For Alagaesia: 86. Tasting free air

Never had she felt as distressed as now in her life. Her father’s death, unexpected as it had been, had happened in mere minutes. Her capture and subsequent breaking had been a long period of pain dulled by its longevity. But the doom and gloom that surrounded her now were too much to take.

Eragon had eyed her like she was a criminal and Arya had killed her with her disapproving and cold stare. Despite those, she had stuck to the plan Murtagh and she had devised so painstakingly. Ever since the parchment - useless as it seemed - came to her (which Murtagh said was because she had performed some advanced form of magic that even Galbatorix had not anticipated), she had been restless.

Galbatorix had come to her just the next day after he had broken into her mind and had told her some unintelligible words at the end of which she felt like she was being dipped in hot oil alive. Seeing her convulse,Galbatorix had smiled and made her mouth move against her wishes (which was scary beyond anything) to spell certain other unintelligible words. When she had finished reciting them, she felt like a dog kept on a leash while the mad king was around.

She hated Galbatorix for the feeling with all her heart but could do nothing to harm him. Her oaths - that she didn’t even understand - tied her hands and even mouth. She had to do as told and there was no room for questions and doubts.

If not for Murtagh she would have resigned herself to the fate and continued to serve the madman locking up all her bitterness in the deepest parts of her mind. But as it stood, Murtagh who had experienced all the horrors himself helped her overcome many difficulties. He pointed out the holes in the oath that she could make use of to defy Galbatorix; that he had made use of to help the Varden out a few times and to keep thoughts about her out of Galbatorix’s grasp.

“One less thing to worry for you hereafter.” She had remarked sarcastically earning a thorough glare from him.

Over the next few days, Murtagh grew more and more maniac. His eyes became bloodshot reminding her of Eragon’s description of a shade and he spoke less and less kindly to her. She was afraid that she was losing her only friend in Uru’baen but Thorn had brushed her fears away. The dragon said, ‘He is sleep deprived. Truthfully, he is unable to sleep. You make him feel guilty.’

Within an hour of her expressing her concerns to Thorn, Murtagh was there in her quarters wanting her to forgive him for his bad conduct. She had felt warmed at such a plea. Murtagh was never one to apologise for anything. He always reminded her of Arya. Those two were mirror images of one another. The elf was cold and logical whereas the human cold and illogical. But here he was apologising for something that was hardly his fault.

She was warmed but she wasn’t warmed enough. She allowed her kindness to show through only for a second before masking it with resentment. It wasn’t even a fake expression. She did resent everything. She resented everything that was to do with herself and a woman who hated herself could easily show that hate in other’s faces.

But her hatred must have done something to Murtagh because in the next hour he had come to her again with bright and thankful eyes. “I am free!” He had exulted.

When she pressed him for more information than his elation, she was told that he felt in his heart that he need not obey Galbatorix anymore. The news had shocked her to no end. She had done it. She had achieved what she had set out to do. She had freed Murtagh from Galbatorix’s grip. She would have been able to hug him and dance with him had she not been caught in the mad king’s servitude in his place. She had achieved her goal by sacrificing her freedom. And she could not like it. She would have been glad if her death had accomplished this but the price she had paid for Murtagh’s freedom was too great for her to rejoice.

But then that freedom was what saved Arya’s life when the parchment was handed over to the elven princess. That freedom was what assisted in Eragon and Arya’s escape from this hell hole. And that freedom was what tortured her now.

Murtagh and Galbatorix were fighting for the better part of the last two hours and it was becoming clear that sooner than later Murtagh would be defeated thoroughly.

It was as if Galbatorix was playing with Murtagh. “So you thought you could give that useless parchment to those weaklings and save them, did you?” The king asked for the umpeenth time and Murtagh maintained silence yet again.

The clanging of metal was the only sound being heard for the next few minutes. Murtagh was grunting every time he blocked a swipe at his body indicating that he was fast losing strength.

“Who do you think I am?! I am the God of Alagaesia! Nothing can defeat me!” The self gratifying voice of the king exclaimed suddenly.

