His boots made no sound whatsoever even as they slammed into the cobblestone beneath him as he traversed the underbelly of Gilead's dungeons. Everywhere he went guards were posted at various cells throughout this hellhole. Yet none noticed the red rider walking amongst them, all they saw was a flickering of the light, or a passing shadow on the wall. Common thieves, scum and all kinds of lawbreakers filled the cells, with even the occasional rebel sympathizer waiting for judgement.

He cared not for any of this.

His goal lay not with mortal men, but with far more sophisticated beings.

Cloaked with numerous concealment wards he continued his relentless march, until a dead end blocked his path. The chattering from the numerous guards had disappeared long ago, no guards were posted here, for why would they? To them this section of the dungeon was filled with empty cells still under construction, no manpower was needed here.

The untold amount of spells and enchantments weaved into the surroundings for protection against unwanted attention was also enough of a deterrent. If some stray being with no magical intent reached this part of the dungeons, they would simply reach the conclusion that they weren't wanted in this section, along with a great sense of impending doom. At the same time, any mage curious or suicidal enough to brave those psychological phenomenon's would most likely end up as ashes on the ground, due to the hellish flames that would descend upon the section at any tampering with the wards.

And that was only the first line of defense.

Luckily for Murtagh, a bargain had been struck with the being responsible for setting up this deathtrap.

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second as he considered the idea of Marwyn betraying him, but ultimately dropped the theory. He could not feel any ill intent from the magic surrounding him, and figured that he would have been bathed in flames by now if subterfuge was at play.

With a confident stride, he continued towards the end of the hallway and simply proceeded to walk through the offending wall.

And immediately stopped in his tracks as his surroundings became clear.

He suddenly realized that calling the upper dungeons akin to a hell hole was somewhat offensive, considering the state of things down here.

There were about a dozen elves both male and female, all of them located within different cells, and all of them restrained with cold hard metal enchanted against the unnatural strength of elven kind. Their physical appearance was less than appealing, torn clothes, scars and numerous wounds all adorned their bodies. It was almost sickening to see a member of the fairest race having been brought so low. Bones were visible through thin sickly skin and defeated expressions dominated their faces.

Not even Durza could have caused all this on his own, what with him being on the northern front. Galbatorix must have truly found the most sadistic and xenophobic magicians in his realm to procure these results.

Luckily said sadists weren't in the room at the moment, what with The Lord of the Black Hand having granted him a short window, where he could do whatever he wished with the elves. He also knew without a doubt that every occupant in the room was dosed with the drug Skilna Bragh, making magic unreachable for them. Only a fool would not take every precaution when dealing with imprisoned elves. The drug also had the added benefit of making sure that the recipient lost the ability to counter attack a mind probe. They could defend their mind all the wanted, but never go on the offensive.

He made a swift mental sweep of all the elves, if simply to get an impression of their mental fortitude. Privately he worried that despite their physical appearance their minds would remain strong.

He needn't have worried.

Oh their minds were shielded all right, all of them flinching away as Murtagh made his mental approach, but their defenses were battered and cracked. These elves were broken, and he deduced that this was simply the fastest protection, that they could produce within every torture session.

Those thoughts brought him back to another time with another elf, trapped beneath Uru'baen within its sinister dungeons and the-

"Snap out of it Murtagh, we're wasting time".

His better half was of course right, their time was finite and he would not waste this chance.

He had long since dropped his concealment wards, which meant that the conscious elves had begun observing him. They hadn't said a word, but they needn't do so, the clear contempt shining out of their eyes said it all.

"It's a good thing you changed your appearance, this whole endeavor could prove disastrous if you were found in the elves memories".

It was a clever ploy, but it still made Murtagh feel filthy. Galbatorix enjoyed wielding different faces, and had at least changed his appearance a dozen times throughout his reign. That was how it usually went with Thorn's rider, every minor victory quickly turned to ash in his mouth, as it ultimately all led back to their dreaded master.

However today they might gain a victory for themselves and no other. No sniveling noble asking for favors, no scheming mage plotting to gain more power, and no malevolent master wishing to chain them for all eternity.

All he had to do was invade the most private part of a sentient being.

