For Better or Worse Chapter 14: Sins cannot be undone, only forgiven, an inheritance cycle fanfic

A/N: Chop – chop – chop: Welcome to the choppy chapter! Lots of little episodes here, while the main plot is kind of resting, taking a deep breath before jumping into the finale.

Trivia: When I was writing the scene where Murtagh appears, I looked up Vangelis' "Conquest of Paradise" (Anybody remember? It hit stores in Germany back in '95) on youtube and listened to it about three times… Truly pathetic, I know. It just fit so well with the mist. :)

Sins cannot be undone, only forgiven – Igor Stravinsky

Chapter 14

September 13th

There was the wind, of course, and the grass he was sitting on, and the sun shining down on him. And if he looked closely, he could see little insects on the ground and in the air around him, and every now and then a bird of prey circled overhead.

Apart from that, there was nothing.

After Murtagh had left, Eragon had returned to the plain and found a place where the ground rose a little, and ever since had sat on the downwind south-eastern side of it. Fortunately the tears had dried in no time, but then, he wished that he would not have cried in the first place. He clearly remembered the shocked look his outburst had caused on Murtagh's part.

But that's not really my fault, either, is it? He had been alternately angry and sad for hours, and had felt lonelier than ever. Murtagh was the farthest away he had ever been – physically, but more so emotionally. Eragon felt so empty inside that he thought it was only a matter of time until his body imploded. The brief moment of hope and relief when Murtagh had figured out what had been possessing both of them had been exactly that – a brief moment. Afterwards Eragon had fallen even deeper.

His right forefinger traced a pattern of dark red thread embroidered on the tunic he was wearing. The clothes he had found in Thorn's saddle bags were more formal than those Murtagh wore on his travels, and Eragon would have settled for anything less… flashy black – if that even existed – if there had been any alternative. Actually, he would prefer anything not Murtagh at the moment, but those alternatives were rather rare as well.

When the sun neared the horizon he moved around the little hill not to lose track of her. He lay down on his side and watched how the giant orange ball set everything around it on fire – not only the clouds but the plain as well. His heart was burning in response, and yet it was not passion setting it aflame, as he might have wished only one day ago, but instead it simply hurt, eating at him, increasing the hollowness.

Eventually he drew his knees up to his chin and hugged himself as best as he could. All he wanted at that moment was for someone to hold him, someone to provide security, someone to say that all was well again. Until recently, he would have wished for Murtagh. Now, the thought made him shiver. He'd probably feel ice-cold lying behind me…

No, at this point, Eragon wished only for one certain person. The only one who had never disappointed him. Who had always held his back no matter what. Who had loved him unconditionally. Truly made everything alright. Who had been gone from his thoughts for a few weeks, but now was back full force.

Mom…

---xxxxx---

He woke up cold and stiff early next morning where he had fallen asleep, immediately concerned about the horses. Not for the first time angry with himself for paying greater heed to his own needs than to theirs, he hurried back through plumes of mist, almost running into a tree a few times once he was in the forest.

Both Cadoc and Tornac looked up and greeted him with low snorts when he reached them, and right after, their noses were buried in herbs again. Doesn't look like they're mad at me.

"Come on, guys, let's get going!" Eragon called in English, but then hesitated at their sides when he spotted the saddles and bridles lying close to the dead fireplace. The fireplace.

Squaring his shoulders, he stalked over, grabbed what he needed – realizing that it was impossible to carry two saddles at once, no matter how hard he tried – and almost fled back. The second time he had to cover the few yards he could not help but let his eyes wander some, and even though the grass was long standing again, he knew exactly where they had lain… It could have been so good… or could it really? He wished he knew the answer. He hasn't even said whether he would have been gentle had he known…

In record time Eragon prepared the horses, threw one last glance around to see whether he had missed anything, went to mount Cadoc – and stopped. What if…? He did say I could ride Tornac, after all. Within one second, he had made up his mind, part of his spirit returning. He actually smiled when he realized how worthy of interpretation using Murtagh's horse would be for a psychiatrist.

Carefully he approached the fiery stallion and took a deep breath. "We were getting along very well so far, weren't we?" As fast as possible he mounted and got a tight hold on the reins.

Nothing happened.

Tornac's ears were twitching in all directions, he was not exactly standing still, and on top was also chewing eagerly on his bit, but apart from that, not one of the things that had kept Eragon away from riding him in the last weeks came true. With the slightest pressure of his legs, he got his tiny caravan moving.

He should have known better, though, than to relax as much as he did.

