Inheritance Cycle 1. Chapter 1

(Author's Note: Used Inheritance Cycle for inspiration, don't own any of the characters referenced from this series etc.)

She crouched, as still as a leaf, in the branches of the tree above the cohort of soldiers who passed by below her. Her lithe form was predatory yet in line with the contours of the tree, her clothing camoflaged with the colours of the branches and leaves, so even someone looking directly up at her would not see her. The eight strong group of mounted warriors did not detect her prescence as they passed her swiftly by, dust and loose earth kicked up by their horses' swift passage past the tree she was residing in.

She only needed one shot, and that would be the most opportunity she could expect. Her gaze remained fixed, unwavering, at the citadel in the distance, it's curved parapet sparkling golden in the sunlight. Grand buildings clustered round the residence of the King, almost forming a perimeter, and outside this hundreds of smaller buildings clustered together, inside of the city walls that surrounded Uru'baen. The elf had positioned herself so she would be bale to watch the Palace directly all day if needed: at the wrong angle it would be blinding to look at in the full view of the sun. Her stare remained pinpointed on two great, stone doors in the distance below the parapet; so tightly closed one might believe they were ceremonial and not designed for use. Not many knew the doors would only open for a dragon and it's Rider, departing Uru'baen together.

For the first time in some days, the elf's gaze wavered. She blinked, faster than a human eye could see, and in that moment, she fell silently from the tree. As her body dropped to the ground, her lips moved wordlessly in a practised rhythm, with no more sound than a leaf falling from a tree, yet invoking powerful magic unknown to most. The elf fell silently and gracefully but her body crumpled as it hit the ground, ungraceful in the magically induced unconsciousness. The feathered end of the thin, razor sharp dart that was embedded in her neck bounced as it it the ground, but the tip remained stuck, it's serrated end having found it's mark. The elf's head struck the ground but her tightly bound hair remained in it's binding. The shock of the impact caused the elf's arms to fall at her sides and as her right hand struck the ground once, then came to a still position on the dry earth, it's grasp on a tiny dart relaxed and the dart rolled out of her hand. A moment later the dart was gone, transported back to it's maker in Ellesmera.

Inside the citadel, an order was given to retrieve the captive.

The dart embedded in the neck of the elf was coated with enough concotion to keep it's target unconscious for over a day. So when the enormous bulk of Thorn landed next to the prone body of the fallen elf, it could as well have been a corpse. Murtagh jumped off Thorn in a smooth, practised motion and stood next to the elf, looking down at her with a detached interest. 


	2. In the Forest

(**Author's note**: I thought I had included this paragraph in the previous chapter. Can't figure out how to add it to have posted it as a second chapter. Much longer third chapter to follow!)

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><p>Murtagh surveyed her from head to toe, trying to ascertain what he could about her. She was dressed unusually for an elf, but her face gave away her race. Her elven ears were hidden under her dark hair, which was bound closely to her head and the colour evenly matched the brown shades of the bark of the tree she had been crouched in some moments ago. Her skin was pale but her features typically elvish. Murtagh couldn't guess at her age, but even in the wake of unconsciousness her face looked timeless, with no visible lines of age and her eyebrows and cheekbones high as elves' faces characteristically were. She was clad in light, tenuous robes of almost transparent thread; underneath these Murtagh could see a thin layer of body armour, which looked to be made from wood and twigs and a layer of leaves rather than the silver polished metal armour that would have been usual for an elf. The elf's feet where bare and looked delicate against the rough earth they laid on.<p>

After his cursory glance, Murtagh crouched down next to the elf, shooting a glance at her neck to check she was still alive.

Most curious, murmured Thorn, agreeing with his Rider's appraisal of the situation.

Noting the elf's pulse was existent, and steady, Murtagh slid his arms under her body and lifted her up. Her muscles limp, Murtagh did not fail to notice the toned physique under her robes. Having been instructed in no uncertain terms not to use any magic on the elf, he carried her over to Thorn and hoisted her onto the red dragon's back. He then leapt onto Thorn's back himself and held the captive in a tight grip to ensure she could neither fall nor fight out of his grasp. Thorn flexed his powerful leg muscles and a moment later leapt into the air, his wings beating heavily as he gained enough altitude to return to the great stone doors he had come from.


