For Better or Worse Chapter 10: Enjoy when you can, endure when you must, an inheritance cycle fanfic

A/N: The end of this chapter must be the first time ever that I left out on the chance for a cliffie... for a reason. *evil grin* Apart from that, I'll wrap some things up here, so that both Eragon and the reader know what exactly is going on... or at least know most of what's going on.

Enjoy when you can, endure when you must - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Chapter 10

24th August

The water was spilling over the rim of the full waterskin and Eragon lifted it out of the gurgling little stream. He rose to his feet and turned around, busy closing the skin with a cork. In the last instant he saw the ruby tail blocking his way and managed to jump over it. However, he tripped when he landed, and could only barely regain his balance without falling. Not again!

He was sure the tail had been there for this exact purpose.

Thorn produced a booming noise and let out one of his typical foul smelling puffs of smoke. His head was bent backwards and he had not missed the smallest motion.

Eragon blushed and continued on his way towards Murtagh, who was sitting near to Thorn's head, rummaging through the large saddle bags that he had taken off his dragon, his hands emerging with bread, cheese, and something Eragon had learned to be pasties with a vegetable filling. "Don't pay him any heed," Murtagh called over his shoulder without even looking up.

Mind-to-mind communication, Eragon knew, and that is not where the cool things end. He looked at Thorn's huge body when he passed him by, still as awed as he had been three nights ago when he had first met the dragon. The beast was an elegant mass of pure power, pure energy, with scales hard as steel, shining and glimmering in all shades of red, and fangs the size of Eragon's forearm. And those claws must be a horrible weapon in battle…

Still, Eragon felt quite uncomfortable under the fiery gaze of the predator, and it was not because he was afraid of an attack. No, somehow Eragon felt as if Thorn was putting him to the test – constantly. What exactly this test consisted of, or, even more important, what Thorn was aiming to achieve, he did not know. Does Murtagh know? I can't ask him when Thorn is always there to hear everything… Eragon sighed and sat down on a fallen log opposite of the Rider.

Murtagh looked up, his features more relaxed than they had been in days. "There's no need for you to be worried. I like what I've seen today. We've left Ellesméra far behind and should be ahead of all messengers they have sent, and the elven host is nowhere to be seen. There won't be a battle yet." He handed Eragon his share of food. "But when it comes, I'll get you away from it, trust me. Get you away beforehand."

Eragon took a bite of the not so fresh bread. "I'm not worried… well, no, I am, but not right now."

"What is it, then? Don't deny the expression on your face."

Involuntarily, Eragon's eyes flickered to Thorn, and he blushed anew when Murtagh's laughter filled the quiet evening. At the same time, the sound sent a shiver down his spine and he closed his eyes, relishing it. Murtagh was always so different when the day came to an end.

"Thorn, then, eh?" Murtagh regarded his dragon with something akin to fatherly pride. "He is… eager for anything to happen, eager to fight Durza. As he can't do that yet, he busies himself with matters that should be none of his interest." At that, Thorn nudged his Rider with his snout, hard enough for Murtagh to lose his balance and fall forward. "Not so much of his interest," Murtagh amended grumpily, struggling back to his feet and sitting down anew. He was rewarded with a small breath of fire that missed him only by inches.

Eragon smiled against his will. I should not forget the fire. That's the most awesome thing of it all. He enjoyed watching the two together like this, because he knew it would be different again the next morning. Nighttime was playtime. However, Murtagh's explanation did not serve its purpose. "What do you mean?"

Murtagh cocked his head and studied him with an inscrutable glance, then shrugged and got to his feet. He walked over to the horses that were grazing a few yards away and felt with his bare hand along their legs down to the fetlocks. "It's enough," he said loud enough for Eragon to hear, as if the latter had never asked for a more precise explanation of the previous statement. "They need to slow down. Starting tomorrow, I'll be gone more often with Thorn."

Eragon did not reply. Even he knew the horses were spent. But if you don't want to answer my question… He licked his fingers clean, grabbed his cloak, and looked for a dry, soft patch to lie down. He was just kicking a stone away from an inviting spot when Murtagh was suddenly beside him and put a finger beneath his chin, tipping it upwards.

