A/N: Hello, 2009!

Unfortunately, this year is already starting with something bad: my internet, phone, and TV are all dead (all cable), and I'm posting this from a friend's place. Therefore, it might take me quite some time to reply to reviews, and there's also the possibility of the next chapter not being out on time. Experience tells me that this phase of "no internet" will last a while (I've been having trouble with my provider for years), and while I will try my best, I can't guarantee for anything.

If you're going through hell, keep going - Winston Churchill

Chapter 8

August 21st

His hand brushed against several dry blades of grass, and even Eragon could hear it distinctively. He knew the elves' senses to be far superior to his own, and it was becoming painstakingly clear that there would be no way for him to sneak into the vicinity of his host. So far, only the ever present musings about concepts far beyond a human's grasp had kept Dirwen from noticing him.

Eragon halted and came to rest on his stomach. He needed all willpower not to look in Murtagh's direction, even though he imagined that he felt the other's gaze upon him. Did the warrior have any idea of what he was doing here – for him? Because Eragon knew that Dirwen was keeping a pouch somewhere at hand, and earlier the day he had watched the elf put an item of great importance into that pouch: the key to the cage. And now that so many elves had left, it was the perfect, the only time to act.

"We must leave, Eragon. There is an enemy in the west that needs all of our immediate attention." Arya was tying light leather armour to her calves, her hands working fast but steadily.

"Leave?" Eragon was staring at the picture in front of him open-mouthed. He had been called to Arya by an unknown elf, and had come right away, originally quite curious about her home. At the moment, however, he only had eyes for the assortment of blades and pieces of armour littering the floor and already partly fastened to Arya's body. "Are you going to fight?" His anger about her kissing him in front of Murtagh was momentarily forgotten and he let his true worry show in his voice.

"Likely." Arya continued with her thighs, declining the help of another elven woman, who was otherwise keeping herself in the background.

"But… what's happening? What will happen to me? What with Murtagh?"

Arya grimaced on hearing the name. "There's a Shade in Du Weldenvarden, Eragon!" This was probably meant as an explanation, which it was not. "If we find him, we will have to fight. You, however, are safe." She briefly looked up at him. "Ellesméra is protected by measures that cannot be breached by someone of an evil mindset without our permission."

Despite the disturbing, frantic action that he had witnessed both in town and also here with Arya, Eragon paused for a thought. Had not Murtagh crossed the borders of the city? Just what was Arya's true opinion on him being evil or not? "Murtagh…?"

Arya's head snapped up and she regarded him quietly for a moment, as if her thoughts went in the exact same direction and even further, but then she shook her head, sighing. "There is a possibility of the Shade holding on to an item very dear to us. In that case, we will need something to ransom with – perhaps not with the Shade, but definitely later with Galbatorix. The elders do not want to put Murtagh to the end that he deserves, but they will not hesitate to do this, if need be." Arya now accepted the help offered, and together the two elves fastened the breast plate to her chest. "It probably brings about the same end for him."

Eragon held his breath while he was waiting for some sort of negation, some word that lessened the effect of what he had just heard, but nothing. Did that mean that they were going to kill Murtagh – indirectly? "Well…" he eventually broke the silence, unsure about what to say. "I wish that nothing bad will happen to you. And I hope that this Shade does not have what you need."

Arya looked at him with a true, affectionate smile. "Thank you, Eragon. Worry not." She completely missed his discomfort. Or did she ignore it?

There was no way for Eragon to accept this fate for Murtagh. Whatever his own way in this world would be, wherever it would lead him – hopefully home, his heart immediately cut in – he had to try to give Murtagh a chance, too. Therefore he was using what he considered his only opportunity, the best possible chance. Still, it was hopeless. Any second now Dirwen's going to notice me.

Following an intuition born out of desperation, Eragon decided to crawl back a little and then he jumped to his feet, walking openly into Dirwen's line of sight.

Immediately the elf glanced in his direction. "Eragon," he greeted neither friendly nor unfriendly, as impassive as always.

Eragon bowed, aware that he would have to conjure the conversation out of thin air. His heart was racing. "Dirwen… I… I have a question."

The elf inclined his head.

"What you have told me about your studies the other night… I have thought about it a bit more." I'm turning into a real good liar, Eragon thought contritely. "I am not sure whether I understand completely what you meant with… well, singing something out of the earth. I think I have again problems with the language."

