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I have no words with which to apologize for the delay, so I won't bother. I know, you all must hate me by now, in fact I quite hate myself… ah well, this is the final segment. The end. So please, if at all possible, enjoy the crappyness that is my writing. Thanks so much to my reviews for part one of the epilogue, I love you guys! In a totally not-creepy way. Oh, and I almost forgot – the first two pages or so were written by my good friend Badwolf16, who was good enough to provide me with some anti-writer's block material. It's thanks to her that this even got written. So thank you!
Something is wrong, Eragon… I have lost the feel of Meralaena's life-force, Char said worriedly, looking down his snout at the pacing human. Since he had arrived back from his mission, Eragon had been aimlessly walking around with a worried frown on his face, wondering why Meralaena wasn't with Char. The boy had one hand clenched tightly inside the pocket of his white tunic, and he kept exchanging anxious glances with Sapphira. Char thought it strange that the human was so worried for a Grey Folk, someone who could most definitely take care of herself. But even so, since Char also lost the feeling of her life force almost half a day ago, he couldn't help but feel the same anxiety.
"She has to be coming back. She wouldn't just abandon us, even if it was to save Murtagh…" Eragon mumbled to himself. He continued to pace, a well-worn path now just forming where his feet had continuously landed. Char and Saphira watched him, their own anxiety for him and Meralaena growing every moment Nasuada delayed them from going back.
Char had insisted that they go back as soon as possible to check if Meralaena had tried to perform the spell to free Murtagh and Thorn, but Nasuada advised against the plan. They needed to push Galbatorix's forces out of Surda before the white dragon would be free to do what he liked. The Varden forces on the Surda-empire border had managed to stymie the attack, only due to the fact that Murtagh and Thorn had not shown up to aid them. The red pair's absence on the battlefield was the only positive thing about the current situation. The three waiting beings knew that if Murtagh was no longer following Galbatorix's orders, then Meralaena must have been at least partially successful.
"Why is Nasuada keeping us here? We must find Meralaena! She could need our help!" Eragon yelled, grabbing at his brown hair with frustration. He stopped in his pacing and glared down at the ground, wracking his brain for a plan to rescue Meralaena without disobeying orders. Nothing came to mind and he went back to pacing, holding his head and glaring down at his feet as he walked.
Calm yourself, Eragon Shadeslayer, Char said. You are not helping Meralaena by worrying about her. Eragon glanced at the white dragon, surprised by his apparent lack of concern.
"Worrying sounds better than doing nothing. Besides, how can you stand by so calmly while your Rider is out there with no help?" He snapped his head up to look into the silver eyes of the magnificent creature, eyeing him and waiting for a reply. Char leaned his head down, his snout within inches of Eragon's face and he snarled warningly, causing Sapphira to tense and growl low in her throat.
You will do well to remember your place, human. It may not look like it, but I can assure you my feelings for Meralaena's safety run much deeper than your own. Eragon's glare faltered and he snorted softly, deciding it would be wise not to reply with a snide remark. Instead he resumed pacing.
The blue dragon leaned down and nudged Eragon, making him stop and look up at her, confusion dancing across his face until out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nasuada coming. Her orange dress was striking against her dark skin and Eragon couldn't help but stare.
"Eragon, Saphira, Char." Nasuada said in turn, looking at each of them before folding her arms across her abdomen and glancing at her feet. "I have come to inform you that some of our spies have seen Thorn and Murtagh roaming the fortress Uru'baen. They have also told me that they had seen another person besides Murtagh atop Thorn, a woman with red hair. I am afraid to even suggest that it could be Meralaena." Nasuada said the words slowly, looking at Char for an emotional response. None came, which made her feel more at ease as she continued.
"The informant didn't know if she was alive, but when he tried to contact her, he couldn't sense her presence. He thinks Thorn was interfering, but we will know for sure when I send you three out." Eragon's shocked expression turned to one of determination to find Meralaena, as well as a healthy amount of anger.
