A/N: Finally! For me, this was the chapter. However, I need a few of you (according to several reviews) to expect not to see your expectations met…

To Eryl: I'm sorry for the cliffie... or actually, I'm not. :) Thanks for reviewing!

To Talitian: I'm sorry the wolf thing contained so little mystery, but actually, it wasn't even supposed to be mysterious. And don't you feel like getting an account, perhaps, so that I could answer you more throroughly without taking away space in the chapter? I love to get back to reviewers!

Fear has its use, but cowardice has none – Gandhi

Chapter 12

September 12th

Now he also had to be idle, on top of all things. Can't get much worse, can it?

Having just reached the edge of Du Weldenvarden, Eragon was looking out at the plain in front of him. An endless sea of grass stretched out to the horizon, the monotony broken only occasionally by a bush or crippled tree or a larger rock. Still, the ability to see so much and not find the vision blocked by a tree after only a few yards was nice for a change.

He slid down from Cadoc and made a few steps forward, running a hand over the high, yellowish blades. Suddenly he smiled and looked at the horses. "Hungry? Today's special offer would be… grass. All you can eat!" His smile faded and he walked a bit further, dragging the horses along. Slowly he turned his head from left to right to take in every detail. To him, it looked just like the area around Ceunon, yet this time there was no town in the distance.

Eragon knew he would eventually find the town, and probably Murtagh, too, by travelling across the open to the northeast. But that was not an option, as his destination, Brom, was somewhere in the west, and moreover Murtagh had given him strict orders what to do when reaching the end of the forest: wait. Wait and hide in the woods, Eragon heard the Rider's voice in his head, and he realized how he and the horses were completely out in the open by now, providing an easy target for searching eyes. Immediately he retreated back to the cover of the trees, walking for a minute or two until he found a spot he deemed suitable for a rest.

Waiting it is, then. Waiting and worrying.

Eragon removed the horses' saddles and bridles and hobbled their forelegs. When he noticed, however, how abrasively he was treating them, he paused and reconsidered, eventually sending them with a gentle pat to find their food among the herbs and spare grass in the forest. There was no need to vent off his foul mood on the two creatures that were proving themselves so loyal to him day after day after day. Not like Murtagh, a small voice in his head whispered, but he shushed it angrily. He knew it was not right, knew that Murtagh would remain with him if he only could, that he did not stay away so often by his own choice, but still…

Eragon was lonely – and often very afraid. His mind was left to roam freely during the long, long hours, and whatever he tried, with the help of his aching heart it chose to spend the time missing his friends, his mother, and, of course, Murtagh. The rest of the time, ever since the incident with the Urgals, he imagined hearing unusual noises in the forest or sensing someone watching him. And naturally it always felt as if the watcher was hostile. What if someone was there now…?

He shook his head. It was broad daylight and no one would attack him now. Should attack him now. Did he not look fearsome with Orúm? Wait, where is it? Quickly the blade was moved from its resting place at his feet and fastened to his belt. He always carried it loosely tied to the saddle, as he had not yet figured out how to properly mount and dismount with the blade clinging to his body.

He walked a few steps, sat down, and used a piece of cloth to polish the sword, having learned weeks ago that he preferred keeping his hands busy. He could not imagine what he would do if he had to wait where he was for several days. Riding on and on had been tiresome, but at least there had been something to do. If he had to wait for Murtagh for a prolonged period of time, not moving at all… He shuddered.

Orúm glittered and sparkled whenever it was hit by a ray of sunlight, and Eragon's touch turned loving. So beautiful! Just like its owner… By now, Murtagh had begun teaching him two basic attack moves, and had said more than once that he was pleased with the outcome, yet Eragon knew he was only at the start of a very long road that had to be taken. At the same time, though, he could already tell how his body was adapting to the constant practice. His speed and reflexes were improving, and handling the heavy weapon was doing nice things to his arms, Eragon thought. And still I'm way thinner than Murtagh… Does he mind?

He sighed. It was impossible to find out about Murtagh's preferences if he did not allow more contact. And why don't I? Never had he wanted anyone as much; his physical reaction to anything Murtagh did – and be it only a long glance or a smile – was something he had never experienced before. Last week had been… oohhh.

Eragon stopped polishing the sword and closed his eyes. It was definitely about time that he relived the events once more, no matter how often he had done so already.

When Murtagh had emerged from the pond, for some time wearing only very little, his hair hanging in wet strands over his face, half covering his warm, hazel eyes… A quiet moan escaped Eragon and he grinned at feeling his body stir. He was ready – at least in his fantasy.

Apart from that, though, it was complicated.

Murtagh's actions – actions as in what his very skilful hands had done to Eragon in no time – would have proven his experience, if Eragon had needed proof. He had not.

Actually, he had even done these things with another person before, too, about half a year ago at some party. Yet it had been no more than nervous fumbling, as it was both boys' first time going further than kissing, and, most importantly, both had known exactly this about the other person.

Murtagh, on the other hand, had no idea about Eragon's inexperience. I'm considered a man here, Eragon reminded himself. And usually, sexuality is something already explored before adulthood. Therefore, he had tried his best after his own peak, struggling to appear as if he had known what he was doing. I finished him off, didn't I? And he didn't question me or anything later…

With a sigh he briefly looked down at his crotch. Having learned that all these problems stemmed to a big part from the hormones being produced down there did not help. He still had to deal with everything.

The halfway constructed plan he had was to keep pretending and watch every single one of Murtagh's moves to later try to copy them. It had worked once – it could work again.