	3. Awake

The elf gasped involuntarily as waves of ice cold water drenched her face. Thin tendrils of her dark hair escaped their ties and water dripped from them onto the surface of the stone pallet she was laid on. Instinctively, the elf tensed and tried to move, only to discover she was unable to, restrained by padded manacles at her wrists and ankles. Her head was tied to the stone slab by a thick leather strap. She blinked as she tried to work the water fully out of her eyes. She couldn't shake her head and her vision remained blurred at the edges.

As best she could in her restricted position, she looked around, taking in the room she was in. Above her, grey slate tiles covered the ceiling. The same slate covered the walls. In the low light of the room, her gaze snapped to a figure standing close to her on her left. She focussed on him, and as her eyes accustomed to the light, she found he was gazing at her intently. He stood tall over her, a loose black shift making it difficult to tell his build, and his unkempt, dark hair cast shadows over his face making it difficult to tell his age. There was a hard look in his eyes as he studied her face intently. Through the blur in her vision, she could see at his side what she guessed was the bucket that had moments ago held the water that was now dripping off her.

Partly as an instinct to escape her bonds, and partly as a reaction to the water which had chilled her, she flexed her muscles again against her bonds. She heard the creak of rope as it was stretched, but it did not give.

There was a long moment of silence as she and her captor assessed each other. Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to set the tone for the interrogation.

She was further disorientated as she heard a sound to her right, and realised a moment later there was someone else in the room. She recognised the sound as the rustle of clothing. She tried unsuccessfully to twist round to see her other captor but the best she could do was look at the right side of the room. The person she had heard was just out of her range of vision. She glanced back at the figure to her left who returned her gaze evenly. Assessing he would not be a source of help, her gaze flicked round as much of the room as she could see, trying to ascertain what she could about her situation. The room was dimly lit making it hard for her to see the detail of her surroundings. She could feel the slab she was laid on was stone from the chilling effect it had on her. She guessed that the dull grey stone tiles that covered the walls of the chamber were made from the same.

A soft, dry, and yet almost comforting voice spoke from her right.

"Welcome to the Hall of the Soothsayer, Elf. A chance for you to declare your motives, and to swear allegiance to your new master." There was a short pause and the elf twisted again to her right again trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker.

The voice continued in it's soft but matter-of-fact tone. "This Hall is for the truth only. No lies will be told here, by any of us. How long you reside here, however, will be entirely up to you. Although I am your King, I cannot make that decision for you." There was a deliberate pause to allow the full meaning of the words spoken to be understood by the captive, who remained still.

For a moment there was no movement in the room. The elf betrayed no reaction to what was spoken. The silence was interrupted as a remnant trickle of water dropped from the stone pallet onto the floor. Another moment passed.

Behind her carefully neutral expression, the elf's thoughts raced. She had to decide, very quickly, how to respond to her captors. Her bonds and uncomfortable surroundings suggested she could not expect any kindnesses or mercy. And yet she had been kept alive, which meant she was some use even if only for a short while. She suspected the reason she was still alive was that her purpose was unknown to her captors. With a stab of fear, she realised she had only vague memories beyond awakening moments ago with cold water being splashed on her face, and could not remember what her movements or motives had been before her capture. Confused, she frowned slightly and tried to think back to before her capture. Then, as she struggled to recall any memories, one came to her unbidden.

_Crouched, on a branch above the ground. Leaves around her. The sound of wind gently tousling the leaves of the tree she was hidden in. The fading sound of hoof beats as the horses and their riders travelled away from her. The merest, slightest sensation on her neck. Almost as if she was floating through water, her limbs relaxed, her mind slowing. The tree tipped away from her, and she came to the realisation she was falling at the same time as she realised she had already begun to invoke her final spell. Her ears numb, she couldn't hear the spell that she was whispering as she fell, the memorised incantation forming on her lips without any conscious thought._

The King's voice abruptly disturbed her recall.

"And who is it that I find myself addressing, Elf?"

