*I do not own the Inheritance Cycle ... Also, gerbils.

Waring: More than slightly gruesome writing. :S*

Apprehended

The rustling of chains echoed in the quiet room. Groggy eyes wearily opened to see faint light coming from the top of the area. It blinked slowly.

Where was he?

He looked up, but even that little action caused him pain. Now he remembered; the way they whipped him, starved him. Torture. Those animals had no soul if that was the way they treated other human beings. He rolled his neck slightly, wincing faintly at the pain. The pale glow that illuminated his dank, dark, godforsaken cell gave barely enough light to see his other wounds. His finger looked a little weird, bending at the wrong angle and purple with various bruises. His arm was no worse for wear; it had some faded lacerations … Oh, and a new one; deep too. There were even flies feasting on his flesh, rubbing their greedy little legs in anticipation of a meal. At least not everything had abandoned him. Or perhaps he was even too pathetic for them; they had already buzzed away and onto the next cell with a rotting … something… On the other side, his right, half his pinky was missing. He frowned. How … unfortunate …

Now ... where has it ... gone, he thought.

The figure moved it slightly, revealing that it was just barely attached to the other half. Oh .. there it is. I was wondering if they had finally cut it off. He shrugged his shoulders slightly in indifference so as to avoid any more unnecessary stinging, throbs, aches; everything that could possibly cause him hurt.

How had he gotten here, he wondered. Was he in trouble for doing something he shouldn't have? Or perhaps it was because he killed someone by accident.

No, no, that wasn't it. It was a mission … He had been in charge of a scouting mission to … to get the last egg? No, that was wrong.

Had he gone to spy? Perhaps it was on the Empire's whereabouts. Yes, that was it. And then … And then his group had gotten ambushed by those blasted men. He had fought and spilled so much blood and screamed till his throat ran dry, but they were dreadfully outnumbered. He killed so many and their lifeless eyes stared back at him; inquiring him, judging him, pleading and begging and asking why … why … why?

It was supposed to be a simple information retrieval mission, and he had gotten captured. Only he; the rest had died in that … that massacre.

Blast it all. The man's gaunt face came together in a frown as he came to another conclusion. They must have drugged me. That's why I must … be feeling so … slow. Though … I see no use in it, seeing as there isn't a … magical bone in my body. Tch … they won't be getting anything out of me. I … rather die …

And what of your wife, a voiced whispered ominously in the back of his mind.

My … wife?

Yes, yes, your wife. And your dear brother, too. I bet he will think you're dead and weep over you till no end once he hears what's become of you.

No end? Is there really … no … end?

The man had no time to think; another had entered with a leather mask and a whip. He whimpered slightly, already feeling the stinging upon his back and the screams scratching out of his throat, making it raw with pain and-

There was no crack of a whip, or heavy footsteps that usually accompanied it this time, no man with a leather cowl. Instead, blues eyes flashed dangerously upon approaching the man.

"What do you think you're doing here," the man snarled coldly. "Lying there like a drunken fool with no integrity?"

The other man said nothing, looking off to the side with a visible flinch. He didn't need this reprimanding; he did it to himself enough already.

"And can you tell me why I was sent down here when I was just done healing my wounds?" Still yet, the quiet echo of dripping water was his only answer.

He came forward and gripped the man's hair, ignoring the wince of pain that went through the other's body. "Well … Can you?"

The man was still looking to the side.

"Jeirda," he whispered cruelly. Snap. He grunted and bit his lip to stifle the pain.

It was just another thing broken now. Like it would make a difference anyway; he could still feel it – the excruciating pain – just not the same way he used to. It would never be the same ever again.

"Why …" He whispered back gravelly. "Murtagh …?"

Murtagh laughed harshly. "You think I want this; to hurt my half-cousin? The only family I have left besides Eragon?" He laughed again. "You don't get it. I was forced to. Nothing will change that. Not escaping, not redeeming myself, not changing my goddamn name. Nothing.

"Can't you see? I've given up on trying to change and freeing myself by helping people. I'm done."

Murtagh rubbed his face tiredly and looked at the pitiful man sitting on the ground between his fingers. "I can't even kill you if I tried. All I can do is torture."

He turned back to the door, reaching out for something and placing it in front of the man. "I am still human even though you may think I'm not. Now eat, you're not going to be able to get this much food for a while."