Murtagh's mind was his own real sanctuary, a place where none could dominate and control him, or that was at least how it used to be. Galbatorix had been quick to mutilate that last place of safety and comfort, as he was brought before him in chains.

To say that Murtagh was uncomfortable with mind raping others was an understatement, but if he had to become the monster that all believed him to be in order for him and his partner to escape the kings bondage, then so be it.

The room was circular in nature, with enough cells for an elf to occupy one by themselves. Multiple torture devices were stationed all around, and anything from common knives to equipment that Murtagh did not even know the names of littered the room.

He would be as quick as possible, for as Thorn had mentioned, time was of the essence. He had at most a few hours before the magicians responsible would be back. It wasn't a lot of time to interrogate multiple members of a race saturated with magic, but he would simply have to make do. One unbidden thought came to mind as he entered the cell of the first elf.

This wouldn't be the first time that he interrogated one of their kind.

Pushing those thoughts away he began his work.

One thing became pretty clear after he had searched the first few for information.

These elves were rather young by elven standards.

A little over or under a century old give or take, with most having been born during the fall of the riders. It seemed that these youngsters went ahead of whatever host was being rallied inside their domain to take on Galbatorix's armies by themselves. Their original sortie's strength had numbered a hundred perhaps, all equally as young and brazen as these remaining survivors.

It was interesting that the so called wisest race could act so rash, but then again these elves had most likely never seen the world outside of Du Weldenvarden. These specific individuals had probably just had enough of just sitting on their behind all day, whilst the rest of the land became overshadowed by Galbatorix.

The notion that these few could stem the tide of the invaders was of course foolish. The host to the north was a well-oiled machine bred for war. The greatest of Galbatorix's supporters were located there. The families that he elevated during his rebellion would remain loyal as long as the king lived. The men forming the core of the army were loyalists as well, almost all of them coming from families with a military background. A standing professional army, who's soldiers could claim descent from the men that smashed King Evandar's host outside of Ilirea.

The same professionalism could not be claimed by the men that Murtagh commanded down south, what with most of them being forcibly conscripted with magic. The reasoning for the lack of quality was of course that the more potent force was needed to fight the elves.

Then again, quantity could be considered a quality all on its own, and Murtagh's forces were considerable

None of these observations were really that important to his end goal, but it at least distracted him from the grueling work of filtering through the different memories. Normally you would have to take great care when inside a mind as alien as the elves, but all the physical and mental torment that the unfortunate souls had suffered made navigating their minds relatively simple. They put up some resistance, but it was quickly brushed aside by his and Thorn's might.

It also helped that he wasn't a complete slouch at the mind arts. He tended to make it as difficult as possible for Galbatorix, whenever the king wanted a peek inside Murtagh's brain. The ruler of the Broddring Kingdom could of course just use his true name if he wanted him to comply, but Murtagh knew the king took a sinister delight in breaking down his servants mental defenses.

Shaking these thoughts away he continued his work.

For hours he searched through all the elven minds available, but an issue soon made itself apparent to the rider.

None of these elves had any true knowledge about their ancient homeland, or the being known as Tenga. The latter was not that big of an issue as long as The Black Hand came through with his promises, but the former was quickly making him loose his cool.

Being so relatively young meant that the only information these elves had of Alalëa was tales and legends of old. He needed much older, or more knowledgeable elves if he was ever to discover what lay beyond the Western Sea.

Alalëa would be his contingency should all else fail.

Galbatorix was powerful, more powerful than any other being in Alagaësia. Yet this was also his weakness. Arrogance had been a part of the king's personality for as long as he had known him, but after discovering how to control the ancient language his hubris had reached new heights. The chains binding him and Thorn were strong indeed and made sure he could not move against the king directly, but they had not spent their servitude idly.

They had gained allies and were still finding more ways of undermining the king. Hell, the fact that Galbatorix had not detected the traitorous thoughts in his mind was a testament to their ability of subterfuge.

Still, the little knowledge of Alalëa was disconcerting.

"I think we have learned all we can Murtagh".

"We haven't learned anything at all" Was the angry reply.

"It matters little, we are fighters not cowards. It sounds tempting to simply run from our fate, but even if we could reach Alalëa who's to say that the dark one won't simply find us given time."

"The world is larger than we can fathom, even the dragon riders of old had little knowledge of the lands to the east, and even less of what lay beyond the sea."

