The next chapter! Many thanks to those who've replied in the reviews, I really appreciate getting any kind of feedback, even just to know if you are enjoying the story! As far as where this is going, I tend to write everything in huge chunks but all spread out. It's hard to explain but I've got parts of each chapter written out and I finish them as it comes to me and sometimes move stuff around. Anyways, it won't be long til the next one (ch. 4), which will be a short but very painful chapter for poor Murtagh (I'm a bit of a sadist when it comes to my fav. characters, ah well). I am thinking there will be 5 or 6 chapters overall, BUT I'm considering doing a sequel focusing on the aftermath of the king's treatment and possibly throwing in some non-canonical plot twists and bringing in other main characters. Any thoughts? Please let me know what you think about the story so far! Hope you enjoy. : )

Oh, fair warning: There's no torture in this chapter, but there is, like, two swear words. Hope that's okay...

Ch. 3: Chains

Murtagh groaned, waking up to a massive headache. He knew he was laying on his stomach since he could feel the hard, stone floor beneath him. Cracking open his eyelids, he struggled to remember why his head hurt so much. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. It was dark but his eyes began to adjust.

Where am I? He thought to himself, groggily.

About time you woke up, came the terse reply in his head.

Thorn? He asked, suddenly snapping awake. Where… - How did…- What happened? Are you okay? He was still disoriented, but worry clouded his thoughts.

I'm fine young one, his dragon answered, sending waves of reassurance through their bond. You passed out from the pain, but the king still was not satisfied. He had you brought here. You've been out for nearly two days.

The king…. He repeated after his dragon, beginning to remember.

Lifting his head, he looked around at the tall, cylindrical chamber. Stone and chains surrounded him. A heavy black door blocked his exit, steel bars covering its tiny window. Iron pegs, chains, and shackles studded the walls around him. There seemed to be no other occupants, but there could be no mistaking the location.

The dungeons. Dread curled inside of him as he remembered the last thing the king had said to him before he passed out. "This time I will make sure to break you properly."

Panic rose inside him as he struggled to his feet, ignoring his body's aching protests. Desperately, he lurched towards the door, only to come crashing back down hard onto the stone floor. Pain seared through his knees at the impact.

Calm down, Thorn warned him. He didn't want his rider to hurt himself even more than he was already.

Murtagh looked backwards to discover his ankle chained to a peg in the middle of the floor.

Shit, he swore. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself. His dragon was right, panicking would do him no good. Losing control of his emotions is what landed him here in the first place. Calming himself, he tried to summon a spell to cut loose the chain. He wasn't too surprised when nothing happened. He didn't feel drugged but the king must have blocked his magic somehow.

He sat up again, attempting to get a better look at his surroundings. The cell was relatively large. The chain around his foot would allow him a little less than three feet of movement in either direction – about a quarter of the way between the middle of the cell and the door, as he'd just learned the hard way. The walls towered a good twenty feet above him and he could make out a dull steel grate embedded in the ceiling, revealing the open night sky.

Great, he thought, remembering the storm from his flight back to Uru'baen. I'll be exposed to the elements. I hope it doesn't rain again… At that thought he suddenly noticed how dry and hoarse his throat felt. He hadn't had water since they returned. On second thought, maybe rain wouldn't be so bad.

Food would be even better, answered Thorn.

Aye, he replied, his stomach growling painfully. After their battle, the king had ordered them home immediately, with no breaks for food. He had allowed Thorn to hunt twice, not wanting to risk the dragon losing weight (after all he was already at a disadvantage against Saphira in size), but Murtagh had not eaten in nearly a week.

Just then a large, squealing rat streaked across the floor and into one of several drainage holes lining the wall, trailing breadcrumbs behind it. Breadcrumbs? With wide eyes Murtagh looked around closely.

There! He shouted in his mind, slightly startling Thorn at the outburst. Laying near the far wall was a half-loaf of moldy, stale bread. But his excitement was short-lived as he realized it was much too far away for him to reach with his leg chaining him down.

Damn it, he cursed, frustration coursing through him again. Just my luck, he sighed. Falling abruptly onto his back, he sought a distraction from his grating hunger.

Through the opening above, Murtagh could spot the twinkle of distant stars.

A cloudless night… Murtagh noted.

… perfect for flying. Thorn finished the thought, morosely.

A sullen silence permeated the moment.

