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Chapter Text

Eragon stood at the doors to the Hall, waiting for - There! A spark of green fire arced through the azure heavens. Eragon could hardly contain his joy. Finally, he was going to meet Arya in person after three years! Finally, the turmoil in his heart would be resolved . . . one way or another. Finally, the new generation of Riders was here!

It took a lot of effort to restrain himself from whooping with joy and rushing down to meet them, but he did. Saphira, however, was not that controlled. She gave a tremendous bugle of exultation and reared up, though she managed to keep herself on the ground. Her joy increased his own. Looking around at the elves, he saw that they too had expressions of beautiful joy and excitement on their refined faces.

The green spark seemed to divide into four more; a red one, a brown one, a black one, and a pink one, all glittering in the morning light. Eragon bounced on the balls of his feet, impatient for them to land.

The dragons were quite close now. He could see them more clearly. All of them except the red one had the gangly look of youth. And he could see Arya! A gold circlet gleaming on her brow, her hair flying back, her eyes gleaming with inexpressible joy, back in the same dark shirt and pants she used to wear among the Varden, still looking as perfect as the day he had first seen her . . . his heart did a completely involuntary flip and ended up somewhere in his throat. Mirror conversations were never the same, though she had always seemed as happy as he was to talk. But he had rarely been able to talk in the first year, what with the construction of the Hall, and she, of course, had her duties as queen. In the three years since he'd left Alagaësia, they'd had, at the most, a handful of scattered conversations. They were bright spots of joy to look back upon, though far from enough. But she was here now!

He composed himself. Time enough to moon over Arya; right now he had to concentrate on not leaping down the steps like a madman.

The wind from the dragons' wings now whipped up clouds of dust, and there was a thunderous sound as they touched down. Arya leapt down lightly from Fírnens' back before his wings had even stopped flapping and ran to stand in front of Eragon, her face suffused with excitement and joy. The five-day trip from Alagaësia did not seem to have tired her at all.

"Shadeslayer." She bowed slightly.

"Shadeslayer." He bowed in return, grinning. She let out the most carefree laugh he had ever heard her give and then - to his surprise - hugged him. He gladly returned the embrace, though he was a little mystified. When had she suddenly become so casual?

Far above them, Saphira and Fírnen were having their own reunion and spared little thought for their partners.

She pulled back a little to look into his face. "You're taller!" she exclaimed. "Your nose is on level with my eyes.."

He smiled. "Well, three years have had their effect upon me."

'So you finally surpass me at something, hmm?" She smiled teasingly.

"I'll have you remember I was perfectly able to hold my own with you while sparring, after Glaedr gave me some guidance," he said, trying to act petulant but failing miserably. He just couldn't stop smiling. She chuckled. "We'll see how well you've kept in practice."

Eragon inclined his head, twisting his hand over his sternum. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttning."

She stepped back a little, inclining her head as well. "Atra du evarínya ono varda, Eragon, sonr abr Brom."

She looked exactly the same. The sweet heartache he'd tried to keep suppressed for years now seemed to expand painfully within his chest. Despite himself, he said softly, "I've missed you, Arya."

Her smile grew a little wistful, and she replied as softly, "And I you. I did not realise what a dear friend you were to me until I no longer had you."

His own smile grew a little wry. Of course her words pleased him, but it seemed to him that she was giving him a subtle reminder that they were friends. Nothing more.

Ah, perhaps he was reading too much into it. It would be foolish to spoil this meeting with petty hurts and suspicions. He simply nodded in acknowledgement of her words, knowing she did not require any further response.

Saphira touched Arya's mind then, greeting her, and Eragon turned to Firnen. "It is wonderful to see you again, Firnen. How have you been?"

Firnen lowered his great green head, allowing Eragon to stroke the side of his jaw. Well enough, Shadeslayer. The young dragons have given Arya and I much joy. They are a good lot, and we have taken them through tuatha du orothim, as you know . . . you will be pleased with them. Of course, as younglings, they are a rather recalcitrant lot, but still, they are eager and ready to learn. I hope you've not encountered much trouble here?

"No, we've done well. Although it is rather lonely with only thirty of us. I hope the younglings will provide us with some excitement."

They are sure to do so. Firnen raised his head, returning to Saphira. Arya moved to greet the elves, and Eragon finally turned his attention to the young Riders; all of whom, he now noted, were staring at him and Saphira curiously.

The pink dragon seemed to be matched with a slender, snow-white maiden of fifteen summers. She had burnished gold hair, deep purple eyes, and rosy, delicate lips; in short, she was guaranteed to knock out any man at twenty paces. She blushed slightly under his gaze. Nevertheless, she did not avert her eyes, and there was a definite sense of strength about her. She reminded Eragon of Elva, with those beautiful yet haunting purple eyes. But where Elva's eyes were cynical, the Rider's eyes were open and eager.

The elf seemed to be paired with the ruby-red dragon looming up behind him. He was quite young; Eragon judged him to be around thirty years old. He still retained some of the silvery sheen of elvish youth. His hair was silky black, straight and well-cut, and his eyes were a bright green, lighter than Arya's. He was handsome, as all elves were; but there was something familiar about him. Maybe the curve of his mouth, the lift of his eyebrows . . . ? They reminded Eragon of -

"May I introduce the Riders, Eragon?"

He started slightly. "Please do, Arya," he replied hastily. Saphira, listen! Saphira grudgingly disengaged herself from Fírnen. The Riders don't look like much , she sniffed.

And the dragons?

Young, but they will be great. They are dragons, after all.

Of course. He smiled.

Was that sarcasm?

"Osra, step forward, please." The young Urgal complied. Her horns were polished and delicate, and not yet very large. Her hair was long and lustrous, braided into a thick black rope that swung by her hips, and her eyes were a deep, translucent blue. It was clear that she was on her way to becoming a Kull.

"Firesword." She bared her throat. He did likewise, smiling. "I'm very pleased you're here, Osra. The first Urgal Rider!"

She smiled as well. "Yes. My uncle was very proud. He bade me give you his greetings."

Your uncle . . . ?"

"Nar Garzhvog," she clarified.

"Ah! I'm glad he remembered me."

She will make her uncle proud, I think, said Saphira. Eragon agreed, noting the Urgal's air of determination.

"May I introduce my dragon, Mánya," she said. The brown dragon beside her took a heavy step forward.

Eragon opened his mind to Mánya, and she said, I'm very glad to meet you, Shadeslayer. I hope I learn much from you and Saphira-ebrithil.

Eragon felt pride at being addressed as ebrithil flow into him from Saphira. He ignored her and answered Mánya, "I hope you will as well, Mánya. I am truly glad that you found a perfect match with Osra."

Mánya did not answer. She simply allowed her pleasure to be felt, and then stepped back. Saphira repeated the exchange, brushing her snout along the pair's foreheads.

A pair of few words, that, commented Saphira.

Aye. But if they learn and work well, that will not matter.

Next was Ravûn and his black dragon. Ravûn was a dwarf of seven-and-thirty with curly chestnut hair, laughing grey eyes, and a rather handsome face. His dragon was smaller than usual, to adapt to the Rider's stature.

"Greetings, Argetlam! We are very pleased to be here!" Eragon could not doubt that; the dwarf veritably buzzed with enthusiasm. He could feel a responding smile spreading across his own face.

"I'm glad to hear that, Ravûn. May I know which clan you are from?"

Ravûn's face fell a bit. "Az Swelden rak Anhûin," he answered softly.

"Ah, I see." No wonder he looked so crestfallen - he had probably been ostracised from his clan for becoming a Rider. Eragon clapped his shoulder and tried to look as encouraging as possible. "You have a new family with us, all right? Remember that. I hope you'll be happy with us." Ravûn nodded, seeming heartened.

"May I know your name now, please?" Eragon addressed the black dragon.

My name is Drëya, Shadeslayer, a deep, female voice announced.

I've no doubt you were, Argetlam, came the dry response.

'My apologies, Drëya. I did not mean to insult you.'

A sense of acceptance came from her. That pair was rather strange . . . a lively, cheerful Rider together with a sarcastic, wary dragon; but they balanced each other out. Saphira repeated the exchange.

The third Rider was the beauty. She smiled as she spoke in a strong, confident voice. "My name is Zelíe, Shadeslayer. I'm from Belatona. And this -" she gestured to the pink dragon," - is Rosalie. We both are very excited to be here." And he could not doubt her. She was so confident, so forthright, he could tell instantly that she lied very rarely.

He answered, "I'm glad to know that, Zelíe. I hope we live up to your expectations." He then opened his mind to Rosalie and said, "And yours as well, Rosalie."

She responded, Thank you, Shadeslayer. She was quieter, her mind-voice clear yet demure; but she was just as strong as Zelíe. Woe betide those who cross her path, Eragon thought dryly.

Indeed. Saphira then proceeded to repeat the exchange again.

The last pair consisted of the familiar elf and his ruby dragon. He stepped forward, twisting his hand over his sternum.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Argetlam."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, . . . ?"

"Këyal," he supplied. "Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Eka elrun ono, Këyal-finiarel."

Këyal bowed, a slight smile lifting his face. Eragon continued, "I'm very glad you're here."

"It has been my dream, Argetlam."

Eragon hesitated. "Pardon me, but you seem familiar. Did I perchance see you at the Ageatí Blödhren, or perhaps in Ellesméra . . .?"

"No, Argetlam. But you are familiar with my brother, Vanir."

"Ah, of course. How is he getting along?" That was why, then. Këyal was quite similar to Vanir; he had something of the same air of arrogance that Vanir used to have. There'll be trouble with him before we're through.

"Quite well. He enjoys his work and has great respect for Queen Nasuada and King Grimmr." Eragon did not miss the omission of Orrin's name. He also noticed Arya's brief amusement and the other student's looks of chagrin at his apparent familiarity with Këyal.

"I see." He smiled as he addressed the dragon. "May I know your name?"

My name is Layla, Argetlam! chimed a cheerful female voice. Eragon liked her name. It made sense, seeing as the name for 'ruby' in the ancient language was 'laeil'.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Layla. You are the oldest dragon, yes?"

Yes. Mánya comes after me, then Drëya, then Rosalie. Her mind-voice was brimming over with joy, making Eragon grin. She seemed to be the most expressive of the four dragons.

"I'm glad you're so happy to come to us, Layla."

I've been looking forward to this meeting for a long time, ebrithil. Both of us have. Këyal has been going on about meeting all the talented spellcasters here for ages.

Eragon laughed. "Well then, we will go inside, where you may meet with your celebrities in greater comfort, Këyal." The elf looked mortified and gratified at once as he bowed briefly.

Eragon took a deep breath. He hoped that what he was about to say next was not too forward, and that it struck a chord, and that his students – strange to think that, his students – would not resent him . . .

Calm down, little one.

Yes. I can do this. It's easy. I defeated Galbatorix, how hard can this be?

Saphira rolled her eyes. Eragon mentally stuck his tongue out at her and then raised his voice to address all of them at once.

"Before we enter the Hall, I wish to speak to you. There are some things you should know.

"Your training will extend for a period of about four years. The next batch of Riders will be here in three, which means that you will help with their training as well. A lot of dragon lore has been lost in the hundred-odd years during which Galbatorix held sway -' the dragons hissed in unison at the name of the Black King, '- but the world has changed, and we must relearn. I do not mean that we will not have help; at this very moment, we have over a thousand books in our library, copies of the best in human, elven, Urgal, and dwarven literature. We even have copies of some books written by Riders, and those especially will guide us.

"Now, a few rules. At the Hall, you will treat all of us with respect. You may address Saphira and I as ebrithil in the ancient language and as master in this one, naught else. These -' he gestured to the elves,' - are some of the oldest and wisest elves Alagaesia has ever seen. They are at the very least four times your age and are all accomplished spellweavers and warriors. They are here to help you learn. You will treat them with utmost courtesy and do the same amongst yourselves. You are all different from each other, which is well; it signifies an equal beginning for all the races in the shaping of the fate of Alagaësia. But keep in mind that your fellow Riders may have different beliefs or values; accept them, or, at the very least, do not challenge them before understanding them.

"Here at the Hall, you will learn magic, diplomacy, the customs of each race, swordfighting, archery, medicine, mindblocking, and much more. Saphira and I will do our best to teach you; keep in mind that we are not very much older than you." Eragon smiled ruefully. "But we have been through far more than you have ever dreamed of, and so we make up for our years by possessing what you don't - experience. If we are failing to fulfill the standards you expect of us, feel free to say so. But -" he allowed a hint of steel to enter his voice, "- we expect some effort on your part as well.

"You will work hard and quickly, for Alagaësia needs you as soon as possible. You will not underestimate your importance. You are the Riders, continuing a legacy of thousands of years. This is not a burden to be borne lightly. I had to bear it when I was but sixteen, and I fully intend to inflict it upon you." He smiled slightly, and his students relaxed as slightly.

"The Riders were teachers, healers, and helpers, not just warriors. They were respected, not feared. Understand the difference; we do not need another Galbatorix." The dragons hissed again, and the Riders looked indignant. "I do not mean that I think you will be, but I wished to make my position clear to you all. I want to like you and get to know you, to be your teacher and your friend. And I hope -" he now smiled warmly, "- that that will happen."

"Now, we will eat, I'm sure you all must be tired from the trip. Today, you may all rest. Tomorrow, I will talk to you and clarify any doubts you may have about being a Rider."

What about the armoury? Their swords? Saphira asked.

He hesitated, shooting a quick glance up at her. "Also, if you wish, we can visit the armoury. We recovered hundreds of Riders swords, at least one will be sure to fit you. But it can wait until tomorrow . . ."

"May we please see today?" asked Osra eagerly.

"Yes, of course. But for now, come in. You all must be starving."

Everyone relaxed. The Riders streamed into the Hall, concentrating on reaching food as fast as possible. The others followed at a more leisurely pace. Arya walked next to Eragon, murmuring, "Well done, ebrithil!" He chuckled in response.

"It's an impressive castle you have constructed," she continued.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" He turned his head, wanting to look at her, relearn her expressions and features -

- and nearly walked into Ayana, who was trying to peer over fellow elf Elaren's shoulders. There seemed to be a holdup. He pushed his way to the front of the new Riders, worried that something had happened; but they were just staring at the Tower. Osra and Zelíe were standing stock still, mouths open. Keyal and Ravun were a bit more composed, having seen or heard of such structures, but even they could not hide their stunned expressions. He relaxed, glad that nothing had happened.

The Hall was a massive building that, even with the elves' magic and the abundant resources of the new land, had taken an entire year to erect on top of the cliff, Ilianbaen. It faced the abundant grasslands to the west, towards Alagaësia. Its northern side faced jungles, lakes, mountains and wastelands, and its southern and eastern sides faced the ocean. It was made of a smooth, banded stone that even Saphira had to breathe fire on for many minutes before it would melt. All the entrances and passageways were at the very least large enough to admit dragons the size of Glaedr, in preparation for future Riders and the growth of their dragons. Many of the main corridors allowed dragons the size of Belgabad. There were over five hundred rooms including the training room, armoury, Dragon Room, kitchen, and dining hall, spread out over the rectangular North and South wings that flanked the Tower.

The Tower was a huge, cylindrical structure that was as large as Tronjheim. Its top was open to the sky to allow dragons easy passage. It had a cover for when the weather was violent, but even with the cover closed, it was large enough to allow several dragons flying space. A staircase spiraled up the inner wall, its path mimicked by multi coloured Erisdar, and led to a wide ledge on the outside of the Tower where one could enjoy a breathtaking view. Right now, the Tower was open, allowing a massive shaft of golden light to enter and illuminate the motes of dust floating in the air.

The base of the Tower had a . . . garden was too insufficient a word. Jungle might be closer. It was divided into quadrants by white marble paths, again, big enough for Belgabad. The northeastern and southeastern quadrants were where all the crops and fruits were grown; maize, wheat, cotton, plums, peaches, apples, strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes, and many more. The southwestern quadrant held the Maze, a huge intricate puzzle made of tightly interwoven trees which took hours to escape from; and the northwestern quadrant held an exquisite garden with fountains, trellises, and benches, as large as the gardens at Tíaldari Hall. All kinds of exotic plants grew there; plants that glowed, plants that poisoned, plants that healed . . . the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruit flourished in the enchanted atmosphere.

Arya let out a soft breath. 'It's . . . magnificent!' Eragon nudged her, smiling, pointing to the closest flowers. Creepers laden with pretty, pale blue, bell-shaped blooms decked an arched, intricate metal walked over to them and knelt, caressing them with tender fingers.

†

"I was unable to gild them for you, but if you are satisfied . . ." Eragon grinned.

Arya smiled as well, remembering that night. "The flowers grew, you know. I went back to see. That patch of ground looks like it has been covered in molten gold."

"Really?" She could hear the surprise and excitement in his voice. In some ways, he was still young, though certainly not in as many ways as before. When he had been speaking to his new students earlier, for instance, the stern authority in his voice had startled her.

"Yes. I took some home to Ellesméra, and they are flourishing there as well."

"Ah, that's wonderful. I'd like to see them . . ."

"I can make you a fairth, if you'd like." She stood up.

"I would, yes." They followed the others, who had moved a little way ahead during their conversation.

Eragon was a little quieter now. His face gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Usually she was quite adept at reading faces, and he had always given away too much, but now she couldn't discern much. She felt a gentle jolt of sadness. The last time she had seen him, his mind had matured beyond his years by the memories the Eldunarí, but they hadn't changed his behaviour much, only his manner of speech. Now it appeared as though the changes had had enough time to sink in. She'd thought he was the same when he'd greeted her earlier, but soon he'd begun to seem too much like an elf. Too proper, too careful with his words.

His curious way of viewing the world had always amused her. It had been a relief, actually, after only associating with worn adults hardened by war and loss, to talk to someone with a view so unclouded. But he was just like them now. Did that mean his name, his feelings, had changed? And if it had, would she still bring up the topic she needed to speak to him about?

They made their way to the spacious dining hall to eat, and Arya's worries were pushed aside by the freshness and deliciousness of the food, and then by the beauty of the Hall. The elves were housed in the North wing, and the Rider's rooms were in the South wing, with space enough for their dragons. Most rooms were provided with balconies that looked out onto a glorious view, as did the plentiful windows set into the walls of the corridors. All the rooms on the topmost floor, ten stories high, gave onto a terrace that ran right around the entire Hall and contained a profusion of flowers and creepers.

The training room, the kitchen, the library, and the armoury were visited one after the other, all spacious and beautiful. She was impressed by the thought that had gone into creating the Hall. It was truly a magnificent structure.

It was only at night, when she was shown to her room and bidden a cheerful goodnight, that she had leisure to think upon what to do. She realized, rather ruefully, that she was piqued by how politely Eragon was treating her. He'd declared that his feelings for her would never change. Had she been a fool to believe him?

I think he just doesn't want to be pushed away again. He's not taking any chances. He doesn't want to seem too forward.

Arya settled against Firnen's side. So he's erring on the side of caution?

It would seem so.

Mmm.

Don't assume anything until you've talked to him properly, alright?

Mmm.

Don't worry too much, Arya.

Yes, Firnen, I hear you. She smiled slightly. How is Saphira?

Firnen stretched in a pleased way. She is well. We're going to visit the beach tomorrow evening, and fly over the ocean.

Just the two of you, hmm?

Firnen placed his head beside her and closed his eyes, radiating anticipation and pleasure. Yes, just the two of us.

Arya shielded her thoughts from his so that they wouldn't disturb him as he fell asleep. He needed his rest after the long journey. And as for her worries - perhaps she was overthinking this. Perhaps she had forgotten exactly how Eragon was, after so much time spent apart. In any case, she would find out in due time.

Chapter Text

Arya was awoken by a soft knock on her door. "Yes?" she called.

Eragon tentatively peeped inside the room. Arya blinked at him, then hastily pulled her blanket closer around her. She wasn't exactly dressed.

'I apologise for rousing you at this early time, Arya, but I would like to show you something before the others wake.'

'Of course. If you could step outside the room for a moment, I will be with you shortly.'

As the door shut, she sighed. Firnen had been woken too, and he nudged her gently. She quickly changed into a simple dress, cleaned her teeth, and ran a comb through her hair before stepping outside.

Eragon was leaning against the wall outside, staring down at his feet. When she appeared he smiled in greeting. "A dress?" he asked as they began to walk.

"I don't actually have an aversion to dresses, Eragon. It's a matter of usefulness. Leggings are generally more convenient."

"So you have no personal preference?"

"Not particularly."

"Huh . . . what did you wear when you were growing up?"

She gave him a half amused, half exasperated look. "You seem inordinately interested in the matter of my dress."

Eragon as he was before would have been a little abashed by this statement. Perhaps he would have turned red. Now, all he did was laugh. "Sheer curiosity. Am I not supposed to know?"

She shook her head, but answered. "I wore dresses, as far as I remember. But when I became an ambassador, pants were by far more practical; for travelling, for riding, and for fighting. Besides, it helped people not to see me as a woman."

"Why would you want that?"

She paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase her answer. "Not wearing a dress distanced me from the feminine. It made me an oddity, and therefore less approachable. Less desirable. And being undesirable was an advantage, since I was surrounded by men most of the time . . . men who might not respect me or my privacy. That was also why I kept to myself, as far as I could."

They walked in silence for some time after that. Arya could see that Eragon was thinking about her answer. At length, he said, "Did you have a lot of that kind of trouble? With men not . . . respecting you?"

Arya sighed a little. "At the beginning, yes. I was perfectly able to take care of myself, and I had Glenwing and Faolin, but they were persistent. Both men and dwarves. It made me a little cynical, I think. But I didn't face much trouble after three years or so in the Varden."

"Mmm."

She glanced at him, trying to read his face. He looked a little more serious than usual, that was all. Not being able to guess what he was thinking was frustrating, to say the least.

This is probably how he felt when he could never see what you were thinking.

Fírnen, go back to sleep.

He left her with his laughter ringing in her head.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The Dragon Room." Ah, good. She was looking forward to seeing it for the first time; and she'd be able to talk to the Eldunari again.

They crossed from the South Wing to the North wing, passing through the garden. It was so vast that it took them twenty minutes to cross, even with their elvish speed. Once they reached the North Wing, Eragon looked around to make sure no one was there, and then touched a tiny knob of quartz set in the stone wall of the main corridor. The section of wall to their right slid noiselessly upward, and there was . . . nothing. Naught but a small room, empty of any furnishing.

Arya's brow furrowed slightly as she sought an explanation. Surely this was not the Dragon Room?

Eragon quickly went over to the top left corner of the room and knelt. Placing his hand on the floor, he muttered, 'Reveal.' A line of light flashed from his palm and traced a large square on the dusty floor. The square of light glowed for a moment before fading into oblivion. There, on the floor, was now the clearly marked outline of a trapdoor. 'Ládrin,' Eragon commanded. The trapdoor quietly opened, revealing a set of stone steps heading underground. By every seventh step, two red Erisdar glowed on either wall.

'After you.' Eragon moved back to let Arya enter the passageway. She stepped down carefully, he eyes adjusting to the gloom. Once they did, it was a simple matter to descend, though the steps were steep. The staircase spiralled downwards, deeper into the ground.

After nearly eighty steps, by her reckoning, they reached a tall set of narrow, gilded doors, exquisitely carved with scenes from the dragons' history. There was Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the time of the Riders, their near extinction, and their revival. Eragon was there too, cradling a blue egg in the forest. He now said, 'I, Eragon Shadeslayer, have the permission of Umaroth to enter this room.' And the doors swung inward to reveal the Dragon Room.

It was a large, octagonal room. At its center stood Cuaroc, a motionless statue. A huge bronze brazier burned bright behind him, bathing him in deep shadows. The Room was lined with shelves all the way up to the high ceiling. The shelves on its left side held the eggs while the other shelves held the Eldunarí, which pulsed with a steady light. There was no need for the Erisdar here; the fire and the Eldunarí provided all the light needed to see.

Eragon then said, 'I, Eragon Shadeslayer, give Arya Dröttning permission to enter the Dragon Room', and Arya found herself able to step inside. She knew she should be awestruck, but she had seen this place enough in Saphira's memories that had reached her through Fírnen that she did not admire the Room itself; what she revered was the fact that this room contained the last fragment of the dragons' history, as well as their last hope for survival. She opened her mind and exchanged greetings with the Eldunari.

As she did so, she gave the room a cursory glance, and something caught her eye. She walked up to a silver dragon egg three feet wide and just touched it with her fingertips. 'Eragon, will you give me this egg as part of the next batch?' There was something special about this egg. It had a sense of destiny about it; a sense that it would bridge an important gap.

'Of course, if you wish it, Arya. Would you like to choose the others as well?'

She chose a blue egg, a white egg, and a green egg to go with the silver one. All the while, she kept up a flow of light, easy chatter with Eragon, and he responded as easily. She began to feel like her friend had been returned to her. Indeed, they were talking about inconsequential things, but there was an ease, a lack of tension that had previously been absent. Perhaps her worries from last night had been unfounded after all.

Arya, the sun is up. Fírnen's voice startled her. You should get back soon.

Thank you, my prince. She hadn't realised how late it was getting. He responded with a wave of affection at the endearment, knowing that he was forgiven for his teasing.

May we fly today? He was almost pleading.

Of course. I'm looking forward to flying through the Tower. His joy caused her to smile broadly.

'What is it?' Eragon had noticed.

She tapped her temple. 'Fírnen. He was informing me that the sun has risen.'

He nodded. 'Yes, we should leave. The students should not know we were here.'

'Why not?' she asked, as they left the Room and started climbing the stairs. 'Do you think the students will endanger the Eldunarí? Their dragons do not have such bad judgement.'

'I have no doubt of the dragons' judgement,' he responded. 'I have noticed how they seem to have chosen young and appealing Riders; that will be an advantage, when the Riders return. No one would suspect Zelíe of being a danger, for instance. But I wish to be safe; I will introduce them to the concept of Eldunarí in a year.'

By this time they had reached the small antechamber. Eragon climbed out first, and then courteously offered a hand to assist her. She made no move to take it, but simply looked at him with a slight smile, arching an eyebrow. He chuckled and withdrew his hand. She gracefully climbed out and moved to the corridor.

'You should know me better by now.'

"I do." He shrugged ruefully. "But I thought it was worth a try."

She shook her head, then asked, "What will you be doing with the Riders today?"

"I will tell them the history of the Riders, what it means to be a Rider, and our abilities. I also wish to learn more about each them," he replied, as he touched the button that would bring the wall down again.

"I see. Only . . ."

"Yes?"

"I thought we might be able to speak together, as we used to do before you left. But if you're going to be busy-"

"Not at all. I should certainly be done before evening, if not before noon. How about when Firnen and Saphira go off for their flight? Then Blodhgarm and the rest can get some time to speak to you as well."

"That would be fine. Where shall I meet you?"

"How about the southernmost point of the terrace? "

"Very well. I shall see you then."

†

Eragon's' head spun as he watched Arya's graceful figure receding. Had that really just happened? Had Arya just asked to be with him alone?

Oh, stop thinking so much about this, Saphira groaned. This would be so much simpler if you were a dragon.

It would, wouldn't it? Eragon grinned, but his face grew warm as he remembered how Saphira and Fírnen had reacted to each other the first time they'd met.

He now adopted a patronising tone.

But you see, Saphira, this is part of the magic of being in love. I wouldn't expect a mere dragon to understand.

A mere dragon? Dragons are the most powerful, wise, majestic, beautiful, graceful, brave, ferocious-

Vain, proud, touchy, he continued dryly.

Her huge paw struck him in the chest and pinned him to the floor, bringing her huge head directly over him. His head slammed into the hard floor, stars dancing behind his eyes.

Saphira, that hurt! he complained.

Her eyelid went snick! as she blinked, obscuring the giant blue orb of her eye for a heartbeat. After a moment, she released him. He slowly got up, rubbing his head.

You're lucky I don't shake you like a hatchling for that comment, she sniffed.

He grinned ingratiatingly at her, and felt her mood soften. He patted her side.

Let's go get some breakfast.

After breakfast, Eragon and his students gathered in the spacious training hall, which was stocked with every weapon imaginable, from maces and axes to bows and lances. They sat cross-legged on the floor, all the new Riders listening intently to Eragon, who was describing to them the history of the Riders. He knew he shouldn't rush his narration, but he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so that he could meet with Arya. He took a deep breath and composed himself. It would not benefit either the Riders or Alagaësia if he did not teach well.

He started off with the reasons for the formation of the Riders – Du Fyrn Skulblaka – then went on to speak about Anurin, Vrael, and Galbatorix and the Wyrdfell. They were getting closer to the part that Eragon suspected they most wanted to hear; about how he had defeated Galbatorix. He smiled to himself and continued.

Next came Brom and his role in starting the Varden and arranging the deaths of several of the Forsworn. Eragon could not speak about this without getting a small lump in his throat. When he saw Zelíe looking at him quizzically, he said shortly, "He was my father."

He ignored their varied expressions and continued about how Hefring had stolen Saphira's' egg, how Arya had ferried it back and forth between the elves and the Varden, how Durza had attacked her due to which she had sent it to him, how she had hatched for him, how his uncle had been killed by the Ra'zac-

"What are Ra'zac?" asked Ravûn.

"They are a race of creatures that prey upon hatch from eggs and look like black, twisted humans until they reach maturity, whereupon they shed their exoskeletons and transform into huge, hairless creatures with leathery wings, called Lethrblaka in the ancient language. They cannot use magic but can incapacitate humans with their gaze, which inspires terrible fear. They are creatures of the dark and hate light and deep water. They are now extinct; I killed the last one. They had been eradicated under the old Riders. The priests of Helgrind used to worship them."

'Oh.' Ravûn's voice was suddenly very small.

He continued his narrative, struggling to keep his voice from breaking when he talked about Brom's death; he had talked about it before, but somehow it was different with these youngsters listening, their solemn faces conveying the deep sympathy they felt.

He continued speaking, his deep voice filling the room. Four hours had passed by the time he had finished recounting all of his experiences. The questions his listeners had put to him were extremely pertinent and confirmed that he had succeeded in drawing sufficiently accurate conclusions about their characters. Osra, especially, was deeply intelligent; she rarely spoke, but when she did, it was either a clever remark or an insightful question. Ravun and Zelie were bright as well and took care to listen to him carefully. All of them could already use magic.

When their session was over, it was far past noon and he felt fairly certain that all of his students now knew the basics of magic and had a clear idea about what being a Rider meant.

After lunch, he watched the four new dragons twist and spin though the Tower while Fírnen and Saphira watched, giving suggestions and rather harsh criticism.

By the time he was through with them, the stars were beginning to twinkle bright in the blue-black sky. He set off to meet Arya, and found her on the terrace with Fírnen, the breeze playfully tossing her long hair about. Her slim hand rested lightly on his huge green side, rising and falling with his breathing. He was about to call out to her, but paused, struck by the majestic sight they presented together. He must have made some small sound though, for she turned and, upon seeing him, walked towards him. Suddenly, Fírnen's huge head swung between them. He ruffled her glossy hair with his breath, and slowly blinked. She smiled faintly and patted his head. The jade dragon moved his head back again and took flight, joining Saphira in the evening sky, and she came up to Eragon, inclining her head in greeting.

'Good evening, Arya. There is a room just here where we can talk. . .'

They entered a small room through a pair of tall glass doors. The room was furnished with naught but a couch, a rug and a small table with a branch of candles on it. Long, white curtains fluttered gently by the open doors. They settled themselves comfortably, and Eragon raised an eyebrow, doing his best to appear carefree despite the nervous thrumming of his heart..

"So, what would you like to talk about?"

†

They talked for a long time, growing more and more comfortable as time passed. And Arya began to see that his name hadn't really changed; he was only better at hiding who he was.

As the conversation skipped from Nasuada's reign to her treatment of the magicians to Arya's reign to Sloan to Roran, like an energetic child, her worries about his identity melted away like mist in the sun, leaving behind only one - whether he still meant what he had said that day, when he'd met Firnen for the first time.

She hoped he did, for otherwise what she was about to say would not result in a good ending. But she had to speak to him, to learn what he felt and also to banish uncertainty from her own heart.

She waited for a lull in the conversation. Eragon had his legs stretched out under the table, and was leaning back against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing golden lights in his brown hair. It was the first time she'd seen him without either the stress of war or the stress of rebuilding Alagaesia upon him, and peaceful and relaxed, he looked . . . happy. Thoroughly contented and tranquil. Arya was loath to disturb him, but she did.

"Eragon."

"Hmm?" He didn't open his eyes.

"The day you met Fírnen, I promised that I would always be available to help you. That promise still stands."

He opened his eyes at that, and looked at her. When he did not respond, she continued, "That promise will always stand. However, if I am to help you - if we are to meet or communicate or work together at all - there is something we need to discuss."

Still he was silent. So he has learned patience, hmm? There grew within her an unholy desire to test it by staying silent for a while, but she restrained herself. That would not be fair to him.

" . . . What will become of us?" she quoted softly.

He sat up straight, alert and wary, all tranquility banished from his frame and countenance. Yet his expression was only serious and attentive; still she could not read his thoughts. Frustration began to build inside her. She'd never realized before how much she'd depended on her ability to read people of the younger races.

She sighed to herself. All she could do was forge ahead.

"You remember what you said that day?"

"I do," he said softly. "And I remember what you said as well."

It was a calm statement, hard to respond to. "Yes. I said . . ."

"You said perhaps."

A succinct summary, she thought wryly. "I said perhaps. Now - " She fell silent, unsure how to continue. They sat for a minute in silence as she tried to reorganize her thoughts. At length, she said, "Is your name the same, Eragon?"

"I - what?"

"Has your name changed?"

His mouth tightened. He understood exactly what she was asking. "That is not a question you should be asking me, Arya. You should not need to ask me. I told you then that my feel - that my name would not change."

So indignant. She smiled slightly, amused. "So it has not."

"Certainly it has not."

Arya nodded, then clasped her hands together and leaned her elbows on her knees, looking at the floor. "Forgive me for asking. I find myself unable to read your intentions, your expressions as easily as before . . . What I wish to say is that, if you are still willing, I am prepared to be your mate."

There. She'd said it.

She glanced at him for a moment. He looked quite shocked. "You . . . are?"

"I am."

"Why?" The word was incredulous, blurted out.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was Eragon. She had nothing to fear by telling him everything. Yet she could not bring herself to look at his face; she looked intently at the floor between her feet as she began to speak.

"In the year or so we spent together, we became shield mates, companions, and friends. I found a refuge with you - and Saphira - that I have since only found with Firnen. I found someone I could trust, someone who cared for me, someone who respected me, and - I hope you found the same in me." She continued without allowing him to respond to this. "Of course, being able to trust someone with your true name indicates a precious bond indeed, but I only realized exactly how much you meant to me when you were gone, as I told you yesterday. You were the first human friend I have ever had, and you understood me as few have done before.

"Believe me, I regret some of my actions towards you deeply. I was, perhaps, too worried about the war that was to come to consider your emotions. I told myself my rejection of you was harsh, but you would forget me if I made it clear that what you desired was impossible, if you were given enough time. Besides, to me it was impossible, at the time. You were - somewhat infatuated, if I may say so. I cared for you, I was fond of you, but I saw too many barriers in the way of a relationship of the type you desired."

She smiled a little unsteadily, twisting her fingers together. "And so you went on to break down every one of those barriers. You became my equal in strength and speed. You proved to me that you were capable of containing your emotions, for my sake and for the sake of the war. That night, when the lily was gilded, you proved to me that you were not merely infatuated with my appearance, that you could see the person I was as well. You returned from Vroengard with a wisdom far beyond your years, with a maturity that came from both knowing your name and from the knowledge the Eldunari gave you. And you defeated Galbatorix, ending the war. I had no reason to refuse you, now . . . and I had grown to admire you. Your courage, your kindness, your lack of ambition, your gentleness amid a world of blood . . . your strength amid a world of blood. If you had stayed in Alagaesia, however, I would have made sure to distance myself from you, at least a little, in recognition of the danger of my own budding emotions. You are still too important to the fate of Alagaesia, and if you had stayed, and I had told you this earlier - if we had become mates - your reputation and your efficiency as leader of the Riders would have been irreparably impaired. So I would have stayed away, insofar as I could.

"But you left, and - I missed you." Her voice was now discernibly unsteady. She leaned forward a little more, allowing her hair to hide her face. "I missed you," she repeated more softly, trying not to betray herself more than she had already done. "And your reputation will never be tarnished in Alagaesia, now, since you live here. Therefore . . . I have no reason not to accept you. I have every reason to accept you."

She paused for a moment and closed her eyes to regain her composure. She sensed a movement, though, from him, and hurried into speech once more.

"However . . . it wouldn't be fair of me to tell you this without warning you."

"Warning me?" His voice was low. Husky, she thought, from emotion.

"Eragon . . . I am not a desirable mate. I don't think - I don't know if you understand that. I am often brusque, often short tempered. I find it hard to allow myself to express my emotions, so that when I do, I tend to burst out. I usually end up shouting, or crying . . . I am not very comfortable with being touched, either, which is somewhat of a requirement, if we are to be mates, yes?"

She peeped at him through the curtain of hair, and saw that he was somewhat red. It made her smile briefly as she looked down and continued.

"Yes. And there are so many other things . . . I am not very patient. I am very likely to tell you what I think and feel bluntly, without sparing your feelings, especially if I am angry. And despite how much I trust you, there may be times when I am unable or unwilling to confide in you. In short, I am not what is generally considered to be ladylike. Neither do I possess the qualities a companionable lover should. I am probably nothing like human women you have known - or any women, for that matter. And elves do not practice marriage; we are polyamorous. All of these things . . . I don't know how happy you would be with me, Eragon. I cannot even tell you that I love you with any certainty. All I can say is that I am willing to be your mate, because the barriers of before are no longer present, and because I care for you deeply, though I cannot say for sure how much. Is that - do you think you could be happy, with someone like that? Like me?"

Candle light glimmered on her fingernails as she interlocked her fingers tightly, waiting for his answer. After a moment or two, he moved closer to her and placed a hand on her knee.

"Arya."

She lowered her head slightly, unwilling to face him.

"Arya, face me."

She heard a tremor in his voice, and so complied, though reluctantly. She felt a sense of gentle shock as she saw that his eyes were filled with tears.

"What -" Her voice trailed away as he gripped her shoulders tightly. Confused, she remained silent, watching his eyes as they scanned her face with increasing intensity. He looked like her was choking on words he couldn't bring himself to say.

The only impression she retained of that moment was of pressure on her shoulders and the sight of his tear-blurred eyes. The next minute, she had been pulled into a fierce embrace. Her forehead thudded against his chest and his arms were tight around her shoulders. She was too startled to protest. When she had recovered some of her composure, at the exact moment she decided to try to pull away, he buried his face in her neck.

That gesture stopped her. It seemed to her to be somehow . . . vulnerable. For an instant she hesitated; then she uncertainly returned the embrace, sensing that he required comfort. He was warm and solid, and she felt an unaccustomed sense of disorientation. No one had ever held her like this, so fervently.

As soon as her arms touched his back, he seemed to melt into her frame. For a heartbeat, they stayed like that. Then he pulled away just enough so that he could see her face.

"You think you need to - to warn me, Arya? You think you are undesirable? I don't know how - I can't -" The tears were gone now, and his eyes were burning. "If I heard anyone say this about you, I'd run them through with Brisingr. And you say -" He broke off. Again, she had the impression that he was choking on his words.

He lowered his head and took a deep breath, his hands still holding her shoulders. When he looked up, he met her gaze unwaveringly. "Whether you can say that you love me or not is beside the point. The very fact that you are willing to accept me is in itself more than I could have ever hoped for. I don't expect anything from you, Arya. I certainly don't expect you to be anything like any other woman. You are yourself; I love you for that and nothing else."

His voice had no doubt. She could read him, now, and she read only conviction. As she nodded once, in acquiescence, she wondered with a slight sense of awe what it was about her that inspired such devotion. Well . . . if she had to inspire it in someone, she was glad it was him.

"I understand, Eragon."

He held her gaze for a moment more, then leaned back with a sigh, removing his hands from her shoulders. With his eyes closed, he said slowly. "No one can predict that they will live together in happiness with the person they choose for their entire life. All they can do is try . . . and hope." He opened his eyes and looked at her a little shyly. "That is all we can do as well . . . isn't it?"

Her smile was a little shy as well, but her answer was sure. "Yes. And I think we might succeed."

His cheeks went a little red, and he smiled down at his lap. "I hope so."

They were silent for a few minutes before Arya decided it was time to leave. She rose to her feet. "I'll head to bed, then . . . good night, Eragon."

"Good night," he said softly.

She walked out and had just closed the door of the room behind her when she heard a muffled, exultant 'Yes!' and a thump like someone had just jumped. She walked to her room shaking her head, and fell asleep still smiling.

Chapter Text

†

They met in the same room for some days afterwards, in the evenings, when they could talk for as long as they wished. During the day, Arya watched him begin to teach his students. She was surprised by how good of a teacher he was. He was firm but gentle, and did his best to instruct them so that they understood as clearly as possible. He always gave the student he was teaching his undivided attention. She enjoyed seeing how much he had matured. If it had been three years ago, she knew he would not have been able to refrain from sneaking glances at her every so often. Now however, he never did so even once - and when he wore what she came to think of as his teaching face, she couldn't read him at all.

She could read him easily in the evenings, though, when he was - well, not exactly as he'd been before, but he was far more relaxed, and he talked to her like a childhood friend. They generally talked late into the night, and about many things. Arya told him of the elaborate politics in Ellesméra, and how she cherished her time flying with Fírnen more than anything else. She told him that Orrin had been married recently, to Lady Julia Hawthorne, and that Murtagh had returned Alagaësia a few months ago, and was residing in Illirea. She told him about the island-country Murtagh had discovered to the south west of Alagaësia, and of the trade that was beginning to flourish between them She told him what she knew of Elva and Angela and Solembum and Jeod, and he drank it all in eagerly.

In return, he told her about how well he knew the elves at the hall now, and how he'd struggled to help them build it; how he and Saphira had crashed into the ocean once and come up sputtering and with stinging eyes; how he'd made fairths of the new land for her to take back; how he was sure that they'd built the Hall on the edge of an existing kingdom but was hesitant to try and make contact; and how he thought class had gone that day, as well as his plans for future classes. At the beginning it was a little awkward between them, but he seemed determined to try to speak with her as before, and she followed his lead until they had cultivated a sense of ease that allowed them a far greater degree of freedom in their speech than they'd ever had before.

One thing she noticed was that he never attempted to touch her, not even to hold her hand or some such. Perhaps he was doing it because of what she'd said, about not being comfortable with being touched. If that was the case she was touched by his thoughtfulness and forbearance, but despite her misgivings she'd actually been rather curious about the more . . . physical side of having a mate or lover. It was something almost completely outside her field of experience.

Besides, she found that she wanted to touch him. They never referred to what had passed between them that night; the only sign that anything had happened was the new warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. But that didn't seem like enough to seal the fact that they were more than shield-mates and close friends. Lovers touch each other casually; a pat on the head, a kiss on the forehead, a careless caress on the cheek. They do it to convey their affection without words, and to give each other constant reassurance that they are, in fact, lovers. That they are trusted and know more about each other than any other. Both of these seemed to her to be desirable things to communicate, particularly the first. Many things can only be powerfully communicated through such touches - comfort, affection, care, tenderness - and she wanted to tell him, and be told, those things. Wasn't that the whole point of having a mate?

Yet she was unsure of herself, and so almost a fortnight passed before there was a change in their routine. She'd been caught up with some work in her room and remained there for long enough that he came to find her. She only realized the time when he knocked on the door.

"Arya?"

Cursing to herself, she hurried to the door and threw it open. "Eragon. Come in . . . I'm sorry, I lost track of time -"

"That's all right," he said, looking down at her with some interest. It only then occurred to her then her hair was untidy and probably looked like a crow's nest, and her clothes were crooked and crumpled. She hastily ran a hand through her hair and tugged the neckline of her tunic up as she stepped aside to allow him to enter.

"Were you working?"

"Yes, I was going through some documents from Nasuada. Would you mind waiting for a few minutes?"

"No, of course not. Uh-"

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"You have some ink on your nose . . . No, not there. Here." He reached out and carefully wiped it away.

"Thank you." She smiled. "I'll be with you soon."

He nodded and walked towards the balcony. She settled back into her chair and tried to focus on the small, cramped writing on the documents. Nasuada really needs to get a better scribe, she thought fretfully. This writing is making my eyes ache.

She managed to finish the document she had been reading before, then had to pause to allow her eyes to rest. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Then she wondered what Eragon might be doing, so she rose and softly walked towards the balcony.

He was sitting crosslegged on the parapet, eyes closed, breathing calm and deep. The moon was waxing, so his skin was faintly silvered. She leaned against the door, crossed her arms, and watched him for a while. For a minute or so she amused herself by trying to recall his human features and superimpose them upon the ones the dragons had given him; then she simply watched him meditate. Before she knew it, she herself had relaxed a little. Some of the tension drained out of her, and she felt the creases in her face fading away. A measure of peace entered her heart.

An abrupt thought came to her - that she would like to give him some thanks for giving her this serenity. It was a rather odd thought, but it nudged her with gentle insistence, refusing to be banished. It caused her to walk up to him, hesitate for a moment, and then carefully wrap her arms around his torso.

The pattern of his breathing changed. "Arya?"

"Mmm." She rested her forehead on the back of his neck, closing her eyes.

He didn't say anything more, but she could hear his heart drumming in his chest even without placing her ear to his back. For a few moments, they remained so. Then she felt a touch on her hand, and her fingers were gently nudged apart to allow his fingers to intertwine with them.

Exhaling softly, she turned her head and laid her cheek against his back, returning the gentle pressure on her fingers, eyes still closed. Eragon's warmth, the sound of his breathing and his heart, and her awareness of his affection for her seemed to fill her up like warm honey, relaxing her muscles and making her thoughts pleasantly languid. It was the most peace she'd felt with anyone apart from Firnen in a long time.

They must have stood there for some time, but it seemed like too soon when he let go of her hands and gently moved her arms away. A little confused - like a child who has been abruptly awoken from a nap - she took a step back as he turned around, got to his feet, and leaned back against the parapet. His cheeks were a little pink, and he seemed to have some trouble meeting her eyes.

Those were background observations, however. Her thoughts were still slow, and the uppermost thing in her mind was regaining the sense of warmth and comfort from before. So it seemed like a natural thing to step forward and hug him again.

He returned the embrace carefully; too carefully for her liking. She moved back a little and looked up at him. "You're worried about something," she said softly. "You're too nervous."

He looked at her shoulder, avoiding her gaze. "Well, yes . . . I've grown accustomed to the idea that you don't want to be as . . . close as I do, and you told me yourself that you're not all that comfortable with being touched. What you just did - it rather threw me off balance, and I don't know what to - how to - I mean, what boundaries -"

"Eragon." He looked at her reluctantly. "If you do something I do not wish for, I will stop you. I will tell you. Please don't worry about this . . . and don't imagine that I'll run you through if you so much as hold my hand. I'd like you to feel free with me, not constrained."

He nodded, but looked away again. She sighed softly and looked at his expression, considering what to do. Then she reached up and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

His eyes flew to hers, startled. She smiled a little. "Do you hear me, Eragon?"

"I hear you."

She tilted her head. "So?"

He looked at her fixedly for a few moments. Then the arm around her waist tightened, pulling her in closer so they were chest to chest. Her smile broadened with satisfaction, and she met the uncertainty in his eyes with warmth in her own.

She could see that he was a little less unsure as he pulled in her head to fit underneath his chin. She turned her head, listening to the pound of the pulse in his throat. As his warmth began to surround her and sink into her skin, she felt the sense of serenity from before return, and closed her eyes, content.

Gradually, the tension in the set of his shoulders lessened. His thumb began to skim absentmindedly across the side of her neck, under her ear, and he moved his head lower, laying his mouth against her temple. She tilted her head slightly, liking the caress.

She felt the muscles in his cheek shift as he smiled. His thumb trailed across her jaw and onto her cheek. She moved back a little, eyes still closed, so that he could move his hand freely. He gently touched the features of her face like a blind man trying to recognise someone, moving from cheek to lips to eye to eyebrow and back again, ending by holding her chin lightly with thumb and forefinger

For a moment, they both were still. Then he gently pushed her chin up, lowered his face, and met her lips with his own.

Her eyes flew open in surprise, and her heart was suddenly beating far faster than before. There was an abrupt tug in her stomach that she only felt when Firnen went into a dive.

The kiss only lasted for three seconds or so. He pulled away and looked at her, scanning her face a little anxiously. She was still startled; she'd not expected him to do that at all. She met his eyes blankly, lips parting as she sought for words.

"You took me by surprise," she said finally.

The hand at her waist, which had clenched into a fist, relaxed. "So you don't - didn't - mind . . .?"

Her heart was still beating faster than normal, she noted curiously. Was this how all kisses affected a person?

"No, I didn't mind," she said softly.

He exhaled, relieved. Then tilted his head, looking at her curiously. "Have you gone red?"

She made a sound that was half laugh and half sigh. "I generally don't. Have I now?"

"Mmm. Looks like it." He kissed her cheek, paused, then kissed her lips again, slightly longer this time. She was prepared for it now, though,and was able to pay attention to the actual sensation, rather than her reaction to it. The tug in her stomach was less startling, though her heart sped up again. When they broke apart, she was a little breathless.

"Huh," she murmured. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."

He looked at her inquiringly, lips still slightly parted.

"About kissing. It's not a particularly extraordinary sensation."

He laughed at that. "But it's pleasant enough?"

She smiled. "Yes, it's pleasant enough."

He lifted her chin again, looking at her face. "You've very definitely gone red."

She looked down, a little embarrassed. "Oh, be quiet. You have too." She stepped away, gently pushing his arms away. "I'll finish reading those documents and be back."

He let go somewhat reluctantly, then sat on the parapet with a little jump and leaned back, grinning at her happily. "I'll be right here."

†

They never went much further than kisses, though Arya remained at the Hall for two months. Eragon was content enough with what they had. They both of them had an eternity to spend together; there was time enough to do what they wished. And he wanted to savour his new relationship with her as much as possible.

They spent as much time as they could together, and Arya told him that she had grown to wonder that she was able to trust and be trusted so by a living being apart from Firnen. They learned many things about each other that they had never known before, and everyday seemed to bring a brighter joy and content into his life. And he hated to think that she would have to leave him behind once more. But he knew she would, as did she, and they both accepted it, insofar as they could.

In the meantime, the Riders were shaping up well. Each of them had their own unique personality and fighting style.

Ravûn was working extremely hard, training nearly every minute of the day; pounding away with his weapons like he had something to prove, like he had to be the best he could to show his clan he was meant to be a Rider. His height was a disadvantage, but he never let that stop him; that bubbly exterior hid a core of steel. He was usually exhausted by evening, but in the mornings he was bright and excited, full of chatter. Even after training, he always had a kind word and a smile for everyone. He was surprisingly good at controlling his mind.

Osra was normally calm and patient, but a dangerous fighter when she had to be, or when she was angered. She had nearly managed to beat Këyal once, when he'd annoyed her once too often. Her height, power, and the society she came from gave her an edge over Zelíe and Ravûn. But she was slowed down by her bulk, and was still unable to handle a bow well, though she practised whenever she could. Her mind was calm and orderly, and she quickly got the hang of mind-duelling, becoming able to resist most of Eragon's attacks in a few weeks.

Zelíe was very dedicated, almost more dedicated than Ravûn. She never talked about her background. She had no idea how to handle any weapons at all; Eragon suspected she came from one of Belatona's rich families. But she trained intensely, struggling to hone her skills, including controlling her mind. She had strong emotions and could rarely control them. She was improving, though, slowly but steadily.

