As We Prevail
Darkness.
Thorn. . .Thorn, where are we?
Returning home, beloved one.
Ha. If you could call it that.
We fly peacefully, beloved one, and soon you will see, that we will be whole, once again.
"Uuhhnnn," groaned Murtagh as Thorn lurched downwards, avoiding smoldering debris still drifting in the thick, smoky air. A surge of stinging pain was sent searing into the gashes upon his body. He slowly turned his head away from one of Thorn's snowy spines and once again laid it upon the dragonsaddle. Smoke. Fire. Death. All he could see was destruction. Everywhere he looked, he saw the dear departed of many, and the returning soldiers from battle. A thick, oily torrent of smoke rising from the burning plains buffetted his view. Murtagh coughed. Another burning wave leapt through his injuries, this time, more wounds were noticed. Something sticky brushed against his left hand. Murtagh looked back up at the spine he was still clutching. Blood. Slick, red blood ran from the top of Thorn's spine, covering Murtagh's hand, down onto the saddle upon which he sat.
Thorn? Murtagh's mental whisper was so faint, Thorn could barely hear his plea. Thorn?
I am here, Murtagh, my beloved one, I have never left you, and I never will.
I miss Eragon.
I know, beloved one, I miss him too. I feel longing for him through you, even though we have never met other than on the battlefield.
Darkness. Emptieness. Thorn's words echoed in Murtagh's mind as he slowly faded into the oblivion. He welcomed the void, for only there could his scars and blows be forgotten. And only there, he felt he truly belonged. Thorn's soft wingbeats comforted him, and the hearts of the eldunari, Thorn's, and his, beat as one, in unison.
Murtagh woke to the sound of rattling chains and the rythmatic drum of soldiers beating their swords upon their shields.
We're home, beloved one. They cheer our survival against-
Against my brother. Against the free ones. Murtagh cut Thorn off. He closed hie eyes. He could not bear the fact that they were bound to him. Their true names were set, set in oaths, unwillingly, into the binding pacts of Galbatorix himself. Thorn swooped low and swift into the inner wall of Uru Baen. "Greetings Argetlam!" The soldiers of the empire may serve Galbatorix, but they always showed respect towards their other superiorities, especially Murtagh and Thorn.
The saddle jolted softly as Thorn's velvet wings guided his body to a slow, gentle landing. Three sentries ran up to Thorn, unlaced the saddlebags, armor, and other equipment, and stepped back with their new load. Renson and Gedwall, the two guards standing over their post, now walked up to carry Murtagh's almost lifeless body from Thorn's saddle. Renson and Murtagh were very close, best friends in fact, and it pained him greatly to see Murtagh in the condition he was currently at. They carried his body to the empire's healers, being closely followed by Thorn and seven of the remaining guards.
Murtagh awoke to the faces of Thorn, Renson, and the remaining healer, Beth, staring down at him with worried looks upon them. He was in a dimly lit, earthen room. This part of Uru Baen was carved out of the ground with magic. The walls and floor were made of hard, packed earth, while the ceiling was made of the bricks holding the floor above in place. The walls had many grooves ranging from two feet long, five inches tall, and around six inches deep. Every groove made a shelf, which were all lined with assorted potions and ground herbs. In the back of the room rested a small fireplace where fireweed and varying mushrooms were being hung to dry. A plain, earthen, pedestal-like bed rose from the center of the room, where Murtagh was placed. He had been stripped of his bracers, greaves, coif, helm, vest, and tunic during the treatment. He looked at the faces of his much-loved companions. Thorn gently nuzzled Murtagh's shoulder with his warm snout.
Good morning, Warrior! Thorn greeted him cheerfully, and with much gusto. He was obviously glad to see Murtagh alive and awake.
Murtagh smiled as he reached up to touch Thorn's scaly chin. Oh you, he chided. Murtagh looked over at Renson's grubby face. The skinny boy smiled. His hair looked as if it had been through a hurricane, all tuffed up in ragged spikes, as usual. Although he was only a few years younger than Murtagh, his brilliant, toothy smile always made him appear happier and goofier than even the silliest of children. "Welcome home, Murtagh!" Renson beamed as he patted Murtagh on the cheek.
"Great to see you again," Murtagh quietly said. His throat felt sore. He slowly sat up to examine himself. His bare torso looked and felt as though he had never been sent to the Burning Plains. All of the niches, cuts, scrapes, and bruises had been eradicated from his tanned skin. He began to feel slightly refreshed.
"Now that you have been properly healed, he sends for you," Beth said nervously. The trio's expressions suddendly turned gloomy. Thorn released a low growl from between clenched jaws. Fear and concern permeated the air. "Your Highness has sent for you and Thorn to join him in the throne room. He says you shall be sent to the Room of Demanding as punishment for your actions," Renson relayed quietly.
Room of demanding? Murtagh thought.
A tear slowly slipped from between Renson's closed eyes. "Why didn't you return with the other rider? How could you? How could you do this to yourself, Murtagh?!"
Murtagh shivered. This can't be good.
Thorn yowled, both with fear and internal, mental pain. He's coming! I can smell Shruikan! Death is in the air! Murtagh!- Thorn yowled again, even louder than before.
