10/23/101

Late Evening

Mattes crouched in the shadows, his eyes fixed on the expansive door that led to Orrin's bedchambers, as well as the impassive guard that blocked the entrance. He felt strangely giddy, the dark energy running through his veins—it had been torture to wait until nightfall, for the cover of darkness. His traitorous thoughts kept conjuring up fantasies of his reward for when he succeeded, making it difficult for him to focus.

He exhaled deeply, trying to keep his breathing calm and steady. The emperor had promised him an ally, another member of the Black Hand. Mattes knew no other member of the Black Hand except the one who had recruited him; that was the nature of their organization, secrecy. Curiosity kept him glued to his corner, waiting for his mysterious ally.

"Guard!"

Mattes flinched, then pressed himself deeper into the shadows as a tall, imposing figure swept by, the fringes of his cloak brushing Mattes's head. Peering out cautiously, Mattes saw it was Jormundur, one of the Council of Elders who was loyal to Nasuada. The guard snapped to attention, listening intently as Jormundur leaned forward, saying something in a voice that was too low for Mattes to catch. Whatever it was, the guard stepped aside, allowing Jormundur to enter.

Now.

Mattes shook his head, startled as his hand rose of its own accord, humming with a black fire that was not his own. Fear replaced elation as he found himself reaching out, drawing out of the shadows. This attracted him the attention of the guard, who whipped around to stare at him incredulously. "Servant!" he barked, raising his sword.

An inexorable force gripped Mattes; try as he might, his body just wasn't his to control anymore. "Jierda!" he found himself yelling, and the guard gasped and collapsed, his neck obviously broken. And then Mattes's feet were running—his hands were pushing open the door—and he was staring at Jormundur, who regarded him with a curiously blank gaze.

The strange possession that gripped Mattes released him at this point, and his knees gave way. He dropped to the ground, gasping hard as he tried not to retch—the magic that seemed so alluring only moments before now seemed like a trap. What had he accepted? How could—how could any magic make you do things that you didn't—didn't control, how could it take over your body and—

A muffled yell of outrage made him look up. Wiping his mouth with his hand, Mattes pulled himself to his feet, regarding the man he was supposed to kill. Orrin was bound and gagged, his eyes livid with fury and fear. Mattes looked quizzically at Jormundur and then back to the Surdan king—both of them showed signs of having been in a fight. But—Jormundur? Nasuada's loyal councilor, her second-in-command? How could such a man be a member of the Black Hand? Surely Mattes would've sensed it...

"Don't just stand there," Jormundur said suddenly, his expression never changing. He shoved a blade into Mattes's hands, gesturing at the bound king. "Do what the emperor commands."

Mattes blinked at the unfamiliarly acerbic accent of Jormundur's voice. Revelation hit in a flash—somebody was controlling the man, just as Mattes himself had been controlled not a few minutes ago. A shiver ran down Mattes's spine as he stared down at the dagger in his hands.

Jormundur wasn't a member of the Black Hand, he was sure of that now. But how, then, was he controlled? Who was controlling him? The emperor couldn't have given Jormundur the same magic that he'd given Mattes, but who else had the power, the ability to take over Jormundur's mind—and so smoothly, at that?

A hard grip grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. "Do it," Jormundur commanded.

Mattes shook his head numbly, fear and doubt lancing through him. All thoughts of Nasuada, of reward, had fled his mind, leaving him with cold panic. He'd counted on a human ally, one who had his mind and body intact. But this kind of magic left him stranded—control? Possession? How?

"Why don't you do it?" he demanded through clenched teeth, trying vainly to push the blade back into Jormundur's hands. "Whoever you are! Why me?"

"You defy the will of the emperor?" Jormundur said, his voice a flat monotone.

Orrin produced another muffled yell; with shocking violence, Jormundur reached back and slapped the king full across the face. Mattes yelped involuntarily, staring incredulously at the reddened imprint. Jormundur remained perfectly calm and expressionless, even as he reached down, his hands wrapping around Mattes's wrist with an iron grip.

"Do it," he intoned.

Mattes wavered, biting his lip. Jormundur smiled slightly, the expression disjointed and unconnected, but no less frightening for it. "One stab, Mattes, is all it takes," he said, his voice so low that Mattes had to strain to hear. "And then your future would be assured, and you would be rewarded for your loyalty. You know what you want, don't you? Well, the emperor does too. And if you prove yourself to be loyal, then she will be yours."

The words were soft, hypnotic. Mattes swallowed hard, his thoughts drifting against his will. He wanted Nasuada, yes—but what would he do to get her?

"How do you know—"

"Last chance, Mattes," Jormundur said quietly.

Mattes wavered, biting his lip indecisively, fear and greed warring within him. Jormundur watched him impassively, his hands crossed over his chest, the strange intelligence that was controlling him giving nothing away.

