Posted: 01-01-2014

A/Notes: Oh! "Happy New Year, everybody!" {A little bit late... but better late than never.}

Disclaimer: I am not CP. I am not LOTRRanger either. I am just a fan of the world that these two have worked to create. I hope you all enjoy the chapter...

Chapter Eleven: Sons of Carvahall

"We don't need another rider," Roran grumbled under his breath. "We don't want another rider. Why doesn't the son of the enemy just go elsewhere."

The heat of the day was only adding to the General's discomfort. He had been in and out of nearly every tent that wasn't private, searching buildings and stables, and still he had found no sign of the red rider's whereabouts. It was infuriating how Murtagh had been able to disappear within all this mass of people. And though Roran had been searching, he was trying to do it quietly. The last thing that he wanted, was to be caught seeking out the very man he still considered a serious security risk. It would be a dreadful scandal to inadvertently foster the illusion that Stronghammer had somehow bound himself to the cause of Morzan's son.

Just as he was pondering the benefits of declaring his efforts a lost cause, the door to one of the city's seedier taverns opened up behind him and the familiar deep voice of Commander Dornson sounded from within. Whatever he had been saying, Roran could not be sure, but judging by the derision that dripped from the mutterings, and by the sound of the laughter that followed, the General drew the conclusion that he had at last found the enemy rider.

Normally, Roran would never set foot in such a place. This tavern had a non too pleasant reputation, and he was an honest family man. But it seemed like a proper place to find the infamous rider, and so he steeled himself and walked over to peer in the open doorway.

Sure enough Dornson was there at the bar with a decent sized group of his men gathered round. And over by the far corner sat a silent figure in the shadows, and Roran was sure it had to be Murtagh.

"He is bad luck alright," agreed one of the nameless underlings, a man that Roran had not seen before. But whoever this person was, he seemed to have been accepted by the Commanders ranks. For some reason Roran felt the need to make a mental note of this fellow. He was tall, but not overly so, with wavy blond hair, striking green eyes, and an amiable expression on his face, at least at first glance. There was nothing obviously suspicious about him, but then Garrowsson was not one to easily dismiss a gut feeling. He would discretely make inquiries when he next got the chance. But the conversation was continuing to flow, and rather than step into the scene, the General was content to observe on the sidelines to see what occurred.

"If he really wanted to help us, like he says, he'd best go back where he came from."

"It isn't like he's done anything to aid the cause of the Varden."

"What about the dragon egg, Aedán?... He did bring us the egg."

"Bah! Till the egg hatches, what good is it to us?"

"Someone tell me again... why didn't we just kill him?"

A general murmur of agreement and laughter sounded again, only this time it diminished nervously as some in the group seemingly recalled the proximity of the shadowy figure sitting a mere twenty feet from them, certainly near enough to be able to hear each and every word.

Then from that shadowy corner, Murtagh's emotionless voice broke the tense silence with a suggested answer to their question.

"Perhaps it's because the leaders of the Varden are generally fair-minded, a quality that is sadly lacking among some of the lower ranks."

There was a strained moment that seemed to stretch uncomfortably, and during that silence, the blond guard whispered something to the Commander that caused him to sneer and nod.

"Certain leaders have a tendency to be idealistic, especially the females. Now if you had arrived to find a capable man in command, you would have experienced a fair-minded execution." And with that, the Commander downed his drink and turned striding to exit the establishment with his comrades scrambling after him. Backing away from the portal of the tavern, Roran watched as the line of men filed out of the den of iniquities.

"Stronghammer," Dornson smiled, addressing the general in passing. And Roran nodded back a greeting of his own.

"Commander," Roran replied as he watched the men march past. His expression morphed into a scowl as his mind played back the spiteful words that he had just overheard. The comments could have just as easily come out of his own mouth. But now that he was in the position of an observer, the commander's words and tone of self-righteousness took on a rather disgusting ring.

Once all the soldiers had exited, Roran stepped through the doorway and into the dimly lit interior. It only took a moment for his vision to adjust to the change, and a tendril of satisfaction coiled within him upon seeing the exasperated scowl settle on Morzansson's face...