However, Eragon had also known for a while that Murtagh desired more, expected more. It was not even as if Eragon was very much opposed to this; he had wanted to have sex for a while, and never before had he felt for someone as he felt for Murtagh, who, on top of things, was also the most attractive person Eragon had ever met. And yet…

Murtagh did have a rather gruff personality at times, and he was someone who always decided everything, including all things concerning Eragon, someone who fought on a regular basis – killing people! – and even his kisses were more demanding than tender. Sex was as natural to him as breathing, and Eragon very much doubted that his character changed much during the act. If Murtagh thought Eragon was experienced – and why should he not? – he probably would not worry too much about being gentle. And they say that the first time hurts in any case, even if the top is careful, but if he's not… Eragon swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

Another option would be, of course, simply telling Murtagh.

He snorted, the originally good mood gone completely. Thinking that I was the one telling Murtagh that talking is easy… Bullshit! Never could he speak about this, never would he out himself as a fearful child in front of the other. He would probably think it very strange. This is truly a get-it-done-and-over-with-world, and not one for me to make a fuss about this… The last thing Eragon wanted was to appear weak or unmanly, and therefore he had to keep up the façade. Watch and learn, he repeated in his mind. And yet…

A very small voice in the back of his head kept nagging and nagging, and eventually he admitted to himself that there was another reason for not telling: the fear of Murtagh not acting adequately during Eragon's first time even though he should be gentle under those circumstances. And this fear was tremendous, for Eragon could not entirely put it past the Rider.

Tornac neighed quietly and was looking at something between the trees before his head dropped to the ground again. Very grateful for the distraction, Eragon stood up and strolled over to the horses, covertly wiping away a tear that had rolled down his cheek. He would just keep quiet and see it through, and meanwhile hope that he had as much time left as possible and could get familiar with the intimate touches first.

He cleared his throat, feeling a tiny bit better at having made a decision. Taking the little horse brush Murtagh carried in his saddle, he began grooming the dark grey stallion, promising Cadoc that he would soon attend to him, too.

Lost in the regular motion of his arm, another thought hit him, and Eragon involuntarily burst out laughing, though even to his own ears it sounded hysterical. Of course you yourself could top, Eragon. You're such an expert and all; you'll certainly make a great impression.

It was more than unrealistic.

Apart from him most definitely messing up the active part big time, Eragon knew for a fact that it was completely against Murtagh's nature. He thought that there could not be one person in history less likely than the Rider to submit in such a way. I don't even think I'd survive asking… No, watch and learn it is. And grit my teeth.

Deciding that he had worried enough for the moment, Eragon groomed Tornac more forcefully, intoning a little tune to disperse the bad mood.

Within one hour, he turned two shaggy and dusty horses into two almost sparkly creatures, which pleased his eyes far more than their uncaring ones. "If you could only see yourself," he told Cadoc proudly. "All foxes, in this world and in mine, would be jealous of your colour if they saw you." Never once looking up from the herbs he was chewing, Cadoc at least snorted at the attention he was receiving. "Thank you, horsie." Eragon hugged his mount. "Thank you for having been so patient with me. I sure would not like you bumping around on my back."

With one last, final pat, Eragon left the horses behind and began wandering around aimlessly, heading back into the proximity of the plain. Simply wanting to move, he kept walking around, always staying in the shadow of the trees. He scanned the area for nothing in particular and let every little thing catch his eye. Just no more thoughts about sex, he ordered himself firmly.

It did not take him long, however, to retreat back deeper into the forest, drawn by an invisible force. Some inner unrest kept him up and about, and he began pacing in lose circles around his makeshift camp.

On the second lap, Eragon caught his hand clutching the hilt of the sword at his belt, and he finally stopped and scolded himself an idiot. He had to stare his hand down for a few seconds until it conceded and let go of the weapon. What is wrong with me?

He found himself standing next to a waist high boulder and pushed himself up to sit on it, forcing his tense muscles to relax and massaging his temples. After a while his unexplained nervousness diminished, the thought of Murtagh's expected return that night helping a great deal. Eventually, Eragon leaned back until his back made contact with rock, and relaxed.

The sunlight seeping in through the flickering leaves changed the colour behind his closed eyelids from dark to orange and back in moments, and when a breeze of warm air caressed his face, Eragon found himself finally enjoying the late summer's day. If I could only share this with Murtagh right now. The beautiful forest, the warm light, the rustling of the trees, the birds…

He paused in his thoughts and shortly after frowned. Where are the birds?

"Hello, Eragon."

Eragon's eyes flew open and he jerked up.

A chuckle filled the silence. "Turn around," the creepy dark voice instructed.

His heart hammering somewhere in his throat, Eragon did as told – and his breathing stopped. One of his worst nightmares had literally come to life. He jumped down from the boulder and staggered a few steps back. "Y-you… you are…"

Maroon eyes were blazing, otherwise the face was like a stone. "…Durza."

"… the man from my dream," Eragon finished in English, dumbstruck. In his head, pieces were falling into places, while his gut screamed at him to run, to flee, to get as far away as possible. But his legs only moved without making a step – they were wobbling. Oh my God! Murtagh! Where are you?

The Shade had cocked his head, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "What was that?" He leisurely strolled closer, his long, purple robe hanging slack around his gaunt body. His posture was relaxed enough, but something in his eyes told Eragon it was only show, not to mention the impressive sword at the Shade's waist. "Am I scaring you?" Durza inquired in a tone that would make sure everyone's answer to that question was 'yes'.

