(A/N) Thank you for all the kind reviews! It really made my day!
Murtagh didn't know how long he had been unconscious. The days passed in a half-awake blur since the shade preferred to keep him asleep for the journey, only waking him up to force some food down his throat. During the first of these occasions Murtagh had struggled to break free of the ropes tied around his wrists, but had soon realised that it was pointless. Even if he could get out of the bonds he was no match for the shade, especially while unarmed.
Brom will find me, was the thought he clang to, determined not to lose hope. Brom had saved him from the king once before. He could do it again.
As the days went by and turned into weeks, however, his faith started to weaken. They were in the heart of the Empire now, and there had been no sign of the former Rider. The shade had been accompanied by a group of soldiers who escorted them closer to the king, and Murtagh's chances of escaping seemed smaller every day.
They entered the capital in the dead of night. Murtagh didn't remember much of it – the shade had kept him firmly under a magic-induced sleep.
Murtagh woke up on a grand, incredibly soft bed that would have made the villagers of Carvahall green with envy. His hands were no longer tied behind his back, and even though his head was pounding he felt more awake than he had in weeks. Slowly Murtagh sat up and took in the surroundings. The chamber was big and luxurious, as well as completely made in stone. The furniture was beautifully carved and the hard floor was covered with expensive-looking rugs.
"Ah, I see that you're finally awake."
Murtagh flinched at the sudden voice. He had been too occupied studying the room to have noticed the dark figure in the corner, who rose from his chair and made his way over to the bed.
Murtagh had always pictured the king as an old, terrifying-looking man with grey hair, but he couldn't have been more wrong. The man standing in front of him appeared to be forty years old at the most, and the smile on his lips made him seem both friendly and charming. If not for the crown resting on his head Murtagh wouldn't have made the connection.
As the king approached the boy could practically hear his heartbeat quickening. He tried to back away, but the wall behind him prevented it.
"No need to be frightened," said Galbatorix as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I was when I heard that you'd been found. I assure you, the people responsible for your kidnapping will be punished. The hardships you must have endured…"
He extended a hand towards Murtagh to embrace him, but the boy slapped it away.
"Get away from me!" he growled, the fear gone. When the king made no movement the boy leapt out of the bed, frantically looking for something to use as a weapon. A candlestick would have to do.
The king rose to his feet, eyebrows arched. "Is that really a way to talk to your rescuer?"
Murtagh glared at him, refusing to respond.
"It seems no one has bothered to teach you any manners. How disappointed your father would be if he knew how you were behaving."
"Don't talk to me about him!" Murtagh snarled. "He was a monster, and so are you. Come any closer and I will kill you." He swung the candlestick in front of him, not caring that it wouldn't be of much use against the king's magic. He meant every word.
Galbatorix shook his head in mocked frustration. "My own godson, corrupted by rebels," he said, voice suddenly so cold it gave Murtagh chills. "Consider your next move carefully, boy. Look around you," he made a gesture to the grand chamber, "I could give you everything you'd ever want. Join me, and I'll let this offence slide."
Murtagh braced himself. "I will never join a madman," he said and spat in the king's direction.
A small smirk tugged at Galbatorix's lips. "How disappointing," he said, then he raised his voice. "Durza!"
The door behind Murtagh opened, and he spun around in time to see the shade enter.
"Yes, your Majesty?" it said with a low bow.
"Take our young friend to the dungeons. I'll be there shortly."
Murtagh felt as if he was going insane. His world was a turmoil of pain and darkness that never seemed to end. He didn't know how much time had passed, and had soon given up trying to count the days. The king's visits were irregular, keeping him in constant fear. Sometimes several days passed, and sometimes only a couple of hours. In the beginning, there was only the pain, inflicted either by tools or magic. That, at least, Murtagh could handle. He took to dreaming himself away during the worst times, letting his thoughts wander back to Carvahall, to Brom, and sometimes even his mother. Then Galbatorix started to break his mind. No matter how well Brom had trained him, there was no way Murtagh could have prepared for this. The attacks varied – sometimes the kings simply hammered at his walls with all his strength, and sometimes he showed up when Murtagh at least expected it and tried to find a weakness to slip in through. The shade – Durza – usually assisted the king. Even though he wasn't as powerful as Galbatorix, Murtagh soon feared him just as much. The creature had an unnatural talent for inflicting pain, and unlike the king he seemed to enjoy himself greatly during the sessions.
Murtagh was slipping, he could feel it. He longed for the chains around his wrists and ankles to fall off so that he could stand up, for seeing the daylight again, and for the pain to stop. The only thing keeping him from giving in was the thought of Brom. There was no way Murtagh could let the man down after everything he had sacrificed to keep his ward safe. Murtagh would not give in. He would not turn into his father, if only for Brom's sake.
Somehow that thought gave him the strength to continue resisting his tormentors' attempts at breaking into his mind. Then, his world was turned upside down as the king entered his cell, placed a shining red stone in front of him and then left without a word.
