Disclaimer: Christopher Paolini owns all these characters
Author's Note: Special Thanks to Shadowed Breath, your reviews make my day. I'm caught in a blizzard here with nothing else to do, so it's safe to say you can expect more chapters soon. Characters inner thoughts are in Italics
The next day Nasuada visited the dungeons again, this time being sure to wear one of her more ordinary outfits, a white blouse and russet skirt with the necessary petticoats hidden beneath it. These things are such a bother. That was another thing Nasuada had liked about the white dress; no petticoats. It had been foolish to wear such a priceless gift, she only hoped Farica would be able to salvage it. She walked at a leisurely pace, though her feet itched to run, and paid no mind to the curious stares paid her. In her arms she carried rags, strips of clean linen, a large jug of water and various pastes and poultices borrowed from Angela. If they won't care for him I'll do it myself.
Trianna had claimed that healing Murtagh might give him the strength to escape. The other healers had made similarly flimsy excuses, citing incompetence, unwillingness, and even fear. When Nasuada protested that he would surely die without their care all assured her that the death of the Red Rider would not be such a terrible loss. So she had gone to Angela, claiming she needed the potions for her own injuries.
She nodded to the guards at the door, human this time. No doubt Orrin would expect a full report later. Like Eragon he tolerated the Urgals, but preferred to corroborate with his own kind. She nodded in greeting. They bowed before her and opened the door. This time she had thought to bring a candle. Murtagh slouched in a corner. He looked to be asleep. Nasuada closed the door and set down her candle. It did little to illuminate the room, but the privacy the door provided when shut was more important then the light it gave when open.
"Murtagh," Nasuada hissed "Wake up." He gave no indication he had heard her. She stooped and shook his shoulder: No response. She pinched his arm, whistled, clapped, blew in his ear, and even sprinkled a bit of water on his face. Still he did not move. It's almost as if he's…Nasuada refused to finish the thought. Maybe if I heal him he'll be alright. She repeated the words like a prayer as she dragged him over to the candle.
"He'll be alright. He'll be alright. He-he has to be alright." She fell silent. Where do I even start? Murtagh's hair was soaked with blood. A long cut came down from his scalp to his ear, another went straight across his neck. His eyes were swollen shut, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. His clothing was fused to his skin with dirt and blood. She placed a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was slow and his breathing was raspy.
Nasuada wetted one of the clean rags and began tenderly washing his face. I never should have left him this way. Tears rolled down her cheeks. If Murtagh died it would be all her fault. She bandaged his head and neck carefully, and then halted, struck by a shocking realization. If I am to heal him… I'll have to remove his clothes. Nasuada groaned. How am I ever going to explain this to Orrin? She drew her dagger and began to cut away at the coarse fabric of his tunic. The wounds were not as bad as she expected, more bruises then cuts this time. She awkwardly massaged the poultice onto his chest. I hope he doesn't wake up now. This would be very hard to explain. She could tell some of his ribs were broken. That explains the breathing at least. She bound his chest as she had seen the healers do, hoping she had done everything right. I don't even know if I'm helping! I could be killing him! The time had come to deal with his pants. Her skin hot, Nasuada cut away the last of Murtagh's clothing. His legs were cut in an identical pattern; each cut an inch away from the others, giving his lower half a striped appearance. This is not Eragon's doing. I'll have the head of the guard who has done this! She carefully bandaged each one. When she was finished Murtagh's legs were completely encased in white. She slipped out of her skirt and pulled it over Murtagh's legs. It would keep the bandages clean, and more importantly provide some much needed coverage. Slowly, Nasuada rolled him onto his back. She saw no new injuries, only the infamous scar. She decided to clean it anyway, just in case. The moment the rag touched his skin Murtagh flipped around and grabbed her arm. "Don't touch it! It's evil." His eyes were wild and his nails dug into her skin.
"Murtagh! I'm so glad you're awake. Sorry about your clothes--"
He cut her off, clamping his other hand over her mouth.
"Be quiet. He'll hear you."
Nasuada backed away. "Who will hear me?"
"He'll hurt you if he hears you, just like he hurt me." Murtagh's eyes darted wildly, looking for an escape.
"Murtagh…It's ok. No one's going to hurt you anymore." Nasuada knew this might be a promise she'd be unable to keep, but it seemed the right thing to say.
"He'll hurt you…Kill her…No! I can't! I won't! I'll try to…I can protect her. Ha! You can't even protect yourself. You-you don't control me …traitor… No. No. That's not true.I'm a good person…murderer…You can't hurt me anymore! You're mine now. Get out of my head! You'll always be mine…"
Nasuada was paralyzed with shock and fear. Murtagh's eyes rolled as he grappled with the demons in his mind, thrashing, and whimpering like an injured animal. He backed himself into the same corner Nasuada had first seen him in, rocking back and forth as though caught in some terrible trance. Suddenly he froze. He looked deeply into Nasuada's wide eyes and spoke with alarming clarity.
"Don't… Ever… Trust… Me." Then his head drooped onto his chest and he was quiet once more. Nasuada crawled to him and placed her hand on his heart. It was beating far faster then in should have been, but at least his breathing was regular. She held him in her arms, her hand upon his heart until his heartbeat steadied. Sleeping peacefully now, Murtagh clutched her hand, pressing it to his chest. Orrin would find them in that same position later that day; Murtagh sleeping peacefully, his heart in Nasuada's hands, and Nasuada holding him, able to free herself, but unwilling to let go.