Guilty Innocence Chapter 21: How To Break A Man, an inheritance cycle fanfic

Murtagh yawned

A/N: Hey thanks to all of you who reviewed! Limh (laugh in my head). I think I've kept you waiting long enough! ;) Oh, and I kinda scared myself with this a little… please tell me I'm at least semi-normal. :(

Disclaimer:I do not own Eragon.

Chapter 21: How to Break a Man

"Murtagh, Murtagh," hissed the king mockingly. Nasuada was still clung tightly in his grasp. "The time has finally come. I told you it would happen. But did you listen? No. Now it's time to break you beyond repair." He grinned.

"Where's Thorn?" moaned Murtagh, his skull bleeding profusely. "What did you do with him?"

"Nothing!" said Galbatorix, pretending to look affronted. "He's in Surda safe in sound… where he can do neither me nor you any harm. You see, Trianna's been a loyal little slave. If Thorn tried to come, you would die, as Trianna pointed out, so he stayed back in that rathole desert you call Surda. Now, enough about the dragon, I want to give your brother a little lesson. How to break a man 101. Catchy, huh?"

Eragon was shaking with unidentifiable feelings. Was it hate for the king? Fear for his brother? Or maybe it was love for Murtagh? All three? "If you think I'm going to hurt him you have another thing coming."

Galbatorix's eyes flickered to the youngest rider. "Think? Psh. I don't think, Shadeslayer. I know." He kissed Nasuada's cheek, watching the two boys' reactions. "I'll kill her if you don't."

"Then kill me," she spat, hatred distorting her features.

Eragon glanced at his brother. His heart began pounding double time. He knew that expression. Do it, it said.

Eragon shook his head. No.

"Do it, Eragon," cried Murtagh weakly, his eyes flickering to Nasuada. "The Varden can't survive without her."

"No, Murtagh, I won't."

"Here, perhaps I should give you a demonstration?" inquired the king. He grabbed the whip dripping with vinegar from Eragon and positioned himself so Nasuada was securely in one arm and the whip held by the other. He raised the saturated whip. "Take off his shirt, Eragon."

Eragon gently unbuckled Murtagh's tunic, untied his wrists (knowing Murtagh wouldn't go anywhere), took the tunic off, and then he followed suit with his brother's black shirt. He tied Murtagh's hands back together again. A loud clunk resounded through the halls. A large, jagged mirror piece fell to the floor. Well, that's odd. Why would a piece of broken mirror be in his tunic?

Then Eragon put two and two together, gasping. "Murtagh! Why…I thought…"

"I wasn't going to use it!" exclaimed Murtagh, his eyes pleading and glassy with unshed tears. "I swear, I stopped, Eragon… I swear."

"But…why?"

Murtagh stared at the ground, miserable. "I'm sorry, Eragon. It's…an addiction. I've tried so hard to stop, but it's a release. Self-inflicted feels so much more different than unwillingly inflicted…" His eyes begged Eragon to understand.

"It's okay, Murtagh," said Eragon quietly, "I know. Don't worry about it," he soothed. They had a much more pressing matter at the moment…

"Pay close attention, Eragon," said Galbatorix, the wet whip still raised.

Eragon saw out of the corner of his eye his brother tense, preparing himself, and Eragon's heart broke even further. He closed his eyes…

CRACK! The simultaneous hiss from Murtagh and the snap of the whip was unmistakable.

"Open your eyes, Shadeslayer," came Galbatorix's sneering voice.

Eragon obliged, timid of what he might see. As he peered through his eyelids, he saw Murtagh's head lowered, his teeth clenched. The black, sharp whip was still embedded in his skin, wrapped around his entire midsection like a thin leather boa constrictor.

"Now," said Galbatorix professionally, "The key to breaking a man is beating him so hard he wets himself. Once that happens, humiliation normally burns his face and he's yours to do what you like with, for his pride has been destroyed with just a little urine. In order to do that, you usually want to thrust the whip at him with all your might and than ever so slowly pull it back. You develop a sort of rhythm. Trust me, you'll get the hang of it."

To Eragon's horror, the king demonstrated how to "slowly pull it back." He gently tugged on the whip, causing droplets of blood to roll down Murtagh's abdomen and giving the vinegar plenty of time to take affect. Murtagh's breathing was strained and his body tight.

