You're in my arms

And all the world is calm

The music playing on for only two

So close together

And when I'm with you

So close to feeling alive

Murtagh felt so alone.

He was sitting in the edge of the gigantic field the Celebration was being held in. Galbatorix was dead, Shruikan released of his bonds, as was Thorn and his young Rider. Nearly the entire Varden, elven army, Galbatorix's old army, dwarfs, the occasional tribe of Urgals and the nearest human cities were there, shouting and drinking and laughing and dancing. Elves sang like never before, pairings of the four nations dancing in the huge clearing where the music boomed loudest, and the rulers stood on an elevated platform.

Murtagh's eyes slid over the platform and he saw his half-brother, Eragon, standing there, a mug of ale in his hand, Brisingr at his belt, and Saphira beside the platform next to him. He was wearing the finest elven tunic he had. Arya was in a conversation with him, and she must have said something amusing, because the Rider rolled his head back and laughed.

Then his eyes wandered to her.

Nasuada was standing on the platform, also holding ale in her hand, her face bright and happy. Her dark skin shone in the light of the hanging lamps and magical sparks that flew up from elves and human spellcasters alike. She had a beautiful embroidered dress on, her forearms bare, as to show her scars from the Trial of the Long Knives.

Murtagh knew this—as well that Eragon was his half-brother—because after the war had ended and he had been freed, Eragon had met him and told him in no uncertain terms—speaking in the ancient language, of course—that they were not full brothers. Then, taking many hours out of the day, they sat down and explained to each other the events that transpired in the Varden camp as well as Galbatorix's castle in Uru'baen.

Murtagh sighed and rubbed his face, looking down at his fine boots that he had worn for the Celebration. He had stood up on the platform as well, but only for a brief while, feeling horrible glares of thousands directed at him. He had then left and found his empty and desolate spot at the fringe of the festivities.

After a long time, he looked up again and saw with surprise that Nasuada had departed from the stage. He looked around for her, but could not pick her out from the thousands upon thousands of beings crowding near the platform.

Twenty minutes passed, then thirty. Murtagh remained in link with his dragon, Thorn, all the while, but the red dragon paid little attention to him, since he was so engaged with Saphira, that he only answered Murtagh's questions with one or two words. Thorn prowled near the blue dragon, trying to catch her attention and speaking to her with his mind. Saphira seemed amused at his pestering, as if she related it to something that had already happened.

Murtagh jumped up when a voice disrupted his deep thoughts. "May I sit here?" Murtagh looked up and saw Nasuada standing in front of him, holding the folds of her dress in her hands.

"Of c-course," Murtagh stuttered, sliding to his left on one of the hundreds of benches and chairs that had been set up. Nasuada smiled, her white teeth flashing, and she settled down next to him. She was very close to Murtagh, close enough to make him blush.

All life goes by

Romantic dreams must die

So I bid mine goodbye and never knew

So close was waiting, waiting here with you

And now forever I know

All that I want is to hold you

So close

Nasuada looked over the crowd with smiling eyes. "It's amazing, isn't it?" she asked. "Just a number of months ago, you, Eragon and Saphira stumbled at our front doorstep, with an army of Kull right behind you…the start of a legacy. A legend."

"My name will be remembered in infamous, not courageousness."

"Maybe so, but you are a good person at heart, Murtagh. You did the best you could in circumstances…even if you may have taken it a little too far."

Murtagh winced as if Nasuada had struck him. He knew exactly what she was talking about: killing Hrothgar in the battle of the Burning Plains. Murtagh looked at his shoes, suddenly very interested in the shiny leather.

After a long silence, Murtagh looked up and at the western horizon. The sun was setting, but the Celebration showed no signs of slowing. Brilliant rays of orange shot off over the land, while the clouds turning purple and a gentle kiss pink. Nasuada saw his gaze and followed it, smiling when she saw he was looking at the sunset.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "It's amazing how so many colors can be made from the sun alone."

"Indeed," Murtagh murmured. The watched the sunset in a comfortable silence for a long time, watching it sink and disappear under the horizon, sinking the land into darkness. Werelights popped into existence all over the gigantic field, and tall torches were lit by the men.

Murtagh gulped, feeling his palms go sweaty. Nasuada sat so royally next to him, poised and beautiful. The gentle scent of her perfume drove him mad, the closeness driving him insane. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and hold her against him, and for a rash moment, he wondered what her lips would feel like on his…

So close to reaching that famous happy ending

Almost believing this one's not pretend

And now you're beside me and look how far we've come

So far we are so close

The firelight cast eerie lights over the field, throwing deep shadows on the ground and making them grow and flicker like wild wraiths. The music changed from fast paced and energetic to slow and caring, illustrating the peacefulness that would and will settle over Alagaësia, and letting lovers and husbands and wives that weren't torn apart to be in each others company, alone and in love.

