#Murtagh reaction

[where-dreamers-go]

If requests are open and you don't mind, could I have Murtagh, Roran, Arya and/or Eragon's reaction to a chubby!SO being oblivious to their advances?

Hi there! Here on this blog, I always have whether or not requests are open right in the bio. :)

~~~

Murtagh had returned to your home. Finally. By dragon magic and fire — he missed you. To be comfortable in an environment enough to discard his boots upon entry was still new for the Dragon Rider. Yet he would never complain. Definitely not. He had another reason never to complain.

There, curled up in bed with a book was no one other than his love, you. Nose deep in the book even as Murtagh walked closer.

“You’re early,” you smiled, eyes peering up at him.

“I have my reasons.” He pressed his lips to your cheek, softer than his own. He kissed your shoulder then, hidden by a night shirt.

“Tired?”

“Not yet.”

You turned a page and asked, “Did you want to read with me?”

“Perhaps later?” Murtagh kissed your shoulder again while letting his fingers roam the curves of your hip and thigh. “We could do something else?”

“We could paint.” You suggested, looking over to him.

A frown creased his features.

“What? I liked your last painting. You could be an artist too, Murtagh.”

Sighing, Murtagh flopped onto the bed.

“What’s the matter?” You set the book aside to comb your fingers through his dark locks.

“Nothing…”

. . .

Eragon wiped the sweat from his brow. A common occurrence while tending the crops. More so that he had finished what needed doing. It had been a long morning.

Satisfied, the Dragon Rider stretched his arms over his head. He would do well with a short rest. Some time to himself if he could.

Brown eyes caught sight of his partner sitting under the shade of a tree. His companion and love who he would do practically anything for.

Eragon could rest later.

Walking up to his beloved, he was greeted by your soft smile. A wonderful sight.

“All finished?” You asked, handing over a container of water.

“Finished working in the soil? Yes.” Eragon swallowed a generous amount of water. “Thank you. I needed a drink.”

“You might also need to wash up.”

He hummed briefly in acknowledgement and promptly sat down beside you. Brown eyes roamed over your content expression and down your curves in affection. Still hot from work, Eragon felt a growing excitement in his belly. A thought lingering in passion.

“Are you busy?” Eragon inquired, index finger tracing around your wrist. “You could use water as well.”

“I’m enjoying the breeze.” You stated and closed your eyes.

Leaning in, Eragon lightly pressed his lips to the contour of your ear. “You could enjoy the water,” he whispered.

“I wasn’t digging out weeds and playing with earthworms.”

He nipped your ear.

“Hey.”

“I need to bathe and I think,” Eragon placed his other hand on your thigh, “you should keep me company.”

“You’ve taken baths by yourself before.” You opened your eyes and turned to give him a quizzical look. “Do you need me to test the temperature again?”

Moving his hands to his lap, the Dragon Rider sighed, defeated.

“No.” He pulled at an innocent blade of grass.

“Then go bathe.” You patted his knee.

“Fine.” Eragon pouted.

. . .

I feel like Roran might actually say something or be much more forward. I don’t know how, but he might.

Arya… I don’t really know how she’d react, maybe just really look at her partner. Studying them or something.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: 

Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @emburbaguette

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#eragon reaction #murtagh reaction #eragon shadeslayer #murtagh morzanson #eragon x reader #murtagh x reader #arya #roran stronghammer #request #the inheritance cycle #the world of eragon #where dreamers go

[springhadcomeagainwithalovesong]

I really hope I'll be mistaken, but for some reasons I think Murtagh will die in the new book

#eragon #murtagh morzansson #the inheritance cycle #murtagh #christopher paolini #i can't explain why but i read somewhere that his character arc will end with this book #and also paolini tweeted that he can't wait for the reactions to the book #idk

[murtagh-reactions]

Just as a note, I’ve opened the askbox if anyone wants to share their thoughts, but if you want to talk about a big scene, just make sure that I’ve already reacted to it or something after it. I don’t want to get spoiled either

#murtagh #not reaction

[loptrcoptr]

I’ve seen an awful lot of posts re: the new Murtagh book about how “unfair” Eragon and Nasuada were to Murtagh by railing at him and telling him to turn on Galbatorix in Inheritance. And I find that so shocking? what were they supposed to be doing, whispering “it’s ok sweetie, do your best alright we luv you :) uwu take your time honey”?? Dude has had his will broken and his mind enslaved by an evil mastermind, he’s full of rage and angst– shouldn’t they be trying to bring those emotions to the surface to help him break free? Also, Murtagh is not the kind of character that enjoys a pity party or is even vaguely comfortable with being vulnerable around others, including those he loves (on many levels), as a result of all those years of abuse and torture. I doubt it would’ve felt very compelling to him if his companions stayed silent or just offered platitudes and hollow encouragements– what should they have said, you got this, bro”?

Idk, I think that it’s interesting that as a fandom we can spend a lot of mental energy (and I mean a lot, 20 years of it over here on my end!!) bending over backwards being compassionate towards Broody McWarcrimes because he has been mind controlled and tortured within an inch of his life, but Goodboy Mainkid and Badass Queenieface try to get him out of his broody dark spiral of a brain for once and it’s like “oh my god, they’re so manipulative, they don’t even care”. Eragon had seen and done Some Shit and Nasuada was also a tortured mind control prisoner (by this guy!!), but for not being moody emo kids about their pain, the way Murtagh is, and compartmentalizing it differently than he does (too stoically, possibly), it’s like it erases their suffering for some people, and I think that’s an unfortunate reaction. If your traumatized friend was maybe the key to saving all your lives, wouldn’t you try to snap them out of their misery in any way you could, magic or no magic? Paolini says it himself multiple times in the new book - “Murtagh was feeling bad for himself again”. It’s the way a lot of us would cope with severely traumatic shit, I’m sure, brood and overthink and marinate in our pain. That doesn’t mean it’s compelling behavior for the people who are depending on you. I think Murtagh needed that needling, that boost from Nasuada and Eragon to get the ball rolling, or else he would not have been clear-headed enough to really think about his true name changing, because he would still have been stuck in the dark, sad spiral of the mind control, and it might have taken more time than they really had for him to get right with himself. They’re not chiding him and making light of his plight, they’re reminding him that he is even stronger than he knows and that they believe in him.

I love that little emo-boy blorbo, but he broods too much, and I think it’s ok for them to say it!

#unpopular opinion #idk he’s an anti hero for a reason and treating him like a special soft fragile baby would not have helped him imho #it’s like the verbal equivalent of slapping someone under some kind of mind control trance. would it sting? of course. it’s supposed to. #the sting is what helps break the spell! #murtagh #nasuada #eragon

[lunamond]

Love the fact that Murtagh is so connected to all the outcasts and the people who are overlooked.

Obviously his relationship with Uvek, who clearly went through a similar phase of selfisolation, leading to his eventual capture by the Draumar, but also the Urgals as a whole have been kept separate from the other races, seen by most as blood thirsty monsters until they joined the fight against Galbatorix.

Murtagh's friendship with the werecats fits into this as well. The werecats are obviously not regarded with the same animosity as the Urgals, but they have also kept away from the other people of Alagësia and are, therefore, oftentimes forgotten.

And, of course, his relationship with children fits this theme as well. Children belong to the demographics who end up suffering the most in any time of hardship.

But, also, his reaction to the dead soldiers in the lake is also relevant. While these people fought for Galbatorix, we've seen plenty of cases in the previous books of people being forced to serve under magical oaths, Murtagh and Thorn obviously being an example.

And, while a victory for the good guys, I love that he is capable of grieving the death of these people because he understands the position they had been in.

#murtagh spoilers #inheritance cycle #christopher paolini #murtagh book

[saphira-approves]

Can I come and tell you my deepest pain?

We should have had Morzan alive. I mean yeah, it would fuck up the whole narrative but imagine Murtagh being afraid of his father. He hates the king but fears his father.

Imagine him and Thorn; Morzan sees them, and he has problems with booze in canon, just how drunk he'd have gotten after Thorn learned to talk? There he is with his nameless dragon, half of his heart and soul, that he had to watch descend into stupidity. (Does he have its name written up here and there, does he watch it every day just to think about how he could make it real again?) Would he dream of killing his son and taking his dragon to himself? Would he want that even though he despises that sick joke of a connection that is in between Galbatorix and Shruikan?

And then Galbatorix finally discovers the name of the names. How would he beg for the king to use it to heal his companion?

Also, it would be very funny to watch our main characters run for their lives with an angry dragon after them, but y'know.

Should I write a fic about this

Oh you absolutely should write a fic about this (and let me know when you do! I’d love to read it!), and I should go back through my WIPs to find my time travel AUs…

I usually write more about Selena than Morzan, but I do love the idea of getting to see grown-up Murtagh’s reaction to seeing his father, especially in a context where Murtagh has lived without him for a while—whether that’s because Brom didn’t kill Morzan and Selena got both her sons to Carvahall, or because resurrection or time travel shenanigans happened.

As for Morzan still being around when Murtagh gets captured… I think there’s a 50/50 chance he gets Real Weird about the torture, in a “I was pretty sure up to this point that I didn’t actually care about my son but now my best friend is torturing My Son and I don’t like it actually” way, and I think that would be really fun to explore; I think, also, that when Thorn hatches and Galbatorix prematurely increases his size, Morzan would again be Real Weird about it because, like, that’s a baby dragon the size of an adult. He hasn’t lost his name, he just hasn’t really developed one yet; he’s a weird, warped mirror of Morzan’s own dragon. And when Thorn does, eventually, with difficulty, start to ‘grow up’, Morzan’s probably going to get twitchy about it—it’s been at least a century, more than two thirds of his lifespan, since he’s even MET a somewhat psychologically stable dragon; how much has he forgotten of their true intelligence, their real personalities? And when Galbatorix does find The Word, if Morzan asks him to heal his own dragon… honestly I don’t know if Galbatorix would be able to. Having power and knowing how to use it are two different things, we saw Murtagh figure that out in his own book with The Word. Would the king even know where to start? Would he allow Morzan to try for himself? Morzan probably wouldn’t have a clue where to begin, all we ever hear about him from people who’d met him is that he’s a powerful spellcaster, but not a very clever one.

Honestly, the whole situation might drive Morzan to split from Galbatorix; and even if not, it would still probably drive Morzan to be extremely destructive, to himself and everyone around him.

Also he’d be so pissed to learn about Eragon’s true parentage. Not even in a “my wife cheated on me?!” way but in a “oh my god can Brom stop being SO OBSESSED with me for FIVE MINUTES” kind of way.

#thanks for the ask anon! #inheritance cycle #morzan (inheritance cycle) #murtagh (inheritance cycle) #selena (inheritance cycle) #brom (inheritance cycle) #galbatorix (inheritance cycle) #eragon shadeslayer #saph speaks #also i have a personal headcanon about morzan’s dragon’s name that would be PAINFULLY ironic in this context #hnnn im having. So many ideas now about this actually #if morzan gets to live than tornac does too that’s just the rules #again morzan would be So Weird about him #‘what do you mean you found a Better father figure. im literally your father and im the hottest shit ever. hello??’ #‘i am Literally the king’s best friend what more could you ask for in a father figure. that guy’s the staff!!!!’ #murtagh: well for one thing he’s never thrown a sword at me #morzan: pffft. okay. yeah. whatever. sure. he’s still the staff.

[always-outlander]

The Outlander 31 Day Challenge: Day 7

Day 7: Scene that made you laugh the most

I hope it’s okay to have a three way tie here!

Outlander isn’t known for being particularly humorous, but the three times I belly laughed are:

The infamous Honeypot scene from season 2 - Claire’s smirk and Murtagh’s reaction were priceless.

When Claire enjoys jabbing Jamie with a needle just a little too much in Season 3. Jamie’s whining and apprehension when he’s stuck in the bum is also hilarious to me.

Lastly, Furgus’ comments to Claire and Jamie in season 5. Fergus has always been hilarious but Claire’s reaction here is everything.

#outlander #outlanderedit #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #sam heughan #claire x jamie #jammf #caitriona balfe #james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser #the outlander 31 day challenge #outlander 31 day challenge

[witchy-rook]

Okay I’m a few days late but I keep seeing posts about the Glorious 25th of May and I need to go on a ramble about it and Night Watch as a whole, because I only recently read it and I’m a historian of revolutionary politics and this kind of shit is my jam so hard. So! Major spoilers for Night Watch  (and some of the other Guards’ Discworld books) under the cut  - be warned...!

