For Alagaesia: 80. The ultimate sacrifice

Would someone turn their perfectly purposeful life into animal existence knowingly? The answer to this question was trivial in the sense that it would be so unanimous that the asker would think why they posed it in the first place. But it won’t be the case if the question was posed to Nasuada, the former leader of the rebellion against the evil ruler of Alagaesia. This was the thought that played out in Nasuada’s mind every night before she went to sleep in the makeshift bed Murtagh had made for her.

She had not met a single person for the past few weeks except for Murtagh and Thorn. The emotional stress that came with loneliness was too much to take. It rivalled even the guilt that forced her to abandon the Varden in the first place. Besides after having heard an account of Murtagh’s attack on an elven city, she had realised that her presence did nothing to change what he was. She would be lying if she said that she was not disappointed in that fact. She had genuinely believed that she could turn Murtagh about.

Besides these heavy things, she also had other everyday discomforts. Although she was just the daughter of a rebel leader, she had not been brought up like one. There were always people around her to take care of her clothes, hair-styling and food. But now that she was basically living alone with no human to call for help in the vast forest around her, she had to learn to wash her clothes herself. It was an oddly painful thing to do. Sometimes she even amused herself with thoughts like her being able to withstand the trial of long knives but not the trail of daily dirty clothes.

But clothes were the least of her concerns. Her hair became a huge mess every morning how much ever effort she put into sleeping like a log. And undoing the knots in her hair was a huge pain in itself. While she was at it, having nothing much to do, she cursed Angvard for birthing her as a woman. Men didn’t have long hairs to worry about like her.

Having never ever cooked in her lifetime before she came to live in the god-forsaken castle, eating itself had become a responsibility to be shouldered rather than one to be enjoyed. She could now appreciate the cooks of the Varden having considered them an unnecessary burden who could be left in Surda when she was strapped for cash not long ago.

If the days were filled with such discomforts, the nights were even scarier. She would toss around in the not so comfortable bed, searching for the elusive sleep to come wondering if she was better off dead than living this empty life. Every night, she would think that it was it; that she would never ever get a minute’s sleep again. But the next moment that thought crosses her mind, the sun would be shining bright on her face through the broken window of her room in the abandoned castle.

But this particular night, her brooding reached wondrous heights. One particular idea had somehow seeded itself in her mind during the course of the beautiful spring day and it was now haunting her in the night, not allowing her to sleep even after she thought she would never get a minute’s sleep ever after. Her heart kept racing and her brain wanted her to be ashamed of herself whenever that idea crossed her mind. The idea being: was it really just the need to help Thorn that pulled her into abandoning the Varden or was she being selfish in wanting Murtagh’s company?

As sleep continued to play hide and seek with her for a long long time which felt like an epoch, she breathed out heavily and came to a decision. It wasn’t honourable to live with such a tainted idea. Murtagh, however good he was of heart, was a threat to the free people of Alagaesia for whom her father had fought all his life. She seeking that man for personal comfort was blasphemy and she would not live with that thought ingrained in her. She felt for the hilt of the sword that Murtagh had left for her in case she needed to fend off stray people and animals.

She huffed, as she pulled the sword out of its scabbard. What would her father say when he sees her in the halls of Angvard? Would he even acknowledge such a daughter? He probably won’t. She didn’t want to cry but she could do nothing about the horrible knot in her throat. Deciding to end this once and for all, she closed her eyes and brought the sharp edge of the sword to her throat.

“Shhh... Nasuada. Your mother lives happily in Angvard’s halls and she looks after you from there,” she repeated her father’s words from long ago. Then in an undertone she added, “I am coming to you mother.” Without delaying anymore - as she already had lost half the courage to end her life - she pressed the sword to her throat. And just as she was about to move her hand across her throat, she was jolted by a huge explosion which made her drop the sword.

The smell of burnt wood suffocated her in a matter of mere seconds after the explosion and the huge cloud of smoke that rose made her cough. Curious, she grabbed the magical lantern to which she had to say, “light up,” to bring up a red werelight and walked towards the source of the explosion.

As she left the castle, she found that she had no use for her lantern. The place was already lit up like it was day. Several huge trees were on fire. She was thankful for the lack of severe gusts of wind for they would mean that the whole forest would be on fire in a matter of hours. She wondered what might have caused such a huge commotion. It wasn’t a lightning strike for there were hardly any clouds in the sky.

