9/14/101

He couldn't breathe, couldn't run, couldn't escape. The fires blazed all around him, and pain streaked his spine—he was bleeding, he knew, but he didn't know how badly or how much.

"Murtagh!"

He turned, gasping with the effort. A young woman stood a few yards away from him, her face wavering before his. He blinked, struggling to identify her—who was she? She seemed familiar, but he just couldn't place her name…

"Murtagh, you've got to focus," she said, her dark eyes fixed tightly on his. "Fight it! It's not that far. They're coming at you, but you've just got to get yourself together and—"

"I can't!" he cried, his voice cracking with pain. His legs buckled underneath him, and he dropped, the fire blazing through his side. "You—"

His vision was flickering, swamped with darkness. Faintly, as if from far away, he heard footsteps as his name was screamed again—"Murtagh!"

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Murtagh awoke.

For a moment he lay there, staring at the ceiling above. His mind raced, a complete blank—who was she? What day was it? What had happened?

Murtagh?

Murtagh flinched at the sound of the voice and immediately wished he hadn't as a sharp sting rippled through his back. Slowly, with shaking fingers, he reached backwards, brushing his back lightly. Holding them up in the dim light, he saw that they were streaked with blood.

Murtagh? the voice again, more worried and insistent. Are you okay?

Murtagh inhaled slowly, wincing as his ribs protested. He probed them carefully, fingers questing—at least two were broken, maybe more. I don't know—I—Thorn?

Yes, his dragon said, a note of anxiety in his voice. I've been trying to contact you for the past couple days, I've only just gotten through—what happened? What did Galbatorix do to you?

I'm not sure, Murtagh said slowly, discovering to his shock that this actually was true. His memory was patchy, and the increasing clamor in his head only made it worse. He gritted his teeth, trying to think. I—what day is it, Thorn?

Three days after our return from the Burning Plains, Thorn said carefully. Do you remember what happened?

Murtagh shrugged instinctively and winced. Vaguely. Not really.

Oh. Thorn was quiet for a moment. Well, Galbatorix was really pissed off, and he pulled you off me and dragged you away and I felt that same barrier drop between our thoughts again and I couldn't contact you until a moment ago when I think I broke into your dream, maybe? Who knows? I yelled your name a couple times, and here we are. I'm not much more enlightened on the subject that you are. Where are you, anyway?

The question gave him pause. Slowly, Murtagh sat up, taking care of his ribs as he looked around the chamber. It was dark, with a thick scent of blood and dung and damp in the air. Water dripped slowly from the ceiling, and the door was barred, with ominous-looking locks on it. A pile of rusting chains was heaped in a corner.

I think I'm in a dungeon, Murtagh said after a long moment. Lower level, maybe…there's no window here. I…three days, you said?

Yes. Murtagh could sense Thorn pacing, his tail flicking in agitation. It's morning. Couple hours away from noon.

Morning…Murtagh said wonderingly. If it was day outside, his prison showed no sign of it. I see.

Don't we all.

Is—Murtagh paused, unsure of whether he wanted to hear the answer or not. He exhaled slowly, gathering his nerve. Where's Galbatorix?

Not sure…Thorn moved, flitting from window to window, his vision halfway imposed on Murtagh's. Murtagh swayed, feeling slightly disoriented by the merged images. Not in his chambers. Not in the atrium. Not in the courtyard, not in the loo, not in your bedroom…not in the stables, not in the treasury, not in any of the ministers' offices…

Is he coming down here?

Can't be sure. Unh…give me a moment here. Wait—got him! He's on the ground floor, talking to some soldier or the other. He's moving. He's moving! He's picked up three soldiers behind him…wait, no. He's heading upstairs. Never mind.

A wave of relief swamped Murtagh. He sagged, leaning against the wall. Thank the gods for small blessings.

Thorn snorted. Blessings? What blessing?

