Brother my brother/Tell me what are fighting for/We've got to end this war
I could not forget the look on Eragon's face as I confessed the truth. It turned out that I, the rebel son of Morzan, was also the brother of Eragon through blood relations. I never imagined in all of my wildest fantasies (and I had many indeed) that I would have a brother, let alone a brother who was a dragon rider, and the greatest enemy of everything that my childhood living space (for I cannot call it a home) represented.
As I flew away, I could not help but think back to when I first met the boy. He was being attacked by the Ra'zac. His mentor was dying. If I had been him in that situation, I surely would have lost hope or tried to run; yet this boy stood his ground and tried to fight back. From a distance, I could tell how hopeless the match was. He was far too young and inexperienced to have a chance to defeat his foe, and I could not help but feel a sense of dread as I thought of the rather gruesome way that the Ra'zac used the dead bodies.
In a moment of little calculation and a lot of stupidity, I saved the boy and rescued his mentor's body from a fate worse than death. In that moment, I both lost and won. I had lost my sense of loneliness when I gained the boy's trust, an unexpected move that I took with some pride. I promised myself that I would help this boy like Tornac helped me, to honor his memory. So as Brom died and Eragon cried, I stayed with the young Rider, who had become so important to me in a matter of minutes, and helped him through his journey.
We should love one another/Oh, can't we just pretend/This war never began
Our road to Gil'ead was not the first one decided upon. I not-so-fondly remember a small rescue scheme that my little traveler created. He was utterly convinced that there was an elf trapped by a Shade. Being the innocent boy he was, he decided to rescue her. I wished I could understand what he believed in that made him so confident, so reassured that everything would go according to plan. I worried for him, perhaps too much. Yet when I went to find him, he was gone.
I was frantic, fearing what torture or death the child was facing. He was too innocent, too young, too hopeful! I had nothing to lose. He had everything going for him! I found his dragon, too. Saphira was looking at me, and I swear that I could hear her speak, something I still do not believe I can do even with Thorn's help. She was telling me that she had a plan, and she wanted her boy back. It was then that I learned of the possessiveness a dragon has and what lengths they will go to in order to protect their own.
The rescue is like a blur in my mind. I truly have trouble remembering what exactly I did, but I can remember Saphira, elegant and beautiful, crushing the walls and rescuing her human. Eragon gave me credit that I did not deserve, but I hadn't the heart to tell him that if Saphira hadn't found me, he would still be trapped by that Shade. That was not the only danger Eragon and I faced to rescue that elf.
I cannot help but feel proud of the way I destroyed those slavers that came to take Eragon away. There was no possible method to make me feel guilt for killing Torkenbrand, who stood proudly as a devil among the fires of human souls. What kind of creature could possibly think that humans can become possessions? It was not too long ago that I was a slave in everything but name to Galbatorix, who must be the leader of the devils for all his cunningness and cruelty. I had faced slavery, and I was not ready to let Eragon face it as well. I felt as if he was family, and as family, I could never leave him behind. We had gone through too much for me to let that happen, and I was now on a mission to try to conserve the innocence that the wretched war had allowed Eragon to keep. So I rescued him from one enemy, and was chased into the arms of another.
We can try/Brother my brother
I was imprisoned for the first time for my brother's sake. Grudges are rather strong in this world, and let it not be said that the Varden ever forgets an enemy. I cursed Morzan once, twice, thrice, for casting his shadow upon mine to ever haunt my steps. I bore it for the sake of my brother, so he would not be troubled. Since Morzan never was thoroughly punished, it was my job to take his place, I assumed. Now, I can appreciate the irony of those thoughts, now it has all come full circle. Yet that was a time that empowered my emotions. That was the time when I met Nasuada.
She was beautiful, almost angelic in movements. She was powerful, and showed the charisma that any daughter of a ruler should possess. As one who respected women, I never enjoyed the passes made by the dunderheaded women of the court, who simply lived for scandal. I had never met a woman like Nasuada, Aijhad's daughter, and I doubt I will again. I cannot say I regret falling in love with her, but I only regret that she might reciprocate those feelings.
Eragon could not believe there was anything wrong with me. He could not understand the power of grudges, nor understand hate. He was still so innocent, and he was so powerful too. I believe that he saved me from death from Aijhad, and he was the one who visited me and told me, not just gave me hope, that I would be freed from the Varden and never have to return again. Ha! The irony of it all!
I was offered the chance to fight for my freedom. It seemed like a fair and simple trade: I show my hatred for the king by battling his army, and then I would never have to associate with the Varden again. At the same time, I still wanted to be with Eragon, so I was not sure if I would leave after it was all done. I began to have hope, hope of a future where Eragon and I fought the shadows away, hope of a life with the woman that had taught me love…I should have known it would have all been taken away.