I love love love the Glorious 25th of May and the events of the Revolution in Night Watch. My area of expertise in my real life is late-eighteenth century and nineteenth century Revolutionary European politics, so everything from the French Revolution up to and beyond the Springtime of the Peoples and the Revolutions of 1848. I loved what was written of revolutionary politics in previous Guards books, like what we hear of Stoneface Vimes in the anti-monarchial Revolution in Feet of Clay. Night Watch is especially exicting to me as it captures exquisitely how revolutions actually progress, and I love that about it.

Because all historical revolutions are, well, historical, we have a tendency to view them with a certain fixed course - after all, they did go a certain way. However, it’s important to remember that, for the people on the ground, they didn’t know where they were going, and so often it was just ad hoc reaction and improvisation. I don’t think many of the people who stormed the Bastille in 1789 would have known that in 1793 they’d execute the King. And that’s the thing: we tend to look at Revolutions like single instances of radical expression, but they’re usually long term, continuous events. They change and shift, becoming more or less extreme as events unfold.

And that’s why I love the Glorious 25th of May and the Treacle Mine Road Republic. The time travel aspect is especially poignant here because Vimes knows how things went because he was there once, but this is a new timeline, and he’s constantly aware that things could go differently if he’s not careful. Through his narration, we are also constantly reminded that no one really intended for things to turn out how they did - most of the events that led to the big revolution in the Shades were only accidentally influential. Everything from the Particulars to the Morpork Street Conspiracy even to the barricades was just people reacting to chance and circumstances. Sure, people like Reg Shoe, Rosie Palm, Madame and the various conspirators dreamed of a better city, a city without Lord Winder, but most of the people manning the barricades on the Glorious 25th were just people who lived there, people who were swept up in the fervour - people who, when the armistice is announced, go back to being normal people, taking their furniture home.

The expansion of the barricades really captures this. It often seems to me that Revolutions are a kind of living social organism that spread. In Europe, the French Revolution (both the one in 1789 and the other one in 1848) inspired other Revolutions. They spread. In Ankh-Morpork, the barricades were just meant to protect Treacle Mine Road, but they get physically pushed out by enthusiastic revolutionaries, caught up in the tide - people who are suddenly energised to push the Revolution further than it was ever originally intended. And, of course, in the real world as in Ankh-Morpork, sometimes this pushing has bad outcomes: people die, revolutionary hopes are betrayed, battles are fought and maybe things don’t change as much as was desired.

I said to my girlfriend once that, I think if magic is real, there’s a kind of magic in the Crowd or the Mob. There’s a way that, when lots and lots of people get together for a common cause, the Crowd becomes its own, emergent entity. If you’ve made it through my ramble this far and would like to read more, I’d highly recommend looking for scholarly articles about the Crowd or the Mob in the 18th or 19th century. ‘Hibernian Sans-Culottes? Dublin's Artisans and Radical Politics, 1790-1798‘ by Timothy Murtagh in La Révolution française might not be a bad place to start, if I may be so bold.

But anyway, that’s besides the point. The point is, the Glorious 25th of May might be a fake revolution in a fake city, but it’s the perfect analogue for real revolutions that happened in real cities. If you were ever wondering why X Revolution went the way it did, maybe you can look to the things Vimes sees, thinks and does in Night Watch, and maybe it will help make it a little clearer.

And if you’ve made it this far, congrats! Please do send me asks about my thoughts on this as a historian if you want, I’d love the opportunity to ramble some more.

#discworld #night watch #the glorious 25th of may #treacle mine road republic #I hope this is in any way coherent

[alagaesia-headcanons]

Hi! I just wanted to say it's been really cool to see the amount of effort and thought you're putting into Clear Horizons. In response to your recent post looking for inspiration, I thought up a couple of prompt ideas (possibly loose outlines - sorry if this is the wrong level of detail) for short fics with Murtagh and Orrin that I'm happy to share. I'm not sure that they're drabble length, but still, I hope these can be useful to you.

1. It might be fun to see the two of them have a conversation where they trade stories related to their interests. I'm picturing something like "I was investigating [sparsely documented scientific process] and while my experiments were successful it turned out way different from what I'd hoped" "wow that's wild I was investigating [obscure magical rumor/curse somewhere in the countryside] and while I solved the mystery things turned out way different from what I'd expected", but obviously you can play it however you like.

2. I personally hc that Murtagh really loves camping. I also suspect that Orrin doesn't have much experience camping, at least not so far off the beaten path without servants or knights for support. I think it would be cool to see a conversation from their first time out camping together - it could be fun to explore the reasons behind the camping trip, or how they reconcile their differing levels of experience, or the trust required to rest well all alone in the wild, or what it's like to be away from prying eyes for a bit, or the different things they associate with the activity of camping, or anything else you might find interesting about the situation.

No worries if neither of these speak to you, but hopefully this helps! Feel free to shoot me a message about it if you'd like. Best of luck to you. :)

Thank you so much for the lovely encouragement and the lovely prompts!! I've written for the first one here! The second one actually feels perfect for an idea I have near the end of Clear Horizons, so I may use it as inspiration for that 👀...

(All this writing has been an interesting look at the kinds of world building details I never would have thought about that I end up needing to decide. This time, I've decided the other planets in their solar system are all named after gems~)

-

The peace of the empty room is almost jarring after the long, crowded feast. “Now that we have a quiet moment to ourselves...” Murtagh drifts over to his bag. He deliberately waited for just such an opportunity to have Orrin’s full attention and also an unobstructed view of his reaction. “I have something for you.”

Orrin makes a grieved little noise, insisting, “Murtagh! You didn’t need to do anything like that; it’s too much. Having you here is a gift in itself.”

“Well, thank you,” Murtagh replies, pleased. “But! You’re wrong- It is imperative that I give you the best present that you’ll love so much, everyone else’s will pale in comparison.”

“Ahh, so it’s part of your peacocking.”

“Yes. Don’t peek!” Orrin holds his hands up and sits back in his chair. “That’s cheating.” Diligently keeping his back to Orrin so that he can’t see, he leans down and extracts a carefully wrapped up bundle from his pack. Hefting it up in his arms, he wrangles away the thick cloth protecting the large, leather bound book beneath. Sidling closer to Orrin under his curious gaze, Murtagh finally turns and hums blithely while he slides the book from his arms onto the table.

The moment the title comes fully into view, Orrin slaps a hand over the cover. “Holge’s Treatise on Natural Phenomena?!” Murtagh straightens up as he deposits the book and preens- just a little. “You can’t be serious-! I’d all but given up hope of learning of a copy, much less owning... When was this penned?” With immense eagerness measured by the caution of someone who both reveres books and handles rare texts on the regular, he thumbs through the introduction. “Where in the world did you get this?” he gasps in awe as he turns to the first chapter.

“In Ceunon,” Murtagh answers, but then pauses without elaborating. As he expected, Orrin’s eyes have zeroed in on the page, scanning it rapidly, and he won’t hear a thing he says until his focus relents again. Smiling softly, Murtagh waits patiently as he reads, silently counting out the beats of time.

Predictably, when he reaches forty, Orrin stirs and then says, “...Ceunon? Not Ilirea?”

“I didn’t look in Ilirea. It’s possible there’s a copy in the old citadel, but I’m not so sure. Besides, it’s your birthday: that deserves thought and effort. I wasn’t going to settle for the easy pickings by just rummaging around in there and swiping whatever seemed suitable.” Then Murtagh pauses and tilts his head.

“Just don’t ask how I got the money to-”

“So where’d you find money for such-”

Both cutting off simultaneously, Murtagh glowers at Orrin’s warm laugh. He sniffs primly and declares, “Someone might as well put Galbatorix’s hoarded wealth to good use, considering that he never did.” Orrin’s sound of agreement still wavers with a hint of laughter and Murtagh rolls his eyes fondly. “And it’s not as though that made it any easier to find the book. A librarian in Narda tipped me off, then when I searched out the collector I was directed to, I learned he didn’t actually have it, so he eventually told me who he thought should- then repeat that about five times over. Then I spent no less than three hours vowing to treat the book better than my first born child to convince the man to take my money once I finally found it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” He flips to a page filled with equations. “Because it’s so specialized, it requires an expert to make a verifiably accurate copy, so very few exist. I still can barely believe it...”

“I hope it is accurate. I’m certainly not smart enough to know. Although I did read the chapter on astronomy while I travelled.”

“Astronomy?” he echoes in surprise. “I didn’t know he wrote about that. I’ve only heard him mentioned for his study of elements in nature.”

Nodding towards the book, Murtagh says, “The bulk of it seems to be about that. Hopefully that holds up better than his foray into astronomy.” Orrin glances at him and Murtagh confesses, “I thought most of it was bullshit.”

“Oh?” He rests the edge of his jaw in his palm.

Murtagh shrugs. “Well, I’ve spent a lot of time a lot closer to the stars than almost anyone else can reach, and I’ve inevitably noticed things.”

Orrin grins. “I’m not sure proximity determines your authority on astronomy.”

“It makes a difference though! You don’t realize just how much more I can see up there. Looking the other way is the most obvious proof of it. The sky can look perfectly clear, but once we’re up high enough, the ground below looks hazy and blurred and veiled. All of that is in the way of the heavens when you’re on the ground.” Orrin shifts his chair so he can lean in towards Murtagh, distractedly trying to find the chapter in question. “I don’t believe his argument about the moon and its implications about the arrangement of orbits. He assumes too much- other planets do have moons. I’ve seen them!”

Orrin abandons the book and latches onto that with full fascination.

“Thorn is best at tracking all the stars and planets; he always knows where the Opal is. They can’t be seen from the ground, but with a spyglass up there, I can see two moons around it. First, I figured they might be distant stars, but I know they’re moons.”

“Because they move?” Orrin infers, excitement in his breath.

“Exactly! They’re sometimes on one side, then on the other, or they’re out of sight, entirely behind the planet. But I’ve never seen them move away.”

“That must be beautiful...” Orrin muses longingly.

Even with the spyglass, the planet and its moons are mere pinpricks of light, and yet Murtagh knows what he means. “It is.” He hopes to show him one day.

At last, Orrin turns to a page with several planetary diagrams and he hums appraisingly. “You know, there are theories that the alignment of the planets are partially responsible for Eoam’s Floating Crystal.” Murtagh purses his lips skeptically. “Your mark against these kinds of models-” he runs a finger down the page- “actually supports that idea, I’d say.”

“Really? But that’s magic,” Murtagh counters. “I have a hard time believing the heavens have any hand in it.”

“True, but it’s a rare case where the magic itself is a natural phenomenon. I felt quite the same way, honestly, until the Southern Islands were added to Surda’s territory and I had the chance to visit myself. I found first hand records of how the Crystal’s behavior changed with time, with the days and nights, and also through the seasons. Once I was there, close enough to see it myself, I noticed how it consistently responded to the tides, even. I never would have realized if I couldn’t go.”

“Hmm, so it seems like the proximity helped you understand?”

He links his hands behind Murtagh’s waist. “Alright, alright, you win,” he surrenders readily. “Yes, I’ve taken those theories much more seriously since then. And these other models are the most common counter argument. For my own amusement, I tried applying those old records to the proposed equations to calculate when the next transit of the Ruby will be. But alas, I still have to wait another...” he tilts his head and stares up towards the ceiling- “twenty seven years to know if I was right.”

“You always are- I’ll clear my schedule.” Orrin laughs.

Murtagh sways restlessly as the pause extends itself, then abandons subtlety to prompt, “So you like it?”

Orrin meets his eye with a little, incredulous scoff, so utterly fond. “Dear, I adore it. It’s absolutely incredible.” His hands fidget with his tunic. Quietly, “It’s kind of staggering; you didn’t have to go to so much trouble for me.”

Murtagh shakes his head. “I wanted to give something you’d truly love... because I love your love.” Orrin’s exhale shivers as he pulls him into a kiss.

#eragon #inheritance cycle #murtagh #murtagh morzansson #orrin #my writing #murtagh x orrin #mxo #i am Obsessed with them being domestic #these nerds are everything #orrin deserves some love on his birthday and goddamn it murtagh will make sure he gets it!!! #(i was such a fool thinking i could keep these under 1k)

[arielta]

ok I didn't want to spam people with a live reaction of Murtagh but...

The sulfur exhalation, the future teller, the prophecy....

It's Fires of Pompeii. It's literally Doctor who.

Paolini I know what you are.

#murtagh #murtagh spoilers #inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle spoilers #eragon #doctor who

[where-dreamers-go]

Well, dang, now I want their reaction to chubby!reader's advances! Your writing is just too good! (I hope you don't mind the Eragon spam on my part tho. If you feel like it's too much lmk)

(A/N: Hi there. It’s all good. If I’m overwhelmed I’ll make sure to say something. Promise. :) Here, we have the same two silly Riders! I had to think on this one a bit more. My writing for this is so silly and ridiculous. Warnings: suggestive comments and obliviousness. Word Count: 465 words)

Murtagh lounged on his side reading a book at the end of the bed. Relaxation time after a busy week. A treat to see. Some times watching your love in the middle of a calm activity was more attractive than him practicing with a sword. It gave you ample time to appreciate him being himself. No need for preparing for something out of his control, out of the home you two made. A safe place.