The moment that Tornac caught sight of the plain ahead, he started pulling on his reins, and while Eragon was still busy keeping the head in check, Tornac started bucking and Eragon fell forward on the neck, instinctively throwing his arms around it to stay on top. This, however, freed the proud, grey head, and Eragon was witness to an acceleration that was not matched by anything Cadoc had ever offered.

Within moments they were galloping beneath the rising sun, which was dispersing the last bits of mist and clearing them a wide and endless racetrack. And racing Tornac did, constantly gaining more speed as if to prove his race's worth in a world where the greatest pace was associated with dragons.

After the initial shock ebbed away and Eragon realized that, as a spider monkey, he was relatively safe, he dared to throw a few looks around. Cadoc, with his reins tied to Tornac, did not have a choice about running as well, and while he was bravely trying to keep up, Eragon could see that he was already sweating and breathing heavily. Shit! Forgetting about his own fears for a moment, he straightened up and tried to regain some control.

Those attempts, however, Tornac paid as much attention to as Eragon would to a small dog pulling at his pants. And just as Eragon would have freed his leg, Tornac forcefully shook his head, tearing the reins from his rider's hands.

Eragon swayed to one side and quickly buried his hands in the mane to regain balance. Slightly panicking, he remembered what Murtagh had advised him to do after Cadoc had bolted twice upon Thorn's arrival. Show him that he doesn't do it on his free will, he heard the warrior in his head. The second he understands that he has to go at that pace, he won't want to do it anymore.

Fine, then, Eragon thought, what else could I do? Secretly afraid that they were not at the ultimate speed yet, he kicked his heels into the stallion's flanks full force, yelling, "Go, you lame beast! Run!"

To his greatest horror, Tornac leapt forward, unleashing his last reserves. The ground to their feet was flying past, and the wind bit into Eragon's eyes and made them water. He saw that even Tornac had foam in front of his muzzle now, and Cadoc… With a shock Eragon noticed that his horse's mouth was bloody and that his steps were faltering. Run, my friend, run! Again he tried to pull at the reins, but Tornac raced on.

Tears were running down Eragon's face now, and it was not only the wind that caused them. Images of what would happen if Cadoc stumbled were flashing through his mind. Would his horse break his legs? Would his neck snap? Would his weight slow Tornac down? Or maybe, maybe his reins would tear in the process? That would be what I need! If only-

He almost cheered when the idea hit him. I can do that! In one swift motion he unsheathed his knife, leaned over, and cut his horse free.

Immediately Cadoc fell back, and even though Tornac soon lessened his pace as well, he was still competing against the wind. Eragon just prayed that he would find his horse once he managed to turn Tornac around.

---xxxxx---

Despite his good intentions, Eragon could not help being mad with Murtagh's stallion. The horse, in turn, had given him a friendly shove with its snout as farewell that night, which had not exactly helped his mood. Murtagh had once explained to him how he was not in need of a heavy warhorse, but instead had chosen the yet to be named foal for its smart eyes and great speed. Whatever… I would have loved a nice, heavy, and slow warhorse today!

His arms were aching worse than after the fight with the Shade, and the fact that he did not have any gloves had turned his hands into two blistering, unusable objects. Very painful objects.

It had taken him about two hours to regain control over Tornac, ride back, and find Cadoc. Or rather, the horses had found each other by neighing. Eragon, with his hands already burning like fire back then, had clumsily tied the remnants of Cadoc's reins to their counterparts and had removed his horse's bit, as the mouth was badly damaged. This, however, meant he would have to ride Tornac for the coming days, and that was why being mad was due both to the recent past and recent future.

But even though it's his horse, I haven't really thought of him all day, Eragon thought proudly, and quickly gave in to the sleep calling before anything would change that.

---xxxxx---

On the third day of his travels across the open land Eragon woke to another brisk, misty morning. In fact, the fog was so thick that he could hardly see further than his arms, and all sounds so muted that he heard literally nothing. When he had gone to sleep, a distant rumbling and rolling had told him that he was not far from the Anora River anymore, and thus also not far from the first line of mountains. Now, however, he knew he had to quell his eagerness to catch sight of them.

He sighed and got up. Even if these mountains give me a feeling of home, I am not there.

Throughout the previous day, in which Tornac had been surprisingly peaceful, all will to go nuts apparently spent, Eragon had realized that even though he had not thought much about it in the past month, he really wanted to go home as soon as possible. He wanted his life back. He wanted predictability back. And he would rather settle with some less attractive, less amazing than Murtagh if it meant not getting hurt so much.

At least that was the plan.

Eragon quickly started feeling in the mist for the horses' tack, wanting to divert his thoughts. Plans always helped him if he was unsure about something. In Alagaësia, his need for plans had multiplied exponentially.

