Chapter 2

Medea sat up, picking blades of grass out of her hair. 'It's nice to know you don't forget old friends,' she muttered without looking at Murtagh. The humiliation of being overpowered by him again was burning into her like hot iron. Even her father's rage when he found out that she had failed him and the inevitable punishment which would follow seemed unimportant compared to the mortification she felt in that moment.

Murtagh, who was still kneeling next to her, flashed a crooked smile. 'Friends? You must be mistaking me for someone else, princess.' He turned around to see Eragon sitting on the ground by Saphira's side, glancing from him to Medea curiously. 'What happened to the Ra'zac?'

'They fled.' Eragon replied, frowning in confusion. 'It's odd, the way they had more than enough opportunities to kill us, but they didn't even attempt to use them.'

'I figure they were supposed to capture you and Saphira, and Medea was going to deal with me. When both failed, the Ra'zac fled to report our location back to Galbatorix, who is probably assembling his army right now.' Murtagh stood up. 'We need to move.'

'What about her?' Eragon pointed at Medea with a jerk of his head. 'You seem to know her. But whoever she is, she tried to take your life. We can't let her go.'

Medea rested her chin on her knees, tracing the blade of her sword with a finger. Seeing Murtagh again brought too many memories back.

'Why are you even thinking things like that?' Medea demands, placing her small hands on her hips. She drops her sword in the dust and leaves it there, clearly stating that the practise is over. Her normally fair face is red with anger as she takes a step towards Murtagh, peering up at him. 'You can't leave! Father will never allow you to. And if you go without his permission, you will become a traitor, an enemy of the Empire! Is that what you want?'

She can't explain why it matters to her so much. But the thought of him leaving her here, alone, makes her furious.

'I didn't say I was going to leave!' Murtagh answers, irritated. 'I was just wondering what life is like outside the castle grounds. Don't you ever?'

Medea ignores his question. 'You'll find out soon enough. Father is planning to send you to Cantos on a campaign.' She turns away, leaning on the fence of the enclosure which they usually use for practising swordsmanship. This time Murtagh dismissed Tornac, his servant and teacher, so there is no one around to overhear their conversation.

'Aren't you coming, too?'

'No. Father values your life less than mine.' Medea snaps at him, her eyes full of angry tears. She tries to hide her hurt, knowing that what she said isn't true… and knowing that what he said isn't true either.

Murtagh freezes for a moment. 'And you don't value my life at all.' He turns around and strides out, leaving her standing there alone.

Unwilling to move, Murtagh looked at Medea while Eragon and Saphira's eyes bore into his back expectantly. It has been more than a year since he last saw her, but it felt like she hadn't changed at all. Each gesture was as familiar to him as his own. Yes, they were never friends, and yes, they never particularly liked each other. Yet it was obvious that she hadn't truly wanted to kill him. And neither did he want to kill her.
He sheathed his sword and, walking up to Medea, pulled her up on her feet.

Eragon's eyes narrowed. 'Murtagh…'

'I don't want to discuss this,' Murtagh cut him off. 'She's coming with us.'

Medea lifted her eyes to look at him, frowning in evident surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, but Murtagh spoke first, lowering his voice so only she could hear. 'Remember how angry you were when I said that I wanted to leave Uru'baen? It was because you wanted to leave as well, wasn't it? Now I am offering you that chance.'

She didn't reply. She didn't have to; the look of desperate longing on her face told Murtagh that he was not mistaken. 'You didn't come on foot, did you? Where's your horse?' He asked Medea. She pointed to the trees behind them. 'I'll go get it. You stay here.'

Eragon and Saphira exchanged puzzled glances. It was not like Murtagh to spare the life of someone who tried to take his own. And bringing one of Galbatorix' minions to the Varden was unheard of. 'Has Murtagh lost his mind? What is he thinking?'

Saphira cocked her head to the side, watching Medea warily. 'Perhaps the girl means something to him.'

'He said he hated the Empire. Why would someone who is a part of it be important to him?'

Murtagh returned, leading a fine black stallion.

'Come on. We can't lose any more time.' He dropped the reins in Medea's outstretched hand and mounted his grey warhorse; Eragon took Snowfire while Saphira flew up, above the emerald tree crowns, and easily got ahead of them.

They set off.

She shivers in her light nightgown, hugging herself as she stands by the open window of her bedchamber watching the two cloaked riders approach the front gates. Soldiers wearing suits of steel armour suddenly appear out of the dark, startling the riders, who halt and draw their swords. For a few minutes she can only hear the clashing of weapons… then one of the riders falls of his mount, landing with a dull thump.

The other continues fighting until his opponents lie before him, slain. He glances back at his dead friend, but he has no time to attend to him – more soldiers are rushing to the spot, and he has to flee. Just before he gallops through the gates, he looks up, as if he knows that she is watching. And suddenly she knows who he is.

Medea sprints to Murtagh's quarters and bursts in without knocking. His room is empty, and his possessions gone.

'Here. In case you get cold during the night.' Medea accepted the blanket offered to her with a nod and wrapped it around her shoulders. She ought to say something so as not to appear ungrateful – she didn't even thank Murtagh for sparing her life yet - but she couldn't bring herself to.

'Will you let me tend to your wound?' She asked finally.

'It's nothing.'

'It's the least I can do,' she insisted quietly. Murtagh stared at her suspiciously for a moment, and then removed his tunic, wincing in pain – the fabric stuck to the bleeding cut on his shoulder. Medea ripped two long pieces of cloth off and carefully poured water from her flask on the wound, touching it gingerly with one piece of material. 'Can I ask you something?'

He nodded silently. She took a deep breath. 'Why didn't you kill me?'

Murtagh turned his head towards her, fixing his light eyes on her once again. 'Because you didn't deserve this kind of punishment. You were acting on your father's orders, were you not?'

'Yes, but to bring the daughter of Galbatorix into the Varden…'

'You can leave now if you want,' Murtagh responded calmly, taking the second piece of cloth from her hands and bandaging his injury. 'You won't be able to tell Galbatorix where we are; I doubt you'll even find your way back from here. But is that really what you want?'

He knew it wasn't what she wanted. He knew her well.

'I'll think about it,' she replied grumpily, unwilling to admit that he was right.

Murtagh hid a smirk. 'Suit yourself.'

Without another word, Medea spread her blanket on the ground and lay down on it with her back to Murtagh. The Rider lay awake until he heard Medea breathing steadily in her sleep. He got up, covered her with his own blanket and, stretching out near her, closed his eyes.

A.N.: Daylight Crazyness - you're right. The story takes place during Eragon and Murtagh's journey to the Varden, but I decided not to include Arya here because that would confuse the plot.
formerAnnie, little-pocketmouse, NyxDragon2023 – thank you very much for your kind words. :)