Here's a longer chapter! Yay! I have to give a tooooooooooooon of thanks to my friend for helping me write this chapter-she wrote a lot of the scenes directly in canon, since I can't find my copy of Eragon *cries* and she helped me with the writers block. So yeah! Enjoy.

-Maka

I walked slowly, feeling the warmth of the sun in my back through the dappled trees. I smiled at the birds flitting through the branches. "This forest is so pretty." A voice sounded to my side and I turned to see Murtagh smiling at me. My own face responded as I stepped towards him.

"Yes, it's perfect. How did you find somewhere so close to the Hadarac?" I asked curiously. Murtagh frowned.

"Krista, what do you mean? We're not anywhere near the Hadarac. We haven't been for a long while. Are you feeling ok?" He stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder. I blushed heavily.

"But we just left the Hadarac a few days ago. We're going with Eragon to find the Varden. He needs to learn how to be a Rider." Murtagh's frown deepened.

"Krista, that was almost a year ago. We beat Galbatorix a few weeks ago, and the two of us came here to recuperate. Eragon will be sending for us soon." Murtagh said. "Are you sure you're ok? Did something happen to you in the battle?"

I shook my head, confused. "What are you talking about? And what do you mean, Eragon will send for us?" I asked. Murtagh gave a half grin.

"Well he is the King. Because he's also our friend, he let us have some time, but he'll need our help soon." Murtagh said. "Krista, what's going on? You have to remember." His face came closer and I started to find it hard to think.

I heard his mental voice sound in my head, a note of nervousness in it. Maybe you'll remember this. His face was nearing mine at a rapid rate and I found myself leaning forward, heart thundering, for the kiss that was inevitably going to happen.

But it didn't.

Suddenly I was screaming, falling down a bottomless pit, the walls slick with dark slime. My hair whipped around my face and I could feel it strangling me as I ripped at it. I looked down in horror to see broken and bleeding fingernails just before I fell heavily on a dirt floor.

I looked up and cried out at my surroundings. Trembling, I pulled myself to my feet and approached the mirror I knew was in the corner with deep apprehension. I let out a strangled cry at the sight that greeted me; choppy, oily, stringy hair falling in front of a bruised and bloodied face, matching swollen black eyes, and a gaunt, pale, starved and malnourished figure. Without examination I knew with dread the rest of my body sported the same marks.

I heard a loud voice, a voice I recognized. I scuttled to the corner, almost in tears. All my years of training and running had been scraped viciously away, stripping me back to the scared girl I'd been all those years ago. He entered the room, clearly drunk. I hunched down, hoping he'd just go away. The silent tears began streaming down my face as he noticed me.

"Oy, you! What'r you doin' down there" He stumbled and had to steady himself on the bedpost. "You're s'pposed to be downstairs, making me dinn'r!" He roared. He raised his fist and I screamed as it came towards me. I dodged it, instantly regretting it. Stupid! You know better! Predictably, this only made him angrier.

"What th' hell do you think you're doing, you wench! I'm your father; you will obey me or else! Go and make dinner now, you sniv'ling, worthless piece of crap!" This time, I didn't move, tears streaming as he threw punch after punch.

"Wench!" *bam*

"Bitch!" *bam*

"I should have thrown you out when y' were born!" *bam*

"Quit crying, you piece of crap!" *bam*

"I'm never going to be rid of you, you shithole!" *bam*

And then came the worst of all. The one he threw at me every time, the one that hurt the most. The one always delivered with deathly calm and no physical blow. "You killed your mother."

"Krista!" I looked up, confused. He never said my name. Not anymore. "Krista!" There it was again. "Krista, wake up!" How I wish this nightmare would end. But it's my life; there's no waking up. I thought with despair. "Krista, wake up, now!"

I sat up screaming and crying, almost head butting Murtagh who had been frantically shaking me. "Leave me alone! Why can't I be free?" I shrieked, sobbing and shaking. I thrashed wildly, with no discipline whatsoever.

