As Murtagh and Adron searched though the wreckage for Almiar, Thorn watched idly from above. His eyes were pinned on Murtagh, never letting the boy leave his sight. It seemed like years had passed in the time it had taken him to finally make contact with the boy. With the concussion, he had only met clouds, nothing that would truly help him find his rider.
The past few months had been hard on both of them, and Murtagh's failing health hadn't helped the situation anymore. They had kept it a secret from Galbatorix, knowing that should the King ever find out, there would be hell to pay. Still, when the boy would suddenly pass out in the middle of flight training, there were few explanations that could be given to satisfy the madman.
Beatings would be given, and though Thorn would growl and fight to stop the insanity, Shruiken would stop him every time. Still, it was a sad stopping, one that was halfhearted and filled with mixed emotions. The elderly dragon had grown a fond liking for the fearless boy with eyes of ice. However, the dragons stayed out of it, and though they constantly wished to help him…they never did.
At nights Murtagh would lay on the roof of his apartments, eyes half closed, arms spread out beside him. Thorn would sit above him and would watch over the boy. His wounds would be healed, but physical pain was nothing to them both. It was meaningless when it only lasted for five minutes. It invoked fear on occasion, but not enough to break the broken spirit of Morzan's son further.
Murtagh had always looked on the bright side of his illness, but Thorn had always had the growing doubt that the boy would one day sleep and never wake up. However, for now he had no fear of that happening. The teen hardly ever slept anyway, taking to only sleeping once every week or two- only for three hours at a time. In that sense, Thorn had always accepted gladly even when the boy was unconscious, for his body could regain the energy that had always been worn out.
Adron looked over at the young man beside him, his eyes calculating, and trying to understand him. He tripped over some rubble, and gasped as he tried to catch himself with his broken arm. Murtagh looked over, meeting his eyes, and the two stopped walking. He took a deep breath and moved towards the man – placing a palm on his injured arm. Adron gave him a quizzical work, but it was ignored as he whispered a spell and the bone realigned and was healed instantly. He had healed his own shoulder when Adron was busy gaping at Thorn, and had been completely ignorant of his companion's pain until he had gasped.
"Why are you doing this?" Adron asked rubbing the limb gently. "Why don't you just leave?"
"Because you protected me when I needed help, I figure it's the least I could do, to help you in return." Murtagh replied, smiling as though it were obvious.
"You're too honorable to work for the King." Murtagh smiled for a brief moment, before moving onward. Adron kept pace with him, and continued. "My father used to work for yours, did you know that?" Murtagh spared him a glance. "You'd have to ask him about it…but when I was young, he was gone for weeks on end only getting two days off a month." Murtagh opened his mouth, but was soon cut off. "When you asked me why I wasn't afraid of you, it's because my father said that Morzan was one of the most courageous, honorable, and powerful men he had ever met." Deep inside him, Murtagh felt his heart swell with pride. He was not the only one who had remembered a kind man, and not a tyrant. "I never met Morzan, but you should ask my father about it sometime."
"Thank you…I will…"
They walked on in silence, Murtagh thinking about what kind of man Almiar was and what he would say about Morzan. However, his musings were only intensified and a shout of pure joy was heard from ahead of them.
"Adron!" The man in question took off running, Murtagh following close behind. The older man flung himself into an elder man of his fifties' arms.
"Papa, how are you? Are you well? You seem to be in good health." Adron said holding the man at arms length.
"I am fine my boy, did you see the Dragon? He's been sitting above this abomination of a house for the longest time! Is he not everything I told you they were like?!" Murtagh watched on in a deep sadness. He wondered faintly if his father would call to him like this…if his father would hold him at arms length and talk to him about the wonders of the world. In the past he would have demanded that the answer was no, and that Morzan was purely evil. However now, now that his memories had finally and fully returned to him, he was no longer sure if that was true or not.
"I not only saw it, but you shall never guess whom else I've seen." The man laughed at the bait, and lightly took it.
"And whom might that be boy?"
"It's Rider!" The smile faded somewhat, and as Adron beckoned for Murtagh to come forward, it had completely vanished and was replaced with a look of quiet calculation. Murtagh stood under the man's strong gaze for a while, none speaking. The gaze seemed to send many thoughts into the boy's mind; thoughts on worth and acceptance…but most importantly remembrance. It was vague, but there was a distinct feeling of familiarity under those dark eyes. "Father, may I re-introduce you to -"
"Murtagh my lord, Son of Morzan." The younger interrupted, bowing his head in respect. After the gesture, he looked up, only to find the man to have gone very pale. His eyes were bulging and his hands were shaking.
