Eragon thought that he might be in love. He may have found the perfect person for him. Someone who would provide for him, take care of him, never leave him. Be that companion that he needed.
Murtagh had -on their very fist meeting- had given him soup. Without him asking for it. He just suggested it as a way to make him feel better. Here he was, injured and worried about Brom's safety and health, wondering if the Raz'ac were going to come back and Murtagh gave him soup.
He never felt so grateful for soup. He never realized how much he needed soup. And Murtagh was very clever with how he made soup.
But giving him soup was not the only thing that Murtagh did for him. He also provided him with meat. Every day. He was just as good as Brom was. But it was nice getting meat with someone his own age.
Eragon enjoyed the meat.
He also liked watching Murtagh practice with his sword. It was much larger than his sword. Eragon didn't think he could handle Murtagh's sword. It was so big. Yes he was content with his sword, but sometimes he was jealous that he couldn't handle his sword as well as Murtagh could. Murtagh was a sword master. Much like Brom had been. But Brom's sword wasn't as big as Murtagh's. He didn't think he'd be able to handle his sword if it was as big as Murtagh's.
One time Murtagh did allow him to handle his sword. It was a large and impressive weapon. Eragon liked the way it felt in his hands. So solid and thick and heavy. Sometimes he dreamed of handling Murtagh's sword.
This is what made Murtagh so wonderful, in Eragon's eyes. The way he gave soup. The meat that he made, and how he handled his sword.
Eragon hoped that Murtagh thought of him as highly as he thought of Murtagh.
Yes, Eragon, decided, he was in love with Murtagh and his sword.
|Meat two ~ Fan Fiction ~ Meat four|