Kapitel 15: Settling Among The Dwarves

Theodore took another bite of his steak as he considered his next steps.

It had been several days since Murtagh's trial, and between the crowning of Orik as King, the oath binding Murtagh, and the repairing of the Star Sapphire. He had successfully won himself the unique position of an honorary dwarf.

He wasn't the first. Dwarves had adopted riders, magicians, and great warriors into their clans before.

King Hrothgar had even officially inducted Eragon as a dwarf, but Theodore was the first in centuries to found a new clan without swearing loyalty to the King.

That last part had been a hard swing. Theodore likely wouldn't have been able to remain independent if it hadn't been for all the clans fearing that Orik would be too powerful with Theodore directly under his sway.

There was a careful balance between the King and clans, and Theodore threatened to disrupt that. It was part of the reason there had been a few dissenting opinions against Theodore's new clan, but few could resist the compulsion of a legend.

Dwarves loved their stories, and a glory-seeking wizard slaughtering armies made a fine one, so Theodore founded the clan Lupin.

Theodore's clan was unlanded and, of course, had no voting power in the King's moots and such. However, the title was enough to buy land, and that was why Theodore had pushed for it in the first place.

The wizard could have taken one of the homes in the hidden circle and been done with it. The Fidelius charm would have ensured no one knew he was there. But then, how would the wizard explain his presence in the city of dwarves?

Spies were watching him, and though he could easily avoid them, to do so would look suspicious.

Grimistboriths liked knowing where he was and so would wonder about his comings and goings. At some point, they would ask Orik. Then Orik would ask him, and Theodore, who didn't like lying to friends more than he had to, would have to lie. The wizard was sure he could be convincing, but this was more a matter of conscience.

Theodore was never known to be overly honest, and as the Duke of War, he had lied and cheated to get his way many times. To the wizard, trying was cheating. Yet he still had principles. 'One should always be sincere with friends' was a policy he liked even if he sometimes declined to follow it.

So, with a tidy sum of gold, Theodore legally purchased a dozen mansions near the hidden circle. It was the easiest way to ease suspicions surrounding his whereabouts.

Orik had looked at him suspiciously for the choice but said nothing to contradict him.

The King wasn't ready to confront the wizard over that strange panic that came out of nowhere and disappeared almost as quickly. He likely would have been even more curious if he remembered the city circle, which had disappeared along with a sizable chunk of buildings and churches.

He undoubtedly had an agent trying to find more concrete evidence of what happened before he brought it to Theodore.

That was fine; it suited the wizard not to explain that absolute shitstorm just yet. When he did, he would lie.

Theodore knew that to explain what he had done to the Grimstborith of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin would be the same as declaring war against the dwarves; it was why he had prepared Trianna to take over the Varden if it came to it. Nasuada would side with the dwarves over him. And that aside, Orik wasn't ready to hear about Theodore fighting a god.

Orik was practical, and he wasn't religious, but Kings, just like high judges, were ordained by the gods.

Admitting to fighting them would be the same as Theodore admitting to heresy, and if it were revealed publicly, it would destabilize Orik's rule as King.

The wizard selected a house for himself and, with some heavy-handed negotiation, managed to drag Murtagh along with him, explaining the Rider's presence away with the training he still needed.

It was a legitimate reason the Rider was still new to magic, and everyone could agree that untrained magicians made for dangerous friends.

The King and all his Grimstboriths still remembered the chaos before the grey folk created the ancient language. Dwarven and human cities had burned.

The worst part about magic without words of power was its hair trigger. Spells weren't always intentional, which meant the harm that such magic could cause could bypass oaths in the ancient language.

Orik, still sour over Murtagh being left alive, was somewhat reluctant at first but eventually agreed. It helped that Theodore had Gannel's support. The dwarves' religious leader had granted dispensation for Theodore to train a dwarven asset and recognized his title of Grandmagus among dwarves as well as men.

That had significant implications.

Just like riders, dwarves gave titled magicians weight and importance. Magic is the ultimate tool of war, so experts in the craft demanded the same respect as dwarven noble or warrior caste families.

Theodore had a reputation to uphold, so he couldn't live simply—at least, that was the excuse he'd used.

The wizard grinned as he remembered all he had done to improve the home he now resided in.

The wizard had quickly built himself a Normanesque-style castle, discarding the dwarves' Boxy geometric style it had before.

Theodore used alchemy to make his castle's foundation harder than steel and transfigured the castle's structure around it.

The same stone that made up the mansion before was repurposed and liquified with alchemically produced dragonfire.

Black obsidian sheets formed, harder than granite that would protect against physical and magical attacks.

The building's walls, along with the layer of adamantine Theodore had laid inside, would make even the black King cry as he bodily threw all his magic at it and achieved nothing.

Outside, Theodore had blasted the mansion's stone fence and courtyard to oblivion and remade them, too.

Spears formed into sharp, narrow points as Theodore pulled gleaming metal from deep in the mountain and knitted it together into a spiked fence. The metal was then alchemically altered to gleam an ominous silver that shone as if lit by unseen light.

Each bar of metal held Powerful beams of magic that would vaporize with a touch.

Entwined with the fence was a magic plant that would strangle unwanted visitors in paralytic thorns. It was the less deadly countermeasure.

Theodore hadn't done everything for functionality.

