Children of the Forsworn

Set after Eldest. Not my take on book three, it's my own story. It will switch between points of view. As always, I own nothing but the plot and a couple of characters… This is my first ever story…so be nice, although I welcome constructive criticism.

Disclaimer: All characters, names, places etc belong to Mr Paoulini. I just exploit them ;)

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Murtagh landed in the courtyard of the Grand Palace at Uru'baen, several leagues ahead of the battered army returning from Surda, sliding off Thorn with a sigh. He waited irritably for the King's inevitable appearance, twirling the newly acquired Zar'roc in his hands in the same manner that enabled Eragon to finally recognise him at the burning plains.

He didn't have to wait long. Galbatorix flung open the great steel doors and marched out unaccompanied, which surprised Murtagh somewhat. The King stopped a few feet in front of him and glared at him condescendingly. "I had a feeling you'd let him go. I should have checked for loopholes like the one you used. Next time, you will do more than try." Murtagh winced and tensed, expecting to be punished severely for his failure. To his surprise, Galbatorix just glared at him. "Well?" he murmured hesitatingly, the silence more unbearable than the anger. "Well what?"

"Aren't you going to…how did you put it…flay me within an inch of my life? I remember that's what you told me before I left, should I fail." Murtagh hissed. The older man shook his head and sighed. "I would if I thought it would make any sort of difference, Murtagh. I take no pleasure in tormenting you; I'm not such a terrible monster. I'm unorthodox, I'll admit, and exceedingly ruthless, but since torture never did seem to loosen your tongue…what would be the point?" Murtagh raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, but remained silent. The King sighed again and rubbed his temples, turning to the great ruby dragon who eyed the pair warily. "Thorn, you are to go to the dragonhold, Shruiken will provide you with food."

Thank you, ebrithil…but…I should like to hunt…

"No…for now, eat what you are given. Murtagh…go to your quarters, I'll speak with you later."

Murtagh blew the hair out of his dark eyes and crossed the white marble courtyard more quickly than usual, anxious to escape this curiously forgiving and frankly disconcerting side of the King. Heaving on the steel doors, he glanced back at Thorn. See you later.

The same to you, young one. Thorn took off as Murtagh slid through the narrow gap he'd created in the door, closing it behind him. He leant back against it, running his hand through his hair, eyes closed. Whatever was making Galbatorix behave this way, he was grateful for it. He was worn out and aching all over from his confrontation with his younger brother, who had been surprisingly hard to beat…

He opened his eyes and nearly fell over in shock. "Lillian! Jeez…you scared me. How do you do that? Appearing out of nowhere, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days…" The shy twelve-year-old grinned at him, before wrapping her arms around his waist. Snorting, Murtagh prised her off and ruffled her hair. "Murtaaagh!" she squealed, flattening it down again as he laughed at her. Lillian was the youngest of the King's illegitimate children, with dark eyes and dark blonde hair that was always messy…and at this point, he thought, scrutinising her…short. "You've cut your hair again."

"You noticed! Father likes it long, he wasn't impressed, but you know, since when do I listen to him?" Murtagh shook his head. If one thing could be said for the King, it was that he never punished his daughters. Granted, he never really spoke to them either, but they definitely had it better than he did.

"Come on, I'll walk with you to your room." She took his wrist and dragged him through the twisting stone, granite and marble corridors until they reached his wing of the castle. As they walked past his vast library, he noticed a slight figure hunched over a scroll, sat in the corner. "Lily, let me say hi to your sister…" he let go of Lillian's hand and slipped into the library. Renn, the King's other daughter, glanced up and half-smiled at him. "You have your own library, bookworm." Murtagh laughed. Renn stood and closed the scroll. "Hello to you too, Murtagh. You didn't bring your brother, did you?" She glared at him. "No I didn't. I wouldn't dare disobey you…you're twice as scary as your father." He replied, and she grinned. "If I were Eragon, I wouldn't want to face father's wrath, he's really angered him."
"I'll say. I'd do anything to keep him from having to come here. I guess I don't have such a bad time here, but when the King holds a grudge, he holds a grudge." Murtagh replied seriously.

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Renn shook herself. "I've got to go, I'm late for my sparring session."

"Oh…are you with Aaran this morning?"

"Yes!" She grinned widely. "So I may just be able to beat him!" Murtagh laughed as she left. Aaran and Renn were twins, the King's first born children. Their mother, and indeed Lillian's, was a noble woman called Rhychel, who was widely accepted as Galbatorix' mistress, and some said, lover. When they'd been born, the King had eagerly taken the little boy to the dragon eggs, but had been disappointed when they had failed to hatch. He resented Aaran for the 'injustice' and was consequentially spiteful when the young warrior crossed his path. Aaran, in turn, hated his father for the lack of love he showed to his two sisters.

They had both inherited their father's black hair; Aaran's was spiky and short, Renn's long with messy curls. They were both adept magicians and admirable warriors, Aaran matching Murtagh's level of skill with a bow whilst Renn favoured the sword and often beat both boys, much to their embarrassment. Luckily for them, she was hopeless with a bow, and lacked the patience to practise her aim. Intruigingly, they were able to communicate with each other in the same manner Murtagh talked to Thorn, through a mind link.

Murtagh himself had always been closer to little Lillian, whom, he supposed, was not so little anymore. He'd been seven when she'd been born, and, whilst the twins had always had each other, his little heart had attached itself to the tiny baby, and they'd grown up together. He'd been the one who'd taught her everything about fighting and surviving, and had been very upset when he'd left her to run away. But now he was back, and she had conveniently 'forgotten' that he'd left her, on account of the fact that she actually had no-one else to talk to. He adored her, and treated her as though she was his own little sister.