With an unintentional moan Eragon allowed the claiming of his mouth that followed right after. He closed his eyes and concentrated solely on the slightly chapped lips against his own, and soon also on the eager, demanding tongue that was deepening the kiss. And while Thorn roaring in the background would unsettle him any other moment of time, he easily ignored him completely now.

Murtagh put a hand around Eragon and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together. They were both breathing raggedly, and Eragon's heart was hammering. I don't want… of course I want… but… not only in the evenings… more…

As always, it was Murtagh who broke the kiss, regarding Eragon with the familiar twinkle in his eyes. Then his gaze wandered further to Thorn, who had moved some distance away and had half spread his wings. Now, the dragon jumped up in the air and with strong, swift wing beats he left the ground behind, vanishing in the sky where the first stars were becoming visible. "Now I can answer your question," Murtagh said, smiling. "I wasn't avoiding you, but he's a horrible eavesdropper."

Eragon only nodded, needing a moment to gather his thoughts, and crouched down on the ground with his cloak around him. Murtagh unbuckled his swords, rammed them into the earth, and came to rest close to him, albeit without any physical contact. "What I mean," he began, "is that I, for example, would never interfere when it came to him and a dragon lady. He, on the other hand, has no such scruples."

"He doesn't like me much, does he?" Eragon asked gloomily. It had not taken long for him to see the elves' reports confirmed: dragon and Rider were unbelievably close. If Thorn did not like him, how could Murtagh?

Curious hazel eyes bore into his. "What makes you think that?"

Eragon shrugged and looked away. "He… hmm… puts obstacles in my way, like his tail today, for example. Or he scares my horse even when there's no need for him to cross our way."

"Ah, but that proves the exact opposite." Murtagh folded his hands, slowly twiddling his thumbs. "Thorn does not care about people, humans especially little. And he does so by ignoring them – completely. You, however, have him interested, and when he's doing these things, he is trying to get to know you by judging your reactions."

"Hmm. But I am not important. Where does the interest come from?"

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "From me, of course. I told him to familierice himself with you, and he's not displeased so far."

"Familier what?"

"Familiarize. Get to know you."

"Ah." Murtagh told him to? Eragon felt immediately better, and it must have shown on his face.

"He won't keep it up forever," Murtagh assured. "Give him a few more days. Soon there will be other things on his mind."

"Like mocking my fighting?" Happy as he was about Murtagh offering to teach him, Eragon had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach ever since the other had mentioned earlier that he deemed Eragon fit enough to start practicing. He already only kisses me at night, when he does not really see me. What will my laughable attempts at handling a sword do to how he regards me? The rollercoaster of Eragon's feelings was racing downward again.

"No, that's not what I meant." Murtagh pulled Eragon close for another, more tender kiss.

Again Eragon ignored his worries for a moment and complied willingly, still not used to the tingling sensation that each and every kiss sent down his spine, through his stomach, and even lower. Of course he had kissed guys before – and now also a woman, his memory reminded him unasked for – but not that many. He was sixteen, after all, and had a single mother who was very protective.

But most important, most different was the fact that Murtagh was a man, and not a boy, and it showed in every detail, every minute of the day. Physical intimacy – and be it only kisses thus far – seemed as natural to him as breathing was to Eragon, and he carried himself with a level of self-confidence that had Eragon drooling. So as always, he savoured their contact as long as it lasted.

Murtagh ended the kiss, seemingly unaware as always of the other wanting to prolong the contact. But while Eragon was still sighing in regret, the older one raised a hand and cupped his cheek, lightly running his thumb along the cheekbone, and Eragon's breathing hitched.

Immediately Murtagh frowned and his hand stilled. "You don't want me to do that?"

Smiling nervously, Eragon hurried to disagree. "No. No, I want you to do that more often."

Murtagh smiled in response. "I had hoped so."

Then why don't you do it? Murtagh's constant refusal of any contact during the day made Eragon more than unsure about himself. Yet while he was still pitying himself because of this, Murtagh's second hand came up to attend to the other side of his face, and Eragon forgot his doubts. Shortly before the hand made contact, however, he noticed a white shimmer coming from the palm. Now what is that?

He swiftly grabbed Murtagh's wrist and stared, soon in awe, at a silver star burned into the skin, which radiated quite a bit of light in the now dark forest. "Murtagh?"

