Must you do that?

Thorn's rumbling voice startled Murtagh from his spiraling thoughts. He could sense the crimson dragon's disapproval as easily as if it was his own through their bond, but its source was lost on him.

"Must I do what," he murmured aloud. "I wasn't paying attention."

That much is clear, Thorn grumbled, since you're chewing your own cheek to shreds and you haven't noticed.

"Oh."

Now that his companion brought it up, Murtagh could clearly taste blood and feel the spots where he had unconsciously gnawed on his own flesh while deep into his thoughts. He whispered a spell to heal the weeping sore he had inflicted on himself.

"Better?"

It would be even more so if you told me what is bothering you so much that you forget yourself.

Murtagh grimaced. "Can you not tell?"

His attempt at evasion only earned him a growl and a withering look from Thorn, which he elected to ignore in favor of staring for the thousandth time at his surroundings. Nasuada had spared no comfort for him and Thorn, and the accommodations he had woken in a scant few days before were as lavish as anything he had ever lived in while in the capital, but he felt restless. Despite the ministrations of Du Vrangr Gata he still felt weak as a newborn foal and as such, Nasuada had ordered him back to bed rest as soon as they had finished their discussion when he had woken. The queen visited him as often as her duties allowed it and had brought him enough scrolls and books to entertain even the most scholarly elf, but it irked him to feel so weak and useless.

As such, he put off the most important step he needed to take: contact Mount Arngor and let Eragon, Saphira and the Eldunari know what he had found in Nal Gorgoth. One of Nasuada's pet magicians had brought a full length gilded mirror to his chambers two days past, murmuring about the spells Eragon had imbued in it to link it to the one in his possession, but Murtagh had not had the heart to cast the scrying spell or even look at the reflective glass too much.

What would his half-brother even think to see him stuck in bed like an invalid? He knew he did not have the strength of an elf, or any Eldunari to assist him in his fight with Bachel, and in the forefront of his mind he knew he had done as best as he could within the circumstances, but he couldn't help feeling inadequate nonetheless.

Thorn caught on to where Murtagh's rumination took him and growled again, the scales on his neck bristling with annoyance. The dragon's tone could peel off paint when he spoke, As much as I love you, partner-of-my-heart-and-mind-Murtagh, you are an utter fool sometimes. Why do you put yourself down so? Do you think less of me for my time in captivity as well, or is your skewed logic only applied to yourself?

"Of course not, Thorn, and you know that! I-" Murtagh stopped his heated rebuke; as always, Thorn put his finger – or his claw, rather – right through where it hurt most. The dragon hummed at the unspoken comparison he picked up in his mind and snaked his glittering head between the pillars of the four poster bed in which Murtagh lay. He patted his friend's scaly snout as he nuzzled in his side, much as he did when he was but a hatchling.

Your clutchmate was never cruel, Murtagh. Not even when he and Saphira-of-the-bright-scales were our enemies. Even were you… inadequate – Murtagh felt the disgust and anger at the term bleed through Thorn's emotions – he would understand and seek to help you.

Murtagh's breath hitched in his throat, and his hand stuttered as he scratched the underside of Thorn's jaw. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. After a few attempts he replied with his mind: I don't want their pity.

There is nothing to pity in almost being bested by a powerful foe, and then prevailing despite the odds.

But-

Thorn's lip curled up, showing his gleaming fangs as he growled. Did you pity Rider-Queen-Arya for her torture in Gil'ead? Did you pity Nasuada? An echo of pain and sorrow came through their bond. I ask you again, Murtagh, do you pity me for what the Eggbreaker did to me?

Murtagh felt his heart shatter into pieces at the anguish he felt in his partner. That his own insecurities would make the proud dragon question himself like he read through their bond was enough to make him hate himself even more. Tears sprang unbidden in his eyes, and he buried his face in the side of Thorn's warm, scaly jaw even as he opened his mind fully to the dragon to see what he was unable to word. His sorrow at the foolish mistake he had made in Nal Gorgoth that allowed them to be captured, grief and horror at putting Thorn through torture again, bitterness at being helpless himself, and his endless self-loathing at his inadequacies that led the partner of his heart being hurt again.

Little one…

"See?" Murtagh chuckled wetly into Thorn's scales. "I wasn't strong enough. What's there not to pity in my weakness and idiocy?"

Idiot, you may be, Thorn acquiesced, but not weak. There is no shame in resting after battle, little one. Not even for a dragon.

"True that," Murtagh mumbled, smiling despite himself as he raised his head to look in Thorn's glimmering ruby eye. He wiped his face on his shirt sleeve to hide the evidence of his sorrow before continuing to scratch the underside of the dragon's jaw.

And as to your idiocy, its only reason is believing these dark thoughts. We decided to go hunt Bachel, and we were careless enough in out hunt to become prey. Do not shoulder the blame for it on your own when we share it. We both failed, and we both managed to escape with our lives and freedom. That is enough for me.

How do you always know how to lift me up, Thorn?

A note of amusement entered Thorn's voice. You gave me entirely too much practice at it, sullen and broody being that you are. Now, will you contact your brother, or do I need to shake you like a hatchling so you drop these depressing thoughts?

"Yes, Mother."

Murtagh didn't have to be bonded to Thorn to translate the dragon's undulating growl as the vicious insult it was.