Roran had thought himself quite clever when he had exited the tavern several minutes after arriving. In fact he had very nearly strutted back to his tent to brag to his wife of his success. Not only had he done what Katrina had asked him, but he had gone a step further and invited Murtagh to join them for dinner that evening. Of course that meant that Eragon would have to be there as well, which seemed to him to be an added bonus. But it was the priceless look of disbelief plastered on the red rider's face that had made the whole idea worthwhile.

What the man of Carvahall couldn't understand was why his loving wife had launched into an anxious fury. It was only two more mouths for dinner, and she had already expected to have guests at the meal. Suddenly the simple family dinner had morphed into something of a community event. Most of the men and women from their village were now involved, both with the preparations and as perspective guests. Shell-shocked, Garrowsson had done his best to stay out of the way, and had strategically moved to the far end of the structure, giving him a decent vantage to watch the goings-on.

The former villagers of Carvahall had weeks earlier erected a large tent structure that they were using as a sort of village meeting hall. It had originally been gifted to Roran and Katrina at their wedding, and had since been donated to the entire village. And now it was being adorned to entertain and feed an entire town.

"Wow," came the amused voice of his cousin as he stepped through the back flaps of the large tent. "I wasn't expecting anything like this."

"Neither was I," Roran replied sourly without turning, and his tone was so defeated that Eragon burst into laughter.

Roran turned to meet Eragon's eyes, and the younger couldn't keep from another round of muffled chuckles. But as Eragon looked at his cousin's pained expression, he grew more serious and examined the surroundings with more interest.

"So... what exactly is happening?" Eragon asked thoroughly puzzled. "I thought it was just you guys, me and Murtagh."

Roran gestured helplessly about at the lines of tables being set with piping hot food and the best tableware they had been able to scrounge together.

"Katrina had originally invited Gertrude to start with, and apparently when I added two riders, everything changed. She insisted that we were not going to insult the rest of the village by leaving them out at such a prestigious event." And here the general rolled his eyes. "I wish I'd never found the traitor now..."

Eragon looked away but Roran saw his cousin's distress and disappointment even if the young rider pretended not to have heard. And suddenly the General felt a flood of regret wash over him. Eragon had been doing everything he could to aid the devil's spawn in earning acceptance within the Varden ranks, and everywhere he turned he met opposition. But even faced with opposition from his own family, Eragon stubbornly refused to give up.

"Well, I am glad you invited him," the younger stated distractedly. "Even if it did turn a simple dinner into a production."

Roran snorted a sarcastic laugh before glancing about, and noticing that Murtagh had yet to show up.

"Where is that brother-of-yours?" Roran questioned with a forced hint of jesting. And perhaps for the first time, he openly acknowledged the familial connection between the two riders.

"That cousin-of-yours," Eragon replied with equal teasing, "said he had to stop for something on the way."

Roran's eyes grew wide. "He's not bringing the devil's sword along, is he?"

"Of course not," Eragon shook his head no, but there was just the slightest edge of worry to his expression that left Roran imagining the worst.

By that point, many of the guests were starting to arrive and being greeted at the main entrance by Katrina, Gertrude and several other women. Once they were inside, they either headed straight for Roran and Eragon, or made their way towards one of the food filled tables.

To the people of Carvahall this seemed like a formal event, everyone wearing their best, and shining with pride. They were -after all- just a little village, but they had stuck fast to each other, and this had given them a sort of visible resilience and impressiveness that the people carried well.

As Roran clasped the arm of Baldor in greeting, his friend smirked and let his eyes make the unspoken humorous accusation; both Eragon and Roran were attired casually, and noticeably underdressed for the occasion. There was a momentary pause as the two cousins looked each other over, and then all three men had a good laugh.

Eragon noticed first. And Roran followed his gaze to see the newest arrival being met by his beautiful wife. With all the murmuring conversation going on in the room, they were too far away to hear the words being spoken, but the general's eyes were glued to the meeting.