With a jolt of confusion, she realised it was her spell, uttered as she fell from the branches, that had destroyed her memories. All her memories; of who she was, why she was in the tree, how she got there... gone. Why?

The elf hesitated, replaying the memory in her mind. Being truthful with her captors would not help her, but would only reveal her vulnerability. While they thought she knew something they did not, she was useful, needed, alive. They would no doubt suspect her explanation a ruse or stalling tactic, and if she did manage to convince them, she could not see they could have any further use for her. She could see only one course of action available her, as risky as it was. She needed time by herself to contemplate her reasons for the last spell she had cast, to find out why she had willingly destroyed all memories of her past, and until she understood this, she could reveal nothing to her captors.

The elf slowly moved her gaze to the ceiling tiles directly above her. She studied the dull slate carefully. She would have to use her time wisely so she could discover her past and what had brought her here, before her captors did. She set her jaw grimly, and the defiant gesture was not lost on her captors.

There was a long moment of silence. The elf grew tense with anticipation. Her hands formed fists as she struggled to turn fear into defiance.

The King spoke again, his voice still deceivingly gentle, almost jovial.

"No matter. The name you would give me will be of no consequence soon. Is that not so, Murtagh?"

At the mention of his name, she knew instantly she had heard it before. The name was important. More so, it was part of the reason she had come.

Involuntarily, she glanced across at Murtagh, who stood still to her right. His eyes on the King, she glimpsed a look of disgust on his face for a split second before it was replaced with a glowering stare. She felt tension radiating from him and for a moment thought he might strike at the King. She watched with trepidation, unable to tear her gaze away from his thunderous stare. Just as it seemed he would not respond, Murtagh took a step backwards and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Sire." His voice was as hard as gravel; his response more an acknowledgement that he had been spoken to than an agreement of what had been said.

The tension dissipated as Murtagh broke his gaze. The elf felt the King's attention refocus on her, and felt a chill of panic. The meaning behind the short exchange was a mystery to her, but she could tell the King was in the controlling position of the two men, and more than that, there was an open resentment fostered by the younger man who, for a reason unclear to her, was powerless to act on it.

There was another soft rustle of clothing and a moment later the silhouette of a man appeared in her peripheral vision on her right, but just outside the light that his features remained indistinct. He stood by the side of her head and looked down at her thoughtfully.

"There were no weapons or possessions of any kind found on your person." His voice was quiet and thoughtful. Although she couldn't see his face, she could feel his eyes roaming over her body. "At least, none that we could detect." His gaze made her uncomfortable. She could feel that she had been left with her thin undergarment of armour but nothing more. The thin covering was intended as a thin layer of protection, but could afford no real benefit and covered her only as a corset would, with an accompanying short skirt covering her thighs, made out of a light, woven green fabric.

Refusing to acknowledge her discomfort, she fixed her gaze on ceiling above her, mentally trying to detach herself from her growing sense of panic. The muscles in her hands ached as they remained clenched into fists. She took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to calm herself and remain composed.

He spoke, and his quiet voice had an unmistakeably threatening edge. "What do you do so far from your Elven home and so close to my residence, Elf?"

She remained impassively watching the ceiling tiles. Her clenched fists were the only indication of her true state of mind.

The King continued softly, the threatening undertone replaced with a thoughtful edge. "What possible reason could an elf have to spy upon my household and subjects from such a distance? Indeed, from a distance that would tax even your elven eyes; and to spy without the aid of magic almost as though you wished to remain undetected by my wards and tripspells until such time as you chose to reveal yourself?"

It was a question the elf wished she knew the answer to, even though she would not wish to reveal it to her captors. She remained impassive, staring at the ceiling.

The King continued, his voice soft and so quiet she had to strain to hear his words. Despite her trepidation, she could not help but do so.

"And when you were to reveal yourself, so far from my castle, and, I suspect, within elven eyesight what was your plan? Why that specific tree that you were spying from?"

