Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle and promise to put the toys back in the toy box when I finish playing.

Chapter 10

The Green Hatchling

Murtagh's footfalls echoed loudly in his ears as he walked down the empty hallways toward the drawing room. The green dragon's hatching kept replaying in his mind before melting into Thorn's in his mind's eye. His insides were tight as he considered everything that had just happened; his whole body still tingled from his contact with the hatchling. He didn't know what to make of it.

He paused when he came to the closed doors. He attempted to collect himself before grasping the handles and entering. He immediately sought out Galbatorix as he took a step into the room. The king stood in front of the fireplace, which had a small blaze crackling within. He turned and nodded at Murtagh's appearance.

The younger Rider strode into the room before kneeling a safe distance from the king's physical reach. It didn't make him any safer considering the king's magic, but it irrationally made Murtagh feel better. He kept his eyes on the carpet, though his instincts wanted him to ascertain the king's mood. He didn't need to see Galbatorix's face to sense his smugness, however.

And why shouldn't the king be? Of the four known extant dragons, Galbatorix now controlled three, as well as holding Eragon's cousin's life in his hands. Rumors of internal squabbling in the Varden since Roran's capture meant fracturing in the sole resistance to the king's power. Oromis was dead at Galbatorix's hand by proxy of Murtagh, so the Elves were also severely weakened.

Yes, Galbatorix had every reason to be smug.

"Rise, Murtagh," the king's voice murmured from above.

The red Rider did as he was bidden. He looked up as he straightened to see Galbatorix's black eyes studying him while a smirk played at his lips. Murtagh said nothing, awaiting the reason for his summons. Galbatorix did not wait long to speak.

"How will Stronghammer fare as a Rider?"

Murtagh blinked at the unexpected question. "Well enough, I am sure." Galbatorix's eyes narrowed, prompting the younger man to continue. "His skills with a blade improve daily. We already know of his abilities with a hammer…"

"And his mind?" Galbatorix asked. A loaded question if ever there was one.

"His wits are quick and he has a knack for tactics," Murtagh replied carefully. "He is a quick study."

"Excellent."

Murtagh remained silent, but something must have shown on his face since Galbatorix lifted a questioning eyebrow. "He has great potential," the red Rider said, "but he remains hesitant in his current state."

"Because he is still broken," Galbatorix deduced. Murtagh hadn't been able to bring himself to say it, but he nodded his silent agreement. "Thus he is perfect clay to mold into a loyal Rider. Right, Murtagh?"

A sudden force knocked into Murtagh's mental barrier and he gasped in surprise at the attempted intrusion. He repelled the attack, but a second blow followed immediately. This time Murtagh recognized his attacker.

"You repel me, Murtagh?" Galbatorix whispered dangerously.

Murtagh swallowed and his breaths shortened. The king could access Murtagh's mind at any time, but the red Rider had barred off the most private section once more, carefully piecing his walls back together after the king had broken him down so thoroughly those many months before. His oaths in the Ancient Language allowed no loophole for the king's reach into his mind, so Murtagh tried not to tempt the king into delving so deeply once again.

"Murtagh," the king repeated in a low growl.

Reluctantly, Murtagh dropped his mental guard—he had much he did not want to the king to discover, like his interest in true names or what had happened with the green hatchling—and a shudder ran through him as the king's tainted presence seeped into his mind like a miasma.

"Now that's a good boy," Galbatorix purred.

Murtagh forced himself to remain still as the king probed his memories of his time spent with Roran. After what seemed like an eternity, Galbatorix withdrew from his Rider's mind without showing any interest in what lay deeper. The king, Murtagh realized with a jolt, only wanted to assert his dominance once more.

"Indeed, it seems our Roran has much latent talent after all." Galbatorix turned back to the fire, resting an arm on the mantle. "His training must begin immediately."

"Yes, Sir."

"You will continue your weapons training with him."

"As you wish."

"You will also begin teaching him the Ancient Language."

Murtagh swallowed. "My Lord?"

Galbatorix smiled coldly. "You are more than proficient in the tongue, Murtagh. You will teach him." At Murtagh's jerked nod, he continued. "I will begin his magical training myself soon. I will return when the time is right to begin."

He wants Roran proficient enough in the Ancient Language to swear oaths of fealty before beginning his magical training, Murtagh realized. He looked at the king, who was smiling.

"Indeed, son of my great friend."

Murtagh tensed. The king hadn't completely left his mind, but the younger man hadn't realized it. How foolish he had been. Just because he didn't feel the king's presence didn't mean he wasn't there. And Galbatorix wanted him to remember that. Murtagh swallowed as worry welled up in his gut.

"The Varden won't be able to stand against two Riders when they could barely handle one," Galbatorix said, crossing his arms against his chest. "They will fall. And perhaps I'll take their pretty leader for myself."

He paused and turned a questioning glance at Murtagh. "Unless you find that objectionable, Murtagh?"

Murtagh's hands tightened into fists at his sides. The king knew of his feelings for Nasuada from his breaking—nothing had remained sacred that day. Galbatorix knew it and enjoyed making him squirm with his intimate knowledge.

