This is going to be a chaptered Murtagh fic, because I have a delusional obsession with him. Mostly it'll be angsty, with no real bearing on the actual story, but there you are.

Basically it'll be about Murtagh testing his bonds, and remembering all that he's done, generally wanting to die, etc.

Disclaimer: If the Inheritance Trilogy was mine, would this be here? No. And Murtagh would the hero, not that prat eragon.

Definitions

My name is Murtagh.

I am called betrayer, oathbreaker, rider of Thorn, bearer of the sword Misery.

Brother of the rider Eragon.

Son of the first and last of the Forsworn.

Broken.

Lost.

Destroyed.

My heart has fallen to pieces, and my soul is torn. Because of him. That—

I fall back against my soft pillow, dark hair fanning out behind me. Hot tears trickle down he sides of my face, however much I long to deny them passage. The despair grips hold of me, and I instinctively reach for Thorn's comforting presence.

My dragon wraps me in a blanket of his love, and the tears fall thicker and faster. I can only hope my master--no! Galbatorix--will not summon me now. If he did, I fear I would not go to him, and that would be our undoing.

I raise my father's sword, Misery, Zar'roc, contemplating its crimson edge. I wonder how it would feel, plunging into my heart.

Would Nasuada, the Varden's queen in all but name, feel it? Would she cry out for me, the memories of our time together burned into her soul?

Or would it be Eragon, my brother? I know better than to expect him to feel any remorse on my behalf. For the Gods' sake, he wanted to kill me himself!

But Thorn…

And despite what I say, I believe that the empire has a decent system, with simply a madman as its leader.

Could I?

No. It would be suicide, and though I am many things, I am not suicidal.

Zar'roc falls with a clatter to my bedside.

I am overwhelmed with a sudden urge to take the sword and destroy it, the last trace of Morzan's tainted legacy fading.

But Zar'roc is not Morzan's only legacy. I am, and everything I do now. All I fought for, everything I believed in, subverted by his tainted legacy.

I take Zar'roc in one hand, heft it, and hurl it to the marble floor.

Sometimes I think Eragon had the right of it, as I stare at the unbroken blade, wishing it gone. But the sword lies there, mocking me.

Thorn? I query. Up to getting out of here?

Galbatorix allows me this semblance of freedom, at least. Though Shruikan and Thorn have a tainted, perverted bond, like Galbatorix's and my own.

I swing out of my high window, and fall onto my crimson dragon's back.

Okay. Um. If anyone actually liked it, could you let know so I know whether to continue it or not...

Thanks

Flufflybunny