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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Understone
When he first opened his eyes, the first thing Murtagh realized was that he was alive. Then as he became aware of his surroundings, he found he was lying on a soft bed covered by silk sheets and thick quilts made of animal pelts. He was naked, his chest wrapped in white gauze that just had the tiniest stain of pink, and the room was decorated with ancient old wood furniture, wildflowers, and charcoal sketches. Lush carpets covered a grey stone floor, and the walls, which were also grey stone, had tapestries hanging over doorways to keep out drafts. Groaning, Murtagh pushed himself up and realized his muscles must’ve atrophied since they protested moving. But he pushed the covers off of him and swung his legs out of bed. He tried to stand and failed. The third time he managed to stay on his feet and even took a few steps. He managed to find soft boots that seemed to serve the same purpose as slippers and pulled them on. Then he found a fur robe and wrapped that about his aching body as he explored the room.
He found a glass door that opened to a wide stone porch and realized it was like the eyrie ledge back in Urû’baen. His heart tightened. Thorn. If he was alive, Thorn had to be alive as well. Or did Thorn give his life so Murtagh could live? With a trembling hand, Murtagh pulled the glass door open and stepped out. He was surrounded by tall coniferous trees and exposed to frigid air and wondered where he was. Murtagh stepped to the railing of the wide porch and looked out at the surrounding forest.
-…Murtagh?-
The young man jerked at the sound of the light tenor voice in his head that was both foreign and familiar. He swallowed and dared to hope.
-Thorn?-
Joy and love flooded his mind. -Murtagh! You’re awake! Stay there, I come!-
Murtagh shivered and turned his gaze to the skies above him, searching for the young red dragon. A dark shape tumbled out of a passing cloud and wove toward him. Thorn checked his speed and overshot the eyrie ledge, bent his wings and turned to come to a light landing on the ledge as close to Murtagh as he could. He was humming loudly, and Murtagh’s hands vibrated when he placed them on the dragon’s snout.
-I’m glad you’re awake.- Thorn said excitedly. -Now I can show you everything.-
“Everything?” Murtagh questioned. Thorn gave a short, barking roar and backed up so his Rider could get a good look at him.Murtagh’s eyes went wide. Thorn’s body had evened out; his shoulders and chest now more like Saphira’s instead of a bear’s. He was sleek and strong like a panther and his tail was whole again. Murtagh touched the last three feet of Thorn’s tail with wonder. He looked up into ruby eyes.
“How did you do this?” Murtagh asked.
Thorn hummed. -I didn’t. He did.-
Thorn lifted his head and Murtagh turned slowly, feeling the eyes on his back now. Standing easily within a sword’s reach as an elf with long black hair and piercing green eyes. He was dressed in clothing more proper for the cold weather, and watched Murtagh with a healer’s gaze. The most striking feature, though, about the elf was a tattoo on the left side of his face. The black ink was shaped as a turning dragon, with the head and neck of the dragon making a U shape over the eyebrow, as the body and wings continued the shape over the socket. The tail of the dragon went straight down the outside of the eye and stopped just above the cheekbone. There was power in that mark, and Murtagh knew this elf was very dangerous.
“There’s no need to be afraid.” The elf said as he lifted his gloved hands. “See? No weapons.”
“You don’t need physical weapons to kill someone.” Murtagh replied.
The elf sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re right. Now, Murtagh, why don’t you come inside? It’s cold as hell out here and the last thing we need is for you to catch your death.” When Murtagh hesitated, the elf smiled. “It’s alright. Thorn will be right out here.”
-Go on, Murtagh. We can trust him.- Thorn gave Murtagh a little nudge and the human reluctantly followed the elf back into the room.
“Who are you?” Murtagh asked as he took a seat in one of the leather cushioned old wood chairs.
“The first.” The elf replied easily. “Take off your robe.” The elf rolled his eyes when the boy glared at him. “You have nothing I haven’t seen before. You don’t have to take it off all the way, just enough for me to look at your chest.”
Reluctantly, Murtagh did so, feeling raw amusement from Thorn. “The first what?”
The elf knelt beside him with a roll of fresh bandages, a washcloth, a bowl of hot water, and several poultices. “The first Rider.”
Murtagh thought his heart would stop as he stared at the elf. “You… you’re Eragon? But how? How did you survive? And why didn’t you come to help us? You have to know what’s going on!” Murtagh yelped as Eragon pressed on the tender, pink flesh that dissected his chest.
“My time was over.” Eragon said with a hint of anger. “Were I to leave this place and come to the aid of the Varden I would be hailed as a traitor for letting the massacre of Doru Araeba happen. I would be persecuted and feared for my people have far diminished from what they were and I am as they should be. Imagine for a moment the destruction I could bring down upon the Varden or Galbatorix.”