We face each other from different sides/The anger burns can't remember why
I was moved from one prison to the next, but this prison held no comforts. Galbatorix was a harsh master, and he did not want his precious prize Forsworn son to converse with any of the wicked little Varden ever again. He wanted to teach me a lesson. So he tried, he tortured and tormented, teased and taunted, and drove me to the brink of insanity along with learning my true name. After that, he had the gall to place a little red stone in my hand with a conniving smile.
That little red stone brought about a new friend and a new enemy. His name was Thorn, and he was of the new generation of the Forsworn. Again, this is where that irony comes into full swing. Oh, if the Varden had not forgiven my father's mistakes, only then maybe I would have never been trapped where I was that day, and I could have remained free! I could have never gained the mission to destroy that innocent boy I fought so hard to protect, the boy who was innocent in every way, and the boy that had captured my thoughts.
It's kind of crazy to cause so much pain/Our foolish pride makes us hate this way
I began to hate everyone and everything. I hated my mother for abandoning me. I hated Morzan for fathering me. I hated Brom for killing my father and starting the cycle anew. I hated Galbatorix for raising me. I hated Tornac for dying and leaving me alone to face my destiny. I hated the Ra'zac for putting me in my boy's path. I hated that elf princess, that Arya, for being captured and giving that boy another way to die, and for making him fall in love with her, a love that would not be returned. I hated that Shade that threatened the innocent boy and nearly killed him. I hated Torkenbrand, who wanted to ruin that innocence that the young one possessed. I hated the Twins for discovering my secret. I hated Aijhad for trapping me and Nasuada for giving me hope.
Most of all, I hated myself. I had let my guards down and been foolish. I never should have let down my defenses. I should have been able to overpower the Twins, to kill myself before I returned to Galbatorix and revealed the secrets of the Varden. I could not accept that I had nothing for myself, and was a slave as I was before I escaped.
For all my hate, I still could not hate Eragon. Eragon was an innocent, and I did not want to hurt him. Everything was made clear quite soon. Galbatorix laughed as he told me about my brother, the one that I had met and wanted to protect. I was fathered by Morzan, and Selena was my mother. I did not know that Selena ran to protect one child, to keep him innocent, to protect him from my fate. His name was Eragon.
More than ever, I wanted to protect him. He was my brother, connected through blood and bound by love. I doubted he would love me when he found out where I was, under the employment of his worst enemy. I was trained to fight and kill, specifically my brother. I put all I could into this intense training, hoping I could work myself to death before I was sent to do that dreaded work. Of course, Galbatorix could see into my mind and he laughed at my foolishness. As Thorn grew and we bonded in a relationship I had never dreamed could exist, I knew that life had grown too sweet and I no longer had the courage to kill myself.
We watch our world fall apart,
I could not overwork myself fast enough. Before I knew it, Galbatorix had sent me to try to capture my brother. Brother should be a sacred word, and even I knew that with the little I had known about family. The way Galbatorix said the word was like a curse, a mockery of a relationship, twisted and broken. I flew out to battle that day with a heavy heart, conversing with Thorn and trying to remain emotionless. It was uncomfortable to fly above those once considered enemies. I was their leader. They were the slaves, the army forced to follow under one banner, and I was in the sky, holding the illusion of freedom.
I arrived at battle and spotted a blue dragon. I knew that I had to face them, and I figured that it had to be soon. He and I fought, evenly matched move for move, but I could tell that he was tiring. The boy had changed, had become elf-like in looks and skills alike. His eyes still held a light of innocence, but that light was dimmed. As he removed my outermost mask, I was forced to be strong and pretend that I was fine with our confrontation, and that I meant to betray him. As a brother, I had to set a good example, and I was showing him what he did not want to become. I told him my story, and told him of our story, of our father and mother. It was at that moment that my boy, my little, innocent boy with the bright smile and the endless hope, turned into a war torn man.
Tell me what good is winning when you lose your heart?
I flew away from that battle with thorns flying at my heart and misery stabbing me like a sharp knife. We were a trio, Thorn, Misery, and Murtagh, the dark shadows. I had found a loophole and set my brother free, but I can never forget that look on his face. He looked betrayed. Everything I had tried to do to save him all became undone. I knew I had bought his freedom, and life for some time, but why did it hurt so much?
Author's Notes: First off, I would like to thank KatjaNilsen for her suggestion to write a fanfiction from Murtagh's point of view talking about Eragon. If it hadn't been for her, this would have not been written. I'd especially like to thank my beta, fieryhairedmaiden92, for her awesome beta-ing skills. She caught a few mistakes in my fanfiction, and I do not like giving all of you readers anything less than the best, both writing-wise and grammatically.
The song used is Brother My Brother by Blessid Union of Souls. I'd greatly appreciate a review, good or bad. If you liked this fic, you may enjoy "No One Knows My Plan," another Murtagh POV of mine.