A/N – An alternate version of childhood for both Eragon and Murtagh. This is complete but has the potential for more - if there is interest. This is very AU – in a good way.
Beta: The lovely Brandi N. Jones did a wonderful job and I am grateful to her for both her grammatical prowess and her encouragement :) Thanks, Brandi!
To Find Our Way
Nearly breathless, Murtagh slipped back into his room under the cover of darkness with his stolen cargo safely secured in a rucksack over his shoulder. Heart pounding, he closed the door securely and leaned back against it, panting softly as his heart rate returned to normal. Turning his head, he pressed an ear to the door – listening intently for a cry of alarm that never came. Motionless in the dark, the seventeen year old was suddenly overwhelmed by what he had just done.
He's going to kill me. If he ever finds me…he will kill me for this.
The unpleasant truth of that thought spurred him into action as he pushed away from the door. Fear and adrenaline kept him alert and quick to his tasks as he reached under his bed for the travel bags that he had packed earlier. He didn't need or have much, so traveling light would not be a problem. Setting the packs by the door with his bow and quiver full of arrows, Murtagh returned to his room for one final item.
Kneeling next to the bed, he gently shook his six-year-old brother's shoulder and quietly whispered, "Eragon." The boy shifted slightly and turned his head away in the moonlight – exposing dark shadowy smudges on his neck. Jaw clenched in helpless anger at the bruises that marred otherwise pale and flawless skin, Murtagh did his best not to allow the urgency he felt turn to impatience with his little brother. If the alarm had not yet been sounded, it stood to reason that his theft would remain undiscovered until the next changing of the guard. That gave him four hours to be well and away from the palace and he fully desired to take advantage of what small leeway that would give him.
"Eragon," He spoke a little louder and pulled the warmth of the covers away from the child. "Time to wake up, brother."
Eragon blinked sleepily and sat up as Murtagh tossed his riding clothes on the bed next to him. "It's time. Get dressed."
Eyes wide, Eragon looked out the window into the darkness of night and back to his brother.
"It has to be now." Murtagh answered the unspoken question. "There's no telling when Galbatorix will return."
Sliding off the bed, Eragon let Murtagh help him into his clothes, shivering in the cool evening air as his night shirt was pulled over his head. Scanning the room as Eragon donned his pants, Murtagh let some exasperation slip into his voice, "Where are your boots?" The child was forever leaving his footwear in the oddest of places.
Scrambling over the bed, Eragon pulled one out from under his bed and then retrieved the other from the bottom drawer of his dresser. Beyond a slight raised eyebrow, Murtagh declined to comment and instead fetched the youth's cloak. Draping the fabric over small trembling shoulders, he met Eragon's distressed but trusting gaze.
"We talked about this, remember?" He spoke in a calm, soothing voice as he went to one knee to before the child. "I can't protect you here. He's too powerful."
All too vividly, Murtagh recalled the look of terror on Eragon's face as Galbatorix seized him by the throat and lifted him from the ground. "I won't let that happen again…I promise you." His own abuse and mistreatment within these walls meant nothing. It was a way of life that had been in place for as long as he could remember. He would not accept that same helpless existence for his brother. Eragon was the only person that meant anything to him, and he would not allow an innocent child to suffer the same cruel fate that he had been dealt. It never occurred to him that he too had been nothing more than an innocent child.
"I couldn't stop him." Murtagh said guiltily as he stroked a bruise with his thumb. "But I can make sure he never touches you again."
Eragon lifted a hand and lightly traced a nasty gash placed high on Murtagh's cheekbone – a gift for interfering in the King's discipline of his little brother. It was still swollen and sore, and he winced at the small contact. Attempting to lighten the tension, he gave the boy a rueful smile. "Quite the pair, aren't we?"
Too worried and full of questions, Eragon could not return the smile. Murtagh tugged the hood up to cover as much of the boy's face as possible and slid a small travel bag over his shoulder. "Don't worry," He said reassuringly. "I have a plan."
The fact that Eragon had yet to actually utter a word in the course of the one sided conversation would only have seemed strange to an outside observer. In the three years since their mother's death, Eragon spoke little at all – and only to his brother in those rare times that he did. Murtagh had long become adept at reading his little brother's expressive features and could often determine wants and needs at a glance. On some level, he knew that he was making it easier for Eragon not to speak and that it likely was not all together healthy – but in their current environment both had learned not to draw unwanted attention to themselves. Refusing to speak was simply Eragon's way of exacting some sort of control within circumstances that were entirely out of his hands. It was a defense mechanism that the king had taken as a sign of defiance – and a precipitating event that set the brothers on their current course of action.
