A/N: There's two sides not only to every story. Here we have Arya in a different light, that is, perceived from a different POV. She probably appears a lot more in character right away, but then, I can't remember having seen her face someone in the books that she personally hates as much as she hates Murtagh in this fic. I must confess that I had great fun when she enjoyed her triumph over her (temporarily) helpless ex at the end of chapter 5.

Oh, and rumour has it that there are people who – for the sake of the storyline – ignore details such as the dates, and also read over what is said about how much time passes in between different scenes. Here's what you need to catch up: Chapter 5 began on the 24th, and in the course of the chapter a good two weeks passed. Chapter 6 starts on the 18th of the following month, meaning that in the meantime even more time has passed. So no, there's no chapter missing, even if the beginning of #6 might look like it.

Last but not least: next Thursday is the 25th, so technically I could wish you a merry Christmas then, but here in Germany we already celebrate on the evening of the 24th, so I should not wait that long. Therefore: Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it! However, I have to inform you that the best food will be found only in my parent's house, cooked and baked by my mom, so you'll have to settle with second-best…

It is the eye which makes the horizon - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter 6

August 18th

"Stop dropping your sword!"

"I don't want to drop my sword!"

"Then why won't you learn to hold on to it?"

Eragon groaned and picked up his blade, his whole right arm throbbing painfully from trying to parry the blows. He was failing this, failing big time; it was even worse than his attempt at playing the piano years ago. At least that had not hurt. But now, on top of his inability, there were also measures taken to make sure that everybody heard about his pitiful efforts. Vanir, it seemed, found great satisfaction not only in proving Eragon's inferiority, but als in voicing it aloud. And as always, the elf had his audience: there were numerous people in the vicinity who had halted their activities and were now watching the sparring session.

"Again! Prepare yourself." Vanir adopted his fighting stance and smirked. "You don't want Arya to laugh at you, do you?"

Eragon did not want to continue, seeing no point in further practice of this manner, but tensed his body in anticipation of the next failure nonetheless. Does he have to bring Arya into this, too? True, she was one of the few that did not treat him like a little child only because he was not used to this world's ways, but it did not mean that he felt anything for her. Not the way Vanir was implying. At least that was what Eragon told himself. "Ready."

Like a flash Vanir jumped forward, pretending to attack Eragon's weapon once more. But instead, he suddenly raised his sword and had the blade at Eragon's throat before the latter had so much as winced. "Dead," he remarked with another smirk, his eyes blazing.

Eragon simply let go of his weapon, not seeing how it fell to the ground and also keeping his gaze averted from all the people looking at him. This is insane! "Vanir, how can I learn if you go at that speed?" As so often, he was both irritated and frustrated.

Vanir sheathed his sword and left him behind, calling a jest to another elf in their own language, earning a laugh. "Learn faster, boy," he called over his shoulder. "Although I suspect that you cannot learn at all."

Eragon shook his head instead of answering. Mad as it made him, he did not want to seem an ungrateful guest, because apart from Vanir he was being treated kindly. He picked up his sword once more, having learned on his first day how to treat a weapon properly. With a piece of cloth he cleaned all grains of sand and other bits of dirt off the blade, and only when it was shining spotlessly again did put it away at the edge of the sparring ground.

As inconspicuous as possible he looked up and around and noticed how the little crowd of onlookers was dispersing. No one paid any more attention to him. Unsure what to do next, he let his eyes wander around, taking in his surroundings.

These days, the strange, forest like capital of the elves made sense to his brain and he could distinguish between nature and… twisted nature. Yet twisted or no, it was unmistakably one of the most beautiful place he had ever been to. However, whenever he stared at a spot too long or inhaled too deeply, his stomach made an odd little squirt. It was a place that had never been intended for humans to live in, after all.

Still, Eragon liked Ellesméra very much, and he knew exactly where the feeling originated from: his mother would fall in love with the place right away. She would be thrilled to spend a night in a home that was more tree than house, and would stroll all the hours from sunup to sundown through the city, walking among the flowers and marvel at their beauty. If I could ever tell her…

Eragon cut out the thought before it fully formed in his head and likewise dismissed the picture of his mother. Now was not the time to think of her. Although, if he was honest, he made sure that it never was.

