Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Have you lost your mind? I hardly think that’ll make them feel any safer,” protested Murtagh. “Wow, we need some extra defense, know what’ll make me sleep soundly at night? Having our most dangerous enemy as our new sentry! That sounds like a great idea.”

“Alright, first of all,” countered Eragon, “it’s not about whether they feel safer so much as whether they are safer. And secondly, you’re exaggerating. I’ve told you before, you belong there. They will welcome you eventually.”

“They’ll welcome me eventually? Well then, forget everything I just said, sign me right on up, I’m sure everything will be fine! Fantastic, even! Who knew we could solve all of our problems with just a little patience?”

“Murtagh—”

“Is this really the best idea you could think of? Surely the people of Carvahall would have access to some magicians, or a delegation from the Royal Guard, if the need ever arose?”

“Come on, you know they’re not the only ones needing extra resources right now – finding a workable solution that the whole country can use is the reason Roran’s leaving in the first place. There’s no good answer yet! In the meantime, I just want to make sure my friends are under the capable watch of someone I can trust.”

“Someone you can trust, huh?” Murtagh cocked an eyebrow. “Surely you recall that Thorn and I don’t exactly fit the bill?”

“You’re fine.”

“I doubt everyone in town will agree.”

“Good grief, not this again,” groaned Eragon. “Look, I’ve already contacted the villagers, and they’ve agreed to my suggestion. I can’t promise you things won’t be awkward, but I can guarantee that there’s no need for you to be afraid.”

Murtagh stared at his brother’s face in the mirror. “Wow,” he said flatly, “I am positively brimming with confidence.”

Chapter Text

Roran had been doubtful at first, when Eragon had told him the Red Rider was coming to watch over Carvahall during his absence. But, just as promised, Murtagh and Thorn had arrived, and in the commotion before the rest of the villagers left them alone, Roran had somehow forgotten that he and his cousin had never actually met.

There was a long, awkward silence, and Roran took his opportunity to appraise the man standing before him.

Murtagh was… smaller than he had expected. He had appeared rather broad-shouldered from a distance, but looking at him now, Roran saw that his frame was fairly narrow – the bulk of the silhouette was largely due to his impressive cloak. He was certainly tall, though, and while his clothes were clearly of a very expensive make, they were also clearly worn, which Roran presumed to be on account of Murtagh’s nomadic lifestyle. His boots were sturdy and in pristine shape. Roran was surprised by how long it took him to notice Zar’roc, whose pommel and sheath were both wrapped in what appeared to be bandages, dyed black. The bandages confused Roran – what purpose were they serving? Every account he had heard of Murtagh painted him as a true pragmatist – surely he would never do something as peculiar as bandaging a sword without good reason.

Something was odd about his posture, too. Murtagh seemed to be standing at attention, and was tense even by that standard. He had a distant look in his eye that Roran wasn’t accustomed to seeing, and Roran considered that he might be waiting for something. Roran observed that one of his hands was gripping Zar’roc’s hilt, not in any particularly practical fashion, but instead in a way he would normally expect to see someone resting their hand on their hip. Roran observed that his other hand was clenched, but didn’t appear to be forming a fist. Roran squinted. However slightly, the hand appeared to be trembling. It struck Roran that this wasn’t the only odd rhythm – Murtagh’s breathing was also unusually deep, even, and slow. His attention returning to Murtagh’s hands, Roran saw that he was wearing leather gloves with no fingers. They couldn’t possibly be that useful for warmth, so why—

You’re hiding, Roran realized. Or maybe you were, and you forgot to stop.

“It’s alright,” ventured Roran, “There’s no need for you to worry.”

This snapped Murtagh out of whatever reverie he was in. “What?” Roran’s remark appeared to have caught him off-guard. Roran saw the clenched hand relax, forgotten.

Roran took a deep breath. Don’t be so direct next time, he told himself. Ignoring the response, he continued: “This is our humble home. You’re family, so it’s your home, too. You will always be welcome here.”

