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Soothsaying	By : Vulnavia777 Category: G through L > Inheritance Views: 5007 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the book Inheritance, any book in the Inheritance Cycle, or any of the characters. I will make no financial profit from this story.

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- 1-Soothsaying
- 1
Soothsaying

The woman on the stone slab before Murtagh did not want to be there. Well, at least not at first. Now he was not so sure. He did know that she would not have been there to begin with had she any say in the matter. But that was of no importance now.
“Why?” she asked him, supine on the slab. And he knew what she meant. He also knew, even before he felt his loins throb harder than they had been throbbing before, that she already knew the answer. Why does she ask? He stared at her, not knowing what his eyes might be conveying. I’m sure she knows.
Nasuada was on her back with both her wrists and ankles in shackles. Her legs were spread, though not, of course, by her own volition. Parts of her once smooth, now scarred skin were revealed through the holes in her meager night gown, and the rest could be seen through it. The air in the Hall of the Soothsayer had a chill to it, and as the sound of her voice asking “Why?” rang in his ears, so did the sight of her brown nipples rising beneath her shift draw his gaze.
Murtagh did not allow his eyes to linger on her body long enough for her to notice. He kept his stare on her face, hoping that the regret in his eyes was, for now, enough to hide his arousal, and he answered her.
“You know why.”
He meant to bow his head in shame for not being able to do anything more to help her. For more than anything, he lusted to free her. Yet, how desperately he wanted to touch every part of her, and how desperately he wanted to be inside of her, but the honorable man in Murtagh would not have either of these things to happen without not only the lady’s consent, but her desire.
Murtagh did bow his head, but not in shame. He turned to face the door and stood there in a brief state of contemplation. I can’t stand this. I have to take a chance. He knew that in the Hall of the Soothsayer, if she were to have him, it could not be a lie. In that room, one could not lie with one’s tongue or with one’s body. He felt truly and deeply that she must share his feelings, must share his desires. Murtagh put his fears aside and turned around.
His fears and shame returned in a brief rush, but dissipated quickly when he saw Nasuada before him. Would that she were free! He looked first at her face, which had, to his relief and delight, not left him. Her eyes were watered over. He had seen them this way more often than not, but this was different. Prior to this moment, he had seen her eyes wet with tears of pain which she held back so as not to appease Galbatorix. That which made her eyes appear wet now also made her pupils dart back and forth subtly, unintentionally. Does she want me?
After briefly taking in her face, his eyes drifted down over her. The peaks of her nipples showed even more beneath her shift, higher and harder than they had been a moment ago. Murtagh could not help but likening them to peaks of the Beor Mountains, and imagined himself and Thorn flying through them. Then he quickly brought himself back to where he was, and was glad that he was gazing upon the barely covered body of the woman he adored rather than through the peaks of a mountain range on the back of his beloved dragon, as much joy as the later would ordinarily bring him.
He intended to lift up his eyes to meet her lustful? gaze, but before he could, he noticed an area of the stone slab on which she lay that was darker than the rest, and glistened. The room was sealed, and realizing what the source of that glistening spot on the rock was, his other senses heightened. He could smell her, and he could feel the warmth emanating from the center of her. The combination made him shudder inside, and he hoped it did not show and that she did not sense it.
In order to be both true to his fashion and sensitive to her plight, he approached her gently. He felt his body being pulled to hers like a magnet, but he forcefully slowed his steps. His lingering guilt gave him fear and pause. Though her want and her affection were evident, she was also strong and proud. She may resist the call of her flesh. She may endure the ever present ache of her most primal needs remaining unfulfilled just as she had endured the white hot iron on her skin and the pain that remained for many hours after the torture had ceased.
Murtagh stopped mid step. In order to continue to focus on not approaching too quickly, he had to pause to focus on not blinking. He struggled to keep his eyes open for several seconds longer than was comfortable in order to allow a tear to dry- a tear which he felt pushing its way up from under his lower eyelids as he remembered that it was he who had wielded that iron.
