The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena. Dark; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.

I won't keep you waiting any longer! You have kumar LaVoixDuSud to thank for getting me back on track! Thank you for your patience and for sticking with me.

xoxo —ei

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 24, Truth

Stiffly, Thorn and I nodded.

We didn't have a choice. These were our orders.

The Keeper smiled.

"What sets you free yet can imprison you. What soothes the soul but rakes unforgivable wounds. What is light as a feather and more massive than the mountains of Beor. What takes every ounce of your strength but can be utterly effortless. What is merciless, yet as gentle as a mother's touch. What is absolute?"

I gaped soundlessly, wordlessly.

It was a riddle. I was bollocks at riddles. I fumbled over the words, it sounded impossible, nonsensical.

Thorn rumbled beside me. It is not so complicated as all that, Murtagh. Think.

And to my mind, he called images. The moment when my heritage had been discovered. The moment when I had discovered Eragon was of my blood. The discovery of our names in the Ancient Language.

I don't understand...

Your memories are tinged with moments throughout your life of concealment and discovery. As best we try, everything comes to light and our only choice is how we react. Whether as weak, cowards imprisoned by the inevitable, or as staunch warriors, powered by our knowledge.

I raised my eyes to gray elf who sat before me—his quill had not paused in all this time.

"Truth." I met his eyes steadily. The truth sets you free, and imprisons you. The truth can be cruel or gentle. The truth can be difficult or simple. It can take courage and it can be born of cowardice."

He smiled. "Indeed it can." He gestured to the infinite tome before him. "But it endures."

You're a wonder, dragon.

Don't worry, brawn counts for something, Murtagh.

"Now what is it that you want to know?" The gray elf asked.

"We request you to tell us which of the surviving old of Riders still lives that opposes the King."

Without hesitation, he said, "The one you seek is called Oromis of house Thrándurin, the Mourning Sage, the cripple-who-is-whole. He is known as Osthato Chetowä, the philosopher, and Togira Ikonoka, the mage. He is bonded to Glaedr Goldscales, or he-who-matches-the-sun-in-glory. They, even now, mentor and train with Eragon Shadeslayer, to overthrow the King." He added, almost slyly. "And you."

Oromis…I had read of him in my studies. He had been a member of the Dragon Rider's council. This information would please Galbatorix.

"Thank you," I bowed to the dark elf.

He had a curiously abject expression on his visage. "Remember, Murtagh. The truth is absolute, but we each have our own truths. What sets us free, what rewards us."

He glanced at Thorn.

"You have a question for me as well, do you not, Dragon?"

Thorn shrugged. "Yes, but not today. Perhaps, one day, when we meet again."

-x-

The King's spells nearly lit a fire underneath us, causing us to speed back to the capital in record time. Luckily, leaving the Forest of Ingothold was much simpler than entering it. Though, Thorn swore up and down to me that if we had the luxury of returning, we would traverse it thoroughly, examine the closely the magic imbued into its very soil

Meanwhile, Galbatorix was almost radiant with glee at our news.

"You see," he breathed, triumphantly, "I knew Eragon must be receiving counsel from someone. The Ancient Language is exceedingly complex and cannot simply be learned by picking up a book like the common runes or sums. Yet, his strength has increased in leaps and bounds since your arrival."

"At first, I suspected that the elves were responsible, but even a common elf is limited in his powers. I suspected he must be taught by one of the old order, but who? I presumed them all dead. There are rumors that Dragons continue to exist in foreign lands, quietly, in order to prevent their discovery, but a Rider?"

He clasped his hands together and a thin stream of steam rose from them.

"But never in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine, Oroomis was still puttering around." He smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.

"You see," he turned back to us, as he had been ignoring us for the larger part of his soliloquy. "I have a special place in my heart for Oroomis-elda—isn't that right, Shruikan?"

The gigantic black dragon merely blinked a cold, icy blue eye.

"Have you ever heard my story, Murtagh?"

"I've heard of it, sir."

"What have you heard?"

I exchanged glances with Thorn. What I had heard was not very flattering.

"I heard that after your dragon perished, you recruited Shruikan and came after the Order of Riders," I said diplomatically, chewing each word before I let it out.

The king clicked his tongue.

"My enemies seek to belittle me at every turn," he sighed. He walked back to the throne that stood at the head of the room and sat down heavily.

"When I was but a young boy, Jarnunvösk chose me." His eyes lit up as he spoke. "You could not imagine a dragon more beautiful. Her hide was a brilliant amethyst, like the most melancholy violet of dusk, the aching lavender of the deep sea. And it was overshadowed by nothing but her heart of gold, full of wanderlust."

He played with a ring on his left hand, and though I had noticed it before, I now realized it was inlaid with an amethyst.

"She was a marvel: curious, brave; we wanted to travel the world together, and we were encouraged to. In those days, the Order encouraged young Riders to explore the world, that we might learn magic by encountering its many forms and through many trials."

Shruikan's claws clicked against the cold, stone floor.

I had never considered Shruikan as a being with his own thoughts and feelings, for I knew Galbatorix controlled him with unyielding dark magic, but now, I had to wonder, if deep down somewhere in his heart, did this story willed any emotion in him—sadness at the loss of his own Rider, anger at Galbatorix, perhaps?

