This story takes place during "Brisingr," the third book in the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini. The story starts at the beginning of Chapter 22, "Fire in the Sky." Or just page 316 in the hardback copy.
Disclaimer:I do not own the characters or the ideas thought up by Christopher Paolini. I wish I did. But I do own the plot of this particular story.
Eragon is ready to fight. Murtagh's taunts echo in the distance. I place my hand on my friend's leg.
"Accept this from me, Shur'tugal." And then I transfer some of my own energy into him. He will need it more than I, for this is to be a hard battle. Murtagh most likely has increased in strength since we last met.
"Eka elrun ono," Eragon replies. I thank you.
"Be careful, Eragon. I would not want to see you broken by Murtagh. I…" I catch myself quickly. He needs to keep his focus on the battle, rather than on my feelings for him. I slowly walk away, wondering when I will ever be able to tell him.
I watch as Eragon takes flight. We keep our minds in contact as the fight rages on. I listen as Eragon tries to tell Murtagh how he can be free from Galbatorix. As Eragon refuses to go to Urû'baen without a fight. He says he would sooner tear out his own heart. In reply, Murtagh says, "Better to tear out my hearts."
How peculiar. I contemplate Murtagh's reply as I use magic to heal a gaping wound Saphira has acquired. The loss of energy is great, but I do remain standing. Hearts, he said. The plural. More than one. Human beings cannot have more than one heart. Can they?