Theodore nurtured his lawn of grass to grow uncontrollably with potions as He transfigured the stone into the soil. Blades of green, orange, and blue grass interspersed with the occasional overly large dandelion were intermixed to be eye-catching as they grew wildly.

Mispsy would have to spray nutrition and quarter dawn potions to ensure the plants wouldn't lose their vibrance, as no sun shone in the city of twilight. Theodore knew the house elf would take to the task gladly. Mipsy had always loved yard work.

Then Theodore began working on the interior; prismatic colors came together to scatter illusions of sunlight in a thousand different windows.

The wizard had tied charms to large slabs of stone and made them into lifts to reach each floor.

When it was all done, the wizard had raised a behemoth structure five times its height before.

The wizard only stopped when the building's central tower reached a third of the way to the crystalline ceiling, and it had all the bells and whistles that mattered: curtain walls, flanking towers, a parapet wall, and ramparts to match.

To those who could see magic, the building would ooze it from every pore.

Theodore had expanded the inside to be fifty times its original size. It could have been much larger, but with permanent structures, stability mattered. Enchantments meant to last centuries were more subtle in their effect.

Theodore cut himself another piece of steak and took his time chewing it as he thought about the thousands of wizards that would flood out of death's veil.

Theodore knew he would have to house the initial landing party, at least. Others would find homes nearby in additional mansions he purchased. He was sure now he had enough space to accommodate them.

He supposed the next logical step was figuring out how to get them here first.

The construction of a Stygian gate would be somewhat tricky. Still, with Theodore's new relationship with the King, it wouldn't be impossible to requisition some materials and comb this world for the ones he couldn't simply ask for. The alchemy and ritual magic involved required little to no magic to be used while gathering materials, but Theodore had his ways around it.

Theodore could use animated suits of armor to mine the diamonds, but he would still have to see if he could find any naturally growing elm trees in this world; otherwise, it might be quite the wait to grow them to the proper height. He did have seeds, and the fact that they would sprout in this world was enough for the ritual.

He had plenty of asphodel in stock, and that wasn't one of the ingredients that had to be locally sourced, so he wouldn't need to find its counterpart in this world. He would, however, require enormous amounts of salt and plenty of human sacrifices for the last part. One likely would be much easier than the other.

Many wizards would want separate accommodation as either they didn't trust him or valued their privacy greatly. Theodore would have to account for them.

Space above ground would have to be secured, though Theodore knew it would be easy. He had more than a dozen ways to hide wizards from an archaic medieval society. His space among the dwarves was only unique because of its novel closeness to an alien culture. In a way, he had damaged his property's value.

Upon further investigation, Theodore discovered how severely the aversion charm affected the residents who used to live here. Lingering bits of the aversion charm had left deep psychological scars.

Likely because the dwarves that made their home in this district were well off, they uprooted and moved to other properties far from the city center. In this district, almost no one had stayed.

The poorer districts close to the center were still full to the brim.

In all his searches, Theodore had found only one mansion that was still inhabited. It was an older couple a few streets down who stayed just at the very edge of the aversion charms radius.

His interaction with them had affected him strangely.

When Theodore first knocked, he'd surprised them. The husband had come out holding a curved dagger as he greeted him at the door.

Theodore held up his hands, showing he had no weapons of his own, and had greeted him with a smile. Murder wasn't easily committed against those defenseless. Not by those with any conscience.

A wizard was never unarmed, but giving that impression seemed to lower the older man's defenses. The man invited Theodore in.

Then, as a way of apology, his wife offered him homemade sweets, and he made them a spot of tea from his stock. That was strange for him. He usually kept his tea to himself greedily, but something in the woman's gesture had moved him.

As the tea leaves steeped, they talked, and from the small conversation he had with them, he had found out both of them were old—older still than Theodore, at least, and still kind despite the wear of centuries.

That was quite a rarity. Time usually had a way of making one irritable and rude. Something about the bones beginning to crack and constant pain lent itself to not overly caring about others' opinions.

Theodore first asked them why they had stayed when others had abandoned their homes. He was curious about what made them outliers so that he might modify his spell to be more effective next time. Neither had answered, and both briefly looked at him with undisguised suspicion.

Theodore managed to disarm them with another smile, but still, they were suspicious.

The wizard began to look around the house, subtly trying to find an answer to his question while still answering some of the couple's questions, and they had quite a few of them.

Even isolated as they were, they had heard of him: the Thunder, Remaker of the Star Sapphire, Grimstborith of the fourteenth clan.

Theodore tried to answer honestly when he could. Something about them compelled him to be honest, though he had to be vague at times to protect dangerous secrets.

They had asked him if he was the cause of their fear. Theodore admitted that it was his battle against one of the dwarves' many enemies that had caused it. Though, he said nothing of compelling a Grimstborith traitor.

They asked him how he intended to lead his clan. Theodore told them he had no idea how dwarven politics worked.

The wife seemed to like political intrigue, as she brightened at that and gave a few suggestions: He might set up his clan as a trading company, leveraging the many things dwarves might want, and only he could make. He could also act as an intermediary between clan conflicts or work as a fixer for all clans.

Theodore was somewhat dismissive; he only wanted the title for its benefits, and the older woman sensed it.

She made clear that his clan would have to have a role—all clans did. He would be forgiven in the short term for inactivity as his house was new, but dwarves valued productive Grimstboriths.