Just as every other day his eyes moved to the shaded place beneath a mostly normal, uninhabited tree some distance away from him. It was directly next to the great hall of the elves – the place of their rulers. How convenient, he thought bitterly, this way they don't have to walk far to look down on their prisoner. Because there, on the ground close to the tree trunk, the elves were keeping Murtagh, and Eragon thought that they were keeping him pretty miserably.

Dirwen, the friendly but somewhat disinterested man that Eragon was staying with, had told him on his first night in Ellesméra that Murtagh was still highly dangerous to all, although his weapons were stored away and some of his abilities which Eragon did not fully understand were now blocked.

"We have discovered a long time ago that fighting humans is best done with human weapons and a human mindset. For keeping humans, the same principle applies." Dirwen was bent low over a yellowish scroll, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Eragon bit his lip, unsure whether the noble elf would mind him asking more. After a short period of hesitation he gave it a try. "And what does this mean for Murtagh? How will you treat him?"

Dirwen did not look up. "I will not treat him at all, young human. Other elves will, those that are concerned with the dealings of the present." He was was still reading while answering. "You worry not. The cage will hold him in place. No one destroys a device of elven craftsmanship, not even a demon. You are safe now."

Eragon was not sure what a demon was, but decided to leave the multitasker alone nevertheless, not wanting to be rude. He had no idea about the customs of elves, and the day had given him more than enough to ponder about.

He tiptoed from the room, retreated to the chamber appointed to him, and lay down on a bed which had a frame made of living wood. He looked up at the ceiling, which likewise consisted of living wood, and a long sigh escaped him. Just when his life had had some sort of structure again it was all messed up anew. This time, it had been in the form of three elves appearing out of the blue at the horses' and his side. And now Eragon found himself guest in this strange city, while Murtagh was confined to a tiny cage outside, not even protected from the elements. What if it rained that night? No one would care, Eragon had already learned that. Everyone only worried about him, Eragon, thinking he was afraid of Murtagh…

He snorted quietly. Murtagh would not be a threat for him again, so much he knew. Whether it was his gut telling him, his intuition, his heart – he did not know. But he felt safe with the older one nonetheless.

Eragon had been upset about the treatment granted to Murtagh right away. When he had made a comment about it, though, the elves had laughed at him, saying he should be grateful that he had survived unscathed until they had arrived. But still… Ever since Eragon had first laid eyes on his former travel mate… acquaintance… companion?… in the tiny cage, the picture had not left his mind. He could not explain how it fit with what the elves were telling him about their way of living. Maybe I'll learn more in the days to come.

An unfamiliar scene beneath the tree in the distance had Eragon stop pondering. He blinked, twice, to make sure that he was truly seeing it. Murtagh, who was always so impassive, so drowsy whenever Eragon looked, was now glowering at Vanir's back until the elf had vanished in his homestead. Only a few minutes later, when Vanir did not reappear, did Murtagh's head fall back again against the wooden bars and he closed his eyes – but not before looking for the fraction of a second in Eragon's direction.

Eragon raised a hand in greeting, but it was too late to be noticed. He slowly let out the breath he was holding. That glare meant for Vanir… has it happened before? Does it mean that Murtagh doesn't like him?

He directed his steps away from the sparring ground, the place of his shame. Suddenly he blushed. If he has actually watched me here, he must think I'm the greatest dork alive! I can't fight – at all! He walked faster to bring as many trees as possible between him and the cage.

Only some time later another idea hit him. Or maybe… maybe Murtagh is siding with me, thinking Vanir's methods to be the problem? In that case, Murtagh would be the only other person besides Eragon who felt that way. Or is this just something I wish? Eragon had no clue.

His feet had turned on their own in the direction of what he called the 'food quarter' of Ellesméra. At least, he knew he only had to show up looking hungry, and there would be a swarm of people – mostly women – prepared to offer him the best they had. Which was always tasty. Strange, but tasty, although he would not mind some meat for once. The elves were all vegetarians.

"Eragon!"

Eragon's head jerked up and he smiled. "Arya Svit-Kona." He bowed lightly, his bad training session and Murtagh momentarily forgotten.

"Are you going to eat something?" the female elf asked pleasantly.

"Uh… yes. But I'm not very hungry."

