I apologize ahead of time for any spelling or grammar mistakes that might be in the story. I am only writing this for fun. And because no one can stop me...Muahahahaha!
I do not own Eragon.
Anyway enjoy!
The last thing Murtagh could remember was pain. It consumed him. It crept up his entire being and burned as it silently tore him apart. The kind that came in sickening waves growing stronger the longer it was inflicted upon him. He clenched his teeth as a tortured cry escaped him, echoing off the walls of the tunnel. Murtagh grasped the wall beside him, trying to support himself as best he could. He tried to concentrate on something else. Anything else. He gasped inwardly as an explosion of pain swept across him. Then finally his vision began to flash red and he fell to the floor, consumed by darkness.
Murtagh regained consciousness three times. If you could call it that. He would wake up just enough to hear the sounds of people talking, unable to register the words being spoken. He couldn't focus enough to think about anything. Just enough to feel the burning sensation of his body every time he tried to move.
When he finally did wake up he was greeted with nothing but pain and darkness. This time he could sense the awareness of his muscles. He attempted to flex his arm but still felt a numb buzzing as he ordered his arm to move. Murtagh came to the conclusion that he was still affected by whatever magic had paralyzed him earlier. But when had that been? Hours? Days? Weeks? He slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus on the space in front of him. His gray eyes could just make out the faint lighting that came from the outline of a door. A sinking feeling of dread washed over him as his mind put two and two together. The slight sensation of panic bubbled in the corners of his mind but was quickly pushed away. He would not allow himself to succumb to fear. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, calming himself down. They will get nothing from me. And it was with that final thought that the son of Morzan fell asleep deep beneath the city of Uru'baen.
Murtagh walked through the dimly lit hallways of the palace. His metal boots made loud footsteps as they split the silence. His blood red cape billowed behind him. Finally he arrived at the elaborate doors to the king's throne room. He used to dread these meetings, but ever since he had come to his senses he had nothing to fear. It was all pointless anyway. How he used to sit in the corner of his chambers, hands over his face as he breathed rapidly, trying to fight the fear of the moment that was creeping around the corner of his future. But there was no reason for that. He was better than he had been. None would even dare oppose him. Next to the king he was the most feared man in the kingdom. He surly didn't understand the emotions that used to come over him. Things were better this way.
Murtagh pushed the heavy doors open and confidently walked into the throne room. He stopped before the throne and knelt on the black marble floor.
"You summoned me?" he asked.
"Rise son of Morzan." said the voice above him.
Murtagh lifted his head and stood. Galbatorix sat upon a marble throne carved with and intricate pattern, a regale air surrounded him as he looked down on the young man in front of him. He had a pleased expression on his face.
"Tell me. What happened after I defeated the Varden?"
Murtagh was confused and spoke hesitantly.
"The Varden's army was obliterated. Some were taken prisoner, most were killed. The few that escaped are on the run."
"Yes that is right." The king pressed his fingers together. He looked at him now with a stern expression.
"And what of the rider? What did he do after his dragon was killed?"
Why was the king asking him this, Murtagh wondered.
"He killed himself." Murtagh replied.
"Ah yes. That's what I was told. However that was not the case."
What? Eragon was alive? How? Murtagh thought.
"It wasn't?" he asked.
Galbatorix motioned to a guard posted at the door.
"Bring me the boy."
The guard bowed before rushing out of the room. When he returned he and another guard were holding the chains of a prisoner. His limbs were bound in chains so that he could not move on his own. He had delicate elf-like features. He staggered into the room, obviously drugged. Murtagh hesitantly made eye contact with the prisoner. The boy looked back at him, at first not recognizing his brother. Then for a brief second Murtagh's eyes were met with a look of pure hatred before the drug took control once again. Galbatorix looked at Eragon and then at Murtagh.
"Have you not an unfinished task?" he asked.
"Master?"
Galbatorix' eyes narrowed and he spoke in a frighteningly calm voice.
"You failed. I need to know that you are committed to me." The king pointed to Murtagh's sheath where he kept Zar'roc.