The son of Morzan was dressed in black as usual, with well tailored suede trousers, jacket and vest with polished buttons, a satin shirt, and boots shined to perfection. This was clearly the most impressive Roran had ever seen him look. The rider stiffly bowed as he presented the hostess with flowers and something in a small drawstring pouch. They engaged a brief verbal exchange during which his wife's face lit up with enjoyment, and she quickly embraced the unsuspecting rider, giving Roran -for the second time that day- a view of Murtagh's priceless 'astonished' expression. It would have been almost comical if Roran hadn't been so curious as to what his wife had been gifted with.

The lovely copper haired woman lost no time, but took her guest's arm and guided him over towards the main table, the one usually reserved for the host and their close friends and family. Along the way she handed off the flowers and pouch to Gertrude, who nodded to her quick instructions before disappearing from view. As the pair reached the table, Katrina's eyes shot up and scanned the crowd before before zeroing in sharply on Roran and Eragon. Her meaning was clear. It was time for them to lend a hand with whatever it was she was intending.

Roran glanced at Eragon, planning to share a long suffering gaze, but instead the younger cousin was smiling and waving a welcome to the intruder. Sighing, Roran gave up and followed suit, albeit half-heartedly, and they both headed dutifully over to the head table.

The feast was worthy of any celebration the village had ever witnessed. And aside from a few uncertain glances, there had been no visibly reaction to the red rider's presence among those seated with their hosts. Everyone was too busy eating and enjoying themselves to harbor any spite.

How his wife had managed to organize such a thing so quickly, Roran had no idea. Later he planned to ask her, but now the beautiful woman was rising to her feet and looking out at all her guests with her amazing smile. Tapping her glass to get everyone's attention, she patiently waited till they had all turned and faced her. A hush fell over the pavilion and Katrina began her speech.

"Sons of Carvahall," she started and the cheers that rose from those seated caused her to pause. "Sons of Carvahall, I have brought you together tonight for a very specific purpose. It is no secret that the descendants of Palancar Valley are of notable blood and unsurpassed bravery. If ever a challenge is encountered, we rise to meet it."

"We none of us are perfect, but we do the very best we can with whatever we've been given, whether it be a smithing hammer, a dragon egg, a healer's bag or tomorrow's child." And here she placed her hand across the bulge that marked their growing child within her. "Whatever our particular gifts, our names will be remembered. For we are Sons of Carvahall."

Another cheer coursed through the hall and the energy in the space nearly doubled in enthusiasm. But the guests were eager to know more and quickly quieted for their hostess to continue.

"Tonight we have with us, three such notable sons of Carvahall, men you all know, but we have yet to celebrate properly..."

There was an uncertain and expectant silence that hung in the air at her claim. Those in the gathering held their breaths waiting to know who exactly she was meaning. Eragon and Roran surely, but who was the third? Could she possibly mean...?

Murtagh sat stunned and immobile. And for the third time that day, he wore an expression of utter disbelief and astonishment. He just couldn't make himself believe what he half-suspected was about to happen. Eragon looked shocked for a moment as well, but then he broke into a great big grin as understanding dawned. Roran however, blinked in confusion. He still had no idea who the third person was that Katrina planned to introduce. Up to that point, he had imagined she was intending to introduce both of the riders. Now he just wasn't sure anymore. Sons of Carvahall...

"I will start by presenting my husband, your general, wielder of the hammer, our brother Roran, son of Garrow."

Wild applause rose from the guests, adding to Roran's confusion. And at Katrina's urging and some prodding from Eragon, the general stood up tall, pasted a confident look on his uncertain face and raised his mug in a wordless toast to all of his cheering friends. As those gathered around followed his example, the deafening cheers were swallowed, as was the ale.

Using this pause in the clamor, Katrina moved on with her presentation.

"And now I call your attention to two brothers, two riders, one we know and one we do not know, one raised in Carvahall and the other in a distant place, Eragon and his brother Murtagh, the sons of Selena. Friends I introduce, the riders of Carvahall."

There was a momentary shocked intake of breath among the crowded gathering and an exchange of calculating glances, but when an exuberant Eragon shot to his feet, pulling his astonished brother to stand next to him, the resulting roar of applause was even greater than before...

