A/N: This is a One shot of what Murtagh done when he more or less ran away from Eragon and Arya from my Story, Reclaimed, so I recommend reading that first so you can get the gist of what's happened.
He ran.
There was no need to stay in one place anymore and he had said all what he wanted to say. He was glad that he met his brother even if the circumstances were unfortunate, but there were some things that he needed to do alone.
Murtagh's heart was beating like a drum; slow like time itself had stopped, but then suddenly fast as a cheetah dashing after its helpless prey.
Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum.
Murtagh closed his eyes as he ran and strained his ears, listening for any other footsteps other than his own. There was silence until he heard the beating of steady wings above him. The wind around him seemed to focus on him and him alone. The wind whipped across his face like water cooling a newly forged sword. It stung for a second before applying a cooling effect.
Do you wish to run or would you rather I follow you until you are ready to fly? Came the voice of Murtagh's dragon, Thorn. His voice wasn't as deep as Glaedr or Fírnen, for it rang like musical notes being played by a musician, rather than being as low as a rumble in the earth and thunder to the sky.
I wish you to follow me until I am ready. I must think in private first said Murtagh through their connection.
Very well. When you wish to tell me what you have learned, I'll be here, like I always am said Thorn and he closed their connection, making Murtagh feel a slight darkness in the part of his mind that usually housed Thorn.
He felt the wind become relaxed, as the beating of Thorn's wings rose higher in to the sky. When Murtagh opened his eyes and looked up into the sky, he saw a blur of red settle amongst the clouds. He smiled but even that faded from his lips.
The forsworn were rising. Or so that thing said.
Murtagh continued to run, his pace faster than when he started.
Murtagh did not know what to believe. There was a side of him that did not believe in what the entity had said. The forsworn were dead; there was no spell to cast to bring those that had died back to life! Only a fool would think there was. And what was that thing that communicated with him, Eragon and Arya? He knew no answer to this and his anger rose. How did it even communicate with them? But the question that lingered on his mind was why them?
Murtagh glanced at his left hand housing the Gedwëy Ignasia. He watched it for a moment before shaking his head and gritting his teeth.
"Hey, the thing that talked to me, my brother and Arya, would you like to explain yourself some more!" Murtagh shouted at his hand.
But as he looked back at it, his Gedwëy stayed the same pale silvery colour it always was.
"Typical" he muttered under his breath and sighed.
Murtagh stopped running and started in a jog.
But the other side of him that he rarely showed to anyone knew that what the entity had spoken was not lies. For why should it lie to them? It had been content to leave them alone; not asking for anything in return and watch the world go by in its peace.
But the thing that scared him the most was the forsworn, but not just any forsworn member. His father, Morzan, would rise as well.
Murtagh's hands bawled into fist and he bit down on his tongue.
He never talked or even thought about Morzan in the years that went by, for there was no need to think of such a man, a man so disgraceful that would harm his own child. A man that was no father of his, but there were indeed times when he slipped into Murtagh's thoughts like a firefly dancing along the river bend on a starry night. There were times when Murtagh thought about what ifs and what might have been. What if Morzan had not joined Galbatorix and decided to fight alongside the fallen riders? Would he be hailed a hero? Would he have treated Murtagh any different than how he had before?
Murtagh had thought these things and banished them like a hand wading through wisps of smoke. There was nothing that could change what happened. There was a reason the past was the past.
But now, as he jogged on an unknown path, these thoughts clouded his mind.
If the Forsworn were to rise and Morzan rose with them, would he feel different? Would he have realised his mistakes?
But something in Murtagh's stomach tightened. Of course he would not feel different. Who knew what he would feel? In all his time alone and with Galbatorix, Murtagh had never heard of the dead rising.
But Murtagh realised, with a sense of dread filling his insides that Morzan was not the only thing he should have been thinking on.
The whole of the Forsworn would rise. And their leader would rise with them, because he too was a forsworn.
