SO MUCH ANGST-
Sorry. Fair warning, though.
This chapter is only slightly AU and follows the general plotline of Eldest. It's set during the battle of the Burning Plains, and it's only AU because Thorn hasn't hatched for Murtagh yet, so the tale gets adjusted accordingly. Thanks so much to everyone who left reviews and favorited or alerted this chapter! And I hope you enjoy!
Oh, and a SPECIAL THANKS to Naerys Targaryen, who looked up the quote from Eldest (written in italics) for me that I used towards the end of this chapter, in record time, too. You are seriously the best!
ON WITH THE ANGST
"You," Eragon snarled, his voice shaking with fury. He could have said all the things he had said before- added on all the creative curses he could possibly think of that he had voiced so passionately to Oromis at the Craigs of Tel'naeir, when he first discovered they had left him to die- but none of them seemed fitting enough, now. Nothing could describe the utter disgust and loathing he felt for the two creatures before him- they were not fit to be called men.
The Twins smiled. "Us," they said together.
Eragon drew Zar'roc. For once the blade seemed to match his mood, gleaming madly in the red haze of the Burning Plains as though thirsty for blood. He saw Roran, off to his left, brandish his hammer. He took a step forward-
One of the Twins raised a hand. "Not so fast, Shadeslayer," he said, his voice laced with contempt. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Eragon pointed Zar'roc at them. "Your silver tongues and lies will not divert me," he swore.
"Oh, this might," hissed the other, grinning evilly. "You may want to heed our words-"
"Or you will never discover what happened to your precious friend Murtagh."
Fury boiled within Eragon at the words, even as something wrenched deep within him- sorrow and anger and guilt. "I know now!" he snarled. "You killed him!"
"Killed him?" asked one in a mockery of shock.
"Found his bloody clothes at the bottom of the chasm, did you?' asked the other.
"Couldn't scry him, could you?"
"Wasn't that a neat trick?"
Bitterness tasted sour in Eragon's mouth. As much as he would believe their words, he knew better. "This is a trick," Eragon growled, bringing Zar'roc up to bear in both hands, planting his feet. "Spare me your lies." That they would use Murtagh's memory for their own malicious purposes filled him with an uncharacteristic hatred.
They smiled again- in perfect, eerie synchronization- and then said, at the same time, "Murtagh Morzanson is alive."
In the Ancient Language.
Eragon froze. His stomach felt like it had dropped like a stone, and the battlefield seemed to fall strangely quiet for a moment before all the sound returned, pressing against his ears. No…
Dread and horror and fear and wild, wild hope all collided within him at once, because Murtagh was alive-
And had been captured by the Twins, who were now in the service of the Empire…
No…
Their grins now stretched across their faces impossibly tight, giving them the visages of grotesque clowns, or the faces of the gargoyles that adorned the wicked, twisted cathedral he had once entered in Dras-Leona.
"Murtagh Morzanson is not dead-," one repeated in the common tongue.
"But by now, he probably wishes he could be."
"Would it ease your mind, Shadeslayer, to know that while you wile away the days beneath the pines with the elves, Murtagh despairs, alone in the dark?"
"Would it help for you to hear his voice, hear his screams?"
Oromis had taught him to control his emotions, but at the moment, all he could see were the Twins' leering smiles through a red haze. Heedless of the danger, all of Eragon's reckless rage burst forth. "Brisingr!" he screamed, and blue fire exploded from his hand, jetting toward the Twins.
Eragon! Warned Saphira's distant voice. This is what they want!
The fire parted on either side of the Twins, and then he felt their combined consciousness assault the barriers of his mind.
Eragon whirled around, rallying his defenses for the mental attack while he barely called out a spell to hold off the flames they deflected back at him. The Twins had done what they had set out to do- by revealing Murtagh's capture, they had thrown him off balance, incited his rage instead of his caution, and now their mind-probes slammed against his barriers like battering rams.
But Eragon was not the same sixteen-year-old boy who had allowed them to search his mind in Farthen Dur. The Twins had clearly grown more powerful, but he and Saphira had grown more powerful still. He felt her, in the back of his mind, ready to lend her strength, just as he sensed Roran hesitate on the edge of the battle, before turning his hammer on any who dared interfere. And as the Twins tried to break through his defenses, they met an impossible wall.
Eragon emptied his mind of everything but the Twins. The gleam of their bald heads through the smoke, the vicious glitter of their beetle-like eyes, his hatred for every feature, every expression, every look. It was surprisingly easy, he realized, to defend one's mind from one's attacker, if one made the assailant they were trying to defeat the center of their focus and object of their fixation.
He felt their confusion, at first, and then their fear, as they searched around every curve of his consciousness and could find nothing but his hatred staring back at them, no way in or around his wall, no weak spots as they slammed against his armor. Then, with the combined strength of Saphira, Eragon lashed out at them, his thoughts and feelings formed into a lance that launched from his mind towards theirs, stabbing into their thoughts like an icy spear.