"We were young, but we were daring and unafraid. Wet around the ears, certainly, but the other Riders assured us that our pooled talents would stave off hardship on our journey. The Order sanctioned our trip—challenging, they told us, but not insurmountable."

Here, his voice hardened.

"So, we set off for the Spine. It was a grand journey in the start, and we were young, reckless, and jubilant at our own cleverness. We swam in the air, drank in the nature, became one with our magic. And then, like a beautiful dream ending abruptly, we awoke into a nightmare."

His voice dropped.

"One night, we sat—Jorah, Fiorel and I—around the fire, trading tales of our exploration of the wood. I remember it like it was yesterday. Fiorel was regaling us with jokes. 'Why did the werecat cross the path?'" 'Why?' we asked him."

Galbatorix's eyes took on a vacant expression, he was no longer here with us in this room, in Urubaen. He was far away, in the Spine, lost in the past.

"Before Forel could answer, an arrow split the air and struck him in the throat. We sat there in shock, watching him gurgle as blood filled his mouth, until noise behind us announced their arrival. We had stumbled into the territory of a clan of Kull. They set upon us. We tried our best, with swords, bows and arrow and magic. As a Rider, I had excelled in all areas of combat and spell-casting, but my companions were quickly slain. Our dragons had gone off to hunt, so I called for Jarnunvösk, so that she might fly us away from here."

"She heeded my call, you should have seen her—she was a sight in the heat of battle, with a keening cry that struck fear into the hearts of those who opposed us. She grasped me in her claws and took off, but before we had gained any height, she was struck down. By an arrow, to her heart."

"I did not know my anger then. I picked up my sword and decimated those animals. Laid waste to every single one who had dared raised a weapon to us. When their mutilated bodies lay around, I returned to her. She was very still then, her breathing labored, and her eyes cloudy. The arrow was cursed, you see, and I did not know the arts to save her from Urgal magic. The order, for all that they taught us about combat, discipline, and righteousness—they taught us very little of healing magic—because Riders are immortal, there is very little that can cause us real harm."

"All I could do was ease her suffering and beg her not to leave me. It was a protracted affair, she died very slowly—it took several days, and I stayed by her side for every moment. And when she was finally gone…" He drew a long shuddering breath. "Inside me was such an emptiness that you have never known. When you share your soul, your mind with another, when they are gone, the silence is unbearable."

"Even now, the eldunarí I keep protect me from the silence that might otherwise render me senseless. With them, I am never alone. But back then, I had nothing to keep my sanity. To kill myself was anathema, cowardice—Jarnunvösk would have condemned it, so I wandered the Spine, challenged every man, every beast who crossed my path. And yet, my valor was my undoing. I could not be defeated and thus, I could not rejoin her."

"I don't truly know what became of me. Much of that time is lost from my recollection, but one day, I awoke. Someone had brought me back to Du Weldenvarden, to my Rider brethren, to the Order. I could not stand to be around, watching them fly with their dragons, those who had willfully encouraged to travel to the Spine and try my luck there. Those who dared to continue living while she was lost forever. Those fools who wasted my time teaching me every modicum of knowledge on the one thousand grasses and fungi that grew in Du Weldenwarden, but not how to heal my Jarnunvösk!" He exploded.

"Tell me, Murtagh," he said softly. "Who is blame for her death?"

"I-I don't know—"

"Was it me? I called her into the fray, had she not come down to rescue me, she would have remained safe."

Any dragon would rise to protect his Rider.

Galbatorix glanced at Thorn.

"Then, was it Fiorel and Jorah who are blame? They never were quite in the same league, talent-wise, as me. So naturally, they were the first to perish. I curse myself for choosing such weak companions whose very presence endangered us. While I was busy trying to aid them, I could have escaped with her."

"Or, was it our masters, our elders who encouraged us to go on this foolhardy quest, told us it would expand our minds, while withholding the knowledge we needed to survive?"

"Sometimes, unfortunate things happen, sir, and no one is to blame. It is just the way of the world—"

"No!" The King shouted. "These things don't just happen. Jarnunvösk's death was not just a twist of fate. To suggest so is an insult to her memory. She lived as she died, unafraid, unyielding, and enduring."

He stood, made restless by his emotions.

"She would have hated to see me then, reduced to a shell of myself. Unable to recapture my former glory. She would have wanted me to prosper. She would have understood what I needed to restore myself—a dragon."

Another dragon, Thorn corrected, but only to me.

"And that is merely what I asked of the Order. After all, were it not for them, I would still have my Jarnunvösk. But," he laughed and there was a note of hysteria in his manner now. "They denied me, at Ooromis' behest. You know, he never did seem to like me as much as the other elders did. He was never charmed by my intelligence, my thirst for knowledge, my keen interest in magic—he seemed to think I lacked something."

"So, I took what I deserved. And with Kialandí, Morzan, Formora, and the others by my side, I swore I would have vengeance. All this time, I thought all of the elders were dead—I killed Vrael myself—but it appears Ooromis escaped us. He has been hiding all this time, like a quiet, little mouse. And, I admit, I am not angry. Because it means, my quest for vengeance is almost at an end, my thirst for justice will finally be slaked."

"Ooromis-elda has always sought my downfall, and even now, he aids my enemies. I will not show him mercy."

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