Once he had found what he was looking for, he was facing the next problem: the horses were quiet, and of course nowhere to be seen. "Cadoc!" he called softly, rattling with the bridles, but nothing. "Oh, blast it!" He did not notice that he was using one of Murtagh's favourite curses.

Like a blind man he began circling around the place he had slept, his arms stretched out in front of him. After about a quarter of an hour he finally found what he was looking for, nearly running into Tornac's behind. However, once all three were set to go – which took quite some time due to Eragon's still hurting hands – the fog was still there, heavy and thick. So he remained standing between his travel companions and settled for another period of waiting, his head leaning against Cadoc's neck.

Perhaps it was because none of the three was moving at all that he felt the earth shudder ever so slightly.

If anyone had asked him, he would have placed the origin of the shudder somewhere to his north, not too close. And as the horses, albeit pricking their ears, stayed calm, he decided not to worry about it. It's not as if the Shade will jump at me or anything.

Already the sun was breaking through the mist, parting the thick layer into low clouds that were slowly lifting. When Eragon could see further than only a couple of yards he chose to get moving. He tied Cadoc in his newly developed, easy to undo method to Tornac, went around the grey stallion, put one foot in the stirrup, pulled himself up – and nearly fell down backwards. At the same time, the stallion neighed in greeting.

Standing in the receding mist to the north was Murtagh.

He was standing tall, but not as royal as Eragon was used to, was looking strong and yet so tired. His hair was hanging down in strands, something that would have gone by unnoticed if Murtagh would not keep it so unusually, fastidiously clean on 'normal' days. Dark circles beneath his eyes stood out on very pale skin, his lips were set in a tight line, and the eyes… Eragon could not exactly name what he saw. In the end, he settled with interpreting the expression as a mixture of sadness and… calculation.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the strange emotions clouding his thoughts. But still, his gaze was glued to Murtagh just as the other's eyes were locked on him.

When the sun had conquered more ground and Thorn had become visible in the distance, Murtagh started walking towards him, and Eragon found himself utterly confused.

He had no idea what to feel.

Murtagh stopped at a horse's length away from him, looking even more weary from close up. Eragon had hidden his hands behind his back, not wanting to be subject to concern in the inevitable check-up that would follow. So instead, Murtagh's eyes eventually landed on Cadoc's reins, and he swiftly stepped close and examined them. Eragon figured that the chuckle escaping the other had most certainly not been planned.

"Eragon?"

"Well…" Eragon could not help but smile. "I… fixed it, don't you see?"

"I do, I do," Murtagh said, fumbling with the clumsy knots, "but they were cut! Did you…?"

Eragon shrugged. "I was bored… No! No, I wouldn't destroy tack!" He was chuckling as well, loving how it eased some tension away. "Want to hear the tale of a true Rider?" he asked, briefly wondering whether perhaps it was an insult to use the word thusly. Oh, well, it's just Murtagh.

And that thought had him wonder some more.

"Certainly!" Murtagh encouraged him, smiling.

Eragon nodded and took a deep breath. "Once there was a boy… no, a man, a big, strong man," he amended with a grin, "who decided that his mount was not enough of a challenge anymore…" In what he hoped to be some fashion of story telling he recounted the event. And even though he obviously did not mean to, Murtagh began laughing at one point, and could not stop anymore, and the rare sound that Eragon had heard only once or twice before was infectious.

In the end, they were both laughing hard, and probably none could have named a real reason if he had to.

When the positive madness had ebbed away, Eragon walked over to Cadoc as well, standing at his head and very close to Murtagh. "Could you look at his muzzle?"

"Sure," Murtagh agreed, throwing a pointed look at Eragon's hands. "And then those."

"No." Eragon quickly moved a step back. "No, they are fine."

The smile disappeared from Murtagh's face when he nodded his agreement. "As you wish." Carefully he began to inspect the chestnut stallion, looking as if that was truly all that was on his mind. After a while, however, he spoke to Eragon, keeping his face hidden behind the horse. "I…" He cleared his throat. "I thought I would not find you. I thought you would ride somewhere else… away."

Eragon looked around Cadoc and straight into pained hazel eyes. "Where should I have ridden at?"

"Ridden to- No! I should stop correcting you all the time."

"It's fine," Eragon assured. "I want to learn. I want you to tell me my mistakes… But where, Murtagh?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I don't know. Just… away."

"I have your horse and your gear! I can't just leave!" Hmm, that probably comes across as…

"Oh." Murtagh frowned. "Well… that's nice of you."

... Damn! Eragon fidgeted around on the spot. "Shall we go?" This is too awkward!

"Sure." Murtagh turned around and towards his own horse. "You should ride him without bit for another day or two," he advised.

