For Better or Worse Chapter 15: Smiles form the channels of future tears, an inheritance cycle fanfic

A/N: Some night last week I was in bed trying to sleep and thinking about God knows what but certainly not Eragon, when suddenly I realized that I had made a mistake in chapter one. I have no idea why that popped up in my mind, which actually scares me. So anyhow, 8 months after writing and 4 months after editing the chapter I realized that – of course – there's only one egg left in Uru'baen now, what with Thorn having hatched already and the blue egg stolen. In chapter one, however, I am talking about two eggs… Fortunately, no one a) noticed or b) was bothered enough to tell me in a review. Still, this fic is messing with my mind on more than one level. :)

---xxxxx---

Finna draumr: Again it is Shaeldryn vs. the Ancient Language. Literally this means "find dream", and as CP makes the language work just as English, I felt free to use the infinitive as imperative as well.

Smiles form the channels of future tears – Lord Byron

Chapter 15

22nd Harvest Moon

Only one more time. Murtagh closed his eyes, rocked his hips – and greeted twilight with a long groan. Sweat was running down his forehead, some of it gathering at the tip of his nose until a drop made its way down. His eyes snapped open in time to see it land on the beautiful, toned back beneath him. Quickly he leaned down and licked it away, which caused the back to shiver, and in turn aroused him even more. Just… just one tiny little more time. Slowly he withdrew from the tight heat encircling him, and just as slowly he pushed back in, deeper and deeper till he was buried to the hilt.

Again he leaned down, this time placing wet, tongue-intensive kisses along the sensitive spine, having found out the night before what this did to Eragon. And true enough, his young lover moaned as if there was no tomorrow, still far too overwhelmed by the new sensations to pay attention to the noise level he created.

Murtagh felt his arms beginning to give way, so he lowered himself onto the other, using the chance to move yet again within him. He could not get enough of it.

"You… wait… why?" Eragon asked, his head turned slightly to the side to look at Murtagh. Blue eyes were clouded with lust, and the hair along his hairline was drenched in sweat. "You heavy. But… do more."

Murtagh chuckled. Another thing he had learned right away was that Eragon's vocabulary shrunk to a minimum during the act. "I want to attend to you…" he informed him, but first there was another little shove, and then a mutual moan, and both shuddered. "…that's why I'll move us." That said, he pushed himself up until he was on his knees, the cold air like ice on his slick, hard flesh. Quickly he grabbed Eragon by the waist and pulled him up to all fours and onto himself again. For a moment they stilled, enjoying the renewed contact, then little by little Murtagh established a moderate rhythm, every thrust making the body in his hands tremble.

Soon Eragon's gasping turned into constant whimpering, and when one of Murtagh's hands left the waist and wandered to the centre, caressing whatever crossed his way, whimpering turned noisier and became uncontrolled moaning. This forced Murtagh to call upon all his willpower to keep the pace and not claim the other as he usually would have, so instead he swayed his hips some, concentrating on the many levels of friction this created. A tingling sensation trickled down his spine, faster and faster, and he arched his back as if to lean in to it. All of a sudden a volcano built within him, and it erupted so quick that he was already over the edge when he realized what was going on. In the name of the Shurt'ugal!

He needed a moment to get his senses back together and return to the unfinished task still waiting. A brief kiss was placed to Eragon's back and then Murtagh renewed pleasuring with his hand, the rhythm being considerably harder and faster than the one of their mating. All the while he remained within the other, loving how the contracting muscles teased his over-sensitive cock.

Eragon craned his neck, briefly caught Murtagh's eye, and soundlessly formed the word 'more' with his mouth. Once this was granted, it took only instants until he tossed his head back and yelled something Murtagh did not understand, and spent himself over the pumping hand.

Wheezing and panting they came to rest on the ground, leaving some space between them to cool down, only the fingertips of one hand each touching. The air smelled of sex and sweat and masculinity, and Murtagh loved it. He smiled at Eragon, who was lying on his stomach and stupidly smiled back, his mind obviously still somewhere else. "Good morning!"

"Hmm?"

Murtagh reached out to tousle through the blond hair. "It is already light."

Eragon grumbled. "I don't want that." He took one corner of the cloak and pulled it over his head.

"I know. But there's no choice."

"… I know," Eragon mumbled, and then his head became visible again. "How long?"

Murtagh laughed and shook his head at the same time. He got up and lazily put on one item of clothing after the next. "Stop asking that. We're not on the way to your execution."

"But it's… it's like an exile!" Eragon made no move and thus remained naked, presenting a wonderful sight in the growing light.

"Exile? It's a village with more than a hundred inhabitants!"

Eragon grimaced. "Exactly."

Murtagh tsked. "I'm not stupid. You've been on your own a lot lately, and there have been weeks with only one other person about. If I know one thing it's that you're not bothered by the size of Carvahall, but rather by a certain inhabitant."

"Who could you possibly mean?"

"Oh, leave it!" Murtagh grabbed the clothes he had lent Eragon and aimed successfully for the other's head. "Get up!"

After a minute of silent defiance Eragon moved to do as ordered. Carefully he made his way to the creek they had camped at, taking his time to wash and even play around some with the water. When, on returning, he found out that Murtagh's eyes were on him, he blushed rather heavily and immediately covered his privates with his hand. "This isn't a peep show!"

"A what?" Something is odd… Murtagh cocked his head to the side and studied the other more intently, this time from a healer's point of view. "The way you walk…"

Eragon stopped dead, his eyes wide as though he had been caught doing something forbidden.

Damn! Murtagh swallowed. "Did I hurt you?"

Eragon shook his head and bit his lip. "No. I'm just… I don't know… a bit…"

"Sore?"

"That's the word." Eragon had reached his clothes and swiftly dressed.

