Yay for another chapter! And this time it's from someone else's perspective! (and I'm really sorry for the pain this will all bring about, because… yeah… you'll probably guess in a sec…)

They were camped in an open field, unsheltered from the sharp wind that bent the nearby trees nearly to the ground. The Urgals were restless, fighting amongst themselves, stopped from killing each other only by the Twins' careless interference. And at the center, bound and gagged, a figure with dark hair and tattered rags for clothes sat, hunched into himself, trying to think of an escape plan.

The Twins were just as clever as they were cruel. Their magic had hobbled Murtagh, forcing one of the Urgals to sling him over their shoulder as they marched, but the spell seemed to draw its viability from the Twins themselves. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage…

No, wait, he'd already tried that. He'd ended up being held upside-down by an invisible hand. Convincing one of the Urgals to help him instead of the Twins wouldn't work, either; the pair held the beasts under some sort of mind control. He'd tried a multitude of other escape attempts, but they'd all failed (although three of the Urgals were dead because of him).

It was beginning to look hopeless. And, despite three days having gone by, he hadn't been rescued, whether by the Varden, or Tania, or even his brother on Saphira. While he could understand that Eragon, as a Rider, would be busy, and the Varden probably wouldn't send a patrol after him no matter how thin or thick their resources were spread, he'd honestly thought…

…well…

…he'd thought that Tania would come after him, at least. Maybe not charging in on Cadoc, but definitely trying to help him.

Or maybe she was. Maybe she was working on a plan right now, perhaps with Eragon and Saphira as well, and they'd come roaring out of the trees at any minute, scattering the Urgals and turning the Twins to a pile of ashes, and Tania'd pull him into the the saddle behind her and they'd fly back to the Varden and continue their plans, unheeded…

But who was he to hope? Even Tania had to have her limits of acceptance. Perhaps she thought he'd gone willingly—no, that was definitely what she thought. Not kidnapped. Not bound and gagged like livestock to be shipped off to the next town over.

It was useless to hope. It only brought more pain as the truth of the situation revealed itself.

He might as well be in Urû'baen already.

It had been five days now. Three more escape failures marking three more escape attempts. He considered another kind of escape… a more permanent one. Refusing food or water wouldn't be hard. But if the Twins wanted him alive, he had no doubts in his mind that they would find some way to force it down his throat.

And even as he thought of it, one little corner of his mind—the single part that hadn't given up on that irrational, hopeless, stupid hope—thought of Tania and Eragon, and what it would do to them if they found out he'd died by his own selfish hand. And just as with every other time that it had reminded him, he hesitated, and whatever chance he might have had to escape for good vanished.

The Kull moved quickly and efficiently. They'd skirted the Hadarac and, despite that, were more than halfway to the capitol.

Murtagh could practically smell the blood of innocents already.

Two more days. Two more days, and then they were passing under the gates of Urû'baen in the dead of night, making sure no one saw Murtagh or the Urgals. They moved through the lower town and into the upper, crossing more gates, bribing more guards for their silence—not that they'd live to break their vows, anyway. Soon enough, they passed through the great doors built for sieges, plodded down the hallway, and came to a stop before another pair of doors, this one far more grand than the siege-gates.

These doors were magnificently carved into a great tree, surrounded by images of beasts and elves. Possibly the one thing of pure beauty Galbatorix hadn't destroyed when he took Illirea and claimed it as his own. Murtagh would have laughed at that, but the Twins' gleefully glinting eyes made him stop.

And then the doors opened, and he could see the man more demon than human that lounged upon a throne built from the innocent dead and dead innocence.

Okay, it's short, BUT IT'S A REALLY HARD TOPIC FOR ME TO WRITE ABOUT. I'm sorry.

But please enjoy. Because I might cry/scream maniacally at a fictional character (or real… *cough*Paolini*cough*) after writing this.

FF