Punishment, Murtagh-Thorn

     Murtagh was thrown to the cold stone floor with such force it nearly knocked him unconscious. His head was swimming so that he didn't even see King Galbatorix pick up his day old hatchling by his wings.
     The baby dragon however saw his new rider thrown to the ground ahead of him, but could barely struggle against the King's iron grip. Any sound he made in desperation was met with a vicious shake that nearly pulled his wings off.
     As Galbatorix entered the circular room adjacent to the throne room, he unceremoniously thrust the hatchling into what resembled a metal birdcage and melted the iron over the lock to seal it shut. The hatchling could do nothing as it's new-life-bond-rider-partner's hair was viciously grabbed by the King, lifting his face up.
     Galbatorix looked into Murtagh's eyes, waiting patiently for them to focus, then threw his head down again. "Oh Murtagh, did you really think your punishment was over?" He spoke almost kindly, "I truly regret your stupidity. You could have had everything. You could have replaced your father so easily."  A force brought Murtagh up into a kneel, then seemed to decide differently and thrust him back to his knees, head bent in subservience. His shirt was ripped open, exposing his back.
     Galbatorix lazily drew his sword.
     "Then again, even he began to resist me at the end… he knew I would come after you, you were to be a dragon rider since you were born. Indeed, you tested the three eggs immediately after your birth-"
     "Let me guess," grunted Murtagh, defiance lacing his every word," Had I no shown any promise, you would have killed me?" With a overwhelming effort that left him on the verge of consciousness, he raised his head to glare the King in the eye.
     "Of course." He muttered under his breath. Immediately Murtagh's arms cracked and he howled in pain. By this time the King stood behind him, and Murtagh felt the ice cold tip of his sword trace a line down his back, the direct opposite of his scar. As the point of the blade slid down his back, Murtagh knew with a sudden wave of dread what his tormentor was about to do.
     When Murtagh looked back on this moment later, he would only vaguely remember the icy hiss of the sword down his back before the fire of pain hit him fully. He wouldn't be able to recall for how long he screamed, and without his connection to his dragon, he would never have even known about the shared pain, the shriek of claws on iron, the echoing howl of agony. The clearest thing he would remember would be the fact that at the time he had been grateful of hitting his head beforehand.
     The pain disappeared somewhat so that Murtagh could concentrate again. Galbatorix still looked down on him, a sneer plastered on his pale face.
     "I've only just begun. Tomorrow I will invade your mind; I'll rip it to shreds. Maybe I'll even steal your most precious memories, and twist them at my leisure. I am going to bind you to me. Your own oaths will be your chains- and I'll not stop at you. By becoming a rider you have enslaved your dragon. Remember that; whenever he's in pain, whenever I make him hurt or kill, however much he blackens his soul at my bidding it will be because of you.
     "Now I'm going to hurt you Murtagh, right in front of him. Imagine, the first thing he really sees upon coming into this world is your pain and his uselessness."  With that he raised his had, and said a single word that Murtagh would forever after remember, yet banish from his memory.
     White pain enveloped him, shining so brightly it blinded all his senses. He was aware of nothing but this pain. Through the whiteness, a red rage pulled out all his misery, all his rage, all the unfairness and unkindness in his life and threw them at him again and again. The black despair of his future stabbed him in the heart, burning yet frozen there forever.
     

     - He sat in the corner of the drinking hall, watching his father and his men get drunker and drunker. They began a game of throwing empty bottles at him. He jumped as a bottle narrowly missed him, and ran towards the door. His father stood and threw his great red sword at him, laughing as he did so. Pain flashed across his back. The blackness. Hands picked him up and then it was cold, then hot, then ants were crawling across his back –

     - He woke up in the dark to someone stroking his face and panicked, thinking it was his father, but a light appeared and his mother smiled down at him, laughing with tears in her eyes. She lifted the covers and crept into bed with him, holding him close -
     
     - Swords were descending in every direction, but a lucky dagger caught his tunic and pulled him from his horse. Soldiers grabbed his arms and one took a knife and placed it on his shoulder, whilst two others brought out hammers with which to break his knees. Tornac flew in and killed the men, but in protecting Murtagh he had exposed himself, and a sword sliced across his fighting arm. He turned and led most of the soldiers away whilst Murtagh mounted and crashed through the gates, turning to see Tornac killed. He turned back to at least get his body, but they were bringing it inside to bate him –

     
     There was a great crash and the hatchling flew to Galbatorix and clawed at his face with all his might, earning Murtagh some respite. The king gripped his wings and there was a crack, then the dragon was throw to the wall and slid down without even a feeble squeak.