Theodore had to concede the point, though it would be a long time before he focused on the duties of Grimstborith. If he ever did. The wizard didn't have time for something so tiresome.

On further consideration, it was likely a moot point anyway. By law, he would have to have a certain number of dwarven heirs before adopting outside the clan. The dwarves knew he wasn't a dwarf when he made his clan and that he could not sire dwarven children. He had no way to perpetuate his clan.

It was well-known and old knowledge that Humans and dwarves were genetically incompatible species. This mating pair had been tried many times before, and so finding records confirming this hadn't been very difficult.

Elves and humans could have children; it was rare, but it had happened before.

Urgals and dwarves could presumably have children, but both races hated each other and would likely kill any offspring they had in their cradles, so it was difficult to confirm it.

Elves and humans, however, could never impregnate dwarves or urgals. Even with magic, there had never been a successful pregnancy.

Because of this, Theodore knew the dwarves expected his clan's destruction before it became a reality. They had likely given him this title as a novelty. They saw Theodore as human, and humans didn't live long, so they expected his house to die out before it saw any use. Many wanted it to disappear like the five clans before that died off with no heirs.

Initially, according to the dwarven creation myth, thirty-two clans were formed by Helzvog's hand.

Theodore was still curious about what happened to the other fourteen clans. They had died long ago, but records of why had been somewhat scarce.

What he had found spoke of some great war and clan-killing clan. Curiously, he also caught mention of the greyfolk but no clear records as to how they were involved.

Theodore chuckled, which caused his dinner guest to give him strange looks. The wizard ignored his guest's skeptical coal-black eyes in favor of another bite of steak.

Theodore pondered the question a bit before his mind wandered once again to his conversation with the couple.

For some reason, both were quite curious as to his age and Theodore, feeling no need to lie, explained that he was perhaps a decade younger than them both. It felt strange when those words left his lips. It wasn't often he talked to anyone his age anymore, not so amicably.

The older couple, unbelieving, laughed before they noticed the tightness around his eyes and fell silent. They quickly moved past the awkward pause, though Theodore could tell they didn't believe him.

They moved on to other questions, and when those ran out, Theodore managed to ask some of his own.

He asked about interesting shiny bits and bobbles that caught his eye. Then, the man or the woman would tell the story behind it. The memories softened the lines on their faces and seemed to take years from them.

It was then Theodore could tell why they stayed.

It is evident in the way the couple filled each corner with trinkets or trophies and in the way their custom furniture was filled with scraps and scratches from good use, as well as appreciation.

The man was named Gimli, and the woman was Martha. Theodore was quite sure these two were determined to die in this home.

He had seen how that decision settled in over a person before.

It shifted priorities and made one stand taller as they defended home. The flint it drew from a person made fights drag on until the last man standing. It was what sparked wars and burned homes in the first place.

This couple, as old as dust, began recalling the past without prompting, and Theodore sipped his tea. A stillness touched him as he patiently listened.

Each told stories of how this world had been centuries before. Gimli, stout and white-bearded, had apparently befriended a rider before the war; he had shown Theodore the horn of wine the Rider had gifted him. He had kept it safe and didn't partake of it out of respect for their first meeting.

Then he began talking about all the things that happened after: the start of the war, the uncertainty surrounding precisely what was happening, and the sudden absence of riders at court.

His wife occasionally interjected about other, more mundane things that had happened around the same time.

Apparently, a bloodless succession war two hundred years ago came quite close to sparking a civil war—with no rider to mediate, it had been a near thing.

Occasionally, she would mention a marriage or a funeral she had attended. There had been many Dwarven warriors dying even before the war as they sharpened themselves against the encroaching bands of Urgals. After the war had started, dwarves had been killed in droves.

Her soft, thin voice seemed to soothe the older man's tension, and his voice didn't tremble quite as much as he began talking about the Rider's war. She held his hand as it began to shake. They had lost a son in that war, and they still missed him. Theodore could tell the pain it caused them both.

It was made conspicuous by how the crows' feet wrinkled by their eyes and deepened into well-worn crevasses of skin. However, as they met eyes and their mouths stretched well-worn laugh lines, the wizard could plainly see that these two still loved one another deeply.

Theodore remembered how uncomfortable he felt when he noticed their kindred souls cuddling, sharing each other's warmth.

It reminded the wizard what he had missed, a hole he had filled with gunmetal and left cold without a breath of air.

A part of himself was left ignored and unchanged for centuries. Theodore had preferred it that way.

Eventually, everyone had finished their tea, and their sweets were all eaten, and Theodore decided it was time to leave. He bade his farewells and the couple, but since they were part of Dûrgrimst Quan, it wasn't a short affair.

They prayed for him, asking for good fortune, health, and wellness and that Helzvog's hand would guide him.

Theodore left feeling a mote of guilt as they offered prayers for his health when he was sure he had wreaked havoc on theirs.

Constant fear and anxiety were notoriously not good for the heart. That Theodore had accepted the honey mixed with fruit the older man's wife offered would only make him feel worse if something were to come to pass, and so he set a break-wind near the house.

He hoped it would be enough to stave off the aversion spell's lingering effects. The couple seemed to be good people. They were still hale and hearty despite their age. Theodore disliked thinking he might be the reason they didn't live a decade or two longer.

Time wasn't as precious to Theodore, an immortal, but he still understood its value to those less fortunate.

