A/N: I do NOT own these characters. They belong only to Christopher Poalini. I'm only playing with them!
The pain, it was insufferable. It was like scorching white heat trapped inside of his skull, a fire that couldn't be put out. He found himself kneeling at the feet of his master. Or was it cowering in the pitiful form of a ball of skin and bones? Although Galbatorix stood silently above him, lips unmoving, Murtagh could hear his voice shouting, screaming, inside of his head. His scabbed and bloodied hands covered his ears as he banged his head against to hard cold floor in hopes that his master's voice would fall out. He was sure he would go crazy…or crazier.
Murtagh had tried to remain silent, to not let Galbatorix have the pleasure of seeing how much pain he was in, but he couldn't bite his tongue any longer. He opened his mouth and let out a broken cry of torment and hopelessness. There was no one who could save him, he couldn't even save himself. The thought that this pain, which was his past and present, would also be his future, his only future, tore another cry – sharper and angrier – from his burning sore throat. Tears washed down his face in unrelenting waves.
"No one will save you." Galbatorix repeated his own thoughts to him. "No one can save you." His deep dark laughter filled Murtagh's head.
"No one will save me." Murtagh whispered brokenly between screams. He'd heard the words so often that he knew they couldn't be anything but the truth. "No one can save me."
He screamed as loud and for as long as he could, his whole body rocked violently from side to side.
"Wake up!" Galbatorix commanded, his voice thundered inside Murtagh's skull. "Open your eyes, wake up!"
Murtagh lifted his head from the ground. His eyes opened to see the soft grass of the forest floor, the dim light of the small fire made the tall thick blades of grass look longer and darker then they really were.
Eragon looked at him with a mixture of fear, pity, and worry painted on his face. He was crouched down next to Murtagh with his hands on his shoulders, ready to shake him again if the need would arise.
"Eragon?" His voice was hoarse and quiet, his throat completely raw.
"It's alright; it was all a terrible dream." Eragon rubbed his back soothingly, practically cradling the boy's upper body in his arms. "It's over now."
Murtagh looked past Eragon's caring face to the cloudy black sky. He fought the feeling of humiliation, the shame of Eragon seeing him like a scared little child, as he tried to calm his hammering heart. Murtagh tried to think of soothing images, but found it hard with Eragon raking the fingers of a steady hand through his dark long hair. His fingers were light and moved slowly against his scalp. He didn't need to conjure images to comfort him, he felt himself relax a little. His tense body eased and he let himself lean against Eragon.
The fear that kept the thunderous tempo of his heart fast and irregular faded. It was gradually flushed out by a more powerful emotion, a stronger, and more potent and pressing awareness.
"Things will get better." Eragon murmured softly as he continued to absentmindedly stroke the older boy's dark hair. His soft eyes, filled with such baleful memories, stared blindly into the small dying fire. "You'll see." His telling eyes showed the slightest bit of fear. He looked down at Murtagh resting in his lap, the older boy's eyes were beseeching hope and something else he couldn't recognize. "Your dreams will get better."
"Until then…" Murtagh made it a question. His voice still felt rough and oxidized in his throat.
"Until then…" He watched Eragon try to grasp for something to mollify him. "Well, when I had nightmares, it always helped to know that someone else was there for me if I needed them. Roran would let me sleep next to him. If it was a terribly bad dream, he'd even let me hold tight to him." Eragon's hand froze in mid-stroke.
Murtagh knew what was to come next, and smiled inwardly. He already had the answer on his tongue.
"You can hold tight to me." Eragon's voice came out softer than it usually was, but Murtagh heard it as clear as if he had yelled it in an open field. "Do you want to sleep with me?"
Murtagh wrapped his arms around the younger boy, who slid down, next to him, to make it easier to be embraced. He remembered thinking about how perfectly Eragon fit against his body. "Yes."