The man lifted a hand and placed his palm on the boy's face, holding him there for a long moment. Beside them, Adron's eyes were moving from his father to Murtagh, looking confused.
"Father? Are you alright?"
"You look just like your mother." The comment flew Murtagh back into his memories once more, trying to recall exactly what Selena looked like. Truth be-told, he had always thought that his parents were very similar in appearance. They had the same hair, were roughly the same height, and they shared similar facial structures. Hers more feminine and pronounced then his though, and her eyes were much darker then Morzan's (a trait that Eragon had adopted).
"Sir?" He whispered softly.
"Except your eyes. You have your father's eyes true enough. You grew up well boy." Almiar said, ignoring the young man's comment. "I half expected you to be dead to be honest. After all the talk about your escape from the castle, I half expected you to be killed if you were ever brought back."
"How did you know that I ran away?" Murtagh asked, eyes furrowing in confusion. The hand was removed from his face, but that did not stop him from feeling the sense of familiarity…
"After serving your father as head guard for three years, I went on to serve the King as a guard in the citadel. We were told of your probable attempt to escape, and were warned to stop you at all costs. We failed…" Murtagh noted the diplomatic way of his speech. The man did not mention that he left his father's service because of the death of his liege lord, nor did he mention Tornac's death.
"Come…I must return to the palace, but I would greatly wish to keep talking with you. If you'd allow it, Thorn will carry the three of us back…or take you wherever you need to go." Murtagh murmured, silently calling for Thorn to come closer. The dragon complied, and with a flurry of awe and compliments they boarded the dragon, the non-riders listening to Murtagh's tips on where to situate their legs and body weight.
The ride to the King's court was a short and yet terribly long one. Murtagh was hardly listening to his new friend and Almiar. His mind, as usual, was thinking of his father and the king. He knew that he would be punished most severely for what he had done, especially when he hadn't tried to contact the King.
He sighed as the citadel came closer into view, and he felt Thorn press into his mind. It was always a welcome feeling, when his dragon wished to speak to him. It was nothing like Galbatorix's forceful breaking of his thoughts. Thorn knew, and accepted that the boy didn't like it when his mind was forced into, he never tried. He only spoke to him calmly, allowing him to be comfortable with his presence there. It was something that Murtagh had always appreciated, and never commented on.
Are you alright? The Dragon whispered, and he noticed the beast's head turn to face him.
I'm always alright. He replied softly, the distraction was what he needed right now. He was to close to falling back into his memories, to close to closing himself off once more.
Murtagh…you've been very distant this whole ride. Usually you –The dragon cut off as a searing pain shot through the boy's head. His hand grabbed it, body going into convulsions as he slipped from his friend's back – plummeting down to the ground below. Adron screamed, trying to grab him as he fell. He missed.
Murtagh's mind was breaking as shouts of anger thrashed him completely. He was insensible to the goings around him, insensible to everything for that matter. Only the sounds of the king berating him and screaming at him – telling him all of the punishments he would receive when he returned.
Thorn fell into a dive, and his two other riders yelped, trying to stay on. They managed the feet just as the dragon's hands grabbed the boy and pulled up. Thorn was looking at his Rider in complete fear as Murtagh tossed and turned on his claws. The teen's hands were gripping his head and he was moaning in pain.
The Dragon growled in rage and sent his own barricades into the boy's mind. Galbatorix had made his Rider oath something more then just physical fighting. When it came to actions of the mind, his mind was completely open. He couldn't protect himself against the angry force that was smashing its way into his head, but Thorn could.
He watched as his Rider fell still, oblivious to the fact that Adron and Almiar were watching Murtagh as well. He could hear the King threatening him to release the boy, but Thorn refused. He glanced behind him, wondering how far he'd make it if he spirited them away.
However he knew that under the oath of his true name, Murtagh was forced to never leave. He was just as much a warrior for the King as he was a captive. Thorn sighed and flapped his wings closer to the Citadel. He wondered faintly if the King would let the teen be, as he was already injured. He doubted it.