When he reached the slab, he sat ever so carefully between her feet. Nasuada tensed slightly, and though she was unable to close her legs, she rotated her knees inward as much as she could. It was not enough to hide any of her body, nor hide the glistening mark on the stone; it was simply a reflexive and symbolic way of attempting to protect her dignity. But she did not ask him to leave. He placed his hand softly on her ankle. To his surprise, she somewhat relaxed and allowed her knees to return to a more natural position considering her restraints. He saw goose bumps form on her leg when he touched her, and wondered if they had been from his touch or the chill in the air. Then he noticed that the glistening mark had grown larger. He blushed, both thankful and guilt-ridden that his own arousal was somewhat hidden by the hem of his jerkin. He fixed his gaze on the hand he had resting on her ankle, not wanting to see any anger or shame that might be on her face. When she expressed no resistance or objection after near a minute, he gently moved his hand about two inches above her ankle, just below her calf. Again, he was met with no objection. Despite her scars, she was beautiful to him. Though he was glad it wasn’t, Murtagh thought that whole of her body could have been met with that hot iron and the connection they had with one another would blind him to whatever physical damage it left behind. With this thought, he gave up his fight against the salty fluid pushing its way up from underneath his eyes. He allowed one tear to go free. The rest would have to wait. He moved his hand up another few inches to her calf.
Nasuada’s breathing seemed to quicken. With his hand planted in place, Murtagh lifted his head. He intended to respectfully take his eyes directly to her face before he addressed her, but he was caught on his way there by part of her about 2 inches above the slab- pea sized, swollen, shiny, and pink- then once again by her breasts and the tents created of her shift by her still engorged nipples. His heart began to race and he at last found her eyes. Fighting to hold his position, for he would do nothing against her will while he could help it, he spoke.
“Nasuada,” he said, and heard her take a deep breath. “May I touch you?”
“Yes,” she said. With unspeakable excitement and joy, Murtagh moved his hand from her leg and placed his hands on the stone on either side of her hips. He pulled himself forward on the slab until, rather than being seated between her feet, his knees were between her calves and his hands were on the stone above her shoulders. They both breathed faster and their watery pairs of eyes remained locked. Slowly, with trepidation, he lowered himself. He touched his lips to hers and meant to kiss her immediately, but he paused, the sensation of her hot breath catching him off guard. Taking in that sensation, he exhaled and moved his head ever so slowly from side to side so that their lips would caress each other’s, sending wonderful shocks out from his lips through the lower half of his face; and then, with one last look into her eyes, he rested himself on his palms and kissed her.
It began as a soft, gentle kiss. As it grew deeper, Murtagh heard Nasuada let forth a whimper. It was then he knew that she would not deny all of the wants of her flesh. She may scream and writhe beneath his irons, but she would never swear fealty to a monarch she despised to free herself from that agony. But, with that moral challenge out of the equation, she would let herself melt with him, the man who had against all odds become her friend and confidant, and by so doing (he hoped) free both of them from the agonizing pressure they had between their thighs. He knew not what she did during the few minutes a day she had to herself in the privy room out of her restraints, but he knew that the times he spent alone stroking himself to his memories of the image of her and of the feeling of holding her were not enough to satisfy him.
“Nasuada,” he said, “it is not enough that I have eased the ache of your burns. It will never be enough for me until I have given your body more pleasure than I have given it pain.” With his words, he let fall another tear. Supporting himself with his knees, he loosened the strap around her head. She kept her head down but took in a breath and lifted her chest. Her eyes fluttered but she did not speak, though her head moved in a short, quick nod. Her acceptance of his words made his heart and all of his body swell as though it were about to burst. He lowered his head and kissed her lips again before bringing it down and then moving it parallel to her body. He kissed the left side of her neck and she gasped. He kissed the right side of her neck and she let out a moan. He arched his back to allow his head to move down along her frame without distancing himself from her. When his face reached the recess of her chest between her breasts, he rested it there, breathing heavily. Then he lifted it slightly, and, leaning on his right hand, he took his left and lifted up her shift so that the whole of her form was exposed.
Murtagh lowered himself again and softly ran his tongue over her dark, swollen, mountainous nipples. Her body writhed and she released a moan, much louder than she had before, and then bit her bottom lip to silence herself. As close as he was to her, he could clearly hear the pounding of her heart, and as heightened as he felt his senses had become from being alone with her in such a room- quiet, echoing, and devoid of all motion and stimulation- he could feel the vibrations from the crazed beating of both of their hearts in the air as well as through his whole body via his knees on the stone slab.
“It’s ok,” he said. “I have protected the room. No one can hear you but me.” Inspired by her vocal response, he continued to move his tongue over her left nipple. He lifted his right hand to caress the other with his thumb.