"But... but it was only…" … three times in a little more than a day and he's not used to it. Murtagh grimaced. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Eragon smiled, embarrassment retreating. "I didn't want you to stop. Any anyhow…" He thought for a moment and his smile became sly. He walked over to Murtagh, threw him a rather seductive look, and moved his hands to unfasten his recently fastened belt. "In fact, I would not mind being a little more sore." He came to a halt directly in front of Murtagh and stretched his neck to be able to whisper into the other's ear. "We could spend a whole day here, and do it several times over. I'm sure you are able to do that, and-"

"No!" Murtagh caught the hand on its way to touch him before it found out just how alluring the idea was to him. "You only want to postpone your meeting with Brom." He laughed at seeing Eragon's expression turn from sexy and sweet to that of a child who has been denied its favourite candy. "We really should be on our way already, so hurry up!"

"I don't like you," Eragon grumbled, stalking over to his boots.

"Liar!"

Rather unwillingly, Eragon joined in the laughter.

---xxxxx---

It's enough.

It's not like you couldn't shove him away, Murtagh pointed out, his eyes flickering back and forth between Eragon hugging his dragon and the summit of what was the last hill before Carvahall.

That would be rude.

Set him on fire?

Thorn threw a calculating look at Eragon. Hmm…

Don't you dare! Worried as he was about anybody spotting them, Murtagh helped out to speed things up. "Stop wasting time! You'll see him again."

"When?" Eragon asked into Thorn's neck, clearly meaning not only his next meeting with the dragon.

Leave already! Only once Thorn had disappeared between the mountains of the Spine did Murtagh relax. He walked over to Eragon to pass on Cadoc's reins. "A wild guess would be... two months, perhaps. Is that… how do you say… okay?"

Eragon briefly smiled before making a grumpy face. "No, it's not." But he mounted nonetheless, urging Cadoc close to Murtagh and stealing a kiss. "I'm being a child, I know."

"An infant," Murtagh confirmed. Which makes me a pervert… His laughter earned him a perplexed Eragon.

Soon they reached the top of the hill and looked down on the village ahead. A patch of forest still separated them from their target, but already the individual houses of Carvahall were distinguishable, and the little dots moving between them as well as the smoking chimneys promised a busy community. The sun was almost at its zenith and shone with all its might, warming the early autumn's air and allowing the first yellow leaves to shine in return. If this isn't inviting, I can't imagine what would be, Murtagh thought, not for the first congratulating him on his choice of bringing Eragon here.

It did not take long, however, for Eragon to find another reason to delay. Once they were down the hill and in the woods, he abruptly stopped his horse and jumped down. "He made a misstep!"

"Did he?" He can't be serious! Murtagh turned in the saddle. "Are you sure?"

Eragon had the nerve to grin. "No, but I don't want to risk anything." Leading Cadoc away from the path and fastening him to a tree, his expression turned triumphant. "This is where we'll rest. I'm afraid you won't get rid of me that fast."

Murtagh grinned as well, but made sure to make it look as mischievous as possible. "If he made a misstep, then we'll have to walk on foot, not rest."

With another grumpy look Eragon unfastened Cadoc and joined Murtagh in walking, although staying a horse's length back. "How long?"

"An hour." Murtagh removed a glove and ripped off several blackberries growing along the path. "Want some?"

Immediately Eragon caught up with him and took one. "Good," he assessed a moment later, part of the berry's juice colouring his lips dark red.

You don't think leaving is easy for me, do you? Murtagh sighed. What Eragon had told him about the principle of holidays seemed so alluring all of a sudden. Speaking of his world… "So these… err… cars you told me about, they don't need any food?" This, he was sure, was the perfect topic to distract, and besides, he was truly curious to learn more.

By the look Eragon gave him, he understood the intention behind the topic. He smiled nonetheless. "No, no they don't eat. But there's something you need to feed them with, some liquid."

"And there's lots and lots of cars you said…"

"Hundreds of thousands. Many families not only have one, but two or three."

Two or three running at dragon's speed for every family? Murtagh whistled. "What about colours?"

"All colours. You could have one red like Thorn, if you like."

Murtagh stopped. "If I was in your world, I could have a car? Did you have one? What colour was it?"

It was Eragon who motioned for them to walk on. "Yes, you could have one, for the same reason that I didn't: you're old enough." He laughed. "If I had known you'd be so interested, I would have thought of bringing photos to the park with me."

"Bring what?"

Shaking his head, Eragon started into a description of something that – if not quite as impressive as a car – definitely had advantages that Murtagh could see right away. So only with regret he put an end to the explanatory tirade when he noticed how close they had come to Carvahall.

"… you should see those my mother made when I was but five, we were-"

Murtagh leaned forward and stopped Eragon with a kiss, which was the least hurtful way he could think of to end the memories. "We're almost there," he whispered.

"Oh." But Eragon did not protest. "You said you'll meet me there…"

"Of course."

"But… won't they see you?"

Murtagh chuckled. "I'll manage. I need you to take my horse, though, and my weapons, because they would hinder me."

"Sure." Eragon held out his hands to take the swords and then fastened them to Cadoc's saddle. "They look a bit… Murtaghish, don't you think?"

"Did you just invent a word?"

Eragon only grinned.

"You're right. And Tornac also looks Murtaghish." Murtagh found himself grinning as well. "We'll have to change that." He looked around until his gaze fell on a puddle of water. "I think I have an idea…"

---xxxxx---

Despite what he had told Eragon, Murtagh was not sure he would get into Carvahall unnoticed at daytime. But as going in noticed was not an option, failing meant not going in at all. Which was not an option either.

He had left Eragon with the instruction to wait at least half an hour before following him, then had jogged through the forest until he had emerged behind a small henhouse with its back bordering at the trees. The first houses were doable, he was sure, but after that… Why does Brom have to live right in the middle of all places?

