#inherifam

You nodded, swinging your scabbard’s strap over your head before drawing the black blade. “Sounds good.” You took two long knives that were also strapped to your outer thighs and laid them on the ground next to the abandoned sheath.

Murtagh returned to Thorn’s side and drew Zar’roc from its sheath, running his hand over the blade and murmuring a few words in the Ancient Language. “Has anyone taught you this spell yet? It’s to dull the edges so swords are safe to spar with.”

You shook your head. “Eragon and I focused mainly on the elves’ teachings and less on combat. All other sparring I’ve done is with sticks or wooden swords.”

Murtagh nodded towards your blade. “Gëuloth du knífr—it means ‘dull the knife.’”

You repeated the phrase to make sure your pronunciation was right and when he nodded, let your hand hover over your own sword, saying the words once more. You bounced it roughly against your palm and when no harm came to you, slashed it against your skin. When no visible cut formed, you let the sword fall to your side and rolled out your shoulders and cracked your neck.

Murtagh swung his arms in front of himself to similarly loosen up. “What’s your blade’s name, by the way?”

“Blakkröt.”

He nodded approvingly, glancing at the dragons where they conversed several yards away. “Black Dread.”

You smiled. Somehow dread and misery felt like a fitting combination. Sometimes, you felt unsure about the name choice, but it had felt right in the moment and now you were stuck with it.

“Most students don’t get their Riders’ blades until they’re only a year away from graduating. Has Eragon decided you’ll get to graduate next year already?”

“No,” you continued to stretch, “but with everything going on with the masked men—and especially with the last incident with Edgar—he decided it would be a good idea for me to have it.”

Murtagh frowned. “Edgar? I thought the last time you had dealings with Edgar was back when the two of you were in the sparring arena several months ago?”

You shook your head. “He was in the Egg Delegation that left me just a week ago.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Eragon assigned the two of you to a delegation together?”

You grimaced. “I think he was hoping it would help end whatever vendetta he has against me, but, um…clearly it didn’t, so…” You shrugged. “He and Gydrim have been suspended from classes for long enough that it will set back their graduation from what I hear. I think Eragon’s got him on snaglí cleaning field duty or something equally unpleasant.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right, then.”

I wonder if I’m going to be a topic of conversation between him and Eragon later, you thought.

Thorn has made it sound as if he’s interceded on your behalf many times now, Gormlaith replied. The two of them apparently led the efforts to find us during those first six months frequently and were disappointed they couldn’t be here for our arrival.

You tried not to let your elation show as Murtagh took a fighting stance.

“Ready?”

You steeled yourself. “Ready.”

He eyed you up and down when you didn’t immediately strike, then moved quickly to swipe at your leg. You moved to block him but before he could hit your shin, the red sword shot up toward your arm at the last second. You quickly ducked underneath his high swing, bringing Blakkröt around to tap the back of his calf. You missed, however, as he quickly stepped out of the way and your blade embedded in the dirt.

You took a few steps back as he began to circle you, his storm-grey eyes focused like a hawk on its prey. You resisted the urge to shudder and couldn’t help thinking of other reasons he might be looking at you like that. He was dressed in a thin, black linen shirt with a v neckline that showed off the top of his muscular chest, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His large hands gripped Zar’roc’s pommel and thick veins ran up his forearms. His dark hair was in slight disarray from the fight and you swallowed hard as your heart thumped harder—and not from the physical exertion.

You nearly missed it when he lunged at you again, just stepping out of the way as Zar’roc’s tip grazed your shirt. Concentrate. You managed to bring your own sword up towards the back of his neck before he’d finished moving out of the way, but he whipped his sword behind him to stop you just inches away from his skin. You wrapped the front of your boot around his leg, pulling and sending him tumbling to the ground with an oof!

You scampered back as he regained his feet, worrying for a moment you’d gone too far. But he merely smirked as he regained his breath and turned to look at you. “Oh, you fight dirty.”

You chuckled nervously. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s a good thing if you’re against an enemy—be as resourceful as you can, always.”

“Gormlaith’s always said you only need a few good openings.”

“And she’s right.” He swung at you again and this time, you fell flat on your back trying to avoid the blow. “But don’t leave yourself open either.”

You rolled out of the way just as Zar’roc came whizzing towards your throat, scrambling back up just in time to block another blow.

The two of you continued in this fashion for a long while, both of you either blocking or evading blows at the last minute. You were quite evenly matched and as the session went on, you could tell Murtagh was putting more and more of his strength into it. You matched his energy, wondering if he’d started out easy on you on purpose. It was difficult for you to gain any ground with him. Although you parried most of his blows and threw him off balance several times, he was just as skilled as you and it seemed neither of you could get through the other’s defenses. The sparring session began to feel like a dangerous dance on the cliff face as your dragons watched nearby. There were several times you and Murtagh were practically nose to nose, his breath ragged, hair in his eyes, and his face a mixture of resolve and awe before you were exchanging blows again. The red and black blades crashing against each other reminded you of fire and smoke—two elements that rarely existed without the presence of the other, not unlike misery and dread.

Just as you were beginning to wear out, one of Murtagh’s blows swung too far sideways, leaving his chest wide open. You lunged and slammed your body into his, climbing on top of him and aiming the tip of your sword against his chest. Before the blade could make contact with his shirt, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, using Zar’roc’s hilt to knock Blakkröt out of your hand and held the red blade just above your throat.

You panted and openly stared as he caught his own breath above you.

He huffed out what could’ve been construed as a light laugh, his lips quirking up at the corners. Not quite a smile, but close. “Very well done.” You could feel the adrenaline coming off him in waves and his eyes sparkled from the thrill of the fight. He let Zar’roc fall to the side, but continued to stare for a moment, sweat beading his brow as he caught his own breath. His zest faded to be replaced by something much more concerned and attentive. As he climbed off you, you thought you caught a slight pink tint to his cheeks.

You sat up, glancing at him where he sat a few feet away, propping his arm up on his knee as he pulled his shirt sleeve down to wipe his forehead. “Well done? I lost.”

He ran a hand through his hair to push it up and out of his face and you did your best not to audibly gulp.

Try not to combust, Gormlaith teased.

I’m not combusting. You took a deep breath as he pulled his shirt sleeve up this elbow to reveal the veins again.

Oh-ho-ho, someone has it bad.

Do shut up.

Gormlaith growled out a laugh from her spot in the audience, causing Murtagh to glance back at her.

Thorn better not be picking any of this up to relay to Murtagh, you warned.

My lips are sealed—aren’t they, Thorn?

WHAT—

I joke, I joke.

“You really did do well, despite losing. It took me a while to gain the upper hand, and even then, it was more a matter of luck in the end. I could only flip you over because I outsize you.” He stood, holding out a hand to help you up.

You let him pull you to your feet, regretting the loss of contact as you pulled away. “I suppose I am used to fighting people that aren’t any bigger than me. I didn’t think about the logistics of that move on someone bigger.”

He nodded. “A good thing to keep in mind for the future.” He gently brushed some stray grass off the upper arms of your tunic, immediately pulling back once he realized what he was doing.

You both smiled awkwardly before looking elsewhere. You could sense that if she could, Gormlaith would’ve been face-palming hard.

“So,” Murtagh cleared his throat and regained his composure, “I think a good thing to focus on would be learning how to fight enemies larger than you. That’s something that will come in handy no matter your situation, especially after you graduate and go out around Alagaësia more.” He brought Zar’roc up over his head as if to rain a blow down on you from above. “I noticed in your sparring session with Edgar that you started with your sword up like this and let gravity do the rest of the work. I think that’s a good strategy you should employ more often—especially if you ever need to fight an Urgal or Kull.” He brought his sword back down to his side. “Was there anywhere specific you learned that?”

“My stepbrother taught me how to swordfight for a while before he was carted off to join Galbatorix’s army when I was young. He said it was called the ‘Guard of the Hawk.’”

He nodded. “My mentor, Tornac, taught that to me as well. I think that move will be very helpful to you.” He paused and stared at you quizzically, but said nothing more.

Sensing what he wanted to ask, you replied, “No…he did not survive.”

Murtagh’s grip on his sword tightened. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, picking up Blakkröt’s scabbard and sheathing the sword. Your oldest stepbrother hadn’t been around much, but when he was, he did at least try to shield you from your stepmother’s cruelty. Not that your biological mother had been much better, from what you could remember. Your mother’s lover had been completely complacent and turned the other cheek to everything.

Murtagh sheathed Zar’roc, patting Thorn before turning back to you. “Thorn would like to take Gormlaith a ways out and maybe discuss some combat maneuvers, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, as long as she agrees.”

Oh, I do, she said to you privately.

Who has it bad now?

I, at least, know enough to keep from swooning.

Oh, whatever. Just get out of here.

She snorted in amusement before walking over and gently bumping the tip of her nose against your shoulder. You rubbed her jaw and she hummed in content before preparing herself to take flight. You took several steps back and watched her powerful shoulders roll (a habit she picked up from you, no doubt; you still remembered the first time she watched you do that as a hatchling and immediately started copying you) before her wings extended into the sky like black storm clouds. She beat them towards the ground and soared into the air, her and Thorn’s combined wing strokes flattening the grass and cooling the sweat from your skin.

“Since we have a few hours left,” Murtagh began, “we could either work on some of the elves’ exercises—”

You let your head fall back and groaned, thinking back to your last lesson with Eragon where you’d failed miserably at many of those.

“—or work on some magic.”

“That one. Please, that one.”

Murtagh gave you a small smile and the sight of it went straight into your abdomen. “You can’t avoid the elves’ poses and exercises forever, you know.”

“I can try.”

“Well, you’re still with Eragon two days of the week, so I doubt it.”

“Ugh.”

“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad.”

You glanced up as thunder boomed in the distance. You hadn’t even realized how grey the sky had become. “Has he ever made you do the Rimgar?”

“Well, no.”

“It’s torture.”

He huffed an almost-laugh. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

You shook your head. “I’m going to make you do it with me next session so you can feel my pain.”

You felt a small drop land on your forehead as Murtagh said, “I’ll look forward to it then. Looks like some rain is starting.”

“There’s a cave just behind you that’s large enough for both our dragons and us. Eragon and I usually take shelter there during bad weather.”

You met Murtagh’s eyes to find him already staring at you. He looked away quickly, cleared his throat, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

You frowned, but before you could think on his gaze more, he turned and quickly headed towards the cave. He grabbed Zar’roc and his pack and walked quickly toward the cave.

Are you two coming back soon? you asked your dragon. It’s starting to rain.

We’re on our way, she replied.

As you re-strapped your long knives and Blakkröt to you, the sprinkles suddenly picked up to become a deluge. Murtagh was at your side in an instant, holding his cloak over both of you like an umbrella as the pair of you ran into the shelter of the cave.

“What is it with us and getting caught in floodgates?” you teased.

He neatly folded his cloak and set it on the ground, sitting down a few inches next to it. “Just our luck, I guess.” He patted it and looked at you expectantly.

“Don’t you want to sit on it? It’s your cloak.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s for you.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” You avoided his eyes as you settled on the garment. When you glanced back up, you found him contentedly watching the thunderstorm outside. You let your own gaze linger on the falling sheets for a moment, enjoying the sound as it pattered against the ground and cave opening, thunder occasionally echoing in the distance. “This may sound odd, but…this is actually one of my favorite types of weather.”

Murtagh looked at you in pleased surprise. “Mine too, actually.” He paused, looking at the falling sheets of rain again. “I used to be terrified of storms as a child, but then…someone taught me not to fear them. That person loved them, too, and then I grew to love them as well.”

You shifted, playing with your fingers. “If you don’t mind me asking…was it your mentor you mentioned earlier, Tornac?”

He paused, meeting your eyes and seeming to weigh his options. “No, although Tornac had a fondness for them as well. But it was actually my mother. I didn’t get to know her very long before she passed.” He looked back out the cave mouth, his gaze much more somber than before. You couldn’t help but notice how the shade of his eyes perfectly matched the sky and found the color oddly comforting.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. After a pause, he continued, “I feel as if all of my favorite people actually loved storms now that I think about it.”

“They’re underrated.”

“They are.” He turned to you with something softer in his expression. “So…” He sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. “Eragon tells me you’re quite advanced in magic, particularly wordless magic. I’m sure he’s already lectured you about how dangerous it can be.”

You nodded. “I know. It was how I learned, so it’s still a bit of a habit, but I am trying to get better about the Ancient Language.”

“Eragon tells me you aren’t quite fluent, but can hold complicated conversations with the elves?”

“Yes. Eragon and I left off actually talking about converting some of the spells I frequently use from wordless to using words in the Ancient Language.”

“What sort of spells?”

“There were a few that Gormlaith and I sort of improvised together during our first six months.”

“Well, I’m not as fluent as Eragon,” he reached into his pack and pulled out a small book, “but in my travels, I did happen upon this Ancient Language dictionary. We could try to find the words together, if you’d like?”

You nodded just as both dragons returned to the ledge. They quickly trotted into the cave mouth and just as they began to move to shake the water off, Murtagh held his hand out in front of you. “Skölir nosu fra adurna.”

