A/N: Hey! Time change! Set directly after Brom should have died, but Murtagh somehow saved him. He was unconscious for a while, and this occurs right after Eragon reveals who the 'mysterious stranger' is to him.

Also, please read Murtagh's lines in a mildly thick Scottish accent. The audiobook has pretty much set Murtagh having a Scottish accent in stone for me, and it is a big part on how I hear him when I write.

MURTAGH/JUDGE ME NOT,
SNIPPET #1

Judge me not by my father's sins but by the deeds that I have wrought.
Judge me not by the deeds that I have wrought but by the times I have stayed my hand.
Judge me not by my desperate actions but by what drove me to such desperation.
Judge me not at all, my friend, for this life has never been mine to live.

Judge me not.

Brom's eyes flashed when he heard the name. He stood stiffly, briefly touching his bruised side, and jerked his head to the opening of the cave. "Outside. You and I are going to have a little chat, Murtagh."

'This doesn't look good.' Eragon whispered to Saphira, loosening Zar'roc in its sheath as subtly as he could while he tried to quash his worried confusion. Murtagh had helped them, yes, and the young man seemed nice enough. He was definitely hiding something though, and like everyone else, his secrets could make him dangerous.

Saphira shifted and a harsh scratching, grating sound rose from her ivory claws as she sank them into the sandstone, preparing to leap to Brom's aid if needed. 'Let's see what Brom does. We only have two choices with Murtagh now. He's seen me, he's seen you, and he obviously knows about Brom.' Eragon's question floated across their mental link, and Saphira answered it gently. 'I'm afraid we must either keep him with us, Little One, or kill him.'

A cold stone lodged itself in Eragon's gut at her words, soft and sorrowful as they were. Saphira disliked the idea of killing Murtagh just as much as her partner, but deep in her mind Eragon sensed the grim conviction that she would do anything she deemed necessary to keep him safe.

They both followed Brom and Murtagh with their eyes as they left the sandstone cave; Brom's face an angry scowl and Murtagh's posture tense and wary.

'If it comes down to it, I'll defend him.' Eragon decided. 'Murtagh saved our lives, and I'd rather not see him be repaid by death for the risk he took. Besides, Brom should know not to judge a man by his name alone, whatever Murtagh's means. Right?'

Saphira didn't answer, only curled her tail around his back and kept her gaze on the cave's opening, glittering eyes bright in the gloom.

Brom stalked beyond the cave entrance, moving far enough away so that Eragon and Saphira could not hear the exchange he was about to have with their unlikely rescuer. The young man followed behind him, eyes darting over the landscape as he scanned for danger beyond the former Rider leading him.

The old man stopped when he was satisfied with the distance and pulled Murtagh into a natural alcove, shielding them from the unrelenting sun that was dipping below the horizon as well as prying eyes. Brom crossed his arms, trying to contain the old rage welling up within him, and looked the younger man in the eye. "I know exactly who you are, Murtagh Morzansson." He spat.

"Says the legendary Rider Brom, slayer of the demon playing as a man, Morzan." Murtagh leaned back slightly and crossed his arms as well, his accent thick with emotion and an instinctive sass that was reserved for sixteen to eighteen year old boys and sarcastic dragons. "I should be thanking you. That man you call my father was nothing but a torturer to me and my mother."

Brom's heart skipped a beat when Murtagh mentioned his mother. He shoved the lapse aside and growled, "So you stalk the boy and me? Trying to get your thanks in? Don't make me laugh, whelp. What is your real motive behind saving Eragon and Saphira?"

"I want to fight the king. I fight my own wars, and saving the last free Rider and his dragon seemed like a bloody good way to start my campaign." The young man jerked his chin in the direction of their camp. "He's a good kid, but naive as all hell. And you're getting on in years, ain't you, old man? You need another gun to watch your back when the kid and Saphira can't."

Despite Brom seeing flickers of Morzan's face in Murtagh's features, he couldn't refute his logic. Brom was getting old, the loss of his dragon dampening the magic that slowed his aging. He had all his wits about him, true, but he couldn't physically be everywhere at once to protect Eragon in the boy's many lapses in judgement as well as guard himself. Murtagh had already proven useful enough by driving off the Ra'zac and saving Brom's life, and he had displayed a hatred for the King, Morzan and the Empire's servants that seemed to rival Brom's own, all while keeping a cool and level head.

"So, what, are you asking to travel with us?" Brom grunted. Circumstances were forcing his hand, and it appeared that the gods of Fate were going to have their laugh and force the son of his worst to enemy fight by his side.

"Aye, if you'll have me. I can carry my own weight."

"Fine. You can travel with us. For now." Murtagh relaxed somewhat, a bit of a grin twitching his lips. It looked too much like Morzan's smirk for his tastes, and with a savage growl Brom grabbed the young man by the front of his jacket and slammed him back against the sandstone wall. "But if you show even a single iota of Morzan's mentality, take one step down the path he walked, or make any move against Eragon, Saphira or me, I swear on all that is holy in this world and the next that I'll have Saphira eat you alive piece by square-inch piece, and that's only after I'm done with you! Do you understand me, whelp?"

Murtagh bristled, fire lighting in his dark eyes. "I'm nothing like him." He hissed, and shoved Brom away. "I've spent my whole damn life trying to prove that. Maybe if I can convince you,of all bloody people, then I can finally live in peace!"

And with that he stalked back to the cave Eragon and Saphira were waiting in, shoulders rigid beneath the hardened leather pads haphazardly sewn to his jacket. Brom watched him go, the chill of lavender dusk finally falling over the sandstone formation, and pulled out his pipe, tapping it against his palm.

As the old Rider filled the bowl and lit it, inhaling the sweet smoke, he glanced at Murtagh one more time as he disappeared into the cave. The young man had relaxed somewhat, preparing himself to explain the situation to Eragon and Saphira no doubt, and the tension in his stride had eased. Brom tore his gaze away, looking out over the purplish gray landscape, and released the cloud of smoke with a tired sigh.

There was no denying it. While Murtagh bore much of his father's face, his relaxed movements, light of step and somehow savagely graceful, were undeniably Selena's.