A/N:

1. The two chapters ahead are a bit problematic. Why? Well, while we all know quite a bit about Murtagh by now (chapters from his POV, other fics, the books, of course), Eragon in this story still knows next to nothing. And while Arya has indeed told him quite a few things about Alagaësia, in total, she and Eragon did not spend that much time. So now we have an Eragon who knows only snippets about the world he's in, thinks he knows who's good and bad, knows Murtagh is one of the leading bad, and on top of that knows Murtagh is a murderer. Therefore, the two must discuss some matters here, else it would be pretty stupid, I think (even though most of us easily forgive Murtagh everything, but that's just not realistic). Brace yourself for politics. :)

2. Some part of Murtagh's reasoning here is derived from a Gandhi quote: "What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans, and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or the holy name of liberty and democracy?"

3. Somehow the anonymous reviews have enabled themselves (...), but I really don't mind at all. I disabled them back in the day when I posted my first fic, afraid of flames because of writing slash… These days, though, I don't really care, and I know of the delete function, so of course I'm leaving them enabled. I should have enabled them myself ages ago, actually, just never thought of it. But as I can't reply via the site's reply function, all I can do is to thank you (anonymous reviewers) very much this way, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story.

Without a country, I am not a man - Nawaf Al-nasir Al-sabah

Chapter 9

23rd Grain Moon

Murtagh took his time tending to the horses, granting Eragon precious moments of further rest. They would have to pick up the fast pace again, and keep it as long as the horses were able to, but considering how weary Eragon had been the previous night, every minute of sleep was needed.

When the sun passed the horizon Murtagh was set to go and there was no delaying anymore. He strode over to Eragon and found him curled up in a ball, his mouth partly open. Murtagh sank to one knee and reached out to touch a shoulder, but stopped when his eyes came to rest on the golden hair. Finally… His hand changed its path and soon he was running it lightly through the wavy strands, over and over again. There were a few tangles in it, and some little twigs and pieces of leaves from the ground, but overall, the hair was just as soft as he had imagined it.

Only with regret did he let go, and his hand wandered down to Eragon's throat. Both his fingers and his eyes convinced him that he had done good work the previous day, but still, even the healthy new skin made Murtagh cringe. The fact that he had injured Eragon so severely was still heavy on his heart and mind.

He lowered his hand to the shoulder and shook it lightly. "Wake up!"

Lazily Eragon opened his eyes, but when he recognized Murtagh, they quickly fell shut again. "Not yet," he mumbled.

Murtagh rose and unceremoniously pulled his cloak away from Eragon. His own night had been rather cool. "It's time for us to move. I laid a false track in Ellesméra, but the remaining elves will have long since sent someone after us."

Muttering something incomprehensible, Eragon slowly pushed himself upright.

"Here." Murtagh handed over a wineskin.

Eragon declined with a disgusted expression. "Wine would make me throw up."

"No, it won't. Have at least a sip – it will raise your spirits. We will eat once we're riding."

Without further protest, Eragon did as told, but made it look as if he was forced to drink poison. "Ready," he announced shortly after and stood up, swaying a little. "Oh." He reached for Murtagh's offered arm and held on tightly on his way to Cadoc.

Once Murtagh was sure that Eragon would not fall off his horse, he swiftly mounted Tornac and spurred him on, grabbing Cadoc's reins when he passed the chestnut stallion. "Before you complain, I want you to use your hands to hold food," he told Eragon.

Still groggy from sleep, Eragon was quiet for a long time. He ate so much bread, cheese, and fruit that Murtagh knew their supplies would not last long, but all that mattered now was for Eragon to balance out his loss of blood.

The sun was nearing its zenith when Eragon's natural liveliness returned. So far, he had not uttered any grudge about Murtagh taking the decision concerning his future away from him. Instead, he obviously enjoyed the trot and light canter, and, Murtagh noted, he had indeed learned a lot in terms of riding and could now divert a great part of his attention away from his horse, which he did staring at Murtagh's hands or the objects flying out of their way.

"Murtagh?" They had slowed down to a walk when Eragon broke the silence, which had lasted almost all morning. The horses' flanks were steaming. "Why didn't we travel here like this? With you use magic, I mean. It's four times as fast!"

"With you using magic. The horses can't keep this up for very long." That was part of the reason, after all.

