Chapter 12

Medea sat on the cool, smooth stones surrounding a narrow stream and dipped her mud-streaked dress into the water, scrubbing it clumsily. When Eragon saved her from Geoulnaresque, he also, rather considerately, took the dress she had been wearing that night; the same dress that Sared ripped off her and threw carelessly on the floor – she remembered that part only too well. When she woke up, she was fully dressed again, and Eragon was tactful enough not to mention this since.

Now, wearing a cloak she had borrowed from him, Medea was trying to wash the dirt off the dress. The fact that she had never washed her own clothes before had never embarrassed her, until now; now, more than ever, she felt the need to prove that she had become a different person. There seemed to be an entire world separating her from the childish, capricious girl she'd been before.

'But I was strong before, at least. I had passion,' she thought with frustration, staring down at her distorted reflection in the water as if it could answer her. 'What do I have now? Fear, despair?'

Fear began to dominate her life after Saphira noticed that the servants at Geoulnaresque had now started to unpack their belongings, as well as any valuables found in the palace, after taking several days to pack them. The builders were also beginning to rebuild the parts of the palace which had been destroyed. Medea could think of only one explanation: Sared turned out to be alive. There would be no reason for the servants to stay in the palace without their master.

When Medea noticed a glint of red in the water, she didn't pay much attention to it, believing that it was simply a reflection of the setting sun. It was only when she heard the distinct sound of wings pushing against the wind that she looked up at the sky.

A scarlet dragon was soaring in the air above her. Although Medea couldn't make out its Rider's face, she knew who he was.

Her first impulse was to run, even though she realised that Thorn could catch up with her in seconds. She knew that Murtagh and Thorn wouldn't harm her – Galbatorix would not allow them to, as she was the link to his alliance with Sared; however, she knew almost without doubt that if Murtagh found her, he would take her back to the place she had escaped. And she would not go back to her cage after tasting freedom.

Medea looked around quickly for a place to hide, but the valley was almost completely bare, with only a few skeletal bushes, which would not be able to cover even half of her. There were two boulders by the side of the valley, and, even though Medea knew that even if she hid behind them, Murtagh and Thorn would still be able to see her from above, she reckoned that she would be even more noticeable if she stayed where she was, right in the middle of the valley. She crawled towards the boulders and crouched behind them in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. Saphira and Eragon were unlikely to come back soon, having gone hunting not long ago - they couldn't help her this time.

Medea's heart was pounding. She covered her mouth with her hand to mute the sound of her breathing, which seemed deafeningly loud to her; she couldn't hear anything else. She didn't dare to peek out from her hiding place to see where Murtagh and Thorn were. Although the chances were slim, she hoped that they flew past the valley without noticing her.

Her hopes were shattered by a loud thump. Thorn landed in front of her, sending up a cloud of dust. This was when Medea jumped to her feet and ran as fast as she could to the other side of the valley.

Somewhere in the back of her mind lingered the rational thought that she wouldn't be able to get very far with a dragon pursuing her, and she understood that she would not be able to climb out of the valley by herself, but, in her desperation, she turned her back on logic.

But she could already hear Murtagh's footsteps behind her, catching up to her. She heard him shout her name, his voice annoyed, and a moment later he grabbed her arm. Medea tried unsuccessfully to twist her arm free, and, failing, attempted to push Murtagh away with her other hand, which he intercepted easily.

'What are you doing?' he demanded angrily. 'It's me!'

'I know, that's why I'm trying to get away from you, damn it!' Medea retorted, kicking him in the shin. He swore and threw her over his shoulder unceremoniously, holding both of her ankles with one hand to prevent her from kicking him again.

'What the hell has gotten into you?' he growled, carrying the indignant Medea towards Thorn, who was waiting patiently nearby. 'I'm taking you home, not to a slaughterhouse.'

Medea's eyes prickled. She stopped struggling. Why did he, of all people, have to be her executioner? Did he know what awaited her when she returned to Geoulnaresque? Did he care? 'Please let me go.'

He stopped, evidently perplexed by the change in her behaviour. 'I'll put you down if you stop fighting.'

'I don't mean put me down. I mean, let me go. Don't take me back to Geoulnaresque. Please.'

Murtagh set her down, his expression puzzled. 'Why not?'

'Does he know what Sared tried to do to me?' Medea wondered. She thought not. Otherwise he would not have to ask such a question.

'Sared didn't...' she paused, choosing her words. 'He didn't treat me well.' She understood that she had nothing to be ashamed about. But even so, her face burned at the idea of telling Murtagh what happened on the night she left the palace. Following a sudden impulse, she added, 'and I never wanted to marry him. I felt nothing for him.'

Murtagh didn't respond; his face was devoid of emotions. He played with his ring, rotating it around his finger.

'This is what I was going to tell you when I sent you a note asking you meet me,' Medea continued. 'I wanted you to know that I only married Sared because my father forced me to.'

He didn't acknowledge her words. He didn't even look at her. Medea felt colour creeping into her cheeks. Seeing his indifference, she was regretting telling him this. Why did she think that he would care?