Why? Murtagh asked after a while. Why do we always end up like this? Chained down and suffering, with freedom and happiness just out of reach. Bitterness was creeping into his thoughts again. Trying to distract himself from this too, he thought back to the glorious months he had spent roaming the countryside after he had escaped the castle for the first time. It was one of the few times he could really remember being happy. Besides flying on Thorn, he could think of no freer feeling than galloping on horseback across endless plains, of sleeping out under the stars, of bathing in a stream, or sparring with a friend.

A friend… and frustration returned as his thoughts turned to Eragon. Murtagh had never quite forgiven the other rider for failing to rescue him when he was recaptured, though logically he knew it wasn't his fault. He thought I was dead, he reminded himself. Still, he couldn't help feeling a bit disgusted by the boy's attitude the last time they met. How could a real friend ask me to commit suicide so casually? The bastard. . .

To be fair, I don't think he meant it personally. Thorn interjected.

Murtagh snorted darkly, How much more personal can you get than telling someone to kill themselves?

I just meant that the blue rider does not seem to want you or I dead in particular. Thorn replied patiently. He believes it would serve the greater good.

Still, Murtagh continued, stubbornly, for such a suggestion come from him… it had hurt Murtagh more than he wished to admit.

Best not to dwell on it. It cannot be unsaid, but perhaps the future will bring some reconciliation between the two of you. You are brothers, after all.

Yeah, sure, right after I finish ensuring his enslavement to the king's will, I'm sure we'll just tussle a bit and make up, he replied sarcastically. Then we can go out for a night on the town, maybe start a bar fight and come stumbling home drunk, arm in arm, singing about unrequited love.

Thorn mentally raised his eyebrows, bemused. Well that was oddly specific. Honestly, I'm surprised you can keep up a sense of humor in a place like this.

Shut up, he responded playfully. But a small part of him hoped Thorn was right. In truth, Murtagh missed his friend. Eragon's carefree attitude, innocent and humorous disposition, and even his stubborn naivety had endeared him to the younger boy. Murtagh knew he could not bear to see his friend crushed beneath the yoke of enslavement.

That little git had better appreciate my sacrifice in letting him escape, Murtagh thought with sudden annoyance. I swear if he ever allows me to capture him, I'll punch him straight in the face for making all my suffering be for nothing.

He could sense Thorn's amusement through their bond.

What? Asked Murtagh innocently.

You still want to protect him, though you have a funny way of showing it. You are more brotherly than you give yourself credit for.

Despite himself, Murtagh allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. He was surprisingly pleased at his partner's observation.

But he changed the subject abruptly. You know, one thing still bothers me.

Hmm?

The king knows our true names, he pointed out. Why not just force us to swear more oaths? Why even bother with the torture, besides just an initial punishment. Wouldn't he rather have us out on the battlefield right now.

Swearing oaths did not prevent you from betraying him before, Thorn responded. You found a loophole in his orders last time, and you might find one in the future. I imagine his aim is to paralyze us with fear. He wishes us to give up before we even try to look for a way out... He wants us-

-to be hopeless. Murtagh finished the thought sullenly. And he won't give up hurting us until we are... Again, the king's words rang through his head, "This time I will make sure to break you properly."

Silence followed. What would they do now?

We have only two options before us. Thorn said, answering the unspoken question. We can give up hope of ever escaping this hell, in which case it would not be unwise to take Eragon's advice and end it ourselves. Or we can hold out hope that one day we will be free. If we choose hope, then we must survive at all costs until that day.

Once again, he found himself impressed by his dragon. Thorn had never known freedom, having been born in captivity and raised under the watchful eye of a tyrant king. He had been nothing but a tool for Galbatorix since the moment he hatched, yet he had never lost a sense of himself. His seemingly innate sense of optimism shone through, as always.

Well, we can't all be sullen and brooding like you. Its dreadfully boring. Thorn lightly jabbed.

Another, almost imperceptible smirk upturned one corner of the red rider's lips.

And yet you hatched for me anyways, he responded in kind. The fates must have known you'd need a realist for a partner to keep you grounded. Otherwise you'd fly so far above the clouds, you'd collide with the sun.

Their banter continued for a while, and both were grateful for the distraction. But soon the sun peaked out from behind the grate in the ceiling, and exhaustion swept over them both. Despite the sunlight, Murtagh found himself slipping into a dream.