Galbatorix handed Eragon the beating tool. "Your turn!" he said in mock excitement.

Eragon shakily and unwillingly accepted the whip. He just stood there for what felt like several hours or several seconds. "I…I can't," he whispered.

"You don't have a choice," slithered the king's voice in his ears.

"Do it," muttered Murtagh. "I'll be okay."

"I'm sorry," breathed the youngest.

His brother looked up at him through sweaty brown locks and beautiful electric blue eyes. "It's all right. It's not your fault. Against your will."

Be strong, said Saphira. I can't come. He might kill you all if I do.

Eragon nodded. I'll try to be strong.

He slowly raised the whip, a foreboding feeling twisting in his stomach. He weakly tossed the whip in Murtagh's general direction.

Murtagh winced, but it was hardly noticeable. His breathing wasn't ragged like Eragon expected. He saw the thorns and rocks hardly cling on to Murtagh's skin. He pulled the whip back as quickly as possible, seeing Murtagh cringe as he did so.

"That. Was. The. Wimpiest. Lash. I. Have. Ever. Seen," stated Galbatorix melodramatically. "The weaker the lash, the more you have to hit him, boy."

"Harder, Eragon," said Murtagh, gazing right into Nasuada's eyes for a moment. She looked positively blanch, especially for such ebony skin. "Harder!"

"Again." The king.

Eragon lifted the whip, determined not to think about what he was doing. He closed his eyes and slashed away, this time harder. Crack!

Oof. Murtagh's breath whooshed out of him for a second. Eragon opened his eyes and slowly pulled away the whip.

Murtagh had more beads of blood and raw skin, infected by the vinegar, which was almost all used up.

Eragon couldn't help it. He broke down, sinking to his knees. Tears streamed down his face in a very unmanly fashion. "I can't do it!" he cried.

"Yes," wheezed Murtagh. "You can. You must." The mulish look crossed his agonized face. The one that put him in so much damned trouble. "Do it!"

Eragon took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating.

Crack! Murtagh hissed, sucking in his breath. The whip sluggishly removed itself from his body, stealing his skin with it. "Not his fault," Eragon heard him mumble.

Crack! Eragon began to recollect himself some. The quicker I get this over with, the sooner Murtagh will finish his torture session.

Crack!

Eragon was getting the hang of this now. He understood what Galbatorix meant by a rhythm. His body received a certain flow to the beating. Like a dance. A twisted, perverted dance. The crack of the whip was the harmony, Murtagh's coexisting hiss - the melody, and the tugging of the rope - the beat. And Eragon hated every second of it.

The glass shard formally in Murtagh's tunic was drowning in blood; Murtagh himself was breathing heavily.

"Hmmm," pondered Galbatorix. "About twenty more lashed, Eragon. I think that should be enough."

Murtagh stared at his feet. Not his fault, not his fault… His brother had whipped him nine times. Not his fault…

Crack!

Not his fault…

Crack! Vinegar pulsed through his veins, causing his heart to speed up and his lungs to malfunction. How do you breathe, again?

Not his fault…

But when the twelve crack!came, his mind began slipping. Not his fault…

Crack!

Not whose fault? What's going on? Why was he drenched in blood? Why did he throb so? A sticky red liquid blocked the eyesight in his left eye; his head pounded. Was his skull split? It sure as hell felt like it…

Crack! WHO IS HURTING HIM? WHY? WHY CAN'T THEY STOP? Not his fault… Not whose fault? What's going on? Huh? Wait, was that… Eragon? He gazed through the brown bangs plastered to his forehead. Indeed, his brother held a vinegar-covered whip. Not his fault.. 'His' must be Eragon, Murtagh concluded. Who else could it be?

Crack!

He could hardly hold his bladder anymore. Why did torture always do this to him? Galbatorix once said torture did that to everyone, but still…

Crack!

Why was Eragon hurting him so much? Didn't he know that vinegar on open wounds felt like a white hot iron on bare flesh? Why…

Crack!

Shit, his bladder… a few more lashes and screw the chamber pot…

Crack!

