A/N: Sweet! 10 hours and I already have 4 reviews! Surprising…

As to all of you who did review, thanks for the positive feedback! Okay, here's the second chappie!

Chapter 2: Tell Me More About Murtagh

Eragon made his way through the tents on the battlefield. It had been just three days since the battle was over, and everyone was just loading up their cargo to head back to their homes. Finally, he reached a green tent that he swiftly entered.

Nasuada was waiting impatiently trying to place her volumes oh hair up in a large bun when she heard him breech the entrance of her tent. She twisted around; in doing so her hair flung out and all her hard work was destroyed. Her hair was getting outrageously long, and she was just about ready to whack it off. How was she to concentrate with hair in her eyes?

"My liege," he acknowledged.

"Eragon, pray, what brings you here?" she asked, though her irritated features were still focused on her annoying bangs that draped to the bridge of her nose.

"Nasuada, it is my cousin. His fiancee had been kidnapped and we are heading to Helgrind to free her come sunset."

Nasuada raised a thin eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you think you can at this moment? You cannot leave. Please wait until we have evacuated the Burning Plains, Eragon. Our army needs you for moral support. They are afraid that Mur-I mean, the Red Rider will take advantage of our frantic behavior."

"I wouldn't call running around packing up cargo like a chicken with his head cut off is frantic," he teased. Then, he said more seriously, "And I do not believe Murtagh will come."

She sighed. "I don't think he will either, but still. And remember-we are trying to keep this covered up. He will be referred to as, 'The Red Rider.'"

"I know, but…" he shuffled his feet as he felt a stabbing sensation of sorrow in his heart. As usual, the pain was quickly replaced with sheer anger. "I will never forgive him."

Nasuada walked up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Do not worry, Eragon. Do what you must. But remember: you kill Galbatorix, you free Murtagh. That is when you will make judgments whether to forgive or not. When his slavery is over, you will see how corrupt he truly is."

"I know, I'm just…" he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"I understand. I am…confused, too." Her eyes grew distant as her attention finally was taken away from her bangs. She sighed. "I suppose I should let you go free your cousin's fiancee. I am in debt to him, after all. Sunset, you say?"

"Yes, sunset. Thank-You, milady. My apologies for leaving at such a rash time," he truly did not care if it was a "rash" time. He was going to leave even without her permission; he just decided it would be wise to inform her first.

Sunset came slower than Eragon could imagine. Roran, had been as antsy as a three-year old since the second he woke up. "May we leave early, please?" he had questioned Eragon the whole day. By noon Eragon was prepared to strangle him.

"We will leave at sunset, Roran, for the last damned TIME!" he had yelled.

At this, Roran had recoiled, only to begin harassing Eragon anew twenty minutes later.

Eragon thanked the gods when the sky had swarmed with colors of pink and orange. "Time to go, Roran," he stated.

"Let's go," replied his cousin so determinedly that Eragon stifled a laugh. They loaded their food, weapons, and everything else needed for their adventure onto Saphira. Then, they hopped onto her back and strapped their legs into her saddle.

Nasuada and Arya approached the dragon with blue scales that gleamed like dazzling gems. The dark skinned Varden leader advanced toward Saphira's saddle where Eragon was. "Eragon, Roran, I wish you good luck on your trip to Helgrind. The Ra'zac are fierce, though you both know that already. May the gods watch over you, and may the enemies stay at bay." No one needed to ask which enemies she was talking about. The stabbing sensation returned to Eragon.

Arya locked eyes with each of them. Eragon felt color rising to his cheeks as he gazed into her emerald eyes. They had such depth he felt he could just gaze for hours and never find the bottom. They were unusual green eyes; they were always the same pure emerald, while most green eyes change shades. Eragon loved everything about the elf princess-her black locks, slender form, and heart-shaped face. "Good luck. May the stars watch over you," was all she said.

Eragon forced himself to turn his stare to the horizon. "we're off to Helgrind!" Let's go, Saphira!

Is Roran ready? Asked his dragon playfully.

Eragon cringed at her teasing. Believe me, he's ready.

Saphira grumbled, and Eragon knew she was chuckling. We're off!

All three rose into the sky. All different shades of pink and orange encircled them as they glided off towards Helgrind. Streaming clouds gracefully flew passed them.

Roran gasped. "It's so beautiful!"

"I know, isn't it? One of the main reasons I love flying so."

"How long do you think it will take to arrive at Helgrind?" popped Roran.

Eragon laughed. "For the thirtieth time, Roran, about three days you will see your fiancee again."

"Three days…" Roran spent the remainder if the flight daydreaming, and Eragon conversed with Saphira, planning what to do once they reached Helgrind.

That night they camped out on a grassy field near the Jiet River. Silence shrouded them, and Eragon felt obliged to talk of something, "So…" he began.

"I can't believe it! We're finally going to Helgrind!" barked Roran excitedly.