Murtagh was dreaming again, dreaming of the last time he saw his father…the last night he was in that beloved Tower. As a boy, he had never minded the Tower; he had wanted to stay there forever. Now as an adult, he wished he were back there. He wished he were anywhere except for this place. He wanted to curl up in that Tower's library and read a book, wanted to ride his horse across the plains, eat foods that he enjoyed, and show Thorn the place where his father's dragon had lived. He knew he would never go back there, he didn't know where it was, but he dreamed of it further…and the thoughts pained him worse.
It was dark out, and Murtagh was snuggled under his blankets. Rain had started falling a long time ago, and the boy had fallen asleep on his window seat to listen to it. He never minded the rain, he thought it sounded beautiful. It only came every once and a while though, as there wasn't much water around this area. He sighed in contentment in his sleep, and the rain lulled him into a deeper sense of comfort.
Morzan was not that lucky. His arm was bleeding terribly, and he was trying to ignore the pain. His dragon was flying as fast as it could to the Tower, and he was trying to staunch the wound. Below him was a lone rider with a purpose of striking him dead. He hadn't seen the man in so many years, but clearly he had underestimated him. The horse he was riding had been blessed by the Elves; it's feet smashing into the ground at a remarkable pace. He was keeping up with him, even as his beloved Dragon tried to fly faster.
Morzan saw the Tower coming, and glanced down at the man in a panic. He wouldn't be able to see the Tower would he? He'd simply ride through it, still looking for him, right? That was what the spell was. None who did not know the Tower could see it. Morzan looked up, eyes finding his son's room. He felt his heart stop as he saw the boy asleep by his window.
"Oh…my boy…" He whispered as he saw the innocence clearly plastered on his child's sweet face. He dug his legs into his dragon and hissed for him to go faster, and the winged beast replied instantly.
The Dragon landed by the huge open entrance window to the Tower – specifically made for the creature. It ducked its' head and stepped inside, sitting down on the marble floor – allowing his Rider to get off. Morzan ran to the door, adamant on finding his son and guarding him until the end of his days.
However the horseman below did know of the Tower. He did know how to enter it, and the rider kicked down the front door and rushed inside. The horseman ran up the stairs and up to where the Forsworn was, and just as the man threw open his door to find his son – the rider slashed out with his sword.
Morzan screamed in pain, his dragon howled with rage and plunged forward to attack the horseman. However an invisible wall shot up between them. The Dragon snapped and howled with rage, attempting to protect his Rider. Morzan looked up at the man before him, blood seeping from his chest.
"Brom…please…" He started, as the man advanced.
"No pleading for your life this time, Forsworn." The enraged former Rider hissed. Morzan struggled to his feet, his hands grasping Zar'roc in an attempt to defend himself.
"Not here Brom, please, just not here!" He begged, eyes glancing at the empty spot in the door where he could imagine innocent little eyes staring back at him. Murtagh could run down those stairs at any moment and see his father's imminent death.
"No. Here. Here and now." The man hissed as he raised his sword to strike once more. Morzan parried the blow and took a step back, he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced once more at the door, and Brom took that moment and stabbed him hard in his shoulder. The Rider hissed with pain, and fell to the ground with a howl. His Dragon was screaming now, and the man was clutching his newest wound in pain.
"My-son…" He whispered to Brom. The man's eyes widened slightly at the two words. "Don't-don't kill him…just…" he could feel his life draining out of him…his senses started to fail him, and he longed to see the boy just one last time. Their last encounter had been when the child had thought he hated him, surely that could not be his boy's final memory of his father… "Mith-hwesta o nar come…" He whispered.
Two stories above, the boy was already awake. He had heard the dragon screaming, and had already started to run to the Dragon's Lair to see his father. When the words he hadn't heard smashed into him, he felt his body jolt before rushing forward. He tripped only once, before his tiny body materialized in the doorway. He heard his name being whispered by his father as he appeared, and he thought that all would be well.
"Murtagh…"
He froze as the sight before him dawned on him. His father's eyes were looking at him with complete and utter pain. He felt his body shake as he watched the man's eyes close and he died. His dragon let out an ear piercing screech before joining him in the afterlife. The murderer stood there in a fright too, the consequences of his actions dawning on him at last.