Carefully peeping around the corner of the shack, he studied the house it belonged to as well as the neighbouring buildings and what little he could see of the street behind those. All shutters in sight were open, but he could not discern any movement in the half-dark rooms, and once an old lady had passed by on the street, he left his place and hurried to a stack of firewood next to the closest house.

The silence following his footsteps convinced him to move further right away, and after a quick look to the right and left he crossed the street, finding cover behind two big barrels. His sense of smell told him that those barrels had once contained wine, so he examined the building he was crouching next to, realizing that he was at the back of the local tavern. Slowly he moved around the corner, ready to drop to the ground any moment should he notice anyone approaching. Fortunately, the chance was relatively low; around noon, people were working and not strolling through the village leisurely.

Once he was close to the front of the tavern, however, any progress was halted, for there was a group of men standing on the street that Murtagh could not simply pass by. If anyone knew I was hiding from unarmed men… He certainly did not like acting like a common thief, but then, Eragon had already caused him to do more than one unusual thing.

Being forced to remain where he was for the moment, he studied the men more closely, soon noticing that they all carried a bag and wore cloaks too warm for the weather. Adding the fact that they were not working this time of the day had him decide that they were probably in the midst of or beginning a journey. The mood among them was cheerful, even though they threw one or two worried glances in the direction of the tavern.

Suddenly something behind Murtagh clanked, and around the corner from the back of the tavern came a dog. The second it spotted the person hiding it stopped, the hair on its neck standing on end. A person called, making the dog's ears twitch, and then Murtagh heard heavy steps coming the way the dog had come. Damn!

That moment, a man left the tavern, greeted effusively by those waiting. "Nobody here wants to lead us through the Spine," he called. "We'll have to go to Therinsford to find a guide." Joining the group, he led them away down the main street.

Whoever was coming Murtagh's way was almost there, and a deep rumbling had started in the dog's throat. Changing tactics, Murtagh pulled his hood deep in his face and jumped up and on the street, following the group in a little distance.

He felt strangely naked out in the open without his swords, and the skin on his arms began tingling. Moreover, he was certain that he would draw looks, because even though most people were dressed in dark clothes, be they of dark brown, dark blue, or black, nobody was dressed solely in black as he was – and his reputation was well known in Alagaësia.

Sure enough, a villager leaving his house threw a sceptical glance in his direction, and Murtagh hurried to catch up with the travellers. Searching a guide for the Spine had marked them as foreigners, and he hoped they would not mind someone they must consider a villager to walk with them as closely as he did. One had already looked over his shoulder and now nudged the man walking at his side.

Murtagh's magic woke up from one moment to the next, although he would first fight with his knife, if necessary. He figured he should not leave a magical trace for any searching eyes, and as for him a knife would be enough to deal with the group in front, he could simply- No! If I fight, I have to leave, and that means not seeing Eragon again and giving him a hard start with Brom.

Just when the man who had spotted him stopped and turned around, Murtagh moved away from the main street and into a narrower road. He nearly ran into a little girl, who, from her height – or lack thereof – probably saw more of his face than he wanted, but as that was nothing he could change while leaving her unharmed, he simply hastened on.

The road was running parallel to the street that Brom lived in. After a minute of following it, Murtagh reached a crossroads and then his target without further incident. Not thinking twice, he pushed open Brom's front door and quickly closed it behind him, taking a deep breath. To think that I have reached safety in his house… He chuckled.

"Murtagh. What a… pleasure."

Murtagh's eyes darted to the staircase. On its top Brom had emerged from what probably was his bedroom. "Brom."

"Where's the boy?" Slowly the former Rider descended down the stairs, scrutinizing Murtagh.

"Should be arriving soon – and with him my swords."

Brom nodded. "Then I shall be surprised and happy to see my… nephew… after so many years. Will he bring the horses?"

Uninvited, Murtagh sat down in the armchair at the dead fireplace. "He will. In about a month, I guess, one of my men will come and get Tornac."

Brom leaned against the sill of a window facing south, despite his age providing an impressive silhouette against the light. "You named your horse after the man?"

Murtagh ignored the question. "I take it you will have to rent a stable for the two?"

Brom grunted in response.

"I will pay for that." Murtagh reached into the little bag at his belt, feeling for several coins that were wrapped in cloth to prevent any sounds. He put a total of five on the side table in front of him, placing them exactly in the line of a single ray of sunlight.

"I don't need your gold! I agreed to take him because I'm curious – and the prophecy is interesting, to say the least. I don't need you to make me feel any worse about helping you!"

Now it was Murtagh's turn to grunt. "This is not just for the stable. Eragon needs clothes, too, the fight with the Shade destroyed his."

"What's he wearing now?"

"A second set of my clothes."

"You carry a second set of clothes around with you?" Brom shook his head. "I've never heard of a warrior wasting space by-"

"Thorn carried them."

"Ah." Brom's eyes briefly lit up. "They say he's striking… although I cannot approve of that, of course."

One corner of Murtagh's mouth curled up. "Officially?"

"…Officially," Brom conceded.

"You miss your dragon."

Brom shook his head again, but it was not so much a negation but an indicator for a change of topic. "So this Eragon is coming here, leading a rather well-known dark grey horse along, wearing rather well-known black clothes…"

"You're a storyteller these days, are you not?" Murtagh asked with a hint of sarcasm. "I'm sure you'll find a tale for the villagers." Then he thought better of it. "I will not place Eragon in unnecessary risks nor make his life any harder than it already is. The clothes are associated with me, not with a smiling, friendly young blond. My horse… well, he isn't exactly his usual colour at the moment, and his noble blood is hidden as well."

Brom raised a bushy eyebrow.

"We rubbed at least a gallon of mud on his coat," Murtagh explained.

