touched the cool smooth surface and left in disappointment. And then it was gone; spirited off by the elves.

Thorn had felt his own disappointment, for his heart yearned to see the green dragon hatch. But in the weeks that followed, he had accepted this loss. As long as the egg was safe and free, that was what mattered the most.

And it was safe. Just two days prior, they had received word from Islanzadi stating that the egg was safe within the elven lands. Now, according to the agreement, if it didn't hatch for the elves within the year, it would be returned to the Varden to test the humans for an acceptable candidate. Only the egg could be the judge in this matter. And that was as it should be.

The whole operation had been kept as secret as possible, and it was this very secrecy that had led to the altercation lying before them now. For the king, not knowing that the egg had been moved, had ordered an attack on Feinster. The plan was not to retake the city, but to recover the stolen egg. His orders also included the assassination of the traitorous red rider... to make an example of Morzan's son once and for all.

The Varden spy had been certain of his information, and indicated on the map, the foothills of the unnamed mountain to the north of Feinster. This was to be the intended gathering place of the king's forces. And that was just where the Varden would strike.

Even though she encountered some intense opposition, Nasuada had chosen to send Murtagh and Thorn to aid Thadon Dornson. Dornson was one of her new commanders, and he had been charged with intercepting the empire's attack forces and dealing with them before they reached the city. Feinster was still recovering from the Varden siege, and in it's fragile state, it could not take another wide-swept battle. And as a precaution, Eragon, Saphira, and the generals remained to guard the city. That way if it became necessary, the blue pair could fly out to assist the Varden troops.

**.**

The freedom fighters, led by Dornson, had the element of surprise on their side, as the king's soldiers would not be expecting the attack. And with a dragon rider, it should be a simple thing to end the matter on the plains. That was the general plan anyways. It seemed almost too easy, and as they drew closer to the place where the empire's soldiers were supposed to be, Murtagh grew uneasy.

_Shouldn't they be just over this rise?_ Thorn asked, curiosity turning into concern...

The mental nod that Murtagh replied with did little to reassure the dragon as they glided over the rise and saw no sign of the enemy in the valley beyond. This was going to completely change the battle plans...

_What battle plans? The empire isn't here, so there won't be any battle..._

_They are here Thorn... I can feel the shielded minds of the enemy. They are spread out thin... and invisible... But why?... and where?_

This made no sense at all. There was no trace of the amount of magic it would take to hide such a spread out force. So why couldn't the airborne pair find any trace of their foes?

_We better find them soon, the Varden four-leggs are almost to the ridge._

The Varden troops were currently all on horses in the hopes that a speedy arrival would surprise the enemy. Each animal carried two riders, a swordsman that would then leap off into the battle, and an archer that would remain in the saddle for the duration. It was a twist on the original plans that Commander Dornson had added, and he made no attempt to hide his self approval over his cleverness. The whole of the attack force was even now straining to reach the top of the target ridge.

_Blast it! Where are they..._

_Murtagh, isn't that strange? That pattern on the ground along the inside of the ridge... It looks almost like footprints in sand._

Murtagh let Thorn's musings draw his eyes back to the edge. The ground formation did look strange, now that the rider had noticed it. The 'footprints' certainly weren't natural, being rather evenly spaced, and following precisely the inner edge of the rise. And it wasn't just one row, but three rows deep.

Something about the sight triggered a memory in the red rider, and in a flash he scanned further out across the valley. The marks, the rows followed the curve of the ridge and then continued arching around the edge of the valley, ending up completing a circle.

_The Fairy Rings..._ Murtagh gasped as the truth of their situation hit him. Thorn momentarily thought his rider had lost his mental control, but that changed as Murtagh showed him an image of a battle plan he had once seen. The drawing had been scribbled down by one of the king's more dangerous generals, General Kreigor. He was the son of the recently appointed Lord of Dras Leona, Lord Melfonse Ankorson, and his incredible loyalty to Galbatorix, as well as his arsenal of dirty tricks had gained him the kings favor. Kreigor's troops and magicians were also trained to fight dirty, which gave him an unusual advantage in battle when compared to the other imperial armies.

Murtagh remembered his brief encounter with Kreigor. The warrior loved to employ deception and the setting of traps, and so far to his credit the general had yet to lose a battle to the enemy. This was clearly one of those traps. 'The Fairy Rings' he had called it. Murtagh was certain. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the red rider realized that from the very beginning their plan had been compromised. The information that the spy obtained must have been planted intentionally to draw out the Varden force... They had to be warned before the entire mission was undermined.

"Retreat! Pull back... It's a trap!" the rider called out with an amplified voice. But the commander, seeing no sign of danger urged the men onward. And the ruby pair watched in shock as the first wave of the Varden troops began to cross into The Fairy Rings.

"NO!" The son of Morzan raged at the turn of events. Rider and dragon were one in their dismay, and they were one in their response to the danger... It was not part of the agreed upon strategy... nor some back up contingency plan... It was a purely instinctive reaction... take out the enemy. Setting his sights on the nearest ground depression, the ruby dragon dove for the ground, intent upon ripping out as many of the hidden foes as he was able.

It was a frightening sensation that fell on the men of the Varden. Ice filled their veins as the crimson dragon bore down on them; a roar of battle erupting from deep within the dragon's chest, a blood red inferno pouring from his jaws, a furious rider atop his shoulders with 'sword of misery' drawn and held high. The awesome sight seemed to slow down time... The rebel riders balked. Horses reared. And the greatest part of the Varden troops were physically redirected, pressed back from the top of the rise by the sheer unstoppable charging bulk of muscle and scale, tooth, and claws.

Thorn hit the ground running, his weight causing a series of concussions that matched his loping gait. As he ran along the rows that lined the rise, his claws tore up the earth. Great chunks of sand and debris were flung to the sides with every stride, raining down upon the gaping Varden Army, and exposing the hidden enemy beneath the surface. Of course this method of unveiling the danger left many of the newly exposed soldiers either injured or dead... but not all. Some of the enemy managed to pull themselves unscathed from the settling dust, and in the initial confusion they were not immediately noticed by the stunned freedom-fighters. They were still transfixed on the rampaging dragon charging past them, and continuing along the ridgeline in an arc.

The Varden commander was incensed by the complete and utter disruption of his plans. First the empires forces were nowhere to be seen, and then the cursed red dragon had bowled through the ranks effectively diverting the charge. The horses that had been nearest to the path of the stampeding dragon had thrown their riders and ran off in terror. Even as Thorn continued his run on the rows, and moved beyond the reaches of the stunned attacking forces, the men of the Varden were left unsure as to just where -and who- the enemy was.

*Shhhhannnnng!*

"Watch your back... the kings troops are rising from the ground..."

The sound of steel meeting steel barely preceded the warning cry. And the initial terror that sounded in the voice caused the soldiers to pull their attention to the new threat. The survivors of Thorn's rage were emerging from their collapsed bunkers and they immediately took up the fight...

The battle had begun.