"Not your fault," Murtagh heard himself mutter. Who exactly was he talking about. Again, he gazed at Eragon… he was beating him… why? Was he still mad because of that fight they had? Murtagh felt a twinge of remorse. I'm sorry for getting mad at you… He felt Galbatorix reading his thoughts.

"Hmmm. You're getting to him, Eragon," said the king. Murtagh heard the tyrant strut over beside him and press his hand a few inches above his pants, directly over his bladder. "Hit him right there. Hard. Twice. As hard as you can, boy."

Murtagh braced himself, sucking in his breath. Here it comes…

Crack! Murtagh groaned. His bladder was about to explode! He heard some sniffles beside him. He gazed towards the noise. It was Nasuada, in tears. She was crying… why was she crying? His thoughts were so muddled he couldn't figure it out.

Then it happened.

CRACK!

Murtagh felt a warm trickling run down his legs. The stench of urine arose through the air, and his face turned bright red. It would all go down hill from there. It always did. But this time he felt like Galbatorix would break him too far. He would be thrown in the burner by the time this was over. Or worse…

Murtagh kneeled, his head limp. His pride ruined, he shed the tears he needed to shed since the day he swore fealty to Galbatorix. And right in front of Nasuada, too! They were probably all laughing at him right now! He could just imagine them pointing, teasing, snickering… His vision swirled and turned black.

Galbatorix yawned. "Well, that was interesting," he replied mildly. He held Nasuada closer to him, seeing her admiration in Murtagh's mind. He pointed to the crumpled, smelly, sleeping figure on the floor. "You see that man, Nasuada? Why would you love such a worthless piece of shit?"

Nasuada was practically hyperventilating. "He's not worthless. Both him and Eragon are fifty times the human you'll ever be you sadistic swine!" She spat in his face.

Galbatorix flinched and wiped away the spit. "Watch what you do, miss, or you're sweet over here will die."

Eragon watched with interest as Galbatorix whispered something in her ear.

Nasuada's eyes widened, and she stared at Murtagh with new tears. She sniffled; before Eragon realized what was going on, he was crying, too.

"Take him to the torture chamber, clean him up. He smells terrible."

Eragon hoisted Murtagh and tossed him in the underground pool of water. After a few seconds, Murtagh's head bobbed up, sputtering and gasping for air in the dark torture chamber.

Murtagh continued to tread water as the stench of lake instantly replaced the stench of urine.

How could he possible have the energy to kick his feet? Eragon had no idea, especially after what he just suffered. Blood still oozed from his brother's noggin.

"Well, Murtagh," said Galbatorix conversationally, "Less than thirty lashes. An all time low! Do you remember the time I whipped you two-hundred fifty times?" His eyes flickered to Eragon, and the elven boy felt his fists clench.

Eragon knew what Galbatorix was attempting: shake him up; make him lose control. But not this rider!

"Or the time I threw you in the bonfire? And your entire body was black and wrinkled with burns that I healed a few days later? Do you?" asked Galbatorix, trying not to enjoy himself; his grip still tight on the Varden leader.

"Yes," whispered Murtagh silently, the painful memory still etched on his face.

Neither Eragon nor Nasuada said anything. They just gaped at the king, speechless while Eragon's heart pounded with the blackest of hate he ever felt. He threw his brother in a bonfire and he was… laughing about it? Why didn't he see this in Murtagh's memories? Black magic…

"Or the time," continued the king nonchalantly, "that I slit your throat just so you would know what it felt like? And you lay sprawled on the floor desperately gasping for air until you begged me to heal you? Do you, Morzansson?"

"Yes," came Murtagh's humiliated and feeble voice.

"Or the time-"

"Stop it!" cried Nasuada's feminine voice. "Please, don't!"

"What's the matter?" sneered the king. "You prefer not to know what your loves been through? What he's experienced? Forgive me, for I assumed you would have; you could get to know him a little better." He grinned toothily. A sanguine, grimy smile and repeatedly kissed her throat. "You know," he said between taunting kisses, "There's many interesting things about Murtagh he never shared with you."

Nasuada tried with all her might to push the king away from her until he reluctantly did so. "Such as?"

"The fact he cuts himself."

"No!" pleaded Murtagh, still treading water. "I mean, I used to, but I don't anymore!"

