A/N: A truly fun chapter to write for me. Putting Murtagh, who is such a control freak and considers himself the greatest authority present at pretty much every given point of time, into the situations at hand... priceless, really.

A little light dispels a lot of darkness - Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi

Chapter 5

24th Hay Moon

Murtagh felt a light touch on his neck, moving slowly from the right side to the left. It's not sweat, some part of his mind told him, more likely an ant or some other bug. As it was, he would prefer an ant over the tip of a sword anytime and thus ignored the sensation. He had other matters to attend to.

Or not.

Osilon was as dull and inactive as any prosperous city would be around noon of a hot summer day. More significantly, it had also been like this all night and morning. People in the possession of an important part of Alagaësia's future – in other words, the sapphire egg – should be more alive, more alert. Originally, Murtagh had expected quite some progress by coming here, especially after the mentioning of Brom, and having to learn that it was in vain bothered him no little.

He was lying on his stomach at the edge of Osilon, hidden below a huge hazel tree. Earlier he had smeared his face with dirt so that it would not give him away in the shadow, but now it was bothering him, his skin sweaty and itching in the heat.

Not for the first time he wondered why the elves protected themselves so little. Sure, they would immediately know if a larger group of any race was approaching, and they did have protective spells around their settlements, but for someone with Murtagh's skill it was no problem to go around them or simply modify parts with counter spells. Never had he had problems advancing to the heart of elven cities. I probably should have – it would have prevented all contact with Arya. Then again, it had been exciting, especially knowing that she had always tried to make him see what she called 'the right way'. She had made him think, true; in a way she had led his mind further down the path that Tornac had once pushed it on. But Murtagh had known better than to tell her that, convinced that it would have turned their physically rather active meetings into mentally challenging discussions.

He smiled at the memory. His first year as a Rider had been thrilling in so many ways. One of them was the short, intense, and most of all forbidden affair with the elven princess. It was a good thing that he had ended it so soon – her temper being one of the reasons – but sometimes at night he remembered her vividly, reliving their breath-taking encounters, and he could not help but judge her to be royal not only by birth but also by skill and knowledge.

Noticing how his entire body agreed, he was glad that there were suddenly elves appearing in his field of vision, taking his mind off of things. The two men and one woman, however, did nothing more than walk from one side of the open space to the other, disappearing in one of their typical tree houses at ground level.

Murtagh sighed. He could as well quit. If the elves had the egg, it was not in Osilon.

He slid backwards, careful that the bush around him would not rustle. Frustration made him want to kick at something; he could not stand being in the dark. For him, bringing Jeod and the elves together in the theft was difficult enough, and the possibility of a former Rider being involved made it even harder to understand. It's true, though, that no one would be more fit to steal the egg than Brom – if he's alive. At the same time, he was convinced that it was the elves who would keep and protect such a precious object. This meant that Murtagh now had to travel further at the horrible slow speed until he reached Ellesméra, to find his vague ideas either confirmed or shattered. Durza, on the other hand, possibly already knew more, and had known for weeks. And if the egg is not in Du Weldenvarden, after all, and he's on the right track already… The thought was quickly cut short and buried.

After a while of crawling he jumped to his feet and started walking towards the little camp he had made with Eragon on the day before. How come I didn't question him thoroughly after Ceunon? The earlier I would have learned about Brom, the better. On the other hand, Eragon had not been able to talk back then as he could now.

Without interruption of his thoughts, Murtagh stopped at a little well and gathered water in his hands to wash his face and neck.

Apart from the language obstacle, Eragon had also wanted to be left alone after the beating, and Murtagh had granted him that wish, still impressed by the younger one's defiance. Yet the silence had soon begun to bother him. Eragon was taking matters far too seriously – it had been only a beating, after all. Murtagh knew various methods of punishment that were a lot worse. Eragon, however, was apparently not aware of them.

I have even offered myself to talk to, Murtagh thought, grunting quietly. He was miserable, I wanted to help. And where did the kindness take me? Nowhere. Not a successful method, he concluded – not that he knew what would be. Eragon… so strange a boy. No, not boy, man. But quite amiable company and truly great to look at. Murtagh knew he did not mind more weeks of travelling together, not even with all these pressing matters to attend to. But some things concerning Eragon had to change. No more mysteries!

An odd sensation rushed through him and he froze. All his senses were immediately on high alert, and after a moment he could discern the very soft sound of light feet on the forest floor. Elves.