Këyal, of course, did nothing to help. Eragon had been right in thinking that he would cause trouble. He treated all three of his fellow students with polite disdain. He held himself aloof from them and trained alone. When Eragon asked his students to spar with a partner, he shrugged as though he could care less and waited for his partner to approach him. The other three had actually worked out a lots system which they used before each class to decide who would spar with him. The unlucky one would do their best, but usually be disarmed within five seconds flat and be faced by the elf's sneer. Osra had had to physically restrain Zelíe from flying at him more than once. He only acted really insolent when Eragon wasn't around, though, and Eragon wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation because Këyal was an exemplary student. He was perfect at everything he knew how to to, and what he didn't know he learnt fast.

Two months flew by, and it was time for Arya to leave. It was a bright, crystal morning, the air shimmering with a hint of rain. Fírnen was in the process of tapping snouts with the four younger dragons. Eragon's heart twisted painfully as he watched Arya say her goodbyes to everyone who lived at the castle. He wished that she didn't have to leave him. That she never would.

Ah, perhaps one day, when she was no longer queen and was free to live with him here, at the Hall. That was the most he could hope for . . .

She turned to him last and smiled, like she had smiled after the first time she'd kissed him on the cheek. "I'll visit when I can," she said softly.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She took his head in her hands and kissed him on the brow. "Be well, Eragon."

"And you . . . Arya. May the stars watch over you."

Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment, then relaxed. She took a step away, made a short, formal bow, which he returned, and then walked to Fírnen. As he watched her tighten the saddle's straps, the lump in his throat grew so large he thought he would choke on it. The selfish, childish part of him wanted to scream to her to stay. But that would not be fair to her, and it would make this parting harder for the both of them. So he stayed silent.

Arya leapt up Fírnen's leg lightly and settled into the saddle. She looked back once more, meeting Eragon's eyes for the last time.

I'll miss you, Eragon. I -

Fírnen's wings swept up, blocking her from his vision. But Eragon could still hear her.

I love you!

It was an urgent, impulsive thought, and it rang with truth. Hs heart clenched painfully - whether with joy or sorrow, he knew not - as the green wings swept down and Firnen and Arya ascended.

I love you too, he whispered.

But the comfort of her statement alloyed his pain a little, and he finally managed to smile in farewell as they vanished into the heavens.

†

Chapter Text

†

A year had rolled by, and Eragon had passed his twenty-second birthday a month earlier. He hadn't celebrated it or told anyone about it; for as he said to Saphira, My getting older is not a miracle, and it is more important for my students to concentrate on their studies.

At present, he was spending the evening sparring with Osra in the huge training room, teaching her to block faster. She was trying, but she simply could not overcome the disadvantage of her bulk. He spun to the right and struck, not taking advantage of the opening she had left in her defenses, which gave her time to lift her sword to block him. They held the position for a moment, then disengaged.

"Osra, you have to try harder. We have been working on this single issue for nigh on a week now." He was not harsh, only quietly stern.

She cast her eyes downwards. He knew she hated her insufficiency, but he still had to press her. "I apologise, Master." Her voice was layered with embarrassment and irritation, and she sounded as rough as the storm that howled outside. "I will do better."

He opened his mouth to reply encouragingly, but the words were choked in his throat as a ward flared to life in the back of his mind. At the same instant, Umaroth spoke with panic, Eragon, get to the Dragon Room NOW! There are two intruders examining the eggs and I know not where Cuaroc is!

Eragon was still for a fraction of a second, immobilized by shock. Then Saphira roared in fury, and he leapt into motion, leaving the room as fast as his elven speed could take him, Brisingr still in hand. He just barely heard a faint, "Master, what-?" from Zelíe before the rush of wind in his ears blocked out everything else. He quickly contacted the elves, but only Ayana, Talía and Blödhgarm were close enough to the Room to get there with him. Not for the first time, he cursed the sheer size of the Hall.

A huge thunderclap sounded, startling him, yet providing adrenaline that helped him run even faster.

We have to have a faster way to travel through the Hall, he thought. The thought was secondary, though. Even as he sprinted through the Garden, he could not bring himself to believe that someone had actually broken into the Dragon Room. It was protected by the most secure spells possible to devise; only someone with permission from him, the elves, Saphira or one of the Eldunarí could possibly enter. How could the intruders know of the Eldunarí, the most closely-guarded secret of the dragons? How could they know the precise location of the button and the trapdoor? What had happened to Cuaroc?

He hastily removed the spell that blocked Brisingr's edge, even as he ran.

Maybe they think the eggs are jewels. Saphira's mind-voice was colored with shock, anger, and frustration at the fact that she wouldn't be able to enter the Dragon Room.

Eragon bared his teeth and willed his legs to move even faster. If anything had happened to the eggs . . .

But again, how had the intruders even known about the Room?

He skidded to a stop in front of the wall and slammed his fist into the knob of quartz. Before the panel had even slid halfway upwards he ducked into the antechamber, barking out, "Ladrín!" The floor glowed in a square and the trapdoor swung open. He leapt down the stairs, hearing the sound of light, urgent footsteps above him; reinforcements had arrived.

As he jumped down the last five steps with the words of the opening phrase on his lips, the elves gathered behind him. Talía gripped his upper arm, murmuring, "Caution, Argetlam. Those who could enter here must surely have some great power. We should enter quietly, so we can take them by surprise."

He gave a short nod, and they all linked their minds together so as to be stronger in case of a mental attack. As Eragon laid a hand on a door, he paused. He thought he had heard- but no, it could not be.

Yet, there it was again; the sound of . . . a child in the Dragon Room?

Blödhgarm cocked his head, ears swiveling forward as he listened to a boy's voice saying, "Get up, Senshi! We have to leave! Can you walk?" in . . . the ancient language?

How is this possible? Saphira exclaimed. How has a child broken into the Room? Why, even Galbatorix would have struggled to break the enchantments protecting it!

Two children, it seems, Eragon replied, as a shaky female voice replied, "I can stand . . ." Then, "My lady?" The voice was panicked and uncertain.

He silently opened the door, and beheld two dark-haired, copper-skinned children on the far side of the Room. Cuaroc was a silent statue by the brazier, which was burning low. A girl was just getting up, supported by the boy kneeling next to her. A purple hatchling lay on the floor by the girl, purple, jewel- like shards of eggshell littered the floor, and the boy held a gold egg in one hand.

Eragon's mouth hung open for a moment. Then he pushed his astonishment aside; for now, he had to focus on discovering whether these children were a threat and how they had discovered the Room. The four of them stepped forward as quietly as they could, but they must have made some tiny noise, for the boy whipped around, staring at them with luminous gold eyes. He hissed a warning to the girl, who quickly stood up. As the quartet swiftly advanced into the cavernous Room, the boy tucked the gold egg under his arm and muttered something to the girl, who shook her head vigorously, fear distorting her features. The boy snapped at her, and she reluctantly picked up the hatchling, first seeming terrified, then relieved.

She had expected a shock upon touching the dragon - like me, when Saphira hatched.

The girl murmured to the boy, and he shook his head. She glared at him. Her next words were loud enough for Eragon to hear, albeit faintly, "We have no choice! She has abandoned us, and we're trapped. We can only attempt to escape."

It was now the turn of the boy to acquiesce. He nodded sharply and gripped her hand. The two waited until Eragon and the elves had passed the brazier, then separated and ran along the walls of the room, aiming for the huge, gilded doors. A futile attempt; they would be caught before they managed to cover half the distance. Blödhgarm and Eragon headed off to intercept the girl, while Ayana and Talía went for the boy. As the girl saw them approaching, she increased her speed, almost falling on the smooth, stone floor. Eragon saw that she was wet through and barefoot. Another step and she did fall, hitting her head on the floor with a sickening crack. Eragon winced in sympathy. Surprisingly, the girl did not seem much hurt, only disoriented, and managed to stagger to her feet. Seeing them so close seemed to drive her confusion away. She gave a small gasp and pressed herself against the wall, pawing at a sheath with one hand, hugging the hatchling closer to her chest. She managed to draw her dagger and raised it, ready to fight. As soon as she held it, she stopped trembling quite so much; she seemed to derive comfort from the touch of a familiar weapon. Her arm remained perfectly steady, betraying that she had been in fights countless times before. Her eyes darted behind them at intervals, watching the boy evade the female elves. Eragon did not turn around, but he could hear the boy's heavy breathing as he sought to escape and the thoughts of the elves as they tried to intercept him.

Blödhgarm shifted slightly, and her eyes immediately flashed to his face, watching him warily.

Eragon wasn't quite sure what to do; this girl was obviously no threat, or she wouldn't have run. She had entered the Room with no knowledge of magic, and yet she spoke in the ancient language. She had no idea of what a dragon was, but one had still hatched for her! She was an enigma. But was she destined to be a Rider?

Whether she was or not, the fact remained that a dragon had hatched when she had touched the egg. Eragon had to speak with her. For that, he needed to make her trust him, to reassure her that he was no threat. But before he could say a word, he heard a soft tap-tap-tap from the other side of the Room. He whirled around, staring in disbelief as the gold egg started to hatch. Everyone stood still and watched as a small gold snout poked outside the egg. The boy looked astounded. After a moment, he touched it tentatively-

-and fell screaming to the floor as the terrible, ice-fire sensation rushed through him. Ayana quickly caught the egg as it fell, then knelt by the boy.

'Kitai!' the girl screamed, causing Eragon to start and face her. A single tear trickled down her cheek, her thin veneer of bravery shattered. Her horrified gaze took in the sight of the boy shuddering on the floor, and suddenly she seemed willing to attempt anything, take any risk. She feinted forward, causing Eragon and Blödhgarm to reflexively raise their blades

"Stay away from me!" she hissed. "What is this . . . thing?" She held the dragon up like it was diseased. "Answer me, or it dies!" She touched her dagger-tip to its throat.

Blödhgarm hissed savagely. She twisted the point of the blade, causing the hatchling to mewl fretfully. Tears fell from her amber eyes like the rain outside.

Eragon could not believe she would actually kill her dragon, but she looked as though she would. Clearly, she had to be reassured. He sheathed Brisingr, motioned for Blödhgarm to do the same, and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Don't hurt it." He spoke in the ancient language, like her. "It will not harm you, and neither will we."

Her eyes widened.

"We will not harm you," he repeated. "Please don't be frightened. My name is Eragon."

She cradled the dragon against her chest once more, seeming to relax slightly. " . . . Eragon." She said the name cautiously, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables. "Eragon, will this hurt me?" She nodded to the dragon, eyes now pleading.

"Not by intent. It is a child; it knows not what it does."

"I felt something . . . in my mind . . ." She shuddered.

"It was hungry, was it not?"

She blinked. "Hungry before. Frightened later. And - it gave me this." She slowly sheathed her dagger, giving them several furtive glances, and then tilted her palm outward. The dim light glinted off of her newly formed gedwëy ignasia.

Eragon extended his own right palm. Her eyes darted to his face in surprise. "You have one as well?"

"Yes, but she is rather larger than yours." He smiled.

She gave him a slight, involuntary smile in response, which banished her hunted look and revealed that her wild features had a certain air of prettiness about them. Her black, tightly braided hair was beginning to look frizzy as it dried. Her amber eyes were large in her dark face, and her voice was surprisingly musical. She wore a rough dress, worn by days of travel. Eragon realized that she must be one of the people who lived in the forests to the north. But how on earth had she learnt the ancient language?

If it comes to that, said Saphira, startling him, how did she get in? And how did she pick the exact egg to hatch for her?

Those are questions that will have to wait for later, he replied. Right now, she and the boy need to be taken care of.

So we're taking her in?

Do we have a choice? We can at least feed her and give her a bed for the night, if she requires one.

"I can answer any questions you may have," he told the girl, "but this is neither the time nor the place. At present, we need to get you into some dry clothes. Are you hungry?"

She cocked her head, evidently not expecting this, then gave a short nod.

"Good," he said briskly. "We will get you some food. However, I do, need to ask you one thing . . . "

She was listening intently, her bright eyes never leaving his face.

"What is your name?"

She blinked, surprised. "My name is . . . Senshi." She wasn't hugging the wall anymore.

He laid a gentle hand on her back, starting to propel her forward. She shied away, reaching for her dagger instinctively.

Eragon sighed softly and knelt, staring directly into her eyes.

"Senshi, are you afraid me?"

She hesitated, then blurted out, "A - a little."

"I am your friend, and I swear never to knowingly harm you in any way. I wish only to help you; and I think I will become your teacher as well, ere long. I ask only that you trust me in return - at least a little. Can you do that for me?" As he spoke, he possessed himself of her cold hand and pressed it lightly.

She met his kind gaze unwaveringly for a few long moments, her face unreadable: then she nodded, a sharp, decisive movement, and said quietly, "Yes."

Eragon was surprised at how satisfied that single word made him feel. He smiled warmly and stood, letting go of her hand. "How about we get you and your dragon that food, then?"

"My what?" She looked bewildered.

He nodded to the hatchling, which was nibbling at her fingers. "It is called a dragon."

"Oh."

"Come." She followed him and Blodhgarm as they approached the others.

A rich chuckle from the boy, made loud by reverberating echoes, reached them, and Eragon perceived that Senshi's step grew quicker and her attitude more relaxed. She obviously had strong feelings for the boy. He was probably her brother; there was a marked resemblance between the two.

The boy was tall and well-muscled, perhaps about fifteen years old. His features were honed to sharpness, his face lean. He wore only a loincloth wrapped around his hips. His chest bore a few long scars, marks of accidents or fights lost. A dagger hung in its sheath from a cord slung about his waist. He shared his thick, dark hair with his sister, as well as his eyes and complexion. He moved with a kind of coiled alertness, as though the energy in his spare frame could barely be contained. In fact, he rather reminded Eragon of Blodhgarm; someone who would not seek out conflict, but if it became necessary, would fight with savage enjoyment.

The boy's eyes flickered from Eragon to Blödhgarm as he tried to decide whether they were threats or not, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. Senshi spoke a few soft words, and he relaxed.

The two small groups had reached each other by now. Ayana sang out, "We have convinced Kitai that we are no threat, but he requires some further proof in the form of a meal."

Eragon grinned in response. "You are Senshi's brother?" he asked the boy.

"We are twins."

"And your name is Kitai?"

"Yes."

I am right outside the panel, Saphira said suddenly. Hurry up, would you?

We're on our way.

In another five minutes, the six of them had emerged from the trapdoor. As Eragon caused the panel to open, he wondered how the two would react to Saphira.

The panel slid up silently to reveal her huge, gleaming cerulean eye. Kitai instinctively jerked backwards, hissing. He yanked his dagger from its sheath, tightening his grip on the hatchling in his other arm, and tried to drag his sister back with him. She stumbled back with him, yelping softly in shock. They both stood staring at Saphira as the elves walked past them. Talía offered them both a small smile, and motioned them forward encouragingly with a jerk of her head.

The hatchlings both mewled together then, complainingly. Saphira pushed her head further into the room, sniffing curiously. The twins stood stock-still as she came closer and closer, their chests rising and falling rapidly. The hatchlings continued to mewl, their tiny mouths wide open, rows of sharp teeth gleaming. The purple one spread its wings and flapped them fretfully. Senshi glanced from them to Saphira, and then, with her hands trembling, slowly bent and placed her dragon on the floor. Kitai's eyes followed her, and after a moment or two of uncertainty he decided to follow suit. The hatchlings stumbled forward, and the golden one fell against Saphira's muzzle. She snorted softly, and then the sound of her pleased humming filled the room, reverberating from the stone walls. She gently licked them both, the tip of her tongue flicking across their scales.

Kitai quickly scanned Saphira's features, and looked to Eragon and the elves. He seemed a little reassured by the fact that they were not discomposed at all. Senshi, on the other hand, focused entirely on Saphira, reading her movements intently, watching as the purple hatchling tried to nibble at her scales, and watching as Saphira carefully nudged it away.

"Eragon," she called hesitantly, as softly as she could, at the same time that Kitai muttered, "Ayana?"

Eragon grinned. "She won't eat you, young ones. Greet her, and walk right by."

Saphira focused on them, and they glanced at each other nervously. Senshi was the first to move. She clasped her left shoulder with her right hand, her forearm crossed across her chest, and bowed formally from the waist. "It is an honour to meet you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. She then glanced over her shoulder, giving Kitai a furious look, and he hastily imitated her.

Saphira gazed at them, taking them in for a moment or two. Then she swung her head around to face them. Senshi clenched her fists, and Kitai gulped, muscles rigid.

Saphira breathed out, a puff of blistering air. They both closed their eyes tightly, and Eragon thought he heard a squeak from one of them. Saphira's hum grew louder, more amused, and she touched her nose to their foreheads.

As she moved away, the siblings looked like they were about to faint with relief. Eragon smiled and gestured to the hatchlings.

"Pick them up, and let's go. We have much to talk about."

They did as he said, casting frequent glances at Saphira as she pulled her head out. Eragon went to stand by her, laying a hand on her neck. He noted an unusual undercurrent of tenderness from her at the sight of the hatchlings, but he knew she didn't want him to comment on it. Instead he asked, So . . . are we going to train them, then?

. . . I don't know. We will explain the Riders to them, of course, but after that . . . We need to learn more about them, their circumstances. They might have homes to return to, a family that worries about them, in which case they can't come to Alagaësia. So we will have no need to train them. Unless whoever rules this kingdom likes the idea of Dragon Riders . . .

Too many unknowns. We need to talk to them-

-and see what they want and where they come from-

-and the decision will be ultimately-

-up to them. Her humming grew softer. Exactly.

It's a shame, though . . . Eragon glanced back at them. We need Riders.

They might well decide to stay. Keep your hopes up.

Eragon acknowledged her, and she went back to the Tower, where she had left her students.

Blodhgarm and Talía took their leave then; they had been in the process of restoring the last of the enslaved Eldunarí to sanity, and the task was rather urgent. So Ayana and Eragon accompanied Senshi and Kitai down to the light, airy kitchen, fed the hatchlings with handfuls of meat, the twins with an assortment of savoury pies, took them to an empty room, and gave them dry clothes. Ten minutes later, they were fast asleep, their dragons curled up near their feet.

". . . so that's what happened," Eragon concluded. "Afterwards, I spoke with the Eldunarya to see if they might have any ideas about how this occurred, and Valdr said he had granted them permission. When I asked him why, he only said, "Dellanir has ever been a great friend of mine." I suppose that means that Dellanir asked him to allow the twins into the Dragon Room, though how she contacted Valdr when she's been missing for the past five centuries, why she would go to this much trouble, and how she knew the children were potential Riders is more than I can fathom."

Nasuda frowned. "Dellanir. The ruler of the elves before Evandar?"

"Yes."

"And she is alive . . ." Her eyes shifted away as she mused upon this new development. Eragon waited in silence, glad to have an excuse to stop talking; his throat was dry from repeating the story to Arya, Orrin, Orik, and Nar Garzhvog.

He returned to himself to hear Nasuada saying, "Never mind. That is a problem that will keep for later. You certainly haven't been bored at the Hall, have you?"

He smiled "No, I haven't. Training the children is a surprisingly rewarding experience. And now that we're almost finished with the Eldunayaí-"

A man's voice called out on Nasuada's side, his voice slightly muffled. "Nasuada, are you in here?" The handle of the door in Nasuada's conference room began to move.

The queen quickly called back, "I'm speaking with Eragon!" The handle froze.

"Eragon, thank you for the update. My apologies, but I will speak to you later. At present I have some matters to attend to. Goodbye, and keep well." She rose.

"But, Nasuada-"

The mirror went blank, showing only the Head Rider only his own bemused face.

†

She turned, extending a welcoming hand. "You can come in now."

A tall, handsome man with dark hair entered. A gold circlet glittering on his brow lent him an air of dignity. He enfolded Nasuada in a warm embrace, giving her an easy kiss. She smiled and drew back to see his face.

"Did he find out?" the man asked.

"No, but it was close."

"I still don't see why we're keeping it a secret. The whole of Alagaësia knows. He's bound to find out from someone."

"He won't. I want to surprise him. We are to accompany Arya with the next batch of eggs, are we not? He shall know then."

"That's in two years! Nasuada-"

She placed a finger on his lips. "Consider it a whim of mine. Did you not say once that you would die rather than leaving a wish of mine unfulfilled?"

"I was drunk then," he muttered, turning his head so her hand covered his stubbled cheek.

"Oh, so it no longer applies?"

His face softened. "Of course it does." He brushed the inside of her palm with his lips.

She stepped forward, and they stood with their foreheads together and arms intertwined, each supporting the other. "By the way, I have a surprise for you," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow.

She stood on tiptoe and whispered. His eyes widened in shock and he looked down at her, dumbstruck.

"You . . . you're . . . you're going to have . . . there's going to be -"

"An heir," she completed. "An heir to the throne of Alagaësia."

†

Chapter Text

†

Ravûn woke up slowly and comfortably, stretched, yawned, and rolled upright, nearly bumping his head on the low, rocky ceiling. Across the room, in the high-ceilinged chamber he'd created specially for her, lay Drëya. A black eyelid drifted upward, and one onyx eye focused on him blearily. Ravûn smiled and greeted her mentally. She did not reply, only blinked lazily and resumed her slumber. Ravûn understood why she felt so lethargic; today was the seventh day of the week. There would be no training today, and they could do as they pleased. They could read in the vast library, or spend time in the sprawling gardens, or ride the winds with their dragons, or even meet with Eragon and talk to him about any problems or doubts they might have. In their first year, they'd spent this day listening to Eragon describe his journey and transformation from a farm boy to a hero. Not that he'd ever been conceited about it, Ravûn mused, as he pulled on a tunic and belted it. He'd simply been trying to teach them, to warn them not to make his mistakes . . .

Anyway, today they could also practise their magic or improve their skill with weapons, if they so wished; but none of them ever did. Their training schedule was so exhausting as it was that they all looked forward to the last day of the week. They were to live here for several years anyhow. Surely that was enough to learn all they needed to?

Eragon had offered them a break in the next six months, when they could visit home and their families; but while Ravûn appreciated the thought, he doubted he would go home. None of the others were keen on the idea anyway, and in his case, his clan had practically exiled him, and his family hated him. He'd probably ask Eragon if he could stay at the Hall, even if the others did go . . .

Drëya let out a small puff of smoke in her sleep as her Rider's gloomy thoughts washed over her. He hastily withdrew so she could only feel the general mood of his thoughts and tried to take his mind off of home. He thought instead about his room. It had been kind of Eragon to allow him to shift to a new one; the old one had been horrible, large and airy with huge windows. He snorted as he slid on his boots. It was an elf's idea of pleasant, not his. So he'd asked for, and received, permission to move to a room nearer the heart of the Hall. And with Eragon's new decorating scheme the Hall had, in his opinion, begun to feel more like home.

He walked through the door, being careful not to let the clicking of his boots on stone wake Drëya. He let the door swing silently shut, then debated about where to go. It was very early; no one was awake yet. He decided to go to the library, with a detour through the garden. It would take him longer, but it wasn't as though he had much else to do.

As he walked, he resumed his train of thought. A small smiled lifted his mouth as he wondered if any of the previous Riders had judged their students' work by their interior decorating skills.

Eragon had had the brilliant idea of letting them design and modify their rooms however they wanted - with magic, of course - and then judging them on the results. Literally however they wanted. Këyal's room, for example, was an artistic, aesthetically pleasing forest with beautiful flowers and fruits and furniture grown from the floor of walls and an honest-to-Kílf stream splashing through it.

Blast Këyal.

Ravûn hadn't done too bad a job on his room, though, if he did say so himself. The walls were made of bands of different kinds of rocks with special properties; one wall was composed entirely of rocks that conducted heat while another was made of every possible kind and color of translucent crystal. His room was rather claustrophobic for anyone else, the ceiling being so low, but he'd been tired of staring up at ceilings that were more than ten times his height.

He'd started decorating the walls with jewels, but it was a slow process, they weren't exactly easy to come by-

Just then, he heard a soft voice singing a beautiful, wistful melody, and the thought was forgotten. On a whim, he followed the sound through the wide passages, barely noticing that his pace was getting faster and faster, and ended up in front of a wooden door that was slightly ajar.

He eased it open a little more. Senshi was not facing him - she was looking out of the window, watching the sun rise. She sang effortlessly, simply, yet enchantingly. The melody was saturated with anguish and nostalgia; Ravûn could feel tears begin to prick his eyelids. He listened quietly for a time, allowing the song to wash over him, then left before she could see him.

As he closed the door, he mused on how unexpected people were, and how little he actually knew about his fellow students' lives outside the Hall. He knew that Zelíe was from Belatona, and that Osra's uncle was Nar Garzhvog, and that Këyal's brother was an ambassador between the races, and that the twins used to live in the kingdom of the forest. Nothing else. What if Zelíe could dance or Osra could paint? They hadn't really spent much time talking to each other, though they'd been living together for over two years now. Training took up so much time . . .

Ravûn resolved to change that.

But why, he wondered as he set off down the passage, did he care so much? Did it really matter? The purpose of being here was to become the best Rider they could be, surely?

I suppose it matters to me because . . . I like to know people, to be able to depend on them and to support them. Helzvog knows I have not had a life that allowed these things . . .

Before he could stop it, a tide of memories rolled in; Vermûnd screaming in rage, lunging at him with a dagger; his father shouting at him with murderous fury; his mother weeping silently in a corner; his brothers acting as though he didn't exist-

Little one . . .

Yes, I know I promised, Drëya. I'm sorry for waking you. Did you sleep well?

She did not answer, only sent him a warm wave of comfort.

The pained grimace on his face eased, and he slowly continued on to the library, at one with his dragon.

†

Senshi finished the song and raised a hand to wipe her cheeks dry. Her father had taught her that song before he'd died. It had been so long . . .

Senshi . . . Concentrate upon the song, upon the memories you have of him. Do not do this to yourself once more.

I . . . I will try, Ikraan. Thank you. She turned to him, patting his scaly snout.

He nudged her. You sang beautifully.

Thank you. She hugged his neck tightly. I don't know what I would do without you.

He snorted. Neither do I.

They sat quietly together for some time, Ikraan watching as Senshi sorted through her memories of home. It was an exercise that pained and comforted her in equal measure - she was homesick, and remembering everything she had left behind was in itself enough to bring her to tears sometimes, as it had today, but those memories were themselves a comfort in her new home, where the food was different, the clothes were different, the language she had to learn to speak was different . . . and she no longer had her brother by her side.

I'm sure he feels as lonely as you, Senshi, Ikraan said quietly. You should talk to him more. He could help -

She snorted. Do you think my brother would have any idea of how to help me?

Don't give in to pique. I know you don't hate him that much.

She rubbed her forehead wearily. He is my brother. I don't hate him, I'm just frustrated. He's always been a self centered person. He never takes the time to find out if other people have problems or need help. If it were pointed out to him, he might feel slightly guilty and make a halfhearted attempt to help, but that's the most he would do. And lately he's been completely obsessed with that stuck up-

Senshi . . .

Well, she is! Flipping her gold hair all over the place. I swear her head will snap off one day. But of course they're just made for each other.

You have to admit she's a good warrior, though. And she does not make excuses if something is her fault or if she makes a mistake. She is honest, and brave, and determined, and kind in her own way. I feel, as Palé does, that it is a way your brother understands. She will make of him a better person.

She sniffed. I suppose she might. But she is certainly nowhere near that wonderful.

You just hate her because your brother loves her-

He does not love her! He's never been in love in his life!

-which means he's neglecting you. You're lonely.

She stopped short. They were both silent for a few moment before she brought herself to say, He was all I had. Since papa died. You know what my mother was like . . . And then we were sent here, and we learned about the Riders, and we had nothing left at home, so we thought we might as well stay and learn. And I thought - I thought it would be like before. But Kit-

Senshi, you expected him to stick to you like before, when neither of you had anyone else. But don't you see how unreasonable that it when there are people of his own age he can talk to?

She hugged his neck again. "Who cares about him," she mumbled. "I have you, and that's all I need."

He snorted softly. That is not all you need, and you know it. You should really talk to the others. You've been here what, more than a year now?

A muffled groan was the only response she gave him. He continued undeterred. Osra is rather like you, except that she isn't quite so . . .volatile -

Volatile?!

-and Ravûn is always friendly with everyone, unlike his dragon. Ikraan's snout creased ever so slightly.

Ravûn is not friendly with the elf.

No, not Këyal, he agreed. But you have nearly two years to go before the next Riders come, and if you want to spend all that time in a shell-

Argh. I hear you, I hear you. I'll . . . I'll talk to Ravûn today.

He sent her a pulse of approval. You won't regret it.

Senshi sighed. He rose then, forcing her to do the same, and they both proceeded to the dining hall for breakfast.

†

Approximately ten minutes later, everyone living at the Hall was seated around the huge table (grown from the floor of intertwined saplings), enjoying their breakfast. As Ikraan ripped a juicy mouthful from the haunch of a buck, Eragon asked, "What do you all plan to do today?"

Senshi looked up from her food at that. "I thought you were going to continue your narration today, Master?" she asked softly.

Most of the people at the table looked up, startled. Senshi almost never spoke at mealtimes.

Eragon seemed glad to see his quietest student a part of the conversation. He gave her a warm smile, unaware of the sudden butterflies he'd set ricocheting around her stomach. "I was going to continue my narration, but the older students have already heard it before, and I have a strong feeling that your brother is not particularly interested," Eragon said, glancing down the table, where Kitai was only aware of the golden-haired girl next to him.

"Oh, of course, if you don't want to . . ." she said hastily. "Only it was at the most interesting part."

At this, Eragon laughed out loud. "Senshi, you think all of the parts are the most interesting."

From the other side of the room, Ikraan raised his head from his meal to stare fixedly at his Rider.

Palé sent him an inquiring thought. The two were practically brothers, having hatched almost simultaneously for siblings, and they were the only male dragons at the Hall.

Ikraan replied without moving. It's happening again.

Palé snorted softly. You worry too much, Ikraan. She is young, only five-and-ten summers old. She will grow, she will learn. Leave it.

It is not proper to have feelings for one's teacher.

The other dragons had noticed that something was amiss by now, but feeling that if the younglings wanted to share their conversation they would, they returned to their respective breakfasts.

Well, most of them.

What is the secret, boys? Layla asked, entering into the role of wise elder sister.

Ikraan hesitated, but Palé did not. He'd always been the more impulsive. And besides, Layla probably won't say anything. She might seem like an airhead, but she certainly isn't. Ikran ruefully remembered the countless times the ruby dragon had bested him at . . . well, everything.

Layla mused on the memory that Palé sent her for a few seconds and then, without explanation, abruptly sent them both one of her own.

Four dragons were lounging on a cliff in the evening, one much larger than the others, whose azure hue was muted by the red tinge in Layla's eyes. Saphira. She was teaching the other dragons something about how to escape downdrafts. They were black, brown, and pink – Drëya, Mánya, and Rosalie.

Ikraan snorted to himself when the caught a glimpse of her. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of dragon could live under a name like Rosalie. At that moment, he felt phantom muscles stretch as Layla yawned involuntarily.

Saphira's deep voice sounded, Show a little respect for your teacher, Layla. This information will save your life if you are caught in a storm.

Slight shock, embarrassment, chagrin. I apologize, Mistress. It will never, ever happen again-

Saphira now sounded slightly amused. There is no need to be quite so apologetic. We all make mistakes. That is a lesson, younglings; no one is infallible. We can always better ourselves, all of us, whether we teach or learn.

Including you, Mistress? Startlement. Rosalie was certainly in a reckless mood.

But Saphira merely chuckled. Certainly including me. I have shown my master far more disrespect than Layla just showed me.

Immediately, they all clamoured for the memory until she grudgingly gave it to them.

I trust your discretion, she warned them. Do not spread this about-

But they barely heard her, so immersed were they in the memory-

-which the two male dragons saw as well.

Mistress Saphira tried to mate with . . . Gleadr-elda?! If Palé were human, his jaw would have hit the ground.

Ikraan wasn't quite so incredulous. The emotions Saphira had been experiencing were understandable, though he did think she would have had more control over herself . . .

Layla spoke. So you see, Ikraan, everyone has foolish periods in their lives, and they always learn from them. Do not worry overmuch about Senshi. She will also learn.

Ikraan dipped his head. Thank you, Layla. For trusting us with that memory, and caring enough to help me.

†

Osra and Zelíe were walking together, carrying piles of folded clothes. Lamaraé was far too soft for everyday use, and not many other materials could withstand the rough usage. So the elves had created a new one they called danim. Osra let her fingers wander over it; it was slightly rough, but firm and strong. It could also be made as tight or as loose as necessary; a blessing for one with her bulk. She was almost completely sure she was a Kull, now; she'd shot up by about a foot in the past month . . .

"Osra?"

"Yes?" She wondered why Zelíe looked so tentative.

"Did you . . . uh . . . notice anything strange about Senshi today?"

Osra frowned slightly. That child barely ever spoke in any case. What had been special today?

"I didn't notice anything in particular. Was something wrong?"

"Well, I might be mistaken, but . . . I don't know. I got the feeling that she might - uh, like Eragon more than is seemly."

" . . . I see." Osra hadn't really noticed that, but now that she thought about it, that might be true. "I suppose it is possible."

"Do you think we should talk to her about it?"

Osra raised her eyebrows, marveling at how humans could be so bad at understanding each other. "Most certainly not. We do not know her, and therefore we have no right. Moreover, she would be mortified."

"But shouldn't we do something? It is wrong to have feelings for one's teacher. She has to understand-"

"She has to understand it on her own. Neither of us are in any position to be giving her advice."

"But we cannot simply let this continue!"

Osra shrugged. "Why not? Either she will make such a fool of herself that we will be forced to intervene or she will come to her senses."

"Couldn't we intervene right now?"

"It would be impertinent and it is unneeded." Osra saw Zelie shoulders slump in defeat as she nodded.

Zelie still wanted to discuss it, though. "I learnt from Kitai that about eight years ago there was a war." Encountering an impassive look from Osra, she hurriedly explained, "It was started by a single disgruntled clan . . . many people died, I think close to five thousand. Including his father." The hard blue eyes were still impassive. Zelíe squirmed a little, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Despite living together for more close to two years, the queenlike Urgal still contrived to disconcert her. Yet she continued, "Apparently his - their - mother carries out the duties of the healer of the village. She knows some magic and makes up for the rest with chants and rituals. She . . . was not exactly the best parent."

Still impassive.

"They have not had easy lives," Zelíe said quietly. ". . . And . . .perhaps Senshi is so desperate for comfort she has turned to Master? He was the first person who showed her kindness - apart from Kitai, of course."

She missed the slight flicker of amusement in Osra's eyes.

"The cause is immaterial if the effect is the same. Our course of action has not changed," Osra said, her tone entirely unaffected. Of course, in a society that focused on fighting, presumably one grew accustomed to such stories. Still, would it really be that hard to show at least a little sympathy?

Zelíe shrugged and headed towards her room. She didn't know why she had confided in Osra, anyway. She sighed and fervently hoped that the next set of Riders would include a human girl.

†

Chapter Text

Standing in front of the huge front doors of the Hall, Eragon shaded his eyes and squinted at the sun. They would be here any minute now . . Behind him, his students shuffled and muttered as they tried to peel their clothes away from their sweaty bodies. They'd been standing out in the afternoon sun for the past five-and-forty minutes, waiting for the next batch of Riders.

Eragon ignored their restlessness. Life wasn't always comfortable. Besides, if the heat was affecting them too adversely, they could always alleviate their discomfort with magic. He shot another glare at the hard blue sky, then glanced at the parchment in his hand for the hundredth time-

. . .we should arrive nine days after this reaches you, in all likelihood at the third hour after noon. The next four Riders are quite as well balanced as the last batch; a human, an Urgal, a dwarf, and . . . I suspect she is part elf, though she refuses to explain her parentage.

Also, this time, two male dragons have hatched, from the green and the blue eggs. The other two are female, silver and white. You remember I chose the eggs that day, yes? The last to hatch was the young human's dragon. He chose the name Lifaen, which, of course, sent his namesake into transports, and made Narí exceedingly jealous. I told you, did I not, of the large island that has been discovered far to the West, Tiruvin? And that trade is flourishing between our communities? The human is one of their ilk. We were very lucky to have found him, for he was to have returned to his own country in two weeks. It was surprising, but suitable Riders may be found anywhere, I suppose . . . His name is Caspian, and I think he is entirely suitable. It was a shock to him, but of course I need not warn you to take special care to assuage his homesickness and soothe his worries. Besides, I'm sure you got quite enough practice doing so with the twins.

There is also a surprise for you that I am sure you will enjoy very much - but I have been sworn to secrecy, so you will have to wait until I arrive.

All other news I have can wait until I arrive as well, an event I am looking forward to with an eagerness that surprises even myself. I missed you sorely, Eragon. I hope to see you as soon as may be.

Love,

Arya

Eragon tapped his foot impatiently as he scowled at the sky. It was half an hour past the time! Where were they?

Calm down, Eragon.

He did not reply. Saphira knew perfectly well why he was so restless. She was feeling much the same at being about to see Fírnen, and yet she managed to keep herself under better control than he kept himself, which annoyed him even further.

Just as he looked down to clear the dark spots from his eyes, Kitai said sharply, "Master!"

Eragon's head whipped up. Tiny multicolored glints of light sparkled on the horizon, approaching fast.

He clenched his fists, inadvertently crushing the letter, and took deep breaths to slow his racing heart. They would arrive when they would, and he could not hasten them. But he still would not tear his eyes away, even when they began to water painfully.

A frown slowly descended on his brow as he watched the approaching dragons. White, silver, green, blue, another, larger green - Fírnen - and . . . red? No red egg had been taken, the only red egg to hatch had been Layla's -

And then it struck him. Thorn! The dragon must be Thorn!

Murtagh was coming!

Saphira uttered a soft roar of elation. It was now far harder to restrain himself from leaping onto her and flying to meet them, to meet both his brother and his love.

Another tense fifteen minutes, and the dragons were close enough that the gusts of wind whipped up by their wings tousled Eragon's hair. He stepped back involuntarily as they landed with heavy THUDs, one after the other - although he noticed that Thorn seemed to take far more care than was usual while landing - his eyes immediately snapping to his brother.

Murtagh was looking . . . well. Better than Eragon had ever seen him before. Physically he had not changed - his hair was the same, long and thick; he still had the rough startings of dark brown stubble on his cheeks; his eyes were the same fierce gray' he was still tanned, still muscular, still handsome - but his entire bearing was different. He didn't look as angry, as wary as he had used to. In fact, on someone else, Eragon would have called the same expression content.

Does he wear . . . a crown? Saphira was surprised. Did Nasuada make him an earl or some such?

He looked closer, and saw that Murtagh was indeed wearing a crown, a delicate circlet of silver set with rubies. Eragon raised an eyebrow slightly. Murtagh had some explaining to do . . .

At present, he was grinning widely. When he saw that he'd caught Eragon's eye, he raised Zar'roc in salute. Eragon returned it with Brisingr, his grin just as wide.

Finally, he turned his eyes to the elf on the back of a huge green dragon, his heart full of anticipation and longing.

There she was.

As perfect as ever. As she had been, the last time he saw her.

She was gazing at him steadily, eyes alight with – joy? Excitement? He couldn't tell.

She slid down from Fírnen gracefully and slowly walked up to him, with all the dignity befitting a queen. As she approached, Eragon almost started forward to meet her, to embrace her, to pick her up and twirl her around, but he did not know what she expected from him - the degree of formality she wished to assume - so he forced himself to stay put as she came ever closer. She stopped short just in front of him, head slightly cocked, scrutinizing him comprehensively with those dark green eyes.

He scanned her features in return, hoping for some clue in her bearing. Were they meeting as queen and Head Rider? As shield-mates and old friends? As mates?

Her lips curved upward as she took him in, a smile lighting up her features in a way he still wasn't used to seeing. He couldn't help smiling in return as he twisted his hand over his chest.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin, Arya Drottning," he said softly, having decided that he couldn't go wrong with a standard greeting.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," she replied, her smile growing brighter and wider. She took a step forward and hugged him tight, so quickly that it was doubtful any who were not elves saw much more than a blur.

He returned it, and as she stepped away he thought his heart might overflow with happiness. Saphira was enthusiastically reinforcing this feeling as she reunited with Firnen. Even the Eldunarya in the back of his mind, who had wanted to witness this meeting, seemed content, if slightly amused.

Arya moved to greet the elves, simultaneously opening her mind to Gleadr and Umaroth. Eragon looked back at Murtagh, and saw that he had paused in the motion of swinging one leg over Thorn's neck. His eyes followed Arya, then flicked back to Eragon. Eragon shrugged with one shoulder, still grinning, and gestured for Murtagh to dismount even as he strode forward. Murtagh shook his head slightly, brows still raised but beginning to smile, and jumped down.

And Eragon stopped as though he'd been struck, gaping at the other person on Thorn's back with his mouth open. He looked at Murtagh, then swung around to look at Arya - who grinned at him delightedly - and then turned back to Thorn, at a loss for words. Even Saphira swung her head around to sniff at her, seeming startled.

Murtagh grinned at his expression and offered his hand to the person to help her dismount, saying, "Eragon, I'd like you to meet-"

She jumped down too quickly, her red silk dress rustling, and Murtagh quickly grabbed her other hand, steadying her. He smiled down at her and pressed the hands clasped in his own lightly.

"-my wife, Queen Nasuada."

His mouth dropped open for the second time in as many minutes. "She - your wife?!" Eragon could barely squeak. He had known that each had been attracted to the other, but marriage?

"When - how - what-"

Nasuada laughed, holding out her hands to Eragon. He took them instantly, and she pulled him into a warm hug. He returned it fiercely, almost unable to believe she was actually here.

She moved back slightly, beaming up at him. "It's wonderful to see you again, Eragon. Ah, you've gotten even taller!"

Two laughs sounded together; his and the elven queen's. Nasuada's comment had reminded him irresistibly of Arya three years ago, saying the exact same thing.

"Arya said that as well, three years ago," he grinned. "It's wonderful to see you too, it's been too long. I can hardly believe -This is certainly a surprise!"

Saphira said dryly, broadcasting for everyone to hear, That is a massive understatement.

Nasuada turned to her, still beaming. "How are you, Saphira?"

Well enough, Nasuada. The azure dragon lowered her snout to touch Nasuada's forehead. It is good to see you once again.

Eragon pulled Murtagh into a hug as well, pounding his back. "I expect to hear a full account of how this happened," he said, grinning broadly. "Everything, you hear me? How have you been, you and Thorn?"

Murtagh was grinning as well. "We have been well. We've been kept very busy, as you well know. As to how I ended up with-" He gestured to the circlet on his head. "Well, it's a long story,"

"You have plenty of time to tell me . . . Are you then king now?"

Murtagh shook his head. "We both know a Rider on the throne of the Broddring Kingdom would be an exceedingly bad idea. I am simply the Queen's consort - King Consort, they call me."

"I see. We'll have to sit down directly to talk about this, I can hardly wait to hear the story." Eragon looked past him to Thorn's huge red head, sparkling against the clear blue sky, opening his mind. Greetings, Thorn. I'm glad to find you strong and well. It is an immense pleasure to see you here.

Thorn bowed his head and touched Eragon's head with his snout, his hot breath fanning Eragon's cheeks. Likewise, Shadeslayer. I look forward to meeting the younglings.

As do they. I hope we will make your stay here a pleasant one.

Thorn snorted softly in acknowledgement, and raised his head. Nasuada had by this time completed the exchange with Saphira, and turned back to Eragon as Murtagh went to do the same, smiling impishly. Eragon couldn't help laughing at her expression.

"A pleasant surprise?" she asked.

"Undoubtedly," he replied. "Thank you so much for coming. But can Alagaesia really spare your presence?"

"The riots have died down, wealth is pouring in from our trade with Tiruvin, and we are recovering from the war well, so yes, I think so. Besides, I've spent nigh on six years labouring to rebuild the country, and if I hadn't agreed to this I rather think Jörmundur would have shipped me off somewhere himself. According to him I've been sprouting grey hairs like mushrooms in the rain, so . . ." She grinned, teeth flashing bright. "I had no choice. And - oh! Murtagh-"

Murtagh met her gaze and smiled. "Now?"

"Yes. I want to see him gape once more. Goodness, but it brings back memories! You used to make the same face almost every single time Arya walked into a room, even if there was a meeting taking place-"

"Yes, well, we needn't go into all that now," Eragon said hastily.

"He still does," a melodious voice said from behind him. Arya walked to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, smiling.

Nasuada's eyes moved from Eragon to Arya and back again, much as Murtagh's had done before, and her smile grew broader. "It seems like you have much to tell us as well, Shadeslayer. But first, your surprise. Thorn, if you will?"

Thorn stretched his long, red neck and twisted it around until his snout was almost touching his saddle. As he nosed amongst the various bags and cases strapped there, Murtagh said, "We'd wanted to do this ourselves, but we felt that Thorn also deserved to have the pleasure of surprising you." The wry face Eragon made at him was spoiled by the fact that he simply could not stop smiling. He almost bounced on his feet, curious and eager to see what the surprise might be.

Thorn finally found what he was looking for. As he brought his head back forward, Eragon saw that he held a colourfully patterned sack made of thick, soft wool very carefully between his teeth.

Thorn gently laid it on the flagstones and tugged on the drawstring, opening it. His mind-voice reverberated with amusement, Do try to keep your mouth closed this time, Argetlam.

I- His reply was cut off as a small, dark head poked out of the bag.

Eragon entirely failed to keep his mouth closed. He whipped around to stare at Murtagh and Nasuada, almost yelping in shock. "You - that's - what?"

They laughed in unison, filling the air with their merriment. Eragon could hardly believe his eyes as a small girl clambered out, looking about her curiously. She was as dark as her mother, but had Murtagh's iron-grey eyes. Her hair was of a soft tint between brown and black, and she wore a loose, comfortable green frock.

Her gaze fell upon her parents, but as she began to move towards them she caught sight of Eragon, standing next to them, and slowed her pace, scrutinizing him warily. Then she blinked and changed direction to stumble towards him, eyes glowing with excitement and recognition. "Eh-a-gohn!" she shouted.

Feeling as though he was dreaming, he picked her up and balanced her on one hip, ducking as she attempted to grab his hair.

I told you you should have cut it.

Is this really the time, Saphira?

Of all the questions tumbling around his disordered mind, only one made it past his lips. "How does she know me?"

"We've told her about you quite often, and Murtagh impressed an image of you on her mind when she wanted to know what you looked like."

"I have a niece," he said softly, gazing into her small, beaming face. He looked up at Murtagh and Nasuada, feeling as though he was vibrating with joy, his cheeks hurting from smiling so widely. "I have a niece! Another niece! How long have you been hiding her from me?"

"Nearly two years now?"

"Two years?" Eragon pointed at Murtagh dramatically. "Name the time and place of our duel, sir. You shall pay for this base treachery!"

The girl tried to catch his finger, nearly tipping out of his arms. He hastily cradled her more carefully, grinning as she laughed when his finger evaded her grasp and instead tapped her lightly on the nose.

"Her name is Selena."

Eragon's head whipped up to stare at Murtagh. He forgot to keep his finger moving and Selena caught it triumphantly.

"Selena," he repeated softly.

Murtagh nodded, his face expressionless. Eragon continued to gaze at him, hot brown eyes meeting cool grey ones, until something gave way, almost imperceptibly, in the latter. The brown eyes softened, and Eragon turned his attention back to the girl, softly cooing at her.

†

Caspian's curious gaze was riveted on the sight of the saviour of Alagaësia playing with a toddler. He didn't look half as scary or strict as the others had speculated he would be; he looked . . . kind? Brave? No . . . quietly confident. Yes, that fit much better. Quietly confident. Someone courteous and compassionate, but who would stand for no nonsense.

He let his eyes rove over the others standing in around him. King Murtagh and Queen Nasuada looked ecstatic as they watched their daughter, as did Queen Arya. Next to him, Dara looked amused at the look of bewilderment on Akhtar's face.

The dwarf, Sorya, looked slightly nauseated, but mostly angry. She was always angry. It showed in the tenseness of her body and the curtness of her words. Caspian would have liked to help, but she was always inside a shell . . .

. . . like that dark girl across from him. Senshi.

He'd seen her face when Queen Arya had hugged Eragon; it had had anguish written all over it. Now she was impassive, not even looking at her teacher, staring off into the distance.

But her posture, her stance, and most of all, her eyes gave her away. She looked tired, despairing, depressed; as though life had beaten her down so many times that she now believed that happiness was simply not meant for her. He bit his lip and looked away. He could not help her. The way she stood - apart - betrayed that she was really close to none other than her dragon. He could not help her, and dwelling on her would not serve any purpose except to upset him.

Instead, he looked to the elves and his fellow students. The elves were all similar, all with slanting eyes and lithe bodies. The only difference between then were the colors of their clothes, hair, and their features. They all were watching Selena, joyful expressions on their face.

The new Riders . . . a female Urgal, she must be Osra. A pleased dwarf with pleasant eyes; Ravûn. A dark haired elf who looked calmly impassive; Këyal. A dark boy with the same golden eyes as Senshi; her brother, Kitai.

He glanced at the last one, a girl-

- and could not tear his eyes away.

She was gorgeous. Startling violet eyes, beautiful gold curls, a slim silhouette, lips like rosebuds, a heart-shaped face . . . Caspian had never seen anyone like her in his life. He could not tear his gaze away from her. After a few minutes it seemed that she felt his gaze on her, for she looked at him inquiringly. He could not move; he could not even smile, though he remembered her name - Zelíe. The prettiest name he'd ever known. She raised a playful eyebrow and beamed dazzlingly at him.

He had no idea what he would have done if two elves had not come towards them from the Hall at that moment. One was certainly Blödhgarm, while the other was a female with silver hair. Yaela, perhaps?

She started, "I apologize for our tardiness, Queen Nasuada and Arya Dröttning. We were-"

She caught sight of Dara and stopped dead.

The sight of an elf dumbstruck was novel enough to wrench Caspian's eyes away from Zelíe. He turned to look at Dara, wondering what the matter was. Certainly she was striking; not because she was any beauty, but because of her features and her rather inhuman grace. Her eyes were a plain brown, but they slanted upwards at the corners ever so slightly while her were features were faintly reminiscent of a cats'. When she walked she seemed to glide over the floor, and her laugh was one of the most ethereal sounds Caspian had ever heard. But her most arresting feature was her hair. Its light brown was uplifted by the silvery sheen that seemed to coat every strand. When she moved, it shimmered in the afternoon sun, much like her dragon. Caspian knew that Queen Arya suspected she was not fully human, and judging by the look on Yaela's face, she thought so as well.

Dara herself stiffened when she saw Yaela, and her eyes were suddenly wary and uncertain.

Yaela snapped out of her shock and strode towards Dara, demanding, "What is your name?"

Caspian caught sight of King Murtagh's raised eyebrows. He felt the same; were the elves not famed for their courtesy?

Dara answered in a low voice, rigid with conflicting emotions. "Dara Tristansdaughter."

"Where are you from?" Yaela snapped.

"Lighthaven, a settlement on the outskirts of Cuenon."

"What was your mother's name?"

Was?

Dara stiffened even more and did not reply.

Silver tresses flying, Yaela lunged forward and grabbed Dara's upper arm in a painful grip..

"Answer me, child! What was her name?" The elf seemed almost desperate now.

"I don't know. She died when I was born."

"You lie! Your father must have told you!" Yaela tightened her grip, her fingers digging into Dara's arms. Dara winced.

"I don't know!"

"Tell me!" Everyone flinched at the near-shriek. Even Selena was staring, open-mouthed.

"Her name was Natiri!" Dara spat. "Now will you get off me?"

Yaela did so, stumbling back. "Natiri . . . So it is - it was true . . ."

"And what is your name?" Dara's tone was heavy, as though she knew the answer to her question.

Dazed, the elf murmured, "Yaela."

Dara grimaced bitterly, then stood irresolute, warring within herself for ten long seconds, before stepping forward stiffly and kneeling.

"Then I must beg your blessing . . . grandmother."

