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modern-inheritance · 3 years

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Modern Inheritance: Sleeping Arrangements/Hotel Pit Stop

(A/N: Some more traveling Eragon and Co. on their way to the Varden post Gil’ead. If it’s not apparent, the mad rush to the Varden mainly starts after ‘Judge You Not.’

There’s a lot of character interaction in this one, and I used it to build a little of the world, the relationships between characters, and dialogue rhythms. Again, this is an older MIC story , so I have changed a decent amount of the lore and tech levels, but I still enjoy this one. )

~~~

“Good evening, ma'am. Are there any rooms available?” Brom smiled at the desk attendant, ignoring her ill concealed disgust at the grime covering himself and the young men behind him. It wasn’t the finest hotel in the world, but it was still cleaner than a roadside motel and had a nice touch of class to it for their higher rates.

It was the only place that still had the vacancy sign on, so Brom had grudgingly agreed to see if they had a room that could accommodate them. Everyone needed a boost in morale, and a night in a bed and a hot shower would do the trick to lift their spirits. It was isolated enough that it would take a long time for any soldiers to reach them if anyone recognized them, and Saphira was well hidden in the small forest nearby. She could respond to any danger and was far enough away to be virtually undetectable.

The clerk sighed and clicked a few keys on the bulky computer in front of her. “It’s one-thirty-two Crowns for a two queen bedroom. Non-smoking.” She glared at the pipe poking out of Brom’s upper pocket. “Two hundred for cleaning fees if you smoke inside.”

“I understand. Do you have a room with a window, by any chance?”

“It’s ten extra Crowns.” The woman all but sneered at him.

Behind him Brom heard Eragon shift, obviously upset about the clerk’s clear plan of pocketing the extra money. Murtagh didn’t react, his eyes constantly scanning the room and marking exits. He surreptitiously tugged the strap holding his holstered rifle a little lower, uneasy in the open lobby.

Brom nodded calmly despite the extra charge. “We’ll take it. Do you have any roller beds so my boys don’t have to split sheet? The kid kicks like a horse.” Grumbling, the woman stood and pulled a folded up rolling cot, complete with a mattress and blankets, from the small room behind the desk. “Thank you.”

Brom traded payment for the keys, extra bedding and toiletries and bid the sour attendant a good night. Murtagh grabbed the cot and the trio moved into the elevator, squeezing to one side to fit the roller bed in along with their packs. As the doors slid shut and they began ascending, Eragon leaned over to Brom. “How’s Arya going to–”

“Shut up. Not here.” Murtagh hissed, keeping his eyes forward. When Eragon shot him an annoyed glare, the older boy subtly gestured to the small camera in the corner. It’s little red light was flashing.

The three exited the elevator in silence, quickly making their way to their room while checking as many exits as possible without arousing suspicion. Whenever he found a camera, Murtagh would point it out to Eragon and Brom as inconspicuously as he could. It would be best to keep out of the security tapes in case the soldiers came across the hotel after they left.

Upon finally reaching the room, Brom locked all the available bolts, chains and electronic locks he could as Murtagh unfolded the cot. Eragon checked the bathroom to make sure everything was in order, tested out the small A/C unit, then sat on the bed with a sigh.

“Now will you explain how Arya is going to get in here?” The boy asked, stretching tiredly. “Don’t tell me she’s going to stay out there with Saphira all night. She deserves a shower more than any of us.”

Murtagh snorted, muttering something along the lines of the elf desperately needing one instead of deserving it, and pushed the cot into the corner so he would have a clear line of sight of both the door and the window from the side. Brom gestured to the aforementioned window, which was parallel to the bed Eragon was sitting on, and grunted, “Open that.”

Perturbed, Eragon did as he was asked and opened the window fully, the metal frame bumping the outer wall. A humid breeze swept in, lending the room the scent of damp leaves and warm night air. The young Rider braced his hands on the sill and leaned out to breathe it in.

A soft series of scuffing noises were all the warning he had before Arya was suddenly staring him in the eyes, comfortably resting her chin on the sill as she crouched with her feet against the outer wall and sure fingers gripping the windowsill. “Well hello.”

Eragon jerked back, startled. They were on the fourth floor. “How the hell did you just–”

“Fun fact, Eragon. On average my species can jump at least ten feet in the air when we put some effort into it.” Eragon backed away from the window as the woman ‘hopped’ into a sitting position on the windowsill and then tumbled backwards into the room. “Don’t gape. I parkoured most of it. It’s forty bloody feet up, even we can’t do that.”

Brom tossed his bag on the bed closest to the door and started pulling off his coat. “Did anyone see you?”

Arya shook her head. “No. If they did, it was at a distance.”

“Good thing we had you switch clothes.” The old man grunted.

Before they had gotten within five leagues of the tiny roadside town, Brom had suggested the elf change out of her fatigues and into something a little less conspicuous.

Arya raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, great. I’ll just change back into blood covered prison clothes. I’ll be totally inconspicuous. Hell, I’ll look like a human, because changing pants definitely changes the shape of my fucking ears. I’m not going to risk appearance magic, not with that damn drug in me still.”

Murtagh scratched his stubbled chin, wanting to get back into civilization only long enough to start hating it again. “I might have an idea.” He stepped up and put his back to hers, careful not to lean his weight against her covered injuries. With a flat hand the young man compared their heights and nodded in confirmation when he found only a miniscule difference between them. “We’re pretty much the same height. I have some old jeans in my bag.”

Meanwhile, Eragon was furiously digging in his backpack, searching for the winter clothes he had first set out on their journey wearing. He didn’t want Murtagh being the only one to come up with something, not in front of Arya. Saphira snorted, teasing him quietly about it, but he ignored her and triumphantly pulled out what he had been looking for. “Here! This could at least cover your ears. It’s not perfect, but it’ll be good in a pinch.”

Arya took the offered article and examined it before chuckling, “Actually, this is an old trick we used to do with Varden when we went drinking. Ah, the benefits of beanies.” And she put it on, pulling the sides of the knit hat down to cover the most obvious marker of her race.

Dressed as she was, Arya looked almost no different from a human woman, if a bit on the angsty side. Dark loose jeans, grey hoodie, black shirt and a dark navy blue beanie tugged low over the tips of her pointed ears certainly gave her a brooding look, especially when leaning against the wall of a hotel and shooting glowering stares at anyone that even glanced at her. As long as no one got close enough to examine her facial structure, she would pass for human.

“Who wants to shower first?” Brom asked, already laying out a fresh shirt and a toothbrush on the bed. “Whoever does will be taking the laundry to the coin washer and gets to guard it once everyone is done.”

When Arya shook her head and Eragon just shrugged, Murtagh stepped up. “Ah, I don’t care. I’ll go first if you don’t want it, Brom.”

“All yours.” The old man gave him one of the extra mini toiletry kits he had bought. “Feel free to shave. There’s a razor in there, fuzz face.” Murtagh grunted, subconsciously passing a hand over his newly grown ragged stubble of a beard, and locked the door to the bathroom behind him. A few moments later the sound of the shower running drifted through the door.

Brom turned to Arya and tossed her the extra bedding he had picked up. “Here. Bandages. Better than nothing. You can use the comforter for padding the floor. If someone comes in to check it would be best if you’re at least out of easy sight.”

“Was planning on sleeping there anyway.” She grabbed the comforter and gestured to the gap between one of the beds and the wall. “Do you mind if take the space next to your bed, Eragon?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.” He smiled, happy that the elf had chosen to be closer to him than to Brom. “You can take some of the pillows too, I only need one.” She nodded her thanks and threw her makeshift bedding down, padding over it in oblong, looping circles to settle the lumps before adding one of the pillows. “So, um…you said you used beanies when you were with the Varden to go out drinking. Don’t they know you’re an elf? I mean, they have to, right? Why can’t you just go as is?”

Arya shrugged and sat next to him on the bed. Before answering, she unsheathed a mid-sized combat knife from the side of her boot and set about tearing the sheet Brom had given her into palm wide strips. “They know. And plenty of them are unsettled by us. It took a while to get used to the stares and the occasional…remark, I should say. When something is misunderstood, it is often feared, and going out for a drink in one of Farthen Dur’s crowded bars with our ears clearly on display could turn the atmosphere from fun to awkward in a hot second.” Finished with the sheet, the elf began rolling the makeshift bandages. “So, we started wearing beanies or hoodies to cover our ears. Everyone treated us as just another human unless we did something to tip them off, at which point we would leave.”

Eragon frowned. It bothered him that even the Varden had people who were not fond of other races. 'If they don’t trust elves, then what are they going to think of me and Saphira?’ He subconsciously reached his mind out to Saphira, brushing against her sleeping thoughts to reassure himself. When his mind was calm again and he had confirmed that she was safe, he asked, “Doesn’t it bother you, though? You’re helping them, and you’ve fought for them. Don’t they respect that? Haven’t you at least tried change their minds?”

Arya leveled her gaze with his. “Oh, I tried at first. It led to more trouble than good. Some people already have their minds made up, Eragon. Out of the entire Varden, only a small percentage openly expressed any issue with me and my guards, and I’m sure there are more who keep their thoughts to themselves.” She paused to tear the end of a partially rolled strip lengthwise a few inches with her teeth. “Besides, there are still people in the Varden who treated me as just another Vardenite. People have opinions. I can’t let it affect how I act. I fight for the Varden as a whole, and if it costs me a night of drowning myself in dwarvish vodka, I’m okay with that.”

“Don’t give the boy any ideas.” Brom chastised from his bed. He had found a current newspaper in one of the nightstand drawers and was scanning it for any information regarding the Varden, Urgals, Gil'ead, or Eragon and Saphira. “And no getting him drunk. Unless I’m there. Then, well…we’ll see.”

Arya waved him off. “I know, I know.”

The shower cut off. Moments later Murtagh emerged from the bathroom, tendrils of steam clinging to his body and trailing him as the door opened. “Alright, who’s next?” He was clean-shaven and wore a simple tshirt and a pair of basketball shorts, still rubbing his head of wild, damp hair with a small towel.

“You’re up, kid.” Arya clapped Eragon on the shoulder. He hopped up and grabbed a set of clothes that were decently clean and his portable music player before slipping inside the steam filled room and locking the door behind him. Seconds later the muffled chords of country music could be heard as the shower turned on.

Brom folded the paper in half and used it to swat Arya’s arm. “When are you going to take your turn? You definitely need it. And I’m putting that lightly.”

The elf chuckled. “Last. Trust me, I am going to destroy that shower. The closest I’ve gotten to being clean was splashing water on my face the last few days. It’s been well over six months since I actually showered.

