Gaze

When Nasuada first stepped out of the confines of Galbatorix's headquarters in Urû'baen with Murtagh and the others, the first thing she took notice of was the sunshine. Or rather, what was left of the sunshine. In truth, the sky was a mottled collection of clouds, billows of condensation rolling like upside-down hills. The sight reminded her, oddly, of the mountains that had homed her and her people in Farthen Dûr, majestic and awesome with their massive forms.

But the sunlight—though subdued—still shone its way through, and having endured what seemed like months of confinement within the fallen king's castle, an appreciation like no other she'd ever felt for the natural energy flooded Nasuada's mind. Tears leaked from her eyes, tracing moist lines down the plump of her cheeks.

She looked over her right shoulder to Elva and Eragon, the latter of whom knelt slightly before the enchanted child, his mouth forming words unable to be heard by Nasuada's human ears. Behind Eragon stood Saphira, fierce and as wondrous a sight as ever to behold. Her rough sapphire scales glinted proudly in the gentle light, even after the taxing ordeal they'd all barely survived.

Though Saphira appeared mostly uninjured, Nasuada could not help the shallow intake of air upon noticing the deep-looking wound on the dragon's left foreleg, from which ran a stream of blood that began to pool at Saphira's foot. This, she saw, Eragon noticed as well, and after Elva had turned away, he tended to the gash with a muttering of what was no doubt a string of enchantments in the ancient language.

Nasuada could see that Eragon's focus lay solely upon mending his Saphira's wound, but even so, there lay in his eyes a touch of tenderness she herself had never encountered in her life. Eragon shifted his gaze from the closing slash to his dragon's gentling eyes, the love in their shared look so intimate, Nasuada felt she had no other choice but to turn away to leave them some privacy.

Something inside her ached then. It was not the first time this desire had roused within her. It was a longing that had made itself known when Nasuada had first realised her capture by Galbatorix. Though the ruling of the Varden and their wellbeing came first and foremost to her always, she could not suppress the wave of regret that had almost incapacitated her with grief. The thought that perhaps she'd lost her chance to further her family bloodline, to create and raise life with one whom she loved and loved her shook her to her very core.

Her tears hadn't ceased; if anything, they only intensified at the thought of her near loss. Even Eragon had Saphira, and while that was the furthest thing from a romantic partnership, their relationship was of unprecedented connection and intimacy.

But she was alive and free now. She once again had the opportunity to rectify what her heart had for so long sought after, and this time, she would not lose it.

"Nasuada."

The sound of her name broke her reverie, and she realised she had been resting her hand on Murtagh's shoulder this entire time, leaning on him even. The Rider now rose from his crouching beside her, warily looking at her with tired eyes. Thorn unfurled his magnificent wings behind him, inspecting the ruby membrane that only moments ago had been torn and bloody before Murtagh had tended to them.

Nasuada nodded to her friend. The word seemed fitting now. "Murtagh."

The Rider looked worn, more so than usual. His crimson mail armour looking scuffed and dull, with several slashes—along with one prominent cut across his chest—dotting his leather vest. Some of the ties that held his vest together had been torn during the struggle earlier. The non-physical effects the confrontation had had on Murtagh were most evident, though. The trial against his former master—however hated the man was—had clearly taken a far larger toll on the man than Nasuada would have otherwise expected.

However, there was something new in Murtagh's demeanour now. He was not dragging and wilting as he usually appeared to be. Now his back was straight and his eyes appeared large and bright. The changes had altered him greatly and suited him even more so. Nasuada could tell that he would no longer play the grim, scowling figure who lay in wait in shadowed corners. There was now an air of confidence, subtle but true. It pleased her.

"Are you well now?"

The question was absurd, considering her ordeal, but she chose to sidestep sarcasm. "I am. Rather, I will be."

His eyes softened, a reaction that would have gone undetected by another. But having spent so much time with the man, Nasuada had come to know him more closely than anyone else had.

