Blood Magic
The wind howls outside the window, beating on the windowpane in fitful gusts. The fire is lit, but it does little to ease the cold inside the large, drafty bedchamber in which Murtagh sits.
He is hunched on the four-poster bed, surrounded by a sea of rumpled sheets. His head is bowed in contemplation, legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. It is evening, but to him it could be anytime.
You told him, a little voice in his head tells him, tasting of vengeance and anger in a heady cocktail, the voice which made him give in to Galbatorix in the first place. You told him, and now he knows what it's like, to be ashamed of your parentage, always having something to hide.
But at the same time, another voice asks: are you really that happy about it? You didn't want to betray your own brother, your own blood. You said you'd follow him anywhere: were you lying?
He supposes that he was.
He may have promised Eragon that he would follow him, but those words are not as binding as his oath to Galbatorix. He may even have loved him at one point, but it no longer matters. He is under Galbatorix's command, and must serve him as dictated by their vows said in the Ancient language.
As the elements continue to rage, he tells himself that he does not regret it.
FINIS