Safe, homey places meant domestic and intimate activities were possible.

You were keen on having some with your doting Murtagh. If he was willing.

“A good read?” You smoothed your hands up his back and settled them at his shoulders.

“The beginning was fast paced, but…it slowed.” Murtagh answered and flipped to the next page. “More information for later.”

“Do you like it?” You leaned down to kiss the back of his neck. Your thumbs worked into his muscles.

“The book or your attention, love? Both have a similar answer, but one I like much more.”

“Both, then.” You decided. “Can I ask which you prefer?”

Chuckling, Murtagh tapped a finger onto the book as your hands ran down his lean figure. “We’re headed towards dangerous territory…”

“Oh?” Your hands stopped at his hips. “Not up for adventure?”

“I thought you wanted me to have a quiet night in?” Murtagh smirked over his shoulder.

“Cheeky.”

Eragon balanced on one foot, keeping hold of his position a little longer than expected. Sweat dripped from his hairline. Even a Dragon Rider enhanced by dragon’s magic had difficulty preforming the Rimgar.

“Looking good, love.” You called from the shade of a tree.

He wobbled slightly.

“Especially at this angle.” You snickered into your wrist and continued watching as Eragon concentrated to his best abilities.

There was much enjoyment to be had. Starting to tease Eragon was definitely included for yourself. But there could always be more.

Thankfully, no one else was around.

“Eragon?”

He grunted.

“You have a cute butt, did you know?”

“Yes,” he huffed as he teetered from side to side, “you’ve told me…before.”

“Small, but cute.”

“Why’s—WHOA!”

Covering your mouth, you witnessed the Dragon Rider fall to the ground.

Eragon rolled over onto his side to face you. “I must ask… Why were you staring at my rear?”

You gave him a flirtatious wink.

His face reddened even more than it had from the Rimgar.

“The rest of you is handsome too,” you added. “Shame you’re wearing clot—.”

Eragon quickly said your name in a warning tone.

“What?”

“Someone could hear you.”

“Not if we go back to your room,” you suggested. “No one can hear us there.”

“I do need your company for a proper bath.” Eragon reasoned with mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t you always?”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: 

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#murtagh x reader #eragon x reader #chubby! reader #murtagh reaction #eragon reaction #eragon #murtagh morzanson #eragon shadeslayer #requested #where dreamers go #the world of eragon #the inheritance cycle

[renee-writer]

The Changeling Chapter 15

AO3

He stands, swaying William who is going through a hard time, cutting his first tooth.  She needs to tell him.

 

“Jamie?” He looks to her with a frown, sensing from her voice that whatever she has to say will be difficult.

 

“Aye Claire?” Even the use of her name bares this out.

 

“There is one more thing you need to know about me,” she looks down, twisting her wedding ring, “I don’t know that I can give you a son or daughter. Frank and I,” She looks up, “ we tried for years. I never …”

 

She waits on his reaction. He lays the now asleep baby in his cradle and walks up, placing his arms around her.

 

“Do you think it matters? I have heard the pain that Jenny goes through bearing her babies. I can bear a lot of pain on my own but, I don’t believe I could bear yours. Dinna fash, Sassanach. You have already gifted me with a son. William would have died without your healers touch. He is more than enough.”

 

She shivers as her body relaxes. “Thank you Jamie. I would have, should have, told you before we wed but, I never expected to fall in love with you.”

 

He lifts her face up gently kissing her. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you but, I loved you from the moment you wept in my arms at Leoch. We are mates for life, my Sassanach, no matter what.”

 

A week later, he is out hunting to stock up Lallybroch ahead of the winter. A noise grabs his attention. Dismounting from Donas, he whispers a soft command to him before moving, rifle up, towards the sound. The rustling sounds like a bird. He expects a turkey. What he finds…

 

“Lad, why are you sneaking about on my property?” It comes out harsher than he intended. He had almost shot the lad.

 

Young, no older than six, he believes, the lad crouches behind the bush. His dark curls wild on his head and his big blue eyes, huge. They grow bigger at the big man’s challenge.

 

“I will move, my Lord. Please don’t shoot me!” He starts to rapidly back away. Jamie grabs hold of his arm.

 

“I wasn’t going to shoot you. Forgive my harshness but you startled me. Come lad, what is your name?”

 

“Fergus.” He feels his heart beating fast under his hand and something else; the lad is rail thin.

 

“Fergus what?”

 

He shakes his head and his wild curls go everywhere. “Just Fergus, my Lord. Never had a father to give me a last one. My ma,” His eyes go down, “She died and there was no one. So I came a hunting for food and help. Couldn’t bury her myself.”

 

He feels his heart breaking for the wee lad. When his own mam passed, there was his dad, Jenny, and Murtagh. This poor lad…

 

“My name is Jamie Fraser. Come Fergus. My wife and sister will see that you have a hot meal then myself and my lads will see your ma seen too.”

 

“Thank you Laird Fraser.”

 

They ride back to Lallybroch where he fills Claire and Jenny in on Fergus ‘ situation. They take over. He is fed, bathed, and Claire gives him a quick exam.

 

“What will you do with him?” Murtagh asks as they wait on Claire to finish.

 

“He has no father. His ma is dead. He shall have to stay with us.”

 

“As a farm hand?”

 

Jamie shakes his head. Thinking about what Claire told him that same morning, the irony wasn’t lost on him. “No, as a son.”

 

Murtagh cracks a rare smile and pats Jamie on the back. “Good. That is good.”

 

Fergus directs them to his old cabin. It is deep in the woods. Claire then takes him back to Lallybroch. There is no reason to subject him to seeing his dead ma again.

 

They return a few hours later. Fergus lays asleep beside her.

 

“Poor lad needs the rest. His ma has been dead at least two weeks.”

 

“Good Lord!”

 

“Aye. He needs a home. We have room. What would you think about making him our son?”

 

She smiles, touching the lad’ s now soft curls.

 

“I would say of course. I had already thought the same.”

#my writing #outlander fanfic #the changeling #chapter 15 #jamie and claire #outlander fandom #cannon divergence

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 230

SYNOPSIS: The Head of Centre, Mr Lambert, observes the operatives working in Section from the Perch. He contemplates their reactions to the new leadership of Section One, and his thoughts also centre on this monumental day.

THANK YOU to all who are reading this story and for your feedback, likes and reblogs. I am very gratified by your support. 👋

Chapter 229 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations 

 *This can also be read on AO3

CHAPTER 230

The Head of Centre now stood in the Perch overlooking Section One before summoning James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp to make an appearance. As he stood there with hands resting on the rail and a blank stare in his eye, Quentin Lambert surveyed the operatives going about their business below. Every now and then someone would look up towards the Perch with a quizzical expression on their faces, then just as quickly look away. He knew what was going on in their minds … but he was unable to answer their questions at the moment. He needed Jamie to arrive so that he could hand over the Chain of Command to him and to induct his niece as his second in command before any announcement could be made.  When that happened, he knew that those inquisitive operatives below would erupt in surprise but also jubilation for the change of power. James Fraser was well respected as too was Claire, and without a shadow of a doubt Section One would be in such good hands under their leadership.

His thoughts alternated between this change of power and the other events that had taken place earlier in the Committee Room, as well as in the White Room with the former leaders of Section One.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been a harrowing day for everyone on so many levels.  With what started out the day before with the house arrest, followed by the revealing of the information in the dossiers, then concluding with the deaths of Operations and Madeline. He would never have envisaged a day such as today, but then again surprises were just that.  One never expected things to happen neatly in such an organization and expecting the unexpected was the norm.    

The decisions that had been made this day were ones he never wished to repeat, but extenuating circumstances called for drastic measures. As leader of all the Sections it was his responsibility to make the call on both Madeline and Operations the way that he had.  Had he not, the perpetuation of Section One was brought into disrepute and that was not acceptable.  Not only that but the actions of Section’s leaders were a breach of the trust they had been given.  Their failure to live up to the standards of this organization by sullying the very principles of why Section existed was the reason they had to be removed.  Their crimes only compounded the decision that was finally made.  They could not remain alive and continue to be in charge.   He had no recourse but to do what was done.

For far too long the manoeuvrings going on at Section under Dougal and Madeline’s leadership had been cause for concern at Oversight, hence Colum Mackenzie’s initiating the dossiers on each of them. Intel had also been given to him at Centre about the autocratic behaviour of the two leaders at One, while he’d also been kept abreast of the situation at Section for some time that things were not as they appeared to be especially regarding the Rising Dragons’ mission. Although he’d met with Madeline on occasion at Centre, there was always an underlying agenda with her that she had tried to disguise despite their meetings being cordial. The fact that Murtagh Fitzgibbons had been able to relay information to Colum about the underhand skulduggery that had been in place at Section for a while, had only reinforced that the dossiers were not some form of retaliation against his brother and his second in command. They were merely stating the truth of how they had run Section.  There was a chance that the intel could be viewed as Colum Mackenzie getting his own back at his brother, but the independent information had only confirmed what the files had disclosed.  For far too long Madeline and Operations had worked the system for their own gain and agenda. Colum had been diligent in his collecting of data and had crossed his T’s and dotted his I’s in an effort to give the most comprehensive but unbiased account of the happenings at Section One under their leadership, based solely on the overwhelming evidence presented.

The early morning meeting with Madeline and Operations had been somewhat difficult. However, he knew this would be so. No meeting with the leaders of Section One was ever easy and today was no different. They were both determined leaders who had fought all the way protesting their innocence under the guise of Section One protocol. However, no matter what Madeline and Dougal said to try and lessen the charges, the dossiers that Colum Mackenzie had compiled on both of them were a very compelling account of their misdemeanours over the years. It was known that the leaders of Section One had consistently been a thorn in Colum Mackenzie’s and Oversight’s side for far too long. It had only been a matter of him biding his time for their machinations to be revealed. The fact that their transgressions had been so numerous and broad in nature had eventually caused the chickens to come back home to roost. Things had gone full circle for them and it was this that had ultimately been the cause of their own downfall.

Madeline and Dougal had proclaimed their innocence on several occasions but the evidence and witnesses had been overwhelming. They had nowhere to hide and had attempted to whitewash the evidence presented despite knowing that they were in serious trouble long before Jamie and Claire had given their testimony. They had been vehemently incredulous of the decision that he’d made, but they were lucky that they hadn’t been cancelled earlier given the evidence of their wrongdoings. Madeline in her indomitable way had taken matters into her own hands with her suicide, while Operations’ death had been a foregone conclusion.  The two leaders no doubt had a death premonition when they had been placed under house arrest, and perhaps they’d thought their demise was just a matter of time, even long before their cross-examination in the Committee Room.  Then when the intel in the dossiers had been revealed, under the circumstances their fate had been sealed. Death was the only sentence they could have received for their treason. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glancing around Section One again, Quentin Lambert realized that they must move on … move ahead for the good of everyone. He put the memory of Operations and Madeline’s reactions to the news of their death sentence as the absolute leaders of One to the back of his mind. What was done was done. There was no turning back … it was now a thing of the past. So, clearing his mind of this morning’s past events; the Head of Centre turned his thoughts to the future of Section One and that of its new leaders James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp. With the impending inauguration of these two exemplary operatives as the new leaders, necessary changes would occur.  Thus, it was imperative that he set in motion a new regime for Section One, something that was needed if One was to look forward and not backwards.

Therefore, a full-scale re-evaluation of Section One would need to be instigated by Section’s new leaders, especially given the disclosed circumstances of Madeline and Operations’ management. It was long overdue and once Jamie and Claire took leadership; they would need to set new parameters in motion.  Things could not remain as they were.  Everything would change with their administration.  Operations and Madeline would be replaced with the two people who were more suited to running Section … the two worthy operatives who would bring a new perceptive to all who worked there. These necessary changes to Section One needed to be made without any of the skulduggery that had occurred in the past. James Fraser would have the opportunity to demonstrate that Section One could run more efficiently and strategically when respect, trust, support and loyalty to the unit were the emphasis instead of the reign of fear and punishment operatives had endured under Madeline and Operations.