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**Posted: 8-19-2011 (revised slightly 10-10-2011)**

**A/Note:**

**The battle was originally supposed to be concluded before the first quarter of chapter... I had planned to cram so much good stuff into it. But when I reached the sixth page, and the battle was only just starting, it made me decide to break things up a bit.**

**Now I see that to do it justice, and not make people wait for weeks, that I need to break it up into ...{counts on fingers...} probably three smaller chapters.**

**Hope you enjoy! And please Read & Review... :D**


	7. Undermined: Part II

**A/Note: **

**{Having received InkWeaverabc's Beta notes, and input from LOTRRanger, I have made some adjustments and small additions to this chapter and reposted it. I hope it makes the reading more enjoyable.} XD **

**Not sure why I had such difficulty with this chapter. My muse just flat out left me high and dry. Interruptions in life sort of altered my intended direction, and eventually the story defined its own path, in spite of my attempts to make something special of it.**

**I thank all of you for reading, and for your encouraging reviews. Any constructive advice is craved... I want this story to get better for you guys.**

* * *

**Undermined: Part II**

Thorn had unearthed nearly a fourth of the enemy's outer 'ring' as he ran, before he encountered magical wards that abruptly halted his progress. A roar of surprise and frustration escaped him as the unseen bindings gripped his limbs and held him in place.

Through their link, Murtagh could feel the pull of the magic on his dragon... very like being enveloped in quicksand, only stronger. It seemed the more Thorn struggled, the deeper and more securely he was bound.

_Stop all your thrashing, Thorn... It's only making things worse..._

Panic seeped into his being, as Thorn's ability to draw breath became compromised. Vermillion eyes bulged as the dragon twisted in an attempt to pull himself loose. But the dragon was securely bound and completely helpless.

Reaching for their Eldunarya, the red rider struggled to counter the magic, only to be shocked when, even with the added strength, the binding spells didn't budge. How was the enemy able to spend all of this energy on the spell?

Murtagh had to tear himself away from his dragon's panic, knowing that their only chance was to locate the source of the enemy's energy and deal with it that way. Mentally he scanned the area within the circular battle ground.

Apparently, the fighters following Commander Dornson had become trapped behind enemy lines by the remaining imperial soldiers. The Kings army had surrounded the small group, cutting them off from their allies, while the main Varden force had earlier been deflected back over the rise, and forced to regroup.

Imperial forces struggled to contain the Varden, and many of them were rushing to fill the gap created by Thorn's earlier devastating run. Additionally, more imperial soldiers were converging each moment, surrounding the small force on all sides. The Fairy Rings drew tighter around them.

The red rider noted with a grain of satisfaction that only a small group of the rebels had become trapped within the 'rings, the commander himself and maybe thirty or so of his men. All were fighting determinedly, and now that the rest of the Varden forces had swung back around to attack the circle from the outside, the trapped soldiers stood a very good chance of escaping.

Murtagh's sharp eyes had gathered all this in seconds, as there was only time to skim over the battle in his search for the answer to his and Thorn's dilemma. This took precedence over everything else, for now even his own breathing was becoming difficult. It was essential that he hold on tightly to what air he had, otherwise he would be unable to utter even a simple spell.

It took little time to locate the magician... or rather the magicians. The rider gasped in disbelief. There were fifty magicians congregated near the center of the rings... Fifty!

The number was unprecedented for an ambush such as this. In fact, the entire size of the enemy force appeared to be nearly ten times that which had been reported. This ambush had been well staged.

But there was something that just didn't make sense to the rider. Fifty magicians... It was hard to imagine all of them combining their efforts to restrain a dragon, or even uniting to perform a single spell. That would be near suicide. One stray thought by any of them, and it could all backfire on the whole group.

Thorn's vision was starting to fade in and out, but he managed to send his rider a picture... a memory... Eragon using a spell while his elven guard providing the energy. At first Murtagh stumbled over his dragon's meaning, but then suddenly it all made sense. The magicians weren't all participating in the spell, but were themselves the energy source for someone. But who?

Murtagh's searching pinpointed the sorcerer that was drawing power from his comrades, but it also revealed that the wards protecting him were very strong. Certainly any normal attack would be deflected.

The dragon crashed to his knees, disorientation becoming more prominent every moment. Even Murtagh swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He had to work fast. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how the rest of the Varden force were faring, but it wasn't anything he could dwell on, not as long as he and his dragon were fighting for their lives.

Icy fear dug into Murtagh's heart, stealing his concentration momentarily. It felt like the end of the world was creeping up behind him, as he strained to come up with some sort of defense... anything that might loosen the hold of the suffocating spell. Just as he was about to release a frustrated cry, an idea flashed in a moment of brilliance. He didn't stop to wonder, or even formulate a proper spell. He just dove deep into himself, reaching for the magic, and loosed his weapon. Water.

"Adurna... thrysta..." he hissed, placing almost as much energy into spitting out the words as he did into the forming of the spell... "Moi..."

One of the spells Murtagh had played with on his own was the one he had seen Eragon use to extract water from the ground while crossing the Hadarac. The red rider had been quite successful with adapting this magic to numerous varied uses. Locating water in the moist air surrounding this lone mountain was the easy part. Discovering whether the magicians' wards interpreted water as a threat to nullify. That would be the trick.

It became clear that the enemy's head magician was well protected. He was even shielded against the sphere of water hurtling toward him, his wards struck the oncoming blast dispersing it into harmless droplets. It literally created a horizontal rainstorm that pelted the sorcerer and those near him. But only the first few drops stuck him in water form. For the last piece of Murtagh's spell changed the streaking rain into tiny shards of ice... Blood erupted from literally thousands of wounds, most of which focused on the lead magician. A hideous shrieking and cries of agony rose from the targeted area. At least eight died on the spot, and enough of the others were so injured that the remaining magicians had their hands full just trying to save their fellow mages.

All restraints surrounding the ruby pair collapsed... and Murtagh began to pour energy from several of the Hearts into his nearly unconscious friend. It mattered little that there were surviving magicians. And Murtagh could have destroyed them easily now that they were in a panic of their own, but the rider's main concern now was his dragon.

The expansion of the dragon's torso as he drew his first breath in minutes, flooded the rider with a tidal wave of emotion and relief. The mental spark was retuning to their connection, and the pair clung desperately to each other through their link, reveling in their returning strength. It took several long moments for the pair to recover to a functioning level, and the rider used the brief time to scan the rest of the field.

A hole had been punched in the outer circle by Dornson's first captain. Murtagh didn't know his name, but he nodded in approval of the captain's technique. They had burst through with the horses, and were using them as a wedge to hold the escape route open while the second wave of rebels poured through, surrounding and liberating the commander's party in moments.

Thorn heaved himself to his feet, and glanced around at the imperial troops foolish enough to have attempted to surround the dragon and rider after it was clear that the magicians had failed. Murtagh couldn't help smirking at his friend's eagerness to sink his fangs into the enemy. After enduring such a humiliating incapacitation, Thorn was aiming to get even. It even appeared to the soldiers that the dragon smirked.

With a snort of fire and smoke, Thorn became a charging bull, a formidable army of one. Ruby scales flashed in the sun, as white talons dug into the shallow gritty dirt, propelling himself and his rider in the direction of their retreating comrades. And panicked enemy soldiers scattered, fled, and dove out of his searing path.

Another wave of relief washed over the pair as they exited the cursed rings, prompting Thorn's roar of defiance. The ruby wings snapped open and beat both sky and ground, creating a dust-storm in his haste to be airborne.

At this point the entire Varden was in retreat heading down the steady decline back in the direction they had come from. Swinging about, Murtagh and Thorn took time enough to locate and scatter the horses of the enemy. They had been poised in a nearby ravine, and ready to use if the need arose. Only now they were gone, and of no use. It was clear that there would be no pursuit of the fleeing rebels. Finally, the red pair was able to relax as they circled back towards their retreating allies.