It was at that time that Murtagh decided to interrupt the wizard's thoughts. Something Theodore found himself somewhat grateful for.

"So what are you going to do with me?" Murtagh asked gruffly, glaring at the wizard across the table as they sat to eat dinner. "You've fed, clothed me, and given me a warm bed to sleep in. What is the catch?! No one is this kind FOR NO REASON!"

Murtagh screamed in that last part, and each word resounded like a gunshot in the small room.

Theodore knew it was his fault for choosing such an intimate space for dinner despite having much larger dining rooms. The wizard had intended it to be less intimidating for the Rider.

It was Theodore's turn to glare now as he waited for the Rider to calm down. There would be no rational conversation as long as the Rider's blood ran hot.

As Murtagh reined himself in, his fist still clenched as if he wanted to take a shot at Theodore, he met the wizard's odd amber eyes and kindled a respect that took even Theodore by surprise. He had the eyes of a killer. That Murtagh was still willing to rebel despite all the pain, torture, and starvation was a good sign. It meant he was strong.

Strong enough to bear the public's contempt for a time. Hopefully, Theodore would have the opportunity to turn Dwarven opinion of him quickly so he wouldn't have to bear that burden for too long, but first.

"I told Orik that I was going to train you. Galbatorix has already given you some training, but I imagine he hasn't taught you much in the short time you've trained with him. In part, I believe that was intentional.

You were just a tool to the black King."

"And now I'm just a tool for you and dwarves instead," Murtagh said, meaning it to be sarcastic and biting.

Grimly, Theodore nodded, which surprised the Rider.

Galbatorix had a silver tongue that spat a thousand lies, and he had never been so honest with the Rider.

"You're a tool but also a person. To me, someone can be two things. You still have your free will even oath-bound as you are."

"Galbatorix made me swear oaths of loyalty, and you did the same. How is this any better?"

Theodore looked directly into the riders' eyes as he chewed another bit of meat, seemingly in no rush to answer.

With exaggerated slopping motions with his teeth, he ground his meat until it was finely minced and naught but mush in his mouth. Finally, when the Rider was sufficiently annoyed at his lack of response, he swallowed.

"You tell me."

Murtagh looked at Theodore, surprised again. The boy needed practice, looking shocked. Theodore found the way his eyes bulged, and his mouth gaped, unseemly and grotesque but also a little bit rude.

"To Galbatorix, you are disposable in many ways. I believe it is Thorn who he values more. He wants more dragons to breed, more dragon hearts to bend to his will. You already know that, though. You used baby dragon hearts, yes?"

Murtagh was uncharacteristically meek as he nodded, embarrassed by the power he wielded.

The wizard was glad.

Subjecting a living thing to the confusion of missing one's body before one could even form proper thoughts was cruel. Torturing it for power and breaking its mind was abominable.

It was a wily, unreasoning intelligence that Galbatorix twisted into a magic battery, and Theodore felt himself slightly terrified of the implications of its existence. No matter how potent the wizard's magic, it would be difficult to fight against one who could wield the will of thousands of dragons. It was then that speed and armor would matter.

The wizard had dodged a landslide when he chose the Varden's cause over the Empire. The way that man could have twisted even Theodore's mind if he had been caught unaware sent chills down Theodore's spine.

"Are you going actually to train me?"

"Yes, like I said, you are lacking," Theodore said briskly and then continued eating. Murtagh didn't like being looked down on but said nothing to contradict him. The Rider still felt queasy when he thought about fighting the wizard. He didn't easily forget the pain Theodore's magic inflicted on him.

"What of my dragon Thorn?"

"He has been put to sleep. Your dragon was too violent, so we will have to leave the city before we wake him again, according to King's orders." Theodore said with a shrug before cutting into his steak and paying more attention to his food than he was to the Rider.

Murtagh frowned, his brows furrowed as he thought of the dwarves forcing Thorn to sleep, but he knew the red dragon never liked enclosed spaces.

Claustrophobia was a trauma that Galbatorix had liked to play with. Whatever cage the dwarves put his dragon in was likely severely mangled before they managed to put him to sleep. Bloody too.

A helpless worry bloomed like a flower in the Rider's stomach. The butterflies it attracted had sharp metal wings, and they seemed to delight in both the nectar they drank and the pain they gave as they danced inside him.

Murtagh would usually sense if his dragon were hurt, but the bond between them had been silent since the beginning of his trial. When he noticed its absence, he felt like the ground had fallen from under him.

Not like it had ached when he had that spiral mark carved into him.

That felt worse than a thousand white hot knives stabbed into his side, and when it was gone, he still felt a Phantom pain at the edge of his mind where his magic should be.

It was hope that his magic might return that had driven him to near madness. It was why, when he had gotten his magic back, he was ready to sing the praise of Theodore Lupin himself, even though the wizard had taken it from him. That was why the wizard had returned magic to him.

Murtagh was no longer a cripple or weak, and he was grateful for it.

A rider's bond and a rider's dragon were more than that. More than life or death or strong or weak.

Thorn was more like the Rider's heart. He wasn't sure he could live without him. In fact, with everything that happened and everything he had been through, he was sure he wouldn't want to.

"What did you use? To put down Thorn, I mean." Murtagh gulped as he asked, but he swallowed nothing; his mouth was dry.

