Murtagh had forgotten what it was not to be in pain. To be free from bodily and mental ailments. To breathe air not tainted with the metallic scent of his own blood.

Murtagh was clean and tired, but he didn't sleep. He didn't deserve sleep. He stayed crouched in the far corner of his chambers, wrapped in a heavy black cloak. He felt no warmth. His dragon nuzzled his hand.

"What do you want, now?" Murtagh growled at him. The dragon sneezed and fell splayed on the floor, smoke curling from his nostrils. The dragon shook his head in confusion. Murtagh sighed and helped him up. "You're a real pain. Maybe that's what I should call you. Pain. You caused it, and you've ended it." The dragon snapped at his fingers playfully. "Stop it. Go away, will you?" He shoved him back. The dragon gave a pitiful cry and came to him again. Murtagh groaned and looked at his hand, where the dragon had touched him. "Ah, come here." He scooped the dragon up and gently opened its right wing, fingering the thin membrane. "From now on, we'll be a thorn in the side of the Varden. Do you like Thorn?" The dragon sneezed in response. "What, have you got a cold? Can dragons get colds?" He sighed and pulled Thorn close to his painfully thin chest. "When will you be able to speak?" he whispered. "Outside of jumbled emotions, I mean. I can't always understand you. Can you understand me?" Thorn yawned widely and closed his eyes. He gave a mental affirmative nod. Murtagh leaned against the wall and moaned softly "Eragon's going to kill me." But he didn't care. Not about him. The one name that rippled through his head was Nasuada's. Oh, what a beautiful name. It was perfect. Her eyes were perfect, her smirking mouth, her hair, her figure... She was really something. But she would hate him when she found out what he had done. What he was forced to do. He would tell her the truth. Yes...

He awoke in the middle of the night as cold as ice. Stiffly, he stood so his dragon tumbled from his shoulder, he limped to the window and looked out upon the kingdom. Of course, the window was ten stories high, so Murtagh would find it difficult to escape. He touched the latch and his hand was immediately repelled by magic. He muttered an oath and turned away from the window. "Stay here," he said tersely. Thorn blinked at him and made as if to follow him. " Stay here," Murtagh growled more insistently. He strapped on his sword which the Twins had reluctantly returned to his possession. Quietly, he opened his door.

The castle was silent. Nothing stirred. Silently, like a specter, he crept through the all-too familiar halls with an awed sense of disgust. A shaft of moonlight threw the castle in a silvery-blue light. Everything seemed flat and washed out. He touched delicate objects of porcelain, silk and glass that he had once known and thought nothing about, feeling as if he was in a horrific dream. In the corners, shadows fell thickly, marring the surrealism. Murtagh stayed close to the walls, closest to the shadows in case he was seen. His breaths came out raggedly. He hadn't used his legs in months. His movements were awkward and his spine stiff. On impulse, he opened a door that led outside.

He looked around and realized he was in a long neglected garden. Shriveled vines choked a trellis and dead leaves crunched beneath his feet on the stone floors. Leaning against the side of the stone garden, Murtagh forced his chin over the side, trying yet failing to see what was over it. Climbing on the stone side, he stood quite still, looking down at the world one hundred fifty feet below. He took a step nearer and looked down. A horrible smile crept from his quickly beating heart to his face. His stomach fluttered with delight. Yes. He didn't have to live under the rule of Galbatorix. He didn't have to live with the name of Morzan anymore. He could simply fall. Try to fly. Yes. He would fly away from this reality. This prison. He stood on the very crumbling brink of the world. He laughed and walked the edge of the universe, playing his dangerous game. One which he couldn't lose. One where there was only one winner. A warm breeze ruffled his inky hair, rippled his clothes. He still felt a chill, but it was receding. He laughed again, this time for a long time. All he had to do was fall. Surrender to the wind's warm, lulling embrace. Let himself go. He looked up at the great silver moon. He would be joining it soon. Floating in its milky wake. Stuck in the blue-black gelatinous sapphire of the sky. He tilted his head back and drank in the liquid loveliness of the air, spread his arms...

