"Regret"
Disclaimer: Song is "Man Gegen Man" by Rammstein. The Inheritance Series belongs to Christopher Paolini, and I am only borrowing his Characters.
Summery: Era/Mur Murtagh finds himself hopelessly attracted to Eragon. How wrong is it to give in to your feelings, before you knew how truly wrong they are? How much would you regret your actions when you know the truth?
Rating: R/NC-17. SLASH!! Incest.
A/N: Mostly from Murtagh's point of view. It takes place in "Eragon". First ever Eragon fiction. Go me. Also, this is a translation of the song; not the original. "Warm" was translated from a word that could mean 'warm' or 'gay', the translator used 'warm', just to let you know. Based off the film; I can't remember the book well enough, and I borrowed it to a friend so I can't check it. Sorry!
XXX
Words: n/a
Chapter 1
Regret
Destiny smiled on me
And gave me a present
Threw me on a warm star
So close to the skin, so far from the eye
I take my destiny in my own hands
A tall, dark haired man watched as a younger man stumbled through the castle. The younger man's hair was a light brown; his eyes were wide as they hurriedly took in his surroundings before speeding up. He was heading straight towards the cell that held the Elven Princess, Arya.
Murtagh raised one hand to pull back his hood, barely, just enough to stop it from hanging over his eyes. He watched as the brown haired man – practically a boy – unlocked the door with magic and made his way inside.
"Foolish Eragon," Murtagh thought as he watched the Shade leave his hiding place and follow the Rider into the room.
The boy had to be Eragon, Murtagh knew, because he was the only one with a Dragon apart from Galbatorix. Eragon was the one they were trying to lure to the castle, using the promise of Arya's freedom as bait. Murtagh shook his head, and just to be safe he pulled his hood down again; his face concealed by shadows.
He raised his bow and notched one bolt, aiming it at the open door.
He could hear the sounds of fighting inside but he paid little attention. He was only interested in whether or not the Rider left the room alive. Eragon Garrowsnephew was Murtagh's only hope of freeing himself from the clutches of the King. The same man who had taken him, when his Father had been killed.
"Good riddance, Morzan," he thought spitefully, his hand straying from his bow to brush his fingers against his side. His fingers were brushing against the start of a scar that ran along the length of his back, hidden by his clothing. A scar that had been given to him by his Father when he was a toddler.
Eragon was supposedly the Saviour of the world as they knew it. Alageasia was shattered at that point in time Murtagh could admit it. Galbatorix had stifled the people to the point of totalitarian ship. People were afraid to speak or laugh or talk when Galbatorix's men came through their towns. Their only hope for freedom, for relief, for peace was the very same boy who had foolishly risked his life for a beautiful girl. Murtagh shook his head; slightly annoyed and also worried for reasons he couldn't understand. His hand moved from his back, and held tight to his bow, and he waited.
My desire is manned
Where the fresh water dies
Because it taints itself in salt
I keep the Little Prince in mind
A king without a queen
When a woman is mistaken about me
Then the bright world is confused
Brom had died. Eragon had cried.
Murtagh shook his head, forcing glum thoughts from his mind. He kicked his heels into his steed's side, and the horse sped up. Eragon looked over at him, and Murtagh offered the brown haired Rider a small smile.
Eragon's dragon, Saphira flew over their heads the Elven Princess tied securely to her back. Arya had yet to wake up, and the two boys' wouldn't be able to travel fast enough with her on horseback. So while Saphira flew ahead with her charge, the two boys stayed together.
Murtagh had been telling the truth, he had known where the Varden were and he had known the quickest way to get there. Only he had thought they would be flying; otherwise he would have not offered as readily as he did. He had always wanted to ride a dragon, even before Morzan's had been killed he never had the chance. If he had known they were to ride to the Varden, Murtagh would have demanded a short flight in exchange. He shrugged his shoulders; what's done cannot be undone, as they say.