Murtagh glared at the elf and stewed in silence. Eragon was right. Should he appear now, no one would feel safe and too many more would die. When the elf stepped away from him after wrapping his chest again, Murtagh pulled his robe back on and glowered.
“You are young. You will learn.” Eragon said.
“Learn what?” Murtagh snapped. “As I sit here, the Varden are probably marching to victory.”
“No.” Eragon replied sadly. “They’re not. They’ve been routed, with many losses. They tried to take the city of Gil’ead, but Galbatorix had woven a trap so well no mage could hope to foresee it. They’re holed up now in the mountains of the dwarves and the forest of my kin recovering.”
Murtagh swallowed. “How do you know?”
“I don’t live here alone, Murtagh. This is your room, a gift from the Stone Maiden. Below us, within the mountain, lives a race long stricken from myth. They bring news and Thorn has told me everything else.”
“So you found me then?”
“Six months ago, I found you on death’s door.” Eragon looked at the young human and handed him clothes in which to change into. “If it weren’t for Thorn, you surely would’ve died.”
-I yelled and yelled.- Thorn said. -Bid’Daum answered. He brought Eragon and Yozh and the Fel brought us here.-
-The Fel?-
Thorn made a buzzing sound of amusement in Murtagh’s mind. -The grey elves.-
Murtagh thought he was going to have a breakdown. Six months had passed since that fateful day and he lived; Eragon and Bid’Daum survived here in this place; and the Grey Folk lived here too.
-Not the Grey Folk.- Thorn admonished. -The Fel. The Children of Stone.-
“What’s the difference?” Murtagh muttered as he changed into the heavy tunic and pants the ancient elf had given to him.
“Plenty of difference.” Eragon said, startling Murtagh. “I can hear Thorn too. This mark allows me that.”
“What’s that mark?” Murtagh asked. “And what’s the difference?”
There was raw amusement in Eragon’s blue eyes. “This mark is called a Scionmark. It denotes Riders who have become the bringers of hope for their time. Over history only two others and myself have worn this mark. And the difference between the Grey Folk and the Fel is that the Grey Folk won’t eat you when you die.”
Murtagh looked ill. “They’re cannibals?” He eyed the elf and took a step back.
Now Eragon did laugh. “No more than you or I. But food is scarce here in the Spine, and eating their dead has to do more with their religion now than before. Come, the Stone Maiden wishes to meet with you.”
-She’s beautiful Murtagh.- Thorn told him. -Just be polite.-
-Easy for you to say.-
Thorn buzzed amusement again and withdrew from Murtagh’s immediate consciousness to stalk a fat buck that had wandered too close. Murtagh jogged a little to keep up with the taller elf, and they left his room far behind, always descending. Murtagh could think of nothing to say, could think of nothing to ask this elf that was legend, and Eragon wasn’t supplying any small talk either. So Murtagh dwelled on the past, his hand against his wrapped chest to feel the wound that should have – and almost did – killed him. He hadn’t found Zar’roc’s hilt amongst his possessions and wondered if he’d lost it. He hadn’t found the Eldunari either. His armour was gone, as was his bow and dagger and horn. He wondered about his brother, about Saphira and the Varden, and if six months had already passed, then he was close to turning nineteen and another year of his life would be gone.
Eragon placed a gentle hand on Murtagh’s shoulder to get the young man’s attention. “This,” he said with a smile, “is Understone.”
Murtagh looked away from the elf and thought he would lose his balance as he stared out into the open cavern beneath the mountain. Tunnels created a spider web on the walls, and lights made of glowing lichen hung on ropes strung about the cavern. Torches flickered further down, and from where he was, Murtagh could see a huge open market that was alive with activity. There was laughter and the yells of children, and everything seemed so alive.
“This is amazing.” Murtagh breathed. Eragon laughed.
“Isn’t it? When I first saw this place, I thought I was dreaming.” Eragon gestured for Murtagh to follow him and they began to descend again. “This is only a small part. Through those large tunnels, you’ll find the temple and the homes of the Fel. There are thousands of rooms, all for a different purpose. I’ve lived here for years and I still don’t know them all by heart. And that tunnel,” Eragon pointed to a tunnel shaped like a dragon’s maw, “leads to the Library.”
Murtagh immediately focused on that tunnel. “The Library?”
“Mm. You’ll be spending most of your time there while you heal. You’ll learn things you knew and things you didn’t know. And in time, when you’ve healed, we’ll get started on your other lessons.”
Eragon passed Murtagh on the path, as the young man was frozen to his spot. Murtagh whipped around and ran to catch up to the ancient elf. “You’re going to train me?” he asked in a whisper.
Eragon looked at Murtagh and stopped. Murtagh stopped as well and stared into the elf’s eyes. “When I freed you and Thorn from Galbatorix’s spells, I caught a glimpse of a future that may be. In this future, there were no dragons, only death and fear. If you live, if you survive this test, I will train you.”