She heard the King slowly move away from her, and walk the length of the stone pallet. He moved into her field of vision as he came to stand at the end of the stone slab she was laid on, and she felt him look at her thoughtfully. It took all of her willpower to keep her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She could feel his gaze travelling over her body; she could feel the moment his gaze fixed on her face. His eyes were inviting, his gaze was possessive. She pulled at her restraints again, half in desperation, half as a distraction form the feel of his eyes on her face. The restraints did not give and she struggled to keep her composure.

In a slow, deliberate movement, he placed a hand on each of her ankles, his skin soft and comfortingly warm against her cold bare legs. After a moment, she felt the warmth spread towards her toes, warming the soles of her feet through to her ankles. The sensation was pleasant for a moment, but then she felt the hands on her ankles grow warmer still. His fingers were emanating heat, pouring it though her feet into her toes. She felt her muscles stiffen under the heat and a moment later felt as though boiling water had been poured over them. She pulled against the grip that held her but could not move away and he held her ankles firmly against the stone. She felt the searing pain climb further up her legs, as though she was being slowly immersed in boiling water. Her feet felt swollen with the intense heat and she struggled frantically to escape the grip that held her. Her feet and legs throbbed, and she felt the skin grow tight as if over a dry heat. She thought she could feel blisters forming and continued fighting against the grip that now felt like hot irons holding her ankles.

She refused to meet the King s eyes or to communicate with her captors, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the same point above her. Her jaw clenched with effort and pain. She could no longer feel the restraints on her legs but was sure they must be painfully tight on her swollen legs. The skin on her feet throbbed and the intense heat continued. She barely registered the next words spoken by the King, his voice still quiet but the ominous edge to his tone had returned.

"Explain your intentions, Elf, and this will cease."

She grunted with the efforts of her struggles against his grip. She was beyond rational thought; whether or not she believed she could escape his grasp did not drive her movements, only a desperate response to the pain she was feeling. Her jaw was clenched with effort and she did not respond to the words spoken so invitingly.

Suddenly, as abruptly as it had come, the painful heat faded away. She felt it disperse from her legs and a moment later from her feet. As the heat left her, she felt a bruised tenderness in her feet, as though her legs and feet had been beaten some days ago and were still healing. The bruised sensation was almost pleasurable compared with the pain she had felt a moment ago. She ceased struggling instantly with a gasp of relief; any movement in her legs now caused the bruised sensation to trigger sparks of pain up her legs.

She became aware the King had moved away from the end of the stone pallet and was approaching her. She kept her eyes focussed on the same grey tile. She had noticed a thin network of cracks within the tile where it had started to crack over time, and she had fallen into a habit of following the trail of cracked lines with her eyes as a circuit it formed within the tile. Her vision blurred and she blinked to clear her eyes. She felt a tear escape and run swiftly down her cheek. She blinked again in a vain effort to stop it s trail; she did not want her captors to see any sign of weakness. Underlying this futile effort, she could feel her resolve failing. If the pain had continued much longer, if it was inflicted over her body she could not hope to resist.

The King repeated his command with the slightest hint of impatience.

"Explain, Elf."

He stood at her shoulder, looking down at her. Still she resisted his gaze, her eyes desperately tracing the cracks in the tile above her.

He reached out and his finger touched her hand. Her muscles tensed and her fist clenched tighter, but otherwise she remained still. His touch trailed slowly up her arm. It felt as though a hot poker was being pressed against her skin. Wherever it touched, there was an intense heat for a moment, then it dissipated and paralysis spread like a shadow, numbing her. She clenched her teeth but couldn't help but reveal the pain she felt through her expression. She remained silent but her breathing became ragged as she twisted against her bonds in an attempt to escape his touch. She could only hope this torture would end soon, for she knew she could not maintain her silence long.

She wished desperately for a memory, a moment, to replay in her mind as a distraction. A hint of her life, a reason to keep resisting; none came to her.

His hand reached her shoulder and his finger rested a moment on her collarbone. She bit her cheek again to keep from crying out as she felt pain as sharp as if a red hot blade was being pushed slowly through her shoulder. Her arm had become completely numb and lay, languid, in it's binding.