To Nasuada’s immense worry, Murtagh’s laughter rang across the field. He sounded spent. Yet his words had such clarity: “I am free of you, you fool. And that happened after you learned the ancient language’s name! You are no God. You are just a madman. Mark my words, you will soon be defeated!”

In response, Galbatorix sneered. “And who do you think will defeat me? Your brother? He has abandoned you to my mercy. Or the elves? I own their beloved mother tongue!”

Murtagh did not respond but she could see the increased vigour in his attack. He was no more trying to block Galbatorix’s strikes. He was on the offensive as much as he was on the defensive.

“Angry?” Galbatorix asked sounding more satisfied than ever during this confrontation.

Murtagh did not seem to care about the king’s obvious mockery. He redoubled his efforts bringing magic into use yet again. The first time magic was used in this battle, Murtagh was thoroughly beaten. Only because the king wanted to have fun assaulting Murtagh physically, was he set free.

As she watched in awe, the king and Murtagh throw magical curses at each other, she understood one thing: that the name of ancient language, whatever it was, wasn’t something that Galbatorix could call upon at his leisure. It must be so long that memorising it itself would be impossible, she thought. That is why Murtagh still had use of magic.

The duel between the former master and slave, engrossing as it was, had to be ignored for a terrible noise came from the skies where Thorn was fighting Shruikan, the massive black dragon that she had mistook for a rock earlier.

Her heart skipped a beat at what she saw. In the great maw of the huge black dragon was Thorn’s neck. He was struggling and blood from his body was pouring down like rain. Murtagh wailed at seeing his dragon’s state. He dropped his sword and ran towards the dragons that were falling freely from the sky.

Galbatorix grinned at seeing the scene. “Feel it Murtagh! Feel the pain! Feel it like I felt!” He crowed in ecstasy. Nasuada wanted nothing but to hack the man to a thousand pieces. But she could not act on her impulse, the accursed oath of fealty playing its role quite effectively.

‘Curse you, Galbatorix. I curse you to rot in hell for eternity!’ thought she as she watched sorrowfully at the tragedy unfolding before her eyes.

“Jierda!” The king screamed, raising his hand at the running Murtagh. Thorn’s rider seemed unaffected by the spell but on closer observation Nasuada found that he was dragging his feet as if it weighed him. But he never cared to put up a counter spell nor did he slow down.

Nasuada closed her eyes and prayed to the gods to keep the effects of whatever cruel spell Galbatorix had cast minimal. But before long a loud snapping noise was heard closely followed by Murtagh’s yelp. She opened her eyes to find a crawling Murtagh - his legs fractured and horribly out of place, looking up at the sky and murmuring something. The descent of the dragons slowed as if the air itself did not want to let go of them. Shruikan released Thorn and flew back up into the sky.

Thorn, who had lost a lot of blood, fell to the ground with a mild thud. Dust rose up into the air and obscured her view. Only when the dragon and rider were hidden from her view did she snap out of the frozen state into which she had fallen. Once freed, she ran towards the fallen dragon as fast as her legs could carry her. Murtagh had reached Thorn before her and was whispering something into his dragon’s ears.

She knelt before the two, her hands clasping shut her mouth. Her eyes clouded and before she realised it, tears flowed down her cheeks. The collective blood of the rider and dragon wetted her legs.

Galbatorix sauntered towards the three of them with a proud smile on his face. “So sad that I have to lose my Morzan and Selena this way!” He spoke as if in real mourning. “Mourn the slow death of your lover and his dragon, lady Sele… sorry, Nasuada. I am sorry that I can’t join you… you see, I have work to do; thanks to you. And I know exactly what is to be done.”

So saying Galbatorix walked towards Shruikan but stopped midway and turned to Nasuada. He frowned and rubbed his temple with his left hand and said, “Oh… and you! You are still my slave. Shall we go?”

Nasuada jerked her head up and looked at Galbatorix, bringing a pleading look to her face. She said nothing though.