He could feel Thorn mentally assenting.

"True, but the riders of old were not interested in conquest, the same cannot be said of Galbatorix.

It was a small contention between them. Murtagh figured that they needed some place to hide should all their plans turn to shit. Alalëa seemed the best considering how little was known about it, whilst the lands to the north or east seemed too obvious. The original land of the Urgals and Elves was so deeply shrouded in mystery, who knew what waited on such a continent.

He shook his head.

For now that venture would have to be put on hold. If anything, having no place to run would, as Thorn liked to point out, make them fight all the harder for their indefinite freedom.

"It's time Murtagh, the interrogators will return soon".

Murtagh gave a nonverbal agreement before concealing himself, so he could make his way out of the dungeons unnoticed.

The time had come for them to leave the city for good, his cover could only survive for so long before his deceit was discovered. He was also well and truly tired of being here, having to perform like this so called Alastair at a banquet last night definitely hadn't helped.

The reasoning behind performing that particular activity still eluded him.

As he finally exited the dungeons and the cool night breeze hit him he began thinking. Maybe he could capture some older elves himself, all he needed was some agents inside of Du Weldenvarden when the invasion got really underway.

He entered a narrow alleyway that he knew would lead to the southern wall, which the rider would then climb over without anyone being the wiser.

Still, different thoughts kept churning around inside of his mind. He just couldn't get the idea of capturing some elves himself out of his head. Although the older the elf the more dangerous it would become, and if he truly wanted this to work then he would need to-

"What are you doing here Murtagh?"

If he had just taken another second to listen to the voice before drawing his weapon, then he would have realized that there really was no threat, but sometimes you just act out of instinct.

Like when you are accosted in a dark alley at night, in a city that you are not supposed to be in.

In the blink of an eye his sword was out, and mentally he prepared himself to blast this foe to smithereens with the Eldunarya at his disposal, but stopped immediately as he got a good look at the shrouded figure. Long pointy ears, midnight black hair and eyes that shone like emeralds peered at him.

Through his bond he could also feel that Thorn wasn't panicked what so ever.

"Arya?"

The elf in question responded by lowering her own steel, which had obviously been held at the ready in case Murtagh decided to act rashly.

It suddenly became clear as to why his other half hadn't seemed panicked at all. Thorn had already found Fírnen, and was at this very moment flying high above the clouds with his fellow dragon.

Thanks for the warning you overgrown lizard.

Thorn simply let his amusement flow across their bond.

Rolling his eyes he turned towards his fellow rider.

"How come you were waiting to ambush me?"

The elven princess raised a single eyebrow as if to assess whether Murtagh had received temporary brain damage.

"I don't believe you answered my original question Murtagh".

He had of course tried to deflect that particular question, but he should have known that it was only a fool's hope. Not that he thought Arya would actually tell Galbatorix about his whereabouts, or use the information to hurt him. He had just become rather paranoid over the years.

Besides, Arya probably hated the king more than Murtagh ever could.

Hell, the two riders had a past which connected them in ways few could understand. When Arya had been brought before Galbatorix, the king had decided to lay the task of finding her secrets upon Murtagh as a sort of test. He had not been a rider for long at that point, but the playing field became pretty even with several Eldunarya on his side.

There was also the fact that Arya had been drugged with Skilna Bragh in every session.

Those had been dark days, for weeks it was just the two of them beneath Uru'baen. Yet what should have ended in tragedy, with hatred and jealousy coursing between them like the forsworn of old ultimately ended in tentative friendship and understanding.

Galbatorix had for some reason found that outcome particularly amusing.

He hated how that man tried to defile even the smallest of victories that those underneath him achieved. Murtagh had still been a prisoner in all but name when Arya had been brought to the capital. As time passed, they realized that their situations weren't all that different. Thorn had been but a hatchling then, afraid and confused as to why the world he had been brought into was filled with so much pain, whilst Fírnen hadn't even hatched yet. They had only each other to lean on and so they did.

"Murtagh?"

He really needed to stop drifting off.

Shrugging his shoulders casually "I needed information and Gil'ead was the place to get it". It was the truth, but he didn't feel completely comfortable telling her how he had just interrogated multiple members of her people.