Dirwen's dark green eyes had lit up at the words and at the unusual interest Eragon was displaying. His expression became a lot more welcoming. "It might seem so, might it not, young human? Especially for you, who you are not accustomed to our ways. But you have heard correctly."

Eragon sat down opposite of the elf and began fiddling with the nearest item – a little rock. He had spotted the pouch not even an arm's length away from him. "But then… I do not understand. I thought that singing was… music. How is music connected to a bow, for example?"

"It is only the obvious that you see." Dirwen looked away from Eragon and into the forest, gathering his thoughts; meanwhile Eragon grabbed the next item – a dry leaf – and got rid of the stone. "There are many ways that a bow is attached to music. You must understand fully all the connections. First, there are many songs about the art of war and about the art of craftsmanship, and both involve bows. There is the tale of Nurmo, for instance, a warrior of the old days, when the first generation of Riders was still young. He had a bow made of a beautiful young ash tree, and with this bow he achieved…"

Eragon's attempt to actually listen failed while he was following his greater goal. He now had the pouch in his hands and fiddled with it just as he had with the rock and the leaf before, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. His hands, however, were shaking as if he was a ninety-year-old, and his breath was coming in unsteady intervals, despite all his efforts to remain calm.

"… Second, there are the bows sung into existence. Note the difference. These bows are needed for a special occasion or for a special person, and thus it is at times decided that the great forces of the earth will be summoned to aid us elves in achieving quests of…"

Eragon slowly opened the pouch but did not yet dare to reach into it. For a split second his eyes darted away from Dirwen's lips and to Murtagh, who was shaking his head in consternation and, or so it seemed to Eragon, in a silent order to discontinue. Eragon grimaced. He had no choice.

Slowly his left slid into the bag and came to rest on the only item that was in there, but then he hesitated. He concentrated harder on his sense of feel, but what had felt like a gnarled piece of root at first touch kept feeling like a gnarled piece of root. Can keys be made of wood?

"… thus, singing has different meanings in this world, while only we elves are sensitive enough to act upon the difference. Our present queen, the dear lady Islanzadí, has once sung not only a bow but a quiver, too, out of a tree at the same time. They were of a stunning beauty and a quality greater than even the weapons of Jösna, a warrior woman who lived about a thousand years ago and died at the battle that took place…"

Eragon had grabbed the object and his left hand was slowly retreating until he could close the pouch, and slowly he put it back at its original place. Only then did he let out the breath he had been holding and willed his features to relax. So far, so good.

"… therefore, regarding your original question, there are many ways that music in its broadest sense is connected to bows. Do you want another example? Swords perhaps?" Dirwen's gaze had returned from staring into space and he regarded his guest with a certain fondness that he had not shown before.

"No! I mean," Eragon hurried to explain, "thank you very much, Dirwen. You've told me so much. I need some more time to… to have it in my head, I guess, but I think that now I understand. It is difficult, for me as a human…"

"I understand, young one. Our concepts may appear strange. Yet it pleases me that I was able to quench some of your interest regarding our culture."

"Again, thank you." Eragon slowly rose to his feet, careful to hide his left hand from Dirwen's view. "I shall go now and rest. May your night be peaceful."

Dirwen inclined his head as he had in the beginning. "May your dreams be restful."

Eragon meandered back the way he had come, overly cautious not to make any hasty movements. Or was he too slow? He had lost all ability to judge objectively, only aware, all of sudden, of misery spreading through his every vein. I have shamelessly used him! If the plan should succeed, it would be Dirwen who was responsible for the loss of the precious captive – or the freeing of a murderer, depending on who would be asked his opinion – and the last thing Eragon wanted was to get his friendly host into trouble. I will have to make it work out somehow!

Quite some distance and a good deal of forest was between him and Dirwen when suddenly his whole body began to shake, and he sank to the ground and closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the adrenaline to ebb away. He could not let the dizziness interfere with what was still to come.

When his mind was clear again and his legs agreed to further carry his body, he staggered to his feet, which turned on their own in the direction of Dirwen's homestead. Only there did he look at the wooden device in his hand for the first time.