"It was a Draught of Death," Theodore explained bluntly. The wizard didn't look at Murtagh when he said that he was selecting his grape from the bowl of fruits between them; instead, he plucked one and popped it in his mouth carelessly.

As Theodore bit in, he received an explosion of sugary sweetness that could only come from magically engineered grapes. The wizard closed his eyes in satisfaction and was surprised to hear teeth slowly grinding to dust.

Theodore, glancing up, found Murtagh murdering him with his eyes. The shocked misery was so deep and raw and plain on the Rider's face that the wizard thought the boy might start gushing blood from his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that." Theodore flicked a wandless stinging charm at him, and the boy jumped at the mild pain it brought.

In a moment of madness, the Rider forgot the trauma the wizard had inflicted on him and looked as if he wanted to stand and punch the wizard; he was only half crouched in his seat before Theodore waved his hand, and his magic breached Murtagh's wards in an instant, petrifying him.

The Rider tried to put up a struggle, and when his efforts came to naught, panic set in. He couldn't think through the flurry of memories of being trapped that rose to meet him, and he couldn't breathe.

He tried to turn his head to see the wizard's metal knife delicate clatter on porcelain as he cut himself some more meat, but he could only hear it instead. He wanted to beg, but his mouth wouldn't form the words.

"Calm down. Breathe."

Murtagh realized that he couldn't fill his lungs fully as his chest couldn't move. He was allowed shallow breaths, but It wasn't enough. He panicked again and tried to move his chest, and when his body resisted, he began to hyperventilate. His vision began to darken.

"Slow down. Don't worry, breathe, it's just enough you won't die." Theodore said so calmly and assured that Murtagh found himself believing his captor.

He felt an ache set in his legs from the way they bowed, and Murtagh focused on it instead of his breathing, which helped. The purple ebbing of his vision ground to a halt and began to recede, and the Rider felt his frantic heartbeat slow.

"it isn't nearly as bad as it sounds. I brewed the potion myself from the finest and freshest ingredients. Its effect ensures Thorn has a dreamless sleep. Your dragon has not a thought or care and won't age or need food in his state."

Theodore's words were a balm to Murtagh's irritation, and the Rider accepted his fate.

The wizard held the spell for what he considered a reasonable time, taking a few more bites of his stake before he let the spell drop and let Murtagh free.

The Rider immediately flexed his jaw and was satisfied to be able to move it before stretching out his cramped leg. He was glad for the pain as it reminded him he was still alive.

Murtagh leaned back in his chair but didn't dare stand, as he had no slight fear the wizard might misinterpret his actions and paralyze him again. Both ate for a few minutes in silence.

The Rider quickly overcame his wounded pride, used to worse, and broke the sound of fork and knife on porcelain with a question about what exactly potions were.

"We take magical ingredients from plants, animals, and even insects and, through careful procedure, make magically effective elixirs. There are potions of love, luck, and death. Potions can make one healthy or very sick." Theodore explained, talking even as he ate. Though somehow, his words still came out crisply despite the food he'd stuffed in his mouth.

"I've never heard of such magic. I had always thought herbalists were restricted to healing ailments."

"In this land, I suspect that they are."

'There was a certain potency of magic missing. Perhaps caused by magic being so diffuse.' However, Theodore didn't mention his thoughts aloud. It would have confused the Rider, who knew nothing of potions, let alone their ingredients.

"Draught of Death, is something from where you're from?"

Theodore could see Murtagh's eyes ablaze, hungry for magic.

Murtagh's coal-black eyes were so dark that even his pupils were hidden, yet they reminded him of Luna's pale blue eyes.

Theodore still missed his aunt. He felt warm at the thought of what she would do if she were here now. Her presence would undoubtedly have added levity to all the prophecy and killing he had heaped upon himself.

"Where is it you think I am from?"

Murtagh fingered his jaw in a way that looked wise, though the way he stroked a chin that held no beard seemed silly. It reminded Theodore how young the Rider indeed was, though the boy wasn't as innocent as Theodore when he was his age.

When Theodore had just reached majority and graduated from Hogwarts, he remembered being enthusiastic about the world and excited to explore it all. Murtagh, on the other hand, had this angry intensity about him that seemed to hate the world instead.

"Far from here across the sea," Murtagh posed. He didn't at all look confident. The wizard's magic was too strange and too different for such a simple answer, and the Rider knew it.

However, Theodore nodded amiably. It was true in a way. He had crossed a sea of stars, and that place in between occasionally held water.

"The Draught of Death is an ancient potion from my lands," Theodore explained, giving the Rider a glib smile before cutting another particularly succulent piece of meat and setting it in his mouth.

Mipsy was quite the cook. Better than most house elves, and house elves were all good at cooking. She was undoubtedly the best Mipsy that ever cooked for him. The other Mipsy's hadn't had such an even keel.

As Theodore finished his stake, Murtagh managed to wolf down every morsel of his meat and ask for seconds. Food popped from nothing in front of him, and without complaint at the strangeness of that, Murtagh dug in a second time.

The Rider's growing body was eager for fuel, and the dwarves' treatment of him had only helped his hunger. Wasted ration, they called it, expecting his execution.

Theodore, despite his better judgment, had let them starve the boy.

It made sense at the time to pander to the dwarves' wishes.

