Disclaimer: Paolini's work, not mine.
A/N: Inspired by a question I thought of after seeing the movie. Why does Murtagh, after swimming under the waterfall into the Varden's cave, suddenly cling to Eragon like he's helpless?
He stared at the churning water where Eragon had just jumped and then back at the narrow valley they had come through. The Urgals were swift on their heels. Like everything that has ever hunted me, Murtagh thought grimly, breathing deeply to calm his thumping heart. It still pounded like a drum in his ears. He had lived with fear all his life, had always run from danger's snapping jaws. A part of him hated the running and hiding, while the other part valued the skills he had taught himself by being hunted. He knew that now was certainly a dangerous time to weigh his life and see whether he wanted to die single-handedly fighting against the enemy, or if he wanted to give up his freedom, his independence, his past to the Varden's scrutiny. They would undoubtedly be thorough in their search. Many had demanded to rifle through the pages of his memories but he had allowed no one into his mind. My one sanctuary.
He set his jaw and let his breath out in a rush, ripping off his cloak and throwing it to the ground before running and plunging into the water before he changed his mind. The water's iciness hit him hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs and he floated in a haze before gaining his bearings and pushing against the current. The force of the waterfall drove him down until he felt the rocky ground against his chest with the water pounding his back. He kicked frantically, all thoughts of following Eragon lost. He needed to get out of the eddy or he would drown, drown like he did on land with danger pursuing him. Had he ever rested in his life? Had he ever known safety? He opened his eyes and was greeted by a murky, pulsing world where everything was gray and frothy. The world turned and then righted itself as he was flipped and ground against the rocks. A bit of his hair caught his vision and he looked from the corner of his eye to see it, pausing in his endeavors to free himself from the current. Black. Just as black as his father's had been. His father consumed his life, drowning him in his legacy. He closed his eyes tightly and felt his mind begin to close itself off to the burning in his lungs. Water would cool them. He was drowning.
Suddenly he felt a boot kick his side and whatever air was left in his lungs left in a rush. Spots danced before his eyes, swirling around like he was. Then a hand was tangled in his hair and around his waist and he felt Eragon kick off the ground before they shot out of the waterfall's current and into the easier water inside the cave. They surfaced, Eragon first, and then Murtagh after, pushing himself up into the air as far as he could and breathing deeply the damp sweetness of it. He kept gulping in the air like a man dying of thirst and let Eragon put his arms around his chest, pulling at him to help him get his footing in the water. Murtagh clung to him, one arm on Eragon's shoulder, the other reaching out to the shore. The water kept foaming into his mouth and he let it wash over his face before he blew it out, thankful that he could. A heady feeling like the one that he had felt when he had first confronted Eragon and Saphira washed over him. Safe. He was safe for one wonderful moment before reality crashed down on them as surely as the Varden's spears did. Eragon seemed shocked but Murtagh had expected it. They might take him away, might try to probe his mind, but he could sit in solitude more easily than most. He was used to it. And he could contemplate the full aspects of the emotion that he was feeling here in the water with the waterfall behind him and the shore before his outstretched fingers. Safe.