The Dark Hours - Eragon Fanfic

Chapter Ten: Negotiations

CW: Sexual assault (not graphic)

An afternoon came when Murtagh was finally able to overwhelm Freckle-Twin's mental defenses.

They had been sparring for the better part of an hour, and Murtagh hadn't once come close to losing his concentration. He felt in control, powerful, at ease–if that was even possible for him anymore. More than anything, he felt angry, and he wanted to humiliate the Twin, and crush him.

The King was watching, and Murtagh wouldn't admit it to himself, but this also had to do with his fervor to overpower the other magician in their match.

He refused to acknowledge it, but as the weeks of his instruction had dragged on, he had grown more and more eager to please Galbatorix. When the King was happy with his progress, he was afforded more freedoms, given the chance to fly with Thorn, allowed time in the library for the pleasure of reading, excused from dull meetings with nobles.

When the King was angry with him... there was a sort of icy stillness in the room, and though he had not yet been harmed since the day he'd taken his oath, Murtagh always felt on edge when he failed to accomplish a task or memorize a spell or complete an exercise that the King asked of him. He worried when the hammer blow would fall, when his true punishment would come.

Today he was dueling with the Twin under the King's cool eye, and he wanted more than anything to see the sneering little git dismantled, taken apart. He wondered briefly if Galbatorix would let him kill the man, once he had gotten into his mind. He hoped so.

It was Thorn, in the end, who helped Murtagh finally defeat Freckle Twin. The dragon was sitting in the courtyard behind Murtagh, having finished his own training with Shruikan, and a large black crow had flown in on one of the bare branches of the courtyard trees. Without Murtagh noticing, Thorn looked up at the branch, and let out a single jet of flame, cooking the bird instantly.

The movement and fire startled Freckle Twin, and Murtagh felt a wavering in the slippery wall of his mind. He attacked viciously. In seconds he felt the Twin's panic as he realized what had happened, but Murtagh would not be deterred now. Piece by piece he demolished the Twin's defenses and forced his way into the man's dark mind like a bug burrowing underground.

There was a dark swirling sensation, a strange emptiness and also a heavy blanket of evil in the man's mind, and Murtagh had to fight not to be overwhelmed. But he was too elated by his success to back down now. As the Twin crumpled to the stones Murtagh marched forward, fists clenched, a wicked smile playing on his lips, tearing through the man's mind as his own mind had been torn so many times.

A word danced on his lips. One of several words. A killing word. In an instant the man would be dead.

Kill him kill him kill him, A voice told Murtagh. He wanted to, so badly he wanted to. But there was a clamp on his throat, a blockage. His oath. The Twin was a servant of the King, he had been granted permission to duel with his mind, not to kill. The ancient language would not allow it.

Instead, Murtagh made the man hurt.

"Verkr," Murtagh spat, and the Twin screamed, pain rushing through every vein. Murtagh's heart was beating loudly, his skin hot and his eyes wild; he was elated, watching the weasely man squirm on the pavement beneath him. Served him right.

Then suddenly Murtagh felt a great pull on his navel, a painful lurch like someone had stuck a hook through him and dragged him backwards. Murtagh's attack was broken as he was flung back through the air, landing hard and rolling to a stop, his elbows and face scraping against the rough stones as he skidded.