Murtagh's pride didn't let him scry the new home of the Riders stuck in bed, as much as his heart to heart with Thorn had assuaged his worries of judgement. He bathed, dressed in the clothes the servants had provided and fussed with his appearance for the better part of an hour before his scaly companion lost his patience and pushed him with his snout to the desk where the mirror sat. Now seated, with Thorn lounging in a patch of sun behind him in such a way that he could also see the mirror, Murtagh drew a deep breath and whispered the words of the spell that allowed magicians to communicate over any distance, wincing at the pull on his energy.

The mirror rippled as his spell took hold and the image of a comfortable, if a little sparse study appeared. The room had walls of smooth stone and a high ceiling, tall enough to allow a dragon bigger than Saphira and Thorn to dwell within. Dark lacquered bookshelves lined one wall, full of books and scrolls, while on the other side Murtagh saw a padded hollow in the floor large enough for a dragon and a window looking out to the sunny afternoon. What little he could see of the desk the mirror must have sat on was full of scrolls, books and loose sheets of parchment thrown haphazardly around, bringing back the memories of how sometimes Eragon's things ended up strewn all over their campsite while traveling together. Old habits never die, it seems.

The study was empty for a moment before a door somewhere outside the mirror's view opened, welcoming in a midnight blue furred elf the Murtagh vaguely recognized from the battlefield. The elf twisted his hand over his heart in his people's gesture of greeting and said, "Greetings, Shur'Tugal. Greetings, Skulblaka. I am Blödhgarm, son of Ildrid the Beautiful. What may I do for you?"

Murtagh swallowed the knot in his throat. "Greetings, Blödhgarm. Is… Is Eragon around? We need to speak to him."

The elf's expression never wavered from polite interest even as he paused for a couple of heartbeats.

"Eragon-elda is otherwise occupied at the moment, but I shall send word. He will be here shortly, or would you want me to pass on a message?"

"We'll wait," Murtagh said, and watched Blödhgarm leave with a nod.

They waited for half of an hour, staring at the empty study. Murtagh's stomach felt as if a hive of wasps had begun inhabiting it, and he fought the urge to fidget in his seat. Eragon was surely busy, and many more had much more of a right to demand his attention given his position as the Leader of the Riders, but Murtagh couldn't help feeling antsy as he waited. Thorn kept sending reassuring thoughts his way every now and then, but it did little to calm his nerves. Right when the wasps in his stomach had turned to a clutch of rowdy dragonets and he was debating ending the spell, he heard the unseen door to the study fly open with unexpected force. The sound of boots clattering on stone accompanied by a muttered oath about "blasted elves" preceded his half brother's arrival in front of the scrying mirror.

If he wasn't so anxious, Murtagh would have laughed until he dropped at Eragon's appearance. His brother looked as far removed from the wise leader of the Riders as one could be: his tunic was rumpled and dirty, and smears of what looked like stone dust marred every inch of his body. His hair could have fooled a clutch of swallows for a nest, and he bore a mighty scowl on his elf-like face that shifted to surprise as he beheld who was contacting him. For a second, both men stood frozen on either sides of the mirror, staring at each other in stunned silence until a broad grin bloomed on Eragon's face.

"Brother," he greeted, still grinning like a loon. The dragonets viciously attacking Murtagh's innards melted into nothingness at the utter relief and joy coloring his fellow Rider's voice, and he started smiling as well.

"Hello, Brother," he ventured, and at that Eragon's grin broadened.

"You have no idea how good it-"

A mighty roar and clattering of talons on stone swallowed whatever Eragon wanted to say, announcing Saphira's arrival. He swallowed a laugh as the blue dragoness skidded into view, knocking her Rider off his feet with the bony arm of a wing to his midsection.

She did that on purpose, Thorn chuckled in the recesses of his mind, and Murtagh agreed. Even his bonded partner admitted that he could never compete fully with the dragoness' grace and skill at flying, much to their mutual annoyance during the war. It was unlike Saphira to be clumsy, and their comment was proven true when her glittering scales rose and she bared her fangs in a trilling growl clearly directed at her rider.

Said Rider was gathering himself off the floor, holding a placating hand towards his annoyed dragon. "I did not know who was calling, Saphira," he begged, "only that someone important was. Blame Blödhgarm, if you will, not me."

Saphira continued growling. "Yes, yes, I will not run off like a panicked hatchling again, no need to worry." A pause, then, "Yes, Saphira. I'm sorry, Saphira."

Murtagh's resolve crumbled at his brother's contrite expression, and he started chuckling. Eragon's offended glance towards the mirror only served to spur him on to fully laughing, and Saphira and Thorn soon followed with their own rumbling chuckles at his brother's misfortune.

"Ha, ha," Eragon grumbled as Murtagh wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, gasping for air. "As if Thorn never does the same to you when he thinks you are foolish."

"Be sure he does, Brother," Murtagh said, finally calming down. He waved to Saphira. "'Lo, Saphira. Seems like keeping this one in line is a full time job."

Another dragon chuckle answered him, and he saw when the dragoness took over her Rider's mind to answer, "That it is, Murtagh-Eragon-brother. It is good to see you and Thorn well."

A short questioning thought later and Thorn spoke through Murtagh's voice, "And you as well, Brightscales, Eragon." The dragon's consciousness receded again, and he sobered. "We need to talk to you both. We need your help."