Murtagh calmly accepted Eragon taking his hand and poking at it with his fingers. "You never saw it on our way to Ellesméra? It's my gedwëy ignasia. Surely the elves have told you about it?"

"You always wear your gloves," Eragon absentmindedly pointed out while covering Murtagh's hand with his own in an attempt to drown the light, which was, however, fading rapidly on its own anyway. Wow! But didn't Arya say that… "Did you just use magic?" Eragon looked up at Murtagh, wanting to catch even the smallest reaction

Murtagh intertwined their fingers. "What if I did?"

Suddenly Eragon felt very cold. "Are you… doing something with me? With magic? You wanted to touch me with that hand!"

"No," Murtagh said and shook his head, "no, I'm not doing anything. I can't influence you. I'm only… I only wanted to find out what you were thinking." He had the decency to look slightly abashed. Hastily he added, "To see whether you liked what I was doing. Touching you, I mean."

Eragon untwined his hand and leaned away from Murtagh. "You are reading my thoughts?" he asked with his voice raised and his stomach clenching. Murtagh's words made him feel naked.

"No!" Murtagh hurried to say. "I can't read thoughts. I can only catch glimpses of emotions, and the rest I have to guess." He extended one hand in the direction of Eragon, but soon thought better of it and pulled back. Regret was taking possession of his eyes. "I… I should not have done that."

"No you shouldn't!" Eragon confirmed with a warning tone. "… Why did you do that?"

Murtagh sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it at the back of his head. "Because you're a mystery to me," he confessed after a little pause. "I often think I understand you, and then you prove me wrong the next instant. I… I would not care so much if it wasn't for… well, I told you I like you." It was still hard on his lips. "Perhaps you should know that this is new for me. I'm not used to liking someone, and… I'm afraid to lose a part of me in the process." He swallowed and averted his gaze. "I only liked once before, though it was different. And when Tornac died…" He did not finish the sentence.

Eragon held his breath, aware how rare the inside to his feeling was that Murtagh was granting him.

"… You make me insecure," Murtagh eventually admitted, and with a crooked smile he added, "Don't tell Thorn. I'm trying to hide it from him."

Insecure? Murtagh? Eragon swallowed, thinking he had misunderstood. He is the proverbial opposite of insecure!

A few moments passed, and when Murtagh continued watching him, silently asking for some sort of relief, Eragon eventually cleared his throat. "Well…" he began, then paused. What could he say? "If you don't know how I'm feeling, then why don't you ask?"

Murtagh snorted. "You make it sound as if it's easy."

"But it is! It's easier than… than fighting, definitely. Even easier than riding a horse." When Murtagh snorted again in response, Eragon smiled a little. "True, it is a matter of practice. However," he added, widening his smile, "you could and you should start by practicing with me."

Murtagh scrutinized him for a moment and finally nodded. "I shall learn to ask." Suddenly there was a mischievous spark in his eyes that was visible even in the dark. "But should we not prepare the practice ground in a way that it will be easiest for me? That would be only fair, wouldn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he closed the distance between them and dragged Eragon down to the ground with him. He swiftly hurled his cloak over their bodies, then pulled Eragon into a tight embrace, ignoring the surprised yelp of his victim.

Eragon's body turned into jelly and he allowed Murtagh to form it according to the older one's wishes, admitting to himself that he was incredibly pleased with the result – or rather, he admitted it a few moments later, once his brain was producing coherent thoughts again. Only slowly did his pulse return to its normal frequency, but being held close to Murtagh's taut chest by his strong arms remained an experience of unprecedented bliss. He sighed out of content.

"Are you willing to practice now?" Murtagh's voice was amused, although Eragon also heard some of the satisfaction that he himself felt.

"Sure," he mumbled against Murtagh's vest. "Ask me all you want."

Murtagh was quiet for a while, and then: "A few days ago you said something… How, exactly, do I smell?"

"You still remember that?" Eragon asked incredulously and broke into laughter.

---xxxxx---

Eragon woke alone, albeit still covered by Murtagh's thick cloak. For a moment he wondered why he was awake already, as the sun had yet to pass the horizon.

"You're taking forever!" Murtagh called, proving to be the reason for the end of Eragon's night. "What would you do in a real fight? Sleep some more?"