The Head of Oversight had provided many examples of breach of protocol and manipulation in the dossiers particularly of Sections’ best operative James Fraser, as well as his partner Claire Beauchamp.  The fact that it had been revealed that Claire was his niece added another layer of disgust on what Madeline and Operations had done in their treatment of her.  This intel had been most distressing given the fact that he and Colum had paired these two individuals together in the hope that they would be a partnership to be envied, but never realizing that their leaders would be threatened by their bond and expertise in successful missions.  Obviously, Madeline and Dougal’s egos had been significantly dented by their perceptions of this couple’s rise within Section in the eyes of its operatives.  Because of this perception, they thwarted their relationship and dismissed any promotion for them should they in fact come to appear the better choice for taking command of Section One.  The very fact that they thought Jamie and Claire were breathing down their necks caused them to have them take one step forward two steps back.  Operations and Madeline’s fragile hold on Section would have been tested had Jamie and Claire decided that they ever wanted to usurp them, but that theory was never proven.  It was just a warped figment of their misguided minds that this threat existed, hence the drastic steps they took to prevent it ever happening. Little did they know that Karma had a way of putting things right in the universe.  It all could have been different if Madeline and Operations had taken another course of direction.   

The only plausible reason for Madeline’s constant testing of their two top operatives was fear.  This seemed ironic, for theirs was a leadership of fear and dread. The fact that the leaders themselves feared their two best operatives’ romantic relationship as well as an imagined coup by Jamie with Claire by his side seemed a tit for tat exercise.  The course of action they always took with them was the same … divide and conquer … because in their minds, they truly believed that these two operatives were trying to commandeer their positions and take over Section One. It was obvious that this paranoia had clouded their vision over the years, but they had been their own worst enemies. Operations and Madeline had lost focus and had seen problems where there were none. If Jamie and Claire had been handled differently, this situation would never have occurred, and perhaps they may still be alive and merely reprimanded.  However, their deeds were too far reaching and heinous for that to have occurred.  They had abused their position time and time again and, in the end, it was all for naught for they paid the price of this thirst for power with their lives.

He realised that once his niece had been recruited to Section One, Madeline and Operations stepped up their manipulation of James Fraser.  Claire seemed to be the catalyst for the path they had taken in demoralizing her and belittling their best operative. The fact that his niece’s personality was at polar opposite to their way of thinking, had seen them come up with plan after plan to try and thwart the effect she had on Jamie, her fellow operatives, and the very atmosphere within Section.  Claire’s compassionate nature did not fit in with the ideals they held as to what happened in Section.  Claire upset the apple cart, not intentionally but to such a degree that they had to act. They could ill afford for her to cause trouble, especially by spoiling their plans. Her humility and compassionate nature threatened the very fabric of the leadership they held dear … control. She presented an existential threat to their existence and survival in Section. Claire unwittingly challenged those beliefs to such an extent that they could ill afford for her to continue to influence other operatives to her way of thinking.  The very fact that James Fraser was caught in her spell was the final straw that broke the camel’s back for them. It was the breaking point for Operations and his second in command. It was what made them act the way that they did. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Quentin Lambert’s thoughts were all over the place but there was definitely a common thread weaving its way through them as he came to terms with all that had happened in such a short time.  He was flabbergasted as to the lengths that Madeline and Operations had gone to, to try and conceal their deeds. 

Did they think they were Teflon coated and nothing could touch them?  Had they been so full of narcissistic belief that they thought themselves above recrimination? Or had they merely thought they would never be caught manipulating the system?

Then there was their treatment of his niece and her mentor and partner. Perhaps it was this that had all brought it home to him that no one, least of all Claire and James Fraser deserved the actions that Madeline and Operations put in place to keep them both under the thumb and compliant.   It was quite perplexing for the Head of Centre as he thought about the two people who were to be entrusted with the leadership of Section One.

Had they learnt nothing of these two operatives in all the time they were in Section?  Had they not known that their bond could not be broken despite the lengths they went to, to try and separate them? Why did they keep on pursuing these drastic motives, knowing that they would never win?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the early stages of his niece’s recruitment, Claire had developed skills that Section One had utilized successfully on numerous occasions. Her looks and her ability to get the job done in her own inimitable way were seen as going against the grain of Section One’s ethics. But who was to say her way was wrong and Madeline and Dougal’s way was the only way? Perhaps it was this differing opinion that had caused a rift between the two women. Somewhere along the line the relationship between Section’s second in command and Claire had changed and changed for the worse. The motherly figure Madeline portrayed toward her in the beginning of her recruitment, had long ago vanished. It was as if Claire was her rival and as such was a threat to her position at Section One.

As Jamie’s material and under his definitive tutelage, Claire had developed into the operative she was now. They had formed an ideal partnership that resulted in exemplary execution of their missions together. They had formed an invincible bond over the years but it was the very thing that kept them alive and made their missions so successful. However, as Jamie and Claire’s bond had become stronger and their partnership had strengthened, the threat obviously became more intense to their leaders. Sensing that this time it threatened both their leadership and not just her, Madeline had proceeded down the track of some very malicious practices. However, what she had failed to realize was that as the heir apparent to lead Section One, James Fraser was happy to bide his time until Operations stood down or moved to Oversight which had been highly probable. Dougal knew this to be true but Madeline’s influence over him was just as manipulative as her scheming with Jamie and Claire. She had sown the seeds of doubt and because Dougal relied on her judgment and counsel, he was obviously swayed by his second in command’s mindset. Colum Mackenzie had pointed this fact out to him that Madeline had wielded too much power at Section One for his liking. Initially the Head of Oversight thought that coming down a peg or two would be humbling for Madeline and would perhaps set her back on the true ideals of Section One that Letitia had envisaged when she set up the Sections.  But Section’s Head Strategist had her own agenda.  She was strong-willed in her refusal to admit defeat or to give an inch, and was stoic until the very end. The situation they had found themselves in was a direct result of both Operations and Madeline’s failure to show compassionate leadership. They had treated their operatives as expendable robots who were expected to act as such. There was no compromise, no second chances and no tolerance of relationships that might prove to be too powerful and threatening to their totalitarian leadership.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the Head of Centre, he had his finger on the pulse and from afar he’d been observing the partnership of James Fraser and his niece for some time. Along with the Head of Oversight they had always liked what they saw.  They had colluded to groom these two people for bigger and better things in the Organization.  He was well aware of the stellar job they had both done on the Sun Yee Lok Mission and on the few occasions Jamie had command of Section One, he had always profiled missions with few casualties and with favourable end results. He had initiative, was ingenious and successful … key elements to great leadership.

Then it was Claire’s subtle effect on Jamie that had certainly provided the balance he needed. For far too long he’d acted like a machine … the ultimate cold operative, one without a soul, for this was what Operations and Madeline wanted … for they were soulless and manipulating leaders. Innocents had always been seen as expendable collateral as far as they were concerned. This was diametrically opposed to Claire’s approach. Her compassion had been influential in changing Jamie’s way of thinking considerably over the years and on occasions during a profile; he had changed to Plan B when his partner had voiced her concern or empathy for innocents. James Fraser was the penultimate operative. Whether as a cold operative, valentine operative or undercover operative, Jamie always got the job done and done with success. It was his ability to “read” situations and think on his feet that made him the highly effective Level Five operative that others admired and respected. As the new Operations, he would have the love and support from those close to him and his admirers when he took the helm of Section One, with his formidable partner by his side. This admiration for them would filter down to those operatives working in Section and would make for a more harmonious workplace. It was a win–win for strategic brilliance and for common sense.  Things in Section would change, and change exponentially. He looked forward to seeing the path James Fraser and his niece would take when they did finally take control.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Turning his head away from those working below, the Head of Centre looked over to where Colum Mackenzie and Letitia Chisholm were sitting in quiet conversation. No doubt they too were contemplating the results of this morning’s proceedings. It was unprecedented what had happened to the leaders of Section One, but they knew that Quentin Lambert had no recourse except to make the decision that had been made.  Although Madeline had taken matters into her own hands before any judgement could be carried out on her involvement in the misdemeanours, Operations had deserved whatever sentence he had received given the heinous wrongdoings he had undertaken against their operatives, his treasonous actions and the manipulations he and Madeline had put James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp through.

“Penny for your thoughts Quentin,” Colum Mackenzie asked candidly as he watched as the Head of Centre made his way to where he and Letitia were sitting.

He’d mused over many thoughts in his mind but especially about Madeline and Operations, and what had gone before in Section under the old leaders.  However, he had optimism for new beginnings and a more compassionate Section One under his niece and James Fraser’s leadership. He was excited about their prospects of running Section and how the whole organization would grow and evolve in a more congenial atmosphere.  

“I was just thinking of all those operatives below the Perch at their stations, still carrying on regardless of their curiosity to know just what is going to happen to them in the future. Those men and women below are the backbone of Section One.  They are going about their duties and Section is still ticking over.  I was also wondering what their reactions will be once Jamie and Claire are installed as Section’s new leaders.”

“I should think that they will be very pleased to know that the two people they admire will be in charge.”

“I agree Quentin,” Letitia announced supportive of what Colum had said.  “Those operatives know what Jamie and Claire stand for.  They also know that they are just and fair-minded.  But more importantly … they trust and respect them.”

“Indeed, my thoughts as well.  My nephew is a competent and skilled operative first and foremost.  Jamie knows what is expected of operatives on a mission, and they in turn know that he expects nothing but the best of them as well.  They look up to Jamie as they follow his lead.  He is intuitive, perceptive and has an uncanny sense of outwitting his opponents. James Fraser is a leader who is not only admired, but who leads by example.  Section One will be in excellent hands Quentin.”  

“And what about my niece Colum? Do you think I have asked too much of her?”

“No, I don’t. Claire will make a capable, proficient but fair leader alongside Jamie.  No doubt her skillset will be slightly different to his. Whereas Jamie will bring strategic skills, along with his forte as a statistician, his expertise as a cold operative, as well as his intellect and ability to read people, Claire will bring her more measured foresight and intelligence, her compassion and humanity to the table.  They will be a formidable pair and will be able to run Section One as it should have been.”

“And maybe, just maybe, they will be able to strike a happy medium between their personal and professional responsibilities,” Letitia added smiling giving her woman’s perspective.

“No doubt a reasonable compromise will be what the doctor ordered to recharge their batteries. I believe that Jamie has some property in Australia,” replied Colum looking towards Mr Lambert.

“Is that so?”  The Head of Centre reacted a little taken back, but not completely surprised that James Fraser would have secured a private place away from Section where he could relax. But Australia? … That was as far away to any place he could think of that Jamie could get from Section … That is what surprised him the most.  

Taking stock once more from his shocked reaction Quentin added, “Then that would certainly be the perfect place to take abreak, wind down and chill out from the tasks involved in running Section One for both Jamie and Claire before returning to the responsibilities they would have as leaders.”

“So, what do you plan to do now Quentin?” Letitia Chisholm asked aware that certain protocols needed to be put in place.

“I will have to hand over the Chain of Command to Jamie and inaugurate my niece as his second in command.”

“Well then.  Is it not time for that to occur?” she answered matter of factually grinning at him.

There was no need to wait any longer. Jamie and Claire needed to be officially declared the new leaders of Section One. He smiled at Letitia in return admitting that he needed to set this in motion immediately.  

“Indeed. I shall.”

“Then you will need to alert him to the fact that he and Claire are both needed in the Perch as soon as possible.”

“I was just about to do so,” he replied giving the two witnesses a look of approval at the decision he was about to make.

With that statement, the Head of Centre pressed the communication button connected to James Fraser’s office alerting both Jamie and Claire that their presence was required.

“Jamie!  Could you and Claire make your way to the Perch ASAP.  There are some pressing matters that need to be addressed.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued next week

#jamieandclairefanfiction #jamieandclairefanfic #jamieandclairecrossover #outlander fanfic #the lallybroch library #lfnoutlander #jamie and claire #sablelab #covert operations #crossover outlander/lfn spies modernau

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: epilogue

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Epilogue

June 1750

His wife was still buried under the covers while Jamie moved about the room on quiet feet and got dressed in the soft light of dawn. He reached for his boots, the final article of dress, and caught sight of Claire’s hand rising out of the mess of blankets ‒ reaching out toward him in silent request.

He stopped in his tracks. Straightened back up.

“Don’t get up yet,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. “Stay in bed with me.”

His chest tightened and he let out a gentle sigh. “Aye.”

He crawled back onto the bed, fully-dressed save for his boots still, and molded his body against the curve of Claire’s. She let out a sleepy hum when he nuzzled into her wild hair and kissed the back of her neck. There was a time when he might’ve denied her request, felt the need to rush off to the responsibilities of farm life. But he knew now that all of that would keep ‒ for a little while at least ‒ but Claire and the bairns would not.

There was something in her touch, the way her hands clasped tightly over his, keeping his hold on her there, that told him her thoughts were running in tandem with his, reaching the same destination. He held her tighter still, turning his face into the crook of her neck and murmuring all that was in his heart to her, some bits in Gaelic but he thought she knew well enough now to understand his meaning if not the words themselves.