     - His father's killer looked up to him, clutching his hand. "Selena?" he whispered, seeing only his eyes. He shook his head. "Morzan?" whispered Brom, suddenly fearful. He shook his head again. "Ah, Murtagh." He was confused but was concentrating on binding the man's wound. "Murtagh…" murmured Brom, "you're not your father… no matter what… anyone… says." Murtagh didn't know how to reply. "Please, promise you will take care of him." Murtagh promised, though he didn't know why. Brom raised his hand to his forehead and blessed him in the ancient language -

     - Arya sat in a boat next to Eragon holding out one of her slender fingers. A single drop rested on it. She looked up and Murtagh saw dwarves, Orik, mountains of such outstanding beauty it made his heart ache. The sky was a clear, bright blue. Something moved in the water, but it was only Saphira. Then Arya dropped the water, sending ripples across the mighty lake-

     - His mother lay on her bed, pale and dying. He was curled up to her, counting her heartbeats. She rested her hand on his head and whispered to him softly. "I always loved you Murtagh. No matter what anyone says, or even thinks, remember I will always love you. You were my first child, you saved me from myself. Promise me you'll do what the oldest is supposed to do. Please…" He promised. His mother started singing," Over the hills and through the forest, run through the fog and even more mist, hurry home hurry home sweet spring child, run home to where you once smiled." She stopped breathing. Her heart stopped. She was dead. He started crying -


     Murtagh woke up in a pool of his own blood. Any way he moved was agony. His heart seemed to skip beats every no and then. As long as he didn't move, it wasn't too bad. His eyes were difficult to open; they had been glued shut with a mix of tears and sweat. He lay there on his back for a short eternity, just breathing in and out.
     Suddenly he heard a small squeak to his right. He blinked several times. The squeaking came again, but fainter, and somehow more desperate.
     Murtagh spent an agonising minute turning his head to the sound.
     The hatchling seemed to be crawling towards him, pulling itself with shaky front legs. Pity welled up inside Murtagh and, ignoring the pain, he too pulled himself towards his partner.
     Eventually they met, and Murtagh pulled his dragon the last few paces and rolled onto his side, his back having ignited with fire.
     His dragon looked terrible. His hind legs were twisted slightly, his front seemed to be badly bruised. Murtagh could feel his neck hurting, and the end of his tail was completely crooked. His wings seemed to have been snapped. He started whimpering, and as Murtagh slid a hand across his back, he felt several gashes.
    Murtagh looked around desperately, and noticed his ripped shirt lying outside the pool of blood within reaching distance. Pulling it to him, he wrapped the little dragon in it and cradled him in his arms, murmuring to him all the while.
     "Did you really break out of that horrible cage?" he asked his hatchling, rubbing his chin against it's cheek," you used magic didn't you? And you attacked the king… you're so brave," the hatchling had quietened down and was looking up at him with rose-red eyes. "No matter what he says, you're no coward. You're the best dragon anyone could wish for… One day you'll be unstoppable, then no-one will ever be able to hurt you."
     The dragon nudged its snout against Murtagh's chin and looked up at him again.
     "Oh- me neither, you'll always be able to protect me… but first I promise I'll protect you. Don't worry, we won't be here forever."
     The dragon looked back up to him and Murtagh kissed him gently, rubbing his nose slightly against the hatchling's snout.
     "Someone is bound to realise I wasn't killed. They'll know I've been captured, that the king must have had some purpose for me, that the twins were the traitors… I'll bet you anything the Varden has already come up with a plan to get us out. Even if they haven't, I know Eragon would never give up," his dragon cocked it's head enquiringly," that's the other rider. He has a great blue dragon called Saphira. She's beautiful; you'll probably fall in love with her… No- she'll fall for you. You're going to be so handsome when you grow. We'll be all right… I promise."
     He slid his hand absentmindedly over the dragon's head, but then drew his hand back.
     He had pricked the index finger of his right hand. He studied the scratch.
     It looked like he'd been pricked by a rose's thorn.
     Thorn…
     "Thorn," muttered Murtagh slowly, trying the name out. The dragon looked up, interested. Your name… Thorn. I think it suits you. Will you take that as a name?"
     Murtagh felt a pulse of satisfaction run through them both.
     The dragon settled into his rider.
     "At least if we're going to have a rotten life here, we'll have it together… Thorn."