Thrown into the dungeon, imprisoned only of her kin, and her forefathers, a striking girl lay unconscious in a dirty cell
Thrown into the dungeon, a striking girl lay unconscious in a dirty cell. Her long tresses were a light shade of blonde, so light it could have been silver in the rising sun. Slumped against the wall, of the prison, she wore but a long-sleeved shirt, with flowing sleeves, and a curving, yet elegant dress. Her lithe body was fit and looked as if she constantly worked out. She had scratches and bruises along her body, and it pained to move.
The girl knew not of her surroundings, and she was jostled awake by the thump, thump, and thump of footsteps on the ground. When she opened her light amethyst eyes, she was so groggy, she could have fallen asleep again. All the girl could think of was,"I must get my sword." She forced herself to sit on the crude, hard, cot, and relax.
Footsteps clunked down the cold stone floor; she lifted her head as to see who the intruder was. It was a tall thing; she addressed him so, for he was not worthy of being called a person. His horrible actions, the terror; how she longed to plunge her sword into the depths of his heart. He was quite bald, except the stubble of a white beard on his chin. The thing wore complete black, with a faint sprinkle of gold on his cloak.
At the time of seeing him, she straightened up, and shifted her angled head so as she looked like a queen. Her expression was dignified; she tried to throw up barriers around her unprotected mind.
"So nice to finally meet you, my dear." Galbatorix smiled blatantly. He seemed calm, unaware of her detestation, her hatred, her open hostility directed in his course.
The girl grimaced. This… monster. After all the pain she had suffered, he still had the courage to address her like this?
"Please, stand up. We are going to have a charming dinner. I will talk to you, with my faithful rider, Murtagh. Please, come along. You will have clothes, and a bath awaiting your arrival. I trust that you will have a pleasant evening. Please follow the man, make no effort to escape; you will be captured." He spoke with a hard voice, and gestured to a servant who had just appeared.
She pondered what he had just announced. It was impractical. She would have to go through this his way, and confront the newest addition to his toys, Murtagh. She had heard he had used to be a loyal friend of Eragon, yet it seemed impossible with the destruction he had inflicted on the cities of the Empire. Then she decided that it would be best to act as if she was a friend of Galbatorix, and look as if she respected him.
The girl followed the messenger, not even turning her back to the cloaked, bald man. The messenger, a middle aged woman, walked her out of the prison, to a rather small castle near it. She brought her clothes, and gestured to the right mutely, where a door leading to some springs lay.
Closing, locking the door, she took off her clothes, and lay down in the warm mountain water. Grinning, she thought about her home, her fate. No, she didn't have one. Galbatorix had captured her; she was doomed.
Weakened by her thoughts, the girl stood up, and climbed up from the pool of water. She slipped into the clothes the woman had given her; some leather pants and a shirt. Then, she tied her long hair (it reached her knees) into braids, and a ponytail.
Finally straightening up, she was a beautiful sight. You could almost assume her as one of the fair folk (elves), yet she wasn't one. She had pointed ears, and a very light jump in her step. You could see that in her heritage there was atleast an 1/8 elf.
Walking briskly, she stepped out of the bathing room door, hoping that there would be time to escape. Her hope was short-lived, and half a dozen soldiers waiting outside her doors greeted her coldly. Many of them looked in awe at the beautiful girl, but she waved it off, and asked," Where is the dining room?"
They nodded and lead her to the west part of the castle, and gestured towards a large pair of doors, inscribed with Galbatorix's sign. She shivered inside, but showed no fright at any point. Then, she knocked on the door, quietly.
The doors swung open to reveal two men, one of which was laughing quietly, while the other had an unreadable expression on his face. She stiffened as she entered the room, and Galbatorix said," You may go," to the guards.
