Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Inheritance Trilogy. If I did, they would be very different books. ;)
A/N: Just a quick OMGGOTTAWRITEITDOWN kinda story. Not at canon, unless Murtagh sees the light and rejoins the Varden in the next instalment. But who else besides me is betting he's the one who kicks it at the end of book 3? Enjoy, R&R.
A Broken Warrior
A lull in the heat of battle allowed Eragon to look around him.
As the body of the Urgal before him thumped to the ground, he sighted Murtagh fighting a way to his right. His dark hair had fallen into his eyes and stuck about his cheekbones, the splashes of mixed black and red blood spattered Murtagh's whole body.
Eragon was awed to watch the grace with which Murtagh fought.
It was almost art as he swirled his blade, glinting in the sun, to parry a blow from the Urgal.
His skill and agility though was more than matched in the strength of his opponent.
One tiny moment of hesitation, uncharacteristic for a warrior of Galbatorix, and Murtagh had the upper hand.
The older boy plunged his long blade deep into the barrel-like chest of the horned monstrosity, his face twisted in a grimace of hate.
Brackish blood bubbled from a horrible, gaping mouth and at last Murtagh was satisfied that the Urgal would go down.
He gave a fierce roar as he pulled the blade back, twisting it as it came.
Eragon took another fast look around to make sure he was not being ambushed, and Murtagh saw the blonde Dragon Rider.
He gave a roguish smile from behind his dark hair, sword poised at his side, and Eragon couldn't help but return it.
It was a pity Murtagh had not seen the onrushing Kull.
He only heard it at the last second as the huge beast raised its extraordinarily massive sword.
Murtagh saw the change in Eragon's expression, from smiling exhilaration to surprised horror.
The boy whirled around and his eyes widened as the Kull's blade found its mark.
The force behind the slash was enormous, and even from where he stood, Eragon could see the feral glee glinting in the black eyes of the monster.
Murtagh staggered back, clutching his stomach, croaking, as the Kull screamed its victory and crashed off to the next Varden fighter, Murtagh's blood still dripping from its sword.
Eragon stood for a few seconds, his brain struggling to absorb the events of the last moment, before he could make his legs work to propel him over to where Murtagh was collapsing to his knees.
The staggering figure threw down his sword and shield, and struggled to rip of his apparently ineffective breastplate.
There was still a look of surprise on Murtagh's face when Eragon crouched before him.
Blood gushed from beneath his clasped hands; Eragon recoiled at the brutal sight.
Murtagh's lower abdomen had been rent open; the blade had torn him hip to hip.
The Kull had attacked with such force that even his mail shirt had been ripped open.
Murtagh's distant eyes focused somewhat, and he seemed to notice Eragon for the first time.
"Eragon…" he gurgled, "The… it got me!" he said, with more wounded pride and surprise than anything else.
His whole body gave a shudder, and he looked down, taking a hand away from the ghastly wound.
It was deep, Eragon noted with a jolt, and gore had begun to ooze from Murtagh's ruined body. Eragon gasped and swallowed hard, forcing the other boy's hands back to his stomach, helping him to clasp tightly, and hopefully, somehow, staunch the ridiculously fast blood flow.
His insides had to stay inside him, that much Eragon was sure of, but at the back of his wildly panicking mind, Eragon knew his friend was doomed.
"No, wait -- you… It'll be alright Murtagh -- just…" here Eragon yelled, trying desperately to think straight. Murtagh could not die!
The charismatic warrior collapsed another level, resting precariously on his haunches, and he coughed, shaking.
A trickle of crimson escaped the corner of his mouth, a stark contrast to his lips' fading pallor.
Eragon could tell it was not just from the cold of shock that Murtagh was shaking now.
Eragon knelt before the other boy, snarling at an Urgal before it could attack, only to see it taken down by another anonymous Varden.
He looked back and met Murtagh's eyes. His jaw was set against his agony, sadness in his eyes and the line of his mouth.
"You know, how they say… dying doesn't hurt, Eragon?" Murtagh stammered through his violent spasms.
Eragon couldn't help but smile, even as a tear wound its way down his cheek.
Murtagh was brave, through and through.
He couldn't be more different from his father. Eragon cleared his throat.
"Yes, friend?"
Murtagh smiled as he gasped, revealing bloodstained teeth. Eragon's eyes fell to the gaping wound.
The black trousers he wore were entirely soaked to a darker, more ominous black, and his torn white shirt under his mail showed the red blood for all it was.
Eragon choked back a sob; he was not much longer for this world.
"They are liars," he gasped, chuckling.
Eragon smiled still, and Murtagh crumpled to the ground.
Breathing laboriously, Murtagh looked past the blue eyed Rider to the sky, a different blue, wide and deceptively calm.
"Feels as if a thousand Harpies are tearing me apart… from the inside."
"Well that's a comfort, thankyou, friend," Eragon said, brushing the dark strands of hair from his clouding eyes.
Eragon let his tears fall as he looked into those brooding eyes for the last time…
Together, they had been through so, so much.
Murtagh gasped in a large breath as he was wracked with paroxysms of pain.
"Always a pleasure… Dragon Rider." Murtagh addressed him formally for the last time, and with that, he faded away.
His eyes set, staring at the endless blue, and his shuddering body finally stilled.
Eragon let his head fall to his companion's chest in their moment of peace.
Saphira! Saphira, Murtagh is gone…