Windstar: I would like to give my humble apologies to everyone who's read this fic. I have been using the dreaded notepad to write in while my Microsoft word was down…Notepad as many know does not have a spell check. When Microsoft was updated and I transferred everything to Word…I became aware of a large number of spelling errors that do not usually happen in my writings. I am extremely sorry for this, and promise whole heartedly that it will not happen again.
Adron yawned as he leaned against the dark and dank wall of his prison. He wondered faintly what his family was doing and if they thought he was dead. This marked the fifth day he had been taken by the slavers. Until that day he had not seen any sign of anyone else besides him. That was before (of course) the door had opened and a body had been thrown into the room and then closed once more. For the past few hours he'd done everything he could think of to wake the unmoving figure, but then simply shrugged it off. And now there he was - leaning on the wall.
He sighed, running a hand over his face before noting the tremors that ran through the boy's body beside him. Leaning over he peered at the brunette's face, watching as dark eyes opened. The boy groaned, bringing a hand to touch his bruised forehead as his knees tucked to his chest.
Adron smirked, rubbing his own hand through his tussled hair. He gave the boy a once over. He looked about seventeen, pale skin, and dark eyes giving off a very mysterious aura. His hair was a deep brown, practically black, and his hands were oddly delicate yet had a slightly rough look to them.
"Hey kid…you alright?" He nearly laughed as the boy jumped, and spun his head to face him. Adron frowned however, noting the uneven and disoriented look in the boy's eyes.
"Who are you…?" He let out the breath he was holding during the wait for the response, he had wondered how coherent the kid was.
"Adron, son of Almiar at your humble service my lord." He smirked at the blank look on the teen's face. When he got no response he simply rolled his eyes mumbling something about how kids can't take a joke anymore. "I'm a captive, same as you. Nice shiner you got there by the way, can you see straight?"
"That…depends…" He waited for him to continue. "are…there two of you…?" Adron shook his head with a sigh.
"There's just one of me. Only one in here if you're wondering, but you've definitely got yourself a case of rattled brains..." Again a blank look made him huff at the insanity of it all. "You feeling alright kid?" The boy mumbled something, trying to push himself up and failing. "Didn't catch that, what'd you say?"
"'m not a kid…"
"Sure you aren't. What are you, sixteen? Seventeen max?"
" m nineteen!" The boy hissed as Adron cuffed him under the arm and drew him into a sitting position. "Twenty in three moons…"
"You must be joking? Sure it's not your rattled brains, Stew Head? I'm twenty-one, and I know from experience that I didn't look like that at nineteen."
"You're…the Stew Head…my brains…are fine…" Adron accepted the retort, concentrating on keeping the teen talking with that nasty head wound of his.
"What's your name kid?"
"'m not a kid!"
"Fine. What's your name child?" He watched with satisfaction as a scowl planted itself firmly on the teen's face.
"Murtagh, son of Morzan first and last of the Forsworn." Adron kept a reasonably blank face at him for the longest time, watching his scowl grow deeper. "What, no retorts on my heritage?"
"Oh I'm so sorry, forgive me. 'Oh my gods! You're that terrible monster's son? Whatever is wrong with you!? Bring out the tar and feathers we must parade you through town and show our displeasure with scowling faces!" Despite the terrible headache and the awkwardness of the situation, Murtagh let out a deep laugh. Soon Adron joined him in the mirth; sitting back on his heals as he pushed the teen's hair from his face to get a better look at his wound.
It wasn't until later that the teen realized that that laugh was his first laugh since his capture from the Varden.
"You're not afraid?"
"Should I be? Should I be quaking in my boots? I'll remember to do so once I get them back from our lovely friends behind that door there." The chuckle that was to occur disappeared in a hiss as Adron's hand lightly touched the deep bruising. "Bet you have a nice headache there Tag-boy."
"You're insistent on giving me a horrendous nickname aren't you?"
"My mama once said that my persistence was going to be the death of me. When you get out of here, you're not going to hang me are you?" Murtagh shook his head, finding the other humorous in this annoyingly awful situation. "So, how'd you end up here Oh Great Son of Someone I Should Fear?"