Eragon held up his hands, but the cheering continued. His eyes roved ardently over each and every face, so great was his gratitude. Glancing over at Katrina, he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. He had never thought to seek a place for his brother among his village kin, and the answer had been so simple he felt like a foolish child for having missed it. By the third time Eragon raised his hands, the cheering finally abated.

"My brothers," he called, grinning happily. "It is I who honor you tonight. For it is not just one, or two, or three of Carvahall's sons that make us great. All of us are sons, capable of great deeds, and worthy of much acclaim. And the great potential of each one will find its expression at the proper time... the time when there is need for it. We can say this because we are all brothers together. We are the Sons of Carvahall."

To Murtagh it was a great relief when the cheers resumed. The atmosphere surrounding him was disorienting and surreal. The inconceivable had actually happened, and he was not sure how to believe it. Neither did he have time to ponder his state, for Eragon was nudging him, encouraging him to say something to the people.

Murtagh cleared his throat, and fought his instincts to hide his emotions. There was something about the spontaneous acceptance that he had just experienced that made him want to trust this group of people. There were some hesitant faces in the crowd, of course there were. But even those few were not looking upon him with hate or fear, and this alone heartened his resolve.

"I never knew," his whispered voice cracked. "I never even imagined... that I had a brother... No... brothers," he corrected himself, eyes skimming over the crowd again. He still recalled the stinging encounter with his cousin just that very morning. And even as he glanced over to where the General was standing, he could see that his cousin still had his doubts. But he could also see what looked like a man re-evaluating his preconceived beliefs. It was astounding to imagine -and nearly impossible to grasp- that this little village of people had embraced him as one of their own... as a brother.

How could it be so? It was clear by Eragon's surprise that the blue rider had not set this up, and was also clear by his elation that this was not some horrible prank. Somehow this impossible event was real, and Murtagh was here... as one of them.

"Never have I been so honored," he said finally finding his voice, even if it was a bit hesitant. "Never have I been so proud, or belonged to something so worthy." He had been close once before, but that was a distant memory. And his forced servitude to the king had all but destroyed any hope of resurrecting that possibility. But here he was, with a small village of people, bound to him through the blood of their ancestors. And they were willing to overlook the lineage of his father. They were willing to accept him as Selena's son, and to let him enter their fold.

Suddenly determination filled the red rider. He decided then to grasp this unexpected gift, and cling to it with all his strength. He would honor the villager's gift by offering to them in return his own very best.

"Never before have I been so grateful for anything, except for being chosen by my dragon." And when Murtagh examined his feelings more closely, he was amazed at how similarly the two events had affected him. To be claimed and branded as one with his dragon had given him an identity of self and otherness that merged together in a blessed belongingness. And this invitation to brotherhood extended that sense of belonging out into the community, out into the world. It was a new bond of sorts, but a comfortable one, connective rather than restrictive. It was likened to his mother's beckoning arms... It was like home...

"Never before have I felt so welcomed. And from this moment forward, wherever I go, I will never again feel so alone in the world, or lament that I've no place to call home."

"I am a Son of Carvahall."

There were many in the Varden who still scorned Murtagh as a traitor, but now it mattered little to him. There was a place where he was welcomed, a village that had accepted him, and an extended family that he never knew he had.

He and Thorn were no longer outcasts...

That very night the red rider walked to the barren rocky hill where his underground refuge lay hidden, and he released the spells and wards that he had erected for his protection. Then he turned his back on his seclusion, returning to erect a modest tent next to his brother's, there among the dwellings of the Sons of Carvahall.

Posted: 01-01-2014

A/Notes: Greetings to all my patient loyal readers, and I wish you all a belated "Happy New Year".

I was thinking that I'd end things here, and maybe add an epilogue that introduces the beginning of LOTRRanger's fic "Overcome"...

I'd appreciate any input. But I think that I have done about all I can with this story development-wise, and I'd like to turn my attentions back towards my long-neglected "Discovering Freedom"...

NOW...

There is one other thing I would like to say...

XD

"Happy -early- Birthday Kumar - voice of the south."

Kumar, you have been such a great friend and inspiration, and I wish you the very best this year and every year that follows.

XD

With any luck, I'll have the next chapter of Man on the Hill ready to post for tomorrow for you. ;)