She felt his hand rest gently on her neck, his fingers laid over the exposed skin. She swallowed involuntarily and flinched, trepidation making her nauseous. Her breathing slowed and she realised she was rigid with tension. She felt her skin under his hand grow warm and then the familiar sensation of the warmth becoming hot and spilling out across her skin. Almost pleasant for a moment then sudden, searing pain, as though there was a heated metal bond on her skin burning it. It felt as though her skin was blistering, hot, unbearable, and her paralysis prevented her from even struggling although there was no paralysis in her face or jaw, and in her agony she broke her silence.

She screamed; a primal, anguished cry that broke free of her. Her vulnerability found, immediately she felt another hand on her chin, pushing it roughly upwards, exposing more of her throat. The pain grew and she felt the familiar heat spread further up her neck and down onto her chest. She struggled frantically against her bonds, crying out wordlessly for reprieve. She tried to pull away from his grip but despite her struggles, she knew she could only move fractionally and could not hope to escape the pain. She screamed again, incoherent in her pain and unable to form words. She felt as though her torso was immersed in fire, she could almost feel the flames on her skin; a dry heat consuming her, burning her through and through. She closed her eyes to focus on her speech, shutting out the tile that had, for a few moments, offered her a much needed distraction. She called out her surrender and instantly the heat abated. Again the bruised sensation followed leaving her feeling as though someone had tried to strangle her. She remained still for a moment with her eyes closed, slowing her breathing and realising what she had committed to. Her plan had failed, and she could only be honest about her situation.

There was a silence, interspersed only by ragged breathing which slowed as she struggled to subdue the panic and despair that had risen within her.

She started to speak, and her voice croaked. She paused and coughed gently, wincing as she felt a pang of pain in her throat as she did so. She spoke again, her voice low and hoarse.

"I ... don't know why I was there. I can't remember. I've ... destroyed all my memories."

Silence followed her words and she couldn t tell how they were received. Wearily, she opened her eyes again. She could see from her peripheral vision that the King still stood next to her. Her stomach knotted with trepidation but she knew what was needed for the King to believe her. Slowly, she moved her gaze to meet the King s, and looked into his eyes. They were consuming, inviting, watching her intently. His eyes were cold, dark circles with almost no white, although she could not be sure if that was due to the low light in the hall. She could see the shape of his face, with no apparent sign of age other than his dark eyes.

A moment later she felt a nagging thought at the back of her mind. As she focussed on it, she felt him in her mind. Before she could react she found herself thrown aside, barred, a passive watcher in her own mind. She could feel the King s presence, invading, searching for her memories, as though a huge ominous shadow towering over her. A feeling of dread filled her and she fought the impulsive instinct to fight back or try to defend herself. She felt the emanating anger from the King's mind, and also an underlying paranoia and frustration at the problem and mystery she posed while her true purpose was unknown. Imprisoned in mind and body, she could only wait as her thoughts and emotions were pilfered. She could tell he had found her thoughts from when she had awakened; confusion, fear, and a final resolve as she planned to withstand the torment. A plan that had lasted only moments. Then the ominous presence was gone, and she was alone with her thoughts.

He blinked and she started, wondering if she had been hypnotised, unable to ascertain how much time had passed since she had first looked in his eyes. She looked away from him, keen to escape his gaze, and again fixed her sights on the same cracked tile. She felt him looking at her again and kept herself still and as impassive as she could.

He spoke again, and his words filled her with dread.

"Well, that is a clever trick. If you ever want to leave this Hall, you had best regain them."

He moved, abruptly turning, and the elf couldn't help but flinch away, turning away from him and towards Murtagh. Her gaze met his suddenly, and she saw he had been studying her closely. His hands clasped behind his back, he stood tall and commanding, fierce eyes fixed on her face. She could not read his emotions, but she saw his mouth was drawn in a tight line.

The King walked away from her, towards the door. She heard the creak of the wood as the door was pulled open.

"Murtagh."

As the King left the Hall, his quiet utterance called Murtagh after him.

For a brief second, Murtagh's gaze remained on the Elf. Then he gave a curt nod and, as abruptly as his master, turned and left the Hall. The prisoner within breathed a slow and ragged sigh.


End file.

Inheritance Cycle