Pale Hope

by Namine3419

Chapter One: Return Trip

Disclamier: I don't own Eragon or any of the Inheritance characters, but I do enjoy writing about them, lol!

The Burning Plains

The endless emptiness of the Burning Plains seemed to spread out beneath him as he flew towards a jagged mountain top, the smell of blood and burning flesh assaulting his nostrils and making his stomach churn. As if to mock him, the sky grew darker, ominous, as if foreshadowing the tempest he was about to face. Without noticing it, the ground steadily grew closer and closer to his person. Dust and dried shrubbery blew up into his face, his eyes watering from the irritation. Dropping his helm, Murtagh slid off of Thorn's saddle, staring at the war-torn landscape. Most of "his" men were either licking their own wounds, caring for the poisoned, or sorting out the body parts of fallen comrades. The other side faired no better. His heart went out to Nasuada and the Varden as he bit his lower lip and shook his head; there were no victories in war, only pain and suffering.

A glint of red flashed by his right as Thorn tried to get his attention. Murtagh sighed and lowered his mental wall, the feeling of unescapable vunerablility caused his skin to crawl. Thorn growled irratibly, Must you lock me out?

Sorry; I'm still not used to, Murtagh drew a tiny circle with his finger, this.

Small billows of smoke rose from Thorn's nostrils as the dragon stared at him moodily, we're in trouble, aren't we?

Yes, Murtagh said with a slight smile, we're in trouble. Already he could feel the chains of his fate tightening around his neck, making it harder and harder to breathe. An overwhelming sensation of being trapped and backed into a corner caused Murtagh's breath to come in even shorter gasps. The scar on his back tingled for a moment, and he sensed a wave of concern emite from his dragon. Aprehending the upcoming pain, Murtagh quickly rose the walls of his mind and shielded Thorn from the burning agony. His back felt as though it had been split anew, the metalic taste of blood filling his mouth. He couldn't see the world around him but was painfully aware of the ground that was rushing up to meet his form. He felt the scaly hide of Thorn's tail catch his limp body across the chest as dust and smoke filled every hole in his head. He couldn't think but of teh mindless, merciless pain that racked his body.

It finally because to overwhelming for Murtagh to keep up his wall. He was on the brink of madness when Thorn wormed his way into his mind, stealing Murtagh from his body and holding him their until the pain resided. He could feel his rider resisting his hold on him, but Murtagh was to weak to fight effectively, as if he were a mere feather trying to tear down a fortress. Damn it Thorn! Let me go, NOW!

Now, if I were to do that, he said smuggly, you'd just start shaking around on the ground in that disturbing way you do.

I love you too . . . Grudgingly, Murtagh tapped into Thorn's eyes and saw for himself the pitiful and disgusting way his body twitched with every new wave of pain. He laughed bitterly, and this is what Galbatorix finds so funny?

Sadists tend to be borderline insane.

I think he's crossed that border already, friend.

True. Murtagh watched as his body calmed down, and felt himself slowly rejoin his body. His felt his fingers first, the tips of them numb and motionless, followed by the burning of his lungs from his apparent screaming. He prayed to himself that Thorn was the only one who had heard his cries, even though his "men" all knew of his prediciment. That's a great strategy, Murtagh thought bitterly, leave half of your army in the hands of a cripple.

A cripple with a dragon.

You're not invited in this conversation!

Thorn puffed smoke irratibly, you know, talking to yourself is a sure sign of madness.

So is hearing voices! Murtagh couldn't help but smile. He'd been smiling a lot more since Thorn was hatched, but they were short lived as guilt filled his heart for the magnifcent beast. If he'd of only waited for someone else to come along, Thorn wouldn't be enslaved as he was to a tyrannical madman who only cared for his own personal gain. That, above all else, convinced him that Galbatorix was nothing but evil. How could you shackle a beast that practically glowed freedom? It was, in Murtagh's oppinion, a mortal sin to hinder Thorn's right to soar the skies and roam the lands whenever his heart desired. So, to the best of his ability, Murtagh would shield Thorn from any pain or worry that might befall him. Which is why--

You're procrastinating.