One life for another. Besides, he was dead already if he didn't kill Orrin—the king would surely attest to his assassination attempt. But if he killed Orrin, then he could claim to have 'discovered' the body of the king, already murdered by someone else, and flee the city to await his reward...

Mattes chose, and brought the blade down.

XXXXX

Black fire exploded from his hands as the blade pierced the skin, arcing toward the bound king with hungry fingers, wrapping both of them in a cocoon of flame. Mattes cried out in horror as Orrin twisted, screaming in obvious agony as the fire consumed him. His fingers were still wrapped around the blade—Mattes fought to pry his fingers free, but the otherworldly flame gripped him as well, refused to let him go.

This wasn't what—this wasn't what he planned! "Help me!" he screamed up at Jormundur, who stood flat and impassive just a few paces away. Orrin continued to scream, a terrible, racking sound that hurt Mattes's ears, flailing and writhing against his ropes. "Help!" Mattes shrieked, no longer caring about anything but getting out, of getting free of this trap, of release—"Anybody—help!"

Orrin's screams drowned out his cry. Behind him, the door slammed open, people ran forward, chaos, panic, yelling. Mattes was yelling, too, struggling to pull himself free of the dying king, panic and terror overwhelming reason. The fire wasn't burning him, but he was scant inches away from the screaming Orrin, and he wanted out—

"Letta!" he screamed, putting all his force behind it, batting uselessly at the flames, not thinking about the cost, not thinking about anything but pulling free.

The spell activated, draining on his energy. The flames did not falter as his paltry energy tried to dampen it; rather, they seemed to welcome it, feeding off his power and burning ever brighter. Mattes cried out weakly as the spell continued to struggle against the dark magic, failed, failed, but kept on trying, feeding every ounce of his life into it. It was impossible to break free until the flames went out, but they didn't stop, and neither did the spell.

He gasped thinly, his knees buckling, dragging down Orrin with him. The king stared at him with bloodshot, accusing eyes, his mouth twisted in a wordless cry of pain. Mattes tried again, feebly, to break free, but failed, his vision flickering and dimming as he died.

XXXXXX

Murtagh woke up with a start, hearing footsteps pound away outside of his room. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, thoughts spinning wildly in his head. Thorn? he asked after a moment, feeling the dragon press at his consciousness, What is it?

Get up, the red dragon replied tersely. Things are afoot.

Murtagh sat up, pulling on a tunic as he did so. What's going on? he asked his dragon silently, getting up and pacing to work off the remnants of sleep. What happened?

Thorn didn't reply for a few minutes; Murtagh waited, Thorn's nervousness seeping through their link. It was infectious, sending a light thread of adrenaline thrumming through him. What's going on? he insisted.

Nothing good, Thorn said, sounding distracted. Wait.

The door slammed open; Murtagh turned around, startled. Eragon stood in the doorway, breathing hard, the gedwey ignasia on his palm glowing with magic. "You were here the entire time?" Eragon demanded harshly. Arya stood framed in the doorway behind him, her expression undeceipherable.

"Of course," Murtagh said, puzzled. Thorn? Now would be a very good time to tell me what's going on!

Eragon gripped Murtagh's wrist. "Do you swear? Say it in the ancient language!"

"The door has not been opened," Arya said sharply from behind him. "He did not leave this room physically, at least."

"Jormundur was controlled by somebody," Eragon snapped at her. He turned back to Murtagh, his eyes darkening. "Was it you, Murtagh?"

"Was it me, what?" Murtagh said irritably, jerking free of Eragon's hold. "I've been asleep. What's going on, Eragon?"

Eragon paused, staring at Murtagh for a long moment. Arya closed the door behind her as she stepped all the way into the room, the latch clicking shut with a certain finality. "Then who could it be?" she mused quietly. "One of the two has committed suicide, and Jormundur might as well be dead—his mind will certainly never recover, at any rate. Who has the power to do such a complete possession, besides Galbatorix himself?"

"You blocked my magic, remember?" Murtagh said warily, shifting slightly to keep them both in his view. "Who's Jormundur?"

"Dark magic," Eragon said, turning to Arya and ignoring Murtagh entirely. "Practiced only by a select few."

"I saw no hint of ruby fire," Arya replied, her voice level. "And the skolir-dehren is inactive, which proves that he was not possessed."

Murtagh paused, studying them both—it was as if he were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, the keystone that would make everything else fall into place. Thorn? he asked, hoping that the dragon could supply it.

They're angry, Murtagh, came the uneasy reply. I can hear them muttering from here.

Enough with the riddles; tell me what's going on! Murtagh said, thoroughly fed up.

Orrin's dead, Thorn said simply.