They fell quiet for a while, which made the distant sounds of the village audible through the windows. Murtagh used the time to take a good look around, something he had not done during his previous visit due to both the miserable lightning back then and the rather tense situation at hand.

Brom's house was a small one, with only one big room on ground level and, by the look of it, only his even smaller bedroom at the end of the stairs. Outside, the place beneath the bedroom and next to the main room was occupied by the tiniest of stables, in which, by the smell of it, Brom housed both chicken as well as at least one goat. But even though everything about the place was small, it was likely to be very different from other houses its size in Carvahall, with a certain wealth showing in small details.

The table and the chairs were delicately adorned with carvings, and the armchair Murtagh was sitting in was well padded and comfortable. Above the fireplace, a large map of Alagaësia was pinned to the wall, drawn upon a skin that once must have belonged to a white stag. There were dozens of books – books! – in the room, some in a shelf, some located on about everything that you could possibly lay a book on.

"Aren't you afraid of anyone stealing those?" he asked Brom, gesturing in the direction of the costly volumes.

"This is a place of hard-working, earnest people," Brom replied. "I would not have chosen Carvahall if I did not trust the villagers."

Murtagh raised his hands in surrender. He had well understood the underlying comparison to the world he was from. And yet, it only made him realize again the quality of his choice regarding Eragon's future. Once more his eyes roamed around in Brom's home, and he decided that he could have hardly found a better place. It's like I'm choosing future owners for a favourite dog's puppies… He laughed quietly to himself.

Brom pointed at the money on the side table. "It's still more than I need for stable fees or a set of clothes."

"It's enough to have a good sword crafted as well."

Just when Brom wanted to comment, they heard voices outside, coming near. Both rushed to an open window, although Murtagh stayed back some, so as not to be seen from the outside. "We're almost there," he heard the voice of a boy that he could not see. Hoof beats sounded dull on the tamped earth outside.

"It's him," Brom said and hastened to the door, throwing Murtagh a warning glance to stay inside.

Murtagh pressed himself to the wall next to the window and looked out, his field of vision being rather small. Soon the boy he had heard came into view, gesturing wildly and diving into details about Brom's neighbours. Then Murtagh saw the muddy head of Tornac, his horse apparently leading Eragon and not the other way around. Then he saw him, and could not help but smile.

Eragon must have been very nervous, for he was sweating and his face was flushed. The hands holding Cadoc's reins were not the quietest, either. When he jumped down, he looked rather unsteady on his legs for a moment. Just like this morning, Murtagh thought, and immediately the reason for that was back in his mind. But once he began undressing Eragon in his thoughts, kissing along every patch of newly naked skin – and very much liking these thoughts as his aroused body confirmed – Brom came into view, greeting Eragon, and Murtagh killed his fantasies and decided to wait for the real thing to happen again. Which will be when? a part of his body asked, but he chose to ignore all that the question implied.

"Welcome to Carvahall!" Brom said, and Eragon bowed and expressed his gratitude for being there. When a moment later he was hugged tightly by his 'uncle', the look on his face that Murtagh could see over Brom's shoulder was rather confused – and even more nervous. "The horses can't stay with me," Brom informed him, "let us bring them to their new home." Nodding, Eragon followed the old man.

Murtagh sighed and closed his eyes. The first part of the cord had been cut.

To him it was an eternity until Eragon and Brom returned, although he knew it could not have taken longer than maybe the quarter of an hour. The front door was opened forcefully, and in came Brom, carrying Murtagh's disguised swords – Murtagh's hands twitched – and Eragon, carrying the saddle bags.

With a little smile around his lips Brom set the weapons down, watching Murtagh. "That look on your face right now…" He turned to Eragon. "This is where I live. Make yourself at home."

Eragon nodded, his eyes taking in every detail as Murtagh's had earlier. Apparently he liked what he saw, for soon he smiled. Then his gaze came to rest on Murtagh, and the smile turned radiant. He put the saddle bags down at the door and came to stand next to his former travel mate.

"You survived it," Murtagh stated dryly.

"Only barely!" Eragon protested, but the protest did not reach his eyes. There, in the blue depths, lust was stirring, as it always did after something exciting had happened. He was about to lean over to Murtagh with the clear intention of receiving a kiss when Brom stirred in a corner, and Eragon drew back as if Murtagh had just backslapped him. His head crimson red and an apologetic smile on his lips he turned around and towards his host. "Can I help you?" With three swift strides he was at Brom's side.

Murtagh sat back down in the armchair. Seems as if the stable time has helped them over the first obstacles. He knew it was something he should embrace, but at the moment he was not in the mood for it. Moreover, even though their agreement not to let Brom know what was truly going on was a wise one, he would rather just hold Eragon to his chest instead of keeping the distance. Or undress him and make him groan…

Brom and Eragon came over carrying three goblets, of which Eragon handed one to Murtagh, placing a kiss on its brim when Brom was not looking. Murtagh chuckled, and when Brom went to retrieve two chairs from the main table, he licked along the same spot, throwing Eragon a pointed glance.

Eragon took a very deep breath and sat down.

"Oh, don't!" Murtagh jumped up and offered the armchair to Brom, quickly claiming the wooden one Brom had carried over. "'Tis not nice to make an old man sit uncomfortably."

"Old man." Brom snorted. "And that coming from a whippersnapper like you…"

"A what?" Eragon looked from one to the other. "I… well, last time I was informed," he explained to Brom, "you two were… big enemies. Now you're… only insulting each other. Not even with very bad words."

"But in exchange you just formed bad sentences." Murtagh softened his words with a smile. Then he took a big gulp from his goblet and frowned. Diluted ale? "We're not at the wine stage yet, I see?"

Brom pointed to the sunlight streaming in through the window. "It's not wine time yet."

With several deep gulps Murtagh downed his drink. "It's leaving time." Shoving the chair back, he stood up.