His eyes opened with the soft creak of their bedroom door opening. Of course, he could put off the work of the day for a bit, but the bairns didn’t always give them the same reprieve. “Sleep a little longer, Sassenach,” he whispered against her neck before leaving a parting kiss there. “I’ll get up wi’ her.”

When he rolled over and swung his feet out of bed, he caught sight of the impish wee lass in the doorway, bouncing on her toes already at the prospect of their recent morning routine together.

“Dood morning,” she sung to him, her eyes alight with joy, as he swiftly pulled on his boots and ushered her back through the doorway.

He swung Brianna up into his arms and closed the door behind them. “Good morning, m'annsachd.”

He stepped across the hall and poked his head into the nursery, knowing he would find Faith under the blankets still. Brianna was their only early riser now.

He let Faith be and knocked on Fergus’s door to get him up and moving for the day. Brianna was a warm weight against his chest, waiting patiently until Jamie headed down the stairs with her to the kitchen. A fire had already been started in the hearth, letting Jamie know Murtagh was up and about.

“I can make the parritch, Papa?”

Papa. That was who he was to Fergus, and to Faith, he was simply Da, but Brianna was growing up hearing both names for Jamie and used them interchangeably. Jamie didn’t mind — she’d likely settle on one or the other eventually, and it had never really mattered what his children called him, only that they were his to raise and love and guide.

“Aye, we’ll make it together.” He kissed her soft cheek still flushed from her sleep, and moved about with only one hand free to start on breakfast. His wee Brianna encumbered the process more than helped, but no one else in the household possessed Brianna’s early morning cheerfulness ‒ besides perhaps himself, as Claire often pointed out in mild annoyance ‒ so he got on just fine with the lass as meal preparations were started.

Jamie finally set her down just as Murtagh walked in through the kitchen backdoor.

“Murtagh!” the wee thing cheered and ran to him, throwing her arms around his legs. It was the kind of reaction that would make one think she hadn’t seen her beloved Murtagh in ages. It had been only a matter of hours, most of which she’d slept through. The older man grinned and reached down to smooth her hair, still wild from her sleep. She turned her face and kissed his trouser-clad knee before letting him go.

“Come eat yer parritch, Brianna, and let poor Murtagh come inside.”

“Och, she’s fine,” Murtagh protested, but still herded Brianna towards the table.

With a certain knack for timing his entrance at the moment food was ready, Fergus stumbled out into the kitchen then, silent and sullen and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sunk into a chair at the table and Jamie wordlessly passed him a bowl, smothering a rueful smile. They’d learned not to engage Fergus too heavily in the morning during this season of his youth.

Claire appeared too, dressed and hair up in place, though a weariness beyond physical exhaustion still lingered in her eyes. She bent to kiss the top of Fergus’s head and then joined them at the table.

There was only one Fraser missing, so Jamie headed up the stairs for the nursery.

“Up ye get, Faith.”

She was still sleeping, but she’d stay in bed all day if they let her. So he scooped her up and carried her down to the kitchen. She was getting older ‒ six already ‒ but Faith was still such a slight thing that Jamie didn't think twice about carrying her around as he always had.

He deposited a half-asleep Faith into the empty chair as Claire passed a bowl of parritch to the space in front of her before she could lay her head there. If it were only Fergus and Faith, breakfast might usually be a silent affair but Brianna thrived at that hour and held them all at court with her own chatter.

“An’ when the baby horse dets born‒”

“‒ it’s a foal, Brianna.”

Brianna gave a curt nod of acknowledgment but didn’t correct herself. “When he dets born, he will be so wee,” she held her hands up, close together, to demonstrate. “A wee baby.”

“No’ that small,” Murtagh said dryly.

“‒ and then he can be mine.” Brianna gave a slight shrug, as if this made perfect sense.

Fergus’s head shot up, his eyes ablaze. “No, he won’t. Delphine is my mare, her foal is mine as well.” His gaze shifted to Jamie. “Papa, you said so.”

Jamie held a hand up, placating. “Aye, I did. Brianna, why d’ye think the foal will be yers?”

Claire rubbed Brianna’s back as the little girl answered in her high-pitched voice, as if it should be obvious to everyone else, “He will be my size.”

His wife barely concealed a snort of laughter, her brows raised at Jamie, wondering how he planned to challenge that logic.

Faith’s brows furrowed together and Jamie knew the pecking order was about to be argued ‒ if anyone got a horse next, it should be Faith and she knew it.

“Christ, the foal hasnae even been born yet. It’s Fergus’s mare that’s foaling, so it’s his foal. Aye?”

Brianna ducked her chin towards her chest, pouting.

“Eat up, baby,” Claire said gently. “Got a big day ahead of us.”

She said that perhaps only to redirect Brianna ‒ there was nothing special about the day other than that spring was bleeding into summer and in addition to the vineyard, there was no shortage of work with tending to the animals and to Claire’s garden and yes, keeping a close eye on the mare about to give birth any day now.

Jamie shoveled in his last bites of food and rose from the table, giving a few instructions to Fergus for his responsibilities for the day as he cleared some of the dishes.

He caught the tail end of Claire’s corralling of the girls upstairs to help them dress for the day.

“Are you still my little baby?” Claire was saying to Brianna, drawing a giggle out of the girl for the first time since her dreams of owning the foal were dashed.

In contrast to their wee Faith, Brianna was a rather large child for three-and-a-half, hearty and long-limbed in that recognizable build of a MacKenzie. She’d be tall, they could already tell. Despite this, it never stopped Claire from hefting the girl onto her hip as she did now to head upstairs together.

Jamie paused and watched them, feeling his heart squeeze in his chest again. She was their baby still but lately she seemed to grow rapidly in her sleep and he wished she would slow down for his and Claire’s sakes ‒ wished all three of their children would slow down, really, but the ache was sharper with Brianna.

Because she was their youngest, he told himself, though he knew it wasn’t exactly that.

 **********

Jamie stepped out of the stall and peered through the open stable door down the path to the house for the umpteenth time to see if Claire had managed to fetch Fergus yet. Fergus’s mare was finally in labor and in addition to Jamie wanting an extra set of hands if needed, the mare was Fergus’s responsibility and the boy should be here for it.

The young man, rather. He was fifteen after all.

It was on this turn that he spotted his wife and son on their way to the barn. He leaned against a wooden post, watching them approach. They were hurrying, but there was something beyond a sense of urgency that was palpable between them even at a distance that made Jamie straighten up.

“... for the love of God, Fergus Fraser,” Claire’s voice finally reached him, “do not make me a grandmother at thirty-three.”

Jamie’s brows rose to his hairline. He was fairly certain this was not about the foal, and clocked the tension as Claire held onto the boy’s elbow as they walked ‒ nay, she was practically marching Fergus here. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

Oh, but that discussion would have to wait.

“Get in here, lad, it’s almost time.”

Fergus looked damn near relieved at that and tugged free of Claire’s hold to quicken his steps.

At fifteen, he’d grown tall and lanky in his build ‒ taller than Claire now ‒ but he’d filled out just a little as well in all his work on the vineyard. He was strong and steady, and Jamie wasn’t sure how he’d manage without the boy’s contributions once Fergus went away for his studies. His features were still fine-boned and handsome as they’d been in his youth, and it hadn’t escaped Jamie or Claire’s notice how many of the local farmers’ daughters were always trying to catch his eye. Nor did it escape Fergus’s notice, the wee scamp.

Christ, what had Claire seen?

He shook his head as Fergus rounded past him into the stall with his head ducking from Jamie’s gaze, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. When Claire slipped into the stall, she was practically simmering with anger.

But whatever it was she had come upon concerning Fergus, it had to be put out of all of their minds for the time as Delphine delivered her first foal. Jamie had witnessed any number of horses delivering a foal in his life ‒ inevitable with growing up on a farm ‒ but he never tired of seeing the new foal exploring their world for the first time, or the change that came over the mare, so proud and protective of the wild, stumbling little creature.

Delphine had been the first horse purchased for their farm, a promise fulfilled, and Fergus never loved anything else so much in the world as that horse. Except for maybe the new foal now, Jamie considered, watching the lad’s face soften as he watched the dear little thing.

Feeling a soft swell of affection for his own son, Jamie’s gaze sought out Claire’s to share the moment with her as well. It was a milestone for their lad, in a way; He was now the proud caretaker of Delphine and her little one.

But he caught something else in Claire’s eyes when she returned his gaze and his heart skittered. It was a brief flicker, there and gone in a blink, but after nearly seven years together, he knew every look on her face by heart. Knew her by heart.

She knew him, too. So perhaps that was why Claire’s gaze turned suddenly to Fergus and spoke up before Jamie could dwell on that look any further. “What will you call him then?”

“Tis a male so ye canna name this one after yer next favorite hoor from Maison Elise,” Jamie teased dryly, trying to shift the mood.

“He what?” Claire snapped. Her eyes narrowed at their son and her comments from earlier came rushing back to all of them. “Was Delphine the name of that brunette…” Her words stalled, not wanting to call the woman a whore in front of Fergus, but coming up short with another word for it.

Fergus’s ears burned bright red and he shot an accusing glance at Jamie. “I just liked the name,” he said hotly.

“Of course. Twas only teasing ye, lad.”

Fergus had never said Delphine the mare was named after one of the ladies from Maison Elise, but Jamie had remembered him talking about the young woman when they first brought him into their home.

“I think I will name him Marcel,” Fergus said softly, his gaze returned to the foal. Jamie felt the small tug of a smile.

“Young warrior, indeed. He’d have to be, if he’s tae survive the onslaught of yer sisters’ affections for him.”

That pulled a startled laugh out of the boy. The strange energy that had lingered from earlier began to dissipate.

Claire slipped past him out of the stall, unnervingly quiet, and so Jamie followed.

He stepped behind Claire as she washed her hands in the large water basin. She had several short, wispy curls that had slipped free from the pins and now curled around her neck, which was damp with sweat. He bent his head and kissed the juncture between her neck and shoulder and felt her shiver at the touch.

“Today reminded me of when ye helped me and Auld Alec deliver a foal at Castle Leoch. When we were first wed. D’ye remember?”

She leaned back against his chest and his arms went around her waist, securing her to him. “Hard to forget the first time I was called upon to be a midwife to a horse.”

“Aye,” he chuckled, “but what a bonny wee midwife ye were.” After a moment, he said, “What happened wi’ the lad, before ye came to the barn?”

Claire sighed and craned her neck to make sure Fergus was still distracted with the foal and out of earshot. “I found him by the chicken coop with his hands full of Minette Dupré.”

“And they were…?”

“Practically sucking each other's faces off right in front of me,” Claire muttered.

“What?”

“They were kissing.”

“Oh, is that all?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Claire pulled herself free of him and spun around, her anger surfacing in a blink.

“He also had his hands on her. He was feeling her up.”

“Was the lass distressed?”

“Jamie!”

“Christ, a nighean, it’s only that I heard ye say ye dinna want to be a grandmother yet, and so I thought‒” He gave an exasperated, helpless shrug. “I mean, it sounds as though they both still had their clothes on, aye?”

“Oh, and when has that ever been a problem for us?” Claire whispered sharply.

Dread settled in his stomach like molten hot lead. “Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“My point is that they were alone together. Maybe they were only kissing when I found them, but if it had been another few minutes…”

“Aye, aye,” Jamie sighed. He had the full picture of it now.

Claire folded her arms tight across her chest, stewing in the feelings this conversation had revived. Her gaze cut across the barn to the young man completely unaware of how his mother wanted to throttle him at that moment.

“Talk to him again,” her voice was low, almost resigned. “He needs to be safe. But if you can’t get through to him, I have no qualms with describing to him in great, gory details how a syphilis infection progresses.”

“Lord,” Jamie muttered, feeling an involuntary shudder go through him just at the thought. His hands gripped her upper arms and tugged her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I dinna think we’re there yet, Sassenach.”

  **********

After supper, he pulled Fergus aside to go for a walk, but he was surprised when the boy spoke first.

“You don’t have to give me the speech again. I know.”

“What is it that ye know then?”

“I know I cannot get a girl with my child unless I am prepared to marry her and be a father.”

He felt a sudden pang of grief at the heaviness in the boy’s tone. Aye, Fergus did know that. He’d never subject a child of his own blood to being cast off in the same way that he was. But Fergus was still too young to be a father, if he got himself into that situation.

“Aye. And yer mother and I dinna want ye to have to make that choice any time soon.”

“I wasn’t going to‒” Fergus broke off abruptly, his face red. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “There are other ways to…”

“Ah, Christ.”

