Thorn was sleeping after another one of his magic induced growth spurts. Murtagh came back from the Hall of the Soothsayers, fell down upon his bed and sobbed. He beat his fists against his pillows in frustration. He couldn't keep doing this. Her screams kept replaying in his head along with Galbatorix's mocking laugh. He had to do something. If only he wasn't so weak he should have killed her back outside Dras Leona as was originally the plan. But of course he was an imbecile. Selfish. Just like his father. Morzan would have laughed. Murtagh lapsed into self-pity and hatred. Surely there was more to life than this? More to life than this endless cycle of destruction, pain and guilt. Nasuada filled his mind like a healing spell on a raw wound. He needed her, needed her love; and Galbatorix knew that. Which was why he was using him to torture her. So it would be impossible for her to ever see him as anything but evil. Murtagh wasn't evil; at least, he thought he wasn't evil. But then, Galbatorix didn't think he was evil. Murtagh wanted to believe that, he wanted to believe Galbatorix's beautiful lie. He wanted to believe that by attacking the rebels he was improving the future of Alagaësia, he wanted to believe that the men and women he had killed brought it upon themselves by inciting this war against the Empire. Murtagh didn't want to do wrong. All he wanted was to be a clean slate. Start again. He wanted a childhood with loving parents and friends and an untroubled life. He was only just twenty for goodness sake! Only twenty and responsible for the murder of thousands… But what Murtagh needed was time alone with Thorn to reconcile himself with his deeds, that and freedom. And he dreamed of a warm rosy future with Nasuada. He dreamt of smiling children with straight black hair and light brown skin, who laughed and played without the troubles that their parents had had to deal with. That would never happen.

Murtagh stood up and walked over to his small window. He cursed and absent-mindedly ran his hand through his hair.

Murtagh wanted to believe what he was doing was right, but he couldn't. Truth be told, he was repulsed by himself, and everything that he had ever done. He knew from the resolution in Nasuada's pain filled, tear filled beautiful eyes, he knew from his brother's righteous little speeches, so full of bravery and valour, he knew from the way the Varden had attacked, he knew from the tales of that boy who was his cousin's fighting and love, he knew from his heart and from the moment he ended Oromis and Glaedr's body and thousands of other experiences.

Thorn stretched and yawned, showing of his ferocious ivory teeth.

Murtagh was filled with the overwhelming desire to forget, if only for a short while.

Murtagh, I really don't think this is wise… Thorn intervened.

"Shut up! I would never have given in if it weren't for you, you hear me!" Murtagh screamed

"I wouldn't have killed so many, I would most likely have died, which would have been my only fucking release!" Thorn snarled, and leapt at his rider, pinning him to the ground.

I didn't ask to hatch. Don't you dare blame your problems on me or I'll make you regret it.

"Okay, whoa okay. Thorn I'm sorry, just please let me go."

Drinking won't end your problems.

"I'm only looking for a respite." Thorn growled menacingly then let him up. Murtagh swallowed, and walked out of his chamber to garner some strong alcohol from the guards.