_Murtagh, I know I saw archers within the empires troops._

"I saw them too... I wonder why no arrows were fired," the rider scowled.

_Count yourself lucky, _Thorn mused as the pair glided over the mounted Varden army. _I think that was the shortest battle I have ever been in._

"Ha! Maybe cause you slept through half of it."

_Not funny,_ the dragon growled irritably. But curiosity overcame his ire when he noticed the Varden troops slowing. _I wonder what's going on down there?_

Murtagh glanced over Thorn's shoulder and watched speechless. The two leaders were at odds, one shaking an angry fist, and the other with arms spread as if pleading. As unbelievable as it seemed, Dornson was giving orders to turn the group around, and renew the attack, while his captain was trying to make him see sense.

"Thorn... we'd better land."

Less than a minute later Murtagh was on the ground and stalking unceremoniously towards Dornson and his captain. Judging by the expressions on both officers' faces, neither man was in favor of the red rider joining in the conversation. Both pulled back a bit, and eyed him suspiciously. A long silence passed between them in which no word of any kind was spoken. Finally, Murtagh decided to get things going with a bit of common sense, lined with a minimal hint at sarcasm.

"Gentlemen... we are not yet far enough from the enemy to stop for tea. I suggest that we resume the retreat."

"Yes," the captain agreed looking at the commander with renewed purpose. Even though he was leery about Morzansson's presence, he welcomed the support that the rider's words offered. "There is nothing to be gained by going back there. That wasn't an opportunity, sir. It was a trap."

"They are a threat to the Varden," the commander countered. "We need to go back there and destroy them. And if this cowardly excuse for a rider had been able to hold up his part, this whole thing would be over and we would be returning home victorious. But instead the entire mission is undermined by one man."

"Dornson," the rider said in a low voice, straining for control. "Their numbers were too great. Their position gave them the advantage. It was a fool's war."

Dornson's piercing eyes flashed with hostility.

"I didn't see anything we couldn't handle."

"That was because most of their numbers were on the other side of the formation. They were coming. Trust me. We were lucky to have escaped. And if your captain hadn't been so quick to come up with a maneuver to break their lines, you and your little group would have been decimated."

"Trust you... Trust YOU? Morzanson? You have got to be joking." Dornson nearly choked on his disdain, but then raised his voice for added authority. "Captain Yurak, get the men turned around and headed back up the..."

The eyes of the commander rolled back into his head as his lids fluttered. He teetered, and ended up falling into a heap... almost. The rider caught him by one arm and then shoved the unconscious commander into the stunned captain's arms.

"Wha-wha-what did you do?"

Murtagh answered without missing a beat.

"It looks like the commander is suffering from exhaustion. He will likely regain consciousness before we reach the city, but make sure he is secured for the return to Feinster. We wouldn't want to lose him."

The rider spared a glance to the equally shocked men that had been near enough to hear, but his eyes returned and locked on Yurak.

"Captain, you are in charge now. Get your men, and head back to the keep."

Murtagh didn't wait to hear if any complained, or refused, or complied. He just turned about, leapt back up on Thorn, and the ruby pair retreated to the sky as quickly as they were able. The rider didn't even want to look to see what would happen next. Luckily he didn't have to. Thorn was watching for him.

_They are finally moving again._

_Great! _the rider replied with a mental huff.

_Well, look on the bright side, my little brother. You have completed your first Varden mission in record time. _The dragon shook with laughter beneath his saddle.

_Right... I fly right into a trap... you and I are nearly recaptured... we almost lose three dozen men... then when we do escape, I put the commander in a forced sleep, and we retreat empty handed._

_Murtagh, we were never really supposed to bring anything back with us._

_I know, _the rider heaved a weary sigh._ But all I can think of is 'What else could go wrong?'_

_You could have to learn a new level of the rimgar..._

Murtagh's tortured groan elicited another bout of silent laughter, that shook the dragon's frame. And Thorn smiled, love for his despondent rider bubbling over. Inside the mighty dragon, the feeling of happiness and freedom was greater than he had ever felt before. Battle was sweet now that he and his rider were able to choose their own prey. Ripping and biting the enemy could be done without the caustic taste of bitter regret on his tongue. Even if they hadn't won, they were still free and alive to fight another day.

The bold and happy musings took Thorn higher and higher till the pair punctured through the cloud layer. Emerging above the cottony sea, the warm rays of the lazy-westbound-sky-guardian kissed and illuminated the dragon's scales. And it would have been easier to douse the fire of sun than to diminish the flame of life that glowed within the heart of the ruby dragon.

Suddenly every suffering he had ever endured seemed meaningless. He had his rider and his freedom, and life was a dazzling joy.

* * *

**Ending Notes: **

**I really appreciate all the encouraging and suggestions in the reviews. Next chapter is nearly finished, and will be up in a few days to make up for the lengthy wait you have all patiently endured.**

**XD**

**This chapter is posted 10-10-2011 **

**Having received InkWeaverabc's Beta notes, and input from LOTRRanger, I have made some adjustments and small additions to this chapter and reposted it. I hope it makes the reading more enjoyable. XD **

**This chapter was revised 20-13-2011**


	8. Undermined: Part III

**A/Note:**

**This chapter was posted 10-15-2011 {unfortunately before I got my beta's critique.} So I will make corrections to this chapter once that is received. And while I am on that subject, the previous chapter was re-worked and had a few bits added for better understanding. So... I hope that helps. XD**

**Also, I truly thank all of you who have taken time to encourage me with your reviews. And the rest I thank you for simply reading and giving this story a chance. There may be a few more chapters left in this one. I plan to tie it in to the bit about Murtagh running into Orik... "The King and the Kingslayer" piece that I have been toying with. But recently I have been encouraged to do more with "The Finding of the Child" which has a chapter posted on my profile page. That will be my new thrust going forward. Wish me luck, and thanks for being so patient. ;)**

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**Undermined: Part III**

"I don't even know why we're still talking about this," the rider huffed in exasperation. "The Varden troops returned safely."

"We returned," commander Thadon Dornson acknowledged with a sarcastic snarl. "We returned defeated, thanks to you and your bloody lizard."

The tension in the tent multiplied at those thoughtlessly uttered words. And the red rider's murderous stare fixed on the commander, giving evidence to his well aimed insults. The former struggled for his own control, fists balled, and jaw muscles clamped to prevent him from saying something he'd regret... like a magic word of death perhaps.

Oblivious to this fact, the commander smirked, emboldened by his own ability to infuriate the rider, for in his opinion the rider deserved to be ridiculed. After all, the battle had been cut short by the insolent coward's called for retreat. The son of Morzan had not been placed in command, and there was a very good reason for that. He could not be trusted. And this entire ordeal was the proof.

Dornson was still trying to reason out what had happened. How had his inspired plan been so easily thwarted? What had undermined his control over his men? Why had his young captain and the rest of the Varden soldiers automatically followed the cursed rider's instructions? Perhaps the men were just so used to trusting the blue rider that they did as they were bid. Or maybe they did so out of fear of Morzansson's reaction should they disobey. More likely the red rider had placed a magic spell on them to sway the men in his favor... the coward. But in spite of the extended silence that followed his insulting words, the commander had not yet worked up the nerve to speak his suspicions aloud. Then it was too late for the red faced 'traitor' had calmed sufficiently to quietly snarl his response.

