The Dark Hours - Eragon Fanfic

Chapter Seven: Breaking

CW: Graphic depictions of torture

Every day the dragon–who had proudly taken to the moniker Thorn–grew exponentially larger.

Murtagh and Thorn were taken from the cell to the garden and back, like clockwork, every evening, and within a week of his hatching, the dragon could no longer sit on Murtagh's head, and he struggled trying to hold the creature up on his arm.

By the second week, Thorn had grown to reach Murtagh's thigh when standing, and he took to walking at Murtagh's side, rather than being carried. He ate voraciously, and the plates of meat continued to be provided, much to Murtagh's relief. He couldn't stand the thought of the creature starving in the cell with him.

Murtagh, also, noted a distinct difference in the way he was being treated. His food was warm and his water was clean; a long cushion was brought down for him to sleep on, and a large pillow for the dragon–who soon outgrew it–and no one grabbed him or dragged him or forced him anywhere. All he and Thorn did for nearly two weeks was sit in the cell talking, sharing thoughts and feelings, and walk in the garden for a few hours a day, soaking in the sunlight.

Sometimes the King would visit them in their cell, or show up while they were in the garden, and he would watch from the doorway, a satisfied expression on his face. Murtagh tried not to look, but he could feel the King's eyes on him as he tried to stroll through the rows of flowers with Thorn.

"He's not your friend," Murtagh told the dragon when they sat in the cell eating together. Galbatorix had stopped them before they left the gardens, and spoken soothingly to Thorn, as if they were old friends meeting in an inn, and not the King's prisoners.

Not friend? Thorn asked as he slurped water from the bowl of water.

"No. He's... he's the one keeping us here. He's evil, and mad."

You are friend.

"Yes, I'm your friend," Murtagh confirmed, rubbing his hand along Thorn's scales. Already the dragon's head was bigger than Murtagh's hand, and his claws had grown sharp and fierce.

Other friend? The dragon asked. Murtagh sighed.

"...not anymore."

Friend before?

Murtagh sorted through the dragon's thoughts, trying to understand his meaning.

"Yes, there... there were some friends. Eragon; he was my friend, I think."

Eragon?

Murtagh sniffled.

"Yeah." He sent the dragon an image of Eragon in his mind.

"He's... he has a friend too–Saphira. She's a dragon, like you."

Thorn tilted his head, and Murtagh felt a vein of curiosity in his thought.

Saphira? Thorn said, and Murtagh got an image of the color blue.

"Yeah, she's blue, yeah. Saphira." Murtagh smiled; maybe Thorn recognized Saphira from their time as eggs together. He wasn't entirely sure how that worked–how much the little red dragon had been aware of during his years in the treasury room.

Murtagh sent to Thorn a mental image of Saphira, curled up by a campfire, her scales sparkling in the flames.

Thorn hummed happily and closed his eyes.

Saphira friend.

"Yeah..." Murtagh said sadly, not that it mattered. Saphira was nowhere near them; she didn't know they existed; she couldn't help.