"You have to go now, Argetlam," Beth said quietly as she handed him his tunic and leather vest. He quickly re-dressed as she led him and Thorn out of the healing quarters, upwards through several large corridors, to a wide line of stairs, which would lead them to the throne room. "I must depart here," Beth said solemnly. "I am sorry,"
"You shouldn't be," said Murtagh sadly. "It was not your doing." And at that, she quickly left. She was on the verge of tears, and she would not allow herself to cry in the precence of someone with so much higher a status than herself.
Thick, black fog surrounded Murtagh and Thorn as the trodded along the staircase. They immidiatley felt his presence as they entered. Where is he? Galbatorix and Shruikan mentally spoke in unison. Shruikan's gleaming blue eyes were visible through the hazy darkness. WHERE IS HE!? They shouted with enough force to shatter glass. A torch became visible to Murtagh on the wall closest to him, it's orange flame flickering in the darkness, yellow tongues of fire lapping mercilessly at the cold onyx wall. Those who disobey my will MUST DIE! That time, only Galbatorix spoke. Shruikan released a long, loud, and low growl. For several long minutes his din filled the room. As he stopped, the torch mysteriously blew out of existence.
If you weren't my only rider, I would have surely killed you long ago, you imbeceilic scum! Galbatorix spat with venom seething in his voice. But instead, torture shall suffice for you- OR YOUR DRAGON! At that, Shruikan leapt forth from the darkness with blinding speed. HA! HA!HA! Shruikan laughed viciously in Murtagh's mind as he grasped Thorn's neck in his iron jaws.
"TTHHHOOOORRRRRNN-" Murtagh's shout was silenced by a spell uttered silently in the fog. His throat felt frozen and burning all at once, with a pain so hateful, so utterly demonic, that he couldn't keep his link with Thorn. He fully submitted himself to Galbatorix. Shruikan looked Murtagh straight in the eye and clenched down harder, holding Thorn in his maws powerfully. Thorn yelped louder than Murtagh imagined possible as a surge of molten blood rushed out of his lifeless mouth, only to splash against the cool, stone floor. Red and white splotches spun across Murtagh's dizzying vision.
"Thornnnnn. . ." He slowly submitted himself into the void, too overwhelmed by pain and loss to remain consious.
Murtagh woke to a relieving sight. Both the remnants of good and bad surrounded him, and the worst was already upon them. Murtagh sat up, resting his hands on the cool, firm, dirt floor beneath him. He was in the Room of Demanding: a long, circular corridor with brick walls, and rows of varying shackles, giving it an eerie aspect.
Murtagh scanned the surrounding area. He spotted Thorn beside him. Thorn's neck had several large, bloody scabs where Shruikan had bit him, but other than that, he appeared to be perfectly healthy. Galbatorix had obviously healed them after torture, and erased the memories of it from their minds. Only then would he put them here, a room where nearly all physical energy is drained of the body, and all of your deepest secrets and intentions are revealed, through the use of external magic. No mental boundaries are able to force themselves up for blockage, for they can't even physically manifest in these regions of Uru Baen.
Thorn was asleep, his great head resting on the floor, his scaly neck atop his paws. His thick eyelid snapped open with a snick. He looked at Murtagh very solemnly. We've got work to do.
The first thing we need to do is repair ourselves.
Did he do anything to you? Thorn asked feebly.
Me?! You're concerned about me! Look at yourself Thorn! Look what they've done to you!
That matters not. We just need to worry about how we're going to escape, before more precious time and energy is lost.
You're right. We must hurry. Murtagh scanned the area once again. As he stood, he noticed just how small they really where in this room of sorrow.
What will you do? You know, if you ever come across him again? How will you ever defeat-
No.
What?
No. I will not defeat my brother. Family is not something you trample over to appeal an addle-brained scumbag of a leader. Galbatorix may have the higher authority, but I will not give up hope. Not like before. I regret not being able to overpower a few simple minions of his that day-but not completely. If he hadn't captured me that day, we would have never met. But this- he gestured at the layout around them- this won't last forever.
What do you mean? We are bound in-
-In the ancient language, yes, I know, but don't you remember? Don't you remember what Eragon said that fateful day on the Burning Plains? A true name can-
-change-
-with-
-the-
-soul-
-of the-
-one being-
-bound. Yes Thorn. Our souls are intertwined by fate to Galbatorix, but that can change. If we change our ways, our ideas, our actions, we may be free of his hold on us.
You doubted every word of it at one point in the battle. You said you believed some truth lived in those words, but quickly lost fate. And now?
Now? Now we must try. Murtagh turned around and looked Thorn straight in the eye. Now I must try, because now, ha, now I believe, Thorn. Now I will fight for a different cause. He paused for a short moment. Now I understand, he whispered so faintly, Thorn almost couldn't hear. What it means . . .
A sparkling tear rolled down Murtagh's soft cheek. It hovered there for a few brief seconds, then dropped to the dirt below. Thorn uttered a soft growl as he arched his gleaming red neck. Small beads of blood seeped out from under his now partially-cracked scabs. Murtagh rushed over to Thorn's side and began to dab at the blood with the corner of his sleeve. Come on he said. We must be off.
Thorn rose to his feet. Together, the red dragon and rider began to plod along the corridor. They had much time to think about their plans for the future, and much time for preparation, to escape the horrors of Uru Baen, and the wrath of King Galbatorix, once and for all.