"Fair point.”

Murtagh fell onto his roller bed with a contented sigh. “Now this is nice. Hot water, a place to clean our clothes, a locked door. And a bed!” He lifted his head slightly. “Do they have a radio? For such a price they should have at least put a telly in the room.”

“I doubt it plays anything but official news and propaganda.” Brom grunted, but still leaned over and hit the power button on the small radio clock that graced the bedside table. After a few garbled channels of static and scrolling through the entire range of signals, he finally found one that came in crystal clear.

“–nds the economic report. Here’s Karl Yorgisson with the day’s news.”

Brom snorted. “Told you.”

Arya waved him away from hitting the off switch. “Shush, I want to hear this.”

“Thanks, Jason.” Karl Yorgisson accepted the hand off. “Still no concrete news on the attack at the Gil'ead military base. Although it is confirmed by the base commander that the attack was carried out by Varden forces, it is unclear if any were captured after their defeat or if any escaped.

"We again advise that you keep your eyes peeled for any faces you have seen on watch boards. Remember, not only is there a sizable reward for information, there is also the pride that comes with defending your King and country from the insidious terrorists that lurk in our midst.

"In other news, we have a new addition to our team! Rebecca Jayasdaughter is to be joining us for her first broadcast on–”

Brom hit the switch when no other news concerning their activities was forthcoming. “Well, that’s good. They’re not willing to admit that we slipped past them. That means they can’t inform the general public about us or why they’re searching for us.”

“Attacked Gil'ead my arse.” Murtagh grumbled, eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. “I climbed in through the bloody garbage chute. Could have at least called it a hostile intrusion or sabotage. We don’t need the attention of being labeled dangerous attackers, period.”

“Saphira told me she ripped the entire roof off their state dining hall. They can’t cover up that amount of damage quick enough to pass it off as a single man stealth intrusion.” Arya pointed out. “Besides, they’ll blame it on an elvish raiding party sooner or later. They always do if the town is near Du Weldenvarden.”

Murtagh frowned, confused, yet still refused to open his tired eyes. “Wait…. You’re telling me that the reports of elvish raiding parties…?”

“Never happened?” The elf looked at him with genuine surprise and what appeared to be a touch of insult, aghast that he thought the stories were true. “Of course they never happened! We don’t send out random raiding parties! Glen, Fäolin and I were the only elves to leave the forest since my race retreated there.” She shook her head, shocked that he had actually believed the propaganda. “Honestly! It’s too risky to send little groups out like that to attack directly, what if one of our fighters were captured!”

The young man cracked open one eye and lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Arya. “Oh? So, you were just visiting Gil'ead and managed to lock yourself in a cell? The men you were with just fell on their guns, is that it?”

“That is different.” Arya snarled. Brom glanced at her, mildly startled by her tone, then turned back to leafing through the phone book and wishing he had brought at least one of his prized lore tomes with him on this harebrained journey. “We weren’t attacking, we were in the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Someone in the Varden betrayed us. That betrayal led to the death of my fyrn breoal. I’d prefer it if you didn’t make quips about it.”

“I apologize.” Murtagh dipped his head in her direction as best he could, his words truly sincere. Losing friends to the King was something he was very familiar with. “It was in bad taste.”

Arya rubbed her temples and braced her elbows on her knees, shoulders tense. “Apology accepted. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Murtagh shrugged. “Eh. Natural response.” The room was quiet for a time, the only sound being the rustle of Brom now flipping through the holy book from the desk, the light patter of the shower, Eragon’s off key humming, and country music. Then, “What’s a frin br… fyrn bri….”

“Fyrn breoal. Means war family in the Ancient Language.” Brom answered gruffly. Despite the no smoking designation, he pulled his pipe from his discarded jacket and clamped it firmly in his teeth. “Elves who fight often use it to describe their battle buddies. Only the closest knit groups use the term.” He jerked his chin in Arya’s direction. “If I’m not mistaken, that is.”

The elf nodded, fiddling with one of the remaining bandages. She was weaving it over and between her fingers, trying to keep her hands busy. “Glen and Faölin were my fyrn darmthrelli, my war brothers. We fought for the Varden together for decades.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Arya’s jaw tightened slightly. “Shit happens in war. We all lose people. We fight even harder in their memory.” She unwound the bandage and then looped the tail around her thumb again, beginning anew.

Murtagh mulled over the new words he had learned, again letting the atmosphere lapse into silence. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable one, a little too heavy to be called that, but it was easy enough to be called content. The three currently inhabiting the room were all comfortable with reflecting on their own thoughts without feeling the urge to shatter the silence. Murtagh respected that of Brom and Arya, and was glad that they, too, seemed to respect his quiet.

’Fyrn breoal. Tornac was my fyrn breoal, then. I guess he would be my war father. Too old to be a war brother.’ Murtagh’s heavy lidded eyes wandered the room. 'I wonder what he would have thought of all this. Eragon, Saphira, Brom and Arya. Agh, Bloody hell, he’d probably lash me silly for agreeing to go to the Varden and trusting strangers like this.’ The thought brought a sleepy grin to his face, and his eyes drifted closed.

“Oi. Don’t sleep yet. You have to do laundry.” Brom snapped when he saw the young man drifting off.

It didn’t even phase Murtagh, who just rolled onto his side and mumbled, “Then wake me up when it’s ready to be done.” and nuzzled his face deeper into his pillow.

It didn’t take long for his breathing to even out and his body to relax. Arya nudged the end of the bed with her foot and shook her head when Murtagh only mumbled and groggily waved her off.

“I can do the laundry. Should probably let the guy sleep.” She offered when Brom made an annoyed noise at the young man’s reaction.

“Can’t have you wandering around out there.” Brom shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. “If you run into someone who have any education from the army, it could get ugly fast.”

“So I’m pretty much useless at this point in time?” Arya asked dryly. “Dear me, I’m in a room where I can’t leave. Out of one jail and into another.”

“Don’t get all brooding on me, girl. Once your clothes are washed you can change out of Murtagh’s and maybe the angst will wear off.” The elf chuckled at that, and Brom flipped the holy book closed with a definitive snap. “Bloody hell, why is Eragon taking so long?”

The old man stood and went over to the bathroom door. He paused, glanced at Arya, and a bit of a mischievous glint came to his eyes. The elf raised an eyebrow. “Oh stars, I know that look. What are you planning?”

Brom only grinned and shoved his pipe into his pocket before raising his fist and banging on the door, yelling, “Eragon! What the HELL is taking so long?! You had better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there!”

There was the distinct sound of someone nearly falling on their ass in a wet shower and sputtered curses. “I’ll be done in a minute!”

“Cold water works wonders, boy! Hurry up!”

As Brom returned to his bed Arya swatted him on the arm. “He’s a teenage boy. He needs his alone time.” She, too, was trying to hold back laughter. “Better he do that in there than when he thinks we’re all asleep.”

“He should have thought of ’alone time’ before he left Carvahall.” Brom shot back, but was still grinning from ear to ear. “And trust me, you don’t get alone time with a bonded dragon in your mind.”

“Poor Saphira!”

The shower squeaked off and Eragon came out, his face and the tips of his tapering ears bright red. He was wearing a pair of long pajama pants and a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

“You could have just told me to hurry up.” The boy grumbled, shooting Brom a moody glare.

Brom nodded with a chuckle. “Aye, but then you wouldn’t have actually gotten out right when I asked.”

“Well, I wasn't–” His face went an even deeper shade of red when he realized Arya was still awake and watching him, bemused. “I wouldn’t do that with people in the next…. I just like hot showers, okay?” Pink blotches started appearing on his neck, collarbones and shoulders as he blushed furiously.

“Hey, I’m not saying anything.” Arya put her hands up. “What you do in the shower is none of my business.”

Brom grabbed his fresh clothes and brushed by the younger Rider. “You can sleep now, boy. No watches tonight. Put your dirty clothes next to Murtagh’s.”

Still red, Eragon placed his travel clothes next to the small pile Murtagh had made and sat on his bed. Arya was stretched out on the other side, leaning against the headboard, and was flipping through the holy book Brom had abandoned. She didn’t seem to be reading it, just turning the pages to give herself something to do.

“You alright with me here until Brom gets out? I can move to his bed if you want me to.” She asked as the Eragon wiggled underneath the tightly tucked sheets and blanket.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” He attempted to adjust the pile of pillows behind his head and, giving up, pulled one out and tossed it at Murtagh. The sleeping man grumbled, kicking the pillow off his legs, and raised a middle finger in Eragon’s general direction. “If you…um…if you don’t want to sleep on the floor we could…you know, split sheet.”

Eragon’s ears flared a deep maroon as Arya let out a soft laugh. “Thanks, but I need to be out of general sight if anyone comes in. People would wonder why three people checked in and suddenly a fourth person appeared. Bed blocks the view of my little hideout.” The Rider mumbled a ’good point’ and tried to ignore the glimmer of amusement in the elf’s dark eyes. “Is Saphira doing alright out there?”

“Yeah. She’s asleep.” Glad for the change in topic, Eragon busied himself with plugging his music player into the complimentary charger on the bedside table and wrapped his headphones around it carefully. “I think she’s a little glad for the time alone. She grew up in the woods near my farm after she hatched, and since we started traveling with Murtagh I think she’s been missing the solitude, not to mention a chance to sleep for a full night.”

A slight smile tilted the corners of Arya’s lips as she turned another page. “I think we’ve all earned a little rest.”

Eragon nodded in agreement, punctuated by a wide yawn. The hot shower had made him drowsy on top of being bone tired. Coupled with the soft pillows, warm blankets, Saphira’s sleeping thoughts and the safety of the walls around him, the boy found himself already drifting off. “Yeah.” He murmured, eyelids drooping closed. “G'night, Arya.”

“Good night, kid.”

As Eragon dropped off, the elf gently settled the holy book on the bed and slipped down onto her makeshift mattress to begin preparing for her own turn in the shower. She released her braid and combed out the snarls in her hair, wiped off what bits of blood and grime that she could with a scrap of shredded sheet, and put her dirty fatigues on the pile near Murtagh’s bed. When Brom stepped out, beard and mustache neatly clipped, he found Arya waiting quietly next to the door with the last package of toiletries and a fresh towel in her lap.

“Take as long as you want.” Brom grunted, jerking his head towards the shower and flinging out a few water droplets from his still damp hair. “I’m sending Murtagh to do laundry and then heading to sleep.”

“I’ll try not to destroy the entire hotel’s hot water supply.” Arya grinned wryly as she stood. “I’ll wake you if anything concerning happens.”