Remaining quiet, Eragon stared in shock at the person approaching him. All the things both the elves and Murtagh had told him about Durza, and even more so those they had only hinted at, were fresh in his mind again. The feeling of his dream was back. And I was worried about my first time… He felt a desperate smile fight its way to his lips.

Durza came to a stop a few yards away, folding his long, white fingers slowly in front of his body. "Talk to me, boy. I'll learn what I want anyhow; it's only a matter of how painful it will be for you before your eternal obliveeon."

"Obliveeon?" Eragon asked, not knowing the word.

"Many have hoped as you do," Durza explained with a falsely compassionate expression, "but once your soul is with me, it will merge with the others and lose its identity. You will cease to exist – and make me stronger."

Nodding, Eragon made a step to the side. Sweat was running down his back while at the same time he had goose bumps all over his body. It's another word for death, then. He slowly moved further, leaving the psychologically safe space behind the boulder, and instead half circled the Shade, increasing the distance between them. He wanted to be as close to the horses as possible, and although they were still at least a furlong away, hidden behind trees, he could not bear having the Shade stand in his way. "You're Durza," he eventually stated, beginning a conversation. His stomach was contracting so badly that he thought he had to throw up any moment.

"Why have you sought me out?" Durza asked, his tone now very business-like and serious.

What? Eragon tried to freeze his face into a mask to hide his confusion. "Why do you think I did?" If I can only make him talk until Murtagh arrives…

Durza sneered. "To warn me?" he suggested ironically. "To make me afraid of your coming?" The nasty chuckle was back. "Fool!"

Eragon still had no clue what the other meant. "Well… it worked, did it not?"

"No!" Durza spat to the ground. "And if you had summoned me to a hundred of your dreams, outlander, I would not have come."

More pieces were falling into place. He thinks I forced that dream upon him? Eragon shook his head. But he was the one superior in my nightmare… Figuring that being attributed such a power made him stronger than he was, he could not give away that the dream had not been of his doing. "You're here now." His voice held nothing of the authority that it should.

"You're his pup, that's why! Morzan's son needs to learn a lesson." This time, Eragon's lack of comprehension must have been obvious, for Durza continued after only a short pause, gloating. "He has not told you? I know that he's learned about it by now. He's been around so much the past weeks, always spying, sneaking around, always with that stinking dragon of his. He knows."

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, only to find out that he had nothing to say. Pup? The shivering of his legs had crept upwards by now; his whole body seemed unstable. Murtagh, where are you?

"Ohh." The pale grimace imitated pity, and the Shade's voice turned bittersweet. "You're not used to him keeping matters from you? Let me guess: he's courting you! He tells you nice little things. He gives you all that you humans need for feeling well. Security, warmth, pleasure perhaps?" Durza smirked. "Make no mistake. You're nothing, and he will be gone the moment he learns what I've come to hear from you today. He doesn't care, boy. You've got to hand it to him: when it comes to gaining and maintaining power, he has inherited his father's talent. He's a capable bastard."

No, no, no! He's only talking! It did not help much, though, that the elves had said similar things. Eragon's mind briefly reached out to hear his heart's reassurance about Murtagh's feelings, but the latter was solely concentrated on frantically pumping blood through his system.

Durza's smirk widened. "I can tell those thoughts are not new to you. But I must correct what I said. Murtagh would be gone the second he found out, for now that I am here, there will be nothing left that he could go away from. But enough of this. The prophecy was wrong, and I will prove it! You will not live to make a change."

Seeing Durza's hand move to the hilt of his sword, Eragon's eyes almost automatically darted to the sky. After all, the last time Murtagh had been right there when it had become dangerous. But nothing. All he could see through the trees was a perfect blue. Far too beautiful a day to die… He swallowed hard, not quite accepting the reality he was in. This simply can't be!

"He won't come," Durza told him, gloating once more. "I admit that a Rider and a dragon are among the few that pose a threat to me, but he won't come. I would feel it. He doesn't care." Almost casually, he drew his sword.

All hopes failing, Eragon could still not accept reality. I can't fight him! I can't fight anybody, and least of all him! His thoughts became rushed, while his own hand reaching for Orúm moved only in slow motion. I can't fight. I'll die. I can't fight the monster from my dream. I can't-

Without a warning Durza leaped forward, sword arm outstretched, the weapon slicing through the air where fractions of a second before Eragon had stood. The next attack followed instantaneously, but steel only met steel in a shower of sparks.

Trusting his body which had begun reacting instinctively, Eragon parried two more blows, briefly registering that Murtagh had not yet attacked him full force when sparring: the real fight was as different from the usual blows as it could possibly be. With his arm feeling as if it was about to fall off, Eragon whirled around and managed to actually get away from the Shade. Using the little time this granted him, he sprinted back to his original position, once again bringing the boulder between him and Durza.

Durza raised an eyebrow. "So he has taught you to parry? Perhaps I should fight in earnest, then?"

Fight in earnest? But… but I can't stand by while he slaughters me. I won't! After making up his mind, Eragon immediately stopped shivering and a strange calm overcame him. Suddenly he perceived the world around him in a never before known clarity – which included smelling his own fear. And again the realization that he was facing one of the most powerful men of Alagaësia hit him. Just how can I prevent that?

When the Shade rushed towards him, Eragon managed to block yet another blow, the impact nearly crushing his arm. He further hastened on around the rock, trying to use his only protection as well as possible. I can't fight the Shade, his thoughts made themselves heard once more. Perhaps I'll survive another minute, but what when I can't block anymore? Where are you, Murtagh?