"But still… can you keep it up for long?"

Damn you, Eragon. When did I turn into an open book? "No," Murtagh admitted with a little smile. "Far longer than the horses, but magic is difficult in many ways, and mine especially. With all that I already shoved out of the way yesterday… I can feel the strain of it." He flicked the middle finger of his right and a fallen tree rolled to the side.

Eragon contemplated that for a moment. "But… but you only move the things on the ground. Why do you never move the big trees?"

"Because a living, grown-up tree is rooted deep in the earth and requires a lot of energy to be removed. See – the basic principle of magic is that whatever task you accomplish, it costs you as much energy as if you do the task the normal way."

"Ah, I understand," Eragon said, sounding the exact opposite. "But… Wait! You could lift all that without magic? I mean, if you did this all day yesterday when I was not… err…" He looked at Murtagh for help.

"Conscious."

"When I was not conscious. Could you?"

Murtagh pointed to a nearby stream. "Over there, let's water the horses." He directed Tornac towards the water, Eragon following swift. "No, I cannot," he answered once they were at the riverbank. "I am strong," he added hastily, "but only like a normal human, no more."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't." Murtagh sighed. "And this is where we're touching the bad stuff. Do you want to?" He motioned for them to continue on the sandy banks, which went straight west for a league or two, in the direction of Osilon. There were no obstacles in their way and Murtagh took a deep breath. There was a good reason why he avoided using magic, after all.

"Yes," Eragon answered without hesitation. "I must know things, Murtagh, or I cannot decide on my own. I want to decide on my own."

"I'll ask you a hundred things in return," Murtagh threatened mockingly.

"I'd like you to."

Eragon was more serious than he had made it sound, and Murtagh sensed that there were quite a few issues the younger one wanted to address. He's completely out of place, he reminded himself. He has no one and probably lost many… I shouldn't forget that so often. "I will," he promised, and was rewarded with a beautiful smile. "So… the reason why I did not clear our path on our way here was that I had to stay hidden. Now, however, the elves are well aware of my destination, so at the moment it is all about speed. We will conceal ourselves again, but only in a few days, when there are others around to hide from."

Eragon nodded. "It leaves traces. Magic, I mean."

"… It has taken me more than a year to figure that out! But yes, it's true."

Eragon shrugged. "It makes sense from what you've said." He paused for a thought. "But… you have lit fires with magic on our way here, right?" His forehead crinkled into a frown. "And I thought I had understood…" he grumbled.

Murtagh shook his head and laughed a little. "You impress me, Eragon! I would have never believed that you remember that, let alone connect it to what you're hearing now."

"I'm not stupid!"

"No, no you're not. I didn't say that." He went for an attack. "You don't like compliments?"

"Err… It sounded… not real. Not meant. There's a better word."

"Ironic? It wasn't, though."

"Oh. Well… thank you," Eragon said meekly. Suddenly he grinned. "You're very handsome. And I very much like how you smell."

Murtagh choked on his own spit and a coughing fit followed, which did not, however, drown Eragon's laughter. "What? What's that supposed to mean, Eragon?"

"The truth," Eragon replied nonchalantly, "what else? You don't like compliments?"

Bastard! Murtagh thought amused, but looked away into the woods. He would not grant Eragon the triumph. "Yes, I lit those fires with magic," he said when he had his face back under complete control. "Yet the spell for that is very basic, very easy. It requires so little energy that it is nearly undetectable."

Eragon was still smiling the proud smile of victory, but had paid close attention nonetheless. "I think I understand now." He reached for his waterskin and took several deep gulps, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. "You said in your case it's especially difficult or something…"

"Aye. I'm not a magician or wizard, see? I'm only using the magic given to me by my dragon."

"I know."

"Good. In all cases, however, you need training, else you'll only master some basics at the most or never anything at all. Thorn hatched for me roughly three years ago, when I was your age, and ever since I have learned from no one less than King Galbatorix himself."

"Ah."

"You have no idea what that means, do you?" Murtagh leaned down to kill a gadfly on Tornac's neck. "Well?"

"The king is evil," Eragon said, or rather, recited. "And you… err… serve him." He blushed and added quietly, "That's all I know."

Oh, wonderful! "You know, I dream of sucking his cock for breakfast, but he only lets me have it in the evenings."

