A few hours later, Murtagh found himself in the wing of the citadel where Nasuada was imprisoned. He felt like the ground was swaying as if he was on a swing. He walked down the corridor, ignoring the stares of the guards. When he reached the top of the stairs, he put one hand on the wall to steady himself. Torture? What torture? He barely remembered. In fact, it was a lie, but it's never too late to feel comfortable lying to yourself. His eyesight was blurred, he almost tripped on the stairs. He bumped into the cell door, which brought him back down to reality.

Why did he come here? He had no idea. Maybe because the combination of Nasuada and a cell reminded him of his time as a prisoner of the Varden. He had been locked up in a comfortable room, where they brought him copious meals and all the library books he asked for. His stay in prison had been strangely soothing. For once in his life, he had felt safe. And that was where he had met Nasuada, who had come to visit him in his cell. This memory made him enter Nasuada's cell.

He stopped near the slab where she was lying and stared at her with such a strange, tormented look. Then he walked towards the wall, let himself slide to the floor. He sat there, chin on his knees raised, his hair tangled, half hiding his face. Blood was running from the knuckles of his right hand, but he was not aware of it. After a few minutes, he searched his purple doublet - he was still wearing the same clothes, minus the mask - and pulled out a small bottle. He drank several times, to give himself courage. He wanted to explain her everything, so that she could understand what had happened, even if this wouldn't be enough for her to forgive him.

He had talked, talked, talked and she had listened without saying anything. He had begun by telling her a somewhat confused story about the advice Tornac had given him on how an honest man should lead his life. "I tried my best to have an honest life, like I promised him. I never wanted to be his Rider, but I had no choice."

"Galbatorix wanted you dead, he knew that Elva was no longer looking after you as she used to, so he thought it was the ideal moment to have you murdered. I discovered his project by coincidence I was with him when he gave his orders to the Black Hand." He shook his head, overwhelmed by the guilt: "It's my fault. I convinced him to bring you here instead. He liked it. It's the only way I found to stop him from killing you. I'm sorry, so sorry. He buried his face in his hands.

"I would have preferred to die," she replied.

"I know," he said in a hoarse voice. "Can you forgive me?"

She didn't answer. Murtagh remained silent for a while. He longed for forgiveness, but it would be unfair to ask her for it.

Then he told her about his childhood at the court of Galbatorix, the mistrust and jealousy he had endured as the son of Morzan, the shenanigans of the nobles to win the king's favor. He also told her how the twins had taken him from Farthen Dûr, brutalized him on the road to Urû'baen, and how Galbatorix had broken him as soon as he arrived.

"It was Thorn who lost me," he finally confessed. "When he hatched for me and the bond was forged between us..." Shaking his head, he added: "I love him. How could it be otherwise? I love him as Eragon loves Saphira. The moment I touched him; I was lost. Galbatorix used him. Thorn was much stronger than me, he never gave in. But I couldn't bear to see him suffer, so I swore allegiance to the king. After that..."

His lips curled in a grimace of disgust as he recalled that nightmarish memory. His spirit was the only sanctuary that no one ever violated in him. Men had tried, but he had learned to defend it vigorously, for his private thoughts were the only place where he was safe. "After that, Galbatorix came into my mind, he learned everything from me. He revealed my real name to me and now I belong to him forever."

He let himself go against the wall, his eyes closed, and tears ran down his cheeks. He had told her everything, and he felt better without that burden. Since he had been captured, that was the first time when he could speak freely to someone.

Then he got up, and he was almost gone when an idea crossed his mind. He could not free her, but he could ease her pain. Before returning to the door, he stopped next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. He whispered a few words in the Ancient Language. The moment after Nasuada's burns had not changed in appearance, but her face relaxed.

When he took his hand away, she said "I can't forgive… but I understand."

That was what he had hoped for. He nodded silently before walking away.