"Murtagh and Thorn are heading in this direction," Nasuada continued. "I am sending you all out this time. Go now, and good luck." Char rose to his crouching position, and his demure took a darker turn, something Nasuada had never seen on the young dragon and hoped to never see again. The white beast emanated an aura of pure, murderous intent against the one who had hurt his rider. His soft grey eyes went flat and hard, and he shifted into a crouch, eager to be gone.
Eragon jumped up to Saphira's back with ease, strapping his legs into his saddle and glancing at Nasuada. She nodded and Saphira took to the skies with a load roar, flapping her great wings to gain altitude. Char watched them as they climbed higher and higher into the skies before he looked down at Nasuada. He leaned down and touched his muzzle to her face. Thank you for letting me find my rider. Nasuada smiled lightly and touched his muzzle softly before he in turn rose from the ground and took off into the sky, quickly gaining on Saphira and Eragon.
(With Murtagh and Thorn, Five Hours Previously)
The flight away from Uru'baen was almost as quiet as the flight there. Murtagh was off in his own world, and Thorn knew it was probably best just to leave him alone. The human rider had never lost someone like Meralaena before; it made sense, the red dragon reflected, that he wouldn't know how to cope. The ruby dragon settled for sending the occasional comforting surge of thought through their link.
It took the red pair three hours at full speed to fly from Uru'baen and the heart of the empire to the Hadarac desert, and then another hour to cross it. They did not stop during the journey, and for Thorn it became a habit to cast anxious glanced back at his rider. Murtagh hadn't spoken a word since takeoff, and as the shadows below his eyes and in his mind continued to grow, so did Thorn's concern.
It was shared knowledge between the two of them that the Varden scouts had probably seen them heading towards their stronghold, so the red dragon and rider were alert for the appearance of the blue pair.
They were halfway across the Hadarac desert when Eragon and Saphira appeared before them, materializing from the Bohr Mountains with a challenging roar on the she-dragon's part. Char followed close behind, his maw distorted with a feral snarl, and Thorn's upper lip curled back in response. The opposing dragons were still a couple miles off but approaching quickly, the two appearing as sapphire and diamond jewels in the early morning sunlight.
Land, Murtagh said. We need to show them that we do not intend to fight.
Thorn obeyed reluctantly and glided down gracefully. His talons met the hot sand as he glided to a stop, and Murtagh quickly unbuckled the leather straps around his legs and dismounted.
You realize how vulnerable this makes us, Thorn growled.
"Yes," Murtagh responded. It was true – a dragon and rider separated and grounded were very vulnerable to a dragon and rider in the air. "Eragon is not the kind of man who will attack an opponent on the ground. As for Meralaena's dragon…" Murtagh trailed off as he eyed the white dragon warily. "He must not know that she is dead yet. If he did he would be attacking us right now." With those words, Murtagh undid his long black cloak and swung it over Meralaena's body, hiding her from view. Murtagh saw Eragon and his dragon falter slightly in their approach when he dismounted, their flight path altering from a head-on approach to a flanking motion. Beside them, Char did the same on the left, putting the red pair in between. Instead of coming in straight on to attack, Sapphira and Char angled sideways and shot past them before circling back. As Char passed he locked eyes with Murtagh, and Murtagh had to force himself not to shudder as the dragon's icy eyes – disconcertingly similar to his deceased rider's – locked onto his with ferocious intensity. When they were past Murtagh quickly undid the straps on Meralaena's legs and gently put her on the ground beside Thorn. He made sure her face and bright hair were covered before turning his attention back to the situation at hand.
The blue pair landed a ways off, and the ground trembled slightly as Sapphira thundered to the earth, closely followed by Char. The she-dragon snarled at the red pair, and Murtagh got the feeling that landing instead of attacking had been more Eragon's idea. Eragon also unstrapped his legs and jumped off his dragon, putting the two pairs on equal ground. Char made no move or sound, but the way the younger dragon eyed Thorn and his rider gave Thorn the feeling that he was thinking of all the ways he could brutally kill them. For a moment nobody moved, and Murtagh realized blatantly that he hadn't thought beyond this point. Suddenly unsure of himself, Murtagh stepped forward away from Thorn and stopped, watching the opposing rider carefully. "Hello brother," he said softly. He saw Eragon stiffen slightly.