Murtagh looked over to Nasuada, licking his lips. His heart was beating so hard, and he felt a tear of sweat fall down his neck, hidden by his high collar and long brown hair. He could feel the tips of his slight pointy ears burning as well as his cheeks. He tried to hide it by looking in the eastern direction, away from Nasuada.

He wanted—so badly—to ask her to dance, but he felt it would be an unwise decision. Murtagh was not a well-looked upon figure, and Nasuada was the leader of the Varden, one of the main people in the destruction of Galbatorix. If they were seen dancing together, it would only smear her reputation and undermine her authority.

But he couldn't resist. After all, what was the worst thing she could say? No? Well, she could say no and avoid him and never speak to him again—being a worst case scenario—but Nasuada wasn't that kind of person…right?

"Um…Nasuada?" Murtagh finally asked, feeling a pit form in his already fluttering stomach.

The woman looked at him with a small smile. "Yes, Murtagh?"

"W-would you l-like to d-da..." Murtagh swallowed, feeling his courage start to desert him. Before he could flee, Nasuada smiled wider and stood.

"Of course I would like to dance, Murtagh." She smirked at his shocked face and helped him to his feet. She held out her arm for a moment before Murtagh believed she wasn't joking. He hastily put his arm in hers, leading her into the dancing couples.

How could I face the faceless days

If I should lose you now

We're so close

To reaching that famous happy ending

Almost believing this one's not pretend

Murtagh faced Nasuada, releasing her arm. They stood near the center of the dancing couples, standing still while they danced slowly and lovingly in small circles. Nasuada curtsied to him while he bowed at the same time. He took a deep breath and took her upraised hand, putting his other on her waist as she put her hand on his shoulder. He felt fire shoot up his veins from the points were they touched, driving him even more insane.

They waited a moment to be in sync with the other dancers, and then started slowly stepping together in a slow dance. Murtagh saw nothing else but her beautiful face, he felt nothing but her touch, her hand in his, and nothing else existed outside of this perfect moment. Time was frozen, and Murtagh never wanted it to thaw.

Nasuada smiled at him, allowing him to slowly twirl her around and pull her closer to him than the dance dictated. She felt her pulse quicken, but in a good way. He looked so handsome, in his dark tunic. He had Zar'roc at his belt, clipped onto a shiny leather belt that gathered his tunic at the waist. He made shivers crawl up her spine every time she looked at him. She had often heard rumors and predictions, as well as advice that she and Eragon would make a powerful and just couple. But she felt nothing more than deep friendship and care for the Rider, not like Murtagh.

The music slowed, not stopping, but allowing a time for more closeness than most of the dance allowed. Murtagh slowly pulled Nasuada closer, allowing her much time to signal him to stop. When she did not, he pulled her against him, their torsos touching, and both of his hands rested on the small of her back, while the leader's hands went around his neck. Nasuada let her head fall on his shoulder, breathing in deeply through her nose, smelling his scent. Mellow and the smell of dragon, one Nasuada was slightly used to, since she spent a good amount of time near Saphira.

Murtagh smiled slightly, happy that he was dancing with a princess—his princess. His eyes drifted shut, his head lightly leaning against hers. He never, ever wanted this moment to end.

Eragon was looking over the crowd when his eyes spotted Nasuada and Murtagh in the space marked off for dancing. He saw them close together, Nasuada's head in the crook of Murtagh's neck, dancing slowly together. Eragon smirked, nudging Arya with his elbow, motioning toward the couple.

"Look," he said. "It seems Alagaësia will have another Rider for king."

Arya smiled. "This time, he will have a wife to keep him in line." After a long, silent moment, she added, "He will be a fine king."

"Indeed," Eragon said, smiling. He was happy for Murtagh. He deserved to be happy and have a wife, and possibly children.

Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine. And Murtagh had finally ducked out of the way, his life brightening that very night.

Let's go on dreaming for we know we are

So close

So close

And still so far

There it is. A songfic about Murtagh and Nasuada! Whoop! I L.O.V.E this song (and the movie Enchanted) and it's perfect for songfics. Like most of the songs from Spirit, songs in movies usually can be applied to other stories and fit just as well.

Oh, and don't give me credit for the 'sunshine' line at the end. I was having a bad night for proverbs, so I got one off the internet. Ralph Waldo Emersen said that. And this is a good time to disclaim! I don't own anything by Jon Mclaughlin or by Christopher Paolini.

Now, I had a little bit of trouble remembering if the peoples in Eragon's time had fiddles or flutes, let alone music from other races than the elves. So don't yell at me if I got it wrong. But do tell me anything I got wrong or worded badly, or if I made any other mistakes. And don't be afraid to tell me what needs to be said. I'm a big girl. I can take criticism, thank you. Yell at me if you want to.

Please, please, please R&R! I want to know what you think, about this story and all of my works.

Stay Happy,

Spirit

(Did you know it's illegal to sing in the bathtub in Pennsylvania? Imagine if you were in prison and the inmate next to you's like 'I killed a guy. Whaddya in for, kid?' and you go 'I sang in the bathtub.')