†

Half a day had passed, and they were all gathered in the dining room for the evening meal. Eragon had personally settled the new arrivals in their rooms. Now he watched Dara carefully, thinking that she still looked rather upset. She only answered the occasional comment sent her way by Akhtar or Caspian with the briefest of smiles, and then returned her eyes to her food.

I hope it will pass.

Celesté will take care of it, Saphira replied. Eragon agreed, recalling the purposeful silver dragon, who was currently tugging on a haunch of meat on the far side of the room.

Arya, who was sitting next to him, gave him a slight nudge. He gave her an apologetic smile and shifted his gaze to his other new students, sizing them up.

Caspian was the one from Tiruvin, and his dragon was the green Lifaen. He was rather wiry, and had an olive complexion, raven-black locks, and honey-brown eyes. He seemed to be a kind boy; Eragon noted his frequent attempts to involve Sorya and Senshi in the conversation, and how he seemed completely willing to comply with any requests. His accent was especially pleasing to the ear; a smooth, liquid voice that reminded Eragon of lazy honey oozing from the jar. He also noted how frequently he glanced over at Zelíe, and smiled to himself. It seemed that Kitai had competition.

Akhtar was older than Osra, old enough for it to be evident that he was not a Kull. Nevertheless, he was tall and very powerfully built. His blue dragon, Jethran, was far larger and heavier than usual to accommodate his Rider.

On the other hand, Corinne, Sorya's white dragon, was small and agile, while Sorya herself . . . Eragon knew not what to conclude about her. While Akhtar and Caspian had exclaimed at the wonders of the Hall, she had been sullen and silent. At present she was staring at her plate, stabbing her food like it had personally offended her. She had thick, fiery red hair that flowed in gentle waves almost to her knees. Her complexion was creamy, and her face regular. Her most arresting features were her large, expressive eyes; they were a vivid, sparkling green, like bright leaves under chipped ice, currently smoldering with fury.

Eragon frowned faintly. He would have to discover the cause of that anger before it disturbed the harmony at the Hall.

Not that the Hall had been very harmonious of late . . . He made an involuntary grimace as he remembered last week, and the shouting match that had taken place between Këyal and Zelíe.

Ah, I was to confirm the cause of his dissatisfaction, was I not?

He spoke in a soft undertone, "Arya, can you tell me anything about Këyal's family?"

A faint shadow of surprise crossed her face, but she readily replied, "Why, of course. He lived in Ceris with an older sister. His brother is Vanir, as you know. His parents were both Riders, and both perished in the Fall, killed by one of the Forsworn. "

"Do you remember which one?"

She frowned in an effort of memory. "I think it was . . . Morzan. Yes, Morzan. Why the sudden curiosity?"

"It's just that I've had an idea as to the cause of his resentment towards the other Riders, and even myself . . . I thought it might be because he has reason to believe that any Riders other than elves are weak and flawed. Given that Morzan was a human, and another human created the Forsworn in the first place . . ."

"I see. That does seem like a plausible explanation. Vanir, however, seems to have renounced that attitude, and so I hope Këyal will do as well. Ah, speaking of elves who considered that humans make weak Riders, have you managed to find out anything else about Queen Dellanir?"

"Only a little. From what I have gathered from the twins, after her abdication, she wandered the land freely,finally deciding to settle in the forest to the north. I do not know why she chose to do so, but she has since been a half-legendary protectress who is rarely seen, almost a goddess. That she chose to reveal herself to the twins, and command them, was considered a very high honour. Of course, they did not know they were to be bonded to dragons; she simply told them how to break into the Hall and described the eggs they were to touch."

"Interesting. I will think on this further. I would very much like to meet her . . ."

Eragon looked up just then to see Yaela leaving the room. He hastily rose from his seat, then stopped, irresolute. He leaned towards Arya and whispered, "Will you meet me in our room?"

She nodded, amused by his curiosity. "Tell me what she says."

He smiled at her - she knew him so well – before hurrying to catch up with the older elf.

She turned as he reached her, face smooth and expressionless.

"Yes, Shadeslayer?"

"Yaela-elda, if you do not mind, could you -"

"You wish me to explain my connection with Dara."

"Er, yes, elda."

"There is nothing to explain. My daughter was a wayward, feckless creature who attempted every half-baked notion that entered her head. She decided that she wished to live amongst humans, and so she changed her appearance and eventually married-" Her mouth twisted, "- one of them. I suppose humans were more interesting to her than her own family. She died while giving birth to her daughter; that is, Dara. Now if you don't mind, I have business elsewhere." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Eragon winced, then shook his head. The day had been wonderful, but rather overwhelming, and all he wanted to do now was find Arya and sit with her for an hour or so. He made his way to the room they had shared so many times before, and slowly pushed the door open. Arya was curled up on the couch, staring abstractedly at the flickering candle.

"Still thinking about Dellanir?"

She gave him a welcoming smile. "Eragon."

He smiled as well, closing the door behind him, and quickly eased himself onto the couch. He held out his arms, and she readily nestled into them. Resting his head on hers, with her warm weight pressing down on his chest, he felt the slight, constant irritation of the past three years fade away. This was where he belonged; she was as much a part of him as was Saphira.

He closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation. Slowly, they opened their minds to each other, only rarely using words. They shared their doings of their years spent apart; emotions, memories, and musings.

Eragon was startled by how acutely she'd felt his loss. She pulled away slightly, piqued. Did you think I would not miss you? Is that how you estimate the depth of my affection for you?

He nuzzled the side of her neck, gratefully breathing in the fresh scent of crushed pine needles. After so long spent pining after you like the moonling I was, can you blame me if I tend towards caution in estimating such things? Besides, you are very hard to read, love. I only know how you feel when you choose to let me know.

She rested against him once more. Well, I've had enough practice with that . . .

I know. Unbidden, an image of her body streaked with bruises and lacerations flashed across his mind. He growled softly at the hateful memory and clutched her tighter. That would never happen again if he had any say in it.

Arya's levity lightened his mood. Why, it seems I have a champion to defend me.

As always, princess.

You mean Queen.

Mmm, no . . . I rather think you'll always remain a princess to me - diadem notwithstanding.

†

Dara stretched drowsily, feeling the last of her annoyance washed away by the calming ambience and comfortable bed she was presently lying on. She was in Zelíe's room, listening to a tirade about the bastard that Këyal was.

" . . . I had just met him and he snorted, 'Oh, a human,' and walked off! And he's been nothing but infuriating for the past three years!" Zelíe fumed.

"He didn't even say anything to me; he just looked at me like he preferred dirt and then ignored me. How have you managed to tolerate him for three entire years?"

"Oh, we usually ignore him, and thankfully he keeps to himself. He even behaves rudely to Master, can you believe that?"

"To Master Eragon? And he gets away with that?"

"He doesn't insult him outright, but he sometimes drops these thinly-veiled hints. I don't know how Master manages to keep his temper, I really don't." She smacked a hand into a pillow as hard as she could.

Dara closed her eyes and mumbled sleepily, "I suppose after having gone to war he finds such things rather trivial. He would have received more than his fair share of discrimination after the Agaetí Blödhren as well from humans, for his appearance. You know, because of mixed blood."

"Speaking of mixed blood . . ." Zelíe hesitated.

Dara sighed, eyes still closed. There was no point in trying to hide her parentage now. "Yaela's daughter is my mother. I am part elf."

"I see. Well, anyway, it will be nice to have more sociable company. Osra is entirely calm and level headed; nothing ever seems to excite her. Senshi keeps to herself even more than that elf . . . Ravûn is nice, though. I'm sure you will like him."

"I'm sure I will too . . ." she was almost asleep.

"Kitai - "Zelíe blushed faintly and started anew. "Can you tell me anything about the others?"

"Hmmm? Oh, of course . . . Akhtar is perhaps a little more excitable than Osra seems to be. When he laughs it vibrates through your entire body. He's not a Kull, though . . . Caspian is a sweetheart; from the foreign isles, of course, but none the worse for that. He cares a lot about other people, and sometimes forgets to care for himself in the process. A good listener and one you can confide in. I don't know much about Sorya, though. She doesn't seem to want to be a Rider, and she never talks . . ." Dara gave a huge yawn. "Can I . . . sleep now? I'm so tired . . ." Another thirty seconds, and she was fast asleep.

Zelíe chuckled and lay down next to her. The bed was certainly big enough for two, if not three. She loved being able to design her own room.

"Darken," she whispered, and the Erisdar tastefully hung on the walls gradually dimmed to a comfortable twilight.

Chapter Text

Eragon yelled in exhilaration as Saphira swept into a heart-stopping dive, the stinging wind bringing tears into his eyes. He felt the strain in her wings and the thump of her huge heart as she pulled up slowly and flapped hard - high, higher, so high that crystals of ice began to form on her scales.

He coughed and rubbed his face as the stinging cold bit into it. Saphira, a bit lower, please.

She snorted with impatience, but complied. You could just cast a spell to keep yourself warm.

I need to conserve all my energy. He grinned widely as Saphira's exasperation reached him.

She is barely two years old. It's not all that hard to take care of her.

Of course it is. You have scales – you are protected from her vicious assaults.

She chuckled low in her throat, a deep, guttural sound that caused a startled eagle to sheer away. Vicious assaults, indeed. Eragon saw her memories of the day before –

She stretched luxuriously and twisted, exposing more of her body to the bone-warming-bright-sun. She loved the days of rest – it was tiring showing the young ones the same dives, swoops and turns every day. She sighed heavily as she settled her huge head on the cool stones of the courtyard in the Gardens, and closed her eyes, content. This was her private retreat. None would dare disturb her here-

A delighted squeal pierced the air as the small-dark-happy-princess Selena stumbled into her Circle, the partner-of-her-heart-and-mind in playful pursuit. When Selena saw her, she did not stop in awe and admiration as did the rest of the two-legs. She squealed at an even higher pitch and wrapped her tiny arms around as much of Saphira's head as she could, while Eragon laughed till he cried, the deep cadence of his amusement echoing off the walls of the Tower. Saphira fixed him with one glittering eye.

Little one, catch him, she said, nudging the child away. Selena clapped in delight at this new game and fixed her intent gaze on Eragon.

He stopped laughing abruptly and backed away. "Selena, you don't want to catch me. Don't- " he turned and ran as Selena, a clarion yell ringing from her tiny mouth, leaped forward, legs pumping furiously.

He didn't move fast enough.

She tackled his legs, caused him to trip and fall, and pounded on his chest triumphantly as he lay gasping on the cobbles. "Saphi-ah, I caugh' 'im!" she yelled happily.

Saphira felt the laughter bubbling up. She let her amusement roll over the girl like a wave, who grinned toothlessly in response.

Well done. Now, little one . . . kindly tickle him.

"No!" Eragon's desperate scream was of no avail. Saphira's trainee in the art of torture had no mercy.

Eragon laughed out loud. I never knew children could be so much fun.

Indeed. It should make the Hall interesting when you have younglings of your own.

His grin vanished and she felt heat surge into his ears. Saphira . . .

She deftly changed the subject even as he felt her smile at his embarrassment. Sorya seems to be getting better, yes?

Actually, I don't think so. Better at controlling her anger, perhaps, but happier at being a Rider- I don't think so. It is as though she has hammered her rage into a shield. Does Corinne give no help?

Of course not. Which dragon would give the personal details of their Rider to another dragon? They would only do so if they felt they did not know how to help said Rider, and since Corinne has not confided in anyone else, she must feel that she is capable enough to help Sorya.

Hmm. I only hope she is not overestimating her abilities. She is, after all, the youngest-

Young she might be, but she is more mature than you were when I hatched for you.

That's rather harsh, Saphira.

Eragon, it seems your intellect is dulling. You know even a dragon of six months is more ancient in her thoughts than most men of five-and-fifty. You also know no one knows Sorya better than her dragon; consequently Corinne is in a far better position to judge the state of Sorya's mind and her own capabilities than you are. How can you not see this?

He sighed. I do not know. You're right – my intellect must be dulling.

She calmed down, her indignation fading slowly. Your concern is understandable. My view is simply that there must be concerns at Galfni that still prey on her mind, perhaps family or clan problems. Once those are removed she will put her soul into her studies, for she is . . . a proud child. Imperious, capable of wielding power. And there are none more powerful than a Rider.

I think – Eragon frowned as a faint buzzing reached his ears. He looked all around, but the sky seemed clear.

Saphira turned her head like him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

It was Eragon who finally located it. There.

A black arrow was speeding upwards towards them. It was painted with streamers of glowing orange that writhed across the shaft, reminding Saphira of the flames of the fire-and-smoke- filled-Burning-Plains.

It was still some distance off, but was swiftly closing the distance.

"Letta," Eragon said lazily.

The arrow did not budge from its course. It was now only forty feet away.

His dark brows angled downwards as he frowned. "Letta!" he snapped

Twenty feet.

"Letta!" Urged by his sudden anxiety, Saphira dove into a steep dive, trying to evade the missile. But it pursued them, cementing her belief that it was guided by magic.

Ten feet. Five feet-

"Thrysta vin-"

The spell was cut off as the tip of the short arrow sank into his neck, and he slumped forward on her neck with a quiet gurgle.

Saphira roared in pain and fury as she felt the bright light of his mind vanish. A cloud of startled birds rose from the forest and swirled around her as she whipped around and forced her tired muscles to propel them to the Hall, hoping desperately that she wouldn't be too late.

† 

Senshi looked up in surprise from where she was weeding the flowerbeds as Saphira dropped through the Tower like a stone, flaring her huge wings just enough to slow her fall. She landed with a huge, jarring thud, casting out her mind as she did so.

Arya arrived at a sprint within thirty seconds, and leapt to the saddle with inhuman grace, countenance marred by worry. She quickly lifted the unconscious Head Rider into her arms and clambered down carefully.

Senshi's heart skipped a beat when she saw her teacher's head lolling on his neck like that of a puppet whose strings had been severed. What could have happened to him? He was one of the most powerful magicians she'd ever known, what-

The arrow clattered to the floor as Saphira rose to follow Arya down the corridor.

Senshi had the oddest sensation of the world spinning around her.

Senshi, are you all right? Ikraan asked, worry beginning to spark in his mind. She didn't answer him as she picked the arrow up with trembling fingers. She knew that pattern. She knew who had shot the arrow. She knew who had tried to kill Eragon.

And the realization forged her shock and worry and fear into sparkling, diamond-hard fury.

How dare they? A group of lily-livered, illiterate rats who feared what they could not comprehend and used their magic to harm the weak- how dare they try to harm her teacher?

There was an answering surge of anger from Ikraan as he saw what was in her mind.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. She was the only one who could help – but she had to check how far gone he was first.

I'll be waiting by the front doors. Be fast.

I will.

She sprinted after Saphira, arrow still clutched in one hand, in time to see Arya's distant figure duck into the sickroom. She ducked under Saphira's sparkling blue belly and ran after her.

Senshi, what are you doing? Saphira's anger was sharpened by her worry.

Senshi did not pause. Every second wasted brought Eragon closer to death. I know how to save him, Mistress.

She did not even acknowledge Saphira's flicker of hope as she dashed through door, where Arya had just laid Eragon down on a cot and was about to start a spell.

"No!" she gasped.

Queen Arya's eyes snapped open, and Senshi recoiled involuntarily. The her eyes burned with desperation and fear. "He's dying, child!"

"Trust me . . . magic will only . . . make it worse," Senshi panted.

"But-"

Eragon moaned suddenly, flinging his arm so it narrowly missed a glass beaker. Arya hurried to restrain him, but he quickly grew more agitated, tossing and turning, screaming unintelligible words.

Fear threatened to overwhelm her. They must have used a stronger concentration – she had never seen anyone succumb this fast.

She spoke tersely. "Queen, believe me, I know how this happened, and I can cure it – but I need time. You can use magic to alleviate his pain, but do not try to discover or remove the cause. I will be back as soon as possible."

She hardly waited for Queen Arya to nod before she whipped out of the room, sprinting to the Doors, eyes blurring with angry tears.

Which was possibly why she ran smack into her brother.

He clutched at her to keep from falling and the two swayed, struggling for balance. Senshi fought down her rising tide of anger at being slowed down, but the dam burst when she saw Zelíe leaning against the wall, hair and clothes disheveled, expression teetering between amusement, annoyance, and embarrassment.

"Come," she growled in their native tongue, dragging him along with an iron grip.

"Senshi, what- let go!" She did not loosen her grip by a fraction.

"I was in the middle of something, you know. What is so impor-"

"Vilta!" she snapped.

The blood drained from his face, and when she glanced at him she could read his thoughts as they flashed across his face.

Vilta, the incurable disease - !

"What?! How is that possible? Who is it?" he demanded, now easily keeping pace with her.

"Eragon, and I don't know how! Are you going to help or not?"

He drew in his breath sharply. "Of course I'll help."

"How many do you know?"

"Vailè, haldin, kenäd, and elrun." Better than she had hoped for – vailè and kenäd were amongst the hardest to find.

"Very well. Be careful-" They dashed out the front doors, where Ikran and Palé waited restlessly, glittering purple and gold in the lazy evening sun. "-be sure to get the right ones. I only need five leaves of each."

"Senshi- " he grasped her arm tightly, pulling her to face him. "Are you really going to - are you sure you can do this? I might be able to -"

She met his gaze unwaveringly. "She never taught you as much as she taught me. And yes, I am sure, because failure is not an option here."

He gritted his teeth, but gave a sharp nod and let go. Without another word, the two got onto their respective dragons and flew out north, towards their homeland.

†

When she got back, she was exhausted. It was tiring to search through the forest, bent almost double, peering at plants, looking for the specific herbs she'd need. Out of the nine, she'd found three. The other two she needed were almost impossible to find, and she'd had to get back quickly . . .

. . . so she'd done what she'd sworn to herself she'd never do again.

She'd gone home.

Only for a few minutes, thankfully. Once she was past the barriers she simply summoned her mother's pouch of herbs and extracted what she'd need. After two years of training, she was very aware of how woefully weak the magical barriers were.

She'd managed to get out unseen, and within ten minutes of leaping back onto Ikran, the Hall was within sight. She saw a glittering gold shape come up on her right and extended her mind.

Have you got them, Kitai?

Yes. It took me long enough to find them. How did you find all five so fast?

I . . . may have borrowed a few from Ma.

The blast of his exasperation and worry nearly knocked her sideways. You're just begging to have her curse you, you know that?

She snarled at him more viciously than she had intended, unable to stop the resentment from bubbling up and over in the midst of her worry. Of course, because that's what parents do to their children, yes? Curse them? I'll believe in her ridiculous curses when the sun goes out. I owe her nothing, Kitai-

She is still our mother-

By blood, and unfortunately there's nothing I can do about that. Her hand closed tight around the herbs she held. Eragon has done more for me than she ever has – or will.

He forbore to push her, and spent the rest of the flight pouring his strength into her and the dragons; the dragons to aid their flight, and her because she would need all her energy for what was ahead . . .

They reached the Hall in record time. As soon as she alighted she grabbed the herbs from Kitai and crushed them in her hand, squeezing the leaves between her fingers, releasing pungent scents into the cool air. She quickly rolled it into a small ball – and hesitated.

The cure needed the blood of someone whom she trusted without reserve. Two years ago, she would not have even hesitated to ask her brother . . . but now she was not so sure.

Well, I may be a fool and that may be his fault or mine or both, but I don't have time right now to think about this!

Avoiding his eyes, she muttered, "Cut."

A drop of blood oozed between Ikran's scales and landed on the small pill, turning its bright green-yellow to a dark, sickly green.

Without thinking twice, she swallowed it-

- and gasped in pain as it blazed a trail of fire down her throat. Clutching at her stomach, she hurried inside, towards the sickroom, trying not to stagger. Blotches of darkness clawed at the edges of her vision and she felt a slow, throbbing pain build up within her muscles. She gritted her teeth and forced her trembling legs to work faster. If she didn't reach Eragon in time, he would die, and she would be torn apart . . .

She felt a hard hand at her elbow – her brother guiding her. Another hand, careful and gentle- who could it be?

She caught the fleeting scent of mulling spices, cinnamon and clove, and knew it was that boy, the one with the kind eyes - Caspian.

"What happened to her?" His voice barely made it past the roaring in her ears.

"It doesn't matter, just help her. She has to make it in time!"

With their support, she managed to make it to the sickroom, and just barely in time. She could feel the dull pain slowly turning into heat.

She took a deep breath and stood as straight as she could, shaking off Caspian and Kitai.

†

Caspian watched worriedly as Senshi closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He devoutly hoped she knew what she was doing. They could not have another on the sick list . . .

For Master Eragon was in a desperate state. In the past half an hour, he'd gotten rapidly worse, until the only thing stopping him from dying was the elven magic. He'd been screaming, thrashing, convulsing, sobbing; and when he opened his eyes once, they were glazed and unseeing. Caspian could not imagine what nightmares stalked through Master's mind to reduce him to his state.

He'd been trying to help as much as he could. He did have some experience with ill and truculent patients, being the eldest of a number of siblings, but for the past hour he'd simply skulked around the room, feeling useless as the elves took it in shifts to weave incredibly complex spells around the weak Rider. And Queen Arya . . . she participated in every spell, her mouth a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, pain etched in every line of her face.

Senshi opened her eyes. She now stood tall and confident and . . . Caspian thought he could see - could it truy be -

Yes, those were faint curves of light rippling over her skin. He watched incredulously as she seemed to force all the ripples together with sheer force of will. The light thickened and deepened, becoming a rich yellow, pouring up her body and down her arms, and pooled over her palms in two pulsing orbs of such power that his hair stood on end, though he was not close by her.

She walked slowly to the bedside, her eyes glowing bright like her palms. She positioned her hands so they were side by side, and then pushed them down hard, so they struck Eragon's chest with a firm thump.

When she lifted them up again, the orbs were gone.

Queen Arya's lips parted in shock, and she looked at Senshi with a new hope in her eyes, fingers clenching tight on the side of the bed.

Senshi closed her eyes again, gathering her strength for the next time. The ripples were a harder to see now, and she took longer to collect the light. Her arms were shaking. Once again, she brought her palms down with a thump and pushed the light into his chest.

Eragon's breathing grew easier, and he lay quietly on the bed, face peaceful.

The elves were watching silently, eyes wide as Senshi closed her eyes for the last time. Her whole body was trembling now, and her skin was grey and sweaty. The orbs grew, flickered, died-

You can do it, Senshi, Caspian thought desperately, heart in his throat. Try, I know you can, you have to -

She clenched her teeth and concentrated. The orbs grew slowly, becoming the brightest yet. She lifted her arms slowly, and pushed down with a quiet cry, thrusting the light into Eragon-

- whose back arched as the light seemed to explode out of him, enveloping him in a blinding cocoon of energy. The force pushed everyone back, but Queen Arya struggled forward, trying to reach Eragon.

Senshi stumbled back as well, pushed almost to the wall. In that corner, out of reach of the light, almost no one noticed her quietly crumple to the floor.

Except Caspian.

He made his way to her side, tentatively touched her mind, and was shocked at how weak she was. Quickly, he poured as much strength as his lean frame could spare into her, bitterly reflecting on how people who thought they were strong enough to handle any hardship on their own inevitably never could, hoping fervently she wasn't too far gone to save . . .

As elves, Riders, kings, queens and dragons prayed for a man who was slowly coming back to life, a boy alone in a dark corner did his best to save a girl fading to death.

Chapter Text

†

Two days after the incident, on a bright morning, Senshi stood in the conference room, facing three mirrors which reflected the faces of King Orik, King Orrin and Nar Garzhvog. Queen Nasuada, Queen Arya and King Consort Murtagh sat opposite the mirrors in a quiet row. Queen Arya fidgeted slightly every now and then, though she tried to hide it - she was anxious, Senshi knew, and eager to get back to Eragon's bedside in case he had woken. That her restlessness was noticeable at all spoke volumes about the state of her mind.

Senshi smiled wryly to herself, ignoring the sharp pang that shot through her chest at the thought of Queen Arya by Eragon's side, tending to him -

Ikraan cut the train of thought off swiftly, nudging her in a different direction. She sent him a quick pulse of gratitude, and did her best to focus once more. What had she been thinking of? Ah, Queen Arya's restlessness.

I should conclude this as soon as may be, then, so she may leave the sooner.

She briefly closed her tired eyes, took a breath to calm her nerves, and began her explanation.

"Master Eragon was shot by one of the clans from - from the kingdom I come from. A nomad clan, called the Chorih. They are superstitious mercenaries who will work for the highest bidder; the filth of my people. In the clan politics, they may be hired by clan chiefs to do their dirty work – assassinations, poisoning and the like. What they used on Master Eragon is known as Vilta, the incurable disease. It is . . ." she hesitated. How to explain this in a different language? It was like trying to sew with a nail – using a tool designed for an entirely different task.

"It is a . . . a liquid. They mix many herbs and poisons, carefully measured so that the victim is tortured to the greatest extent before death. I am, in truth, surprised they used so much on him. It is difficult to manufacture and small amounts ensure more . . . prolonged suffering. Its use is purchased at a very high cost.

"Vilta is almost impossible to cure. Only three clans have the knowledge of how to reverse, counteract the effects of the poison, and within the clans only highly placed or very experienced people know the precise ingredients required for the cure and the method, the procedure to be followed."

"We are lucky, then, to have one of those people as a Rider." King Orik's voice was gruffly appreciative. "You did well, young one."

She could not suppress a small smile, but she shook her head. "I thank you, King Orik, but I am certainly not one of them. The only reason I knew how to help was because my mother was the daakyir of our town . . . the one of medicine, the healer." The smile twisted slightly. "She taught me well."

"What are the specific effects of this Vilta?" Nar Garzhvog asked, his voice a low rumble. "You say it used to torture. How so?"

"Vilta . . . affects the brain, causing, uh . . . " She fumbled for words. "What do you say? Hallucinations? It takes your worst nightmares and parades before your mind, twisting them in terrifying ways. At the same time, it targets nerves in certain vital areas of the body, causing an intense pain and weakness.

"The victim cannot take the cure themselves. Someone else must take it. The cure intensifies the . . . I do not know the exact word, but the - the vital energy? The vital energy of the healer's body is intensified, releasing a flow of healing energy that repairs the body of the victim as fast as the Vilta destroys it."

"You say these mercenaries are hired. Who, then, would attempt to kill Eragon? Who may this hidden enemy be?" King Orrin asked.

"I do not know, sire. I cannot think of anyone, unless it be some remnant of the old empire of Alagaesia. To my knowledge no one from my land has any cause to attempt this, though fear and apprehension with respect to the Riders and their intentions is certainly present in some measure. Not enough, however, to warrant this. Agents of the old empire would have the power and money needed to purchase the use of Vilta, yes? If they are indeed present close by? In this land?"

Queen Nasuada frowned slightly. "I would hope not, but I cannot answer with any certainty. It . . . is a possibility, yes."

Senshi nodded. "Else, it might have been that the Chorih believe Dragon Riders are demons, to be feared, and so might have decided to take matters into their own hands and kill as many as they could . . . though this does not seem like something they would do . . ." She frowned, forcing her weary mind to think. "No, I don't believe they would do this thing of their own will, their own . . . volition. They are worse than rats and jackals – they are the first to take advantage and the last to show courage."

"You nurse quite a grudge, child." Queen Nasuada's voice was quiet.

"I have good reason, Queen. The Chorih started a clan war seven years ago, when I was ten summers old, to weaken their enemies. They tricked good, honest people with their deceit and caused a slaughter the likes of which has never been seen before in these lands. They shattered us, divided us and turned us against each other, leaving behind too many widows and orphans. Even now we have not completed the process of recovery. Or we had not, when Kitai and I came here." Senshi paused, then said quietly, "And . . . my father was killed."

"My condolences, Senshi. I'm sure he was a noble man."

"He was." Senshi took a breath, trying to seem calm. King Orik caught her eye, however, and there was almost as much understanding in his eyes as there was in Queen Nasuada's. She swallowed, a lump suddenly expanding in her throat, and asked, with tolerable poise, "Has my explanation been adequate? Is there anything further you would like to know?"

"Most adequate, Rider Senshi, yes. I assume Eragon is now recovered?" Orrin asked.

"No, sire. He has remained asleep the past two days. I expect him to wake in two more . . . you see, the cure cannot heal completely. When the concentration used is so high, as it was in his case, it can only arrest the advance of the poison and reduce, mitigate, some damage to the body. To heal entirely would take too much power. Such is the damage Vilta causes. Usually the victim would be left crippled.

"However, I am more . . . hopeful, optimistic, that in this case the healing spells that worked on him during the poison would prevent this. Also, he has the strength of a Dragon Rider. Even so, his body is now trying to repair the damage. It needs rest to do so."

As she spoke, her muscles trembled and she leaned forward slightly to keep her balance. Annoyed, she clenched them tighter, hoping no one had noticed.

But of course, someone had. Murtagh spoke for the first time, the worried frown on his brow unaltered. "If none of you object, I think we should allow Senshi to leave now. She needs rest as well."

Nar Garzhvog said, "Of course. You have done a great deed, child. Be well."

The others assented, and Senshi left the room, sighing thankfully as she allowed her shoulders to slump, her spine to curve.

Caspian and Ravûn were waiting right outside. She came to a halt, blinking at them, then scowled, the ill-temper she'd had to keep in check earlier bursting out, overriding the impulse keep her head down and leave as unobtrusively as possible.

"Why are you still waiting here? Do you not have anything else to do? I do not need you to fuss over me!"

A wry smile danced in Ravûn's eyes. "You should see yourself right now. You look like you're about to faint."

Irritation at that comment erased any diffidence she might have otherwise felt. "I do not!" she snapped, walking away. As she did, her foot slipped on the smooth floor and she toppled over backwards, arms flailing. Caspian quickly caught her.

She huffed in exasperation and righted herself, avoiding their eyes. Caspian glanced at Ravûn, and the two burst out laughing.

"And what is so funny?" she growled, giving them the most vicious glare she could manage.

Caspian's lazy grin flashed out. "You are. You're so . . ."

"So what, exactly?"

Ravûn chuckled. He took her elbow to guide her."Never mind, girl. Just accept our help, would you?"

"I do not need your help!" She pulled her elbow away.

Just then, Dara and Zelíe rounded the corner. When they saw her, their eyes widened in concern.

Oh, wonderful, that's all I need right now -

"Oh, Senshi, you look like you're about to collapse! Let me help you to your room." Zelíe took her arm.

Senshi recoiled, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar touch. "Zelíe, I - I appreciate it, but -" she started, and Dara grabbed her other arm.

"Don't be silly, Senshi, you should be resting," she said, kind but firm. "Come along." And they marched her away.

Senshi's irritation and mortification were not helped by the reflection, courtesy of Ikraan, that their help was not entirely unnecessary - nor by the ill-suppressed laughter filling the air behind her from Ravûn and Caspian. She refused to look back, vowing instead to find some suitable punishment to visit upon them as soon as she could manage.

†

Later that day, though, she couldn't spare a thought either of them.

She was hungry. She looked out her window at the dark sky and sighed. Damn the healing. It had left her body so irritatingly weak . . . And by now the evening meal was, in all probability, over.

Oh, what she would give for food! And Ikraan's images of meat and a full belly weren't helping.

She moaned quietly and turned over, burying her face in her pillow. The dining hall was three floors below, and her legs refused to support her even as far as the corridor outside - as she had discovered to her cost, an hour or two before - so she had no choice but to endure the gnawing pangs.

She resigned herself to trying to fall asleep, and drew the bedsheet about her more closely, resolutely shutting her eyes. On the morrow, she would be further rested, and hopefully more capable of taming her rebellious body -

She felt Ikraan pause in his progress back to her room, and received a flash of exasperation from him.

You're making this all so much harder than it has to be. If you want food, can't you just -

Someone knocked at her door, and Ikraan broke off.

Senshi groaned silently. Who was it? What did they want? Why did they not leave her in peace instead of coming to badger her with questions or tasks that would surely tax her strength further?

But the thought of feigning sleep only had to cross her mind to be dismissed. If she was required in any way, she could not refuse.

"Come in," she called weakly, pushing herself up slowly.

A wiry figure with honey-brown eyes entered, usual smile in place. "Good evening, Senshi."

She pulled the blanket closer about her, fighting an urge to shrink back against the wall as the memory of her earlier outburst returned.

"Good evening," she mumbled.

He paused by the bed and made an enquiring gesture, balancing the tray he held with one hand. She looked at him blankly for a moment before realizing his meaning.

"Oh . . . please." She moved her legs to the side, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

Despite herself, he eyes flickered to the tray almost immediately. "Um - food?"

He smiled, handing it to her. "Indeed. Go ahead."

She balanced it on her knees and lifted a spoonful of broth to her lips almost instantly, a moment's hesitation at eating under Caspian's scrutiny vanishing under the pressure of her hunger. Within a few minutes, she had cleaned all the dishes thoroughly.

Caspian had remained in polite silence the entire time, gazing absently around her room as crumbs scattered and the spoon clinked against the bowl. Now, as she sat back against the wall, suppressing a satisfied sigh, he said, slightly quizzically, "How do you feel?

"Better, thank you. I need only sleep."

"You were - very hungry."

It was a simple statement, and she took it as such. "Very. Thank you for bringing me the food."

He reached out for the tray. "Would you have remained in hunger if I had not?"

Again, a simple question, with no judgemental inflection, yet she felt compelled to avoid his gaze in some embarrassment. "I - I suppose."

"Hm." He settled the tray in his lap, looking down at it thoughtfully. "Did it not occur to you to request any of us to do so? Your brother, maybe?"

This boy is sensible. I like him.

Senshi ignored Ikraan, instead giving Capian a fleeting glance, but he still did not look up. "He - we have not spoken since two days ago."

"He did visit you, I know that."

"He did." She hesitated. "But I can tell he is - was - hurt, though he tries to hide it. I . . . told him to stay away. It is easier for us both."

"He was hurt because you did not use his blood."

The glance she directed at him was sharp, now, and more intensely embarrassed. He knew that much?

" . . . Yes."

He did not pursue the topic - to her relief - instead asking,"Why not anyone else?"

"I - well, to be honest, it did not cross my mind to ask."

He looked up at that, his steady gaze not allowing her to look away. "Not at all?"

"Not at all . . . May I know why you are questioning me?"

He frowned slightly and looked away. "That is not as it should be . . . " he murmured, ignoring her question. "Senshi - do you feel you are disliked?"

"I - what?"

"Do you feel that the rest of us dislike you?"

That single question made her want nothing more than to avoid this conversation, avoid him, get him out of her room. If she requested him to leave, she was sure he would, at once and with no demur. Yet something (his tone of genuine concern? The way he took care to look away, so that she was more comfortable? The strangeness of the question itself?) impelled her to answer hesitantly.

"Not -" She stopped, took a breath, gathered her courage. "Not dislike. I am - tolerated. O-outcast. Not - involved, not included, not welcome. Courtesy, no warmth."

She cut herself off, wincing at how she sounded. This language was too foreign, she could not express herself with fluency when she was unprepared.

Caspian did not seem to be bothered, despite the fact that his command over it was greater than hers. "I am aware that what I say is unlikely to alter that belief, but you need to know that that is not true."

She looked up sharply, and he met her eyes, now. When she did not speak, he continued, "For one thing, you gained respect from us all when you did what you did for Master Eragon. You came quite close to giving your life for his, and that is no easy feat at all. And . . . I have only been here for three weeks or so, hardly that, but I can see - Senshi, I can see that you feel - alone. That you stand apart. I cannot, surely, presume to know your thoughts and feelings, but I may guess? You will correct me if I am wrong?"

She shrugged slightly, helplessly - it was he who seemed to be in control of the conversation, and she resigned herself to going wherever he planned to reach. He took the gesture as acquiescence.

"You feel unwanted because you feel like a misfit. They all know each other, and are comfortable with each other - even we who came here so recently. Well, Sorya and Këyal are exceptions, but apart from that . . . The matter is compounded by the fact that, though they are all from Alagaësia - with the exception of myself - Kitai settled in faster, which felt like a betrayal, since it is he who had resented being sent here more. Since you two had been so close, too. . . So you withdrew into yourself. You train, you eat, you work, but though you are as much a Rider as any of us, you do not claim to be so. You have convinced yourself that they do not want you, that they see you as inadequate . . . that they whisper and laugh about you when you leave the room. That they are entirely content with this state of affairs, content to keep you out. And you are lonely -"

She raised a hand, and he fell silent at once. It was some moments before she could bring herself to speak.

"I - I do not - I do speak to Ravûn . And Dara, a little, and Osra, on occasion, and to Akhtar and - I am not so - so -" She made a quick gesture, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "As you make me sound."

He opened his mouth to apologize. She forestalled him. "H-however . . . broadly, I would have to say - you are - correct. And you - wish to tell me I am wrong?"

"You are," he said gently. "Their faces change when they speak to you not because they do not like you, but because they are unsure of whom they are speaking to. You have built your walls so thick and so high, they are uncertain of making the attempt. You are certainly respected, and I have no doubt you will be liked once you can rid yourself of this barrier you have created, this thought that you are not wanted and would not be welcome. Certainly, someone who had the courage and strength of mind to do what you did, at such short notice, is not someone likely to be disliked, would you not say? We are entirely willing to accept you, to know more about you, to banish your loneliness." He was leaning forward, now, all earnestness. "Please, give us a chance to do so. I understand that restrictions of the mind are, sometimes, the hardest to overcome, but - we are all Riders. Ten people bearing a burden few can understand, given a duty few would care to undertake. We may - outlive our - our families by a few centuries, and it is possible that we may do so by millenia. We should support each other unreservedly, be each other's family as far as possible. We need you, Senshi, even as you need us. So - for your sake and ours - do not hold yourself back. We're waiting to welcome you."

Senshi couldn't help snorting at that through her shock at his words, even as she suppressed a rising, ridiculous urge to cry. "Not - not everyone."

Caspian sat back, smiling slightly. "Well, if you expect Sorya, for one, to be eager to be friendly, you will have to wait quite a while. But you know my meaning, yes? Will you - would you try?"

She smiled a little and sniffed, staring down at the sheet clutched in her hands. "After that - intricate - eloquent speech, how could I refuse? I - I will try. As much as I can. I just - it's - I'm not sure how to -" She gripped the sheet tighter, hating how small her voice sounded, how vulnerable her words were. "You will help me?"

She could hear the warmth in his voice as he replied. "To be sure! You needn't even ask. Thank you for your answer. I - I am aware I may have overstepped some bounds -"

"You didn't. I should be the one thanking you." She met his gaze, managing to blink her tears away. "For your kindness - for taking the - the time to speak to me of this - for the food you brought for me - for your solicitousness this morning, though I was rude, to you and Ravûn - and - and for the strength you lent me, two days before. I am - very grateful."

He got to his feet, smiling. "Truly, you needn't be. I should leave - you need as much rest as you can get. Sleep well."

I like him very much indeed, Ikraan said quietly.

Senshi hesitated, then said, hastily, "C-Caspian -"

He turned, looking quizzical.

"I - when I learned that Riders are well nigh immortal, I was - very shocked. And when I learned it was almost an expectation that I live and study at the Hall, well - it took me some time to absorb everything, to adjust myself to the ideas, and I came from a home that was - dead, you might say. There was no life and no cheer. My mother was - indifferent, to the both of us. After my father -" She took a deep, steadying breath, and ploughed on. "I am trying to say that - I know that your home was not like that. I know your family was a close one, and I imagine that it must have been far - far harder for you. To leave. To become accustomed to - everything. If, at any time, I can possibly help - in any way -"

She faltered under his surprised gaze. Then he chuckled quietly, sounding somewhat choked. Senshi thought she could see unshed tears glimmering faintly in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, Senshi. I will remember."

And he was gone with one last, murmured 'Sleep well'.

†

Arya yawned.

She had not slept for the past three days. If anyone had looked into the Head Rider's room at night, they would have seen a slim figure pace quietly up and down the room, silhouetted against the moonlight. Occasionally, she would cross to the bed and lay a careful hand against the forehead of the man who lay there; then once again resume her untiring vigil.

Now, though, she sat cross-legged in a chair and closed her eyes, trying to release her worry. She breathed deeply and deliberately, feeling her ribcage expand . . . and contract. Expand . . . and contract. Expand . . .

Her eyes flicked open an hour later, startlingly bright in the dark. She took a moemnt to gain an awareness of her surroundings, then crossed over to the bed to check on Eragon yet again, berating herself for falling asleep. What if he had awoken?

He looked for all the world as though he was simply sleeping, and indeed, anyone else would think he was. But Arya could discern faint lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, and felt the worry come creeping back.

She sat down on the bed and took his hand in her left one, gently stroking his cheek with her other hand. And the action, though it received no response, calmed her heart somewhat.

She sighed and pressed a light kiss to his forehead

Wake soon, Eragon. Too many people are too sorely anxious for you to remain like this . . .

The hand clutched in hers moved.

She drew back, startled, and hoped it had not been her imagination . . . There it was again! And were his eyelids not moving ever so slightly?

Her heart was suddenly beating against her ribs, excited and anxious, and her hand tightened on his, almost unconsciously, as as he slowly opened his eyes.

They were unfocused and hazy, staring blankly at the ceiling. She squeezed his hand, and they quickly darted to her face, recognition coming almost instantly. He smiled tiredly and returned the pressure.

She laid her hand to his cheek once more and quietly asked, "How do you feel?"

"Terrible. Weak." His voice was low and rough. It reminded her of how he had been after the seizures from the wound on his back.

She nodded. "Water?"

He made a faint sound of assent. She lifted the glass to his lips and supported his head as he drank.

"What happened?" he said quietly as she moved the glass away.

She hesitated as she set it down on the table by the bed. "It is - not something you should have to hear at this time. Tomorrow?"

He frowned slightly, but acquiesced, to her relief. She rose, bending to kiss his forehead as she did so.

"You should go back to sleep," she said softly. "Your body has not yet healed fully."

A spark of panic flared in his eyes. "Where are you going?"

She tilted her head. "You wish me to stay?"

"Please."

She nodded, moving back to the chair, but he laid a weak hand on the empty space beside him. She paused for an instant, scanning his face, then tentatively slid under the covers next to him. He sighed softly, wrapping a tight arm around her waist.

Too tight. She frowned a little, raising her head on one elbow to be able to look into his face. He was . . . scared?

"What is the matter, Eragon?"

He met her eyes with difficulty. "Nothing. Can I not wish you to stay with me for some time?"

"It is something more than that. Tell me." She touched his cheek gently with three fingertips, and he sighed again, this time wearily.

"It is nothing."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

He looked away. "I . . . It was only a few nightmares. It is not an important-"

"It must be," she said quietly. "For you to be so disturbed, it must be. Will you not show me? Will you not allow me to help?"

He glanced up at her briefly, and the pain in his eyes shocked her.

"It is not something I would wish upon you, Arya. Even if the experience is secondhand . . ."

She bent her head and kissed him, smoothing one hand through his hair, down his neck. "It will be nothing I cannot handle," she murmured when they broke apart. "Let me share your burden."

He moved closer to her, resting his face against her arm. She slid her other arm about his shoulders and held him, waiting patiently.

Suddenly, without any warning –

She stood next to Eragon in a dank dungeon littered with bones. There were rows of dark figures chained to a wall, all of them hooded, all of them with dark, sticky pools around their feet. One by one, they lifted their weary heads.

Roran, missing an eye.

Katrina, blood sheeting down her face.

Garrow, an arrow embedded in his stomach.

Nasuada, trembling and vomiting.

Orik, covered in burns.

Murtagh, his tongue cut out.

Angela, her face crushed.

So many people . . . they screamed at Eragon as he dashed down the rows, the sound of their furious pain clashing and reverberating from the dank stone, surrounding Ayra, pressing down on her, suffocating her -

"This is your FAULT!"

She felt the horror bloom and spread in Eragon's mind like a black frost as he was driven onward by some nameless, irresistible force, helpless to prevent himself from leaving them behind.

They reached the last figure together, panting, shaking, and she saw . . . herself. The hooded wraith raised her head, and in her eyes was no recognition, no joy, no love. Only terror.

Next to her, Eragon reached out a shaking hand, and the shadow-Arya drew away with a mindless shriek of fear.

Another figure loomed up behind her, tall and broad-shouldered, with a dark crown glittering on its head. It raised its bone-white sword and brought it whistling down. Arya, frozen, unable to look away, watched her own head thump to the floor, the sound of Eragon's scream echoing in her ears.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, chest heaving. No nightmare she had ever had - and most no battle she had ever been in - had ever approached the sheer horror concentrated in that single vision. Firnen nudged her anxiously, insistently, but she assuaged his worries with a brief flicker of thought, focusing instead on subduing the clinging fear that still nestled in the corners of her mind.

"Do you understand now?" Eragon asked softly.

She nodded slightly, trying to forget the stench of stale blood, the crunch of bones under her feet.

"Were they . . . all like that?"

"They were. Some . . . worse." The words were carried on the merest whisper.

She lay down once more, forcing her own breathing to slow, and gently pulled him into her arms again, cradling his head. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tighter than before, but she made no mention of it.

Some minutes passed before he whispered, "You - will you stay with me tonight?"

She stroked his hair with a careful hand. "Of course," she replied, as softly. "Sleep, and rest."

He snorted quietly. "Easier said than done." She felt a drop of liquid on her shoulder, then, and realized he was shaking.

Arya hesitated for a moment, then touched his mind, pouring into it as much comfort and affection as she could muster. She could sense Saphira there as well, doing the same.

He met her in the mind as gratefully as he had embraced her before, and here she could help him more effectively. She brushed aside the dark recollections whenever they arose, forming a warm sphere around the core of his being, and gradually she managed to soothe him enough that he drifted into sleep. And even though he slept, she stayed awake for a time, guarding his rest from any nightmares that might dare to attack.

†

Arya woke slowly, rising from her sleep as though it had been as insubstantial as a shadow. Eragon lay next to her, face unlined by the worries of the night. Her mouth softened at the corners as she watched him sleep, a swell of relief growing in her chest. She pressed a careful kiss to his forehead and slid out of the bed, being sure not to wake him as she left the room. She wanted to check on the Riders, ensure that they were continuing with their training, before she informed the others that Eragon had finally woken. But, so that he should not wake alone, she made sure a part of her mind was always in his. He would wake soon in any case – it was an hour past sunrise, and his room faced east. The light would rouse him.

She felt a presence touch her mind as she proceeded down the corridor, and recognized it as Saphira's touch. She opened her mind at once, welcoming her in.

Good morning, Saph-

Instantly, a massive flood of -

- gratitude affection relief thankfulness -

- poured into her. She staggered, shocked by the sheer depth and strength of the emotions. If it had not been a dragon, she would have characterized the tangled swell as tearfulness.

Saphira! she exclaimed, horrified.

I - I could not help him during that time. He was unreachable . . . You felt it too, I know, but imagine that it was Firnen, and you could hear everything, feel everything, feel him crumbling, yet remain unable to help -

I - I know. I understand. Arya offered as much comfort as she could muster, reassurance and affection and encouragement in a slowly rising, gentler wave, and was relieved when it was accepted.

I simply wanted to say - thank you. For everything you did.

Please, Saphira, it is most unnecessary -

An odd sensation reached her, as though Saphira had inhaled and sighed heavily.

Nevertheless . . . I am in your debt.

Arya hesitated, but accepted the statement. Saphira withdrew, leaving behind, in Arya's mind, a curious feeling of deep humility.

She began to walk slowly, glancing absently out of the long row of large arched windows that lined the corridor as she tried to settle her mind. New sunlight streamed through them, illuminating intricate patterns set into the floor. Outside, the pristine forest was draped over rolling hills like an emerald sheet, sparkling with dew. The morning was alive with birdsong, bright and cheerful, and she couldn't help beginning to smile as she listened. It was as though the world glowed, as fresh and clean as a mountain stream.

Or perhaps it is that it seems so to me because Eragon has finally woken, she mused.

I think so, Firnen agreed, from the beach, where he was curled around Saphira. Arya smiled, happy that he was content and that he was comforting Saphira.

She went down two flights of staircases and reached the fourth floor, where the clear, sharp sound of metal ringing on metal came from the training room. Osra and Akhtar were at it again; they couldn't seem to stay away from the vast array of weapons the room was provided with for too long. She peered inside, and saw Dara on a bench, swinging her legs back and forth as she watched the two Urgals spar. Ravûn sat next to her, commenting in an undertone on the techniques of fighting. On the far side of the room, Sorya practiced alone with an axe. One of the Eldunarya, a fierce green one called Natani, was commenting on the fight.

Move faster! Lift your feet, Akhtar! Your bulk is no excuse for clumsiness! You cannot always-

That accounts for five of them, Arya thought. Senshi must be sleeping, and Këyal would be in the library, which leaves three humans to account for.

Caspian came into sight just then, walking briskly in the opposite direction. As he passed her, he smiled a greeting. She noticed, though, that there seemed to be some strain in his eyes. He brushed past her, hurrying into the training room.

Arya frowned slightly. What could have put him out so?

She continued on, hoping the cause of his worry would reveal itself-

- and so it did. Her sensitive ears caught some sound – the sound of cloth against stone, the sound of skin against skin, and the sound of quiet, breathless murmurs.

She stopped and turned back to the training room. She now knew where they all were, and she had no wish to intrude upon Kitai and Zelíe's privacy.

Settling herself down unobtrusively on a wooden bench, she watched Osra and Akhtar clash. Surprisingly, Akhtar was nearly a match for her . . . but he was brash and lost control far too easily. Besides, Osra had had the advantage of training under Eragon for the past three years.

As she watched Osra take her inevitable triumph, her blood quickened. How long had it been since she had had a good match with someone? Years. Her life now seemed to consist solely of diplomacy, interminable meetings, endless rounds of discussion after which some minor change to dull policy would be made. She stretched restlessly, tapping her fingers on her thigh as she followed the dance of the two blades, blue and brown.

Murtagh walked in some minutes later, simply dressed in black pants and a white, full-sleeved shirt. A ruby glittered in his belt, which supported Zar'roc. He leaned on the doorframe for a few moments, watching Osra and Akhtar start their rematch. His eyes then roved around the room, noting what each person was doing. When his eyes met Arya's, he smiled and nodded politely.

She smiled in return, considering, then rose from the bench.

"Murtagh!" Her call, though not especially loud, carried through the room, causing most everyone to look over.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Would you spar with me for a time?"

Murtagh blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Surely, if you so wish. I should warn you, though, you will not easily best me." He pulled Zar'roc out of its sheath and twirled it once. "I have kept in practice."

She drew Támerlein, easily testing its balance. "Consider me warned."

Teach him some humility, my princess, came a whisper from the back of her mind.

She laughed out loud. And how do you feel on this fine morning, Eragon?

She felt him smile. Wonderful. Now, do wipe that insolent smirk off of my brother's face.

As you command!

Arya laughed again and sprinted forward, blade at the ready. Whether it was due to her imagination, or simply an aftereffect of an excess of relief, she neither knew nor cared - all she knew was that the new day was bright and full of beautiful promise.

And she was grateful.

†

Chapter Text

Several days later

Eragon pulled Murtagh into a tight hug. "Visit again soon, yes? And try to bring Roran with you the next time."

Murtagh stepped back after a long moment, lips quirking up. "Of course. Take care of yourself – and these children. Don't get yourself poisoned again."

"I'll try not to," Eragon smiled in return.

"I'm serious, brother." Murtagh placed his hands firmly on Eragon's shoulders, gaze steady. "You still have enemies out there. Stay wary."

"You as well. May good fortune attend you, and may the stars watch over you."

"And you."

They grasped forearms warmly for a moment, and Eragon then turned to Nasuada.

"I agree with Murtagh," she said, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Be sure to keep well, Eragon. I do expect you to outlive me long enough to fade into the mists of legend."

He laughed. "I will, I will. At the very least, I certainly plan to stay alive long enough to see Selena become queen."

Her eyes softened as she reached up to kiss his forehead. He hugged her, and she returned the embrace.

