A/N: Disclaimer!! I do NOT own these characters, they belong to the one and only Christopher Paolini, I'm just playing with them. :]

Murtagh sat by a bubbling river that flowed swiftly over a shallow bed of rocks. Trees shaded the little group from the hard rays of the sun. Eragon sat a few feet away in deep concentration. Murtagh watched Saphira. She was crouched next to the river, her long large tongue reached out to lap up the water. They were all weary from traveling and had decided to take a break for rest and water.

He kept his gaze on the beautiful blue dragon, but his ears were listening to Eragon. He had to strain his ears to pick up any of the younger boy's whispered mumbling over the water and Saphira's lapping. Eragon was trying desperately to read, silently, from a book Arya had gifted him, but once he came upon a word he wasn't familiar with he had to sound it out. Eragon tried to do this so that on one could hear him, but Saphira could hear him clearly and Murtagh could hear him - just barely.

It was amusing to Murtagh that Eragon was embarrassed about practicing his reading.

'Of all the things he has to be embarrassed of.' A low chuckle tickled the older boy's throat.

"What are you laughing at?" The light haired boy lifted his head; his voice was defensive and coarse.

Murtagh turned his gaze on the boy and offered a slight smirk. Like himself, Eragon easily put walls between himself and the world. He didn't trust anyone, expect Saphira. They were very much alike. He had tried telling this to Eragon, but the rider denied it. Of course, who would want to be like him, Murtagh? They'd dropped the subject and never brought it up again. It was better that way. Instead, Eragon focused on the differences.

"Nothing, just thinking…" He bit his thumbnail and let his eyes fall to the ground.

Eragon's pouting lips smoothed out into a soft thin curved line. He weighed the book in his hands and glanced at his dragon. With her face near the water he could only see the greater portion of her large blue backside.

"You know how to read…" It wasn't a question.

Murtagh nodded his head. He wanted so badly to sit next to Eragon, lay the boy's head in his lap and read him all of the stories in the world – especially if it meant he could spend more time with him. As soon as they reached the Varden, Murtagh knew he would have barely any time with Eragon, what with Arya, the dwarves, and the others wanting him to do this and that. They always kept Eragon running around like a madman.

Finally, he looked up to see his companion's face distorted with what must have been another one of his inner conflicts. Another thing Eragon didn't care to share with him. Murtagh pulled himself to his feet, walked over to the rider, and sat next to him. Their arms touched and brushed. Eragon scooted the slightest inch away from the dark haired boy, just enough so they couldn't touch.

"What is this?" Murtagh snatched the book from the younger boy's hands. Songs of Spring, A Book of Poetry. He opened the book to the marked page and began reading aloud the poem that was causing Eragon so much trouble. It wasn't really his style of poetry, but it was alright.

When he finished, Eragon's chest leaned against his arm, their bodies touched and pressed against one another. Murtagh picked up the heady scent of sweat, water and earth on the boy's skin. He wished to remain this close to him forever. Eragon pointed to the words he didn't know and asked what they meant. Then he asked Murtagh to read it again. And he did. At a soothing pace his deep voice filled the words with feeling and imagery. Murtagh made the poem come alive.

He couldn't help but to feel more than happy when he saw the look of admiration on the younger boy's face.

"One day I want to be able to recite poems like that," Eragon confessed. It was the most candid he had been with Murtagh in weeks. "It was beautiful."

"I'm sure you will, one day."

"But first I have to learn to read well."

"True."

Murtagh watched Eragon's mouth search for the words he wanted to say. He stammered a little, but eventually his voice came out clearly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but…I know you don't have much patience, I promise I'll learn quickly, it's just…Will you teach me to read?"

Murtagh imagined many days and nights sitting next to Eragon, both of them huddling over a book. He imagined their arms touching, Eragon's body brushing against his, and the scent of his skin. This was his chance to get what he wanted; more time alone with the rider. It was a chance he couldn't pass up.

"Yes."