"Murtagh," Eragon said flatly. "What are you doing?"
"Coming to talk," he replied. Murtagh thought of many things he could say, but he decided to just get right to the point. "Our true names changed, Eragon. We are free of the king." Surprise flickered across Eragon's face, immediately followed by suspicion.
"How can I trust you?" Murtagh smirked without humor at the expected question.
"I can prove that what I say is true."
"How?" Eragon inquired. Sapphira growled, a low, drawn out sound, making her stance on the issue clear.
"I killed Galbatorix."
The look of surprise on Eragon's face was almost comical, it was so absolute. Even Sapphira looked thrown off; her sky blue eyes widened, and a puff of smoke escaped her mouth.
"Eragon," Murtagh said, "I know this is sudden. But I can prove it, if you'll only listen."
"Where is Meralaena?" Eragon demanded. Char's eyes snapped up to Murtagh at the question. The white dragon had a very bad feeling about the answer. Murtagh was silent for a moment, debating.
What do I tell them? He asked his dragon. If I tell that that she's dead they won't listen to the rest.
They may, Thorn replied. Eragon in particular seems reasonable.
Yes, but her dragon…
Aye. Her dragon may be a problem.
"I will tell you, but only if you promise to listen to the entire tale before you act," Murtagh said. Eragon and Sapphira exchanged a glance, and then they looked at Char. He nodded his great head, and as one the three of them looked at the red pair and said in the Ancient Language,
We promise.
"Alright," Murtagh said. He was suddenly doubly nervous, but he pushed it aside. "Meralaena," he said, wincing as her name passed his lips, "is dead."
Both opposing dragons hissed, and Eragon's face creased in pain, the type of pain that was expected but potent.
Then Char roared. The white dragon's fury was volcanic; with the sound came a rumbling of magical pressure, growing explosively in Char's mind and preparing to lash out. His talons dug into the sand and his wings flared menacingly, preparing to leap and take out anything in his path.
Wait, Char! Sapphira shouted, but there was no need. Char had promised to listen in the ancient language, and since Murtagh was not done with his tale, the white dragon had no choice but to allow the red rider to finish. Char snarled manically at Murtagh and Thorn, but his promise held him still, as it would until Murtagh had told them everything.
"You…" Eragon stuttered, unable to find a word expressive enough for his half-brother. "You bastard! Do you realize what you've done? She was the last of her kind! You-"
"I didn't kill her!" Murtagh yelled, cutting Eragon off. Eragon's eyes widened slightly as Murtagh went on. "It wasn't me! She did it herself!" the red rider desperately tried to reign in his emotions as he went on. "It was during our battle. Char hurt Thorn and knocked him out. At the same time Meralaena got a hit on me, and the wound combined with Thorn falling made me lose consciousness. When I awoke, Meralaena was dying and Thorn and I were free. That is all I know, I swear." The last sentence was said in the Ancient Language, proving its truth. Murtagh went on, his tone more controlled now that he was off the subject of Meralaena's death. "I went to Uru'baen. I was so angry…" He stopped, remembering the feeling of blatant rage and hatred boiling in his stomach. "I went straight to Galbatorix's throne room. Somehow, I don't know how, I managed to catch the bastard off guard." Murtagh walked over to Thorn and got the king's bloody head out of the saddlebag. He paced back and unceremoniously tossed it onto the sand, the stained cloth falling free to reveal Galbatorix's severed head.
Eragon's eyes widened, and even Sapphira managed to look shocked.
"Everything I have told you is true," Murtagh said, once again using the Ancient Language. "The king is dead, and not only Thorn and I, but all of Alagaesia is free of his grasp." He stopped speaking and looked over to Eragon, his eyes alight with emotion. "Brother, we are all free." A deep-set sadness appeared in his face, and his eyes fell. "But at great cost." He walked once again to Thorn, his gait slower this time, more reluctant. He knelt beside Thorn, in the shadows, and gently picked up a dark form that Eragon hadn't noticed. The red rider moved with such caring, such reverent gentleness, that by the time Murtagh arrived in front of Eragon, Sapphira and Char, there was no doubt in the blue rider's mind as to who the body belonged to.