"Bad promise…" Murtagh mumbled cupping his head with his hands.
"Well…that's an interesting way to get caught. What happened? You promised you'd go with those slavers for a way out of the palace and the next thing you know here you are?" Murtagh glared and Adron just shrugged leaning against the wall with a sigh. "Hey, you clarify, not like I can read your mind."
"How is this any of your business?" Adron smirked.
"It's not, but I don't feel like talking, and if one of us doesn't then it's going to be a rather loong and boring wait." Murtagh huffed and wrapped his arms around his knees as he brought them to his chest.
Neither spoke for a while, Adron taking to thumb twiddling, Murtagh trying to clear his muddled mind long enough to make a connection to the now four month old dragon. However when that proved futile, he glared at the older person beside him who now was trying to whistle.
"If I tell you, will you stop that goddamn noise?" The brunette snapped. Adron agreed with a bit to much cheer in his voice and Murtagh groaned as he leaned heavily against the wall.
"Murtagh…your training has gone very well so far…don't you think?" Galbatorix asked as he leaned back on his chair at the head of the table, hands toying with a plum that was picked from his plate.
Murtagh, who was to busy poking (stabbing with minimal effort) his own fruit with his fork, looked up blankly – nodding regardless. It didn't really matter what he thought, the King would continue on without stopping. Thorn had grown large enough to ride some time ago, but since then; the lessons had been endless, and had been leaving him gasping for breath at the end of them. He felt Thorn touch his mind and he suppressed the longing to communicate with the dragon.
"I have decided…to send you on your first mission." The teen looked up from his massacre of fruit by use of fork. Galbatorix almost laughed, eyes inspecting the destruction that had taken place.
"What must I do…sire?"
"There's this village…I'm sure you know the one. That has been causing me some grief for the past few years…You remember…it was the first mission I asked you to do." Murtagh paled considerably as the memories assaulted him once more.
"Sire I cannot-"
"Mith-hwesta o nar you will do as I say." The king hissed irritably.
"Sire…please…I do not wish to fight…" The king frowned.
"What?"
"I do not wish to fight anymore…especially not innocents."
"Don't want to fight…hm?" Galbatorix looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "Then swear you will not fight until you swear otherwise to me." Murtagh looked stunned at the suggestion.
"You…you're going to let me not fight anymore?" He vaguely heard Thorn's caution in his mind.
"Swear you will not fight until you swear otherwise to me, and I will change your missions." Immediately the words were spoken in the ancient language. "I want you to walk down to the southern district…do not wear anything that will make you recognizable by anyone. Thorn will not be going with you. This is not a request. Do it Mith-hwesta o nar."
Leaving out what his true name actually was, as well as the fact he was a Rider, Murtagh completed his tale saying that while in the district he was jumped and knocked out as he was not able to fight back. The next thing he knew he was here.
"Where are we…by the way?" Adron shrugged and took a deep breath.
"I was out when they brought my father and me here as well. He's somewhere in this place, that's all I know. That's quite a tale you've got there. I assume you don't have a very nice relationship with our Lord and Sovereign."
"No…no I don't."
"Well, good, that makes two of us." With a laugh Adron looked at Murtagh's pale face, frowning. "You don't look to good. You're pretty pale."
"'m cold…" The teen muttered, shivering against the stone. Adron nodded slightly, before removing his long sleeved wool shirt. He tossed it at the boy, who barely caught it. "You'll be cold now."
"What? You kidding? I'm The Great Adron son of Almiar I don't get cold." The older man said unconvincingly as he sniffled and sneezed. Murtagh shook his head, and draped it over the man. Moving closer so the two sat side by side, they managed to drape the shirt – mostly on Adron – over themselves so they were both minimally comfortable.
Murtagh did have to smile though…for the first time since his mental attack…the pieces finally felt like they were going back together.
Windstar: This will not be a slash fic. I detest them greatly. This will have no such content in it. The relationship between Adron and Murtagh will remain strictly on a friendship only level.