Inheritance Cycle 1. Chapter 1

-1The wind whipped across his face, bringing the searing air into his nostrils . . . That acrid scent shook him out of his reverie. He felt Saphira nudge his mind and turned, his eyes troubled.

_What disturbs you, young one? _Came that touch, soft and tenuous. _You hide your heart . . ._

Eragon lifted his face. "Nothing I can't handle," he assured her with a weak smile. In truth, his insides felt odd, like steel had bloomed in his belly, painful and twisted. He took in a tremulous breath through his quivering lips.

Saphira scattered loose debris as she made her way across the ground to him, firm and dominating. _Why do you lie to me, Eragon_? She made an odd coughing noise in her throat. _ I know that isn't true . . .why, right now you are fearing destruction! Why?_

The young man turned his face away uncomfortably. "Just . . . Just matters of the heart."

Saphira once again forced herself into his field of vision, ardently pushing. _It isn't Arya you pine for . . . I can see that. What must be secret even from me? _She scratched the ground, flexing her powerful talons, and snuffed. _Someone you should not desire? I sense shame._

He took the thoughts, twisting them tighter within himself and stuffing them into the darkest recesses of his mind. "Aye," he agreed sadly.

She was silent, contemplative. Or so he thought . . . Her quiet demeanor concealed her first attempts at invasion. "Saphira!" he warned indignantly.

She managed to look shameful. _Sorry, you know I only worry for you . . . What is this about 'brother?'_ The dragon stretched up her neck in surprise. _It is Katrina you desire, is it not? Your brother's love . . . And you _are_ ashamed!_

"What? N-" He stopped himself, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "That is-" he said, pretending to act ashamed of being found out, "Yes . . . Katrina. What am I to do? She belongs to Roran," finished Eragon, with mock sorrow. "I cannot ever have her without betraying my brother . . ." In truth, his cousin's wife-to-be could not have been less of a concern to his heart. While he had sworn to repay his debt with her rescue, she held no appeal for him . . . But the symptomology fit.

Saphira huffed, a small puff of smoke escaping. _It is not right . . . You know your honor will prevent you from having her. _She wrapped herself around him protectively.

The very real sadness that troubled Eragon brought hints of tears to his eyes. "What will I do, Saphira?" he asked desperately. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against her rough scales, the first salty tear sparkling like liquid diamond where it trickled down her side.

His dragon told him firmly, _We will make do . . . Remember, you hurt too over Arya, you are young and there are many deer in the forest . . .do not hurt overmuch, my Eragon_.

He kept his eyes shut, now in the darkness where his secret still lay, reveling in a fantastical union that existed only there. He thought privately that he was safe for now, and allowed himself the indulgence of his dream in the guise of sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I'm trying to keep everything authentic, but as I generously "donated" the books to a friend I have no references, so be forgiving. I'm pretty motivated to update, and it looks like this story will be a little longer than originally planned (which was barely longer than a oneshot). Read, review, enjoy!**

Eragon awoke from his nesting spot beneath Saphira's appendages and yawned, feeling the chill of the morning air. He indulged in one last moment of grogginess before reality hit him. Their current unfortunate situation, and his own conundrum. Saphira spread her jaws in a powerful triangle and made a sleepy noise.

Ready to face the day? She asked, though her head wavering on her neck did not look like the dragon was fully awake. Eragon laughed affectionately and nodded, rubbing her necks gently. "Good morrow to you too, Saphira," he said, and made mock kissy-faces at her. "Ready to head out?"

She began to move around and stretch, and the young man found it prudent to excuse himself. When he returned from morning toiletries, Saphira was bright-eyed and quick once again, her eyes swirling with a million subtle colors in the light of sunrise. _Gah! Morning always comes too early . . ._

"And sunrise is the brightest part of day," Eragon finished, smacking her on the haunch. "Up, you lazy cow! You know we've got work to do . . ." He wanted to be up and ready before Roran came, anyway. "Besides, I'm hungry, and I thought we might be dining on our way out."

_Mmmph._ Saphira said disdainfully. _I'm not really hungry_. Even so, she sniffed at the hunk of bread Eragon kept in his pocket overnight. Sometimes it was easier than disturbing someone if he got hungry.

Sure enough, just as he'd anticipated, Roran soon came striding across the cracked ground, eyes full of passion. "Eragon! Ergaon! Wake up!" he shouted.

Eragon raised himself up over the top of Saphira. "I've been awake," he told him, and came around in front of Saphira. "Do we even have a plan for the day?"

"Yes," Roran said, rubbing at his beard. "Leave. Immediately."

