Chapter Text
Eragon barely noticed how soft the silk of Murtagh’s collar was as he tugged it down over his brother’s tunic.
“You have to wear it out and flat,” he chastised. “When you let it poke up like that you look like an evil sorcerer.”
Murtagh glared, but there was amusement behind it. “Are you insinuating I am not an evil sorcerer?”
Eragon found himself unable to hold back a laugh. He let his hands slide down from Murtagh’s collar to rest on the man’s chest. They lingered there, and Eragon felt his palms begin to warm.
“I’m insinuating that for the ceremony tonight, you should probably leave your evil sorcerer days well in the past,” he grinned.
Murtagh’s gaze hardened, but not as much as it used to when Eragon would mention such things.
“Do you think they will truly let me be there?” he asked, voice soft.
Eragon sighed. “You’ve been welcomed back into Ellesmera for months now, Murtagh. Arya herself gave you permission to attend the ceremony tonight.”
Murtagh’s eyes darted to his feet, and Eragon worried at his bottom lip. He understood Murtagh’s concern. Years of animosity from the elves couldn’t be erased in a few months, no matter how much Eragon and Lilith stood up for him. In fact, Eragon suspected the only reason Arya gave Murtagh, a human and a traitor, permission to attend the Draumrae tonight was due to Lilith’s incessant begging. It was very difficult to resist those round gold eyes. Not to mention it was practically Lilith’s ceremony. No elf could deny the Last Vindr Draumr, Reverent One, Speaker for the Moon, if he asked for Murtagh to be able to watch him dance.
Eragon pulled his hands away from Murtagh’s chest, but his wrist was snatched up at the last second. He felt his heartbeat speed up as Murtagh pressed a gentle kiss to the pads of Eragon’s calloused fingers. It still astounded him every time, these small displays of aching affection Murtagh would afford him.
Murtagh cleared his throat and let Eragon’s hand fall back to his side. “Are you ready?”
Eragon smiled up at him. He was very used to the way Murtagh’s mouth did not smile back, and he knew his lover well enough by now to see the smile in his eyes anyway.
“Yes,” he said, making the switch to the Ancient Language with the one lyrical word. “Will you be able to keep yourself from drooling when you see him?”
Murtagh rolled his eyes and made his way to the door of their small home.
“Will you?”
He answered in the Ancient Language as well, the words sounding much coarser than they did on Eragon’s tongue. Eragon could only laugh again, feeling his steps lighten as they walked together out into the night.
*
The Menoa Tree stood as beautiful and intimidating as Eragon remembered her. He had not seen the tree since he’d bargained for Brisingr’s metal almost a decade ago. Unlike then, the tree did not speak to him. Elves gathered around it in droves. This didn’t come as a surprise to Eragon. It had taken Lilith a mere two weeks to win over every single elf in Ellesmera. It looked as if the entire city had made its way to the tree.
As Eragon and Murtagh passed through the crowds, most murmured conversations turned in their direction. Eragon tried to convince himself it was simply out of curiosity. Even after several months of coming in and out of Ellesmera, towing Murtagh along with him, and courting the Last Vindr Draumr, he was still a widely discussed topic. He supposed he couldn’t expect anything else. To an elf, four months passed more quickly than blinking.
He and Murtagh stopped towards the front of the crowds. Eragon spotted Arya speaking with Selagea at the base of the tree. He wondered anxiously where they were keeping Lilith before the ceremony started.
“Where do you think he is?” Murtagh whispered next to him, low enough for only Eragon to hear.
He squinted at his brother, wondering how he’d slipped past Eragon’s mental barriers without detection. But after a moment, he grinned with the realization that Murtagh hadn’t read his mind at all; his thoughts simply mirrored Eragon’s own.
“I can’t be sure,” Eragon answered. “But most likely somewhere in the tree.”
“It’s so dark,” Murtagh huffed. “How can you see that far?”
Eragon blinked, forgetting that his eyesight was far more precise than Murtagh’s. To him, the night made everything look blue and slightly hazy, but he could still see.
“Don’t worry, the moon will be out soon.”
They both looked up instinctively, where they could see the clouded sky through the gaps in the leaves.
Arya suddenly spoke then, drawing their attention back to the earth. The murmur of conversation ceased, replaced by a silent hum of anticipation. Eragon could practically feel the excitement on his skin.
“Alfakyn,” Arya addressed the elves, then her gaze slid to where Eragon and Murtagh stood. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards. “And Riders. We gather here on the eve of Draumrae to witness the moon speak for the first time in three centuries.”