Murtagh felt his knees growing weak against the stone slab, but he dare not move them, for he felt a hot, wet sensation against them through his leggings; first his left knee, then his right. Without moving his head, he moved his eyes down to notice that his knees had made contact with her juices. His back still arched, he slowly changed the position of his arms so that he now rested himself on his elbows rather than his hands. He placed his elbows so that his hands were in just the right position to caress her breasts. His body, he positioned in such a way that his head was below his elbows and he could access that pink, swollen, pea sized part of her. With his head between her legs, he felt the heat and moisture emanating from her directly against his face. Out of the top corner of his eye, he could see her chest and torso rising and falling at an ever quickening pace. Though still overwhelmed and feeling some fear, Murtagh found that he was no longer able to resist what was before him. It was primal hunger. He was a starving man at a banquet being presented with a sumptuously tender piece of meat cooked to a perfect, pink, medium rare, and being commanded to eat it.
Nasuada’s muscles tensed and the pink, pea sized part of her that held so much allure twitched. Murtagh had seen this part of a woman before, and, growing up in the king’s court, he had had opportunities to make love to women before and had taken them. But this was different. Perhaps it was that they were in the Hall of the Soothsayer, but for the first time, he was truly taking in the beauty of that part of a woman. He took it in visually, loving the contrast of her pink opening with her brown skin. He loved the smell of her, he loved the sound of her breath as it responded to his advances, and he loved the feel of her radiating heat on his face. The want for it between his legs started to be matched by it by the want for it in his mouth. He inclined his head and opened his mouth. The taste buds that ridged his tongue throbbed from the longing to indulge the craving for her juices. Focusing on her small, pink mound, he placed his tongue an inch and a half below it and then licked her. He drew his tongue up slowly and then paused to swallow and taste what she had left on it. I will never touch food again he thought. I will never taste anything else again that might dilute my memory of the taste of her.
When, in the course of its movement, his tongue moved over the most swollen part of her, she let forth a gasp that he did not expect and her back reflexively arched. Seeing all of the muscles in her body tense, he realized that her physical response may have been different and perhaps more extreme were she not restrained. He loathed to move his body, lest he be more distant from her fragrant center, and because he knew how quickly his heart was beating and that she would surely notice this along with the lust-fueled expedited pace of his breathing. But it was too late to care about that now, and he felt called to release her. He moved to undo her restraints.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I had forgotten…”
“Don’t,” she said. As he wondered why she would stop him and looked at her questioningly, he noticed that not only had the temperature risen between her legs, but it had in her entire body. The sense of temperature on his skin heightened as he felt the heat coming from hers; and his embarrassment lessened when he realized that her breathing had quickened and deepened as much as his had.
“I know you’ve enchanted the room to keep our sounds inside it,” she continued, “but if a guard were to enter and find us…” She paused and rotated her head to look him in the eye then continued again; “he would think, since I’m restrained, that you are simply raping a prisoner, and leave us.”
Her words broke his heart. The idea of any such thing was horrifying to him and she mentioned that which was what he had been striving to avoid because of his deep affection and regard for her; but he knew she was right. If a guard were to enter the room and find him making love to a free woman who was supposed to be a prisoner of the king until she submits to his will, what would Murtagh say? He frowned slightly and nodded in acknowledgement, then allowed his mind to return to the lingering taste of her juices and assume his previous position.
He placed his hands on her breasts. They were soft except for the places where they had been scarred by the iron. That softness was interrupted by the rock hard, protruding, blood swollen nipples at their center. He cupped his rough hands around the sides of her breasts and ran his thumbs over her hard peaks in perfect harmony. With his head between her legs, he became hypnotized by the increase in heat and moisture around his face with every movement of his thumbs. When, after close to a minute, Nasuada began to whimper and writhe, Murtagh returned to a higher state of awareness. Without fear or hesitation, and still moving his thumbs, he dove head first into her. The touch of his lips unleashed a simultaneous moan from them both. He could hear her moan and its echo with perfect clarity, though his was muffled because his parted lips were airtight against her as he licked and drank and savored all that flowed from her. He loved it.
Murtagh spent some time indulging himself, then noticed Nasuada once again begin to writhe. He felt the parts of her in his mouth twitch, throb, and pulse, alerting him to what her body was crying out for. With a deep sucking motion and one final moment of savoring her taste for his own pleasure, he refocused himself on hers.