"Murtagh!" Eragon immediately stopped his horse and scowled at him. "What is wrong with you?"

"You don't know me, Eragon!" Murtagh had halted as well, but was a few yards in front. "My life is a mess! It could very well be true…" He snorted. "It's not, though, do you hear me? It's not."

Eragon shook his head and kept sending angry glances in Murtagh's direction when he urged his horse forward again and passed him by. They rode quietly for a while, one after another, and soon left the stream, which was turning south.

Stupid joke! Murtagh thought, his hands furiously clenched around the reins. All my life I've spoken safely little, and now this…

"Explain!" Eragon demanded eventually, and waited for the other to catch up with him. "It's not my fault that I don't know you!"

Murtagh scrutinized Eragon for a moment, trying to figure out how angry he really was. "I'm bound to Galbatorix." It can't hurt if he knows. "Even though I hate him, I don't have a choice." He spat to the ground. "But no more of it now. What I had wanted to tell you earlier is that the king is the most powerful magic user of these days; his skills exceed everybody else's. He has taught me a lot and has made me immensely powerful. The normal rule that a spell costs as much energy as the same labour done manually does not apply – most of the time. However, Galbatorix is also immensely afraid of anybody besides him gaining too much power, and as I have all the prerequisites… He's surrounded me with barriers, which in fact hinder me from uttering certain spells, performing certain magic."

"For example?"

"For example scrying."

"What is scrying?" As so often, Eragon's curiosity overruled everything else, including his anger.

"Scrying allows you to see things or persons if they are away from you, but only if you have seen these things or persons before." The extraordinary ability did not impress Eragon in the least. "No matter what the distance!" Murtagh added for emphasis.

Eragon remained unimpressed. "And?"

"Well… I can't scry. Galbatorix prevents it with a spell, so that I don't have the slightest chance of seeing what he does or where he is… Of course, he has an army of other measures to protect himself on top of it."

"You can't scry only now? Or forever?"

Murtagh grimaced. "Until the day he dies."

Eragon held his gaze for long moments. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Murtagh reached for one of his saddlebags and drank some wine. "I'm not that sad about my inability to scry. Other barriers are worse, but they're harder to explain."

Eragon nodded and was quiet for some time. When the silence lasted, Murtagh wondered whether perhaps it was now his turn to ask, and he gave it a try. "So you're from Moun-…Montana? Do I remember correctly?"

Eragon jerked at the abrupt change of topic. "Yes, that's right." He smiled briefly, then gestured impatiently with one hand. "I have some questions still, if you don't mind."

"Oh." Wrong – again! "Go ahead, then." How is this supposed to work out if I'm never right about him?

"If you hate the king," Eragon began tentatively, "why are you with him? When you told me about Alagaësia, you said you're not satisfied with how things are now, but it's the king's doing. So, why don't you change sides?" He did not look at Murtagh. "I'm not acc... accusing?... accusing you, I would only like to know why."

So it's politics now. Murtagh sighed. "I was born into service, so to speak. My father, Morzan, was Galbatorix' most loyal follower, the first among the Forsworn." Had anyone told him beforehand, Murtagh would not have believed how easy the words left his mouth. "As a child, I was not concerned with political matters, of course, and later, when I was a boy, I only knew what I had learned while growing up – there was only one truth. Moreover, my existence had been kept from the king for some time, and when he finally heard of me, I would have been dead in no time had I not been loyal to him and his views. These days… Have the elves told you about secret names?"

Eragon shook his head.

"Then let's just say that the king has found a way to make not only me, but worse, Thorn, too, extremely vulnerable to his magic. For the sake of not endangering our lives, I must obey."

"But… do you always do that?"

"Depends. He sends me on missions or gives me a task, and I must fulfil both to his satisfaction. So far, however, he has not interfered regarding how I do things or what I do in between. This leaves me with some freedoms."

Eragon frowned and put a finger to his lips, pondering. "But… but how is it, then? Where do you stand? The elves have told me so much about Galbatorix, about the crimes he has committed, the… the… they called it atrocities. They told me what you have done." He regarded Murtagh both reproachful and with sadness. "It is wrong! Killing is wrong!"

Murtagh rolled his eyes. "It's war, Eragon." Please, he thought, not one of those!

