INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

MEETING A KING

Murtagh's head felt as if it had been split in two. For the past few weeks he had been slipping in and out of consciousness, those talking and standing around him blurring in a bright blend of color whenever he opened his eyes.

He couldn't tell dream from reality, and often woke to violent spasms. They would continue until something held him down and murmured comforting things to him. But as time passed, they subsided. He slept and recovered. Some moments he felt himself being moved, and others, he could taste sweet wine and thick milk on his tongue. These were short periods between what seemed like ages of monotony and darkness.

Murtagh felt aware at one point, and then at others he felt as if his mind was being pulled from his body. When he opened his eyes he saw things, impossible things. His mother; who was long dead, smiling down at him and stroking his hair. He would see his father; Morzan, as well, standing in the corner of what seemed to be in the white he was kept, his arms folded and his eyes dark and grim.

For Murtagh, it seemed like thousands of years until the darkness was gone.

"Are you alright? You were speaking. . ." A voice said as Murtagh felt his skin pull away around his eyes. A sticky substance had clung to his forehead, which obscured his eyesight. He was blinded almost instantly, and he saw gray shapes shifting before him.

"Don't crowd him! He's been in that bed for nearly a week!" A low-pitched voice bellowed.

"I wasn't crowding."

A man's face appeared before him. He was old, with red skin that was creased with lines of age. His hair was a dusky blonde color, thick and braided. A small mouth sat underneath a hooked nose, and his eyebrows were arched in analysis, blue eyes wide with interest. Behind him, a girl stood, wearing a frown on her face. She was similarly colored, and wore a simple white blouse that seemed to travel all the way down to her ankles.

"Ah, good. You're actually awake." The man said gruffly.

"Eat this." He commanded, and  forced a spoonful of sweetened milk into Murtagh's mouth. He swallowed in surprise, pressing his head back against his pillow.

"You were dangerously wounded when you came here. You took a blow to the head. You would have died if I hadn't been able to work on you as I have. You should be fine now . . . but you may experience crippling headaches in the future. But it is a small price to pay for life, in my opinion."

Murtagh remembered the mace that had fallen on him the day of the attack on Karem's holding. It was then he realized who he was still with.

The Varden.

Murtagh felt restless.

"Can I walk?" He asked politely, his mouth felt strange when he moved it.

"I don't see why not. If you feel any strong pain, come back to me. You are to report to the King. He wanted to see you as soon as you wakened. There will be men to escort you." The doctor left him at that.

Murtagh furrowed his brows. What could Orrin want with him? Is it possible that the King knew who he was? It was entirely likely that a mage had sifted through his memories while he was indisposed. . . but would these people kill an innocent man? He was Morzan's son, but he had done no wrongs to the Varden or attempted to halt their cause. The girl who was in the room before returned, and with a fresh set of clothes. Murtagh thanked her and rose from the bed.

He was aware of her eyes as they looked at his body, which was bare from the waist up. Scars covered his chest and back, faded red and black and purple. Some were simply straight cuts that healed over time, others were zigzagging trails that knotted and curled his skin when they had healed. He ignored her gaze, however, and she left the room, allowing him to dress.