"Farewell, Eragon. We shall return as soon as may be . . . Good fortune rule over you."

"Good fortune rule over you," he replied softly, watching her walk away.

Saphira, they're leaving . . .

I know, I know . . .

Saphira nudged Selena towards her parents. The little girl started to turn back, but Saphira snorted, ruffling her curls with hot air, and she reluctantly went to her mother, Eragon giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek on the way. Nasuada tossed her up to Murtagh, who was already in the saddle, and climbed up after her.

Saphira then moved to talk with Thorn one last time, and Eragon turned to Arya, who stood by Firnen, a slight twist to her lips. Without a word, he moved to embrace her, and she returned it fiercely.

"You will tell me if the dreams get worse?"

"I will."

"If there is anything that might be worrying you, anything at all?"

"Of course."

"Even if it is interrupting me in my duties, I -"

"Arya,' he said, soft enough that no one else would hear.

Her fingers clenched in the back of his shirt, then relaxed, and she stepped away.

"I can't help but worry," she said, as softly.

"I know. But I will be well enough." He hesitated, then pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to her cheek, trying to swallow his sorrow and longing.

Her eyes drifted closed for one brief moment, and she sighed, soft as a breeze over grass. "I . . . will scry you every week."

"I will be waiting. Stay safe, and may good fortune watch over you."

"I love you."

He took a quiet, shuddering breath. "And I you."

She smiled painfully, touching his cheek fleetingly before turning to mount Firnen. Eragon knew she would not look back, yet he could not bear to look away as she settled gracefully into the saddle.

Thorn and Firnen spread their wings, bright sails against the clear sky, and Eragon tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he watched his family about to depart for the second time. Selena, only secured on Thorn's swaying back by Nasuada's strong arm around her waist, waved both hands frantically.

" 'Bye, Uncle Eh-ah-gohn! 'Bye!" she yelled down, as loudly as she could, the thunder of incipient dragonflight nearly drowning the words out. Eragon waved back, and tears were in his eyes, unashamedly, as they rose higher, higher, lifting up and away into the empty blue.

He felt a warm hand on his arm when they were nothing more but twinkling sparks, and looked down into Dara's dark, kind eyes.

"Come inside, Master," she said gently.

He nodded, wiping at his eyes hastily, and followed her.

†

Ten hours later

Dara sank down on her bed with a sigh. The day had been . . . sad. And the air of longing heartache around Master Eragon that refused to be dispelled, no matter how much he strove to smile it away, had been oddly draining for everyone. By evening, there was no one - apart from the elves - who had not seemed eager to retire and rest.

It was a day, she thought, she should certainly make a note of. Yet the thought of sitting and trying to capture every wayward reflection in lines of charcoal seemed unusually exhausting at that moment. She pulled her notebook towards her and flipped through it instead, quickly moving past the crowded scribbles of words in the ancient language and hasty notes from tuatha du orothim.

- the most spectacular battle between -

She paused as the words caught her eye, and turned a few pages back.

We were lucky enough to witness the most spectacular battle between King Consort Murtagh and Queen Arya this morning! He could not match her speed entirely, but he held his own incredibly well, even managing to push her back a few times. I wonder if I'll ever be so skilled with a blade? Or indeed, with any weapon. I certainly hope so!

Her ebullience this morning confused me, for I'd never seen her so carefree, but we learned the reason for it when Master Eragon walked in for the midday meal. He didn't look very well - his skin was far too pale, his cheeks were sunken, and darker shadows than any I've seen ringed his eyes. He was able to walk fairly well, though, which I think is an achievement in itself, given how close he seemed to death a few days ago. As I said before, truly a horrifying prospect, having the hero of Alagaësia himself - and the promise of our education as Riders - snatched away before our eyes. Or would Queen Arya have abdicated to teach us? Well, he is well now, so that is not a possibility any longer, thank goodness. No offence meant to Queen Arya.

Queen Nasuada and the King Consort were as worried as Queen Arya, if not more so, which surprised me. I had assumed they knew each other fairly well, and of course he was her vassal during the war, but I had not suspected such a strong bond. I'm quite eager to hear in detail about the trials they all underwent together - Osra informed me that Master will relate to us his entire journey, 'from farm boy to Kingkiller', as she put it.

Mistress Saphira was almost exuberant, if that word can really be said to apply to a dragon - today, she corkscrewed through the air while doing a barrel roll while diving. Her joy seemed to to infect the others, and they were all wind-dancing the entire afternoon. Celestè and the other three – Lifaen, Corinne, and Jethran - were quite jealous when Mánya replicated Mistress Saphira's feat. Hah, Palé tried and ended up crashing into the sea.

Oh, Senshi came down today as well, looking nearly as exhausted as Master Eragon. It was good to see her up and about. We were all glad - except one person, of course. It was intensely irritating to see his uncaring demeanour - he seems as if he'd hardly be bothered if we were all skewered by a Shade at the best of times, but today he was just - agh. Would it honestly have been so hard to show a hint of gladness? Just a hint? I swear, if he intends to act so throughout my time at the Hall, we are going to end up at blows, and if that does indeed happen, I am sure I'll be doing my best to kill him. He's really that infuriating.

Dara smiled wryly - how indignant she'd been. The next mention of Këyal after that had been . . . She flipped through the pages, through nearly two weeks, occasional snippets catching her eye.

- Senshi is actually talking more! Whatever Caspian said, it -

- Akhtar's grip on his axe slipped and it smashed a window -

- and Master is still weak. Zae-elda taught us today, about history and -

- Ahh, I was late to class today, it was -

- I had an argument of sorts with Këyal -

Ah, there. She turned a few pages back and began to read.

Well, I'm not sure how to describe what happened today. I'm not entirely sure what exactly did happen, in fact.

To start at the beginning . . . well, for the past several days many of us have made our opinion of Këyal's indifference to Master Eragon almost dying quite clear - almost too clear, in some cases. I never thought it had any effect upon him, however, for he seemed to ignore all veiled remarks with his customary calm. Yet today, when Zelíe muttered something to Ravûn (something about stone-hearted creatures who were better off alone, I didn't quite catch it but that was the gist) he actually turned and glared at them. It was as though - well, as though a crack had appeared in his usual facade. I am not sure how else to describe it.

Unfortunately that spurred the both of them - Zelíe especially - to glare right back in challenge. It was nought but a rat's wink before they were all trading insults, hers shouted progressively louder, Ravûn's snapped out like a whip, and Këyal's said with all the smoothness of a slithering snake. No one seemed willing to do anything, so I - well, I stepped in, tried to keep the piece.

A monumentally ill-thought out decision, now that I think on it, but at the time it was an impulsive action. I told Ravûn and Zelíe to cease eating his head off about the matter, for they had no authority over him and it was ill-natured, to say the least (ahh, I was so nervous, I still don't know how I managed to say that without my voice shaking!). I think, if it had been anyone else, I would have gotten a sharp earful, but one of Zelíe's most admirable qualities is her honesty. She huffed in a rather furious way, but she nodded and sat back down, and Ravûn is a just person as well, even if he seems to rub against Këyal more than almost anyone else. So I suppose it did work, in a way?

But when I turned to speak to  Këyal  as well - I was thinking of something along the lines of 'Master Eragon still deserves your respect, even if you dislike him, and it is disrespectful to behave so when he was so close to death', because they did have some excuse for feeling frustrated, given the way he's been, and it wouldn't be fair to ignore that aspect of the issue - perhaps the intention showed in my face, for he snapped at me before I could open my mouth. It was cruel, what he said . . . something about how he hated living with all of us, incompetents that we are, that as soon as he completed his time at the Hall he would make sure never to see us again (a ridiculous claim, unless he plans to leave Alaga ë sia entirely) and other such things.

I don't remember precisely what he said, however, because he pressed his mind against mine as he spoke (in truth, he was indeed so close to losing control) and though there was a roiling mass of anger and resentment and frustration, though I was terrified as to what he might do and what his mind actually was (I can still hear the music haunting the darkest parts of his consciousness, it refuses to be forgotten in a way that is very unsettling), I noticed that there was no feeling or thought to support what he was actually saying. No disgust or offended superiority, nothing that expressed the opinion that all races apart from elves are unworthy of being Riders and all the rest of it.

It intrigued me, to say the least, even in the midst of my fear. I am still intrigued. Why do his thoughts and the attitudes he expresses differ so, especially given the conviction with which he expresses them?
And yes, here is where Celesté is saying that I'm too curious for my own good, and perhaps that's true, but how can I help not being curious about the only elf I thought might be able to help me learn more about my heritage from my mother's side? Well . . . I suppose it doesn't matter. I can hardly go up to him and ask him about this, can I?

I don't see why not.

Dara turned from the page to look at Celesté, who was curled up comfortably on one side of the bed.

Right, because he would answer me willingly?

He would not, but you are no rabbit that you must needs cower from a creature with a sharp beak - or, in this case, a sharp tongue.

I am not cowering! And it is not that all he possesses is a sharp tongue.

Celesté opened one eye to give her a distinctly unimpressed look. If you are truly implying that he would go so far as to harm you -

Would he not? I heard that at Illirea, when Queen Islanzadí fell, the elves went so mad with grief and anger that -

That is on a battlefield. Here he is one person, amongst many older ones of his own kind who will have no hesitation in punishing him severely for the crime of harming a fellow Rider. And don't even say - yes, I see the thought biting at your tongue. Even you cannot possibly imagine that he would ever go to the extent of killing you - supposing he truly does hate you - if you merely question him. For one, he controls himself quite rigorously even in his anger for one so young, as you can deduce from the fact that the others have told you he has rarely lost his composure over the past three years, and even now he snapped only after two weeks of constant, vicious remarks muttered in his hearing. For another, he knows full well what it would do to me to have you dead, and the other elves know as well or better. The only thing that would stop them from executing him on the spot would be their consideration of how it would harm Layla. Still , they would visit some quite painful punishment upon him, and he would be sure to be expelled from the Hall. In short, your worries are groundless. It is only a visceral, fearful response to the memory of his strength that is holding you back.

. . . As you say. It is an irrational fear, my heart-partner – rational arguments cannot counter it with much efficiency.

Celesté's eye closed with a snick. Her tail snaked around, and, before Dara could even attempt to move, it slipped under her and flipped her off the bed.

Dara hit the ground with a thud, wincing as her knees slammed into the hard floor.

What was that for?!

Go.

Dara gaped at her. What?

Go. Right now.

I can't -

Dara.

He'll -

Dara.

I don't even know where -

Southernmost terrace. I can smell Layla from here.

How do you know he's with her?

If he isn't, you can ask her where he is.

Dara groaned, getting to her feet slowly. Why must you make me do this now?

Because if you don't you'll continue to dither about this for the next few days and I have no desire to listen to anything further on the subject.

Dara scowled at her, making sure to slam the door on her way out.

†

Këyal rested his forehead against Layla's scales, curled into the hollow where her chest met her foreleg, and tried to convince himself the despondency he was feeling was entirely temporary.

He wasn't sure he was succeeding.

It hadn't been too hard, at first, with only three others. They had accepted his tendency to be aloof after a while, and the process had certainly been hastened by the attitude he had assumed towards them and to Master Eragon. Even after Kitai and Senshi had appeared things had not changed by much, for Senshi had kept to herself as far as possible, like a snail cowering inside its shell, and Kitai had learned from the others fairly quickly. They hadn't bothered him - in fact, they had taken pains to remove themselves from his vicinity as much as possible, which made it easier for him. And so the years had passed.

Then the others had come, and everything had changed.

Akhtar had given Osra someone to spar with, to berate, to talk to about the home and culture she had left behind; he had become a trustworthy friend to Zelíe; he had given Ravûn and Kitai a companion to laugh with. Caspian stepped into the last role as well, so that the four of them were now fast friends, and he had even persuaded Senshi to try emerging from her shell. Dara danced between them all, light on her feet and cheer in her smile, binding them all closer than they had been before. It was only Sorya who avoided them all like the plague, far more rigorously than he had ever done.

Këyal tipped his head back to rest against Layla's steadily heaving chest, closing his eyes. Of them all, Dara's presence was by far the worst. He'd hardly been able to believe it when he understood that she was half-elf, half-human, and oh, he was so, so curious. Would she live as long as any other elf? Did she have the same magical prowess? Would she agree with the principles he and his kin lived by? Did she sing, did she dance as freely as everyone back home had done? What had her life been like, in a human settlement?

They were living in the very same building, and he had to act as though he utterly despised her, because -

A hard grip on his wrist, furious green eyes, but the voice was calm and unshakable. Imrys's voice never rose, never changed, but she could convey more shades of emotion with the slightest of modulations than most people  Këyal  knew.

"It is fortunate beyond belief that an egg hatched for you, that you are to be involved in the rebuilding of the Riders. You can work from within to purify them."

He met her gaze as best he could, trying in vain to suppress the pang of fearful deference that shot through him every time she deigned to speak to him. "Purify them, Aunt?"

"Weed out the unworthy," she said, eyes still burning, unwavering, yet the voice flat and cold.

"I - when you say weed out -"

"I am not asking you to kill them, child, do not look so frightened. But there are things you can do, young as you are, yes . . . work harder, be better, prove to them all that elves and only elves are worthy of being Riders. Overshadow them, throw their failing and instabilities into relief, so that when the time comes to decide whether Shadeslayer made a mistake, the answer should undoubtedly be yes. Other elven Riders will surely assist you, but you can make a start. Yes. Tthe kin of the ones who tore apart our family, you can begin the process of ruining them . . ."

"B-but Aunt, was it not Formora who was responsible for the death of -"

"She was led astray by that evil, unholy Black King! They all were! If humans had never been included in the bond, such an outcome would never have occurred!"

Këyal understood, now, why Vanir had taken such pains to keep him apart from Imrys in the years since their parents had perished. He had begun to realize, over the past few years, but understanding of the full extent of her madness burst upon him in its entirety at that moment, with her furious grip on his wrist and her eyes boring into his.

"Ah, that is a danger, yes," she said quietly, almost in a hiss. "I had not anticipated your susceptibility. Very well, then, before you go, you will make me this promise. You will associate with unworthy Riders as little as you can possibly manage without impairing your studies."

"I - but -"

"Do you understand?"

"Aunt -"

"Do you understand!" And her voice had risen into a shriek, and he had been so cowed -

"I - I do."

"Then say it."

"I will . . . I will associate with unworthy Riders as little as I can manage without impairing my studies."

"Good." The hand was withdrawn, the eyes now gleaming with a dreadful satisfaction. "And you will remember your mission, will you not?"

Këyal thudded his forehead gently against Layla's leg. Oh, he remembered, and a more hateful, ridiculous - discredit all Riders who were not elven, when they would now be three quarters of all Riders? Associate only with other elves? How was he ever supposed to fulfill his duty as a Rider if this vow bound him? The most noble of callings, one he had been looking forward to fulfilling with such eagerness, and because he had been too much of a coward, too unsure of himself to refuse Imrys, he was trapped forever in this -

And the worst part, he thought savagely, quite possibly the worst part, was that he could have had a second chance. Had he distanced himself till now of his own volition, the coming of the new students would have given him a chance to try to be one of them. Akhtar and Caspian were friendly and unprejudiced, and he was certain they would have welcomed the opportunity to befriend him. And Dara, she had seemed even more curious about him than he was about her, and she had used every opportunity to approach him and speak to him, eager and cheerful; he had had to rebuff her repeatedly, more harshly each time, and seeing her face fall every single time until she finally gave up trying had left a horrible taste in his mouth.

He had thought, initially, that her elven ancestry might mitigate the conditions of the vow - but he had soon realised that instead it strengthened them. Imrys would certainly include a half-elven Rider who tarnished the powerful lineage of Yaela, one of the most accomplished spellcasters in elven history, with human blood, among the strictest definition of unworthy.

And so he was alone, save Layla. No one to sing with, to dance with, even to simply talk with, and it would remain that way for the foreseeable future, all because he had been such a fool -

"Këyal?"

Layla, who had been stirring uneasily in her sleep due to his despondent thoughts, now woke fully at his shock of surprise. He turned to face the door, realizing as he did so who it must be. The voice was lilting and bright, and considering that he hadn't heard footsteps that would have alerted him to someone approaching . . .

I am not going to enjoy this.

"Dara," he said coolly, wiping his face clear of any emotion.

"Good evening." He could see the hesitancy in her smile, even from this distance.

He got to his feet easily, keeping his gaze steady on her face. "Am I needed somewhere?"

"Ah? Uh . . . No . . ."

"Do you then require something of me?"

"I - in a way -"

"I would appreciate it if you would make it fast, then. I do not wish to waste my time waiting for you to stop stammering."

To his mild surprise, she did not scowl or recoil. Instead, her eyes narrowed speculatively.

"As you'll have it. I have only a single question for you."

"And that is?"

She shifted into the ancient language, then, tripping a little on the smooth syllables. "Do you truly believe in th' attitudes you express?"

His brows drew together, and he did not have to try too hard to feign the sharpness in his voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Everything you seem to imply with yer every word and action - that elves are th' superior race and th' only race worthy of being Riders. Your contempt for th' rest of us. Do you truly believe that?"

What? Why is she asking me this? How could she know -

Layla spoke then, cutting through his shocked confusion. I did tell you you should not have used your mind against her. That loss of control then has led to this.

He cursed to himself, mind racing.

"Why do you ask me this?" he said, in an arrogant, clearly irritated tone he knew she would perceive as flawless. "Is it not evident to you that I do?"

There, that should work -

Dara tilted her head a little, like a child trying to decipher a puzzle, a small smile Këyal found far too disquieting playing about her mouth. "You must ha' learned how to weave half-truths and - what is the word? - evasions, in your cradle. I did not, but I am not too dull to notice you haven't answered my question. I'd very much like either a yes or a no, please."

He stared at her in disbelief, trying to tamp down a rising surge of frustration.

"Who are you," he said deliberately, glaring at her, "to question my motives and attitudes? I was not aware that I had to answer to a halfblood for my actions."

Her smile faded instantly, a flash of hurt appearing in her eyes.

"That is all you think of me as?"

"Is there any more to you I should take into consideration? I do not see it."

He groaned silently as she set her jaw. Why must you make me do this, why cannot you take me answers and leave thinking me a selfish, unfeeling boor, why must you push me until -

"Answer my question, Këyal."

"I am under no obligation to do so."

"Why d'you refuse?"

- until I have no choice but to -

He would say this in the old tongue, it would have more impact if she believed that he believed what he was implying.

"As I said, I have no wish to explain my actions to a halfblood - and a nosy one, at that. I do not know why you harbour doubt as to the authenticity of my attitude, but rest assured it is not lightly assumed, for my amusement. Is that what you thought? Did you think I would rile every person around me for no reason but to watch them fume? For years on end?"

"No - I -"

"Well, whatever be the idiotic reasoning, I have no wish to hear it. Kindly do not pester me with such nonsense again."

"Just who d'you think you are," she snapped, losing all composure. "Acting like th' king of this place, when in reality you're -"

Këyal felt a pulse of attention, of quick anticipation from Layla, but despite that she was just a shade too late to do anything more than slow the tide of anger and hot shame that rose within him - and that only cooled it, solidified it, turned into a sharp blade of furious determination.

I know exactly what I am, don't you dare - I will not hear you say it!

He strode forward, mouth set. Dara looked first startled in her anger, then alarmed, and then frightened, looking up at him with wide eyes as he let his the fingertips of his left hand rest gently on the skin of her throat, exerting a pressure that was just shy of insistent.

He could hear her heart pounding against her ribs, and could not help taking a perverse pleasure in how well he was executing his vow.

This is what you wanted, Aunt? Well, this is what I am doing. I am the most hated person here. Have I made you proud?

Këyal smiled as sweetly as he could manage, looking directly into her eyes.

"In reality I am what?"

She swallowed, and said nothing.

He pressed down very slightly. "I would be . . . appreciative if you would refrain from questioning me further - about this or anything else. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded, moving her head as little as possible.

"Good," he said quietly, dropping the smile. "I would not want to have to tell you again."

He did not move for a moment more, making sure that the threat, the menace, had been adequately conveyed - then he moved away and turned on his heel, not bothering to look back when he heard the muted sound of her shoes on the floor as she fled.

She was convinced, Layla said quietly.

Këyal laughed weakly, putting one hand to his head. He felt as though something precious, something he hadn't known he had needed, had been extracted from his body painfully and mercilessly. Why would she not be? I have surprised even myself with how consummate an actor I am.

Këyal . . .

I will come to the room later, he said abruptly, turning away from her and beginning to run. Where to, he did not know - he simply ran. Across the terrace, up the first staircase he saw, spiraling around and around, higher and higher until he burst onto the ledge at the top of the slim tower.

He sank down, chest heaving, and leaned back against the cool stone, closing his eyes against the threat of building tears. The cool wind curled around his face and through his hair, carrying the promise of the monsoon to come in the scent of fresh earth and crushed leaves. Ordinarily it would have calmed him within moments, but now he was so full of - shame and rage and longing and self-loathing and hurt and - and distress, the way she had looked at him had been - he hadn't meant to scare her too badly, had he gone too far? Had that been a mistake?

Had he forever lost any chance of ever becoming close to anyone at all?

Like I had a chance anyway, he thought viciously, wiping his tears away.

The moments trickled by, and by consciously forcing each muscle in his body to relax as he gazed steadily at the stars, Këyal did eventually manage to calm himself to a certain extent.

I should be used to this by now, he thought, resting his knees on his chin. It is simply inescapable. I need to accept it once more. Just because there are now people present who invite friendship, I can't change the situation I'm in . . .

If he could, though, he knew Dara would be one of the first people he would like to befriend. She was kind, and cheerful, and fair, and he was entirely sure that her visit to him was prompted by equal amounts of genuine concern as well as curiosity. She would make a good Rider, the kind of Rider the people adored, like Avelyn the Benevolent, or Rhistel the Charitable . . .

He shook his head firmly. There was no point in thinking like that, for there was no way he could -

His heart clenched, soft and quick, like a quiet gasp of shock.

Wait. I just . . . what did I just - I just thought that Dara would make a good Rider.

A tendril of questioning thought made its presence felt in the back of his mind. Why is that significant?

Because . . . his mind raced. Because! Oh! Oh, how could I have not seen this before? Fool, fool that I am! Moonling, brainless, blockhead that I am!

Oh! Layla was as surprised, her joy beginning to sing over his. We were so focused on Imrys's definition of 'worthy' -

- that we never even thought -

- but it is your definition that matters, not hers -

- and so I can go and hug every damn person in the Hall right now if I want to! Because they work so hard and they train so much -

- they are all certainly worthy Riders in your eyes -

- and so the vow no longer binds me! Këyal leapt to his feet, giddy, heedless of the sheer drop before him. Oh, if I had only realized this earlier! Years of seclusion, of estrangement, and all it took was - ah, I cannot believe - halfwit, dolt, jackass -

Layla's joyous roar echoed up to him, and he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled back as loud as he could, euphoria filling him like a drug.

He was free. Finally free!

And the very first thing he would do on the morrow was find Dara and apologise and explain; and then he would apologise and explain to everyone else, and even if they made him grovel on his knees for forgiveness he would do it without a second thought. For all he wanted was to put the hate in his past behind him as fast as possible, and never look back at it again.

Chapter Text

A few days later

Kitai nudged the heavy door of the armoury open with his hip, taking care to balance the heavy stack of bows in his arms. He huffed in annoyance as he felt the coil of bowstring looped around his shoulder begin to slip down, and shrugged it back up. It was then that he registered voices inside, and he sighed, about to call out and request assistance.

When he saw who it was, though, surprise killed the words on his lips. Këyal sat opposite to Osra, both with heavy war axes in their laps and whetstones in their hands, heads bent towards each other in quiet conversation.

Since when do these two even talk . . ?

Osra glanced his way just then, and raised a politely enquiring eyebrow. Këyal turned, and when he saw who it was he placed his axe on the floor and moved to Kitai's side, lifting half the bows from his arms with an easy grace.

"Ah . . . thank you," Kitai managed to say, somewhat disoriented.

"They are quite heavy," Këyal murmured, his voice quiet and musical, his steps smooth and light as he went to place the bows in their place. "I hope you did not have to carry them too far?"

"Oh, no, only from the target range." Kitai followed him, glancing at Osra. "You two are attending to the axes?"

"Every last one of them," Osra said, looking distinctly disgruntled. "And with no magic."

"Why, did you do something to anger Master?" Kitai asked over his shoulder, shooting her a teasing look.

She snorted. "We need a reminder of what lacking magic feels like, he says."

"Well, perhaps we do then."

Këyal snorted softly, setting the last bow in place, his lips pursed in mild discontent. Kitai gave him an amused look, which, when noticed, caused him to look down and away with colouring cheeks. It was such an incongruous action for someone he was more used to seeing in a position of command and disdain that he could not refrain from clapping him softly on the shoulder as he passed.

"Well then, I'll leave you to it," he called, grinning at Këyal's surprised expression. "Enjoy yourselves."

Osra lowered her head a little, the sharp points of her horns pointing in his direction for the briefest moment - a serious warning by any standards, most of all by Urgal standards, but Kitai knew she meant it in jest.

"We will meet at the midday meal, yes?" Këyal called after him. Kitai replied in the affirmative, giving him a quick smile before he slipped out of the door.

Well, that was unusual, to say the least . . . I have an hour or so to spare - to the library, or to the training room? The former seems like the better, there is that essay due -

"Kitai!"

He turned to see Eragon gesturing some way behind him. "It is a good thing I happened across you, will you come with me for a few minutes?"

"Oh, yes. Is anything the matter?"

"Not precisely, I simply wished to obtain your opinion upon a certain matter. My study is a suitable place to speak, yes?"

"Oh, certainly!"

"You will not touch anything this time, Kitai, I see that grin."

"You wound me, Master, with your lack of faith in my integrity, my -"

Eragon gave him a light cuff to the back of the head. "Spare me the soliloquies, you've no more integrity than a rascal fox."

"Now that truly was uncalled for!"

"You are fully aware you deserve it." Eragon gave him an amused look as he pushed open his study door. "Come in."

Eragon's private study was a large, circular room, lined with hundreds of scrolls and books arranged in neat rows. In the center was a handsome desk with various pigeon holes for quills, charcoal, wax, paper and ink. His seal - a dragon, of course - was accorded pride of place in a square, velvet lined hole, the top of which fit so seamlessly into the surface of the desk that the contours of the lid of the box were indiscernible. Two cane chairs stood in front of the desk, and a heavier chair stood behind it. A ladder on wheels led to a movable balcony that could be moved around the circumference on the room so that once one had entered it, one could access any scroll on any level just by moving the balcony by means of a simple pulley mechanism. The outside was carved in a myriad of patterns, and it was lined so that it was comfortable to sit and read in. An Erisdar dangled from the delicate arch curving over it; it resembled nothing more than an airy nest.

Kitai gave it an appreciative, rather wistful glance, which Eragon caught immediately.

"No, you are not touching it again. I still cannot fathom how you nearly managed to break it with nothing more than five minutes to yourself with it."

"Ah, Master, at least allow me to look over it once more! I could make so many little - what do you say, puzzles? Contraptions? - if only I knew how it worked -"

"My answer is a firm and unequivocal no, Kitai. Be seated, please."

He sighed and complied, crossing his legs and settling down to wait. Eragon frowned slightly for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts as he fiddled with a quill. Then he began, "I assume you know exactly how I was poisoned – and by whom. You may have some idea as to the reason behind as well, I hope."

Kitai frowned as well, taking his time to reply. "How, yes. By whom . . . perhaps. Why, I can only guess."

"I would like to hear it. You and Senshi told me, when you came, that your people were at first quite understandably apprehensive about the dragons, and thereafter decided to leave us well enough alone, with the only precaution being illusionary barriers to prevent us from approaching them - which explains why I have never seen a village or town of yours, though I have flown many leagues north and east with Saphira. This makes it seem to me unlikely that any of them would be responsible for the attack upon myself. Senshi repeated to me later what she told Orik, Orrin, and Nar Garzhvog, and I would like to know your opinion on how likely her theory is."

"I would say . . . very likely indeed. I do not know, of course, the entire reach of the old empire, but to me - I can believe that it was them far easier than I can believe it was the Chorih. After the war, we hunted them like the rats they were. They scattered, they hid, their clan is nothing, has been nothing for some years. If indeed there are any left, if they were responsible, they would require an overpowering reason, incentive, and they would require a daakyir with the knowledge of Vilta. It is very precise, very meticulous to make, and all instructions relating to it have been burned. Then, too, they would need to overcome the sacred - the law, the edict -"

"Your crown issued an edict that we were not to be approached?"

"The crown did not, Lidéna did."

"Ah . . ." Eragon leaned back in his chair. "I see. That is the guise in which Dellanir dwells in your land, if I remember aright."

"As you say. The goddess of the hunt has three forms; as a deer, to represent the chase; as a wolf, to represent the pounce; and as a fleet, stern huntress, to represent the kill. Lidéna is the last. To speak the truth, I doubt Dellanir intended to be perceived as such an image, as such a manifestation. I suspect she only accepted that which we assumed her to portray . . . and considering that she is among the most venerated of our gods, since much of our way of life depends upon the hunt, it would be unthinkable for any, especially the Chorih, to disobey her word. Thus it is most likely that it was someone else, someone who knows precisely what the Riders are and who would not be bound by what she says. All indicates that your enemy is from Alagaësia. And they must have some considerable power as well, as the Chorih would not sell their last weapon easily."

"Hmm. Then we must begin to search for them . . . Is it possible they live in your kingdom?"

"It . . . may be possible, but I doubt it is probable."

"It is a possibility we cannot eliminate. Can you provide me with an estimate of the total population living to the north?"

"Well, given the five major clans and ten smaller ones, as well as certain others . . . how would you estimate the dwarven population?"

"I suppose at some nine hundred thousand, if I were to make a rough guess."

"And the human population?"

"After the war? Perhaps twice or thrice that."

"Then I will say we have thrice that again. Nine millions, give or take perhaps a few hundred thousand."

Eragon's eyes opened wide for a brief moment. Kitai gave him a wry smile. "Not an easy task to find your enemies, I would imagine."

"No . . . What surprises me is how nine million people living in one forest have managed to conceal themselves so well, be the forest ever so dense."

"Well, as you told me, the land is nearly equal to Alagaësia in terms of area, and we have some experience with protecting ourselves from foreign eyes."

"I see . . . well, my thanks for your assistance. There is only one more matter I would like to clarify before I let you return to your duties."

Kitai inclined his head in answer. "Of course."

"Yourself and Senshi have remained to study here because - in your own words - there was no bright prospect left for you at home, and so why not learn something of a different land; why not understand and learn to use the abilities you had been granted? I admit, I too may have emphasized the importance of a matched dragon and Rider a tad overmuch to persuade you to stay. Now, however, you have resided here for two years, and there is not much left for you to study. After that, you will help the four who have so recently arrived learn. And once their education, too, is concluded . . . what do your sister and yourself intend to do?"

Kitai blinked at him, a quiet dismay gathering in his mind. It was not that the question had not presented itself to him before, but he had not expected Eragon himself to pose it so soon.

What do I intend to do? What may Senshi intend to do?

"I . . ." The answer was heavy on his tongue, heavy with uncertainty and apprehension. "I do not know, Master."

Eragon's gaze was contemplative. "Then you must think on it, and decide sooner rather than later. You may have less time than you imagine."

†

A week later

Layla hovered high in the air, above the ocean, poised perfectly between two dark, billowing clouds. The moisture in the air made it a little tricky to maintain her position, but having spent more than three years in this climate ensured that she maintained the delicate balance with ease; with, in fact, hardly a flicker of conscious thought.

Some way below her, Saphira-ebrithil supervised Palé and Ikraan as they put into practice what she had taught them on extended gliding. Above them, Layla's sisters-by-breeding put the other young ones through their paces in the midst of the treacherous high altitude winds. Jethran had joined them, Layla noted approvingly catching the flash of his blue scales in between Corinne's white and Lifaen's green. He took initiative, that one. Still, it was unfair to leave him to her sisters' supervision alone - she would return in a minute or two.

Eragon-ebrithil and Saphira-ebrithil had found that it was by far too confusing to commence the newcomers' training while yet the older students had not completed their own. Each had their own learning pace, their own skills and weaknesses and difficulties, and while that was evened to some extent by tuatha du orothim it had been decided that all ten dragons and Riders would complete their training in its entirety before the next eggs were sent out, that the confusion would not occur again. Of course, this forced the older students to remain at the Hall even after their own education was complete, given their three year head start; but it could not be helped, and by assisting the ebrithilar in teaching they would not only put their knowledge to good use but ensure that the younger ones complete their own training far faster.

Thus it was the four first-hatched dragons of the new generation were conducting class for the four youngest, while Saphira-ebrithil took the opportunity to polish the skills of the middle-born-brothers. They had discovered that the system that suited them best was for each to teach what she was most proficient at, while the others watched, assisted, and commented. Today, it was Drëya teaching the younglings how to escape dangerous weather, one of the most important lessons a dragon must needs learn, which she excelled at because of her small, strong frame.

It was not easy to learn, however - when the break-bone-wind had you in its grip and frost was cooling your scales as you were tossed ever higher into the unseeing, uncaring hard-sparkling-sky, it was no mean feat to keep calm and remember lessons taught. So for today's lesson alone, the younglings were being given individual attention. It was lucky that Jethran was a quick study, allowing Layla to take a moment or two to simply enjoy the weather.

She swung her tail around, circling to face east, and breathed as deeply as she could manage. The cold-sharp-rain was on its way - even the winds up here carried the faintest scent of overturned clay, and towering clouds were massing quickly, being driven west and south, oceanwards, by furious gales. The first monsoon storm she'd seen was still clear in her memory, one of the only things that had ever managed to scare her. The storms were nothing like the light showers that marked spring melting into summer - these roared the end of summer with no mercy, and would not dissipate until spring came around once more.

The two-legs made the best of it, transporting as much water as they could manage to a row of massive barrels stored underground, which was then used for everything from bathing to cooking to cleaning. Any excess went to the Garden in the dry months, the pure water allowing the plants to thrive. If there was still more, the elves insisted that it be poured into the ground to conserve the balance of the water table.

A mundane use, she thought, flicking her tail contemptuously. The storms were for sport, of course, nothing else. She and Mánya tended to make a game of it, of who could conquer the dangerous drafts and avoid the lightning better. Drëya hardly ever joined them, but when she did, she beat them both with ease. None of them dared fly in a really furious hurricane, though. There was recklessness, and then there was utter idiocy. Besides, Saphira-ebrithil would not hesitate to snap a good foot off their tails for attempting anything so foolhardly.

She pivoted on one wing easily, spiraling upwards to dodge neatly between two slims wisps of cloud. Këyal was watching from the back of her mind, and the quiet jolt of muted pride she felt from him augmented her content even further, causing her to hum, loud and melodious. He had been truly happy this week, happier than he had been in a long time, and that in itself was enough to keep delight glowing in her belly for days on end.

It had not come easy, of course. He'd had to apologize to the half-elf-girl first, and that had taken a measure of courage he had been hard put to collect, even given his own determination and her encouragement. But he'd managed to get himself assigned to Garden duty at the same time as she, and so had been able to approach her with no fear of any of the others intruding.

Layla called the memory up with ease as she snapped lazily at a startled hawk, allowing it to fill her mind entirely. It was still clear, unblurred by time, despite the fact that it was from several days before.

"You require something of me?" the girl said coolly, hands tapping against her leg anxiously but her gaze resolute. All details Layla herself would hardly notice, but through Këyal's eyes they became unnaturally apparent.

He took a deep breath, attempting to settle his nerves. Not that the girl knew it, of course - to her, he looked much as he always did, Layla was ready to swear, composed as always.

Layla, that really is not a very helpful thought.

She sent him a wave of apologetic reassurance, and it helped, if only a little.

Këyal returned the gesture with a quick flash of gratitude, and faced the girl.

"Dara, I wanted to apologize for my utterly inexcusable behaviour, the previous evening. I was unmannered, cruel, and exceptionally rude, and I regret my actions more than I can convey. I am aware that you have no reason to hear me out, but I do have reason enough for what I did, and if nothing else I owe you an explanation. I would beg that you allow me to do convey it to you."

He twisted his hand over his chest, and bowed.

It was well said.

I - hope so, but will she - ?

There was silence from the girl, and as Këyal remained bent at the waist neither he nor Layla could see her expression, could attempt to guess how she might have taken his words.

It seemed an age, both to him and to her, before she spoke.

"Why?" she said, soft and hurt, and Këyal straightened to see her mouth twisted painfully. "I am but a halfbreed, am I not? Why is it that you deem me worthy of such an apology?"

"But you are not!" he exclaimed, taking a step forward without thinking. "You are not, that is not how I think of you, how I see you at all! Dara, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I - will you please allow me to tell you why I said what I did? You need never speak to me again, if you so wish, afterwards, but I could not reconcile it with my conscience if you did not know - if you believed I was simply - unfeeling, cruel - "

He faltered to a halt, anxiety coursing through him like a river, and even Layla could not do much to stem it. She only hoped the outburst would not cement the girl's view of her heart-partner as volatile, unpredictable, not to be trusted.

But she smiled a little, and laughed quietly, the sound trembling at the edges but true enough.

"At th' very least, that sounded more sincere than did your prerehearsed apology," she said, one eyebrow quirking. She moved to a stone bench placed nearby, seated herself with the queer grace natural only to creatures of magic, and tilted her head slightly.

"I'll hold you to your word, Këyal. I agree to hear your explanation, but I give you fair warning - I'm hardly predisposed to listen kindly, and I'll not hesitate to avoid speaking to you at all in future."

"Understood," he said instantly, relief blooming in his mind like a flower of light. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this chance, Dara, I - "

"And," she said, as though he had not spoken, "We will converse only in the ancient language. I'll hear no tricks of speech. What you have to say to me, you'll say it straight and true."

She has steel in her, this one, Layla noted.

That she does.

". . . Understood." Këyal said, more quietly, seating himself beside her. "Then, this was my reason - "

She had listened well, asking a few questions, but ultimately taking in all Këyal said in silence. When he had managed to finish - for it had been a hard struggle, describing out loud and in the old tongue the poisonous secret that had eaten away at him for so long - she had waited only a moment before laying a hand on his, all animosity and distrust in her eyes washed away by a warm blaze of compassion.

"Thank you for trusting me wi' that," she had said gently. "I know it could not have been easy. I understand, and you're forgiven. And, if you will have me, I will lay claim to the title of your first friend here."

The words had been simple enough, but in themselves had nearly caused Këyal to sob on her shoulder - and that was no exaggeration. The first kind words he had heard from a fellow Rider - had been allowed to accept from a fellow Rider - of course they would strike home, particularly to one such as Këyal, very much a quiet creature of light and music and warmth.

He had managed to restrain himself, however, had managed to force the tears back and grasp her hand firmly in return, managed to say 'Thank you' with only the faintest hint of a tremor in his voice. She had smiled in a way that hinted that she saw right through him, and had pulled him to his feet with a laugh, declaring that they would go and find his second and third friends that very day.

Layla snorted softly, the icy air burning her nose. She had not been pleased with the fact that the girl had forced Këyal to repeat the same, very personal secret to the younger-not-a-Kull Urgal and the curly-haired-bright-smiled human the very same day - for it had travelled from them to most everyone else, as she had known it would - but, well, Këyal was undoubtedly happier, and his softer emotions were undoubtedly changing her perceptions of the girl, making them kinder and more forgiving. It was altogether more difficult to remain miffed.

Far below, Jethran was tugged into a helpless, uncontrolled spin by a sudden draft which sent him hurtling down towards the ocean. Layla huffed and tipped into a steep dive, wind beginning to howl past her, as she headed back to resume her duties.

Honestly, can he not remain unscathed for a bare quarter of an hour?

But the deep content settled in her chest made it harder than she would have liked to be irritable, and she let out a quietly joyous roar as she sped downwards, the hope for a happier future infecting her from her partner making the world seem, all at once, brighter and more beautiful.

†

That evening

"Ahh, not you too."

Caspian woke with a start at the unexpected voice, the scent of grass heavy in his nostrils. He blinked, squinting up at the sky, and a dark face came into focus.

"Oh, Senshi. Good evening. Apologies, I must have dropped off to sleep . . ."

"Aye, you were sleeping like a child when I arrived," she said, sitting next to him and crossing her legs. "And that was some quarter of an hour before now."

He sat up, yawning. "Is it very late?"

She tilted her head quizzically. "Late for what?"

"I meant, is it - has the day advanced considerably? Is it close to night?"

"Oh." She looked to the side, a little embarrassed. "Yes, the sun just set. I am surprised you did not hear us coming."

Yes, I've been told I fly unnaturally loudly, Ikraan said drily. A good sleep, youngling?

"Very, thank you," Caspian grinned, reaching out to give him a rub on his dark snout. He hummed, ruffling her hair with a puff of hot breath, and nudged his side. He grinned, obligingly scratching the scales under his chin, until a thought occurred to him.

"Senshi, you were saying something when I woke up, were you not?"

She looked over at him blankly for a moment before realization dawned in her eyes. "Oh, that. No, I was just -" She huffed softly. "Every Rider comes up here sooner or later."

"Is that a bad thing? Should not everyone enjoy the beauty of this place?"

For it was truly a lovely place, this clifftop. Situated at a point where the coast curved towards the sea, and ocean was all that could be seen for the most part. If one looked back to the northwest, one would see the Hall nestled glowing against the rich green of the forest like some small, exquisitely crafted toy castle. To the north, that same forest lapped at the back of the range of chalk cliffs. On this, the tallest one, the massive banyan tree stood stark against the sky, unencumbered by any competing trees and surrounded only by soft grass. It was quiet, this place, and peaceful; all that was to be heard was the distant crash of waves and faint cries and calls of the animals in the forest. The calm was somehow magnetic, somehow anchoring.

Yet Senshi sighed. "I suppose. Only, it was mine at first. The others, who had been here longer, they knew of it but they never came much. It was only after I began to come more often that they decided to do the same."

"Exasperating indeed."

"In truth it was, do not laugh! And now you all come too. It has an - an aura? An atmosphere? - that is easily destroyed by careless action. I do not like to think of too many people here."

"Is that so? And yet I've heard that they come here mostly to meditate, unlike -" He gestured deprecatingly towards himself. "Myself, who came in search of a good place to nap. I doubt they make much noise in that endeavour."

Her brow creased as though she was attempting to decide between amusement and exasperation. "It may be as you say, but -"

He hummed, wagging a finger under her nose. "No buts. You've some other reason for wanting us gone from here, is it not so? Yes, do not attempt to deny it, for I see all and know all. You can hide naught from me. Keep your secret; I shall ferret it out sooner or later!"

She did laugh at that, a quietly musical sound. "Are you always so chirpy when you first wake?"

He leaned back on his hands, crossing his legs at the ankles as he grinned back. "Indeed I am."

She shook her head, and for a minute or so there was a comfortable silence between them.

"How . . . are you finding the classes?" she asked eventually. Her fingers tugged absently at a clump of grass, steadily uprooting it.

He glanced at her hand, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd lost all reason to be apprehensive around me. I'm very disappointed, Senshi."

She threw the clump at him, spattering him with dirt. "Will you just - I am attempting to make conversation!"

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, brushing the blades of grass out of his hair. "They are good. Better than I imagined. When they told me what a Rider was, I thought it would be very upright, very stiff; but it's interesting, to say the least. And I'm learning how to fight! I have always wanted to learn to fight. The library is wonderful as well, and there are so many things I am learning about - well, everything. Did you know that in mountains, and the summits, you can find seashells? Just like the ones we find on the beach! There was this one Rider, and she flew to the Beors just to -"

The stars were nearly out in full force by the time he ran out of things to say, yet Senshi remained attentive the entire time, drinking his words in silently. A good listener, he thought, finally letting his voice die out. A better one than me.

She smiled as he stretched out. "You can talk for a long time, I see."

He felt the tips of his ears begin to heat. "I hope I did not bore you?"

"Not at all. There are not many who are willing to shoulder the entire burden of speaking themselves. It is . . . nice to be allowed to sit quiet and only listen for once."

"Why, then I am glad I could oblige you. And since we are speaking of the matter, how goes the rebuilding?"

"The - ?"

He waved an impatient hand. "Friends. Connections. Talking. All that."

"Oh. Oh, yes. Um, well enough."

"Details, if you'd please, milady."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Well enough, as I said. Akhtar helps me train with the axe. Dara teaches me slang, and talks almost as much as you, and she expects me to do the same. She is kind, and exhausting, but I think in a nice way. With Ravûn things are much the same, we have always been good friends. Osra has decided my Urgal tongue needs more work, and she tutors me. Sorya . . . passed me a quiver once, I think that is good?"

"Undisputable progress, for her."

"And I have - I talk to Kitai once again, though things are rather strained. Oh, Këyal, he - he offered to help with my duty in the Garden a few days ago, he said he had finished his own early. We did not talk too much, but what we did I was surprised to find pleasant." She smiled, startlingly bright in the fading dusk. "He said we were both on similar journeys, and from what Dara told me I could not help but agree. It is good to see him smile truly, for once."

"That it is. And what of Zelíe?"

The look she directed towards him was just sharp enough to be uncomfortable.

"We are the same," she said slowly, brushing an errant curl behind one ear. "We are cordial enough."

"You do not like her."

"I do not find much to like." She gazed at him steadily. "For you, that does not hold true, I think?"

Caspian opened his mouth and shut it after a second. By his side, Lifaen snorted softly.

"You can be . . . quite direct when you so wish, I see," he said trying to gain some composure.

She only shrugged, her amber gaze never wavering from his face. "I hesitate to say this, but your emotions are wasted."

"Oh, I know." He looked down at the grass by his feet. "Truly, I know. We cannot help who we love, though, can we?"

He heard a soft sigh. "That we cannot," she murmured.

"The most powerful magic in the world, so the poets say, and we can do nothing to control it." He swallowed, trying to smother the waver in his voice. "A shame, no?"

She caught it, however, for she reached out and tugged lightly at the lobe of his left ear - a gesture of affection peculiar to her. "Forget this. To speak of such matters we need wine, and we have none. We will meditate for a time, and then return. Yes?"

He chuckled. "As you say. Then, the day when we do have wine, we shall return to this, and all our worries will be like dust in the wind."

She inclined her head, reflecting his smile. "I look forward to it."

And so they meditated, listening to the birds and the beetles and the fish in the sea, and the wind that thereafter swept across the hilltop, swirling around the still figures of two dragons and two humans, was warm enough to be the breath of the promise they made.

Chapter Text

" . . . and thus I wounded him with his own horn!" Akhtar chuckled, the persistent drum of rain a constant background to the loud rumble of his voice.

"I wasn't aware you had participated in th' Games, Aki," Dara said, looking quizzical.
"It seemed a good challenge," he said, large teeth gleaming in a pleased grin. "A year of preparation on my part, and I do not think I performed too badly."

"Your rank?"

"Third."

"Ah, that's wonderful! I watched the Games once, and the skill I witnessed was nothin' short of incredible. It was mesmerizing to watch . . . who were th' others that placed within the first five?"

"The others? I will recall . . . Ah, an elf from Ceris, flamehaired and quick with a spear - she came first. Maena or some such was her name. Following her was a dwarf from Dûrgrimst Feldûnost, of all the clans; then it was I, and after -"

Këyal looked up at that, hands stilling in his lap. The long leaves he had been weaving together drooped a little, still fresh and green. He spoke quietly, evidently hesitant. "I beg pardon, Ahktar, did you say - did I hear you say the name Maera?"

Akhtar shifted his heavy gaze to Këyal's face. "That was the name. An acquaintance of yours?"

"A dear friend. I've known her since we both were nought but striplings." Some memory made the corner of his mouth twitch slightly before he spoke again. "You say she won the Games last year?"

"Aye, so she did."

Këyal hesitated, eyes flickering from Akhtar to Dara, who gave him a small smile, encouraging.

"Would you tell me - how? I mean - in which events she excelled, in which she struggled -"

Akhtar looked at him a moment longer, considering, before inclining his head a little. "As I recall, it was the melée that she had struggled with, while in the athletic events, she had outstripped most other competitors by a wide margin. And as I said, she had been flawless with the spear. None bested her, and upon occasion it was nearly impossible to follow the path of the blade as she wielded it . . ."

His voice rose and fell almost in tandem with the thunder outside as he talked. The conversation soon drifted into his own exploits, how well he competed and what he wished he could have done better. Dara's suppressed smiles settled in her eyes as laughter as she watched the two of them, Këyal drinking in the words eagerly and Akhtar gesturing more and more expansively as he got more involved in his story.

It was quite some time later that Këyal asked, "And that is how you touched Jethran's egg?"

"Aye, those in the first ten positions have that privilege - though the Rider Runners would bring the eggs to my home either way."

"The feeling is . . . quite indescribable, isn't it? When they hatch."

Këyal's face softened, but Akhtar's became a little pinched, though he smiled in return. "More so for me, I think."

"Why so?"

He shrugged, his large shoulders making the movement seem incongruous. "After the War, the Urgalgra are left with no fields, no money, fewer warriors. The Lady Nightstalker gives us land, and peace, but we need time and patience to rebuild. Many did not have it - and given the lives they lived, I cannot blame them. But my family is old, with many warriors of prestige, many Kull, much respect. I myself am one of a few of my clan to have gutted a cave bear. To represent the Urgalgra at the Games, to help erode the prejudices against us, they were happy if I would do, further because I was to give the prize money to those who needed it - but to become a Rider, the only hope for many to escape blighted lives, blighted homes, when my family provided for my every need, when I had no lack of prospective mates, was not fair to them . . . and I agreed with them. I do still."

Jethran snorted softly, nudging his blue snout closer. Akhtar smiled a little and patted his head., his tone subdued as he continued. "This I understood the moment I saw the first crack appear in Jethran's egg. Thus, indescribable feelings."

"I see," Këyal said, something quiet and a little sad in his eyes. "My sympathy."

Akhtar inclined his heavy head, bright, brief light-patterns gleaming on his large horns as lightning flashed outside.

Dara frowned, her mouth sharper than usual. "Do they not understand it's the dragon tha' chooses the Rider? Did they -"

Thunder crashed outside, much louder than before, and she flinched as she whirled around. It died away with a grumble, and she turned back to see Këyal pressing his lips together while Akhtar gave her an amused look.

"Yes?" she said, trying to sound dangerous.

"Nothing," Këyal said easily.

"You have somethin' to say, Aki?"

There was something like a twinkle in his deep set eyes. "Afraid of thunder, Little Cat?"

Red flooded her cheeks. "I am not!"

Këyal coughed quietly. Dara's gaze swung around to bore into him, but before she could say anything, Akhtar got to his feet, stretching out with a chuckle.

"As you say. 'Twas a pleasant evening, but I must work with the bow for an hour before the evening meal. My thanks for your company, Bloodblade, Little Cat."

He smiled and bowed, and as he turned away he caught Këyal's eye for a long moment. Këyal blinked in surprised pleasure at the friendliness evident in his gaze, cheeks growing just a little heated.

Akhtar nodded once, as though something significant had been decided, and strode away. Jethran followed him, his heavy footsteps shaking soil loose from flower beds nearby.

Dara's eyes were bright on him, and when he wrinkled his nose at her she only shrugged, smile not abating in the slightest.

"He's one of th' best people I've met," she said, quiet and a little thoughtful. "In my life, I think."

"Is that so?" Këyal gave her an inquiring look. "You were not . . ."

"Not?"

"I do not know, frightened? Angry? Given your proximity to the Spine and humanity's history with the Urgalgra in general . . ."

"Ah." Her mouth twisted a little. "So I was, and I regret it. He was far more generous to me than I deserved."

Këyal hummed in acknowledgement, watching her tug her hair loose and begin to retie it.

"But watchin' him with Caspian soon made me realise what a fool I was actin', and when I was ready to attempt to reach out, he was more than willing to accept." She pulled her hair tight, and tilted her head slightly. "A trait that serves you well, yes?"