"I know. And I can understand… a little… that in war you must kill. But only in battle, only on the battlefield. Everything else… torture, rape, murder… no. No!"

"As is the nature of war, it is not only one side doing this…" Murtagh sighed. He had changed to a considerable extend in the last years, but Eragon would not be able to understand or even appreciate it in the least if he did not accept the given circumstances. "Everybody does what is necessary, though I, for instance, tell my men to kill swiftly and thoroughly, not like others… But I don't have to explain myself to you," he added harshly.

Eragon abruptly stopped his horse once more. "I cannot ride with you. Not like this. I cannot be with you."

Perforce, Murtagh halted as well. What is it now? "Did I ever say that I want you to ride with me?" he asked tauntingly. When Eragon only stared back without turning a hair, Murtagh's smirk faded. He had never said it, true, but thought it nonetheless, and he knew that Eragon knew.

Swallowing the comment about Eragon having grown up pampered, Murtagh instead made his voice very calm when he said, "Look. The elves kill, too, so do the Varden. The latter are also quite fond of lessening the moral of people within the empire. Do you know how they do it? They cross the border and send little parties of soldiers into empire villages to plunder and burn. Often villagers die that are too young, too old, or too sick to defend themselves, let alone to carry a weapon. You can accuse me all you want, but you must accuse most others, too. It is war."

"I don't like this." Eragon's face held a pained expression. "There must be another way!"

"Sure there is," Murtagh immediately told him. "End the war! I never said I liked seeing these things done nor doing them myself. I will not accept any of it in times of peace."

Eragon watched him sceptically, at the same time conceding with a wink of his hand that they could at least let their horses walk again. "But how much good is the peace if the people are treated like slaves by a cruel king? If people are hungry and ill, they will fight again one day."

"Those could have been my words." Murtagh smiled when Eragon's eyebrows shot up. "This is where I differ from other powerful men in the empire and from what I've learned growing up… Granted, that last bit is not quite true. When I was but a boy and my father still alive, he appointed a master swordsman to my service. It was the only good thing he ever did for me. Tornac, I now know, changed me profoundly in many ways." He stared into the forest but saw not the trees.

"Tornac?" Eragon dubiously eyed Murtagh's stallion.

"No." Murtagh laughed quietly. "I only named my horse in the honour of this man. He was one of the best warriors of his generation, yet he despised killing and battle. And he was a wise man." Pride was audible in his voice. "He taught me all he knew, not only about the art of war, but also about politics, and all about the old days. I know how bad a king Galbatorix is. Thus, when I'm talking about peace, I am also talking about a country without Galbatorix."

Eragon, to Murtagh's relief, seemed very much in accordance with this, but then something must have crossed his mind. "But you're still on the wrong side! The elves and the Varden want exactly the same, yet you make their progress slow or even push it back, and maybe one day they will kill you, although you're not against them. That is… that is…" He clenched one hand into a fist. "I don't want that! It's wrong!"

"No, you are wrong, Eragon. I am very much against the Varden, and the elves, too. The latter, however, mainly because they're with he Varden, and not because of the age old feud between them and Galbatorix."

"Gah!" Eragon shook his head. "I understand nothing. Less than nothing."

I cannot possibly hold it against you. "Let me explain, then. I take it that the elves have told you about the Varden?"

Eragon nodded. "The Varden are fighting the king – most of the time secretly, or from Surda - to over… err… overthrow him one day. They want the people to rule over Alagaësia, I think. That means freedom, peace, and no more terror. It is the absolute right thing." He paused "You don't want that? That's… that's not right."

Murtagh heaved a long and heavy sigh. "It sounds good, does it not? All peace and happiness and the people love each other… It's unrealistic, Eragon." He refrained from using the term that was on the tip of his tongue. "Let's assume for a moment that the Varden will be successful at some point and take over control. What then?" His voice turned harsh. "They know nothing of governing, they're a bunch of ignorant fools! The country consists of so many people with so many different cultures, different backgrounds, different views. The Varden would not be able to control them. Soon, very soon, Alagaësia would be ruled by chaos. Then, the people would suffer again, and to them, it matters not whether they are hungry under the rule of a mad king or hungry at the hands of the Varden. Meanwhile, the Varden would only be able to control matters by recruiting a new army, then sending it against the people. Tell me, Eragon: how is that right?"