Loving both her physical response to and the sounds she made in response to the movement of his thumbs, he maintained them. He pulled his head back just enough to release the seal he had created around her. After a very brief visual inspection of her, he found where he should direct his attention. The pink mound slightly above her opening was visibly aching, and seemed to be pulsing in rhythm with the beating of her heart. He extended his tongue and placed the ridged top of it against her. Her moan sounded relieved, and he felt selfish for allowing his fascination with her to distract him from fulfilling her needs.
He pulled his tongue up and down against her, keeping it in rhythm with the movement of his thumbs over her nipples. The movements felt so perfect that he could have sworn that her breaths and moans joined that rhythm, creating a symphony with the most perfect 4 part harmony he had ever heard. Murtagh had (he thought) satisfied women before, but this, he decided, would be his opus. He gradually increased the pressure of his tongue, and as he did her breathing and moaning and throbbing increased with perfect musical timing.
After a short period of time had elapsed, Nasuada’s muscles suddenly tensed and her heartbeat grew faster, out of sync with his movements. Her hips arched upwards and her leg muscles tensed. Though his face was buried, he could tell this from feeling the heat of her thighs become closer to his cheeks. He knew what he needed to do. He increased the pressure and speed of both his tongue and his thumbs. As he did so, her moans became screams, her entire body shook, and for about 6 incredible seconds, her back arched and every muscle between her legs clenched.
With a final and ever so slightly guttural “AH!” her back lowered and her hips fell back onto the slab. Her muscles relaxed, her breathing began to slow, and the blood began to recede from both her nipples and between her legs. After pulling his head only a few inches away from her at just the right moment, Murtagh watched the post orgasmic movements of her body with awe and wonder.
He wanted to see his beloved’s face. He wanted to see her eyes and he wanted to see her parted lips as they released her still deep and quickened breaths; and he wanted to kiss her. He moved his hands from her breasts to the stone surface beside them and drew himself up to face her. Then, in a moment of pure erotic bliss, he placed his tongue gently inside her open mouth and locked his lips around it, sharing the taste of her juices with her. She responded in turn by tightening her lips around his and allowing their tongues to join and move across one another, sharing, warming, and savoring those juices together. All that could make this moment more perfect he thought would be her arms and legs being unshackled and wrapped around me.
Their lips parted and Murtagh’s awareness turned to his own body. He was throbbing. He gasped, for his engorged length had been touched through his leggings; his thoughts of and view of Nasuada had made him swell all the more, and in the course of this, he felt his engorgement caress the inside of her left thigh. Without his will, a sound ventured out of his mouth that made his torso vibrate and sounded too much to him like a growl; and though he thought she was as satisfied and relaxed and she could be, he felt a new heat upon him from Nasuada and noticed a whimper, which she had obviously been trying to suppress, emerge at the same moment he felt himself making contact with her inner thigh. He lifted himself, unbuckled his belt, and pulled his legging down to his knees, just above his boots.
It was part purposeful and part instinctual, but after he exposed himself, and after that moment of deeper awareness of the painful desire, contact, and her whimper, Murtagh shifted himself laterally by just about 3 inches or less, making contact with her still drenched center rather than the skin of her leg. This contact drew from them both a harmonious sound resembling, “mmmh.” Heat. Hot and wet and once again pulsing she was, but this time it was for him, for his whole body, his entire being, not just his tongue as it dedicated itself to pleasing her. He longed to plunge into her, but held back both because he lacked her express consent and because he was delighting in feeling so much of his length be warmed and moistened by being against her. He also marveled that her arousal seemed entirely renewed at this different touch, despite her recent climax.
Murtagh maintained his position as long as he could stand to, and then forced himself to ask the lady- even though she, and not he, was the one restrained- “Nasuada, I cannot lie in this room. I want you desperately. I want you so desperately that touching but not taking you at this very moment causes me pain. I know that I can not liken it to the physical pain I have caused you, but please believe me that the aches I have in both my heart and my loins have caused me as much agony. I know what you have been put through, truly, and I do not mean to belittle it, but…”
“Stop,” she said. “You’re right. You can not compare it to what I have endured.” Once again, her words broke his heart. From this, he felt himself involuntarily shrink between her legs. A man has only so much blood in his body, he thought, and if a portion of it is drawn to his heart…
“Murtagh,” she said, “I know that you know my pain.” In my mind, she says this is as she is stroking my hair. With that thought, along with the thought of her pain, sadness enveloped him and he began to weep, until she resumed speaking. “But I also know yours.”
