Empire: An Alternate Ending to Inheritance

I do not own Eragon, or its characters, or the ancient language, or anything from this trilogy. Period. Okay?

Thanks to Yang Xuan for threatening to bludgeon me if I didn't start an Inheritance fic.

New Orders

There is no place for compassion in the Empire. What should be done may not be what must be done.

The sky over Uru'baen was dark as a winged creature approached the residence of King Galbatorix. It was a red dragon, magnificent and terrifying to behold at the same time. There was an inscrutable expression in his vermilion eyes, reflecting troubles not readily apparent.

In his saddle sat a figure garbed in steel armor. This one carried a menacing looking blade., which gleamed like red coals in the light of the moon. His helmet had been cast away long ago, on a battlefield days away.

He was Murtagh, Son of Morzan, who had been last of the Forsworn. He was one of the three Dragon Riders in Alagaesia, although he had not accepted the mantle of the Shur'tugal willingly. Once he had, however, there was no turning back. The binding properties of an oath in the ancient language took care of that.

He admired his new sword, his old hand-and-a-half one discarded as he left the Burning Plains.

Zar'roc is indeed as wondrous as I imagined. He spoke to his Dragon through the mind link that they shared.

You should have killed him. The Dragon hissed distastefully, bucking slightly as it maneuvered the tricky wind currents. His wings swept powerfully as he prepared for descent into the courtyard of Galbatorix's palace.

Eragon was a friend, Thorn. Murtagh paused. Not any longer, though. He knew that the moment he emerged from his impending meeting with Galbatorix, he would be a sworn enemy of his once friend.

I need you to understand that. You have known only Uru'Baen for a large part of your life. I, I have been all over the continent, and it had provided me with insights I would part with gladly.

Thorn snorted, letting out a small wisp of fire through his nostrils.

You think that I was not conscious of my surroundings, even in the confinement of my egg? You are wrong. I hate Galbatorix as much as you do. Perhaps even more.

Murtagh brushed his palm over Thorn's flat red scales, comforting the enormous Dragon.

You are right. I am sorry.

Thorn was silent as they landed in the courtyard with an indiscernible thump. Murtagh leapt down from the saddle smoothly, bringing Zar'roc to bear. His brother had used it long enough. Now it was his, by right of heritage.

Thorn crouched low and settled down for a rest, claws scraping across the tiled stones.

I will wait here. Be safe.

Murtagh patted his companion and walked up a set of crumbling stone steps to the double doors that would grant him entrance. He took a deep breath, slid Zar'roc into his belt, and pushed them open, inciting a resounding groan.

He made his way along the sullied halls of the Palace. It had descended into ruin. Galbatorix might be the single most powerful entity in this land, but he was losing his hold on sanity. Perhaps there was a chance for him to break free of his oath.

Again he approached another set of doors. Again he pushed them open.

The room inside was empty save for a few scattered ornaments and a gleaming throne. Upon that throne sat one man, his face hidden by the shadows.

Murtagh jumped back as a large black shape rose over the throne to inspect the new arrival.

Shruikan.

'You have failed me, Murtagh.' Galbatorix intoned, his hands restless. He reached out to pat Shruikan.

'I… am sorry. My brother was more powerful than I had expected.' Murtagh knew his apologies were useless.

'Rubbish. Do you think me a fool?' the king's voice resonated through the room. 'I see everything. I know everything. Do not presume to hide anything from me, or you will suffer a fate much worse than death.'

Murtagh bowed even as he felt a deep hatred for Galbatorix simmer in his heart. He gripped Zar'roc tightly, fingering the warm hilt. It gave him some small measure of comfort in the presence of a titan.

'We need the Dragon.' Galbatorix spoke, his voice now low and hypnotic. 'It will ensure a bright new future for us, for the Riders.'

He threw up his hands? 'Why can't they see? I am a dictator, they say. Surda opposes me. Even your brother opposes me. Can't they see the good that I can bring?'

He seemed more relaxed now, and Shruikan purred softly.

'Everything I do, I do for my land.'

Murtagh bowed again. There was no point in arguing, lest Thorn find himself without a partner.

'I will not fail again, my King. I will bring Saphira to you.'

Galbatorix raised his head, and Murtagh could make out two gleaming eyes, tinged with madness.

'Swear it. Swear it so that you may never renege of what you have promised.'

Murtagh frowned. There was no helping it. He had no wish to fight Eragon, but now he must do so.

'Vel einradhin iet ai Shur'tugal.' Upon my word as a Rider.

Galbatorix nodded, satisfied. He lifted one finger, and gestured towards Zar'roc.

'I see you have reclaimed your inheritance.'

Murtagh nodded. 'Yes, my King.'

'Good. Morzan was always faithful, even though he had been incompetent at times. May you bring Misery to the enemies of the Empire.'

'Yes, my King.'

Galbatorix traced one finger along the ridged scales of Shruikan's back lovingly, almost obsessively.

'Leave.' He said. 'Do not return until you have the Dragon.'

'Yes, my King.'

Murtagh wheeled around noiselessly and made his way out of the Palace.

He had new orders, and they would be enforced in any way he deemed necessary.