Eragon yawned and stiffly got up. He walked to the little stream and splashed some water in his face, trying in vain to kill some time before the inevitable sparring. By now, it had lost all appeal to him. I'm a dork… I don't want him to see that up close.

"You're such a woman!" Murtagh teased. "Don't be afraid of me and get over here already!"

Eragon ground his teeth. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he would not be laughed at so much. At least Thorn was not around.

"Take Orúm," Murtagh instructed while drawing his long sword and lightly banging its tip against one of his boots, producing a clear, dark 'thud'.

"Take what?"

Murtagh only raised his weapon and pointed at the second of his blades, which was, for once, not fastened across his back. "Orúm means snake, or serpent. I named it thus because that's how I strike with it: swiftly and to my opponent's surprise." He cast a look of appraisal at his weapon. "It's rather short and thick, like a sting. Don't worry, though, the length will suit our practice purposes just fine."

Slightly intimidated by this description, Eragon grabbed the hilt with his right, imagining that he felt a certain power radiating off the blade. He scolded himself and idiot and drew the sword, which greeted daylight with a violent hiss. "It even sounds like a snake," he said, trying to joke. Okay, this is scary.

Murtagh chuckled. "Every sword drawn as you just did should sound like that."

Feeling stupid, Eragon took a closer look at the blade in his hand, soon admiring it. He knew nothing of swords, but he thought this one was beautiful. When he realized, however, that it was probably due to him being biased with everything Murtagh, he laughed a little. "Does your other sword have a name, too?"

"Yes, Zar'roc. Misery. I've been taught to treat my weapons like my best friends," Murtagh defended the names, misunderstanding the laughter. "They are the ones protecting me in battle. So far, they have not failed me. Zar'roc, however, I inherited from my father, so it was he who named it… Yet he was a master of battle, after all, and luckily he found the true name of the sword…" He looked at his hands, deep in thought for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Enough talking. Get ready! I simply want you to hold on to the sword at the moment. You know how to do it?"

Eragon nodded hesitantly. Vanir had told him and partly taught him, but with hardly any success. So he simply raised the weapon waist high and clung to it, wishing fervently that he would not drop it the first instant. Please, please, please.

Murtagh half circled him, then swiftly danced the other half of the circle, and suddenly he leaped forward and Zar'roc clashed against Orúm.

Eragon yelled out of surprise and out of the pain shooting up from the hilt and throughout his whole arm, making it feel as if a car had just run over it.

Murtagh chuckled again, retreating. "Congratulations!" When Eragon only gave him a blank look, he explained, "You tried to hold on to it at any cost, am I right? Truth be told, I probably could not disarm you like this right now. However, I could break your arm in an instant." He smirked.

Eragon grunted in despair. "What shall I do?"

"Find the balance. Never lose your weapon, but don't ever let anyone use it against you, either. Unclench your arm!"

Doing as told, Eragon readied himself for the next attack.

Murtagh did not even move much, only stepped forward, twisted his wrist, and Eragon found himself without the sword, and without knowing what had just happened. He groaned. Great!

"Now that was too loose," Murtagh said superfluously. "Try again. It's all about the balance."

Eragon swallowed down his frustration and picked up the sword, readying himself once more.

It did not help much.

Within the next quarter of an hour he tried his best, but he could as well have attempted to move a mountain with his bare hands. It was impossible. Soon sweat was running down his body and drenching his clothes, whereas Murtagh was only slightly flushed, although it was the older one that constantly swirled around while Eragon hardly moved at all.

"Stop!" Eragon eventually called, breathing hard. He refused to lift his weapon anew. "How can I learn?" he asked bitterly. "You're no different than Vanir." Have I truly looked forward to this a few days ago?

The comment immediately wiped the smile off Murtagh's face. "No, I'm not like Vanir," he corrected, "because I will not end it at this. I could not have shown you what I meant, though, if this had not frustrated you. Here's what I've suspected all along: change hands!"

"What?" Eragon looked at the body parts in question, at the moment not understanding what Murtagh was referring to.