"… That's possible?"

Murtagh's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Of course." Then his mood darkened. "But I never told you, that's right."

"Murtagh…" Eragon began tentatively once they were riding. "Actually, there is a place I want to go. But I could not have ridden there."

"Where?"

He swallowed. "Home."

A shadow clouded Murtagh's eyes. "I told you – once this war is over, I'll help you."

"I know, I… thank you."

Give me the laughter back! Eragon thought a while later, riding quietly a few yards to Murtagh's left. A face set like stone he was used to, an angry face was not uncommon, worry he had a seen, and recently so many smiles. But with the laughter he had tasted, the sadness now was too much. I want him laughing again… us laughing again.

For hours they rode like this, not one word breaking the silence. The noise created by the river ahead was forever more prominent, and around noon Eragon caught the first glimpse of the water. However, his eyes did not linger there, for even before the mountains had began dominating both the horizon and his thoughts. He knew that his destination, Brom, lived in a village called Carvahall, which was located in a long valley behind those mountains.

Moreover, the skyline did indeed remind him of home.

"Hurry, sweetie! The trout won't wait all day!"

Eragon thundered down the stairs. "I'm coming!" In no time he gathered his rubber boots, threw on a vest, and grabbed the car keys. "Will you let me drive once we're in the mountains?"

Marian laughed. "What about… no? Wait another year!" She grabbed a basket packed with sandwiches and a thermos jug with their mutually beloved rose hip tea, and left the house through the front door.

"But…" Eragon kicked the door shut, caught up with her, and took the basket from her hands, carrying it towards the car. "But I'm the man in the house!" he argued half jokingly.

"Yes, you are," Marian agreed, snatching a hand into his vest to conquer the keys. "You're the best man, in the house or anywhere else." She took the seat behind the wheel. "That's why I'll see to it that we get there – and back again – safely!"

He swallowed and fought for the memory to go away. Fortunately a quick look to his left distracted him, for Thorn was walking closer than Eragon had been aware of.

Throughout the whole day the dragon had stayed with them, and for once was not flying. What was even more remarkable was that he walked at Eragon's side, not Murtagh's, and did so peacefully without scaring Cadoc. Now, with Eragon's eyes on him, Thorn breathed a series of just the tiniest of flames.

Eragon liked those. And he was well aware that Thorn knew that.

By late afternoon they reached the riverbank, and the Anora, Eragon found out, was truly wide.

"Yes, wide, but harmless this time of the year," Murtagh commented. "And I'm sure taking a bath once we've crossed it…" One strand of his hair received a very grumpy look.

"You like it clean, do you?" Eragon jumped at the possibility for conversation.

"So do you."

Eragon shrugged. "It's normal where I'm from."

Murtagh cocked an eyebrow. "So I wouldn't stand out there?"

"Err… you would, trust me, you would." The thought made Eragon grin. "Maybe not with liking it clean, but with everything else."

"In a good way?"

Immediately a picture sprung up in Eragon's mind, of him running around school with Murtagh at his side, and he could not help but think how… weird that would be. Even embarrassing, perhaps, because Murtagh would be looked upon as a complete wacko in his outfit, would have no chance of proving his worth with the methods he used in Alagaësia, and would seem uneducated and devoid of any manners. Eragon was not sure whether he would be up to the task of settling matters in such circumstances, or if, perhaps, he would simply lock Murtagh away at home.

But when I materialized here… It was the first time that he thought about it at all, and all of a sudden shame coloured his cheeks. By their standards, I was completely useless. He began to list reasons in his head, and soon there were way too many. I could not ride, I could not fight, I did not speak the language, I was naked, I ran right into the conflict between Arya and Murtagh, and most of what I consider an education is naught here… And after the thoughts that had just crossed his mind, the way Murtagh had reacted made him feel truly horrible. Instead of complaining or looking down on me, he has taught me all he could these months, fought for me, provided me with food, horse, and clothes, and now organizes my future protection… Shit!

"In the best possible way," he croaked.

"I like that," Murtagh said, smiling.

I don't want to leave you!

---xxxxx---

"I thought crossing rivers would be a big thing without a… thing that swims."

"A what?" Murtagh looked up. "A raft you mean?" He lifted the stick with the dead rabbit and rammed it into the earth close to the fire. "Or a bowed?"

"One of those, I guess." Eragon copied Murtagh's actions to roast some bread in a similar fashion. "But the elves told me that the Anora is wild and dangerous!" At all costs he wanted to continue talking.