Arya's eyes darkened at his response "Yes I know all too well what information is taken in Gil'ead".

He mentally facepalmed.

It was a bit insensitive of him perhaps, not that you needed to walk on eggshells around Arya, but this city truly held a special place of contempt in her heart. Still, it was surprising that she could be found here, considering that she should be further north.

"My apologies"

"It's fine".

…

Silence stretched between them. He hadn't known Arya the ambassador or even Arya the princess, but Arya the rider was oftentimes a woman of few words. It suited him just fine; he hated unnecessary word play either way. Still though, he needed to get out of the city, the longer he tarried here the greater the chance of the king discovering him.

"Galbatorix doesn't know I'm here".

All he got in response was an eye roll.

"Evidently".

Her sword had long since been placed into its scabbard, which made it obvious for anyone with a brain, that she was nervous about something. Both her hands were fidgeting randomly and there was a clear uneasiness in her stance, very not Arya-like.

"Arya what is going on?"

The expression she gave him was something he would never forget. Her emerald eyes shone as brightly as Fírnen's flames with equal parts of hope, excitement and fear mixed in them. Curiosity bubbled within him as to what had brought the normally stoic rider to this state of being.

"The egg Murtagh, the egg has hatched".

He didn't even try to feign surprise, what would be the point? Although he was truly curious as to why this had gotten Arya so excited. He understood the potential that a rouge rider granted him and Thorn in their undermining of the king, yet Arya treated it as if the next coming of Vrael was upon them.

"So I've been told". Was his neutral reply.

She looked confused at his lack reaction.

"Don't you understand what this means? This is what the enemies of Galbatorix need, a symbol for them to rally around". She sounded desperate to believe it as the truth. "They never found the location where I send the egg, this pair might even be with my people right now, it will take years before the betrayer has any hope of reaching them". It sounded like wishful thinking to Murtagh's ears, but he couldn't really blame her. She had after all carried that very egg around for almost as long as he had been alive; her commitment to the cause had been unshakable.

"I see potential to undermine Galbatorix yes, but you shouldn't get your hopes up too high, we might very soon have a third pair sharing our shackles".

She looked as if he had just slapped her with his comment.

"What do we have if not hope Murtagh?" She lowered her voice to naught but a whisper as she continued "You gave me hope beneath that dark city when no one else could or would".

Damn

He lowered his head and conceited that even without the ancient language, her words were undeniably true. She had also been his light in the eternal sea of darkness surrounding them. He was not ready to return to that past as of yet, and neither did he think she was, but a deep conversation surely awaited them in the future.

Deciding to just throw caution to the wind he reached out and took her hand in his, if only to simply reassure her that he was still here, that he understood and was on her side. She flinched at the initial contact, but nonetheless refused to withdraw from his touch.

They stood in silence for a few seconds before he spoke up again.

"I just don't want to see you hurt yourself over something that might end horribly". Was his sincere acknowledgement, switching to the ancient language to show her the truth of the matter. If she committed herself fully to the thought of this new rider destroying Galbatorix, then the only thing awaiting her was imminent pain.

Her reaction wasn't what he had hoped, nonetheless it didn't wholly surprise him. She withdrew her hand and in the ancient language to show her own sincerity told him, what he in his heart already knew.

"I hurt every single day Murtagh" She took a deep breath to compose herself before continuing. "I have become the instrument of my people's destruction, my actions have brought more pain upon me than any torturer ever could". The raw helplessness in her voice could have been detected by anyone, even without the language of the grey folk compelling her to speak the truth. "I must retain even a sliver of hope"

Yet the weakness in her voice soon gave way to determination.

"Even with the heart of hearts at his disposal, Galbatorix was still defeated by Vrael before the gates of Doru Araeba, had he not shown compassion that day much would be different". Her eyes seemed to bore inside of Murtagh's skull as she continued.

"And you of all people know exactly who hides in self-imposed exile behind the wards of Du Weldenvarden, two beings arguably as wise if not more so than Vrael himself".

Murtagh shifted his stance against the alley wall as he considered this.

Yes he knew of this Osthato Chetowä, The Mourning Sage or The-Cripple-Who-Is-Whole.

