Inheritance Cycle 1. Foreward

So this stub chapter is more of an author's note. The story takes place in Alagaesia post-Inheritance. So far in my head, Murtagh and Thorn are the only actual characters from the series to feature in this fanfic. The rest of the characters have been made up by me.

The story has been rated M for language and explicit scenes in later chapters. I've taken a few liberties with the spells, the places and the names. Feel free to point any factual mistakes made - it's been a while since I read the series. The story should mostly be grammatically correct. It's my first attempt at writing fanfiction, so don't be hesitant to get all harsh and critical. This is the one I learn to get better from.

That's it. Read and Review!


	2. Chapter 2

It was a dark, stormy night. The wind was blowing hard and cold against Murtagh's bare face as he rode over the Spine, perched on Thorn's back.

"Ah, fuck it looks like it's going to rain," he muttered to himself in annoyance. Not that he hated the rain. On the contrary, he loved it. But not when it meant he would have to find shelter to prevent getting Pneumonia. On land.

He'd been lost in his thoughts for so long he hadn't even realized when he'd crossed over the Spine onto the flatlands, edging closer to the coast. Now that he had reached the edge Alagaesia, he realized how long it had been since they first set off. And for how long they had travelled incessantly, without the comfort of any shelter and meals.

_There's Teirm_, said Thorn. _It's about time we stopped to get food and some rest._

_Yes, it is,_ Murtagh agreed. But they would need to find a lonely enough spot to keep Thorn's majestic presence hidden. Remembering the obscure little island a few leagues off the coast of Teirm that had once been used to moor ships bringing in trade cargo, he wondered, _Sharktooth Island_?

_Sharktooth Island_, Thorn replied.

And so it was, that Rider and Dragon made their way to the abandoned little island of Sharktooth.

It was nearing midnight when Thorn landed in a partially sheltered copse on the island. The winds were getting stronger, giving Murtagh reason to postpone his journey to Teirm for a few hours at least. Within minutes of casting protective enchantments around himself and Thorn, fatigue took over and both he and Thorn were oblivious to the world.

But sleep was soon taken over by hunger. Murtagh woke in the early hours of morning absolutely famished, and his rumbling stomach would not let him fall asleep again. Tired and hungry, he decided to make his journey to Teirm immediately on one of the few still functional boats he found on the beach. After a quick word to Thorn, who had gorged on an array wild beasts the previous night, he headed to the beach while Thorn caught up on some well deserved rest.  
He grunted with the effort to pull the moored boat out into the sea while weighed down by his cloak and the incessant drizzle. Well, he thought, it's as good a time as any. At least the storm had quietened down. The sea looked downright calm this morning. Apart from the cool morning fog that enveloped it of course. But nothing could deter him now, not with the promise of food looming ahead. With daybreak still an hour away, Murtagh began rowing towards the shore.

Murtagh had nearly crossed the distance between the island and the shore, and there was still nearly half an hour until daybreak. He decided to make for the old port instead of risking the big, new one. Even though the darkness was to his advantage, he wasn't going to risk being seen. He hopped out of the small boat and pulled it into the beach, fastening it to a nearby pole with some rope he'd found lying at the bottom of it. He hacked his way through the weeds all over the port, surprised at how much the undergrowth had been allowed to flourish. He was startled when he felt a thorn cut into his arm, but soon forgot his surprise when the sight ahead consumed him. Never before had a dingy collection of shops looked so beautiful to him before. He knew he'd have to wait a little longer for the shops to open, but the promise of supplies gave him hope. He decided to spend the time wandering around the desolate market-place when he noticed his arm was gushing blood. The cut had been larger than he had anticipated. There was no way he could magically heal this in his state of no energy. He would need a healer.

He walked ahead and found the only dwelling with a burning lamp in the city. It was an odd looking shop. Small and non-descript was a rare sight in these times when every shop owner tried to make his business more noticeable and attractive than the next. He also noticed the small sign that said 'Apothecary' above the door. _Just in time_, he thought, for his hand was beginning to go numb. _Blood loss_, he concluded. Not that an apothecary would be as helpful as a healer at this time, it was still better than waiting outside in the chilly fog.

_Better than nothing_, he thought, and pushed the door open. He looked around, taking in his surroundings for a second, before heading towards the counter.

"Excu-" he started, before a gripping pain in his sides stopped him. He fell against something. Glass, he thought, when he heard the shattering sound. He began seeing black spots in his now blurred vision and his chest felt tightened. The last thing he registered was a flurry of pale lavender and soft hands cradling his face before he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! I've just been really lazy. Plus I just read the Princess Diaries books for the first time(I'm 18, don't judge me).**

**So nothing much has happened in this chapter either. I'm begging you guys to be patient with me, I've got the basic story built in my head, and I promise there is lots more stuff to come just as soon as I type it up. **

**I wanted to thank everyone who's read the story so far, especially Sarrackles and Zeperior for following my story. Please Follow/Favourite if you like my story. Also, Review!**

* * *

Murtagh woke to the sound of clanging metal. He was lying in a strange bed in a dimly lit room. The noise was coming from below him. _At least I'm not underground._

He quickly checked his body for marks to find complete absence of any new bruises or needle marks. _Not drugged then._

He scanned the room for more information but it was frustratingly ordinary. Just the bed, or cot, that he was lying on, a small wooden cabinet by the door, and a lamp by the window. None of his nondescript surroundings told him anything about where he was, or how he got there.