As both beasts shook themselves out, the large water droplets flew and stopped mere inches from you before sliding down to the floor. As Murtagh lowered his hand, you grumbled, “I’ll have to remember that one—because someone loves to give me a second bath every time it rains.”

Shall I stay soaked? Gormlaith asked so that everyone could hear. As Leonil says, I may get the puh-nuh-monia.

You gave Murtagh an annoyed look. “Yes, because it’s so much better if I get the puh-nuh-monia.”

Murtagh’s lips twitched and he huffed a small laugh through his nose before opening his dictionary. “So, tell me about these spells of yours.”

“The one Eragon and I last left off on we nicknamed ‘shadowstep.’ It involves making a portal within a shadow that leads to another shadow in the room. I’ll show you.”

You stood and made your way deeper into the cave, finding a shadowy corner. A small, equally dark alcove lay in the wall behind Murtagh. You had come up with the idea for the spell before Gormlaith hatched, but had never tested it until she came along. You’d gotten quite fast at executing it, so it only took you mere moments to do now. You looked at the shadow in front of you and, in your mind’s eye, pictured a door opening and leading to the alcove. You waved your hand, shadows wrapping and dancing around your fingers like smoke before evaporating into the air, and stepped into the shadow and through. In the blink of an eye, you were in the alcove behind Murtagh’s back.

He continued to sit with his back to you, leaning forward to get a better look at the corner you disappeared to.

“Hi,” you said from behind him.

He flinched, turning around to stare at you with wide eyes. He looked back at the original corner, then at you again. “Impressive. How did you do it?”

You explained your process and after, he came join you in the alcove. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to try it on your own or with someone you’re closer with first? Eragon knows how to do this as well.”

He frowned. “Why would I need to try it on my own?”

“Well, um…the results can be a bit embarrassing the first few tries.” You glanced at Gormlaith. “The first time Eragon tried it, he came through the second shadow without his eyebrows, and they were still floating by the first shadow.”

Murtagh let the first loud, bright laugh you’d heard from him echo through the cave. You tried to control the somersaults in your stomach at the sound. “Oh, I’m so disappointed I missed that.”

“You should’ve heard Saphira—I thought she was going to wet herself laughing. She had to leave the cave to recover…So, you’re welcome to try it if you’re all right with me potentially seeing you eyebrow-less, bald, or missing any number of features.”

Murtagh pursed his lips. “I’m just going to sit back down.”

You smiled and nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Dare I ask what you were missing the first time you tried it?” he said as he settled back onto his position on the floor, taking a sip out of his waterskin.

Her pants, Gormlaith responded before you could intercede.

Murtagh nearly spat out his water.

You reached out towards Gormlaith, poking her with a finger and delivering a light electric shock to her shoulder. She yelped and quickly moved out of the way as Thorn pressed himself against the wall.

Murtagh pressed a fist to his mouth to regain enough composure to swallow his water.

You cleared your throat, praying your face wasn’t too embarrassed. “ANYWAY.”

Murtagh bowed his head away from you, biting back a laugh as he shook his head. He began to thumb through the dictionary in front of him, patting his cloak once more for you to sit.

You did as bade, leaning closer as he summoned a werelight to better read the text. You tried not to hold your breath at his proximity as the two of you discussed several words that could work.

“The part I keep getting stuck on,” you said, “is something along the lines of ‘step through this shadow to that shadow’ could work, but then if there are multiple shadows in the room, you have to name which exact shadow. Which feels like it would make for a very long, complicated sentence.”

“Not necessarily. I assume with your knowledge of wordless magic, you understand intent is very important. As long as you have the exact shadow you want in your mind’s eye, that part might not be necessary.”

You continued to parse through his dictionary together, nearly at a string of words that could work.

I hate to interrupt, Thorn said so you could hear. It was the first time he had reached into your mind and you felt privileged to be chosen. The feel of his mind reminded you of Gormlaith’s, but was much deeper, darker, and less trusting. It’s half past noon, if you wanted to break for food before your afternoon classes, Y/N.

You glanced up at the cave opening to see the sky had grown lighter, although a steady drizzle remained.

Murtagh closed the dictionary. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late. We should’ve ended a half hour ago.”

“It’s all right, this was—” you had almost said fun, but that likely would’ve sounded odd; but it had been four hours and hardly felt like two, “helpful. Thank you.”

Murtagh stood, again helping you to your feet before taking his cloak off the ground and shaking the dust off it. He gave you a small, crooked smile that had your heart pounding so hard, you wondered if Thorn could also hear it. “It was…I suppose I’ll see you in two days?”

You nodded, scrambling for something else to say just to spend even a few more minutes with him. “You’ll tell me if there are any updates on the masked men and why they were hunting us?”

“Of course. I can always summon you to Eragon’s office so I can tell you together.”

You nodded, hesitating before realizing there were no other topics to discuss and making your way over to Gormlaith. As you hauled yourself up onto her foreleg, Murtagh called your name. You turned to see him walking toward you, his cloak still in his hand.

“Do you have a cloak for the rain?”

“Um…” You dug in Gormlaith’s saddlebag for a moment. “No, but it’s not raining hard and Gormlaith is fast. I’ll be all right.”

He held his cloak up to you. “Please take this.”

“Really, it’s no trouble—”

“I insist.”

You hesitantly took the cloak in your hand. “But what about you?”

“Thorn and I have nothing time-sensitive to do today. We don’t mind waiting it out.”

“But—”

He pressed the fabric further into your hands. “I insist. You can always give it back to me Wednesday. Or give it to Eragon today or tomorrow and he’ll find me.”

You climbed the rest of the way into Gormlaith’s saddle before wrapping the cloak around yourself. You clasped it up by your neck and drew the hood. It smelled distinctly of pine, a very faint smell of dragon, and something else you couldn’t name but felt very him. “Thank you—I promise I’ll get it back to you.”

He nodded as Gormlaith made her way out into the rain and took off. As you flew back toward the mess hall, she said, I think someone likes you.

You hesitated. I hope so. They’ve both been through so much, I’m sure it takes a while for either of them to trust someone enough to even just call them friend.

Well, lucky for us, we’ve got all the time in the world.

Murtagh peered around the edge of the red dragon’s neck as he began to slowly circle. Below lay the small town of Bullridge, its square bustling with the weekend market. Several yards away from the sea of tents and customers atop a grassy hill sat a familiar black dragon—alone. Murtagh’s eyes scanned the settlement, but he could see no sign of the Egg Delegation that was supposed to be with you and Gormlaith. A sinking pit began forming in his stomach. Surely not.

There was no need for words as Thorn descended a few feet away from the large black female. She craned her neck towards them as Thorn’s feet touched down, growling in what could’ve either been a greeting or warning. As seemed to be her wont, she was using her body to shield her Rider from view. She slowly moved her wing out of the way to reveal you standing next to her, biting your nail with a troubled look on your face.

Murtagh quickly dismounted and jogged over to you. “Y/N! Are you all right? Where’s the delegation?”

You took a deep breath as you hugged yourself, murderous rage and hurt in your eyes. “They left.”

The pit in his stomach grew deeper. “…They can’t have—”

“They did. Some of the vendors at the market said they saw them leave before dawn had even fully broken. They said they were setting up and the whole group seemed in a hurry to leave before I could even return. The plan was to leave after dawn—that’s what they told me after I got permission to come check on you two—”

Murtagh gently took your forearms in his hands. “Breathe.”

You did as bade, this time not so tense.

“Stay with Thorn. I’ll be right back.” He hadn’t even fully finished his sentence before he was marching towards the town square, pulling the hood of his cloak to obscure his face.

He could sense Thorn moving towards the pair of you from the back of his mind. If they truly left them, the dragon began, then that was incredibly foolish and dangerous, and Eragon needs to get involved.

I agree, Murtagh replied. I sincerely hope this is some sort of misunderstanding, but I fear not. After all their strife to get to the academy and the danger still lurking, I can’t believe they would do something like this—especially the elves should know better.

Murtagh easily blended into the crowd, his simple cloak and clothes concealing Zar’roc strapped at his hip. He approached a stall with an older man selling small trinkets and clothes. He beamed at Murtagh. “What can I do ye for?”

“You didn’t happen to see the Egg Delegation from Eragon’s Academy here this morning, did you?”

“Oh, yes! You just missed them.” He pointed towards the hill where Gormlaith could just be seen cresting the top of it. “That big black one is all that’s left. They left in the wee hours of the morning while I was settin’ up me stall. Didn’t even wait for first light before they was off. Seemed in a might hurry, too.”

Murtagh bit his tongue to withhold the curses and couldn’t help but close his eyes and sigh.

The man’s smile disappeared. “Is somethin’ the matter, sir?”

“No,” he gritted out, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine. Thank you for your time.”

The man nodded as Murtagh turned and stalked back through the crowd. The shoppers took one look at his determined stride and parted quickly before he trudged back up the hill. Upon return, the look in your eyes told him you knew exactly what he was going to say, so he just sighed. He shook his head, hands on his hips as he looked out over the field below. A dirt road led from the town square to several farms, the animals braying from their fields as the bustle and talk of the shoppers created a jarring atmosphere against the dangerous situation you were now in.

You leaned against Gormlaith in defeat.

“Those irresponsible…daft…pig-headed…snobbish…” There weren’t enough words in the common tongue to describe their idiocy and arrogance—especially for someone as bright and loyal as you. Although the rumor mill could be quite vicious, especially among the older students and elves who had very clear memories of the war, the younger students and dragons seemed to balance the scales with tales of your successes and kindness. Not to mention Eragon praising how advanced you were and calling you and Gormlaith one of his best multiple times. Your only crime was of association, and Murtagh couldn’t help the protective twinge that ran through him.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, chewing on your lip.

“No,” he turned towards you, hands still on his hips, “it’s not fine, it’s unacceptable. If we hadn’t been here, and especially if those masked men had been, you’d be in very real danger right now.”

You and your dragon shared a look. “We’re used to it.”

Murtagh glanced at Thorn, then returned his gaze to you as you half-heartedly kicked a clump of dirt with your shoe. “Well, we’re headed back anyway, so we’ll escort you.”

You met Thorn’s eyes before nodding and fully standing. “Well, um…the rest of the delegation had the rations, so we’ll need to stop by the market before we go. It’s about a day and a half flight back and we’ll likely need somewhere to camp or stay this evening.”

Murtagh fumed. They took the food with them, too?

Thorn growled. What insolence.

If Eragon doesn’t punish them, I will. Consequences be damned.

As will I.

Murtagh swallowed the insults he wanted to throw into the wind and tried to develop a calm demeanor for your sake. He gently touched your elbow and hoped it didn’t seem like the harshness in his gaze was directed at you. “We could use a restock as well, so I’ll come with you. Thorn can keep Gormlaith company.”

You nodded, laying a hand on your dragon’s snout and giving her a firm pat. Gormlaith gently butted her head up against your back before turning and descending over the crest of the hill after Thorn.

You followed Murtagh back down into the town square, drawing your own hood. Although with the academy symbol emblazoned on your armor, you were hard to miss. The locals, however, were so caught up in their shopping and trying to wrangle their own children that they hardly paid you any mind. For all they knew, you could be a young couple completing your morning shopping.

A couple, eh? Thorn teased from over the hill.

Murtagh meandered over to a stall selling preserved meats, staring a bit too intently at the package of jerky. All right, yes, I find her…intriguing. But you know it would take far more time and friendship than this for me to even consider anything like that.

I know. Lucky for you, she seems to have that time, being a Rider.

Let us hope. I would like to befriend at least. She seems she could use one…How goes it with Gormlaith?

She seems to prefer keeping to herself. Not that I mind, necessarily. I’m still not used to being around other dragons with how much time we’ve spent away from the main group at Vroengard.

“Back again, I see!”

Murtagh glanced up to see the trinket salesman from earlier. He stood behind the table happily, smiling so big his eyes disappeared.

“Did ye find a solution to yer problem, sir?”

“Yes,” he glanced back around to find you at the bread stand as the vendor followed his gaze.

“Ah! A lady friend!” He gestured towards the table in front of him that held all sorts of simple, but finely crafted jewelry. “Me son and I crafted these ourselves in our home forge! Perhaps one as a gift?”

A small, silver dragon ring that looked like it would fit your finger caught his eye. A tiny black jewel made up the dragon’s eye as its wings spread in flight from a side view, the tail twisting around to create the ring shape. He hesitated.

Well? Thorn piped up.

The vendor smiled expectantly at him, but he shook his head. It’s far too soon. “Maybe some other time.”

“As you wish! Me son and I are here every Saturday until midday if you ever change yer mind. We also take commissions if ye’re looking for something specific.” He pointed to the banner above his head. “Olric and Sons, if ye ever want to find us again.”

Murtagh gave the man a faint smile before turning back to the jerky, handing over his coin to the saleswoman before taking the packet with him.

No ring? Might’ve cheered her up a bit.

I told you, it’s far too soon. We only properly met yesterday.

Bah, you could use a good time.