'Are you even listening to me?' she burst out finally.

'Mm-hm.'

'And you don't have anything to say?'

'I don't know what to say,' Murtagh replied after a pause. His voice sounded hollow and distant. A stranger's voice.

'What did you expect?' Medea's inner voice inquired derisively.

What did she expect? She knew what she had hoped for, at least. She had hoped that he still felt the same way about her as she felt about him. But while her feelings had only increased over time, like a flame that has been fed, his had clearly disappeared. And it wasn't a surprise for her. But it hurt nonetheless.

She heard Murtagh say something quietly, but the meaning of his words escaped her. She had to ask him to repeat.

'Where is Eragon?' he asked.

'How should I know?' Medea lied. Murtagh may not harm her, but the same couldn't be said about Eragon. It was better that he didn't know that Eragon and Saphira were nearby.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on Murtagh's face. 'Do you expect me to believe that he just left you alone in a valley after kidnapping you from the palace?'

'Kidnapping me? He saved me,' Medea snapped. It was pointless to deny Eragon's involvement if Murtagh already knew about it.

'He saved you,' he echoed, his voice dripping with scepticism. She thought that he would ask what Eragon saved her from, but his question was different. 'Did you arrange it? Did you ask him to come?'

'Yes,' she lied again. If she had denied contacting Eragon, Murtagh would have asked what the Rider was doing by the palace, and she could not tell him the truth: that Eragon was trying to ambush him.

'And this is the second time that the ambush failed,' she thought. How ironic it was that Eragon and Saphira chose this particular time to leave the valley.

'How did you contact him?' Murtagh asked.

'That's none of your concern.'

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. 'Tell him to take you to a safe place,' he said finally. When Medea opened her mouth to speak, to insist once again that she didn't know where Eragon was, he said, as if reading her mind, ' Don't worry, I won't pursue him. But you might want to tell him to stay out of my way in the future.' Then he turned around and walked swiftly towards the waiting Thorn, climbed onto his back and, without another word, they were gone.

Eragon and Saphira came back almost an hour after that, carrying two dead stags. After finding out what happened from Medea, they attempted to follow Murtagh and Thorn, but came back empty-handed. In their pursuit, they were getting dangerously close to territories which were heavily guarded by Galbatorix's men, and they had to turn back in order to avoid being detected.

After landing in the valley again, Eragon walked some distance away, saying that he needed to scry Nasuada and ask her what they should do next. Medea felt guilty. So far, she had repaid Eragon's kindness only by causing problems for him.

While Medea was mentally beating herself up, Eragon came back. 'Nasuada says we should come back to the Varden. She doesn't see what else we can do right now,' he said.

Medea frowned. 'But what if they have Seleara?'

'The Varden's spies will pass on anything they hear. If we find out that they brought Seleara, we will plan a full attack - not just me and Saphira, but the Varden's army, as well as the elves and the dwarves, if they agree to it.'

'But by then it might be too late. He might already be immortal,' Medea couldn't bring herself to say her father's name. She couldn't say "my father" either – it felt almost disloyal to Eragon, who had been kinder to her than Galbatorix had ever been. But he was still her father. And she couldn't help feeling that her loyalty should have been to him.

'That's what I said,' Eragon replied. 'Nasuada told me that there was hope yet, and that she would tell me more when we arrived.'

'Did you tell her about me?'

He looked uncomfortable. 'Sorry, it flew out of my head. I can go tell her now.'

'No,' Medea said quickly, 'I have another idea.'

Neither Thorn nor Murtagh said a word for a while, silently watching one city replace another below them. They all seemed the same.

Finally Thorn spoke. 'Murtagh?'

'Yes?'

'You know I rarely criticise you,' the dragon began cautiously.

'Yes,' Murtagh said again, warily this time.

'But I think you made a mistake today.'

'What do you mean?'

'I think you should have told Medea how you feel.'

Murtagh tensed. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

'You saw that she still has feelings for you,' Thorn continued. 'And you do, too. So why didn't you tell her that?'

'Because I don't want to be with her anymore, Thorn,' Murtagh replied, sharper than he'd intended.

Thorn would not give up. 'Then why were you so interested in what her note said? Why were you so eager to find her after Eragon took her?'

'Because I suppose I do still care about her. But that doesn't mean I want to be with her.'

'Since when?' the dragon inquired sarcastically.

'Since I realised that some people are not meant to be together, Thorn,' Murtagh answered curtly.

The silence between them resumed.

A.N.: You guys must be mentally throwing tomatoes at me for always being so slow to update: the reason for this is not just because I'm busy, but also because I'm trying to plan the story until the end but it's not really working. I know it's already AU but I don't want to disregard the books completely, and at the same time I don't see how I could fit all the major events of the books into this story. So I'm just trying to decide how to continue this at the moment. Please don't be too mad at me:)

P.S. By the way, in the first draft of this chapter, Murtagh and Thorn just flew past Medea without noticing her. Do you think that would have been better/more realistic than what I wrote eventually?