It was about one inch in diameter and roughly four inches long, bent like a hook. The wood was indeed gnarled, though Eragon could not tell if it was made of a root or no. He thought it could very well be a strange sort of key of elven fashion – just as it could be about anything else imaginable. Only the lock of the cage would tell.

He did not know what drove him to gather his cloak and his elven knife before he left Dirwen's home, he merely acted upon instinct. Once he was fully equipped, the key tugged under his belt and hidden by his not-tugged-in shirt, he returned to the location of his past and future deed, although this time staying hidden from both prisoner and guard. Murtagh, Eragon noticed, was trying to find a comfortable position, probably with the purpose to sleep. Dirwen, on the other hand, was more alert than he had been before, making Eragon retreat a step or two. After a few moments of watching the elf, however, Eragon was convinced that the vigilance was due to the passing of time, and he exhaled deeply. After all, it was was he had secretly been hoping and waiting for, because a few days ago he had learned that every night at midnight, Dirwen walked to a little well at the brink of Ellesméra and performed a rite to do with chanterelles and blackberries. While Eragon did not expect to ever understand the point of it, he fervently hoped that having guard duty would not keep the elf away from the well.

Long minutes passed until the already dim light darkened even more, signalling midnight, and finally, with one last look at Murtagh, Dirwen left the area. Eragon was jubilant.

He waited until he could not see the elf anymore, then waited for another minute. While in his head the seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, his triumphant mood vanished as fast as it had come and his heart began racing once more. Are there other elves around? He looked into every direction, his eyes lingering on every shadow in the near dark, but he could not discern anything. Now or never!

With light strides Eragon hurried to the cage, all the time casting nervous glances around, but still he could not see any elf. Only shortly before he reached his destination did a thought of a completely different nature hit him. How would Murtagh react? So far, Eragon had assumed that the other would be happy about being freed, which would probably be the case, but what then? Eragon had not spent one second thinking about Murtagh's next step. What if the warrior decided to go for Dirwen, for example?

Eragon's breathing hitched and Murtagh's eyes snapped open. Too late now. And the fact that the elves were about to exchange Murtagh for some unidentified thing, thereby putting him in the hands of a person that posed a deathly threat for him… It was not an option. Hopefully Murtagh will just leave.

"Eragon!" Murtagh whispered furiously. "What have you done? You stole something, am I right? You must be out of your mind!"

"Shhh." Eragon was afraid that even though Murtagh was very quiet, the intensity of his voice could attract attention. With one last step he arrived at the cage, standing only inches away from Murtagh who had quickly risen.

"Where have the elves gone?"

"Fighting." Something in the stare of the hazel eyes sent a shiver down Eragon's spine. "They're fighting. A shade or something, but-"

"A Shade?" Murtagh reached through the bars and grabbed Eragon's shirt with both hands. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Eragon hastened to confirm, "yes, I am. What's a shade? No, don't answer, no time. They want to exchange you, I think, at least if that shade has what they think he does."

Murtagh turned even paler than he already was. "Hand me over to the Shade?" He swallowed hard.

"Yes. But I can't let that happen." Eragon's hand dove below his shirt.

Murtagh sneered. "I guess Arya is pleased now. Has she sent you to-"

"Murtagh! She doesn't know what I'm doing." Eragon had finally untangled the wooden item and held it up between their faces. "I think this is the key to your cage… I don't… As for Arya, I told you the kiss was a mistake. I'm here to help you escape." Stop doubting me!

A range of emotions was chasing each other in Murtagh's eyes. Disbelief was followed by hope and then there was something like joy – but all lasted less than a second, and thus Eragon was not too sure what he had seen.

Murtagh overcame his speechlessness in an instant. "You and I need to talk," he said before snatching the piece of wood from Eragon and inserting it in the likewise wooden lock. He fumbled for a few moments until, with an audible 'plop', the lock opened. Murtagh immediately jumped out of the cage and grabbed Eragon's arm, pulling him along in a ducked manner.

Eragon had planned till exactly this point – not one step further. For that reason, he willingly let Murtagh take the lead.

When they reached the first trees, Murtagh halted for a moment, his head turning to all sides and his body tense. Eragon dared not say anything, and neither did he dare to linger on all the horrible possibilities about what Murtagh would do next. But then the warrior turned around to him with a smile on his lips. "Thank you," he said in an undertone and let go of Eragon's arm. Instead, he grabbed Eragon's head with both hands, pulled him close, and expertly took advantage of the astonished open mouth to plunge into a kiss.

