"After all, we're foster brothers, aren't we? And brothers ought to watch each other's backs."

That they should, thought Eragon, though he did not say it out loud. "Foster brothers," he agreed, and clapped Orik on the shoulder. (Inheritance, p222)

And while he walked away from Orik, he thought, a little wistfully, of Murtagh. Who was, at the moment, in Dras-Leona, with Thorn, stopping the Varden from attacking. Who Eragon had travelled with to reach the Varden. Who had saved Eragon from Durza. Who had fought with Eragon. It had been some time since he'd been kidnapped by the Twins and turned against the Varden; and Eragon hoped he'd been forcibly turned against them.

They'd fought on the Burning Plains. And he'd lost. They'd fought again when the Varden had been camped near the Jiet River. And Eragon had claimed success that time. Eragon had felt, had known, Glaedr's pain when Murtagh had killed Oromis, while the Varden were storming Feinster. He had tried, during the fight over the Jiet River, to convince Murtagh that his true name could change. Murtagh had listened - of that Eragon was sure. But when he had seen him next, through Glaedr's eyes and thoughts, Murtagh had seemed even more under Galbatorix's thrall. Galbatorix had spoken through him, to Oromis and Glaedr. Eragon swore now, though, that he'd never lose hope. Murtagh could be saved. He would make sure of that.

He'd been shocked when Murtagh had revealed that they were brothers. Disbelieving. And then he's seen the disgust on Roran's face. And it had hurt. Brothers. Brothers ought to watch each other's backs, Orik had said. And for a time, Murtagh had. But that had been when they didn't know. Eragon had hardly been able to conceal his relief, let alone describe it, when he had found out that his father was Brom; that he and Murtagh were only half brothers, and by their mother, not father. For a while, when he had believed that Morzan was his father, he had almost despaired. Now, despite being pitted against Murtagh, who had once been his friend, he had hope. Hope that he would be able to live up to Brom. To make him proud. To make everyone proud: Roran, Katrina, Nasuada, Arya... And Saphira. Saphira, who'd always had faith in him and who always would.

He hadn't realised that he'd reached his tent; he'd been walking as if in a dream from which he'd only just now been woken. He shook his head clear of those thoughts and entered the tent.

Later that afternoon, when it seemed increasingly unlikely that the Empire would launch an attack from Dras-Leona in the few remaining hours of sunlight, Eragon and Saphira went to the sparring field at the rear of the Varden camp. (Inheritance, p223)