Murtagh's mind was a complete blank for a moment as he struggled to place who Orrin was—for a moment, he was afraid that he'd completely lost his memory again, but no—he'd just never cared very much for the man. The king? he said at last. Orrin? He's a king of Surda, isn't he?

No, Thorn said, his voice laden with patient sarcasm. He's the king of Surda. And he's dead, and they're saying that Galbatorix did it, Murtagh.

A chill ran down Murtagh's spine. Galbatorix? But how—?

I don't know; Saphira's not very forthcoming with the details. But stay sharp, Murtagh. You humans never have much logic at the best of times, but when you're angry, it's almost nonexistent.

Murtagh swallowed hard, his eyes focusing on Eragon. Eragon's eyes were distracted in the way that his own had been only a few seconds ago, and Murtagh was willing to bet that he was talking to Saphira. "Arya?" Murtagh said quietly, watching Eragon carefully.

"Yes?"

"What happened precisely?"

Arya hesitated, studying him critically. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if trying to decide just how much to tell him. Beside them, Eragon cleared his throat, his eyes snapping back into focus. "Murtagh?" he said.

Murtagh looked at him, feeling suddenly uneasy. He could not touch minds, but he knew enough of human character, even through his faded memories. And they would be angry—very angry. And a scapegoat was always needed...

"I think it would be best if you stayed here for the time being," Eragon said quietly. "I will put wards on your door to allow only Arya and me inside. Stay here and wait."

Murtagh opened his mouth to protest, and slowly closed it again. Eragon was right, for once—without his magic to defend himself, solitude would be his best defense against an angry mob. "And Thorn?" he said, his voice just as quiet.

"We will make other arrangements for Thorn," Arya said, exchanging a glance with Eragon. Your mental link with him will still be open, so you can be assured of each other's safety. But otherwise, do as Eragon says—stay, and wait. All other matters can wait as well."

"Such as the ability to acquire power from the dead?" Murtagh said before he could help himself, the words slipping out like a taunt. "Such as the true reason why I'm here?"

Arya looked at him, her eyes giving nothing away as she answered calmly, "Yes. Such as that."

Murtagh smiled at the fathomless look in her eyes and gave her a short, curt nod in acknowledgment of a proper opponent. That particular argument wasn't over, only postponed.

Eragon opened the door with a spell and they left, leaving Murtagh alone.

XXXXX

Cookies to anyone who can understand the chapter title, lol. xDD Goshness, I know this was short, but you will not believe how many rewrites I put this thing through. So yeah, whatever. –sighs- Longer one next time, I s'pose. (Next time involves our favorite OCs EVA, Orca & Anil & Inari! Will they manage to make it through another chapter without getting killed off by a homicidal fangirl?? Tune in next week and find out! –dun dun dun!-)

Yeahhh…so, obviously, Mattes had to snuff it. And Orrin died just so I can say I killed off a CANON character for once, yee-hah. And who was controlling Jormundur? Weellll…let's just say that this AU takes in the fact that Eragon/Saphira fulfilled one of the 'seven promises' that they were supposed to do. Yeah. Ring any bells? I'll explain it later if it doesn't…you know, someday.

Uh huh. And just because I'm in a rather dry and cynical mood, here's another random thought: possession is rather deus ex machina-y, don't you think? But hey, if CP could do it to Murtagh...-shrugs-

And yesss, I know that Brisingr's out, and yessss, I am continuing this. I think. I dunno. With my attention span, nothing's ever set in stone. Anyway. Review?

Mistress-of-Misery: Holy shizzle, I was writing this chap and all of a sudden, I was thinking, Murtagh/Arya pairing? Eh? I dunno; if I recall, there was a lovely piece by alsdssg already concerning the pairing (Black on White, I think), but it would be interesting to work out. You know, if I don't end up killing Arya. Yeah. Gosh, I am snuffing a whole lot of characters lately.

Korn12121: You are so weird. Good for you, man.

Arion Naomi: Canst though…bah humbug, I was never good at, you know, God-style proclamations anyway, lol. And I hope I spelled that word right. I have spellcheck turned off so there's no cute little red squiggly to warn me. Wow. This is random. xDD

andrewTHATSme: I pronounce it a-rI-ya, actually, and CP's little pronunciation guide be damned if I'm wrong. While we're on that subject, how do you pronounce Jormundur? I mean, Spanish style Hor-mun-dur or Jor-mun-dur? Does Alagaesia even speak Spanish? Food for thought.

Canadian-Girl14: -kills Orrin dutifully- Yeaaaah…actually, that's kind of depressing, lol, the way I'm just knocking characters off left and right these days. I seem to be in a rather philosophical mood right now. Hrrrm. XDD I think Orrin's character got a bit of improvement in Brisingr—you know, when he chopped off Zombie Guy's head and all.