Eragon choked on his ale, nearly spitting out the sip he had just taken. "Now?" he croaked.

If you could only read my mind. "There's no reason to delay. You're in good hands." Most obviously, that did not make Eragon feel any better. "Remember how I left you in Ceunon? That's what I'll need to do now as well."

"How you left me in…? You left me? I thought-" For the most fleeting moment Eragon's eyes went wide and communicated that he had figured it out. "I thought you would not do that again," he finished his sentence, making it sound slightly reproachful.

"I'm sorry!" Murtagh played along. "I'll be visiting you as soon as I can." Mockingly he raised an index finger. "I don't want to hear any complaints!"

"You won't!" Eragon stepped forward and embraced Murtagh, albeit doing so in a very manly way and thumping him on the back. While being close to Murtagh's ear, he whispered, "You did not leave me in Ceunon!"

As quietly as Eragon, Murtagh whispered back. "Keep a window open tonight." He untangled himself and picked up his swords, fastening them to his body with routine. "If you can sense trouble ahead, send me a message," he told Brom. "And if trouble should ever be too close for a message, flee to the Spine. It isn't really as dangerous as the people say and-" The look on the old Rider's face had him shut up. "… But I guess you are about the last person afraid of the Spine."

With a slight bow to Brom and a smile for Eragon, Murtagh pulled his hood deep in his face again and climbed out of a back window.

---xxxxx---

Murtagh swore to himself never to tell anybody, least of all Thorn.

So maybe his dragon's assessment that Eragon had crept into his heart was right. And of course Thorn had been witness to what had taken place in the last days and to the development before. Moreover, Thorn had more than once expressed surprise and amusement concerning the many different aspects of behaviour Murtagh was displaying around or regarding Eragon. But what it was finally making him do now – him, a Rider, an army general, a noble man, one with principles and a reputation – was something Thorn could never know, else he might tease Murtagh for the rest of his life.

I should have taken my leave in the woods, Murtagh thought, but immediately a voice in his head pointed outthat he had been unable to. He suppressed a groan and moved his left leg to improve the blood flow. The motion caused the bigger of the two pigs to pay renewed attention to their unbidden stable guest, but apparently the situation was not doomed grunt-worthy. Hiding out with the pigs… I guess that's a new low in my life. Again the voice had an opinion, too: You'd go far lower for him.

This time his groan was audible. Half a day already he had spent jammed in the small shack with the two pigs, and although it was built in such a shabby way that a light breeze could be felt inside, he could very well imagine what he would smell like later. And later is when? From where he was sitting, Murtagh could see the street as well as the door of Brom's house. Soon after the sun had set, Brom and Eragon had left, the old man carrying a lantern to light the way. Murtagh had not understood what they had been talking about, but Eragon's tone, albeit still a little shy, had held the promise of a thousand questions just below the surface. That, Murtagh knew, was a sure sign that Eragon was acclimating. But they surely must return soon?

In the end, it took another hour until he caught sight of his lover again. Chatting away, Eragon and Brom came walking down the street, entered the house, and were out of Murtagh's field of perception once more.

As it had been dark for hours already, he figured that he could change places and perhaps catch parts of the conversation, so he rose to his feet, or rather, began the process of it. Despite all previous efforts, his legs were numb and he knew they would soon burn like fire. As a bonus, his back was aching and forced him to move like a seventy-year-old. The things one does… The pigs watched him with interest, oinking every now and then. In a mood to seal the most ridiculous and unworthy hours of his life, Murtagh oinked back.

In only a few instants he had crossed the street and was around Brom's house, cowering down below the open shutters of the backside window he had used earlier as an exit. As far as he could tell, the night protected him from any searching eyes. The last possible obstacle now was Brom. Eragon better get him out of the way.

"… but she won't do it. She likes Roran, you see? And even though her father is against the relationship… Well, whoever said young love makes sense?" Brom's tone was melancholy.

"Maybe young love is foolish," Murtagh heard Eragon say, "but then, maybe that's part of why it's so beautiful."

"Are you a poet?" Brom asked with the usual ironic tinge to his voice.

Eragon laughed. "No. Instead I've been told several times that I have no talent because I'm so… practical I think is the word. Who's Roran?"

"The handsome object of Katrina's love, and apart from that, a farmer, living with his father a little outside of Carvahall. I'm planning to introduce you to him soon."

"Why?"

By the sound of it, something was put on the table and then a chair scratched over the floor and someone stood up. "No one your age should be stuck with someone my age all day long. I'd say I'll show you some more of the village tomorrow, and we can visit Garrow's farm in the process." Someone – probably Brom – mounted the stairs. "As it's the habit of old men, they tire early." Yet he said it clearly amused. "Put out the candle, will you?"

"Of course. Good night, Brom! And… thank you!"

Brom chuckled. "Let's see whether you'll still say that in a month to come. Good night!" A door was shut.

Murtagh felt how a smile crept on his lips. Go to sleep, old man, go to sleep! he chanted silently, but his patience was challenged anew.

Only long after Eragon had killed the candle and had stopped moving around did a soft snore reach Murtagh's ears, and it was not coming from the ground level. Feeling a greater triumph than after a won battle, he stood up, unfastened Zar'roc, and removed his boots. If I wake Brom because I'm not careful…

He leaned over the windowsill and looked inside, and, with his eyes accustomed to the dark, immediately spotted Eragon to his right. He was lying on a wooden bench – and sleeping.

Murtagh took his sword and his boots and carefully lowered them inside the house, then pushed himself up on the sill and slid down on the other side. "Finna draumr!" The tiniest amount of magic left his body and floated through the air, rising higher and vanishing beneath the door to Brom's bedroom. He knew it crossed the lines of his fragile truce with the man, but at the moment, undisturbed time with Eragon had priority.

