A/N; an AU drabble, set during the heart of Brisingr. I wish there was more Murtagh and Eragon bromance other than the first book :( I also wish I could come up with a clever way to ask you to review like most authors do, but I seem to be running on 'empty' in the creative department right now so let's pretend I said something funny other than PLEASE R&R! Also, if you have better thoughts for a title, PM me or leave it in a review! All suggestions are welcome :)

"Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

somewhere along in the bitterness and

I would have stayed up with you all night

had I known how to save a life"

-The Fray

His idiotic, naïve, bleeding heart of a little brother was going to get him killed. So decided Murtagh as he slung Eragon's arm around his shoulders and dragged his drugged body through the ruined stone halls. It would have been easier to lift him with magic, but the same spells that had rebounded upon Eragon and made him so weak would affect Murtagh the moment he said "risa".

Catching Eragon had been the wild goose chase of the century. When Galbatorix had learned that the Rider was stranded in the heart of the empire after his attack on the Ra'zac, alone and without his dragon…well…it was safe to say Murtagh had been working overtime this past week. And after a carefully laid trap designed by the king himself- which involved drugging every river in the region, about three hundred armed guards, and some of the most complicated spellwork Murtagh had ever seen laid over the entire foundation of an ancient castle- they had pushed the younger Rider into this place, were he triggered the wards when he tried to fight off soldiers with magic.

And somehow still managed to knock them all out.

And of course Murtagh had to come clean up the mess, because the king didn't trust anyone else to be capable enough to bring his brother in. Eragon was the smoke that kept slipping through his fingers- no, Galbatorix would not lose him again, and Murtagh would not suffer again because he had. And now he was probably going to get crushed by falling stone because this entire castle was crumbling beneath their feet due to whatever Eragon had done as he dragged his boots through the dust. He was fairly certain his brother was aware of his presence- he was semi-conscious and had moaned when Murtagh picked him up, but he wasn't fighting him, either, even as Murtagh dragged him through the piles of rubble and staggered around corners. His frustration only grew because, no matter whose side he was on in this wretched war, whether he was free or a slave, one thing never seemed to change.

Even when we're on different sides, I still always have to save him.

The thought was one of utter loathing.

Eragon didn't even have the decency to get captured in a way that wasn't horribly dramatic and didn't endanger Murtagh's life as well. And yet, being here, in this situation, reminded him so sharply of Gil'ead-

No, thought Murtagh furiously, shoving all the memories away. It did no good to think of the times he had been free. Of when he'd actually had a friend in the boy beside him he had come to scorn so much. It only made everything worse.

He'd learned that a long time ago.

Murtagh sidestepped just as a piece of the ceiling caved in, shattering with the ring of stone on stone upon the floor next to his boot.

"Blast it, Eragon, what did you do?" he muttered. The spells that had been laid on this place were now tearing it apart beneath their feet. Reckless spellwork on Galbatorix's end, perhaps- or perhaps the reason why his powerful rival seemed completely incoherent beside him.

Eragon's head rolled violently to the side as Murtagh pulled him across the stone, eyes blinking blankly. "I'm sorry," he suddenly blurted out, voice slurring and weak.

"For what," bit out Murtagh, more focused on dragging him across the floor.

"For letting you get taken," Eragon babbled. His fingers scrabbled loosely at Murtagh's sleeve, tangling against the chainmail. "If- if I had been faster…if I had seen them coming…if I had known…I wish could have saved you. Somehow I could have saved you." He paused and then added in a quiet, earnest voice, "I'm still trying to save you."

That had not been what Murtagh was expecting, and his exasperation and frustration halted in the wake of his surprise. I'm still trying to save you. He sounded so desperate, so innocent, and at the moment, despite the Elven change in his features, he looked so young- just like the moody boy Murtagh had traveled with all the way to the Beor Mountains. He was just a boy- a little brother. Gods, but he was too naïve for the world. "…No one can save us now, Eragon. There is no hope for me or Thorn. We are his slaves forever."

"No," Eragon said fiercely and drunkenly, suddenly becoming more animated- and upset. The hand that was on his sleeve suddenly gripped his wrist tighter. "I don't believe that. And don't you give up, either, damn it. Don't give up!"

His patience had ended. "You don't know what we've been through, Eragon!" he snapped.

"Stop crying for yourself," Eragon slurred. "You're better than that! The Murtagh I knew…" he swayed, eyes downcast, seeming to lose some of his fight as whatever he had done sapped the last of his strength.

"The Murtagh you knew is gone," Murtagh said bitterly.

"No," Eragon repeated quietly. "No, I don't believe that. I'm going to save you." His eyes were almost closed.

"Eragon, I'm not asking you to save-"

"I'm going to save you," he repeated stubbornly, eyes sliding shut. "I'm going to. I didn't leave you then…and I'm not leaving you now. You were my best friend. I'm going to save you. You're my brother and I'm going to save you."

And then, with the roar of tumbling rock, the castle crumbled in around them.