You just said you understood my need for more time.

Thorn sighed. I do and I will respect whatever you decide. Just don’t discount it as an option for the future. And who knows when we’ll be here again. You could always pocket the ring for later.

You can fly. We can come back anytime we want.

He finally caught up with you at the bread tent, several small, bagged slices in your hands. You gave him a small smile before scurrying over to the meat stall he was just at. The shopping trip continued in much the same fashion: the two of you going your own separate directions while throwing the occasional glance and smile at each other from across the way. Murtagh couldn’t deny he found your comfort with silence reassuring. After spending four solitary years in the wild and the last two still acclimating to being part of a community again, some people’s need for constant chatter unnerved him.

A half-hour passed before he made his way back, carrying a bag with enough food to last until midday tomorrow. You had already returned and were securing Gormlaith’s saddlebags by the time he began carefully storing the food away in Thorn’s.

You glanced over at him. “Has Thorn eaten yet?”

“He ate enough yesterday morning to satisfy him until we return—unless you feel you need more after your ordeal yesterday?”

I am fine.

Murtagh nodded. “What about Gormlaith?”

You finished strapping the flap of the bag in place. “The same.” You let your hand hover over the lip of the bag and the air rippled as the flap suctioned in place. He raised his eyebrows in question as you made eye contact. “Gormlaith goes upside down a lot when we’re in combat.”

Murtagh began to strap his own bags closed. “But you didn’t use the Ancient Language.”

“I grew up in a small village with a healer who was powerful in magic and that was how she taught me whenever I could get away.”

“You had magic before Gormlaith?”

“Yes, I was born with it.”

No wonder Eragon mentioned how advanced she is. “What village are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ivorson, about a half day’s ride from Dras-Leona.”

“Is your family still there?”

You hesitated, a dark look crossing your face that made Murtagh regret asking.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s all right. My mother began a relationship with a man when I was young, but she died before they could marry. He took pity on me and adopted me, but then he died as well. I…was never close with the woman who later became his wife and their children. We don’t communicate.”

Murtagh nodded solemnly, sensing there was more to the story but refused to pry. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded with a tight smile before rubbing your hands over your thighs in what seemed to be a soothing motion. “We should head out before it gets too late. From here, we can likely reach the outskirts of Narda by nightfall, then make it to Vroengard by midday tomorrow. Well,” you smiled sheepishly, “you two are well-traveled, you probably already know that. I’m not sure why I felt the need to tell you.”

His lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “It’s all right. We’ll let you two take the lead so we can cover your backs if necessary.” He swung himself up into the saddle, watching curiously as Gormlaith lowered her belly to the ground. You used her foreleg to hoist yourself up, climbing onto the back of her neck, but not into a saddle like his. Your setup was…peculiar, to say the least.

What looked to be a giant, leather blanket covered the back of Gormlaith’s thick neck, held together by straps that wrapped around her neck and shoulders. With her size, she was much too big to sit on and wrap your legs around her throat. Instead, you laid flat on your stomach between the spiked ridges along her neck. At the top of the “blanket” was a raised lip that ran all the way around. Two triangular handles protruded from two holes in the front. Several raised strips of more leather ran along the blanket perpendicular to you, and a curious lever sat on one side. You settled onto your stomach, scooting up into place, before pulling the lever. The raised strips on the side came up around your waist and the backs of your thighs, securing you in place in a tight fit via buckles that clicked together.

Both dragons stood in preparation. Murtagh and Thorn had obviously noticed Gormlaith’s large size yesterday, but now seeing her raised to her full height next to Thorn made him realize she was already bigger than him. Even with Murtagh’s tall height, he doubted he could’ve wrapped his legs around Gormlaith’s neck the way the saddle wrapped around Thorn’s. Barring a pavilion like Galbatorix used to ride Shruikan, as odd as it was, that did seem to be the only way you could ride.

Before he could question you, both dragons took off. He could sense Thorn’s curiosity about your “saddle” as well, but the pair stayed quiet. Woadark Lake passed below them as they climbed higher and higher into the sky, enjoying the peace and quiet, briefly interrupted by a flock of birds noisily flying by. The first part of the flight included a blue, cloudless sky, but more gloomy clouds gathered as they pressed on. Around mid-afternoon, both dragons landed to let their Riders stretch, relieve themselves, and have a late lunch.

Once on solid ground, both of you sitting with your backs to your dragons, Murtagh finally said, “I can’t help but be curious about your…saddle situation.”

You nodded. “I know it’s not typical, but it was the best I could manage the six months we were on the run. Gormlaith grew quickly and still does, and it would’ve been too difficult to just keep making a new, bigger saddle each month. So, we improvised, and now we’ve just become comfortable with this setup.”

“You’ve never considered any sort of chair or pavilion? That looks hard on your back.”

You shook your head, the breeze gently rustling your cloak as sounds of nature softly played in the background. The sky was beginning to look darker as the clouds rushed by overhead and the wind picked up. “We’re comfortable this way and I fight on dragonback a bit differently than everyone else. This accommodates for that.”

“How does it work? And how do you fight?”

“I’ll show you—plus it looks like rain might be coming, so we should continue heading for Narda anyway.”

You both mounted up again, but before lying flat, you grabbed one of the triangular handles protruding from the front of your saddle. “It’s a pulley system.” You pulled and a thick chord came out, allowing the handle room to become longer and longer with a soft vvvrrrrr noise. You let go and it snapped back into place, then patted the raised lip. “It coils around inside here. There’s also a lock here,” you flipped a switch on the side of the lip facing away from him, “so the handles stay in place. I always ward my clothes or armor before riding Gormlaith and hold onto the pulleys while I slide over her back to get at a better angle to fire projectile spells, arrows, or even swing around closer to an opponent. Then I release the tension and let the pulley pull me back up onto the saddle.” You settled onto your stomach, pulling the side lever and letting the buckles close in around you. “Then this helps keep me stable when we’re flying for extended periods.”

He raised his eyebrows, now grateful for his own normal saddle. “That’s an impressive contraption. Did you build that yourself?”

“I designed it but had help from a friend I grew up with who moved to a different town. He’s a bit of a genius when it comes to things like this.”

“I’m still not convinced that’s not harmful for your back.”

“It’s not so bad.” You smiled. “Plus, it’s the perfect position to take a nap if I need to.”

He smiled as both dragons again prepared themselves for takeoff. “I’m not sure how I feel about a nap on dragonback.”

“Only because you can’t lay down,” you grinned.

“Mm, did you bring a pillow with you as well?” he teased.

“Nah, it’d probably blow away.”

“You could always strap that down as well.”

You grinned. “Now there’s an idea.”

He finally let loose a real, audible chuckle, as both dragons took to the sky once more.

You seem to enjoy talking with her, Thorn commented. I haven’t heard you laugh with another person since…well, ever.

I do. She’s bright, witty, quick—

Mmmmmm, Thorn said suggestively.

Stop it.

Stop what?

Murtagh sighed and shook his head, glancing at you where you lay on the saddle. He couldn’t help but admire your form for a moment before tearing his eyes away as you began to turn your head towards him. He did his best to distract himself by composing more poetry for a while, then switched to mentally going over all the words in the Ancient Language he’d learned from Eragon. Although his brother was usually so busy, he was nowhere to be found, he had carved out time specifically to help Murtagh enhance his skills in the language and magic itself. Galbatorix had only trained him enough to make a perfect attack dog, and never enough to make either Rider or dragon much of a threat to him.

He still was getting used to the idea of learning from Eragon and sometimes it still filled him with bitterness. During his four years in the wild, he had frequently stewed on the fact that their mother chose to save Eragon instead of him and he’d been given all the opportunities to learn and just be a Rider in full that Murtagh and Thorn never received. There had been many times when before Thorn had hatched and during battles where Eragon seemed to judge him with no understanding of the lessons life had taught him—although he seemed a bit more forgiving now that he was older. He and Eragon had had many talks since he came to the academy hashing through arguments, understandings, apologies, and the like, and he was sure there would be many more to come. But he was at least in a place where he didn’t feel an insurmountable grudge against his brother, and no longer felt the need to correct with “half-brother” instead. Although with how busy Eragon had been running the academy and Murtagh taking on the task of investigating these masked men, they’d only had a very small handful of lessons in the last two years. During much of the first year, Murtagh had also been away helping track you and Gormlaith, but you hid your tracks well. Maybe that was also part of the reason he was so invested in you two.

More time passed as the dragons flew through the sky. The clouds grew darker as the afternoon went on and a strong wind blew from behind to speed progress. The air eventually began to feel heavy and warm, and thunder boomed above them as they passed the northern tip of the Spine.

An unfamiliar mind gently touched his and he couldn’t help but recoil. The presence didn’t delve any deeper and instead, pulled back the tiniest bit. It’s me, you said.

Oh. Are you all right? he replied.

Yes, I just wanted to check on you and Thorn. We should also land soon. We’re almost to Narda and I think the storm is almost here. We’ve flown back this way before and there’s a small coastal village with an inn there, as well as a covered nook in the mountains not too far off that should fit both Gormlaith and Thorn easily. If you two agree.

After confirming with Thorn, he said, Yes, we’ll do that. He wasn’t used to the touch of another person’s mind who didn’t wish him harm, but yours felt almost comforting. Like warm tea after a cold, dreary day that held curiosity and compassion, but also had a twinge of darkness caused by a life full of hardship. He could sense you were kind but cautious—a combination he understood and held respect for.

The dragons landed in a grassy plain on the outskirts of town. Both Riders dismounted as the wind made the long grass dance beneath your feet and thunder continued to rumble overhead. Gormlaith reached out so that both Murtagh and Thorn could hear her. Although similar, her mind felt darker with a much harsher “lone wolf” mentality, and Murtagh could sense she was fiercely protective of you, even more so than Thorn was of him. She would do whatever it took to make sure you were safe, even down to some questionable actions. The cave in the cliff isn’t far. Follow me.

Both dragons took off as you pointed down the dirt road. In the distance, he could see the lights of a small village. “This way.”

You both picked up the pace as several drops began to pour down. It quickly became a deluge, forcing the pair of you to run. He followed closely behind you as you navigated the streets with ease through the downpour, the lanterns on poles and houses swinging in the wind. Your foot caught in a puddle and you would’ve fallen flat on your back if Murtagh hadn’t been there to catch you and set you upright. You muttered an embarrassed thanks before climbing the wooden steps of a large building off the docks. As the swinging wooden sign came around, he caught a glimpse of a painted tankard of ale with a fish swimming around it and the words “The Singing Sturgeon.”

Murtagh held the door open for you as the two of you practically blew inside.

“Make sure to shut it firmly behind you please, else it’ll swing open again!” a man’s voice called from behind the bar.

Murtagh did as bade, sighing and glancing at you as you both lowered your hoods. The main room was a bit run down, but still warm and inviting. It was small, but there were plenty of empty tables and seating with a roaring fire on the left wall. A small boy stood on a stool and stirred the cauldron that hung over the flames, glancing at you and scurrying through a door behind the bar. Murtagh expected to see an old, grizzled man behind the bar, but instead saw a younger man with a slicked-back ponytail, kind face, and well-to-do outfit cleaning out a mug with a rag. He followed you as you made your way towards him, sliding into a stool at the bar.

The man smiled. “Welcome back, Y/N. I see you have a friend with you. Two stews and watered wines?”

You glanced at Murtagh and when he nodded, turned back to the bartender. “That would be great, Borden. Thanks.”

Borden smiled and before setting the mug aside, slinging his towel over his shoulder, and disappearing into the kitchens.

“We only started off a few hours after the delegation did,” Murtagh said, glancing around the mostly empty main room. A few other patrons sat huddled in the corners, but seemed taken in by their own food, drinks, and company. “Would they be at this inn?”

“Not likely. Usually, the elves in charge of the delegation know a spell to teleport, so take turns teleporting everyone near the town we have to stop in. Then it’s the same for the journey back. They’re probably back at Vroengard right now. Eragon always gives delegation members the rest of the day off, so I’m not even sure if he’s noticed Gormlaith and I are still gone.”

“I’m sure he does. He seems to keep good track of his students—especially after what happened to you.” He paused as Borden and the child returned from the back carrying two trays laden with bowls, breads, and cheeses. Borden placed one in front of you, then took the tray from the child to place in front of Murtagh and said, “Thank you, Torg. Could you give the soup another stir?”

Torg nodded before racing over to the cauldron again. Borden turned and took two clean tankards off a shelf behind him and filled them with watered wine.

You dug in your purse and handed him some coin. “How much for the bread and cheese?”

Borden smiled. “On the house. You two enjoy yourselves and do let me or Torg know if you need anything.”

“Bord—how is Torg? He was sick last time I was here.”

“He’s much better now—and thank you for recommending those tonics, they did help immensely. I do have some things to take care of in the kitchen, but just yell if you need anything.” With that, he disappeared through the door again.

“You mentioned you were trained by your village healer. Is that how you knew what tonics to recommend?” Murtagh asked as he tore a piece of bread off.