"Yes," he replied softly. "A trait I am grateful for."

The drum of the rain had grown louder as they talked. The wind was rising, and lightning flashed once, twice, thrice, painting the walls stark white. When Dara suggested they leave, Këyal acquiesced readily. They had only just stepped into the main corridor when the thunder came, crashing like the mountains were coming down.

Dara jumped, shoulders shooting up around her ears, and Këyal could easily make out a pattern of goosebumps rippling up her neck. He made a quiet sound of amusement, and Dara turned on him, face red and eyes flashing.

"Not a word from you, Këyal."

"I wouldn't dream of it - Little Cat."

"Don't call me that!"

"You do not think it suits you? A cat afraid of loud noises -"

"Stop talkin', or I swear to all the gods I'll find what you're afraid of and put it in your bed -"

Some minutes later and two floors above, Celesté was roused by the image of Këyal ducking out of the way of a badly thrown shoe that had just left her RIder's hand. Two-legs, she grumbled to herself, sinking back into sleep with a snort

†

Later that night -

Sorya tugged hard on the last leather strap, and then pulled on the saddlebags, making sure they were secure. Not as many as she would have liked - certainly not enough for the flight to Galfní - but it was all she had been able to collect, and they could not afford to wait any longer.

She swung into Corinne's saddle, quickly running her hands over the saddlebags, ensuring nothing had been left out. Bedding, waterskin, sword, some money - all seemed to be in place.

We're ready. Let us leave.

Corinne didn't move. Sorya, for the last time, will you listen -

Sorya's brows drew together, hands stilling in the process of tightening the straps around her legs. I refuse to repeat this argument with you. Let us not waste any more time.

The hard tone of her thoughts was enough testament to her determination. Corinne attempted no further expostulation, but took her own time unfurling her white wings, her displeasure evident.

Sorya understood, but they had no choice. If they delayed for another day, perhaps two, they might still have enough time to complete the journey - but it was risky at best, and this was something she could take no chances with. She understood Corinne's uncertainty in her ability to fly such a distance, especially given the weather, she truly did understand the danger; but they had delayed week after week simply because Corinne had said she needed more tuition if they were to have any chance of succeeding.

Precious useful tuition, with Alagaësia's Hero nearly dying. She tugged on the strap so hard it almost snapped in her hand. They had stalled for nothing. Had they left earlier, they could have used any of the numerous doors and terraces the Hall was abundantly furnished with. There had been enough and more opportunity, given the worry over the Shadeslayer. Now they had no choice but to leave in this storm, and through the Tower, for Corinne was sure that it would help her avoid the many dangerous downdrafts the storm would have caused over the ocean. And Helzvog only knew if the Shadeslayer had placed any wards on Tower that might warn him if any but him attempted to open it, or if it opened at all -

Corinne shifted in place, and Sorya just had enough time to tighten her hold on the saddle before she leapt up, wings straining as she strove for height. Rows of doors, corridors and rain-streaked windows flashed by, and all too soon the curved stone top of the Tower loomed up before them. Sorya drew in a deep breath, raising her arm. 'Ládrin,' she murmured. A white nimbus began to pulse around her outstretched hand, blinding in the gloom, and the dome split smoothly down the middle, grinding back into the walls. Sorya released the magic as soon as there was enough space for Corinne to pass through, and winced at the chill in her fingers - it was greater than she had expected. Their journey was too long for her to expend too much energy this early.

They shot out into the howling night, the wind strong enough to make Corinne falter in her course for a brief, terrifying instant. She righted herself with an effort, and then they were pressing forward through the storm, the ocean crashing fretfully below them. Sorya tugged the hood of her cloak down as low as it would go and crouched in the saddle, her face inches from dull-sparkling white scales.

Pursuit? Corinne asked, and Sorya twisted back to look. No roars of anger, no tongues of flame, no massive blue dragon in pursuit.

We're safe.

Corinne gave her a flicker of acknowledgement before turning her mind back to battling the sky. Sorya looked forward once more, wiping her face with a sodden sleeve, body taut as a tight bowstring.

It became easier once Corinne caught a stream blowing west - it was by no means steady, but good enough for their purposes. It was a low storm, thankfully, and they could fly above it, in between grumbling behemoths of cloud and the occasional sparkle of a quickly obscured star. The minutes passed, and the tension began to drain out of Sorya. For the first time, it was more than dogged determination keeping her on this path - conviction began to bloom quietly, telling her they truly could make it.

It was only five minutes later that she picked up on Corinne's growing uneasiness.

What is it? she asked, alert upon the instant.

The air is strange, it's making my scales itch. I think we should drop a little lower.

Sorya sat up straight, staring uselessly into the dark surrounding them.You will lose the current.

I'd rather get tired than get roasted by lightning, Sorya. The thought was snapped and curt.

Are you -

She broke off at the sharp spike of alarm, hastily clutching the saddle when Corinne's head swung around to look behind them.

We're being followed, I think -

Sorya slewed around, eyes straining as her heart began to beat in her throat. Where? Where? Who is it?

There -

It was nearly impossible to see, but for a fraction of a moment Sorya caught sight of a dark, winged shape hanging behind them, silhouetted against a billowing cloud. Just as it vanished, a consciousness pressed against her mind insistently.

Sorya? What do you think you're doing?!

The panicked worry was sharp enough to taste bitter under her tongue, and the words were harsh enough to bounce off the inside of her skull. She gritted her teeth and clutched at her head. Curse and thrice blast you, dammit -

Turn back, and for the love of all the gods drop lower! Are you trying to kill yourse-

With an immense effort of will, she managed to block him out.

It's Ravûn and Drëya - Corinne, faster! They'll catch us!

She received no reply, but she could feel Corinne's muscles strain harder as they went into a gentle dive, their speed almost doubling. No longer did she take care to avoid drafts and blocks of cloud - she pierced through regardless.

Ravûn continued to hammer on her shields, however, and Corinne was struggling to keep Drëya out as well. It was of no use to wish now she'd paid more attention to mindblocking in the few lessons Shadeslayer had managed to conduct, or that she'd practiced on her own like she'd promised herself she would. All she could do was act. In a moment, she was behind Corinne's shields as well, taking them over and simultaneously providing her with access to as much of her energy as she could spare. Corinne took it, burned it, and they shot forward even faster. The wind was like knives on Sorya's cheeks, and there was no longer any question of even attempting to keep her eyes open.

He slammed into her mind again and again, more powerful than she expected, but determination kept her walls high and strong. She could not afford to fail, not now, and her visceral hatred for the feeling of the intrusive touch of another in her mind gave her some significant measure of strength.

They swerved between two clouds and plunged into the storm again, rain lashing at them like whips. Still Sorya kept her focus, still she gave Corinne her energy - still she hoped they would outrun the unwelcome pursuers - but then there flashed a faint gleam rippling across dark scales, and Drëya swooped past almost directly in Corinne's course.

Corinne rolled, clumsy in her haste, forcing Sorya to clutch at the slick leather of the saddle with a gasp. In that very moment, though, a shock of alarm sang through Corinne's mind, and Sorya felt every hair on her body stand on end.

Corinne dived instantly, though she was upside down in the air. The shock of the movement, the way they dropped like a stone, took Sorya by surprise.

She slipped, her weight working against her, snapping the straps around her legs.

She slipped, and she fell, face turned to the hungry clouds.

She heard Corinne's roar, felt her dive almost straight down to reach her. She felt her desperate frustration when Drëya, not realizing what had happened, strove to block her again. She heard her roaring, screaming at Drëya.

The wind seemed to skin her fingertips. Her hair lashed across her face, heavy with water. She saw the lightning strike, she saw both dragons manage to avoid it.

When she closed her eyes, she could have been weightless if not for the howl in her ears. Tears pressed against her eyelids before being whipped away into the sky - tears of anger, terror, or helplessness, she did not know.

Sorya!

Corinne's howl echoed in her head, but she could do nothing. She was falling too far, too fast, she had given Corinne too much of her strength to stop herself. She didn't even have the energy to scream, or to flail, and as that realization stole into her mind Corinne's anguish cried out to her, broken and piercing.

I can make it! I can -

You're too far . . . neither you or Drëya can reach me in time.

You will just let me watch you die, then?!

Sorya opened her eyes briefly, looking up at the small white shape speeding towards her. A black figure dove parallel and faster to her course, but Sorya didn't spare it a glance. Her muffled sob was almost a laugh, and it vibrated in her chest, inaudible under the wind.

At least the last thing I see will be you . . .

Sorya -

Her name was a shriek, accompanied by a keen that reached her even through the distance and the storm. It nearly ripped her heart in two, but she closed her mind along with her eyes. Corinne should not need to feel her fear along with her own.

For there was fear, even though her limbs were nothing but cold lead, and it pierced weakly through the exhaustion. But more than fear was frustration, helpless and damning. She tried, she had always tried her best, but even this mission had only been a success for all of half an hour. How could she have hoped to protect the ones close to her when she couldn't even reach them? And how could she hope to protect them when she had convinced Corinne to make this attempt, overruled her protests, and now forced her to witness that which a dragon must never be forced to witness - the death of her Rider?

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the sky, into blackness. "I did not treat you as I ought to have done."

She could not hear her own words, only their vibration in her throat as they escaped into the storm. Well . . . perhaps it would not hurt. Perhaps she would not feel much. And, if nothing else . . . she would be free of the chains that bound her.

The roar of the ocean was growing louder every moment, loud enough that it seemed to her she would drown in the sound itself. It could not be much longer before she hit the water -

She yelped and her eyes flew open as she jerked to a sudden halt; even the motion of her head snapping back was halted midway. Above her she could see that Drëya continued to dive, though slower than before, and she could faintly make out Ravûn's outstretched arm. Corinne was behind them, but had not abated her pace in the slightest. Sorya herself was suspended hardly no distance above the water, for her back was being soaked by the tops of the largest waves.

She hardly had a moment to comprehend this before Ravûn's arm dropped, and she fell into the ocean with a gasp. Cold swallowed her as she thrashed blindly, but she was only under for a few seconds before a huge paw slipped under her, scooping her out of the water.

Sorya crouched down, clinging to Drëya's toes,and coughed hard and long, clearing her lungs and blinking away the stinging salt. Shivering, on the verge of tears, and too exhausted to even attempt to organize the thoughts in her clouded mind, she closed her eyes once more and slipped into welcoming, velvet darkness.

†

Sorya began to regain consciousness just as they reached the Hall. It was difficult to stay awake, however, and she only regained her faculties in entirety when Drëya unceremoniously allowed her to drop on the cold flagstones of a courtyard in the Gardens. She shook her head, her long hair a heavy weight on her neck, and slowly pushed herself up to look around.

Corinne was crouched a little way away, sides heaving and muzzle flecked with froth. Her eyes were half lidded and her wings were limp and trembling.

. . . Corinne? Are you alright?

There was no reply.

Can't you hear me? Are you hurt? Corinne -

She did not look up, did not even acknowledge Sorya's attempts to contact her, and that, more than anything before, caused guilty misery to curl around Sorya's heart.

Drëya was in rather better condition, but Sorya could see at a glance that it was solely due to anger. Her dark eyes glittered as she hissed, sharp and vicious, and her fangs flashed in the gloom as he mind forced itself against Sorya's.

Disgraceful, insufferable excuse for a Rider, what madness possessed you, how did you dare -

Sorya was not certain whether she cried out against it, but she crouched like a rat in its hole in a futile attempt to combat the furious barrage. But it was cut off abruptly as Drëya's head swung around, and Sorya caught sight of a figure unfolding next to Drëya, miniscule beside her bulk.

It was Ravûn rising to his feet, with one hand on his dragon for support. His head hung down, and he was panting heavily. Drëya nuzzled into him carefully, helping him up. He gave her a weak smile, yet when his eyes fixed on Sorya there was no trace of warmth in them.

"Will you light the Erisdar, please, Sorya?" The whisper was hoarse, hardly heard above the wind outside.

Avoiding his gaze, she muttered, "Be bright," and the Erisdar nearby glowed briefly, changing from red to warm yellow.

"My thanks." He drew himself up, and though she could see the tremors fatigue had left in his limbs he stood straight as a soldier. "You will now provide me with an explanation of why you were flying in that hellstorm."

She glanced up without thinking and looked away instantly, ice prickling up her spine. He was almost unrecognizable, his eyes of flint and his mouth pressed together furiously. Gone was the cheery, unruffled knurlan she had become accustomed to seeing - this was someone utterly unyielding, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was just barely restraining a tide of fury.

Exhausted, ashamed, frightened, and thoroughly overwrought, she made the mistake of snapping at him. "Will I so? I was not aware it was any of your concern."

"Given that Drëya and I just saved you and Corinne from meeting your deaths out there, I will tell you without hesitation that it is very much our concern."

She stood to stand her ground, lifting her chin defiantly. "Whether you saved us from anything at all is entirely debatable. All you did was meddle in our business."

His jaw clenched tight as he took a step forward. "The response of a child, Sorya. Heedless you may be; contrary you may be; but you are not a fool. You owe us this much. You owe me this, for saving you from drowning at the cost of half my own energy. Explain yourself."

She folded her arms, pursing her trembling mouth against rising tears. "I will not."

"Do not force me to rouse Master Eragon at this hour of the night, me where you were going!"

"I will not, and you cannot force me! Neither he nor you can force me to do so!"

The words had hardly left her mouth before he was striding towards her, eyes blazing. He swung an arm back, and she flinched away from the promised blow; but when it came, it was not to her body. He pierced past her mental shields in an instant, taking advantage of her momentary disorientation, and flooded her mind with his own.

Sorya let out a sound between a howl and a scream, falling to one knee as she clutched at her head. A little way off, Corinne whimpered faintly. There was remorse in his mind for the pain he was causing Corinne, but none for her - and no hint of faltering in his resolve. Ravûn dug onwards, deeper, and she pressed her face into the cool cobblestones, fighting back. But trying to get him out was as though she was trying to cut out her own tongue, and soon enough - sooner than she would have liked - she had to give up trying. She could only watch him go through every shameful secret she held while she curled on the floor, tears finally streaming down her cheeks.

When he reached the end, an eternity later, he stumbled back from her like he'd been stung, panting fast and harsh. When she managed to look up, he was staring down at her with pain etched in every line of his face.

He knows, she thought, sick with despair. He knows everything.

"I -" He took a breath, shaking his head. "Sorya, I -"

"Ravûn!"

The both turned at the shout to see Eragon hurrying towards them, a cloak thrown hastily over his nightclothes and his hair in disarray. Brisingr was naked in his hand, gleaming purple in the yellow light. Saphira followed at a more sedate pace, but she scented the air continuously, seeking threats from any quarter.

"Sorya? Are you two - what has occurred?"

Sorya pressed a hand to her mouth hard, swallowing her sobs, and began to get to her feet once more. An abrupt burst of relief reached her from Corinne, as the worst of her aches and sprains began to be relieved. Eragon was healing her - and presumably the other two as well - without waiting for an answer.

One of her wards - almost the oldest one she could remember erecting, years ago - flared to life at the back of her mind, warning her that foreign magic was attempting to influence her. It drained even more energy from her depleted stores, and she shuddered at the further chill in her limbs.

"Stop," she croaked, every word a heavy weight on her tongue. "My wards . . . are active."

Eragon's brow furrowed further. "You have erected -? Dismiss them, then, so that I may heal you."

"I have . . . no injuries -"

"Sorya." His tone brooked no argument. "Lower your wards, please."

She wanted to remain staunch, to refuse, but she was exhausted -

And your pride has caused us enough trouble. Do not remain a resentful child.

She winced, but complied. At the very least, Corinne was communicating with her once more, cold as her tone might be. Besides, what more had she to lose?

Eragon's palm glowed briefly as he gave her enough energy to still her tremors and gentle her breathing, and she was suddenly warm and dry as well - all the water vanished from her clothes and body.

"My thanks," she muttered, testing her balance.

He raised an eyebrow, and smiled a little, though confusion and worry were still writ large on his face. "You are very welcome. Ravûn, you are well?"

"Well enough, Master. I - apologize, but -" He lowered his voice, but Sorya could still hear him. "We may discuss this tomorrow? I do not think now is the right time."

Eragon looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "As you say. Get your rest then, both of you. We will discuss this immediately after the morning meal on the morrow."

His eyes were sharp on them all as they began to proceed down the appropriate pathway. Sorya stalked past him with as much dignity as she could muster. She would deal with the new witness to her shame later; all she could care for now was her dragon.

She slowed as she got closer, still tentative as to how much she was allowed to push. Corinne made no move to prevent her careful touch, but did not react either. Sorya took a deep breath, swallowing the pang of pain in her chest, and opened her mind more fully.

Corinne . . .?

Corinne's mind-voice was heavy with weariness, dull with disappointment and lingering fear.

Go to bed, Sorya. We may talk in the morning.

You . . . aren't coming?

I need rest. I will sleep here, and do well enough on my own.

The message was clear - she did not want Sorya anywhere in the vicinity for the night. It would be the first time they parted for more than an hour or two since Corinne had hatched.

Sorya bit the tears back, determined not to cry again that night; but she could not prevent her distress from ringing loud and clear through their bond, and her thoughts were edging towards desperation. Corinne, I'm so sorry. You - I almost - I didn't mean . . .

Corinne finally looked at her, her eyes still and emotionless. I know you didn't.

But that was all she said, and eventually Sorya had no choice but to leave. Head low, she began the long walk to her bed. `She did not want to dwell on what the next day was likely to bring.

And Dornenn . . .

There was a faint pulse of concern from Corinne, delayed and uncertain, but she did not notice it as she hurried away, tears pooling in her eyes once more; away from the scene of her imbecilic blunder, away from the hard eyes of Eragon, away from the grieved eyes of Ravûn.

I am nothing but a failure.

†

The storm had spent itself in the night. The air was cool and fresh; and in the Bower, the salt from the sea was muted by the scents of two score different blossoms, situated as it was at the very center of the Gardens, at the intersection of the wide marble crossroads. This late in the evening, the airy space seemed almost to glow. Mellow light touched delicate creepers and graceful willows with a kind hand, and illuminated the motes of fine dust drifting through the air.

Yet no one currently present there took notice of the beauty apparent around them. Sorya wore an expression she struggled to keep neutral, but knew was nothing but pugnacious. She faced Eragon, who regarded her sternly with all the authority and dignity of a judge - as indeed he was, at the moment. Even the glint of the sapphire eyes of his dragon brooch seemed to condemn her. To his right stood Osra and Zelíe, the former impassive, the latter bearing a pursed mouth and pinched brow. On his left were Këyal, unmoving as a statue apart from one slim finger tapping restlessly at his hip, and Ravûn, who seemed to be holding himself still and silent by an immense force of will. His dark eyes held nothing but worry.

He can take his worry and -

They are beginning. Corinne cut the vicious thought off without compunction, watching the five dragons opposite her shift behind their Riders. Keep your tongue well.

Sorya did not answer her.

"Sorya, daughter of Madrí, Corinne, good evening," Eragon said, cool and deep. "We have convened this court to investigate more closely the events of last night, and to decide upon appropriate consequences for your actions. Ravûn has given me enough to understand the sequence of events, as have you, but that is not sufficient. Your fellow Riders and dragons are present as it is my belief that, by being involved in this judgement, they will gain a renewed understanding of the vital importance and responsibility of Rider and dragon; and as it was, in part, their future in Alagaësia that was also endangered, they have the right to decide the punishment as well. Am I understood?"

Sorya exhaled and raised her gaze stonily. "You are."

You are.

"Is there anything you wish to say before we begin?"

"No."

No, ebrithil.

"As you wish. Then, I shall detail the events of last night once more, both for clarity and to inform those who do not know the whole story. After the rest of us had retired for the night, Sorya went to the kitchen and removed from it enough provisions to last for five days or so. She then met with Corinne in the Gardens, saddled her, and the two of them left through the Tower. This was despite the dangerous storm raging outside at the time, one which Corinne is not experienced enough to fly through safely."

Corinne's tail swung from side to side briefly, but she made no other move.

"Ravûn and Drëya were awake at the time, and saw them leave. They followed instantly. However, in their haste, they did not think to rouse me or Saphira until they had covered half the distance in pursuit. Their message then only served to wake us, not convey to us what was occurring, and so we could do nothing. I will say that they were heedless in that respect, for they endangered themselves when there was no need. But they are to be commended for the quickness of their response, their skill in catching up in such conditions - due both to Dreya's proficiency in the air and Ravûn's with magic - and for doing their utmost to bring them back safe and whole. That Corinne and Sorya did not meet a fatal accident I can ascribe only to providence.

"Saphira and I met the four of the in the Gardens, almost immediately after they managed to return. They were all dangerously exhausted. I healed them, sent them to rest, and in the morning Ravûn conveyed to me these details in Sorya's presence. He also told me that, in anger, he had broken into Sorya's mind to discover why she and Corinne had attempted to leave, but he would not tell me more than the gist without her permission - which she withheld. Corinne also was unwilling to explain for the same reason. I allowed it at the time, for Sorya was entirely aware that she would be required to explain herself at some point, if not then." Eragon met her gaze steadily. "And that is what I expect now. I am clear?"

Sorya wanted to snarl, to rage, to spit the bitterness rising in her throat out at him. But she knew all too well there was no end to be achieved by that, and Corinne was watching her, sharp and angry in the back of her mind. So she swallowed, and nodded.

"Good. Then, were you both fully aware, last night, that the storm might well prove fatal to you as well as Corinne."

"I was."

"And yet the two of you ventured out voluntarily, on your own initiative?"

"Yes."

"You intended destination?"

". . . Galfni."

"Galfni being your hometown."

"Yes."

"Your reason?"

There was silence.

"Sorya, I remind you once more, you cannot refuse to answer." Eragon's voice was as steel. "Reply, if you please."

It's all right, it's just - the bare facts, there is not too much shame in that. I can manage that -

"My father," she said abruptly, "was felled in the battle of Feinster. My brother Dornenn and I were left to our mother, and my uncle, our father's cousin. When she died due to - to an illness, two years ago, we had only our uncle left. He offered to take us in, and we accepted. I worked, I supported the family, and I shared responsibility for my brother with him. But he is not an acceptable guardian. Life in his home is hell." She glared at Eragon fiercely. "That my brother was left to his mercies for the better part of two months is in itself a horror that I was forced to accept. But I came to know, after arriving at the Hall, that my uncle is to be honoured with the Nien Otho."

Eragon frowned a little. "Nien Otho . . . Stone Heart? The ceremony to honour those who have helped the clan recover from the effects of war, yes?"

"Specific to the Vrenshrrgn," Ravûn said quietly.

"For services to the family of a war hero," she spat, "he will receive a handsome reward and Íorûnn's thanks and custody of my brother until he is three-and-thirty. That is ten years too many. I - we - were attempting to reach Galfni to prevent the ceremony from taking place. It is only ten days from now."

"How exactly were you intending to do so?" Zelie asked.

"By doing something, anything - I could spirit my brother away, injure my uncle enough that he would be unable to attend the ceremony - "

"And remain there?" Eragon asked, his mouth thin. "You did not plan to return, did you?"

Sorya met his gaze defiantly. "I did not."

There, it is done, that is all he needs to know -

How could you say that to him?

It is the truth, is it not?

Corinne shifted again, wings rustling uneasily. Eragon's eyes shifted to her for a moment before boring into Sorya once more. "And your reason for not telling Íorûnn, myself, or any of your fellow Riders about this? You reason for not trusting someone with the power to avert the ceremony, instead of attempting to fly back to Alagaësia by yourself?"

"I -" She blinked, and then scoffed, quiet and sour. "You would not have believed me. Even had you done so, Grimstborith Íorûnn would not. He's a wily one, his reputation is excellent and well-known. No one doubts his word."

"So you decided to take everything upon yourself?"

Her eyes narrowed despite herself. "It is not that I have never tried asked for help, Shadeslayer. It is because I have done so that I know there is no one I can trust to help."

Eragon gave her a long, blank look, and shook his head a little. "And you, Corinne? What excuse had you to participate in this madness?"

Corinne's head hung lower than Sorya had ever seen it. None at all, ebrithil, she said, and the tone of her thoughts was soft and ashamed. I can only ask for forgiveness, on both our behalves.

Eragon sighed. "The two of you have an importance that goes beyond this place, beyond this time, beyond this generation, even. The Riders are hope personified, and you cannot underestimate that responsibility. Can you imagine how the country would have reacted if it had been told that a Rider died while at the Hall? Can you imagine the horror, how unstable all faith in the Riders and the crown - the crowns of all kingdoms - would have become? A vast amount of the work done to rebuild the moral strength of the country would have been undone by a single message. And if you had succeeded, the case would have been worse, for all would have known that a Rider and dragon abandoned their duties, and ran and hid like mice, before they had been under tuition for two score days."

Neither Corinne nor Sorya could reply to that. Eragon sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking weary. "Well, perhaps this is not the time to speak of those particular ramifications. Have the rest of you heard all you wish to?"

They all exchanged glances. Zelie was the first to move forward, and they stood together in quiet conversation. After some few minutes, Eragon moved to join them as well. Sorya heard Ravûn's voice once or twice, louder than usual, raised in concern or expostulation, but she refuses to look up from where she had trained her gaze on the ground.

Eventually they broke apart, and Osra stepped forward.

"The verdict we have decided upon is this - both of you are to swear in the ancient language that you will not go beyond five leagues from the Hall without permission given by Master Eragon or Mistress Saphira. You will perform double the allotted amount of chores, Sorya, given that -" She paused, looking faintly regretful. "Given that it was your persuasion that instigated this misadventure. Corinne, we regret to curtail your freedom to hunt in the forests, but we have no other choice. This will be binding for the rest of the season, until spring, and beyond that as for long as Master Eragon wills. Sorya, you will also explain to Íorûnn the situation and request her for help. Master Eragon will help you contact her."

Sorya's head snapped up. "What? No -"

"There is no negotiation in this matter," Osra said with finality. "If you do not, Master will do it himself, without involving you in the process."

Eragon nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I will also speak to both of you personally, and alone, after this, as will Saphira. And I may request you to meet with myself and Saphira again at any time for the next few weeks or so. When I do so, you will put aside any and all other obligations until after you do."

Sorya opened her mouth to shout, seething at how coolly they had dismissed her - like nothing more than a problem successfully dealt with -

Quiet! Corinne snapped in her head. We are getting off lightly!

She whirled to face her. You agree with them?! You will allow this? You know that -

We are getting off lightly, Corinne repeated sternly. Take it and be grateful.

"Have you anything to say?"

Sorya turned back with a snarl. "Oh, I have enough and more -"

Sorya!

I will not -

Corinne growled, long and vicious, and everyone there looked at her. You will. Not another word.

Sorya could have screamed.

She stood trembling as the rest of them began to disperse; trembling with rage, with shame and fear and paralyzing horror at what was sure to be exposed in Galfni.

They will all know, everyone will know - what will Dornenn do? Where will he go? How will he weather the storm that is sure to break? He won't be able to find an apprenticeship anywhere -

Master Eragon wants to speak to you, Corinne said, quieter than before but just as unyielding. We can meet later. And i would advise you to discuss with him what you are thinking about.

I - what? How do you expect me to -

But Corinne had already left with the rest, and Eragon was already standing front of her.

"Sorya."

She glared at his right shoulder, thinking of how satisfying it would be to sink her fist into his face."What."

"Shield your mind from Corinne for a moment, if you please. There is something I wish to say to you only, at present."

She was about to deny him, but Corinne heard and did it for her. The loss of the connection, as resentful and distrustful as it had been, left her feeling dizzy and suddenly, achingly lonely. She swallowed tightly, giving him a small nod.

"Thank you. I would like to ask - how old is Corinne?"

Sorya frowned. "Five months old," she said grudgingly. "The reason for your query?"

"I will be blunt," he said, his eyes like steel. "You seem to me a person who would appreciate that - from what little I know of you - but if I am too harsh, you will forgive me."

She snorted, giving him her most unsettling grin. "Go right ahead, Shadeslayer."

He inclined his head briefly. "For a bonded dragon, there is nothing so precious to them as their Rider. They are born with them, their first world consists of only the Rider's thoughts, and their lives are intertwined with the Rider's to a far greater degree than the Rider's is to theirs - at least at the beginning. Yet dragons are born old, with ancient instincts and great force of mind, unlike us flighty mortals. They will learn, but will not be too far influenced. But you and Corinne have proven an exception."

"Get to what you're trying to say," she snapped, her worn patience about to vanish entirely.

He gave her a steady look. "Tell me, how did you feel when she hatched for you?"

"What?"

"How did you feel when your dragon hatched for you?"

"I . . ." She shook her head, suddenly back in an old cavern while a shimmering white gem splintered under her palm. "Happy, of course."

"Say that in the ancient language."

She glared at him.

"Can you not? I think, Sorya, you were more furious at her existence than happy. Furious at this complication that could force you to leave behind home and hearth and a sibling you felt compelled to protect at all costs. And - no, do not interrupt me, unless you can say in the ancient language that there is no truth to my words. And do you think she did not know this?"

She didn't know why he was talking about this, why he was breaking her down by pushing her further and further, and yet she was helpless to prevent him, for she could not remain in silence when he said such things.

"I didn't - why would I ever tell her that -"

"It does not matter if you told her or you did not. She would have known either way. And the reason I am discussing this is to ensure that you understand the entire enormity of your actions.

You, in your frantic worry for your brother, in your single minded pursuit of his safety, neglected her. You make up so much of her world, yet you never wanted her, never wanted to be a Rider; you were always longing for home. You will tell me if I am mistaken, but did she not demur when you told her you wished to return? Did she not urge you multiple times to tell someone, instead of taking the entire burden upon your own shoulders? Did she not persuade you, as many ways as she could conceive of, not to go, especially in that storm?"

"Stop, stop! We discussed it, discussed everything, and she understood - it is not that I coerced her into anything - !"

"Sorya, when her Rider was frightened and desperate to return, when she believes her Rider cares more for her brother than for her, will she not swallow her more desperate objections to ensure her Rider's happiness? I do not think she felt that she had any choice in the matter. You effectively chose your brother over her, did you not? Tell me if I am wrong."

Sorya could not respond. It seemed as though a mountain of ice was crashing down on her, chilling her heart and freezing her limbs as horror seeped through her.

Did I truly make her feel so? I would have noticed, wouldn't I? Would she keep that hidden from me? Did I hurt her so deeply? I didn't want to, of course I never wanted to, but I can't refute anything he says -

"I love her," she whispered, staring at her feet.

"Of course," came the reply, and the tone of his voice was somewhat softer. "But that does not mean you did not hurt her . . . She too is young, yes? She would not have known how to weight her words stop you. Neither could she ask anyone else for advice, for to do so would be to divulge your secrets."

"But what could I do?!" The tears were pooling, were streaming down her face, but she could not care less. Something had broken in her heart, and it was leaving her weak and trembling and desperate in the wake of its tumultuous passage. "I know I was - I did not behave towards her as I had ought, but you do not know what I have left behind! I had to go, there was no other choice - my father trusted him, my uncle, trusted him to keep us safe, unharmed, and that is the one thing he has not done! He is - he is violent when he's had too much mead, and a capricious and greedy and arrogant person, but no one would believe me! He killed my mother, it was his fault, h-he had always env-envied my father his wife, and - " She choked, gasped, began again. "And he had not enough control. He left her weak, drained, but she still protected us both. And then she succumbed to her injuries, and there was only myself and my weak magic and I - I tried telling people, I tried, I swear I tried, but they would not listen. I abandoned that, and I learned, I grew stronger, and he never touched my brother, not once in those two years, but now I am gone, and he must have - have already suffered more than I have ever protected him from just in these two months - and now you want to - Íorûnn - the courts are not discreet, the whole clan will know, our family will be dishonoured for ages to come -"

Her voice had become almost a scream, but she only realized it when Eragon raised his hands placatingly. He looked nothing but concern now, as he absorbed her expression and her words.

"Sorya, calm yourself, please."

"Don't tell me to calm - you don't understand - "

"I do, I assure you I do. But listen to me - why would you not tell me of this? It is my duty to care for you all, to teach you, and if I had known of this I would have requested Íorûnn to find your brother a more suitable guardian weeks ago. You could have trusted me."

"Words," she whispered, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. "Words are nothing. How could I know I could trust you?"

His breath left him in a quiet, shocked huff, and he took a step away from her, turning to the willows in contemplation. Eventually, he said quietly, "My apologies for causing you such distress. I am sorry to hear of what you went through, and I swear it shall be remedied to the best of my power. All I wished to achieve by speaking to you now was to bring you to an understanding of how exactly you have affected Corinne, and to request you to mend your bond with her. That is all. That was also why I wished to continue to meet with the two of you for some time, to ensure that all was set to rights. . . but that may wait. Tomorrow morning, meet me after we break morning fast. We will decide when to contact Íorûnn together, and you will soon receive assurance from her own lips that all adverse effects will be mitigated as far as possible. Are we agreed?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath. " . . . we are."

"Good. Then I will see you tomorrow." As he passed by her, he squeezed her shoulder lightly.

It was a small comfort, but it did nothing to lessen the force of the sobs that slowly dragged her to the ground, to curl her head into her knees as she tried to muffle them. When her grief was finally spent, night had long since fallen, and her apologies, whispered to the night sky and too numerous to easily count, she left behind her as she stumbled away from the scene of her trial.

Chapter Text

Two days later

Corinne shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. The corridor was not quite meant for dragons, and she was only settled so far inside because she was the smallest of them all. Sorya's palpable tension was not helpful in inducing comfort either, though she tried to mask the sensation.

There came a tinge of sheepishness, and Sorya curled up a little smaller in the hollow of Corinne's neck.

. . . sorry for that.

No matter. It is not an easy thing, what you are about to do.

No.

But it is the right thing.

I suppose. It's just -

I know.

They were quiet for some time, Corinne's calm soothing Sorya to some extent.

. . . Corinne?

Yes?

If Eragon had not forced it from me . . . would you have told him?

Corinne blinked once, a plume of smoke drifting from her nostrils as she arranged her thoughts.

I think so, yes. Not immediately, but eventually. Once I had tried and failed to convince you more than - shall we say, a dozen times?

Sorya snorted softly, but the undercurrent of hurt and remorse lingered. Corinne grumbled low in her throat, swinging around to face her.

If you intend to wallow in regret and pity once again, I'd be well pleased to bring the bones from my next hunt back to your room. Yes, I would have told him at a point, because your fear and your anger blinded you. But I would not have done it of anger or rancour - I would have made sure to wait some few days to be sure that that was not my motive. I would have done it of care for you because - for the last time - I am not angry at you. I do not resent you. You are forgiven, completely and unconditionally. So I would be well pleased if you ceased to tiptoe around me. You hear me?

I do . . . thank you.

Hmph. Corinne settle her head back down, content in Sorya's small smile. Waver though it might, the strength at her core was beginning to rekindle, and that was sufficient for her.

They waited. It had been inevitable that getting in contact with Íorûnn would take a while, and though the time had been prearranged, she was notoriously capricious with respect to timekeeping. Still, she was not likely to keep the Shadeslayer waiting too long, and they had arrived early as well.

The tedium was relieved by the sound of shoes striking the floor, growing steadily closer. In a minute, Ravûn rounded the corner. He was dressed as though for training, and sweat beaded his brow.

Sorya got to her feet, mind tensing instantaneously, and Corinne suppressed an automatic snarl at the reaction - at the cause of the reaction.

"Ah, you've not yet gone in. I was afraid I might be too late." He spoke in the dwarves' tongue, and Sorya settled, just a little. "Derûndânn, Sorya, Corinne."

"Derûndânn," Sorya murmured uncertainly, fingers opening and closing like butterflies by her side. Corinne chose to remain quiet and watchful.

"You are sure to be called soon, so I will make this quick. We have not spoken, you and I, since that night. While there may be much to be said, or none, as you prefer, there is one thing that cannot be left unsaid." He bowed at the waist, straight and sharp, Az Sweldn rak Anhuin fashion. "I apologize, Sorya, for the unpardonable act of breaking into your mind. While in the storm, there was the excuse of necessary communication - after, there was no excuse but that of my ire, and that is no excuse at all."

I - what?

Corinne snorted with amusement. An apology, child, and done well. You could stand to learn from him.

Yes, yes. What do I - how do I respond -

You could request him to cease bowing, for one.

"Lift your head," she said hastily, and Corinne snorted once more.

Ravûn did so. There was a brief, uncomfortable pause while Sorya worked out what to say.

"You know," she said abruptly, "I'm rather tired of skulking away whenever you are nearby because I am ashamed. And I'm aware you must think me the most bullheaded person in existence, and the least likely to admit her own faults, but I am only so stubborn when the cause means so much to me. No, your apology is not accepted, Ravûn, because I am well aware I provided you with enough and more provocation. I apologize for being reckless, for not heeding you, and for neglecting to thank you for turning us back from . . . from that venture."

And she bowed in turn.

Ravûn was still for a moment. Corinne was still not the best at reading two-legs' faces, especially when they were so much shorter than her, but she rather thought Sorya had confounded him. She wondered if he would have reacted differently if he knew the sweeping current of chagrin and nervousness running through Sorya..

That's a very helpful thought, thank you, Corinne.

Well. Corinne yawned. It was, in truth, nearly as an good apology as his.

Ugh. Getting the words out was like spitting poison -

"Lift your head," Ravûn said, sounding a little off-balance, and when Sorya did so, he smiled sheepishly. "My thanks. I'm afraid . . . I think I rather misjudged you. Ah, I -"

Eragon's voice reached them through the thick door, sounding pleased. Ravûn glanced at the door. "You will be needed soon. I just wanted to say -" He hesitated a moment more, and then stuck his hand out in front of him, human-fashion. "Friends, yes?"

Sorya looked at his hand, and couldn't suppress a small, relieved smile as she shook it gingerly. "Friends."

"Very well then, I will leave you to it." He bowed once more, to both of them, before taking his leave.

Sorya slumped back against Corinne's side, sighing in content relief. Corinne nudged at her, humming quietly, absorbing her nerves in placidity. They listened to Eragon's voice for another minute or so before the door creaked open.

"Sorya?" Eragon called. "You may enter."

At once, the fear rose once more to thrum in her veins. Corinne nudged her back gently.

Go. You will do well.

Sorya gave her a weak smile, took a quiet, unsteady breath, and went inside.

†

Íorûnn was already present, reflected in a mirror of beaten silver that was marked by a hammer and stars etched into the top. There were several others in the room, arranged in a pleasing curve, all marked differently at the top.

This Sorya would recall later, however; at the time, she paid them no heed. From the moment she entered, her entire attention was focused on Íorûnn and Íorûnn only.

"Well well," the clan chief drawled, crossing her legs gracefully as rich tapestries fluttered on the walls behind her in the wake of a passing breeze. "In trouble already, little one?"

She, too, spoke in the stone tongue. Sorya, however, had no complaint - if the entire conversation were incomprehensible to Eragon, she would be well pleased.

"Derûndânn, Íorûnn Grimstborith,' she said with a bow, trying not to let her uneasiness make her words curt. "My - my sincere apologies for troubling you."

"Ah, do not apologize for that, dear child." Her eyes twinkled. "On the contrary, I am glad you afforded me the chance to look upon yonder Shadeslayer's fine figure once more."

Sorya darted a hasty glance at said Shadeslayer and, with growing horror, noted a faint stain of red in his cheeks.

He understands it all perfectly!

But when he replied, it was with nothing but affability. "I am glad that seeing me affords you so much pleasure, Grimstborith," he replied, in perfectly accented dwarvish. "May I say, once again, how fortunate I am to speak to you once more since Orik könungur's coronation."

Several such pleasantries passed between them, each more complimentary and - in Íorûnn's case - more flirtatious than the last. Eventually, however, when Sorya was struggling not to fidget impatiently, they got to the matter at last.

" . . . and now, I think, we may look to the issue at hand," Eragon said, smiling politely. "Sorya has a matter to bring to your attention, Grimstborith, one that worries her sorely and refuses to allow her to focus on her duties as Rider. I would be grateful if you would set her mind at rest."

"Why, of course," Íorûnn said, slim eyebrows raising above her dark-lined eyes. "King Orik had not mentioned this. Surely, the matter shall be rectified, no matter what it may be. Tell me, little one, what it is."

Eragon nodded slightly, stepping back. Sorya swallowed, lifted her chin, and spoke her story.

She did well enough, when she thought over it later. She neither raised her voice nor lost the thread of her words, though her voice became unsteady in some part upon occasion, and she maintained a passably dignified tone throughout. Íorûnn listened in silence, eyes blank and face calm as ever as the recital progressed.

After, before she could speak again, Eragon said, "As you see, the charges are quite serious. You would have my gratitude, Íorûnn Grimstborith, if you would move to rectify this as soon as may be. We cannot have a Rider pining for home and family, with such worry and fear weighing on the mind, when there is so much to learn and explore at the Hall."

"As you say," she said, slow and thoughtful. "This is an accusation indeed. It will be investigated thoroughly, you may be sure. The Stone Heart will not proceed until the charges are resolved, either way. Rider Sorya, if indeed your brother is to be moved to reside with a new family, you may speak to them first and assure yourself of the hearth he will be welcome at. And I myself will ensure that your brother faces as little repercussion as possible, if he receives any at all. On this, you have my word."

Sorya bowed, momentarily unable to speak. But one did not betray weakness before the Grimstborith, and she made sure to blink away her tears of relief before they were apparent.

Thank her, as prettily as you can, Corinne said then, and so Sorya did her best. Íorûnn waved away all of it airily, saying that it was only her duty. She promised to provide the Hall with further information two days thence, and waved them farewell with two fingers, only pausing to send a last, delicately charged remark Eragon's way.

Sorya would have left, then, giddy with joy and tentative hope, to get away and release her tears (it was far too many tears she had shed, the past few days. Corinne whispered Making up for lost time in her head, and Sorya nearly choked on a tearful laugh) but Eragon stopped her.

"I just wanted to say to you," he said, looking mildly uncomfortable. "I - feel responsible, in part, for I knew you were unhappy and my efforts to ascertain the cause were not as relentless as they should have been. That you felt you could not trust me is also my wrong. For this, I apologize."

He - what?

Sorya stared at him for a moment too long, and the disbelief must have been evident in her gaze, for Eragon laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and suddenly looking far more like the human half her age that he was. "It is so impossible to believe?"

"No one with any authority over me has ever apologized to me in my life, Eragon-ebrithil," she said, blunt in her surprise. "I am grateful - and I am happy, I think, that the first one was you."

He blinked, then grinned, bright and wide, and she couldn't help smiling back as she continued. "But I cannot allow you to take the blame. I was hardly a model student."

"Ah, well." He shrugged, still smiling. "We shall wipe the slate clean, yes? We start afresh, from this moment."

"As you say. My thanks, Master. For all your assistance."

"It was nothing more than my duty. Join the others - I will be there soon."

She nodded and walked out of the room, light and joyous and more free than she had been in years.

†

Eragon sighed softly, a smile still pulling at his lips. A certainty crept over him, at that moment, that a good rapport was finally likely to be established between himself and his most recalcitrant student.

He turned to the other mirrors, scanning the various markings at the top. A crown for the mirror at Illirea; a leafy branch for the one at Ellesméra; a mountain for the one at Carvahall; an axe for the one with the Herndall; and a jewel for the one at Aberon. He faced the one that would allow him to contact Roran, and spoke the appropriate incantation.

The silver bangle he wore at his wrist hummed and grew warm, signaling that its cousin, leagues away on his cousin's arm, was doing the same. It was etched with all the same markers as the mirrors, and a small chip of agate under the mountain glowed faintly. On Roran's side the same would be occurring, though the mountain would be replaced instead by a dragon in flight.

The glow faded abruptly, signaling that Roran would accept the message and had indicated as much, and so Eragon settled down to wait. It was not ten minutes before the mirror shimmered to life.

"Good morning," he grinned.

Roran scowled vaguely in the mirror, scratching at his stubbled chin. "Mornin'," he replied. "Of course you'd have to wake me to speak to me, eh?"

"Come, it's not nearly that early. You're becoming lax in your old age."

"Truth be told, I was laying in," he admitted, yawning hugely. "Katrina's taken Gerand to see Gertrude, he's had a fever and a rash. I haven't got a wink of sleep in three days, I tell you. Ismira never fussed this much."

"Not serious, I hope?"

"All the old mares say it's not. What do I know? Though if it were, Katrina would've taken him to that bright young magician who never stops chattering. Why Nasuada felt the need to assign her to Carvahall . . ."

"'Your family is a magnet for enough trouble, and I'd rather have someone who can work with magic present, if the need arises, as it is sure to,'" Eragon recited. "She has no faith in your hammer, eh?"

"My hammer is long gone. Can't remember the last place I put it to save my life."

"Such an old man."

"Aye, aye." Roran waved a hand, yawning again. "Well, how goes it with your troublesome student? Knocked some sense into her?"

"Ah, it was not sense she lacked. Only fear that clouded her mind. But yes, I think she is well enough now. She's unfurling, slowly, and it is good to see. You can make out what her dragon saw in her, now that her worst sides are no longer those she is forced to inhabit."

"Mhm. Spoke to the dwarf clan leader?"

"Not quarter of an hour ago. It went well."

"Good to hear." Roran propped his chin in one hand. "So what's the problem?"

"What problem?"

"You might look like a damn cat, but you haven't changed so much that I can't tell when you're worried over something. Used to take you ages to spit out whatever you were mulling over. Remember when you broke that shovel, Father had to threaten to tie you outside to get you to tell us why you were moping?"

Eragon grunted. "Oh, I remember."

"I should hope so. Well then, spit it out."

"Nothing, just - I was not as good a teacher towards her as I ought to have been. I didn't do enough to find out why she refused to engage with being a RIder. And, if I'm being perfectly honest, it was - I was miffed by the very fact that she refused. It was not just negligence, it was indignance. If I could embrace being a Rider when I was destined to face Galbatorix, what cause had she to complain, when she being tutored to be a hero of the new age? It was wounded pride, unworthy of me, and I regret it. That is all."

Roran's gaze remained heavy on Eragon's face, brown eyes serious and thoughtful. "I see."

Eragon waved a hand, laughing a little. "You needn't look so. I understand my mistakes, and I will do better. I will not rest until I do better."

"Hm. Just don't go overboard in your drive to improve. Once you get a maggot into your head about something, getting it out is nigh impossible . . . while your teachers were all old and experienced and what-have-you, you have only just passed four-and-twenty years. Be guided by their memories and how they taught you, but also remember that you cannot immediately be as wise as they were."

"Aye, I hear you. You needn't worry. Neither you nor Saphira nor Arya would let me do anything to tarnish my glorious name."

Roran smiled slightly. "How is Arya, then? Haven't heard from her in a bit. Busy keeping you in line, eh?"

"As you say. I haven't taught more than once in two days, these past few weeks." He sighed. "She thinks me far too fragile."

"Hah. How long has it been, since you were poisoned?"

"Nigh on a month and a half. Yet she will have it I am not fit to teach."

"Have a sparring bout with an elf in the mirror room, prove to her you can hold your own."

"If only that would convince her . . . but I'll think of something."

"Well then, while we're on the subject - how're the nightmares?"

The question was sudden, as quiet as it was sharp. Eragon smiled ruefully. "I really cannot hide anything at all from you, can I?"

Roran snorted. "There's naught to discern, it's clear to the dullest eye. I've not seen you with such shadows under your eyes save for when you were to battle that Black King, may crows spit on his grave."

"They're . . ." Eragon sighed. "They're well enough. Nothing I cannot take. Nothing to be worried for."

"Sure?"

"Very."

"Right then. All else is well? No dragon knocked off another turret?"

Eragon snorted. "Oh, they try. But no, not as yet. All is well . . . Ah, I forgot to ask, the last time - how does Ismira like her new brother?"

"She didn't think very much of him until she left her new doll by his crib and he tried to chew the head off. Then she had quite a lot to say."

"The daughter of Roran Stronghammer has a doll? I expected her to be wielding a sword by now."

Roran made a face. "She's only six. And Katrina is the one who gave it to her. Gods forbid she gets her grubby paws on a sword, all of Carvahall'd have to evacuate to escape the danger."

Eragon chuckled. "That, I'd like to see."

"Ah -" Roran held up a finger at a jumble of rising voices, turning to look over his shoulder, and then turned back with a scowl. "On the bones of my father, the meatheads can't take care of aught on their own . . . I'm needed, Eragon. We'll speak later?"

"Of course, of course. Next time Murtagh and Nasuada visit, come with them, yes?"

"If the children are old enough, doubtless we will. Be sure not to worry over this matter anymore, that of your red-haired dwarfling. She'll make a better Rider for this adventure, I don't doubt."

"Aye, though I could wish the lesson had been less bitter. I will not worry, don't doubt it."

"Well then, take care of yourself, keep your students in line, get back to contacting me every week -"

"Yes, yes." Eragon grinned. "My love to Katrina and Ismira and Gerand."

"Of course. Farewell."

"Farewell."

The image faded. Eragon sighed and stretched, swallowing the peculiar mixture of comfort and homesickness that was always left behind when he concluded a conversation with Roran, or anyone at Carvahall.

Eragon -

Hmm?

You might like to get to the kitchen. Mánya tells me more than a quarter of it is currently on fire.

Eragon laughed, already reaching for the door. On my way.

†

About an hour before

Satisfied?

Very. It went far better than I hoped.

Ravûn couldn't hear it when Drëya snorted, since she was lounging in a pool of sunlight somewhere so high up he'd never been, but he felt it as if it was his own snout, and he wrinkled his nose at the sensation.

I still believe she deserved it.

That's not very generous of you . . .

I do not suffer fools kindly.

That you don't, he agreed easily.

She snorted once more, using his eyes for a fraction of a second.

Where are you?

Almost at the Gardens. I've naught to do, I may as well attempt the Maze once more.

You could find better things to do with your time.

Such as?

Sharpen your steel teeth.

Ravûn stepped onto white marble, proceeding down the southern corridor. You mean my starmetal teeth? Or rather, tooth?

Your steel teeth. Not the sword. The axe, the lance -

Ugh, the lance. A more ridiculous weapon for a dwarf I never did see. He glanced at the cotton fields on his right, evaluating their progress. They would be ready just as spring ended, he thought, giving them enough time to spin and weave new cloth. Cotton was, by far, the best material for summers, if not the most durable for a Rider.

Don't let your mind wander when I'm speaking to you.

Ah, sorry, sorry . . .

And you cannot afford to neglect the lance, nor any other weapon. You never know what circumstances you may be thrown into.

As you say. He ducked under two low hanging branches, festooned with winding creepers, and entered the Maze, taking a deep breath of cool, moist air.

She sighed, a massive rush of air leaving her lungs. You're hopeless.

Don't get sunstroke, delva, he answered, cheerful and absent minded. Is a left a better idea, or a right . . .?

Don't call me when you get stuck.

I'll fly out myself if I get stuck.

Does that not defeat the entire purpose of the maze, then?

It is called unsolvable for a reason . . .

The elf solved it.

He stopped short. Why must you poison my thoughts with him now? he lamented, only half joking.

If dragons could smirk, he knew she would be smirking. Oops.

Don't 'oops' me, he grumbled, starting forward again.

Why, I thought he was becoming more tolerable these days. No?

That's no tall order, seeing as before he was a curse on the face of the earth. It's suspicious besides, his sudden about-face.

You know the reason for that. There's no one at the Hall who does not.

. . . all right, , I cannot trust him.

Now you understand how I feel about that Sorya -

His groan was half laughter, startling a jay out of her nest. Go back to your sunbath and let me get lost in peace, delva.

She sniffed, but did so, and he was left to wander on his own.

Which he did for close to three quarters of an hour. Despite what he had told Drëya, he did not try to navigate; he only walked, enjoying the quiet as he tried to see how many types of plants he could name. Most others preferred the light and pretty bowers of the gardens in the northwestern quadrant, but there was a sense of beauty, of quiet and unstoppable power in nature that one could only sense in the Maze.