"If that is my king's wish, then so it shall be," Murtagh replied, clenching his jaw.

Galbatorix nodded with a knowing smile. "The Varden will fall and Eragon and Saphira will be mine. We shall rebuild the Riders under me. And," Galbatorix added, "your family will be reunited. Where they belong."

A pang racked Murtagh's chest. No matter how many times Galbatorix brought it up, the pain never receded and the vain hope of some type of future was kindled. His family…

"Yes, my Lord," he whispered hoarsely.

"Good. You may go." As Murtagh turned for the doors, the king's voice interrupted him. "And Murtagh, don't think ill of your father. I don't."

Roran lay on a couch with his hatchling resting contentedly on his chest when the antechamber burst open. Roran jerked upright in surprise while his dragon yelped and grasped into his skin as not to fall off. He immediately put a hand under it in support, but the hatchling only dug his tiny claws deeper into Roran's chest. He tried to gently pry the infant creature off him unsuccessfully as Murtagh stomped past. Roran considered asking what had happened but thought better of it at the look on the red Rider's face. The king had done something to get under his skin, but Roran thought himself and his hatchling safer not asking.

Murtagh strode past Roran without so much as a glance and threw the bedroom door open. He was about to slam it closed when he paused and turned to his companion.

"We will continue training tomorrow," he said curtly. Roran's stomach sank. "And we will begin instruction in the Ancient Language."

"What?" the younger man exclaimed. "I cannot even read our own tongue!"

Murtagh pinched the bridge of his nose. Roran tensed but his hatchling purred into his chest and released his death grip on Roran's skin and slid down into his lap. Murtagh's expression changed to something unreadable and he sighed.

"We'll work on that, too. You need proficiency in the Ancient Language before you can become skilled in magic."

"Magic?" Roran echoed in surprise. "But I'm no magician."

"Your magic comes from your dragon," Murtagh replied, rolling his shoulders as though he would rather not be talking about this. "As does mine. And Galbatorix's. And Eragon's."

Roran's chest tightened at the mention of his cousin. With the newness of his dragon and the bond—it wasn't uncomfortable; it felt completely natural and like it completed him, but he also felt vulnerable and barren to this creature that now shared a part of him—he hadn't considered Eragon. How would his cousin react to him being a Rider as well?

Proud, probably. And excited that they now shared something so important…And sad that, for now at least, Roran and his dragon were in the enemy's hands.

But if he really cared, a small voice in the back of his mind argued, wouldn't he have tried to rescue you already and save you agony and torture?

"I see," Roran replied at length, distracted by the accusation in ringing through his head.

Murtagh opened his mouth but seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say. Without another word, he shut the door behind him with a finality that would repel any potential interruption. Roran's hatchling yelped and buried its head into Roran's chest. The new Rider stroked his dragon absently.

"It's okay, little one," he assured it protectively, though he wasn't sure he believed it himself.

A questioning feeling suddenly hit Roran, and it took a moment for him to realize his dragon was asking him something. He breathed out. This was going to take some getting used to no matter how natural it felt. He smiled weakly at the green creature that was watching him with a titled head, his tail flapping expectantly.

"It's okay because we found each other," he told it.

The dragon purred its approval, and Roran was left to wonder where the words had come from; they'd left his mouth before he realized what he was saying. Yet they felt right.

He wondered if moments like this were common for Riders.

As he stroked the dragon's small frame, exhaustion washed over him. The events of the day hit him all at once, and for a moment he felt like he was drowning under the weight of it all.

But his hatchling's presence kept him anchored. His eyelids drooped under sudden weight and he felt the dragon snuggling comfortably against his chest. For a brief moment, things seemed right.

"Roran, are you going to lie about all day?" a gruff voice called through the darkness.

Roran jerked upright in bed. The sun was rising over the Spine—he'd overslept. No wonder his father was yelling at him. He had chores to attend to. He leapt from his bed, pulling a tunic over his head and jumping into his boots in one swift motion. He hopped through the kitchen, tying his boots and grabbing a cooling biscuit from the empty table. By the time he'd left the front door, he had just finished chewing.

"Here I am," he called.

Eragon looked up from the woodpile he was chopping. "Glad you could join us," he joked with a smile.

Roran grinned back. But something in the back of his mind told him that this wasn't right. What was wrong, however, he could not tell.

"Garrow's looking for you," his cousin informed him with a nod of his head toward the shed.

Roran shook his head. "He shouldn't need help back there." Eragon shrugged and Roran turned toward the shed. He paused and looked back at his cousin, something sparking in his mind. "How is Saphira?"

Eragon inclined his head curiously, leaning against his axe. "Saphira?" He frowned thoughtfully. "That name sounds familiar."

Roran frowned. "Your dragon?"

Eragon nearly choked, the sound coming out something between a snort and a laugh. "Dragon? Roran, you know dragons haven't been seen in centuries!" He peered at his cousin. "But aye, that reminds me of where I have heard that name. You've been talking to Brom, haven't you?"

"What? No." But that couldn't be right. Eragon had a dragon. Roran was certain of it.