With a few careful steps to his side he merged with the trees around him. Simultaneously his magic was kicking in, pulsing in his veins, and he had to focus hard to keep his hands from glowing, which they often did even through his gloves.

Then he saw them.

Two women, warriors both, were passing him by only a few yards away. However, their postures were calm – for elves, that was. They had not heard or seen him, and his highly shielded conscious protected him from their sensitive minds.

When they were long out of sight, Murtagh exhaled deeply and released the hand clutching Zar'roc's hilt. He could have fought them, but it would have been hard to prevent an alarm being raised shortly after. Moreover, although he did not mind killing in general, he had come to mind it if it was so obviously unnecessary.

Once the excitement of battle had passed, he felt his anger rise, anger about himself. How could he have been so carefree, so occupied with his thoughts that he had missed them? What had been on his mind? Ah, he remembered, right. Eragon. Somehow it did not surprise him. The anger immediately extended to include the blond. Thus far – if Murtagh was objective – Eragon had given him more trouble than pleasure. Truly, it is time that I am repaid. With information, sure, but I want more.

He increased his pace, pondering again about what he knew about the other so far, testing his theories. Eragon came from some foreign country, Murtagh had learned, but none that he knew. None that shared a border with Alagaësia. None that one could travel to.

He would be the first to admit that the information at hand did not make sense, and it fitted with his theory that Eragon must have hurt his head when the tree had crashed down on him. While that still did not explain what Eragon had done in the forest in the first place, or where he had been heading for, one thing was for sure. Whatever and whoever Eragon was, he could not be of any significance to the important matters of Alagaësia. He did not even know what a dragon was, apparently.

So what about him being a slave? Murtagh's original suspicion was still valid, espcially now when no other possibility remained. I could as well take my share, then. It's because of him that I almost ran into elves, and he has kept the news about Brom from me. He owes me. Slowly but inevitably his lust was stirring. After all, it should be only normal for Eragon, so he was unlikely to mind very much. Therefore, travelling together could get even better. Less trouble, more pleasure.

Murtagh passed his tethered horse and soon arrived at the little rocky spot he had left Eragon in. He watched the young man sitting on the ground, noticed how his eyes lit up, and guessed that someone had been quite bored. I can help you with that…

"Eragon?" Murtagh asked, aware of how husky it sounded and smirking at his needy body.

"Yes?"

"Come here!"

Eragon got up obediently and trotted over to him, his expression curious. "Tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"Yesterday. You go without tell me about dragon." At the last word, an expectant little smile played around Eragon's lips, which made him extremely handsome.

"Not now." Goosebumps claimed Murtagh's arms the moment he thought of attending to the handsomeness in a more physically fulfilling way than only looking at it.

Eragon frowned. "But… many things I don't know."

"For example?"

Eragon began counting on his fingers. "Dragon. Suretoogal. Brom."

Nothing. No recognition whatsoever. If Murtagh had still needed proof, this would have been it. Eragon had no idea what any of these words meant, which was not only odd, but also the final evidence that he was not a messenger. It was simply impossible to travel in Alagaësia without ever hearing of dragons or Riders. Thus I am right. What else could he be, if not a slave? When Murtagh realized that his already well-liked travel mate would also become his pleasure mate for the time being, his body temperature rose. And when he considered how experienced Eragon must be, his blood was suddenly boiling. Now on to proving the theory!

He noticed that Eragon was still waiting for some sort of reaction, and even felt inclined to answer some of the questions – later. Eragon was a nice young man, after all, and it seemed as if he had been kept away from the world all his life. He deserves some treat… after he has treated me the way I want to. "Maybe I'll tell you tonight. I want you first." Murtagh chuckled at his bluntness, knowing exactly that the words would confuse the other, make him think he had misunderstood.

"You want I… err… me?"

Exactly, little boy. "Lay down!"

"Lay… What?" Comprehension and disbelief were struggling in Eragon's face, before he shook his head and only disbelief remained, though now paired with some caution. "Why?"

Murtagh was smirking again. So this is one that likes to play, likes to be conquered? As if he doesn't know what is wanted of him or how to behave… "Lay down!" he repeated, more firmly this time.

Eragon swallowed and watched Murtagh closely for a long moment before doing as told, his body stiff and tense, ready to jump up again any second. "Dragon?" he asked once more, carefully, excitement gone.