"Krista, shh shh." Murtagh battled my flailing arms and hugged them tightly to my side until I stopped screaming and just quietly sobbed. He kept whispering in my ear, but what I couldn't have said. I didn't feel his hand on my head, stroking my hair to calm me down until much later. He gently rocked my back and forth until the crying turned to dry hiccups.

When I stopped crying, Murtagh backed away. I immediately felt the loss of his heat and shiverred. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and looked at Murtagh. "I'm ok now." I whispered hoarsely.

Murtagh's face was unreadable. "What was that about?" He asked gently. Not wanting to talk about it and still smarting from his earlier comment, I replied in fashion.

"I'll respect your secrets if you'll respect mine." It was easy and difficult at the same to push him away. He pulled even further away, and I thought I saw a flash of hurt mirroring my own from earlier on his face.

"Whatever it is, you should deal with it. It's dangerous to make that much noise. You'll attract enemies." He strode away from me to where Eragon was waiting, looking at us anxiously. I realized with a pang that they'd both been worried, and I'd acted like a vindictive child.

"Murtagh, wait!" I called out. He stopped and came back. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that this is one of those things from my past…. I… I just can't face it yet." I said quietly, my voice cracking. "I'm sorry." I whispered. Murtagh shot a humorless smile.

"I know what you mean. We all have skeletons. Just know that yours can only overwhelm you if you keep them to yourself." With that he walked over the Eragon, but I knew it wasn't in anger. I moved my blanket to Saphira's side, and she opened her wing for me. Curled into her side like a kitten, I fell into sleep once more, this time undisturbed.

-this is a line break. Maka cannot transfer scenes smoothly without use of the ancient language and last time she burnt down the tavern-

Eragon crouched by the side of the elf, grimacing heavily. I walked over tentatively, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Anybody alive in there?" He didn't react, and I sighed, walking back over to our campfire and poking a stick into the flames. The shadows of grass danced around the fire wildly, lighting the world in such a way that Eragon's face stood out in sharp red and black, making him resemble a gargoyle, or perhaps a dragon like Saphira.

My eyes cast lazily over to the dragon, who was watching in a defensive pose, hindclaws set into the ground and wings ready to snap open in a second, when Eragon cried out, falling to the ground as if the strings that held him had been cut. "Eragon! Are you all right?" I rushed to his side as his eyelids fluttered open.

He stood slowly, working the cramps out of his legs. "I know where we need to go!" His eyes gleamed. "Arya told me!"

Murtagh melted out of the grass' shadows, carrying a brace of fat, small animals. "What happened?"

"The reason Arya's not waking up is because she was poisoned. We have to get to the Varden to find an antidote, and if we don't do it in a few days then-"

Murtagh cut him off. "A few days? It took us five days to get here, and Tornac's half-dead. Your horse isn't much better. It had better be close, and you'd better give me some extra supplies before I leave you."

I saw Eragon's lightness drain away. "It's as far as here to Gil'ead, I think."

I spoke up. "Look, Eira's doing better than either of your horses, but I'm not sure even she could make it that far again in that little time." She whuffled into my hair, munching on a mouthful of the tall grasses, and I rubbed her nose absently.

"I'm going to go. I don't care for this suicidal march, and I certainly don't care to go to the Varden." Murtagh tossed down the animals he'd hunted, reaching for his saddlebags and roughly throwing together his belongings. "Krista, if you don't want to die, come with me."

Eragon yelled and ran at Murtagh, hitting him hard in the stomach. They fell over, punching and kicking wildly.

"Stop it, both of you!" I screamed. Saphira's wings created a silken barrier between the two as she pinned them beneath her feet and glared draconically. Eragon returned her gaze angrily, and Saphira snapped her jaws, growling deep in her throat. After a few minutes, he pushed at her foot again, turning to Murtagh. "She'll let us go if we talk about the real problem," he drawled, putting contempt into his voice at the last two words.