If Theodore had told them to feed him more, he might have been seen as sympathetic to the boy's cause. If Orik had seen him helping Murtagh in any way, he might have suspected Theodore wanted the Rider to live, and the fact that the wizard did want Murtagh to live drew him to inaction.

He was too great a resource, too great a research opportunity to pass up.

The Dwarves would realize that they needed him as much as Theodore did, but that would take time. Orik, still blinded by rage, would have ensured Murtagh's death if he had found out about the wizards' plan. That trial would have been his end.

Theodore would never have been given the position of defendant and convinced the dwarves to enslave him, and Murtagh would have been outright executed instead.

Though It still smacked of cruelty to the wizard and left a bitter taste in Theodore's mouth to starve the Rider.

Murtagh had practically chewed on his boot leather by the end of his trial.

Theodore thought of how he could make it up to the Rider.

Regular meals had helped fight back pale skin and decrepitness, but the wizard still felt like he owed Murtagh something.

Theodore idly thought he might brew more of the magical beer as a gift to the Rider. He seemed to like it well enough.

He could even introduce him to the wonders of chocolatl.

The sweet warmth chocolatl gave, which seemed to hug and love you from inside, could be pretty addictive. In a way, it was the closest food could get to true love, though it made a poor substitute.

The wizard instantly had second thoughts.

He had only a small supply of that brown delicious delight, and he wouldn't likely get more of it soon.

Lyra's world was in turmoil. War had started between Muskavie and England, and it had caused shortages in every major city. Making chocolatl was the least of everyone's worries.

Theodore would have loved to have some chocolate from his world; only all the cacao trees in the Prime Merlinian plane had gone extinct not long after the blaze of a thousand nuclear bombs had poisoned the world.

The wizard and Rider sat and idly talked for a while, and Theodore got to know the boy's interests better, which included poetry, dueling, and, of course, flying.

Flying was actually an interest that they shared.

Theodore knew just the right questions to ask to trigger the memories of a beginner's experience.

"Do you cover yourself warmly when you go up, or do you use wards?"

"Where did you grip? It must have been hard to grip the Thorn by his scales."

"Has Thorn ever caught you out of your saddle, or have you never had that problem?"

Theodore bore him down like a stream of water over a jagged rock. Relentless as he bent the Rider to his will. Slowly at first, but then eagerly, Murtagh told his story.

The Rider told Theodore how the sun stretched out over the horizon. How as it rose slowly, bathing him with its light warmth and pressing a sight into his eyes so beautiful even Thorn, who had been inflicted only pain since birth, was drawn to mournful roars. Not because he hadn't seen the morning sky before but because Murtagh had been so affected, and Thorn's Rider felt more alive than he had ever before.

In front of them, it had been nothing but a spectral sea of pink that seemed to luxuriate in the sun's first light. The sea of clouds was completely untouched except for the parts that coiled in the wind as they flew by or were parted by the birds that flew to join them.

Murtagh told the wizard how, at that moment, the frigid winds that bowled into his hair and slapped his eyes were forgotten.

At that moment, Murtagh had thought, 'This is magic'.

Theodore, who had ridden a broom himself, recalled a similar experience. He remembered that feeling of the world being so immense, and all his troubles were molecular dispersions in comparison. 'How could anything compete with flying?' He had wondered.

Theodore sighed wistfully as he tasted the nostalgic edges of emotions he might never feel again. He was old, and not much managed to surprise him anymore, and even less awed the wizard.

Murtagh's pale skin turned flush as he finished. The Rider was somewhat embarrassed by how detailed he was in his description but felt closer to the wizard for having told him. Though even more than that, the story reminded him of his dragon; he missed Thorn.

The way his needling pride settled in his mind. The way their identities mingled when in flight.

The red-faced magician quickly moved on to a more comfortable subject to cover up his painful stab of longing.

The Rider, who found Theodore such a good listener, opened up quickly about courtly politics.

Theodore had the bearing of a noble, and so the Rider suspected the wizard could relate to the life he had abandoned. He quickly found out that he was right.

Theodore was attentive, occasionally commenting about his own time in court during the days he had been duke of war.

Though he didn't tell Murtagh, their experiences hadn't been nearly comparable.

Murtagh had been Galbatorix's ward and, therefore, subject to his whims. Theodore had absolute power, often taking the role of a patron.

He found the children of families with too many to manage, children abandoned by the dominion, or orphans of particularly violent Muggles Banes and took them under his wing. Over the six generations he had been alive, he had dozens of apprentices.

It was usually others who fell under his sway, not the other way around, but the politics of court was the same: cutthroat and complicated. Lords and ladies vying over power and stabbing each other or, even more often, peasants in the back.

Of course, there were new styles and dances to worry about for those more powerful and less involved in petty power struggles. Theodore had preferred dueling, and Murtagh was much the same, so they talked more about that for a time.

The wizard listened with particular interest as Murtagh spoke of his encounters with the Black King. The Rider didn't see him very often as his ward, and Theodore found that, unfortunate, he was terribly curious about the King.

That man was still a mystery to the Archmage. He had troubling knowledge of black magic and the future, and both became more suspicious the more he got to know this world.

When Theodore first arrived and found magic native to this world, he had expected that there would be organized groups of seers, people who could read something similar to an alethiometer, or even soothsayers who could use ritual killing to seek truth and tell the future.