Galbatorix would rise.
Murtagh stopped jogging, his forehead only now starting to show signs of sweat. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky. His eyes lingered on the darkening blue sky with pink streaks across the clouds.
"He will not rise" said the stubborn part of his mind and for a while he believed it.
But then the side that held his worry and emotions rose and knocked his stubbornness aside. "He could rise. But you won't let it. He will never rise. None of them shall rise."
Murtagh's heart tightened, as if it was wearing a corset, and his eyes looked towards the horizon.
He retraced the moment when Eragon had asked him if he had spoken to her, the queen of Alagaësia, or better known as Nasuada.
Was this the right moment to see her?
His heart tightened again and something like panic struck him. He started to smile like a fool that had found something useful. The chains that he put on his feelings started to loosen and slowly, the thought of the Forsworn died away and the image of her started to fill his mind. Her mossy hair tied back in a ponytail, her eyebrows arched sharply like the tip of an arrow, her chocolate brown eyes that warmed his very core without the need of heat, her lips that he would kiss tenderly, and when she would smile he would smile too, and her brown skin that was as smooth as silk against his touch. The stubbornness that she often portrayed would annoy him, but the bravery that she held in her delicate frame made him admire her more than ever.
But every time he thought of her, the things he had done to her would haunt him and he would see her dishevelled, her hair messy and caked with filth, her eyes that held determination and bravery suddenly fear stricken, her face bruised and haggard and the places where the burrow grubs had . . . burrowed. But yet, even though he would never have liked to see her like that again, he still found that he loved her just as much.
Murtagh opened the link that connected him to Thorn and he sent as much love as he could to his dragon.
I'm ready.
As you wish said Thorn, his tone neutral.
Murtagh looked in to the clouds and saw the fiery red scales of Thorn descend slowly. And as he descended, the gust of wind returned, making Murtagh squint his eyes.
With a sound like a boulder crash landing on to the earth, Thorn landed by Murtagh's side.
Murtagh walked up to Thorn and patted his side before jumping up in to the saddle he had made years ago. It was almost like Eragon's except he had dyed it a fiery red colour to match Thorns scales and it was made of steel. Although uncomfortable to ride sometimes, it was surprisingly light for him to lift. Whether this was because he was a dragon rider, he did not know.
Where do we go? Came Thorns voice, interrupting Murtagh's thoughts.
Murtagh was silent for a moment, something that he normally did whenever Thorn asked him this question. But he didn't think for long because he knew where he wanted to go. The only question was would he make it all the way there without turning back?
To Iliera … It is time.
Murtagh felt Thorn tense underneath him and saw puffs of smoke flow out from his nostrils.
Are you sure? I will only ask once said Thorn seriously.
I am sure said Murtagh instantly, determination on his face.
With what looked like a nod, Thorn spread his giant wings in the air. He went into a crouched position, his claws digging deep into the soil beneath him. His tail batted at the ground making it tremble and crack in places. His flexed his thigh muscles and started to flap his veiny wings slowly at first, and then faster as the wind started to bend to his will. And like a spring, He sprang upwards like a cannonball from a canon, leaving a small crater in the ground. He steadied himself in the air before going in a downwards direction and tucking his wings by his side. He fell like a meteor falling from the earth's atmosphere and then, at the last second before he hit the ground, spread his wings again and soared higher in to the darkening skies, letting loose a triumphant roar.
Was that necessary? Murtagh asked, smiling as he felt the wind whip through his hair.
Indeed said Thorn
And together, high above the rain-filled clouds and the setting sun, Murtagh and Thorn rode towards Iliera, knowing that this time would be different.
So Murtagh is going to Iliera (Uru'bean for those that don't remember) to visit Nasuda. What will he find there and Will Nasuda be happy to see him? It's been so long, how will she react. ugh.
Anyway, I thank you for reading this One Shot. I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, comment and such.