He was torn between feeling comforted that Fergus at least had enough sense not to get a lass pregnant out of wedlock, and feeling a strange sense of loss for Fergus’s innocence, a consequence of growing up where he did. Even still, there would be things Fergus wouldn’t know that might harm him. “Oh hell, maybe I should let yer mother talk to ye.”

Fergus’s eyes widened, but Jamie’s mind was already made up.

He sighed heavily. “It’s for yer own good, son.”

  **********

Claire never felt more like herself than when she had dirt under her fingernails and the sun on her face while dozens of flourishing, young plants kept her company. Her garden was a proud achievement, something cultivated from the work of her own hands over the last few years. Spring had been mild and as the season began to give way to summer, she was seeing the results of her labor thriving.

“You’re doing it all wrong, Brianna.”

At Faith’s sharp voice, Claire sat back on her heels and peered around the tomato bushes to see what was amiss. Her two red-headed hellions were less helpful when working together than if Claire had either one alone with her, but that was a facet of sisterhood that she and Jamie were having to learn as the girls grew.

Brianna growled, like the half-feral child that she was ‒ and, perhaps most of all, because it set Faith on edge.

“Mama!”

Claire sighed. “Bree, come help me weed over here. There’s a big one with your name on it.”

“She’s pulling up the flowers instead o’ the weeds,” Faith tattled. “The ones Auntie Jenny sent!”

Brianna stumbled out to the edge where Claire was working, trying and failing to look innocent. “I thought those were the weeds!”

Faith was already tenderly working to rescue some of the Queen Anne’s Lace that had suffered at the hands of Brianna ‒ thankfully, she didn’t appear to have gotten very far before Faith noticed. Claire watched her for a moment, a little stunned to see the careful way Faith dug room into the soil and set the roots back in and covered them gently. Claire had never taught her to do that, she must’ve learned from watching. “Alright there, Faith?”

“Yes, Mama,” she murmured, head still bent over her task. Some of them looked a little beyond hope, bent and broken from the tiny, careless toddler fists, but the damage was not extensive.

Claire sighed again.

It hadn’t been the best decision in retrospect to have both girls weeding near the one plant Claire relied on for contraception, but Faith was proving herself more and more to be a capable helper in tending to the garden.

She felt the sudden, warm weight on her shoulder and turned her head to kiss Brianna’s forehead, which was sticky with sweat. That little one, on the other hand…

That little one is only three and a half, Claire reminded herself. Wild and willful and unbearably sweet, Brianna certainly kept them on their toes. “Here, Bree, I need your help. See that weed there?”

“I will det it, Mama!” She scurried off immediately.

“Dig up the roots, remember. Don’t just pull it.”

“You will get it, Brianna. G-g-get,” Faith corrected her speech without looking up, her tone a little sharp with her younger sister. It stirred up within Claire an urge to defend her tiny troublemaker. She and Jamie and perhaps even Murtagh could help correct Brianna’s mispronunciations, but the poor wee thing often had Fergus and Faith correcting her too ‒ and not often out of kindness.

Siblings…

And to be perfectly honest, she found Brianna’s slight speech error to be rather endearing. She was already grieving the time when she would no longer greet them with dood morning each day.

“Be nice to your sister, Faith. You couldn’t pronounce your v’s for the longest time, but you eventually figured it out.”

Faith glanced up at that, scowling a little in the sun. “No I didn’t!”

“Yes,” Claire laughed. “You did. You used to say, ‘I lub you.’ It was adorable.”

Faith shrugged, not wanting to admit she was wrong. “I don’t remember that.”

Claire was a little startled to feel her eyes misting over at the implications of Faith’s words, but she blinked them swiftly to clear her vision. As long as she lived, she could never forget finding her little girl again after Culloden ‒ finding her and having Faith pull away from Claire’s embrace, because too much time had passed for her baby to possibly remember.

For so long, Claire had worried Faith would remember that season of their lives ‒ the uncomfortable growing pains of learning to be a family again, and the fact that Claire hadn’t always been there. She worried Faith might be hurt by that knowledge when she was old enough to question it. But instead, Faith could only recall bits and pieces of their lives before they came to the vineyard, and Claire, surprisingly, found herself a little grieved that she couldn’t share those memories with Faith without having to explain their significance.

Like the first time Faith had said ‘I lub ye’ and offered to ‘gib her a kiss’, or when it had finally clicked for Faith exactly who Claire was to her and she called her Mama once more. She had been so nervous over Faith remembering the hard moments that she hadn’t realized she might not remember those good ones, too.

At six years old, Faith understood that her parents had been away for a bit during the war, and that she lived at Lallybroch with her aunt, uncle, and cousins during that time, but she didn’t yet know that Claire had missed additional months of her life after the war, or how exactly her family came to live in France and not Scotland. They would tell her, someday, but for now, all she knew was this life with her family in the south of France, and that was something Claire and Jamie both wanted to protect for her for a little longer.

  **********

A chorus of excited cheers from the girls stole Claire’s attention. Brianna had spotted Jamie first, heading out from the barn right towards them, and both girls swiftly abandoned the garden work to make a dash for him.

Her gaze was inexorably drawn to their merry ruckus and she watched Jamie’s expression transform at the sight of the girls, grinning broadly. He dropped to one knee and scooped up Faith and then Bree before pushing to his feet, a girl in each arm.

It was a sight she’d never tire of. Three matching heads of auburn hair caught the summer sun and dazzled in their brilliance of red and gold. Oh, how she loved that both girls had his hair. And when the three of them were all together like that, looking like they belonged to one another, it almost seemed like the life she’d pictured for them when she realized she was pregnant with Faith ‒ that first delicate hope of a dream coming true. True, they weren’t raising their family on their own land, weren’t at Lallybroch, but this place was home enough and they were all together, which was all they really needed.

“It’s early still,” was how Claire greeted him, a smile tugging at her lips as she leaned against her garden gate. They hired extra hands for the planting and harvesting seasons and the making of wine, but had recently returned to the day-to-day of just their own family managing the vineyard. The busyness was starting to wane as they moved into summer but they still didn’t often reunite until supper. “I didn’t expect to see you yet.”

His smile turned a little smug before leaning in to kiss her, to the chorus of disgusted sounds from the wee ones. “Can a man no’ surprise his wife?”

“Surprise?”

“Aye. The lassies will stay wi’ Murtagh for the afternoon. You and I have plans.”

“Oh?” She wasn’t usually one for surprises but she wouldn’t deny that the prospect of an afternoon away from the little ones and the demands of farm life sent a slight thrill through her.

“I helped pack the basket!” Faith blurted out. She grinned then, quite proud, and Claire’s heart melted at the sight. Faith’s current smile was her favorite thing at the moment ‒ and one that was granted for only a short season of childhood ‒ with a wide gap at the front of her mouth where the two upper teeth had fallen out. It made Claire feel inexplicably tender to see it, well remembering when those very teeth had poked through her baby’s gums, and now they were gone, lost to childhood.

“Christ. Ye’re a great one for secrets, aye?” Jamie huffed, but he pressed a sound kiss to Faith’s temple before setting the girls on their feet. “Go an’ find Murtagh before ye spoil anything else,” he teased.

“Can we go see the foal?”

“Aye, so long as Murtagh’s wi’ ye.”

Off the girls went, Faith throwing one excited, impish glance over her shoulder before they both disappeared around the side of the barn.

Claire took a step forward and found herself encircled in Jamie’s embrace. Her hands clasped at the back of his neck. “So this surprise…?”

Jamie pulled her flush against him and their bodies began to sway together. “Aye, I’m taking ye away for… what is it called in yer time, again?”

She thought of the basket Faith had mentioned. “A picnic?” she guessed.

“Aye,” his face brightened. “A picnic.”

  **********

Jamie was so thoroughly sated, he thought he might fall asleep right there in the shady hillside he’d scoped out for his and Claire’s outdoor picnic. The food was still untouched in the basket.

He tilted his head towards where Claire was stretched out next to him on top of his tartan, one hand tucked behind her head. They were both in a state of disheveled dress, not letting something as trivial as clothing stall them from taking full advantage of being alone in the quiet wilderness moments ago.

He thought of Claire’s words from a few days ago when she’d told him about finding Fergus alone with a lass, both fully clothed; And when has that ever been a problem for us?

When, indeed? She’d been right to be so alarmed then.

He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over his wife. Her eyes snapped open when his head blocked the sunlight from her.

Ah Dhia, she was so stunning, it still knocked the wind out of him. And he never loved the sight of her more than after their frantic coupling that left them both thoroughly spent. Her breasts were spilling out the top of her dress where he had tugged at the laces and layers of fabric to try and free them. He ducked his head and kissed the top of one perfect breast.

“Seven years, and I still want ye as much as I did on our wedding day ‒ more than that now, I think. So much more.”

“Seven…” Claire’s eyes widened. “It’s our anniversary today, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he said with a laugh and leaned down to kiss her, a smile still tugging at his lips. “‘Tis.”

Her fingers slid up through his curls and held on as she deepened the kiss, left him panting and wanting for her even though he’d only just had her. “I forgot,” she murmured in between kisses.

He didn’t care. He truly didn’t. Claire was smiling brighter than she had in days, in weeks, and it filled a hollowness in his chest he hadn’t realized was there. Jamie kissed her again for good measure, soft and swift, and settled back onto the tartan next to her, his hand on her waist.

The winter had been unkind to them, in a number of ways. Wee Faith had fallen terribly ill ‒ and recovered, thank the Lord ‒ but she’d suffered through a lingering cough for weeks afterwards that seemed to rattle the whole frame of her, and it always drew Claire’s concerned gaze.

And while they were keeping themselves afloat here in France, they’d deduced from Ian’s letters that the tension with the Redcoats had flared up again in the fall ‒ and that weighed heavily on Jamie, knowing it was because of him and that he couldn’t fix it. They’d tried and failed on several attempts to sway Jenny and Ian towards joining them here in France, even if only for a few years. All for naught; his sister would never leave Lallybroch while there was breath in her lungs.

Then, deep in mid-winter came the news of Jenny and Ian’s loss ‒ a niece he and Claire would never meet but the loss shattered them just the same.

The news of Caitlin came so close on the heels of their own private grief from the beginning of winter. Hadn’t gone on long enough to tell Jenny and Ian about it, but Murtagh had known, and Fergus. They were close to telling the girls, but never got the chance.

Next to him, Claire stared up at the clouds, deep in thought. He fumbled for her hand and brought to it his lips, which drew her gaze to him. Christ but he wanted to protect her from every wicked and painful thing in this life. In the winter, he hadn’t been able to protect her from any of it, one hit after the other. And she’d tucked away every painful part of that season for the bairns’ sakes, so they’d never know their mam was hurting, would never be affected by it. She’d done that for them, but Jamie had seen right through her.

“Ye’ve been sad again lately, my sassenach, and I havenae kent how to ask ye about it, but… are ye thinking of the bairn?”

She blinked swiftly, those crystal blue eyes returning to the sky. “I thought I was fine, for a while there at least. But it’s June now, and I‒ I can’t help thinking we would probably have the baby by now, or be nearly ready to welcome one, if… if it had survived.”

The bairn had been a spark of joy they hadn’t planned for; After Brianna, they’d felt content in their wee Fraser clan, and Claire had managed with her wee herbs to limit the likelihood of falling pregnant again.

But it wasn’t foolproof ‒ short of abstaining altogether, nothing was foolproof and they weren’t willing to consider that. Still, when they’d realized Claire was with child again…

He leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple. Aye, it was a spark of joy and when that spark was snuffed out, it left them both reeling.

“I’m sorry,” she surprised him by saying. Her voice had gone soft. “I know I haven’t been‒ Well, you’ve been getting up and making breakfast for everyone and‒”

“I dinna mind it, Sassenach.” He leaned forward again and kissed her brow. “Truly. And I think Brianna would throw a fit if I stopped,” he laughed. His chest tightened at the sight of her own smile.

“Well.” She turned to look at him, her fingers traced along his jaw, unbearably soft. “Maybe you won’t need to do it every day then, at least.”

He captured her wandering hand, brought it to his lips to kiss those delicate, long fingers. “Oh aye, that might be best. I think Fergus would like something besides parritch every now and then.”

Claire hummed in amusement. “Yes, I do believe our son would like it if we embraced a bit more of his homeland, starting with the cuisine.”

Jamie tutted softly. “We may be in France but I’ll no’ let my bairns grow up wi’out a little bit of Scotland in their lives.”

He could see the way his words made her consider something. “It is strange… all of your children have been born in France.”

“Aye.” He’d thought of that too, after Brianna was born.

“Does it bother you? That we’re here instead of there?”