In this world, they had scrying, which was helpful but only allowed the observation of things the viewer had already observed. Theodore was new to this world; he wouldn't have already been observed using that method.

Angela was the most gifted seer he had seen in this world, and she paled in comparison to gifted seers Theodore had met in his.

Likely, Whatever futures she could tell would be vague and unhelpful. It is not easily applicable, like, 'Theodore Remus Lupin had arrived at midday on the burning plain in a new world, and he is someone likely to oppose your rule.'

So the question became, did the King receive information from someone in Theodore's world or somehow divine it himself?

Theodore quickly found out Murtagh didn't know the answer.

In Murtagh's stories, the King wasn't frightening. He had been an overbearing grandfather figure for the Rider. It was only after his escape and later capture that Galbatorix treated the Rider harshly. Then, it was more senseless violence and petty punishment than any harsh words or useful anecdotes about the King's mental state.

Then, when all topics had been drawn out, as far as Murtagh was willing and as far as Theodore had any desire to push, Theodore, who still wanted to know his new ward better, decided it was time for a spar. The Rider was eager to duel after their conversation and was so easily convinced.

They went down a flight of stairs to his new castle's courtyard. An illusion of sunlight and blue skies shimmered lifelike overhead.

It wasn't a perfect illusion. Just past it was the crystalline stars of the twilight city, and while the illusion hid them, at the sides where the illusion met the building, the glowing crystals could still be seen. The sun and bright blue sky were held out like an umbrella, only seen from the inside.

Murtagh looked at it with wonder as Theodore brought over two wooden sparring swords, charmed unbreakable, and handed him one.

"Now, don't be afraid to break these. I've used magic on them." Theodore said as he took his place in the dueling square already set up.

The Rider took it with an eager nod. Murtagh thought that he had a good chance of beating Theodore in a purely physical duel, and the wizard promised he wouldn't use magic.

The Rider's logic was simple. Murtagh thought Theodore was only a little older than him and that the time one spent mastering magic was time that one could spend mastering the sword.

Theodore's lithe figure only encouraged Murtagh's perception of the wizard being physically weaker. The man seemed to have little visible muscle. Theodore was slight, and out of his armor, the wizard looked soft. Murtagh couldn't know the wizard was old or that he had fought in a thousand battles, some of which had no magic as an option.

Theodore took one side and Murtagh the other. They bowed, and the duel began.

The beginning bout was probing for both of them. They circled each other and struck out to test reaction speed and strength. At one point, their blades locked, and they had each other's measure. The wizard and Rider found their strength about even.

Murtagh made ungainly moves that might have worked when fighting men but would leave gaps for elves who moved at unnatural speeds or would leave him off balance if a Kull bucked him with unnatural strength.

That would change with time and experience.

Unlike Arya's style, which was good at both attack and defense but great at neither, Murtagh's style was great for offensive fighting and had room to grow. Its free-flowing form was more adaptive.

Theodore guessed as to why.

Humans, unlike elves, had to keep improving. Flesh and blood constantly fed into the maw of actual war, keeping their sword styles from stagnating. Its evolution was a matter of life and death for humans.

Meanwhile, even a sloppy elven swordsman could kill dozens of human soldiers. There was no real art required other than for vanity's sake.

Men were likely better at authentic swordsmanship than elves for the same reason prey will always be faster than predators. A prey has to survive to pass on its genes; a predator always has another meal to sink its teeth into.

Theodore and Murtagh traded hits, and the wizard began to enjoy the subtle exertion. 'Too much magic makes one soft.' The wizard thought.

Their clash helped Theodore release some pent-up frustration after his traumatic dream.

The wizard hadn't spent much time thinking of what that ungodly creature had done to him; formless tendrils fazed through his flesh, and he lay on the ground in pain, helpless.

'It has been a long time since I have felt helpless,' he thought, and it was true it had been centuries since he felt true terror like that. Part of him drank in that feeling. Even now, part of him felt disgusted that he had enjoyed the vulnerability it inspired. It had been a long time since anything indeed threatened Theodore. No one, not even Harry, would hurt him lightly now.

After a few more heated blows, Theodore lowered his sword and let Murtagh attack while he dodged.

The wizard moved out of the way of Murtagh's strikes, a hair's breadth away from being hit, careful not to let even his midnight blue cloak still draped around him get caught by Murtagh's dull wooden blade.

The lack of resistance had some effect on the Rider, as he quickly lost his temper. He moved faster and struck with the might of a rhino in full charge, making loud whooshing noises as his wooden sword blurred from place to place.

Theodore moved that much faster to dodge each strike as he waited for the Rider to tire himself out.

With the inhuman speed at which Murtagh swung his sword, the wizard wondered how long it would take. This duel was a physical test as much as one of the Rider's personality.

The wizard didn't have to wait long.

Murtagh quickly struggled to breathe as he began abandoning technique in favor of striking even faster. By predicting the riders' telegraphed moves, Theodore began moving long before Murtagh managed his downward swing.

It was less than fifteen minutes before the Rider's fiery anger at Theodore dimmed to coals as he realized he couldn't reach the wizard, and at the same time, his exhaustion caught up with him.

The wooden sword fell to the floor with a dull clatter.

Murtagh saw stars as he fell onto his back. His sweat soaked his clothes, causing them to press like ice against his skin, and yet he was so close to unconscious that he couldn't bring himself to care much.

