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The Last Scion
By : RotSeele
Category: A through F > Eragon
Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.
Chapter List
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Dreamscape

Eragon floated weightless, trapped in a dream so pleasant he didn’t want to leave it. Indeed, he didn’t even know he was dreaming, so vivid and real it was. In his dream, he stood on the ramparts of Ilirea, retaken and renamed during the war, beside Saphira. The city was alive with celebration, clean and pure and Eragon watched as everything became right. He turned then to seek out Arya, hoping this time the elf princess would agree to be his mate. Instead, he came face to face with Murtagh. Suddenly, the dream shifted, the two now standing alone on a desolate mountain. Eragon felt for Brisingr, but Murtagh simply raised a hand and the younger man felt his limbs freeze.

“How far did you come, Eragon?” Murtagh asked. “Did you follow the dream because you wanted to or because you had no choice?”

“What dream?” Eragon snarled. “Where’s Saphira? What have you done with her?!”

Murtagh’s dark gaze flickered. “Nothing has been done to her. You need to wake up.”

“Wake up?”

Murtagh nodded. “This is a dreamscape, created by Galbatorix to keep you out of the fight. With you incapacitated, Saphira will have to choose. She’ll choose you, and Galbatorix will have his victory.”

“You’re a liar.” Eragon snarled. “You were a liar in life and now you’re a liar in death.”

Murtagh stalked forward so suddenly Eragon didn’t even register the movement. The elder Rider grabbed Eragon’s face and forced the young man to look at him. “Open your eyes!” Murtagh snarled. “You’re so self-righteous that you’re blind to everything! From the beginning all I wanted to do was help you! Whatever you believe is right is all that matters, regardless of how it’ll affect others! When you asked for our lives, there was no hesitation! Did I mean so little to you, brother, that I wouldn’t warrant that much?”

“You went to him! You betrayed us!” Eragon shouted, anger giving him the strength to defeat Murtagh’s hold and spell, breaking away from the elder Rider. “You’re no brother of mine! You’re the son of Morzan! I’m the son of Brom!”

Murtagh visibly flinched. Eragon blinked. Hadn’t Murtagh known? Even in death, he should’ve known! The older Rider rubbed his face, his image flickering. He changed from Eragon’s memory then, Murtagh becoming slightly darker of skin and slightly Elvish in his features, with a strange tattoo on his face. Even Eragon could feel the power in that mark and the younger Rider shrank back a bit.

“Now it makes sense.” Murtagh whispered. He glanced at Eragon and sighed. “Now Norezha’s message makes sense to me.”

Eragon blinked and slowly approached Murtagh. “Who’s Norezha?”

“A teacher of mine,” Murtagh replied absently. “A woman who cared for me when I lived with–” He paused. “Someone.”

“Who?” Eragon pressed.

“I’m not telling you.” Murtagh spat. “In time, you’ll know, but now you’re not worthy enough to know.”

“I am–!” Eragon choked, for Murtagh’s hand closed around his throat.

“You’re a foolish little boy playing a dangerous game. The losses you’ve suffered this far are sweet caresses to what you’ll endure. Open your eyes, Eragon! Your selfishness, foolishness, and self-righteousness must be defeated. Learn some humility. Learn your way isn’t always the best way.” Murtagh released Eragon then. “Saphira chose well. It’s a shame you, as you are now, are a disappointment.”

“And you?” Eragon snarled. “Were you never a part of this, Thorn would be free! He wouldn’t be an abomination!”

“He isn’t an abomination.” Murtagh growled, growing irritated. “He’s as much a dragon as Saphira.”

Eragon glared at Murtagh and shifted, lunging for the elder Rider. Murtagh dodged and tripped Eragon, eyes narrowed at the younger man. Finally, Murtagh reached to grab Eragon, hauling him to his feet. “Let me show you.”

Eragon made to protest but the scenery shifted so quickly the younger Rider was disoriented. They were within Urû’baen, and Eragon could see Murtagh – the Murtagh he knew before the man’s apparent death – lying bloody and broken on the floor. The other Murtagh standing beside him began to speak.

“When you began your training with Oromis, mine had already begun. Every day I was tortured, as was Thorn, because we refused to give him what he wanted.” Eragon stood watching Murtagh’s memories, growing steadily sicker the longer he watched. “Even on the inside,” Murtagh continued, “I was working with the Varden. I was doing all I could to ensure the victory of you and yours. When you tried to kill me, I could forgive you for it. But this, as you are now, I cannot forgive.”

Eragon pulled away from Murtagh when the scenery returned to their mountain and retched, more out of disgust at what his half-brother had endured than his own attitude. Finally, Eragon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Murtagh. “Now you wish me to change.”

“I wish you to learn.” Murtagh corrected. “We’ve very little time and I have much to explain to you, to show you. However, it all depends on you.”

Eragon blinked. “On me?”

“On your willingness to change your beliefs. If you’re willing to listen and learn.”

Eragon stared into the elder man’s eyes and looked for a lie. He looked for a trap but couldn’t find anything he was looking for. “How can I trust you?”