"If it weren't for Thorn's actions, your entire command would have been decimated," and here the rider's voice lowered to an angry growl. "And from now on, you watch your tongue when you talk about my dragon."

"You traitor scum... You are under my command, and you do as I say, or face the consequences. End of discussion."

A shiver swept through Nasuada, though it wasn't visibly perceptible. She was stunned by the vehemence being displayed by the two men in her presence. She had listened to both sides, and each of them had valid points, though she found this entire briefing to be as much of a dismal failure as the mission had been. The young leader appeared uncomfortable with her own resolve as she turned towards the taller of the two.

"Murtagh," she began with an exhausted sigh. "We must maintain the chain of command. And you did cause havoc with the troops during the start of the battle."

"And I demand that he be punished appropriately for turning on me and my men," Dornson snarled. His arrogant interruption drew a scowl from both Murtagh and Nasuada.

The silence that followed was punctuated with blistering glares from all. Neither soldier was backing down for a moment, and their eyes were locked in an intense visual combat. When Murtagh spoke, his words were aimed at the Varden leader even if his eyes weren't.

"I will discuss this with you privately," he informed her through gritted teeth.

"There is nothing to discuss Morzansson!" Thadon crowed. "You need to be taught a lesson... to respect your betters. And the sooner you learn..."

"Enough! Both of you!" The utter command in the woman's emphatic tone cut through the bickering, and left a lingering silence in its wake. Her eyes moved from one man to the other, trying to divert their hostilities, and daring either of them to challenge her.

"Commander, you are dismissed," she snapped. It irritated her beyond belief that Dornson had presumed to take control of the briefing, and that he was trying to manipulate her handling of the rider in question. She knew what she had to do, but she would not do it because she was pressed into the action by a disgruntled soldier.

"But M'Lady..."

"I_ said _dismissed."

The grumbling commander dipped his head in a brusque submission, and stormed out, throwing the red rider a last scathing look as he disappeared through the tent flap.

Even with the loss of the officer's angry demeanor, the tension in the warded space was so thick it seemed hard to breath. It was nearly a minute before either of the two remaining occupants deemed to speak.

"Nasuada..."

"No," she stopped him from going further. She didn't like this any better than the rider would, but she knew her duty, and she was not about to shirk it. The preservation of order was at stake. The Varden was at stake.

"Murtagh, you have to understand the need for loyalty and discipline. After your service under the king, I would think..."

"Don't... even... pretend... that this has _anything_ to do with loyalty. Punishing a man for saving the lives of your soldiers is unconscionable. Dornson _caused_ this entire unfortunate event, with his prideful disregard for my warnings, and his insatiable desire to gain status. _He_ is the one who deserves to be punished, and I _refuse_ to be made a spectacle of, in reparation of his bruised ego."

Dark almond-shaped eyes narrowed as the rider completed his unshakable pronouncement. How dare he refuse her order... not that she had actually verbalized her ruling... but his quick mind had drawn the conclusion quite accurately. How dare he consider himself above her jurisdiction? And how dare he make this decision even more difficult that it already was?

"Murtagh," she spoke slowly, hoping to calm her runnaway pulse. "I know this hardly seems fair from your perspective, but for the good of the Varden strict discipline must be maintained. As long as orders are disobeyed, punishment will be the consequence. And don't think that you are the first to be placed in this position. It wasn't long ago that Eragon's cousin, Roran Garrowson, our very own General Stronghammer, endured punishment for a similar incident."

"My cousin," Murtagh corrected flatly.

"What?" Nasuada wasn't expecting him to say that.

"Roran... He is my cousin too," the rider stated with a catch of emotion. For a brief moment Murtagh glanced away before continuing. "And I am well aware of the incident, well aware of the punishment prescribed, and well aware of your reasoning in the matter. But Nasuada, your reasoning is flawed."

Undaunted by the lady's stunned reaction to his words, the rider stepped closer to her, and elaborated further.

"Courage and commitment are not inspired by the fear of repercussions. They are not inspired by pain, force, or coercion. I know... I know because that is the way the king works."

Murtagh's voice began to softened as he spoke his heart to the lady leader. His eyes found hers, and held them captive with his strong underlying emotion.

"Nasuada, real loyalty is inspired by a genuine inner strength, an impartial judgement, and a balance between wisdom and compassion."

The expression on the lady's beautiful face showed signs of uncertainty, and Murtagh continued speaking in his low, gentle tone, so full of conviction that she could do nothing else but listen.

"Ajihad had that wisdom." And in Murtagh's eyes flashed a clear gleam of admiration that he obviously felt for the fallen Varden leader, for her father. "He showed it again and again... He found a way to reprimand Orik for his misdeed of 'saving Eragon and myself from the twins.' He satisfied the letter of the law, stripping the dwarf of his duty, yet rewarding him by the same action, with a new purpose, one that suited him well... And with me, he honored my refusal to be examined, protecting me when he could have simply ended my existence. After that, he even allowed me to fight along side your people, giving me hope that I might be able to earn a modicum of respect."

Silence echoed, as both the reigning lady and the tainted knight struggled to see through each other's eyes.

"Nasuada..." he whispered. "You have that balance of strength, wisdom, and compassion. You know you do. You don't need the unbending authority that results from harsh retaliation... You are better than that."

Murtagh leaned back and collected his emotionless mask. His eyes hardened in preparation to face the outside world, and giving her one last meaningful look, the rider swept out of the command tent.

Stunned into silence, the Varden leader watched him depart. Sounds from the outside world began to filter in... wind rustling the canvas, scuffling feet passing near to the tent, and murmurs from the guards just outside. The silencing spell had been lifted, but the red rider's words echoed in her head, drowning out the returning sounds, and haunting her own conscience. Images of Roran's ordeal, the blood, the lashes, the look of disbelief in his eyes as his fate was announced, all flashed before her eyes in perfect detail. Somehow she had known deep inside that it wasn't right, but she had been convinced that it was the natural way of leadership, that it was a necessary evil... for the good of the Varden.

How could she have been so wrong? Perhaps it was because she was young and inexperienced. Perhaps she had been misled by advisors regarding her duties and choices. But the 'hows' and the 'whys' mattered little now. A large tear rolled down her cheek, and she stifled a sob. If Murtagh was right, and she knew that he was, she had committed a grievous error in the wielding of her authority, and the performance of her duty. She hadn't meant to, but the thing had been done, and could never be undone.

"I can't change the past," she whispered aloud to her aching heart. "But perhaps I can make amends."

Her mind swirled as she set about the planning of her reconciliation. Yet even as she pictured the quiet but elegant dinner, the small intimate gathering, and the heartfelt words of apology that she would speak, she was startlingly aware of the truth. And that truth was this... One person was going to benefit most from the successful mending of this wound between friends, and that was Nasuada herself. Yes, it was selfish. She wanted to be forgiven, but she would also grow from humbly admitting her mistake. And it would be a lesson that she would not soon forget.

A brief moment saw her struggling over whether to invite Murtagh to join them. It was no secret that Stronghammer still strongly disapproved of the red rider. Certainly he would prefer to leave Morzansson out, but something within Nasuada wanted the rider to see her repentance, as well as her acceptance of his frank observations.