You nodded, swallowing a spoonful of stew. “I learned magic from her as well as healing and anatomy. The original plan seemed to be that I would take over her position once she retired, but then she just…vanished. Then Gormlaith hatched not long after and that was the end of that.”

“Did this healer have a name?”

“Helena.”

“Helena what?”

You shrugged. “Just Helena. She was shorter than me, but had this big, brown curly hair that she always wore in a braid with all these headscarves to keep her hair out of her face when she made tonics or worked on patients.”

“Did she heal everyone with magic?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. She seemed to be trying to keep a low profile. She didn’t even tell me her name until I’d been going to see her for six months and I was never allowed in her house or workstation unsupervised.”

Murtagh finally took a bite of his stew, expecting the usual subpar, but filling food most small taverns had. He made a sound of pleasant surprise. “This is delicious.”

“Borden’s an amazing cook. Torg, his son, helps out a lot, too, and they make some of the best food I’ve ever had.”

“This puts some of the food I’ve had in court to shame. Does Borden run this whole tavern and inn by himself?”

“His wife helps him. She’s likely asleep right now, but she usually manages renting out the rooms upstairs. There aren’t many of them, but they’re comfortable. I think this is my…fifth time here?”

Murtagh nodded. “So…you said you fire projectile spells from Gormlaith’s back as you slide around. What sort of spells are those?”

“Well, I sort of made them up and they are wordless, which Eragon doesn’t like. He prefers I use the Ancient Language, which I try to do in lessons and when I’m tired or really need to concentrate. But wordless magic just sort of is second nature after my training with Helena.”

“You mentioned crossbows as well. Do you prefer that over a longbow?”

“I, um…actually was never taught how to use a longbow and inherited two crossbows from my mother’s lover when he died. So, I’ve always used those.”

Murtagh hesitated. “I would be happy to teach you sometime, if you’d like. It would be a good thing to have in your arsenal.”

You nodded shyly as you turned back to your soup.

Doing all right? Murtagh sent to Thorn. He’d been so enraptured with his conversation with you, he’d nearly forgotten to check on him.

Nice of you to drop in, his dragon teased. Yes, we’re doing just fine. Gormlaith is finally starting to talk, albeit slowly and in small spurts.

What are you talking about?

Maybe the pair of you.

Thorn.

Murtagh.

Murtagh sent a mental grumble through their link, feeling Thorn’s amusement in return.

We’re doing just fine. Don’t worry about us. I’ll let you know if we need anything and will be keeping an eye on any danger towards you as well. It wouldn’t take us long to get you if need be.

Murtagh nodded before returning his attention to you as you began asking questions about the longbow. The rest of the meal was an enjoyable mix of talk of combat, more books, your trainings compared to his own knowledge and experience, and more. It truly felt as if he could talk to you for hours without running out of topics. You were highly intelligent and insightful, and he found himself wanting your opinion on several topics just to hear what you had to say. But the silence between you two was just as comfortable and he found himself enjoying being in your presence alone.

Neither of you noticed once you’d finished your food and he was unsure how long you both continued chatting after. He felt the familiar tug of sleep on his lids by the time Borden came around to check on you again. He smiled at your whistle-clean trays. “Did you enjoy your meals?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Thank you, Bord. Do you have any rooms available? I’m assuming Suzy is asleep.”

“She is, and we do! Would you prefer two singles with double beds, or one double with two twin beds?”

“Two singles,” you both said in unison before glancing at each other in embarrassment, then looking away.

If Borden noticed, he was kind enough not to say anything as the two of you worked out the payments, Murtagh handing over his own coin when necessary. The academy was funded by tributes from all the kingdoms, which in turn became the teachers’ and other staff members’ wages. It was odd, but good to have a regular form of money again.

Borden handed over the keys before telling you your room numbers and bidding you a good night. The pair of you climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the hallway lay open to the floor below. Another set of stairs ascended to a third floor that Murtagh assumed led to Borden and his family’s private quarters.

You both reached your respective doors, and he hesitated with his key in the lock. He glanced at you just as you began to open the door. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You gave him a small smile. “Goodnight, Murtagh…I’ll, um, see you in the morning?” The tiniest spark of fear danced behind your eyes, belying your sudden anxiety about being abandoned again while sleeping.

Murtagh nodded. “We won’t leave without you. You have my word.”

You smiled, seeming more at ease, before disappearing behind the door just as he did his.

***

Murtagh smirked to himself as you rubbed at your eyes again from Gormlaith’s back. Early in the morning, you’d both broken your fast together in the tavern again, said goodbye to Borden, and were off into the sky. You and Gormlaith both were clearly not morning people, which Murtagh and Thorn found amusing. They weren’t exactly either, but you were exceptionally grumpy, and it took all Murtagh’s restraint not to smile at your unamused facial expressions and grumbles.

He felt your mind gently touch his, your crankiness tinged with slight amusement. I know you’re laughing at me back there.

Need a nap already? Too bad you don’t have that pillow.

You be quiet.

Murtagh couldn’t withhold his laugh then and thought he saw your shoulders shake with your own. You turned back to glare at him, but he could tell you were trying not to laugh, which only pulled another laugh from him. You smiled and shook your head before facing forward again.

The rest of the flight continued much the same as yesterday: comfortable silence with the occasional check-in, although you always reached out first. He didn’t want to invade your privacy and felt odd purposely reaching out to another person. He hadn’t done it in so long and during his travels with Thorn, only reached out enough to sense danger nearby.

Vroengard finally came into sight just as the sun climbed directly above them. Gormlaith pushed faster, Thorn following and struggling to keep up. She glanced back and slowed, growling quietly to herself.

It’s surprising how a dragon so big moves so fast, Murtagh thought.

Not necessarily, Thorn replied. Her wingspan is bigger than mine and will likely become even bigger than now. He paused. It feels very odd not to be the biggest dragon anymore.

Murtagh wondered how big Thorn would’ve been now if Galbatorix hadn’t sped his growth. Even without magic or torture involved, he’d heard from Eragon that most dragons had some growing pains as they got older and the bigger the growth spurt, the worse it was. He hoped Gormlaith didn’t suffer too greatly.

He sighed as the academy came into view below. Both dragons began to sink closer to the treetops, making for the grassy hill where you and Eragon had first met and where returning dragons and their Riders usually landed. The hill stood empty before them, but several students and elves pointed up and shouted at your group’s return.

Gormlaith touched down first, Thorn not far behind. The red dragon sighed, settling onto his haunches with closed eyes as he still felt some lingering effects of the poison. Murtagh quickly unbuckled himself and slid down to give him a reprieve from his weight, watching as Gormlaith sank to her belly again so you could do the same.

A roar sounded in the distance as Saphira flew towards them. She landed quickly with a whoosh that sent hair and cloaks flying before Eragon quickly scrambled down.

“There you are!” He ran towards you as you met him in the middle. “Thank the gods you’re all right.” He turned to Murtagh. “And thank the gods you happened to be nearby. Thank you for bringing them back.”

Murtagh nodded. “I take it you know what happened?”

Eragon scowled. “Yes. The delegation members have been dealt with and reassigned as necessary.” He returned his attention to you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry and swear to you I will do everything in my power to make sure this never happens again. Thank you for doing your duty to protect the eggs and new Riders—or trying to, at least.”

You clenched your jaw and nodded.

Eragon tried to give you a comforting smile and a small pat on the arm. “Why don’t you and Gormlaith go bathe, eat, and rest for the rest of the afternoon? I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for our private classes.”

You sighed and nodded, your face finally showing some signs of fatigue. You made your way back over to Gormlaith several yards away as Eragon stepped closer to Murtagh, lowering his voice. “And you look as if you’ve something to tell me.”

Murtagh nodded, gripping Zar’roc’s pommel. “The masked men showed up while Thorn and I were alone, not far from where the delegation was—and they were dangerously well-equipped. If Y/N and Gormlaith hadn’t been close by and insisted on checking on us, I don’t think we would’ve returned here.”

Eragon took a deep breath, a troubled look on his face before glancing at you. Murtagh followed his gaze as you wrapped your arms (well, as best you could) around Gormlaith’s snout. She gently lifted you several feet off the ground before lowering you back down, parting to take off towards the lake most dragons used to bathe. You glanced over and smiled tightly before jogging off towards the Riders’ quarters.

“Come with me,” Eragon said, nodding back towards the main building. “Tell me everything once we’re in my office.”

Murtagh and Thorn did as bade, looking down over the settlement as they flew. Several students trained with other teachers and elves while others played, read, and flew about with their dragons, creating a cacophony of joy and safety. For all his faults, Murtagh couldn’t help but admire the hard work his brother had put into creating this community and wished he’d been more a part of its creation.

Both dragons landed on the large balcony outside Eragon’s office, the Riders disappearing inside. Murtagh gave him all the details of his attack, as well as the subsequent rescues.

Eragon pinched the bridge of his nose at the end. “By the gods, it was even worse than I feared.”

“I’m not sure if this is too advanced for her,” Murtagh started, settling back in the chair across from his brother’s large oak desk, “but it might be a good idea to teach Y/N and Gormlaith whatever teleportation spell the elves use. Although you said they were punished, rumor mills like this are hard to shake. Someone may very well do something similar to them again.”

Eragon sighed. “It’s a spell that requires a lot of energy, which is why usually only the seasoned elves perform it. Once it’s been used, the user will have precious little energy left, which is why there are always multiple elves in each delegation, as well as at least one dragon and Rider duo. But perhaps you’re right. The knowledge alone might be good for them.”

“Exactly how advanced are they both?”

“Very.” Eragon paused to take a drink out of a glass of water on his desk, the fire crackling in the background. “She’s mentioned she had talent in magic before Gormlaith hatched, and then I suppose life on the run is a good teacher. I have them in group classes with the much older students in the afternoons, then Saphira and I have been giving them both private lessons most days from morning to midday. Although that does mean the work piles up in the afternoons…” He glanced at the high stack of papers on the corner of his desk and sighed.

“What sort of things do you train them for in the mornings?”

“More basic magic that’s commonly used between dragons and Riders, hand-to-hand combat, meditation, some poses Master Oromis taught me, reaching out to sense living things and connecting with nature, combat on dragonback—that sort of thing.”

Murtagh nodded, thinking back to his few lessons with Eragon where he’d also learned some of Oromis’ poses and mental exercises. “I could help, if that’s an option. I have plenty of experience with combat, both on the ground and on Thorn, and we could always practice any of the elves’ teachings together.”

“Mmm,” Eragon raised his eyebrows. “Now, there’s an idea. She’s extremely advanced in magic, too, so she might be able to help you. Although she uses a lot of wordless magic, which I’d prefer she stop, she does know a decent amount of the Ancient Language enough to hold quite complicated conversations with the elves.”

“Is she fluent?”

“No, but she’s getting there. That’s a good idea, I think you two could really benefit each other. I’d still like to meet with her once or twice a week just to see how she’s doing, but you could take…” he leaned over to glance at a piece of paper on his desk, “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday if you’d like? We usually meet around eight o’clock in the morning and go until midday, then break for lunch, then she joins the others for group lessons with the elves.”

“I can do that.”

“Good! I’ll show you where I train with her later this evening.” He smiled lightly to himself. “Well. Your first student.”

Murtagh laughed dryly. “Sounds like I’ll be learning from her just as much.”

“That’s how any good teacher and student relationship is: sometimes, your student ends up being the one to teach you.” He paused. “I’d always hoped you’d teach one day. Perhaps this will be a good trial run? You did travel together for two days and stayed at an inn together, yes? How did you get on?”

“Very well. I enjoyed talking to her.”

Eragon smiled wryly, gently scraping the handle of his letter opener over his jaw. “Mmmm.”

Murtagh sighed in defeat. “Why does everyone keep making that noise at me?”

Ahem, Gormlaith said.

You’re insatiable. You turned to flick another whole deer towards your dragon, watching as she engulfed the animal whole.

Murtagh made his way to you, his hand lounging against Zar’roc’s pommel on his hip. “Well, with a target that big, it’s impossible to miss,” he teased. “I know you can do better than that.”

You smirked back. “All right, fine—but you have to do it with Thorn as well.”

Sensing your thoughts, Gormlaith took off and headed south just over the lip of the ledge. Once she was several yards away, she hovered midair and opened her mouth in anticipation. You vaulted another deer and swung your arm harder this time. The animal sailed through the air and right into your dragon’s waiting jaws.

Murtagh licked his lips and smiled, glancing at Thorn. He was already moving into the same position as his Rider replied, “As you wish.”

You gestured towards the still impressive, although now much smaller, pile of animals. “Most of that is for Thorn. Gormlaith went hunting this morning and wanted to bring him some.”

“That was kind of you.” He gave Gormlaith a small nod. “Thank you.”

Yes, Thorn added, thank you. I have not had a chance to eat this morning yet.

Murtagh held his hand towards a deer and murmured several words in the Ancient Language before arcing his arm in a similar motion to yours. It flew through the sky, although Thorn had to move a few feet to his left to catch it in time.

“Hm, looks like my aim might be just a little better.”