“” Murtagh spoke fluently in the ancient language. “”

Eragon swallowed. He understood all of it, and the name Murtagh gave himself shook him a little bit. He was aware he could try to use that name against Murtagh, but it would do him no good. Finally, Eragon nodded. “I will listen.”

He thought Murtagh smirked. “Good. Heed my voice well, Eragon.”

Murtagh began to speak. Eragon found himself mesmerized. Around him, the dreamscape changed to accompany Murtagh’s voice. Images flashed by so quickly Eragon wasn’t sure he could even remember them. The words though, stuck in his mind, and Eragon felt self-hatred consuming him. When he’d become mostly elf, he’d taken on their haughtiness, their hubris, and their pride. He’d forgotten how to be himself. He stared at Murtagh with new understanding and when the older Rider finished speaking, Eragon whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Murtagh shook his head. “You learn from this, Eragon. Learn and you’ll become stronger.”

“Like you?”

“Probably not.” Murtagh answered with a sigh. “I can teach you what I know, but only one can give you the rank of Scion.”

Eragon grinned. “Who?”

Murtagh didn’t reply, simply staring at Eragon until that confident grin was wiped from the young man’s face and the Rider had sobered. “I can’t tell you that.”

Eragon forced away the frown and stepped a bit closer to Murtagh. “What can you tell me?”

“Ask me a question. If I answer, you’ll know.” Murtagh sounded slightly amused now. “But now we’ve got to get out of here. Saphira’s waiting for you, and I have people waiting for me.”

Eragon blinked, but he moved after Murtagh, asking a question and either getting silence or an answer. The landscape around them shifted and changed, the dreamscape trying to keep Eragon within it. But Eragon focused on Murtagh’s back and ignored what was happening around him. Murtagh had fallen completely silent, so Eragon studied him. He was much different than he’d been just a short year before. He carried himself almost humbly, his eyes seeing everything but revealing nothing, and he had a way about him that Eragon knew would win over those who’d be his enemies. Finally, Murtagh stopped just before the ground gave way to utter darkness.

Eragon doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “Aren’t we leaving?”

Murtagh glanced at him, then away. “We will. Go ahead and don’t stop. You’ll begin to feel a weight, but that’s only your body. Just keep going and you’ll break it out.”

“Break what out?”

“The thing keeping you here. This spell requires a physical connection to the victim.” Murtagh looked to Eragon and shoved the younger man forward. “Just go!”

Eragon turned to stare at Murtagh but the older man just extended a finger and pointed. Glowering, Eragon turned to obey and moved into the shadow. His senses betrayed him, for his eyes saw nothing and yet his feet felt a path, and soon he began to feel the described weight. He also felt a ghostly touch from Saphira and pushed on. Eragon took step after heavy step, working hard to get out of the spell. He heard voices and recognized Murtagh’s. He tore at the veil around him and felt immense pain in his side. An agonizing moment later, Eragon jerked awake and stared into Murtagh’s dark eyes. The Scion held onto a silver of an arrowhead, and Eragon noticed a second later he was bleeding. Murtagh simply passed his hand over the wound and the bleeding ceased.

Eragon blinked at his half-brother. “How’d you do that?”

Murtagh rose and moved to wrap the shard in a length of linen. “Do what?”

“Cast a spell without speaking.”

“It’s a skill I’ve learned.” Murtagh tossed Eragon his clothes. “Get dressed. It’s time for you to make a grand appearance.”

Before Eragon could press further, Murtagh slipped out of the tent. He could hear Murtagh talking to someone, another male, in a language Eragon didn’t understand. He shook himself and dressed, ready to move out into the world.

Murtagh quickly followed Assan toward the To-Ga-Ir camp more to get away from Eragon than for any real desire to see the tribe. His mind was whirling. Eragon wasn’t his full brother? They were half-brothers? Bitter hurt welled in Murtagh’s heart. He was the only one to carry Morzan’s name then, the only one to bear that awful stigma. Murtagh touched the pendant Eluna at his throat and shook his head. He couldn’t let that bother him now. He had a family – he’d never considered Eragon his brother, anyway. He was a fellow Dragon Rider, nothing more.

“Sharru-Kinu!” Hatori shouted, waving from where she stood beside Yurich. “Sharru-Kinu, you wouldn’t believe how rude these leaders are.”

Murtagh touched his forehead to Hatori’s and sighed. “Actually, I would. Prepare for a massive amount of soldiers to come this way.”

“Why?”

“Eragon’s awake, and he’ll soon tell Nasuada and the others who I really am.”

Hatori snorted. Yurich took a drag on his pipe and echoed Hatori’s sound. “Let ‘em come. Yer too important ta too many people now for them ta hurt.”

Assan touched Murtagh’s elbow. “Katrina wishes to see you. She asked to see you the moment you were finished.”

“Go, brother.” Hatori said. “Yurich and I will stall them should they come.”

Murtagh nodded and followed Assan to Katrina. The woman stood with the other women, little Moranna in a sling against her chest. Katrina’s eyes lit up when she saw Murtagh, but he could see the worry in the orbs. Assan inclined his head. “I’ll go find Saïle and Elva. You’ll need all your allies.”