Eragon nodded with only a slight groan, he'd been expecting this, of course, but the day was early yet, and on some level, he'd hoped against it. He raised a hand to brush back a disobedient strand of hair, and started-he still did; Eragon wasn't sure if he'd ever become used to the changes in his physical form. His fingers lingered on his upper cheekbone for a moment, and he subtly traced the upward ascent of the bone, allowing his little finger to catch on the point of his ear. _Still doesn't feel like me . . . _he thought, marveling.

"Well, come on then, little brother!" Roran shouted. "Or are you just going to stare at the clouds all morning?" He grinned at him, and turned, walking off to ready a few last things. Eragon watched him leave with an uncomfortable feeling, his awareness of his lies like wet boots, uncomfortable and unwieldy. The young man began gathering his things, thinking mournfully of recent events. He once again tried to suppress a torrent of images, knowing those were more easily accessible than thoughts, such as _Murtagh has such beautiful eyes _or _His hair falls so appealingly over his face at times; I'd just like to reach over and brush it back . . . _He turned a vibrant shade of red as he tugged close the strap of his pack, concealing the flush of emotion with a cover of physical exertion. "I'm near ready," he told Saphira, flustered again.

_I am all ready_ she replied, slinking off towards their point of departure. Eragon lagged behind a little, wondering how long he could keep up such a façade.

"Quick enough," Roran said, and though there was steel in his eyes, his expression wasn't altogether cold. "Let's be on our way . . . If you've made your goodbyes?"

Eragon just sort of shrugged and nodded, mounting Saphira, and waving a few last goodbyes as they ascended. As the wind tore through his hair, he felt momentarily cleansed. Their journey might be arduous, but he knew it would still be relaxing . . . These quiet airborne moments would give him time to think, maybe straighten out his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Okay, so I think Saphira will find out soon, maybe in the next chapter. And since I'm not gonna be able to have Eragon and Murtagh meet up just yet, I'm thinking about tiding everyone over with a slashy dream or something. What do you think? Thanks for all of the reviews so far, and please keep it up! It makes me update faster . . . :) Sorry for the bad formatting I hoped this attempt fixes it. If not . . . . shrugs**

-1The day had passed uneventfully, and Eragon felt no real physical exhaustion when Saphira landed him at the slowly growing camp. He dismounted regretfully . . . . Saphira's strength would have allowed them to travel further, but the men and the horses tired far more quickly. Even so . . . He felt hurried, somehow, as though time would be them to some final end. The plains had faded behind them, and they followed the Jiet as well they could, towards Leona Lake . . . Eragon disapproved of this relatively direct route. "I'm going to find Roran," he told Saphira, and his face said it wouldn't be a fun conversation.

_Well, then, go! _she told him with that sensation of a laugh. _I'm going to hunt anyway._

"Be careful," he warned her as she took off again.

_Always am, dear one_, Saphira replied cheekily as she faded into a small pinprick in the sky. Eragon shook his head and laughed. He kicked a small stone at his feet and rested his hands on his hips . . .no doubt Roram would come to him in a few moments, inquire vaguely about his day, and stare right through him as he talked.

Sure enough, Roran strode up to him. "Everything went smoothly up there, then?" he asked, looking over Marcus's shoulder as though he expected some sight of Katrina. Eragon wanted to express some sympathy for him. He, too, was longing for someone who wasn't there . . . And he swallowed. Roran looked at him, misinterpreting the action. "Are you all right?"

Eragon tried to smile at him. "I'm well enough . . ." he said, and tried to shy from that odd stare Roran gave him.

"Come on," Roran said with genuine affection. "I've known you your whole life . . . We grew up together. I can tell that something's wrong. Is it just the strain of this war?"

"War?" Eragon said hotly. "I hate that word . . . Why does everyone keep saying that? All around, everyone goes on with their lives, loving and being. I always thought of war as one never-ending bloody battle. Now I find that this is war? A series of purposeful strikes from one side or another? What defines war, anyway? Can you only tell from pain?"

Roran looked at him, perturbed. "Eragon . . . I never knew you to be so philosophical . . . It worries me." He shook his head. "I don't know what makes war, exactly, only I think . . . Well, it might be as simple as any enduring clash of desires."

Eragon processed that and blinked. _Any clash of desires . . .so it's a war within me as well, then . . .no wonder I'm in such agony_ The realization forced a grimace onto his face, one more cynical reflection of a smile. "Then-resolution isn't only possible; it's a necessity to avoid fatality."