Eragon observed the whole thing, his anger still burning within him.

"Then what was the glass shard…?"

"It wasn't anything!" spat Murtagh. "I swear on the statue of Helzvog. I wasn't planning on using it!"

"He speaks the truth," chided Eragon, his voice calm and shaky with unbelievable tension. "He doesn't do it anymore."

"Well, I bet he never told you he can still feel me in his mind," said Galbatorix.

"I explained that to her when we arrived in Surda, and Murtagh was aware of it," replied Eragon. "No need to tell her."

Galbatorix sighed. "My dear boy, you are so pathetic," he said, somewhat off subject. "You call yourself a dragon rider?" He pointed to one particularly battered Murtagh. "Look what you've done to him. Your own flesh and blood!" He pretended to act shocked. "How dare you!"

"JUST SHUT UP!" Eragon exploded. He couldn't take it anymore. "I DIDN'T DO THIS! YOU DID! YOU RUINED EVERYONES' LIVES! YOU MADE MY BROTHER ONE OF THE BIGGEST TRAITORS IN ALAGAESIAN HISTORY, AND HE DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING! HE'S YOUR SLAVE!" He couldn't contain himself. "I MEAN, DAMN IT!"

"Temper, temper," tsked Galbatorix. "I suggest you watch it or Murtie over here will drown." He laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, not that it really matters. In the end-" He was cut off by someone's fit of coughing.

Murtagh broke out hacking up his intestines. He hacked and hacked and hacked and hacke until he doubled over - which isn't very intelligent when in water. His head shot out of the lake smelling liquid, choking.

"Finally!" shrieked Galbatorix with glee. "What I've been waiting for! You see, Eragon, when a man treads water for long enough, they get cramped. Eventually the pangs increase until they can't stay afloat." He paused. "I say he's been in the pool for about thirty minutes."

Eragon, his blood still boiling, tried his best to ignore Galbatorix. He rushed to the side of the underground pool and knelt down. "Murtagh! Are you okay? Speak to me."

"I'm-" Murtagh clutched his side and temporarily sank under water.

Eragon's heart stopped. "Murtagh!"

Murtagh kicked to the surface after about twenty seconds.

"He needs to stay under for a minute before I'll let you save him, Shadeslayer," said Galbatorix.

Murtagh flopped his arms furiously, trying to stay afloat, only to cramp up again and sink beneath the surface.

Nasuada gasped. "Murtagh! Please, let us help him; he's drowning!"

Galbatorix sighed, stroking her chilled ear. "Nonsense, deary, this is all usual for him! Besides, he's only been under for around fifty seconds."

Ten more, Just stay down, Murtagh. though Eragon. It'll be over quicker if you just stay down.

Unfortunately, Murtagh's head cut through the water as he gasped for air yet again, panting.

Galbatorix grinned.

Murtagh sank under again.

This time he didn't come up.

The seconds passed. Eragon could almost see Murtagh's corpse, rubbery at the bottom of the pool… "How long has it been?"

"Oh, I'd say three minutes, but don't rescue him yet. I'm curious to see how long he'll last," answered Galbatorix.

"But he'll drown!"

"Hmm…" pondered the king. "I suppose you're right, Shadeslayer. It would ruin the fun if he died now. Go save him."

Eragon didn't even pull of his boots. He dove in the water fully garbed, searching blindly for his brother. Murtagh… Oh, Murtagh, where are you? He shouted Price Tag's name, but all the came out was a muffled mass of bubbles. He pounded against the liquid, his lungs feeling as if they would bleed. He needed to find Murtagh, but he knew his brother wouldn't want Nasuada alone with Galbatorix. The water's depths was entirely black when his fingertips finally brushed the bottom. Calm down, lungs…

He groped for what felt like hours; his lungs begging him to rise to the surface.

Wait! His right hand smacked against a boot, which attached to a leg, which attached to a torso, then an abdomen… Murtagh! He wrapped his arms around the bruised back of his weak big brother and furiously kicked upward until his head hit the surface, his lungs kissing him.

But Murtagh's lungs were filled with water.

Eragon thrust him out of the pool and quickly did so himself, turning Murtagh on his back to perform CPR on him for the second time in a month.