"Shouldn't you be more worried about Katrina than some imaginary dragon?" Eragon asked seriously. "If you don't act soon, Sloan will promise her to someone else. You know he doesn't like you."

"Sloan likes no one," Roran muttered, but he still felt his stomach clench. Could this be right? He jumped as he felt a firm hand settle on his shoulder. He turned to see his father beaming down at him.

"Are you boys talking about women again?" Garrow asked knowingly.

Eragon blushed before picking his axe up once more. "Not me." He swung at a block of wood. "I'm more interested in a good hunt in the woods, anyway."

"You will not always think that way, Eragon," Garrow told him. "Someday you shall find the right woman." He clapped his son on the shoulder. "Like Roran here."

Roran couldn't help but smile at the thought of Katrina. He remembered their secret meetings to avoid her father's wrath—and butcher's tools—her promise to wait for him, their wedding…

Wait, wedding?

"Well, will you look at that!" Garrow exclaimed suddenly. "It is as if we summoned her ourselves."

Katrina was walking the path up to their home. She held a bundle in her arms. Garrow backed away from Roran to give him space while Eragon dropped the axe and watched her approach curiously. She rarely came to visit his home; rather, they either met halfway or in the village.

"Katrina," he whispered hoarsely. It felt like it had been an eternity since he had last seen his beloved. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered and more. She was perfect. And she was his.

That wasn't right…He hadn't even asked Sloan yet—for he knew what the butcher would say. He had to prove he could support Katrina before he dared propose.

"Good morning, Roran," she greeted. Her voice was the sweetest music on the air. She was a good spirit taken flesh. He loved her so much and could not believe his blessings that she loved him in return.

So why did it seem like he had been neglecting her?

Katrina stopped in front of Roran, the bundle in her arms wriggling underneath the blankets. Roran felt suddenly choked up. Could this be their child? He had been away for a long time; it might have been born already.

Roran blinked before blushing. Child? He was getting far too ahead of himself. They had done nothing more than kiss, and even that was in secret for fear of Sloan. His cheeks burned at the thought. Yet…

"My love," Katrina began, looking into his eyes, "you know I love you more than life itself."

"And I you," Roran told her. Somehow that sentiment seemed particularly important.

"And you know that you complete me. You are everything to me. You are my soul mate," she continued.

"As you are mine," Roran replied, wondering what had brought this about so that it needed to be said in front of his father and cousin. "My heart belongs to you."

She frowned at him, tears forming in her eyes. "Then how do you explain this?" she asked, presenting the bundle.

Suddenly drawn to the pile in his beloved's hands, Roran reached for it, but before he could uncover it, a green head popped out—a green dragon head. The hatchling squeaked excitedly at seeing Roran. He could sense its happiness at seeing him, his confusion at what was going on, and his desire to be held by Roran.

"What is that?" Eragon asked in awe.

"Roran, what—?" Garrow trailed off.

"He is my dragon," Roran whispered. "And I am his Rider."

"He is your soul mate," Katrina accused. "Not me."

Roran bolted upright, Katrina's name on his lips. His heart was pounding and his face covered in sweat. He cast about the room to regain his bearings—the tainted, haunted possessions of Morzan quickly sobered him. He wasn't in Carvahall, his father was dead, Eragon and Saphira were (hopefully) with the Varden, as was Katrina. And Roran…well, he didn't care to think about that.

A questioning feeling, not his own, struck him. He looked down and started at the pair of emerald eyes shining up at him through the dark. The hatchling sat in his lap, looking up at him. Roran couldn't help but smile.

"Hullo, little one," he murmured.

And then it hit him. Katrina. His wife, the mother of his unborn child, was out in the world somewhere. She was probably worried sick about him, faithful to him as always, and here he was, hatching a dragon. He had promised her that only she belonged in his heart, that he loved her above all else as in his dream, but he had broken that promise. His subconscious was reminding him of that failing.

A dragon and Rider connected magically and spiritually. Neither was complete without the other—how Roran had thought he felt about his bride. But now this hatchling had taken over that bond. And Roran knew instinctively that this green dragon would come before all else. He couldn't help but feel violated. This wasn't his choice!

The questioning feeling strengthened. Roran gave the hatchling a wan smile. "Just a dream," he told it.

The hatchling growled in disbelief and Roran shook his head. He knew from Eragon that there were no secrets between dragon and Rider, but watching the newborn creature eye him so deliberately made him understand. He felt the truth of it.

"You're right, I'm not being honest."

A huff.

"I'm worried."

A chirp.

"And unsure."

A purr.

"And guilty."

The hatchling nuzzled against his gedwëy ignasia and a warm tingle shot through his body. Roran suddenly felt comforted and sure. He shivered, wide-eyed.

"Did you do that?" he asked the dragon breathlessly.

The dragon eyed him levelly, an expression far beyond his years—or hours. Yes, the look said. Who else would it be?

"A foolish question," Roran couldn't help but chuckle. "A foolish question from your foolish Rider."

Roran blinked as he realized he had referred to himself as a Rider. The hatchling squeaked happily.

I only hope Katrina can love you as much as I do. And that she will forgive me. If I ever see her again.

tbc…

Revised as of September 2, 2011.