The man chuckled but it quickly turned into hacking coughs. Blood spattered Murtagh's breeches as he came closer. Slowly, he let a hand go to the man's soiled chest that was barely covered by the rags that were his clothes.

"Waíse heil," Murtagh spoke softly. Gradually, the man's breathing returned to normal. "Perhaps you shouldn't do that anymore, eh?" He faced his back toward the wall and slid down slowly, landing with a slight thump next to the man.

"What am I supposed to do with you, Roran? I can only keep you alive so much longer before Galbatorix finds out what I've been up to."

"Don't … Pity me…" Roran mumbled.

"Have you already thrown your life away and let it rot here? To refuse help in such a horrible condition …" Murtagh shook his head dejectedly. "The least you can do is eat the food I brought."

Roran barely shook his head. "Can't …"

"Can't what? Eat? Or are you refusing again? So help me, Roran, I will-"

Again, a slight shake of the head. "First … one."

Murtagh sighed. He reached his hand for Roran's throat, muttering once again while his hands glowed a slight red. "That is all I can do for now. The beating Galbatorix gave me did a number on me." Murtagh let out a slightly trembling breath. "At least he doesn't check over the oaths he has put on me …"

Roran voiced a scratchy "Thank you" as he sighed in relief. His other wounds would have to wait.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow, though Roran could hardly see in through the darkness of his prison. "The least I could do. Right now, though, you need to escape. I knocked out the guards, so you have about two hours to get out of here. There's a passageway to the surface once you escape. Go back to the Varden and tell them … Tell them there will be an ambush-"

Murtagh suddenly went into a fit of pain. "Go now … before someone … comes."

Roran looked hesitant and glanced at his shackles.

"J-jeirda. Now … go."

Roran painfully got up, inching his way up the wall until he stood fully. Adrenaline flowed through his veins.

One step. And then another. And another. Finally, steps turned into an excruciatingly slow walk towards freedom. Roran took one last look at Murtagh who was still breathing harshly, but now unconscious.

Thank you … cousin …

Shaking his head, he pushed the metal door open with tremendous effort that left him breathless. After this, I will never be out of shape again …

He didn't see any guards, courtesy of Murtagh, so he silently (except for the occasional groans of pain) made his way down the musty hall, constantly twisting his neck as much as his condition allowed (which wasn't much).

Click … clack … Click … clack …

I thought ... I thought he got rid of all the guards! What am I supposed to do now? I can't possibly ... defeat them! Think, Roran ... think! Magic is out of the question, I can't fight … Do I just wait ... like a sitting duck? Another way, another way … There has to be another way!

There were only a few lanterns here and there, but it was enough to see the impending guards' shadows. To his left, the bricks were cut and shaped into a small, arched opening.

Click… CLACK … Click … CLACK …

The footsteps were coming closer. If he went through the little entrance, it could mean freedom. But if it was just a folly, then he would end up dead. It could also be a trap but-

He sorely got onto one knee and started tugging at the nonexistent crevice gingerly. There was a grinding sound, and then it came open. Roran would never forget what he saw that day…

People … Hundreds of them were milling about, doing various chores that included cooking, washing clothes, feeding animals, and even a child with glum a face getting a bath in a sink. It was a whole community of people simply … living. Roran got up in wonder, even his aches numbing with awe. This … This city was not possible. Yet, it lived and breathed like a giant monster. Had no one noticed this secret society? Or perhaps it wasn't secret at all? Maybe it was just an illusion cast by magic, or perhaps they were all slaves …?

Either way, whispers started to sound, and fingers were pointed to the grubby man on the floor.

"Help," he whispered as darkness and the ground started to close in on his vision. "Someone … help …"

And then everything went blank with pain.

*Ouch, two months ... That's a long time, isn't it? And I make it up with this short, crummy cliff-hanger? What a bad author I am. :( Bah, anyway, at least this is longer than the norm, right? *crickets* Okay, okay, well at least I updated ... Fine, I'm horrible, I admit it! I've been lazy and homework is not especially entertaining. Excuses, excuses, I know. Anyway, I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Now normally I wouldn't go this far into detailing something so horrible, but it shows just how badly Roran was treated ... And it's character development; have to have that otherwise where's the depth? Sorry to those who were disturbed; I wanted to test out how far I could go with this. I can't help but feel it's a little fast-paced though. :/ Tell me what you think, should this be M-rated now? Hmm ... :/

Keep on reading.*