She moved cautiously knowing that magic played games in and around the cursed castle that had been her home for the past month or so. Keeping to the shadows - the fire however big wasn’t as effective as the sun - using the dim light of her lantern to find her footing, she moved closer to the area which she perceived to be damaged the most.

No living being was in sight around the place. There was a huge rock in the middle of the mess which seemed rather unaffected by whatever had turned the trees around the area to dust. She surveyed the place for a while, searching for anything unusual; but could not find anything out of place except for the roaring fire that made her eyes itch. Confused and somewhat intimidated, Nasuada made her way back to the castle glancing back at the fire every once in a while.

When she reached the castle gate, she remembered something: the rock! It wasn’t part of the terrain. Even though the fire had rendered the place unrecognisable, she had a fair idea of what the land looked like around there. Her experience in dealing with sieges and battles had given her an innate ability to remember terrain. No, the rock certainly did not belong to the land.

A hand, cold and uninviting, gripped her heart and froze her blood. What was it? Why had it been so huge that she had mistaken it for a rock? Intuitively her grip around the sword tightened. But then what use would her sword be against something that huge?

She knew something wasn’t right. But she refused to be dictated by fear. She had not been brought up like that. She would face whatever it was that had come to disturb her life. She would fight it to her last breath if need be. Deciding so, she turned around and made her way back towards the rock.

She walked silently not wanting to alert anybody to her presence. But for all her caution, she came upon a man in his forties, obviously a nobility by his clothing, headfirst. He was stumbling through the darkness and as her eyes were pinned on the rock-like thing in the middle of the ground, she had no way to see him coming.

“Who is that?” The man asked frowning. He sounded groggy and drowsy. Nasuada hid her sword hurriedly, hoping she could manage him with her tongue.

“Just a curious passerby.” She replied as calmly as she could.

“A woman in the middle of the forest, around a roaring fire can’t be just a curious passerby.” The man said and there was something in his voice that made her flinch.

She studied the man carefully for a moment and found that he did the same to her. This was going to be a long night indeed.

He had a scabbard tied to his belt that was too good looking to belong to a mere noble man. The wide assortment of jewellery that adorned his fingers and neck were testament to his richness. Lastly, a crown of immense workmanship sat atop his head indicating that he was a lord of some city. Killing him then and there was the best thing to do, Nasuada decided and brought forth her sword in a flash.

That was when things turned for the worse. The man who seemed spent and tired had unsheathed his sword and had brought it up to defend against her strike within the span of those two seconds. Fear found its way into Nasuada’s skull freezing her motions. There was only one man in the empire who could have done that. And that rock. It was black. Was it him?

A senile smile lit up the man’s tired face as he mouthed, “But, of course.”

Then in a steady and kingly tone he said, “Welcome to my humble empire, my lady.” He bowed in an obviously mocking gesture and continued, “Back from the dead, Lady Nasuada? What business you have here, I wonder?”

Every sense alert, Nasuada tried to find a way out of this mess she had gotten herself into. Would he break her mind and find out about Thorn and Murtagh’s betrayal of him? Would he find the secrets of the varden from her? And worst, would he make her his slave like he kept Murtagh?

No she wouldn’t allow it. She had to escape from him. But how? She remembered what she had been trying just before Shruikan and Galbatorix had come crashing into the forest. Kill herself. She wasn’t afraid anymore to slit her throat.

The tiredness was gone from Galbatorix’s face, replaced by a gaiety she had seldom seen on the faces of the men at Varden. He was planning something with her and she would deny him the pleasure. With a swift motion, she cut open her throat with her blade, her hand never making the mistake of shaking.

As the stream of blood began to pour from her throat, she smiled weakly at Galbatorix. She did not regret her choice to end her life. She was proud of it. Not many could so as she did in the face of impending slavery. She would die a free spirit.

Galbatorix’s expression hardened when his brain registered what she had done. She was losing conscience fast and the frown on Galbatorix’s face comforted her. Even if she had not seen the end of the man, she had been able to make him unhappy.

No sooner had this thought occurred to her than she lost what little coherence she had. Everything was blurry and she only wished that her father and mother would let her live with them in Angvard’s halls as their daughter. As blackness took hold of her, a slight smile found its way to her lips.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay in putting up this chapter. Work came in my way and I lost a fair bit of my sleep. Aside that I was being a lazy idiot, like always. But anyway, here it is. Nasuada, the ultimate sacrificial soul.