Until now Galbatorix had been content to punish Murtagh for both of their perceived transgressions. It was a heavy burden to bear – but Murtagh did so with the knowledge that he was sparing his little brother. Now, however, a line had been crossed, and Murtagh knew that Eragon's tender age would no longer be a deterrent to the King's wrath. They had to leave now.
"Stay with me." He almost told the boy to be quiet as well – but on any given day, Eragon was as quiet as a church mouse. Another defense mechanism learned to avoid unwanted attention. Eragon followed Murtagh to the door where he donned his own cloak and strapped the travel packs to his back. Bow in hand; Murtagh quietly opened the door to a dark and empty corridor. Just as the pair was about to slip into the darkness, a large hand shot through the opening and grabbed a handful of cloak at the base of Murtagh's throat. He was pushed roughly back into the room and pressed against the wall as another hand covered his mouth.
He fought against the weight of the much larger man holding him in place until recognition dawned in the dim lighting. Smirking, the older man released him when his struggles abated.
"Tornac…" His tone was uncertain. Murtagh hadn't told his mentor of his plan to escape. It wasn't much, but it was the only protection he could offer the man. He didn't want his teacher to be in any way connected to his disappearance.
"You're not nearly so unreadable as you like to think, young one," Tornac said in his usual brusque, but amused manner. "You've been acting odd for the last two days. I knew you were up to something."
When Murtagh's brow creased in concern at the thought he may have inadvertently given himself away to someone else, Tornac intervened, his voice softening. "Relax, lad. No one else was paying attention." He ran an affectionate hand through the youth's unruly hair. "I just happen to know you better than you know yourself."
"I wanted to tell you…I just…" Murtagh found it too hard to say good-bye to the only man within these walls that had ever shown him a semblance of kindness. "I thought it would be better if you didn't know…"
"Aye, well, it may at that," Tornac responded, aware of the King's likely reaction when he discovered Morzan's boys had escaped his control. "Don't you worry about me, lad. I'm a big boy. Been taking care of myself for a long time now."
The large man spared a glance and a smile at Eragon before returning his attention to Murtagh. "I knew this day would come eventually. Long overdue, if you ask me," He said pointedly. "You're meant for bigger and better things than what the King has in mind for you."
While spoken innocently enough, Murtagh felt uneasy at the final comment. His trust in Tornac was implicit, yet he couldn't help but wonder if the man had some idea what Galbatorix had planned for him.
"You have a destination in mind?" Tornac asked. When Murtagh opened his mouth to respond, the burly man interrupted him with a raised hand. "Don't tell me where. I just want to be sure you have a plan. Can't have the pair of you running aimless in the countryside if I'm to be getting any sleep at all when you're gone."
Murtagh nodded in agreement. He hadn't planned on disclosing any information. "I do."
"Good boy." Tornac said, a heavy hand settling on the youth's shoulders. A rough but quiet cough indicated that the man was a bit more emotionally affected by the impending departure than he was letting on.
"Here," He said gruffly, pulling a sword from the depths of his cloak. "I want you to take this."
When Murtagh began to refuse, Tornac spoke more firmly. "Take it."
"Your aim with an arrow is deadly at a distance, but up close and personal, a bow is useless. Take it."
When Murtagh took the sword, Tornac belted the leather scabbard around his waist.
"Thank you," Murtagh said. His voice was steady, but the shine in his eyes betrayed him. "For everything."
A rough, callused hand cupped his cheek, and he looked up at his mentor through a fall of thick raven hair.
"Your father was a fool." Tornac said vehemently, emotionally. "Don't let his actions define you. You are a better man than he ever hoped to be. Never forget that."
Overcome with emotion, Murtagh looked away and swallowed past a lump in his throat as a single tear slipped free and traced a slow path down moon silvered skin. Tornac wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. "Any man would be proud to call you son."
Tornac turned his attention to Eragon as Murtagh closed his eyes in an attempt to pull his emotions together. Kneeling before the boy, the training master tapped the blond-haired, blue-eyed child on the nose with his index finger.
"I'm charging you with a very important task, little one." He said seriously. "Your brother is not nearly so tough as he makes out to be. I need you to take care of him for me."
Eragon glanced up at Murtagh as if to gauge for himself if Tornac's words were true. He returned the man's gaze steadily, with such a fierce look of protection on his angelic face that Tornac nearly laughed.
"We haven't had many lessons yet, you and I, but you would do well to remember all that I've shown you."
Tornac pulled out a small dagger with a fitted sheath and tied it around Eragon's waist, securing the point of the knife around his thigh.
