Inspired by CP's "buckets of Murtagh" comment during his interview on Shur'tugal with Mike Maculay.

"It's no secret: Fans love Murtagh. Can we expect to see more of him in Book 4?"

"Lots more. Gallons of Murtagh. Buckets of Murtagh. Giant pools of Murtagh... I've said to much, haven't I?"

Yes. Yes you have.


Murtagh plodded down Fleet Street, weaving his way through the crowds. It was one of those rare days when the King had nothing for him to do, and there was no need for him to remain in the castle. Thorn was napping(again, but he supposed that re-growing your tail would cause a rather significant drain of energy... and he was just a baby dragon, after all), which gave him a rare, golden opportunity of privacy. Relatively speaking.

It wasn't often that he got to do this, he reflected as he stepped around a puddle of mud. There was always something going on- books to study, missions to embark on, people to kill, dragons to ride, nobles to talk to, names to change. But now, now there was only him, a nameless man walking through the slums of the Capital. It was rather liberating, just existing like this with no duty's to uphold. He could do anything, be anything like this.

He was suddenly aware of a heavenly smell- the alluring, homely scent of fresh baked pies. Meat pies- he wasn't sure what kind of meat, but it smelled delicious. Perhaps he would buy one...

The source of the smell was a small bakery on the other side of the road. It seemed to be very popular, as the line of customers traveled down the street. On the building's second story, there was a barber shop. How odd, he thought, that the businesses should occupy the same building. Usually the second floor was devoted to the owner's living quarters.

He fingered the ends of his hair. It was getting longer,reaching past his shoulders now. He scowled. Morzan had always worn his hair long... perhaps he should get it cut. Besides, hadn't Eragon made a jab at his hair during their last battle? Rather ironic seeing as he was the one who couldn't grow a beard, but the insult still stood. Speaking of beards, his was getting a bit scruffy- he should really stay on top of that whole shaving thing. Using magic for mundane purposes was still a bit of a new concept to him, and his razor blades were getting dull.

Without a second thought, he crossed the street and climbed the stairs that led to the barber's. He could treat himself to a snack, afterwards.


Galbatorix was having and awful day. Thorn had just woken up, shrieking about Murtagh dying and it had taken him and Shruikan as well as ten of the eldunari to subdue him. And that was only after the vast majority of the servants had been driven insane by the dragon's antics. He really needed to hire more resilient hands.

But that was besides the point. The point was, Murtagh- his most valuable asset(besides the hundreds of bodiless dragons held in his secret treasury) was either dead, or in a coma so severe that even Thorn couldn't penetrate it. Or he was passed out from excess amounts of alcohol,, but the later didn't seem likely. It was still morning, and Murtagh wasn't a heavy enough drinker to even consider getting drunk at this hour.

So that left the first two options, neither of which were very appealing. It would mean that he didn't have an ultra-powerful right hand to do his bidding while he sat in the palace and watched. It would mean... making an effort.

Some things were just to horrible to consider.

"My Lord...?"

Galbatorix was roused from his musings by the voice of a young servant girl(one of the few who managed to survive Thorn's tantrum unscathed). She was holing a white box in her hands.

The king inwardly beamed. At last, something to redeem the day!

"Did my weekly delivery come?"

The girl nodded mutely. She wasn't, he noted, the one that usually brought him his pasties. Erica was probably receiving treatment...

"Well, don't just stand there, bring them over!" Honestly, if this is what was considered 'strong willed' in his serving staff...

After the box of pies was set down on his desk and the servant girl had fled the room, Galbatorix opened the box and inhaled the scent of freshly baked meat pie. Nellie always was the best cook- he didn't see why she insisted on staying on little old Fleet Street- not when she could be employed in the palace.

But this was not important now. No, the first matter of business was the locating of Murtagh's body. He took a bite out of the pie and reached for a scrying mirror.

"Draumr kopa" he said, his voice slightly distorted by the food that was in his mouth.

The sight that greeted him was nothing short of grotesque.

Oh, he found Murtagh, all right. Buckets of him, sitting on a counter top, with bloody pieces of flesh overflowing from them. Sitting next to the buckets was a large meat grinder... and a dozen small, piping hot meat pies.


So, was I the only one who found what CP said... really disturbing?

And, if you haven't already figured it out, or have never heard of it... this was an X-over with Sweeney Todd. I own neither universe.

Happy Halloween!