"Sometimes it is." Murtagh seemed to feel similarly. "In spring, of course, after a big part of the snow has melted. Or after big storms when it has rained a lot." He threw Eragon a questioning glance. "If we had not come here after such a dry summer, we probably would have needed Thorn…" His eyes suddenly lit up, but then he averted his gaze. Eragon thought he saw a smile play around the other's lips.

"How far is it to Carvahall?" They had yet to speak about Murtagh's meeting with Brom, but as they were still moving west, Eragon figured all had gone well. Details he did not really want to know.

"Only about four days I'd say. Which is good, for I should soon show my face in Uru'baen after all this time."

Four days and you're gone? Despite the recent events, Eragon's heart grew heavy.

The meal of crispy rabbit was spent talking about banalities, with even the weather being a topic for a prolonged period of time. But at one point it seemed as if everything meaningless had been said, and in silent agreement they settled down next to the dying fireplace, about a yard away from each other, each rolling up in his cloak.

Eragon stared up at the cloudless sky above him, watching the stars as he had done so many times before. Sleep was avoiding him, so instead he thought back to his very first night after the storm, remembering all his fears and worries. While those had changed and the man whom he had considered a threat to his life was now his greatest ally, life had not become easier. If anything, it was even more complicated now.

If I was to return home right now, from one moment to the next… I don't think I could ever be completely happy again. Not… without him. The metaphor of the forbidden fruit flashed through his thoughts, but while the rational part of his mind told him that he needed to get over Murtagh one day, every other thread of his being knew that he would never forget the intensity of his feelings. The warmth that the hazel eyes could spread. The low voice constantly sending shivers down his spine. Once tasted…

---xxxxx---

"I am sorry."

Eragon jerked from what must have been a very light sleep, and for a moment he was too confused to speak.

"I just… couldn't handle it," Murtagh continued to whisper.

Now Eragon was too stunned to speak. Just what is he talking about?

"I can handle tears," Murtagh explained, "but when I'm the reason, and the circumstances are like these, and a person like you… no."

Ah. "I know."

"You do?"

"I kind of figured it out once I wasn't…well…"

"Mad anymore?"

"Sad anymore."

Murtagh was quiet for a bit. "Aren't you mad?"

"I was. Now I'm only… scared, I guess. You won't do that again, will you? Running away?"

"I won't."

"Do you promise?"

"… I promise. But you must promise me never to be afraid again to tell me something."

"I promise."

Silence took hold of their camp, with only the river singing its endless song. Eventually Eragon's racing heart calmed down, and with a long sigh he closed his eyes. The unexpected apology felt so good. With his heart considerably lighter than earlier that night, he allowed sleep to claim him once more.

"Eragon?"

Again he was startled out of his rest. "Hmm?"

Murtagh hesitated. "Are you still sad?" And if Eragon was not already, the misery he heard in the whispered words would have made him.

"A little," he answered truthfully. "But I'm not thinking much about it, because that hurts." Suddenly he felt a hand on his and flinched. "Ooff! You scared me!"

Murtagh remained quiet and instead intertwined their fingers, their now connected arms breaching the empty yard between them, breaching numerous emotional yards as well. "… I meant it, you know?"

Is he talking about…? Eragon's breathing hitched. "I care for you, too," he said straight from the heart.

Murtagh squeezed his hand in response.

"I… I am smiling," Eragon informed the other, while in reality he thought his lips would tear, seeing as they were spanned from one ear to the other. Things aren't settled, but things are better.

"So am I."

Not letting go for one instant they fell asleep.

---xxxxx---

"I thought we could stop here for a day."

Not simply making this a fact was a lot for Murtagh, but with regret Eragon noted how the very emotional tone of last night had gone. He looked up from fastening his boots. "Why?"

Murtagh's mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "If there are no dragons in your world, you've never ridden one, am I right?"

Fly on Thorn? "Are you saying…?"

"You should not miss out. Come over!"

Whoa! It was not something Eragon needed to be told twice. He hastened over to Rider and lying dragon and patted Thorn's neck. "Is… is he fine with that?"

Groaning, Murtagh hoisted up the saddle and fastened it to the scaly body, having to climb around in the process. "You should know that he doesn't like to be talked about like that."

Eragon bit his lip. "Right. I'm sorry… Thorn." He turned around and caught one red eye. "Would it be fine with you if… if we add some weight to your Rider? Weight that looks like me?" Don't say no, don't say no, don't say- How does a dragon say yes or no?

Thorn granted him with a breath of smoke and rose to his feet, taking Murtagh with him. "That means yes!" Murtagh called down. "And he doesn't want to wait. Come up!"

"How?" Eragon threw a sceptical glance at the muscular mass in front of him. He could not remember watching Murtagh mount Thorn in the past.

"Use his leg as steps, you can grab the scales for a hold," Murtagh instructed.

