Rants of the Red Rider

This must be my lot in life. I am always the one who just runs out of luck. Who just can't cut it. The God of Fate must take great sport with me – dangling my freedom just out of reach before snatching it again – sniggering, nope, you can't have it after all. And I had come so close…

So now I stand here, quaking with veritable trepidation, afraid of what my liege lord will offer to me.

He reproaches my effrontery – how dare I be so bold? How dare I? How could I possibly disobey him after all he's done for me? Kept me safe and unknown; trained me; fed me; let me live the life of the sublime with all its grandeur. How could I agree so strongly to his dogmatic speech, and then flee the same night to live with the Varden, the junta that is his greatest enemy?

I thought that my father was a challenge – a goal to outrun. There was nothing about him that I desired to become – his licentious behavior, his amoral actions, his treachery to the world. Now I see that he was only an augur, a portent of my future. I am become that which I strive to destroy. And all who called me traitor – they are right. I am no longer a contentious issue in the Varden – they no longer argue for now they know. And they are right.

And when I am alone, it is Thorn who comforts me, Thorn who comes to my aid, Thorn who rescues me from the darkness. It is so horrible – he is the thorn in my side, never letting me succumb to the despair and pity that abrogates my pain. Thorn was my thorn, so now; I am thorn to the world. We are the thorn in the foot of the world, and I am all too happy to see it stumble. And so the Red Rider resurges, born again as Murtagh, traitor of all kinds.

And now I return to him again. I know by doing so that I once again rescind my chance to freedom – I sigh as I watch dance out of reach again. I bound so I must return. Yet even as I do, I plan….and I wait.

And so I come before him again. I have no corroboration for what happened on the hill. I only have Thorn to vouch for the lie I weave, and soon the Ancient Tongue betrays us. I am not foolish – I have not ingratiated myself to the King. Yet I bring information, such treasure that is hard to find.

And so I come before him again. But I have changed and he is not. I have in my task, and for that I will suffer greatly. But the victory is mine. He has taught me his secrets. He has shown me the playing of politics and war. He has given command of his army. I play deference to him now, but my respect is only an act. Perhaps he knows that, but I dissemble my real reason well. I seek to run he thinks. But no, he has made his greatest mistake. He has loosed me upon the world.

If Galbatorix were to be indisposed to rule, why couldn't I rule instead?