"No..." the single word escaped his lips as Murtagh removed the cloak and set Meralaena down. His hand lingered softly on her cheek for a moment before he straightened.
A single tear escaped the confines of Eragon's eye, before he transferred his stare from his dead companion to his half-brother. It wasn't angry, but neither was it accepting. It was simple, pure grief. He was about to speak when a quiet gasp from lower down gained his attention.
Murtagh's heart stopped at the small noise. Then he looked down.
For one, eternal moment, Murtagh cursed the fates and his own emotions for allowing the small streak of hope. He stared at Meralaena, and his breath hitched as a tiny movement caught his eye. Hardly daring to hope, he knelt beside her again. The red rider was leaning forward to gently brush a strand of hair out of her pale face, when her eyes snapped open. With the small movement came the full force of a new life-energy; Meralaena's magical presence snapped into existence with an almost audible pop, and he yelped in shock and stumbled backward. Meralaena stared unblinkingly up at the sky for a moment, before she turned her head.
"Mur-tagh?" she whispered hoarsely. "Char?"
Everyone was absolutely silent for a split second, before the air was suddenly filled with the questions and exclamations of three different people.
"How did you-"
"You said she was dead!"
This isn't possible!
The voices were abruptly silenced as Char snarled, the menacing sound reverberating through the ground.
Everyone except Meralaena and Murtagh, leave. Now. Eragon, Sapphira and Thorn all exchanged looks full of foreboding before slowly obeying. Char's tone was not one they wished to argue with.
Eragon mounted Sapphira, who leapt into the air with a powerful thrust of her back legs. Thorn followed suit with one last thought for his rider.
I will not go far. Call me the moment you need me.
Murtagh sent him a wordless confirmation. The crimson dragon took to the air and glided away, landing as soon as he was out of sight. Murtagh looked back warily to Char and Meralaena, but the white pair was not paying attention to him. By the way Meralaena was wincing, he guessed that her dragon was yelling at her.
From her position on the ground, Meralaena was enduring just that.
What were you thinking? You told me you would be fine! I knew you felt for the boy, but I had no idea it was this bad. Do you have any idea what it feels like to believe that you've lost your rider? Did you even consider me or the Varden when you decided to kill yourself? For someone who is 2500 years old, you have thoroughly shocked me with your stupidity!
Char, please calm down, Meralaena thought back. Her heart was pounding like a drum, probably from not having been in use for the past eight hours, and her eyes and side felt like they were on fire, but she ignored the pain in favour of answering her incensed dragon. I had hoped that I could do it without dying. And besides, she added hurriedly, I'm not dead anymore, am I?
Yes, about that…
Meralaena sighed, inwardly thankful that her dragon had stopped his verbal barrage.
"I'm sorry I scared you," she told him out loud. The white dragon rumbled, still somewhat irritated with her, but when she reached up to hug his neck, he didn't pull away.
I'm glad you are alright, he said, giving into relief. But how? How are you alive?
"I'm sure lots of people would like to know the answer to that question," Meralaena said.
Murtagh, having been deaf to Char's half of the conversation, still managed to guess what she was talking about.
"Yes, I would like to know that as well," the human interjected when he was sure that the dragon wasn't fixated on ending his life anymore.
As if suddenly realizing that he was there, Meralaena's head snapped around, and her lips parted slightly in shock.
"Murtagh!" she exclaimed. "Did – did it work?" Murtagh smiled at her in a way that made her already laboring heart stutter.
"Yeah. It worked." Meralaena was quiet for a moment. Then a smile split her face, small at first but quickly developing into a huge grin, the likes of which she hadn't given for centuries. She then surprised Murtagh by flinging her arms around his neck, laughing hysterically. Somewhere along the line the laughter turned into sobs, and then she was crying tears of joy all over his tunic. Murtagh smiled slightly, then gave up on restraint and embraced her frail form in his arms, laughing and even crying alongside her.