In spite of the blinding pain through the centre of his brain, he could still remember what had happened albeit in disconnected, fuzzy pictures. He had made his way into Teirm at dawn, walked into an apothecary and then...what? Simply blacked out? He couldn't even remember being attacked.

_Murtagh! Are you alright? I've been going out of my mind worrying about you! _Thorn had stayed connected to Murtagh's mind all the while, waiting for him to regain consciousness.

_I'm fine, Thorn. I just don't know where I am. Have you been discovered?_

_No, the humans seem to steer clear of this place._

_Good._

_Do you want me find you? I could fly._

_And incinerate this measly port? No thanks. I think we have enough blood on our hands to atone for over several lifetimes. I'll just go find out why I've spent _hours_ unconscious and head back –_

_Hours? It's been two whole _days_, Murtagh. Why do you think I've been so worried?_

"Two days!" he said out loud in alarm, just as the wooden door creaked opened. Murtagh snapped his eyes back to the door to finally see his saviour. _Or captor_.

His eyes were greeted by a girl holding a plate in her hand. _Not a girl, _he amended, _a woman._ The young woman had clearly defined curves underneath her modest covering.

"That's right," she said, handing over the plate to Murtagh. "You've been unconscious for two days, Rider. I imagine you are in need of nourishment."

"Rider? How – "Murtagh stared at her in disbelief. "Your palm," she said simply.

_Of course, _he thought. Anyone would recognize the _gedwey ignasia_ these days. _The age of the Dragon Riders is back._ Murtagh didn't realize he was still staring at her until she said, "Eat. You'll feel better."

"Who are you?" he asked, pushing away the plate. "Evangeline," she said, exasperated at his disregard for the food, "I run the apothecary. I'm sure you want to know what happened, but you really should eat first. Everything else can wait.

So he ate. Ravenously at first, scarfing down the meat and bread in response to the persistent growling in his mid-region. Suddenly embarrassed by his plebeian behaviour, he slowed down and began chewing his food so as to not disgust his mysterious hostess.

As he ate, he stared at her, trying to learn everything he could about her. Her large, dark eyes were completely undecipherable, yet soft and set slightly far apart. Her lips were full and pink, showing her to be in perfect health. Her small nose and pale skin screamed commoner, but her soft, uncalloused hands indicated a life without hard, physical work. However, she wasn't dainty. No. She was tall for a woman and broad shouldered. Her ancestors must have been hard workers. His eyes travelled back to her lips, and then her eyes to see that his unabashed staring had been caught. Embarrassed, again, he dropped his eyes back to his plate and finished the rest of his meal in silence. He looked away too fast to notice the blush creep slowly to her cheeks.

Once he had eaten and taken a long drink of water, he looked at her expectantly, waiting for explanations as to his condition. She met his eyes and began.

"Poison," she said. "The weeds growing all over the old port, they're toxic. You got a thorn?"

"Yes," he replied

"The poison in your blood slowed down your heart. It would've stopped it within ten minutes of you losing consciousness."

Murtagh could scarcely believe what he was hearing. _Ten minutes! _To think that's all it would've taken for that bloody thorn to kill him! He silently applauded himself on his decision to visit the apothecary before stuffing himself like a turkey with food.

"I thank you," he said at last, "for your hospitality. And when can I thank your father? He's the healer who cured me, I imagine."

"My father? Why would you assume my father healed you?" she asked incredulously.

"Was it your mother than? Or your older brother, perhaps?"

"So you just assume it wasn't me then?" she asked, enraged at his denseness.

"Well of course not," he said with a ludicrous expression, "you're far too young. You're just a little girl!" He saw her infuriated face and immediately regretted his words. She got up quickly, snatched his empty plate dishes up, and left the room promptly, closing the door behind her. Murtagh had never felt so frustrated with himself. Just because he hadn't been around people for so long was no excuse not to behave decently. At least with the girl who saved his life. _Woman, _he corrected himself. _Young woman._

_Excellent job there, Murtagh, _Thorn said with a chuckle. _She definitely won't poison your tea in the morning._

_Oh shut up, _Murtagh groaned as he lay back on the bed. He spent hours staring at the door, fervently ignoring Thorn's occasional bursts of satire, before slowly slipping back into the confines of his subconscious.

And for the first time in years, the nightmares of his life stayed out of his dreams.


End file.

Inheritance Cycle, Fantasy, Romance