The Hatching ~
Murtagh's world was complete darkness as the king's guards roughly pushed and shoved him through the hallways. He wasn't sure where he was going; the blindfold blocked out any clues as to where in Urû'baen he was, other than the fact that he knew he was somewhere in Galbatorix's stronghold.
Their rough trek came to a sudden halt and Murtagh could hear an extended scrape of two massive doors being opened. He swallowed. He recognized that noise—it was a noise that he'd heard for years before he'd run from the capitol.
They were taking him to the throne room.
Galbatorix and several of the torturers who served him had been trying to get him to break for days—or had it been weeks? Months? He wasn't sure. But so far, the king hadn't attempted to attack his mind, which was probably the only reason he hadn't broken yet. But if he was being taken to the throne room, that probably meant they had some new horror and pain in store for him.
The guards shoved him into the throne room as they walked the great expanse. It felt as if they walked for an eternity, which could only mean they were taking him straight to the throne. The king's voice interrupted the silence, echoing in the vast room. "Kneel."
The guards shoved him down onto his knees. But instead of crashing down on hard stone floors, he could feel a carpeted surface beneath him. He must've been directly in front of the throne; everywhere else in the room was cold rock.
It was silent for several moments before one of the guards cut the rope binding his hands. Both men combined efforts to hold his arms in a secure grip and his hand was placed on something smooth and warm. He frowned, puzzled. What were they making him touch? Why were they making him touch it? It was too warm to be the floor, but too smooth to be anything else. It felt spherical in shape—but unless they were making him touch Galbatorix's head, he had no idea what it could be.
The object suddenly began to sway beneath his hand and he could feel a crack grow against his palm. Something in the object gurgled and Murtagh could feel the dread bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "What are you doing to me?" he finally demanded, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer. "What is this?"
It was silent for several moments to the point where Murtagh thought he'd be ignored. Finally, he heard the king say, "Let him see," and the blindfold was ripped off his head.
He stood facing a large red dragon's egg—and it was hatching beneath his hand.
"No!" he cried, ripping his hand out of the first guard's grasp and away from the baby drake. He tried to back away, but the guards held him tightly and Murtagh was too weak from his torture to pull any harder.
Galbatorix smiled from atop the throne. "It's no use pulling away now. It's already sensed your presence and it will hatch whether you want it to or not."
Murtagh continued to struggle against the guards, but it was no good. It wasn't that he didn't want to be a Rider—although part of him didn't; it was just another reason for people to despise and fear him—but now Galbatorix had a way to control him. And use him. He knew what the king would do: he would try to break them both now and bind them to his service. Then he really would be just like his father.
Galbatorix chuckled as a small red head poked through a hole in the egg. More cracks appeared, growing quickly, and the dragon flailed inside the orb. It shattered, blasting shards through the air and the guards let go of Murtagh's arms to shield their faces. He took their distraction to bolt for the door, but not before the king shouted a string of incantations behind him. He slammed into an invisible barrier and fell hard on his back. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he gasped, unable to resist as the guards grabbed his arms and hoisted him up, dragging him back over to the hatchling.
"You will do as I say," Galbatorix said, appearing unbothered by his resistance, "or I'll kill it." He pointed to the baby dragon and Shruikan stirred behind his master's throne, eyeing the hatchling vengefully.
Whether or not it understood the words, the hatchling seemed to sense the danger and looked at Murtagh with wide, fear-filled eyes. It gave a tiny roar as the guards threw Murtagh down in front of it. It tried to make its way over to him, but staggered on its newly-used legs. Without thinking, he reached over and caught it before it could fall and he and the dragon locked eyes. Everything faded in that moment. Galbatorix, the guards, the throne room, Urû'baen—even the world—ceased to exist. All that mattered was the small, ruby creature in front him, staring up at him with pleading crimson eyes.
It gurgled quietly and gently butted its head into Murtagh's open palm. He gasped as his whole arm began to tingle, quickly becoming an icy shock that spread to envelope his whole body. His consciousness and that of the dragon collided, crashing into each other in a whirlwind of thoughts and images that made Murtagh's head spin. Unconditional love flowed from the baby drake to him and he could feel it wrapping around his soul, understanding him completely and comforting him in the best way it knew how, without even uttering a word into his mind. He, in turn, felt himself sinking into the dragon's very being and their souls intertwined, dancing together in a chaotic crash of beings. What he felt wasn't quite maternal, but… it felt as if he'd found the best friend he would ever have. His soul mate, in a sense. He knew he would never have to explain himself to him—he could sense the dragon was male—but he would just know.
He sent a wave of affection towards the creature and it closed its eyes, nestling trustingly into the crook of Murtagh's elbow. Thorn, Murtagh decided. I will name you Thorn. Together, we will be thorns to all our enemies. He glanced at Galbatorix's feet on the last word, refusing to meet the king's eyes, trying to let the creature know that the king was not an ally.
"A Red Rider you shall be," Galbatorix declared ominously from above him. "Just like your father. And—just like your father—you will be my servant and do my will." He leaned down so that he was eye level with his prisoner. "Just think...how hard you've worked to gain Eragon's and the Varden's trust and now all that will be for nothing. They never even trusted you in the first place. You were not welcome there. You are not welcome anywhere unless I am."
Murtagh scowled at the king and gently rubbed Thorn's jaw, trying to enjoy the moment with his newly hatched dragon a minute more. He returned his attention to Thorn, who gurgled happily underneath his Rider's hand.
Before he could react—exhausted as he was—Galbatorix reached down and grabbed the dragon underneath the belly, snatching him away from Murtagh.
"No, Thorn!" he couldn't help crying, reaching helplessly for his companion.
"Thorn, is it?" the king mused, looking over the squirming dragon in his hands. Thorn writhed and squealed in protest as the king's hand began to burn a bright, hot blue. Steam rose from Galbatorix's palm and the air around it sizzled. Slowly, he began to lower it towards Thorn's unprotected belly. "A fitting name for a servant of mine. Maybe now you'll consider pledging fealty to me."
"Thorn!" Murtagh screamed, his cry joining his dragon's high-pitched squeal as the king's burning palm connected with his stomach.