"Would you have me tend to your wounds, Nasuada?"

The offer touching her, she said, "I appreciate what you are offering, but no. Like the scars I received from the Trial of the Long Knives, I shall wear these, too. If anything, they play a trophy of sorts to our triumph." She gave pause, measuring Murtagh's reaction to her decline. When he did not reply, she continued. "Besides, I will carry them as a remembrance of this period, when I truly met you for the first time."

When Murtagh's brow creased suddenly, eyes tightening as well, it indicated to her that he was about to object. She lifted a hand to hush him.

"Honestly, Murtagh. It will not do well to dwell on the atrocities life hands you. Rather, you should seek the positives and lift those as high as you can until there appears no atrocity at all."

At her words, Murtagh smiled, a slight curve to his chapped lips.

"Thank you, Nasuada."

"Whatever for?"

"For finding me."

A laugh gurgled from her throat, then she said, "I am not sure what it is you imply, but you're very welcome nevertheless."

Murtagh's eyelashes fluttered slightly, and behind him, Thorn let out a soft rumbling billow of smoke, as if snorting with amusement. His Rider threw the red dragon a pointed glance before turning back to the woman in front of him.

"Shall I at the very least ease your pain?"

"Truly, there is no need."

"I insist."

Frowning, she knitted her brow. "You have already expended far too much energy today. There is no—"

"I'm going to do so, despite what you say. So stop fighting, and just let me."

Sighing, she relented, knowing the quarrel was pointless. Then his long fingers—with the neatly trimmed fingernails she'd noticed days before—reached up and took hold of the material of her tunic, near her throat. The moment was small, but she felt him pause, as if noting how near he was to the slender of her neck. Then he pulled and tore the fabric away from her welts, allowing her flesh to air.

Then Nasuada watched as his eyes shut and his lips made similar shapes to that of his half-brother's earlier. The music of the ancient language he spoke flowed from his mouth, and she could already feel its effects trickling underneath her skin. But the sight of his concentration unnerved her, not unpleasantly, but rather she'd not expected to be so taken and enthralled by... this.

And then without pausing, his eyes opened once more and gazed at her. The sensation crawling under her skin had begun to ebb away, and she was left with a comfortable numbing feeling around the line of her collarbone. Murtagh's gaze was not awkward for her either, though the intensity of his stare made her want to blink profusely. She ignored this urge, and met his look evenly. She hardly even noticed his calloused hands gently, carefully caressing her body as he wove his spells.

Then the flow of words ceased and it was quiet between them once more.

"Thank you," she whispered, words so low she doubted even Eragon or Arya had heard them.

Murtagh dipped his chin marginally, and with an uneven smile, he tapped Thorn's massive shoulder before beginning to walk away.

I give you my thanks, too, Nasuada-Murtagh's-companion. She jolted with surprise as the ruby dragon addressed her directly with his unexpectedly melodious mental voice, his great eye blinking in acknowledgement. Though she did not know the dragon's reasoning, she bowed her head politely, and as she did, she thought she saw Murtagh in the corner of her eye, shaking his head as he walked. Before she could decipher it so, however, Thorn bounded away after his mind-and-body partner, leaving her in a cloud of kicked-up dust. She smiled after them and waved her goodbye.

Then Nasuada heard Saphira suddenly crow with excitement behind her. Letting out the breath of air she held as she watched Murtagh climb onto Thorn some distance away, she eventually turned to approach the glittering blue dragon and her Rider.

Author's note:

Yes, I realise this isn't Klaine or even vaguely Glee-related. I'd just finished reading Inheritance by Christopher Paolini, the final novel of the Inheritance Cycle, so I'm still recovering from the aftershocks of having finally finished the series I'd been so enthusiastic about for over four years now.

When I reached the chapter "A Sea Of Nettles", I found a part relating to Murtagh and Nasuada that I thought could be elaborated on, and so that is how this short story came about.

So I hope you enjoy this little something new, and please review if you did!