With a stifled moan Eragon's body made its desire heard: it wanted to kiss back. And kissing back he did, needy for Murtagh as a man dying of thirst would be for water. Willingly he let the demanding tongue explore his mouth, his own tongue forever crossing the other's way, yearning for treatment. And the warm, dry lips agaist his own, claiming him like no one had done before, creating pressure, wanting more, more, more, and-

-and Murtagh was gone.

With a small sound of protest Eragon opened his eyes. He saw that the other was still smiling, though now there was a different quality to it.

"So you truly meant what you said about Arya…" Murtagh slowly licked his lips, as if to savour every bit of the foreign taste.

"Every word." Eragon found himself doing the same.

Murtagh nodded and looked around once more, turning serious. "I will remember, but there's no time now. I know where they keep my weapons. Wait here!" He was gone in the blink of an eye.

Eragon stood stark and stiff and tried to calm the sounds of both his heart and his raspy breathing. He can't be that bad, he told himself over and over, it's impossible. He kissed me! He is not bad! However, a small voice in his head was not drowned that easily. Does that mean that he won't do anything bad, either?

Very soon Murtagh had returned, his two swords and various knives all in good order and back where they belonged. "Follow me," he mumbled, his mouth full and chewing.

"Follow you where?" Eragon whispered.

"Norgia."

"What?"

"Who would be the right question. She's a spellcaster and did not leave with the host earlier." Apparently, Murtagh knew exactly where he had to go, for they were already in an area that had not been visible for him from the cage.

"But… you must leave, Murtagh! Dirwen will soon be back. Don't stay around here! It's a great risk!"

Murtagh shook his head. "I need my magic, else I might be dead sooner than I care for and your little breakneck acting was all in vain." The last part of the sentence brought a faint smile back to his lips.

Unable to protest, because the capture of the key had truly been due to a lot of luck and not to his incredible acting skills, Eragon kept quiet and, not knowing what else to do, went along. It was a relief that he did not have to take the initiative at the moment; however, he was not entirely sure whether he liked the path they were taking. The path he was taking… or being taken along. It had been Arya, after all, who had promised him they would go look for his home once the war was over. And while he did not know how long that might take, he knew from past experience that Murtagh had no intentions of returning him anywhere.

Eragon's body slowed down on its own so that Murtagh was soon not only guiding, but downright pulling him. I have freed him… that is certainly enough, isn't it? He deliberately closed his heart to the kiss they had just shared and concentrated on the task at hand. Perhaps it was truly the best to leave Murtagh now once and for all, leave before the surely quite dangerous man laid an even stronger claim on his heart. "Murtagh…"

"Aye?"

"… I think I should not go to-"

"Hush!"

Without warning or hesitation, Murtagh kicked in a thin membrane on the side of a large tree, and suddenly Eragon found himself inside of an elven home and opposite to a surprised woman. She caught herself quickly, though, and straightened up to her full height, her black hair dancing on her hips. "Murtagh!" It sounded like a curse.

Eragon caught sight of a long, bent knife a few feet to his right, but out of reach from who must be Norgia. Oh, please, Murtagh, he pleaded silently. You won't attack someone unarmed, will you?

Murtagh had seemingly no such scruples.

Moving faster than Eragon thought humanly possible, Murtagh jumped forward, the shorter one of his swords drawn. Norgia, however, was not caught that easily and danced away at an unbelievable speed.

Soon Eragon found himself in the midst of a rush and flurry of movements. As he could not distinguish much, he simply remained where he was, his heart hammering in his chest. He did not dare to move, too afraid that he might accidentally make contact with Murtagh's blade, or that he would tip the scales. It was not his fight, after all, although he still wished with all his heart for it to end already and that none would get hurt.

Suddenly there was a choked gasp and Murtagh had cornered Norgia, the tip of his sword at her throat. Her eyes were burning with a furious fire – as were his.

"My magic!" Murtagh commanded hoarsely, panting. "Now! I need it!"

Norgia managed a frail, fake smile. "You won't get it. You know I'd rather die than help you. My life is not worth the threat that your magic presents to my people."