I shot Saphira a grateful glance. Boys. She said in my head. If I hadn't been so stressed out and torn by what was going on, I would have laughed. Murtagh muttered something indistinct from beneath Saphira's claws. What? she inquired, staring him in the eyes.

"I said it before. I don't want to go to the Varden," he growled.

"You don't have to. Just travel with us until we reach the point where you can't turn back. Then you can make your choice." I said, putting a hand on his arm, which he shrugged off. Brushing off the hurt, I looked into his eyes. "Please."

"Just go with you until I don't have a choice, right? Until you can rope me into going whether I like it or not?" He laughed derisively, pushing Saphira's paw off of himself and standing up.

"You always have a choice!" I yelled. "I would never do that to my worst enemy, not in the least to you, my friend!" I cried, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away frustratedly, hoping Murtagh didn't notice.

"I don't. Even if I brought the Varden the crown off of Galbatorix's head, they wouldn't accept me." He shook his head.

"That's why you don't have to come with us. Not all the way at least. Just don't leave us until you have to." I whispered.

"I won-" His voice cut off abruptly as he cursed under his breath. "Dammit, of course. I just needed this day to get worse." He continued to pack his saddlebags, and I put a hand on his to stop him.

"You don't need to leave," I said softly. "Please don't." I'm not sure I could stand it.

"It's not that," he spat as he tightened Tornac's girth. "Look. Don't you see the cloud?" I turned, looking at a dark, roiling mass of dust approaching us. "It's Urgals." The argument forgotten for the moment out of necessity, we broke camp quickly and rode into the night, Saphira flying east above us.

-a magical sparkly time later in which Maka has not burned or destroyed anything-

We'd slept in our saddles, horses still pushing themselves despite their fatigue. A few hours before, Saphira had raced off to the north to hunt, leaving Arya lashed to Snowfire behind Eragon. We were resting beside a pool, Eragon and Murtagh having stopped to let the horses drink and then falling asleep.

As my eyes tried to stay open, I saw a cohort of dark figures on the horizon. "Eragon, Murtagh!" I hissed quietly, "There are bowmen on horses, just over that ridge." The two of them startled and woke. One of the men, mounted on a lightly built sorrel horse, rode forwards, a mace held in his hand. "Are they Varden?" I asked quietly.

Eragon shook his head. "We're still too far for it to be a regular patrol, I think. If they're trouble, I can use magic, and Saphira's almost back." He grinned. "I wonder how they'd react to a Rider?"

"Don't count on it getting us out of a fight," Murtagh cautioned.

The other man rode closer, standing in his stirrups as a line of horsemen surrounded us. "Well, would you look at that? Much better than the usual gutter trash we find out here. And we didn't even have to shoot them." My eyes narrowed. I knew these kind of people, and I could see that they were the worst kind of trouble.

"Don't count on it." I hissed. I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Ah, Miss, slaves don't address their masters that way. Unless you'd like to be beaten, and in that case I'm going first." He leered at me, and I reached for my bow.

Flinching slightly at the implication, I pushed down flashbacks. "Slaves?" I forced a laugh. " "If you believe that, I think you have heatstroke."

"And why is that?" He asked.

"Because you've got to be delusional to think that I'd ever submit to anyone; let alone the likes of you." With that, I whipped an arrow out of my quiver and nocked it before they could register I'd moved. "You won't take me. Not in a million years."

He laughed, and I heard a man gasp behind him as Eragon whipped around, looking at Snowfire and Arya. "Torkenbrand, this one's an elf!" He grinned. "I wonder how much the Empire would pay for her?"

"Don't you touch her!" I snarled ferally, tightening my grip on my bowstring, while simultaneously not understanding the sudden rage that overtook me.

The slavers laughed, as Torkenbrand's teeth showed. "Oh, a mountain of gold. We'll be rich men able to retire to Teirm." They congratulated each other, dark smiles breaking across their faces.