Murtagh sheathed Zar'roc and closed the gap between them. He took Orúm from Eragon's right and placed it in his left, closing the reluctant fingers around the hilt, all with the exaggerated movements people normally used with children. "Like that," he said, his hand lingering shortly on Eragon's. "Get ready!" he then repeated his already overused phrase of the day.

Eragon frowned. "Murtagh, I'm not… err… what do you call it? With my left, I mean."

"Left-handed."

"Ah. Well, I'm not." Eragon's patience was at a low, and he could not stop worrying about what Murtagh must be thinking of him at that moment. Alagaësia defined itself through battle, and Murtagh was a master swordsman, after all, with skills highly respected even amongst his enemies. "I don't think-"

"Try it! Sometimes a body doesn't make sense."

"Yes, but-"

"Get ready!"

Zar'roc rushed out of his sheath and towards his usually trusted companion – and was blocked.

Eragon's protest died on his lips, and he stared in wonder at his left, his eyes trailing down his shoulder towards his hand and up to the tip of the sword. He shook his head. "Luck."

"Of course." Murtagh smiled, and, without warning, delivered another blow… which was blocked once more. "Luck," he said, copying Eragon's grumpy tone perfectly.

For the first time since they had started sparring, Eragon looked at Murtagh without anger in his stomach. "More."

Murtagh complied and slowly moved around Eragon, attacking in an unsteady rhythm.

With growing astonishment, Eragon registered how he managed to fend off several of the light blows, holding the sword just right, neither losing it nor hurting himself. His left arm was acting all on its own, and doing so very well.

However, he was also quickly tiring, and after a further quarter of an hour he called for another, more final stop. This time, though, it felt thoroughly good.

He looked at a smiling Murtagh and felt himself smiling in return. Then his eyes were suddenly caught by a flash of red a little distance away, and he realized that he had not even noticed Thorn's arrival. "Hmm," he began his assessment after a moment, "you did not really put any effort into this fight, did you?"

Murtagh laughed while crouching to reach for Orúm's sheath and strapping it to his back. "No, of course not. But that's not what this was about." He straightened up and went over to Eragon, demanding his weapon with an open hand. "'Tis a matter of practice. I like what I've seen right now, so maybe one day soon I will have to put more effort into this."

He liked it? Eragon followed Murtagh towards the horses and grabbed Cadoc's saddle and snaffle on the way. The positive feeling in his stomach lessened the more he pondered about the fighting. "You're only saying that, aren't you? So that I don't feel useless…"

Murtagh stopped dead next to him. "What do you expect from your first sparring, Eragon? Don't be too ambitious… And don't imply that I'm not speaking the truth," he added a bit harshly.

"I didn't say that, did I?" Eragon nearly snapped before pausing in astonishment. He could not explain where the sullen mood had come from.

Murtagh scrutinized him for endless seconds, before suddenly all tension left his body. "If my words don't convince you…" He dropped Tornac's tack and reached for Eragon to pull him close. His lips kissed down the trail from one ear along the jaw to Eragon's mouth, where he proved that the praise had indeed been honest.

Oh. And it is not dark!

"As I said," Murtagh eventually whispered, "don't be too ambitious, but also don't doubt yourself! No need to be all gloomy."

Now I know, Eragon thought, so shut up already and kiss me again. Aloud he said, "I'm not, anymore," and took the initiative to deepen their contact.

---xxxxx---

Of course those beautiful moments can't last, Eragon told himself for the umpteenth time while keeping a close grip on Tornac's reins. He had become adept at steering two horses simultaneously, although most of the time he simply bound Tornac to Cadoc's saddle. In the current vegetation, however, that would be unwise. Brambles on both sides of the narrow path were eager to get a hold of anything touching them.

He sighed and decided it was time for a little rest. After all, Murtagh had told him to pick his own speed as long as he was careful and remained on the indicated course heading west.

He stopped the horses, slid to the ground, and led both to a puddle of water before tying them loosely to a small tree. He fetched some very stale bread to chew upon and sank down to the ground, sitting cross-legged. Hopefully Murtagh remembers the state of our supplies once he's done… Yet what the warrior was facing before the possible theft of some food, Eragon did not want to think about.

By now, he had not only a broad overview of the happenings in Alagaësia, but had also finally been informed about all the details of the journey back and forth on which Murtagh had taken him. The dangerous journey on which Murtagh had taken him.

