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The Last Scion
By : RotSeele
Category: A through F > Eragon
Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.
Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
/..../ - ancient language
-...- - telepathy

Urû’baen
Murtagh’s days passed in a blur. He was deprived of water, sleep, and food and attacked with spells that made his muscles seize and his breath leave him as if he’d been kicked by a horse. They left the Hadarac Desert two weeks after his capture, and halfway through the third, Murtagh saw the fortress of Urû’baen in the distance. He was bound by rope and by spells as the week wore on and soon the Urgals were left behind, as the foul party grew closer to civilization. Whatever the Twins did to the Urgals, Murtagh didn’t see, but he felt regret for the creatures. They, like him, had been forced to this fate.
The Twins did little to clean Murtagh up as they passed into Urû’baen and began the steady climb to the castle, and Galbatorix. Murtagh’s skin felt as though a thick layer of dirt had decided to make a new home on him and he desperately wanted a bath. Even more, he wanted to escape here, but the spells prevented that.
Eventually, the Twins and their captive strode into the throne room where Galbatorix and half a dozen guards waited. Murtagh saw a few nobles he recognized and many more he didn’t, and felt a pang of glee as he realized the Twins had just interrupted a social function. Murtagh’s eyes focused on the man sitting in the throne at the far end of the room and tried to prepare mental shields for this upcoming struggle. The Twins bowed with a flourish but Murtagh remained standing.
Galbatorix’s gaze swept over Murtagh briefly and focused on the Twins. “Are you going to kneel there or do you have a reason to interrupt me?” the King asked in a tone that sounded amused.
The Twins rose as one. “My Lord,” they said. “We have killed the Varden’s leader and brought you a sweet prize. Before you stands the son of your old ally, Morzan.”
Murtagh closed his eyes at the gasps and murmurs and felt as if he were on display. When all fell silent, Murtagh opened his eyes and found Galbatorix pinning the Twins with a hard stare.
“Tell me,” Galbatorix said softly, “is that how you treat a prince?” He gestured at Murtagh. “The poor thing is covered in filth, bound even! Do you treat princes this way?”
The Twins glanced at each other. “No, my lord, but–”
Galbatorix made a sound and interrupted the mages. “No. You don’t treat princes like this. So tell me why is he covered in filth like a commoner?”
Though the mad King did not yell, the Twins flinched as if he had. Murtagh stared blankly at Galbatorix, wondering what the man was trying to pull. Galbatorix rose from his throne and stepped down the dais toward Murtagh. He touched the young man’s forehead and Murtagh felt the Twins’ spell break when Galbatorix uttered, “Be gone.” He thought he would collapse in amazement as the King carefully untied his ropes and dropped them to the floor.
“Prince Murtagh is to be extended every courtesy.” Galbatorix told the Twins. “Never forget that he outranks you.” The King turned to summon a slave and whispered into her ear. She nodded and handed off her wine pitcher to one of her companions before approaching Murtagh. “Go with her, Murtagh. She will take you to your quarters.”
Before Murtagh could question the King’s sudden good will, the slave took hold of his elbow and pulled him from the throne room. He noticed that Galbatorix was now focused on the Twins and secretly Murtagh hoped they would find ill favour waiting for them.
His chambers were exactly as he had left them, though they were spotlessly clean. The slave didn’t speak as she drew him a bath and heated the water. He stared at her when she moved to help him undress and he batted her hands away.
“I’m perfectly capable of washing myself, thank you.” Murtagh growled. The slave looked amused but nodded and left the young man to wash.
Layers of dirt and blood sloughed off and regretfully, Murtagh had to call the slave back when he couldn’t figure out how his bath worked. She showed him and laughed soundlessly as he tried to cover up his nudity. He washed fiercely, hoping his blush would be covered by soap. With his hair and body clean, Murtagh dressed in the fine velvet and silk tunic and trousers the slave had set out for him and severely missed his cloth and linen clothes. Shiny black boots waited for him and he pulled those on after he belted his pants. The slave returned to brush his hair, braiding it neatly so it hung in a tail down his back.
She hurried to leave when she was finished and Murtagh turned to face Galbatorix as he entered. The King gave Murtagh an appraising glance and nodded with a half-smile.
“You look so much like your father,” Galbatorix said. “I only wish he could be around to see how much you’ve grown.”
Murtagh frowned. “What do you want?”
“Only to speak with you as a friend.” Galbatorix’s voice seemed scandalized, but Murtagh knew the truth. “The Twins told me some interesting things and I merely wish to confirm them.”
“I won’t tell you anything.” Murtagh swore. “And you were never my friend.”
Galbatorix’s face twisted. “Now this is why I hate it when offspring have a sense of honour. Tell me what I want to know, Murtagh, or I will make you tell me.”