Her eyes were twinkling. "Yes you are. Why don't we eat something together? I know where they have the best pastries…"

A few minutes later they were bathing in sunlight, sitting on a soft spot of grass a few feet away from any 'buildings'. Eragon was certain that now when he knew where the real good food was he would visit that particular place more often. "Delicias."

"Delicious," Arya corrected softly.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "What for? You are learning incredibly fast. You are allowed to make mistakes."

Eragon picked at some crumbs in his lap to make sure he missed nothing of the amazing fruit cake and to gain time. It always took him longer than usual to say something in Arya's presence. "But… this is only common tongue. I can't speak elvish. Everybody must change only for me."

"Eragon, nobody cares. And," she leaned in conspiratorially, "they always switch back once you're out of earshot." With a clear little laugh she leaned back again, tilting her head so that her face was fully exposed to the sun.

"Oh," Eragon said again and smiled nervously. True, he had been welcomed here, and the elves had been convinced quickly that he was an innocent bystander, that only a cruel trick of fate had thrown him in Murtagh's path. Once that had made the round, they had been friendly – but they never stopped treating him like a little, unknowing child. Only Arya tried to really get to know him; she saw that his 'flaws' were not due to a lack of ability, but instead to lack of knowledge. That was why he loved her visits. Or it was at least part of why he loved those visits.

He shyly glanced at her now, marvelling at her unmarred beauty. Her good mood made her even more attractive. Never had he seen a woman so beautiful, and never before had the other gender started this strange feeling in his stomach, the feeling which he normally only got when looking at handsome guys…

Arya cut into his musings. "Where did we leave off the last time?"

"Shur'tugal!" Eragon's odd mood was gone the second he remembered. He had learned quite a bit by now about Alagaësia; this, however, was his favourite topic.

"Ah, yes. I wanted to tell you about them. So… where you are from there are no dragons or Riders?"

Do planes and pilots count? "No. No Riders. No dragons." Eragon thought he had an idea what those creatures were like, but he still had to see one. "But I know some things already."

"Do you?" Arya asked sceptically, watching him with interest. "You've only been with Murtagh… Did he tell you?"

"Yes, he did. Well, a little bit." Eragon did not like the expression that briefly crossed her face. They had not spoken much about Murtagh, but he was aware that there were many things that he was in fact not aware of. "Do you want to hear what?"

Arya waved a hand, a somewhat forced smile on her lips. "Sure. It'll be interesting."

"Well… he has telled me about history, he has said there were many Shur'tugals a long time ago and that they… err… governed? Ruled?"

"Both."

"Err, yes, they did so with peace and Alagaësia was… uhm… thriving? Thriving. But then came the evil king Galbatorix and… did something bad with them, and in the end all died. Only the king and for a time some followers were there and the country was suffering. However, a little while ago a new dragon ha- hat- … was born, so now there's a Rider again. He's with the king. But there's a big conflict between the king and you, the elves, and… uhm… Varden – whatever that is – and the Rider is not sure what to do, and therefore the people are still suffering." Eragon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. That must have been the longest I've ever talked in this language… probably with tons of mistakes! Some moments passed before he noticed Arya's lack of reaction and he looked at her, only to find her sitting ramrod straight, her mouth partly open and her eyes wide. "Arya? What's wrong?" he asked tentatively, hoping that he had not messed up somehow without wanting to.

"Murtagh?" she croaked, then cleared her throat. "Murtagh told you that?" She shook her head in bewilderment.

"…Yes," Eragon answered after a while, sensing that he was ready to jump to Murtagh's defence. He had loved it when the warrior had told him about all these matters. It was the best fantasy stories come to life – only better. "Why?"

She would not answer yet. "Murtagh has said the king is evil?"

"Yes."

"Tss." Arya half laughed. "And he has said there is now one Rider out there besides the king?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" Do I speak Chinese? "He has said what I telled you!" he snapped, before pressing a hand to his mouth. "Sorry."

Arya shook her head and her usual friendly smile was back, although thoughts were clearly racing behind her eyes. "No, I am sorry. You surprised me there. Listen, Eragon. As you know, there are things I can't tell you, but this is not one of them. Everybody knows. Your former… shall we say travel mate?… is that Rider. He, Murtagh, is the king's top man, Eragon. They are the enemy. For the sake of a peaceful Alagaësia, neither one can live, because they truly are evil."