Murtagh shook his head, too impatient to explain himself. "Later." It had been weeks since that whore in Ceunon, and he had not really been able to enjoy her. With Eragon, on the other hand, he was sure it would be a different matter. He had not been with a man in a while, and never with anyone so… Murtagh wondered what to call it. Cute? Perhaps cute in a very manly way. Eragon was strong. Moreover, he had the body of a man, too, albeit a lean one.

Eragon became very uneasy being stared at for so long. "Uhm, Murtagh," he pushed himself into a sitting position again, "I don't know-"

Murtagh was down on the other's level in an instant, pressing him back to the ground with his left. "Don't make this difficult!" He removed the glove of his right with the help of his teeth and unfastened the blade from his back, then fumbled with his sword belt. Finally the time had come to act on those dirty thoughts haunting him during the long days on horseback, the thoughts caused by the other body pressed against his back. I should have clarified his identify in the very beginning by doing exactly this!

Eragon's eyes were wide open now, showing the fear that had been gone for so many days. "Murtagh?" His voice cracked. "What do you…?" He reached out with both hands for the arm pinning him down and tried to wriggle away, but he was in a disadvantageous position and could not move much.

Murtagh was temporarily getting distracted by his own body, which decided to hump Eragon's waist though both were still clad. He cursed through clenched teeth. "Damn! Alright, enough! You're a tease, I understand, but I want you. Now!" Finally the second belt dropped to the ground and he fought his trousers next. His hand was shaking in anticipation, which had him both astounded and amused for a moment. Didn't know I want him that much.

"No!" Eragon shouted, panicking. "I am no… no teez. I don't understand. Go! No! Don't!" His legs kicked wildly, causing Murtagh to sit down on them. However, Eragon continued to struggle, and his fear gave him more power than Murtagh would have expected from the slim body. "Please," Eragon eventually begged. "Please!"

In the last instant Murtagh noticed the knee aimed for his groin and he jumped to the side, letting go of his victim. He had learned early on their first day that Eragon could put quite some force in such a kick. "Curse you!" he hissed, irritation rising. It was taking longer than he cared for, and the fact that Eragon continued to defy him… Murtagh's blood was pumping in his veins, even his vision was slightly reddish. Enough now!

Using the sudden freedom, Eragon quickly rolled onto his stomach and jumped to his feet, although he had learned better than to attempt to run. Instead he faced Murtagh, crouching slightly, ready to avoid any hand grabbing for him.

"Eragon." Murtagh made his voice thick with threat. "Serve me as you should and you shall benefit. But I want it. And I want it now!" Yes, now! another part of his body agreed. Now and hard and raw.

Eragon shook his head frantically. "You want… you want…"

"…Sex." Murtagh made a step towards the other, his muscles taut. One move, just one move, and I will crush you beneath me.

Eragon had obviously no problem understanding that word and he started shaking. "No! Murtagh, no!" He licked his lips. "Wh- why?"

"Why? Stupid question. Do you think I don't know what you are? Only because I've left you alone so far…"

"No!" Eragon yelled. "Murtagh… you… you are not you!"

Huh?

Eragon swallowed hard, thoughts clearly racing in his mind. "You're not… not… err…"

"What am I not?" Something about the situation was so different from what Murtagh had expected, he was actually willing to listen.

"Bad," Eragon whispered, then snorted. "Now you are bad."

Murtagh straightened up, a dirty little smile breaking free. "But I am bad, Eragon. Always. You should hear what the people say about me."

Eragon shook his head again and began to present arguments. "Something in Osilon was not how you like. Something with elves was not how you like. Before… on journey… you are different."

How strange. "I beat you, Eragon. I. Beat. You. And I know I've hurt you with that, you were mad for days. How am I not bad?" And why are we talking about this?

"You… I hate what you do… did. You know I hate it. It was wrong and bad. But you… change. You changed." Eragon was talking quickly. "When you showed me elves this morning… you did that for me. You saw elves before. But you showed me."

"Yes, I did," Murtagh conceded, thinking how silly he must look, standing there unarmed with his trousers open. At least there was not much skin showing and he was losing his erection anyways… which he did not want. "So," he made his tone argumentative as well, "why can't you be nice, too?"

"Murtagh!" Eragon shook his head again, hands balling into fists. "Be… Murtagh!"

Something stirred in Murtagh's chest, something faint. "What do you mean?" His mind suddenly came up with the picture of Eragon lying on his side that one evening, sobs shaking his body. Murtagh had never found out what it had been about.