“Go to hell.”
Galbatorix shrugged. “We’ll play your way. Sit!”
Murtagh’s teeth clacked hard together when his body dropped into the chair at his bureau. Galbatorix moved closer and placed his hands on either side of Murtagh’s head. “Don’t resist,” the mad King said gaily, “or this will hurt.”
Murtagh screamed as a flood of spells in the Ancient Language escaped Galbatorix, crashing against Murtagh’s mental barriers. It went on for hours before Galbatorix was able to break down Murtagh’s barriers, and he swept inside the young man’s mind as if Murtagh had simply invited him. Murtagh writhed as Galbatorix picked through memories, seeking his answers.
-So it’s true.- Galbatorix said. -You are the eldest of Morzan’s brats. What other secrets do you have?-
-Get out of my head!- Murtagh screamed. Galbatorix dug deeper.
Memories of Eragon flashed up, detailing the boy at great length for Galbatorix. Then Galbatorix turned his attention to Saphira.
-She is beautiful, isn’t she?- Galbatorix asked. -She will be a beautiful queen.-
-What… are you talking about?- Murtagh cried out as Galbatorix withdrew from Murtagh’s mind.
“She is the last.” Galbatorix said smugly. “The last female dragon to walk Alagaësia. She is special to me for that reason.” Galbatorix gestured and two guards moved into Murtagh’s room. The mad King looked at Murtagh with a smile. “I’m not done with you. You have plenty more to tell me, and I intend to learn all of your secrets.”
Murtagh managed to spit at Galbatorix and earned a bone-shattering slap. “Take him!” Galbatorix snarled. “Throw him in with the dragon eggs. Keeping him in the dungeon will invite trouble.”
The guards dragged Murtagh from his chambers and through the castle until they reached the hatchery and threw him into the darkness. Murtagh landed hard and rolled to a stop against a pile of hay. The door closed and the lock fell heavily into place. Shaking and shivering in the dark, Murtagh gave a wordless yell of rage until he ran out of breath. Then he lay on the cold stone, fighting not to cry.
“I’m sorry, Eragon,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Murtagh saw daylight sparingly over the next few days. Galbatorix visited him often and for long, excruciatingly painful hours. Only when Murtagh became senseless did the immortal King stop to let the boy rest and eat, but it would begin again until Galbatorix himself grew exhausted. Murtagh was chained to the wall by his ankle after an incident with a guard and a spell kept him from attacking anyone who entered the hatchery.
Galbatorix didn’t want to kill him, not when he could still use him. When the king had gotten all the information he could from Murtagh, he allowed the slaves to light the sconces in the hatchery and allowed Murtagh to exercise albeit a longer, stronger chain now bound the young man. It suited Murtagh for the moment, for it allowed him to explore the room that had once been filled with hundreds of eggs, waiting for the day their Rider came to them. Now, two eggs, a red and a green, only occupied the space. Murtagh often studied both eggs, picking up each one and holding them a while before placing them back on their nest.
He toyed with his hair, braiding it and unbraiding it, doing whatever he could to keep from going mad. Visits from the King brought pain and Murtagh slowly realized the twisted man was looking for something other than information on Saphira and Eragon. That unnerved Murtagh more than if Galbatorix had suddenly declared Murtagh hero of the Empire. When the King’s visits became few and far between, Murtagh felt a pang of fear that Galbatorix had found what he wanted.
The young man paced during his waking hours, chewing on his thumbnail, wondering what Galbatorix had found. He dwelled on Eragon and that maybe the boy had been captured, but that was unlikely. Eragon was surrounded by people who would protect him, never mind Saphira.
So what was it then?
Murtagh dwelled on a thousand possibilities but came no closer to a concrete answer. When he slept, he dreamed of his brother, as if something was trying to show him the path he should take. Sometimes, he didn’t dream at all. When he was awake, he tried to do something constructive and only succeeded in chipping away rust flakes from his chain. He estimated he had been in his prison for at least three weeks and so when he heard the chirping, he knew he had finally gone mad.
Murtagh sat up and stared across the hatchery at the two eggs nestled so lovingly together. The chirping began again, as if trying to draw his attention. Slowly, Murtagh rose and ambled over to the two eggs, watching in awe as the red egg began to shiver and shake. Murtagh collapsed to his knees and watched the crimson shell begin to crack, hair-thin lines running down from a central point on top of the shell. A circular crack slowly appeared as the creature inside fought to get out, and the more the tiny dragon pushed the more cracks spider-webbed out.
Murtagh resisted reaching out and helping the little dragon, but he leaned closer. “Come on, little one. You can do it.”