Murtagh snorted. “You still have a bigger target. I could hit that easier as well—watch.” He took another piece of meat and shot it through the air towards Gormlaith. It began to fall just a few feet in front of her before sailing down towards the ground below as she blinked innocently.

Murtagh spluttered as Thorn dove after it. “You didn’t even try! That was on purpose!”

You nearly doubled over laughing and could’ve sworn Gormlaith winked at you.

He sighed as Thorn returned to his position next to your own dragon. “All right, well now you have to throw to Thorn.”

You flung the food at him, adjusting your aim just enough so it sailed cleanly into the red dragon’s mouth, turning around to look at your companion smugly. He did his best to look irritated, but you could tell he was trying not to laugh as well. He bit his lip and shook his head at you, but his grey eyes sparkled with amusement.

I feel very undignified, Thorn finally said. Dragons do not play fetch.

“You’re both welcome to stop,” you said.

There was a long pause as neither dragon moved.

“Do you want the rest of it?” you asked.

…Yes, please.

If he doesn’t eat it, I will, Gormlaith said.

You levitated another deer and flung it at Thorn. “You’re going to give yourself a stomachache.”

No.

Just before the deer reached Thorn’s mouth, Gormlaith extended her neck to grab it’s rear in her teeth. Thorn grabbed it’s front and the two of them began a tug-of-war midair, making several growling and grumbling noises at each other as they did so.

“Well, now you’re undignified,” Murtagh grumbled.

The only reason you’re bigger than me, Thorn began to Gormlaith, is because you’re full of so much food.

You laughed even harder. “I never thought I’d see a dragon food fight.”

Murtagh shook his head, rubbing his hand with his forehead as Gormlaith and Thorn ripped the deer in half.

That was still my rear-end, Thorn declared.

Gormlaith continued to chew her half. Do you want it back?

“Ew! Gormlaith!” you cried.

The two dragons dove towards the cliff, landing in the grassy field as Thorn began to munch on what was left of the pile. Gormlaith settled a few feet away, closing her eyes in content with her full belly.

You sighed and turned to Murtagh. “Well, as you can see, we’ve never been dignified.”

He gave you another smirk that held something you struggled to identify—it couldn’t possibly have been admiration. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Well, compared to being raised at court.” Your face fell. “Not that I meant life was easier for you—”

“I know, it’s all right.” He glanced at Thorn, still tearing away at his breakfast, as Gormlaith’s eyelids began to droop. She occasionally peeked them open to glance at the red dragon before losing the struggle once more. “I was very privileged growing up with all the wet nurses, tutors, and especially once Tornac came along.” He glanced towards the ground, a heaviness settling over his sinking shoulders. “I at least have good memories of my mother from childhood as a bright spot in the dark.” He turned back to you with weight still evident in his gaze, but some warmth as well. “It sounds as if your childhood wasn’t easy either.”

You shrugged, settling down on the grass. Murtagh followed suit, propping his arm up on his knee and giving you his undivided attention. “My mother died when I was young and…we were never close. She eventually met Harwin, and I think he was going to propose, but then she got sick and isolated both of us until one night, it got bad enough that I had to rush her to an emergency clinic in Dras-Leona. She was there for a few days and didn’t make it. Harwin heard and took me back to the mill he owned in Ivorson. He had an older son from a previous marriage where his wife died in childbirth, and we got along well—he was the one who taught me Guard of the Hawk.”

Murtagh nodded, his grey eyes fixed intently on you. To your relief, there wasn’t any pity in them, only safety and understanding.

“Then, Harwin married Ascha and she decided she didn’t like me very much. They started having children almost immediately. He developed some sort of chronic condition. We never really learned what it was. I was sent to fetch herbal remedies and tonics from the local hedge witch, which is how I found Helena. Then word came that Harwin’s son had died in Galbatorix’s service and the king’s guard came for him next. He refused and…” you swallowed, “was killed.”

It was quiet for several long seconds as you began to play with a strand of grass by your feet. Although Harwin didn’t explicitly protect you from Ascha’s toxicity, he was always kind to you and never treated you any differently than his other children. You became more distant as you aged, but still missed him. Ascha was an extremely poor substitute—and one you didn’t even have contact with anymore. You could’ve been dead for all she knew, or cared.

Murtagh gave you a grim, but understanding look. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, hesitating before continuing. “Eventually, Helena just…disappeared overnight. But I woke up with her bags of textbooks and journals and some other things in my room and after a while, wasn’t having a good time at home and knew magic and brewing from what she’d taught me, so moved myself into her house.”

“Were you going to take over as the village’s hedge witch?”

“That was the plan until Gormlaith showed up—and I’m glad she did.”

Gormlaith peeked one glittering eye open at you and sent a groggy wave of love and affection towards you.

Murtagh glanced at your dragon as well, then paused. “Do you think you would’ve liked being a hedge witch?”

“Oh, gods, no.”

“Why not?”

“Too…people-y.”

Murtagh smiled. “People-y?”

You nodded. “You should’ve seen some of the ungrateful grumps Helena had to deal with. They never even listened to her, then came back and complained that her advice ‘didn’t work’ when they didn’t even follow it properly. I lost count of how many old ladies tried to use a potion they were supposed to drink as some sort of topical ointment, then complained it didn’t work—then one time, someone actually did drink the topical ointment and Helena and I had to save them before they expired…She was sort of a grump, too, by the time I met her and I can’t say I blame her.”

Murtagh huffed a laugh. “Somehow, grumpy mentors always make the best ones… Do your stepsiblings own the mill now?”

You chewed on your lip. “Um…no. I do.”

Murtagh blinked in surprise. “You do?”

You nodded. “Harwin left the entire property to me in his will.”

“And you still left? By all rights, you could’ve kicked Ascha out instead of the other way around.”

“Well, she technically didn’t kick me out, just…made me so miserable that I sort of just left without telling anyone? I mean, they figured it out eventually because my stepsiblings all came to see me at one point or another. We have a bit of an arrangement where they continue to run and live in the mill and pay me a portion of their profits as ‘rent.’ It goes into a safe account once a month that only I can access.”

“How do you collect it from all the way out here if your stepsiblings can’t access it?”

“My friend who helped design and made Gormlaith’s saddle, Jackal, collects it from them. His workshop is about a half day’s ride from the village and he gets to take a fee out of each monthly payment for collecting it for me. That’s actually how I paid him for the saddle.”

“And you trust this…Jackal?”

“Yes, we grew up together in Ivorson. He was a bit of a runt and had a penchant for getting himself into completely avoidable trouble that I was usually the one to get him out of.”

Murtagh frowned. “And his parents named him…Jackal?”

“Oh no, he would scream for help whenever he was in trouble, and it sounded like a jackal howl. So everyone just started calling him Jackal.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That…sounds like quite a dramatic cry for help.”

“He’s quite a dramatic person—genius, but…strange and dramatic.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but,” Murtagh licked his lips while he thought for a moment and you couldn’t help but watch and mimic the action, “does Ascha know about this agreement? If she isn’t fond of you, I can’t imagine her agreeing to pay you rent.”

“Oh, no, Ascha doesn’t help run the mill at all. Her children take care of her, and I think they pool their resources to give her a sort of allowance? She’s always refused to work as long as I’ve known her even though she’s a big spender. But I’m not sure what she thinks is going on. The mill had just been fully paid off right before Harwin died, but I don’t think told her because of her frivolous spending. So I think she thinks whatever arrangement Harwin had before he died is still going, but doesn’t care or pay attention enough to ask questions.”

“She sounds…” Murtagh trailed off as he struggled to find the right word.

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“…Do you at least have good memories of your father?”

“I have no idea who he was. My mother never married and never told me, and I’ve never been able to remember the first five years of my life—I mean, I suppose it’s normal for things to feel a bit fuzzy, but I can’t remember anything. My mother would never tell me what happened or why I couldn’t remember.”

Murtagh frowned. “Have you told Eragon about this? Or the elves? They might be able to help.”

You shook your head. “I think Gormlaith and I have enough on our plate right now without the need for uncovering anything else at the moment.”

He nodded, glancing at the dragons as Thorn swallowed the final piece of meat and growled in content. “Of course.”

Gormlaith opened her eyes to glance at your companions, but didn’t raise her head.

“Wait—” Murtagh did a double take as he made eye-contact with your dragon. “Gormlaith’s eyes are y/e/c.”

You took a drink from the water skin next to you. “Yes.”

“Most dragons’ eyes match the color of their scales. I’ve never seen otherwise.”

“That happened randomly about…probably four or five months in?”

“What?” Murtagh turned to you with a frown.

“They were black when she hatched. But then we wandered into this weird, abandoned castle because we thought we heard a child screaming for help. We found this strange…glowing orb. The memories are a bit hazy, but we both remember excruciating pain, then waking up on the floor. When we went in, the castle was abandoned, but intact. When we awoke, it was in ruins with no ceiling and crumbling walls. We left in a hurry and made camp as far away on the other side of the forest as we could. The next morning, we decided to try and scope the place out. I know I led us back to the exact spot. But the whole thing was just gone as if it had never existed.”

I know we were in the right place, too, Gormlaith added. There was nothing there. The castle even had a peculiar smell to it—the ruins too, when we awoke. But when we went back the next day, the castle and the smell were completely gone.

“And ever since then, Gormlaith’s eye color has matched mine.”

Murtagh stared at you with wide eyes before turning to look at his equally shocked dragon. “Have you told Eragon about this?”

“Yes, he knows. We told him on our first day here and pointed out the location of the castle on a map. He said he’s had scouts comb the entire forest where we found it, had elves use powerful magic to try and lift any sort of cloaking spell, used tracking spells, and it all amounted to nothing. There’s nothing there anymore.”

He continued to stare at you, mouth slightly agape. “I’ve…never heard of such a thing. Have you noticed anything else different since?”

“I don’t think so—at least nothing that sounds outside of the ordinary for a dragon and Rider bond.”

He moved his gaze to the ground and blinked, taking all the information in.

“I don’t mean to rush, but I did have plans during my lunch hour so need to finish on time today—”

“Oh—of course.” He scrambled to his feet before holding out a hand to help you up. You tried to ignore the jolt of electricity that ran through you at the brief contact. “Your swordplay has been greatly improving over the past few weeks. Would you be all right picking up where we left off in our last session?”

You nodded and smiled in an attempt to ease some of his concern. The truth was, you were concerned yourself, but you had gotten used to strange, inexplicable things happening to you long ago. Although a potential connection between whatever had happened in that ghostly castle, the masked men, and the missing first five years of your life ran through your mind constantly. Part of you felt you hadn’t told Eragon about those missing five years because you were terrified of what you’d find—and weren’t sure you could handle much more.

I will always be here to keep you from spiraling into the dark, Gormlaith said with a softness that helped dull the sharp edges of your anxiety.

And I’ll always do the same for you.

Gormlaith hummed in content before closing her y/e/c eyes once more and basking in the spring sun. You focused on warding Blakkrötand sneaking glances at Murtagh as he did the same to his own sword.

A deep grumble filled the air with a slight warble on the end. You looked at Gormlaith expectantly.

…I have a stomachache.

“I know you took the good rolls this morning and brought them out here,” Edgar replied, tightening his grip on his prey. “We just want a few of them—enough for me and my friends here, and then we’ll leave you in peace.”

“But enough to feed you and your friends will mean we have none left for ourselves!”

“Oh, come now, Bronvir.” He poked at the boy’s belly, which was by no means oversized. “As if you and your friends don’t have enough to eat by the looks of you.” He nodded towards one of his elven friends. “Take a look in their bag there, will you?” He turned towards his dragon. “Gydrim, make sure the runts don’t interfere.”

The grey dragon hissed, slowly circling to get between the small dragons and their Riders. One of the younger dragons refused to budge, hissing back at him before Gydrim reached and swatted him to the ground with a large paw. Edgar and his friends laughed as the elf made his way over to the sack that had been abandoned on the ground, pulling out a large sweet roll in its own paper packaging. He threw it at Edgar, who grinned before tossing Bronvir to the ground, removing the roll, and preparing to take a large bite.

“No, those are ours!” Bronvir protested. Just as he was moving to stand, Edgar gave him a swift kick to the ribs, causing him to gag and fall back down.

Murtagh and Thorn began to move out of the shadows, his hand already flexing on Zar’roc’s hilt in rage. Before they could emerge, however, a deeper, more frightening roar punctured the air. Edgar and his group looked up in fear before Gormlaith suddenly emerged from the cloud cover more quickly than anticipated. She always seemed to be startingly fast for her size. Edgar swore, stuffing the roll back into its packaging and stashing it in a pack slung across his hip. He gestured to the satchel. “Let’s take it and go! Gydrim!”

Before they could escape, Gormlaith landed on the ground hard enough to shake it, close enough to Gydrim that she was practically on top of him. Despite being the same age, she was easily double the grey dragon’s size, and roared right in his face loud enough to be heard all the way back at Eragon’s office.