“Alright then! You want to stay by him and watch him die? Fine. Be at your leisure. But be back once the two of them are dead. And inform me how they died and what they said.” He told and climbed onto the great black dragon and was gone.

She looked around for help but there were only trees that stood testament to the evil king’s act. They had moved away from the west gate where the main body of the Varden army was long ago. They were alone and without help. Anyway what help could come when magic cannot be used by anyone?

She slumped her head and fell to the ground, her side hitting the sandy plains outside Uru’baen - only the sands were wet from Thorn and Murtagh’s bleeding.

‘Nasuada!’ A weak voice called to her.

“Thorn! Thorn… you will be alright. Somebody will help. You will have a happy life. I swear you will.” Nasuada blurted out hearing the sorrow in Thorn’s voice.

The dragon laughed her off. ‘Murtagh tried to assure me the same.’ He said sadly. She eyed Murtagh who was on the opposite side of Thorn. He lay motionless. She panicked and tried to run towards him. ‘Don’t worry. He is just unconscious. But he needs help.’

Nasuada wanted to say that the dragon too needed help but he would not listen. He continued, ‘You need to promise me something.’

“What?” Nasuada asked.

‘You have to accept what I give you and you must deliver it to Eragon.’

Nasuada wanted to say that she was under orders from Galbatorix to return to Uru’baen but could not do so. Instead she just nodded.

‘Will you? Promise me Nasuada.’ Thorn asked again.

“I will try,” replied she.

‘Thank you. Murtagh and I, both of us have been a source of great trouble to Murtagh’s brother. I need to ask for his forgiveness.’

Nasuada still did not say anything, although she wanted to say that it was not their fault that Galbatorix used them against their wishes and that Eragon would understand them.

Thorn struggled and raised his head. Blood poured out in a jet from his neck. Nasuada scrambled to ask Thorn to stay still. He closed his eyes, blood still pouring out from his neck. And then a red glow formed in his chest.

It slowly travelled up through the long and gracious - but bloodied - throat of Thorn. He roared when it crossed the huge bite injury from which blood was gushing out but did not open his eye. The red glow travelled further up his throat and reach his maw. Then he opened his mouth and a brilliant red orb fell out from it.

Nasuada hurriedly caught it in her hand. As soon as it touched her hand, she felt a searing pain in her neck and her sorrow grew manyfold. It took her moments before she realised that she was holding Thorn’s eldunari and his feelings were what she felt.

That much pain! How was he even managing it? And the eldunari! He had given it to her. “Thorn! But this is everything that you are. Why would you? You are free Thorn. I am his slave.”

‘You are the best keeper I can ever find for my conscience, Nasuada. You, who liberated Murtagh and through him me. You who let me taste free air if only for two short days.’ Even as he said this, his conscience receded from her mind gradually.

Thorn’s head slumped to the ground. She placed her hand on the dragon’s body and patted him. A few moments later the dragon writhed and went still. She could not consider the possibility but it was right before her eyes. Thorn, now existed only as a Eldunari. She remembered the great golden sphere that was Glaedr’s eldunari in Eragon’s possession. Suddenly feeling protective of Thorn, she held the red eldunari close to her heart.

She sat there for a long long time, her senses numbed from the unending pain. She regained control of her senses only when someone shouted from behind her thus: “Well, well, back from the dead are we?”

Turning around, she saw Angela looking almost sorrowfully at Thorn’s body, her werecat companion trailing her by a few feet. She shot up to her feet glad to see the herbalist.

“Angela, Angela! Please help. Help Murtagh.” She prayed earnestly.

The herbalist peered at Murtagh’s almost lifeless body that lay behind Thorn’s dead body. “Will he like to live?” She asked.

“Save him, Angela. Please, for me!” Nasuada begged.

“I will try what I can. Without magic, there isn’t much hope though.”

Author's Note:

Hope you liked this chapter. This will probably be the last one in Nasuada's point of view. Roran's PoV is already done with. So henceforth, it will all be Eragon and his soulmates (note: mates).