The Age of the Dragon 4: On Silver Wings

Chapter 13 Bonus

Murtagh - drunk on a bottle of wine and halfway through his second - wasn't clear on how exactly he'd managed to get to her prison. The guards were nowhere in sight - a strange coincidence he was too drunk to think about.

He stumbled down the stairs, leaning against the door frame as he stared at her still form.

"My fault... if we'd never met...my fault..."

He staggered over to the stone slab, leaning heavily over her. His vision was blurred, and he struggled to look at her sleeping face.

"It looks so peaceful... please, gods, please don't be dead," he thought desperately, staring at her until he saw her chest rise and fall with her breaths.

He stumbled away, his back hitting a wall, and he slid down. He pulled his knees close, burying his face as he took deep breaths.

"Thank the gods... thank you... thank you..."

He pulled out the flask, containing something a little stronger than the wine he'd been drinking, taking a few swigs.

"Fallyn?" he said softly.

She hummed in response to his questioning tone.

Murtagh hesitated momentarily, remembering Galbatorix's comments about the similarities between himself and his father, and he found himself spilling out stories about Tornac. The man who had been more of a father to him than his actual father. He wanted her to understand he wasn't his father.

I'm not one to place the sins of the father on the child.

I chose to trust him when I realised he wasn't Morzan.

You're not a bad person, Murtagh.

As the story ended, a feeling like one of many tight bands loosened around his chest had him leaning his head against the stone wall, staring at her.

Her eyes were open now as she stared up at the ceiling - from this angle, he didn't have a clear look at her expression.

"Galbatorix was going to have Nasuada killed... he knew Elva wasn't guarding her as she used to, so he decided it was the perfect time to have her assassinated. I only found out about this plan by chance; I happened to be with him when he gave the orders to the Black Hand."

"Hmm, had he gone through with that plan, I may have been able to thwart it," Fallyn said. "But then again, I was unarmed and tired from battle. Perhaps the assassin might have killed us both."

"It's my fault, though," Murtagh said, his throat feeling tight as the confession spilled from him. "I convinced him to try to capture her instead. He liked that; he knew it would lure both you and Eragon to us faster..."

"Why was her life so important to you, Murtagh?" Fallyn asked gently.

"Because he wanted to have you killed at the same time," he said softly. "He suspected you would not be far from her... that Nasuada would value your skill and power more than any other..."

The tears began to spill from his eyes as he choked on a sob. "He... changed the order to bring you to him because of what he had seen when you fell from Thorn's back... Because of the strange song that silences the Eldunari... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

The only sound in the room was his choked sobs, and when they subsided, he heard her speak.

"I would rather have died," she murmured.

"I know," he said hoarsely. "Will you forgive me?"

She didn't answer at first, and he felt his heart sink. But then she sang for him, that song he hated and loved—that song of enduring.

Melava inan enansal

ir su aravel tu elvaral

u na emma abelas

in elgar sa vir mana

in tu setheneran din emma na

lath sulevin

lath araval ena

arla ven tu vir mahvir

melana 'nehn

enasal ir sa lethalin

Perhaps it was the alcohol. Or the vulnerable state he was in. Whatever it was, he found himself humming the tune with her, feeling more at peace as the song progressed.

"You are not my enemy, Murtagh," she told him softly.

His head swam as an intense relief washed through him. Not forgiveness, but not hate. She didn't hate him.

Then he talked again. Sometimes weeping, sometimes raging, he told her about his upbringing in Galbatorix's court in more detail than the last time they spoke.

She was reserved with her stories, responding to his upbringing with tales of battle and blood. An elven boy she'd considered a brother, long since dead. It was then he learned she wasn't just a hundred years old. She was four hundred years old.

Then he told her about how he had suffered at the hands of the Twins after they lost her to the river, of the torture he had suffered upon arriving.

"Thorn was my undoing," Murtagh confessed. "When he hatched for me, and we bonded... I love him. How could I not? I love him even as Eragon loves Saphira, as you love Fang. The moment I touched him, I was lost. Galbatorix used him against me. Thorn was stronger than me. He never gave up. But I could not bear to see him suffer, so I swore my loyalty to the king and after that..."

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about how different things would have been - sure, if he had never met Fallyn, she probably wouldn't be here. But would he have met Thorn?

"After that, Galbatorix went into my mind. He learned everything about me, and then he taught me my true name. And now I am his... his forever."

"Malas amelin ne halam, da'vhenan," she said softly.

"Another phrase you won't tell me?" he said wryly.

"Loosely, it means I hope you find a new name," she replied, staring at the ceiling. "There is no greater violation than having such intimate parts of yourself being used as a weapon against you. Such knowledge... it should only belong to those whom you trust. Never a master."

"What does vhenan mean?" he asked.

"You should go, Murtagh," she said gently. "You cannot afford to be found here."

Eventually, he stood up and walked towards her, legs shaky from being seated for so long and the lingering effects of the alcohol. He reached out and touched her shoulder, her markings flaring under his touch.

"They're so beautiful," he thought, his eyes briefly following the swirling pattern as it disappeared under her shirt.

He whispered words in the ancient language, seeing her expression soften. She called out to him as he removed his hand and prepared to leave.

"Murtagh..." he watched her struggle to speak before smiling softly. "Malas amelin ne halam. Things are not as hopeless as you think."

His hand briefly squeezed her shoulder, grateful for her kindness. "She didn't say the vhenan bit this time. Why won't she tell me what it means?"

When he had left, closing the door behind himself as he made his way back to his chambers, he felt Thorn's mind fill him up.

"You seem less troubled," Thorn said. "I trust seeing her has helped?"

"She doesn't hate us," he said. "She said she hopes we find a new name."

"Find?" Thorn pondered. "That is different from Eragon's 'change' suggestion."

"Maybe the key to changing is finding?" Murtagh suggested offhandedly as he collapsed onto his bed. "Finding something, we would change for."

Murtagh was already fading into a drunken sleep as Thorn mused to himself.

"Perhaps you aren't so far from finding it, little one," he thought fondly. "After all, you care a great deal about the opinion of 'some elf'. But this is dangerous thinking... Even if I'm right, there is no freedom from Galbatorix..."