As they had travelled, Murtagh found himself concerned with Eragon more and more. At first, he had assumed it was because if Eragon died, he would have to go back to Galbatorix. So he insisted on cooking for the lighter haired boy. He would make sure Eragon ate regularly, he made sure Eragon was very careful; he always rode ahead of Eragon to scout for attacks. But soon enough Murtagh realized he wasn't worried about returning to the King.
Murtagh cared about what happened to the Rider, because he cared about Eragon. He had laughed himself silly when he realized. He had chuckled, and snorted and even giggled until his sides hurt because for the first time in his life, he felt something – anything – positive for someone other than his Mother.
He stayed awake most of the nights that passed from that point on. He would light a fire, and wrap the sleeping Eragon tightly beneath Murtagh's own blanket before sitting crossed legged beside the Rider.
All night, some of the night, however long Murtagh could fight sleep for he sat beside Eragon and studied the boy's face. Eragon was beautiful, in a feminine way. His eyebrows were thin and arched above smiling blue eyes. His cheeks were high and they dimpled slightly when Eragon smiled. Fine, light brown hair that curled at the ends forever hung in the man's eyes. Murtagh would brush it back as Eragon slept and trace his fingers over the Rider's lips. Those lips would always part slightly, as Eragon released a puff of breath, and Murtagh would push his finger inside to feel the wet hotness that was forbidden to him.
He was falling in love with someone he could never have.
Most town people didn't care about same sex couples, but in small villages like Carvahall – where Eragon came from – they certainly did. Murtagh would not broach the topic, for fear of rejection, and because if Eragon was as narrow-minded as his neighbours Murtagh would lose their friendship to disgust.
So the Son of Morzan was content to just watch for the moment.
Under Saphira's knowing gaze, he leant forward and brushed his lips against Eragon's own, for the first time.
"I love you," he whispered as he lay down beside the boy and the dying fire and drifted to sleep.
Man against man
My skin belongs to the gentlemen
Man against man
Birds of a feather flock together
Man against man
I am the servant of two masters
Man against man
Birds of a feather flock together
Weeks had passed and they were almost to the hideout of the Varden. He was so close to leaving Eragon to their care and running for his life. No one would accept him because of his Father, and he had no reason to believe they would trust him. He would prefer to be gone before anyone informed his only friend who he really was.
"I just don't want to go," he hissed as Eragon continued to ask him why he wished to leave.
"But-"
"No, just leave it. I don't want to go, I promised to take you this far didn't I?" Eragon nodded. "And I kept my promise. When we get to the mountains I'm leaving." The young Rider looked away and blinked his eyes.
"I don't want you to leave me," he whispered and Murtagh strained his ears to hear.
He didn't bother to ask why or make a response. The look on Eragon's blushing face gave Murtagh all the encouragement he needed. Before Eragon could back away, Murtagh's lips were crushed against his and the black haired man was forcing his tongue between parted lips. Eragon brought his hands up to tangle into black locks, and thrust his hips forward tentatively. Murtagh groaned into Eragon's mouth; he felt as if he had died and gone to heaven.
Eragon was topless when Murtagh finally pulled away. The lighter haired man looked at his ripped shirt in horror. Before he could speak, Murtagh's lips had fastened to one nipple and Eragon moaned in pleasure.
Murtagh moved his mouth to lave the neglected nipple even as his hand unlaced Eragon's trousers. He knew he should give Eragon space to breath and time to think, but he was so afraid the other would change his mind. He needed to have Eragon now – just once – before the Varden separated them forever. He pushed Eragon to lie on the floor and pulled the boy's boots off. His own footwear followed, hastily thrown to the side.
His chest heaved as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the flood to cover the scraps of Eragon's ruined top. His trousers were pushed down off his hips and pooled around his feet as Eragon licked his lips and looked up with wide eyes.
Murtagh laughed throatily at how innocent Eragon looked even as he was flushed and panting, his lips bruised from kissing, and letting out desperately debauched moans for more. He moved to kneel over the other man, his legs spread so one was either side of Eragon and he was straddling the Rider's hips.