Eragon involuntarily laughed. "What? What leg?"

"I'll show you." Murtagh slid down and came to stand next to him, and now Thorn was holding out a front leg. "Jump on the foot," – Murtagh did just that – "then climb up the leg," – he simply ran to the top – "and once you're here, grab the saddle and pull yourself up." Instead of demonstrating that as well, he jumped down again. "Here, take my gloves and go ahead!"

Very carefully and slowly Eragon imitated what he had seen, his hands shaking in excitement. A dragon! No one would believe me! He nearly slipped once, but instead of feeling thin air around him, Thorn's leg moved beneath him, catching his fall. Quickly Eragon held on to a scale and hurried to reach the top.

Sweating rather heavily, he finally hoisted himself up in the saddle, took a deep breath, and looked down. Apart from it being a rather impressive height for a mount, he now also had full view on a chuckling Murtagh, and on a dragon's head turned back to him, from which emerged a series of chuckle-like noises as well. "No one said I had to do this elegantly!" he pointed out, grinning himself. I guess I looked rather stupid.

In only one tenth of the time that Eragon had needed Murtagh mounted Thorn as well and seated himself close behind Eragon. "And now we tie ourselves to the saddle," he instructed, reaching down to one side and fastening the strips around his and Eragon's leg.

What a bastard! Eragon thought, but with amusement and admiration. Of course he knew how close we would have to sit… He had stilled when Murtagh had suddenly pressed himself to his back, but now he only smiled and fumbled with the strips around their other legs. "Are you sure you only want to show me what it's like to fly?"

"Of course!" Murtagh said with one corner of his mouth raised ever so slightly. "Where do you want to go?"

"To the mountains?"

"To the mountains it is."

In that moment, Thorn spread his enormous wings, crouched down, and then hurled himself up high in the air. In the first few seconds, his wing beats were short and irregular, sending Eragon's stomach some place it did not want to be, but very soon the movements became smoother and they rose continuously.

The side effect of the breathtaking steep climb was that Eragon had basically moulded into Murtagh, but all it did was enhance the warmth that was already spreading through his veins. After a moment, he even reached for Murtagh's arms behind him and laid them around his waist, sending the other a brief smile over his shoulder.

Then he threw the first glance down and forgot about Murtagh.

In no time Thorn had risen to a considerable height, and the horses below them had already shrunk to the size of ants. Then the dragon held the altitude and turned west, and the ground rushed past at an incredible speed. The wind bit at Eragon's face, and as during the ride on Tornac, his eyes were watering.

And yet, the blurry sight unfolding and the incredible feeling in his stomach were unlike anything Eragon had ever experienced before. Unbelievably fast the mountains were drawing near, and slowly Thorn climbed higher and higher. Soon they were level with the timber line.

"Chamois!" Murtagh called, pointing to some small brownish dots on the rocky surface. "Cloud," he called a moment after, and suddenly they were surrounded by cold, wet mist. However, it was worth it when a moment later Thorn emerged from the cloud, and the mountain tops in front of them gleamed in the bright sun in all their snowy might.

Eragon squeezed one of the hands holding him. "Amazing! This is unbelievable!" The thin air made him light-headed, even a little drunk. "I love it!"

"Are you sure?" Murtagh asked, his mouth so close to Eragon's ear that the warm breath tickled him. "Then let us show you what real flying consists of."

That said, Thorn stopped all movement altogether, and for a moment simply fell through the air. Then he tipped his head down, giving his body the least aerodynamic drag possible and causing them to fall even faster. Last, with a deafening roar, he began spiralling downwards.

Eragon shouted and screamed until he was nearly unconscious. He truly loved it.

---xxxxx---

Cheeseburger

Concerts

Sneakers

Mom

Showers

Friends

Mom

Baseball

Mom

Eragon's heart was aching and burning in his chest. He broke the wooden stick he had used and threw it away into the river. Continuing to stare at the list he had made in the sand, he remembered the times he had done this as a child at the beach – with his mother nearby, always ready to cheer at him practicing writing. Yet the things he had wished for back then had been things such as Drive a tractor, Fly to the moon, Own a dog.

Oh, mom. I love you. I miss you.

He had risen very early and stolen away from their camp to go down to the river. His night had not been peaceful, even though all the dreams he could remember had been full of his mother. In the last one, right before he had woken, he had been back at his first day in school, and Marian had stood at the fence in the morning, waving after him.

Somehow, the goodbye-feeling of that dream stuck with him. And that he could not accept.

Slowly getting up, he stretched his aching muscles and started erasing the scrabble in the sand. He had lost all appetite for a cheeseburger, belying the original reason behind writing this list. Even with such a clever tactic of distraction, the thoughts of her would not leave him alone.