"Be nice. Not bad. I… I…" Eragon cheeks suddenly gained a little colour. "I like you nice," he whispered, quickly looking away and to the ground.

Murtagh stood very still, eyes never leaving the other, his mind repeating those hushed words over and over. Every thought about sex had vanished and he absentmindedly fumbled with his trousers again, this time closing them. "You are not a slave," he remarked superfluously, his voice having lost its harshness.

Eragon looked up and cocked his head. The change of tone had not gone by unnoticed. "What is a slave?"

"Never mind." Murtagh was looking for his weapons, feeling uncomfortable without them now that he was thinking with his proper head again. Thinking rapidly, actually. Not one thing had he gotten right about Eragon thus far. And now he says there is something he likes about me? Again something stirred in his chest, stronger now, urging him to explain. "Eragon, look. I… usually people don't mind."

"What?" Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "Don't mind? If you… if you… with force?"

"No. Either it is without force, or if it is with, those people are used to it." Or they are a too afraid to struggle much. Murtagh could not look at Eragon and sat down, staring at the large leaf on the ground in front of him. A leaf with raspberries on top. Raspberries that not he had gathered, but that had been left for him to eat. Eragon has- Damn! All of a sudden, Murtagh's throat was dry as parchment and he reached for the brandy – also laid out for him.

"Murtagh…" Eragon began, moving a bit closer, still very cautious. "Do you want to hurt me today?"

Murtagh closed his eyes and drank some more. A foreign emotion was creeping over him that left him confused and disoriented. All he knew about it was that it was called guilt, and that at the moment it caused him to want to make Eragon lose his tension. "No. I don't." Despite the statement, the air around him remained thick with the other's doubt. Determined to change this, Murtagh opened his eyes and looked up at Eragon. "I thought you were one of those… I thought I could just do it. But you're not." He could not remember ever having been in a similar situation. He had had to explain numerous mistakes before, but it had always been about saving his skin, never about saving someone else. "Look, I won't do it again. I… I'm…" The 'sorry' never passed his lips. Unable to apologize, he grimaced and moved on. "Why don't we eat something?"

"Later." Eragon crouched down next to Murtagh, very close, scrutinizing him and eventually reaching some sort of conclusion. "Murtagh… you're nice again. I like you nice."

Murtagh nearly lost himself in the azure eyes and had to fight a berry down his throat which did not want to swallow anymore.

"You." Eragon poked him lightly in the upper arm. "You have problems. I know that. But if you're nice…" He fell silent for a moment, expression turning soft. "If you're like… like this…" he continued eventually, his hand now resting on Murtagh's arm, sending a shiver down the older one's spine. "… I do… this." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Murtagh's.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"No, no! Don't lean forwards!" Murtagh shouted, his hands forming a cone around his mouth. "Sit straight, don't kick it with your legs!"

"Ahhh-oooohhh-aaaahhh!" Eragon screamed, his hands buried in the mane of the horse he was sitting on. Trying to sit on. Clinging to.

That's definitely not riding, Murtagh thought amused. "No! Sit straight! Get a hold on the reins and shorten them." He jumped down from the fallen tree he had been crouching on and entered the large clearing in front of him. His grey stallion was grazing peacefully in the meadow, ignoring the madness raging around it. Murtagh strode towards it through the nearly waist high grass. If Eragon could not handle this soon, he would have to interfere, and that would include his four-legged comrade.

"I can't!" Eragon yelled from the far end of the clearing, arms hopelessly stretched but at least connected to the reins now. His horse was still in control. "Impossible!" With apparent effort he tried to follow Murtagh's advice. "It will never work! It's-" He paused for a second, continuing the process of straightening up. "Oh." He pulled at the reins tentatively and suddenly it worked just fine. "Ah. It's slow down."

"It's slowing down," Murtagh called, shaking his head. Is it really that hard to just follow my instructions right from the start? "Try to turn its head in my direction. No! Carefully! You want to make friends, else you'll have a difficult time in the weeks to come."

Red-headed and breathless Eragon neared Murtagh, halting about two yards away. "Ha! Not so bad anymore." He patted his horse's neck fondly, murmuring things Murtagh did not understand. "Do you think it will… what is the word… miss… the other person?"