A snarl erupted from Durza, and he dropped all mockery. Going at an inhuman speed, he had immediately caught up with his victim, aiming for his throat.

Somehow able to use Orúm's short length to his advantage, Eragon fended off Durza one last time, only to cry out in pain a second later. His opponent's sword had buried itself deep into his right thigh.

Smirking, Durza paused and retreated a step, clearly enjoying the other's pain. "This hurts you, boy? You might have a problem with what's awaiting you, then."

Eragon was pressing a hand to his leg, but still the blood was running down its length, soaking the brown leather of his pants from the inside. The sharp, metallic smell of blood was pungent in the air. For some odd reason, however, there was no pain, nothing – yet. I'm going to die! he thought in astonishment. In the middle of nowhere, in a place I don't belong… Mom! His face turned skywards once more. Murtagh…

Too late Eragon noticed Durza coming for him again. He tried to turn away, out of reach of the long sword, but his leg gave way the second he put weight on it, and suddenly he could feel it, too, feel it sending bolts of hot fire through his body.

The Shade's sword made contact with skin again, and a new, searing pain stopped all movement on Eragon's part altogether. Screaming in agony, he simply fell back against the boulder, paralyzed by what did not feel like his back anymore. Still, he held on firmly to Orúm, his eyesight narrowing and blurry. I'll die… Acceptance was still not present in his mind, but his thoughts already went the right direction . I'll die, but I have tried…

Durza stood in front of him, only at an arm's length away, sneering. "You are so weak. The witch must have been mistaken, because someone like you won't change a thing in this world. Every child could beat you to death."

Somehow detached from his body and the circumstances, Eragon watched the Shade intently, for the first time seeing him so close by. His teary vision wandered down the blazing orange hair, the pale skin of the skull-like face, the eyes that seemed to be windows to a dark and corrupted soul, the colourless lips, eventually the finely embroidered purple rope, and, even further below, a hand with long, sharp nails, reminding him of a claws, holding on to what would enforce his death.

With a groan, Eragon straightened up as much as his body allowed him to, knowing that on his back, the green fabric of his shirt must have been turning brown. "What do you want from me?" he asked quietly.

"I thought that was obvious." Foul breath reached Eragon's nose. "Something is odd about you, boy. You called me to your dream, you were in Angela's prophecy, Murtagh keeps you close, and even Arya thinks strangely of you. I'm not one to take risks. Therefore, you must die!"

Concentrating on what was being said, Eragon repeated stupidly, "Arya?"

Durza surpassed his previous expressions by presenting a smirk so evil that Eragon forgot his pain for a moment. "Die knowing that Murtagh indeed tells you nothing, boy!" he half whispered. "Die knowing that you are a nothing! Die knowing that Arya has suffered for you – in vain! Die knowing…"

Some distance away, a horse neighed, and Eragon recognized Cadoc's voice. His mind immediately blocked out Durza and he focused solely on hearing his horse another time, hearing it one last time. Goodbye, my faithful friend…

And then he heard something different, and it was a memory in his head.

"All you ever need is a knife," Cadoc said, young Eragon on his lap. "I've been to war, Era, and there I fought with all the guns that existed, but when it comes down to it, all you need is a knife."

"Why?"

"Because when all fails and your enemy is close, overpowering you, you can still use a knife. The trick is, don't use it as he expects you to. Gain time. Go for the eyes, Eragon. Always go for the eyes. Then, you can kill him."

"Dad!" Marian scolded, "I don't want you to tell him that!"

"Remember what I said," Cadoc whispered into his grandson's ear, then gave him a little push and Eragon jumped down, briefly smiling up.

"Go for the eyes," the boy repeated.

"Understood?" Durza asked, unaware of his audience not listening to him.

Returning to the present, Eragon looked at the Shade, weighing his chances. It's madness! Meanwhile his right hand left his leg and slowly moved upwards, until it came to rest on the hilt of the elven knife that he always carried tucked behind his belt. Usually, he used it for eating. Now, however, it was the carrier of his last hopes. Everything in this world is madness, and I'll die anyways! "Yes," he said, as unperturbed as possible.

The Shade nodded and bowed, as if following some sort of personal ritual. Then, fast as lightening, his sword came flying for Eragon.

Durza was not aiming to stab him, but instead to behead, some part of Eragon registered. With one last effort he avoided the weapon, far too weak to block it. While ducking away, his right pulled at the knife and he half jumped forward, raising his arm high in the air and bringing the short blade down into Durza's face.

Against all odds, he hit his mark.

A yell escaped Durza, and for one tiny instant he stood unmoving, shocked by surprise, the knife sticking out of his left eye.

With the desperation of someone sentenced to death, Eragon limped a step back, needing room to wield his sword. Without thinking, he rammed it from below the ribcage into Durza's chest, twisting it upwards, pushing as far and hard as he could, wishing with all his being that he would hit the heart.

One moment nothing happened.

The next moment, a piercing scream tore the air, coming from the Shade who had tilted his head backwards and was facing the sky. He had spread his arms to both sides, but apart from that he stood unmoving. The skin visible on his face and hands slowly lost its solidness, becoming paler and paler and finally translucent, just as the orange hair turned white.

In morbid fascination, Eragon watched how what once had been Durza's hands and face disappeared, but where there should have been flesh and bones there only was thick, black mist. Suddenly, the screaming stopped and the purple rope fell to the ground as if someone had just dropped it, and through its openings the black mist escaped, parting into three little clouds, which hurried away into the forest.