Eragon opened his mouth and then shut it again, the process repeating itself several times. He had stopped paying close attention after a certain word: Rider. "Murtagh is a Rider?"

Arya nodded.

"Murtagh… has a dragon?"

"Correct."

Wow… so Murtagh is usually riding on top of some huge, clawed lizard, and talking to it, of all things? How utterly, totally cool!

"That is why we lock him up, even though his magic is blocked. But he is an incredible fighter, so we have to take extra measures; I know that he knows more ways of escaping than other humans, it's important that…" she carried on, but it never reached the ears of her audience.

Magic. Right. Murtagh had also told him a little about magic, but never had he said that he was able to perform it. Yet he had also explained that all Riders could do so because of their dragons. Now that Eragon thought about it… Murtagh had always lit the fires at night faster than should have been possible, and that one time when Eragon had tried to run away… Magic! Awesome!

"Eragon?" Arya had cocked her head and was studying him. "Are you listening to me?"

"I…err… I'm sorry, I was a little… not there." Eragon forced himself to return his attention to the female elf, and he found that it was easier than expected. I think I have a thing going for black hair…

Arya nodded, apparently reaching a decision. "Listen. There is something we have to do. I had not thought this would be necessary so soon; I had wanted to grant you a little more time to get accustomed to us."

The words sent goosebumps to Eragon's arms. "Necessary?" he echoed, "what is necessary?"

Arya smiled anew. "I do not mean to scare you. It's only that our elders want to speak to you, ask a few questions, and I had figured that hearing this would be intimidating."

Good guess. "A bit." Maybe he was not considered an innocent bystander after all? Maybe they had just known right away how absolutely helpless he was and had not bothered to lock him up? "Your elders? Does that include your queen?" Cold sweat was breaking out on his skin.

"Yes, that includes our Queen Islanzadí. Don't panic, Eragon!" Arya took hold of one of his hands and stroked it lightly. "I would have spared you some days, but I did not know that you have actually talked to Murtagh."

"Of course we talked! We travelled together for, I think, about four weeks."

"Murtagh doesn't normally speak to strangers… but apparently not in your case. You might have learned something of importance. Therefore you have to talk to the elders today. The sooner the better."

Eragon swallowed hard. "Today? Sure… I mean, it's my duty, right?"

Arya did not answer and instead rose to her feet and pulled Eragon along.

"Now?" Eragon basically squeaked and clung to the hand holding his right. "We're going now? How- Will they… will they be there?"

"They are expecting us." Arya smiled like only a person could that was in on a secret.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

"Welcome, Eragon, you who you are so far from you home!"

Giving in to his wobbly legs, Eragon sank down on one knee and bowed his head. His tongue was glued to his mouth and would not move.

"You don't have to kneel, young man. Let us see your beautiful face!" the friendly but at the same time authoritative voice demanded.

Blushing lightly Eragon looked up, only to blush even more. He was in one corner of the great hall, although there were no walls, and the 'chairs' – or rather, the over-dimensional petals that could be used as such – were almost outside in the glade and not under the tree roof anymore. On top of those chairs were three elves awaiting him, but he would not have been able yet to describe their features to anyone, as he only dared to fleetingly look at them.

What made him forget to breathe, though, and had his cheeks burning, was the tall woman standing right in front of him, clad in a dark brown dress and a cape of swan feathers. Queen Islanzadí, he knew right away. Her hair was black, as Arya's, and her eyes, too, were of the same colour as those of the elf standing at Eragon's side. Perhaps they are related, he thought briefly. At least they were of rivalling beauty.

"Hello…" he said tentatively before squeezing his eyes shut. He had not just used that greeting with the queen of all elves, had he?

One of the elves chuckled quietly, and when Eragon opened his eyes again he found the other two frowning. Queen Islanzadí, however, seemed not to mind and invited him to sit down with her.

Eragon stumbled to the petal indicated, which was half facing the others, noticing with regret that Arya remained behind. He hoped that he would be able to answer all their questions quickly, but also in a way that would not increase the obvious elven dislike for Murtagh. With a very deep breath he tried to concentrate, silently forbidding both the common tongue and his brain to fail him at this crucial moment.

