A/N Hello, Inheritance Cycle fandom! Welcome to my first Inheritance non-Xover chaptered fic. If you have clicked on this looking for a high-quality work of art, please, continue reading, but don't expect to find it here.

This will probably be me posting fortnightly with shortish (around 800 to 1200 word) chapters. I have a basic storyline planned out- for about 5 chapters. So, I don't know what this will turn out to be.

Oh, it is an AU. But hopefully I'll remember to put that in the description.

Chapter 1: Days in Autumn and Leaves like Flames

"You would dare to take my children from me!"

"You view Murtagh as a tool! I would save him, and my other child, from that, and the mistreatment they would surely face!"

Murtagh, at three, was an intelligent child, and he gathered that this woman, his mother, was doing something that his father had not liked. He also knew that this involved him, and that meant it was safer for him to disguise himself behind his mother's legs. 'Children should be seen and not heard,' and 'Do not get under the grown-ups' feet,' that was always what Nurse said, and he was trying.

His mother and father were still yelling. He rarely saw his father, and barely remembered his mother.

He was scared. Had his mother done something wrong? Had he done something wrong?

Morzan turned to him. "Murtagh, come here," he growled.

"No! Murtagh, stay with me."

The three-year-old was confused. What should he do?

"Wh-where's Nurse?" he stuttered. Nurse would know what to do. Nurse always knew what to do.

His father smiled, but it did not look right on his face. "Nurse is at the castle, Murtagh. Come with me and you shall see Nurse."

Murtagh glanced at his mother. She did not protest, and he took that as a sign of permission. He scuttled over to Morzan, who pushed him behind him.

"Dranaedr, take her," Morzan commanded, and a reptilian tail wrapped around his mother's stomach. She kicked and twisted, trying to get free, but to no avail.

"Careful!" barked his father, "I want the infant unharmed." Murtagh shrank back as a large red head broke through the trees- his father's dragon was a magnificent, scarlet behemoth, terrifying to those who had reason to fear him. Morzan turned to him. "Murtagh, run along back to the gate. I will be there soon." But, transfixed by the scaled head and the thrashing woman, Murtagh could not move.

Murtagh, his father's voice echoed in his head, get back to the castle.

And Murtagh turned and fled as fast as his three-year-old legs could carry him. They had only made it a mile from the fortress, but he did not know this, and to him it seemed infinitely longer.

About three-quarters of the way there, the forest receded, and he was finally allowed a glimpse of the great gate. To his horror, another dragon- smaller than Dranaedr, with black scales, but still gargantuan to his eyes- was lying along the wall above the entrance. He could see a broad-shouldered man with tan skin and black hair, wearing mail like his father, standing and talking to the guards on duty. He slowed his pace.

When was only fifty yards from the gate, one of the guards noticed him. "Master Murtagh!" he gasped.

The stranger turned around and smiled. "So you are Morzan's little tyke, hmm?" Murtagh nodded mutely. "Where has your father disappeared too?"

Swallowing, Murtagh regained his voice and replied, "He's in the forest with mother. I think he is very angry with her. He told me to come back to the castle."

Still grinning, the stranger knelt and picked him up. "Well, let's go inside, shall we? Thank you for your time, guards."

They bowed and muttered, "It was an honour, my King." King? This was the King? Murtagh stared in surprise.

"Who usually looks after you, tyke?" asked the King.

"N-nurse."

"And do you know where she'd be?"

"In the nursery, usually. But I don't know."

The King nodded decisively. "We'll go check the nursery."

I=I

Nurse was in the nursery. The King gave him a smile, set him down, and left him with Nurse. He didn't return, and nor did Morzan or his mother, but the next day his father came up to see him.

"You will not be seeing your mother again," he stated, and, still frightened and confused by the shouting match in the woods, Murtagh said nothing.

Life went on as normal.

Then, a couple of months later, he was sitting in the schoolroom, learning his letters, when the lesson was interrupted by screaming. His tutor glanced up at the door, but then continued as if nothing had happened. So he said nothing.

A beaming Nurse later told him he had a new brother. He said nothing.

Then, the next day, a no-longer-beaming Nurse said that he would have to wear black for the next week. She also said something about a funeral.

Funerals meant death.

Whose? Murtagh wanted to ask. Anything to break the monotony was a godsend, but, at his age, he was curious. Why should he be mourning? Who should he be mourning? The questions burnt in his head.

He said nothing.

I=I

The day of the funeral dawned, a bright, autumnal day, with the sun shining bright overhead in a pale sky. The forest that surrounded Morzan's castle was mostly evergreen, but the few deciduous trees about scattered their rusty leaves, to be snatched up by the fierce wind.

Murtagh walked by his father in front of the long, dark box, born on the shoulders of six tall men- slaves or servants, he didn't know. A procession of black-smothered staff followed the procession.

The twenty-two-yard distance was a long walk, longer even than the mile he'd run that fateful day in the woods.

It was an age before they reached the pyre at the northern side of the courtyard. The father and son stopped before it, and watched as the coffin was set upon it; the staff congregated in a gaggle behind them. A priest stood directly opposite the pair, on the other side of the pyre.

"We have amassed here to witness the last rites of Selena Thaildisdaughter, consort of Morzan Ruliofsson, mother of Murtagh and Eragon Morzanssons. I, as a senior priest of the Acolytes of Helgrind, have been requested to perform them- "

Murtagh did not listen, or at least he only pretended to. The words meant nothing to him. The rituals flashed by in so many gestures.

"And now, the closing measures of our ceremony." The priest turned to Morzan. "May I?"

"It is what she would have wanted."

The priest directed two slaves to open the coffin, and made a neat cut over Selena's heart, removing the slippery organ with practised ease and neatly depositing it into the offered ceramic jar.

No, this isn't what she would have wanted. Murtagh did not know where the thought had come from, but it seemed to fit with her actions that afternoon two months ago.

The priest finished his gruesome extraction, and spoke a word of power that seemed to shake the ground beneath Murtagh's feet.

The pyre flared up in a licking, roaring fire, and through the flames he saw a macabre smile twist the priest's face.

I=I

A/N I hope you enjoyed! Please review- I accept constructive criticism and flames (and praise, obviously). Even if it's just one word, it makes my day to get feedback.

There is a reason Eragon is still called Eragon, though it may seem strange.

Thanks for reading!

BBDN