Hi. Um...

This fic started from a friend (thanks JellyJay--who's also my beta) asking me to write her a dream sequence. I did, she liked it, and told me to write some about Murtagh. I decided to extend this to the three 'generations' if you will, of Murtagh's 'family'.

Murtagh, Morzan, and Galbatorix (who, it can be said, was like a father to all the Forsworn, but Morzan especially) are all pretty screwed-up people. So whatdoes evil (well, not necessarily, but just for the sake of the intro) dream?


Disclaimer: Ummm... I don't own anything. Deal with it.


Tortured Dreams


Introduction:

Inside the tortured mind of the First Unsworn (1)many things could be found, if you cared to look, that is. Not that many could be—Murtagh, Son of Morzan, was considered the worst kind of being on both sides of the war.

The Varden and the Empire both considered him a traitor. The only real difference was that no one in the Empire was going to kill him.

Inside the night-bound castle-citadel, Murtagh slept, curled up against his dragon's sleek hide.

Many would say that Murtagh could not dream, that he was as impure as his master. However, the young man did dream, and many of his dreams were unexpected…


The First of the Forsworn was not a man many understood. He was, in fact, about as well understood as his almost-father, the king of Alagaësia.

Those who had met him had been awed by the sheer turmoil the man radiated, the inner conflict that was fairly obvious on his face. His dragon's emerald beauty had been a direct opposite to his mutilated features, the scars of his betrayal all too visible on the once-handsome face.

The deep jade eyes, and the deep pain reflected in them, caused almost anyone who saw him to flinch away. Perhaps this was the reason he bore illusions most of the time, to hide the scarred appearance.

Perhaps this was the reason he drank, to drown the pain that had come from his seduction to the dark side…

Perhaps this was the reason that his dreams were filled with loss and loneliness, and occasionally a glimpse of love…


The King of Alagaësia bore a heavy crown, forged of pain and death. His heart (and, yes, he did have one, despite popular rumour) beat agony for the loss of his first dragon, and his soul was torn asunder regularly.

The King was iron-controlled, and only two people had ever seen through his steel façade—his first dragon, whose name it hurt to remember, and his almost-son, his heir, Morzan.

Both had seen through the various masks he'd built—Fairth, his beautiful dragon, had seen through the cheerful jester-mask to see the half-broken young orphan inside, and Morzan had seen past the fury and blind vengeance—insanity, almost—to the glimpse of what-might-have-been.

Both gone now, dead because of him.

This hurt Galbatorix more than he cared to admit.

Maybe this explained his dreams of peace…


(1) I used the term Unsworn to describe Murtagh's post--he's not a Forsworn, because they broke their previous oaths, and this one just came to me (plus it's the name of my alter-ego of Unwilling and Unsworn)

So...(blinks) maybe you could leave a review, letting me know exactly how OOC I am here?