Murtagh was looking at him nervously now. “Umm,” he faltered, “Th—thanks…”

His posture had loosened somewhat with this last remark, Roran noted, but that failed to give him confidence. Maybe there’s a better way to lighten the mood. “Do you mind if I look at your hands?”

“…No?”

Roran chuckled, “You see,” he said, “there was something Nasuada mentioned a few times, about judging a man’s character by the state of his fingernails. I don’t really know what she’s on about, but I do know that when she told me about it, I suddenly forgot everything I knew about fingernail hygiene.” Roran laughed. “I eventually sought out Katrina’s help in resolving my little crisis. Naturally, she fixed everything almost immediately, but I still can’t quite recall how I did things before.” Roran craned his neck to get a better view of his cousin’s fingernails. “Yours are… fine… I suppose…” Roran sighed. “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he admitted with a grin.

Murtagh stared back at him with an expression on his face that Roran couldn’t identify, but he could tell it wasn’t good.

Roran scolded himself. Nasuada had never quite seemed herself when she mentioned fingernails – maybe this was a loaded subject. How does a person grow to fear discussing fingernails? Barely a minute in and this conversation was already harder to navigate than the Boar’s Eye! “Sorry, did I—”

“How about we eat?” Katrina interrupted. “You must be tired from your travels, Murtagh, and you, too, Thorn, so perhaps we had best introduce ourselves over dinner.”

Murtagh seemed to recover a little at the more standard pleasantries. “That would be lovely.” He glanced towards his dragon for a moment. “And Thorn agrees. We are most grateful for your hospitality.”

Katrina smiled warmly. “Wonderful! The dining hall is right this way.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.”

“Roran, dear, go back to sleep.”

“Katrina, I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I need to get this off my mind.”

Katrina sighed. “What is it?”

Roran paused. Where to begin? Everything had been fine on the surface, but every detail was off. Well, I have to start somewhere. “He’s quiet.”

“Yes, I suppose he is rather reserved. And Thorn, too. I can’t imagine Saphira choosing to speak to us indirectly like that.”

“True, but didn’t she take a bit of time before establishing direct contact? I’ve heard that touching others’ minds without proper permission is bad form. Maybe it’s just magical etiquette.”

“Maybe. But they should know that we would give permission if asked.”

Roran thought for a moment, and then groaned. “What if they didn’t ask because they knew we would agree? If the question ever came up, social rules would dictate that our agreement be all but mandatory. Maybe they’re afraid of forcing us into something.” Roran put his hand to his face, pinching his nose in his frustration. “Maybe we should have just made the offer ourselves. Then we’d be done with it.”

“Hush, now,” chided Katrina, “We can always do that tomorrow.”

Roran sighed. “You’re right.” He chuckled, before adding fondly, “Of course you are.”

Katrina laughed. “Well, someone in this house has to be sensible.”

“Did you see the way he was standing? He seemed almost…” Roran paused, thinking. “…afraid of something.”

“I did notice. It was a rather specific posture. I’d thought you’d be able to recognize it by now.”

Roran was taken aback. If it was so obvious, how could he have missed it? “No, what was it?”

“I’m no expert, but I’ve seen it a few times… Do you remember how during the war, you would issue commands to soldiers of every station? Sometimes they would report back to you when I was around, and while it certainly didn’t happen every time, they would occasionally appear nervous, scared you might reprimand them, afraid of what you might say. But they did their duty in spite of that, and when they tried to hide their emotions, that was what it would look like.” She paused. “Though it usually wasn’t hidden so well.”

Roran’s thoughts had danced around the idea all evening, but had never managed to pin it down. It made sense, but something still didn’t fit. “But we’re not issuing commands. He already has his instructions from Eragon, and anything we tell him can only be so bad, right?”

There was a long silence before Katrina ventured, “Maybe he doesn’t realize that.”

“What do you—”

“Think about it. He’s never met us, or anyone else currently in Carvahall. For all he knows, we hate him unconditionally and are only refraining from stabbing him in his sleep because Eragon asked us nicely. On top of that, the last time someone told him what to do, or how to manage his people, it was an unstable madman with absolute control over his and Thorn’s lives. He must have expected unfathomable abuse to come from any sort of interaction. Fears like that are hard to forget – he probably expected our attitudes to reflect his concerns.”