~~~

Arya shut off the water and watched the last dregs slide down the drain. It had taken ten minutes of soap, scrubbing and hot water to get the water flowing off her body to run lighter than dark grey. Another ten minutes saw it finally run clear, and five minutes under shockingly cold spray soothed the vicious burning in her healing wounds and scars. She shook herself and wrung out her hair as much as she could before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

A few brief minutes later she was again clothed in her borrowed jeans and her sports bra, and she stepped out of the bathroom. A quick check confirmed that Murtagh had not yet returned. He slipped inside just as the elf was tying off the last strip of bandage around her leg, the rest of the shredded sheet already wrapped around her torso.

“Heads up.” Murtagh grunted, tossing Arya her fatigues. She muttered her thanks, feeling the effects of the hot shower sinking in. “Good night, Arya.”

“'Night, Murtagh.” The young man hit the last light before tumbling onto his roller bed with the 'whumph’ of a relieved sigh. After a quick last look around the room to ensure everyone was accounted for, Arya followed suit.

No one dreamed. They just slept.

~~~

Eragon tore the covers off as a shrill alarm stabbed into his ears. For a confusing moment lights and sound blinded him. He threw his mind out to Saphira to see through her eyes, only to remember that she was a league away, hiding in the woods. He felt her wake and surge to her feet, his panic alarming her.

A swarm of curses in various languages assaulted him as he finally began to register his surroundings.

They were still in the hotel room, but the standard fire alarm on the wall was alive with flashing lights and mind shattering sound. To his right Brom was shoving the small pile of his clean clothes in his travel bag, swearing in a mildly familiar, old tribal dialect of the Spine. To Eragon’s left, Arya was already zipping Murtagh’s borrowed jacket up to cover the makeshift bandages on her torso, not even bothering with a shirt as she threw her fatigues onto her unzipped combat jacket. She zipped it, wrapped it up and clamped a spare blade harness strap around it before slinging the bundle across her back by the tied together sleeves and tore the window open. Eragon swore he heard her hissing choice words in the Ancient Language, but the intonation and inflections were markedly different.

Of all of them, Murtagh appeared to be the least disturbed by the noise. He sat lacing up his boots, already clothed in his travel gear, and his previously covered rifle was laid out on the bed within arms reach. As he picked the weapon up and chambered the first round Eragon realized the man was swearing in a steady monotone, never once reusing a word. When he seemed to run out of words in the common human language, he switched to what Eragon gathered was a dialect from his local hometown. His vocabulary was impressive to say the least.

“What the bloody hell is happening?” Eragon asked, snatching up his gear. He felt the distinct tickle of Saphira using his ears to hear the answer, her body tensing as she prepared to race to his aid.

Brom shoved the clip on the top of his bag together with a hurried snap. “From what I can gather, the desk clerk told her replacement about us and they checked the front tapes. They recognized at least one of us and they’re setting up the local garrison outside the doors as we speak.”

Murtagh’s muttered swearing filled the brief gap in conversation. “Faigh muin, deoghail am fallus bhàrr duine mharbh siadha tiadhan, cao–”

Eragon ignored him and haphazardly threw his clothing into his backpack, yanking on the zipper when it refused to close all the way. “What’s the alarm about then?” He checked that Zar'roc’s hilt and pommel were still wrapped, concealing the gem and shining grip, then strapped the blade on his hip.

“They’re trying to lure us to the emergency exit.” Brom growled. “Tell Saphira to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary. We still have a chance get out of here without letting them see her.”

'There won’t be anything to see if I eat them all.’ The dragon hissed in response. Eragon’s jaw twinged as she snapped her teeth in frustration. 'I’ll decide when to be seen. Just hurry up. I can smell a reinforcement company approaching.’

Eragon relayed her message. The speed of Murtagh’s swearing increased while even Brom let out a particularly foul word. “How are we getting out?” The younger Rider asked. “We can’t go out and we can’t go up without having Saphira try to fly us out, and she can’t carry four people.”

“Theta Rescue.” Arya grabbed Eragon’s backpack before he could pick it up. “Or as I like to call it unofficially, 'The Reversed Cliché.’” She threw his bag out the window, ignoring his cry of confusion.

“Only if you’re up for it.” Brom threw his bag to her, and she repeated the process. Murtagh calmly handed his over with a polite nod and a swear that Arya must have recognized, for she snapped back at him with a word of her own. “It’s quite a drop, even for you. The added weight won’t help.”

“No alternative I can see. Unless you want to tie together bed sheets.” Her head cocked to the side. “They’re sweeping the floor below us.”

“Theta it is.” Brom set himself up behind the wall near the door. “Lightest first, heaviest last. Eragon, Murtagh, you both are going to do exactly as Arya says, when she says you do it. Order is Eragon, me, then you Murtagh.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Eragon asked as Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him to the window. “What are you doing?”

Arya flashed him a grin that didn’t reach her now flinty eyes. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is trust me. And don’t wiggle.”

“Wigg–” Eragon was cut off as the elf ducked and suddenly swept him off his feet in a fireman’s carry. He only had time to spit out a quick “Oh Sweet Sara–” before Arya jumped out the window.

~~~

Half an hour later found the group galloping past the stand of trees where Saphira had hidden. The dragon leapt over their heads and snapped her wings out, startling the horses. 'On the road again, Little One?’ She asked, gaining altitude to circle above them.

'On the road again.’ Eragon affirmed, letting their thoughts mingle and intertwine in a way that the distance had previously made difficult. He felt her joy of flight and relief at being reunited, but also her displeasure. The close call had further confirmed her theory that he was a magnet for trouble. 'I’m going to hear about this later, aren’t I?’

The dragon chuffed, the odd sound resonating through their mental link. 'You’re just lucky Brom has a good head on his shoulders.’ With that she drove her wings down, shooting up another hundred feet. 'You will fly with me today.’

'Yes ma'am.’ Eragon smiled and Saphira crowed her jubilation to the sky.

Dust billowed from the horse’s hooves as they continued on their journey. It was good to be on the road again.

#Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance stories #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #saphira #Brom #arya #murtagh #modern inheritance lore #hotel pit stop #sleeping arrangements #older mic stories #like from the dA days #everyone gets a very much needed shower #also introducing Common Elvish and other regional dialects!

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weirdponytail · 3 years

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Modern Inheritance: Sleeping Arrangements/Hotel Pit Stop

(A/N: Some more traveling Eragon and Co. on their way to the Varden post Gil’ead. If it’s not apparent, the mad rush to the Varden mainly starts after ‘Judge You Not.’

