He sat in the corner of a pitch black room. He'd estimated it at about 15 paces by 15 paces with a very high celling, every noise echoing through the entire room. He stuck to the walls because it was so easy to start feeling lost in that space, the panic that the darkness never ended.
He'd lost track of how long it'd been since he was throw in here. It could have been days, weeks or months and he wouldn't have known the difference. He'd stopped trying to count soon enough, for that way only lays madness and in short order. It had all began to blur after a while.
Meals came infrequently, if they came at all, at random intervals, most likely to keep him further confused.
Wear him down.
Make him pliable.
Make him bend.
He'd sworn to himself that he would fight the King to his last breath, but defiance was slowly starting to be harder to maintain. It always made a grand tale for the campfire but tales never quite mentioned just how hard it was. In the face of knowledge of what the Galbatorix would do to him, no out of any sense of hate, no matter what he said, but simply because he could, it was slowly becoming less and less palatable no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise.
The sound of steps, one set, slowly got louder and they approached the cell. Slow, deliberate and completely unhurried. Even with all way most jailers like to run their prison like their own personal fiefdom no man would dare walk anywhere in Urû'baen with that kind of lazy arrogance. As such he was unsurprised when he heard the call of "Murtagh? Oh Murtagh? Where are you?" In a teasing tone with an almost childish giggle of delight.
The steel door tore off its hinges, taking chunks of stone with it as it flew into the wall of the hallway with a crash like thunder. Murtagh leapt like a startled rabbit assumed a vague fighting stance, for all the good it would do.
Galbatorix strolled in with that predatory stalk smiling like the cat with a mouse between its paws.
The teasing tone continued. "Oh dear, I startle you Murtagh? I do apologise." He looked around and set eyes on Murtagh and put on an expression of mock surprise.
"Murtagh, what are you doing over there? You could at least approach me when we have a discussion instead of cowering in the corner." A manic glint appear in his eyes. "That is not very polite at all." His voice changed to that of a parent scolding a child. "We've discussed this and your stubborn refusal to show even the slight amount courteousness is why you are here. I don't enjoy punishing you Murtagh."
"Now come here" There was definite menace there now and the applied 'or else' was not something Murtagh was keen on incurring.
With a face as still as a corpse, Murtagh approached.
Galbatorix broke into a beaming smile. "You see, that wasn't so hard. It'll be just like the old days."
He said it as if there would be nothing more wonderful in the world.
"Now what do you say? Will you serve me once again?" the eagerness remained.
Murtagh swallowed his fear and stiffened his spine. "No." he declared with all of the spite he could muster.
The King nodded sadly and place a hand on his shoulder "I was afraid you would say that." He replied sorrowfully.
Then his world exploded.
…
Suffering became his entire existence. He could barely remember anything before the pain, every piece of life taken apart, examined, and hammered back into place. He couldn't help but feel that it was all wrong; he could feel lingering traces of the King, twisting it to his wants.
…
He swung his sword and a head hit the ground
"I'm only trying to stay alive," he stated "No stranger's life is more important than my own."
Eragon screaming his outrage.
'You see Murtagh they will not understand you. They will not except you. You disgust him" The King whispered in his ear.
…
"What will happen if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix?" demanded Ajihad. "He extract every secret from your mind, no matter how strong you may be? Even if you resist him how can we trust that you won't rejoin him in the future? I cannot take that chance."
A chuckle "What delicious irony." The whisper continued.
…
A dark skinned woman walked into his cell. "Greetings to you Murtagh, I am Nasuada"
…
"No!" Murtagh roared and fought back with all his might "You do not need to know about her."
Galbatorix released him and gave a contemptuous push which still sent him sprawling to the hard ground. "Well, well, well, Murtagh. Have you taken a fancy to this woman?"
Murtagh remained silent, glaring, rage having overtaken self-preservation.
"You have, haven't you?" he exclaimed, fascinated. "Well what a turn of events this is. The traitor and the rebel queen, deeply in love but separated by his loyalty to the empire and his people. What a grand tale!"
The cruel smile that Murtagh knew so well had reappeared.
"That's how the story shall end you see. Now that you are here no matter what you say you will never be able to convince her that you have not returned to my service. She has been made leader after her father tragically fell on the field of battle, did you know? Even if you could her council would never allow it." He gave a breathy laugh. "What a tale!"
"Goodbye Murtagh. We'll continue tomorrow" he walked out of the doorway still laughing as the door repaired its self with nary a glance.
…
They did continue the day after. Then the day after that and after that till days became weeks and weeks became a month.
…
When Murtagh awoke it was not to the gloom of his cell, but the marble floors of the throne room once again. The room the exact mirror of the last time he was there, except for a high quality oaken box exactly half-way between him and the King.
"It occur to me that I've been going about this little thing of ours entirely the wrong way. As such I wish to have a little experiment. Approach." He made a gesture and glided down to box and placed his hands atop it.
Murtagh moved slowly but immediately. He'd learned to choose his battles. When he was two steps away the King opened the box. Sitting on red velvet, was a large red stone.
"Touch it." The king commanded.
Murtagh's hand hovered just over the surface before the king seized his wrist and forced his hand down. The King released him but did not move his hand. Then the 'stone' began to gently move.
Galbatorix stared intently at Murtagh while a smile with far too many teeth grew on his face.
"How very fascinating."