He felt them wince, felt their horror and panic. They tried to retreat into the safety of their own thoughts, and now he crashed against their defenses, battering against their walls like a hurricane, grinding them down, feeling their pain, their fear-
And then one of those minds suddenly flashed red and white in agony, and then disappeared.
Eragon opened his eyes, shocked, and saw Roran standing there- over one of the bodies of the Twins, whose head had been bashed in, his hammer dripping red. He had taken advantage of their stillness and snuck in on them when none had noticed. He raised his hammer and grave a great war cry.
The other twin screamed and raised a hand toward Roran- purple fire gathered around his fingers-
"No!" shouted Eragon, launching himself forward. He swung Zar'roc in a wild arc, and there was a flash of red as the singing steel cut through muscle and tendon and bone.
The magician screamed again and collapsed to his knees, clutching the stump that had once been his left hand. Eragon darted down and seized a fistful of his robes, jarring him violently, laying the point of Zar'roc against the man's neck.
Eragon stared into the horrified face of the man he had come to detest so much, his hatred and revulsion and fury swirl inside of him like a tightly-leashed storm. The hand that held Zar'roc shook. "Where is he?" he asked quietly, voice trembling with rage.
A garbled string of nonsense came out of the magician's mouth. And then he laughed.
Eragon forced him down into the dirt, Zar'roc bared across his throat. "Where is he?" he roared.
The magician laughed again, baring crooked, pointed teeth to the sky. "Poor little Rider- helpless and alone- poor little Murtagh, with no one to save him-"
"Tell me!" Eragon's voice felt loud even to his own ears- imbued with magic, the ground shook beneath his feet at his words, and stones rattled in the earth. It seemed to snap the magician out of his brief madness.
"Where do you think?" hissed the Twin, terror glinting in his eyes. "He's in Uru'baen, you stupid boy."
Uru'baen.
He should have known.
The man saw his expression- and maybe even some of the determination banked there, because he gave a twisted smile that seemed to split his face, like a dry crack in the earth. "Try and save him, Dragon Rider, Shadeslayer. Try and save Murtagh from him, knowing that he suffers each day that passes- each day you have idled by. Just try."
And Eragon could see it in the Twin's open mind now- images of Murtagh, chained, helpless, screaming, tortured by the very man before him-
Eragon!
Saphira. She was close- he felt her presence draw near.
Eragon withdrew from the Twin's consciousness and from his body, staggering back on his feet before he did something born out of hatred that he knew he would regret. The man blinked at him, then his eyes narrowed, glittering with a calculating light. "Can't finish the job, Rider? Still have the stomach of a farm boy?" Despite his spiteful words, Eragon could hear the relief in his voice, the pathetic weakness.
Eragon wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "No," he said. "Not me."
Saphira landed heavily on the ground with an earth-jarring rattle. He felt her bloodlust and her fury, her anger at the betrayal and Eragon's inner pain. Her head lashed forward with a growl, and her fangs sank into the magician.
His shrill screams could probably be heard all across the battlefield and made Eragon's scalp prickle. She lashed her head, back and forth, the twin clutched in her jaws- and still he screamed; horrible, wailing screams, until at last she threw him upon the ground, pinned him with a heavy paw, and bent to finish the job.
Eragon turned away.
The battle raged all around him, but now it felt as though he saw it all through some strange haze- sounds were distorted, sights seemed unreal. Maybe it was the smoke. Maybe it was him. He brushed past a silent, staring Roran without a word, too numb to offer an explanation. All he could feel was the pit inside his stomach, the horror and the dread and the guilt eating him from the inside out, because if there was one thing Eragon could not stand, more than anything in the world--Once I dedicate myself to a certain project or oath, I see it through, no matter the cost…especially if someone I love is in danger- it was the suffering of those he held dear.
Murtagh was in Uru'baen.
His head bowed, he stared at Zar'roc sightlessly, gleaming with blood in his hand.
Murtagh was in Uru'baen.
He was going to be sick.
Murtagh was in Uru'baen.
Anywho, I can totally see Galbatorix telling the Twins to let Eragon know he's got Murtagh, for the same reasons he wouldn't have told Murtagh to keep Eragon's heritage a secret. He knows what it'll do to Eragon, and if he's learned ANTYHING about Eragon by now from what the Twins saw digging around in his head, it's that he'll do anything to protect the people he cares about- especially when it comes to rescuing. Why didn't the Twins tell Eragon they thought he was the son of Morzan?
…quite frankly, I didn't really have it in me. I am totally capable of that much angst, let me assure you, but I definitely would have needed Eldest as a close reference for Eragon's reaction because I haven't read the book in so long, and all my books are at my dorm, but primarily I didn't put it in because it would have stolen the spotlight from the whole 'oh by the way we've got Murtagh, sucker' thing. SO SORRY I keep leaving these long-ass A/N's for y'all to read. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
Hope you liked!