"Now remember, just because you're small doesn't mean you can't do some damage. You use what you've got. Understand? You're just the right size to bring a man to his knees if you can get a good clear shot at his jewels. You use your head, your foot, your elbow, whatever's handy. Got it?"
In a surprisingly quick rush of action, Tornac reached out and roughly grabbed Eragon, pulling him forward. "And if you can't get a good kick in, where is your next target?"
Eragon placed his thumbs on the man's eyes as they slid closed. "Right you are. Go for the eyes. Not bad." He gave Eragon a considering look. "You just listen to your brother and you'll do fine. I've taught him everything I know. He's a helluva teacher in his own right."
Eragon nodded, fingering the dagger. It had only been a few minutes, but the urgency of the situation suddenly made itself known.
Tornac rose and moved towards the door. He's said all he'd come to say and was never one for long, drawn-out good-bye's. "I'll do my best to delay pursuit. Ride safe and live well, young ones." He shared a final long farewell look with Murtagh, the boy he had helped raised to manhood, and turned to leave. He paused one final time.
"Should you ever find yourself in the company of an old friend of mine – know that you can trust him as you do me. He would see you safely to any destination you seek."
Hopeful, Murtagh took a step forward. "Who is he? Where would we find him?"
With a final look back and a sly smile, Tornac answered. "His name is Brom. And you needn't worry. He will find you."
With those final ominous words, Tornac slipped back into the darkness from which he had appeared. Murtagh looked down at Eragon, who could only shrug. "Come on, let's go." Bow in hand once again; they left, hand in hand.
It took nearly half an hour to reach the horses in their attempt to avoid the various guard posts along the more direct route. Once inside, Murtagh climbed up to the loft and retrieved the last of the supplies he had squirreled away over the last few days. With practiced and efficient ease, he readied two mounts; one for supplies and one for riding. He had no qualms about taking the horses or the much needed supplies. He had no idea what the King's interest was in either he or Eragon, but since Morzan's untimely death over a year ago, it had become apparent that Galbatorix had some calculated use in mind for one or both of them. What exactly that entailed he did not know – nor did he want to find out.
"Come here." Eragon was lifted into the saddle, the reins from the pack horse secured around the pommel as he led both horses on foot out the back and toward the less heavily-guarded gate at the back of the palace grounds. Only two guards stood between them and freedom. He did not hesitate. Murtagh's prowess with a bow had become legendary within the walls of Uru'baen. The praise was not misplaced.
The first guard died instantly as the sharp edge of an arrow pierced his left eye and lodged deep within his brain. The other had enough time for a gasp of horrified realization, but nothing more. He bled silently in heavy, wet spurts as a second arrow severed his jugular and left him twitching helplessly on the ground. He lost consciousness altogether when Murtagh placed a leather booted foot on his chest and retrieved the arrow from his neck.
Once free of the palace, it was an effort for Murtagh not to mount his horse and race into the sleeping countryside, but he kept his unhurried pace through the streets of the city. He did not want any attention drawn to their escape. It would be best if no one knew what time they had passed or in what direction they were heading, for he had absolutely no doubt that they would be pursued. There could be no mistaking the correlation between their disappearance and that of the King's most prized possessions.
Half a mile from the city, Murtagh finally mounted the horse behind Eragon. The fullness of the moon would allow them to ride carefully throughout the night with enough light to see by if they avoided the shadows. Urging the gelding into an easy trot, the two brothers rode away from the only life they had ever known. Atop a final crest about two miles from the city, Murtagh reined in his mount and sat looking at the distant horizon where the dark, jagged profile of the palace loomed dark and bleak against the star-splashed, indigo sky.
"We're free," He said quietly, in relief. For now.
He looked down into Eragon's pale elfin face and saw cautious hope in wide sapphire eyes. As if leaving the palace and the King's grasp had broken a self-imposed spell, Eragon surprised his brother by asking him a question.
"Where will we go?"
Murtagh took a deep breath and turned his face into the wind, feeling energized and truly free for the first time in his life. The journey before them was a long one and fraught with danger - but his destiny was now his own.
"To the Varden."
The End.
I'm afraid you will have to imagine the rest…. :)
I was originally planning on turning this into a multi-chaptered fic, but the muse deserted me. I actually have most of another chapter done but havent' been able to write anything for this in almost a year. If there is interest I may come back to it. OR…if there is anyone who would like to adopt this bunny and run with it themselves please feel free to do so. Just e-mail me if interested. I can share some plans I had or you can just do your own thing.
As always – thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this at all I would love to know.
--shan