Chapter 3

The frustrating thing about sleeping on the ground is that you wake up much earlier than you would like to, and after that it's impossible to go back to sleep.
Murtagh awoke with a pain in his right elbow, and, reluctantly opening his eyes, removed a sharp stone from underneath it. He glanced at Medea, noticing uneasily that at some point during the night his other arm crawled over her waist, and her head was resting on his chest. Careful not to wake her up, Murtagh inched away from her and stood up, looking around for Eragon and Saphira. They were nowhere to be found.

'Have they seen?' He wondered, walking quickly forward, towards the deeper part of the forest. His cheeks were still flushed, and he kicked at random pebbles angrily, although it wasn't clear even to Murtagh what exactly was bothering him. Surely he couldn't be held responsible for what his limbs did while he was asleep.

But if Eragon or Saphira saw, he had a lot of explaining to do.

'Go away,' Medea says without looking around as the door of her bedchamber opens. She already knows who just walked in, and it's the last person she wants to see right now. Or ever. 'What do you want?'

'I'm leaving for Cantos in the morning,' Murtagh replies calmly, walking inside. He pauses, watching her reaction as she paces the room tensely, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. He waits for some kind of response, but Medea stays silent. 'If you want to say goodbye before I go, now is the time.'

She chucks the wet towel at him. 'Do you actually expect me to even speak to you after you pushed me in a pond? Look at me! I'm covered in slimy green… stuff!' Medea shudders in disgust, shaking soggy leaves off herself. Murtagh hides a smile. 'Besides, you'll be back before I start to miss you. What's the point of farewells?' She stops pacing and sits on her bed, ignoring the water that is still dripping off her drenched clothes.

'You wouldn't miss me if I was gone for years!'

'You're right, for once.'

The rough ground under Medea suddenly became suspiciously soft, and the dirty rug that was supposed to serve as a blanket felt a lot larger and heavier than she remembered. The best thing of all was that she was warm at last, and the hilt of her sword, which she kept by her side during the night, wasn't digging into her ribs any more. 'Wait… where's the sword?' And she was awake in an instant.

A thin silver-haired woman was sitting in a chair by Medea's bed. Her emerald eyes were studying the girl disapprovingly, but there was no anger on her kind face. 'You're awake,' she said quietly, taking a glass of water from the bedside table and handing it to Medea, who drank eagerly. 'The king is not pleased.'

'I can imagine,' Medea replied, sitting up. 'Barbale, what… how did I get home? I don't remember…' Barbale raised her. She trusted the old woman with her life.

'After the king found out that you have been captured, he sent the Ra'zac to bring you back. They kept you asleep with magic during the whole journey.'

'There was no need!' Medea exclaimed, unable to conceal her disappointment. Barbale raised her eyebrows, and Medea quickly added: 'how does father expect me to prove myself if he doesn't even give me a chance?'

'Nonsense!' Barbale interrupted crossly. 'You're much too young to be sent on tasks like this, especially alone. You should be grateful,' she lowered her voice and moved her chair closer to the bed. 'It's a wonder that you're still alive.'

For a long time Medea was silent. For once, she had allowed herself hope, and it was shattered in an instant. Her freedom was taken away from her as easily as it was given.
After a while she looked up at Barbale. 'What now?'

'Get changed,' the old nurse put a clean set of clothes on the bed. 'The king is waiting for you in the throne room.'

'I could say "I told you so" but I'll be tactful.' Eragon declared, walking a fifth circle around the campsite.

'I still don't understand how she could have left without any of us noticing,' Murtagh said. 'Without a horse!' Medea's black stallion was still tied to a tree next to Tornac, but his owner was nowhere to be found. 'I didn't think...'

Eragon stopped pacing. 'You didn't think that she'd leave? Wouldn't that be the most obvious thing for her to do? I was counting on you to watch her, Murtagh!' When the older man stayed silent, Eragon turned to Saphira exasperatedly. 'I'm not sure I can restrain myself from strangling him right now.'

'I need to go after her.' Murtagh said to himself, his expression unreadable.

'There's no point now. She probably already told Galbatorix where we are. The wisest thing to do now is to keep moving.'

'You don't understand,' Murtagh stood up swiftly and, walking over to Tornac, untied him. 'She didn't want to go back there. And even if she changed her mind, she wouldn't leave her horse because she wouldn't have been able to get far on foot. I have to go after her.' Before Eragon had a chance to react, he mounted his stallion and galloped away, raising a cloud of dust.

'Is he possessed?' Eragon stared after Murtagh, too shocked to move.

Saphira sighed. 'He has his reasons, little one. But we cannot let him go to Uru'baen alone.' Noticing that Eragon started untying Snowfire, she shook her massive head impatiently. 'No, leave the pathetic animal. We will fly.'

Medea watched the guards close the main gates from the window of her bedroom, like she had so many times before. It was still hard to get used to the fact that she was back home, even though she had only been absent for a couple of days. It felt wrong, somehow, as if she wasn't supposed to be here. To her surprise, the King hadn't decided on her punishment yet, merely expressing his disappointment at her.

Throughout the whole day she sat in her room, sulking. Barbale came in several times, but Medea wasn't in the mood to talk. She didn't go out to practise swordsmanship and archery, like usual. She didn't want to go riding, and her mood only got worse when she found out that the Ra'zac left her horse in the forest.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Medea glanced at the window, startled, but it was pitch black outside – the guards already closed the gates and put out most of the lights. She heard another knock, this time louder and more impatient. Moving slightly away, she picked up her sword from underneath the bed and yanked the window open. Immediately a figure dressed in a black cloak fell through and landed on the hard marble floor, cursing inaudibly.

Medea walked around the intruder and peered down at his face. Her eyes widened when she recognised him. 'What, in the name of…'

'Don't bother thanking me,' Murtagh said with a smug grin, turning around to lie on his back.

'Are you mad? Why have you come here? What if someone sees you?' She whispered as he stood up.

Murtagh's smile faded. He stood facing her, his arms folded on his chest. 'Because I shouldn't have left you behind in the first place, when I knew that you didn't want to be here,' he said simply. 'And I think that you deserve better than devoting your life to helping a tyrant.' He paused, looking at her expectantly. 'Will you come?'

'She will not,' a cold voice replied from behind them.

Murtagh slowly turned around.

A.N.: formerAnnie – I agree! It's such a cliché. Don't worry, I wasn't going to include it.
little-pocketmouse – oh yes… that they do :) I hope it's not too weird, though.
Marshpelt – I confess, I'm not good with action scenes. But thank you for your advice! I'll try to improve on that part.