There’s a lot of character interaction in this one, and I used it to build a little of the world, the relationships between characters, and dialogue rhythms. Again, this is an older MIC story {most of the stories posted en masse today are my earlier stories that I’ve built upon}, so I have changed a bit of the lore and tech levels, but I still enjoy the story.)

~~~

"Good evening, ma'am. Are there any rooms available?" Brom smiled at the desk attendant, ignoring her ill concealed disgust at the grime covering himself and the young men behind him. It wasn't the finest hotel in the world, but it was still cleaner than a roadside motel and had a nice touch of class to it for their higher rates.

The clerk sighed and clicked a few keys on the bulky computer in front of her. "It's one-thirty-two Crowns for a two queen bedroom. Non-smoking." She glared at the pipe poking out of Brom's upper pocket. "Two hundred for cleaning fees if you smoke inside."

"I understand. Do you have a room with a window, by any chance?"

"It's ten extra Crowns." The woman all but sneered at him.

Behind him Brom heard Eragon shift, obviously upset about the clerk's clear plan of pocketing the extra money. Murtagh didn't react, his eyes constantly scanning the room and marking exits. He surreptitiously tugged the strap holding his holstered rifle a little lower, uneasy in the open lobby.

Brom nodded calmly despite the extra charge. "We'll take it. Do you have any roller beds so my boys don't have to split sheet? The kid kicks like a horse." Grumbling, the woman stood and pulled a folded up rolling cot, complete with a mattress and blankets, from the small room behind the desk. "Thank you."

"Shut up. Not here." Murtagh hissed, keeping his eyes forward. When Eragon shot him an annoyed glare, the older boy subtly gestured to the small camera in the corner. It's little red light was flashing.

"Now will you explain how Arya is going to get in here?" The boy asked, stretching tiredly. "Don't tell me she's going to stay out there with Saphira all night. She deserves a shower more than any of us."

Eragon jerked back, startled. They were on the fourth floor. "How the hell did you just–"

"Fun fact, Eragon. On average my species can jump at least ten feet in the air when we put some effort into it." Eragon backed away from the window as the woman 'hopped' into a sitting position on the windowsill and then tumbled backwards into the room. "Don't gape. I parkoured most of it. It's forty bloody feet up, even we can't do that."

Brom tossed his bag on the bed closest to the door and started pulling off his coat. "Did anyone see you?"

Arya shook her head. "No. If they did, it was at a distance."

"Good thing we had you switch clothes." The old man grunted.

Before they had gotten within five leagues of the tiny roadside town, Brom had suggested the elf change out of her fatigues and into something a little less conspicuous.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, great. I'll just change back into blood covered prison clothes. I'll be totally inconspicuous. Hell, I'll look like a human, because changing pants definitely changes the shape of my fucking ears. I’m not going to risk appearance magic, not with that damn drug in me still."

Murtagh scratched his stubbled chin, wanting to get back into civilization only long enough to start hating it again. "I might have an idea." He stepped up and put his back to hers, careful not to lean his weight against her covered injuries. With a flat hand the young man compared their heights and nodded in confirmation when he found only a miniscule difference between them. "We're pretty much the same height. I have some old jeans in my bag."

Meanwhile, Eragon was furiously digging in his backpack, searching for the winter clothes he had first set out on their journey wearing. He didn't want Murtagh being the only one to come up with something, not in front of Arya. Saphira snorted, teasing him quietly about it, but he ignored her and triumphantly pulled out what he had been looking for. "Here! This could at least cover your ears. It's not perfect, but it'll be good in a pinch."

Arya took the offered article and examined it before chuckling, "Actually, this is an old trick we used to do with Varden when we went drinking. Ah, the benefits of beanies." And she put it on, pulling the sides of the knit hat down to cover the most obvious marker of her race.

"Who wants to shower first?" Brom asked, already laying out a fresh shirt and a toothbrush on the bed. "Whoever does will be taking the laundry to the coin washer and gets to guard it once everyone is done."

When Arya shook her head and Eragon just shrugged, Murtagh stepped up. "Ah, I don't care. I'll go first if you don't want it, Brom."

"All yours." The old man gave him one of the extra mini toiletry kits he had bought. "Feel free to shave. There's a razor in there, fuzz face." Murtagh grunted, subconsciously passing a hand over his newly grown ragged stubble of a beard, and locked the door to the bathroom behind him. A few moments later the sound of the shower running drifted through the door.

Brom turned to Arya and tossed her the extra bedding he had picked up. "Here. Bandages. Better than nothing. You can use the comforter for padding the floor. If someone comes in to check it would be best if you're at least out of easy sight."

"Was planning on sleeping there anyway." She grabbed the comforter and gestured to the gap between one of the beds and the wall. "Do you mind if take the space next to your bed, Eragon?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." He smiled, happy that the elf had chosen to be closer to him than to Brom. "You can take some of the pillows too, I only need one." She nodded her thanks and threw her makeshift bedding down, padding over it in oblong, looping circles to settle the lumps before adding one of the pillows. "So, um...you said you used beanies when you were with the Varden to go out drinking. Don't they know you're an elf? I mean, they have to, right? Why can't you just go as is?"

Arya shrugged and sat next to him on the bed. Before answering, she unsheathed a mid-sized combat knife from the side of her boot and set about tearing the sheet Brom had given her into palm wide strips. "They know. And plenty of them are unsettled by us. It took a while to get used to the stares and the occasional...remark, I should say. When something is misunderstood, it is often feared, and going out for a drink in one of Farthen Dur's crowded bars with our ears clearly on display could turn the atmosphere from fun to awkward in a hot second." Finished with the sheet, the elf began rolling the makeshift bandages. "So, we started wearing beanies or hoodies to cover our ears. Everyone treated us as just another human unless we did something to tip them off, at which point we would leave."

Eragon frowned. It bothered him that even the Varden had people who were not fond of other races. 'If they don't trust elves, then what are they going to think of me and Saphira?' He subconsciously reached his mind out to Saphira, brushing against her sleeping thoughts to reassure himself. When his mind was calm again and he had confirmed that she was safe, he asked, "Doesn't it bother you, though? You're helping them, and you've fought for them. Don't they respect that? Haven't you at least tried change their minds?"

Arya leveled her gaze with his. "Oh, I tried at first. It led to more trouble than good. Some people already have their minds made up, Eragon. Out of the entire Varden, only a small percentage openly expressed any issue with me and my guards, and I'm sure there are more who keep their thoughts to themselves." She paused to tear the end of a partially rolled strip lengthwise a few inches with her teeth. "Besides, there are still people in the Varden who treated me as just another Vardenite. People have opinions. I can't let it affect how I act. I fight for the Varden as a whole, and if it costs me a night of drowning myself in dwarvish vodka, I'm okay with that."

"Don't give the boy any ideas." Brom chastised from his bed. He had found a current newspaper in one of the nightstand drawers and was scanning it for any information regarding the Varden, Urgals, Gil'ead, or Eragon and Saphira. "And no getting him drunk. Unless I'm there. Then, well...we'll see."

Arya waved him off. "I know, I know."

The shower cut off. Moments later Murtagh emerged from the bathroom, tendrils of steam clinging to his body and trailing him as the door opened. "Alright, who's next?" He was clean-shaven and wore a simple tshirt and a pair of basketball shorts, still rubbing his head of wild, damp hair with a small towel.

"You're up, kid." Arya clapped Eragon on the shoulder. He hopped up and grabbed a set of clothes that were decently clean and his portable music player before slipping inside the steam filled room and locking the door behind him. Seconds later the muffled chords of country music could be heard as the shower turned on.

Brom folded the paper in half and used it to swat Arya's arm. "When are you going to take your turn? You definitely need it. And I'm putting that lightly."

The elf chuckled. "Last. Trust me, I am going to destroy that shower. The closest I've gotten to being clean was splashing water on my face the last few days. It's been well over six months since I actually showered.

"Fair point."

Murtagh fell onto his roller bed with a contented sigh. "Now this is nice. Hot water, a place to clean our clothes, a locked door. And a bed!" He lifted his head slightly. "Do they have a radio? For such a price they should have at least put a telly in the room."

"I doubt it plays anything but official news and propaganda." Brom grunted, but still leaned over and hit the power button on the small radio clock that graced the bedside table. After a few garbled channels of static and scrolling through the entire range of signals, he finally found one that came in crystal clear.

"–nds the economic report. Here's Karl Yorgisson with the day's news."

Brom snorted. "Told you."

Arya waved him away from hitting the off switch. "Shush, I want to hear this."

"Thanks, Jason." Karl Yorgisson accepted the hand off. "Still no concrete news on the attack at the Gil'ead military base. Although it is confirmed by the base commander that the attack was carried out by Varden forces, it is unclear if any were captured after their defeat or if any escaped.

"In other news, we have a new addition to our team! Rebecca Jayasdaughter is to be joining us for her first broadcast on–"

