Unfurling Black Wings

Abby Ebon

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; well, I, uh, sort of felt guilty having bailed on all of you for so long, only to see that you still remember and like the story having read the reviews of the last chapter… so, enjoy my "peace offering"…to my overtly guilty conscious…-mumbles- also, this chapter does what I usually detest; it skips a bit of time "in-between" traveling…but it was either that or spend three chapters going over events as they travel and I'm rather not inclined to do so….I do, after all, have a goal in mind to reach.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Dancing Scarlet, Clashing Sapphire

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Our friend is Shruikan – and he dies in our place, soon he might falter, might fall, when he does, I take his place, and Murtagh dies – would you toss that fate upon us, Rider? Are you so heartless?" Thorn stared at Eragon, his gleaming red eyes turned upon the younger, catching him unexpectedly in his intent gaze.

"N-no…" Eragon whispered the word, lowering his own eyes to the ground. Murtagh, for the first time, kindled the hope that this might work – that he might live to see Galbatorix's blood spilt over his precious polished stone floor.

That, he might, one day soon be…free; that his mind might one day be his own.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"What…what do you want me to do, Murtagh?" Eragon was frustrated and it was beginning to show. There was certain helplessness to his tone and tensed shoulders, however much he didn't like to show it – they both knew Thorn had hit a nerve.

Eragon had trusted Murtagh as they traveled – he had been both friend and comrade – now it was different. Eragon wished sometimes that things could go back to how they had been. That he and Murtagh had never been separated; that Murtagh had never suffered under the will of Galbatorix. Still, it did not change things – Murtagh could not be trusted fully so long as he was under the sway of Galbatorix, yet – Eragon still felt keenly the bond that lingered between them. It was something, he knew, that would never go away.

"Just…help us, Eragon, that all I'll ever ask of you. Leave the rest to us." It was reassuring that Murtagh was still so sure of them. That together they could accomplish what they could not do alone; they could and would rid themselves of Galbatorix – so long as they worked together.

"A-alright, Saphira wouldn't like it, but I do still trust you to know what you're doing, Murtagh." He wished he hadn't admitted it so easily, but he couldn't help it. This was the first sign that he had – that he was clinging to – that there was still some of the Murtagh he had known and trusted within the twisted pawn that Galbatorix had created.

"Good to know, little brother." Steady brown eyes glanced quickly to meet their fiercer counterpart, there were hurt and doubt that hung heavily between them – but Eragon found himself trusting that like a wound; it would heal with time. It was another bond that could be forged and make them stronger in the long run.

"So, what is your plan?" Eragon asked softly, saying nothing of the affection that had lingered in Murtagh's voice after declaring him his brother. Eragon would not fight his parentage; if the only good thing that had come of that knowledge was this chance to rebuild a stronger bond with Murtagh – he would take that gladly.

Then he saw the reckless grin that stretched over Murtagh's lips. He knew then that whatever Murtagh had planned was dangerous and cunning – and would (curse Murtagh and his "luck"; which he smugly referred to as "good planning")… likely work.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Eragon had not wanted to, but he had found no other choice when soldiers had joined him on the road, heading into a town. Behind him, the gates closed. He pressed his lips together, knowing that Murtagh was doing his best to find Eragon elsewhere within the Empire. The very land reacted to Riders, yet Murtagh claimed that the lands knew Murtagh –for he too was a Rider, and even Galbatorix who the land knew better them both combined could not fault Murtagh for being "confused" while searching out his brother in this way. That too was yet another lie – Murtagh had found him easily, seemingly without any effort at all.

Still, a few soldier loitered about these lands – they could hardly go unguarded while the search was going on; or while an undeclared war was raging. Oh, Eragon knew that Galbatorix had sent an army worth of men against him, yet, those men had been under spells that affected their memories. They would not tell any of the common men and women they protected what they had faced.

At least, not until Galbatorix died; in so far as the people knew, Eragon and his alleys were high minded country men who had tired of the taxes and left the Empire intent on returning and claiming their lands as a separate nation – or smugglers of peoples in and out of the Empire – or thieves who had found gold in the Spine (land that was the Empire and thus the peoples) and decided to keep it for themselves thus fleeing.

All likely reasons the Empire would want to track Eragon down; all equally false. He had wondered how they would react to knowing the truth. He had asked himself if they would approve – King's were not supposed to live forever, yet theirs did. His death would end the cycle of taxes and simple life.

Eragon was not a fool, he had seen with his own eyes the metallic contraptions dwarves built, the better lives the elves had was not simply from living off the land – they too had secrets – though Eragon wondered if they would trust humans enough to share them. Still, if the elves did not – the dwarves were not unreasonable, trading readily with Surda and the Varden. He had been privy to the knowledge of magic – what it could do; what it could not.

Eragon knew it was tyranny that the Empire was all but dried lands between the oasis of cities – those lands were being drained of life, for centuries they had been barren – that was not natural. That was magic. Somehow, Galbatorix had tied his magic into the land – or the land reacted naturally poorly to his foul magic.