Eragon never answered that question and Murtagh did not pressure him, wanting the younger one to think it through. And Eragon did, which had him silent for so long that in the end, he had to clear his throat before a proper sound could escape. Very quietly he asked, "What do you want?"

"It is my firm belief that the system, as such, is sound." These thoughts Murtagh had never uttered aloud before, but thought a thousand times. "The Riders ruled Alagaësia peacefully for more than two thousand years, and, as a whole, the country was thriving. Now Galbatorix has corrupted the kingship and has cruelly and falsely reigned for over a century. But what is one century?" He looked at the other, but Eragon only looked back at him quietly, waiting for more. "Just one century, think about it! It's nothing when you compare it to the time before! The past tells you that people actually want to be led. When it is done correctly, the wounds will heal, over time, and people will prosper again. What Alagaësia needs is a dead Galbatorix and a just and fair new king." He fell silent, pondering about what he had just said, wondering whether he could convince someone of importance with this line of reasoning.

"That sounds good," Eragon conceded after a while. "Yet… what are you going to do? This is only your idea about what shall be in the end, although… who shall be king? You?" Eragon grinned briefly, but the amusement did not reach his eyes.

Murtagh laughed out loud, dismissing Eragon's uneasiness. "King? I? No!" He reduced his outburst to a chortle. "Apart from being a good leader and experienced regarding politics, the future king will also have to be liked by a majority, he will need charisma, and he will have to be willing to make compromises… most of that disqualifies me." He turned serious. "As for a course of action, I do not know – yet. I am very much alone, and against Galbatorix and Shruikan, Thorn and I do not stand a chance. All I'm doing at the moment is gathering information – and wait for a potential ally. Although it's ridiculous to hope for one."

"What about Tornac?" Eragon asked right away. "If he has taught you about the wrongs of the king, then won't he be the first to fight at your side?"

"He would be," Murtagh replied, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "But… when Thorn was but a hatchling, I tried to flee Uru'baen, wanting to save him from the powers already controlling my life. Tornac supported me, he was at my side, but we failed." He stared straight ahead, reciting the event monotonously. "Tornac died that night, saving Thorn and me."

Something touched his arm and Murtagh cringed. His head snapped around and he found Eragon's hand squeezing him lightly for a brief moment. Murtagh curtly nodded, but also thought that the other need not know more about this, so he returned to the previous topic. "It's hard sometimes, because I have visions! I know what I want for Alagaësia. That's why I must meet the new Rider as long as he's still unspoiled. I need to convince him of what we could achieve, and I need his strength at my side in battle." He looked at Eragon, shrugging. "I have my men, true, and they're good men and even better soldiers. But I can't really talk to them, and they are too few for me to change the existing conditions…"

"I like what you've told me," Eragon decided after a while. "I'd fight with you, if it was of any help. Of course, only against the king and never against the elves…" His mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "But you know what Vanir has said about my skills."

"I have even seen your skills," Murtagh chuckled, glad about the diversion. "Do you remember what I offered you?"

"You'll teach me?" Eragon's eyes lit up. "I would like it very much if I wasn't as hopeful as Vanir said."

"Hopeless! But yes, I'll teach you," Murtagh confirmed. Will you ever take my words for granted right when you hear them? "Not for a few days, you're still weak and we must hurry. After that, though, I think we can spare an hour a day." His tone changed. "Now, however, I'd like to stop moving at a snail's pace." With that said, he leaned forward in the saddle and Tornac immediately changed gait. Behind him, he heard Cadoc likewise gain speed.

He's with me on this, Murtagh thought repeatedly, thought happily. He's with me!

---xxxxx---

---xxxxx---

Murtagh was back to finding hidden trails in the thick undergrowth. If speed through using magic was not an option anymore, secrecy was the main prerogative. He actually managed a decent result, which meant leaving no traces, but that was only due to a lifetime spent in training, and not due to concentration. His mind was working furiously trying to make a sense of what Eragon was telling him.

There had been no warning.

They had covered a great distance in the course of the afternoon, with Eragon mostly quiet and very thoughtful. But eventually Murtagh had begun wording questions - as promised earlier - and apparently Eragon was in a mood to be as open and honest as Murtagh had been before. Thereby, though, he had meddled so profoundly with the basic pillars of how Murtagh perceived the world, that Murtagh had not been able anymore to concentrate on the most simple of spells, and therefore had to decide on the necessary steps changing their journey.