Brom hit the switch when no other news concerning their activities was forthcoming. "Well, that's good. They're not willing to admit that we slipped past them. That means they can't inform the general public about us or why they're searching for us."

"Attacked Gil'ead my arse." Murtagh grumbled, eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. "I climbed in through the bloody garbage chute. Could have at least called it a hostile intrusion or sabotage. We don't need the attention of being labeled dangerous attackers, period."

"Saphira told me she ripped the entire roof off their state dining hall. They can't cover up that amount of damage quick enough to pass it off as a single man stealth intrusion." Arya pointed out. "Besides, they'll blame it on an elvish raiding party sooner or later. They always do if the town is near Du Weldenvarden."

Murtagh frowned, confused, yet still refused to open his tired eyes. "Wait…. You're telling me that the reports of elvish raiding parties…?"

"Never happened?" The elf looked at him with genuine surprise and what appeared to be a touch of insult, aghast that he thought the stories were true. "Of course they never happened! We don't send out random raiding parties! Glen, Fäolin and I were the only elves to leave the forest since my race retreated there." She shook her head, shocked that he had actually believed the propaganda. "Honestly! It's too risky to send little groups out like that to attack directly, what if one of our fighters were captured!"

The young man cracked open one eye and lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Arya. "Oh? So, you were just visiting Gil'ead and managed to lock yourself in a cell? The men you were with just fell on their guns, is that it?"

"That is different." Arya snarled. Brom glanced at her, mildly startled by her tone, then turned back to leafing through the phone book and wishing he had brought at least one of his prized lore tomes with him on this harebrained journey. "We weren't attacking, we were in the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Someone in the Varden betrayed us. That betrayal led to the death of my fyrn breoal. I'd prefer it if you didn't make quips about it."

"I apologize." Murtagh dipped his head in her direction as best he could, his words truly sincere. Losing friends to the King was something he was very familiar with. "It was in bad taste."

Arya rubbed her temples and braced her elbows on her knees, shoulders tense. "Apology accepted. I shouldn't have snapped."

Murtagh shrugged. "Eh. Natural response." The room was quiet for a time, the only sound being the rustle of Brom now flipping through the holy book from the desk, the light patter of the shower, Eragon's off key humming, and country music. Then, "What's a frin br… fyrn bri…."

"Fyrn breoal. Means war family in the Ancient Language." Brom answered gruffly. Despite the no smoking designation, he pulled his pipe from his discarded jacket and clamped it firmly in his teeth. "Elves who fight often use it to describe their battle buddies. Only the closest knit groups use the term." He jerked his chin in Arya's direction. "If I'm not mistaken, that is."

The elf nodded, fiddling with one of the remaining bandages. She was weaving it over and between her fingers, trying to keep her hands busy. "Glen and Faölin were my fyrn darmthrelli, my war brothers. We fought for the Varden together for decades."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Arya's jaw tightened slightly. "Shit happens in war. We all lose people. We fight even harder in their memory." She unwound the bandage and then looped the tail around her thumb again, beginning anew.

Murtagh mulled over the new words he had learned, again letting the atmosphere lapse into silence. It wasn't exactly a comfortable one, a little too heavy to be called that, but it was easy enough to be called content. The three currently inhabiting the room were all comfortable with reflecting on their own thoughts without feeling the urge to shatter the silence. Murtagh respected that of Brom and Arya, and was glad that they, too, seemed to respect his quiet.

'Fyrn breoal. Tornac was my fyrn breoal, then. I guess he would be my war father. Too old to be a war brother.' Murtagh's heavy lidded eyes wandered the room. 'I wonder what he would have thought of all this. Eragon, Saphira, Brom and Arya. Agh, Bloody hell, he'd probably lash me silly for agreeing to go to the Varden and trusting strangers like this.' The thought brought a sleepy grin to his face, and his eyes drifted closed.

"Oi. Don't sleep yet. You have to do laundry." Brom snapped when he saw the young man drifting off.

It didn't even phase Murtagh, who just rolled onto his side and mumbled, "Then wake me up when it's ready to be done." and nuzzled his face deeper into his pillow.

It didn't take long for his breathing to even out and his body to relax. Arya nudged the end of the bed with her foot and shook her head when Murtagh only mumbled and groggily waved her off.

"I can do the laundry. Should probably let the guy sleep." She offered when Brom made an annoyed noise at the young man's reaction.

"Can't have you wandering around out there." Brom shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. "If you run into someone who have any education from the army, it could get ugly fast."

"So I'm pretty much useless at this point in time?" Arya asked dryly. "Dear me, I'm in a room where I can't leave. Out of one jail and into another."

"Don't get all brooding on me, girl. Once your clothes are washed you can change out of Murtagh's and maybe the angst will wear off." The elf chuckled at that, and Brom flipped the holy book closed with a definitive snap. "Bloody hell, why is Eragon taking so long?"

The old man stood and went over to the bathroom door. He paused, glanced at Arya, and a bit of a mischievous glint came to his eyes. The elf raised an eyebrow. "Oh stars, I know that look. What are you planning?"

Brom only grinned and shoved his pipe into his pocket before raising his fist and banging on the door, yelling, "Eragon! What the HELL is taking so long?! You had better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

There was the distinct sound of someone nearly falling on their ass in a wet shower and sputtered curses. "I'll be done in a minute!"

"Cold water works wonders, boy! Hurry up!"

As Brom returned to his bed Arya swatted him on the arm. "He's a teenage boy. He needs his alone time." She, too, was trying to hold back laughter. "Better he do that in there than when he thinks we're all asleep."

"He should have thought of 'alone time' before he left Carvahall." Brom shot back, but was still grinning from ear to ear. "And trust me, you don't get alone time with a bonded dragon in your mind."

"Poor Saphira!"

The shower squeaked off and Eragon came out, his face and the tips of his tapering ears bright red. He was wearing a pair of long pajama pants and a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

"You could have just told me to hurry up." The boy grumbled, shooting Brom a moody glare.

Brom nodded with a chuckle. "Aye, but then you wouldn't have actually gotten out right when I asked."

"Well, I wasn't–" His face went an even deeper shade of red when he realized Arya was still awake and watching him, bemused. "I wouldn't do that with people in the next…. I just like hot showers, okay?" Pink blotches started appearing on his neck, collarbones and shoulders as he blushed furiously.

"Hey, I'm not saying anything." Arya put her hands up. "What you do in the shower is none of my business."

Brom grabbed his fresh clothes and brushed by the younger Rider. "You can sleep now, boy. No watches tonight. Put your dirty clothes next to Murtagh's."

Still red, Eragon placed his travel clothes next to the small pile Murtagh had made and sat on his bed. Arya was stretched out on the other side, leaning against the headboard, and was flipping through the holy book Brom had abandoned. She didn't seem to be reading it, just turning the pages to give herself something to do.

"You alright with me here until Brom gets out? I can move to his bed if you want me to." She asked as the Eragon wiggled underneath the tightly tucked sheets and blanket.

"No, it's okay. I don't mind." He attempted to adjust the pile of pillows behind his head and, giving up, pulled one out and tossed it at Murtagh. The sleeping man grumbled, kicking the pillow off his legs, and raised a middle finger in Eragon's general direction. "If you...um...if you don't want to sleep on the floor we could...you know, split sheet."

Eragon's ears flared a deep maroon as Arya let out a soft laugh. "Thanks, but I need to be out of general sight if anyone comes in. People would wonder why three people checked in and suddenly a fourth person appeared. Bed blocks the view of my little hideout." The Rider mumbled a 'good point' and tried to ignore the glimmer of amusement in the elf's dark eyes. "Is Saphira doing alright out there?"

"Yeah. She's asleep." Glad for the change in topic, Eragon busied himself with plugging his music player into the complimentary charger on the bedside table and wrapped his headphones around it carefully. "I think she's a little glad for the time alone. She grew up in the woods near my farm after she hatched, and since we started traveling with Murtagh I think she's been missing the solitude, not to mention a chance to sleep for a full night."

A slight smile tilted the corners of Arya's lips as she turned another page. "I think we've all earned a little rest."

Eragon nodded in agreement, punctuated by a wide yawn. The hot shower had made him drowsy on top of being bone tired. Coupled with the soft pillows, warm blankets, Saphira's sleeping thoughts and the safety of the walls around him, the boy found himself already drifting off. "Yeah." He murmured, eyelids drooping closed. "G'night, Arya."

"Good night, kid."

As Eragon dropped off, the elf gently settled the holy book on the bed and slipped down onto her makeshift mattress to begin preparing for her own turn in the shower. She released her braid and combed out the snarls in her hair, wiped off what bits of blood and grime that she could with a scrap of shredded sheet, and put her dirty fatigues on the pile near Murtagh's bed. When Brom stepped out, beard and mustache neatly clipped, he found Arya waiting quietly next to the door with the last package of toiletries and a fresh towel in her lap.

"Take as long as you want." Brom grunted, jerking his head towards the shower and flinging out a few water droplets from his still damp hair. "I'm sending Murtagh to do laundry and then heading to sleep."

"I'll try not to destroy the entire hotel's hot water supply." Arya grinned wryly as she stood. "I'll wake you if anything concerning happens."