Frozen, Eragon stood next to what remained of his opponent – the clothes and the weapon – staring at it for endless moments with his blood slowly cooling down. Eventually Orúm fell from his hand, and he could not have picked it up again had there been an army coming for him.

I have killed somebody! The blood loss made him dizzy and thinking became harder, but his mind was solely on this one fact. I have killed! I have killed!

The throbbing pain in his leg eventually called him back to reality, and he realized that he could very well bleed to death if a larger artery or vein was hit. He limped a few steps away and then pulled down his pants. Seeing so much of his own blood made him nauseous, but he fought the notion and instead also pulled down the remnants of his shirt, tore it into strips, and created a makeshift dressing for his leg before fastening the stained pants around his hips again.

When he was somewhat satisfied with the result, his self-control finally left him and he slumped down, first to his knees and then to all fours, vomiting. Afterwards, he crawled a few yards until he could not see his battlefield anymore and dropped to his stomach. I have killed!

Tears were running down his face now, and Eragon rolled up into a ball, trying to comfort himself. I am a murderer! Cold was gripping all of his body and he could not feel his feet anymore. Murderer! I have killed!

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Only later did Eragon realize that he was close to losing his consciousness that afternoon, maybe even close to losing his life.

While it was happening, he was not aware of anything, drifting in a dream world caused by shock and dizziness. Faces of people were flooding around him, always out of reach, always morphing into the grotesque visage of the Shade in the end. The nasty chuckle followed every chaotic train of thought, and there was blood, a never-ending flood of blood, covering all of Eragon's skin…

It was the noise of a busy woodpecker that brought his mind to the surface. Not yet opening his eyes, Eragon's ears twitched at the penetrating sound, and slowly the facts came back to him, and eventually he remembered where he was and what had happened.

When he opened his eyes he found the sun gone and twilight descending upon the forest, and he briefly wondered just what he had done all day since… since…

Suddenly he heard the sound that an over-dimensional bird might have created, and it was approaching fast. His heart immediately screamed out with all his might, for that was a sound he had come to look forward to.

"Here!" he croaked, slowly and carefully pushing himself up to his knees and then to his feet, swaying. A tree at his side helped him steady himself. His leg was completely numb and he did not dare looking at it, while his back still hurt like fire. "Here..." It was hardly more than a whisper, and his raised hand was just as futile, for Thorn was still in the air somewhere, not even in sight.

Still, only a minute or so later, Eragon heard the dull thud of the dragon landing close by, and right after, something came crashing through the forest. Not something. Someone!

"Eragon? Eragon? Are you there?"

Murtagh! Eragon reached out with one arm in the direction where he expected the Rider to appear. "I'm here," he murmured.

It was not loud, but loud enough to call Murtagh to an abrupt stop between two beeches a few yards away, for one instant locking eyes with Eragon, his face torn in anxiety. Then he rushed towards him, no sign of relief visible yet in either posture or mimics. "Eragon!" He tore off his gloves and cupped the other's face. "Eragon," he breathed and crushed his lips to their counterparts as if his life depended on it. A second later he broke apart, keeping his face only inches away from Eragon's. "You're alive," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You live! I… I thought…" He blinked and did not finish the sentence, but instead stepped back. "Your body first." He pointed at the very bloody right leg of Eragon's pants. "Your blood?"

With a brief nod, Eragon watched how Murtagh crouched in front of him and opened his pants, then pulled them down to his ankles and removed the dressing.

Murtagh swore loudly when new blood spurted from the deep wound. "How?"

Eragon had to avert his gaze. "His sword. He… he stuck it in there, it- Ahhh!" Tears of pain shot to his eyes when Murtagh gingerly touched the torn flesh, and he leaned his head against the tree behind him, closing his eyes.

"Shh," Murtagh soothed, "I know it hurts, but I have to see the extend of… Right. Lay down!"

Eragon let himself be guided to the ground, but when Murtagh pushed his upper body back, he yelled out and froze in midair. "M-my back. I ca-can't…"

For the first time Murtagh looked at the body part in question, and a violent hiss escaped him. "Curse this! But it has to wait. Sit, then. I must attend to your leg first."

Eragon did as told, but kept his eyes closed. In general, he could see blood, but not if it was his own in such quantities. "Riders are healers," he repeated something Arya had told him, wanting distraction and reassurance.

"Yes, they are," Murtagh confirmed, "but… Look at me, please."

Eragon complied, only to be shocked by the apologetic expression he saw.

"Listen," Murtagh began, eyes still boring into Eragon's while his hands stayed on the leg, radiating a strange warmth. "I am a Rider, and as such, a healer, too. But…" He licked his lips. "I'll try my very best, I promise you that, but I… I have not learned much about healing so far. I'm not the best."

"You healed my hip," Eragon pointed out, the logical part of his mind working just fine. "You can stop a bleeding… right?"

"Of course. It's only… the hip needed a few days to heal completely. True healers laugh at people with so little skill. And your leg… I'm afraid that it will scar, at the least. I have fixed the muscles, I think, but your skin won't look the same in the future…" His voice drifted off.

A small, hysterical giggle escaped Eragon. "I'm alive. I don't care about a scar."

Murtagh acknowledged that with another nod, moving to Eragon's back and again doing something that caused his hands to be warm. "You are alive… But I must know something, Eragon, for I must finish this once and for all." Murtagh faced him, one thumb tenderly stroking Eragon's cheek. "Can you remember what direction the Shade took?" he asked softly. "I must go after him."

Go after him? Leave me? Eragon's heart missed a beat. But… But I… "I killed him."