Murtagh shrugged (and winced yet again as his back protested), huddling for warmth. It was cold in the dungeon, and somewhere during the three days his breeches had been torn into tatters, and his shirt had vanished altogether. He rubbed his temples gingerly, trying to remember what had happened. Well, he said slowly, at least we're alive?

Some blessing, Thorn said disgustedly.

Did Galbatorix do anything to you? Murtagh asked, trying to gather his thoughts.

No. The red dragon sounded relieved and annoyed all at once. Just glared at me and stomped away with you in hand. What, you mean you really can't remember?

Not…really. Murtagh shuddered, rubbing his hands on his arms. And at this rate, I think I really don't want to remember. Is Galbatorix still upstairs?

Yep, Thorn said, sounding glum. He's still talking to one of the soldiers he's picked up. Which reminds me, I thought he threw the whole army at the Varden on the Burning Plains? They couldn't have trekked back in just three days, so what're these soldiers doing here?

A rear guard, the reserve, Galbatorix's personal bodyguards…Murtagh said distractedly. There could be any number of reasons. He paused, blinking slowly in the darkness. And…any news about…Eragon? And Saphira?

No.

Murtagh sighed, memory sifting erratically back into his head. He'd let Eragon go; that much at least he remembered. And then after that—after he got back—

He grimaced, shoving the memories away. The sounds in his head were building, like an irritating swarm of gnats. Fumbling, he closed his eyes, reaching for the practiced control he had built up over the months in captivity.

Breathe, he thought carefully, letting himself relax. Don't let it get out of control, or else it'll drive you mad—

Murtagh! He's coming!

The sound of Thorn's voice, sharp and panicky, shattered any semblance of emotional restraint Murtagh had managed to gather. There could only be one he that Thorn could be referring to, the very he Murtagh was dreading.The voices flared up full force as adrenaline flooded his veins, and Murtagh forced himself to his feet. Where is he, Thorn? he demanded sharply, his eyes flicking to the ironbound door.

In the turret, heading down. He's out of sight now, but I'll wager you a sizzled rat for dinner he's heading for you.

Thanks for the warning, Murtagh said, edging into the corner nearest the door. Inside his head, the voices screamed as the door swung open.

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Thorn flared his wings sharply, watching the point where Galbatorix had vanished below. Murtagh? he asked anxiously. Has he reached—

He heard a cry streak through the mental connection, and then Thorn yelped as shared pain flooded his ribs. Gritting his very large, very sharp teeth, Thorn descended carefully in one of the royal gardens. I'll pull your mind into mine, he urged his Rider. We'll share the pain, come on, damn you—

The connection between them quivered, snapping harshly as Galbatorix's icy mental barrier slammed between them once more. Thorn hissed with fury, accidentally setting a row of prized rosebushes on fire.

Oh, for the love of—he snapped, looking around for a source of water. He could hear screams echoing indistinctly in the distance as frantic gardeners rushed forth.

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End of Chapter One

a/n: Yay! After so many weeks of NOTHING, I've finally managed to write something Eragon­-related. –grins- I'm so happy.

Update: October 12, 2008

Yep, so this was written before Brisingr came out, whoo! And obviously it is AU. It's a sequel of sorts to Thorn and Misery, which was a Murtagh-centric fic (like this one) that that I wrote. Basically follows him as he trudges (grudgingly) through the whole of Eldest, having all sorts of weird adventures and stuffness. Yeah. The voices here are from my own personal theory of the origin of the power that Galby & Murtagh have--they draw it from the Vault of Souls, from the dead, but it requires--yeah, uh huh. Read the prequel! -waves flag- Anyway, it's interesting, writing his character with that happy bundle of insanity in his head. If you have NO idea what I'm babbling on about, read T&M's chap 36-39.

And yes, lots of other canon characters will pop up too. Just to join in the fun. Huzzah! -runs in circles-

Kayers, end of bold. Yup. -poofs-

Here's a disclaimer that will apply to the whole of this fic: Don't own Eragon, or Eldest, or Murtagh. Or Thorn, much as I wish I did. –huggles dragon and sobs- So don't sue!

Cya! Please review!