One, two, three,

Eragon spread apart Murtagh's cold blue lips and breathed for him.

One, two, three.

Breathe, Murtagh, please.

One, two, three.

Murtagh rolled over and regurgitated a whole mass of lake water, sputtering.

"Murtagh!" both his brother and lover cried as Eragon's shaking hands cupped his cold face.

"Bloody hell!" he hissed. "Don't scare me like that again, please!"

Murtagh just groaned.

Galbatorix smiled. "My gods, the life is almost out of him! I guess he just took one too many beatings." A distant expression crossed the king's face, and Eragon knew from elven intuition that he was searching Murtagh's mind.

"Hmmm," said the tyrant thoughtfully. "It looks like he's about ready for the loony branding. That should stick him in the mud with the other crazies."

Eragon half dragged, half carried Murtagh down the hallway and stopped in front of a metal door, Nasuada still held by Galbatorix and the knife still across her neck.

They entered the room.

Inside, a man sharpened a knife on a roller, sparks flying in every direction. Metal objects hung upon every black wall. A large furnace was the center of the chamber.

The man, who was incredibly fat, stopped sharpening and attempted an awkward bow and said, "Evening, your Highness." He scanned Murtagh interestedly. "He here for the loony branding?"

"Yes," replied Galbatorix.

"…Loony branding?" clarified Eragon.

Galbatorix snickered.

The fat man toddled over to a wall, scanning it until he plucked out a large metal rod with a handle on one end and a gigantic X on the other. He turned to the king. "Where do you want it, sire?"

"How about his torso, four inched to the right of his belly button?"

"You mean near his hip, sire?"

"Yep." The king turned to Eragon. "Now, remember this, Shadeslayer: when you break a man too far, he is of no use to you. The loony branding declares that little statement."

Eragon growled. "You are so sick!"

Murtagh had been moaning gently the whole time. Eragon doubted he realized this.

Meanwhile, the fat man had placed the X in the furnace, waiting for it to heat up.

Ten minutes passed until the iron was pulled out of the fire. The man grinned. "Nice 'n hot." He looked at Eragon. "Hold him down firmly. Very firmly. Understand?"

Eragon turned to glare at Galbatorix, seeing the knife across Nasuada's throat. He took a deep breath. "Okay."

Murtagh just groaned weakly, unaware of what was happening.

Eragon tensed, clutching Murtagh like a mother who couldn't keep her baby chic out of harm's way. He unwillingly pinned Murtagh down spread eagle with magic. "Relax, hun," he soothed, rubbing Murtagh's arm.

Murtagh appeared confused, as if he still didn't understand what was going on.

"Ready?" asked the fat man.

"Ready," said Eragon.

Slowly, the fat man inched forward, the iron held forward like a poking stick. He continued this until…

Murtagh shrieked out in total pain; his body jerked uncontrollably as he desperately attempted to escape from the iron as it hissed against the skin that attached his torso to his hip. "STOP! PLEASE!"

And then it happened just like that.

Eragon let go of Murtagh and took a few steps backed, shocked.

Murtagh lay on the floor and huddled together in a ball as the magic holding him ceased. One eye was wide open, the other half-closed; he was laughing hysterically. A high pitched, anti-Murtagh laugh.

He laughed so hard he rolled around on the floor, his hair wildly askew.

Galbatorix grinned. "My work here is done."

Eragon was frantic. Oh. My. Gods. Murtagh was crazy! He had been beaten so many times so brutally and humiliated so often and was always so lonely that he just… snapped.

Murtagh's giggling had ceased, and he stared at Galbatorix with mortal fear. He looked at Eragon with wide, toddler eyes and bit his nails. "Eragon," he whispered. "Eragon, I'm scared."

Eragon's heart ripped in two. "Oh, Murtagh," he sobbed. Literally. Tears streamed down his face, drenching his already wet brother who didn't understand why he was crying.

"What's a matter, Eragon?" he asked, his voice so naïve. "Why you crying?"

"Because, Murtagh," breathed Eragon, who realized only half the sobs were coming from him; Nasuada was bawling, too. "Just because."

"Is it because of him?" he said, still like a child. "He scares me." He began rocking back and forth. "He hurts me, Eragon." He sniffled. "Will you help me? Please?"