The wavering red glow returned, and with a gesture of his hand Murtagh redirected it, sending it to hover over Eragon to illuminate his face. His beautiful, beautiful face, Murtagh thought, stepping close. With one last movement he made the magic disappear and kneeled down, cupping the face with both hands. "I'll miss you so much," he whispered, and briefly considered simply leaving at that point. But breaking his promise to this one special person was not part of his life anymore.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against Eragon's, then examined the makeshift bed of the younger one. Both bench and the straw mattress on top were rather wide, and as Eragon had not even stirred yet… Murtagh gently shoved the other against the wall and lay down next to him, pulling him into an embrace. He buried one hand in the soft hair and enjoyed the feeling for a moment before waking the other.

"… Murtagh?" Eragon yawned, disoriented. "Murtagh!" Suddenly he was wide awake.

"Shh. Only whispering."

Eragon nodded. Then his teeth showed – he was smiling. "And kissing."

"Mhmm," Murtagh mumbled into the other's mouth. I'll miss this.

"Brom's sleeping?" Eragon asked a moment later.

"That should have been your first question."

"I was distracted," Eragon whispered and nibbled at the lobe of Murtagh's ear. "It's not my fault that you are… who you are."

"Who am I?" Murtagh turned on his side to relieve his still aching back and was now facing the other. Thus he did not miss the frown forming – and the sniffing nose.

"I'm… I'm not sure, but…" Eragon moved closer, sniffing intensified. "You stink!"

Murtagh snorted. "Aye. But it's your fault."

Eragon sniffed at his own arms. "How?"

"You don't stink, stupid! Let me tell you…" In a few sentences Murtagh recounted his uneventful and uncomfortable afternoon.

Eragon giggled and pressed his face to the pillow. "You really are a pig sometimes… or pig-headed. Do they say that here, too?"

"Yes, we say that. I'm glad you find it funny."

"No, don't get me wrong. What I find funny is imagining you crammed in with two pigs, and what I think your expression looked like."

"I'm sure I was handsome as always," Murtagh remarked dryly. "Could you please acknowledge already what I've gone through?"

"You're my hero!" Eragon said with utter admiration. Utter false admiration.

"Very well. So you are able to learn, after all." Murtagh loved these conversations.

Eragon jabbed him in the rips playfully, but when Murtagh flinched and gasped more than expected his eyes went wide. "Are you hurt?"

The impact from his rips had shot right to Murtagh's back, and it was indeed hurting, but he just shrugged. "Pig-stiffness."

"What?"

"Only my back, don't worry. It's easily stiff."

Eragon regarded him for a moment. "Lay on your stomach!" he ordered all of a sudden.

What? Murtagh chuckled darkly. "You're not going to take me, if that's what you're aiming for."

"Murtagh!" Eragon sat up and shook his head. "I don't… I mean, I do… Turn around already!"

"Getting dominant, aren't we?" But Murtagh was obedient, finding it both amusing and oddly appealing. The moment he had turned around, Eragon sat down on his waist and tugged at his shirt, and, with Murtagh's help, pulled it over his head. Then Murtagh felt two warm hands on his shoulders which began kneading his flesh and muscles. So that's what he wanted to do. A long sigh escaped him. "In fate's name, Eragon!"

"Do you like it?" Eragon asked smugly.

"Had I known of this talent, I would have you made you do it every night."

"Good that you didn't." Eragon's thumbs wandered down the spine, loosening one knot after the next. "There wouldn't have been much time for anything else."

Murtagh chuckled.

They were quiet after that, each lost in thought. Eragon's hands continued to work miracles on the back, but then he suddenly stopped and lay down on top of Murtagh, just as Murtagh had done that morning. "I don't want you to leave!"

Murtagh groaned inwardly. "You said the bad word."

"I have to – it's reality, and it's drawing near."

Murtagh craned his neck and tried to catch the other's eye in the darkness. "As far as I can tell, you're getting along well with Brom so far…"

"I am. But that won't make me miss you less."

"… I'll miss you, too."

"Really?"

Murtagh turned around beneath Eragon so that the younger one was now straddling him. "Of course!" He smirked. "I guess I like being messed around with."

Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "I mess around with you?"

If you only knew! "Only emotionally."

"Oh." Eragon thought for a moment, his expression turning cunning. A hand wandered to Murtagh's waist and imitated what it had done to the back and shoulders before, but soon it moved further to the centre, and the quality of the ministrations changed. "Only emotionally?" he asked innocently.

"Grnnn." In no time Murtagh's trousers were gone as well and he was hard in Eragon's hand. "You're a curse!"

"As long as you like it."

Bastard!

They shared a look and grinned. Murtagh enjoyed the treatment some longer, but then took a deep breath and grabbed the hand and removed it. "Eragon… perhaps it's better only to remember what we already had. If we do it again right now, it'll make leaving so much harder."

Eragon shook his head and leaned down for a kiss. "It'll make remembering so much better."

Murtagh scrutinized him while trying to ignore his body, which was rooting for Eragon's opinion. But then, isn't it hard enough already? "As you wish." Using his advantage in both strength and reaction time, he flipped Eragon over to be on top, and in record time undressed him. "You will remember this night," he promised, and then, chuckling, "at least while walking tomorrow."

---xxxxx---

The north wind bringing an end to summer helped Thorn to be lazy on their way south, as he was able to sail more than fly. I wonder if it's cold in Montana… Carvahall can certainly be cold in winter!

Hush! No more of it until we're returning.

Your thoughts are still with him. Why not talk, then?

Murtagh sighed. Mentioning things in a conversation makes them so… final.

Bird of prey ahead! Thorn flapped his wings and his huge body shot forward, missing the careless eagle – on purpose – only by inches. With a screech the bird dove down to get away from what he considered a deathly thread. Thorn chuckled, sending vibrations through his Rider. They're so stupid!

