Disclaimer: I own neither the Inheritance Cycle nor Merlin.

Blood and sweat dripped down the boy's face, a large bruise covered his right eye, he stood back up, grabbing his sword.

Morzan fought his ten year old son as he would an elf ten times his age, the boy fought back as best he could, ignoring his father's taunts. Each time the blunt sword struck him, he would let out a gasp of pain, and Morzan would call him weak, and Murtagh would fight back, biting back the pain and focusing on beating his father.

Eventually, the red sword found it's way to the boy's throat, and the word "Dead." escaped the owner's lips. A large gloved hand lifted the child up and struck his bruised jaw. Murtagh was then told to stand back up, and fight his father again.

By the time the sun had set, and it's red light was replaced by the soft white glow of the moon, Murtagh was told to go back to his chambers. Once there, where no one could hear, a strangled cry escaped his lips, and he watched from his window as the peasant children, one by one, went back to their homes, where a modest dinner was waiting, and he watched sadly as they hugged their mothers and ran inside to tell their fathers of all the imaginary lands they had conquered that day.

He then curled up on his bed and his small, thin frame shook as he cried for what he could not have. And that would be how his servant found him in the morning, as he did every morning, curled in a ball, with dark circles under his eyes that suggested he had not slept, his eyes would be red from crying, and the slightly older boy did what he could to comfort his master, as he did every morning, he then helped the boy clean the dried blood from his face, and told him that the king had summoned him.

Murtagh followed his servant to the throne room, and were it not for the fine clothes the younger boy was wearing, one might have thought that Murtagh was the servant. The king was waiting, sitting on his golden throne, with a crown sitting atop his head, and from the finery in the room, one would not imagine that the king's subjects slept on the floors of tiny dirt-houses, or that his most loyal follower's son was lucky if he got a scrap of meat for dinner.

"The king of Camelot will be coming to Alagaesia to discuss a truce," announced the king to the servants, Morzan, and the rest of the Forsworn as Murtagh stood back and listened. "They will arrive in one week, a feast shall be prepared to welcome those from Camelot. That is all, now leave." ordered the king, "Murtagh, stay."

Murtagh cast his servant, Darren, a helpless look, Darren smiled reassuringly as he left, leaving Murtagh with the ruthless tyrant. "Murtagh," said the king, "You are the only noble child in Uru'baen, so you will entertain young Arthur Pendragon and Morgana Le Fay, you are to be polite to the visiting children, and you will inform me or your father if they require anything." the king looked at the scrawny little boy with disdain and said, "Arthur is thirteen, and Morgana is eleven, you must make sure they are happy during their visit to Alagaesia."

"Yes, My lord." said Murtagh, not looking forward to the two noble children from Camelot coming to gloat about how great their kingdom was. He bowed quickly as he fled the room.

Over the next week, Murtagh trained only with Tornac, as his father was getting ready for the feast, Tornac helped Murtagh to improve on his sword fighting, though the kind old man was not as focused as he usually was, occasionally forgetting that his young pupil was there. The servants were the same, Darren told Murtagh that all the servants were in such a hurry to prepare the castle for the feast that his father had accidentally called him David.

On the day before the visitors from Camelot were scheduled to arrive, even Tornac was too busy to teach Murtagh, so he spent the day in the library reading and wondering what the visitors from Camelot would be like.

Morgana had, apparently, lost her father only a short time ago, and her mother had died when she was very small, according to a man who had been a servant to Gorlois, her father, she suffered from nightmares. That was one thing they had in common. He could assume that Morgana might be kind, Arthur, on the other hand, was probably prat.

The next day, Murtagh woke long before the sun rose, and could see the royal visitors entering Uru'baen through his window. He remembered being told that Arthur was an amazing swordsman, so Murtagh would undoubtedly be fighting his father as an amusing show for the prince. The bruises from the last battle with his father were beginning to heal, and the small cuts had mostly already healed, but he was sure he'd get a lovely new collection of wounds from their next battle.

Murtagh dressed himself and cleaned his face so he would be presentable, and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked very delicate, with his tiny frame, his sickly pale skin, and the dark circles under his large grey eyes. He could imagine the prince, a tall, muscular teenager, with tanned skin and brown eyes, looking at him with a mixture of disgust and pity.

He made his way through the sleeping palace to the gate, where he waited for the visitors to arrive. Soon later, the his father and the rest of the forsworn came to the gate, and about five minutes later, the guards opened the gates to let in the King of Camelot, his son, and his ward.