Murtagh stopped, slowly bringing his boot back within the shadows, but kept a firm hand on his sword. He wanted to be ready to aid you at any moment but didn’t want to step on your toes. You and your dragon had become quite the common topic at the academy ever since you’d arrived. The younger Riders and their dragons, with little to no memory of the war or Shruikan, had immediately taken to the pair of you. Unlike some older Riders and dragons—namely Edgar and his posse—the pair of you always went out of your way to be kind to the younglings, clearing the way for them to enjoy their time here stress-free. Most of the older Riders, dragons, and elves gave you a wide berth, but were still respectful (at least, to your faces; they always seemed to have something urgent to get to whenever you got too close) and up until now, Edgar and his group hadn’t wanted much to do with you either. This was the first time Murtagh had seen you put yourself in his way though, and he was sure that meant their leniency toward you was about to change.

You slid off Gormlaith’s back as she put a large forearm forward to help you to the ground. You strode over, your menacing black Rider’s blade slung across your back, and ripped the satchel from the elf’s hand. He surrendered it easily before quickly backing away towards Gydrim. You strode over to where Bronvir was still crouched and recovering by Edgar’s feet and gently helped him stand. “Are you all right?”

Bronvir coughed once more, nodding as he clung to your arm. You handed him his satchel, which he held gratefully to his chest, before glancing between you and Edgar. You turned to the older Rider and even from his distance, Murtagh could feel the rage rolling off you in waves—a sentiment he also shared.

“This has gone on long enough,” you said, your tone brooking no room for argument, “and it stops now. Pick on someone your own size.”

Edgar chuckled. “Well, you look about my size. Care to take their place?”

Gormlaith drew herself up to her full height, towering over Gydrim and growling behind you.

You smirked. “Actually, we’re bigger than you. But go ahead.”

Edgar puffed his chest out in an attempt to make himself taller than you, but still was laughably barely your height. “Well, I’m at least bigger than you.”

You snorted. “In your dreams, maybe, shorty.”

The children all broke into laughter behind you as Gormlaith ushered their dragons back to their side.

Edgar chewed on his lip, his eyes full of rage even as he tried to exude confidence.

You put a comforting hand on Bronvir’s shoulder. “Take your friends and go back to the grounds. Gormlaith will take you so they don’t try and chase.”

Bronvir nodded, muttering a quiet but reverent thank you as he, his friends, and their dragons scurried back the way they came. Gormlaith took flight and stayed low as she escorted them back towards the academy’s main hall and dormitories.

With your dragon gone, Edgar and his group stepped closer to you, making a tight circle. The other Rider didn’t stop until he was mere inches from your face, his voice lowering. Murtagh muttered a few words in the Ancient Language to help him better hear. With the sun now blasting over the snaglí grounds, he doubted the group had even noticed him and Thorn in the shadows.

“Do you want a problem with me?” Edgar asked.

You stared at him for a few moments in silence, your face completely unphased. Finally, you smiled ruefully. “Sure. If you want to be a problem so badly.”

Edgar smirked, evil in his expression. “Well, then. I consider this war. You’d better watch your back when your little dragon isn’t around to play guard dog.”

You stared at him evenly. “There’s nothing little about her—or me. Only you.”

Edgar made to grab your arm just as Murtagh’s boot began to emerge from the shadows again. Just as he was about to rush over, Gormlaith’s roar echoed through the field again as she began to circle overhead.

Edgar glanced up, then back at his group, who were already settling on Gydrim’s back (how that size dragon carried so many people, Murtagh had no idea and feared it meant Gydrim was much stronger than he looked). “Well…this time, you and Shruikan Junior get a head start. Dirty little wench.” He gave you a rough shove before practically running to his dragon and mounting up. You watched and shook your head as they quickly flew back towards the academy, careful to avoid flying too close to your own dragon.

You turned towards the lake, stopping in your tracks as you made eye contact with Murtagh. You glanced at Thorn before giving him a small nod and shy wave, all earlier malice gone in a way that Murtagh dared to say was almost…well, cute.

Murtagh nodded and waved back, giving you a small smile before securing his bag of game to Thorn’s saddle and mounting up. Thorn came out from under the trees enough to take off back towards the mess hall.

Cute, eh? Thorn teased.

Stop it. We haven’t even been introduced yet.

I could turn around and fix that for you. They seem nice enough—and anyone with enough brains and bravery to finally take on those two maggots and their posse is worth trying a friendship with in my book.

Murtagh hesitated, turning and glancing back at the slowly shrinking snaglí fields. Gormlaith had landed next to you by the lake, her form just a small black dot in the distance. He turned to look ahead again in the saddle, flicking his head to get his hair back out of his face. Perhaps another time. You know we’re…still not the most accepted at the academy and I don’t want to create further problems for them. They seem to already be struggling with their reputation through no fault of their own.

But they could use a friend. And we don’t have to be very public about it—they have the snaglí grounds all to themselves right now. It would be the perfect time. And don’t act like you haven’t been admiring her whenever we’re in the same space.

Murtagh sighed. …Another time—maybe when they seem more ready. Besides, we have to get these hares to the cooks while they’re still fresh.

Thorn sighed beneath him. I think you might be the one who isn’t ready yet, my friend. But we will do as you wish for now.

Thank you. He tightened his hands on the saddle beneath him, his mind straying to you repeatedly as the forest passed beneath them.

How are you and your Rider settling in? he asked.

It seems to be going well, especially for Y/N. She has that little gaggle of hatchlings that follow her around, she replied.

Is the hatchling-gaggle-leader still missing his front fang?

She snorted as she pictured Bronvir’s crooked, innocent grin. It’s growing in, but very slowly. She paused. Humans really are quite…squishy. I couldn’t imagine missing a front fang for that long.

Thorn stuttered out a chuckle. Yes, they are. Especially the hatchlings. Have you befriended any dragons since landing?

Not many. Most of them are either far younger or far older, so I don’t really have any peers I can have many concrete discussions with. But Y/N is plenty for me at the moment.

She felt a spark of kinship flow between them as he answered, I feel the same.

Well, you are technically older than me and a teacher.

Thorn huffed, slowing to match her pace and meeting her gaze. His red scales really did look brilliant in the sun against the blue sky. Well, you and your Rider were a special case. I cannot imagine taking on actual students regularly.

Gormlaith slowed, letting herself fall behind him once more and suddenly dreading his next response. If you’re not enjoying teaching, you’re not obligated to continue.

I want to, he said with a quickness that surprised her. He seemed just as surprised and took the lead once more as his mind pulled back from hers. She shielded herself as well to hide her own elation.

For several minutes, they enjoyed companionable silence until Thorn slowed to match her pace again. Do you have any further memory of the haunted-forest-orb-castle than your Rider?

No. She quickly sent him a visual of the castle—which did, in fact, look straight out of some horror novel—the dark, run-down amphitheater, and the glowing blue-green orb that sat on a dais in the center. It almost seemed as if things were swimming inside it and carried the same weight of eyes boring into the back of one’s head. But I remember the pain. It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt since. The rest of the world faded away and that was all that existed. Then it was suddenly gone, and Y/N and I woke up next to each other in a much more ruined version of the fortress.

Thorn’s concern was eminent, even without their mental link, and he flew in quiet contemplation for a few moments. Where was this cursed place?

The Silverwood Forest.

What were the two of you doing there in the first place?

I hatched and Y/N and I were first attacked in Ivorson, just outside of Dras-Leona. Y/N just grabbed me and ran in whatever direction the masked men weren’t. Then we were continually hunted, so couldn’t make a straight shot for Narda and hugged the Surdan border for a while instead. Then we eventually made our way up and lost the masked men for a time in the Silverwood Forest. After the haunted-forest-orb-castle, we traveled the edges of the Hadarac Desert, then the Ramr River. We backtracked towards Ivorson to visit Y/N’s strange-laugh-and-cry-inventor-friend named Jackal and he built my saddle.

We continued on to Bullridge, but were attacked again by the masked men at Isenstar Lake. Y/N was injured in the fight and they almost had us, but then something exploded out of the water and distracted the enemy. We took the opportunity to flee, so didn’t see much other than whatever was in the middle of the water-wave-mist-haze felt very…unnatural. We finally made it from there to Narda and Y/N received medical attention at the help of barkeep-Borden. Then finally, that morning we made it to Vroengard. She hesitated.

…Is there more? Thorn asked.

…No, she lied, hoping Thorn would believe her. Your injury had been much more grievous than Gormlaith had made it seem. The flight from Isenstar Lake was your first proper flight together, and she’d flown at breakneck speeds to get you away from your adversaries and to the nearest town that looked big enough to have a healer. Once in the cave just outside of town, Gormlaith had used magic to heal you just enough to make it to downtown Narda. From what she’d learned since coming to the academy, of course dragons had innate magic—but it was unpredictable, and they weren’t supposed to be able to cast frequent and controlled spells like their Riders. But Gormlaith could. Of course she couldn’t “speak” aloud like her Rider could. Still, just as you used wordless magic, the world around Gormlaith obeyed her commands as readily and efficiently as they obeyed you. Saphira had made it seem as if dragons could use magic, but not necessarily cast “spells.”

But Gormlaith could. Ever since the Silverwood castle, she could. Neither she nor her Rider had told anyone this, just to be on the safe side. Although she knew you worried how Eragon and Saphira would react once they found out secrets had been kept from them. But what if it led to further ostracizing, or even banishment from the academy? One could never be too careful, after all. You both were finally beginning to become more accepted at the academy after nine months of living there—what if this ruined it all?

I’m sorry you’ve had to endure so much strife since the second you hatched, Thorn interrupted her spiral. He paused for a moment, then continued. I know what that’s like. It shapes you—and it becomes very hard to un-shape.

It does, she said. I’m sorry you’re so familiar with that experience as well.

Thorn was silent, but she could feel a newfound sense of warmth, closeness, and comfort strengthen their bond. A wave of gratitude flowed through her mind and she did her best to hide her excitement. It was the first time Thorn had let her in enough to be privy to his emotions, not just his surface-level thoughts. Perhaps they were finally getting somewhere.

The tall back of the Shadow Ledge came into view, and both dragons roared a hello as they crested the top. As usual, you and Murtagh had just finished your sparring session and sat in the grass next to each other enjoying a casual chat. Murtagh stood as he gazed up at the dragons, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. As his attention quickly returned to the dragons, yours remained on your companion. Gormlaith could sense you admiring his body and snuck one last glance at Thorn to do the same.

We’re both a bit whipped, aren’t we? Gormlaith asked as she began to circle downwards.

Gods help us, you replied, we really are.

Sensing his rider’s thoughts, the dragon looked up at Murtagh with a heartbroken look on his face. Although he couldn’t form mental sentences, Murtagh knew that the dragon wondered if he was considered a curse.

Murtagh gently stroked the dragon’s head again. “You’re not the punishment, my friend,” he said softly before glancing at the bars of the cell in front of him. Beyond that stood a thick, stone wall with an equally immovable locked door. A small, barred square in the top showed the torchlight flickering in the hallway as the heavy thud of guards walking to and fro punctuated the dripping noise. “But I’m sure we’ll both find out what it is soon enough.”

~***~

Ground Zero (one year ago; Year 0)

Despite the burning in your legs, you continued to run deeper into the cave. You weren’t even sure how deep this cave went, but your panic dispelled your sense of danger. Luckily, it hadn’t for the little creature hidden safely in your jacket and you could sense its fear at the growing dark, dampness, and quiet drip drip of a leak somewhere. You slowed to a halt and glanced behind you to see the light of day from the cave’s mouth a tiny pinprick at the top of the path sloping above you.

You stood for a moment and panted, glancing around to see a small flat area just ahead of you. You went to it and leaned against the wall, letting yourself slide down to sit and tilt your head back.

A tiny gurgle sounded from inside your jacket and you undid the stays to reveal the newly hatched black dragon snuggled against your chest. She raised her head to inspect her surroundings before gently butting her tiny head against your jaw, rubbing in a way that reminded you of a cat. She purred quietly before snuggling into the hollow between your neck and shoulder, holding your shirt’s fabric in between her small maws.

You sighed, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth over her head. “Hi, baby.”

You could sense her comfort, elation, and affection at the nickname and smiled.

“Well, I can’t call you baby forever. You’ll need a name eventually.”

A bird chirped from somewhere nearby, causing your dragon to snap her head up. You glanced toward the cave’s ceiling to see a bird’s nest nestled in a small nook. Your dragon was immediately up and out of your arms before you could grab her, clumsily using a combination of her wings—which she was still figuring out—and claws to drag herself up the cave wall and into the alcove. You winced at the startled shrieks and growls coming from the small hole. Several feathers floated out followed by an egg splatting on the ground below. It was silent for a moment until you heard some quiet lip-smacking and a small belch. To your surprise, your dragon emerged walking backward before falling out of the hole, dragging something along with her. You rushed to catch her before she could hit the ground, as whatever souvenir she had was too heavy to fly with.