Murtagh chuckled a little, trying to ease the situation by focusing on one of the more amusing aspects. "Do you know that the thing you're wearing underneath your trousers had me wondering those first days? It never made sense."

"It's called briefs," Eragon explained, smiling. "And it's not in a good state these days, with holes in it."

"What do you wear it for?" If Murtagh was honest, it was only he that needed some relief in the current situation. Once he had made Eragon understand that he believed him, Eragon had happily chattered away about his home, every now and then looking at Murtagh and quite obviously fighting back laughter at what he was seeing.

Eragon raised one eyebrow. "For cleanliness… Don't you wear anything underneath?"

Murtagh smiled broadly. "Want to come take a look?" The mere thought had him stir.

A light blush was rising on Eragon's cheeks and he nervously waved a hand in the air. "Maybe later." He blushed even more, probably for his own boldness.

"I do wear something," Murtagh eased the other's embarrassment. "Not as tight, though. Doesn't it… hurt?"

"No, it's soft enough. There's enough room for… for everything." Suddenly Eragon was deep crimson. "I mean, it never hurts, no matter how big you… err…" He spurred his horse on, not finishing the sentence.

Ah. Murtagh bit his lip to prevent from bursting into laughter, so instead, a strange gurgling sound escaped his throat. He fought for a moment until his usual, iron self-control was back, and returned to a topic far more serious. "So… in your world… wherever that is… have you heard from people vanishing the way that you have?"

Eragon shook his head, his face almost back to its normal colour. "No. People vanish all the time, but of those that come back… well, there are so many people, and many have strange stories to tell, but I've never heard of anything like this." He considered something for a moment. "You don't understand how odd it is. I mean, this world, this Alagaësia, it's kind of like our world was about nearly a thousand years ago. But we have changed so much. It has not stayed the same as it has here."

"Like your world was in the past? But you said there's no magic." A faint buzz in his head made Murtagh look up and about, and he reached out with his mind, but only to detect nothing. Still, he began regarding the darkening forest around them with renewed attention.

"No. No magic. It's not exactly like our world used to be. There is so much more here. There are elves, dragons, Shades." Eragon frowned. "Our travels are connected to this Durza, am I right?"

Murtagh felt the buzz increase, and so did his vigilance. Eragon's talking reached his ears only muted.

"And something about this egg, too, right? Do you think you could soon tell me about these matters? I'd feel a lot better if I knew, because the elves made it sound dangerous and-"

"You!" Murtagh cried, then laughed aloud while his heart made an excited leap. You! How did you do that?

A deep, booming sound of amusement spread in Murtagh's head while Eragon had ceased to speak, watching him with both eyebrows raised high.

What occupies your mind, young one? Thorn inquired. I had not thought I could hide my identity from you for so long and so successfully.

Elastic undergarments, Murtagh replied, smirking when he perceived his dragon's confusion. I missed you, my friend! So much has happened.

Indeed it has. Worry had me hasten here, and I am glad to have found you so quickly. The king is throwing fits, and that stinking Durza has left the court again right after arriving. If I'm not mistaken, he's coming for you.

Murtagh felt Thorn closing in rapidly, so he aimed for a little clearing ahead. "Hold on to your reins," he advised a wondering Eragon. "Keep your horse in check." Have you come from the east? Did you see any elves following us?

Us? Thorn hummed. But no, I have seen no elves from the height. Who is us?

Land and you shall see. Murtagh had hardly finished when he heard the flapping of large wings, and he craned his neck to see his blood-red dragon come into sight. Thorn dropped from the sky like a dead bird, then dove down the last yards towards the ground more elegantly, his scales sparkling like a thousand rubies in the setting sun. Stunning!

I know. Thorn stretched out his hind legs and reversed the movement of his wings, sending the trees around the two humans swaying.

Suddenly all went very fast.

Cadoc neighed panic-stricken and reared. Eragon yelled in surprise, but managed to cling on to his horse's mane when it made a giant leap forwards and away from the dragon.