The dragon squeaked in reply and shoved against its shell hard enough for the whole thing to roll toward Murtagh. A tiny snout shoved out of the broken shell then disappeared for a crimson eye to peer out at Murtagh.
“Come on.” Murtagh whispered. “You can do it. Just a little more.” Murtagh’s heart was racing. With what he knew because of Eragon, a dragon only hatched for its Rider. Which meant this little dragon had chosen Murtagh and Murtagh was a Dragon Rider! He was afraid, though, because if he was indeed a Rider then he was trapped within Galbatorix’s clutches, and so was his little dragon. “Just a little more.”
What would happen if Galbatorix discovered Murtagh was a Rider? What sort of torture would he be forced to endure? And never mind Murtagh’s torture, what about the little red’s?
The dragon squeaked and broke Murtagh’s thoughts. Murtagh clenched his fists and decided whatever happened, happened. He would find a way out of it. The dragon’s snout pushed through enough that Murtagh saw tiny white spikes on the dragon’s cheeks.
-Like little thorns.- Murtagh thought. He reached to steady the egg with his left hand. The wiggles began soon after he touched the shell, and the little red fought to be free with a new energy.
The shell broke a little more and finally shattered as the dragon’s claws rent it from within. The little creature tumbled into Murtagh’s arms and nuzzled against Murtagh’s neck, chirping the whole while. The young man closed his arms around the little creature and shuddered. Murtagh stroked the little red’s back, fingers running over the pebbles that would become dangerous spikes when the hatchling was older. The dragon turned its neck to snuggle Murtagh’s left hand and Murtagh was mused until his hand seemed to catch fire. He yelled and fell back, clutching his wrist as the fire traveled up his palm, into his wrist, and then up his arm to his brain. He writhed on the floor, unable to breathe as the fire continued to assault his senses and managed a brief thought: I’m going to die.
The fire slowly dulled until Murtagh could feel his hand again, though it was numb and barely supported his weight when the teenager pushed himself up. He stared at his left palm as the skin there shimmered and sparkled with the gëdwey ignasia. Murtagh shuddered.
-Hungry.-
Murtagh jumped at the voice in his head. It was boyish, young, and Murtagh looked down at the dragon in his lap. Intelligent crimson eyes stared back at him and the dragon opened his mouth and gave a short keen.
-Hungry.- The dragon said again. He rubbed his head against Murtagh’s tunic and his little, thorny cheek spikes tore the fabric.
“I know.” Murtagh answered back. “I know you are. So am I.”
The little red chirped and rubbed his head against Murtagh’s chest a little more insistently. Murtagh heaved a breath and focused on his dragon’s crimson eyes, reaching across a void with his mind. The red’s head bobbed when Murtagh made contact and the little dragon brushed Murtagh’s mind with his own.
-Human.- The dragon said proudly.
-Dragon.- Murtagh said in wonder. He wondered if Eragon had gone through this with Saphira, and if he had, how he had reacted.
-Mine.- The hatchling nipped Murtagh’s fingers as the teenager stroked the thorny cheek spikes.
-Yours. Do you have a name?-
The dragon blinked at him curiously. -Name?-
“A name.” Murtagh said aloud, feeling overwhelmed. “Mine is Murtagh.”
-Murtagh.- The hatchling repeated. -Mine.-
“Yes, yours.” Murtagh replied. “Do you have a name?”
-No. Murtagh.-
“That’s my name.” Murtagh said with a slight chuckle. “You’re a thorny little boy. You keep rubbing against me, you’re going to ruin my clothes.”
The dragon made a humming sound that told Murtagh he was laughing. Murtagh smiled despite himself and sighed. “I have to call you something.”
-Yes. Murtagh.- The dragon spread his wings and chirped.
Murtagh did laugh this time. “I’m Murtagh. You… I think I’ll call you Thorn.”
-Thorn.- The dragon repeated. -Thorn. Mine?-
“All yours.” Murtagh said with a gentle smile. “It’s your name, so you have to protect it.”
-My name. Thorn.- The red hatchling nuzzled against Murtagh’s chest. -My Murtagh.-
Murtagh nodded and stroked Thorn’s neck, finally feeling the euphoria of his experience beginning to collide with reality. No doubt Galbatorix would find out about Thorn soon enough and Murtagh didn’t know what the future held then. He closed his eyes and shouted into the void -Eragon!- But he received no answer. Thorn hummed as he rubbed against Murtagh’s cheek and the brunette teenager scratched at the rough scales of his chest.
He was on his own now.
Murtagh looked at Thorn and swore no matter what happened to him, he would not allow Thorn to be harmed.
Thorn looked up at his Rider and made the same promise.
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The Last Scion	By : RotSeele Category: A through F > Eragon Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.

The Last Scion