Murtagh nodded and moved to Katrina. “I thought you’d have run to see Roran.”

“I tried.” Katrina said. “The soldiers don’t believe me. And they won’t tell Roran that I’m asking for him.”

“He’s still in the camp.” Murtagh said. “Don’t worry. The time is coming where all these games will end. I want you to stay back with the women.”

Katrina glowered. “You don’t think I can help you?”

“You’re my trump card.” Murtagh answered honestly. “They’ll trust your judgment, especially when Roran comes with Eragon.”

“Why must you speak sense?” Katrina asked.

“Because it irritates you.” Murtagh looked up as the To-Ga-Ir began a call of warning. “Trust me.”

“Call Thorn.” Katrina told him as she moved back to the women.

Murtagh shook his head and discarded his robes as he moved to find Assan. -Thorn?-

-Murtagh! Saphira’s told me what’s happening. Shall I come?-

-Yes. But pick your moment wisely.-

-Very well.- Thorn withdrew from Murtagh’s immediate consciousness and the human turned his attention to this newest challenge. Dressed in his Fel clothing that doubled as armour, Murtagh strapped his Elvish blade to his thigh, his Fel blade to his hip, and Celeb’sûl to its place in the small of his back. He felt prepared physically, but he wondered if he was prepared mentally. No sense in backing down now. Murtagh shook his head and went to find Kaucha.

The To-Ga-Ir chieftain stood on the very edge of their side of the camp, dressed in his full war regalia. Surrounding him were his warriors and the shamans, Assan among them, though he moved to Murtagh’s side as the Rider came to stand beside Kaucha. Elva, Saïle, and Yurich also pushed their way through to his side and stood ready to defend the Rider should things go awry. The Urgals led the procession of warriors, the line spreading out as the To-Ga-Ir did, the ponies prancing under the skilled hands of their riders. If war did come between the Varden and the To-Ga-Ir, Murtagh knew the Varden would be sorely pressed to defend against the mounted warriors.

Out of the line of Varden came Nasuada surrounded by her guard. Next to her came Orrin and Orik, Islanzadi and Nar’Gharhvog. A span of fifty feet separated them from Kaucha and Murtagh. To complete the Varden’s impressive line came Eragon and Saphira, the former dressed in clothing befitting a Rider – a far cry from Murtagh’s earthen-and-stone coloured clothing.

-I’m sorry.- Saphira told Murtagh. -I tried to explain.-

-I know. Don’t worry about it.- Murtagh replied, soothing her a bit. Nasuada stepped forward, as did Kaucha. The old chieftain showed no fear in facing down the young woman, nor did he show any inclination of backing down. Nasuada raised her hand and pointed. “You harbour a traitor.”

“I harbour no such thing.” Kaucha replied. Behind him his warriors – Elva, Saïle, Assan, and Yurich included – howled their agreement. “I harbour a hero, a warrior, and he is my son.”

Murtagh saw Eragon jerk as Saphira explained the last part to him. He could imagine that silent conversation and found himself meeting Eragon’s eyes. He inclined his head slightly, and Eragon replied in kind. Murtagh sighed. So, his half-brother was learning.

“He’s a murderer, a king-killer, a liar, and a slave.” Nasuada continued. “He used a false name to get close to Eragon Shadeslayer, and lied to us all.”

-He didn’t lie!- Saphira shouted suddenly. -Sharru-Kinu is his name! His To-Ga-Ir name.-

“Saphira, you knew?” Arya asked, voicing everyone’s surprise and displeasure.

-Of course I knew.- Saphira replied. -A friend told me.-

“Thorn.” Spat one of Nasuada’s guard.

Eragon forestalled any forthcoming tirade. “Look, he’s different now. He’s changed. If he was working for Galbatorix still, he could’ve easily killed me in the dreamscape. Murtagh is different now.”

“We can’t take your word for it,” Arya said softly. “Yours or Saphira’s.”

Nasuada looked at Kaucha. “Arya is right. We can’t trust Eragon’s word, or Saphira’s.”

“Then trust mine.”

Katrina stepped out from the line of warriors, Hatori by her side. The Varden fell silent, though many were whispering, and those whispers would soon reach Roran. “Trust my word,” Katrina insisted. “I didn’t know him before the war. I know him now, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else as much as I trust him.”

Murtagh stepped forward then, hands held palm up and away from his weapons. “I’ll answer for my crimes. Now isn’t the time.”

Before Nasuada cold reply, Roran broke from the line, racing for Katrina. He switched direction though, and rushed Murtagh, the silver of a knife glinting in his fist. Murtagh didn’t move; he didn’t have to, for Roran was suddenly pinned by a giant red talon as Thorn landed before the host of the Varden. The crimson dragon merely lifted his claw from Roran and snorted.

“I’d say that was a grand entrance.” Elva said dryly.

Judging from the stunned expressions of the Varden’s leaders, Saïle couldn’t agree more.
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The Last Scion	By : RotSeele Category: A through F > Eragon Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.

The Last Scion