That was the least of his crimes. He kept knowledge the people should know to himself; unless a man was both a seeker of knowledge and privileged in life he might go his whole life without finding an answer. The "secrets" of dwarves and elves were only secret because the people where not allowed to see them either the beings themselves or their knowledge (only hear of the wonders in hushed whispers) that was tyranny of a different kind.

Galbatorix was cunning so he kept his people simple as sheep, thus he kept power and his hold over them. They merely had to go on living –doing jobs that often were learnt in families - and they served him. A person could not go to a library that was not guarded; story tellers were little better then beggars – there was no way to make a life better then what you were born with if you wanted to stay honest.

It was that sort of tyranny the people of the Empire lived under. Only, they could not see it – they did not have the privilege – the knowledge - to know. Even nobles born were corrupt but favored by Galbatorix and did not seek to know what was beyond their wealth and private. All of them, from common to noble – sheep drugged by the herdsman that was king.

It infuriated Eragon.

Yet he could do nothing but what he was doing. He could only goad Galbatorix from beyond his Empire – he could be but bait.

Until now...

Now, he had but to follow Murtagh's plan and they could throw down Galbatorix even if they could not kill him. Murtagh had told him of Shruikan; try as he might to think of how someone who had been the prisoner of Galbatorix would act and think – he could not grasp that sort of being. He would be a terrorizing and vengeful alley – yet scarred and flawed. That would have to be dealt with. There was no magic strong enough to heal him, it would take time – ages and ages of it. It would take someone he trusted. Eragon had to wonder – was there such a person? Would there ever be?

In those thoughts and moments, he pitied Shruikan as much as he felt awed by him.

Eragon scanned the inn room, his eyes picking out at once a woman –human? – whose resemblance to Arya could not be overlooked. Murtagh was perhaps rubbing off on him for he caught her eye (they widened only a little with surprise) and she beckoned for him to join her at her table. He did so, welcoming her with a probe of his mind which was returned – in his mind he could see the tangle of their thoughts like silver threads entwined. There could be no faking such a thing.

Eragon let himself relax, if only a little. He was not traveling alone on this last league of his journey. It was something of a relief; though he would have to tell Murtagh swiftly of the change.

His brother would have to advance his plans. He would have to "find" Eragon swiftly; too quickly to return to Galbatorix and complicate matters. Murtagh could claim –if this failed (which Eragon vowed it would not) – that he had become overeager at a chance to capture Eragon that he had risked the attempt alone.

Arya could not know or suspect. Not yet.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Eragon felt as if his skin was crawling. At the edge of Surda within the heart of the city-camp of the Varden – he was supposed to be safe. He was giving that up for a chance – the possibility that he could get Murtagh – his brother, his once best friend – back at his side. It was still eerie; even he did not know when Murtagh would make his move – would it be day or night? How much time could Murtagh spare before "finding" him?

He did not linger on those thoughts for long – he felt Saphira near him, her mind seeking his and like a bee to a blooming flower she flew up high, joyfully letting out a burgling howl of gladness which erupted blue flames that flickered about her as she flew through them, descending –plummeting – to meet him. She landing at a crouch, a lesser person would have clung to the ground, though not because of her furious glinting eyes – no, merely because she had shook the earth beneath their feet at her landing.

Impatient to be reassured of his presence she shoved her head against his chest like a large cat, a grumbling purr echoing like a hum in the air. She could have knocked him over, but she did not knowing better then to do so despite her enthusiasm.

I smell Murtagh, you have had dealings with him…? There was almost a panicked fear in her mental voice, though he only rubbed and the soft scales beneath her eyelids reassuringly with rough fingers – the only soothing he could provide to that itch. The only one she trusted so. Those gleaming jewel eyes lowered, wary and content, though the question still lingered between them.

I have. He approached me after you left – you had flown too far to call you back. We have a plan. He wishes to be free of Galbatorix – he has a…friend he seeks to see free of him as well. Eragon marveled at their acting, he felt content with Saphira her wings half extended as she crouched, balanced carefully half around him. It would look friendly and give no hint to the conversation that stretched between their minds.

Who would Murtagh call friend…? Saphira mused, he felt her dislike and curiosity though their connection. She knew he would know if the name had been shared.

Shruikan…will you hear his plan? Eragon asked of her, curious and attentive – her large head pulled away from him to look about them never so content to trust her surrounding without being wary for his sake. He was her only weakness and he feared she had learned this too well over her short life.

I will, tell it as we parade about for them… There was bitter humor in her, and Eragon patted her reassuringly. He had never intended to live so openly with her at his side; he hated their gawking as much as she did. Perhaps more so, for it reminded him of the quiet life - what he could not give to her.