Not for one second had the manoeuvre distracted Murtagh from his focus on Eragon. He has all he needs, he thought, a caring host and mentor, a warm place to sleep, food and drink, and probably even a friend already… But instead of being happy and content about not having to worry, he felt rather miserable. No matter how well he is taken care of, he's not with me… The intensity of the emotion surprised and scared him; never had he wanted to be so deeply involved with another person.

If you wish to make matters final by conversation, I could turn around and-

No! Murtagh groaned. He had not meant for Thorn to hear those thoughts, but shielding from his dragon was a difficult task these days – he lacked an enormous amount of concentration. I want us to treat this like… like a dream, okay?

Okay? Torn asked back, emphasizing each syllable of the foreign word and chuckling again. We treat him like a dream, but you use his words during the day?

Murtagh swallowed. A dream, he repeated. A wonderful dream from which I have to wake already. Life didn't take a break while I wasn't participating.

But Thorn was not in a mood yet to let the topic drop. I never knew humans could feel like that about someone they can't mate with…

Now it was Murtagh's turn to chuckle. I had some intense mating with him!

I didn't mean-

I know. But when have you heard me wish to found a family, Thorn? You're the one who wants to produce offspring.

Your race isn't at the verge of extinction!

True, true. Murtagh patted his dragon's neck in a gesture of appeasement. I'm curious as to what has happened to the blue egg in the meantime… Brom was exactly a fountain of information – if he has any.

You like him, don't you?

I can't help but regard him with respect. He fights a losing battle, and has done so for long years, but is as far from surrendering or giving up as anyone could possibly be.

Thorn thought for a moment. But aren't you afraid that he's going to teach Eragon in the spirit of-

No more Eragon! Murtagh nearly yelled, demonstrating how much torture being separated truly was for him.

Not that Thorn did not know that already.

---xxxxx---

The rest of the day Murtagh forcefully kept his thoughts clear of anything handsome, blond, and blue-eyed, and instead concentrated on the most difficult tasks ahead. If anything, the last months had been the final confirmation for him that he needed to change paths, needed to get away from the king. However, he did not have the slightest idea of how that task could be accomplished. Moreover, as Thorn pointed out, they were still without ally, and thus could not alter politics at the moment. A lonely renegade against all others was a sure way to find sudden death. Lastly, Thorn had many scruples about going against Shruikan. The only two living of their race had formed a strong bond of loyalty over the years.

Throughout their process of making plans and weighing consequences, the weather had been changing. A strong wing had picked up – much to Thorn's pleasure and enjoyment, as it still carried them in the desired direction and he did not have to fight it – and the sun had gradually disappeared behind thick clouds, which became darker by the hour. Looking back, Murtagh saw that the storm was originating in the north, and by the look of it promised to get wild. Once the first thunder rolled and raindrops wetted scale and skin, they decided to have covered enough distance for the day and Thorn descended, finding them a hideout beneath a low cliff.

This summer we had a horrible storm in Du Weldenvarden, Murtagh told his dragon. It felt as if the world would end. Next morning, summer was back – and we found Eragon.

After a storm? There was an unusually curious edge to Thorn's voice.

Yes, why?

Just something Shruikan once told me… Ah, but it's only dragon lore. He would say no more.

Murtagh chewed on a piece of bread spiritlessly. It was the second night after Eragon – his new calculation of times – and it did not promise to be any better than the first. Even though he had now forbidden himself to linger on memories, they stole into his mind unbidden. Sometimes it was as if he could almost hear Eragon ask a question or make a comment, and he only needed to close his eyes to imagine kissing the other, touching him, giving him all he had to offer.

When the storm reached its full intensity, Murtagh huddled close to Thorn's side and rolled up in his cloak to stay warm. But sleep apparently made an effort not to cross his way, and it was not only the constant flashes that kept him awake. An underlying restlessness had taken hold of him without any obvious reason being present, so eventually he stood up again and emerged from beneath his dragon's wing to look out at the world.

Flashes were chasing each other on their way to the ground, and gusts of wind sent the rain in all directions and not just falling from the sky to the earth. Above all, a cacophony of thunder roared as if an army of giants was drumming on their war drums. But it's only a storm, Murtagh mused, so why does it unsettle me?

He retreated a step and caught a red eye watching him. Do you feel… odd?

I never like what powers a storm unleashes in the sky. It makes my claws and my fire look like a child's toys.

Murtagh shook his head. That's not what I meant. Something isn't as it should be… His thoughts were on Eragon again, and he was deeply worried. We found him after the storm… an unnaturally violent storm. Would you call this one unnaturally violent?

I would, Thorn replied without hesitation.

All of a sudden Murtagh was afraid to death. What if this storm makes him disappear? He began pacing along his dragon's side, clenching and unclenching his fists. One to appear, one to disappear.

Don't be stupid! Have you ever heard of storms making people disappear? They sometimes kill a person, but otherwise…

Quiet! I don't like that, either.

Brom is looking after him.

Murtagh ignored the argument. But something had him appear here, made him… cross worlds even, and we never figured out how it happened. The only thing out of order was the storm.

Rider! Thorn caught the agitated human with his tail and pulled him close. Storms do not make people cross worlds. I could only think of magic to do that.

Magic? There's no one with magic strong and special enough for such a task, Thorn. It's beyond any magician!

… I wonder if it was beyond a dragon?

Murtagh snorted and shook his head. Something isn't right! I feel… strange. Something is happening to Eragon. A decision was formed in an instant. We're going back! He immediately glowered at Thorn, anticipating an argument.

To his surprise, it never came.

After the storm, was the only condition Thorn had.

You're not disagreeing?

No! A shudder ran through Thorn, and once again his voice had the strange edge to it. I feel a little strange as well.