Oromis Thrándurin and Glaedr the golden, or as Galbatorix would say, another wizened old pair content to sit in their ivory tower as the world passed by. Despite these usual insults, the king did seem hold the elf in higher esteem than most whenever he talked about the riders of old. Whatever had prompted the usually arrogant man to have a grudging respect for this being was unknown to him, but it must have been something truly special.

He had to admit that any rider trained by such a mentor would prove formidable.

Still, the Galbatorix that Vrael dueled a century ago was not in any way shape or form the same as the Galbatorix sitting the throne today. The Eldunarya had all been enslaved and magic itself was held firmly within his grasp. The word of all words had been given to neither of them, and he doubted that this Oromis had found it for himself, so he wasn't feeling particularly hopeful.

Didn't mean that he couldn't sympathize with Arya.

"Only time will tell whether they can equal Galbatorix or not, but I don't believe you accosted me to only tell me of the egg".

Nervous-Arya had long since disappeared, replaced by stoic and determined Arya.

"The Ra'zac have been dispatched as you might well know" He nodded in confirmation before she continued. "But Durza...". He almost didn't notice how she flinched at saying that name out loud. "Durza is hatching some malevolent scheme of his own in case the rider escapes the Eaters of Flesh, I don't know what exactly". She looked deep in thought "It doesn't seem like he plans on delivering the pair to Galbatorix".

He didn't even bother to ask how she knew all these details. The shade had become something of an obsession of Arya's. Her hatred for Durza was unparalleled, yet so was her fear, a vicious combination that might destroy her if she wasn't careful.

"I don't have many allies Murtagh". She looked at him pleadingly and he was once again brought back to Uru'baen. "If you can, then send some agents to the spine, help this rider get to my people". As he thought this over Arya kept up her relentless reasoning. "I don't presume to know all your plans, but I know that you see the potential of this pair reaching Ellesméra"

He of course knew the potential as stated earlier. A rouge rider backing the elves would cause more chaos within the empire than Arya or Murtagh ever could. The elves were not to be taken lightly, there was a reason that Galbatorix had never assaulted their realm directly. The current campaign would last several years, decades perhaps.

"I will reach out to some of my contacts, but I cannot guarantee that they will reach them in time".

Arya smiled lightly

"Hope Murtagh, hope".

He couldn't help but chuckle, her optimism was impressive.

"Do you need anything else?"

Her response was a negative shake of her head.

"Not for the time being, but I think we could expect a summons from Uru'baen should the Ra'zac fail".

The same thoughts had been running through his and Thorn's minds. He would have to reach his army in the south quickly to convene with his allies.

"We must prepare then".

That determination within Arya seemed to increase tenfold at his words.

"Yes, I have much to prepare for".

What those precise preparation were was an unknown, but he jokingly figured that news of Durza's demise wouldn't surprise him.

He noticed that Arya seemed to be looking him up and down, assessing him for something that he couldn't decipher.

Emerald met gray as their eyes locked.

"Let me escort you to wherever you were going before I caught you sneaking around".

He snorted

"I was not sneaking anywhere".

A roll of her eyes was all he received for his efforts.

He noticed that Arya was quick to fall into step beside him when he started walking. As he continued his previously interrupted stroll, an idea suddenly came to him. It was outlandish but at least worth a shot.

If anything it could be considered polite conversation.

"Tell me Arya, do you know much of ancient Alalëa?

A/N

Some people have requested that I do Author notes, I don't know what I'm actually supposed to write here, but I'll do my best.

First off I'm truly grateful for the reviews and the people following my little story, I am of course open to criticism as long as its constructive and not something along the lines of "go off yourself".

Secondly this is my first time writing a coherent story like ever. Again I'm fckin grateful that there are actual people interested in what I'm writing. Also life is complicated so my update schedule is shit to say the least (sorry about that).

As for the chapter, some people might wonder how the hell Murtagh and Arya are able to undermine Galbatorix without it being detected by him considering that they are nameslaves amongst other things, but trust me everything will be explained and explored.

Also I hope I'm not crucified by the E/A shippers for playing with the idea of some three-way drama between Murtagh, Eragon and Arya. It simply made sense to me that Murtagh and Arya might become friends in joined captivity, a kind of parallel to when Nasuada was prisoner in the OG. Again this will be explored later, bear with me.

I do Hope you enjoyed the chapter nevertheless.