A shiver ran up Eragon’s spine, and he wasn’t sure why. The strange energy in the air felt like it was beginning to morph into something else. A glance around him revealed that all the other elves had begun to feel it too. Murtagh was simply standing and looking uncomfortable. Without a word, Eragon reached discreetly over to slip his hand into Murtagh’s.
“The elders among us remember the Vindr Draumr who danced long ago,” Arya continued. “However, their fading ensured the youngest of us have never seen the moon speak. Tonight, we rejoice, for two Riders have returned the last of the Vindr Draumr home to us.”
This statement caused some elves to shift their gazes to where Eragon stood. He felt Murtagh grip his hand tighter.
The same shiver he’d felt before suddenly raced up Eragon’s spine once more. A wave of soft gasps went up among the elves as they all felt the same thing. Eragon expanded his mind then, almost like something had compelled him to relax his barriers. He felt every living creature near the Menoa Tree. Then his eyes snapped to where a golden light began to glow from behind the enormous trunk. He watched as Arya turned, wearing a relaxed, dreamy smile. When she spoke, her words echoed in Eragon’s mind as if magic itself had spoken them.
“The Last Vindr Draumr, the Speaker for the Moon, the Lily that Gilds Dreams,” she said. “He is finally awake. Let us honor the heavens.”
Eragon found himself speaking before he could question it, the words tumbling from his lips. “Let us honor the heavens.”
Every elf around him breathed out the words as well.
Then, Eragon saw him. He heard Murtagh draw a sharp inhale. All Eragon could do was stare.
Lilith stepped out from behind the tree. His golden eyes shone bright enough to cast a haze of light around him. He wore a fluttering silk shift that dripped delicately off his small frame, and his white hair tumbled all the way down his back. It rippled over his shoulders like a waterfall. Eragon remembered the day he and Murtagh sung for the elf, combing through the brilliant white locks until their magic grew it long again.
Lilith looked breathtakingly beautiful, and, Eragon realized, every bit of the revenant Vindr Draumr he was supposed to be.
“By Valar,” Murtagh cursed under his breath.
Eragon barely heard him. Because just then, Lilith began to dance.
He spun like liquid, raising a singular thin arm up to the heavens. His fingers stretched out, and as if Lilith himself commanded the sky, the clouds slowly parted. The entire clearing was bathed in the glow of the full moon. As soon as the moonlight touched him, Eragon felt his mind slipping away. It felt a little like he was drunk on fine mead. All the while, he couldn’t take his eyes from Lilith.
The elf danced alone, but it didn’t seem to matter. Eragon heard music. He couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise. It didn’t sound like any music one could make with an instrument or a voice. It was something else, something entirely celestial. Lilith’s magic was overwhelming. It was huge and amorphous and otherworldly, and it clung to the edges of Eragon’s mind as Eragon felt himself gliding into a waking dream.
It was awe -- pure delight -- and utterly cavernous. The moon hung bulbous overhead. As Lilith danced beneath the Menoa Tree, creating his own light, Eragon felt the vastness of the heavens. He felt connected to something more, something bigger.
Murtagh’s hand was the only thing grounding him. When Lilith’s golden eyes met theirs, a misty smile playing on his lips, Eragon thought the Draumrae felt a lot like being in love.
*
When the three of them stumbled back into their home, the sun was rising in the east. Eragon had to mutter the words that would shrink the tree bark back and open the door, because Murtagh’s arms were full of a very drowsy Lilith.
“Tag?” the elf mumbled through tired lips.
“I still have you,” Murtagh replied, voice gruff but full of affection.
“Did you see me?” Lilith asked. “Did you see me dance?”
“Of course I saw you. I could not look away.”
Eragon smiled to himself. He’d never felt more awake in his life, buzzing with energy after the intense waking dream. Lilith had danced the entire night until the moon sunk below the horizon of treetops. When it did, the golden glow around him faded and he’d collapsed to the ground with exhaustion. Eragon and Murtagh had been the first ones to his side.
“Here, Murtagh,” Eragon kept his tone low, trying not to disturb their lover. “I should heal his feet before we sleep.”
Murtagh raised an eyebrow. He laid Lilith gently down on their shared bed, a soft thing stuffed with feathers that took up the whole back room. Lilith sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he sunk into the mattress. They both looked down at his bare feet, which were covered in cuts and bruises from the forrest floor.