At this point she shook her head at the uncomfortable realization. Roran would selfishly exclude Murtagh, the one who was responsible for the leader's change of perspective, and Nasuada would selfishly include him, to further ease her own feelings of guilt. And yet it was Murtagh who was cynically viewed as the heartless one. _'How ironic...'_

Turning, the Varden leader gasped as she caught her own reflection in the scrying mirror standing in the corner of the tent. For the briefest instant, she thought she glimpsed her father standing next to her. The moment passed, but she continued to gaze at the image with an overwhelming sense of wonder and resolve. Surely it was only a trick of the mind... but it felt wonderful, the thought that it might be something more... the feeling that perhaps she wasn't as alone as she had believed.

_'Father,'_ she mouthed the word silently.

Suddenly Nasuada felt young and foolish, dwarfed and yet comforted by the immense mystery of the world. There was still so much that she needed to learn, and in truth there always would be. She would have to continually learn and grow, for it had been the mistaken belief in her 'own certain knowledge' that had undermined her ability to be a wise leader.

But she could change... she would change...

"One step at a time... I can do this."

* * *

**A/Note: **

**Ever since reading Brisingr, the fate of Roran and his reward for his heroic deeds have left me stunned and astounded... and furious if the truth be told. It seemed to me to be utter madness that guided the sentencing of Stronghammer. I only hope that this chapter helps to alleviate {in a small way} some of the feelings of confusion, pain, and betrayal that resulted from this unfathomable and illogical choice of action. Sermon is over... you may all go and review now. XD**


	9. Author's Note to Kumar, and all readers

**A/Notes: **

**My apologies for this false alarm... **

**This is NOT a chapter. It is a temporary note to Kumar, who has generously agreed to help me with developing ideas for "An Enemy's Heart.**

* * *

**Kumar,**

**Please feel free to E-Mail your suggestions to me at my terribly creative E-Mail address below...**

**restrained. freedom {at} yahoo. com {minus the spaces, of course}**

**Gratefully, R.F.**

* * *

**To everyone else, I hope this gives you encouragement that this story is still in process and will be completed; and perhaps sooner, with the help of Kumar.**


	10. Chapter Nine: Training and Toasts

**A/Notes: Posted 10-31-2012**

**Firstly, I am heartily ashamed that I have not added anything to this story in over a year. I have tried time and again with little success. I know what I want to do, but I can't seem to get there.**

**The biggest problem I am having is that I am struggling with making a certain scene happen. The more I try the more something else happens instead. I used to think that when I picked up my pen, I was in charge of the story... But now I see that the pen has a mind of it's own. And I wrestled with it, and pleaded with it, and after everything failed, I finally let the pen have it's way... and this is what came out.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Training and Toasts**

"Dead!" Murtagh hissed. The dulled point of the blood red sword was pressed against his prone brother's back, poised over his heart. His steely grey eyes bored into Eragon, as the younger turned, and grudgingly acknowledged his defeat with a nod of his head. Great gulping breaths of air were pulled into heaving chests; both riders were drenched in sweat and near the end of their endurance.

"Either you are getting better," the younger stated between breaths, "or I am losing my edge... that's four days in a row you have won."

The dark haired elder exhaled in a snort of derision, as he removed the spell from Zar'roc and returned it to its sheath.

"Luck," the elder claimed, before adding, "We have always been pretty evenly matched... but you have inspired me to improve in ways Galbatorix never imagined." Some hint of sarcastic humor in Murtagh's tone spoke of a hidden meaning.

"What are you talking about?" asked Eragon, puzzled brown eyes narrowed with affront. "Surely you can't be comparing my methods to the cruelty of the king..."

"Of course not..." Murtagh scoffed. Then a partial smile lightened his expression, and he used the excuse of catching his breath to consider his next words.

"When I fought against you, under the king's instructions, I never really wanted to win; well not for _him_ anyways." Murtagh's eyes reflected a deeper contemplation. Underneath everything, the red rider's pride would always urge him '_not to lose_' against his little brother; even though at the same time, he had secretly wanted '_not to win_'.

"I had to follow the letter of my oaths. In that I had no choice. And those oaths were usually aimed at capturing you." Murtagh struggled, trying to explain with words the complexity of his dilemma. "But by pitting me against my brother and my former comrades, the king only inspired in me a sense of dissension."

"I can see that," Eragon admitted, though he was still puzzled. "But how is it that I inspire you to fight your best? You are still opposing your brother."

"This is true," the rider answered thoughtfully. "It may be _you_ that I am facing Eragon, but this is not a real battle. This is willing spar; a test of skill, a chance to improve... If I win this contest, my brother won't end up dead, or worse bound to the king. If I win here, I don't risk losing my only hope of ever being freed from my chains."

"No matter what I did," Murtagh sighed, "winning always meant losing."

The brothers' eyes met and held. Even after everything Eragon had learned from examining Murtagh's mind, he could still be surprised. But the moment was over, and Eragon took the hand his brother was offering him.

"Here... now... I can _want_ to win with every fiber of my being..." and Murtagh smirked as he helped Eragon to his feet. "And you, my brother, have discovered the perfect motivation."

Murtagh gazed into Eragon's face, but when the younger showed no sign of understanding, the red rider sighed.

"I don't mind losing a spar to you, even with an audience... but avoiding the public humiliation of our Rimgar sessions, that truly focuses my efforts and intentions towards victory."

In that moment Eragon fully comprehended, and the grin covered his face. But his initial chuckle of amusement lasted only a few seconds, before his expression changed. And the blue rider looked over at his brother with unexpected concern.

Eragon hadn't thought about how the events might be wounding the elder boy's pride. But now he could see it. Beneath the surface of detached bravado, in Murtagh's eyes there was a tiny hint of hurt.

"I'm sorry Murtagh. I really wasn't thinking. You have enough to overcome without adding unnecessary ridicule to the list..."

Eragon chuckled again, though this time at himself.

"If you could have seen my early efforts to master the initial levels, well... I wouldn't have wanted a crowd watching."

Murtagh blinked in surprise at Eragon's heartfelt apology.

"Really?..." he asked relief showing on his face. "So, no more Rimgar?"

The younger brother balked, taken back by the suggestion.

"That's not what I meant," Eragon corrected. "We will still work on your lessons. We'll just do it somewhere more private."

Murtagh's face fell into exasperation, but it was mostly feigned, and they both knew it. The red rider was actually stunned by Eragon's understanding. It had been more than he had expected, and was certainly more than he deserved. And somewhere within this exchange, a new connection had been forged between the brothers, or perhaps an old one had been strengthened. Whatever it was, Murtagh's heart felt lighter than it had in all his memory...

"Well, if you are bent upon torturing me -I mean _training_ me- then I'll endure my lessons daily whether I win or lose the spar... and I'll give you my best."

Now it was Eragon's turn to be surprised; at his brother's tenacity. Of his own initiative, Murtagh had just picked up a challenge of sorts. It was a self imposed directive, one that showed the elder boy's thirst for self improvement. And the younger smiled at the realization that he had just discovered the best way to inspire his brother; not by force, or baiting, or promises... but by simply providing the open opportunity, and waiting for him to seize it.

That was when Eragon noticed that his brother was staring at him...

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"Why are you grinning?" Murtagh asked suspiciously.

"Well... I think the Rimgar can wait till tomorrow... Let's get cleaned up and take the morning meal."