His cousin sort of squinted at him. "Eragon, really . . . What in hell's name are you talking about? You aren't making a great deal of sense . . . I think the thin air up there has muddled your brains. You should rest for a while . . . I'll take watch." And he walked over to the edge of the little camp and planted his feet firmly on the ground, leaving no room for argument.

Eragon stared at his back for a moment, intending to argue-Saphira wasn't back yet-but Roran was nearly as stubborn as he. With a resigned sigh, Eragon took a few moments to set up his bedroll, and lay down. The horizon was rimmed with a light purple, and on one far edge, he saw two little stars, diminished by the last light of the sun. He tried to shut his eyes, but he wasn't tired. "I'm not a child to be sent to bed. I'm a bloody Rider!" Yet even as he said that, he had to laugh at the sullen undertone of his own voice. "Gods . . . I do sound like a tired youngling." He rolled onto his side and let his eyes begin to fall, not forcing them shut. He'd be sleepy soon enough.

Then Eragon pushed himself back up onto his elbows. _Saphira's not here, Roran's not here . . . I'm alone! _He wasn't even aware of what he intended; though it was perfect, for he was going to bed, and he could just do this and sleep . . . Maybe his dreams would please him. He dug around in a pack for something appropriate.

Triumpantly, he pulled out a shiny silver bowl. Eragon set it on the ground and sat cross-legged in front of it, pouring half a canteen of water into the dish. He thought of Murtagh _and how could he not? He had thought of little else . . . _and whispered harshly, "Draumr Kopa!"

His breath caught in his throat when he saw him. He was sure the wave of dizziness had nothing to do with the pull of magic, it was more likely the result of seeing those eyes, as clear and ice-laden as the sky in winter . . . Eragon watched him move, his stride agile and guarded, Murtagh's pace catlike against the shadowy background. The older man's lips were twisted with some tainted emotion; the corner of his mouth pulled upward in a bitter half-smirk. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and he tossed it back-Eragon leaned in closer, as though he could touch him, run his hands over his hair, down over his shoulders . . . He gazed upon him for what seemed like forever, not even noticing that his hands were clenched tightly around the rim of the bowl. Murtagh sat down and put his hands on his head, and Eragon felt an odd pang at that, not liking the sight of Murtagh troubled. _Where is he? _he wondered, then his eyes widened. Murtagh had stood, and was pulling off his shirt . . . Eragon breathed harder at the sight of Murtagh's abdomen, his solid muscles, the two light lines angling down above his hips . . . Murtagh turned, and Eragon found himself imagining gripping his shoulders, and pressing himself against the scarred perfection of his back . . . He lost his focus then, and the image vanished. Eragon was red-cheeked and warm, but also incredibly tired from the drain of his scrying. He allowed himself to indulge his imagination as he laid there, breathless, falling into sleep almost immediately.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, sorry this took me so long . . . Anyway, all of Eragon's slashy reactions in the seen-those little one/two liners-were written by or with the help of a roleplaying partner on proboards. Special thanks . . . My slash comes out better if I have an actual victim . ..lol. Anyhow, since school's restarted updates may be slow. But, here, for your enjoyment, is the slashy dream I promised you guys.

Eragon lay asleep, back in his old bed, a bed destroyed so long ago. He only questioned it briefly, for his head felt so strange. He opened one eye, and saw the sun through the window, the first light of daybreak evident in a twisted splash of pastel. He struggled to sit up, and looked to his left . . . He heard movement in the hall.

The door opened slowly, the gentle creak promising something good. Eragon raised his head, his eyes seeking for enough light to make out the entering figure. He craned his neck . . .

"Surprised to see me, little brother?" Murtagh whispered, and slipped in through the door. He shut it almost silently and turned to him. He wasn't wearing much . . . Only bottoms, and those were undone at the waist. Before Murtagh turned, Eragon saw the little line in the center of that slight curve. He could only stare as Murtagh sat on the bed beside him. And as Eragon sat up, blinking sleepily, he noticed this was not a bed, but rather a bench . . .his old room was gone, to be replaced by a snow-covered scene, great clouds of white mounded upon the ground. The stony bench was throbbing with cold beneath his legs, and the wind bit at them every few seconds. He shivered. "Wh-why are we here?" He looked down at an old book in his hands, the characters of it unfamiliar, and set it to one side.

Murtagh grabbed his shoulder, leaned in close to him, his warmth unmistakable in the frosty weather, and whispered with a dark smile, "Because I'm a controlling bastard . . ."