"Don't erase that!" Murtagh made him jump in surprise.

"You scared me!" And you successfully stopped any tear from flowing, Eragon added silently.

"Didn't mean to. May I?"

Eragon looked over his shoulders and saw that Murtagh wanted to step closer. "Sure."

Murtagh smiled and hugged Eragon from behind, resting his chin on the other's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered, and then asked, "That is your language in signs, right?"

Eragon leaned back with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Yes… care to learn the Latin alphabet?" Murtagh. The wild ride on Thorn had – in some respects –brought them back together, and when afterwards not only Eragon but Murtagh as well had been somewhat green around his nose, Eragon had felt a new sort of connection springing up between them. Murtagh did not admit many weaknesses, and those Eragon had witnessed so far had all been painful. After the flight, however, the Rider had made no secret of his stomach being rather unworthy of his profession, thereby demonstrating the trust he had in the other.

"The what? Well," Murtagh paused for a moment, "sure, I guess. If it means something to you."

"Not really…" Eragon tilted his head and kissed Murtagh on the cheek, smiling. Had he only known how sensitive Murtagh could be if he wanted to… I should have told him that I was a virgin!

Murtagh was watching him closely, a spark glimmering in his eyes after this first, open sign of affection after the whole drama. Then he frowned. "What did you write there? What made you depressed?"

"Nothing." Eragon tried to shrug it off. "Just some memories."

"Your mother?"

How does he know that? Eragon nodded, quickly turning his face away to hide any emotions.

"Eragon, please, don't exclude me. You never speak about her, but I know that you miss her. Dearly." Murtagh lightly grabbed Eragon's chin and turned the younger one's head to look him in the eye. "Don't be ashamed. You were torn out of your life with no prior notice, I don't expect you to simply shrug and continue."

I love you, Eragon thought, and shocked himself into a prolonged silence. "…You never talk about your mother, either," he eventually pointed out. "All I know are things about Morzan. Where is she?"

Murtagh ended the hug and sat down, squinting up against the light. "She's dead."

Eragon blushed."Oh, Murtagh, I'm sorry!"

"… And has been for nearly sixteen years. I've learned to live with it." Murtagh had chosen his spot well, for squinting overruled any other expression.

Eragon swiftly moved around the other and sat down as well. "Do you miss her?"

Murtagh looked at his hands for a while. "I used to. Every day I missed her." He cleared his throat. "But when I grew older that made me weak, and I quit… But yes, I still miss her," he added quietly.

"What was her name?"

"Selena."

"How beautiful! What… what happened?"

Murtagh folded his hands as he usually did when telling a story. This time, however, his thumbs fidgeted around. "As far as I know, it was only a common illness that did it in the end. Had she been strong and content, though, she would have lived – I'm certain of it!" He looked up, grunting. "The marriage of my parents wasn't a loving one, see? Perhaps in the beginning, but later… no. I don't remember much of her, but I remember seeing her cry. Hearing her cry. And now I know he was the reason for it." He spat to the ground. "…What about your father?"

Eragon snorted. "I don't know."

"They do have fathers where you're from, right?"

"And they do have men here, too, who leave a woman with child, right?" Eragon asked back. "I don't know much. My mother didn't like to talk about him, and he never contacted me or anything. They say he was handsome, but apparently his true character was not."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Someone with your story doesn't have to be. I had a very happy childhood. I had the best mother of them all."

"Well…" Murtagh scratched his head. "And if there wasn't a man around, there was no chance for your parents – your mother – to run off with someone else, was there?"

Eragon cocked his head. "Yours did?"

"Aye." Murtagh grimaced. "With my father's then already worst enemy."

What? Please, no! "Brom?" Eragon nearly shouted. "No! Murtagh! How is this supposed to work out? I mean, I thought you and Brom… that it was only a thing of different sides of the war… well, not only only, but… and now you tell me there are family things involved too?" He clenched his hands into his hair and pulled at it. "How can he…? He agreed to… to taking me, right? But… how can you…?" This can't work out!

Murtagh was watching him with raised eyebrows, chuckling. "You're funny. Apparently you don't even know the other half… And yes, Brom and I have an agreement, and you do not have to fret. This history isn't yours, and he's smart enough to act accordingly."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "What other half?"

"Are you sure you want to-"

"Murtagh!"

The warrior raised both hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you. So… as you know, my father is dead, too, but that's nothing to feel sorry for. He helped to corrupt and kill the Riders, and deserved no less than death. The one who brought it about, though… we just talked about him."