Turning her face to the other man; she supposed he was Murtagh, she was surprised to see he was quite young. He looked about 18 or 19, but none older, though his face was marked by hardships and pain. She cocked her head, and kept his long stare; his coal-black eyes intrigued her. He seemed to show something for her. Something… just not hate. Then, she turned her eyes to the large dragon next to him. It looked brutal, hard… and mean. She stood rigid, and looked the dragon in the face.
"This is Thorn. He says you are brave, or maybe foolish to stand up to him. Even so, you have earned his respect." Murtagh cocked his eyebrow at the girl and motioned, gesturing at the large dragon.
"Please, my dear, sit down." Galbatorix smirked. His expression was that of pure interest. " This is Murtagh."
She nodded silently, and sat next to Murtagh. He seemed less dangerous, if at all, than Galbatorix, and she couldn't bear to stand near the man who had killed her brethren, her ancestors. She scowled, and looked down at the tablecloth, seemingly absorbed. After the nodding, there was a pregnant silence. The food was served, the wine drunk, when finally Galbatorix set his attention on her.
"Dearest Kyra," He addressed, using her name. "Aren't you an interesting girl… strange things have occurred around you; people call you Aiedail: The Morning Stars. It is a very special name; what have you done to acquire it?" Galbatorix's voice was like a snake's, it hissed seductively.
"I was born, and I was… special." The girl replied simply; she dared not relay too much information. She glared into his eyes, without a wavering glance.
Galbatorix lifted his eyebrows, as did Murtagh. But, nevertheless, he seemed satisfied with her answer, and continued," As you may know, there is one more egg left in the royal treasury. For years, I have been trying to find the right person for it. And, now, I think I have."
Now it was Kyra's turn to cock her eyebrows. "And what does this have to do of me?" Deep inside, she almost knew what he was about to say, and that it would change her future forever.
Galbatorix leaned into the table, as if someone were listening, and whispered. "It is you, my dear. After all these years, I can almost sense: You are the next rider. I have examined you from birth. You're history, and pedigree is quite impressive. You are a beautiful swordsman, and you could beat any man in this city apart from Murtagh and I; or maybe you could even beat Murtagh. It seems you have the attributes of even the most athletic elf. You are calm, collected, and seductive. I am not yet sure, but I'm quite confident in the fact that you will be the next rider." He repeated the phrase, feeling positive and sure that she was the one.
"Now, if you'll follow me, I will lead you to the royal treasury." Galbatorix stood up, Murtagh following him, like a puppy. Kyra decided it best to follow him, and act as if she had surrendered, like that idiot Murtagh. After a few winding trails, they finally arrived at a dead end. Galbatorix closed his eyes, and muttered a few words, when suddenly the ground fell beneath him, along with Murtagh and Kyra.
She felt like she wanted to scream. She didn't want to be here. She didn't care. She wanted to go home, to Ellesmera. She couldn't show her weakness; how she felt, and what she wanted to do to them. And now she was falling into a black pit. Closing her eyes, Kyra opened them again to see two pairs of black doors, intricately designed, yet again with Galbatorix's mark. Two sets of five soldiers stood against the sides of the doors, and when Galbatorix looked at them, they bowed and opened the door on the right side of the room.
This time Kyra couldn't hold in her emotions. She gaped widely at the splendor of the room, and how it was so beautifully furnished. Right in the middle, there was an enormous pedestal, and on the top of that pedestal sat a rather large stone. As soon as she had seen it, she recognized it as a dragon egg. The last living one in eggsistance. (HAHA!) It was a beautiful egg, and when Kyra saw it, she just wanted to grab the beauty and hold it close. The egg was a beautiful white color, with shimmering veins of blue on it.
"It's beautiful." She murmured, and stepped up to the pedestal to touch the egg. Galbatorix and Murtagh made no effort to stop her, but seemed unbelievably interested in what the egg would do when she touched it. Then, she touched it. It had a wonderful smooth feeling, and she immediately loved the egg. Kyra pulled it into her arms, and cradled it with care, like a mother.