Minutes later, Meralaena withdrew slightly, but kept one hand wrapped around Murtagh. In sudden realization the Grey Folk's hand flew to her side, where Zar'roc had impaled her, but her fingers found only smooth skin.
"How…?" she breathed. "Murtagh, did you heal my body?"
"No," he replied, just as confused as Meralaena.
"Then… Oh, I think I know. It probably healed when I performed the freeing spell on you two."
"Yes, while we're on that topic… would you mind explaining how you are alive?"
"Well," Meralaena said, turning slightly to include Char in the conversation, "I am not one hundred percent certain. However, I do have a theory."
Let's hear this theory, Char said.
"… It might not be correct," Meralaena told them, "But I'll tell you what I suspect. You see, the spell I used involved a large amount of highly complex phrases in the Ancient Language. That's normal. What wasn't normal was that I used small amount of the Grey Folk's tongue, which has no name, to complete the ritual. I expected that those few phrases would exponentially increase the spell's power, which it did. I did not expect it to bind the one casting the spell to the one having the spell cast on him, which is what I think happened." Murtagh raised an eyebrow, indicating his confusion, so Meralaena elaborated. "My language has not been spoken aloud in this land for thousands of years, since the Grey Folk's passing. I toyed with an ancient power, a power that I cannot control. I suppose we are lucky that this seems to be the only unexpected effect. When I spoke those words and channeled magic into them, they must have taken my meaning as something else, on top of what I actually said. You see," and here she paused, grey eyes distant, as if remembering, "My tongue is not like the Ancient Language. My tongue, my native speech, does much more than channel power and communicate. It feels. I wouldn't say that it holds a consciousness, but it is not cold and dead, either. Only the great scholars of my kind understood it. I think," and here Meralaena's tone turned uncertain, "I think that when I spoke the words to free you, my emotions were poured into the spell. In other words, the spell itself sensed my love for Murtagh and bound the two of us together. I died, that is the simple fact. But Murtagh did not, and as long as he was alive, somehow my soul would find its way back to this world."
Murtagh shook his head at the strangeness of it all. "It hardly matters now. What matters is that you are alive and well." Meralaena smiled at him, the confusion vanishing from her complexion to be replaced by happiness. She stopped speaking and hugged him again, relishing in his closeness.
This is perfect, he thought as he held her. This is totally perfect. A strange feeling began somewhere in his chest, right where the agony at her death had resided, and Murtagh laughed as he realized what it was. Well, what they were; it was two feelings, really. Two feelings that he had never really had the opportunity to feel properly.
He was drawn away from those thoughts, however, when Meralaena raised her head and, without warning, pressed her lips against his in a chaste yet intimate kiss. His eyes widened minutely before he kissed her back, returning the gentle gesture whilst conveying the depth of affection he held for her though the motion. They stayed like that for a moment before simultaneously pulling away and returning to the embrace.
"Meralaena," he whispered to the redhead curled up in his arms.
"Hmm?" she replied, shifting slightly so that she was sitting partially in his lap.
"I'm so happy right now." Murtagh smiled again, the action feeling strange on his frown-accustomed face. "I love you, Meralaena. I love you so much." He felt the Grey Folk grin against his shoulder.
"As I love you, Murtagh. As I love you."
Meralaena sighed contentedly at the feel of Murtagh against her, of his arms wrapped comfortingly and lovingly around her frame. She knew that eventually they would have to go back to the Varden and try to get the people there to accept Murtagh and Thorn again, but at the moment, neither of them cared. They had each other, and for that moment and for forever, that would be enough.
The End.
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Okay, so I had the idea to maybe write a sequel to this? I know I didn't explain how the Varden react to Murtagh and Thorn coming back because that becomes an entirely new sub-plot, so I thought perhaps, if I get enough requests, I would do a sequel. Ideas? Yes? No?