The dragon landed hard in your outstretched hands, rolling over to look up at you with adoring eyes. Despite her terror from earlier, all you could sense from the creature now was complete loyalty and admiration. The egg delegation—or whatever they called themselves—from Eragon’s Rider Academy had traveled all the way from Vroengard to your small village just outside Dras-Leona to see if any new Riders were waiting there. Three elves, one in charge of the eggs and two warriors, accompanied by a young Rider and their dragon had swooped in and amazed the townsfolk. A few of the older children had eggs hatch for them right away as the elf in charge explained to a concerned parent that the large black egg in the bunch was rumored to have been sired by Shruikan—the old king’s mad beast. It was given a wide berth after that, but you couldn’t help feeling pity for the dragon inside. You were no stranger to being an outcast, and this dragon hadn’t even been born yet. They’d committed no crimes other than existing, and you couldn’t help but wish you could make them feel loved if no one else would.

Maybe that’s why a small crack appeared when you’d gone to get a closer look. Just as you had, a small smoking sphere hit the ground several yards away from you. There was just enough time for the screaming to start before it exploded, kicking up dust from the road into an opaque cloud. You’d grabbed the black egg and held it close to your chest. The explosion, however, rocked the ground and blew out enough of a shockwave that it furthered the crack the tiny dragon inside was trying to make. Shards flew everywhere as there was a fierce flash of light, slicing over your face and hands, to reveal the small, terrified dragon inside. You’d immediately shoved her inside your jacket, ignoring the searing pain in the palm of your hand, before sprinting in the opposite direction. Men in black hoods with fearsome, jarring masks that reminded you of twisted, black skulls immediately started chasing you, screaming something in an unknown language with the common tongue peppered in—but one thing was clear, they wanted your dragon and your cold corpse.

Over the course of the day, you’d lost them, then they found you again. Then you lost them, and they found you again. Then you’d lost them, but since they’d been pillaging and burning everything in their path, several passersby pointed you out to your assailants as you tried to hide. You’d somehow lost them once again in the forest before finding this cave. You could feel your dragon’s gratitude at not only wanting to offer her love, but risking your life to protect her. Even though she couldn’t form mental sentences yet, you could sense she was making the same promise back to you: especially once she was larger in size—and considering Shruikan was her sire, she would likely be very large—no harm would come to you.

She suddenly jumped out of your hands and took the object she’d worked so hard to bring out of the hole in her mouth. You did a doubletake as you realized your outstretched palm now bore a silver mark. Before you could inspect it too closely, the dragon pranced back over to you with a muffled “mmrph?” to show off her prize.

You bent and realized it was the bird’s nest before receiving the mental image of a small fire from your dragon. You smiled, petting her little head again. “Good girl, thank you.”

She made a small mlem as you gently took it from her jaws. She sniffed the air and turned to gobble up the broken egg on the ground before returning to your side. You returned to the place you’d been sitting and set the nest on the ground in front of you, making a border out of some nearby stones. A mysterious woman who lived in your village for a few years when you were younger had taught you some magic and you couldn’t help but be grateful for it now. You stretched your fingers out towards the fire before muttering, “Brisingr.”

Sparks flew from your fingertips to ignite the nest. It wasn’t a huge fire, but it would be enough to keep you warm as night rolled in.

Your dragon jumped at the whoosh the flames made, trilling and hiding themselves inside your jacket again. You laughed. “You’ll have to get used to that, since one day that will come out of your mouth.”

The dragon peeked up out of your jacket and tilted her head in question. You stroked her scales and she closed her eyes with a contented sound.

Your own contentment faded as the reality of your situation hit: you and your dragon might be outcasts for a while. With her being Shruikan’s offspring, people would likely always be suspicious of you right off the bat—and that wasn’t even taking the masked men who would probably continue to hunt you into consideration. People in the village were very quick to blow your cover if it meant their own safety. You couldn’t completely blame them, but it did make you wonder who you could trust. You doubted you’d find the delegation very easily to take you back to Vroengard with everyone else now. And would they even want to? Or would they assume that would put a target on the backs of young children and defenseless hatchlings? You and your dragon were solidly on your own now. Because of her birth, you may now no longer be accepted anywhere without the greatest paranoia.  

Sensing her rider’s thoughts, the dragon opened her eyes and looked at you with concern. Although she couldn’t form mental sentences, you knew she wondered if she was considered a curse.

You used two fingers this time to gently stroke the sides of your dragon’s neck. “You are anything but a curse. I’ll always protect you and have your back.”

The dragon chirped happily before butting her forehead against yours and snuggling into your chest once more.

You placed a protective hand over her body, feeling the soft membrane of her wings against your fingers. “So, how does the name Gormlaith sound?”

~***~

Now—Year 1

A group of bandits—even one as large as this—should’ve been no problem for Murtagh, especially when he had Thorn with him. But they had been much more equipped and organized than he’d anticipated. Since his mission was more undercover, he’d been riding a horse while Thorn flew high above in the sky when the bandits had first attacked. He’d successfully held them off for a while until they started pouring out of the nearby brush in large numbers. When Thorn had flown in to save him, they’d rolled a ballista out of the forest’s cover before disarming Murtagh and forcing him to his knees. Before he’d had time to warn his dragon, they’d loosed the bolt rigged inside, its tip covered in slimy, black goo. The blow wasn’t deep or dangerous, but surprised Thorn into losing his balance. Murtagh could feel him suddenly grow woozy and clumsy through their mental link before crashing to the ground a few yards away. The bandits wasted no time in throwing a large, metallic net over him.

Murtagh tried to quell his panic as Thorn’s mind grew increasingly hazy. Had this group developed some sort of dragon poison, or did they just want to knock him out? He’d never heard of a poison that was this painless and fast-acting. But why try to capture either of them in the first place? And how the hell were they so well-equipped?

Murtagh fought against his captors as they dragged his hands behind his back to bind them. “What do you want?”

No one responded, just held onto him tighter as Thorn’s eyelids continued to droop.

I…I can’t keep my head…up…

Don’t go to sleep, Murtagh begged, his chest heaving. Fight it.

I’m trying…

Movement from behind the group of men in front of him caught his eye. There were ten of them in front of him, weapons all trained closely on him, another four holding him, and another eight surrounding Thorn. They looked like ordinary bandits—their hoods up with cloth masks over their faces, their clothes and gear (aside from the ballista and net) worn and rusty. Through the group in front of him, Murtagh could see someone in all black moving toward him. The crowd parted and Murtagh’s breath caught in his throat as a man clad in all black, hood drawn, and face hidden by a black skull mask, emerged and simply stared down at him. He clung tightly to a flail before glancing at Thorn, making Murtagh realize even his eyes were covered with some sort of black mesh that he could clearly see out of, but rendered his eye color a mystery.

“Well done hunting us,” he said, turning his face back to Murtagh. His voice was unremarkable aside from the fact that it was male and muffled by the mask. “You were so close.”

Murtagh tested his captors’ strength again and again failed. He growled in frustration; ever since you and Gormlaith had arrived at the academy, the masked men who had been chasing you had been on everyone’s minds—including the queen, who worried about the threat they posed to everyone as a whole. For the last six months, Murtagh and Thorn had been away from the academy (minus the few trips to return and recoup) hunting for clues about this group. He’d found nothing beyond tracking their path and always being several steps behind, barely missing them whenever they seemed to stop and refuel. There were rumors that they were somehow affiliated with a witch who was just as elusive, but he’d found nothing else helpful. They’d been quiet since you’d arrived at the academy, but clearly on the move—and now it was obvious they’d been equipping themselves with followers and means to take down a dragon aplenty.

Murtagh could feel Thorn slipping further and further into sleep. Stay with me, friend. All he got was a long sigh in response as the dragon’s eyes fell closed and didn’t open again. He could still feel him alive and unharmed, but rapidly losing consciousness.

A bandit with a blue hood and cloth mask over his mouth and nose spoke up. “Where are we taking them?”

“To the black sands.”

Just then, a distant roar filled the air with a tone that betrayed its large size. Thorn’s eyes barely flickered open as their assailants looked up in concern.

“I thought you said this would be the only dragon around for miles,” the man with the blue hood said. “We only have the one net and used our only bolt already.”

The distant beat of wings grew louder until it was thundering toward them from behind. Murtagh tried to turn his head, but it was roughly shoved back to look at the ground. He carefully reached out with his mind and touched a vast, unyielding consciousness with a hint of darkness—and maybe even a tinge of madness—that immediately blocked him out. From his view of the ground, he saw a large shadow suddenly block out the sun as the men in front of him began to panic. Another roar, this time much closer, rang through the sky, so deep and loud that Murtagh felt it vibrate in his chest. There was barely time to register anything before fire rained down, taking out several of the men guarding Thorn and the ballista. Screams and the smell of flames filled the air as the bandits before him broke formation to head for cover in the nearby forest while those on fire jumped in the river on the opposite side.

Now free of his guards, Thorn tried his best to get up and shake the net off, but to no avail.

“Stand your ground!” the blue hood cried.

The masked man held out his hand to keep him from drawing his sword. “It’s no good.”

“It’s one dragon and rider—and the ones you wanted, at that!”

“She’s much, much larger than anticipated. She’s grown too quickly and we don’t have the means to bring her down—and she’s angry. Live to fight another day—and this way, you’ll live to see your pay.”

Another roar sounded, filling Murtagh’s ears to the point of pain. He screwed his eyes shut against the ringing in his head as the shadow fell over them again. A column of fire missed his head by mere feet as the men holding him ducked, yelling in terror.

“Pull back!” the blue hood screamed. “To the forest, now!”

The men holding Murtagh threw him to the ground. He landed hard on his back and felt all the air woosh out of his lungs. Once he’d managed to catch it, he knew the sight before him wouldn’t leave his mind anytime soon: part of the forest and the ground ahead of him were engulfed in flame, several of the bandits making a run for it. Black smoke plumed into the air as a great, black dragon moved to hover just over the tree line, and he had to remind himself that it wasn’t Shruikan in front of him. The beating of its wings drove the smoke back toward Murtagh, obscuring his vision and causing him to cough. As the masked man made his way towards the tree line, a figure emerged from the smoke as if born from it. They were also clad in all black armor, the symbol of the academy’s bodyguards emblazoned on their chest. In their hands, they held a wicked black blade, several notches along the steel every few inches to create the illusion of spikes.

They strode towards the masked man with purpose and as some of the smoke cleared, Murtagh realized it was you. Although you’d never been formally introduced with him being in and out of the academy so much since you’d arrived, he’d recognize you anywhere. You’d become a bit of a celebrity at the academy and he couldn’t deny you’d caught his eye more than once in group conversations. He’d never seen you geared up for battle though and especially with Gormlaith behind you and your black blade, you were truly a sight to behold.

You and the masked man met in the middle and he swung out with his flail. Murtagh scrambled to his feet just as you ducked to avoid the blow, grabbing Zar’roc where the bandits had abandoned it on the ground and running to your aid. Before he could get close enough to help, you swung for the masked man’s leg. He blocked the blow with the handle of his weapon just in time for you to swing your own handle into his face, stabbing the cross guard of your sword right through the eye of his mask. He shrieked and stumbled back a few steps. Murtagh swung out with Zar’roc just as the man turned. But instead of slicing solid flesh, he found himself slicing through a sudden cloud of black mist that scattered on the wind, leaving the two of you alone amongst the carnage.

You both stared at each other in silence for a moment before looking around, keeping tight grips on your swords. When no one reappeared, you sheathed your sword into the scabbard slung across your back before making your way over to Murtagh.

~***~

“Are you all right?” you asked, glancing at the red dragon still immobile under the net.

I’ll help him, Gormlaith said before quickly landing by his side, her wings scattering the smoke back towards the wrecked forest behind you. You glanced at the havoc all around—it was hard not to scorch the earth with every entrance with a dragon that size, but it did have its uses. And you couldn’t deny the confidence boost in knowing you were safe with both your skills and dragon.

“I’m fine,” the man in front of you answered, picking up his scabbard. He sheathed his sword and belted it around his waist. “But Thorn has been heavily sedated.”

You nodded, looking at your dragon as she took the net in her teeth and gently pulled it off Thorn’s body. He groaned and shifted his head to look back at her, but didn’t raise it very far off the ground.

“Have you ever encountered any sort of sedative that could take a dragon out like this before?” you asked.

“No.” The man swallowed hard, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles turned white. He motioned for you to follow him as he quickly trudged to his dragon’s side. “They shot him with some sort of bolt. It was coated in some sort of…goop. An invention of these masked men, I assume.”

You watched in concern as the man leaned against his dragon’s head, gently massaging his jaw. The dragon blearily opened his eyes before settling against the ground, leaning gently into his rider’s body.

The man sighed before turning back to you. “Well…we can’t move him. Even with your dragon’s large size, I doubt she could carry him anywhere along with the two of us.”

You glanced at the setting sun. “It will be night soon and we at least have some cover from the nearby forest. We could camp here for the night, set some wards, and hope this is worn off by the morning.”

He nodded. “How did you get here? I thought you two were back at the academy.”

“We were one of two rider and dragon bodyguards for an Egg Delegation nearby, but saw Thorn flying through the sky just to suddenly plummet. We got leave from the lead guardian to come see what was going on.”