~~~

"Heads up." Murtagh grunted, tossing Arya her fatigues. She muttered her thanks, feeling the effects of the hot shower sinking in. "Good night, Arya."

"'Night, Murtagh." The young man hit the last light before tumbling onto his roller bed with the 'whumph' of a relieved sigh. After a quick last look around the room to ensure everyone was accounted for, Arya followed suit.

No one dreamed. They just slept.

~~~

A swarm of curses in various languages assaulted him as he finally began to register his surroundings.

They were still in the hotel room, but the standard fire alarm on the wall was alive with flashing lights and mind shattering sound. To his right Brom was shoving the small pile of his clean clothes in his travel bag, swearing in a mildly familiar, old tribal dialect of the Spine. To Eragon's left, Arya was already zipping Murtagh's borrowed jacket up to cover the makeshift bandages on her torso, not even bothering with a shirt as she threw her fatigues onto her unzipped combat jacket. She zipped it, wrapped it up and clamped a spare blade harness strap around it before slinging the bundle across her back by the tied together sleeves and tore the window open. Eragon swore he heard her hissing choice words in the Ancient Language, but the intonation and inflections were markedly different.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" Eragon asked, snatching up his gear. He felt the distinct tickle of Saphira using his ears to hear the answer, her body tensing as she prepared to race to his aid.

Brom shoved the clip on the top of his bag together with a hurried snap. "From what I can gather, the desk clerk told her replacement about us and they checked the front tapes. They recognized at least one of us and they're setting up the local garrison outside the doors as we speak."

Murtagh's muttered swearing filled the brief gap in conversation. "Faigh muin, deoghail am fallus bhàrr duine mharbh siadha tiadhan, cao–"

Eragon ignored him and haphazardly threw his clothing into his backpack, yanking on the zipper when it refused to close all the way. "What's the alarm about then?" He checked that Zar'roc's hilt and pommel were still wrapped, concealing the gem and shining grip, then strapped the blade on his hip.

"They're trying to lure us to the emergency exit." Brom growled. "Tell Saphira to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary. We still have a chance get out of here without letting them see her."

'There won't be anything to see if I eat them all.' The dragon hissed in response. Eragon's jaw twinged as she snapped her teeth in frustration. 'I'll decide when to be seen. Just hurry up. I can smell a reinforcement company approaching.'

Eragon relayed her message. The speed of Murtagh's swearing increased while even Brom let out a particularly foul word. "How are we getting out?" The younger Rider asked. "We can't go out and we can't go up without having Saphira try to fly us out, and she can't carry four people."

"Theta Rescue." Arya grabbed Eragon's backpack before he could pick it up. "Or as I like to call it unofficially, 'The Reversed Cliché.'" She threw his bag out the window, ignoring his cry of confusion.

"Only if you're up for it." Brom threw his bag to her, and she repeated the process. Murtagh calmly handed his over with a polite nod and a swear that Arya must have recognized, for she snapped back at him with a word of her own. "It's quite a drop, even for you. The added weight won't help."

"No alternative I can see. Unless you want to tie together bed sheets." Her head cocked to the side. "They're sweeping the floor below us."

"Theta it is." Brom set himself up behind the wall near the door. "Lightest first, heaviest last. Eragon, Murtagh, you both are going to do exactly as Arya says, when she says you do it. Order is Eragon, me, then you Murtagh."

"Wait, what's happening?" Eragon asked as Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him to the window. "What are you doing?"

Arya flashed him a grin that didn't reach her now flinty eyes. "Don't worry. All you have to do is trust me. And don't wiggle."

"Wigg–" Eragon was cut off as the elf ducked and suddenly swept him off his feet in a fireman's carry. He only had time to spit out a quick "Oh Sweet Sara–" before Arya jumped out the window.