Eventually, he stepped into a tunnel formed by thickly interweaving branches. They would grow more tightly interlocked as time passed, letting in even less light than what managed to filter through that present. Yet someone had placed here a stone bench, he remembered, to enjoy the peace here. He would sit quiet for a time, and then depart to assist with preparing lunch.

Yet when he came upon the bench, it was already occupied. Dara sat with her head in her hands, mumbling a steady stream of what he discerned to be cursewords after a particularly pungent one caught his ear.

He walked up to her, unable to refrain from smiling. "Derûndânn, Dara."

She looked up with a start, then relaxed, smiling gratefully. "Oh, thank the gods that you came along. I thought I migh' be stuck in here for ages."

"Why, where is Celesté?"

"Waitin' for me at the entrance. She couldn't fit in many spaces here anyhow, and she hates it when it's too closed for her to spread her wings."

"Ah, I see. Could you not call for help? Send a message, or mark your position with a burst of fire, or some such - ?"

"Ah, I'm still not used to using my mind wi' anyone but Celesté. And I can't use magic like you lot, can I?"

"You - ah, yes. Pardon my mistake." He had forgotten that none of the Riders had been told they could use magic until they discovered it for themselves. "Only, I know Sorya has wards, and Ahhtar just discovered magic not two days past, so -"

Dara laughed. "Aye, and he was happier than any Urgal that ever swung their first axe when he did so. Sorya, though, she knew magic before she was a Rider, so I've heard."

"Ah, I see."

Were you goin' to stay?" She gestured to the bench upon which she was seated.

"Why yes, I'll confess I had the intention."

"Good. Sit, then. Unless I'd be disturbin' you?"

"Not at all." He seated himself, arranging his limbs comfortably. "An impressive display of cursing, by the by, if I may so say."

She looked a little sheepish, but grinned nonetheless. "Why, thank you kindly. In my town, only thing you picked up before your first cuss word was how to walk."

"I don't think I remember the name of your town?"

"Lighthaven, it's called. Southwest of Cuenon - I think I told you that much? - and you can see Du Weldenvarden on clear days. Or you used to, before the Empire chopped down half the trees for siege engines. Cut my father clean out of a year's work, they did."

"He worked as a . . .?"

"Woodcutter. One of many, given that we lived in a place where ten months of the twelve you barely had sunlight."

Ravûn pursed his lips slightly in distaste. "Sounds dreary. You do not sound as though you harbor fond memories, either. Why not move elsewhere?"

Dara smiled wryly. "Ah, that . . ."

"If you'd rather not answer -"

"Nay, it's all right. My father met my mother there; I was born there; she died there. He just . . . could'na bring himself to leave."

"I see," Ravûn said quietly. "My apologies for prying."

"It's no matter, as I said." Her eyes twinkled faintly. "Besides, I've the right to pry in return now, yes?"

Ravûn chuckled. "It's as you wish. I've nothing that must needs be hidden."

"That so? We'll see. I know hardly anything about yourself, your life before you came here, though we've known each other for nigh on two months now."

"Well, you're free to ask what you wish."

"What's your family like? Brothers, sisters? Both parents, one, or neither?"

"Why, I have no family."

She frowned, tilting her head to one side like a bird. "Orphaned? I'm sorry - "

He sighed. "No. You know my clan name?"

"I - I know the name . . . There's a significance I'm unaware of?"

"Well, yes. But it's not part of tuatha du ororthim, so do not let it bother you . . . Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin hate the Riders and all they stand for with a vengeance. We once tried to assassinate Master Eragon - yes, I know; terrible. You cannot imagine the depths of our hatred. We blame the Riders for the death of Anhûin, a leader of theirs from times long past, and have dedicated our existence to avenging her by any and all means possible. And so, when my family heard an egg had hatched for me, I was promptly disowned."

Dara looked suddenly subdued. "Oh," she murmured, staring down at her fingers. "But then - how did you touch the egg at all? Would they not have prevented you?"

He sighed again, scratching at his beard. "Well, you see . . . the entire clan was banished due to the treachery of attempting to kill a guest - that is, Master Eragon. No knurlan from any clan would trade with us, barter with us, buy our jewellry. We had nothing, despite our stockpiled wealth. The only way for the clan to be recognised once more is for us all to renounce our Grimstborith, Vermûnd, as we ourselves had been renounced by the rest of the world. But there are still those who cling to the old ways, who roar with him in his rages and justify his wrongdoings; my family among them . . . ah, that is besides the point. The story is that I was in Tarnag to see if I could possibly scrounge some supplies from anywhere, for there is always one unscrupulous knurlan who will be willing to barter for the right price - or to steal them, if I had no other recourse. And I was not the only one from my clan who did so.

"But what I did not know was that Queen Arya was in Tarnag that day, having brought the dragon's eggs. And so caught up was I in wandering the streets, gaping at the glory before me like the young fool I was, that I was too slow to avoid knurlan from the Rider's Council. Those worthy humans, elves, knurlan, and Urgalgra who have been chosen to assist with the rebuilding of the Riders, well . . . they were picked well indeed. They came scouring the streets for suitable candidates - that is, anyone under the age of three-score years, for it has been the young ones that the dragons would favour in years past, has it not? They dragged me to the egg - and I could not tell them what my clan was to be released, for then all chance of gaining any kind of supplies would be lost - and I thought I might just tap it quickly and escape, but . . ." He tilted his left palm, allowing the silvery circle to catch the gentle light that streamed between the branches above them. "When I returned home with the gedwëy ignasia and two polite elves in tow, well. As you can imagine, I was thrown out then and there."

Dara hummed softly. "My apologies for asking," she said. "It must have awakened painful memories."

"They were for a time, yes, I cannot deny. But I soon grew to realize how much better would be the life I would live than the one I was leaving behind." His mouth quirked up at the corner, though he knew his eyes were still distant. "I very badly wanted to apologize to King Orik for the predicament I had put him in. The first dwarf Rider, but by the law of the land, he was bound to ignore my very existence. I remember Drëya was quite cross with him, though she was hardly the length of my arm at the time."

Dara chuckled, stretching her legs out. "What, then, did he do?"

"Well, we completed tuatha du orothim with the others, and we travelled with Queen Arya until all four eggs had hatched. By that time, my clan - well, most of them - had unequivocally renounced Vermûnd and his leadership. Those who did not were renounced as well. They were desperate, you see. If a member being a Rider was the only way for them to make a living again, they would take it. And so King Orik was permitted to shake me by the hand, months after I became a Rider."

"Mmm. I see."

"A valuable lesson in dwarf politics, eh?"

She laughed at the sally, and they fell into quiet. Ravûn was grateful, for he could be sure to swallow the rising threat of tears. He had made his peace with the memories, but he could do naught to lessen the sting they still had.

It was some time later that Dara spoke once again.

"Ravûn?"

"Hm?"

"I'm aware it's a delicate question, but - did whatever was troublin' Sorya get resolved? She's far different now, and I've not much clue what to make of it."

"Ah, yes. At least, it is in the process of being resolved."

"And you're th' only person to know what it is, apart from Master Eragon."

He winced faintly, but she did not notice. "That . . . I am."

"Mm." She sighed and tipped her face to the sky. "Quite a bit of redemption goin' round, eh? Between her and Këyal. I'd have to say I'm loath to give her a chance, for I never did meet anyone like her for turning clear sky into thunderclouds - and I've known lads who were near as nothin' to the pigs they raised. It grated on us, Aki and Cas and I, it wore us all down. But you'd say she had good reason?"

"I would. Give her a chance, Sorya. You'll not regret it."

"Is that so?" She grinned suddenly, her teeth bright in the gloom. "I'll do so, if you'll stop skittering around Këyal. He's been tryin' to work up th' nerve to approach you, and it's been making me jittery for days."

Ravûn couldn't help how his eyebrows pulled together at that, and he knew she saw it. "You tell me he's frightened of me?"

"He's nervous, you know? He's a little shy under it all, for all he seems all cool and smooth as any other elf, and he knows how he's pushed you all away. Worst of all, he believes he don't deserve another chance from any of you. So he won't come nearer than ten feet to you unless I'm pushin' him. But he does deserve that chance, truly he does. He's not hardly as bad as you think. It's my promise, now - you'll not regret it."

He met her earnest gaze for a moment or two, then groaned, looking down. "He has a good friend in you," he sighed. "I'll do it, so long as you will too - for Sorya. Are we agreed?"

She grinned. "We are."

"My apologies if I'm rude, but - why the kindness towards him? Not now, but before you knew him, when he was still cold - did he not call you halfbreed? Did he not threaten to strangle you?"

"Why, how do you know that?" She sat up straight, giving him a piercing look. Her mouth was pinched in irritation.

"You'll soon find out that dragons gossip like nothing on earth. Their curiosity generally tends to overrule their pride."

Dara huffed, crossing her arms. It was some moments before she replied.

"Well, I suppose that was my reason. Curiosity, I mean. Bein' half elf meant nothing to me for most of my life, only that I'd to tie up my hair before goin' to town lest the boys whistle at the silver shine; only that part of me was foreign, unreachable, distasteful to most. Then Celesté hatched for me, and with Queen Arya and the Rider's Council we travelled the country with the other eggs, as you did. I saw cities for the first time, I saw women and men of other races for the first time, and I was learnin' about much I'd never dreamed of. Here, then, was th' chance to cure the curiosity I'd suppressed my whole life about my mother, about all elves. To come to the Hall, to live with Eragon Shadeslayer and th' greatest elven spellcasters of the past centuries was a blessing for me, desperate to learn as I was. But when I got here - well. You were witness to that delightful reunion with my grandmother, weren't you? And so Këyal was, for me, th' only one who I thought would not be so rigid as to turn me away, who might sympathize, who could teach me. A young elf, couldn't be too different from a young human, I thought." She grinned suddenly. "And I was right. Ah, I'm glad I'd pinned those hopes upon him, for then frustration would never have forced me to confront him, and I'd be left only to glean what I could from musty scrolls "

"True enough . . . I understand."

"Not a bad reason, eh, Nightrider?"

"No - what?" He blinked at her.

"Why, it's Aki's new name for you, from your midnight flight not four days past. He was quite pleased with himself for thinking it up, you were to be the only one left he had not bestowed with a title - what's the joke, now?"

Ravûn covered his mouth with a hand, shoulders still shaking with laughter. "Of all the names - why not Stormrider, then? Oh, sweet Kílf, have mercy - "

"Spirits above, what is it?" His laughter was infecting her as well, slowly but surely. She was hard pressed to stop her smile.

"The - irony is the word, yes? The one Rider who's afeared of the dark, he had to name Nightrider. Oh, my." He wiped the last of the tears away. "I must ask him to change it."

"That he won't," Dara laughed. "If there's anyone who'd beat a bull at stubbornness, it'd be him."

"I'll try, anyhow. Ah, we should leave. It will pour soon, and the Tower won't be closed today, for the cotton needs the water."

"Oh, surely. But how do we-? You know the way out?"

He stood and began walking, and she followed. "Of course not. We just need to find a suitable place to - ah, this should work. Don't lose your balance, yes? It makes it harder for me." He raised his left hand.

"What - ah!" Dara yelped as she was lifted into the air by his side. "Warn me before you do that!"

"My apologies," he chuckled. He set them down almost at the end of the southern path, just before the bower, and Dara stumbled when her feet touched the ground.

"Honestly," she said weakly, bending over and pressing a hand to her chest. "Warn me next time."

"Yes, yes. Shall we move to the kitchen? I was to assist with the preparation of the midday meal. You will come?"

"Surely, I've nothing else that needs doin'. But -" she frowned a little, looking around. "I think I hear something."

"Oh?"

She turned to the right, facing the eastern corridor as she tilted her head. "I think it's Master Eragon?"

In another moment or two, Ravûn could hear him too as he called out.

"Dara, will you join us at the beginning of the path, please?"

"On my way, Master!" she called back. She gave him a hesitant look over her shoulder.

"I should go as soon as possible -"

"Of course, of course. I will be right behind you."

She gave him a quick smile and was off, sprinting like a young deer. Ravûn sighed softly, and followed at his own pace, passing between the fields of grain and fruit that flourished. It was just as it began to rain that he arrived at the cavernous curving corridor at the beginning of the path. Akhtar, Caspian, and Sorya were all assembled there along with Dara and Eragon, seated on some of the stone benches that lined the path.

" - and thus I thought it would be appropriate to -" Eragon caught sight of Ravûn and broke off. "Ah, good morning to you."

"Good morning. Am I interrupting - ?"

"Not at all, you may stay if you wish. You've heard it all before, besides."

Ravûn smiled and took a seat, settling down to listen. Opposite him, Sorya caught his eye for a brief moment before looking away quickly, smiling in a way that look reluctant. Ravûn's own smile grew wider, and he turned to Eragon, pleased.

Eragon cleared his throat softly. "As I was saying, the four of you have had odd classes here and there over the last few weeks, and there was, of course, always sparring, but altogether the education you have had so far has been fragmented. For that, I apologize; and I thought I should make the schedule we are to follow clear. You may have heard most of this from your fellow Riders, but please bear with me.

"So. By the time you leave here you must be reasonably proficient with most any weapon and in any language spoken by any races in Alagaësia. This is the practical side of your education. On the theoretical side, you will learn about mathematics, philosophy, history, geography, science, and about the various plants and animals of Alagaësia; and you will learn how to think. That is, you will be introduced to and encouraged to think about various morals and societies, and learn to apply the powers you have been gifted with in an appropriate manner. Being a strong Rider is something anyone may be with enough practice, but being a wise and well-loved one is something entirely different. Am I clear?"

Satisfied with the murmured chorus of "Yes, master," he continued, "Another very important thing that you will learn is how to control your mind and how to fight with it. These three form the major facets of your education here. Of the seven days of the week, the first and the fourth are to be devoted to various lands and histories, the third and the fifth to the languages, and the second to mind control and exercise. On the sixth, we revise what has been taught on the other days, and the last day is for you to spend as you please. Every morning and evening we will spar with different weapons for an hour and a half. It may seem a little monotonous, but as you progress your timetable will change and you will also find a great deal of variety in what you learn. And you will already be aware of this, but there are services you are expected to perform as well - cooking, weeding, cleaning and so on. These will be in tandem with your lessons. If any of the elves request you to assist them with anything, please obey them without demur. Saphira will be speaking to your dragons soon as well. They will have a separate timetable except for the second and third days, when they will study with you. Have you any questions?"

"No, Master!" they chorused.

"Good. Well, then, consider this my proper welcome to the Hall of the Riders." He smiled around at them as he stood. "I hope it will seem like a home to you before long, and I hope you will be happy. Please keep in mind that you may speak to myself or anyone living here about any concerns or problems you may have whenever you please. We will begin classes tomorrow, an hour after sunrise." He gave them a final bow and walked off, leaving them to murmur amongst themselves.

Chapter Text

Several weeks later

“Andlát? You named it Death?”

Zelíe smiled at the amused question, smoothing a hand down her rose-hued sword. “So I did.”

“Why on earth?”

“Simply because the colour causes death to be last thing people expect the blade to provide them with.”

Dara propped her hands on the pommel of her own sword, grinning. “I’d imagine that every Rider that was ever paired wi’ a pink dragon gave their swords the most ferocious names.”

Zelíe laughed. “I would imagine so. And . . . my apologies, but do use ‘with’, rather than ‘ wi’ ‘.“

“Ahh, what’s the difference?”

“As I’m sure Master Eragon would have told you -”

“Refinement of speech leads to refinement of the mind, yes, yes, I remember.”

“Well, it is true. Have you thought of a name for your own sword?”

Dara tilted the silver blade, watching the light ripple down it in a lovely arc. “I’d thought perhaps Starbiter?”

“ Evarínabitr ? Nice, but a tad clumsy on the tongue.”

“Argetbitr?”

“Ravûn has already named his Svartrbitr, you know.”

“Hmph. Well, there’s no rush, for I’ve a good year or so to settle upon a name, yes?”

“True indeed. Shall we begin, then?”

“Ready when you are!” Dara presented her blade to Zelíe, and she quickly called upon her magic, guarding the edge in a matter of moments.

“There now.” She stepped back, settling into her stance, Dara following suit. “Remember to be lighter on your feet, faster when you move, and to watch, rather than see.”

“Understood.”

“On guard, then!”

They clashed once, twice, and again, the ring of metal on metal adding to the din in the training room. Dara had improved, as she did every session, and her elven grace seemed only to have accelerated the process.

She will match me fairly soon, Zelíe thought as she parried. I’ve no need to shout commands any longer.

There was no little pride for her friend in the thought, as she knew herself to be one of the most skilled with a blade at the Hall - more so even than some of the elves, for many of them had only familiarized themselves with a sword recreationally, though that in itself would outstrip most human swordswomen and swordsmen by a wide enough margin.

They broke after an hour, both with sweat-dampened shirts and sweat-beaded faces. Zelíe took a moment to catch her breath as she sheathed her sword.

“A good bout. You’re by far better than before. Have you been practicing outside of training time?”

“Aye, I’ve -” Dara paused, panting. “I’ve been sparring a bit wi’ - with Këyal in the evenings. I thought, since he’s so fast, if I could at least hold my own against him, I’d have a good chance against the rest of you all.”

“Këyal, eh?” Zelíe glanced across the room to where Këyal was sparring with Caspian before looking back, her lips curving. “I see.”

Dara groaned, turning to replace her sword. Zelíe caught the hint of a new flush on her fair cheeks as she did so, a deeper red than the one she had obtained as they sparred. “Not this again.”

“Why, I said nothing!”

“Right, right.” Dara made a face at her. “Well, I’ll be leaving.”

“Mhm.” Zelíe gave her a knowing look. “I need to clear up, I’ll meet you later.”

“You’re the worst, Zelíe,” Dara threw over her shoulder as she left. Zelíe only winked at her before turning to survey the progress of the others.

Osra and Senshi had just concluded a match, and were in the process of bowing as they disengaged. Këyal and Caspian were still sparring, as were Sorya and Ravûn - and Kitai and Akhtar. Zelíe watched them for a moment or two before she realized that her mouth had grown hard and thin of its own accord.

Curse it. She looked away to watch Senshi string a bow and move to the archery range, attempting to divert her thoughts, but they remained on the distasteful track they had been set upon. It was only when Osra came to stand next to her that she managed to divorce her mind from them entirely.

“A good match?” she asked.

Osra raised her head a little, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face. “Indeed it was. Senshi is a worthy opponent. Yours?”

“The same. Dara learns fast.”

“Faster when she has an elf to train with.”

Zelíe glanced at her, somewhat surprised. “How did you know that? She only just told me.”

Osra met her glance placidly. “Këyal mentioned it in passing.”

“Ah.” Zelíe’s gaze switched to Këyal and Caspian once more, watching as Caspian strained to block a powerful overhead blow. “Is that so? You’ve become fairly good friends with him, I see.”

“I see no reason not to. He seems to me to be a worthy comrade. Have you not?”

“I have not . . . given how he had behaved for three years past, the distaste for his company I have developed is enough that I struggle to overcome it.” She smiled slightly. “But somehow I doubt that will remain so for long. There is . . . a certain air about him now, an attitude that is hard to resist. Besides, I never could resist an underdog story.”

Osra snorted. “That air is of honesty, one he believed he was forcibly restrained from assuming before; that is the only reason it is now appealing in any way. All you require is to give him forgiveness.”

“Not quite my forte, Osra. But I hear you.”

“I hope so.” They fell silent for some minutes, watching the others. It was only when Ravûn managed to knock Sorya’s sword entirely out of her hands with a clever twist that Osra spoke once more.

“How do you think she is progressing, our fiery one?”

Zelíe tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Better than before. I think she need not restrict herself to sparring with Ravûn any longer - she will certainly be able to hold her own against myself, Kitai or Senshi. You, I doubt. The power and height are too different between you two.”

“Do not let her hear that.”

She chuckled. “Perhaps if she honed her finesse. She is all attack, little to no defense, and while the bold strikes may disorient enemies, while they may cause uncertainty, they leave her open to retaliation from those more skilled. She is suited to a battlefield, not a swordfight.”

“Mm. My thoughts precisely. She must learn, too, to keep a clear eye with which to view the fight. She is not overeager to anger, but once she is, she sees naught else.”

“True enough. But that was something we all struggled to learn, was it not?”

Osra inclined her head. “That it was.”

Këyal swept his blade towards Caspian’s legs, and, worn out as he was, he stumbled after he jumped. It was the matter of a moment for Këyal to flick the tip of his sword to his throat. Caspian froze for a long moment, and then relaxed, laughing sheepishly. Këyal smiled, muttering something in return as they both sheathed their blades.

“Ah, I nearly forgot  - I had something to ask you.”

“Oh? Ask away, Osra.”

“Your hair is - is different somehow? It has been bothering me for weeks now, but i simply cannot - what is the phrase? - put my finger on it -”

Zelíe burst out laughing. “It is indeed,” she chuckled. “It is now flaxen, rather than gold, thanks to our training outdoors.”

Osra smiled, her deep blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “That is all? Such a difference it makes.”

“It does indeed.” Zelíe shifted her braid over her shoulder, tugging at the end gently. “So too my complexion has become sallow from what my sisters used to call peaches-and-cream, and so too my hands have become calloused and torn when before they were as soft as lamarae. If my mother could see me now, she would be utterly appalled. She would most certainly go into vapours.”

“Is that so?” Osra’s gaze became penetrating. “That bothers you?”

Zelíe smiled, laying a hand fleetingly on Osra’s arm. “It would have before - as you know too well, my friend. But where there would have been shame, there is now only amusement - and perhaps some vain regret, if I am honest. My thanks; I am flattered by your concern.”

Osra snorted. “You are easily flattered by many things.”

“Well, that I cannot argue with . . “

Within another ten minutes, they had all sheathed their swords and replaced them in their niches after Akhtar disarmed Kitai with a mighty blow. Zelíe leaned against the wall, watching them file out, as was her duty that day. Kitai met her eye for a fleeting moment, but she glanced away deliberately, to where Senshi was unstringing the bow she had been using. She caught a sigh from his direction before he walked out behind Sorya, and looked down at her fingernails, tamping down a surge of irritation.

If all he intends to do is ignore the issue, I’ve more than enough patience to wait until he pleases to speak. Of all the bullheaded - She exhaled sharply. A good thing he’s on kitchen duty today. And what on earth is taking Senshi so long, how much time does she require to unstring a bow -

She turned to tell Senshi to lock up if she was to take much more time, and was startled to find her waiting quite close. Her amber eyes flicked between her and the door indecisively.

“Are you waiting for something, Senshi?”

“I - wanted to ask -” Senshi cleared her throat, one hand fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “He - did Kit tell you about what Master Eragon wanted us to decide?”

Zelíe’s brows drew together without her consent, dull hurt welling up in her throat. But she kept her voice steady as she replied, “He did, not a week past. Why do you ask?”

“Had he made up his mind?”

“He has not,” Zelíe said, curter than she would have liked. “We argued over the matter. We continue to do so. Why do you not ask him yourself?”

Senshi frowned slightly. “I did. He will not answer.”

“And so you ask me. I am entirely aware you do not consider me a bosom friend, Senshi, but I do not appreciate your questioning me at your convenience. If you would like to find out what he is thinking, you may mend your bond with him enough that he will do so. I do not wish to become involved between you two.”

Senshi’s eyes flashed at that. “Neither do I have any desire for you to -” She stopped short and took a quiet breath, closing her eyes briefly. “I did not mean to upset you. If I did, I apologize. I only wished to know what you encouraged him to do, what may be motivating him as he makes his decision. I - would not wish for the two of us to part ways after leaving the Hall, and he will not speak to me. Please. I would not ask had I another choice.”

Zelíe met her gaze for a charged moment, then sighed, rubbing her neck with one hand. “He wants to stay while the rest of us leave. I was trying to convince him to come with us. He says this is his land, these are his people he will be leaving behind, and I understand that pride, but . . .”

“There is no place for a Rider here,” Senshi said quietly.

“Precisely so. Alagaёsia has desperate need of Riders, and if he was never thinking of coming at all, why stay and learn to speak the stone tongue and the Urgal tongue? Why learn of Alagaёsia’s history at all? I understand that leading a life in a different country is daunting, but he will hardly be alone, and he will be doing work that is very necessary. What is left for him here? Or for you, for that matter?”

“True enough. And . . . you will pardon, but - it is also that you do not wish to be parted from him, no?”

There was just the barest hint of challenge behind the word. Zelíe crossed her arms, closing her mouth tight. It was true, but to hear it stated so candidly somehow caused tears to prickle behind her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, after a silence. “I do not wish to be parted from him - even though, there, we will most probably be working in quite different parts of the country. But at least he would be five days’ flight away, not two weeks’.”

Senshi blinked, as though she had not truly been expecting her honest answer. “I see,” she said slowly. “Thank you, Zelíe.”

“You have naught to thank me for,” Zelíe sighed, suddenly tired. “Only . . . please convince him to come. You know it is the right choice.”
“I believe it is, yes.” Senshi tilted her head, her gaze now curious, cautiously searching. “You . . . truly care for him.”

Zelíe’s laugh was more choked than she would have liked. “I do. More than I have ever cared for anyone. And what caused you to finally realize it?”

Senshi smiled, hesitantly, as though she was unsure if she was allowed to do so. Her reply was slow to come, but when it did, it was by far more candid that Zelíe had expected. “That particular expression of combined - exasperation? - and affection, I’ve only seen between those who care for each other beyond most everyone else.”

To that, Zelíe had no answer. It was only when Senshi nodded farewell and made to step past her that she found her voice once more.

“Wait!” she said. “I - it was not in jest, what I said before. Mend your bond with him, Senshi. He - he is not entirely whole without you.”

Senshi’s eyes darkened, just slightly, but she nodded, and when she walked past Zelíe, she left her with a brief touch to the shoulder. And she was left alone in the empty training room, a bittersweet mixture of pain and affection flooding through her veins with every beat of her heart.

Fix this, Senshi, she thought, resting her head against the cold wall for a moment and closing her eyes tight. Fix this, for I do not know how to do so.

†

Late that night

“Ye,” Dara said authoritatively, one wavering finger pointing at Caspian, ”canna hold yer liquor. A’ all .”

Caspian winced, resting his head in one hand as the world seemed to tilt around him. “Can you not . . . your accent gets far worse when you’re drunk. It’s much more, how do you say . . . diff - difficult, it is more difficult to understand you.”

“Mah accent’s perfectly fine, thank ye ver’ much,” she said, patting the ground beside her. “Where’s th’ damn gourd?”

“You had twice as much as me -”

“An’ ah’m holdin’ it better, like ah said!” she roared, her voice echoing down the corridor. “Ye’ve skipped righ’ta th’ mornin’ after already, haventcha?”

“Quiet,” Caspian, hissed, struggling to wrestle his unruly tongue into forming coherent words. “You’ll call attention. And you know I had seven siblings, you think I had time to go out and learn to drink?”

Dara giggled and took a swig, part of the faelnirv trickling down the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “That’s why ah’m here ta teach ye, aye?”

Caspian groaned playfully, leaning back until his head rested against the stone wall. “You’re a horrible friend to have.”

Dara pointed at him with the gourd, giving him a clumsy wink. “Ah’m th’ best type of friend ta have. Who taught ye all the slang she knew in two weeks of meetin’ ye?”

“I repeated only a single word to Zelíe once, and I’ve never seen her look so . . . shocked. Ever.”

“Who introduced ye to steak n’kidney pie?”

“And a more repulsive dish I’ve never encont - enounct - met in my life.”

“Who taught ye ta string yer first bow?”

“That, you did.”

“Ah’m sure Zelíe was impressed by tha’ , eh? Yer nearly as good as me wi’ a bow.”

Caspian grimaced, poking her in the side as hard as he could manage. “Do not even - I know there ain’t no hope , as you’d say. Do not tease me.”

Dara swatted his hand away. “Leave her be, boy. She’d not fit ya’ by any rights, and Kit’s hard ta compete with. A racsap - a rapscallion, ya know? Got that spark in his eye and spring in his step, the one tha’ girls swoon for leagues away. Bu’ he be good ta her, he knows the worth o’ what he has.”

“My thanks for the advice,” Caspian muttered. “I’ve no spark, eh?”

“Oh, you have. Jus’ a different one. One tha’ ain’t meant fer her.”

“Tch.” He plucked the bottle from her side and took a long, deep draught.

“Ye’ll find a better lass, don’ doubt it.”

“Well, if you find her first, be sure to recommend me to her,” he grumbled. Dara laughed, patting his cheek gently.

“I’ll be sure ta’. Now, we’ve had a good long talk, but -” She heaved herself to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. “I’ve an early morning on the morrow, an’ we’ve been here hours already. Ye be sure not ta fall asleep here, yeah?”

Caspian gave her a flat look. “If you do in fact manage to wake early tomorrow, I will do your chores for a week.”

“Done!” Dara tossed him the nearly empty gourd and mussed his hair roughly. “Drain it, bury it, burn it, or Ellaer-elda will hunt us down with pitchforks. Nigh’ nigh’, Cas.”

“Night,” he called after her receding figure. He sighed and drained the gourd, hardly registering the taste as it hit the back of his throat.

Hopeless, hopeless, so they all say, do they think I do not know? It is a waste of my time and my energy and my focus, but ahhh . . . He dropped the gourd and buried his face in his arms, fighting the rising, absurd urge to cry. She is so lovely, I cannot help but admire her. Even though it is a betrayal of him, too -

“Cas?”

He looked up, the figure crouched in front of him slowly coming into focus.

He who is . . . right in front of me -

“Kit!” He sat up straight, hastily pushing aside his despondency so as not to betray himself. Kit looked him up and down, making a show of wrinkling his nose. His eyes were dancing with laughter. “I don’t think anyone else breached the stock of faelnirv so fast, after arriving here. Your courage is admirable - especially since you are sitting where any might stumble upon you.”

Caspian held his arms out imploringly. “Save me,” he mock-whispered. “It was all Dara’s fault! I’m far too young to be skewered by an angry elf!”

Kitai chuckled, pulling him to his feet. “Unable to walk?”

“I’ve no idea. Let’s find out -?” Caspian shook off his arm and attempted to walk a straight line, placing one foot carefully before the other. He made it six steps before stumbling.

Kitai was quick to catch him, slipping a steady arm around his waist with a grin. ”Most definitely unable. I will help you to your room.”

“My thanks,” Caspian mumbled, allowing him to take most of his weight.

“Your room is the third or the fourth floor?”

“Fourth.”

Kitai hummed in a mildly disgruntled manner. “Climbing those stairs will be a chore.”

“You will help though, will you not?” Caspian fluttered his eyelashes clumsily, and Kitai leaned away with a groan of laughter.

“Your breath reeks of liquor, did you drink half the stock? If we happen to come across an elda , be quiet and stay still, and they just might decide to be merciful.”

“Teachers who could disem- dismem - cut me up me in my sleep without a sound are not at all what I was expecting when I came.”

Kitai snorted, the soft puff of air ruffling a curl or two of Caspian’s hair. “At least you had some idea of what to expect.”

There was an underlying current of bitterness to those words, but Caspian’s mind was by far too clouded to even begin to decipher it, let alone reassure his friend. So he did not address it, and the journey upstairs was uneventful apart from Kitai’s quiet pants as he began to feel Caspian’s weight.

“Careful as you step . . . there, we’ve arrived. All right, now?” Kitai shrugged Caspian off carefully, and he reached for the door with a nod and an unsteady hand, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep for a day and a night.

“Cas -”

He turned, yawning. “Yes?”

“When I came upon you - was something worrying you? Is there anything I can help with? You seemed . . . sorrowful, unhappy.”

Caspian belatedly realised his face had twisted into something sadly sardonic, and hastily rearranged it into a more bemused expression. “Nothing at all, just the melancholy that comes with a little too much to drink. I’m well enough, I swear.”

“Hm.” Kitai eyed him for a second, then nodded uncertainly. “If you are sure.”

“I am.” Caspian smiled, raising one hand in a wave. “I will see you tomorrow, yes?”

Kitai inclined his head, smiling in return as he took his leave. “Sleep well.”

“And you.”

Caspian was just closing the door behind him, all assumed cheeriness drained out of him by fatigue, when there was a soft shout.

“Wait!”

Kitai hurried back to the door, his shoes clacking on the stone floor. “Apologies, I am aware you must wish to rest more than anything, but I could not rest if I did not tell you -”

He fell silent, worrying his lower lip with his teeth - an uncharacteristically nervous gesture in one of his irrepressible self confidence. Caspian narrowed his eyes, a slow anxiety building in his chest as he wondered what this was about.

“What is it?”

“Just - I heard yourself and Dara speaking. Before. I didn’t know what to - I did not realize the subject of your conversation until I caught my own name, and then it was too late to turn back, I could only stay still and hope not to be heard. My - my most sincere apologies, I should not have eavesdropped -”

Caspian reached out to grip the doorframe as well, his dizziness suddenly multiplied tenfold as his words sank in.

“You . . . you heard,” he whispered, tears of horrified shame rising behind his eyes. “And you, you are apologizing? I - Kitai, I am so sorry. You should never have known, I can - only imagine what you must think of me -”

“Ah, no, no, do not!” Kitai made a quick gesture with his hands, nothing but regret and concern in his gaze. “I could not blame you for anything, not in the least. There is no fault of yours. On the contrary, it is I who should have apologized for not noticing, for not realizing - I am certain I made things more difficult for you, without the intention. If I did so, I ask pardon.”

Caspian stared at him wordlessly for a long moment. Then he swayed forward, nearly falling into Kitai’s shoulder, who staggered a little.

“You truly are a good person,” Caspian muttered into his shoulder, not caring that the foolish tears had escaped. “You never did, and I ask - ask pardon as well. I had no - no unsavoury designs upon her, I swear -”

Kitai patted his back soothingly, and when he spoke, his voice was tighter than usual.

“Of course, I never thought that. Not for an instant. I am not - I have hurt people in the past, people close to me, simply by my ignorance, by neglecting to pay enough attention to what had been obvious to the dullest eye. I did not want that to affect you as well, for you are a good friend, and I would not lose you through my own fault.”

Caspian laughed through his tears, sounding faintly hysterical to his own ears. “Am I so?” He pulled back, wiping his face with an unsteady hand. “Then you are, to say the least, a remarkable friend. I am - glad to know you. More glad than - than I can say.”

Kitai smiled, gripping his forearm. “I will not ask if I can help, the question is ridiculous in itself. But if you need to speak to me, at any time -”

Caspian returned the pressure fiercely. “Thank you,” he said, the words almost vehement. “Thank you, Kitai.”

Kitai nodded once, slipping his hand out of Caspian’s grasp. “You’ll not forget this tomorrow, yes?”

Caspian sniffed. “To be sure. It would be a shame if I did.”

“That it would.” Kitai clapped him softly on the shoulder and turned to leave. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Caspian called back, his heart lighter than he could have hoped for not half an hour past. “And thank you once more.”

†

Senshi paused with her hand raised to knock, staring at the bottom of the door. There is no light.

Then he is either sleeping, or elsewhere in the Hall. Ikraan yawned, causing phantom muscles to stretch in Senshi’s jaw. Sleep now, you may find him on the morrow.

You cannot ask Palé?

He is out on a late night flight.

She sighed, allowing her hand to fall. Zelíe’s words have been eating at me the whole day.

You two have managed this long - you can afford to wait one more night.

I suppose . . .

“Senshi?”

She turned to see Kitai coming towards her, one eyebrow quirked inquiringly. “Looking for me?”

He spoke in their own tongue, and she followed him with an easy relief that she would not need to consider how appropriate was each word before she spoke. “I was. But if it is too late to speak -”

“Not at all. Unless it is a very weighty matter?” He pushed the door open, entering before her, and she followed.

“You may say so. Whether it’ll take much time to discuss, though, that depends on you.”

He gave her an amused look over his shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Mm. Oh -” Her gaze fell upon his desk, where there stood a small, unfinished wooden carving of a wolf with a sparrow perched upon its head. “The wolf-and-sparrow!”

“Aye. You remember it?”

“Surely, how could I not?” Senshi ran a fingertip over the wolf’s snout, smiling in spite of herself. “When he told us the story, I cried so much, remember? Because I wanted to be the wolf.”

“And I very graciously let you.”

“Nonsense, you fought with me so much that papa wrapped us up in bedsheets to make sure we didn’t touch each other.”

Kitai chuckled quietly. “He never told that story again.”

“A pity. It was my favourite.” She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to think of how to begin, how to proceed. As siblings, and more so as twins, their fights had hardly ever ended in apologies. There used to be only a few hours of each ignoring the other, followed by some offhand gesture - an absent remark, an invitation to go play, finding some small treasure to give to the other - to indicate that all was forgiven, if not forgotten. But that would not suffice now as it had in the past; for the wounds were too deep, the words left unsaid too heavy between them. Kitai seated himself next to her, waiting without complaint for her to speak - thought there was some tension in his expression, as though he expected her to attempt to discover whether he planned to leave or stay once more.

How, then, to make him see? To catch him off guard?

“Do you . . . remember her? Lady Lidéna?”

She saw the bedsheet crease a little in his fingers. “Not clearly. Not anymore.”

“She must have cast some spell, for I cannot recall her features with any clarity either. I only remember that air of - of power, and danger, and beauty too alluring to be human.”

“Why do you speak of this? Of her?”

“Do you resent her? For pulling us into this, this world of politics and intrigue that is not our own, being trained for something that has never been part of our lives?”

He met her eyes for a heavy moment before looking away, out of the window. “I did,” he said quietly. “For she never even gave us a choice. But I learned to leave it behind, for there was no use in railing against it once all was done.”

“Yet you always seemed happier here than me.”

His mouth twitched into a bitter smile. “I adapted faster than you. But I clung to home more - as I still do.”

She drew in a breath, hugging her knees to her chest. “And that is why . . . you do not wish to go?”

His gaze flicked back to her, suddenly sharp. “How - Zelíe told you?”

“You left me with no choice but to ask her.”

“You were not supposed to know before I decided - I wanted time to make up my mind.”

“And have you done so?”

“Have you?”

It was her turn to look away now, to stare unseeingly at the gleam of lamplight on the polished wood of his desk. “I believe that to leave is the better option.”

“Why so?” His voice held a raw note she had not been expecting, and she swallowed.

“We are needed there, not here. We have been learning all this time to work there. Not here. And we have nothing left here, only a mother crazed with hate and grief. Where would we live? What would we do? Eke out a solitary living apart from the rest of the kingdom, when we know what we know? What we learned what we’ve learned? Could you be content thus for close on an eternity?”

“Could you live there?” he countered. “Among cultures we have only studied or heard of? Living a life dedicated to working for the improvement of people who are not even our own?”

“How does it matter whose people they are, Kit? They are people, and they need us to keep the balance. They have no system of magic like ours, and so they depend on the Riders. I do not think it is ideal, but that is they way things are. We could try to change it, perhaps, if we went. And they are Zelíe’s people, Aki’s people, Dara and Këyal’s people, Ravûn’s people. Will you deny them because you - you are frightened of what might await you there?”

There was a silence as he stared at her, surprise and hurt and something searching in his eyes. Then he laughed, short and choked, and raised a hand to his forehead.

“You - gods, you are entirely right. A coward, am I not?”

She slipped an arm about his shoulders, holding tight. “You’ve the right to be afraid . . . you won’t be alone, remember.”

“I know. It’s just -” He ran a restless hand through his hair. “My shikha ceremony should have been done months ago, do you realize that?”

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

“I miss home. Not mama, but home . Ourselves. Our lives. Even praying thrice a day, even fasting on the second day of every second month - all of it.”

“You always were more - more grounded in it than I was,”she murmured. “It all meant more to you. But we can come back, we can visit - perhaps even make our bow to the king and queen, if we work up the courage for that, yes?”

He snorted, “That’s not -”

“Not impossible. It’s not probable, but it’s at least a possibility.” She shifted back so she could look him in the eye. “So . . . you will come?”

He smiled weakly, but the hand that ruffled her hair was strong. “I will. Thank you for speaking to me, convincing me.”

She smiled in return, looking down at her lap. “You need not thank me for that.”

He did not reply, not until she looked up to find the reason, and when she did she saw something unexpectedly vulnerable in his eyes.

“Not that I am not glad that we are once more as we used to be, Sen, but why did you suddenly choose to - we have not truly spoken as we once did in more than a year, and after the Vilta, I thought . . .”

Something cold settled in her stomach at the hurt in his words. “That is - the fault is mine.” She shifted away from him, hating how small her voice sounded. “I . . . apologise.”

“There was a time when you would have used my blood without hesitation, was there not? “

“Of course there was, Kit,” she said instantly, desperately. “Of course there was.”

“But that time is - is it not past?”

“We could bring it back, I know we could. I - I’m sorry. I pulled away from you, and I should not have, for you were struggling as well, I was foolish and I envied how seamlessly you fit in with them when I could not. I’m sorry.”

He reached for her hand, held it tight. “And I am sorry for not realising how deep your hurt cut, how deep your anger at mama and your loneliness cut. There is fault on both our sides . . . we will do better? We will trust each other as we used to?”

She returned the pressure, smiling more easily than she could remember doing in weeks, and her words were a promise she vowed never to break.

“We will.”

†

Arya laughed, cupping her chin in one hand. “And thereafter?”

Eragon sighed, his mouth curling up on one side. His shirt was unbuttoned enough that the skin of his chest gleamed in moonlight, and he cupped a crystal goblet of mulled wine in one hand.

“And thereafter I pulled them apart, lectured them, and sent them in opposite directions. Upon my sword, they cannot go two days without bickering like children.”

“Well, such situations are to be expected to arise frequently when one decides to teach.”

“True enough.” He tipped the goblet to his mouth, taking a deep draught. Arya’s eyes flickered down to the sharp line of his throat and thence to his collarbones before returning to his face; and she was forced to swallow a sudden surge of longing as he smiled at her, mouth stained red anew.

“I’m sure they would give even you a hard time.”

“I did teach them, you remember? Tuatha du orothim. They gave me no trouble of the sort they seem to provide you with in abundance.”

“Ah, they had not blossomed then to reveal the full extent of their mischief.”

“I will trust your word on the subject . . . not to divert the discussion, but has something untoward occurred, Eragon?”

“And why do you ask, my queen?”

She gestured to the goblet he held. “You drink rarely, and never to an extent that causes you to slur your words so. Certainly not with wine rather than faelnirv.”

He chuckled softly. “Guess, then.”

“The nightmares.”

He tilted his glass toward her. “Precisely.”

“They still come every night?”

“Hmm, not every night. But most. And when they do, oh . . .” His smile twisted into a grimace. “They are more vivid than normal dreams, too tangible to be nothing more than mist. I am reminded of nothing more than the first time I dreamt of you, in Gil’ead, and that was no fantasy, yes? Every - every horror I see seems as real to me as you are now. I do terrible things, I witness terrible deeds being done, and who’s to say that they will not one day become my reality and you -” He gestured to her, and to the room around him, the crystal flashing in his hand, gaze suddenly haunted. “You, my love, and this, all of this, will not fade into fantasy? Who is to say I will even notice if that were to occur, as warped as I feel my mind becoming?”

Arya could have cried out at the pain in his voice, at the way it tore into her heart. Instead she straightened her spine, and pressed a hand to the cool surface of the mirror, and spoke his true name softly.

The syllables seemed to resound in the air long after they left her lips. He blinked as though she had slapped him, part of the haze vanishing from his eyes.

“I say so, for that is who you are.” She swallowed the waver in her voice, and replaced it with steel. “You are someone who will not succumb to these twisted visions. You are Saphira’s Rider. You are Kingkiller and Shadeslayer, you are the new hope and the deliverance of an entire country, and you are the one I love and trust beyond everyone else. You will triumph over these horrors, Eragon, do not ever doubt that. And you will always have myself and Saphira to watch over you. Never think that we will let you fall."

He was utterly still for a moment. Then, he slowly kissed his fingertips and pressed them against her hand, his eyes more liquid than was usual.

“I know not what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, “but I am forever grateful that I did. Thank you, nuanen .”

Her fingers curled at her side, but she kept her composure. “Rest,” she whispered. “For your students’ sake. If any demons visit in the dark, I will fight them for you.”

He smiled, bright and full. “Always my saviour.”

She smiled back, though she felt as though it was trembling at the edges. “Stay as strong as I know you to be.”

“If you so command me, why, I have no other choice. I will not fail you.”

“You never have.” She blinked away the tears in her eyes, taking a deep breath to ground herself. “Good night, Eragon.”

“Good night, Arya.”

It was only after his image faded into nothing that she curled up in her chair and allowed her pain to be felt. To be situated thousands of leagues away while her struggled so left her feeling utterly helpless, and frighteningly desperate. But she could do naught except encourage him, and trust in him to keep himself safe.

Ah, yet what I would give to be at his side now . . .

It was at that moment that there came an insistent knock on the door. She sat upright, erasing all trace of her tears with a deft hand.

At this time? What could it be?

“My queen?” someone called in the old tongue. Young, insistent - Vanir. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this hour, in your private room, but there is something you must needs be informed of.”

“I will come,” she called back, donning her cloak as she stood, and, with it, the visage of her authority. When she opened the door, she knew there was no trace of grief upon her face.

“What is it?”

Vanir met her gaze squarely, though she could easily detect the anxiety in his demeanour. Arya noticed he was turning the ring on his ring, a habit that he exhibited only when he was distinctly disturbed.

“King Orrin and Queen Nasuada have both sent us urgent communications in the past half hour. Since you were occupied, they were taken by Lady -”

“That does not concern me at the moment,” she interrupted, her tone intentionally cutting. “What was the communication that was so pressing at this time of the night?”

Vanir swallowed. “The children of Alagaësia . . . they are being taken. They are vanishing, none know how or by whom. And among them is the young prince Charles . . .

Arya stopped dead in her tracks.

" . . . King Orrin's son."

Chapter Text

“She’ll fall.”

“She won’t.”

“She’ll step on something sharp, or slip -”

“She will not this time!”

“She did thrice before.”

“Which is why she will not now -”

There came a high yelp and a loud splash as Sorya went under a breaking wave for what was, indeed, the fourth time. Këyal sighed softly in the face of Kitai’s triumphant grin, Ravûn’s distant laughter floating over the water.

“Yes, all right. I suppose she is still not quite used to it as yet.”

“Yonder Nightrider is not one to laugh, he was by far worse than she - as you would know better than me, I suppose.”

Këyal only inclined his head, not much inclined to further speech. It was a lovely day, the sky reflecting bright blue in the emerald-grey waves. There was a strong salt breeze, alleviating the shimmering heat and carrying the hint of the end of summer. The gulls cried out above, far below the dragons chasing each other between slow-tumbling clouds. Zelie’s muted laughter arose from a cove some way down the beach, where Akhtar was trying to teach her to swim - a feat none had managed in three years. What deep-voiced encouragement Këyal could catch from him sounded remarkably similar to Osra’s murmurs to Ravûn and Sorya, the three of them slowly wading into the surf in front. The end of Sorya’s long braid swirled in the water by her knees, and an intrepid fish had come up to nibble at it before Kitai spoke once more.

“I may - ask a question? If you are unwilling to discuss it I will not push, but it has been in my mind for some time now.”

Këyal looked to him, curious. “Ask away.”

“About Dara . . . do you love her?”

The question was posed casually, enough that if he affected not to have heard it seemed it would waver and disappear entirely in the summer breeze. Yet Këyal \ound that he was at an utter loss for words. “I - pardon?”

Kitai’s eyes glinted with something close to amusement. “Do you love her?”

“Why - why do you ask me this?”

“Well -” He laughed. “Pure curiosity. I’m fully aware it is quite rude of me.”

“No, only - does it seem so to you? To everyone? That I -”

“I would not know about everyone, but as for me, I’ve had something of a hunch. You are quite free to tell me I am entirely mistaken.”

Këyal met his frank gaze, and could only smile, uncertainty melting away. “If only I could. The answer to your question is one that I myself am unsure of. I do not feel for her you do for Zelíe, I think, but with Dara, there is a sense of - of home, and of comfort, that I cannot remember experiencing before. I am loath to attempt to define or quantify it, for I may be mistaken in myself.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Why -” It was Këyal’s turn to laugh. “You yourself asked me the question! Why is it that you look so sheepish?”

“Well, because you grew so confident in your answer, so suddenly,” Kitai replied, half laughing as well. “It was unexpected.”

It was then that they heard faint dragonthunder, and both looked east to see the silhouettes of three dragons speeding towards them - purple, green, and silver.

“They took longer than I thought.”

“So they did . . . Kitai -”

“Yes?”

“We have not the time now, but if I were to ask you, later, what - well, what your emotions are exactly, that I might compare, and attempt to determine more precisely what I -”

“It would be no trouble at all. Though it might involve, perhaps, some embarrassment on both our parts.”

Këyal returned his grin with a quick smile, ducking behind an arm as the sand was whipped into a storm by the descending dragons. “I can brave it, I think.”

“As and when you please, then.”

“Sharin’ secrets, lads?”

The shout came from Celesté’s shoulder, and in another moment they glimpsed Dara’s slight figure as she began to descend.

“We would not say it if we were, nosy cat,” Kitai called back. Dara made a face as she jumped down to the beach, closely followed by Senshi and Caspian.

“Probably somethin’ silly, anyhow,” she sniffed as she sat next to them, greeting Këyal with a quick pat on the shoulder.

“Of course it was,” he said dulcetly.

Senshi chuckled softly, following Caspian and sitting next to her brother. “You might as well give it up. You’ll chase them around in circles until your energy is depleted, and you’ll be no closer to uncovering the truth.”

“I’m well aware,” Dara snorted, poking Caspian with one foot. “This one here is th’ one who taught them.”

“I resent the implication.” Kitai said with mock affront, shaking the sand out of his hair with a toss of his head. “I was a terror much before I met him.”

“That, I think no one will disagree with,” Senshi said dryly. “Have you two been sitting here the whole time we were gone? You did not wish to swim?”

“A pity to waste a nice morning like this,” Caspian sighed, stretching luxuriously. “Especially when we have been given a much-needed break from studies.”

“Neither of us were particularly in the mood to swim,” Këyal murmured. “We were, in fact discussing why Master had given us this break at all.”

“Perhaps he felt remorse for the rod of iron with which he has been driving us.”

Dara snorted. “Aye, and ravens age white when they eat yew. Ye give our master too much credit, Cas. We’re to be the heroes of the next age, a’n’t we, we who carry the solemn fate and destiny of the land upon our shoulders, and we must be prepared -”

Even Senshi smiled at that, though she did attempt to remonstrate. “Now, don’t mock him. He has enough reason for the iron rod, with such material to work with as us - “

There came instant rebuttal, half laughing and half indignant.

“Why, we’re wonderful students!”

“What treason be this, hey?”

“He should be so lucky to find more such diligent and sincere youth to be the next Riders!”

Senshi hissed through her teeth to silence them, though the smile was irrepressible. “ Yet , as I was about to say, I think he may have some issue on his mind. He has seemed more preoccupied than usual, of late.”

“If he isn’t researching more things to teach us, he’s researching new spells and deeper magic, and if he isn’t doing that he’s checking on the Eldunari, and if he isn’t doing that either he’s doing his best to find out what the meanest beggar in the meanest corner of Alagaesia is up to,” Kitai yawned. “He does not know how to set down the responsibility that was forced upon him.”

“There’s no call for him to do so, either,” Këyal pointed out mildly. “There’s enough and more he must yet do, as the Head Rider.”

“Ahh, don’ defend him. Surelye he may delegate some responsibilities to Blodhgarm-elda and them, yet he insists on doing as much as he can himself. He’s scared to set down his burden, is what I think.”

“Well, well, unless we go and ask him, we are not likely to reach the truth of the matter.”

“True enough. How went the meditation, then?”

“They’re picking it up quite quickly, I think,” Senshi said, giving Dara and Caspian a small smile. “Though I doubt I am an apt enough judge.”