Murtagh scrutinized her for long moments. All of a sudden, he let go of his target, rushed around – and had his blade at Eragon's throat. With his other hand he grabbed Eragon's hair and kept the head in place. "What about his life?" he asked with an evil smirk. "Will you sacrifice a helpless young human?"

Once again his ability to breathe left Eragon, but this time out of panic, out of sheer terror. Murtagh will not hurt me, will he? A few days ago, even a few minutes ago, he would have answered the question with a definite 'no'; now, however, he quickly lost his confidence in that.

Norgia had not moved, only her eyes had darted to the point where the sword would enter Eragon's throat in case Murtagh followed through with his threat.

Murtagh applied some pressure and Eragon knew his skin was on the verge of breaking. "Arya will be very angry and very sad if he is no more…"

Norgia pressed her lips together some longer, watching back and forth between the two males. Then her expression reached a new level of fury. "Damn you, Morzan's son! Damn you!" She spat to the ground. "I won't accept you killing yet another innocent, demon!"

Smirking again, Murtagh tilted his head in her direction, and she touched it with her fingertips, a look of utter disdain on her face. Nonetheless, she quickly concentrated and began to mutter in Elvish.

To his absolute horror, Eragon noticed how Murtagh's previously very steady sword arm began to tremble – the longer Norgia murmured, the worse it got. Already the sharp blade was scraping his skin.

Suddenly Murtagh groaned in agony, his arm quivered, and the sword hit its mark.

Eragon yelled in shock and initial pain and pressed a hand to his throat, which was at once wetted. The distinct smell of blood was thick in the air.

He stabbed me!

Abruptly, Murtagh knocked Norgia out with one elbow and immediately let go of Eragon. He sheathed his sword and then tried to remove the hand with which Eragon was holding back a fountain of blood. "Let me see!" he ordered harshly.

"No!" Eragon howled and backed away. The blood trickled around his hand, no matter how hard he clutched it to the wound, and already he felt lightheaded. I'm going to die, he thought in shock. I. Am. Going. To die.

Murtagh was now pulling at Eragon's arm with both of his hands, causing Eragon to fight even harder to withstand. I won't let him speed up my death! I need these precious last moments! I must say goodbye. He may not speed it up!

"There is not much time left," Murtagh produced between clenched teeth. "Eragon! Please!"

Oh no! I'm not letting go. Mom!

Only a second later Eragon felt that he was too weak, that he was losing it. Mom! I love you!

Murtagh tore the hand away and straightaway replaced it with his own.

Through a reddish haze, Eragon thought that the other frowned and said something… no, chanted something, but he was not sure anymore. His vision blackened, and blood was rushing in his ears, causing immense noise. Mom! he thought again, his voice only feeble in his head. I love you!

When the pain subsided and the feeling of blood running down the outside of his throat stopped, Eragon was convinced that he was making the first step into his afterlife. Bereft of any thought, he gave in to the blackness calling.

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Somehow his heart hurt.

Eragon could not determine how exactly it hurt, but he wrapped his waking consciousness around the fact that every beat burned as if his heart was out of breath.

A while later he noticed that all was dark, yet his surroundings were unsteady. He was not moving but at the same time something was moving…

Some more time passed, and then there was a bump from below that sent his heart fluttering against his rib cage, increasing the pain. He gasped.

"It will get better," a low voice said close to Eragon's ear. "Soon we will rest and it will get a lot better."

Some memories returning, Eragon soon placed the voice: Murtagh. But how…? And where… ahh. He finally understood that he was sitting on a horse, which, according to the movements, was going at a greater speed than he was used to. Closely behind him was Murtagh, one arm wrapped around his waist to hold him. Eragon's head was resting against the other's warm, strong chest. "…Dark," he mumbled.

A chuckle sent the chest vibrating. "You could open your eyes."

Oh. Eragon did as told – and was immediately blinded. "Ouch!" He squeezed his eyes shut again and only slowly repeated the opening process. The light blinding him originated from the setting sun, which was yet above trees of the forest, and straight in Eragon's line of vision. He averted his eyes and glanced to the side, and there he saw Murtagh's horse running next to them, for they were indeed cantering.