Riders, in this country, meant incredible power, Murtagh had explained, so the king had continued treasuring the two remaining dragon eggs after Thorn had hatched, especially because he could not and did not fully trust Murtagh and Thorn, irrespective of knowing their secret names. Meanwhile, as a result of his reign, a rebellion had formed a few decades ago – the Varden – and had quickly allied itself with the elves. Many of this rebellion, Murtagh had told Eragon, were working from within the Empire, among them a powerful trader, Jeod, who was very likely dead now, and a former Rider, Brom, who was not supposed to be alive but very much was.

Eragon's hand brushed through the dirt on the ground, drawing simple patterns. Now this Brom is intriguing, but considering how he feels about Murtagh… He was deeply worried about showing up at Brom's on the heels of the son of the old Rider's archenemy, convinced that there were too many issues, that Brom would never agree to taking care of him. I definitely regard said son differently than he does… A shiver ran down his spine and he rose to his feet to ease the feeling. The future remained a menace ahead of him, even though Murtagh had said that Brom would be nice, would not hold fate's decision to place Eragon at Murtagh's feet against him. And yet…

He chose to postpone the thoughts and returned to the horses. Murtagh had said that if he dared, he could ride Tornac, too, but that he should be careful… Those last words had Eragon immediately decide against it. So he mounted his faithful chestnut stallion once more and urged him on. If only Murtagh was here… If only Murtagh doesn't get hurt!

Four days had passed since their first sparring, days in which Murtagh and Thorn were gone most of the time, looking for both elven and Empire movements, searching for the Shade, leaving their fellow traveller to himself. Those few moments when Murtagh did seek him out, finding him wherever he was, had become very precious to Eragon, even though it usually meant that he was drilled until every muscle of his body was screaming in protest.

And then there had been this one night, the only one that Murtagh had shared camp with him… It had been rather sleepless, and instead had been spent with long, wonderful hours of kissing and gentle exploring and caressing. But Eragon still refrained from touching anywhere near Murtagh's privacy, and likewise did not accept Murtagh's hands anywhere near his own most sensitive flesh, and he could not help but worry about that as well. He won't be this patient forever, so much is obvious. But it's all so scary… If only I hadn't refused Jordan after the game this spring! It was another train of thoughts that wanted to be ignored, and Eragon quickly returned to his previous musings.

From Murtagh's trip into Norgia's mind he knew that Brom, with information from Jeod, had somehow managed the impossible and stolen one of the eggs. Afterwards, he had delivered it to the elves and vanished into thin air.

"The Varden have risked quite a lot for this egg, haven't they? Why?" Eragon asked, his eyes on Thorn who was soaring ahead, his trust on his horse to find a way on its own.

"They have no other choice." Murtagh was nibbling on the remnants of an early apple. "They have launched some attacks in the past and have allied not only with the elves, but also with the dwarves and the kingdom of Surda. But they have also come to realize that, in the long run, they won't stand a chance without a Rider on their own."

"Because of you?"

Murtagh shook his head. "Don't give me that look! If I wasn't there, others that are now working alongside of Thorn and me would take our place. Durza, for example, or the Ra'zac. The final and most important problem, though, is the king himself. The Varden have no chance of fighting him directly, only a Rider can do that, although I doubt that one would be enough… Anyhow, this is why they urgently need the egg, no matter what the price."

It made sense so far. "And what now? Where is it? What will happen?"

"The elves have kept it in Ellesméra for a few weeks. Shortly before we arrived, though, they received reports about unusual Empire activities in the north – that should be the presence of Durza and me in Ceunon – and sent the egg off to the west, to Osilon, which you and I had already left behind at that point. However, the egg never made it there, because somehow Durza is already back in the north and killed its guards. Yet, for a reason still unknown, he was unable to acquire the egg, so now he's roaming the area, as are we, and as is the host of the elves with Arya and Queen Islanzadí."

"What a mess!"

"Aye. Do you want another apple?" When Eragon nodded, Murtagh tossed him one and they both had their second share of the sweet fruit.