“How do you judge that, then?” Kitai said quizzically. “Do you watch from the back of their minds?”

“Well, yes . . .”

“Ugh, that would be eerie, to say the least -”

“How else do you expect me to -”

Këyal sighed a little as they fell to one of their bouts of bickering - they still took some getting used to, occurring as often as they did these days - and turned to the other two.

“It went well, then?”

“Eh, not as well as Senshi paints it,” Caspian laughed, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I still think my thoughts wander far, far too often. Though she did say it’s more difficult when you are aware of another presence in your mind.”

“I’d imagine it would be. Dara?”

“Oh, about the same. It takes some gettin’ used to, that flood of feelings from . . . so much life.” She looked up to where the dragons were playfully circling each other, seemingly lost in their shimmering colours. “Getting better at this . . . it will help me find my magic sooner, yes?”

Këyal exchanged an uncertain look with Caspian, wondering how to phrase his reply. “It certainly should,” he said eventually, softly. “I would not be an authority on the subject, but recognising and strengthening your connection with the fundamental flow of energy should positively affect your ability to affect that flow. You must keep in mind, however, that there is no single trigger for the blossoming of magic - at least none that have ever been discovered, apart from general stress.”

She sighed, running sand through her fingers. “I am well aware. I balance lopsided towers of rocks, I empty ever-filling buckets of water, I do everythin’ save count the grains of sand on this beach. Yet the magic does not come.”

“You’re more tolerant than most to frustration, perhaps?”

Caspian snorted. “This one? She’d scratch your eye out for stepping on her foot.”

“Oy!”

“Yet she can fire arrow after arrow for hours on end, and never lose focus. There are many forms of patience, you see.” Këyal smiled at the grateful look she gave him. “I would not lose hope. It will come to you, sooner or later. In the meantime, you have the advantage of being able to focus on the theory without worrying overmuch about the practice.”

“And if you still do not get it,” Kitai interjected, apparently having caught the latter half of the conversation, “We’ll all attack you at once and have an end to it, you’ll be sure to use magic in some way to stop us. Was that not how Master found his magic?”

“Hopefully we will not be forced to quite such extreme measures,” Këyal murmured.

“Let it lie while you learn,” Senshi offered. “I doubt you will leave the Hall without it awakening, and Master will know at exactly what point in your training it is a concern.”

Dara ducked her head briefly. “My thanks,” she said, quieter than usual.

Someone yelped - Zelie, from the sound of it - and there came the sound of a large splash. Before them, both Ravûn and Sorya sputtered as a wave swept over them yet again, while Osra laughed at them both. Këyal smiled without meaning to, watching them. The sea, the sky, the dragons that owned both, they made the bright day all the more beautiful; and the ones by his side made it all the sweeter with their companionship.

I will never know how it was possible to live my life without them , he thought, wrapping his arms around his knees as he lost himself in the song of the motion of the waves.

“Graveyard of lovers' hopes

Yet sweet as a summer breeze

Stronger than the blackest storm

Alluring as a flowering field

The royal blue ocean, she lets none forget her, none escape her . . ."

And those beside him listened and, though they smiled at his helpless love for the sea, they joined him as he sang.

†

After the evening meal

Saphira yawned, settling her head more comfortably between her paws as she watched the young two-legs file in. The summons seemed to have made them solemn, though there was some curious whispering amongst them as they seated themselves on the floor, in front of her heart-partner. To all appearances, he was absorbed in the parchment on his lap, but she knew he was observing them keenly, gauging their states of mind and their likely reaction to what he was about to say.

I do not think they will take it too badly.

We shall see , he murmured back, folding the parchment neatly as the last student settled. If they have anything to contribute to make sense of this utterly senseless occurrence, I will be much relieved.

Are you certain we should not have the dragons here as well?

I would rather not be deafened by the indignant roars - or have the tapestries here reduced to ashes. All that matters is that they know, not where they are when they know.

I can think of a few who will not be happy with this arrangement.

They may bear it, he said shortly, and she, seeing the dark worry simmering in the back of his mind, forebore to comment further. She turned instead to the students, humming gently to obtain their attention.

Younglings, you will please to request your dragons to pay close attention. This will not be repeated.

“Yes, ebrithil,” they said as one.

“Then we will begin,” Eragon said, almost sternly, his voice commanding attention. “I have had conversation with Arya Dröttning over the past few days, as well as Queen Nasuada and King Orik, and they all described to me a most disturbing occurrence that has been taking place in Alagaësia over the past few weeks - an occurrence we can none of us seem to find a sure reason for. If any one of you can do so, it would certainly be extremely helpful.”

He paused for a moment, and the silence weighed heavy in the room.

“I will state the situation simply - the children of Alagaësia are vanishing. Presumably, they are being taken, by some entity we are not aware of.”

There was a soft, horrified murmur. “Taken?” Akhtar asked, rough voice puzzled. “Only children?”

“Yes. Children of noble families, or of families with some Rider ancestry, seem to be the more preferred targets. However, we have only stumbled upon this recently, and there are dozens upon dozens of reports now flooding in. We cannot be sure it is only the influential who are being targeted.”

“Is it only human children?” Ravûn asked, his brow pinched.

“It is more human children than others, but some dwarven and Urgal children also seem to have gone missing. Given the strength of Du Weldenvarden’s protection and the rare occurrence of elven children at all, no elven young have been taken. If they had, it would be, without doubt, a cause for immense concern. Arya Dröttning is, nevertheless, increasing the strength of Du Weldenvarden’s security, after strong demand on the part of the elven public.”

Zelíe had sharp lines drawing her mouth downwards, her eyes hard. “Master, when you said dozens upon dozens of reports, in total it would be - ?”

“Close to a fifth of them all, I should say.”

The murmur was angry now, and more than one fist clenched in a tense lap.

Eragon exhaled slowly. “And to make the matter worse . . . Prince Charles is among those missing.”

“What?!”

“Master, you cannot be serious!”

“They got through the castle at Aberon? How?”

“They did, and only two guards were found dead after. Of the rest - they lost all memory of the past two days.”

“Strong magic, then -”

“The prince’s sister? What was her name -”

“Annalise. She is still young enough to sleep with her mother. Presumably, our attacker felt that going through the trouble of getting past the queen’s extra security was not worth their while when they already had the boy. King Orrin -”

Eragon hesitated, and in his mind Saphira saw Orrin as he had appeared last night - dishevelled, distraught, fingers dancing desperately over anything they happened to touch. His queen, Julia Hawthorne, she had had better control over herself, but the raw note in her voice as she spoke to them had been desperation itself.

“King Orrin and Queen Julia are - in considerable pain, and are willing to do anything to get their son back and prevent their daughter from being taken. Annalise now has a personal guard round the clock, entirely made up of skilled magicians. Unfortunately, we cannot provide such a guard for every child in the land. I ask, therefore, for your thoughts - who are these abductors? What is their purpose? How can we stop them?”

There was silence for a long moment before Senshi cleared her throat. “Have there been no demands, no contact? Ransom, blackmail, threats?”

“Nothing. It is the most puzzling aspect of the entire situation.”

Caspian raised a hand. “Was there nothing common amongst the children taken? Something that would help us predict the ones likely to be taken next?”

“Nothing we have discerned so far. They were from all villages, all cities, of all ages below fifteen. Of those not human, there seemed to be no particular clan preference. The most obvious trait we can discern is that there seems to be a slight trend towards children of richer or more prestigious families, which would seem to indicate intent to ransom, but as I said -”

“There have been no threats or demands.”

“Aye.”

“And if that is the intention . . .” Akhtar crossed his arms tight over his broad chest. “They certainly aim high, these kidnappers, to take so many.”

“If it is not -” Sorya was biting a nail hard, her brow furrowed.

“Yes, Sorya? Complete the thought.”

“If - if extortion is not the aim, then the children themselves must have some inherent value - either now, or in the future. Yes?”

Saphira raised her head at that. Your meaning, child?

The dwarfling ducked her head, abruptly unsure of herself. “I may be entirely wrong, Mistress, but if I were to assemble such a large group of children so soon after a devastating war - assuming I was on the wrong side of that war - the first thing that would come to mind is training, manipulation, turning them into tools to be used. If I had no power, and magic was also being regulated as never before, and if I had the time to spare in hiding with malleable children . . .They could be taught and trained, as soldiers or spies, but as subversive agents in the end. Will an eight year old plucked away from home and tossed into an entirely new, entirely harsh environment remember much of that which she has left behind, after a few months? Will she not believe and do exactly what her captors tell her, if they are convincing enough?”

Another army, in effect?

“It seems most likely to me, if I am honest.”

“May I speak?” Ravûn asked.

“Please.”

“In my opinion, this crime could have been committed for the effect it has had now. Fear can be spread through many means, but taking children, the future of a family and the repository of parents’ hopes, is terrifying on a different level. This enemy may be attempting to destabilize the kingdoms before making a further, more direct attack.”

“Or it may be a continuous tension,” Osra murmured. “One corpse appears every day, washed up on shore or left in the middle of a settlement, with none to know how or when or who is the culprit . . . I do not think morale would stand long.”

“People would be hammerin’ on the castle gates before long,” Dara concurred. “It’s the fact that we cannot know who they are that’s th’ worst of it. An unseen hand, so widespread as to snatch your child th’ moment yer back is turned. It’s enough to frighten the bravest.”

“We do not yet know if there will be no demands at all,” Kitai said quietly. “They may come a month from now, or a year from now, when all have grown desperate, as an ace to force the hands of the most powerful to do their bidding. Sorya’s theory seems to me to be - a little farfetched, but you remember, Master? We were agreed that there are powers still lurking from the old regime that have designs upon your person. I know not how their reach may extend from here till Alagaësia, but I would bet that some with enough madness and twisted cunning to put such effort into such a scheme - perhaps without even thinking it through entirely - are most likely to exist amongst them.”

“And in the end, we cannot truly know,” Eragon replied as quietly. “I will relay your suggestions to Queen Nasuada, King Orrin, Arya Dröttning, King Orik, Nar Garzhvog. I cannot say which may be more or less likely, for it will be for them to judge and act. Your suggestions for preventing further loss, and recovering those already gone?”

The silence now was longer than before, and it was, unusually, Këyal who was the first to break it.

“The - the name of names?” he said, sounding uncertain. The newer students looked at him in confusion, but the visages of the others were suffused with sudden hope.

Saphira felt Eragon’s jaw clench briefly as her own tail twitched.

“We tried. Multiple times. Of all the children taken, we managed to recover twenty that were in the process of being taken, still within Alagaësia.Their captors all committed suicide before Nasuada’s agents could arrive. As for the rest - it has not succeeded. I know not how this may be possible, but it is so.”

They made no answer, but Saphira had no need to read their faces to sense the ripple of horror felt by those who understood the ramifications of that statement.

“Then, instead . . .” Senshi began uncertainly. “Ikraan suggests - a registry would be a start?”

They all agreed that a registry of children would be an excellent implementation, particularly to track how many children were lost in a given period of time. Magical trackers would be good as well, allowing any Empire-approved magician exactly where any child was at any given time, though the scale of that project would be immense - yet it could be done in tandem with the registry. The difficulty would be persuading parents to allow a spell to be cast on their child. Osra had come up with an immensely practical idea, that of safe spots placed strategically across at least the most populated cities which any adult with malicious intent would be unable to enter. It would depend on the child’s perception of that malicious intent, of course, unless all possible expressions of malicious intent were written out in the spell itself, but it was by far better than nothing. And so on and so forth, they spun ideas out of air and furious thought.

All haunted by the thought of children they used to know vanishing into thin air.

Eragon gave her a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, even as he debated the logistics of a nationwide curfew with Caspian and Dara. And should they not be?

I didn’t say that, did I? They’re proposing some good ideas.

That they are. I’ll wager Nasuada and Orik’s advisors have not thought of half of these schemes.

We shall see when you propose them. Let the younglings off, now, it is getting late and they will be up talking of this for hours yet, if I know them.

As you say.

Yet it was past quarter an hour later when Eragon finally said, “I thank you all for your contributions, the dragons as well. Unfortunately we cannot do much, sitting here - and even were we there, we would in all probability be chasing our own tails with the rest of them. Advice and ideas are all we can contribute, and that we have done in plenty. I would advise you all not to worry overmuch about this, at least until we receive further news. Should you think of anything else that may be of help, please let me know at once so we may discuss it and pass it on, if it proves useful. For now, retire and rest. We return to our regular schedule from tomorrow, and I expect you all to be prepared. Yes?”

“Yes, Master,” the said together, rising from their seats.

“Good night, then.”

Three of them paused by his side before they left, requesting a list of those children known to have been missing for four days or more. To Saphira’s surprise, he agreed readily enough.

Why? she asked as they left.  What good will it do them?

It cannot hurt. And it’s better for them to know one way or another rather than live in fear that someone they know has been taken.

If it is family?

I checked already. No one related to any Rider from Alagaësia has been taken, apart from a fairly distant cousin of Ravûn’s he has not met in twenty-odd years. They will not be distracted.

Hmph. She gave him a look as he stretched out in his chair, yawning. If you say so. Get the wildling girl to make you more of that tea if you want to get restful sleep tonight.

I’ll sleep fine. I can make it myself, besides; I’ve no cause to bother her.

Except it works best when she does it.

Don’t fuss, Mother.

I beg your pardon?

He laughed at her affront, and came to hug her neck.

You’ll keep me safe enough.

Flattery will get you nowhere.

He only hummed, pressing his forehead against her scales, and they remained quiet thus for a while. When he eventually moved away, there was a new note of steel in his mind.

An enemy of considerable power and resource, he murmured to her, to circumvent the name of names. It will not be easy to capture them.

Saphira bared her teeth in a pleased snarl, her growl too loud in the stone room.

That will make the hunt all the sweeter. And who said anything about capture?

Chapter Text

Five months later

“Pay attention please, child.”

Dara blinked, shaking her head slightly as she attempted to refocus. “My apologies, elda.”

Naumys inclined her head, inky hair shifting on her shoulder. “As I was saying, your current draft seems to be fairly coherent in its premise and arguments. It can certainly be refined, however, and refined quite extensively. As one reads, one begins to feel that you simply selected those texts that first met your eye, and forced your arguments to suit the information you obtained therein. One cannot carry out any manner of competent research so. There are a number of texts that would assist you, most of which are in our very library, if you had cared to look more carefully. I can assist you by providing you with some names to search for, but ultimately the effort must come from you. I am understood?”

Dara winced a little under the censure, though it was delivered in a tone that was entirely matter-of-fact. “Yes, elda.”

“Once you are finished with this project, you will not have much else to be done in terms of your studies here that will exert the mind overmuch - nothing as difficult as learning the Liduen Kvaedhi for the first time, for example, or mastering the pronunciation of the Urgal tongue. I would advise you, and you, Caspian -” She turned her liquid eyes onto Caspian, seated across the table. “- to nevertheless continue to read as much as you may, to polish the skills and knowledge you have obtained thus far. Honing the body is possible anywhere. Honing the mind is by far more difficult, and once you leave you will not again have access to the kind of information you have here, unless you are fortunate enough to work in proximity to Illirea or Ellesmèra’s libraries. And even were you granted the proximity, time and leisure is another matter. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, elda.”

“Good. Caspian, you will continue your work with Blödhgarm, and Dara, you will continue yours with Yaela.”

“I - what?” There was a choking noise from Caspian’s direction, something between shock and laughter, but Dara could not spare a glance for him as her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach. “Naumys-elda, why? Why can I not continue with you? Or Ellaer-elda, or -”

“We each have our assigned duties,” Naumys replied with finality. “Yaela, in fact, offered her assistance despite having a number of other responsibilities to carry out. She was a renowned scholar in Du Weldenvarden, and her advice will prove invaluable - if you are capable of utilizing it.”

“But she -”

“I repeat, she offered her assistance. She has also, of late, begun to research how one may go about awakening latent magic. That will prove of assistance to you, of course, as well as - hopefully - keeping your attention on your other work rather than becoming preoccupied by the fact that you cannot utilize magic as yet, as you tend to do these days.”

Unusually harsh, for Naumys. Might as well smile and agree, you aren’t getting out of it.

Celesté - !

Quick now, they’re watching.

Conscious of Caspian’s gaze on her clenched fists, she took a quick breath and attempted to appear amenable. “Understood.”

“Very well. I will take my leave now. Kindly desire Akhtar and Sorya to meet with me in the evening.”

They stood and bowed as she left. It was only once the lightest trace of her footfall faded into silence that she turned to Caspian, torn between horror and desperation.

“What am I to do?”

“Why, there’s nothing you can do -”

“Researching latent magic? I can see myself! She’s never lost a chance to demand if I can use magic yet , an’ now I’m to let her experiment on me so she can be sure I’m no disgrace to her bloodline as the Rider with no magic, is that it? Of all the - and she’ll be monitorin’ my essay, and she’ll be a hundred times more caustic than Naumys-elda ever was, god damn it -”

“I’m sure she doesn’t have that intention. I was just thinking, the other day, that she seems to have unbent towards you considerably.”

“In what universe?!”

“Certainly, compared to her attitude when she first met you -”

“Oh, because she isn’t glarin’ down her nose at me every single chance she gets it means she wants to help me, does it?”

Caspian got to his feet with an apologetic smile, and she followed suit, grumbling. They reached the corridor outside the library before he finally said, “Well, as I see it, you’ve no choice in the matter, so at least ensure she has no cause for complaint, yes?”

“She’ll find one no matter what I do.”

“Yet would you not rather she comments on your work rather than your effort, deportment or personality?”

“ . . . I see your point, I suppose.”

“For example, since your accent has changed to become so much closer to the standard, has she not refrained from remarking unfavourably upon it?”

She gave him a sidelong look. “You been reading the dictionary in your spare time?”

He laughed. “Am I right or not, Little Cat?”

She huffed at the name, but her mouth twitched upwards. “Ahh, I know, I know. I’ll do my best.”

“As you always do.”

“Cajolery won’t heal the wound, Cas.”

“It helps a little, no?”

“Aye, aye . . . Her research better help, for I’ve no desire to spend years in Du Weldenvarden with a host of elves fussin’ over me, pokin’ and proddin’.”

Caspian reached out and patted her on the head. “You’re sure to awaken to magic soon enough, I know it. Don’t let it worry you, yes? And even if it does not, we’ll all of us take turns attacking you until it does.”

Dara did her best to swallow the bloom of grateful warmth in her chest, attempting instead to sharpen a halfhearted glare. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if you pet me like that again -”

Bickering thus, they nearly failed to notice Këyal’s approach.

“I could hear you from the Gardens,” he said, smiling faintly as he fell into step with them. “A little discretion, perhaps, and mindfulness of the fact that most at the Hall have quite sharp ears. . .?” 

“Not that I care if she hears,” Dara muttered, ignoring Caspian’s sharp elbow digging into her ribs.

“We forgot,” he said sheepishly. “We’ll take care next time. Këyal, do you know where Master is?”

“Is it not the time for his weekly meeting with -”

“Right, yes, I’d forgotten. I need to talk to him, though . . .”

“About the essay?”

“Yes, there were some arguments I thought I might incorporate, but I’m not sure if they’re suitable.”

“As far as I’m aware, he should be done quite soon. It was not an hour ago that he was speaking to me about how much longer your training is likely to take, and his check in usually takes about half an hour, so you should find him easily.”

“Oh, excellent. I’ll go find him, then. Later, Dara!”

“Later,” she replied listlessly, watching him recede down a different corridor.

“And how did your meeting go?” Këyal asked, slowing his stride to suit hers.

“Bad enough,” she growled. “What did Master say, then, about how much longer our training will continue?”

She did not need to look to know that Këyal would have one slim eyebrow raised in curious amusement. “Why, he said you all have been doing quite extraordinarily well in the past ten months or so, and that you should be done faster than we - in a year or so, say.”

“I’ve another year left in this godforsaken place? Just the news I wanted to hear, honestly -”

“You’re making me more eager than ever to glean the details of why, precisely, the meeting went badly.”

“And if I refuse? Do I seem to you to be in any sort of amiable mood right now?”

He stopped short, and when she turned to snap at him he pulled such a pleading, pathetic face that she had to smile in spite of herself.

“All right, all right , Naumys-elda told me it was evident to the meanest eye that I had not searched deep enough to research my project, and she said I was gettin’ far too distracted by the fact that I can’t use magic, and I’ve been assigned my beloved grandmother as my mentor as I progress further. I’ll be gettin’ an earful regular each week from now on, and I’m sure she’ll drive me hard enough that I’ll have less time to work on the exercises Master gave me.”

“I see,” he murmured.

“Will she not?” she demanded, turning to glare at him fiercely. “Cas would have it that she’s relaxed her manner towards me but for the life of me I can’t tell the difference. Do you not think she hates me as much now as she ever did?”

The look he gave her was genuinely surprised. “Hate you? She never hated you, Dara.”

Hers, in return, was darkling. “What kind of imbecile do you take me for? She -”

“She never hated you,” he repeated, gentle but insistent. “I cannot speak for her, of course, but as far as I could understand you were an - an unwelcome reminder, and one she did not know how to deal with. Which led her to keep her distance as far as possible, and force you to do so as well. As for now - well, I think she may be beginning to see you as more than only that. Allow her a chance.”

“And you know this, sir, how? When did she happen to pour her heart out to you?”

“She did not, of course, but if one notices her changes in attitude and in gesture towards you, the conclusion seems to present itself naturally. And you are hardly unbiased, is that not so?”

“That I am not, but I’ll not let my guard down over your suppositions, dear friend though you may be.”

He laughed, pushing a few strands of hair behind an ear. “Fair enough, but - how to describe it to you? I do not know. It may seem like supposition to you, but to one birthed and bred in elven society, where the slightest gesture may have an immense impact, it is clear as day. When one learns to search for aggression in the twitch of a lip, or to instantly deliberate between ten different reasons that may be ascribed to a greeting that is slightly more welcoming than usual, one learns these things. In fact, that Yaela-elda is being read even by one such as myself indicates that she has ceased to care about guarding her emotions overmuch, insofar as they concern you.”

“You could have fooled me,” she grumbled, feeling somewhat reassured. “Then this is the equivalent of her bestowin’ a hug on me and sobbin’ into my shoulder?”

“I would not go that far,” he smiled, gracefully bending to bestow a chaste kiss upon her cheek. “But I would advise you, at least, not to let your prejudice show, and I’m sure you can achieve that without much difficulty. Yes?”

“Justified prejudice,” she sighed, but all her rancour had dissipated. It was a fairly new habit, these fleeting affectionate touches of his. It had startled her at first, and it had taken some time to become accustomed to, but upon being earnestly assured that she was neither required to reciprocate nor allow it, if she felt the least discomfort, it had become . . . more comforting than she had expected. She slipped a hand around his wrist, squeezing it briefly in acknowledgement of his support. “I’ve no clue as to the difficulty, but I suppose I’ll try -”

“ - of all the incomprehensible things to do!”

They both looked around at the raised voice to see Kitai and Zelíe hurrying down the corridor, heedless of everything apart from their argument.

“Yes, yes, I know, I agree, but we must think of the motive, must we not -”

“What motive, Kitai? There is none! We’re dealing with a group of lunatics! No ransom, no word for so long, and then so many of them left in Hedarth, of all places -”

“I imagine it’s the closest they could get to the Empire.”

“When before they waltzed in and out of Aberon castle without a trace?”

“Then they did not have two hundred children to wrangle as well, no?”

“Why, in the name of all the hells, did they have to wrangle them at all? Lunatics, and nothing else, I knew it when Master first told us -”

They passed from sight and, soon thereafter, from hearing. Dara frowned after them, mind racing as she tried to piece together what she had heard. It sounded as though -

“Dara! Këyal!” The shout was from Caspian, waving his arms frantically from around a distant corner. “Come to the courtyard, and bring whoever else you meet on the way! Quickly now!”

Dara looked at Këyal, and he at her, and without a word they turned and broke into a dead run.

⸸

Fifteen minutes earlier

What?

“What?” Eragon stood without thinking, staring at Murtagh’s reflection in the mirror. “You can’t be serious - what do you mean, some have come back?”

"A group of them were found on the eastern side of the Edda River, near Hedarth, wandering the grasslands,” he said, panting a little, hair ruffled. “They were utterly confused and exhausted. It was lucky that one of Orik's patrols chose that area to sweep today, else we might have been too late."

"Could they tell you who had taken them?"

"No - like I said, they were entirely confused. Besides, according to Orik's magicians, all memories pertaining to their kidnappers have been carefully excised. All they remember is a feeling of dread and fear that they associate with the past few months."

"What kind of fear?" he demanded.

The reply was immediate. "Fear of the dark, fear of being hurt, fear that they would never escape. Which points to imprisonment, perhaps underground - that would explain the dark - and threats of punishment or torture. Or they witnessed some sort of armed conflict."

Eragon ran a hand through his hair, barely resisting the urge to pace back and forth. "Are they all alright now?"

"The older ones somehow managed to care for the younger ones until they were found. They are all well now, though traumatised, of course."

"How did they end up near Hedarth?"

"They don't remember."

"How many were returned? How many are still imprisoned?"

"Some two hundred odd - and more the children of unremarkable citizens than otherwise."

"Is there no way to trace the people behind this?"

Murtagh grimaced. "Our magicians are trying to come up with anything that may possibly work, but nothing has so far."

“We, too, will think here, and tell you if we manage to devise anything . . . Was Prince Charles among the returned group?"

A shade passed over Murtagh's face. "No. Orrin is almost distracted with worry. He would turn over every stone in Alagaësia if he had to. In fact, that's exactly what he's trying to convince us to do - start a search radiating outwards from Hedarth."

"It's not a bad idea. You might find recover some clue, and a prompt response will reassure people."

"I agree, and preparations are already being made."

"Where were they taken? Du Weldenvarden, or -?"

"No, they were escorted by the patrol to Farthen Dûr. They are still there now, undergoing treatment for any injuries they have. I and Arya are to personally escort them back - I leave in an hour."

"I see. Thank you. I suggest you search the children's minds yourself; you might find something."

"I will." A man called Murtagh's name frantically; he turned involuntarily, then looked back. “Gods, this has upset the country, and no mistake . . . I must go, Eragon."

"Aye, and inform me when you arrive. Fly safe."

"I will. Farewell."

"Farewell."

The image flickered and died as he strode out of the door, his cape swishing behind him. Eragon watched him go before turning on his heel to pace, suppressing a snarl that might relieve some of his frustration at being forced to remain on the sidelines while such developments were afoot.

This makes no sense at all, Saphira growled in his head, smooth-cool-sea-breeze rising under her wings as she turned and began to head back to the Hall. What could possibly be the meaning of this?

I’ve no more idea than you -

He caught a flicker from the corner of his eye, and turned as Arya’s mirror shimmered to life.

"Eragon!" Her eyes were distracted, her clothes evidently worn in haste. "I don't have much time -"

"Murtagh informed me not a minute ago - the children in Farthen Dûr, found near Hedarth, you leave now to escort them home."

"Yes, yes, precisely. If you already know -"

"Do not tarry. Fly swift and fly true, Arya."

“I will contact you when I arrive, or Orik shall do so. Farewell.” She kissed her fingertips, pressed them to the glass with a smile, and hurried out of the mirror’s frame as it began to darken.

Eragon sighed, fingers tapping restlessly on his thigh. I’ll let them all know at once. Dining hall?

Courtyard. I’m bringing the younglings back, we will arrive within ten minutes or so. Hold it till then.

Understood.

He pulled the door open, and Caspian stood before him, one hand raised to knock.

“Why, Master, I was just -”

“Run to the courtyard, and tell everyone you meet on the way to head there too,” Eragon said shortly, striding past him. He closed his eyes, and searched for Blödhgarm’s distinctive mind-voice.

Eragon?

All the elves to the courtyard, please.

Has something occurred?

Some of the children were found. The details can wait, but -

We will be there at once.

“Is something wrong?” Caspian asked, soft and anxious, hurrying to keep up. “Is there some danger to us? To the empire?”

Eragon turned to face him. “I’ve no idea,” he said, half sigh and half growl, “and that is the very problem.”

⸸

Rosalie caught an updraft and allowed it to propel her upwards, pleasantly aware of how the sunset made her pink scales glow prettily, watching her Rider’s memories flicker past.

There was not much point in attempting to speak to them, Zelíe said moodily, curling forward against the base of Rosalie’s neck. Poor things, we forced them when they were not ready.

Did they not themselves offer?

When they heard Shadeslayer was eager to speak to them -

Mm, I see. They looked fearful - or they did when they spoke to you, at least.

Of course - would you not be if you had been imprisoned underground for more than half a year, presumably forced to witness and undergo all manner of atrocities? It's a wonder none of them went mad.

They cannot remember anything?

Nothing. No names, no faces, no events. Only fear.

These are the strangest kidnappers I've ever heard of. Why would they go to the trouble of kidnapping so many in the first place when they were just going to let so many go home again?

Lunatics.

Somehow I doubt -

If you’ve anything more constructive to offer, I’d be very glad to hear it.

Rosalie glanced backwards, somewhat taken aback by the acid tone. Well . . . what of the search? Did they find nothing near Hedarth?

Nothing. No traces of anyone.

Perhaps it was to throw people off their scent. If any of the previous searches got anywhere close and made them wary, this might be a way for them to confuse the location of their base . . . but it's certainly a strange way to -

Yes, yes, that was suggested by Invidia-elda not half an hour ago. Is there nothing original you have to contribute?

Kindly refrain from snapping at me, Zelíe.

I’m not snapping -

You are. I understand that you are upset, but please don't take it out on me.

The cold tone was effective; Zelíe forced the roiling frustration back somewhat.

I apologize. I just - I want to do something. Knowing that there are so many more trapped, while I sit here in idle speculation, while all of us can do nothing -

Well, unless you can find them when even the name of names cannot, there's no point in getting upset about it. They'll have to take their chance. There is nothing you can do.

Zelíe withdrew from her a little. How can you be so cold? They’re -

You are getting too excited. So they left some children on the edge of the empire - perhaps they could not feed or house them. It is good news, insofar as it shows that they at least do not resort to mass slaughter to rid themselves of the inconvenience.

Images of bloodied and broken bodies, all small and curled in on themselves, flashed across their shared minds, and Zelíe shuddered as she recoiled further.

Inconvenience? Rose, you - how can you - without even a hint of fear for them, for their lives, their safety, their minds, what they must be undergoing -

Zelíe, you are incapable of looking at this clearly because your resemble an elf in your attitude towards the young of any species. I empathise with you; I can understand your feelings. But you must attempt to be reasonable. Do not overreact because it was children who were kidnapped.

I am not overreacting!

Really? Would you feel so strongly if it was adult humans, dwarfs, and Urgals who had been taken, rather than their children?

There was no answer.

No, you would not.

. . . Whether they are children or not, lives still hang in the balance. I think it is you who is not responding to this properly, Rosalie. And yes, I know there may be nothing I can do. But at the very least I am willing to try.

This time it was Rosalie who did not reply, for it would be pointless when neither of them were willing to yield and ground. Their flight ended in stubborn silence, and when she landed Zelíe stalked off without a backward glance.

Chapter Text

Half a year later

Drëya stretched out lazily in the sun, shuffling her wings as she settled into a more comfortable position. Mànya growled softly as Drëya’s tail swept across her haunches.

Don’t fidget , she said, the thought more a collection of images with a dash of irritation rather than words, half-asleep as she was. Drëya shifted a little closer, tucking her neck around her tail.

Sorry , she murmured, already beginning to sink back into slumber.

There was a gentle nip at her flank, and Rosalie rolled onto her side with a low groan.

If you move like that, what am I supposed to rest my head on? she asked, more than a little petulant.

My haunches , Drëya replied absently. If you do not like it, there’s always the floor.

The nip was to the base of her throat this time, and harder. Snippy, snippy, Rosalie grumbled, but her dark-clouded irritation was tempered by the brief thrill of pleasure that ran up Drëya’s neck at the bittersweet pain. Hah, your scales are rising.

Shut up and let me sleep.

Rosalie nipped at her again, just to be contrary, and draped one wing across Drëya’s back as she settled. All we do these days is sleep, I would have thought you would tire of it by now.

Tire of sleeping? Impossible. Drëya yawned widely. We served our time. Languages, battle flying, storm flying, endurance flying, deep diving, philosophy, history, all the rest of it - we drilled until we could hardly fly. Let the younglings struggle now.

Rosalie snorted, releasing a small cloud of smoke. True enough.

They lay in silence for a brief while before Drëya groaned to herself, giving in to her curiosity.

I will regret asking, but what happened to put you in your bad mood?

Ugh - Eragon has been closeted in the mirror room for the past two hours, and Zelie is getting agitated. Restless.

In case a lot of tiny two-legs have once again been dropped in the midst of nothing by our unseen foes?

Of course, it has happened twice till now, did it not? So she now expects it to occur every other month.

Not an unnatural assumption, to be fair, Drëya pointed out.

If she would cease talking my ear off about it, and anxiously rambling the whole Hall twice a day into the bargain, I should not mind as much, Rosalie said sourly. She can face with equanimity the prospect of festering wounds and beheading wrongdoers, yet she cannot stomach the thought of some children imprisoned.

A fact we are all of us aware of.

My point exactly. They are releasing them besides, so what is the difference? How does the original intention matter now? Perhaps they had a change of heart, or perhaps it is some manner of trap, but she cares only for their safety, and they are coming back, are they not? What reason has she to fret so badly? At the very least she could hide it more, instead of -

Drëya moved closer, silently tucking her nose into the corner of Rosalie’s jaw. She huffed, but allowed it, eventually closing her eyes.

She will come around, Drëya murmured.

She’d better -

Faintly connected to Mànya as they both were, they were able to hear Saphira as she began to demand access. Mànya growled as loud as she dared as she was wrenched from her nap, grudgingly opening up her mind.

Mànya, diving practice, have you forgotten?

No, Mistress. I’ll be on my way at once.

Good. I will join you in an hour, if Eragon’s meeting is concluded.

More children - ?

Aye, this time on the eastern edge of the lake north of Ceris. It seems we were right in guessing that their access to Alagaesia is limited to its eastern most border - Drëya, I can hear you. Since you wish so devoutly to escape any duty, you will conduct firebreathing practice for two hours, before noon, and Layla may join you if you wish her to.

Drëya growled lowly, a sound that would have been a groan had she had two legs instead of four. Yes, Mistress.

They caught a flash of amusement and satisfaction before Saphira withdrew. Mànya uncurled herself slowly, stretching out as long as she could before getting to her feet, brown scales rich and sparkling in the sunlight. She lowered her head to nuzzle at both their necks.

Rose, if you’re not doing anything else . . .

Rosalie snorted. I will not squander my rest time, thank you very much. Go wrangle the wonder brothers, if they stop trying to kill themselves long enough to listen to you.

Mànya huffed in amusement, spreading her wings. Encouraging. We hunt later, yes?

They both hummed in response, and she took flight, leaving through the Tower with a powerful gust of wind.

Who do you think will provoke the other first this time? Rosalie asked idly.

Ikraan.

If it’s Corinne instead, you catch me a steer tonight.

Drëya hummed, amused. Deal.

†

Palé tucked his wings in tight and dived with a joyful roar, the cool morning air howling in his ears.

You’re falling behind, brother!

Ikraan leveled with him, sunlight rippling in bright purple flashes across his scales, and roared in return. Together they plummeted, neck and neck, yet Palé was certain that he was inching ahead, and in another moment he would be -

Corinne swooped past them both, executing a beautiful corkscrew turn as she leveled across the sea, snowy scales rippling reflections in the restless water. Within the next three seconds, she had smoothly scooped the bobbing target up in her claws and begun to gain height once more in a gentle arc.

Both he and Ikraan roared their displeasure, abandoning their dive. Damn it, Cori! Ikraan snarled. That was our target!

She dropped it with a saucy flick of her tail and began to climb in earnest, her course one that would just barely miss intersecting with theirs. Why, I thought you two had done this many times before! Of course, perhaps if you weren’t quite so slow -

A dark stream of fire streamed forth from Ikraan’s mouth, clearly intended to singe Corinne’s right side. You should have expected it , Palé thought, torn between mirth and annoyance as she swerved, lost control, and tumbled down into the water.

Ikraan snarled in triumph, climbing faster. An outraged roar burst from the ocean underneath them, and Corinne started to climb as well, dripping wet. You sorry son of a maggot ridden -

They clashed with a sound like thunder, fire flickering dangerously in their open mouths, talons scrabbling for purchase and teeth seeking soft spots to bite into.

Enough! Mànya dove between the two of them, forcing them to separate. They were still snarling at each other when she returned to their level. She growled, looming over the both of them, almost larger than both of them put together.

Kindly behave in a fashion worthy of your age, the pair of you. This behaviour may have been excusable when you were hatchlings, but it is not now. You will not attack each other simply because Mistress Saphira is not here, for I can shake you just as well as she if you force me to do so. All quarrels may keep until the session is over, which it is not until everyone manages to obtain the target at least twice. Am I clear?

. . .

Am I clear?

Yes, Mànya, they grumbled.

Good. Then climb again, and begin once more. She turned sharply, tail smacking into Ikraan none too gently, and headed up to Jethran, Celesté, and Lifaen, who were just beginning their own dives.

Palé went with her, unwilling to bear witness to more bickering. Why must we dive from this height, Mànya? We’ll hardly be able to flap tomorrow.

As there are no flying lessons tomorrow, you will not be required to do so. Obtain the target on your first try, Palé, and you may leave as early as you please.

He huffed and split away from her, gaining about half a league in height before he cast about for a suitable target. There was a large log bobbing on the waves some distance away, nothing more than a miniature speck at this height. Having gauged the distance, he angled himself, paused for a second to check on the direction of the wind, then tucked in his wings and gently tipped forward. He closed his second eyelids to stop his eyes from watering as the wind began to scream past him and squinted. It was a decent curve for this target, and he would be going at a good speed by the time he would reach it. He held his wings close, watching nothing else but that single dark speck.

Not yet . . . not yet . . .  almost - and - now!

He snapped his wings open, snarling as the cut-sharp-wind yanked at them, and held them perpendicular to the direction of his dive.

Slowly now -

He tilted his wings upwards by a fraction of a degree. And another. And another, and ever so carefully, he began to curve. It wasn’t enough, though; the dive was still too steep.  Tense at the thought of overshooting, he increased the angle of his wings by a larger degree than he had before, and the wind almost ripped his wings from their sockets.

Careful . . . Kitai whispered at the back of his mind.

Another growl escaped him as he continued to increase the angle of his wings, his flight muscles groaning under the tension. His wings were almost parallel to the ocean now, and he had only to hold steady for another twenty seconds or so. He extended his claws, ready to snatch up the target. Almost . . . and . . .

Now! His claws closed around it, and he used his momentum to swoop upwards with a short roar of triumph.

Beautifully done, Kitai murmured, and the bright-warm-pride from him stoked the satisfied glow in his belly.

He gained some height and settled into a glide, watching the others tip into their dives one by one. Jethran got his and Lifaen was halfway down in a flash of forest green before Ikraan came to join him, tongue lolling from between his teeth as he panted.

Sped so soon?

My wings will fall off tomorrow, Ikraan groaned, and I will be doomed to spend the rest of my life hopping around like a - like a pigeon!

Palé allowed his amusement to be felt, but did not reply as he wheeled around to face the Hall, assuming that he would follow. Yet his hatch-mate forestalled him.

In a minute.

Palé sighed to himself, rolling onto his back and looking at him upside down. Celesté?

Mm.

Ugh.

Get a mate of your own, and then I’ll allow you your groaning.

Palé snorted. I’m perfectly fine without one, thank you.

Celesté’s dive was neat, neater than his had been when he had first begun these drills, and even he had to admit that her silvery form and clean trajectory were pleasing to the eye. Though her swoop was not as easy as Corinne’s had been, she snagged the target without much strain and a triumphant roar.

There, she is done, Are you coming or not?

The sideways look Ikraan gave him was bordering on dangerous, but he followed.

Coming back? Kitai asked absently.

Aye. Have you an hour free to scratch my scales?

An hour? His amusement was quiet, at the back of his mind. Greedy. I might spare half that.

Where are you?

Oh, an empty room somewhere. Helping Caspian.

What horrors is he up to now?

Yesterday it was setting alight charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter - he nearly blew his head off, and so I was charged with ensuring his safety. Today, it is discovering the temperature at which one may melt sand.

. . . Not that I’ve any wish to insult your dear friend, but -

Harebrained, yes? His enthusiasm is infectious, however. And who knows but that it may come in useful?

Palé snorted, the smoke streaming past as the Hall loomed ever closer. He’d get along with Orrin, from all I’ve heard. Well, as long as you come down to relieve me of this itch, I’ve no complaint.

I’m leaving now.

He can bring his sand, if he likes, and I’ll melt it for him.

Kitai laughed. I’ll let him know.

They landed in the courtyard, panting a rush of hot air that made Osra, who was tending to a profusion of bougainvillea, give them a severely exasperated look. Rosalie and Drëya were sleeping a little off to the side, and they took care not to wake them as they sank down onto the cool stone floor.

After this week, no more drills, Ikraan groaned. We will finally be through with our training.

We were through a while ago, Palé retorted. Saphira only did not wish to see us sitting idle.

And now, what? Will we oversee the four younglings?

I should hope. They would be least pleased, but do we not deserve -

- some authority after playing second fiddle to the four strong-older-sisters for this long? I should say we do.

Palé hummed, pleased, and Ikraan lifted a lip in a toothy grin. They lay in peace until Kitai arrived, greeting Ikraan with a brisk rub on the nose.

Took you long enough , Palé said lazily, tilting his head to the side to provide better access.

Kitai leaned his forehead against his scaled cheek, gently scratching under the corner of his jaw. Palé groaned softly with pleasure, stretching out luxuriously.

Peaceful silence reigned for about a quarter of an hour before they heard the distant thunder of dragonflight, and soon Mànya and the other four rejoined them. Mànya seemed as though she had just returned from a relaxing glide over the forest, while the others sported drooping wings and limp tails.

Not a bad practice, Mànya said. Rest while you may.

While we may? Jethran raised his head, dismayed. What does that mean?

It means, Drëya growled, not opening her eyes, that you have firebreathing practice with myself and Layla now, and you would be wise not to dawdle too long.

They broke out into a chorus of complaints, the mental cacophony and disgruntled growling loud enough that Rosalie began to stir. Drëya lifted her head, eyes narrowed.

Don’t wake her, she snapped.

What of these two? Corinne demanded, tossing her head towards Palé and Ikraan. Do they not have to come as well?

The both of them, Drëya said dryly, already have more than sufficient control over their fire - as I hear Ikraan demonstrated not an hour past.

Corinne dropped her head in chagrin, snarling silently at Palé when he gave her a quick wink.

You may have ten minutes more, and then we will move to the edge of the forest. Mistress Saphira will be joining us there, and I hope none of you will cause us to keep her waiting.

Kitai laughed into Palé’s scales at the collective shudder that went through all the dragons assembled there.

I was beginning to feel out of place here, with so many who could squish me with only a flick of the tail, he murmured, but that reassures me. I have only to threaten to tell Saphira -

Palé huffed, enveloping him in a cloud of pale smoke, unable to suppress his amusement. We are not such craven creatures, child.

Kitai accepted the epithet with equanimity, as he always did. And how do you plan to spend the rest of your day?

In slumber, what else.

You’re growing fat and lazy, the lot of you. Take me on a flight, will you not?

Palé yawned expansively, settling his head between his forepaws as Jethran and Corinne tried to get Drëya to extend their time to rest. Ocean flight?

Mm.

If I’m in the mood, I suppose. What of Zelie? Do you not wish to be with her?

She . . . I don’t think she needs me to coddle her. She may fret privately, but she has herself in hand.

She doesn’t want you buzzing around, in short.

Kitai gave him a look, though he could not suppress some amusement. If I could only pinch you -

Go ahead. Palé tilted his head further, exposing more of his gold-sheathed, armour plated neck. Kitai rolled his eyes, swatting him on the shoulder.

Enough!

The shout silenced the clamour Drëya surged to her feet, inky wings snapping open. We will begin immediately, for if have to listen to anymore of this craven wrangling I should torch the Gardens. Come!

She was in the air in an instant, with an ease the rest of them struggled to emulate. Corinne tossed Palé a fulminating look as she flapped laboriously, following the rest.

Good riddance.

Am I to stand here scratching you until you fall asleep?

You could sit.

You lazy thing -

But he did, and only sighed when Ikraan demanded the favour as well. They drifted off to sleep thus, the three of them nestled together, basking in the mild autumn sun.

†

He would never get people to accept it, Jethran said firmly, settling more firmly on the salt-slippery rock he was perched on.

Why not? I think humans would be most interested to learn-

That’s if they have the leisure to learn, yes? If a majority of people grow up on isolated farms like Master Eragon, and the rest are power-hungry, rich leeches, who does he think will be interested?

A sweeping statement, and inaccurate. And have you thought that people may not be particularly interested in learning because they do not know what it is to learn, or what may be available for them to learn? Lifaen retorted, flicking his tail like a cat.

When a farmer is struggling to survive and depends on his children to help him earn a livelihood, do you think he will send them away for an education that, to him, is of no practical use?

We will not know unless we try, will we? Besides, is it not an ideal solution for the problem of magic-users?

So your Rider says, but in my opinion there are a myriad of issues that would be involved in the conception and execution of such a thing. And will the royals allow it? Say what you will, but most two-legs are notoriously opposed to the idea of those they had thought to be below them suddenly about to attain the same knowledge, or wealth, or education - the same power, in fact. And when you take into account Nasuada-queen’s attitude towards magic in the first place -

Well, then perhaps we could start with a system of education like there is on Tiruvin first, and then gradually make the shift, for we certainly have a good number of years to work with -

Layla cut smoothly into the echoes of pointed thought with Not that this isn’t an eminently interesting discussion, but you lot barely have eight months or so left here at the Hall, and if you would please to allow me to get around to giving you pointers on your flame so you aren’t entirely useless by the time we leave it would be appreciated.

They made her hasty apologies and quickly settled around a large boulder, evidently fallen from the cliff above fairly recently.

Very well then, we will start with you, Lifaen. Your lung capacity is more than sufficient to maintain a stream of fire for a good half hour, if not more. The problem is that you assume that all the air must be taken in at once; it is not so. You can breathe in while breathing flame out. The trick is a little difficult to acquire, but that is the only thing you must needs work on. Fly to the mouth of the river, and attempt to breathe in while drinking water. There is a certain muscle that will close the water off from your airway, your lungs. Notice, and exercise it. Return when you can do so voluntarily.

Understood.

He took to flight, and Layla turned her ponderous head to Jethran, burnished darker red in the sinking sun. As for you, it is your tongue control that needs work. Take a deep breath, and begin. I will instruct you as you do so.

Very well. He settled himself in front of the rock, and gave her a playful look. You know, if you were to just control my tongue for me -

Invasive, unnecessary, and pandering to your laziness, she said without heat. Begin.

By the time Lifaen returned, three quarters of an hour later, Jethran was well able to focus his fire on a much smaller area than before, and had even managed to burn a simple glyph into the rock.

Layla approved, in her composed way. Better by far. Continue to practice, and you will be as good as anyone else within the space of a week or two. And how went your practice, Lifaen?

In response, he let out a burst of bright green flames and maintained them long enough that, when he finally snapped his jaws shut, the rock was a fifth of its original height.

Very good. Good work today, both of you, now and before.

They dipped her heads before her. Our thanks for teaching us.

And for your patience.

Well - She rolled her shoulders, and her muzzle creased to reveal gleaming teeth. I have not had a good brawl in several weeks. If you would like to oblige me -

Lifaen was upon her instantly, scrabbling for purchase on her flank, snapping at her neck. She snarled happily, and Jethran had only to look at her - thrice their size, more than two years older than them both, certainly faster, more powerful and more dangerous than either of them - to lunge at her other flank with wild and gleeful abandon.

The scuffle lasted a good while, their roars echoing off the cliff, and whenever one of them fell they either crushed to fragments every rock within a two feet radius or floundered in the shallows before struggling out once more to resume the attack. By the time even Layla had gotten tired of shaking sand out of her snout, the stars had long since come out.

None of them desired to go back to the Hall, and so they settled to sleep on the beach, the waves struggling to lap at the ends of their tails. When Jethran woke the next morning as the bright-dazzling rays of the morning sun spread across the sky, Akhtar was tucked against his side, snoring loudly, his long queue encrusted with sand. He hummed deep and low in his throat with surprise and pleasure, and laid his wing over him. Both Caspian and Këyal were also settled near their dragons, Caspian still fast asleep and Këyal quietly curled into the hollow of Layla’s shoulder.

The slim-quiet-fast two-legs gave him a small smile and a nod. Jethran inclined his head in return before curling his body around his Rider, grateful for his presence, and falling back asleep.

Chapter Text

Seven months or so later

There was a gentle knock at the door, a polite pause before it was eased open.

“Ravûn-finiarel?”

Ravûn looked up from where he was lacing his boots. “Yes, Nina-elda?”

Nina blinked a little, briefly dazzled by the sparkle of the myriad gemstones inlaid in the walls of his room, before bestowing a lovely smile upon him.

“Just ensuring you were not enjoying a late lie in,” she cooed softly. “Breakfast is nearly ready. Will you help me set the table?”

“Of course, I will be down in a minute.”

“Thank you.” She inclined her head and withdrew as quietly as she had entered.

He got to his feet and stretched out to his fullest height, fingertips brushing the ceiling, before padding over to Drëya and patting her nose lightly. There was a disgruntled rumble deep in her throat as she cracked open one eye to focus on him.

What.

Morning, he said cheerfully. I’m heading down for breakfast.

Then go already.

Just making sure you aren’t late for your own meeting -

A warning growl filled the room, steadily becoming louder the longer he stood still. Out. Now.

He laughed and patted her once more, pausing only to strap his sword on before he left the room. As it clicked shut behind him he heard humming, and looked down the corridor to see Senshi approaching. She had her thick hair braided over one shoulder and Vindbitr sheathed at her right hip, dark copper skin in pleasant contrast to the pale blue of her shirt.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning to you!”

He fell into step beside her, grinning at the bright energy in her smile.

“Excited?”

“Half, and half nervous.” She shook her hands out restlessly, fingers making quick patterns in the air. “For the final test, and everything after - it will be a wonderful journey, I don’t doubt, but I, I know nothing about -”

Ravûn snorted. “You know more about Alagaёsia than most people living in it. What is left is only living well with the people themselves, and that I think you will not find that impossible to achieve. No?”

“I hope so,” she smiled. “Besides, if Master Eragon could face Galbatorix when he was hardly than seven-and-ten, I can do this now.”

“That’s the spirit. I hope you will not miss home?”

Her smile was a tad dimmer than before. “What home have I to miss? No, I will miss the forests, the ocean, and living at the Hall with everyone, and that is all. I left everything behind, more than three years ago, and I resolved long ago not to waste time pining for what cannot be regained.”

He nodded as they began to descend the great spiral staircase. “I understand.”

She touched him on the shoulder, fleeting and gentle. “I know you do. And you? Will you return to the Beors?”

“I doubt it. Given my history, it is perhaps not the best choice -”

“Ravûn! Senshi!”

It was Zelíe who hailed them. Looking from her to Senshi, Ravûn could not help but mark the contrast between them. She wore a dark green shirt, stark against skin that was still fair after years of training, and her hair was pulled back smoothly into a tight bun at the back of her head. Where Senshi’s eyes were startlingly light, hers were a deep lilac, and even the colour of rosy Andlat might have been expressly designed to differ from Vindbitr’s dark purple.

It was, however, a contrast that - after long enough, the gods knew - had settled into a placid complement, and an easy smile now graced Zelíe’s face.

“Good morning to the two of you,” she said. “Any ideas as to what our dear teacher might make us face on this fine day?”

Senshi’s laugh was copper bells and humming crystal. “Something we would much rather not, I am certain!”

