Disclaimer: As always, I do not, never have, and never will own Eragon, Murtagh, the Inheritance Cycle or any related paraphernalia, much to my own chagrin. If I did... let's just say, Eragon would never have made it to the Varden in time. After all, can you expect him to ride a horse after that??

CHAPTER II – GETTING ACQUAINTED

"So, we've still got 40 minutes left. Any suggestions as to what we can do?" Murtagh asked me, a friendly smile playing around his lips.

"Well…You've put down one of your interests as 'Art'. I really can't draw, but a little fun activity me and my friends sometimes carry out in order to explore our self-esteem and whatever, is to draw ourselves the way we see ourselves, in our ideal setting. You wanna try it?" I asked tentatively, hoping he would think I was childish.

"Yeah, sure, it sounds like great fun." He replied with a reassuring grin. He took some plain paper from a deceptively small drawstring bag, handed me a sheet and said:

"So, like a caricature type thing, yeah?"

I nodded and set to work on my one, simply a copy of countless others.(A/N : go to .com/eragon%27s% for a general idea of what Eragon's one looked like). Me, sitting at my computer, writing. After 20 minutes of furious illustration, I laid down my ball-point (yeah, I draw with a biro) and shook my hand to relieve the ache that had forced itself upon me. I looked up, and stopped, shocked slightly. As Murtagh was a frequent drawer, he had finished long before I, and had been watching me draw. I tried to mentally recreate my 'concentration face', hoping it wasn't too humiliating, then reddened when I remember the irritating way my tongue stuck out when I drew, wrote, played an instrument, or did anything remotely requiring a bit of care and attention.

"Uh.. ber.. ngggghhhh.." I blithered a bit, basically speechless in the face of this Adonis. I shook myself out of the trance he had me in, and managed to string together a coherent sentence.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Oh… 15 minutes or so." He said, once again with a flash of that cheeky, defiant smile.

Luckily for me, I didn't have to say anything back to him, as in that moment, one of the social workers popped her head round the door.

"Boys? Your mother's here a little early. If you're ready to leave, you can go now." I looked at Murtagh inquiringly.

"Well, brother? Shall we?"

"Let's."

Okay, peeps. Sorry about the shortness of this one, I couldn't think of much else to put in here. Ideas and comments always appreciated :) ly all xx.