He knew it didn’t bother her ‒ she’d never lived anywhere long enough to grow roots and the thought always made his heart ache for her. Someday…

He let out a long sigh. “I willnae be dishonest and say I dinna miss it, Claire. I do. I always will. But I cannae see a way that we could’ve stayed and been safe. Can ye?”

She shook her head.

“It won’t be forever,” he said lightly, one hand tucked behind his head as he stared up at the sky. “Living in France, that is. But wherever else we go, it won’t be Scotland either. Well. Someday, I’ll build ye a surgery, too,” he added, changing course rather quickly on her.

“Oh really?”

“Aye.”

“And where would we put this surgery?”

“Oh not here,” he clarified. “But we won’t stay here, aye? That’s one of yer conditions.”

When he had first broached the subject of running the vineyard, Claire had agreed but not without the aforementioned conditions of her own. Staying in France in the short-term had been the smartest choice for them and there weren’t any immediate threats, but the French Revolution was coming, she’d told him, and they were smarter than to try and stop that from happening, if they were still around. But if they were still alive, they certainly didn’t want to be here for it.

So he did think about it, more often now than when they’d first settled here. “Fergus will be sixteen next year. Lad should be able to complete his education in Paris.”

Claire chewed on her bottom lip, absorbing Jamie’s words. She didn’t want him to go, that much was clear. Didn’t want him out of the nest, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t let him go. Still, she was probably lamenting if Fergus would come back to them once he finished at university or go off on his own.

“I can see yer mind is years down the road, Sassenach.”

She huffed at that, turning her head to scowl at him half-jokingly. “Oh, is it?”

“Aye,” he said, but the smile he put on wasn’t entirely heartfelt. It would be hard for him too, of course, but they wouldn’t deprive Fergus of that opportunity he deserved.

Jamie stretched and sat up, reaching for the basket that his wee lassies had indeed helped him pack early that morning ‒ bannocks and cheese and fruits and a bit of smoked meat. He set the basket between them and when Claire didn’t sit up to join him, he popped a grape into her mouth.

“Oh thank you,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “Are you going to feed me by hand the whole time?”

“If ye like.”

She hummed, considering, and still sat up. He suspected she was starting to feel as ravenous as he was.

While they ate, Claire broached the subject of where they would want to go after France. There was no urgency, no real deadline, but with talk of Fergus going to Paris next year and the reminder that France was never supposed to be forever, it felt natural in that moment, while celebrating their anniversary, to dream a little about the future together.

They batted around ideas, times that made sense for their family to relocate, what it would mean for the vineyard and for Jared ‒ all things that could be sorted out. They talked about everything except for the one hypothetical that was uppermost in both of their minds.

If Claire had another baby, that could… potentially alter any sort of timeline they established for themselves.

They hadn’t talked about it. Not yet. At first, the grief had felt too tender to consider another, and then they had thrown themselves headlong into the spring planting season, relishing how the work and the bairns made it hard to think about anything else.

Did Claire even want to try? Jamie hadn’t dared to ask her, having been the only witness to her grief over the babe and knowing how it had scraped his own heart raw to love the wee thing so much in those too-brief months and then to lose it.

But the wistful, faraway look on her face just then…

Jamie reached for her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. Brought her back to him.

“Is it selfish to wish for more?” she finally asked. “The life we have is good, Jamie, it’s so good. I’m so grateful for all of it, and I wouldn’t wish for anything more, except…”

“Aye, I ken, a ghraidh. It’s no’ selfish ‒ at least, I dinna think it is.”

“Would you want to try again? Even with all the risks?”

Not just the risk that the pregnancy wouldn’t progress, but the risks to Claire’s health as well… even though Brianna’s birth had gone smoothly, the risks with any pregnancy had been part of why they’d decided to stop having children at first.

“I’ve no life but you, Claire,” he murmured, his fingers brushing gently over her curls that had come loose and framed her face. Her gaze softened at his words, at his touch. “But if ye wanted another bairn… I would have a dozen or so with ye, Sassenach, if ye truly wanted it.”

She snorted at that. “No. Not that many. Good grief. If you keep saying twelve, I’m going to have to assume at some point, you’re serious about that,” she teased him, her sharp gaze a strong indication of how she felt about that. “But… one more, maybe. If… if it happens.”

That was all that was said on the subject as they finished their food, both a little more subdued with the dream of what could be.

“Are you finished?” Claire asked him, nodding to the basket.

“What’s yer hurry, Sassenach? I told Murtagh he’s in charge of the lassies for the rest o’ the day.”

She smiled, grabbing the basket and practically flinging it behind her. “I didn’t ask because I want to leave.” Her hand pressed against the center of his chest and he followed her lead, leaning backwards until he was flat on his back on the ground again. Claire’s knees straddled his hips and the delicious weight of her covered him.

“Aye, that’s good, then. Because I plan to have ye a number of ways before we return.”

“Oh?” she laughed, and ground her hips against him. “What are these plans? How many ways?”

His hands slid around to her backside and began to knead her round arse. “Once for each year of marriage,” he quipped.

She laughed at that, and he joined in with her. “There’s that ambition I admire so much.”

“I do love ye,” he murmured and leaned up to kiss her. She held his face tenderly in her hands and hummed softly when his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and he wondered not for the first time what he’d ever done right to get to spend all of his days with Claire Beauchamp in his arms.

Her hips were rolling against him at a torturous pace and his patience had just about run out. He needed to be inside of her. There was a flurry of coordinated movement between them, skirts and kilt tugged out of the way until Claire’s hand finally wrapped around him.

She rose up on her knees over him with his hard length in her hand and teasing the tip of it at her entrance. It took every ounce of restraint on his part not to drive up into her. She smiled coyly, like she knew what she was doing to him.

“I could stop,” she said suddenly, and he was damn near about to curse her for being a tease when through the haze of his lust-addled brain, he noticed a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “If we want to try for another baby right away, I could stop taking my‒”

“Aye.” He felt the small tug of a smile at his lips as realization sunk in. They’d never done that before ‒ never honest to god tried for a bairn ‒ but he found that he liked the idea very much. “Aye, stop taking yer special tea, Sassenach, and let’s see what happens.”

She sunk down then, bringing the full length of him into her, and they both groaned. Her hands planted on his chest to steady herself, and he clutched at the outside of her thighs and held on for dear life as she rode him to oblivion.

  **********

“I want a wee lass with yer hair,” he admitted unabashedly, his fingers smoothing over said curls as he spoke.

“It could be a boy,” she reminded him. Her head was pillowed on his chest and he was delightfully warm and solid beneath her. She never wanted to move from this spot.

“Oh, aye, I suppose a boy wi’ yer hair would do.”

This time she laughed at him and shook her head, tilted her head up to kiss the underside of his jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

“How so?” She could hear the grin in his voice.

“We don’t even know if there will be another baby, let alone what kind of hair they might have.”

He made a soft hum of a noise and his hand came up to cradle her cheek. “I have faith, Sassenach. And… I had dreams that there was a wee babe with dark hair.”

“What dreams? When?”

“After ye went through the stones… before ye came and found us here in France. I dreamt of them a few times. I thought… I thought it was Brianna, ye ken? Since ye were carrying her then. But then she was born and looked nothing like the child I’d seen in my dreams for all those weeks.”

His words left a funny flutter in her belly. Her fingers delicately traced the lines of his collarbone as she formed the next sentence. “Maybe it was only what you imagined Brianna might look like,” she said softly.

“Perhaps, Sassenach, but… it felt real.”

  **********

“MAMA!”

Claire shaded the sun from her eyes as she followed the sound of Faith’s excited shriek. The wagon was jolting down the path to their home with Murtagh at the helm and Faith sitting ramrod straight at his side, waving one arm. They’d gone into the nearest town, fetching some supplies needed for the farm, but Murtagh also ‒ Claire didn’t doubt ‒ returned with some sort of sweets or small trinkets for the children.

Claire slowly stood to her feet, shaking dirt from the folds of her skirts and wiping her hands on her apron. The day had been perfectly lovely and she’d lost track of time, but evening was fast approaching and she should probably start on dinner while Murtagh and Jamie sorted the goods that they had returned with.

“Mama!”

Faith hopped down from the wagon, a bundle tucked close to her chest. Claire paused at the garden gate to wait for her daughter to catch up to her. Faith was running towards her, loose red curls flying wildly behind her.

“What did Murtagh get for you?”

The girl grinned broadly, showing off the gap where her two front teeth were missing, as her feet picked up the pace. “Not for me ‒ for all of us! Murtagh brought us letters!”

Claire felt a small thrill course through her. They hadn’t heard from Jenny and Ian since their devastating news in the winter ‒ hadn’t heard from anyone since then, come to that. Of course there were only a small number of people who even knew where to address a letter for them, but still…

She walked with Faith into the house, the girl barely containing her excitement. Any day when the post arrived was cause for excitement. Jamie had been in the barn and heard Murtagh’s approach and by the time Faith set the bundle down on the table, all of the Frasers were flocking into the room.

It was Jamie who unraveled their hoard, which had been put together for them by Jared. That was part of why letters could take so long to reach them ‒ everything passed through Jared’s residence first before being sent on to their vineyard, inconspicuously disguised as business between Jared and one Alexandre Beauchamp.

“Ye’ve a letter from Mary here, too, Sassenach.” He passed it to her and then cracked the seal on the largest envelope, disguised as a correspondence from his uncle but actually containing a number of smaller letters inside from Lallybroch.

“This one has yer name on it, Faith.”

Claire watched Jamie hand their girl her own letter, which Faith promptly snatched and immediately retreated to the parlor to read in peace. Claire caught Jamie’s gaze and shared a smile. Maggie and Faith had begun a correspondence as soon as they could both read and write, and it heartened both sets of parents to see their friendship flourish.

“Mary had her baby ‒ a girl this time,” Claire announced softly, skimming her friend’s letter. She felt Jamie’s gaze on her at that bit of news, but shrugged almost imperceptibly. Claire was fine. “They’re all doing well.”

There was only one letter this time from Jenny and Ian, and this one written in Jenny’s hand. Jamie silently skimmed the contents before he began reading it aloud to all of them, at the same time relenting to Brianna’s wordless demands to be held so she could try and read any of the small words that she knew for herself.

The letter was lengthy, filling them in on the state of Lallybroch, hinting at unrest with British troops still occupying the area, and giving an update on each of the Murray children. Jenny said little of her and Ian’s well-being, but hearing from them at all was encouraging to Claire.

Once read, the letters were tucked away until after supper when they all settled into the parlor for the evening. Faith apparently hadn’t finished hers and curled up next to Fergus to read it, stopping occasionally to point to a word and ask for Fergus’s help.

Brianna must’ve been worn out from the day because she crawled into Claire’s lap and hunkered down for the night, regaling Claire with the adventures of her day ‒ she was Jamie Fraser’s daughter alright, a storyteller by the time she could speak in full sentences. Claire listened to her, rocking them slightly.

Jamie got out the ink, quills, and parchment, and set up at the dining table instead of the study so Faith could join him. She was left-handed like Jamie and still developing her writing skills, so while Jamie drafted a letter to Jenny and Ian, he helped Faith with her spelling and how to hold the quill and not drag her hand through the wet ink on the page.

As soon as Faith had left his side, Fergus moved over to the sofa where Claire had claimed one end with Brianna. He stretched out along the remaining space on the sofa and laid his head in Claire’s lap next to Brianna, and began interjecting into her stories with his own contradicting remarks, just to tease her. It made Brianna giggle, even as she stubbornly argued with him, helplessly taking the bait.

Claire brushed a hand over Fergus’s curls. He wasn’t often this affectionate of late, unless it was around the little ones, like he was just then.

That was alright, Claire told herself. Her heart was full with having Bree and Fergus so close ‒ weighed down by them even and unable to move from that spot. There was nowhere else she’d rather be in that moment.

When Faith finished writing letters with Jamie, she wandered into the parlor in search of the others. Claire caught the flash of jealousy in Faith’s eyes upon seeing her siblings both cuddled up on the sofa with their mother.

That Faith was going to join them was obvious to Claire, but she upset the calm by running and landing on Fergus’s stomach and rolling into Claire’s side ‒ making space for herself and forcing them all to accept it.

Fergus’s yelp of surprise turned into a groan and he shoved her knees off of his chest.

“Faith! Don’t hurt your brother like that!”

The smile vanished from the girl's face as she looked back at Fergus, silently assessing if he was indeed hurt.

At her obvious concern, Fergus huffed loudly. “I’m alright, ma petite chérie. This time,” he added, to discourage recurrence.

“You three are such trouble.” Claire thought it often, but hadn’t meant to say it out loud just then.