His head bent so he could lave Eragon's throat with wet kisses, before moving to suck on the brunette's collarbone. Eragon bucked beneath him and gave a groan of pleasure. "Please Murtagh," he panted, "more."
The black haired man smirked and slithered down the body beneath him like a snake. His tongue flicked out to trace the head of the erect penis that bobbed in front of his face. Eragon gave a cry as Murtagh opened his mouth wide and swallowed the purpling organ to the root.
Eragon bucked and moaned, begging for more as Murtagh traced the underside of Eragon's penis with his tongue, before swallowing around the head. "So close," he breathed and Murtagh pulled off.
Eragon, who was desperately trying to get Murtagh's mouth back onto his needy flesh, clutched at his hair but Murtagh untangled the hands easily and pulled away. "Patience, my love." He promised, kissing the coarse hair that surrounded Eragon's arousal.
The Rider gave a pained moan as he raised his hips. Murtagh changed positions completely. Now he was lying between Eragon's spread legs, his hands lifting Eragon's hips up. His tongue was now exploring his loves crack, flicking over the puckered rosette as Eragon screamed hoarsely. The muscle popped through the protective ring, and Eragon writhed. Murtagh would have laughed had he not been busy.
One finger joined his tongue in preparing the Rider. Another finger followed, along with a third. They wriggled inside of the brunette, stretching the delicate muscle, preparing him for something thicker and longer, but infinitely more satisfying.
Deeming his love ready, Murtagh removed his fingers and tongue, and lifted his head to smirk at the Rider. Eragon's face was streaked with tears as his hand tugged at his erection desperately. Murtagh pulled the hand away and growled at the boy.
"Do not touch yourself," he ordered, laying on top of the boy and lifting the Rider's legs. "Wrap them around my waist."
Eragon did as he was commanded. When his ankles were locked at the curve of Murtagh's back, the elder man took his won erection in hand and lined it up to the stretched virgin hole being offered to him.
Slowly, as not to hurt his love too much, Murtagh began to push forward. His head pushed passed the resisting muscle with a soft pop, and Murtagh paused to let Eragon relax again. The brunette nodded his head, and Murtagh thrust his hips forward, burying the rest of his penis at once. Eragon cried out and Murtagh peppered his face in kisses that were intended to comfort.
Eragon raised his hips impatiently, all thoughts of pain or discomfort gone from his mind as Murtagh's lips fastened to his collarbone again. The black haired man chuckled deeply and pulled his head back, swooping down to claim Eragon's lips in a passionate kiss.
His hips pulled back, his erection unwillingly leaving the Rider's tight channel, only to thrust back inside with a gasp to Murtagh. Eragon groaned and began to push against the erection every time it partially left his body. Murtagh sped up his thrusts. After months of watching and wanting Eragon, the boy was finally beneath him and he knew he wouldn't last as long as he would hope to.
He fully intended to bring Eragon to orgasm before his succumbed to his own, though.
Their lovemaking became almost animalistic, brutal in its intensity as both boys approached their release. Their hips slammed together and they screamed and bit at each others' necks as their hands clawed at backs and biceps or tangled into sweaty hair.
Within moments of turning to frantic fucking from gentle thrusting they came hard. Eragon reached his climax first, his back arched up, his head thrown back as his screamed his pleasure for the forest to hear. Murtagh lost what little bit of control he had retained as he took in the sight of his love in the throes of orgasm. He moaned deeply, his face buried against Eragon's neck as he came inside of the man he loved.
When he softened too much to remain within his lover, he pulled out and rolled to the side. A trail of white liquid – Murtagh's essence – trailed from between tight cheeks and down Eragon's thighs, as Murtagh's finger played with Eragon's own semen which was sprayed across his stomach.
"I love you," Murtagh licked the Rider's come off of his fingers and smirked.
Eragon moaned at the erotic sight. "Stay with me?" He begged as his eyes closed. Murtagh frowned but nodded: looking back on it, he admitted he did try and keep the promise. Or die trying.