"You never know, but probably not." They were almost in Ellesméra by now, which meant that it had taken Murtagh a good two weeks to give in to Eragon's request for an own horse. But he had given in eventually, although it meant that Eragon would not be so close behind him day after day after day anymore. "Try to simply walk him a bit. At the moment it's the slow pace that you two will have to get used to." He remembered the little raid he had performed the previous day at dusk, stealing a horse from a pen near a small settling of elves. It had not been a great risk, but still. He had not done it for himself, he had done so for Eragon.

"Him?" Eragon eyed his chestnut-coloured mount sceptically, meanwhile doing as he was told more or less successfully. "Are you sure?"

"Of course! It's a stallion. Can't you see?"

"No."

Shaking his head again, Murtagh swallowed down a reply. Is this indeed Eragon's first time riding a horse by himself?

"I think…" Eragon was returning, his face beaming, "… yes. This will do. Right, horse?" He dismounted, a little wobbly on his feet. "He needs a name!"

"A name?" Murtagh shrugged. "As you wish." Yet another thing he could not place. What man can't ride at sixteen but wants to give his horse a name?

"Yes. I… Does your horse have one?" Eragon frowned. "I never hear anything."

"Tornac," Murtagh said quietly, while an image of a tall, dark haired man with grey eyes appeared in his head. Can you see me here? he asked in his mind. I'm being good. You'd be so proud. He shook his head to rid himself of the picture. "But it's a special horse, it deserves a name."

"Why?" Eragon was strolling at his side now, both leading their horses on foot.

"It's… he's a warhorse. I trust him completely. He's… good. In every way. Just like his namesake, a-" Murtagh abruptly fell silent and pressed his lips together.

"Name… sake?" Eragon had caught on to the strange mood. "What does that mean?"

Murtagh sighed, dismissing the topic from his mind. "It's a long story. I don't feel like telling it at the moment. We should get going." He turned his back to the other and mounted his horse, acutely aware that he shied away from answering.

Eragon studied him for a moment, his forehead slowly crinkling into a frown. After a moment he turned to his horse and struggled with the saddle and his own limbs until he eventually managed to mount it. "Cadoc!" he broke the silence once they were riding.

"What?" Murtagh had not paid much attention after seeing that Eragon was able to mount his horse. "What is cadoc?"

"The horse. It's his name now. I hope… no." Eragon bit his tongue and stared into the scenery.

"What do you hope?"

Eragon glanced at him for a moment before looking away again, a light blush covering his cheeks. "I only thought that… I hope it doesn't mind that it have a new name."

"Has a new name… It's only a horse," Murtagh pointed out. "And he used to be only one of many, not even of elven breed. I don't know why they have kept him among their horses." Could they not have kept a sapphire blue egg as well, for no reason, just like the horse? Murtagh knew he was losing time, wasting time. He could only guess what was happening in Uru'baen these days, and he imagined Galbatorix' fury still growing with each hour that passed without news of the egg. Hopefully he won't lash out his anger at Thorn. Depending on what Durza had told the king, Murtagh could have a very unfortunate stand at the moment, and as he was not around, Thorn would have to pay for it… His only hope was that Galbatorix was more focused on the hunt for the egg.

Murtagh shook his head to clear it of the dark thoughts. "What does it mean?"

"What?"

"Cadoc?"

"Oh. My… father of my mother. Part of his name."

Murtagh acknowledged the information with a nod.

They rode quietly for a while, with Eragon tense and watching Cadoc's every step, his hands still ready to clutch the mane, and Murtagh calm and keeping an eye on Eragon and the chestnut stallion, until his attention wavered after a while. The sun was steadily gaining strength, and he felt how it dispelled the last bit of the morning's briskness. In the trees around them, the wind was singing its endless song. A consistency unmatched, least of all by men. Murtagh cocked his head and watched a small cloud rolling through the sky. All nature ever does is following its own path, no matter what… He wished he could say the same about himself, because he knew that he was straying away from his path, and he did not know what to make of it. These days, he was paying heed to another person's needs.

The kiss, which had taken him so much by surprise that he had thought his heart had stopped altogether for a moment, had been the only one to this day. Two weeks had passed in which Eragon had kept his distance, careful and wary at first, unperturbed and mostly smiling now. Yet the kiss had held such a promise, it had been a gesture so powerful, that Murtagh was waiting patiently. He said he likes me, Murtagh thought, bewildered as always when his mind went that direction. He likes me. No one has ever said that. If I'm nice, that is. But I'm trying… Am I trying hard enough? Am I nice? He never says anything, never comes close…

He swallowed dry. Sometimes it looked as if Eragon wanted him to say something. However, he had no words for this, knew not what was adequate. So he kept quiet, often remembering the kiss, holding on to the hope that it had truly been a promise of some kind.