“You have the energy for that right now?” Murtagh asked Eragon.
“I feel like I could best you a thousand times over with one hand behind my back,” Eragon confessed. “You do not?”
Murtagh shook his head. “I just stood in a field all night and watched Lilith dance, why would I feel anything but fatigue? You’re the one that went into some sort of trance.”
Eragon chuckled. “I suppose you’re still a bit too human to experience it.”
Murtagh’s brow furrowed, and Eragon was seized by the urge to smooth it out. He leaned over, conscious of Lilith lazily watching them, and stood on his toes to press his lips to Murtagh’s forehead.
“And I love you that way, fool.”
When Eragon pulled away, a slight pink was splashed across Murtagh’s cheekbones.
Lilith gave a delicate whining noise from where he lay on the bed. His mind reached out to Eragon’s, bringing up the color blue along with the feeling of Eragon’s lips pressed against his own. The elf still preferred to communicate this way most times, speech difficult after centuries of living without language. Eragon smiled and decided to satisfy him.
He leaned down and kissed Lilith chastely, reveling in the warmth.
“Impatient little creature,” Eragon spoke with a smile against Lilith’s lips.
“Your fault,” Lilith snapped back.
At least, he tried to snap. His voice came out sleepy and content as he chased after Eragon’s lips.
“Hold on my flower,” he chuckled. “I have to take care of your injuries.”
Eragon pulled back and Murtagh took his place, crawling into bed next to the small elf. Lilith immediately cuddled into his chest. Murtagh wrapped his arms around him and Lilith hummed. His eyes slid shut even as his lips moved again.
“Did you watch me A’gon?” he asked.
Lilith still struggled with Eragon’s name. He just sent Eragon that blue feeling of warmth in his mind, and Eragon knew Lilith was talking about him.
“I did,” Eragon smiled. “You made me hear the Moon, Lily. Like Murtagh said, I couldn’t look away.”
Lilith broke into a grin. “Tag is always looking.”
Eragon belted out a laugh while Murtagh flushed red. The Red Rider only tightened his hold on the elf though, pressing his nose into soft white hair.
Eragon sat down at the end of the bed, lightly touching the top of Lilith’s right foot.
“Waíse heill,” he murmured.
The magic flowed easily from his fingertips and he heard Lilith sigh as the pain eased away. Once Eragon finished with the other foot, he crawled up on the soft mattress until he was laying next to both his lovers.
All it took was one look at Murtagh for him and Eragon to be in agreement. Murtagh gently unwound his arms from around Lilith, which caused the elf to pout but otherwise not complain. Eragon suspected he was too tired; in the past few months Lilith had grown extremely comfortable begging for attention. Eragon and Murtagh had grown extremely comfortable indulging him.
They tugged at the edges of Lilith’s gossamer gown, and together managed to pull the garment over his head. Eragon tried not to let his eyes linger on the silver scars that littered the entirety of Lilith’s body. They shimmered slightly in the morning light. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to the sight of the torture his elf had endured.
Eragon let his eyes slide to Murtagh instead, who was pulling his formal tunic over his own head. His bare torso looked as inviting as a royal feast.
Murtagh caught him staring as soon as the shirt was tossed to the ground. He smirked.
“You look like you want to eat me,” his low voice rumbled.
Eragon felt himself flushing. “Maybe I do.”
Murtagh reached across Lilith to flick him on the shoulder, unable to hide his full smile.
“Not tonight, insatiable beast,” Murtagh glanced down at the naked elf, whose golden eyes were hidden by silky eyelids. “You seem to be the only one that isn’t tired.”
“You love that.”
“Maybe I do,” Murtagh grinned as he repeated Eragon’s line.
Eragon let himself collapse back onto the mattress, chewing on a smile. Murtagh mirrored him, Lilith in between them. It reminded Eragon of the first time they’d slept together on the road from Daret, all those months ago. Murtagh and Eragon laced their fingers together over Lilith’s bare waist.
“Goodnight flower,” Murtagh pressed his lips to Lilith’s ear, and Lilith gave a soft smile.
“The sun is up,” he replied sleepily.
Eragon found himself grinning as his partners drifted off to sleep. His smile was so big his cheeks ached. He felt Saphira from far away as she returned from a hunt with Thorn, and he knew the morning would be beckoning from outside. But he allowed his gaze to rest on the two people that mattered most to him, not worrying about the outside world in the slightest.
For the first time in over seven years, Eragon knew he was happy.