No! Shit! Eragon balled his hands into fists. "If this is only a joke…"

"Why would I do that?"

"Aarrgh!" Eragon was on his feet, running from Murtagh to the river and back. "You don't understand what that means!"

"I'm afraid I don't." Murtagh looked truly perplexed.

"How am I to get along with that Brom when there are all these things?"

"As I just explained, it has nothing to do with you and-"

"No!" Eragon stomped his foot. "Apart from all else, this is just too much!"

Murtagh stood up as well and stepped close. "What else?"

"Look at me! What do you see?"

Confused, Murtagh studied him from head to toe. "Handsome sixteen-year-old, perhaps a little agitated at the moment, but usually-"

"I'm… I'm nothing! I'm not good at anything! This Brom will think that I'm a waste of time in any case, and now you tell me all these things, and I'm connected to you and… and…" A desperate tear rolled down Eragon's cheek. "Don't you understand?"

Murtagh shook his head. "All I understand is that I don't understand anything. Brom won't judge you, Eragon, he'll only give you a home for some time. Apart from that, though, if he did judge you… I'm convinced he would hold you in high regards."

"Certainly not!"

"You're truly blind, little one! Come here." Murtagh motioned for the other to sit down again, and Eragon did so, quietly accepting – and enjoying – the arm Murtagh laid around him. "Even if there wasn't this prophecy to consider, you would be quite exceptional."

"You only say that…" But I do appreciate the effort.

Murtagh sighed. "Stupid Eragon. Where shall I start? You learned the language very quickly-"

"I'm good with languages!"

"No, listen, please. You learned the language, you have an incredible talent at getting along with people, be they elves or humans, good or bad, even if they're extremes like Arya or I are, you learned to ride, to fight, and to top it all of you're a Shadeslayer. Just why would you say you're nothing?"

Eragon shrugged his shoulders.

"Do I make you feel that way?"

"No… I don't know."

"Then be quiet already! I don't want to hear another thing!" In contrast to his sharp words, the kiss Murtagh pressed to Eragon's forehead was as tender as it could possibly be. "Stupid Eragon," he repeated in a whisper, and then his mouth wandered down to find its counterpart.

---xxxxx---

Eragon chewed on the roasted mushrooms without much appetite. "The day after tomorrow?" So little time left.

"Yes." Murtagh freed his feet from his boots, stretched his legs, and wiggled his toes. "Brom will have a nice bed for you, I'm sure. No more sleeping rough in the woods. The nights are becoming cold these days."

It wouldn't be cold if… Eragon's heart beat accelerated. It's now or never once more, but this time he knows everything. "I don't mind sleeping rough in the woods – with you." He sent Murtagh a shy smile. They had spent the last two nights huddled close together again, and of all the things Eragon had felt, cold had not been one of them.

Murtagh smiled and shook his head. "Don't say that. It sounds…" His smile became apologetic.

Eragon took a deep breath. "What if I want it to sound like that? What if I… if I want to sleep with you – in the woods?"

"Eragon…" Murtagh's breaths came a little irregularly. "I'm not sure whether-"

Eragon leaned forward and killed all further words with a searing kiss. When he broke apart, he saw that he had killed most doubts as well. "You said that… even with differences you can make it right. You meant that, didn't you?"

"I did," Murtagh assured him, the well-known twinkle now in his eyes. "But this is not about differences. This is about me having destroyed so much. I don't know whether-"

"Murtagh! Let's make this our real first time."

Murtagh scrutinized him for long moments. "If you truly wish that… But don't look like that, Eragon, don't be scared! I'll be gentle." He reached out and took Eragon's hands in his own. "If you want to do it, then I can do it right. I won't hurt you again!"

Even though he was afraid, the fact that Murtagh seemed to understand just that warmed Eragon's heart – and told him his decision was the right one. "Please, tell me what to do."

"Shh." Murtagh pulled him to his chest, kissing along his jawbone and tousling his hair. "You don't have to do anything but enjoy." He caught Eragon's eyes, his own blazing. "I'll make this good, you won't regret it. This is our real first time." He tugged at Eragon's shirt to free it from the trousers and dove beneath with one hand, stroking the stomach and then the chest. "Do you like that?" he whispered, smiling.

"Of course," Eragon whispered back between two kisses. If I had only told him back then…

"Good!" Murtagh pulled the shirt further up and over Eragon's head. Slowly his mouth wandered downwards, placing kisses all along the way. Just when the nipples had hardened and the first moan had been drawn he moved on, quickly and determinedly, while his hands already fumbled with Eragon's belt.

Oh God! was the last thing Eragon thought before the warm, wet lips and tongue attended to his swollen flesh.

Later the night he would scream that thought.