Eragon sorted out his thoughts. "So… Durza wants the egg for the king. The elves for themselves… which is also the Varden, in a way. And you? And what did the elves mean with ransoming you… What's with you and the Shade?" It was a bit too much of a chaos for his liking,

"I'm somewhere in between everything." Murtagh managed a little smile. "I'd say you picked the most interesting of them all." He turned serious again. "When I found you, I was on a mission to learn news about the egg. In Ceunon, I wanted to meet a spy with news about Jeod – mind you, at that point I knew nothing of Brom being alive – but Durza arrived first. How he knew about my spy I know not. He then returned to Uru'baen, probably bragging with the news and telling the king that I have a secret spy system to request information behind the king's back…"

"He doesn't like you."

"That's one way to word it. I'm number two in the Empire, and I have a dragon – two facts about me he loathes. He wants to see me gone, wants me dead, and he doesn't care whether it happens at his own hand or because he delivers 'proof' to the king that I'm a traitor… So I will have to finish him off first."

For Eragon's taste, Murtagh was far too cool regarding the Shade despising him. And now, everyone was up and about somewhere in Du Weldenvarden, all looking for the egg, and most also looking for Murtagh.

These days, Eragon often wished that Murtagh had nothing to do with the matters of the world. His heart clenched every time he imagined what could befall the Rider and his dragon on their trips, for he knew the two would attack Durza the moment they noticed him, and would be attacked by both the Shade and the elves the second they saw them.

So Eragon rode on into an uncertain future, his worry for the man he had come to care about making him feel even more lonely than on his first days in Alagaësia, while at the same time constantly afraid that his own actions, or rather, his neglect to act, could turn out to be the reason causing Murtagh not to return… Please, he thought fervently, whoever is listening up there… do something! Make this alright! See Murtagh safe… and have him come back to me!

It did not yet occur to him that perhaps his life might be endangered as well.

---xxxxx---

On the next day a light drizzle had set in, and after a few hours Eragon was soaked. It must be nearly or already September, the rational part of his mind told him, but he could only brood over the fact that he was in the middle of what seemed to be Murtagh's longest absence yet, and the weather perfectly matched his mood. Usually, Murtagh was around in the mornings and often also in the afternoons or shortly in the evenings. Now, however, it had been far longer than twenty-four hours since last he had been there. Eragon had even sparred some on his own this morning, using a piece of wood instead of a sword, blocking imaginary blows from imaginary enemies, but it had been pretty stupid.

Eragon was huddled deep in his wet cloak, still grumpy about the world, when the horses suddenly stopped, pricking up their ears and looking to the right. He urged them to move again, but their previously relaxed walk turned into alert, short steps. Once he remembered Murtagh telling him to always watch their movements and trust their senses, he likewise tensed up and looked into the direction in question.

There was only rain and forest, just as there had been all day.

Cadoc began to prance on his feet, and Tornac pinned his ears back. Only rain and forest or no, Eragon's pulse sped up, and his eyes raced from tree to tree, trying to discern what made them nervous. But in the end it were his ears, not his eyes, that did the job, and after a moment he heard what the horse did: loud, bursting sounds of something big, something ruthlessly rushing through the forest.

He listened more closely, holding his breath.

It was something coming towards him!

All hairs on end, he felt the panic surge through his body, and it transmitted to Cadoc, who reared and neighed shrilly.

While Eragon was still busy regaining control, the noise suddenly stopped. He swiftly looked up – and his blood froze.

There was group of huge and brawny creatures only a few yards away from him, creatures with horns. He guessed that they stood at least at seven feet, but, most importantly, they stood very aggressively, all of their small, yellowish eyes glaring at him, weapons in a tight grip. And all I have is a knife… Shit! Not even a gun would help with those bulls.

More and more creatures came into the open, until there were about fifteen of them. And those horns…

Urgals, Eragon heard Murtagh's voice in his head. Tall and broad, grey skin, and long, twisted horns. Durza has recruited them for the king, but they are not to be trusted.

Eragon still sat unmoving, eyes locked with the first Urgal that had appeared, blood rushing in his head. He swallowed hard.

The Urgal smirked.

Suddenly the whole group set in motion towards him, their expressions hostile and… hungry.

Eragon awoke from his trance and tore Cadoc's head around, kicking his heels into the horses' stomach with all his might. Cadoc jumped forward, pulling Tornac along, and off they went, galloping through the wood.