Eragon had to laugh at his brother's exaggerated relief, and he couldn't resist the impulse to torment him again with the next bit...

"But I'll expect you to meet me on that ledge," he added, pointing to an outcropping nearly ten miles off, "_every_ morning, a half hour before dawn."

Murtagh's groan followed Eragon as he made a dash to evade the older brother's retaliation...

* * *

Later...

The tavern was dimly lit, and smelled of sweat, sawdust, and ale, but that didn't dissuade the patrons any. The place was filled with Varden soldiers; most were exhausted from sparring, and all were in need of a drink.

The well built blond woman tended the bar while the owner was out. Her provocative dress and flashy smile charmed the men as she handed out the ale, and in some cases she hovered close to listen to the more interesting talk.

"Auksha," called one of the men at the far table. "Another round over here."

She turned away to reach for the mugs, straightening her bodice while her back was turned. And then she moved with her usual grace and sway across the room to deliver the drinks.

"Here you go boys," she purred with a seductive smile.

Even here she delighted in her ability to capture the attention of the men, but there was still a haze of dissatisfaction over her failure to claim the attentions of either of the dragon riders... for her own interests.

The grumbling coming from the table behind her drew her attention.

"Stop saying that," the larger of the two men snapped. "Eragon is the best fighter in all the Varden. If the spawn is winning their spars, it is cause the rider is _letting_ him win."

"You weren't there to see," claimed the other man with distaste, "and for the fourth day in a row too. Everyone watching was left in foul spirits, and I lost more than a silver crown on the rider."

Laughter burst from the first man upon hearing the other's admission.

"Now I see why you are cross... you boys are losing money on pointless bets... And you better keep in mind that they are _both_ riders, even if one of them is the son of that devil forsworn."

"You're laughing now, but it isn't funny. And it isn't pointless... What if the traitor turns again? How can we trust that Eragon can control him?"

Auksha was so interested in the dispute, and the direction that it was heading that she didn't notice the reason that the altercation came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly the tavern grew quiet, and the patrons focused their gazes on their drinks. It left her with an eerie feeling, and she slowly turned to see why... There standing in the entrance were the two riders in question, and it was clear from their expressions that they had overheard the last bit of conversation.

The taller one was scowling, and he would have probably retreated had it not been for the grip that the younger man had on his shoulder. Pointing to a couple empty seats, Eragon did his best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But the attentive Auksha recognized the uncooperative glare that the red rider was aiming at his righteous counterpart. This was turning into an interesting afternoon after all, and as she watched the riders cross to their table, she wondered how to best make use of the situation.

"Boys, boys," she lightly scolded her silent customers. "What is this?... a tavern? or a wake?" The woman smirked seeing the back of the dark rider stiffen at the sound of her voice. The other rider might have stiffened too, but she hadn't really noticed. At any rate, her words were rewarded with a few chuckles from the men, and seemed to bring a modicum of normalcy back to the atmosphere.

Swinging around to greet the newest guests, the lovely vision put on her most alluring smile and sauntered over carrying two full mugs of the tavern's best. She ended up sitting on the edge of the table in front of the pair, with one drink in each hand...

"What's your pleasure today, boys?"

One of the patrons snorted a laugh, recognizing her blatant invitation, and she shot the man a scathing look, clearing her throat.

"This'll do just fine," Murtagh said reaching for the closest mug. When she held onto the mug, the scowl returned to the rider's face.

Her laughter rang out lightly, bringing a blush to Eragon's face and an iron fierceness to Murtagh's.

"Before you make up your mind, take a good look. What you see here before you is the house's very best." And as if to emphasize the point, she leaned forward setting the tankard of ale in front of Murtagh for his inspection, her expertly fashioned dress flattering her natural figure. It took every ounce of Murtagh's control to keep his eyes raised to the woman's face as he silently lifted one of the drinks.

"You won't find anything better south of Du Weldenvarden..." she tempted.

"What about Arya," Eragon challenged, brightened by the thought of the beautiful elven princess. At Auksha's stunned expression, Murtagh turned his head to hide his amusement, barely able to restrain his laughter.

Somehow the mention of the elven forest must have freed the younger man to speak. Until that moment he had just been sitting there frozen with his jaw dropped. That had been the reason Auksha had focused her efforts on the other rider. But now everything was ruined. The entire place was roaring with laughter, and her own cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

"Fine then..." she rose in a huff. "You can all serve yerselves."

And with that she spun on her heels and stormed towards the door, just as one hapless customer was trying to enter. Not missing a beat, Auksha took the arm of her unexpected, newly drafted escort, threw a smug look of satisfaction over her shoulder, and exited the tavern to another round of laughter.

Eragon blinked and then chuckled, picking up the second mug of ale. The stunned expression on the face of the commandeered soldier had been priceless.

"Wow..." the younger rider commented, still gazing at the door. "She's a bit fickle."

"Thank the stars," came his brother's answer, and the sound of two mugs clinking in a toast never sounded so welcome.

"Heres to the best of the house..." Murtagh grinned as he downed his first swallow.

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**A/Notes:**

**Slightly edited 11-24-2012**

**I had intended so much more for this chapter... but I will have to acknowledge that the timing wasn't really right. Perhaps just getting something posted after all this time will give me momentum to press on to the scene I really want to do.**

**For all of you who have been UTTERLY patient with me, I owe you much. And I promise not let so much time pass before I update this again.**

**Kumar... thanks for your unrelenting support and encouragement. I dedicate this chapter to you.**


	11. Chapter Ten: Eyes of the Heart

**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**

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**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.**


	12. Chapter Eleven: Sons of Carvahall

**Posted:**** 01-01-2014**

******A/Notes: ****Oh! ****"Happy New Year, everybody!" ********{**_A little bit late... but better late than never._**}**

**Disclaimer: I am not CP. I am not LOTRRanger either. I am just a fan of the world that these two have worked to create. I hope you all enjoy the chapter...**

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**Chapter Eleven: Sons of Carvahall**

"We don't need another rider," Roran grumbled under his breath. "We don't want another rider. Why doesn't the son of the enemy just go elsewhere."

The heat of the day was only adding to the General's discomfort. He had been in and out of nearly every tent that wasn't private, searching buildings and stables, and still he had found no sign of the red rider's whereabouts. It was infuriating how Murtagh had been able to disappear within all this mass of people. And though Roran had been searching, he was trying to do it quietly. The last thing that he wanted, was to be caught seeking out the very man he still considered a serious security risk. It would be a dreadful scandal to inadvertently foster the illusion that Stronghammer had somehow bound himself to the cause of Morzan's son.

Just as he was pondering the benefits of declaring his efforts a lost cause, the door to one of the city's seedier taverns opened up behind him and the familiar deep voice of Commander Dornson sounded from within. Whatever he had been saying, Roran could not be sure, but judging by the derision that dripped from the mutterings, and by the sound of the laughter that followed, the General drew the conclusion that he had at last found the enemy rider.

Normally, Roran would never set foot in such a place. This tavern had a non too pleasant reputation, and he was an honest family man. But it seemed like a proper place to find the infamous rider, and so he steeled himself and walked over to peer in the open doorway.

Sure enough Dornson was there at the bar with a decent sized group of his men gathered round. And over by the far corner sat a silent figure in the shadows, and Roran was sure it had to be Murtagh.