~~~

Half an hour later found the group galloping past the stand of trees where Saphira had hidden. The dragon leapt over their heads and snapped her wings out, startling the horses. 'On the road again, Little One?' She asked, gaining altitude to circle above them.

'On the road again.' Eragon affirmed, letting their thoughts mingle and intertwine in a way that the distance had previously made difficult. He felt her joy of flight and relief at being reunited, but also her displeasure. The close call had further confirmed her theory that he was a magnet for trouble. 'I'm going to hear about this later, aren't I?'

The dragon chuffed, the odd sound resonating through their mental link. 'You're just lucky Brom has a good head on his shoulders.' With that she drove her wings down, shooting up another hundred feet. 'You will fly with me today.'

'Yes ma'am.' Eragon smiled and Saphira crowed her jubilation to the sky.

Dust billowed from the horse's hooves as they continued on their journey. It was good to be on the road again.

#modern inheritance #modern inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance story #arya #brom #murtagh #saphira #hotel pit stop #sleeping arrangements #old mic story #tbh this was and still is one of my favorites #i'd love to find a way to rewrite it while keeping the original spirit intact

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midshipmank · 4 years

Note

*I don't know what The Untamed is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask* (would you mind giving me a quick overview/telling me what you like about it?) ((also you doing Howl's Moving Castle with your class is like the best thing since sliced bread))

Oh my gosh, yes! I’m sorry it took me a few days to get to this! I did try to keep this short. (And I’m so flattered you think my lesson plans are cool! Thank you!)

Okay, so in the simplest terms The Untamed* is a Chinese drama based on the novel Mo Dao Zu Shi (MDZS) by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. I’m not that familiar with the novel, but as I understand it, it was originally a web novel, but may now have been traditionally published in China (and possibly censored? I’m really uncertain about this). “Mo Dao Zu Shi” is usually translated as “The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation.” The novel and all of its adaptations** are Xianxia, which is a genre of Chinese fantasy that incorporates a lot of elements from Taoism, Buddhism, Chinese mythology, traditional Chinese medicine, etc.

For the plot, I’m gonna stick to The Untamed since it’s what I know! It’s about two cultivators who meet when they’re teenagers. Wei Wuxian (the titular Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) is the first disciple of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect--he’s considered to be a genius, but he’s also a mischievous troublemaker. He was adopted into the Jiang family as a child and would 1000% die for his siblings and it kills me. Lan Wangji is the Second Young Master (Er-gonzi) of the Gusu Lan Sect, and is known for being one of the “Twin Jades” of the Lan Sect (along with his older brother). He follows all 3000 of the Lan Sect’s rules to the letter and he’s also an excellent cultivator and super repressed (at first!). They meet, fall in love (though, yes, it’s all subtext because of censorship), there’s a war, Wei Wuxian kind of goes to the dark side for Reasons, then dies, and comes back to life 16*** years later. The first two episodes of the show actually take place in the future/present when Wei Wuxian is resurrected, then there’s a 30-episode flashback. The pacing is 100% ridiculous and I 100% love it.

As for what I like about it....there’s a lot. I’m gonna try to stick to the main things.

1. The romance is so well done. Even though the creators of every single version of MDZS have to contend with censorship, the subtext is there and purposeful, and I am just going to steal this quote from this excellent Vox article because I can’t put it any better:

“Their bond — which Netflix translates as “lifelong confidantes,” but which alternate translations usually interpret as “soulmates” — becomes transcendent, a chaste but heady yearning holding them together across time and tragedy. Wangji exudes soul-spilling longing, which Wang Yibo conveys primarily through mesmerizing infinitesimal facial adjustments that somehow contain Grand Canyons of emotional depth that will leave you clawing the floor. It’s like watching an inflamed Victorian melodrama, except instead of North and South it’s 50 hours of Wangji pledging eternal love to Wei Wuxian with the smallest curve of his mouth.”

As someone whose formative years were full of shows that were all queerbaiting, watching a show full of subtext that actually means what it’s implying is some seriously addictive wish fulfillment.

2. The Untamed absolutely bulldozed me where I’m weakest, and I will never recover--aka, the adopted family content makes me lose my entire mind. For some reason, adopted families (in which I do include found families, but by which I especially mean families that involve adoptive parents and children) are one of those things that get me right under the ribs without trying. The Untamed has so much adopted family content--Wei Wuxian’s relationship with the Jiang family (please don’t touch me) is the largest part of it, but there’s also some quality angst between Lan Wangji and his uncle (who was his primary parental figure), and [SPOILERS] Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji also have a child that they adopt together. Kind of. Almost. Listen, it’s complicated, and I’m going to keel over just thinking about it.

3. The way it tackles themes of morality is astoundingly well done. There is so much complexity, so much grey space, and so much angst--I have seriously never been so delighted to have my heart ripped out of my chest and mashed to pulp. I love complex villains, I especially love anti-heroes. This show delivered in all fronts, and I feel almost spoiled to be honest. As I understand it, the novel is even more brutal in this regard, and that is the biggest temptation to me to read it (it’s currently only available in English through fan translations).

So, those are the top 3 things I love about it! I could go on. I’m not gonna lie, there was a steep learning curve at first, and I would not have made it without the character/sect/Mandarin honorifics guide my twin made for me, but it was so worth it. I have not watched (or read, or listened to) something so escapist and delightful and angsty in years, and it’s definitely my go-to distraction in These Dark Times.

*It’s Chinese title is Chen Qing Ling, which is why some people call it CQL. As far as I know, Chen Qing Ling does not translate to “The Untamed” at all.

**There’s also a graphic novel that closely follows the novel + has an official English translation, a donghua/animated show (unfinished) that follows the novel more closely than The Untamed, and an audiodrama that I know very little about. I’m forever fascinated by how many adaptations have been made in such a short period of time.

***So it could actually be 12-13 years? The timeline of The Untamed is not exactly the same as the timeline of the novel, and seems to collapse almost everything in the past into a single year, whereas in the novel WWX and LWJ knew each other for several years before WWX’s death. It’s much less clear in The Untamed.

#asks #The Untamed #mdzs

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fae-fucker · 5 years

Text

Zenith: Chapter 45-48

Chapter 45

Nor is floating in a super sci-fi space carriage over the last remaining “wealthy” city on Xen Ptera, which is apparently so garbage only a few people have roofs over their heads. She thinks about how much she loves her people and how she’s doing this for them, except she purposefully floats just out of reach of their poor-people hands and throws food and “med kits” at them so they’ll follow.

Darai is very confused by this, because Shinsay desperately need Nor to seem complex and intelligent. She compares her people to an [incidental space animal] she got from her father as a child.

“I fed it,” she explained. “Give a pet food, Darai, and it will do anything to stay by your side. Starve it or beat it, and it will begin to fear your very existence, only coming out of hiding in the moments when you have something to give and it to take.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

[...]

“The people of Xen Ptera are my responsibility now. But more than that, they are my soldiers, and I wish for them to follow me always. No matter how dark the path I choose to walk upon.”