After a few moments Eragon threw a glance over his shoulder, and to his horror he saw that the Urgals had begun running, too, and that he was not exactly leaving them behind as planned. He imagined that he could even hear their heavy strides amongst the drumming of the hooves. Oh my God! He urged the horses on, but they were not able to go full speed in the forest.

Another minute later he saw an open space to his left, and steered towards it. What he had not considered, though, was that the clearing served the Urgals just as it served the horses; he still did not gain any ground. I can't get away! Oh my God, I can't get away!

The race went on, and to Eragon, things were happening strangely in slow-motion. This left him enough time to imagine what would happen once the horses tired. Or tripped. Or ran into a dead end of sorts. They'll tear me to pieces!

Suddenly a shrill, loud screech tore through the air, coming from above. Eragon's eyes immediately darted to the sky – and a sob of relief escaped him.

Thorn was descending rapidly in a cloud of fire. Due to the rain, his scales were not sparkling, but instead looked like they were covered in fresh blood. With an impact that sent the earth rumbling, he landed behind Eragon, facing the Urgals.

Eragon pulled at the reins and rode a big circle, and was soon as close to Thorn and Murtagh as Cadoc would go. He would rather be close to them with a shying horse than back in the dark forest, which held the possibility of more dangerous creatures breaking free.

Murtagh glanced at him, the colour of his face strangely dark, then jumped down and in front of the halting Urgals. His right was on the hilt of Zar'roc, yet he left it in its sheath. "Kull!" he called loud and clear, receiving unfriendly, guttural sounds as answer. Thorn growled and stepped closer.

"You're not here to hunt humans!" Murtagh continued. One of the Urgals replied, and Thorn breathed a shot of fire that had several of the group duck their heads to avoid it. "Do not defy me or you will taste my sword! I am Murtagh, Shurt'ugal, general of the king's army, and I order you here and now to leave, and never hunt this human again!" He stood tall and erect, royal in a way, and his furious voice carried far.

The Urgals were clearly aware of whom they were facing. Many looked away from Rider and dragon, and slowly they retreated – hesitantly at first, soon at a light jog. Thorn followed them for a few paces, then stopped, staring after them into the forest.

Eragon closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His head was spinning, and a light nausea was setting in. That was a near thing! He was shaking like a sapling in a storm.

His eyes snapped open again when Murtagh pried his fingers off his horses' reins and mane and pulled him to the ground, where he embraced him tightly. "I'm sorry," Murtagh whispered, shivering himself. He pressed Eragon even closer to his chest. "I'm sorry. I was too late."

"I'm fine," Eragon lied without conviction, his voice feeble. "Nothing happened… yet." He took a deep breath to steady himself – and smelled blood. Pulling away a little, he looked up at the other, who stood a good inch above him. "Murtagh!" The dark colour of the older one's face was due to it being covered almost entirely by dirt and dried blood. "Are you injured?"

Murtagh shook his head. "Old. Listen, Eragon!" He took Eragon's head in both hands, unaware of the grime he was spreading. "I was too late! You were in danger! I never wanted that to happen!"

Again Eragon saw the trampling mass of bodies chasing him, and tears welled up in his eyes. It had been a very near thing. "You're here now." And don't go away again!

"But still… This makes me want to stay with you at all times." Murtagh's eyes were tormented. "But I can't, I'm sorry." He exchanged a glance with Thorn. "However, you will keep my sword. You need a proper weapon." He unfastened Orúm. "It is mortal in close combat and will serve you well."

"No, " Eragon protested weakly. "That's nonsense… I can't fight, and you need it!"

Murtagh shook his head. "If I have to, I can manage with only one. And I will not see you unarmed."

Realizing what this meant, Eragon's shivering increased. "A-are there going to be more?" I can't fight an Urgal!

"I pray that there won't. But you must be prepared, thus is our world." Murtagh cast him a look of apology.

Eragon slowly nodded and stared down, watching a teardrop fall down and merge with the rain. Too many issues were assailing his mind, and he only wished for it all to end, all problems to dissolve. A moment later, he looked up again, and without thinking folded his arms behind Murtagh's neck, pulled himself close, and drowned the next sob with a kiss.

He nearly choked on tasting gore.