"He is bad luck alright," agreed one of the nameless underlings, a man that Roran had not seen before. But whoever this person was, he seemed to have been accepted by the Commanders ranks. For some reason Roran felt the need to make a mental note of this fellow. He was tall, but not overly so, with wavy blond hair, striking green eyes, and an amiable expression on his face, at least at first glance. There was nothing obviously suspicious about him, but then Garrowsson was not one to easily dismiss a gut feeling. He would discretely make inquiries when he next got the chance. But the conversation was continuing to flow, and rather than step into the scene, the General was content to observe on the sidelines to see what occurred.

"If he really wanted to help us, like he says, he'd best go back where he came from."

"It isn't like he's done anything to aid the cause of the Varden."

"What about the dragon egg, Aedán?... He did bring us the egg."

"Bah! Till the egg hatches, what good is it to us?"

"Someone tell me again... why didn't we just kill him?"

A general murmur of agreement and laughter sounded again, only this time it diminished nervously as some in the group seemingly recalled the proximity of the shadowy figure sitting a mere twenty feet from them, certainly near enough to be able to hear each and every word.

Then from that shadowy corner, Murtagh's emotionless voice broke the tense silence with a suggested answer to their question.

"Perhaps it's because the leaders of the Varden are generally fair-minded, a quality that is sadly lacking among some of the lower ranks."

There was a strained moment that seemed to stretch uncomfortably, and during that silence, the blond guard whispered something to the Commander that caused him to sneer and nod.

"Certain leaders have a tendency to be idealistic, especially the females. Now if you had arrived to find a capable _man_ in command, you would have experienced a fair-minded execution." And with that, the Commander downed his drink and turned striding to exit the establishment with his comrades scrambling after him. Backing away from the portal of the tavern, Roran watched as the line of men filed out of the den of iniquities.

"Stronghammer," Dornson smiled, addressing the general in passing. And Roran nodded back a greeting of his own.

"Commander," Roran replied as he watched the men march past. His expression morphed into a scowl as his mind played back the spiteful words that he had just overheard. The comments could have just as easily come out of his own mouth. But now that he was in the position of an observer, the commander's words and tone of self-righteousness took on a rather disgusting ring.

Once all the soldiers had exited, Roran stepped through the doorway and into the dimly lit interior. It only took a moment for his vision to adjust to the change, and a tendril of satisfaction coiled within him upon seeing the exasperated scowl settle on Morzansson's face...

* * *

Roran had thought himself quite clever when he had exited the tavern several minutes after arriving. In fact he had very nearly strutted back to his tent to brag to his wife of his success. Not only had he done what Katrina had asked him, but he had gone a step further and invited Murtagh to join them for dinner that evening. Of course that meant that Eragon would have to be there as well, which seemed to him to be an added bonus. But it was the priceless look of disbelief plastered on the red rider's face that had made the whole idea worthwhile.

What the man of Carvahall couldn't understand was why his loving wife had launched into an anxious fury. It was only two more mouths for dinner, and she had already expected to have guests at the meal. Suddenly the simple family dinner had morphed into something of a community event. Most of the men and women from their village were now involved, both with the preparations and as perspective guests. Shell-shocked, Garrowsson had done his best to stay out of the way, and had strategically moved to the far end of the structure, giving him a decent vantage to watch the goings-on.

The former villagers of Carvahall had weeks earlier erected a large tent structure that they were using as a sort of village meeting hall. It had originally been gifted to Roran and Katrina at their wedding, and had since been donated to the entire village. And now it was being adorned to entertain and feed an entire town.

"Wow," came the amused voice of his cousin as he stepped through the back flaps of the large tent. "I wasn't expecting anything like this."

"Neither was I," Roran replied sourly without turning, and his tone was so defeated that Eragon burst into laughter.

Roran turned to meet Eragon's eyes, and the younger couldn't keep from another round of muffled chuckles. But as Eragon looked at his cousin's pained expression, he grew more serious and examined the surroundings with more interest.

"So... what exactly _is_ happening?" Eragon asked thoroughly puzzled. "I thought it was just you guys, me and Murtagh."

Roran gestured helplessly about at the lines of tables being set with piping hot food and the best tableware they had been able to scrounge together.

"Katrina had originally invited Gertrude to start with, and apparently when I added two riders, everything changed. She insisted that we were not going to insult the rest of the village by leaving them out at such a prestigious event." And here the general rolled his eyes. "I wish I'd never found the traitor now..."

Eragon looked away but Roran saw his cousin's distress and disappointment even if the young rider pretended not to have heard. And suddenly the General felt a flood of regret wash over him. Eragon had been doing everything he could to aid the devil's spawn in earning acceptance within the Varden ranks, and everywhere he turned he met opposition. But even faced with opposition from his own family, Eragon stubbornly refused to give up.

"Well, I am glad you invited him," the younger stated distractedly. "Even if it did turn a simple dinner into a production."

Roran snorted a sarcastic laugh before glancing about, and noticing that Murtagh had yet to show up.

"Where is that brother-of-yours?" Roran questioned with a forced hint of jesting. And perhaps for the first time, he openly acknowledged the familial connection between the two riders.

"That cousin-of-yours," Eragon replied with equal teasing, "said he had to stop for something on the way."

Roran's eyes grew wide. "He's not bringing the devil's sword along, is he?"

"Of course not," Eragon shook his head no, but there was just the slightest edge of worry to his expression that left Roran imagining the worst.

By that point, many of the guests were starting to arrive and being greeted at the main entrance by Katrina, Gertrude and several other women. Once they were inside, they either headed straight for Roran and Eragon, or made their way towards one of the food filled tables.

To the people of Carvahall this seemed like a formal event, everyone wearing their best, and shining with pride. They were -_after all_- just a little village, but they had stuck fast to each other, and this had given them a sort of visible resilience and impressiveness that the people carried well.

As Roran clasped the arm of Baldor in greeting, his friend smirked and let his eyes make the unspoken humorous accusation; both Eragon and Roran were attired casually, and noticeably underdressed for the occasion. There was a momentary pause as the two cousins looked each other over, and then all three men had a good laugh.

Eragon noticed first. And Roran followed his gaze to see the newest arrival being met by his beautiful wife. With all the murmuring conversation going on in the room, they were too far away to hear the words being spoken, but the general's eyes were glued to the meeting.

The son of Morzan was dressed in black as usual, with well tailored suede trousers, jacket and vest with polished buttons, a satin shirt, and boots shined to perfection. This was clearly the most impressive Roran had ever seen him look. The rider stiffly bowed as he presented the hostess with flowers and something in a small drawstring pouch. They engaged a brief verbal exchange during which his wife's face lit up with enjoyment, and she quickly embraced the unsuspecting rider, giving Roran -_for the second time that day_- a view of Murtagh's priceless 'astonished' expression. It would have been almost comical if Roran hadn't been so curious as to what his wife had been gifted with.

The lovely copper haired woman lost no time, but took her guest's arm and guided him over towards the main table, the one usually reserved for the host and their close friends and family. Along the way she handed off the flowers and pouch to Gertrude, who nodded to her quick instructions before disappearing from view. As the pair reached the table, Katrina's eyes shot up and scanned the crowd before before zeroing in sharply on Roran and Eragon. Her meaning was clear. It was time for them to lend a hand with whatever it was she was intending.

Roran glanced at Eragon, planning to share a long suffering gaze, but instead the younger cousin was smiling and waving a welcome to the intruder. Sighing, Roran gave up and followed suit, albeit half-heartedly, and they both headed dutifully over to the head table.