"Oh, no!" Eragon protested, and blushed, looking down. "Of course you're not, Murtagh . . . You've never been anything but-"

"Oh?" Murtagh said archly. He looked back at Eragon. "You make one mistake by saying I'm _not _a controlling bastard . " The tinest of grins tugged at the corners of his mouth. Without warning, he put his hands on the younger boy's shoulders and shoved him roughly across the bench, knocking the long-forgotten book to the ground with an indelicate _thwump!, _and straddled the bench, leaning forward over Eragon. "And another error in assuming that's a fault . . " Murtagh gripped the edges of the bench, just above Eragon's shoulders.

Eragon stared up at him, into those sparkling blue orbs, feeling the strength of this connection, almost believing he could know Murtagh's midn. "Well then." Eragon said, a small grin escaping. "I guess you're going to have to prove me wrong."

Murtagh smiled, a smug affair that belied the little ball of warmth the situation actually gave him. He lowered himself to the bench so that he was seated, the crooks of his knees looped over the tops of Eragon's legs. Murtagh grabbed at the waistband of Eragon's pants, his agile fingers almost flicking the button loose, then he moved his legs so that he could lean forward, his hand lingering there only briefly before he ran it up the rippled terrain of Eragon's abdomen, over the rough flow of his ribcage. He finally found Eragon's shoulder again, maintaining the slightest pressure as his leaned in, his lips seeking Eragon's to finish a kiss that had been on hold for an eternity..

Eragon moaned, leaning back into the kiss, yearning for more.

Murtagh thrust back harder against Eragon's push, reasserting his point with the roughness of the kiss. He forced Eragon's lips open further, and slid his hand up from the shoulder underneath the neck, controlling the contact from within, forward, behind. Murtagh's other hand, which had been supporting him, returned to the earlier-abandoned region of Eragon's hips; Murtagh gripped Eragon's ass and then his hand sought the frontal region, staying almost cruelly on the outside of Eragon's clothes while he worked the dragonrider's arousal, the fabric of Eragon's pants soon enough pulled tight by his efforts. Eragon moaned deeper into Murtagh. Leaning down, he took off Murtagh's pants with his teeth, and his underwear soon after. he moaned between gasped, "Take me."

Murtagh gritted his teeth and almost growled at him. He tossed his discarded clothing onto a heaping snowbank, creating a little nest in the snow. He stared for one eager second at the other boy before he once again gripped him, this time close to himself, and wrestled him down to the ground, Murtagh's bare knees grazing the stray snow along the edges of this makeshift blanket. Despite the icy chill, Murtagh was fully hard, and the combined heat of their blood-flushed bodies created a rising humidity within the pocket of the snow. He pushed Eragon's head down and leaned over to whisper roughly in his ear, "Controlling bastared doesn't even begin to describe this . . ." before giving Eragon a number of rough thrusts that should well have split him open . . .

Eragon groaned and screamed Murtagh's name. "Harder." He said as loud as he could through gritted teeth. He rocked his hips in line with Murtagh's thrusts. "Please" he begged. "HARDER!"

Murtagh, who seemed no stranger to a good fuck in an inopportune location, growled, "Hush," though he knew that was no more possible than it suddenly becoming summer-although, within their little pocket, the temperature was positively tropical. He rested his weight on his right hand and brought his left underneath Eragon, caressing him with quick and measured stokes while he continued pumping, then running his hand down the shaft to that sensitive joining at the base, working it in harmonic rhythm with the greater movement of his hips, the pounding accelerating as Murtagh approached his own end. He restrained his motions, ensuring that Eragon would climax with him.

Eragon screamed lowly as Murtagh's essence filled him. . "y-es" he muttered, smiling at Murtagh. He collapsed onto the crumpled clothing, his arm trailing into the snow, and pulled Murtagh back on top of him. He kissed him, his heart pounding, the warm spasm continuing with him, and lay there panting.

Murtagh rolled onto his side, his arm stretched lazily across Eragon's chest. "I love . . . Wake up, Eragon."

"What?" Eragon protested in confusion. "Murtagh-what do you-"

Murtagh closed his eyes and whispered roughly. "Wake up."

Eragon rolled over to his, opening his eyes . . . And finding himself back upon the blanket, the quiet campsite around him flush with the pastel twinges of dawn's first efforts. He brushed his hair back, finding it dampened with sweat . . . .his skin had a fire that belied the morning chill . . . And, yes, as he looked down, it was unfortunately evident that his dreams had been too intense. Eragon, red-cheeked, scrambled to his feet and looked about, heading for the edge of the river to wash up.


End file.

Inheritance Cycle, Romance