"I've been changing horses all the time," Murtagh explained, "neither of them can carry two riders at a fast pace for long. Still, they soon need a rest."

"Canter so much? Too much!" Is that my voice? It sounded unnatural, throaty.

Murtagh had no trouble understanding the cryptic remark. "Of course we did not canter the entire time, or else the horses would be dead. I only urged them to run when the ground would allow it."

Ah. And the ground looks good now, so we're cantering. The logic behind this steadied Eragon's still muddled thoughts, until he saw a small hazel bush land not far away from Tornac. Huh?

Frowning, he paid closer attention to their surroundings, and processed all the information at hand. Finally he understood what was disturbing him: the thick undergrowth and the bushes were moving away from where the horses were about to run, partly flying through the air.

Eragon rubbed his eyes, but the scene he was seeing stayed the same. Then a slight red shimmer caught his attention, and he found Murtagh's other hand – the one that was not around his waist – to be the source of the light. It was holding the reins, but at the same time the index and middle finger were moving, pointing in different directions, and the whole hand was glowing, although Murtagh was wearing his gloves.

Eragon willed one of his arms to obey him and pointed at the hand and then further at the ground. "What is that?"

"I'm clearing a path so we can travel faster."

Right, magic. So it is back, then? Norgia has- Realization set in. "Murtagh! You stabbed me! What happend? Why did you-" He paused when a new idea hit him. "Did you want to kill me?"

"No!" Murtagh hurried to assure him. "No, I did not! It was an accident. Do you understand that?" He placed a small, chastise kiss on Eragon's temple. "I was not prepared as I should have been. The counterspell Norgia used, the one for unblocking my magic, was stronger than I expected and had my arm tremble. I did not and do not mean to hurt you."

"And then? I thought I would die…"

"I hit a vein, and you lost a lot of blood until you let me tend to it. You're quite an opponent, Eragon!" Murtagh said with something akin to pride in his voice.

"Did you heal me with magic?"

"Yes, I did. It was a clear cut and easy to mend. But I cannot create new blood with magic, which is why you're not feeling well at the moment. You're weakened. We will need to feed you a lot in the days to come."

Eragon's hand had jumped to his throat right away, and, true enough, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Doubt remained, though, whether it had really been an accident. Murtagh had sounded dead serious when he had threatened Norgia with taking Eragon's life. And anyhow… "Murtagh!" Eragon cried. "I did not want to come along!" He reached for the reins and tried to pull at them, but Murtagh's hand was in front, preventing the motion from reaching the horse's muzzle.

"What do you mean?"

"Stop! Stop now!"

"No! Listen, we will rest soon, all of us need it. But we will ride until sundown first."

"No! Stop! You don't understand!" How long had Murtagh ridden like this? Half a night and the whole day? The elves were certainly far away by now. "Murtagh! Just leave me here! Give me my horse and leave me! I need to go back to Ellesméra!"

"You're going a little mad, Eragon," Murtagh said, unperturbed. "I won't do anything the like. It would kill you to be on your own."

I must go back! Cold sweat was breaking out on Eragon's skin, and he realized that if he could not stop Cadoc, he would have to get off somehow, to force Murtagh to act upon it. He started picking at the hand that was securing him on the horse, but the thick leather glove and horrible strength of the body within prevented any success.

Soon it was Murtagh who called for a stop, but he wanted a completely different action to end.

Eragon did not give up so easily and rammed one of his elbows into the stomach behind him while at the same time kicking both of his heels into Murtagh's shins. Murtagh flinched and cursed heavily, the entire commotion causing Cadoc to shy. At once Murtagh released Eragon to concentrate on the horse with both hands, and without further ado, Eragon let himself drop to the side, realizing far too late that one of his legs was still on the other side of the horse, and that he was rushing towards the ground with his head first.

In the last instant Murtagh got hold of Eragon again, grabbing his arm with an iron grip. The heavy weight on one side of the saddle caused the surcingle to give way, and Murtagh immediately leaned to the other side to prevent the saddle from sliding down. With another loud curse he somehow managed to rein in the horse shortly after.

When they were finally standing still, horses and humans panting and gasping, Murtagh released Eragon a second time, and as Eragon was dangling on the side of Cadoc already, he now plummeted to the ground like a ripe apple. He landed with a dull thud on his back and all air was pressed out of his lungs. A sharp, stinging pain had him briefly paralyzed, and the world around him was spinning rapidly. He thought that he had hit his head on something, but was too weak to raise a hand to feel for it.