Suddenly, his head was filled with thoughts of anger, betrayal, hurt, and something tugged violently at his cloak, knocking his weakened, disoriented body off the stone edge of the world. Off his grace. His one hope and mercy. He opened his eyes where Thorn stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," Murtagh growled, an unexpected anger consuming his mind. "My world is nothing! Worth scrap metal! An Urgal's life is worth more than mine!" He was mentally cut off. "Did you just-" It happened again. "Stop it, you deranged lizard! Get out of my head. Go!" Thorn hissed and widened his mouth, displaying his tiny sharp teeth and glistening, red maw. Murtagh slumped against the stone wall and drew up his knees, pressing his eyes with them until it hurt. And then he was sobbing helplessly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know I would...didn't know I wanted to...it just happened. The temptation was staring me in the eyes. I swear I didn't..." He clutched at his chest suddenly. It was fit to burst. His heart choked him. He fell to his side and stared transfixed once more on the sky. Thorn wailed and nudged his Rider's clenched hand. He wailed once more. When it became clear that no one was going to come to his aid, he lay beside Murtagh and lent him his strength as little as there was. At the very least, the boy's heart stopped palpitating as dangerously. He and the dragon lay as they were, too exhausted, too cold to move if they wanted to. Murtagh imagined he saw Sapphira flying above him, Eragon on her back. They were coming to save him. Yes. They-they were forgiving of his sin against the Varden. They would take him back and... and...

Murtagh woke in his bedroom covered in half a dozen blankets. His dragon lay curled next to him, keeping guard. Murtagh saw a maid standing over him dabbing his face with something and murmuring to him tenderly. "Who-who are y-"

"Shh...back to sleep now, love." Murtagh obeyed and relapsed once more into the troubled and strange lands of his dreams.

When next he woke there were several women around him, cleaning the room up, fussing over him and gossiping. Most of the gossip was about him. "Ooh, he's so handsome isn't he?" a young maid said sneaking a look at him. "Though a bit peaky."

"That's because he was tortured. For two months,can you believe it?" one exclaimed excitedly. "I heard him myself. No matter how much they beat him, burned him, cut him and mercy know what else, he kept screaming, 'No!'. He must be a very profound boy-" Murtagh forced open his eyes slowly.

"Hush, now! I think he heard you!"

"Oh, dear... Go back to sleep now, love. We're taking care of you!" the one who had been speaking giggled.

"Galbatorix," he muttered. He tried to sit up, but was pushed down by three girls. "He knows," he grunted, still trying to get past them. Two more girls held his legs down, laughing girlishly. "He knows, do you hear me?" he bellowed at them. His fear was that the king knew his attempt to "fly". Something that should have been impossible given the oaths he had taken. He knew the king would wish to put more enchantments on him. He knew he must get to him quickly or he'd explode.

"Who's Nasuada?" one girl asked him coquettishly. "She must be lovely."

"What?"

"You talked in your sleep, dearie," one woman said pushing his head down, hands lingering in his hair. "She close?"

"I need the king!" he cried finally getting out of bed clutching his chest.

"That's quite all right, my son," Galbatorix whispered from the door. The maids gasped and backed away from Murtagh. "Shouldn't you girls be cleaning other parts of the castle. We had quite enough in here to start with. Now I'm afraid there isn't anything else to tend to? I must talk with my impertinent child." He said all of this in his slow, soft, rustling voice. Like satin.

"Of course, Your Majesty," they hastily replied and left, heads down and their faces blushing. When they were gone, Galbatorix turned his full attention to Murtagh whose dragon curled around his leg.

"Murtagh, Murtagh, Murtagh..." Galbatorix muttered quietly, taking his leisure in looking around the room, turning things around in his hands. "Murtagh. If there is one short from infinite ways to do something correctly, without fault or error, you will find that one loop and tear through it." He began in Murtagh's direction.

Murtagh took an involuntary step back. "I didn't-"

"Don't begin the protestations, my boy," Galbatorix cut in smoothly. "You changed last night. Something in you changed. That's how you were almostable to jump off my tower. If not for your dragon, who fortunately isn't in the least bit obedient to you, you would have plummeted toward your supposed death only for me to catch you at the last possible moment which would have annoyed me. I've learned that people don't like me when I'm annoyed. But of course you aren't a person. You are a disobedient child with the clarity of mind of a madman."

"So what are you going to do, now?" Murtagh said from where he was pressed against the wall.

"Now, we mend the cracks oaths. Now, we fix you and your selfish motivations." He put a hand on Murtagh's forehead making him flinch. "This won't hurt a bit," Galbatorix assured him with eyes swimming in venom. There was a great mental snap and Murtagh collapsed on the floor as his strings were cut.