Eragon sighed. "Can we please talk about something other than what lies at Helgrind? I'd not think about it."

Roran was silent for a minute. Then, he said in a whisper, "I have something I want to talk about that's not related to Helgrind. I actually really want to know."

Eragon knew it was a subject he wouldn't like just by Roran's tone. "Yes?"

Roran took a deep breath. "Tell me more about Murtagh."

Eragon's reaction was just as Roran expected. His jaw locked, and his face darkened in a way very reminiscent to Murtagh. Only recently did Eragon realize how much his disowned brother and his expressions were so similar. "I don't want to talk about him."

Roran sighed. "I know, but am I not entitled to know about my cousin?"

"He is NOT your cousin!" Eragon snapped vehemently. "He is NOT my brother. You are."

"Well, you should always know about your enemies. It'll help us to know more about him. For all we know, he'll show up at Helgrind! I want to know more about him. It's my right!"

He does have a point, little one, commented Saphira.

So, you think I should tell him all I know of Murtagh?

Yes, Eragon. It is in his rights to know how you feel about your "former" brother.

But, Saphira, I don't want to talk about him!

Why?

Because…

Because you think you will start hyperventilating? Just tell him about your experiences together one more time and what you felt during those days. Tell him what you thought of him and how you two got along. You've done it once. Remember the night after the battle when you scryed Katrina? It shouldn't be that hard.

It shouldn't, but it is.

I will be here to give you strength, little one.

Thank-You. Eragon ended the telepathic conversation.

Roran was looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Okay, I'll tell you, but it might take awhile, so just sit back and get comfortable."

Roran sat down and leaned against Saphira's leg.

Eragon sat down beside his cousin and looked at his toes during the whole tale:

"Murtagh was…edgy, you could say? He never really let you too close to him. I realized later that it was because of his past. He learnt never to let anyone become too bonded with you, because from his experiences it was too good to last."

"Wait," interrupted Roran. "I thought you guys were like, brothers? No pun intended."

"Yes," he responded curtly. "We were. We laughed and had a great time together. He was just always so wary though. And he never would talk about his past. Ever. So, I decided too break into his mind."

"Like you did to mind on the boat before I arrived to the battle?"

"Kind of, only I was not trying to steal your memories. I was only trying to talk to you. I suppose you could say I was trying to live his life without actually living it."

At this, Roran growled. "That's despicable."

"That's what we do. It's how we see if people are trustworthy. I was so tempted to breech his mind. He was so…mysterious. Something inside me wanted to crack that mystery." Eragon related his journey with Murtagh to his cousin from the moment Murtagh saved him from the Ra'zac to the moment he was "killed."

"It was terrible. He was like a long lost brother. And when he told me his life story…" Eragon shuddered. "His life has been hell, Roran, and all people ever saw was his father. They never looked at him for Murtagh. All they saw was his father's face. And, I have to admit, from the images I've seen in people's minds of Morzan, he does look a great deal like him."

"That's," Roran paused to find a word to say. "Sad. So he was scorned his whole life because of his father? Who he hated until the day he died?"

"Yeah. Now He has become Morzan, though. It does not matter what people thought of him anymore. He is treacherous snake who will die with his master!"

Roran arched an eyebrow. "I thought he told you he was a slave?"

"Yes, he is. But he could have died noble, but instead decided to live as a traitor. Disgusting!"

"Tell me what he told you at the Burning Plains again."

Eragon relayed Murtagh's conversation with him on the plateau.

"What is a true name?" Roran asked.

Eragon told him.

"Well, what if when Galbatorix discovered his true name, he prevented Murtagh from killing himself, or to willingly allow others to kill him?"

Eragon didn't say anything. He was still too hateful against Murtagh to permit any pity. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight," he declared. He turned over and closed his eyes. Confusing feelings twisted inside him like a tornado. Feelings he did not understand.

Murtagh landed at the front gate of Galbatorix's gothic castle. The guards defending the main entrance were erected in a superior manner that ward of tourists. Their eyes turned to Murtagh as he landed. He was simply an expert mercenary to them. One who didn't have any morals or a conscience. Galbatorix had done an excellent job hiding Murtagh's true disposition from his workers. He had forbidden Murtagh from telling any servants, guards, or anyone else who enters the castle regularly his true political opinions or that he was a slave. At first this made him angry. Everyone had (and still did so) talk behind his back about his treachery, the tale becoming more gruesome and hate-filled in every telling until finally some servants didn't bother hiding their distaste for him. He was now used to the evil glares he received from the workers. Little did they know that if he were king, he would actually pay them for taking their precious time to do his laundry, bidding, ect.

Murtagh unsaddled and waved at the soldiers to open the gates.