Murtagh, whose attention had been completely away from Eragon, was too late when he reached for Cadoc's reins. With a curse he hit his heels into Tornac's sides. Stay! he nearly shouted at Thorn, who had just landed and was running a few yards to slow himself while folding his wings. The flight had been too fast for an immediate stop. Don't move!

You fly and land for once, Rider. Then you can tell me how to do it.

Tornac was gaining steadily on Cadoc, yet the latter had reached the end of the clearing and was now thrashing through trees and bushes, considerably hindering any progress on Murtagh's part. Still, after several moments he was directly behind the chestnut flash of colour, and when there was a patch of less dense forest, he closed the gap and was finally able to snatch the reins.

He slowed them both down, acutely aware of Thorn's laughter in his head. "We need to work on your horse's nerves," he gasped, ducking beneath the low branch of an oak.

Eragon, red-faced and panting, let go of the strand of mane he had been clutching and straightened up, looking at Murtagh with wide eyes. "But not on his speed."

"No." Murtagh chuckled. If Eragon was fit to make a jest, he was alright.

Now who is that?

Murtagh ignored Thorn for the moment. "Let's return. Someone is curious about you."

Eragon nodded, his fearful gaze giving way to astonishment. "It's your dragon, right? It's Thorn!"

"Remember what I said about my dragon?" Murtagh asked in an undertone.

"Oh!" Eragon's eyes were big again. "Yes. He's not your dragon… or something similar."

"You will see," Murtagh said. "In a way, he is I, and I am he, but I do not own him like I own my horse. Come now, look." With that, he broke free from the almost dark forest and emerged on the glade again, his eyes darting back and forth between his dragon and Eragon. I wonder who's more striking, he mused without closing his mind, positive excited about the outcome of his provocation.

… Murtagh? Thorn asked, disbelieving and slightly amused. Are you well, young one?

Eragon was frozen to the spot, or rather his horse was, but he probably would have been, too, had he been on his feet. "Beautiful," he whispered in awe. "He's so beautiful."

I am perfectly fine, Murtagh informed his dragon smugly. "Eragon? This is Thorn. Thorn, this is Eragon."

That introduction explains everything.

Eragon face twitched oddly between smiling and amazement. "So beautiful," he repeated stupidly. "Does… does he understand me?"

"Of course." How much of an explanation do you need?

"Good evening, Thorn," Eragon said with a little bow.

Hold on to his reins! When Murtagh did as told, Thorn shifted closer, causing Eragon to jump off his terrified horse. However, instead of retreating, the young man actually made a step towards the dragon, his hand half extended. Brave little thing.

That he is. Murtagh smiled fondly at Eragon, who, after the initial shock, was apparently not in the least afraid. "He paid you a compliment." Until a few weeks ago he knew nothing about the existence of dragons…

Thorn released a puff of smoke and came to stand next to his Rider, towering over him. He lowered his head, disregarding Eragon for a moment, and instead brought his snout directly to Murtagh's head, sniffing at him. He proceeded sniffing along the whole length of Murtagh's body, even including Tornac, who was shivering madly but stayed where he was. It is truly you, Thorn eventually assessed. But you feel strange… Rider! What happened to emotions being stupidly overrated? Thorn nudged him lightly. I didn't come here only to find… this.

Tsk. "How about we make camp and settle manners one by one?" Murtagh asked Eragon. "You need your rest." He hesitated, looked at Thorn, then added, "You even missed part of my kiss last night because you fell asleep so quickly." Did you hear that? he asked, mentally laughing. He knew his dragon would not mind once he had become used to the idea.

Rider!

"Oh." For an instant, Eragon's attention was not on Thorn but on Murtagh, and he smiled. "I could try to do it better tonight."

"I expect no less."

With a roar that had Tornac bolt and Cadoc break free and run away a second time, Thorn announced that he at least halfway accepted the new circumstances. Quick as a striking snake he laid his tail around his Rider's waist, carefully dragged him off his horse and pulled him close. So be it – for now. And if it's not only for amusement, then I hope you remember our deal.

I don't yet know how much there is. It's complicated.

No excuses, human, Thorn remarked unperturbed. You've teased me too much to back off now.

Murtagh nodded slowly, conceding defeat. Of course I remember the deal. Good that I'm already hunting for the egg…

Certainly good, Thorn confirmed. Because don't you dare mention Shruikan in this context. I, for one, would like a female!