“Moi?” Fergus squawked at her. “What have I done?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” She laughed as she said it, but she knew from the way he quieted down that he was recalling the moment Claire had interrupted him and Minnette last week.

Faith settled into Claire’s side, absolved of all guilt and refusing to acknowledge that she was any sort of trouble. Her hands wrapped around Claire’s arm and she rested her head against her shoulder.

“What did you write to Maggie about?” Claire asked her.

“I told her about Marcel and my teeth that fell out and the verra mean chicken that almost got me last week.”

Fergus’s brows scrunched together. “What mean chicken?”

At mention of the chicken, Brianna was also roused and sat up a little straighter in Claire’s lap. “One o’ the white ones! She dot mad at us when me an’ Faith were collecting eggs!” She folded her chubby hand into a beak and pecked at Fergus’s shoulder. “Tried to bite us. Like that!”

Faith nodded solemnly. “Almost got Brianna, but I scared it away.”

“You did?” Claire hadn’t heard that part before. She brushed Faith’s flyaway curls away from her forehead and pressed a kiss there. “Thank you for looking out for your sister.”

“Not gonna let a dumb wee chicken get her, Mama…”

She buried her laugh in the crown of Faith’s head. “No. Of course not.” She knew it would always be like this between the three siblings; they might drive each other mad but nothing and no one else would hurt one of them if they could stop it. It was something Claire understood second-hand ‒ she’d seen it with Jamie and Jenny, and now with her own children, how they loved and fought so fiercely.

They’d be so good with a new baby sibling.

The thought came unbidden and Claire’s throat swelled with emotion. They would, especially at their ages now. Faith bossed Brianna around something fierce but she always looked out for her. And Fergus… he wouldn’t be with them for too much longer if he started his studies in the fall next year, but there was no one as protective of his siblings as Fergus. Claire didn’t think that would go away when he did, it just might look a little different. And their little Brianna… darling Bree could be a wonderful big sister, given the chance. And Claire already held these tender imaginings from before, and when the baby was gone, there was nowhere for those feelings to go.

Her heart still wanted it so badly, and she could see how a baby might simply slide right into their life here, like the final missing puzzle piece snapping into place. Could be held in the arms of one of these siblings while they were all snuggled so close on the sofa just now.

Her chest ached with want for that life.

If it happened again for them…

It could happen for them, she corrected herself, holding a little more tightly to hope.

  **********

By the time the girls should be getting ready for bed, they were both passed out in the parlor, having been lulled to sleep by Jamie and Murtagh’s tales. Jamie carried Brianna up the stairs while Fergus had gathered Faith into his arms. Claire followed behind them, and once Fergus had set Faith on her bed, Claire carefully peeled Faith’s outer layers from her until she was left in a light shift, good enough for a nightgown in this instance.

She kissed Faith’s cheek and tucked her under the covers, and turned to see Jamie press a kiss behind Brianna’s ear with practiced aim. The little girl’s birthmark was mostly covered by her hair now, but Jamie had kissed that spot so many times throughout her infancy, he could find it without the aid of sight.

They tiptoed out of the room with bated breath, and as soon as Claire closed the door behind them, she felt Jamie crowding her space in the dark hallway. Fergus had no doubt long since made himself scarce, so when she felt the touch of Jamie’s lips against her own, she leaned into the kiss.

“Ye looked so happy wi’ all yer bairns around ye tonight, Sassenach.”

She felt her eyes get misty, but the ache wasn’t quite so overwhelming now. More than anything, she felt immeasurably grateful for the three who had already made her a mother. Her hands curled at the back of his neck, and she found his gaze even in the dark. “They make me very happy. And so do you. And I know we’re going to try, but if… if this family is never more than what it is, it’s still so very perfect. And I just needed you to know that.”

“Mo nighean donn,” Jamie sighed, “Ye do break my heart with loving you.”

His next kiss was soft and lingered long enough that she forgot they were still in the hallway until she felt Jamie’s hands at her backside.

“I will love this life with ye no matter what happens,” he whispered. “But to be clear, I take my duties in this endeavor verra seriously. And I dinna think we’ll fail.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond ‒ in fact, she barely managed to smother a yelp of surprise when he suddenly lifted her off her feet. “Jesus Christ!”

“No’ quite, a nighean,” he chuckled as he walked them into their bedroom. Claire grabbed the edge of the door and swung it shut behind them.

  **********

Late Fall 1750

“That’s no’ yer usual tea, is it, Sassenach?”

She peered at him over the rim of her steaming mug and took a sip before answering. He was smiling at her. He knew ‒ of course he knew. Smug bastard.

“It’s not,” she answered primly. She hadn’t made any of that kind since their anniversary.

“What is it then?” He was already moving across the kitchen to her, his joy so obvious that it stole her breath away.

“It’s ginger tea,” she murmured, for he was close enough now to speak softly to him. She swallowed thickly when he pressed a kiss to her forehead and held his face there, notched so perfectly against her own, breathing the same air as her, waiting. “It’s good for morning sickness.”

#jamie x claire #outlander #faith fraser #tbbfiy #the best by far is you #outlander fic #my fic #i actually canna believe this is finished 😭😭😭 #what a journey #thanks for all the love #truly means the world

[ivorydragoness44]

Murtagh Morzansson x Reader: New Traditions Word Count: 626 Summary: The Reader and Murtagh come up with their own winter tradition while snuggling on the couch (because that’s apparently where I always put them…???)

~~~~  ~~~~

  It was the beginning of winter, the first that you would officially spend with Murtagh. Perhaps not officially, but at least together, and you were more than happy to spend quality snuggling time with him.    “Murtagh,” you asked, gaining his attention away from the crackling fire. “Do you have any winter traditions?”    He smiled softly at your curiosity, but replied simply. “No.” By the reaction of your falling face he continued. “Eating and drinking were the main…activities that I can remember. People dancing and listening to songs that I cannot recall, as well. Nothing too eventful or meaningful to cherish and maintain as a yearly celebration.”    Your heart sank at the thought. It had not occurred to you in your moment of questioning that his childhood had little to nonexistent good memories. However, as he awaited a response of any kind from you, a thought formed. “Why don’t we create our own?” You beamed in excitement.    Murtagh’s eyes widened at your suggestion. “Create what?”    “Our own tradition. I do not see why not. Who’s to stop us?”

   With his smile returning, he glanced away briefly in his surprised delight. “And what kind of traditions did you have in-mind?”    “I have not thought that far ahead yet. Don’t rush me,” you breathed out a laugh.    “I would do no such thing,” he affirmed, holding you closer to him under the blanket.    “I suppose we are limited at the moment because of trade,” you thought aloud. “Unless we all help to expand the crops.”    A particularly loud pop from the a-flamed logs startled you out of focus. Murtagh pressed an assuring kiss to your forehead.    “Do you want to make a pie?”    “Not at the moment,” he hummed against your skin, feeling a small smirk from him.    “For our winter tradition.”    “Ah. Yes, that sounds delicious.”    “And our dragons can go on a hunt together, I’m sure they’ll love that.”    Murtagh nodded in agreement. “Perhaps we can cook an evening meal together. Not necessarily a feast…some of our favorites, if we can obtain the supplies.”    “How would we decorate, if we wanted to?”    There was a calm pause of silence as he contemplated. “I was going to say ribbons and such, but…we are limited on extra supplies at the moment.”    “It’s all right, we can always make additions as supplies become more accessible,” you encouraged, gently patting his chest. “It does not have to be anything grand, as long as we’re together, I will be happy and most grateful.”    You felt as Murtagh seemingly melted into the couch with a barely audible wistful sigh.    “So…we have decorating, hunting, cooking, and……What shall we do to complete our new tradition?” He asked, gazing softly at you.    You made one of your thoughtful faces that he adored, though you never did catch the way he looked at you in-turn.    “You could…kiss me good night?” You suggested slowly.    His smile made your chest go warm. “May I not kiss you too soon.”    “I will not limit you an amount of times that you can kiss me, Murtagh.”    “I promise not to be greedy.”    “Sometimes I wish you would,” you half said to yourself. Flopping the blanket over his head in mock protest, laughter between the pair of you ensued.    Murtagh pulled you down with him onto the couch, your body now atop his.    As you lifted up the blanket, you were met with his smiling face. It was quite honestly your favorite sight. To see him in such a relaxed state as compared to his usual day to day was in a way relieving.    Pulling the blanket over your head to join him under the blanket, you snuggled close in your silly bliss.

~~~~  ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

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#murtagh #murtagh morzansson #the inheritance cycle #murtagh x reader #murtagh morzansson x reader #murtagh x you #murtagh insert reader #murtagh morzansson insert reader #murtagh fanfic #murtagh fanfiction #murtagh morzansson fanfic #murtagh morzansson fanfiction #winter fanfic #winter fanfiction #ivorydragoness44

[jessebyron]

Thoughts on Murtagh by Christopher Paolini

Thoughts on Murtagh by Christopher Paolini

First read of the year! I will mostly keep this spoiler free, but do read on with caution if you are wanting to approach this story tabula rasa.

As you read my criticisms below please keep this in your mind: I never once put the book down for very long. I came in to this story already deeply invested in the characters, and I enjoyed seeing them again after all of these years. I had to force myself to wait until the new year rang in so I could have it as my first read of 2024.

Honestly, I never thought I'd visit Alagaësia again. With Inheritance wrapping up Eragon's main story back in 2011, I had more or less left the land and its peoples behind. Even after finding out about The Fork, The Witch, and The Worm (a few years after the fact), I just never quite got around to it. I had loved the series growing up. Without Eragon casually sitting on an endcap in the Covington, Louisiana Walmart, there is no telling how much longer it would have taken me to enjoy reading. Without JJP's gorgeous portrait of Sapphira, I don't know if I would have fallen in love with stories and imaginative worlds in quite the same way. Looking back on my life, a life that has almost exclusively revolved around stories and the various arts to make them, my mom agreeing to buy the book during our grocery trip (with the promise that I would read my AR book for school first) was one of the most critical moments in my life, echoing 20~ years into the future.

All of that to say, I approached this book with a little bit of history and baggage. In the summer of 2016, in a group job interview at Books-a-Million in Mobile, Alabama my pleasant memories were a little spoiled by the assistant manager pointing out the deep similarities in characters and story beats between The Inheritance Cycle and Star Wars. This feeling was then sharpened some with mixed (but ultimately favorable reaction to Paolini's foray in sci-fi, To Sleep in a Sea of Stars (2020, Tor/Macmillan Publishers).

I didn't know how I wanted to jump back in this world. Did I want to go back to the beginning? Maybe just gloss over a few key chapters or perhaps just revisiting Brisingr and Inheritance as a refresher? Following the advice of several Redditors (I know, I know, but what's a guy to do?) I decided to read the short story collection first. It reacquainted me with both the world and Paolini's writing style. A literary aperitif, if you will, as opposed to trying to digest the first four books again which would have worn me out, and, I think, ruined the experience of Murtagh for me.

Because: it wasn't all that great. It was good, make no mistake, but held up to the shining splendor of second grade nostalgia (something I could not avoid no matter how hard I tried), there were a few lackluster facets. It wasn't at all terrible, or bad in any way, but parts felt a little like an unpolished gem. Repetitive and long. I don't mind slow burns or even slower variations of a single theme, but this book could have been shorter by a few thousand words. The "will we or won't we stay" debate and the succeeding chapters of our heroes' torture and brain washing went on for quite a few hours of reading. And none of it could be skimmed through because there were occasional details of import to the plot or emotional arc. It's probably the more egregious violation of "show, don't tell" that Paolini has committed so far (at least in my distanced memory).

An that's part of the tragedy of returning to a favorite childhood world. In Murtagh, we have this great set up to explore a tale of personal trauma and the butterfly effects of the first four books' main character. We get to walk in the shoes (fly in the claws? wings?) of someone who had the worst ending. Hated or misunderstood or both by virtually everyone in the Empire and its enemies, Murtagh's poverty is a chance to see the original story in an outsider-looking-in context. We get see the shadows cast by the light of a heroic victor, the dark places under rocks and fallen logs that are uncomfortable to look at, while slowly building into what will be a fantasy tale with an eldritch horror bent. The climax of the tale gives us a beautiful inversion of the hero's tale with an almost literal descent into hell. It's enough fun that the reader can ignore the the derivative strain that runs through much of Paolini's work.

But. We are not quite pricked as sharply as we could be. What could be the full effect of the story is just out of reach beyond a glass wall of just a few too many descriptions and details.

As I said at the start, I still had a lot of fun. I wasn't looking for a life changing literary experience and was able to enjoy it as such. Will happily be buying the sequels other one off tales whenever they come out.

#reading #2024 reading #fantasy #paolini #Christopher Paolini #eragon #murtagh #reading blog