Roran considered her suggestion. “Maybe he was too skeptical to prepare himself for anything else.”

Katrina continued, “You did well to try to welcome him the way you did.” She laughed softly. “Even if it didn’t work out the way you wanted.” She paused. “I’m still not thrilled about your departure. I know that this is an important mission, and that Nasuada and Jörmundur and everyone will keep you safe, but I still worry for you.” She sighed. “I still worry for you, and curse myself for not helping. But I don’t mind so much now. If there’s one thing that today made clear, it’s that even here, I will certainly have work to do.”

Roran relaxed. “Yes, I suppose you will.” He smiled to himself. “I love you, Katrina.”

“I love you, too, Roran.”

Chapter Text

The following day, Thorn was out hunting in the mountains, and Ismira was visiting her friends in town as usual, leaving Murtagh and Katrina to sit in the kitchen in silence.

There was tea on the table between them. Katrina had prepared it herself, despite Murtagh’s offer to help, and when she returned to the table, she noticed that he wouldn’t meet her gaze. She took a deep breath before breaking the silence. “We’ll be showing you around the village today. Once we return home from that, I’ll show you around the house here.” She grinned, before adding, “And once you know where to find everything, you can make me all of the tea in the world.”

Murtagh looked up, before sighing in defeat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Was it really that obvious?”

Katrina laughed. “Don’t worry about it. When I’m a guest, I also take poorly to watching the host do all of the work.” She looked him in the eye. “But sometimes, that’s what a host wants to do, and there’s no shame in letting them show you hospitality.”

Murtagh looked away again, but finally put his hands on his mug. Katrina gripped her own mug, enjoying the warmth. It’s certainly a start, she told herself. It’ll have to do.

“It’s brave of you,” said Murtagh suddenly, his gaze still averted, “allowing us here like this.” He laughed half-heartedly. “Inviting an old enemy to help you guard your homes… It’s not something I would do so lightly.”

Katrina was surprised – this was the most Murtagh had said unprompted. She wasn’t going to let this moment of openness go to waste. “Perhaps,” she replied, “but if only one of us gets to be brave, I think it’s you.”

Murtagh looked at her, skeptical. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, for all you know, everyone in this village might want you dead, and yet you come anyway when you hear we could use your help.” Katrina smiled. “And on the word of Eragon, no less.” She chuckled. “I swear, that boy’s sense of judgement…”

“But I could just as easily have come to kill all of you. Don’t get me wrong, I most certainly didn’t – but it’s well within my ability! How can you be so calm?”

“Let’s just say I know an honest effort when I see one. Regardless, I’m still impressed.”

Murtagh looked away again. After a long moment in thought, he spoke again, quietly. “Maybe we both get to be brave.”

Katrina frowned. Is he always this somber? It could start raining in here and it wouldn’t even be surprising. Pressing onwards, she continued. “Well, how about we both bravely go out and see the town? The whole village will be out doing work in the farmyards. Harvest season is approaching, you know. It’ll be easy for us to drop by and introduce you to just about everyone.”

Murtagh’s hesitance was plainly visible. After a moment, he sighed, resigning himself to some path of action, and then asked, “Do you think any of the farmers could use an extra set of hands tomorrow?”

Katrina cocked an eyebrow. “Ready to join the front lines already, are we? Well, I don’t know, but we could certainly ask around on our tour today.”

Murtagh paused for a moment before bowing his head. “Alright then.” He stood up from his seat at the table. “It seems we have a plan.”

Chapter Text

The evening air was cool and crisp as Katrina stormed back up the hill to the Earl’s manor.

“Those filthy cowards!” she growled.

“Katrina—"

“It wasn’t as though there were some shortage of favours to be done. If Eragon had been offering, they would have accepted in an instant, kissed his boots, and called it a privilege!”