A Grim expression stretched across Murtagh's face as he drew his sword. He stepped towards his brother. Then without hesitation, he plunged it through his heart.
Murtagh awoke with a start strangled gasps filling the walls of his cell. He knew that the magic had worn off as he could feel beads of sweat running down his face. He struggled and twitched pulling with all his might. He barely moved however as he had been chained. His arms were shackled apart and pinned to the wall behind him so that he hung limply in place. His wrists burned and he was sure he could feel blood running down his arms. He assumed it was from his fits in his sleep as they rubbed against his binds. He could feel that he was covered with blood and grime as it cracked as he shifted his muscles. What was that? Murtagh was horrified of his actions. Even if none of it had been real he was disgusted by the things he had done in his dream. I will never become Galbatorix' weapon of destruction.
Murtagh's thoughts were quickly interrupted as he heard the sound of footsteps outside his cell. The door suddenly swung open and a flash of light burst through the darkness. The light blinded him and he shut his eyes. Heavy footfalls echoed through the room as they stepped towards him. He slowly opened his eyes, squinting from the brightness. In front of him stood the madman from his dream: Galbatorix. The king looked him up and down as if surveying everything about him.
"The son of Morzan."
Murtagh looked at him with a look of hate.
"I am not Morzan's son. He was no father to me." He shot back, seething with anger.
Galbatorix remained still. He spoke in a soft voice that was deathly calm.
"You would do wise to speak to your king with respect."
Murtagh replied by spitting at his feet. He allowed his head to hang limply causing his dark hair to fall in front of his face. Galbatorix grabbed Murtagh's jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing him to make eye contact. Murtagh's gray eyes looked down, his mind drifting to anywhere but the moment. He soon began to try and comprehend his dream once again. Galbatorix' grip tightened on his jaw, fingernails digging into murtagh's skin.
"Something plagues you, does it not?" Galbatorix spoke inches from Murtagh's face. Murtagh remained silent.
"If you don't tell me I suppose I'll have to find out myself."
Murtagh let out a strangled scream as Galbatorix attacked his mind. He barely had enough time to block him. Not that it mattered. His defenses were soon crushed by the piercing dagger of Galbatorix' consciousness. The pain was unlike any he had ever felt. His head felt like it was going to explode as Galbatorix roughly ripped the information from his mind. When it was done, Galbatorix released Murtagh's jaw and let his head hang limply once again.
"I see." The king mused, his voice thick and smooth like honey.
"It was simply a vision of your future. Your mind is weak when you are unconscious. You needed to see what is to come."
Murtagh clenched his teeth.
"You will get nothing from me." he growled.
Galbatorix grabbed a handful of Murtagh's hair, wrenching his head closer.
"You cannot fight your destiny, boy." His voice was harsh. "You are mine." With that he slammed Murtagh's head down and swiftly left the room, shutting the door behind him. Murtagh was consumed by darkness once more. To the empty room he spoke quietly.
"We shall see."
Galbatorix sat upon his black throne. The room was dark except for the dim torchlight given off by the set of torches on either side of the door. In front of him on a stone pedestal was a large bowl made of soapstone. It was filled with clear water that showed the image of Murtagh chained to the wall of his cell. He was asleep, his hair falling in front of him and covering his face. How similar he was to his father. Not just in appearance but in personality as well. As mush as the boy would deny it, the king knew that somewhere deep inside him, the same fire of hatred burned that was inside Morzan. Even Morzan denied it at first. But soon he grew to love it. Galbatorix knew his son would too. Galbatorix had lost his chance at the new rider. But he would not have fit the part. He was too soft. Murtagh however was colder. And with some work he would be stronger as well.
He would break eventually. How ever long it took, Galbatorix would wait. All the boy needed was the right motivation and Galbatorix knew just the thing. Like father, like son. After all, with Durza gone he would need a new right hand.
Yes. The king thought. The boy will do nicely.
So... What did you think?
Did you like it?
If you have anything to say feel free to post a review. (hint hint)
I might make more if in the future. If you want me to continue it let me know! Just so you know I don't really have a plot line yet. I'm just writing as ideas come.
Also if you have any ideas I would be happy to hear them.