Blinking like an owl a few times, Murtagh eventually shook his head. "I don't know yet how you survived, it's a miracle, but still I must hunt him down. Believe me, I do not want to leave you again, truly I don't, but I have to-"

"No," Eragon interrupted him. "I killed the Shade. I killed Durza." To his surprise, he noticed that Murtagh clearly did not believe him. "Murtagh, listen! I killed him! I am a murderer! It's true. It's… somewhere around here I did it. I crawled away. But somewhere here."

Murtagh stepped back, his eyes sceptical, but eventually he started scanning the ground in the darkening forest. Soon he was following a trace and hurried away, vanishing between the trees. A moment later, Eragon heard an utterly surprised exclamation, and further away, Thorn answered with a roar.

Murtagh came back running, carrying both Eragon's knife and Orúm in one hand, and the purple robe and Durza's sword in the other, looking as if had just seen a ghost. "You…" he began, then shook his head. "This cannot be, this- Eragon!" Suddenly his eyes were gleaming in the dark. "Shadeslayer! My Eragon! Alive… and this!" He dropped all items and embraced the younger one for the first time, holding him very tightly. "I thought I would lose you," he whispered fervently. "I thought I had lost you. I knew I was too late, I thought you were gone. And now… now I find you alive and you killed the Shade."

Eragon leaned into the warm body, more than grateful for the hand stroking the uninjured part of his back. Tears had begun to roll down his face again, unnoticed. "Yes, Murtagh. I killed him." He nearly choked on the word. "Never have I… it's… it may not be… I'm a-a murderer…" A sob broke free from his chest and his voice failed him.

"No! No, no, no." Murtagh tipped Eragon's chin upwards with one finger. "You're not, Eragon, do you hear me? Durza was not as you or I are, or the elves, or any other race. What you did… The right word would be destroy. You destroyed a Shade. You killed nobody."

Eragon shook his head. For him killing is normal. "But… where I'm from-"

"No!" Murtagh grabbed his shoulders and shook him lightly. "Where you are from there are no Shades, so much I know. You did the only thing that was right, Eragon. You freed this world of a great evil. You did something people will love you for! Can you not understand that?"

"I'd like to…" Eragon admitted, sniffing.

"Then do it!" A crooked smile broke Murtagh's anxious and concerned expression. "I'd say you're nothing short of a hero now."

Eragon only shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not so easy for me. It's- No. No more of it now." He took one deep breath and found himself reeking of blood and even faintly of vomit. "I would like to get clean." It was as banal as it could get, but no less true.

"Of course. Let me help you." Murtagh took Eragon by one elbow, helped him up, and steered him along until they reached a small creek. He aided Eragon by washing his back, while the younger one applied the same treatment to the rest of his body. They did not speak at all.

After a while, Eragon even pulled off his briefs, for he felt the strong need to scrub every patch of his skin as clean as he could. All those times that he had been self-conscious around Murtagh seemed to have occurred in another lifetime.

"Better?" Murtagh murmured, not specifying what exactly he meant.

The cool water indeed helped a lot. Eragon renewed his efforts and rubbed his arms red in the process, only stopping when Murtagh grabbed his hands.

"Enough, Eragon. You're clean. And you're naked and it's a cool night. Enough." He draped his cloak around the younger one and pulled him away from the creek. "Thorn wants to hail you, little one, let's go." A light smile was playing around his lips.

"Hail me?"

"You have destroyed a monster; dragons despise Shades." Crouching every now and then, Murtagh had assembled an armload of branches when they reached the little clearing where both Thorn and the horses were. The dragon roared in greeting and breathed a small flame, which Murtagh redirected with a motion of his hand to set the little stack of wood on fire.

Eragon stayed a step behind the Rider, as the loud, fiery mass of Thorn frightened him a bit in his current state. The next second, however, he saw the giant tail rushing towards him and immediately found it wrapped around his waist, and within one instant the dragon had pulled him close to his huge head, ignoring the shriek coming from Eragon.

Murtagh had crouched next to the fire and was watching the scene with amusement. "You've seen him do that with me, haven't you?"

"Seeing is different," Eragon said while staring into the huge red eye close to his face. "Hello, Thorn," he said tentatively.

"He says he's amazed by what the- err… what you did," Murtagh explained. "Says you should not worry, for only a few in history have accomplished what you did today. He says that even he, as a dragon, takes pride in knowing you…" He whistled and exchanged a glance with Thorn, then laughed quietly. "Truly, never has he said these things about a human before. Even I was complimented somewhat on my skills as a teacher… Thank you, Eragon."

Feeling the muscle around him relax, and finally seeing the tail with its sharp spikes move away from him, too, Eragon managed a frail smile. "I… I am honoured, Thorn, but you don't understand. I did not do anything… I mean, I did not fight him."

A crinkle was forming between Murtagh's eyebrows and Eragon saw him make contact with Thorn another time. "You did not fight? How is that possible?"

"Well… I did fight, but I did not kill him like that." Eragon thought hard for a moment, aware of the deepening confusion of his audience. How, exactly, do I explain this? "We were fighting when… when I killed him, true, but I tricked him. I did not fight like I think you would. I was only lucky. I tricked him… I killed him." The realization hit him anew.

Murtagh shook his head. "Thorn agrees that you should stop thinking about it in that manner. But tell me more. What do you mean, you tricked him?"

Remaining standing, dressed only in Murtagh's cloak, Eragon recounted what his grandfather had told him as a child and what he had done with the Shade.