"Arya has told us that Murtagh has spoken to you. We need to know what he has said." The oldest looking elf – if any elf could possibly look old – got right to the point. Apparently he was in no mood to make it easier on their guest.

"All?" Eragon gulped. "I mean," he cleared his throat, "we travelled for weeks. I don't remember every day."

"He has talked to you every day?" the elf closest to Eragon, a woman with long brown hair, asked with obvious disbelief.

"Err… yes." Just as every normal human being would, he added quietly. "Well, not on the days that I did not talk to him."

"Explain!" ordered the queen, exchanging meaningful looks with the others, eyes lingering on Arya for a moment before they came to rest on Eragon again.

Eragon thought quickly, taking his own feelings into account. Did he want these people to know that Murtagh had hurt him? Definitely not. Another answer, then. "I could not speak in the beginning. I did not know this language." He was surprised how easy and convincing the half-truth passed his lips.

"He's from far away," Arya cut in, stopping the so far quiet elf from interrupting. "I'll explain later, if you want me to. It is of no importance for this matter."

Eragon smiled at her gratefully. She had truly become a close ally in these few days.

"What has he told you?" the oldest elf insisted.

"He…" Eragon actually thought back for the first time. What had they talked about? He only remembered that he had liked the conversations. The voice. The body sharing a horse with him. "He has tel- told me a lot about the area we travelled in… travelled through. Not about you. I mean, not about elves. He only told me about… well, you… later. After two weeks, I think. Before, he explained the country to me, the animals and… other things. And he told me many stories. For example, there was a hill in the forest, I don't remember the name, and he said that many years ago there was a battle on that hill, and he told me about that battle." Eragon fell quiet, his mouth dry. By now he knew that both the elves and Murtagh were playing important parts in this huge political something that was going on in Alagaësia, but he had no idea how the things he could recall would make any difference.

"Murtagh has told him that there is a new Rider, a Rider in the service of the king, but that this Rider was not decided on a course of action or even his loyalty," Arya added quietly to Eragon's report.

This, apparently, was of greater importance.

Queen Islanzadí and the woman with the brown hair stood up so quickly that Eragon flinched. All five elves present started speaking rapidly in their own tongue, and for Eragon it was only one big mass of sound, reminding him of heated government discussions he had once seen on TV. Each elf, however, seemed to actually understand what the others were saying. Thus for a while he just sat there, watching them, the uneasy feeling in his stomach not lessening.

"Eragon! Do you know why Murtagh made you travel with him?" The queen was speaking once more in the common tongue, and the others were immediately quiet.

"I'm not sure." After deciding that I am completely unimportant he wanted to fuck me, but eventually refrained from doing so and I kissed him because I like him. "He did not know who I was at first, what I was, my position, and then… I think he liked me company." Eragon knew he was blushing again, so he looked to the ground.

A shrill, short laughter broke free from the only person who had remained standing the entire time. "No. That can't be it. He does not like anybody."

"Arya is right, Eragon," the oldest elf agreed. "Think back, please. Could there be no other reason?"

Eragon looked at the man, finding some comfort in the friendly tone. He shrugged. "I think at first he thought I was a messenger. Which I am not. And then he thought I was a slave… which I am not, too. I… hmm… I'm sorry, I think that's all I know."

"How strange…" the man commented. "You're an odd little human, even to our eyes there is something about you… I wonder if Murtagh has seen that as well."

Eragon was immediately on his guard again. Now what does that mean? I am only… me, after all. What do they think they're seeing? He probably was different from all other humans in Alagaësia, if someone bothered to compare the curriculum vitae. Will they want to study me or anything? He quickly looked at Arya, who winked and smiled warmly, reassuring him without words, at least partly dismissing his worries.

"We will ponder further about this later today," the queen decided. "Now, Eragon. Do you think there might be more of importance that he has told you? Use your own judgement."

Eragon thought for another moment. "Perhaps… there are two names he has said. There was one in the beginning, and then I heard something and told him, and he said some things about the person and has often said the name again…" He fell silent. What if including these strangers' names will bring any harm to them? He did not want to be responsible for that. And what if mentioning these names was bad for Murtagh? A chill crept down his spine.