Murtagh jumped to the ground and pulled both horses close, murmuring softly to them. Only when they had calmed down did he turn around and crouched next to Eragon. "You fool! What were you thinking?" He was more angry than worried.

Eragon's vision was blurry and he was not yet able to speak. His revolutionary mood had taken its leave for the moment and he only wished for the pain to subside. After some time he whispered, "I wanted to tell you in Ellesméra that I'm not coming with you."

Murtagh's eyes narrowed in confusion. "But why?"

Eragon coughed and choked a little and gladly accepted the hands that were finally extended to him, pulling him upright into a crouched sitting position. He knew, however, that he did not have time for more than catching his breath. Murtagh was waiting for an answer, and they would have to settle the matter now. "I," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "I only wanted to set you free. I wanted to stay. Arya said she would help me find my way home."

"Arya!" Murtagh snorted. "I should have known, it's-"

"Murtagh! No!" Eragon would not hear any of it again. "Does it ever stop? Have I not told you that I didn't mean it and… have I not proven it?" he asked in a voice that was fortunately as cold as he wanted it to be, hiding all the other emotions assailing him.

And suddenly he was witness to the greatest moodshift yet.

Murtagh's irate expression went soft, and, to his astonishment, Eragon found himself looking into eyes that were for once full of apology. Then Murtagh reached out with one hand and brushed it lightly over Eragon's cheek. "You have," he said simply. "I should not have brought Arya up again. You have done me great service. I… I'm not used to people like you. People that care." He quickly turned his head away.

From the side, Eragon thought that Murtagh looked sad, which confused him no little. Can't he accept something done in his favour? Shouldn't it make him happy? Then another thought occured to him, and he felt a little sad, too. Has no one ever cared before?

After a pause Murtagh's attention was back and his voice business-like. "Listen, Eragon, I need to tell you something…" He fell quiet again, licked his lips, and ran a hand through his hair. Seemingly it was not so much business as usual, after all. "I have told myself during the imprisonment that I would let you go, because… because I like you." He smiled apologetically, as if it was a bad thing. "But when you freed me yesterday, I had assumed that you wanted to come along. I never thought that maybe you did not. I thought that… that perhaps you would excuse my using you with Norgia when I would get us away safely. Seems as if I was wrong – again!" He looked remorseful, which, as Eragon noted, was a first. "And look now!" Murtagh exclaimed more to himself. "You need me and I'm holding a speech! Here." He helped Eragon move backwards a little until he could sit down with his back against a tree, then unfastened his cloak and draped it as an extra protection over the younger one, although it was not really cold.

"Are we resting now? It's not dark yet," was the first, trivial thing to say that popped into Eragon's head. "See to the horses again, please. I did not mean to scare them." He bit his lip. What am I talking about? I like you, too!

Murtagh watched him only a moment longer. "Yes, we'll stay here. We should have covered enough distance for now." He rose and swiftly attended to their steeds, a deep frown never once leaving his forehead. When he returned with some stolen food, however, all agitation was wiped from his features, as if he had decided on a course of action. "You need to eat."

Eragon took the bread offered and munched quietly for a few minutes, aware that Murtagh did not do likewise but instead only studied him.

"Here is how we do it." The sun had set when Murtagh broke the silence. "You cannot return on your own, and I cannot accompany you right now, that should be obvious. The elves are probably chasing us, or rather me, in this exact moment. But what's even more pressing is that with Durza somewhere close, and the egg probably, too, I must hasten on for the sake not only of Thorn and my life, but for the entire country."

Eragon could not follow when the conversation changed to the undoubtedly highly important political matters. "Durza? I thought, something called a shade-"

Murtagh raised an eyebrow, then smiled a crooked smile. "I assumed it was obvious. Durza is the Shade. It's his name, the name of a monster… But no more of it now. And with the dragon egg… there's so much I still have to tell you, Eragon, but it's also not the time."

"So is this the war Arya talked about? Or part of it? The war after which she wants to help me?"