Murtagh listened quietly, his head cocked to one side. "So this is the one you named your horse after," he said when Eragon had finished. "I do not understand that with the guns, but to me it seems like he was a wise man. I'm more than grateful that he told you of that strategy. It is not just a trick. You fought, and you used your knowledge to your advantage... and ridded this world of a horrible creature," he quickly added as an afterthought.

Hearing only half what Murtagh said Eragon shook his head, his mind reliving the memory again, and remembering more of it, too. "My mother said he should not tell me," he whispered, staring into the flames of the little fire. "She said knowing these things invited trouble, and that I should never get into trouble, for she loves me too dearly… loved me too dearly…" His voice broke. Suddenly overwhelmed, his legs buckled and he sagged down, caught in the last instant by two strong arms pulling him into an embrace.

"Cry, it helps," Murtagh advised, his voice soft and calm. "I'm here and I'll stay with you. I'll hold you. The Shade is gone and I'm here. Cry."

A mix of emotions flooding through him, Eragon eventually gave in to his despair and cried his heart out, his face pressed into the little dent where Murtagh's shoulder met his throat. He dug one hand into the older one's clothes, the other in his hair, and shivered and shook and wept against Murtagh until he was completely spent.

Eventually the spasms shaking his body lessened and Eragon took several deep, regular breaths to cool down mentally. Without thinking, he placed a kiss on the skin below his lips. It was a brief but nonetheless desperate kiss, and was followed by another and another, all along the form of the collarbone, leaving a wet trace.

Murtagh briefly stopped caressing his back, but resumed the motion only seconds later, perhaps going a little faster than before.

Eragon intensified his ministrations, nibbling and sucking and even biting, until his mouth moved upwards on his own, trailing an invisible path on Murtagh's neck and jaw, and eventually he found the spot he was looking for, and the kiss was answered with passion. Ahhh…

Eragon stopped clutching Murtagh's clothes and let his hands roam along the other's body, the pace and intensity ever increasing. He slightly shifted position, and more by accident than on purpose he grazed Murtagh's crotch with the back of his hand. The noise this elicited had Eragon repeat the action right away, although this time with his hand turned around and lingering on the growing hardness beneath the pants. "Is that alright?" he asked, shortly breaking the kiss and making eye contact.

"Of course… it is," Murtagh answered breathlessly. He avoided Eragon's lips for a moment and instead began to place kisses all over Eragon's face and eventually ended at one ear, nibbling at the lobe.

Eragon bit his lip to stifle a moan, but it did not help much. Hearing himself, however, turned him on even more, and he pressed his body flush to the other's, only half noticing that the cloak fell to the grass around him. What he did notice, though, and he noticed it very clearly, was the cool leather of Murtagh's clothes against his hot, hard, and over-sensitive flesh.

"I'll undress, too," Murtagh whispered, drawing back and hastily getting the task done, his shining eyes never once leaving Eragon.

Briefly wondering whether it was his breathing or Murtagh's that was so ragged, Eragon sat back on his heels and watched as more and more of the older one's pale skin glowed in the firelight. In one second of clarity, he realized that Thorn was gone, but so was the thought the moment after it had occurred to him.

In no time at all, Murtagh was back and set Eragon's skin aflame when he touched him. Not believing that it could – literally – get any hotter, Eragon quickly learned otherwise when he felt a hand that was not his own on his erection, and only instants later a second hardness was in the mix, too. Burning with desire, Eragon groaned his pleasure into the night when the experienced hand rubbed their cocks together, causing the most intense and disturbing friction he had ever felt. Only dimly was he aware that Murtagh was producing similar noises.

"Do you trust me?" Murtagh asked eventually, his voice trembling.

Even in his aroused state, Eragon immediately knew what Murtagh meant. He leaned back, cooling down almost as fast as he had had heated up. What am I doing? Of course he can only interpret it one way…

"Do you?" Murtagh urged, stilling just as Eragon had.

Never having told Murtagh that not having sex was not about the old 'If you're nice' agreement anymore, Eragon frantically tried to sort out his thoughts. When if not now? I need him. And he needs me, too, there is no doubt. He wants me. I want him.

So far so good.

But what about the pain? He thinks I'm experienced. And he's not exactly controlled by reason at the moment… He shook his head. If only I had told him… "Of course I trust you, Murtagh." When if not now?

Something started to burn in Murtagh's eyes. He grabbed his discarded cloak and spread it on the ground, then took hold of Eragon's arm and placed him on top. He kissed him briefly before his lips wandered down to the chest, attending first to one hardened nub and then the other.

Eragon tried hard to concentrate on the touch, tried to enjoy it as he would have only moments before, but his mind kept overruling his body. He closed his eyes. The last thing I need is for him to see my fear. Evening out his breathing, he forced his tense body to unwind.

Murtagh indeed seemed oblivious: he was panting as if he had just run a few miles, and one of his hands expertly kept Eragon erect. Eventually he moved upwards again and brought his mouth to Eragon's ear. "I thought I had lost you!" he said quietly, his voice a pitch higher than usual. "I would have gone berserk to avenge you, but I did not want that. I only wanted you alive. And alive you are!"

"I'm alive," Eragon said after him, and he fully understood what Murtagh meant, for he had not believed that he would see the sun set on this fateful day. He opened his eyes and reached out to touch the other's shoulder. "I'm alive," he repeated more forcefully. Very bravely, he added, "Don't make me wait."

Murtagh nodded while happiness, fondness, and eager anticipation were fighting for dominance on his face. "I won't. I'll show you how alive you are!"