When he'd been travelling with Eragon, he'd wanted to mention the little girl to his friend, but had kept it quiet, knowing that any relative of the King was in danger if the Varden ever got wind of their existence. Lillian was the one person in the world, aside perhaps from Thorn or Eragon that he would gladly lay down his life for.

She was hanging around outside the library as he left. "You could have come in, you know!" He laughed at her and she grimaced, sticking her tongue out. "I hate libraries. Books are so boring!"

"You know that's not true. You love it when I read you stories!"

"Yeah, but reading them myself is no fun." She slid her small hand into his and together they wandered up to Murtagh's rather unnecessarily vast bedroom. "Right you," he said when they reached his door, "Disappear. I need to change and have a bath." She pouted, stuck her tongue out at him, then ran back down the corridor, humming. Poor child, thought Murtagh, gazing after her. She'd never been allowed outside the walls of the palace, it was too dangerous. She wasn't content to sit in the castle, and spent most of her time outside in the gardens, planning ridiculous ways of escape.

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Relaxing in a tub of almost unbearably hot water did wonders for your mind, thought Murtagh as he hurriedly towelled his shoulder-length, dark brown hair dry. Flinging on a black undershirt and loose trousers, he collapsed onto his bed, a great weariness having suddenly descended on him. Thorn?

Yes, Murtagh?

Are you still angry with me?

No, I wasn't really angry in the first place. Yes, deliberately disobeying your ebrithil was foolish, but he is your brother.

I miss his company.

I know. But you have Aaran, and the girls.

"I know…" he breathed aloud. He shut off the mind connection and rolled over. It was far too early to even think about sleeping…but he was so tired. Within moments he had given himself to the comforting warmth of his pillow.

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Lillian sat on the soft grass of the inner rose garden that her mother had commissioned, but never used. She knew she would be scolded for the large grass stain on the seat of her dress, but she never really cared. If they let her wear her sparring and training outfits all the time, she'd take better care of herself, but she hated wearing these disgustingly cute little frocks that her mother insisted she looked lovely in. She sometimes wondered what her life would have been like if she had been a boy. She'd have been taken to the eggs, and maybe one of them would have hatched…and her father would have been so proud…

The twelve year old shook the naïve thoughts out of her head angrily. If that had been the case, she would have been subjected to the hours and hours of hard and harsh training that Murtagh had to put up with. She smiled as she thought of her best ever friend. He was seven years her senior, but treated her with respect and kindness, and for that, she loved him. He was her big brother on all levels bar biologically, and, when he was here, she was nearly always at his side, following him around, watching him train with Galbatorix or listening to him recite the Ancient language from a scroll with her head on her arms. Aaran and Renn loved her too, and, showered with love, she knew that she should be content with her life.

But this was not the case. The little girl wished she could have more…see the world…go on one of Murtagh's missions with him, or accompany Renn and her maids into town…but she wasn't allowed, not until she was sixteen, which seemed a lifetime away. She knew the courtiers thought her strange and unladylike, she was always getting dirty, and never showed up for dinner on time. She grinned as she remembered the last eight years of her life, which were full of mischief and pranks. She wanted so much to run away from her fussy mother, her uncaring father and this oh-so-stuffy way of life…

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Murtagh stirred, sensing in his sleep that something wasn't right. His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up, but something was stopping him. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he glanced down. To his surprise and anger, heavy chains bound him to his bed, and he let out a feral snarl. A chuckle to the right of him made him swivel his head, and he met the cold, dark eyes of the King of Alagaesia.

"So the whole 'I'm-not-going-to-torment-you-anymore-Murtagh' thing was an act."

"That depends very much on you. These are for my protection."

"Oh, because I'm such a huge threat to you, right?"

"Indeed you are. Although, I suppose I could have used magic to force you to be still. I've weakened your own magic, by the way, so don't even try to break free." Murtagh bared his teeth and growled, "So how exactly do I threaten you, weak as I am?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and Galbatorix laughed hollowly. "I'm old, Murtagh, very old. I have no doubt you could do some real damage with those fists of yours."
"As if you'd let me anywhere near you."
"That's the puzzle, isn't it?" The King grinned, and Murtagh shook his head. The King was mad.

"Whatever." he muttered. "What do you want?"

"Information, of course. What do I always want?" Murtagh rolled his eyes. He should have known. "I assume about Eragon? The elves? The Varden?"

"There's nothing more I can learn about the Varden. But…your little brother…" a sadistic grin crept onto his face. "I should like to know his strengths and weaknesses…the skills he has gained since the last time the two of you were together." Galbatorix looked at him expectantly and Murtagh let his breath out in a long hiss. "And if I refuse?"

The King sighed. "How many times must we repeat ourselves, Murtagh?" He clenched his fist and pain streaked up Murtagh's arms as the chains binding him suddenly tightened. He let out a gasp of surprise. Galbatorix shook his head and continued. "There, you see? It's the same every time…you refuse, I hurt you, you refuse again, I lose my temper, you pass out, and I take the information straight from your mind anyway. It would be so much simpler if you just told me…"
"I guess I'm just a slow learner, then." Murtagh murmured angrily, then cried out in pain as the chains tightened even more. "Do what you like…" he gasped. "You know I'll never tell you…"

"It's your choice." Pain exploded from his chest and lanced through his limbs. He arched his back and the last thought that flashed through his mind before he passed out was, I hate him I hate him I HATE HIM!