"Daddy!" He shouted, rushing forward to wake his father. Brom caught him by his waist; and Murtagh fought like a wild cat to get out of the hold. "Daddy! Daddy! Wake up! Daddy!" He shouted again and again, reaching for the Rider in fear. Tears were falling down his eyes as he tried to get to him. Brom simply stood there holding him, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn't just leave the boy could he?
Murtagh kicked him hard in the shin as he contemplated, and he dropped the child in surprise. The little boy rushed to his father's side, tears pouring from his eyes like rivers. Never had his father not answered when he called for him, why was he starting now? The boy held the man's head in his hands, and shook it trying to get him to wake up.
"Daddy? Daddy?!" He called over and over and Brom felt his heart breaking. He had robbed this child of his father, just as he had killed the last Dragon in Alagaësia besides the King's. He bent down and picked the boy up, making his decision to take the boy somewhere he'd be safe. Murtagh was insensible with grief, and after pounding his tiny fists onto the man's chest, his arms wrapped around his neck and he wept bitterly into his shoulder.
Murtagh's eyes snapped open as a harsh smack sounded across his face. He was lying in Thorn's reptilian hands and before him was the King. The man had taken a fistful of the boy's shirt and pulled him upward, then he struck the teen until he opened his eyes. The king was not pleased. Not pleased at all. He was glaring at the boy with anger. Even though Thorn was growling at him, he pulled the boy up and threw him to the side.
Adron hissed as he saw the King manhandle the boy. Murtagh's unsteady legs didn't allow him to stand, and he fell to the floor in a heap. The son of the guard stepped past the king, despite his father's warning, and moved to help the boy to his feet. Murtagh looked up at him with such a haunted look, that Adron wondered if the boy was safer in the hands of the slavers.
"Are you alright my lord?" He asked softly. The boy's eyes widened somewhat, but nodded anyway.
"Who in the names of gods are you?" The king hissed as he attempted to wrench the boy from Adron's hold. However the older boy simply moved Murtagh aside before the King could take hold of his wrist. Then he turned to face the king, eyes defiant.
"My name is Adron, son of one of your guards, Almiar." The young man said, drawing himself up. "Sir, whatever faults the young lord has committed, he is clearly injured and any form of further…impairment could cause him to be severely ill. That is not what the lord King wishes, is it?" He gave the boy in his grip a gentle squeeze on the arm as he spoke.
The king looked at the young man and then back at Morzan's son, and he relented. He'd wait a small while before continuing this 'discussion.' And for the Adron's insolence – he would watch. The king formulated the plan in his head as he replied with a sick smile.
"Take him back to his rooms. I will deal with this later." With that the king turned and left; and Murtagh stared at his friend in awe.
"Thank you Lord Adron…" He whispered, voice steady, though tears threatened to fall from his eyes.
"Ah, I am not a lord, but I am willing to be your friend should you wish it of me." Adron had grown a liking to this man-child. Thorn lowered his nose and pressed it to his Rider's face in a comforting gesture.
"I would wish it so…" Murtagh said calmly, tears seemingly vanishing as he felt his Dragon's love for him radiate though his skin. Since his capture, he had refused to cry in front of people. Barring torture, he was rather adept at doing so. "Though I imagine the King would not allow such a thing to occur." Adron laughed.
"Then he won't allow it, I will simply ignore him." Murtagh looked up at him oddly, but nodded his head slowly. "Come; let me bring you to your apartments."
The walk was slow, and Murtagh was still slightly unsteady on his feet, but they managed just fine. The young heir told him what turns he had to make and when. They walked in companionable silence and they were just fine with that. Thorn had gone to drop Almiar off at his own house before returning to his shared room with Shruikan.
They entered Murtagh's room and Adron helped him sit on the bed before stepping back and looking around at it. Murtagh's head dipped into his hands as he tried to sooth his growing headache. Galbatorix had used to much power on an open mind, the effects had been disastrous.
"Nice room." Almiar's son said as he looked at the blank shelves, the empty fire, the tidy desk, and the dark walls.
"I don't decorate." Murtagh muttered at the sarcasm.
"Lay down, my lord. Get some rest, I will find my way home." Adron said as he moved to step out of the room.
"Thank you." The younger boy said as he watched his friend nod and exit behind the doors. He fell back onto the pillows, his head throbbing in pain. Then he curled into a ball and fell into another fitful sleep.