Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon…. Or Murtagh. Or Domick. Domick belongs to the friend I wrote this with. I've just adopted him. You aren't ever getting him back.
Note: As I mentioned above, this story was written by a friend and myself as a role-play… So now I'm going through it and putting it in story form so all of you can read and experience our combined genius. Just kidding. Hope you enjoy.
The single rider rocked rapidly as his horse galloped toward the large estate of a close friend, hoping for sanctuary. He wore a cloak to keep himself somewhat sheltered from the pouring rain and also to hide his face. As he neared the towering iron gates, he yelled, "I am a friend of Domick! Open the gates!"
At the call, someone stepped out from the shelter of the porch and into the rain, coming towards the gate. "Your name?" the man asked, having to shout to be heard above the rain.
"Azmuth," the drenched rider responded in the same tone. "I'm a bit late, sadly."
"Azmuth, is it?" the man asked, nodding to himself. "I will tell Master Domick you are here." He returned to the house, leaving Azmuth standing in the rain.
Only a few minutes later, someone came running to open the gate, and it was none other than Domick himself, getting soaked as he did so. Not that he cared that he got wet. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend.
Azmuth just crossed his arms and smiled slightly as he waited for him.
A laugh escaped Domick as the gate creaked open. "I am sorry my servant left you standing out here," he said, smiling at Azmuth as he let him enter and then closed the gate again. "Hurry, come out of the rain. It has been too long, friend." He made for the house.
"Aye, that it has," Azmuth replied quietly, lowering his hood. "You look exactly the same as last time we met!" His mouth took on a smirk. He knew the same could not be said of himself.
"Actually, I've gotten a haircut," Domick said, running a hand through his wet, dirty blonde hair. He opened the door for his friend.
Azmuth stepped in and shook some of the water out of his own, much darker hair. "Oh? Couldn't tell," he teased.
Domick just smiled, motioning to a rack where Azmuth could hang his wet cloak. "You can change into some of my other clothes," he offered, ready to be dry. "I told Carib to make something to eat once he gets your horse settled, then we can talk."
Azmuth shed his cloak and hung it up, eager, also, to be dry, and to eat a real meal. "Lead the way, friend," he said, giving him a small grin.
As Domick pulled on a dry shirt, he looked at his guest. "So why have you come here tonight, Murtagh?" he asked.