* * *

The feast was worthy of any celebration the village had ever witnessed. And aside from a few uncertain glances, there had been no visibly reaction to the red rider's presence among those seated with their hosts. Everyone was too busy eating and enjoying themselves to harbor any spite.

How his wife had managed to organize such a thing so quickly, Roran had no idea. Later he planned to ask her, but now the beautiful woman was rising to her feet and looking out at all her guests with her amazing smile. Tapping her glass to get everyone's attention, she patiently waited till they had all turned and faced her. A hush fell over the pavilion and Katrina began her speech.

"Sons of Carvahall," she started and the cheers that rose from those seated caused her to pause. "Sons of Carvahall, I have brought you together tonight for a very specific purpose. It is no secret that the descendants of Palancar Valley are of notable blood and unsurpassed bravery. If ever a challenge is encountered, we rise to meet it."

"We none of us are perfect, but we do the very best we can with whatever we've been given, whether it be a smithing hammer, a dragon egg, a healer's bag or tomorrow's child." And here she placed her hand across the bulge that marked their growing child within her. "Whatever our particular gifts, our names will be remembered. For we are Sons of Carvahall."

Another cheer coursed through the hall and the energy in the space nearly doubled in enthusiasm. But the guests were eager to know more and quickly quieted for their hostess to continue.

"Tonight we have with us, three such notable sons of Carvahall, men you all know, but we have yet to celebrate properly..."

There was an uncertain and expectant silence that hung in the air at her claim. Those in the gathering held their breaths waiting to know who exactly she was meaning. Eragon and Roran surely, but who was the third? Could she possibly mean...?

Murtagh sat stunned and immobile. And for the third time that day, he wore an expression of utter disbelief and astonishment. He just couldn't make himself believe what he half-suspected was about to happen. Eragon looked shocked for a moment as well, but then he broke into a great big grin as understanding dawned. Roran however, blinked in confusion. He still had no idea who the third person was that Katrina planned to introduce. Up to that point, he had imagined she was intending to introduce both of the riders. Now he just wasn't sure anymore. Sons of Carvahall...

"I will start by presenting my husband, your general, wielder of the hammer, our brother Roran, son of Garrow."

Wild applause rose from the guests, adding to Roran's confusion. And at Katrina's urging and some prodding from Eragon, the general stood up tall, pasted a confident look on his uncertain face and raised his mug in a wordless toast to all of his cheering friends. As those gathered around followed his example, the deafening cheers were swallowed, as was the ale.

Using this pause in the clamor, Katrina moved on with her presentation.

"And now I call your attention to two brothers, two riders, one we know and one we do not know, one raised in Carvahall and the other in a distant place, Eragon and his brother Murtagh, the sons of Selena. Friends I introduce, the riders of Carvahall."

There was a momentary shocked intake of breath among the crowded gathering and an exchange of calculating glances, but when an exuberant Eragon shot to his feet, pulling his astonished brother to stand next to him, the resulting roar of applause was even greater than before...

Eragon held up his hands, but the cheering continued. His eyes roved ardently over each and every face, so great was his gratitude. Glancing over at Katrina, he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. He had never thought to seek a place for his brother among his village kin, and the answer had been so simple he felt like a foolish child for having missed it. By the third time Eragon raised his hands, the cheering finally abated.

"My brothers," he called, grinning happily. "It is I who honor you tonight. For it is not just one, or two, or three of Carvahall's sons that make us great. All of us are sons, capable of great deeds, and worthy of much acclaim. And the great potential of each one will find its expression at the proper time... the time when there is need for it. We can say this because we are all brothers together. We are the Sons of Carvahall."

To Murtagh it was a great relief when the cheers resumed. The atmosphere surrounding him was disorienting and surreal. The inconceivable had actually happened, and he was not sure how to believe it. Neither did he have time to ponder his state, for Eragon was nudging him, encouraging him to say something to the people.

Murtagh cleared his throat, and fought his instincts to hide his emotions. There was something about the spontaneous acceptance that he had just experienced that made him want to trust this group of people. There were some hesitant faces in the crowd, of course there were. But even those few were not looking upon him with hate or fear, and this alone heartened his resolve.

"I never knew," his whispered voice cracked. "I never even imagined... that I had a brother... No... brothers," he corrected himself, eyes skimming over the crowd again. He still recalled the stinging encounter with his cousin just that very morning. And even as he glanced over to where the General was standing, he could see that his cousin still had his doubts. But he could also see what looked like a man re-evaluating his preconceived beliefs. It was astounding to imagine -_and nearly impossible to grasp_- that this little village of people had embraced him as one of their own... as a brother.

How could it be so? It was clear by Eragon's surprise that the blue rider had not set this up, and was also clear by his elation that this was not some horrible prank. Somehow this impossible event was real, and Murtagh was here... as one of them.

"Never have I been so honored," he said finally finding his voice, even if it was a bit hesitant. "Never have I been so proud, or belonged to something so worthy." He had been close once before, but that was a distant memory. And his forced servitude to the king had all but destroyed any hope of resurrecting that possibility. But here he was, with a small village of people, bound to him through the blood of their ancestors. And they were willing to overlook the lineage of his father. They were willing to accept him as Selena's son, and to let him enter their fold.

Suddenly determination filled the red rider. He decided then to grasp this unexpected gift, and cling to it with all his strength. He would honor the villager's gift by offering to them in return his own very best.

"Never before have I been so grateful for anything, except for being chosen by my dragon." And when Murtagh examined his feelings more closely, he was amazed at how similarly the two events had affected him. To be claimed and branded as one with his dragon had given him an identity of self and otherness that merged together in a blessed belongingness. And this invitation to brotherhood extended that sense of belonging out into the community, out into the world. It was a new bond of sorts, but a comfortable one, connective rather than restrictive. It was likened to his mother's beckoning arms... It was like home...

"Never before have I felt so welcomed. And from this moment forward, wherever I go, I will never again feel so alone in the world, or lament that I've no place to call home."

"I am a Son of Carvahall."

* * *

There were many in the Varden who still scorned Murtagh as a traitor, but now it mattered little to him. There was a place where he was welcomed, a village that had accepted him, and an extended family that he never knew he had.

He and Thorn were no longer outcasts...

That very night the red rider walked to the barren rocky hill where his underground refuge lay hidden, and he released the spells and wards that he had erected for his protection. Then he turned his back on his seclusion, returning to erect a modest tent next to his brother's, there among the dwellings of the Sons of Carvahall.

* * *

**Posted: 01-01-2014**

**A/Notes: Greetings to all my patient loyal readers, and I wish you all a belated "Happy New Year".**

**I was thinking that I'd end things here, and maybe add an epilogue that introduces the beginning of LOTRRanger's fic "****Overcome****"...**

**I'd appreciate any input. But I think that I have done about all I can with this story development-wise, and I'd like to turn my attentions back towards my long-neglected "****Discovering Freedom****"...**

**NOW...**

**There is one other thing I would like to say...**

**XD**

**"Happy -early- ****Birthday ****Kumar - voice of the south."**

**Kumar, you have been such a great friend and inspiration, and I wish you the very best this year and every year that follows. **

**XD**

**With any luck, I'll have the next chapter of Man on the Hill ready to post for tomorrow for you. ;)**


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