Yes, he was indeed straying far from the path of his previous nineteen years.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"How long will you be go?"

"How long I will be gone? Only a few hours. I will plan later how to proceed. I can already feel Ellesméra being far more active than Osilon."

"Well… I'll wait here with the horses." Eragon did not seem thrilled but shrugged it off. "You are careful, won't you?"

Murtagh almost missed and ignored the mistake. He means it. He really means it. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards all on their own. "I will be." He turned around and ducked beneath the low branches of an oak tree, and quickly left Eragon behind. The faster I get there, the faster I can return.

He moved swiftly and gracefully, yet not fully alert. Ellesméra he knew. After all, it was the home of the elven princess. Who, if he recalled information gathered years before correctly, used to have a good relationship with Brom. Not like that, Murtagh called his upcoming thoughts to order. There had been something like an alliance once, in the days long before his own involvement in the matters concerning this world.

When he heard the first voices in the distance and felt the presence of other magic users in his mind, he slowed down noticeably, paying closer attention to his surroundings. The city was not far anymore.

He had not yet decided what to make of Brom, the man who had killed his father. For any other person this would be reason enough to start a blood feud, but not so for Murtagh, who would willingly grant forgiveness to anyone involved in the death. Moreover, he had heard many things about Brom, most of them to his liking; 'noble' had been the term used by Tornac to describe the other male. However, the maybe not so dead man had been, or would be now, with the Varden.

Murtagh could hear an imaginary Thorn grumbling in his head. They both disliked the Varden with a passion. Still, if he did not learn anything new in Ellesméra, the contact with Brom was unavoidable. From those soldiers that had supposedly burned the unconscious Rider in his house, Murtagh had learned that Brom had once lived in Carvahall. Therefore, the village could be the next – and perhaps last – place to look for hints and possible answers. He groaned inwardly. Carvahall was also the exact opposite direction of their week long crawling.

Then again, it also meant more time with Eragon. Murtagh had not yet planned what to do with him, but he knew that once things were picking up speed – or once Thorn was picking up his Rider – he would have to get rid of Eragon somehow, leave him behind at some place.

He truly did not feel like doing that.

"What do we have here?" a female voice asked piercingly. "A little Rider? All lost in thought?"

Murtagh froze dead. Three swords were aimed at his throat from different directions, swords held by elves who had appeared out of the blue. He knew better than draw one of his own weapons. One glance at the elves' faces told him that they would not hesitate to kill him right there and then.

"What have you been thinking about, oh great Murtagh, that had you dream away?" The voice came closer.

"Arya," Murtagh said through clenched teeth, his eyes darting to the right when she appeared in his field of vision and following her until she came to stand in front of him. The black-haired elf was tall and lean, yet still very much a woman. Her green eyes were blazing, more in triumph than in bloodlust. Nonetheless, Murtagh figured that it might have been healthier if he had ended their affair more gently.

"What?" she enquired smugly. "Your dear master has lost one of his toys and you thought right about the awful, awful elves being behind it? I should have known. Indeed, I knew."

Murtagh remained quiet. Matters between the king, and thus him, and the elves were clear and settled: enmity to death. In circumstances like the one at hand, there was nothing he could say to improve his situation. However, he wished that Arya would keep in mind how valuable he was with all that he knew, information craved by the Empire's enemies. She should bring him into town and before the council. Better ten elven elders than one spurned elven princess. And quietly, in the back of his mind, another wish made itself heard, too. Please, don't find Eragon!

Arya had watched him intently, trying to decipher his thoughts, but apparently in vain. Her eyes narrowed. "Block his magic!" she instructed an elf behind him. "Bind him and take him where he belongs!" She focused on Murtagh again, smirking. "You, my dear Murtagh, have actually done me a favour. I didn't know you still felt so much for me."

Murtagh could not prevent a snarl breaking free, but he managed to keep his body still. The swords were still at his throat, and the hands holding them still ready to strike.

"You are now a big, big fish in our net," Arya continued, her voice falsely sweet. "And I take it you're very happy that we don't eat fish."

"Delighted," Murtagh growled.

"But we sometimes trade with them. Usually they're kept alive for that purpose." Laughter broke from her lips. "Usually."