“Katrina, it’s fine. They were all friendly enough. Thorn and I can hardly expect anyone to—"

“It’s not fine! They should have—”

“Katrina.” Murtagh grabbed her shoulder. Still fuming, she turned to face him. “It is. There’s a lot of baggage for them to unpack. We can’t expect people to forget their fears overnight. These things take time. I’ve already tried to fight myself over similar issues, and I promise you, slow progress is still progress.” He smiled. “I’m honestly impressed by the warmth of their welcome. I know it’s not much by your standards,” he added, answering her glare, “but it’s far better than I had any right to expect.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “We can make this work.”

“But is fear even the reason behind this? It all seems far too petty.” Katrina took a deep breath. “You might be onto something,” she conceded, “but I’m still disappointed.”

The sun was setting in all its glory as they reached the door. The sky was a vivid shade of orange, and the odd angle of the light gave the clouds a remarkably detailed texture. Out of the corner of her eye, Katrina spotted a glimmer of red near the horizon.

“Thorn should be returning soon,” Murtagh noted.

When they reached the kitchen, Katrina was surprised to see a figure waiting there. “Birgit.” The figure stiffened. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Birgit turned to face the doorway. She made no effort to hide her animosity. “So it’s true,” she said, “the Red Rider has indeed come to Carvahall.” Ignoring Katrina, she prowled over to Murtagh, looking him up and down. He didn’t react, even as she paused at an uncomfortably close distance to fix him with her strongest glare. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “I’m watching you. You and that beast of yours will not harm us any more that you already have. If you try, you had better be ready to fear for your life.”

“Well, then,” replied Murtagh, his voice carefully level, “I suppose we have nothing to fear.”

Birgit scoffed, and turned to Katrina. “And you! Starting something like this just because your cousin has some harebrained idea…” She shook her head. “That fool will kill us all one day.”

“Birgit,” said Katrina, “there’s no need to slander our guests. And while you’re right, this was Eragon’s idea, don’t forget that Murtagh is our cousin, too. You should be careful when choosing the tone you use to address my family.”

The venom did not leave Birgit’s glare. “We’ll see.” With one last look around the room, Birgit turned and left.

Nobody moved until the front door slammed shut. As the sound of Birgit’s footsteps faded down the hill, the tension in the room lessened, and Katrina relaxed.

“I’m really sorry about that. That’s just Birgit, she gets a bit dramatic at times. She’s still bitter about what happened to her husband, even after all these years. While I can’t quite blame her, that doesn’t mean she’s right to behave the way she does. I hope she didn’t…” Katrina looked up. “Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry,” said Murtagh between chuckles, “I just find it funny that out of every interaction today, that was the one I knew how to handle.”

Katrina snorted. “I suppose you have a point there. Back at the smithy… I’ve never seen Elain look at anyone quite like that before. If I ever need to study the ways of awkward communication, I’ll be sure to ask you first.” She looked at him more seriously. “Still, your familiarity with relevant conversational style doesn’t excuse Birgit’s so-called welcome.” Katrina’s face darkened somewhat. “If anything, it makes it worse.”

“No, no,” said Murtagh, “It’s fine. She clearly has good intentions, if a rather skeptical worldview. She’s just trying to protect what’s important to her.”

Katrina nodded her agreement, and the kitchen fell silent.

Eventually, Murtagh spoke again. “Did you really mean what you said there? About my being family?”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It just strikes me as a bit soon, is all. I mean, here I am, after one day, without even really managing to share a proper conversation with you, and you’re already announcing to the world that we share some sort of unbreakable bond. Doesn’t that take time?”

“I mean, sure, but we have to start calling it what it is at some point, don’t we?” Katrina grinned. “Why not now?”

Murtagh paused, with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Fair point,” he conceded. “Why not, indeed.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Katrina straightened. “I should really wrap up these last few chores while it’s still light out,” she said, walking over to a hallway at the far side of the room. At the threshold, she hesitated, and then stopped for a moment. “Before I forget,” she added, “this conversation, just now… It certainly seemed proper enough.”