Eragon's eyes flickered to Murtagh, then me in quick succession. Saphira's voice broke into my head. I'm going to dive at them soon. Let them live if they run. Eragon's hand flew up, Murtagh's sword beginning to dance as I let my arrow fly with a vicious war cry into one man's throat. Eragon's voice, amplified magically, burst about though the air. "Behold! I am a Rider!" He held up his sword, which glimmered with the sheen of blood despite not having touched the slavers. "Flee if you wish to live!" Saphira roared, bursting into flight from nearby as Eragon conjured a ball of blue-white fire, flinging it to the ground.

You idiot! I thought through the haze of battle roaring in my mind. They're going to run back to the Empire and tell Galbatorix exactly where we are. We were fine; you didn't need to shout it!

As I watched, the slavers fled, and I took aim one last time at Torkenbrand, a fury raging through my whole being. I drew back, and felt the touch of Saphira's mind. He's running, child. Don't make yourself a cold-blooded killer. I stopped, letting my arrow fall as I lowered the bow and sank to my knees, appalled at what I'd almost done. The melee of fleeing figures snapped at itself in order to get away, and as I watched in horror, a man behind Torkenbrand feebly threw a spear at Saphira, hitting Torkenbrand in the temple. He collapsed to the ground, and the rest fled, ignoring their leader. I almost felt sorry for the man.

Torkenbrand struggled to his knees as we watched the last of the rout, Eragon waving his sword like a fool and chasing the slavers. I sighed. He was still a child, really. I wasn't much older than him, but my experiences had forced extra years unto me. As he jogged back, beaming like a child who had won a race, Murtagh stepped forwards, reaching out a hand to Torkenbrand.

The other man took it, expecting Murtagh to pull him up. He gasped as, instead, he was forced back to the ground. Murtagh's bloodied sword shone like Zar'roc, swinging in a deadly arc. It hit into the dust, severing Torkenbrand's head from his body. I let out a small, shocked gasp, looking away from the head. I'd seen death before, but never decapitation.

"Are you insane? What's wrong with you? He was fleeing, fleeing, and you killed him!" Eragon's blade was raised into guard, Murtagh mirroring him as he swung at Murtagh wildly. I stayed quiet throughout the whole encounter. My mind was still struggling to process thoughts and emotions I'd never tried to process before. Murtagh danced out of the way, spat on the ground, and wiped his sword off on Torkenbrand's bloodied shirt.

"I couldn't let him live. There are Urgals after us, and he would tell them everything. He had no horse, anyways." Murtagh's voice was cold and detached.

"So you killed him?" Eragon's voice was hinging on hysterical, none too far from what I imagined my own would sound like, should it burst from my mouth.

"Eragon, enough." I said softly. He turned to me in disbelief.

"Murtagh just killed someone in cold-blood. And you're going to defend him?" He asked incredulously.

"We've all done what we had to. Murtagh's right; you shouldn't have announced who you were. We'll have enough trouble with the tales the remaining slavers will tell, and he didn't have a horse. It was a mercy kill." I said hollowly. I knew the years of my suffering were showing clearly on my face, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"I place my life above all others," Murtagh cut in coldly. "Every time I raise my blade, or even lower it, I know I'm in danger. We didn't all get to be sheltered little country boys. I've never been safe, and nor has she. I'll do whatever I have to to survive. If I had lived by your code, I would have been dead, years ago! So leave us alone. Not everyone has the luxury of killing with magic from a distance while others fight."

Eragon tried to protest again, but I cut him off fiercely. "No, Eragon! You are a child! A sheltered, out of his depth child! Grow up! I have seen more blood and gore in the span of a week than you have in your life, and much of it I caused. I had to cause. So put away your scruples and do what you have to!" I shouted, whipping on my heel and stalking off to Eira. I jumped lithely into the saddle and kicked her side, riding into the forest before either man-or boy-had time to react or follow me. I heard them shouting, but I ignored them and rode on.