Yes, this makes so much sense. First you let your people starve and get radiation poisoning, but then you throw scraps at their feet and obviously peasants are food-motivated like kittens and will absolutely do as you say.

Except this doesn’t make any fucking sense for many, many reasons.

1) Darai complains about the fact that these rations are used for scientists and soldiers. Which he’s right about. If Nor has an army and scientists, those people tend to be far more useful in, say, a war, than a bunch of mutated and starving peasants.

2) I dunno if Shinsay have read any history ever, but when large masses of people get hungry, they don’t just sit there, they turn on the few people in power who still have food and resources. These peasants would turn on Nor the moment someone else provided better food. I’m just saying that Nor’s neck accessory wouldn’t be a spiked collar but a guillotine.

3) Don’t you have that Zenith stuff? The stuff that can make people into brainwashed robots with a single drop? Release that shit into the atmosphere and save your food and “med kits” for the few actually crucial people who need it.

3.5) If you’re only going to use it on enemies to convert them, why bother with your people in the first place? Despite what Nor is claiming, her “love” for her people is token at best and her priority lies in revenge, not recovery.

4) Also it’s so transparent that they only wrote this to make Nor look smart, because they purposefully made Darai into an idiot who doesn’t understand basic concepts when he previously was written as an older, intelligent advisor.

Nor arrives at the old palace ruins and it’s all very sad and angsty, complete with special Backstory Flowers that used to Bloom but Don’t Anymore because the Environment got Too Tragic, and flashbacks to that time her hand and also her dad were crushed under rubble. We find out that the crowd gathered here are just “thousands” of people, and Nor refers to them as her “army.” Okay.

Nor gets stage fright when the crowd is silent and doesn’t instantly love her because she has the confidence of a highschooler asking someone out to prom, and decides to snap her golden hand off to prove to her people that she’s “their equal,” which works for some reason even though the narration acknowledges it as a lie.

Obviously starving people seeing this LITERALLY GOLDEN woman who just shat out a bunch of free food from her floating carriage will definitely 100% swallow her little speech about how they have to take revenge. Even the mothers holding up their starving infants! We all know people who are starving want revenge before a sandwich. The blood of my enemies? I call it vengeance ketchup.

She shows Zenith to the crowd which they totally understand what it is right away from afar and how it works and what it has to do with literally anything.

“Remember, Xen Pterrans, and never forget, that even the stars can bleed!”

The royal entourage pack up and Nor says she wants a crown forged for herself because “every queen needs one” and:

“I want to wear it while we feast on the galaxy’s bones.”

Cool.

Chapter 46

We’re in Lira’s POV while she’s doing what she does best: moping off on her own. I guess she’s not very special in that regard. She’s thinking about how she loves to fly because the sky has no limits and the ground is confusing. Aight.

The gang seems to have gotten off without any punishment for crashing into a village and are now staying at the very center of power of Adhira, this mountain palace called Rhymore. It’s very pretty and yadda yadda, I skipped 90% of the description because literally whomst careth.

One important detail to keep in mind is that we find out varillium, the glass-like substance that the Marauder is made of is, like M. Night Shyamalan’s movie starring Bruce Willis, unbreakable. You know, which is why they need those metal shields around the damn thing. Thanks guys, this makes total sense.

Lira looks into an “eyeglass” and sees literally all of Adhira like a tiny map. Either Shinsay are confused about what a telescope does, or they’re flat-earthers. And yeah, she literally sees cities, waterfalls, rainforests, deserts ... This is after we’ve established she’s in a mountainous area.

All the descriptions read like screensavers and are just as relevant to the story so I’ll just skip them.

Lira is ambushed by her twin brother Lon, who is the owner of that sarcastic soul we’ve heard so much about.

He was at least a head taller than her now, his pale blue arms rippling with muscle, spreading up into a thick neck and strong shoulders.

This description bothers me and I don’t know why.

The conversation quickly turns all mopey and Lon says Lira has abandoned her people and himself, to which she replies she was only protecting him from WHAT SHE’S BECOME (wake me up inside). We then get a random infodump about how the Adhiran queen is super great and loving and a perfect leader. Not perfect enough to abdicate the throne but I don’t think Shinsay thought that far. Monarchy good if monarchs good, obviously.

Lon is all “ur still my sister until the mountain falls uwu” and Lira is like “omg stop guilt-tripping meee” and we’re informed there’s gonna be a “peace festival” soon that celebrates the end of the war against Xen Ptera. How convenient that their ship would randomly malfunction right before this event. :)

Lira says she wants to tell him only the good stuff of what’s happened while she was away and says that she’s been using Moon Chew, which is Bad for Reasons, and she knows Lon uses it too but keeps it a secret from the queen aka their aunt. Lon asks about what “led” Lira to using it and I’m just baffled by the fact that we still don’t know what the fuck Moon Chew is or what it does, and why, if it’s something so terrible that one must be “led” to using it, they’re talking about it like it’s some unhealthy fast food their aunt frowns upon and not, say, a drug?

Anyway, Lira tells him of their adventures and it sounds way more interesting than anything we’ve read so far. Then we get this:

Lon always knew that Lira harbored a darkness in her soul. A little tug, a tiny whisper at the back of her mind, that led her to go above and beyond the pranks that Lon had always pulled while they were growing up here.

She’d fallen, not for a lover, but for the skies. For adventure.

She’d found a ship full of girls with their own affinity for darkness to mirror her own.

So I recently found out that there’s supposedly an “asexual” alien in the crew of the Marauder, and that member is apparently Lira. I think this idea is reinforced by the “fallen but not for a lover” line.

Framing her wanting to explore the world on her own and go her own way, comparing it to falling in love but not with another person but with a concept, as a darkness in her soul?

Not a good look.

Anyway, Lon decides after all this time that apparently Lira was always meant to fly and tells her that her aunt wants to see her.

This is plot?

Chapter 47

We’re in Valen’s POV. He wakes up and is in pain but not enough to avoid noticing that he’s in a fluffy bed and outside there is [insert generic description of pretty place here] and it’s so pretty he could never paint it, because he’s a painter and he can’t relate anything in his life to anything but painting.

The Adhiran queen is there and she’s very pretty. She asks him about the last thing he remembers, which is Nor, and it sends him into a ... flashback? Basically he starts freaking out that this isn’t real and they sedate him again and the last thing he sees is

[...] Androma Racella leaning forward from the shadows across the room, half of her face aglow as sunlight spilled across her skin like paint.

You know, because he’s a painter!

Chapter 48

We’re back with Lira, who starts the second chapter like she started the previous one, complaining about how being planetside is the worst. Yep, we get it. It’s the worst. Cuz she’s a pilot.

Painters be painting. Pilots be piloting. If your characters don’t constantly refer back to their one defining characteristic, how will be able to tell them apart?

Anywho, Lira finally gets to the queen.

Alara was beautiful in every sense of the word, inside and out. She had a lithe frame, perfectly proportioned, and no scales on her skin.

PERFECTLY PROPORTIONED

What in the everloving fuck does that even mean? :’) Probably just means she’s skinny.

And of course she has no scales, only evil people and/or “morally grey” people can have imperfections. How do we know someone is good unless they have flawless skin?

Lira had always admired Alara’s beauty, but it paled in comparison to the woman’s intelligence.

Shinsay, slapping us all with a big purple dildo: THIS IS FEMINISM.

“She’s absolutely good and perfect and INTELLIGENT because women don’t have to be pretty to be smart and we totes value things other than beauty, but let us constantly describe how absolutely fucking DICK-OUT-HOT this Generic Good Queen is, in case you ever doubted it.”

👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌

And, yeah, Nor is also described as hot, but like, evil hot. Sexualized and sexual and dangerous and GASP OMG SHE HAS A GOLD HAND. GGQ straight up glows, that’s how good she is.

Generic Good Queen addresses Lira as “Lirana” which, yeah, ok, and we get this:

“I’ve just had a rather unfortunate conversation with Valen Cortas, the poor, tortured soul, so spare me whatever dramatic greeting you must have prepared.”

You know what? Maybe Generic Good Queen ain’t so bad after all.

YOU TELL HER, GGQ.

#eff reads: zenith

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