Christopher Paolini was sitting at his desk, typing furiously, then deleting, then typing again. Furusterated, he growled at the computer. "I hate writer's block!" he said aloud. Just then , the door to his office opened. In walked...Murtagh.

Christopher almost fell out of his chair.

"What are you doing here? You're—fictional!"

"I have a complaint. Several complaints."

"You don't get to make complaints! What complaints do you even want to make? You're a very interesting character."

Murtagh rolled his eyes.

"Yes, interesting. I'm interesting. Listen, I just want to know what you've got against me."

"Against you?"

Mr. Paolini was slightly frightened at this point. Murtagh looked extremely intimidating what with the sword and the murderous expression.

"You have treated me like absolute crap this ENTIRE story! Who got chucked in a cell in Farthen Dur? Who had to live freaking GALBATORIX his whole life? That thing with Morzan throwing the sword at me was unnessacary pain! But, you seem to enjoy causing me pain!"

"I—look, I needed it for character development!"

And that's another thing!" Murtagh was on a roll. "I'm the evil one! Always the evil one! What did I ever freaking do to my stupid brother! I showed him so much freaking MERCY and yet everyone wants to kill me!"

"Talk to Nasuada about that! I'm portraying you as misunderstood and misused by and evil king!"

"Oh yes, Nasuada! I almost forgot. Thank you. Yes, you have portrayed me as romantically interested in NASUADA!"

Murtagh appeared to believe that was enough to condemn someone to death. He crossed his arms and glared. Christopher looked puzzled.

"What's wrong with liking Nasuada? It shows you're human. Beside's she's a decent enough character."

"She's a control-freak! 'Oh yes, Elva, endure the pain of an entire war to keep me alive!' 'Eragon, seperate yourself from your dragon so you can listen to some dwarves yak!' 'Roran, you saved two hundred soldiers! Fifty lashes for you! Oh, and did I mention, you're going off to fight tomorrow. But since I'm so generous I'll heal you PARTIALLY! Anyway, YOU said she wanted to kill me!"

The author closed his eyes.

"Nasuada just wants what's best for the Varden! I have to reveal her real feelings in Book four, then you can find out. Consider yourself lucky, you didn't get Arya rejecting you like Eragon did."

"Yeah, Eragon is pathetic."

"May I ask how you know all this?"

"I've read the cycle like eighty times. What else is there to do when you've left me alone and bored in Galbatorix's castle? Why are there any chapters from MY point of view?"

Christopher shrugged. Chapters from Murtagh's point of view were a popular request with fans.

Murtagh picked up a piece of crumpled paper and read it aloud

"Oh Arya, princess off slash, slash, cross out the fierce you are scribble, scribble, the love that scratch out" He looked up. "What is this?"

"I told you! I have writer's block!"

Christopher sighed. He'd been having problems writing book four, rabid fans demanding the final chapter and now, either he was going crazy or even his characters were angry with him.

"Look, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"I want you to write book four. We're all bored out of our skulls waiting. Eragon and Galbatorix have a go fish tournament going. Angela has now proved that absolutely nothing exists except herself, frogs, and werecats. Portray me a little more kindly. No more pain. No more horror stories about my childhood, no more battles, no more we-like-making-murtagh-suffer fanclub."

"Most people like you. You've got several million fangirls." pointed out Paolini.

"Do not get me started on fangirls. Or that movie. Unless you want me to ravage your entire country."

Christopher ran his hands through his.

"Fine. I'll get a move on. Help me clean my office up and we'll talk about how you want to be portrayed."

The two unearthed layers of papers, old dorito bags, letters for fans, and old, moldy, pizza crusts. Underneath all this was an office. Murtagh pulled up a chair next to Christopher's desk.

"OK, so what do you want to happen?" asked Christopher.

Murtagh looked surprised

"I don't know!You're the author."

"You haven't liked what I've done so far."

"I know, but I can't write my own story! Where would be the fun in that?"

"Well then what do you want me to do?"

Murtagh shrugged.

"I whatever you want."

Christopher raised his eyebrows.

"You do need me!"

Murtagh scowled.

"Admit you were wrong." said Christopher.

"I never do that." Murtagh glared defiantly.

"I'll make Saphira eat you if you don't."

"Fine. I was wrong." Murtagh spat. "Now I'm leaving. I wonder if Eragon won the 574th game."

"I really do need to get a move on" thought Mr. Paolini as Murtagh disappeared in—what else?-a cloud of black smoke.

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