*I do not own the Inheritance Cycle…Also fish.*

The Freedoms of Loopholes

"You are dismissed, Murtagh. Now get out of my sight, you insignificant pest!" Galbatorix spat his name out with disgust. He returned to his black throne, lazily throwing one leg over the arm of his seat before picking at the dirt under his nails.

Murtagh bowed low, loathing himself all the more for even doing such a thing. "Thank you…My Lord."

He shuttered, he hated saying such words to the man he most despised. It's not as if he liked doing these types of things – he was forced to. It was as if Galbatorix had Murtagh under lock and key; controlling what he did, where he went, with very little freedom whatsoever. Murtagh turned around and walked slowly towards the looming black door, limping.

"Was that hesitation I heard, Murtagh?" The king asked in a sickly sweet voice. Murtagh stopped his slow journey abruptly, wincing slightly when he felt a pressure build in his mind; a threat if he did not answer.

"N-No, My King, of course not. Perhaps you heard wrong?" He asked meekly.

Galbatorix turned his attention away from his black nails and onto Murtagh, glaring at him. "Do you dare insult my intelligence, boy?" Spittle flew from his mouth.

"Of course not, I was simply suggesting that you had perhaps heard wrong. Now, please, would you allow me to rest before the ambush tomorrow?"

The king scoffed, "Humph, very well, scum." Galbatorix muttered something to himself, chuckling slightly and nodding as if in agreement with himself.

Murtagh sighed in relief, glad that he had escaped with only a little punishment.

What do you mean only a little? A voice said in Murtagh's head, I can feel your soreness, and cracked ribs, and that splitting-

I know Thorn, Murtagh cut in, and I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing; it will only take some magic to heal it up. The fact that I am still conscious and able to walk is far better than being unconscious and bleeding while Galbatorix, that vile man, searches through my mind.

Thorn keened softly, But you are still hurt when you did nothing wrong. He then growled angrily. I wish we could just fly away from here and be free.

Murtagh felt guilty, Thorn had never known the taste of freedom, being burdened to be his rider and serve that daft cretin of a king since he was a hatchling. Not only that, he had been forced to go through the painful process of enlarging his girth to match and, eventually, outgrow Saphira in size and muscle with the help of the Eldunari.

I know Thorn, I have thought about escape every day, but Galbatorix knows our true names. We can do nothing more unless we change ourselves completely. Until that day comes, we are lions pacing in a cage, waiting to be let out.

Although he hated the king, Murtagh could not say that he was not being treated rightly. In fact, he could have been spoiled rotten with all the luxuries that came with being the king's right-hand man. But he chose not to accept any of those impractical and pointless items; they were simply not to his liking.

Instead, he went to the vast Gardens where everything was green with life and blooming flowers at every corner. Winding paths carved throughout it, creating the perfect scene or secluded sections meant for meditation or simply for the peace and quiet that the animals created when gently running through the vegetation. He would go there before the attack; the Gardens always helped calm his nerves. It was the only thing that he would regret leaving when the blasted war was finally over, and he could, at long last, be with the love of his life, Nasuada.

She was probably with another man by now, having long since given up when Murtagh seemingly joined Galbatorix's forces. But he hadn't given up hope, not yet. Murtagh could almost taste freedom when the Varden march their way each time, getting closer and closer to the final battle that would end all battles.

Stay where you are, I will come to you. I can feel your weariness. And stop moping; I hate it when you do that.

Murtagh expressed his gratefulness run through their link, sitting down heavily on a patch of grass.

Thorn jumped into the sky, flapping twice to gain to altitude, and zoomed away towards Murtagh. He barrel-rolled up into the clouds, enjoying the feeling of the bite of the wind on his blood red scales. He snapped at a bird that got too close in his air space for his liking, crunching it once, and swallowed.

Down below, Thorn saw a tiny speck, and dived towards it. Murtagh looked up at Thorn, grinning, as he awaited for his arrival. It looked like Thorn was going to crash into the ground when suddenly he flared his wings, abruptly halting his descent, landing first on his hind legs, then his front with a thud.

Murtagh spread his arms out in welcome while Thorn stepped into his embrace gently so as not to hurt his rider. He breathed in his sooty scent, stroking his rough scales, happy to be reunited with his dragon once more.

Take my energy, Murtagh. You do not have enough to heal yourself.

Very well, Thorn, if you do not mind.

You know that I never mind, Murtagh. Said Thorn earnestly.

Thorn opened his mind fully, allowing Murtagh to enter it, seeing all his memories from the day he was a hatchling up until now, where he had grown into a fine, juvenile dragon. Although his size contradicted that, his mind was still that of a child, the only thing Galbatorix could not grow at a fast pace. He couldn't risk any amount of damage that would have ended in an unstable mind. And in Galbatorix's head, an unstable mind meant a useless dragon. All he needed was bronze, not brains.

Imprinting aerobatics into Thorn's muscles was all that Galbatorix needed to win battles; strategies and plans went to the other half that makes a dragon and rider one. With this, the king thought that his scheme was flawless, but what he did not intend was for there to be loop holes.

Murtagh had been teaching Thorn the Ancient Language in hope that one day…one day it might come to use; to tell truths, and nothing more. It is only possible to lie if you believe. And to believe is to risk to hope. *To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure. But risk must be taken, because the greatest hazard in the world is to risk nothing.* That is what Murtagh learned in the real world, where risks were taken every day by normal people. Tornac had taught him this, and Murtagh valued everything his deceased master is and was.

*The starred sentence is a quote I "borrowed" from somebody, and if anybody does claim ownership of it, I will take it off if necessary or give credit to its rightly owner.

Keep on reading.*