He let himself speak. Through his barely restrained sobs, he said, “Nasuada, may I?” She nodded. In a state of disbelief that she had consented, he smiled wildly from her nod, removed and threw aside his shirt and jerkin, and wiped aside his tears.
Murtagh had to force himself to lift his thoughts from what was happening, lest he be overwhelmed and disappoint both himself and Nasuada. Her mouth was still slightly open to release her heavy breaths, and her eyes had widened in anticipation. Starting with her eyes, he visually took in the whole of her body until his gaze lowered to where he could see parts of them both. As he moved to enter her, he thought his heart might explode. He meant to enter her slowly, but because of his intense desire and her level of lubrication, he was inside her almost instantly. He felt for a moment as though she had swallowed him. She gasped, and he produced a moan containing the element of a grunt.
This is otherworldly pleasure he thought. He closed his eyes and held himself in position with his hands on the slab, and for several seconds he let himself process the feeling of the inside of her. It was a wet heat compared to the dry heat of her skin. Any beads of sweat that had accumulated anywhere on her body, save for the very few that remained on her brow, had been dissolved by the dry, chilly air of the room.
Then he opened his eyes. As he did so and looked at her, he felt as though there were fire behind them. His breathing sped up and his exhales sounded involuntarily like growls. He began to move in and out of her; slowly, lest his ecstasy build too quickly. He gradually increased his pace. As he did so, her moans and his guttural exhales rose in volume. Twice, in the midst of his thrusting, he moved his arms aside and let his hips maintain the rhythm so that he could grab the back of her head with one free hand while the other supported him on the stone and kissed her fervently. As he continued to quicken the pace of his thrusts in response to his own urgent longing, he began to feel her squeezing around him with increasing intensity. At the same time, her moans and breathing became faster to the point of being out of sync with his movements. Remembering with delight what this meant minutes ago, he changed his increase in speed from gradual to immediate. Fighting desperately to hold back his own climax, he moved as fast as his hips would allow, and once again heard her moans turn to screams. As they did, he suddenly felt her tighten like a vice around him. A second later, her scream became strained, her whole body shook, her eyes closed, the muscles in her face tightened, and he heard the shackles around both her wrists and ankles jingle.
            Murtagh marveled at seeing this. When he had pleased her minutes ago, he had not had the joy of fully watching her and of seeing her face. Only that brief, visual distraction allowed him to restrain himself. Murtagh had taken in what he had seen, heard her final breathy scream. He then watched her face relax, felt her muscles relax around him, and stopped hearing the clanking metal of her shackles. With one brief look into her satisfied eyes and one feeling of her hot breath against his face, he could no longer hold back. He let himself release the pressure inside him, and in the moment before he did, he wondered if he could even manage to maintain consciousness during his climax.
            This sensation was like none he remembered. He knew the sounds he made were animal and that his body was convulsing uncontrollably on top of hers, but he allowed himself not to care.
            He wanted to collapse, but made himself bring his torso down gently to rest upon hers and nestled his face in her neck. When at last his breathing began to slowly return to its natural depth and pace, he softly kissed the side of her neck. He wanted to stay inside her. Even the post climax feeling of her warmth was blissful. But he knew the encounter had to end. As he prepared to withdraw, he whispered into her neck, “Nasuada, I love you.”
He hadn’t imagined he would have the courage to say it, and if he had been looking her in the eye, what courage he had would likely have failed him, even in the Hall of the Soothsayer.
She made no reply, and he hadn’t expected her to. Slowly and wordlessly, he withdrew, pulled up his leggings, and refastened his belt. He moved to retrieve his shirt and jerkin from the floor. Once he was dressed, he placed his right hand on the stone slab and whispered “Adurna abr kona nuanen eitha,” removing and drying up all evidence of their lovemaking.
Though the ache in his loins had been more than eased, Murtagh still felt an ache in his heart as he replaced Nasuada’s head restraint and pulled her shift back down over her body. When that final deed had been done, he knew his exit was inevitable. He let forth a sigh and kissed her lips, as softly as a breeze no human can feel kisses the trees, then walked towards the door. Then he heard her voice. It was breathy and much softer than it normally was, both in volume and in tone.
“Murtagh,” she said. He turned around, but did not quite meet her gaze.
“Yes, my lady?”
“I forgive you.”
- 1
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Soothsaying