"Look what you've done, Eragon!" boomed Galbatorix. "You caused this!"

"No he didn't!" shrieked Nasuada in between sobs. "It was all you! You f-foul l-little s-swine!"

Galbatorix slapped her across the face so hard blood trickled from both the blade against her neck and the spot his hand struck her.

Murtagh, bloodied and broken beyond repair, saw the whole thing, terrified. "You hit her! Don't do that!" He sat up and hid behind Eragon.

Eragon tried to protect Murtagh (or what was left of him) with a swimming vision. How intimidating. I'm weeping like a baby! "It's okay," he soothed while rubbing Murtagh's arm.

"Eragon," said Murtagh in a hushed voice, now in the fetal position, still rocking to and fro. "Eragon, I'm really scared."

"Look him straight in the eyes, Eragon," said the king, still holding Nasuada.

Eragon obeyed.

"Tell him," said the king dramatically, "That you hate him and you never want to see him again. Or else Nasuada dies."

Nasuada was on the verge of a mental breakdown. "Murtagh…"

"Murtagh," sniffled Eragon, his brother still in the fetal position. He cupped Murtagh's face, memorizing the cold, smooth feel of it in case this was thier last moments. He could feel Murtagh's life force draining.

Murtagh stared fixedly on him, his round eyes absorbing everything he heard; his index finger was strumming his lips in a childish way. Eragon had his full attention.

"I…I… Murtagh," Eragon couldn't breathe he was sobbing so hard. "I hate you, and I never want to see you ever again."

"…Really?"

Eragon could have lynched himself. "Really, Murtagh."

Murtagh gazed at him through those unique eyes. Believing everything he said. "W-What did I do?" he sniffled. "I-I'm sorry I got mad at you… I'm sorry I get angry when you call me Price Tag. You can call me that when you want! I'm sorry!"

"Tell him you could never forgive him and you're embarrassed to be related. As your last words to him," said Galbatorix smugly.

Nasuada stared at the king in shock. "Last…words…?"

Galbatorix looked at her falsely sympathetic. "He's dying, deary. No one's ever survived the branding. Why do you think I don't brand?" He snapped his fingers, indicating the fat man. "You! Take her to my chamber."

The fat man eagerly obliged, but he waited until Eragon said his lines.

Eragon was beyond crying; he was hyperventilating. He kissed both of Murtagh's cheeks, something he would never do under ordinary circumstances. He proceeded to do the same with his forehead and nose, knowing Murtagh's life was draining by the second. "M-M-Mur-Murtagh…"

Murtagh watched his brother intently, desperate for acceptance. He looked so gullible. Gullible and cracked. "I'm sorry…for every bad thing I've ever done…"

Eragon gazed at Murtagh's tear-blurred outline, his cheeks wet. "I could never forgive you, M-Murtagh. And I'm embarrassed to be your brother.:"

Murtagh sniffed; a few unshed tears finally releasing themselves from his glassy, innocent eyes.

He coughed and choked, grasping his chest and collapsed into a heap on the floor. "I love you, Eragon," he whispered as the fat man escorted a shaking Nasuada to Galbatorix's room. I don't know if you love me back, but I know I love you a lot."

Eragon bent down and brushed his lips against Murtagh's sweaty forehead. "I love you, too, Murtagh. I don't deserve you. I'll always love you, Price Tag, forever. And whether you're here to experience it or not, I'll free you. I love you so, so, so, so much."

Murtagh smiled weakly but wholeheartedly, closing his eyes.

Intertwining Murtagh's hand with his, Eragon turned Murtagh from his side to his back and rested his head against his brother's chest.

Listening to his fading heartbeat.

A/N: OMG I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO STICK UP! I got grounded for two weeks - AGAIN!! I'm sorry! Anyway, I REALY hoped you liked it! Yes, I admit, I've been known to kill of Murtagh (cough) oneshot (cough)

Btw, I DON'T think Nas will be a rider in case I haven't mentioned that.

Oh, and it might take a couple of weeks b4 I get the next chappie up. :( I'm so sorry! But I have to go camping with the family. Anyway, Review, please! It keeps me writing! You wanna know what happens to our beloved, cracked Murtie? Than review!!