Eragon did not have the chance to explain. People had gathered about them – soldiers on duty and off – gawking and grinning like all the rest. They were the main event. It occurred to Eragon – this, with the city-camp of the Varden so distracted with welcoming back Eragon; they would be the perfect targets.

He heard the warning growl like the rumbling mountain about to erupt – impossible to ignore; impossible to mistake.

Little one…? Saphira murmured to him, her muscles tensed as she stood over him protectively; so he could not be seen from the air. He should have known Murtagh would be so inclined to his dramatics.

Eragon felt his heart fill with dread – he could not help his gut reaction to this open challenge while so exposed - then he looked above them, a mar of red glimmered in the dying light of the horizon. He heard the silence settle about him, as it sunk in that they were about to be attacked, unprepared – for all their defenses, and preparing - each one of them had failed when it mattered most.

Eragon looked to the red dragon, knowing that it rested on his shoulders to carry out his brother's plan – it was a burden he must not falter to take. He had to make this look real – for it was real, in all that it was also planed (battle plans, he remembered, went much the same way but one could not predict all outcomes in battle, but it always helped – a little, made some difference to have a battle plan if only because of moral)… he knew Murtagh would not hold back.

We must fight, Saphria… He shared a look with Arya even as he moved toward his tent – Thorn was still flying in the far distance having given his warning – a mistake (that was not a mistake) that a youngling might make going into battle the first few times. When he stepped into his tent he was he was not alone – twelve elf spell crafters stood about holding bits of dragon armor – they seemed to remember well what to do as they began to settle the dwarf made armor into place.

"I am Blödhgarm, Shadeslayer, and though we can not fly into battle with you – we will be with you." An elf that looked so much like a wolf – Eragon got the sense he was their leader even as this elf helped his fellows in a task that would have been thought beneath a human leader – claimed. Eragon tried not to look him in the eye as he wrestled his armor from his pack. He wondered as he outfitted himself if he would cause the deaths of these elves in his attempt to save Murtagh and the dragons Thorn and Shruikan…

Is it worth it? He asked himself, unaware that he had let the thought slip to Saphira.

Great sacrifices must be made to achieve the greatest benefit. Saphira whispered into his mind, he found himself agreeing with her logic when both of them were dressed in armor – cries outside alerted them to the fact that they had no choice but to be ready – Eragon clambered a back of her, settling into his saddle - where the white spikes along her neck stopped and the spikes along her back began.

Saphira rose from her crouch, leaping from the opening of the tent and running along the ground to gain speed and momentum – her movements a wolf like loupe – until with a lurch of wings and a long jump she was airborne – she claimed higher into the air, desperate to meet Thorn before he flew over the Varden city-camp and set it alight.

Eragon hated in that moment that both he and Murtagh – and Thorn and Saphira with them – must act the part of pawns. He wondered wildly, his blood thrumming with adrenalin as he saw Murtagh astride Thorn (his black hair flung back like a mane; his expression matching Eragon's own with a terrifying grin and wicked eyes) what would their puppeteers make of the fact that pawns had secret plans of their own?

Then he heard nothing but battle sound – and thought of nothing but gaining the upper hand. It was a dual – a match evenly set, Eragon was reminded of his sparring practice with Murtagh. This would only be – he vowed - a different sort of flip of a similar coin; they would begin healing after this was done.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note;…I have Brisingr; as some of you may tell, I have started to read the beginning (if you call being over 300 pages in a "beginning"), but I – erm – do not want Murtagh to die –whimpers- as he is my favorite. Nor do I want to know if he dies (hint: no telling me! It's one thing if I go looking, another if I'm told…) though I have read the rumors….I need to finish this and my other Harry Potter/Inheritance story (also slash and Harry/Murtagh) "What Came On Cat Paws" before I go ahead with the breaking of my heart and writing a nasty letter to certain individuals…you may also think of this as my tribute to Murtagh if you know he has indeed died in the "real world" canon….-sniffles-

On another note; I'm not sure if there may be another Harry is (or turned into) dragon story, but I'm pretty sure of it. I mean, I'm not the author of the only one, am I? Scary thought, that…

…Nah, even I'm not that self assured of my own individuality and writing uniqueness, so there has to be another…yeah? So, dear readers, I ask you this – is there another Harry is (or turned into) dragon story? If you know of one please drop the title and authors name in your review. I've given up looking; I know AnnaGu would really appreciate it, as she brought it to my attention. I'd now be curious to read it too…-puppy eyes- …please-please?

On a secondary note which has nothing to do with anything relevant to this story; if you've never read Timothy Zahn's six-book-long Dragonback series you really should start with Dragon and Thief; his books have made me remember why it is I love a good intelligent-dragon/human bonding with a dashing mix of space adventure. Also, slash implications are always bonus. Now I shall have a stern talking-to with a certain demon-plot-bunny that is hinting/insisting on a Pitch Black (Vin Diesel)/Dragonback crossover…-sighs- it never ends –giggles-….then again, would I really want it to? No, no I would not…