"What names?" the brown haired woman asked impatiently.

Too late, idiot. Start thinking first! "Durza-"

All elves jumped up in agitation.

"… and Brom," Eragon added sheepishly, shrinking on his chair.

It took some time until he could get his information across, which was for one that Murtagh had not really said anything about Durza, except nearly spitting that name out a few times in the beginning, and that the name Brom had surprised Murtagh very much and that he had wondered about the man's activities.

Soon after Eragon had finished explaining, the elves completely forgot about him; even for Arya he seemed to be thin air. He felt more out of place than he had in weeks, so he simply crouched on his petal and half-listened to the melodious elven language. Eventually he let his thoughts roam freely.

What he would give to be back on the road again with Murtagh, even if it was only a path in the woods with no certain destination! Just riding from sunup till sundown as they had for so many days, sharing their meals, Murtagh telling him stories… Yet Eragon now knew that the warrior – the Rider – had kept a lot from him, and he had no clue how this would change their strange… relationship. But do I even want it to change anything? And does it matter what I want? It's not like I'll see him anytime soon.

"Eragon?"

He blinked and straightened up when Islanzadí addressed him once more. "Yes?"

"I must apologize, we're not living up to our standards of hospitality. This must be very tiring for you." Her voice was considerable more warm and friendly than it had been during the elven debate. "For today, we have learned enough from you and you're dismissed. Arya will accompany you to Dirwen, but won't be able to stay for long. We will need her to plan our next interrogation of Murtagh."

Eragon stopped in the middle of standing up and slowly sank back down. "Interrogation?" he echoed almost soundlessly. He had the very strong feeling that questioning Murtagh was a different matter from what he had just experienced. What had he told the elves? Was it something leading to pain for Murtagh? Oh no…

"Young one, worry not." The queen of the elves regarded him with kindness. "Your concern for another human honours you, yet you do not know Murtagh. Worry not."

"I don't know if I know him," Eragon mumbled. "I just… he looked after me. I owe him." He clearly remembered the feeling of safety Murtagh had given him – unconsciously – after his dream with the horrible man in it. He shook his head. They would not understand, no matter how well I could speak. He rose to his feet and turned in the direction of Arya waiting for him.

"We do respect your feelings, but they are not needed here. But tell me, Eragon…"

Again the words of the queen stopped him, and Eragon turned back around to face her. "Yes, of course… What, exactly?"

"I would not ask this if I knew you felt uncomfortable about it. However, for a reason that I cannot understand, you don't seem to mind the time you have spent with Murtagh. Am I correct?"

"Oh." Scenes flashed in his head, scenes of his first day in Alagaësia with Murtagh close to killing him, then the cruel beating, the non-consensual sex that never happened… How come he did indeed not feel uncomfortable thinking of Murtagh? Because apart from those incidents, I have spent weeks with a very nice guy, Eragon answered his own question right away. I've kissed a very nice guy. Those lips… "No. I like Murtagh." Some of the elves shook their head and Arya behind him sighed, but he did not care. Being entitled to his own opinion was one of the basic principles he had grown up with.

The queen's smile was not as genuine anymore, but she controlled her voice better. "Then why don't you visit him?"

Eragon's mouth dropped open. "I… I may?"

Islanzadí shot a very sharp look at Arya. "Yes, you may. You could have visited him any time… except when we were interrogating him, of course."

Eragon only nodded. So far, whenever he had seen important looking elves moving in Murtagh's direction, there had also always been another elf at his side suddenly, talking to him, taking him somewhere to see something. Apparently it was not for him to watch what precisely they did to Murtagh. But I can ask him about his treatment when I visit him! Thinking of the future sent a small wave of relief through his body, but it immediately died when another thought occurred to him. Does he know he was allowed visitors the entire time? And I didn't go! Shit!

"The human could ask him about Durza and Brom." The elf that had not previously addressed Eragon now spoke in the common tongue for the first time, gesturing with one hand in his direction.

What? He wants me to spy?

The idea caused immediate silence and sent Eragon into a state of shock.

"Excellent!" Arya clapped her hands once, atypically grinning. The others were likewise excited, and Queen Islanzadí stepped close to Eragon and laid her hands on his shoulders. "The more information, the better. This is a great chance for you to contribute to our cause."