“What test?”
“The Stone Maiden’s test. I can’t say more.”
Murtagh watched Eragon’s back as the elf moved down into the market. He hurried after him, staying close and trying not to stare at the Fel as they bowed when Eragon passed. What is he? Murtagh wondered. What is he that an entire race of people bow to him?
The crowd followed them to the temple and silently followed them inside. The temple was made of polished stone carved out of the mountain itself, statues carved in the effigies of dragons of every colour guarded windows and doorways, and Murtagh could smell jasmine burning somewhere. Eragon led him down to what looked to be a pit where an altar sat laden with silks and other offerings. There, too, sat the five Eldunari and Zar’roc’s hilt. The room was silent and Murtagh realized he stood before the altar alone. Eragon stood now beside a male Fel who stood a head shorter than the elf, and who watched Murtagh with an odd gleam to his dark eyes. Then she appeared, a pewter-skinned Fel decorated by pearls and bones, covered in sheer fabric that gave her the appearance of a dragon in a human form. She stepped down slowly until she stood on a ledge above Murtagh. Then she began to speak.
“I have learned of your past, Murtagh Morzansson,” Eragon translated for the boy, his voice seeming years away and coming through a vast void. “I have seen what was been committed. By the God’s own word, you are not to blame, however, evil has touched your heart. Prove to me, and to us all, you are worthy of being Touched, that you are worthy of being the student of Eragon az Ahir-Enei.”
Murtagh shuddered. Prove himself? How? He wanted to yell at the Stone Maiden, but he kept his tongue behind his teeth. He dropped his gaze from the Fel woman to the altar. The five Eldunari gleamed in the torchlight and Zar’roc’s hilt glittered with what seemed to be malice. Slowly, as if in a trance, Murtagh reached out toward Zar’roc but froze. No, not the sword. His gaze turned then to the Eldunari, and he reached to touch the violet orb closest to him. His consciousness was sucked into the Eldunari and Murtagh found himself weightless in a vast void. Below him, something moved, and the head of a purple dragon appeared to him.
-What is your name?- The ancient female asked. -And what is mine?-
“Murtagh. My name is Murtagh. I don’t know who you are.”
-You do. And Murtagh is but one name. Your true name is what I seek, as do I seek my own.-
Murtagh felt anger course through his blood. -My true name is…!- The anger was quickly quelled when he couldn’t say his true name. The old female watched him intently. He first felt fear, then exhilaration, then nothing but a calm reserve.
“Your true name is Elysian.” Murtagh told the ancient dragon. “And mine is Estel.”
The female hummed. -You have passed. May your life be long and full of good fortune Estel. Know that you may call on us for aid when your need is at its greatest.-
“Estel,” Eragon’s voice was in his ear, and Murtagh opened his eyes to stare at the elf. He was smiling and the room was buzzing with voices. “Well done.”
Murtagh sat up and stared and Elysian’s Eldunari that rested in his lap. “What happened?”
“Your test. You see, should you have been fully entranced by evil, you never would’ve spoken your true name as it should be, and you wouldn’t have befriended Elysian.” Eragon helped Murtagh to his feet and smiled. “You passed.”
“I don’t understand.” Murtagh said softly.
“Der iz not much to understand, Voodvalker.” Said the male Fel Eragon had been standing beside. “Dis test haz been used only twice before in times before you were born. It has failed twice.”
“Murtagh, this is Yozh. He was my guardian when I came here as a boy, and when you’re better,” Eragon smiled, “he’ll be your weaponsmaster.”
Murtagh blinked, looking back and forth between elf and Fel. Eragon smiled slightly. “I mean to teach you the old ways, Murtagh. The skills you’ll learn from me and the skills you learn from Yozh will aid you in the days to come. For now, I’ll take you back to your rooms so you can rest and spend time with Thorn.”
“Did Thorn take the same test?” Murtagh asked finally when he and Eragon were alone.
The elf looked at him for a long while and said at last, “Bid’Daum tested him. Should Thorn have failed, you wouldn’t have woken up from the healing sleep.”
Murtagh felt those words cut deep and briefly felt a flare of anger toward the elf for saying them. But he understood why they had to be said and he moved after Eragon as the elf brought him back to the room above ground. Thorn was waiting for Murtagh on the outdoor eyrie and a tumult of joyous emotions assaulted Murtagh. Eragon left the two with a soft order to rest and Murtagh gathered up pillows and blankets and dragged the lot outside to curl up against Thorn’s side. He told Thorn of his test and the red told Murtagh of his.
Thorn hummed.
-Sleep little one.- The red dragon said. -Tomorrow another adventure will begin.-
“Probably an adventure I can do without.” Murtagh mumbled, but he soon fell asleep, listening to Thorn hum.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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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