Wow! six reviews! Some people really are slightly insane. Just kidding--thanks for taking the time to read my little Murtagh-indulgence.
Just to clarify Miz Turwaithiel's valid point about the reason for Eragon wanting to kill Murtagh, this is fromMurtagh's point of view, and at the time, he wasn't thinking straight, just wallowing in a bit of self-pity.
Chapter 1: A Semblance Of Freedom
Thorn soars through the air as I cling to him, a fragile figure compared to his massive bulk. My dark hair is a banner in the dying light, streaming out behind me.
I was commanded to wear a helmet on these excursions, but it is my small rebellion. No-one would recognize me anyway, not from up here.
And Galbatorix will not fight me on this. Too much bother, for such a small thing, though I would fight tooth and nail for it simply because it is the only concession I could win.
Stop brooding. My dragon seems to know what is on my mind—we have discussed these things many times, suddenly stopping for fear of Galbatorix or Shruikan's hearing.
Sorry. I say, softly. Lately I've been thinking about these things a lot.
It's something to do with the Burning Plains, isn't it?
Yeah.
Thorn seems to understand how much that encounter destroyed me, though Eragon didn't see it. He looked more broken up than I, though inside I was destroyed. That tends to happen when pretty much everyone you ever trusted is out to kill you. I know, I know, it's to save the world and all, but it still hurts.
Thank the gods for Galbatorix and the Twins' 'training'. Of course, I didn't see it like that at the time…
No. Don't think about that. Not unless you want nightmares again…
So…says my dragon, sensing the dark tone of my thoughts. That kitchen wench, Mathilde, was eyeing you this morning…
I grin at my dragon's pitiful attempt to change the subject. She was 'eyeing' as you so tactfully put it, the massive bloodstain on the front of my shirt.
Oh. That. Right.
Yes, 'that'. I frown slightly, remembering the cause of that bloodstain. A sparring session with our great King, which lead me to a sudden wish to murder something, whether it be our great King or an omelet.
All the kitchen staff had looked at me strangely, and I'd gotten a reprimand from Shruikan for not pretending I was a spy and skulking around in probably the only place I couldn't expect a dagger in my back.
You're brooding again…
Sorry. It's kind of hard not to though, looking at the situation.
I know—it's harder for you than me, you know.
What?
You've seen freedom. I have only the glimpses of your memories.
I mull this over, looking down at the ruined Palancar Valley. Eragon's birthplace, and, if you think about things rather loosely, my ancestral home.
If you're not going by Morzan's ancestral home, that is…
Thorn?
Yes?
Do you want them—all of them? My memories. So you can see what freedom's like.
Thorn is puzzled, slightly. Are you sure?
If they'll help you, of course.
But to relive them…
It'll probably make me feel better, anyway. And maybe help stimulate a plan.
All right. Thank you, Murtagh.
I close my eyes, feeling the wind rush past me, and give Thorn everything that has ever happened to me.
Thanks for reading, same deal as before...
Review, review, review!
Yeah. Now that that's overwith, does anyone have any idea what I could name Morzan's dragon?