I am the corner of all rooms
I am the shadow of all trees
No link is missing in my chain
When lust pulls from behind
My family calls me a traitor
I am the nightmare of all fathers
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Galbatorix had to be lying! He had to be! Murtagh shook his head, trying futilely to force the vicious words out of his head. They couldn't be true, Murtagh refused to believe in them. Galbatorix laughed manically as Murtagh's hands clutched at his ears, covering them, protecting them from more lies – from more evil, horrible, hurtful, unwelcome words.
"Liar, liar, liar, liar!" Murtagh screamed in his head.
As if he knew what Murtagh was thinking, Galbatorix pulled Murtagh's hands from his ears and smirked. "It's not a lie." He smirked. "You fucked your baby Brother."
"Liar, liar, liar, liar!" Murtagh tried desperately not to believe the King. If Galbatorix was lying, then there was nothing wrong with his feelings for Eragon, nothing disgusting about the act they partook in together. Nothing shameful about them.
"I'm not lying, Mozansson," Murtagh shook his head. "What would your Mother say?" He shook his head mock sympathetically and laughed as Murtagh slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. His body shook and he really did try not to hear the next comment Galbatorix made.
"What would Eragon say?"
Unfortunately the words penetrated Murtagh's brain anyway. His shoulders shook as he began to cry. Deep, mournful sobs wracked his body as he tried not to imagine Eragon's reaction to that piece of news. He tried to not imagine Eragon's rejection.
Man against man
My skin belongs to the gentlemen
Man against man
Birds of a feather flock together
Man against man
But my heart freezes on some days
Man against man
Cold tongues that beat there
Gay
Brother.
Murtagh had called Eragon 'Brother' on the Burning Plains. He shuddered as he remembered the look of revulsion that had spread across Eragon's face. His lips pressed tightly together as he tried to distinguish the look that followed after. Self-disgust? Or maybe it was curiosity? Maybe Eragon was still attracted to Murtagh; it could have been lust that flashed through those blue eyes.
He shook his head. He didn't have time to dwell on these thoughts; he had prisoners to interrogate and a King to make excuses to. He would only have so many more chances to let Eragon escape him before Galbatorix outright ordered him to kill the other Rider.
Murtagh patted Thorn – the dragon gifted to him by the King who had kidnapped him from Eragon's arms – and walked towards the throne room.
Even as he was tortured for failing to capture Eragon, he was smiling because Eragon was safe. One day, he knew, Eragon would beat Galbatorix and Murtagh would be free.
He may never be able to love Eragon like he did that night, and so many nights that followed, but he would never again be forced to hurt his Brother either.
He was left on his bed after Galbatorix had finished punishing him. His eyes slipped closed and images of Eragon during climax flooded his memory. The sights played out behind his closed eyelids, the sight and smells and feelings flooded his senses making him forget the pain of his punishment for now. He smiled as Eragon breathed his name out and whispered three words that made him glad he was alive.
"I love you Murtagh." Eragon smiles in his memory. Murtagh grins, "I love you too," he breathes out loud, his voice laced with pain. He might never have Eragon in the flesh again, but he would always have the memory of those feelings and actions. He knew his memory would have to be enough for now.
I'm not interested in balance
The sun shines in my face
But my heart freezes on some days
Cold tongues that beat there
Gay
Man gay for man
"Is it wrong? Is it so very wrong to love your Brother like I do?" He wondered, staring at the ceiling.
Yes, undoubtedly.
"The real question is, though, do I regret it?" He ran a hand through his hair and yawned. Eragon was still panting when he closed his eyes. Murtagh gratefully lost himself to his memories.
He smiled softly, "never."
The End
"What's done cannot be undone" – "Macbeth": Lady Macbeth.
Thanks for reading. Please review this one! I am working on WOLF (HP) and a few one shots for that fandom as well. If you want more Eragon fictions, you'll have to give me an idea, I'm all out sorry.