AN: Next chapter! I'm firing them out at rapid speed, but I've had them all on my computer for ages now, but this is the first time in a long time that my internet's been nice enough to work long enough for me to even log in, never mind upload stories. So here you go! Murtagh squeezins...

She lay by his side, marvelling in the gentle strength of his arms as he held her to him. She feigned sleep as he gently stroked his fingers through her long hair, every now and then brushing his lips tenderly against her forehead, whispering to her of his love in the ancient language. She waited for him to fall asleep, and when she heard his breathing become deeper and more even, she rolled reluctantly away from the warmth of his embrace. He frowned in his sleep, but did not waken.

Her muscles, which before would have screamed in agony at the slightest movement, were now as supple and flexible as they had been before the battle, perhaps more. After seeing how much pain she was in, Murtagh had healed her aching limbs without hesitation, and she was grateful now that he had. This was going to be hard enough without her own body working against her every step of the way.

Sure he was deep in slumber; she eased herself out of bed and dressed in clothes she found in his drawers, similar to those she had worn earlier. She pulled on the black leggings and tunic as quickly and quietly as she could, smiling sadly when she noticed that they smelled of him. She turned to leave the room when a flash of scarlet caught her eye.

Murtagh's sword stood propped against the far wall of his bedroom, and she crept over and grasped the handle, raising it until the large, red stone embedded in the hilt was level with her eyes. Eragon had told her how the scimitar had been given to him by Brom but taken by Murtagh in the wake of their last battle. Morzan's blade, she thought, with an involuntary shiver despite the heat in the room. Zar'roc.

Guilt washed over her, but as much as she was repulsed by the notion of thievery, especially from Murtagh, in that moment her instinct for survival was greater. She hoped he would understand.

When she reached the door of his bedroom, she turned back to look at him one last time and instantly wished she had not. How would he feel when he awoke to find that both she and his sword had gone? And how would Galbatorix punish him when he discovered that she had slipped through his fingers for a second time? She shuddered at the thought, but brushed it aside before she could change her mind. She closed the door quietly behind her and made her way swiftly through the long passageway that would take her to the sitting room, wondering if he would ever forgive her for this betrayal.

She moved swiftly and stealthily, keeping her ears trained for any movement at all in the large house, but all she could hear was the slow, steady breathing of the man she loved, the man she had just abandoned for a second time.

Within seconds, she found herself standing before the locked window. With a deep, steadying breath, she reached into her hair and removed two of the hairpins she had requested from the servant girl before supper, letting a few strands of hair to fall absently over her face. She straightened one out and shaped the other into a small hook before she was ready to pick the lock as Hearan, her beloved blacksmith friend, had taught her to do all of those months ago.

Hearan...he was always looking out for her. She allowed herself a small smile as she thought of him fondly. She remembered the impromptu lock-picking lesson he had given her, wondering if he had suspected she would get herself into a situation such as this. With a chill of fear, she realised that she did not even know if he was still alive.

This thought remained with her as she set to work. Her hands were shaking violently and it took her no less than four attempts, but finally she heard the satisfying click as the lock sprang open.

Halfway there. She thought. The hard part is over.

She strained her ears once more for signs of movement, half-expecting to be discovered at any moment, but Murtagh's breathing continued in a slow, steady rhythm. She pictured him lying there, alone, and felt a sharp stab of pain at leaving him again. Before opening the window, she crept across the room to a large chest of drawers on a sudden impulse, and rummaged through them to find writing materials and a small scrap of discoloured parchment. Moving quickly, she scrawled a quick note for Murtagh and placed it on the surface of the chest. She moved a hand to her throat, feeling for the chain around her neck and, with a frown, felt that not one, but two chains hanging there. Peering down, she caught a flash of deep red and remembered with a small smile that Murtagh had given her his pendant when she commented on it earlier. On impulse, she unclasped her own necklace with Selena's ring and, though it pained her, she felt it was the right thing to do. She laid the precious trinket beside the note she had left.

That will have to do. She thought, miserably.

There was a small hitch in Murtagh's breathing and she stiffened, waiting for him to wake up and find that she was gone. Blood pounded fiercely in her ears, but he continued to sleep. She could tarry no longer.

With Zar'roc in one hand, she tip-toed to the window and, with bated breath, opened it slowly, cursing silently when the hinges creaked from disuse. The cool night air rushed through her long hair and sang to her of freedom. With new strength, she planted her left foot on the narrow sill and gauged the distance she would have to clear to reach the roof of the stables. She thought it seemed lower and further away now than it had earlier, but now was not the time for second thoughts. With a deep breath, she launched herself into the air towards it before she had time to over-think the recklessness of her actions. For one terrible moment, she thought she had misjudged the position of the roof, but she landed safely in a crouch with an involuntary grunt. Below her, a horse snorted in agitation. She pressed herself as low as possible, holding her breath, but no other sound met her sensitive ears. She looked up at the window she had just jumped for and fought the urge to laugh as she thought gratefully that any other teenage girl would have broken both her legs in the fall. Sometimes, it paid to be a freak. With a small sigh of relief, she lowered herself over the edge of the roof to drop safely to the ground below.

Obsidian, I'm here.

I know. You could wake the dead with the racket you're making, girl.

Yeah, yeah, we can't all be mythical creatures now, can we? Where are you? I can't see the tent...

Seek me out with your mind, Katharean...I don't want to make any noise in case I wake someone.

She closed her eyes and lowered the barriers around her mind, concentrating as hard as she could on Obsidian and trying to block out everything else around her, but she still managed to touch the minds of the horses in the stables and several of the servants sleeping inside the house. Thankfully, Murtagh remained outside of her reach. She found Obsidian, concealed in a tent on the other side of the sprawling manor.

Okay...I've got you. Wait there.

I don't have much of a choice in the matter.

She crept around the side of the house and froze, pressing herself against the wall. Two sentries stood at the mouth of Obsidian's tent, their shields and tunics bearing the twisting flame of Galbatorix. She smirked.

If they expect two men to keep a Rider from her dragon, they have another thing coming.

She waited until they looked the other way, and then crept as close to them as she could, using a dense line of shrubs beside the outside wall of the house to conceal her. When she was close enough to them to attack without giving them enough time to raise the alarm, she leapt from her hiding place, cutting the first man down before he had a chance to react. The second man grasped the hilt of his sword and jabbed at her, but she spun out of the way and kicked his arm, breaking it with a sickening crunch. He yelped in pain and fear as he released his grip on his sword, clutching his shattered arm, and she swung Zar'roc around, lopping his head off to silence him forever.

Well done, little heart. You may make a warrior yet. Obsidian teased from inside the tent. She rolled her eyes, smiling, and reached out a hand to push the entrance flap away, when a noise from behind her chilled her blood and she whipped around as the beating of large wings gave way to a dull thud when the great dragon landed on the grass no more than ten metres from her. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

Thorn.

AN: OMG. I know, right? I'm forcing my mind to work hard here, so please review...