Eragon knew his eyes were bulging. They all agree with that one elf's idea? He could not quite bring his head to nod.

"You're dismissed!" Islanazdí's voice now held a lot of authority, causing Eragon to bow and stumble away, following Arya. His mind was momentarily blank, his heart heavy.

Arya took his hand again the second they were away from the elders. "Don't look as if we have condemned you to death. That's not your destiny."

"What does that mean?" Eragon asked quietly, sensing a new threat ahead.

Arya refrained from answering until they reached the opposite side of the great hall and were shielded from curious eyes by an oversized leaf acting as a screen. "Murtagh is a murderer, Eragon." She stopped in her tracks to look him intently in the eyes. "He has killed dozens of elves and uncountable humans. Some cannot be allowed to live a life like the one you apparently have in mind for him. Some do not deserve life."

He… what? Not for the first time that day Eragon's legs seemed too weak for his body. "I don't know what I have in mind. It's… I think it's all a bit much for me."

"Yes, of course it is," Arya hurried to assure him, "no one understands that better than I do. Let me guide you home. You need to rest and think about all that you've heard and learned today." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Eragon shuddered and shook his head to rid it of the pictures forming, pictures of Murtagh with swords not only drawn but also bloody. "But… do elves not kill in war?"

Arya cocked her head. "Well, yes, of course. Sadly one of the things defining war are the many deaths that go along with it."

"But then… why is Murtagh evil?" Technically he would call any murderer that, but he was not quite warming up to Arya's argumentation.

"Oh, Eragon!" She laughed once more, and the merry sound brought some warmth back into his body. "You are too young, too inexperienced to understand. You will over time, trust me. One day, you will understand."

Will I? Eragon found himself torn between the two different Arya's that he had gotten to know. On the one hand was her amiable, friendly self when they were talking about Alagaësia or when she explained to him the many facets of elven life. Her beautiful self. Then there was her irritated and to Eragon's eyes not explicable self when it came to Murtagh. All those comments she makes…

Slowly he nodded. "You're probably right. One day I'll understand."

"You'll see. All will be well in the end. And once the issues that trouble the world these days are settled, we will try to find your way home. You don't have to worry about anything." Her expression turned solemn. "But I already know that I will miss you, Eragon. Something about you is special, something is hidden within you… a promise… I wish we had more time."

Eragon was smiling in response to her words although he did not really want to. Whenever she was like this, she was irresistible, and her mentioning his home… He had once asked Murtagh about going back, and the warrior had only shrugged it off with a snort. Eragon preferred Arya's attitude very much. "Uhm… thank you." What do I say now? "You know that I don't know your people much… but you're my favourite person of them." He knew it was true the moment he said it.

An impish smile made Arya almost look his age. "I bet you're of noble blood where you're from, Eragon. You know how to make a woman feel good."

Eragon felt himself blush for the umpteenth time that day and nearly tripped when they emerged from the great hall. "I-I on-only try." Perhaps the one thing that he was less experienced in than guys flirting with him was when the opposite gender did it. His mother had once warned him of what she called 'the magic of women', and when he had come out of the closet she had admitted freely to be relieved. Which I have done why again? At that moment, he had no idea.

"You're good at trying," Arya whispered. "You're so different, Eragon." Without warning, she pulled him close and crushed her mouth to his, and her tongue raced along his lips, wanting more.

Eragon's heart missed more than one beat and a rush of blood raced through his veins. But he reacted as if he had never done anything else, expected anything less: he kissed her back passionately for long seconds.

Eventually Arya broke free, and with a smile she pulled him along in the direction of Dirwen's homestead. Her glance only left him for a second to briefly look at some place behind him. When her attention returned, Eragon noticed how her happiness had increased even more. "Whatever it is that is hidden within you," she remarked cryptically, "it sure has its effects."

Curious, Eragon quickly turned around, too – and froze. You idiot! You fucking idiot!

Behind him, unnoticed so far, Murtagh was standing upright in his cage, hands wrought tightly around the bars, knuckles white. His face, paler than usual, was transformed into a nasty grimace. His eyes, though, showed something different, and Eragon saw it clearly even across the distance.

Those eyes only conveyed one message: betrayal. Then there was a mood shift and… sadness.