Summary: When Murtagh was captured and taken to Uru'baen, he was forced into the service of the king he had always vowed to oppose. What happened within those walls that brought about this change? What did Murtagh suffer before and after his decision? This story follows the events that took place during his captivity, his relationship with Thorn, and development into a powerful rider, bound to fight for a cause he hates.

Disclaimer: Believe it or not, my name is not actually Christopher Paolini. Therefore, I can claim no ownership of the Inheritance series or any of the characters in it. I'm not making any money from this story, and I can't afford a lawsuit. So please don't sue me!

Chapter 1

Dark. Pitch dark, pressing in around him. He could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. There was no memory, no emotion, no thought. He simply existed, trapped inside this black void.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his mind began to defrost and he could think a little. Where was he? Who was he? Was there anything outside of this empty darkness, or was emptiness all there was? As he sat there, memories began stirring to life inside his mind. He could vaguely remember a world where the sun shone over the mountains, spreading warm light across the lush fields and dense forests, the little villages and bare plateaus. The place he had once wandered free, unfettered by the consuming blackness that seemed now to be slowly choking the life out of him. He could remember the gentle caress of the breeze, the soft rustling of grass. He could remember the feeling of a horse beneath him, the powerful rhythmic jolting of its rapid stride. He had been a good rider, once. And a formidable swordsman and marksman, too.

He remembered now. Murtagh; that was his name. Murtagh.

As he whispered his name to the darkness, everything came rushing back to him. He remembered his childhood, and his upbringing in Uru'baen. His escape, and his time fighting the Empire alone, living by skill and luck. His long hunt for the Ra'zac, culminating in his meeting with Eragon and Brom. Brom's death, Arya's rescue. Their long and desperate journey across the Hadarac desert. The Varden. The battle with the Urgals, the defeat of the Shade. The surprise attack, Ajihad's death. The Twins. Being overpowered, and dragged forcefully into that dark tunnel. And then…nothing.

His blood began to boil as he realised that the Twins had betrayed them. It was they who had led the band of Urgals who had attacked their company so suddenly, and had Ajihad slain. They had captured him, using force and magic to make him comply. They had bound him and dragged him away, undeterred by his desperate struggle for freedom. After a long race down the tunnel, they had halted by the edge of a black chasm, stripped him of his tunic and left it by the brink, before forcing some vile liquid down his throat. From then on all was blank.

It was then that he became aware of cold stone beneath him, and behind his back. His arms were bound above him with iron shackles, and there was no sensation in his hands. His head throbbed painfully. He tugged against his bonds, but the iron only chafed painfully against his wrists. Ignoring the pain, he continued to struggle until his hands and wrists were red raw. The shackles were too tight. Defeated, he slumped back against the rough wall. His last stores of energy had been spent in his efforts, leaving him exhausted. He could feel the panic beginning to rise in his throat, but he bit down on it firmly and took several deep breaths of dank, musty air to steady himself. He needed to be calm if he was to figure his predicament out.

So, he was in a prison somewhere. That much was evident. An underground dungeon, by the bitter taste of the air. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness, he could make out a faint glimmer coming from under what could only be the door. Torchlight, he deduced from the orange tint of the glow. He took note of the position of the door, in case an opportunity for escape should be presented to him. Feeling far calmer now that he knew his surroundings, he began to go over the possibilities in his mind. There was only one that was plausible. The Shade and the Urgals had definitely been working for the Empire, which meant that the Twins had been as well. And if that were the case, there was only one place they could have taken him after he had been caught.

He was back in Uru'baen.

The reality hit him like a blow to the stomach. He had hoped never to be back in the clutches of Galbatorix. But somehow, all his efforts and skills in concealment had come to nothing. He wondered what Galbatorix wanted with him, since his capture had obviously been carefully planned. Whatever it was, he was sure it would not be anything enjoyable.

With that realisation, Murtagh gave himself up to complete despair for a while. He rarely ever lost hope completely, but now he could see no way out. He was trapped here, the one place in the world he had never wanted to see again, and there was no chance of a second escape. For what felt like hours, he sat slumped against the wall with his head bowed and eyes screwed shut, wondering what on earth was going to become of him.

After a long time in which nothing happened to break the dark monotony, he began to calm himself once more, and become more himself. He would not lose hope just yet. He was Murtagh. He had fought the Empire all his life. He had been in deadly peril more times than he could count, but he had always gotten away in the end, with little more than a scar or two to bear testimony to his experience. He had escaped Galbatorix once, he could do it again. Feeling calmer and a lot more confident, he relaxed a little and began to think about escape.

He expected something to happen soon. Surely Galbatorix wasn't just going to leave him in the dark to rot. There was a reason he was here, and he was confident he would find out about it soon enough. However, the hours dragged on, and nobody came to him. He heard no sounds of movement outside his cell. He began working on elaborate plots in his mind, each wilder and less likely than the previous. Then he shut his eyes and tried to relive memories of happier times in his life. He thought a lot about Eragon, wondering whether he was ok, what he was doing, whether his friend missed him at all. The only sound in his cell was the faint dripping of water in a corner. In the silence each drop seemed to echo horribly, and he involuntarily began to count them, until he was sure the sound would drive him mad. Just as he had convinced himself he would be left to go insane and rot in this dark hole, something jolted him out of his morbid thoughts.

He could hear footsteps approaching his cell.

A/N: Any comments or constructive criticism would be hugely appreciated!