Closing his eyes again, Eragon gratefully received the next kiss. Meanwhile he willed his legs to relax when he felt Murtagh pushing them apart, a calloused hand gently sliding between them and grazing the cleft between his butt cheeks. This, however, made Eragon blush deep crimson, his embarrassment temporarily overriding his anxiety. It got even worse when Murtagh began to chuckle.

"Clench together a little more and I might think you're a virgin."

Now! a part of Eragon's mind screamed at him, tell him now! But no sound escaped his lips. Instead, he regained control over his body once more and he unclenched the muscles in question. Murtagh, however, was not there to notice, and when Eragon opened his eyes, he saw the older one return from Tornac's saddle, carrying something, smiling at him warmly, lovingly.

"Make no mistake, I'd stay with you for the time needed if we did it without, but you'll have to ride tomorrow," Murtagh said jokingly. At the same time, his fingers had found Eragon's most private parts again, but they were slick now, slick and wet. "'Tis better this way."

Soon after, Murtagh lightly pushed Eragon on his side and came to rest behind him, murmuring something affectionately. Eragon exhaled deeply once. No matter what, he can't see my face now. He hummed quietly, pretending to react to whatever Murtagh had said.

Murtagh kissed along the backside of his neck, drawing patterns with his tongue. "I think it's better laying like this," he said quietly. "You're still so tense. Try to loosen up, Eragon, the danger is over." Slowly, one finger was pushing inside. "I can only imagine how terrible a day this must have been for you, but you made it. You make me so proud, little one. I know he has hurt you, but the pain is over. It's time to enjoy your victory, time to celebrate."

Eragon heard his own breath coming in uneven intervals, and he pressed his lips together to make no sound. It was so strange a sensation. Thus far he would not call it pain, but obviously that would change the moment there was more pushing in… He knew his erection was long since gone no matter how hard he had tried to keep it, and it was yet another source of worry. What if Murtagh noticed? Please, just keep going, don't move your hand somewhere else!

At least this little was granted to him.

Murtagh kept to Eragon's earlier wish and indeed did not wait with anything. Far too soon for his liking, Eragon felt the second finger go in with the first, and not long after he was left alone for a brief moment, but only until the hard and warm head of Murtagh's erection lightly pushed against him. Don't hurt me! Please!

He had to learn quickly that being on the receiving end of gay sex could indeed be very painful.

Eragon had his eyes open again, trying hard to focus on the fire in front of him and ignore all about the fact that slowly but continuously Murtagh was entering him, pushing inside, never once stopping, not even when Eragon thought he was being torn into two and that certainly no more would fit in. Apparently, it did.

At the same time that Eragon heard a long, low growl from Murtagh behind him, he grabbed a corner of the cloak and stuffed it into his mouth, else a scream might have accompanied his crying. Somewhere deep inside of him, a little spark of anger flared up despite the ever present pain. He says he likes me! Why does he hurt me so?

The fire was completely blurry through Eragon's eyes, and the corner of the cloak soaked with saliva by the time that Murtagh's hip was finally flat against his. Stop! Please stop! his thoughts yelled, but he remained quiet.

The next hours, which probably were only minutes, passed in a haze.

Eragon further tried to ignore the actual sexual intercourse; instead, he concentrated on the touch of one of Murtagh's hands holding his hip in place, the thumb forever stroking Eragon's skin, and on the warm, wet feeling Murtagh's lips created on his neck with all the little kisses he placed there. Occasionally the older one would stop those ministrations and murmur something tender, but it was in a language Eragon did not understand.

Suddenly Murtagh began thrusting more forcefully, picking up pace, thereby unknowingly breaking all of Eragon's attempts to pay no heed to the meeting of their bodies. Oh my God! Make it stop! Murtagh! It hurts! Eragon was crying so hard, he thought the entire world could hear him. However, Murtagh's ragged breathing and sporadic groans seemed enough to cover the sounds that were proving the true state that Eragon was in. Don't hurt me anymore! Make it end!

As if he had heard him, Murtagh finished within moments after the silent plea. The strong, battle-hardened body went limp against Eragon, who, all of a sudden, found himself covered by his own cloak and cradled in Murtagh's arms, pulled firmly into the other's frame, their bodies still connected.

"Eragon," Murtagh whispered, his voice full of emotion. "My Eragon! My Eragon, who's alive and breathing and so tight around me." He paused, humming. "So good… I didn't even pay attention whether… well…you came as well, right?" he asked, suddenly deeply concerned.

"Of course," Eragon croaked right away, shivering despite the warmth surrounding him from all sides. He's worried about me. He did not mean me harm. He's worried. "Of course," he repeated, and for emphasis he added, "I'm already limp again, because I came so early." That could be possible, right?

"Oh." Murtagh ruffled through Eragon's hair, chuckling. "I'm afraid we must wait a moment for another go. You felt so incredible, I'm completely spent."

Panicking, Eragon hurried to assure Murtagh that he had had enough for the night. With the fire almost having died at that point, he also finally dared to turn around and face Murtagh, forcing a smile to his voice before he kissed the other. "Just sleep. No more today." Please, please, please!

Murtagh's answering smile was audible. "As you wish. Don't ever forget that I want to see you happy, Eragon. You want to sleep, we sleep."

Eragon only nodded and dropped his head on Murtagh's chest, moving as close to him as possible. He did not mean to hurt me. He doesn't mean me harm. If I had only told him… No! He angrily killed that thought right away. It was too late, and he had had his chances. Now it's done, and it's good. Even the pain is lessening already.

He only hoped that the aching emptiness inside of him would lessen, too.