A.N: Quite a short chapter. It gets a little sentimental at some points, but I couldn't help myself. :) Thanks again to evryone who has reveiwed, favourited or added this story to an alerts list. They're great to read and it's fantastic to hear that people are enjoying this. Nothing too much happens action-wise.


As Murtagh looked upon his old friend -no, brother- he felt his mouth dry and pulse rate quicken. He couldn't really have explained his nerves, but they were jangling.

Involuntarily, he tightened his grip on the small creature in his arms. Solemnly, it regarded him with liquid ruby eyes. Something in its gaze made him smile suddenly, inexplicably feeling happier than he had in a long time.

Eragon was beginning to stir. His eyelids fluttered, his breathing deepened and suddenly one arm shot out and grabbed a bar. He pulled himself slowly into a sitting position. His glazed eyes focussed on Murtagh. "I thought you were dead." he said hoarsely, voice and expression carefully emotionless.

Murtagh found himself giving Eragon a slight, mirthless smile. "There were times when I wished I was." he muttered. Eragon nodded in agreement. "I know the feeling."

"How…how were you captured?" Murtagh asked. "We were at Farthen Dur and Saphira was far out hunting. Galbatorix's men were there. Somehow they knew where the entrance was…" he paused, seeing the guilt which had been tormenting Murtagh since the words had left his lips.

"I would have told them too." he said softly. "I nearly sold everything actually. Before you came here." As he spoke his expression softened and his tone grew warmer. "I'm glad we were wrong. We thought you were dead. Or worse- a trai…" His eyes suddenly found the dragonlet as his lips formed the word. The change in his demeanour was instantaneous. "So we were right." he said flatly.

"No!" Murtagh hissed vehemently, as loudly as he dared. "I might have sworn never to kill him, but I'd welcome death before I sold my soul to a devil like him!"

Eragon's eyes drifted to the dragonlet. "Have you come up with a name for them?" he asked curiously, surprising Murtagh with lack of hostility. "Him." Murtagh replied automatically. "How do you know he's male?" "I know." Murtagh said definitely.

Eragon laughed. "Saphira kept me guessing for ages! She teased me!" Murtagh's lips curled into a slow, genuine smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but the chance was snatched when he heard a noise outside the room.

Both his and Eragon's faces froze in shock. Murtagh immediately leapt back into the opposite unoccupied cell, shutting the door silently and concealing himself in the shadows at the back. Eragon dropped to the ground, appearing to all the world, comatose.

A torch-wielding guard walked in, giving a cursory look to each cell as he passed on his way through the room. At Eragon's he paused for several minutes, gazing thoughtfully -and, from what Murtagh could see of his face, sorrowfully- at the emaciated figure within.

Eventually he ambled back along the room and out, closing the door behind him. Murtagh offered up a prayer of thanks to any gods that did exist and happened to be listening. He hadn't locked it.

He slipped out of the cell again. "I can't get you out right now," he said quietly to Eragon. "I'll be back when I have a plan that'll work." "If you did right now, you'd only rob Galbatorix of the pleasure of slowly gutting us both." Eragon muttered bitterly.

"I'll work something out." Murtagh promised as he made his way out. For both our sakes.


His calves burned as he climbed the set of stairs that would take him to his room. It had been the bloody flight that had taken him to the dungeons. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn they led through the whole castle.

He paused on a step, his chest heaving. He didn't have the stamina he had had before his capture. As he cursed internally, one hand removed from the dragon and bracing him against the wall, he heard faintly echoing footsteps.

Even curses went from his beleaguered mind. This was too much. The dragonlet, under considerably less pressure and showing a talent for self-preservation, squirmed in his arms and jabbed its head frantically to the right.

Murtagh didn't know what it could see there, but he didn't much care. He staggered in that direction, and nearly collapsed sideways as an alcove opened before him.

Light from an advancing torch gave the walls a golden hue. Probably a guard, Murtagh thought, relaxing a little. There were two steps of footsteps, however, and that was strange. Guards usually patrolled alone. He wondered as they neared, who the second person was.

His breath stilled in his chest as they reached his position. It was Galbatorix, striding ahead of the guard. He wondered morbidly if that breath would be his last.

As the guard passed, some odd quirk of fate made his head turn to the right as he passed the alcove. For one terrible moment Murtagh was convinced he wouldn't take another breath. However, as he looked upon the dragonlet, his head snapped round to the front and walked quickly forward without a word. Murtagh was sure that he had been the man who had first brought him to Galbatorix.

In his wake, he left Murtagh in turmoil. Confusion, relief, gratefulness and horror warred in his mind as he begun to stagger up the stairs once more. Murtagh had survived now, but Galbatorix was almost certainly heading to Eragon.


That guard, you may have guessed, is going to figure a little more prominently pretty soon. Tiny spoiler there. What did you guys think?