For several minutes, he lay on the ground panting. He took a breath out and a breath in a practiced way as his heart beat wildly and blood rushed in his ears. His face was hot and flush with blood and shame.

Theodore watched from the side, his unmarked skin and amber eyes filled with amusement. He mocked Murtagh without a word, like an older brother watching his kid brother swing wildly at him, throwing a tantrum, tears stinging his eyes, and knowing he couldn't hurt him no matter how he tried.

The fact that he was so easily caught and handled with such mild tactics only made Murtagh all the more helplessly angry. His anger bubbled to the surface, but tired panting compressed his emotions into flat exhaustion.

The wizard stood still, waiting for the Rider to recover.

"You don't quite have the stamina of an elf, do you," Theodore said matter of factly as he once again took up a dueling stance. His wooden sword stretched out to continue.

"Galbatorix told me that the magic for that was complex and would take time. He…. never got around to it." Murtagh explained as he stood up, steadied his trembling hands, and picked up his wooden sword to meet him.

Theodore nodded as if this made sense but secretly thought it was an excuse the King had made to limit Murtagh. It was easier to take back dragon hearts than to sing his Rider weak again.

This time, they actually traded strikes, and Theodore met him blow for blow evenly. He deliberately copied the Rider's aggressive style so they could adequately knock blades.

Theodore, who had as great an understanding of magic in this world, discovered quite early on that there was a symbiotic relationship between the natural processes of the body and magic in this reality.

Murtagh decided to start relying on thrusting strikes, quick strikes, and darting. He would coil like a snake and strike out several times in a second, then repeat. Theodore used a combination of dodging and reposts to manage Murtagh's darting strikes.

Theodore had long thought the connection between the small stockpile of energy available to perform spells and adenosine triphosphate was obvious.

The small particle discovered by muggles in the human body was good for short bursts of energy. Once known, wizards quickly found ways to monitor it through magic.

The wizard managed in a moment the Rider least expected to catch him off balance by violently knocking his sword aside.

Theodore thrust forward and forced Murtagh to roll to the side. His wooden sword was unwieldy, and he hadn't had time to bring it close to his body, where he could control it best.

Theodore knocked Murtagh's overextended sword out of his trembling fingers, and it skidded off to the side.

Theodore's spells had long been able to bypass wards, so it wasn't difficult to monitor this quality in humans, dwarves, or Arya, an elf. An experiment Theodore had named Potentia had taken place without anyone's knowledge.

Humans, dwarves, and Urgals all seemed to rely solely on ATP for exertion, and the same was primarily true for elves, except they produced it much quicker. This increased production meant that elves, who were more robust than most other races and more powerful magicians, were also recovering from fatigue much faster.

Elves were a super race. With the strength of ten men, the speed of a horse at full gallop, and magic that made even court mages that Theodore had seen in Eobard's memories seem weak, Theodore thought it was actually quite surprising they hadn't simply taken over the world and become its immortal overlords. Or perhaps they had, at some point, lost interest.

There was little normal humans could do against a determined elf. To elves, humans were like blades of grass waiting to be trampled and cut down.

How slow and dull most humans must seem to them.

—-

The Next Day

Theodore sank comfortably into his cozy office chair as he scratched notes into his experimental notebook.

His quill bobbed as he made delicate cursive loops in a language he was sure no one in this world could read.

Off to the side sat a vial of dwarven blood, a bit of fluorescent crystal stone from the ceiling, and core samples taken off various places on the wall of stone surrounding the city of Twilight.

All of them had something extraordinary in common.

When he first fed dwarf blood to the goblet, he didn't notice how peculiar it was that something as ordinary as dwarven blood tarnished his goblet.

At the time, he was distracted by the enormity of his actions. Taking someone's free will away was never meant to be done lightly.

The goblets incessantly asking after blood certainly hadn't helped his focus.

Afterward, he had been distracted by research into dwarven laws, but now that the trial was over and he had some time to think, he looked for something more in dwarven blood, a form of magical microscopy of sorts.

The wizard had gone down just after his practice with Murtagh to check on the cup.

That goblet of blood, steeped in magic as potent as the goblet of fire itself, could heal and maintain its image. Yet, after soaking in a bit of dwarven blood, it still showed no signs of recovering. It was still tarnished, and its edges were bruised and thick.

So, with the blood goblet's protests, he took a sample of blood from the cup.

In it, he found a type of superstable radioactive isotope.

The core samples from the wall and the crystals had that same mineral, Making Theodore have odd theories as to the relationship between the three. Perhaps there was something to the story of the dwarves having lept from stone, though Theodore suspected gods had little to do with it.

Godlings rarely created anything. It was usually the other way around. Godlings were concepts given life by prayer.

With a pop, Mipsy appeared beside him, and Theodore let his quill rest in its ink well.

"Eragon Shadeslayer is here to see you, master Lupin."

"Of course he is." Theodore paused, pondering what the Rider could want. He had, through subtle inquiry, found out Eragon had come without his dragon to resolve the King's moot.

Obviously, the Vardens information was old. Briefly, the wizard wondered what Trianna was doing. He had given her information indicating that he had resolved the situation. The witch should have told Nasuada by now.

"Bring him to the tea room, and then prepare some for the rider," Theodore said, and Mipsy promptly disappeared with a silent crack.

The wizard would have to part with more of his stock of tea, which he so greedily hoarded.