A lurid, blue flash illuminated the land for long seconds, but Murtagh missed it. All he saw at that moment was a fire burning in his dragon's eyes, and scales glowing red as if hit by a thousand rays of sunlight. Never had he witnessed anything the like before, but his dragon would not explain, only roared in unison with the thunder.

---xxxxx---

They left their shelter as soon as the storm lessened. It was raining still, and Thorn had to fight the strong wind that now hit him full force, but neither was willing to wait a moment longer.

Murtagh had the suspicion that his dragon's motives differed strongly from his own worry for Eragon, but said worry was so overwhelming that he quickly gave up trying to gain any information from Thorn, who kept his thoughts shielded. And yet, Murtagh could feel that something had unsettled his friend, and despite an apparent eagerness to get north that equalled his Rider's, Thorn was confused.

All day the dragon flew with all his might, straining his wings and heart. He granted himself only a brief rest late at night, and was flying again when the next dawn was breaking.

By mid-morning of their second day returning, the Anora River came back into sight, and soon after Therinsford. Thorn's flight had turned into a fight, while Murtagh's stomach had converted itself into one quirky mass of uncontrolled… something. If anything happened to him because I left too early, because I wasn't there to protect him… The path of his life was lined with murder, rape, torture – matters other humans were likely not able to live with – but if his worries about Eragon were proven true, that would be the one thing he could not live with.

Not long now, Thorn remarked, constantly moving his head from right to left and an occasional grunt leaving his body.

You act as if we're going to battle.

I act as if am trying to find a hidden enemy, Thorn corrected.

If possible, Murtagh's heart grew even heavier. There are enemies around?

I'm not- I don't trust my senses at the moment.

Murtagh cried out in frustration.

Early afternoon they reached Carvahall. As he had done three days ago, Thorn vanished out of view behind the mountain closest to it, and Murtagh started running the moment his feet touched the earth. Stay in my mind! he instructed, delegating the task so that he could concentrate on other matters.

If you wish… How are you planning to get to Brom? Last time it took you half an eternity.

No more sneaking in, Murtagh explained. Hiding my face must be enough. I can't delay.

Good luck!

Murtagh approached Carvahall from the same side he had last time, but now he chose the nearest street to enter the village. He hid the richly adorned hilts of his swords beneath his cloak and had his hood drawn deep into his face once more. Still, several people paused in their work, throwing him sceptical, worried, or scared looks. He knew he had the body and the movement of an experienced warrior, and the colour of his clothes was associated with exactly one person: him. But why would Murtagh visit such an unimportant village such as this? he hoped they would think. And then: I cannot waste time.

When he neared Brom's house, not only his own unease increased, but that of the villagers spotting him as well. A dark warrior coming for Brom was different from a dark warrior just passing through. As long as they don't raise the alarm…

Do you feel anything? Thorn asked, referring to the house coming into sight.

Murtagh stopped dead and concentrated. Nothing.

Smell? Hear? See?

Nothing. In no time Murtagh was at the door, then paused anew. Shouldn't I sense Eragon? He entered and simultaneously drew his sword.

The house was empty.

Murtagh stood stark and stiff, the blood pumping in his veins and every thread of his being on high alert. He isn't here. With a few strides he was at the empty, makeshift bed, and found it in perfect order. At its side, the clothes he had lent Eragon were folded neatly and piled up. He isn't here!

Not knowing what else to do, he raced up the stairs and into Brom's bedroom, but it was empty as well. The bed was made properly just as Eragon's, but, taking a closer look, Murtagh noticed how several drawers of a dresser were not closed completely, and a large wooden chest was sticking out from under the bed.

He returned to the top of the stairs and gave the rest of the house a closer look, too. As a whole, it was fairly orderly, but then there was a mug that had fallen off a rack next to the stove, and a small cabinet at the side of the fireplace stood open. He strolled down the stairs, noticing a single sock on his way which he had missed when storming upwards. What is this? he asked Thorn, perplexed by his findings.

In their shared thoughts, Thorn replayed the pictures he had seen in Murtagh's mind. It's as if two places were fused into one. In one, people left the house properly and with the clear intention to leave, in the other, someone just grabbed a few things and left in a hurry, not paying attention to what it looks like in the house.

But it's only one place! Murtagh again stood in front of Eragon's bed. Either they left and someone of Brom's lovely little villagers isn't as lovely as he thinks, or… or they left and came back, suddenly in the need of many more things and under time pressure. Thorn! Do you now sense any enemies?

No.

Curse this! Murtagh kicked against the bench. What now?

Search them, of course!

Murtagh nodded and briefly massaged his temples. Being over-anxious was not helping. I'll find you, little one, he promised Eragon in his thoughts, I'll find you wherever you are. If anyone has hurt you… they will regret it! He turned around, crossed the room, and opened the door – only to retreat instantaneously and draw both swords.

Outside, a good ten people had gathered, villagers, who looked more than ready to attack him. There were six adult men among them, he noted, and all of them were armed one way or another.

"Get out, demon!" the largest of the group growled. Judging by his giant size and the hammer he was swinging he was the local blacksmith.

Murtagh looked out at them from inside the house. If I massacre them, Brom will be very, very angry… "I've not come to stir up trouble," he announced, and then, as it was obvious anyways, "I'm looking for Brom."

Surprisingly, a high-pitched, very young voice answered. It belonged to a small girl standing in the door of the house on the other side of the street. "Brom's not here. They left for a farm, he said, outside of-" One of the men had run to her and now pressed a hand over her mouth, the others were watching the scene in shocked silence.

Murtagh smirked. The girl might not have finished the sentence, but she had pointed in the direction in question long before the man had reached her. He mock-bowed to everyone facing him, then whirled around and jumped out of the back window before.

I'm coming, Eragon! he thought, racing through the village, I'm coming!