“By yourselves? Even though these masked men are still out there and hunting you?”

“Well,” you shrugged, “Gormlaith’s big enough and I’ve had enough training to handle ourselves.”

The man scoffed and glanced at the still-smoking trees. “Clearly.”

You chuckled. “But we did promise Eragon we’d behave, so…” You shoved your hands in your pockets and bounced on the balls of your feet, “there, uh, go our ‘leave-the-grounds’ privileges for a while, I guess.”

His lips quirked up in what could’ve been mistaken for the ghost of a smile as he rested a hand against his dragon’s head. He stared at you for a moment with an intense scrutiny that you couldn’t deny stirred butterflies in your stomach. “Thank you for saving us anyway. I’m Murtagh and this is my dragon, Thorn.”

You nodded. “We’ve heard of you. I’m Y/N, and this is Gormlaith.”

Murtagh nodded, a quick shadow crossing his face before it was gone again. “And we’ve heard of you. You’re quite the celebrity back at the academy—and even among the people here in Alagaësia.”

“So we’ve heard.” You laughed humorlessly. “We’ve been called the ‘new shadow’ enough times since we landed with the delegation.” You tried not to grimace at all the memories of students, their families, and now citizens alike giving you a wide berth. Although you had a small fan club back at the academy, it mainly consisted of younger students who had no memory of the Second Riders’ War. You could feel through your bond that it was even harder on Gormlaith than it was on you. She was the one who was being punished for her father’s sins, after all—but you’d both accepted that this was just the way you would exist in the world, at least for a while: alone together.

As if sensing your thoughts, Murtagh gave you a sympathetic, but grim look. “Well…you won’t be a shadow to us.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, trying to impart with your eyes that you understood he was one of the few—if not the only—person who could truly understand your plight. You held each other’s gaze for several moments before looking away awkwardly. “Well, we should get started with the wards. You can take that side, and I’ll take this side. There should be enough things on fire that starting one shouldn’t be too hard.”

You’re welcome, Gormlaith said, expanding her consciousness so Murtagh and Thorn could hear her, too.

You laughed as Murtagh’s lips quirked again. Thorn made a meager snort before the two of you got to work. The perimeter of the ward had to be large to accommodate Thorn and enough room for you to sleep in. Gormlaith was always hyper-aware of her surroundings and large enough that you weren’t worried about fitting her in—and the two of you always had light wards anyway. Once a fire was made, the nearby river made for easy fishing via magic. Murtagh insisted on cooking the meat with the utensils he always carried with him as a thank you. You weren’t sure how long you sat and talked, insisting on staying throughout the night to make sure he and Thorn would be all right. Your caregiver and magic teacher had been adamant that you learn how to read well and the two of you talked about books and scrolls you read for so long, you lost track of time. Murtagh seemed pleasantly surprised by your knowledge of the topic and his air was much lighter and more open than what you’d seen the few times you’d run into him at the academy. You’d only ever seen both him and Thorn from across the way or run into him during group conversations where he didn’t say much and disappeared quickly. But they’d both seemed much more tense and closed off then, and you’d certainly never seen him smile. Scoring more than one surprised laugh out of him during your conversation felt like you’d won a prize and up close, you realized just how handsome he really was. If not for his past, you were sure the women at the academy would’ve been all over him trying to get just a shred of his attention. He’d always struck you as very reserved, but this undivided attention when he looked at and talked to you was new and only increased your own nerves that you hoped he couldn’t detect.

Mmm, I see he’s struck someone’s fancy, Gormlaith teased.

Oh, shut up—as if you weren’t admiring his dragon earlier.

A girl can look; that’s not a crime.

A while after Gormlaith had laid down, you realized just how high in the sky the moon was. “We should get some sleep—but before we do, I wanted to ask if you’d learned anything about the masked men in the last six months?”

Murtagh took a drink from his water skin and shrugged. “Not much more than we already know—except I’ve heard rumors that they may be connected to some witch who’s been equally elusive. I’ve always seemed to be two steps behind them and didn’t even know they were tracking us until they already had us.” He paused. “I know you two are capable, but you need to be careful about leaving the academy…” He paused, glancing away for a moment. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

You nodded. Although you also believed in your and Gormlaith’s capabilities, you couldn’t help but worry about what all this meant not only for your own lives, but the people around you. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, who knew what could’ve happened to Murtagh and Thorn? Before you’d even been formally introduced, you’d already put a target on their backs. Who else was now a target because of you?

Murtagh interrupted your thoughts. “We should get some sleep now. You’ll probably want to return to the delegation first thing in the morning.”

You stood, untying your bedroll from where it was strapped to Gormlaith’s side. “Well, as long as Thorn’s more coherent by then.”

Murtagh sighed as he grabbed his own bedroll. “I’m hoping he’ll just sleep it off. He’s definitely out right now.” He gently rubbed his dragon’s head again. “We might come back to the academy with you this time. Thorn could probably use a rest after this, especially before we venture any further away from the coast.”

You nodded, laying out your bedroll close to Gormlaith’s side and settling in.

I’ll take first watch and wake you in a few hours, she said before gently nuzzling your side with the tip of her nose.

All right, you replied, already enjoying the warmth radiating from her body as you rolled to face her.

After a few moments of nothing but the crackling of the fire, Murtagh quietly said, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night,” you mumbled, already half asleep and picturing his smiling face again in your mind.

The children scrambled out of the water and tried to scatter, but the older Rider was faster. He and several of his gang that obeyed without question slid off the grey dragon’s back as the beast quickly wrapped around to cut off the younglings’ escape. The Rider grabbed one of the children by the shirt collar while the others in his posse—consisting of dragonless human students who were there to study magic and young elves who weren’t quite teachers, but still aided in running the academy and classes—formed a small circle to box the other children and their dragons in. A few of the children’s dragons tried to hiss and protect their Riders, but the grey dragon swatted his tail towards them and they immediately retreated.

“Edgar!” the child caught by the collar yelled. “Leave us alone!”

“I know you took the good rolls this morning and brought them out here,” Edgar replied, tightening his grip on his prey. “We just want a few of them—enough for me and my friends here, and then we’ll leave you in peace.”

“But enough to feed you and your friends will mean we have none left for ourselves!”

“Oh, come now, Bronvir.” He poked at the boy’s belly, which was by no means oversized. “As if you and your friends don’t have enough to eat by the looks of you.” He nodded towards one of his elven friends. “Take a look in their bag there, will you?” He turned towards his dragon. “Gydrim, make sure the runts don’t interfere.”

The grey dragon hissed, slowly circling to get between the small dragons and their Riders. One of the younger dragons refused to budge, hissing back at him before Gydrim reached and swatted him to the ground with a large paw. Edgar and his friends laughed as the elf made his way over to the sack that had been abandoned on the ground, pulling out a large sweet roll in its own paper packaging. He threw it at Edgar, who grinned before tossing Bronvir to the ground, removing the roll, and preparing to take a large bite.

“No, those are ours!” Bronvir protested. Just as he was moving to stand, Edgar gave him a swift kick to the ribs, causing him to gag and fall back down.

Murtagh and Thorn began to move out of the shadows, his hand already flexing on Zar’roc’s hilt in rage. Before they could emerge, however, a deeper, more frightening roar punctured the air. Edgar and his group looked up in fear before Gormlaith suddenly bolted out from the cloud cover. She always seemed to be startingly fast for her size. Edgar swore, stuffing the roll back into its packaging and stashing it in a pack slung across his hip. He gestured to the satchel. “Let’s take it and go! Gydrim!”

Before they could escape, Gormlaith landed on the ground hard enough to shake it, close enough to Gydrim that she was practically on top of him. Despite being the same age, she was easily double the grey dragon’s size, and roared right in his face loud enough to be heard all the way back at Eragon’s office.

Murtagh stopped, slowly bringing his boot back within the shadows, but kept a firm hand on his sword. He wanted to be ready to help at any moment but didn’t want to step on Astrid’s toes. She and her dragon had become quite the common topic at the academy ever since they’d arrived. The younger Riders and their dragons, with little to no memory of the war or Shruikan, had immediately taken to the new pair. Unlike some older Riders and dragons—namely Edgar and his group—both Astrid and Gormlaith always went out of their way to be kind to the younglings, clearing the way for them to enjoy their time here stress-free while still treating them with respect and autonomy. Most of the older Riders, dragons, and elves gave them a wide berth, but were still respectful (at least, to their faces; they always seemed to have something urgent to get to whenever either one got too close). Up until now, Edgar and his group hadn’t wanted much to do with them either. This was the first time Murtagh had seen Astrid put herself in his way, however, and he was sure that meant their leniency toward her was about to change.

Astrid slid off Gormlaith’s back as the dragon put a large forearm forward to help her to the ground. She strode over, her menacing black Rider’s blade slung across her back, and ripped the satchel from the elf’s hand. He surrendered it easily before quickly backing away towards Gydrim. She strode over to where Bronvir was still recovering by Edgar’s feet and gently helped him stand. “Are you all right?”

Bronvir coughed once more, nodding as he clung to her arm. Astrid handed him his satchel, which he held gratefully to his chest, before glancing between her and Edgar. She turned to the older Rider and even from his distance, Murtagh could feel the rage rolling off her in waves—a sentiment he also shared.

“This has gone on long enough,” she said, her tone brooking no room for argument, “and it stops now. Pick on someone your own size.”

Edgar chuckled. “Well, you look about my size. Care to take their place?”

Gormlaith drew herself up to her full height, towering over Gydrim and growling.

She smirked. “Actually, we’re bigger than you. But go ahead.”

Edgar puffed his chest out in an attempt to make himself taller, but still was laughably barely her height. “Well, I’m at least bigger than you.”

She snorted. “In your dreams, maybe, shorty.”

The children all broke into laughter as Gormlaith ushered their dragons back to their side.

Edgar chewed on his lip, his eyes full of rage even as he tried to exude confidence.

Astrid put a comforting hand on Bronvir’s shoulder. “Take your friends and go back to the grounds. Gormlaith will take you so they don’t try and chase.”

Bronvir nodded, muttering a quiet but reverent thank you as he, his friends, and their dragons scurried back the way they came. Gormlaith took flight and stayed low as she escorted them back towards the academy’s main hall and dormitories.

With Gormlaith gone, Edgar and his group stepped closer to Astrid, making a tight circle. The other Rider didn’t stop until he was mere inches from her face, his voice lowering. Murtagh muttered a few words in the Ancient Language to help him better hear. With the sun now blasting over the snaglí grounds, he doubted anyone had even noticed him and Thorn in the shadows.

“Do you want a problem with me?” Edgar asked.

She stared at him for a few moments in silence, her face completely unfazed. Finally, she smiled ruefully. “Sure. If you want to be a problem so badly.”

Edgar smirked, evil in his expression. “Well, then. I consider this war. You’d better watch your back when your little dragon isn’t around to play guard dog.”

She stared at him evenly. “There’s nothing little about her—or me. Only you.”

Edgar made to grab her arm just as Murtagh’s boot began to emerge from the shadows again. Just as he was about to storm over, Gormlaith’s roar echoed through the field again as she circled overhead.

Edgar glanced up, then back at his friends, who were already settling on Gydrim’s back (how that size dragon carried so many people, Murtagh had no idea and feared it meant Gydrim was much stronger than he looked). “Well…this time, you and Shruikan Junior get a head start. Dirty little wench.” He gave her a rough shove before practically running to his dragon and mounting up. Astrid watched and shook her head as they quickly flew back towards the academy, careful to avoid flying too close to Gormlaith.

Astrid turned towards the lake, stopping in her tracks as she made eye contact with Murtagh. She glanced at Thorn before giving him a small nod and shy wave, all earlier malice gone in a way that Murtagh dared to say was almost…well, cute.

Murtagh nodded and waved back before securing his bag of game to Thorn’s saddle and mounting up. Thorn came out from under the trees enough to take flight back towards the mess hall.

Cute, eh? Thorn teased.

Stop it. We haven’t even been introduced yet.

I could turn around and fix that for you. They seem nice enough—and anyone with enough brains and bravery to finally take on those two maggots and their posse is worth trying a friendship with in my book.

Murtagh hesitated, turning and glancing back at the slowly shrinking snaglí fields. Gormlaith had landed by the lake, her form just a small black dot in the distance. He turned to look ahead again in the saddle, flicking his head to get his hair back out of his face. Perhaps another time. You know we’re…still not the most accepted at the academy and I don’t want to create further problems for them. They seem to already be struggling with their reputation through no fault of their own.

But they could use a friend. And we don’t have to be very public about it—they have the snaglí grounds all to themselves right now. It would be the perfect time. And don’t act like you haven’t been admiring her whenever we’re in the same space.

Murtagh sighed. …Another time—maybe when they seem more ready. Besides, we have to get these hares to the cooks while they’re still fresh.

Thorn sighed beneath him. I think you might be the one who isn’t ready yet, my friend. But we will do as you wish for now.

Thank you. He tightened his hands on the saddle beneath him, his mind straying to Astrid repeatedly as the forest passed beneath them.