The emerald encrusted barriers slowly flung itself open to reveal a large, neatly kept lawn with a large castle in the center. It took Murtagh nearly ten minutes to limp to front door. Upon arriving, the large iron doors were pushed open by two underfed slaves. Pity welled up inside Murtagh. He could almost see the invisible chains binding them to Galbatorix, just like him. At one point in time, Murtagh had nearly lost his sanity and actually saw metal clasps attached to his wrists and ankles with a long metal linked chain that stretched to Galbatorix's throne room. He had tried to break the link but just received an electrical shock. He then had passed out.

Thorn had told him the next morning he had experienced a mental breakdown from so much stress and misery. He had just grumbled a, "I'm not depressed," and went back to sleep.

He was shot back to reality when he heard the iron doors clang to a halt, proving that they were entirely open. He strutted in, keeping his nose up in a manner similar to the guards at the gate. The two slaves gave him a sinister look. Murtagh's black humor made him think of the saying, "if looks could kill." Then again, black humor was the only kind he had anymore. He chuckled to himself softly.

One of the slaves couldn't help but ask, "What happened to your leg?"

Murtagh glared at him. "I fell." He remembered how he had asked Thorn on the way to Helgrind to land for a little bit so he could rest, only to be shot at by angry villagers stirring up anarchy By the Jiet River. They had encircled him and fired several arrows at him, one sinking into his stomach and the other in his thigh. He had retreated to a nearby cave and healed his stomach. However, he was so weary he passed out before he healed his leg.

The slave nodded and hid a smirk. "Sorry to hear it."

Murtagh ignored him and continued on his way.

Thorn did not follow his rider into the castle. Good luck, young one. I will be in the Dragon Hold, for I cannot fit inside their. But, please, be careful.

Murtagh's pulse began to race. He put on a brave face and tried to send a wave of courage to Thorn to prove he would be fine, but he couldn't. His knees began to shake, though he managed to conceal his fear so the slaves would not see him cowering. As swiftly as his injury would let him, he made his way to the throne room. The limp there seemed like ages. It felt as if he was a snail, procrastinating his time as long as possible. Once he reached the throne room doors, he took a deep, shaky breath. I am ready, he told himself. Carefully, He pushed the doors open, hearing the creek of the hinges.

A man with gray hair and a malevolent countenance sat with annoyingly correct posture in a large throne decorated with rubies and silver studs. The chair was big enough to fit three Murtaghs and two average weight people. Murtagh was becoming so depressed lately that it had become hard for him to stomach food. "Your Highness," he said in his low, smooth voice. He gave him a low bow, though the gesture made him nauseous.

"Ah, Murtagh. Pleasure." Galbatorix's tone indicated that seeing his slave return without a prize was definitely not a pleasure.

Murtagh stood up straight and prepared himself for what was to come. "I could not capture the boy. He is…well guarded." His voice was steady, though he was terrified. Thorn! I can't do this!

Thorn's mind was filled with pain and sorrow. I am sorry I am not there, Murtagh. Stay strong. Murtagh could tell Thorn would never forgive himself for abandoning his rider.

Galbatorix slowly stood up and locked eyes with Murtagh. He advanced towards him until Murtagh could feel his breath on his face. "Murtagh," he said, enunciating every word.

"Yes?" Murtagh tried extremely hard not to snap at him.

Without any warning, Murtagh felt a stabbing pain in his mind. Galbatorix was breaking in to see his memories! He threw up his sturdy barriers and defended his thoughts as well as he could.

Of course, in the end it was futile.

Galbatorix simply increased the painful attack of his probe, and in the end Murtagh collapsed at his feet, gasping in pain. "Stop!" he screamed, unaware that he was saying something.

Galbatorix merely increased the density of his search. Murtagh screamed so loud his throat grew sore. Finally, Galbatorix extracted all his memories from Murtagh, a look of disgust swelling on his face. "You insolent brat! YOU LET HIM GO!" He looked down at Murtagh, who's breath came in shuddering gasps.

"I'm sorry," He managed to say. "You told me to try to capture him. I tried."

Galbatorix lifted his thick shoe and kicked Murtagh in the stomach with all his strength.

Murtagh tried to scream, but the air whooshed out of him as he heard the crack of his ribs breaking. His vision was clouded with black spots and he knew he wouldn't be awake much longer.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, Murtagh heard Galbatorix snap his fingers and a soldier approached. "The dungeon, and give him much more pain than the usual dose."

The last thing Murtagh heard was Thorn's cries of, Murtagh!

A/N: Wow, that took a while. )

And the angst takes its toll! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! lol

Honestly, people, 70 hits and only 5 reviews? Please, all I'm asking for is, "It's great," or "It sucks," or, "Its good," or something along those lines! It doesn't have to be amazingly detailed (though I would appreciate it).

Now, I've received a few Eragon/Arya suggestions, so if I get a few more, than I will probably make them a couple. Anyway, R&R, please!

I'll update when I get oh, say, 5 reviews?