"Yes. Although I think you don't understand the dimensions of it. This war, Eragon, will last not only months, but years, if I'm not mistaken." Murtagh looked down on his hands. "I remember that you once asked me about your home, too, and I know I did not react as you had wished me to. But… but that was then. I will do my best to help you – once this war is over. But you must be aware of how long that can be."

Eragon knew that his increasing fatigue would soon kill his concentration, so he had listened with rapt attention. Murtagh will take me home as well? He simply nodded. What exactly that meant he was not sure, but he felt a little smile fight its way to his face. Spend more time with Murtagh and find my way home!

Murtagh shook his head. "You're most incredible, Eragon. You once said I can be nice, and I've tried when it comes to you, but I am still struggling… and yet you're happy." He shrugged helplessly. "Here I am, telling you I'll help you to find your way home, but I don't even know where that is! I never asked you! That isn't too nice, is it?"

"Montana," Eragon said spontaneously.

"What? Mon- Do you mean mountain? What do you mean?"

"No," Eragon briefly looked at his lap, fighting the homesickness that had kicked in out of the blue. "Not mountain. Montana. That's where I'm from. My home."

Murtagh was quiet for a moment. "I must confess I've never heard of it… Will you tell me more about it in the days to come?"

The undeniably sincere interest made Eragon feel better already. "I will. Will you tell me more about yourself, too?"

"I will."

Eragon nodded once more and closed his eyes. The strain was becoming too much, and his body was calling for a break. However, one more thing he had to know right away. "With all this fighting and war and battle… you will be in the middle of it, right? Where will I be?"

"Yes, I will be riding in front, on a horse or Thorn. But worry not. You will be far away from danger. I will see to it that you're safe. I have someone in mind that you will stay with."

"Where, Murtagh?" Eragon whispered. "The elves said the Empire is evil, and I think I believe them. Is it safe for me there?"

"No, it wouldn't be, I don't think so," Murtagh admitted. "But as you know, I don't trust the elves. Therefore I have someone different in mind, someone from a third party." He snorted. "True, the man neither likes nor trusts me, but I have a very strong feeling that for you, he will care, and that he will protect you. You're special, Eragon, do you know that? You win hearts like others a faked game of dice."

Eragon was deeply touched by the last words, but he was too confused now, too weary to react to them. "Tell me more t'morrow?" he mumbled.

"Sure I will. You should sleep now. I'll see to it that we can rest peacefully."

Good. Eragon lay down on his back, not opening his eyes again, although he would have liked a good look at Murtagh before falling asleep. Only one thing remained for the day, one thing he did not want to go without. Had he been in any other condition, he would have been terribly nervous. "Murtagh?" Hardly a sound escaped his lips. "Will you kiss me?" He held his breath.

"Of course," the beautiful voice agreed with an audible smile.

When Murtagh's lips brushed against his, Eragon felt himself smiling as well.

A/N: Murtagh's nice here in the end, isn't he? Too nice? I don't think so. Here's why:

Throughout the first five chapters, Eragon steadily gains Murtagh's respect by acting the way he does, and he keeps the older one continuously interested and attracted. Last chapter, Murtagh actually admitted to himself that he likes Eragon, which, for Murtagh, is almost a revolutionary thing to do. In this chapter, then, there's quite a few things happening:

First, Eragon frees Murtagh, which is not only a great symbolic deed regarding his feelings for Murtagh, but also simply a great deed in itself. Then, Murtagh accidentally nearly kills Eragon, and though he's probably quite busy afterwards organizing the flight, I'm certain that part of him is full of guilt, a guilt of the extend that he's felt only once before (Tornac's death – a bit more about that next chapter). And while a few weeks back he might not have cared at all if Eragon had told him that he did not want to come along (as he tells him here), now, hearing this after all else that has happened, it adds to Murtagh feeling sorry about what he's done. And lastly, by acting as he does here in the end, Murtagh is rewarded in a way that he has never experienced before: another person's heart is warming up to him and - important! - doesn't hide this. I could very well imagine that if someone has been bereft of this warmth all his life, once he feels it he might find himself craving more.

In short, I'd say that stabbing Eragon is a turning point in Murtagh's attitude towards him, and it's a very strong turning point on top that. Why? 'Cause even though he's laid the foundation for it, Eragon's not even involved in this. It originates completely from within Murtagh. And those changes are always the strongest.