With a sigh, Murtagh mounted Thorn's back. Without waiting for him to be seated properly, Thorn took off, his wings still angled into his body as he dove nose first off the mountain top. Air whistled in Murtagh's ear as he held on for dear life. The dragon twisted and turned in a magnificent fashion; he was nothing but a red flash falling a death-defying speeds. Pull up! Murtagh screamed, damn it, Thorn, stop! True, he was having one of the best times in his life at this moment, but he knew as soon as Galbatorix penetrated his mind, he would find this tiny bit of enjoyment and make sure to replace it with endless hours of pain. However, Thorn was determined to keep going, and rushed over the men of Galbatorix's army with a deafening roar. The men roared back, their pain and sorrow seeming to melt away with every cry of hope. Murtagh turned red, then said, show off.

It's not showing off, Thorn said, sternly, these men are yours to command Murtagh. Let them see you. Let them know that you share their pain. An image of Eragon with his newly elvin features popped into Murtagh's mind, along with a hint of disgust from his dragon, and let them know that you are still human. Smiling, Murtagh punched his left hand into the air, the gedwey ignasia reflecting the firey fields like a twisted mirror; and he roared back to his men.

Jiet River

Thorn landed swiftly, darting ahead of the countless lines of men. There they met with the rest of the troop, who looked up with still fresh fear from the winged beast that flew above them. They had never really been in battle with a dragon at their side, as Shuikan and the king never joined in the battles anymore. With a foul taste in his mouth Murtagh surmised that Galbatorix saw it fit to send pawns instead of himself to do his dirty work.

They landed next to the river's edge, Thorn taking long draghts of liquid into his mouth and swallowing with gusto. Sliding off of his back and wobbling slightly, Murtagh stretched his aching muscles and returned blood to his now sleeping legs. He sighed as he saw a messanger run from one of the main tents in the troop. He bowed and extended the parchment, saying, "A message, milord, from the king."

Murtagh noted the man was shaking, then said, "You didn't have to run all the way out here to get me. You could've called--"

"That's not proper, milo--!"

"And stop calling me that!" Agitated, he sighed and pushed back his brown hair, "Look, sorry, but that "my lord" thing really gets to me, alright? Just call me by my name."

"But milord . . ."

"It's an order!" He barked, then began to laugh, "Well, lets see what my poison shall be for today, shall we?" When the soldier didn't get his joke, Murtagh sighed and waved him away. The seal was of black ink with the Sigil of the House as it's imprint. He fingered the ridges and bumps of the wax with a nervous air, then opened the letter with his thumb.

The ink was red and sloppy, as if written down in a mad furry (which it most likely was):

Murtagh,

How dare you defy my orders, you baseborn cur! Do you know how long it took me to assemble those men? Hmm? Do you know of the resources you just cast into the wind because you felt it noble or honorable to protect your so-called brother? BAH! Be forewarned, boy, you await a punishment far to great for words! You'll wish you'd never been born!

He closed the letter and set it afire with a word from the ancient language. He smiled sadly, "to late for that." He frowned when he saw that the soldier didn't leave as he'd wanted, "yes?"

"Milo. . . Murtagh, sir, the men are wondering which route we will take to reach Uru'bean."

"We're to go to Melian, and then from there to Furnost. I refuse to go anywhere near Dras Leona." Even the name of the city caused him to feel dirty. That place was nothing but a stagnant scab on the map of Alagaesia, one that he thought would be better pulled off and scoured clean. He forced a smile as to try and ease the soldier's fear of him or Thorn, "Tell them we'll leave as soon as they are ready." The man nodded and ran quickly back to camp, as if Murtagh would shoot him with an arrow if he proved to slow. Mindless twit . . .

How would you feel, Thorn interupted, if you were assigned to give a poisoned letter to a man that could order his companion to swallow him whole?

I don't care Thorn, he huffed moodily, they should know by now I'm not my father.

No, he said carefully, but you are his son. Murtagh threw a rock at the dragon, missing intentionally, and stomped into the camp and went to sleep.