“It is sure to be,” Ravûn agreed. “Parting the ocean with magic, perhaps, or a melee where the last one standing must then heal all the others, or seeing how long we can survive in the forest with no food and no magic -”

“ . . . Ravûn, I sincerely hope you haven’t been giving him any ideas.”

“Goodness, are these what came to your mind first? The last I could do, but I would rather stay here and coach the next batch if our trial is to resemble anything worse.”

He gave them both a gloomy grin. “If I know him at all, it will certainly be something far worse.”

“Ravûn!”

“Don’t do this before it has even begun!”

Lightly quibbling thus, they continued down the spiral staircase to the ground floor, where they were joined by Akhtar and Sorya, both of whom seemed to be attempting to outdo each other in inventing gruesome and painful tests they might undergo. Ravûn was hard put to decide which was worse, Akhtar’s enthusiasm or Sorya’s deadpan resignation.

At breakfast, too, it was all anyone could discuss. Given that most at the table would be able to hear it if a mouse sneezed five rooms away, no one made any effort to keep their conversations private. Eragon had to hide a smile behind a glass of water more than once; Talia listened with every evidence of amusement; Blodhgarm ate as quietly and fastidiously as ever, only the twitching of his ears indicating that he was paying any attention at all; Nelim had entered into a laughing discussion with Caspian on the probability of having to escape being hunted down by their own dragons; Invidia was denying every eager question put to her with no change to her expression bar a twitching lip; and so too were the rest of the elves similarly engaged as breakfast progressed.

The air of energetic expectation only increased as the last dishes were licked clean. Eragon beckoned for them to follow him, and they all trooped to his study eagerly - the elves as well, which puzzled the Riders. But they settled on the floor in expectant silence, and Eragon perched cross-legged on his desk with a grin.

“Excited?”

“Terrified,” Kitai said dryly, and laughter rippled around the room.

“Well, I will not say you do not have cause! You remember your forest training, yes?”

They all groaned in unison. Naming every living thing they chanced upon, ducking through scratchy brush and fording chilly rivers, learning to stalk, skin and gut any edible animal, cursing the summerflies and mosquitoes that would not let them doze longer than a bare half hour - everything as far removed from lofty philosophy and dead history and theory of magic as was possible. Eragon had coached them through three solid months of such training, and even after it was concluded had been prone to tossing them out into the forest for days at a time to see how they fared. There was now no one who could not survive a week or two alone in the Spine, even town-bred ones like Zelíe and Caspian, but none of them relished the prospect.

“I predicted it,” Ravûn murmured to Sorya. “It’ll be the forest with no food and no magic.”

She gave him a disgruntled look before turning her attention back to Eragon, and on his other side Zelíe dug a sharp elbow into his ribs as punishment. His yelp was, thankfully, not quite loud enough to be heard in the clamour.

Eragon held up a hand, waiting for the noise to die down before he proceeded. “So! Congratulations on passing the written test with flying colours, all of you. Your final practical test will begin at noon today, and will conclude at the same time five days from now. You will be tested on your survival and combat skills as well as your resourcefulness, and you will have absolutely no contact with your dragon during this period - “

“What?”

“What?”

“All questions at the end, please! Now, the boundaries set are the Hall to the west, the meditation tree to the east, the beach to the south and the Rion river to the north. Conveniently for us, it flows west to east before turning southwards to the sea, and it draws a clear line across the forest, providing us with a distinct northern border. This gives you approximately fifty square leagues of empty forest to use. You will all be placed at random points inside this area, and must survive with nothing more than three weapons, a good cloak for cold nights, and a waterskin. No food or other tools are permitted. You are to live there for five days, and in addition to this, you will instantly engage any other Rider you encounter in battle. Your goal is to defeat as many others as you can, without getting defeated or captured yourself. The rules of combat are thus - you may use weapons or magic or your mind, as you please. Guard your blades before you begin. If more than two of you happen to meet, you will not form alliances; you will fight any and all before you, but only between dawn and dusk. When there is no daylight, I would advise you not to draw attention to yourself. These are not harsh forests, but they are not always kind. After dusk, be sure to sleep in groups of at least three. In the morning, do not engage with those you have camped with in combat; find someone from another camp. When not in combat, you may use your mind to locate the others. You may not communicate vital information with them, such as the location of any other Rider or what state they are in; after dusk, of course, you may say whatever is necessary. I would also advise you to restrict your use of magic to healing alone, outside of combat. The terrain is somewhat rugged, and you will get tired quickly.

“And throughout, you will not be in contact with your dragon. Not a single thought or emotion may be shared, on pain of instant failure. It is difficult, one of the most difficult things a Rider will ever have to do, but it is one you must know you are capable of doing, should the occasion ever arise. The dragons will be individually tested on flying, endurance, and combat in this same period, and their evaluation will take place in the western grasslands.

“Ten of the elves will go with you , but there is to be no communication with them either. They are there only to observe and evaluate. Upon your return, I will hear their reports and yours in the ancient language. If there is any discrepancy, I will resort to examining your memories, but I hope that will not be necessary. Questions?”

“You will not also come to evaluate us, Master?”

“No, I will be unable to mark all of you, and if I can only watch some it is better to watch none and thus remain unbiased. My evaluation will be based entirely on the evidence of yourself and the elf who watches you.”

“And when you say defeat or capture -”

“If they surrender, or are either incapacitated or immobile.”

A silence fell. Ravûn glanced at his comrades, noting the gleam in Akhtar’s eye, the firm set of Zelíe’s chin, Sorya’s small, dangerous smile, Kitai’s wide grin -

It’s going to be a hell of a five days!

He grinned as well, hand automatically going to the pommel of his sword.

“Any other questions?”

They chorused in the negative, and Eragon smiled. “Do well, then, and may the stars watch over you.”

†

The first day

Ikraan’s landing was loud enough to shake a fair number of leaves from the trees around, but the sound was swiftly swallowed up by the forest. Senshi dismounted lightly, her thirty arrows rattling in her quiver and her sword a heavy weight on her hip.

Cloak? Ikraan asked.

She patted her waist, where it was tied securely. Here.

Dagger?

Here.

Bow -

She raised her left hand high, struggling not to smile as she presented to him her unstrung bow. Here, Ikraan.

He sighed, the breath tossing her hair back, and bent to press his forehead to hers. She hugged as much of his head as she could, fingertips curling into the edges of his scales. For a minute, they were both silent.

Acquit yourself well, she murmured eventually, pressing a kiss between his eyes.

And you.

She smiled, resolutely this time, determined to suppress the tears prickling the backs of her eyes.

In five days, then.

He snorted softly, sending her one last pulse of love and reassurance before severing his mind from hers entirely and leaping into flight. She allowed herself the luxury of watching his form dwindle to a distant spark before turning to face the thickest part of the forest, stiffening her spine. The best she could do was emerge from this trial having conducted herself so that he was proud of her, and that was what she intended to do. She sniffed, dashed a hand across her eyes once, gripped her bow tighter, and plunged past the trees.

Her first opponent was Osra, barely three hours later.

To Senshi’s own surprise, she didn’t hear her coming until she was almost upon her.

There was a rustle to her left, and just as she glanced that way there was a short bark of “Audr!” before a rock flew at her, nearly braining her. She dodged, dropping her bow and quiver, and scanned the trees warily. It would be just like Osra to misdirect her attention with such a trick, while approaching from another direction entirely. She stabbed outward with her mind, but was forced to abandon the attempt with a yelp and a scramble to the side as a command of “Kvistr, jierda!” caused the branches of the tree above her to snap and fall.

Osra was right behind her when she rose out of her hasty crouch, and she whirled around as her double-sided axe came whistling towards her head. She leapt sideways once more, yanking her sword out hastily. It would not be much use against Osra’s much larger and longer axe; she would have to rely on magic, her mind, and any brief attacks that would allow her to stay out of reach of her axe, or else somehow snap the axe’s haft.

Steeling herself, Senshi attacked Osra’s mind just as Osra rushed towards her, axe upraised. She skidded to a halt as she fought for control of her body. They battled at the speed of thought, Senshi growling under her breath as she felt herself being pushed back. Slowly but steadily, Osra was winning, and she shuffled towards her gingerly, raising the axe again. All Senshi could think of that might give her an advantage was somehow distracting Osra. As soon as the thought formed in her mind, Osra paused and looked at her suspiciously, then continued to move closer, albeit more carefully.

Senshi’s fists clenched as she exhaled in a hard huff. Then she wrenched her mind away completely, raised her sword and dove forward in a split second. Osra was still disoriented; she staggered as she blocked the blow with the haft of her axe.

Ha!

But her euphoria was short lived. Vindbitr caught in a deep notch in the head of the axe, and as they both attempted to disengage it was yanked from her grasp. Quick as a wink, Osra flicked the axe up to her throat like it weighed no more than a switch. They both stood there for a second, panting heavily, before Senshi muttered, “I surrender,” not bothering to hide her disgust.

Osra lowered the axe, allowing Senshi to stalk away and pick up her sword and discarded bow and arrows.

“Gods, trumped in two minutes.”

“Clumsy on your part, lucky on mine. I had not expected you to do what you did . . .  ‘twas a good fight.”

“For you, I suppose. I hope not to encounter you again soon.”

Osra only bared her throat with a hint of a smile before turning away and following a path that led west. Senshi elected to move north, still disgruntled but on the alert for the slightest of unfamiliar sounds.

But the sun was three hands above the horizon by the time she encountered her next opponent. She had been perched in a manga tree, satiating her hunger with the sweetly succulent fruit, when she had caught a flash of red a little way off.

A fire? She leaned a little out of the tree, squinting. No -

It was Sorya, moving with surprising silence through the undergrowth. Senshi watched her proceed, trying to map her direction of progress as well as think of a plan of attack. She was better than Sorya with a sword, but Sorya was her equal with both a bow and a dagger. In fact, with a dagger she had the advantage. She was also excellent at inventing creative spells that opponents found it hard to anticipate, but she was not quite as good as Senshi at mind-sparring. If the battle was kept to sparring with swords or mind-dueling, and allowed no opening for magic, she should be fairly likely to win.

Having settled upon this, she wiped her sticky mouth and began to follow at a safe distance behind Sorya as she made her way through the forest. The trees were the broad branched, broad leaved banyans and fire-trees of the south; it was no hardship to use the paths they formed, as she had so often since coming to live at the Hall.

It was some half an hour later that Sorya paused at the bank of a small pond to splash her face with water. Senshi hesitated, wondering whether to make her move.

The ground will be softer, but I could drive her into the water, and she is more used to solid stone. The advantage should be mine.

Having decided, she wasted no more time, leaving her bow and quiver tucked behind a knot in the wood before leaping down lightly. Sorya whirled around at the quiet crash, her vivid hair flying out behind her. Senshi landed low, drew Vindbitr, and was on her almost before Sorya could draw her own sword, the glittering Kveykva. But draw it she did, bringing it up in a flash of white.

They sparred long and fierce and hard as the sun sank further toward the horizon, enough that their arms began to tremble and they cried out fiercely with each strike to counteract the fatigue in their thighs. There was no time to even formulate a helpful spell, let alone utter it. Sorya’s cuts were unflagging in their energy, not easy to block or counter, and the height difference did not give Senshi an advantage enough to allow her to conclude the match quickly. They battled back and forth, churning the mud like butter and trampling all the grass in the area.

But as the last flush of pink began to fade from the sky, Senshi clumsily yanked their locked blades upwards with a raw shout. Sorya lost her grip, and Kveyka thudded into a bed of moss a little away. They both stood still for a moment before Sorya raised her hands, chest having as she grinned. Senshi returned the grin, handing Kveykva back to her.

“Well fought,” she said, rolling her aching shoulders.

“And you.”

They both turned at the sound of soft applause to see Kёyal leaning against a tree nearby. “A very good match,” he said softly, approaching with a brief dip of his head. “I may camp with you two tonight?”

“Oh, to be sure.”

Sorya shrugged, gingerly stretching out her legs. “I’ve no objection.”

The sky was scattered with a handful of stars by the time they collected enough dry branches for a small fire. They were all ravenous, and so it was only a short time before they were gorging themselves on ripe summer fruits plucked or summoned from the trees around them.

Kёyal was finished first, delicately licking the last traces of juice off his fingertips before sitting back with a content sigh. “A nice night.”

Sorya snorted softly, slitting open another papitha with a swift flick of her dagger, the pearly black seeds gleaming in the dim firelight. “Still too hot by half.”

“We should sleep well enough by the side of the pond, I think.”

Senshi hummed in agreement, throwing a handful of seeds behind her. “Did either of you notice any of the elves observing us today? I must admit I did not.”

“No.”

“I thought I saw Ellaer-elda, but it was only a glimpse, and distant at that.”

Sorya grinned. “If it had been anyone else, I would have said they mistook you for him.”

Kёyal smiled at that, absently tightening the band that confined his lengthening hair at the nape of his neck. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I saw myself in the distance. Kitai had previously headed in that direction, so he was likely following him. I have no idea who was observing me, however - or who might be observing us right now, for that matter.”

They all glanced into the darkness outside the circle of firelight, pooled between tree roots and quietly rustling bushes, and a ripple of goosebumps ran up Senshi’s arms.

There was a brief pause before Sorya said, with a shade of unaccustomed uncertainty, “If we were to open our minds -”

The suggestion was left incomplete, and no one was inclined to further it.

“It’s too empty,” Senshi said, staring at her clasped knees.

“I agree.” Kёyal’s mouth was pinched slightly. “To reach out with the mind, when -”

Sorya’s laughed, short and rough. “I doubt anyone opened their minds the whole day. It’s too -”

“Wrong.”

“Unfamiliar.”

“Even for you? You must have been using your mind for years before Layla.”

“Yes, but not hearing her voice now - it’s bad enough to be lacking it in my head, but if I were to reach out to no purpose now, I should only be tempted to push until I reached her, and then if I did not do so even then, I would run back to her upon the instant.”

The expression of desolation was unfamiliar on him, and Senshi was compelled to pat his hand lightly. “I feel the same. I would even welcome Ikraan’s . . . less than delicate thoughts about Celesté, though they would not allow me my sleep in peace. This hollow kind of emptiness is worse than I thought it would be.”

Sorya nodded in response to both their quiet admissions, green eyes trained on the dancing, crackling flames. “I suppose this is what Eragon wants us to learn to handle. We will survive without them; we have before. They, on the other hand -”

Senshi winced. “Shall we change the topic?”

“Please,” Kёyal murmured.

“Who else did you encounter today?”

“Dara,” Sorya replied. “Near the eastern edge. Defeated her. She’s my better with a sword, my equal with a bow, but all I had to resort to was magic and she was helpless.”

“In that way, she is unsuited to this exercise,” Kёyal said, brows drawing together slightly.

“I’m sure they will take that into account for her evaluation,” Senshi said. “And who knows but the test might trigger her magic.”

“That would be a desirable outcome, but if it has not occurred thus far I doubt it.”

“Well, she has another four and a half days.” Sorya laid the stone of her last manga to one side. “Who did you two stumble upon?”

“Kitai and Akhtar,” Kёyal replied. “They both gave me quite hard fights; Akhtar, in fact, nearly took an ear off. Both occurred near the northwestern edge.”

“Quite a distance off.”

“Indeed, but I enjoyed the travel. And you, Senshi? Did you fight anyone else today?”

“Osra.” She did her best not to scowl. “She bested me in a bare minute.”

An owl called in the distance as Sorya stretched her arms out, clearly amused. “Well, there are not many who could defeat her easily, so I would advise you not to worry over it.”

“Still -”

“Shh.” Kёyal held up a finger, head tilting, eyes scanning their surroundings warily. “There’s something - “

Senshi’s hand was instantly on her dagger, watching Kёyal intently as he listened. Sorya, too, was entirely still and entirely silent. It was some half a minute later that they heard it as well; above the lapping of the water and the rustling of leaves and branches was the muted thud of large paws.

“Bear?” Sorya hissed.

“No bears here,” Kёyal murmured, still straining to hear. “Too far south. Could be a cat, but I’ve never seen -”

“Oh!”

They turned to look at Senshi as she clapped a hand to her mouth, heart suddenly beating in her throat. “It could be - it might be -”

Her voice died as she caught sight of a pair of bright yellow eyes appear just outside the circle of firelight, watching her.

It is!

She got to her feet as slowly as she could. “Do not move,” she whispered. “Do not speak. Do not draw any weapon. You hear?”

“Aye.” Sorya was tense, her voice tight as she watched the pair of luminous eyes. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hear,” Kёyal murmured, watching Senshi carefully as she gingerly slipped her boots off.

She stood and walked to the edge of their small camp, the earth cool against her bare feet. When she was only ten feet or so away she sank to one knee and bowed her head, recalling the phrase her father had taught her - so long ago, and in jest only.

“Sinh’a,” she called softly. “Sinh’a, akata frica na shikha heika te mus’aba, dida akh Reksha. Atani feonji.”

I am a friend and a loyal subject of the king, of the clan Reksha. I beg your blessing

The eyes were obscured for a brief heartbeat before the creature padded forward. The firelight danced over gold-burnished fur and a sinuous tail,  powerful shoulders and a shaggy head, ribbons of black that marked deeply intelligent eyes. The collar was stitched with blue and silver thread - it was a male. She dropped her eyes as he approached, and the great paws stopped right in front of her. There was dead silence for a moment, broken only by his deep breathing, before she felt the cool touch of his nose on her forehead.

“Senshi,” Sorya breathed, somewhere behind her. “Careful-”

She blinked away the prickle behind her eyes as awe and joy buzzed through her blood, and looked up into his face. He glanced behind her, at the other two, then focused upon her once more, tail waving back and forth ever so daintily.

“We-we have no meat,” she said softly, slowly. “We have nothing to offer you, blessed one, though you are welcome to stay as long as you please.”

He took a step forward, sniffing at her face. She closed her eyes tight and did her best not to move. There was the faint sound of metal scraping against leather behind her, and she slipped one hand behind her back, motioning downwards as frantically as she could.

Sorya, for the love of god, don’t - !

He moved past her as silently as a cloud of smoke, circling their camp. Sorya’s hand was tight on the pommel of her sword, but neither she nor Kёyal moved save to track his movement. He paused to sniff at the small pile of discarded skin and seeds, as well as Senshi’s abandoned boots, before coming back to stand in front of her. She met his gaze as well as she could, trying to decipher why he had approached at all. It did not seem to be hunger, and he showed no signs of aggression. Then - ?

He sat back on his haunches with a huff that turned into a rumbling growl, like a blunt saw cutting through wood. She flinched back instinctively, but his ears were still relaxed, alert, and he seemed more expectant than anything. She took a breath and, hoping to all the gods she was doing the right thing, reached out with her mind to find out what he wanted.

Sight tinged with smell, tracking trails days old and leaping through shallow streams with . . . with another sinh’a biting at his tail, his haunches, his throat, feelings of excitement, enjoyment, playfulness, before loss, confusion -

“You cannot find him? He is . . . your litter-mate?”

The sinh’a yawned widely, pink tongue bright in his mouth against gleaming white teeth.

He has a regal collar, so -

“I believe you should return north. He has most probably gone in that direction, and even if he has not there will be those there who can help you find him - guards, or rangers.”

He blinked at her, yellow gaze curious, and she felt a hazy acknowledgement from him as she pictured the mountain ranges he needed to find.

“North, blessed one, away from the ocean and up along the rivers, and you should cross paths with him soon. Perhaps he has already arrived ahead of you.”

He huffed again, gruffly, getting to his feet. Senshi hardly had a second to react before he pushed his face into the side of her neck, like an affectionate cat, fur soft and chilly against her cheek. She felt the vibration of his pleased rumble in her throat, in her chest, before he turned and padded away into the dark forest.

“What in the seven hells,” Sorya said flatly, when it was apparent he was truly gone.

Senshi pressed both hands tight over her mouth and gently fell backwards into the dirt, doing her utmost not to squeal aloud.

There is no way in hell that just -

An upside down face entered her field of vision - Kёyal, quizzical and amused.

“Senshi?”

“That did happen, did it not?” she mumbled through her fingers. “Tell me it was not a dream.”

“It was real enough,” Sorya said impatiently, reaching over to poke her in the side with her sheathed sword. “What it was is more than I can fathom, however. What were you telling the cat?”

Senshi sat bolt upright, leaves and dirt flying free of her hair as she whirled around to face Sorya, pointing an accusing finger. “Cat?” she demanded. “Don’t call him - how could you even -”

Kёyal patted her companionably on the shoulder. “Come and sit down, and have a drink of water before you tell us.”

One drink of water, one hysterical bout of laughter, and twenty deep breaths later, her heart rate was slow enough that she could begin to explain.

“He was a sinh’a.” she said, watching the last branches in the fire glow bright. “You have something similar in Du Weldenvarden, yes? Spots, not stripes.”

“So we do. Mountain cats.”

“Well, he was not a mountain cat precisely, though they do live in the foothills when they please.”

“The collar?”

“A regal collar. Not a mark of - of domesticity, but that the royals have extended their protection to him. In truth, I doubt there are any who lack that protection. They are sacred to us, you see. Some call them the forest’s most beloved children, some call them the spirits of fire, and to some they represent everything - honour, courage, power, beauty. In short, however, they are the blessed creatures, favourite of the gods, on the royal standard and the royal seal, and to receive such a blessing as I did is - is a chance that few receive in a lifetime, for they are usually solitary creatures.”

“They are not domesticated, but he was surely too friendly for a wild animal?” Sorya asked.

“They are not, but we have lived in peace with them for nigh on a thousand years. No hunting by us, no depletion of their prey due to us, and in general they know that humans they encounter may be approached without fear.”

“They have never preyed upon - ?”

“They would never. They know us, and we know them, though our paths cross but rarely.”

“He understood what you were saying to him?” Kёyal asked. “It sounded almost like the ancient language, I thought.”

“Well -” Senshi scratched a glyph in the dust absently. “It could not be confirmed, of course, but when Master heard Kitai and I speak to each other he guessed that we - our people - might be descended from the Grey Folk who left Alagaёsia so long ago. They could only travel east, yes? On foot? And the land is rich and plentiful here. So it would not be strange if they had settled here . . . Using the ancient language would perhaps have been better, in terms of getting the meaning across to him, but not many people know it in the pure form. The old form. We have eight to ten languages derived from it, but the old tongue is left to the scholars. He may not have understood everything I said, but he would have understood enough.”

“He was lost?”

“He was searching for his litter-mate. I do not think he was so very old, perhaps a year or two. They are quite far from home.”

“I see.”

Senshi glanced from one to the other, abruptly hesitant. To her, her actions seemed respectful and proper, but would it seem so to the other two? She could not imagine Sorya bowing to a Shrrg or Nagra, or Kёyal bowing to anyone at all apart from his queen. They had neither been born nor bred here, in this land of summer forests and tempestuous monsoons, and her customs were not theirs.

“My - my gestures may have seemed stupid, incomprehensible, but they are truly blessed, and -”

Sorya’s eyes were bright as she laughed. “You need not make any excuses, Senshi. He was beautiful. The most beautiful creature I have seen, barring the dragons, even if I was worried he might snap our head off. And I would not tell it to the Quan, but I would rather bow to one like him in this forest than to stone idols in their rich temples.”

Kёyal smiled and propped his chin on one knee, looking unaccountably younger all at once. “He was truly gorgeous,” he said softly. “I count myself lucky to have seen him. If you can accept the Menoa Tree, or the Agaeti Blodhren, I do not see why you should assume I would not comprehend this belief, this ritual of your people.”

Smiling fit to split her face in two, Senshi could only bow her head in thanks and acknowledgement, for an odd lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.

It was quiet after that. A sense of placid comradeship had settled over them, and there was no longer a need for words. The fire burned lower and lower as the sky turned until it was no more than a nest of glowing embers, caressed by the summer breeze. Kёyal tossed a handful of mud onto it, they said their goodnights, wrapped themselves in their cloaks and turned to sleep.  And when Senshi slept, she dreamt of a sinh’a made of stars prowling the night sky alongside Ikraan, both of them keeping her safe and well.

Chapter Text

The third day

The profusion of birdsong was the first thing that Dara registered as sleep began to recede, bright and melodious. She yawned and blinked awake, watching the first flush of orange approach on the eastern horizon, the rest of the sky as yet the dark, quiet iron-blue that precedes the dawn.

The others were asleep - Zelíe was curled up under her cloak, Caspian was sprawled on his side, and Ravûn was still snoring softly. The chilly morning air was more than sufficient to rouse her to complete alertness, and she gathered her belongings as quickly as she could before stealing away from the erstwhile camp. Dawn to dusk, Eragon had said, and she was loath to take chances.

She left at a brisk trot, heading due north, and soon enough the chill had dissipated with the brightening sun. Barring a brief break to drink some water and eat some fruit, she was soon at the Rion river. She filled her waterskin and washed her hands and face clean, wrinkling her nose a little at the smell of her own clothes. The heat and exertion did nought to add to anyone's fragrance, and she could not help but think longingly of the neat wash closet in her room at the Hall.

If I remained by the river, I could use the water whenever I wished - perhaps even find the time for a quick dip, she mused, stretching her arms out and yawning. But then I doubt I would encounter many of the others, and I don't know if there is a minimum requirement for the number of matches we must fight . . . ah, it's a lazy thought anyhow.

The sun was now a handsbreadth above the horizon, and the forest was waking in earnest. Dara set her weapons down and sat back against a slate grey boulder by the side of the river, content to watch in silence for a while. Giant squirrels, banded russet and red and midnight blue, chased each other through the trees with a series of rapid squeaks. Three sunbirds with shimmering, swirling tails zipped through the bushes, occasionally pausing to probe a flower or sample some nectar while the song of a myriad other species of birds poured into the air like a waterfall. The last dew of the morning still sparkled on blossoms in the rampant hibiscus bushes. The trees were all thick-trunked, broad-leaved, branches high and graceful and extensive enough that they were attempting to join with the rustling canopy on the other side of the river; and the early sunlight sliced the forest into sections both dark and shadowed as well as golden and brilliant, as it did the river itself.

It was nothing if not conducive to restfulness, and it was a little more than an hour later that she realized that the breeze, birdsong and occasional ripple of a fish breaking the surface of the water had all conspired to lull her into a state of unintended tranquility. It was with mild shock that she realized she had even forgotten the pain of being parted from Celesté. She shook herself and got to her feet briskly, trying not to smile. She could not advance if she remained thus in one place for the entire day.

She walked along the river for a while before turning into the forest, bow at the ready. It was her best weapon, the one she was most confident with, and she was certain that she would hear anyone approaching in enough time to nock and aim an arrow or, failing that, to switch to her sword. Her pace was brisk, and she kept to it without pause, but before long she was sorely tempted to flag. The sun was quite high now, only a few hours till noon, and the forest was sweltering. The breeze had abated, and she knew it would not return until the evening. Sweat trickled down her back and neck without pause, as it had for hours.

To compound her discomfort and growing annoyance, the summerflies were out in full force. When they were not engaged in gorging on the sweetest fruit within reach, they contented themselves with her skin. She was soon covered in small red marks from her cheeks to her neck to her wrists, and they itched incessantly. There was no cool mud available to soothe them, and she could not waste the water in her waterskin on them, for the water would evaporate within a minute and she would be obliged to trudge all the way back to the river to refill the skin. Though she was not exposed to direct sun for many minutes at a time, patches of her skin began to turn an angry, sunburned red. If it had been a snowstorm, she could have coped far better than the others, but this muggy heat did nothing but steadily leach away her energy.

And her composure as well. She could not help but think how much more comfortable she would have been if she could use magic - a simple, five word incantation and no summerfly would have been able to approach her. In the three matches she had been in, too, she had been bested in all of them with a single word. None of her comrades were kind enough to refrain from using magic when facing her, and though she gave a good account of herself when sparring, all they needed was to draw a breath and mouth a spell and they had her at their mercy.

Dara stopped walking entirely, waving aside a clinging spiderweb and taking a deep breath in an attempt to tamp down her rising frustration. She had agonized over this enough, and working herself up would do nothing to help her mood or keep her in a state of readiness for battle. A spar would release some of the irritation and tension that plagued her; but in the absence of someone to fight, there was no point in wasting time sulking. She had traveled a fair distance by now - she would wait for a while before moving on, in case someone crossed her path themselves.

Still nervous energy buzzed under her skin, so she hopped lightly on top of a massive fallen tree trunk, looking around her. She was nearly at the top of a gentle hill, and surrounding the base grew a profusion of wild flowers in every shape and hue. She tapped the body of her bow absently; the answering hum caused her to remember that it was still strung. She looked at it for a moment, considering; then knelt and nocked an arrow, searching for a suitable target.

The sound might attract attention, but this is as good a way as any of collecting myself, insofar as I can, and if anyone does come looking I will see them coming first.

She paused purely by habit, waiting for a reply from Celesté. When it did not come, she repressed the strong urge to snarl to herself and instead sighted along the shaft of her arrow, mouth tight.

She caught sight of a creeper winding about a tree halfway down the slope, and fixed her aim. With another deep breath or two, she was already growing calmer. Her bow was as familiar to her as her own body, and had always been her strength and refuge.

Her eyes narrowed and, as always, she heard her father's warm, creaky voice in her ear from her first archery lesson.

It's simple now, lass. You've got the aim - now breathe in, breathe out, and -

The arrow sang forth from the bow, and when it thudded into the trunk of the tree, the creeper was neatly cut in half. She grinned, pleased at the clean shot, and cast about for a more difficult target.

One bush caught her eye, at the bottom of the slope and almost hidden by the trees. It was covered in lovely yellow-purple blossoms, with one particular clump of flowers nodding on top temptingly. She was obliged to move a little to obtain a line of sight that was clear of branches and bushes, and it would be a tight fit, but a beautiful shot if she could manage it.

She took her time aiming, determined to get it in her first try; for archery was her assured skill, one where she knew she excelled, and she wanted beyond anything to be reminded of her proficiency at this, if not anything else. When she had adjusted the aim for the ninth and final time, she held steady, took her breath, and released smoothly.

Almost at once, she realised she should have aimed a shade lower, for the arrow looked as though it might have been just a hairsbreadth too high. But before the exclamation of annoyance could even leave her lips, she saw the figure of a person, just bending their head towards the bush to smell that very clump of flowers. It was with a shock of gut-clenching horror that she realised that they had only just stepped out of the shadow of an overhanging branch, which was why she had not seen them; that the arrow might seriously maim them if they did not take immediate evasive action; that they seemed to have heard the arrow too late to take any action at all; that the eyes turning towards her were dark green and mildly startled, partly obscured by a lock of silky black hair that fell forward from behind a pointed ear -

No -!

There was no time to move, no time to even shout a warning, for the arrow had already covered more than half its path. In another half a second she would be screaming, running to Këyal as he clutched at the arrow in his skull, knowing with sick, sick certainty that it was all her fault that her dear friend was dying, because she had been careless and a fool and had not noticed him. She could have howled with the dread panic searing her veins, but she was paralyzed; she would have to watch, she could do nothing but watch the arrow find its mark, helpless -

No, stop - stop!

She could not, she refused to watch him die, it was not possible, the arrow had to stop, it had to stop, it had to stop -

She knew it would be useless, but she could not prevent it. The word burst forth unbidden from her lips with a desperation she had never known was possible.

"Letta!"

The shout echoed off the trees, off the ground, it sent birds twittering up in a panic, it silenced every sound of the forest for one long, breathless moment.

Dara pressed one hand over her mouth hard, tears filling her eyes as her knees went weak. For the arrow had stopped, and was now hovering gently in midair, not two feet away from Këyal's astonished face.

He straightened up, staring at it for a long instant, then looked up at her, still blank with surprise. Her bow and quiver clattered to the ground, and she sprinted forward, heedless of brambles and loose rocks and whatever else lay in her path until she cannoned into him. He staggered, arms coming up to steady her so they would not both fall.

"What - Dara, you -"

She made a noise like an overheated kettle into the front of his shirt, clutching his collar with a deathgrip. He laughed softly, the vibration thrumming through her throat from his chest, and patted her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

She glared up at him, blinking away her tears furiously. "What in the seven hells possessed you to smell that bloody flower at the exact moment I let the arrow loose, you imbecile, you - you son of a halfwitted - I could have killed you -"

"I do not think the arrow was so high as to have -"

"It coulda been! And why did you not do anythin' to stop it from skewering you in the face?! You've been using magic since you could talk, and you -"

"I did not expect an arrow to come flying towards me when I was only bending to smell a flower! Why were you shooting at flowers anyhow?"

"Target practice, I - it does not matter now, just - oh, I'm glad you aren't dead!"

The teary exclamation was met by a full bodied laugh, loud and musical. She could not refrain from joining in, if more from relief than anything else.

"And I," Këyal said, smiling down at her broadly, "am beyond glad that you have finally found your magic, Little Cat."

"I -" She swung around to look at the arrow, still hovering peacefully in midair. "So I have," she said in wonder, still unable to entirely believe it. "I finally -"

His embrace lifted her quite off her feet, and hugged him back just as hard. When he finally set her down again, she was surprised to find tears once more beginning to trace a path down her cheeks.

"What is it?" Këyal asked, tracing patterns on her wrist with careful fingers, his expression still bright with delight.

She shook her head weakly and sat down, pulling him down beside her. "Far too many emotions in the range of five seconds," she said, resting her forehead on his shoulder. The icy rush of blinding energy still suffused her mind; she cut it off with an effort, and the arrow fell to the forest floor in silence. The weakness that followed was none too pleasant, and without intending to, she slumped into Këyal, forcing him to bear her weight. "Ugh, it feels . . ."

He did not complain, only shifting an arm about her and leaning back against the nearest tree to become comfortable. "The sensation does take some getting used to, yes. I am so very happy for you, Dara, and my heartfelt congratulations."

"Thank you kindly," she mumbled, squeezing his hand. He hummed in response, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You think Master will mind if we don't fight? I don't think I have the energy . . ."

"Extenuating circumstances. I'm sure he would not wish me to exert myself, either, after my close escape from death -"

She pinched him, fighting her smile, and she could feel him grin against her forehead.

"Oh, speaking of Master - ugh, you all will be preparin' to leave, all happy go lucky, but he'll make me stuff a year's worth of practical magic practice into two weeks, or however long we have between returnin' and our leavin' -"

"I'm sure you will pick it up without any trouble at all," Këyal said comfortingly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You will do excellently."

And somehow, she thought, curling into his secure hold with a content sigh, I can never help but believe him.

†

Caspian's arm was beginning to shake with the effort of keeping it high. He grimaced, pushing more power into the spell.

"Aki, will you forfeit already - !"

Akhtar grunted, nails leaving deep gashes in the trees as he struggled to pull himself forward and out of the invisible web that was keeping his feet trapped. Caspian had sealed his mouth earlier, knowing full well he would hesitate to use magic with only his thoughts.

Their battle of wills continued without pause, chills rippling through Caspian's limbs and settling in his bones. Caspian had resorted to thinking of begging desperately for a draw before Akhtar groaned, slumping to the ground and waving a hand. Capian released both spells instantly.

"Enough, truce," Akhtar panted, chest heaving. "The win is yours."

"Finally," Caspian gasped, sitting down abruptly. "You bullheaded -"

Akhtar's laugh was half a groan. He rolled onto his side gingerly. "Another minute or so was all you could have held out, yes?"

"Why did you stop, then," Caspian sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

"Because all I had was half a minute."

He huffed out a laugh. "Ravûn left you in such bad shape?"

There was a low growl, and Akhtar sat up properly. "He did not walk away unscathed, either. And neither did you."

Caspian winced, rubbing the massive bruise blooming over his gut. "True enough. Will you move now, or should I?"

Akhtar heaved himself to his feet and picked up his sword, shaking his long braid over his shoulder. "You have walked farther than I. Besides, I know a small pool a quarter league away - I will go and rest for a time."

"Enjoy," Caspian called at his retreating back. He was acknowledged with an upraised hand and a brief grunt before Akhtar was swallowed up by the forest.

He lay there for a while, recruiting his strength and feeling entirely loath to face anyone else in battle. A quick bite to eat and a long drink of water helped mend matters, and within fifteen minutes he had given up trying to force his eyelids to stay open.

When he woke up, it was to the early evening sun, a crick in his neck, leaves in his mouth, and a boot gently nudging his ribs. He squinted up into Kitai's face, bright eyes darkened by dappled shadows and a twist of amusement to his mouth.

"Oh, no . . ."

"Having a nice nap?" He crouched, playfully pushing Caspian's cheek with one finger. "Would you like to forfeit now and save us both time?"

"I doubt the rules allow it," Caspian grumbled, sitting up and shaking the last of the sleep from his eyes. "Can you not simply pretend to have never found me?"

"I doubt the rules allow it," Kitai shot back with a grin. "Whoever is following me will be sure to report it, and then what would we do?"

"If he intended to emulate us being actually hunted, this test was not the best idea. There's a limit to competitiveness, honestly . . . shall we make our own rules?"

Kitai tilted his head. "How do you mean?"

Caspian hid a yawn behind one hand, trying to get his thoughts in order. "We could . . . two matches. If we each win one, we concede it to be a draw. If not, the win obviously goes to the one who won both."

"The difference between the two matches?"

"One with swords, one with magic."

"And why would I agree to this instead of casting a spell to immobilize you right now?"

"I might force it into a mind-duel, which I know you wouldn't like; and you have the advantage of gaining an extra quarter of an hour to devise your spells while I wake up properly and stretch a little. You look tired already, besides."

"Hm." His gaze was considering. "One condition more."

"Yes?"

"If you lose, even once, you tell me how to make your islingr powder."

"My most precious secret!" Caspian laughed. "Who do you want to blow up, hey?"

"Not your concern, I think!"

"And what do I receive of equal value, if you lose even once?"

Kitai grinned widely. "I'll tell you something that will make you very happy indeed."

"Something I can learn only from you?"

"Quite possibly."

Caspian gave him a narrow look, but his expression of cheerful innocence was second to none.

"Ah, very well. A quarter of an hour, then."

And so it was that a quarter of an hour later they were circling each other warily, blades upraised and at the ready. Caspian feinted forward, Kitai leapt back, they clashed briefly, and then returned to the slow, easy prowl. The forest floor was littered with all manner of rocks, branches and crevices that made it fairly difficult to move smoothly, but looking away was not an option. Kitai was an exemplary and lithe swordsman, and if Caspain was not careful he could lose before he knew it.

It was not five seconds later that Kitai's golden-bright Celöbra passed through a patch of sunlight, and the resulting reflection flashed straight into Caspian's eyes. He recoiled slightly, blinking, and Kitai was instantly upon him with a shout. They danced through the undergrowth, swords clashing musically as sweat began to drip into their eyes and their chests began to heave. Caspian allowed himself to be driven back without much resistance, hopping hastily over rotting logs and roiling anthills. Kitai's power was in his fierce attack, his ability to drive on and on without ever once appearing to flag, steadily undermining his opponent's confidence. But Caspian had sparred with him more times than he could count, and he knew that an opportunity would present itself soon enough.

He blocked a heavy overhead cut, thrust aside an upward slash and spun to the side, bringing him sword up to guard his side. It was knocked aside with a clang, and he ducked away from a quick cut that, somehow, seemed to have been placed a little off -

Now!

He lunged forward with a wicked thrust that nearly met its mark, and followed with a neat side slash that was also blocked, though just barely. They were on a more equal footing, now, and he pressed home his advantage. There was an intensity to this fight, as there had been to every fight he had been in the past two days, that was different, sharper, more gleefully savage - this was no longer practice sparring or exhibition matches, it was competitive combat that was real and deadly earnest. Both were equally determined not to lose, to prove themselves.

They ducked, they cut, they shouted, they swung over and over until their swords turned their arms into lead. Caspian knew his tenacity was his strength, and he pressed it into full service, intensifying his attacks when most others would have fallen back for a reprieve.

But stubbornness could not counteract fatigue or the difference in their skill, and eventually Caspian's sheer lack of experience led to his defeat. Kitai slammed Bjartlauf aside with a yell, hard enough that Caspian's entire torso was wrenched to one side, and pressed his sword against his neck. They remained still for a moment, gasping for breath, before disengaging by mutual agreement.

"Your - your win," Caspian panted, sheathing his sword clumsily and unbuckling the scabbard.

"So it is," Kitai huffed, doing the same. "For the next match, how -"

"Taelda!"

Kitai yelped as he toppled over, ankles and wrists invisibly bound. Caspian dropped his scabbard entirely, freeing himself of the weight, and grinned as Kitai spat dirt and leaves.

"Oh, you will pay for -"

"Theyna!"

His voice went silent, and he glared up furiously. Caspian crouched in preparation for whatever spell he might cast next - unlike Akhtar, he was comfortable enough casting wordless spells, and Capian would be unable to hear it and attempt to counteract it in time, so it was best to press on with the attack.

"Hér-"

Kitai mouthed a spell -

Ethilnadras, eldrvari!

- and the brush at Capian's feet burst into a circle of roaring flame, growing ever smaller. He yelped, his boots beginning to heat uncomfortably fast.

And he suddenly could not move, either, forced to remain as a statue while the fire burned closer. Kitai grinned savagely, beginning to rise to his feet.

"Deloi, moi!" Caspian shouted, and Kitai was instantly ankle deep in spongy mud, rapidly sinking. The ring of fire vanished.

Adurna reisa, thringa, Kitai mouthed. Shimmering droplets of water swept together from the ground and coalesced into a sphere that hurtled towards Caspian.

"Vaetna!"

It burst apart, raining down on the both of them with a soft patter.

Jierda!

Branches snapped and began to plummet downwards, towards Caspian's head.

"Vindr!"

A howling wind swept through the clearing, tearing at their clothes and tossing the branches aside. Kitai winced, shielding his face from the wind blowing directly into it as he began to sink faster.

Vrangr!

The malthinae spell was lifted, and Caspian gasped in pain as his ankles clicked - not twisted entirely out of shape, but certainly unable to support his weight. He fell to his hands and knees, glaring across the clearing balefully.

"Geuloth du agua!"

Kitai blinked furiously, pressing a hand to his suddenly unseeing eyes. Caspian increased the energy he was channeling to the earth molding spell, for if he could just get him to sink fast enough, he would be immobilized, and -

Verma!

The wind blowing past was suddenly far hotter, and Caspian coughed into his shoulder, shielding his face from the onslaught. He had no choice but to release the wind spell, and the howling subsided. Kitai was, by now, up to his chest in the earth, mute and practically blind. In another half a minute it would reach his neck, and the match would be over. But could he maintain the spell that long? Already spots were crowding his vision, and he was struggling not to sway on the spot.

He saw Kitai open his mouth, begin to say Eldh -

"Geuloth du eyra!" he shouted, panicked, and Kitai howled in silent frustration, fists slamming into the ground as his world went silent. But that was all he could do, muted, blinded and deafened - the match was over. Caspian gingerly lowered himself down to lie on his side, waiting until Kitai's chin was splattered with mud before releasing all his magic.

"You - you trickster," Kitai panted. "Get me out of this -"

"I can't - even move - and you want me to - get you out - fix my ankles, first -" He yelped as the bones shifted back into their places.

"Done. Now -"

"Stay there," Caspian groaned, lying down and throwing an arm over his eyes, fighting the heaving urge to empty his stomach. "Let me - catch my breath. Besides, if you can - heal me, you can - get yourself - out of that -"

"You put me in here in the first place!"

Caspian groped blindly for his waterskin with one trembling hand, draining it in one go. Kitai's grumbles subsided as he resigned himself to awaiting Caspian's pleasure or using his own energy, and there was blessed silence for a while.

Caspian sighed, shifting his arm to look up at the blushing sky.

"You already know what is in islingr powder."

"I do not."

"Charcoal, sulphur -"

"- and saltpeter? But - the smaller explosions - was it the same? How did you manage to obtain such control?"

"Much experimentation, and many near misses with death. I can show you when we return."

"Please do."

"And what was it you had to tell me?"

"After I am out of this."

"Gods, for the love of - lend me your strength, then. Deloi, moi!"

The soil flowed away from Kitai's skin as though it had been burned, and he heaved himself out of the hole with a thankful sigh. Caspian let the load drop in a cloud of dust, too exhausted for any kind of finesse.

"Ahh, Celöbra's scabbard is so dirty, look at this -"

"As though Bjartlauf's is not. It is easily cleaned. Tell me."

Kitai took a drag from his own waterskin as he settled on his haunches, and gave Caspian his easy grin. "You won't believe me."

Caspian's neck cracked as he turned to look at him. "If you make me ask you one more time, I swear, Kitai -"

"Dara. She found her magic, just this morning."

"What?"He sat bolt upright, ignoring the scream of protest from his aching muscles. "How? When? How do you know?"

"I met her, and she told me. As for how - you will truly not believe it -"

"Kitai!"

He laughed, and related the story as dusk fell softly around them. And after, they traveled together to the southern border for the night, their hearts filled with content delight for their comrade as the sound of the waves soothed away the cares of the day.

Chapter Text

Meet by the cliff!

The message had rung out through the forest, strong enough that it could have only been transmitted by an elf - Blödhgarm, they later found out. When the first Riders arrived, they found the ten waiting elves absorbed in quiet conversation.

They were greeted with soft smiles and congratulations upon completing their training in entirety, and invited to sit and partake of a simple midday meal that they had prepared for them. It was a gesture of goodwill that was much appreciated by the grateful Riders, who arrived tired and dirty and unwilling to ever skin a squirrel again.

Given that some were walking several leagues, they did not wait for everyone to assemble before beginning the meal. When Dara arrived, she was met by shouts of welcome and much enthusiastic fanfare. Each elf insisted on congratulating her individually, and the joy was such on their refined faces as though they were embracing their own daughter. When she finally sat down to eat, she too was fairly glowing with happiness
Zelíe was last to arrive, and after she had eaten they set off for the Hall without much delay. It was not a long walk, and conversation flowed long and freely. Everyone present was well aware that it would be many years before they would once again walk the same path with these companions, and they made the most of their time. They arrived an hour before dusk to be greeted by Eragon, the elves who had remained behind, and the dragons, whose relieved and joyous roars nearly deafened the rest as they were reunited with their Riders. More than one had tears in their eyes, and the mental cacophony as both sides related their experience of the past five days was such that the Eldunarya chose to retreat soon after conveying their greetings and congratulations.

They ate, they rested, they slept, content and looking forward to setting forth on their travels with eager trepidation. All that was left was for their evaluation and for the royals to visit, and they would be off.

The evaluation was completed the next day. Eragon alternated between interest, approval and laughter as they told him of their clashes in the forest, and judged that they had all done excellently.

"I had expected that it would not quite succeed in simulating a situation where you are being hunted with urgency," he said, eyes twinkling, "but there was no rule against bargaining, and that, too, is a skill. I am glad to see that most of you exercised it freely!"
Two days passed in peace. The Riders and dragons had no longer to follow a strict training schedule, so they read in the library, or took long walks in the Gardens, or flew out over the oceans to enjoy the breeze for hours at a time. The day after, Fírnen and Arya arrived, ten days ahead of the other royals. They seemed to bring with them an external anticipation, a reminder of how the world was looking forward to the Riders' return, and the cavernous Hall suddenly held a subdued excitement.

It was two days later that Saphira and Eragon went out on a pleasure flight over the forest, and only half a day later when people began to realize that they would not return.

†

Arya drummed her fingers on the table, fighting her simmering frustration as discussion continued as to Eragon and Saphira's whereabouts.

" - understand the concern," Ayana said, "but the fact remains that Eragon and Bjartskular are formidable opponents by any standards. Hasty action would be unwise. They have proven themselves more than capable in the past."

"We can assume that those who have taken them are those who snatched children out of Alagaesia. If that is so, we cannot afford to underestimate them." Ellaer's gaze was stern. "Eragon and Bjartskular are strong, yes, and intelligent, and experienced, but when thousands of children were spirited out of the country so adroitly the enemy certainly has abilities beyond what we had supposed. And they have neither us nor the Eldunarya with them, which they did during the war."
"All our spells have not been able to locate them, either," Blödhgarm growled, his ears flicking irritably. "Arya Dröttning has even used the Name, and we have not been able to discover a trace of them. Forget that the two of them should be here to give their students an ideal send off, or that they must be here to train the next students, can you imagine the furore if the Shadeslayer and his dragon disappeared without a trace? And if - I hope dearly that it may not be so, but if they are somehow forced to swear themselves to an enemy allegiance, they would not be easy to subdue."

"They may also be being tortured at this very moment," Arya said flatly, drawing every eye towards her. "They may be severely injured, for I cannot see how else they may have been captured. The enemy has abilities beyond what we supposed, as was said, and we must not allow ourselves to drop our guard. Instant action is precisely what I would recommend, if only we had some idea of what action to take, and how to take it. We cannot contact them, we cannot find them, and we have only the vaguest idea of the direction in which they were headed." Her mouth twisted. "If this discussion had included any other than älfakyn, the phrase 'All we can do is pray' would have been uttered far prior."

There was a brief silence.

"Well," Naumys said, "I hope they may return in tonight, at least, but if they do not, let us meet once more in the morning. We can formulate a plan of attack with the Riders, having assumed they definitely taken by this enemy."

"I agree. The night passing without their return would be the indisputable sign that they are in dire need."

It was on the tip of Arya's tongue to shout that they could be in dire need at that very moment; she refrained only because she had no hint of a suggestion to offer on a plan of action. "Very well," she said, struggling not to be curt as she stood. "Then, if you will excuse me, I will retire to bed."

They all rose, twisting their hands over their chests. "Dröttning," Blödhgarm murmured, and was echoed by the rest.

She returned the gesture and left the room, fists clenched. Fírnen was already curled up in her room, morose, worried and angry, and she felt no different.

There's nothing we can do, is there.

For now. But when we find them - Fírnen's lip curled threateningly. We will rip apart those who dared even touch them.

The reassurance would have been more effective if there had seemed to be any possibility of finding them any time soon, seeing as their captor did not seem to want to be found. And Fírnen heard the thought, and could not but agree, though with extreme reluctance.

Arya went to bed sorely troubled. Sleep did not find her for a long time. When it did, she was beset by visions of them both captured, subservient, broken, bleeding, abandoned, ripped apart, crying out -

She sat upright with a gasp, chest heaving as tears began to pool in her eyes.

No. No. She buried her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. I cannot lose my composure. We will find them, and they will be safe and well.

Will they so?

Her eyes flew open at the touch of the unfamiliar mind, composed and rather amused. It was a woman's mind-voice, rich and smoothly attractive.

Who are you? she snapped, building her defenses in an instant, preparing for any imminent attack.

No one you've ever heard of, Dröttning. Unimportant save for the fact that I have both Shadeslayer and Bjartskular in my possession.

What? Her fists clenched in the sheets, and her defenses faltered despite herself. You - you are the one -

So I am. Do not bother with the Name, or with binding spells - they will not work on me.

What is it that you want?

Straight to the point, I see. Well then, I simply want you to bring half of the youngling Riders with you to a location three days' flight northwest.

How on earth do you expect me to -

You will find a way, I am sure.

And you will then - what? Subjugate them?

There was not a hint of a waver in the woman's voice. Of course.

Five Riders and five dragons, you intend to subjugate how? How could you possibly - ?

Do you really think I would tell you? Suffice it to say I can do so to your Shadeslayer and Bjartskular as and when I please.

You could not -

She repeated it in the ancient language, and Arya was silenced. Horror began to roil in the pit of her stomach, and was met with further complacent amusement.

So you understand. Five Riders to me, please, on the fifth day from now. I'm sure you can imagine what I might do to the Shadeslayer if you do not obey - or even to these younglings.

Twenty-odd minds flashed into contact, cold and frightened and hungry and young, all of them so, so young -

I would be loath to kill any, but I would not mind taking off a joint or two - or a limb or two. If you are willing to hear them scream while they do so -

Enough, Arya snapped, furious and frustrated and helpless and hiding all of it behind a barrier of icy calm. I demand proof of Eragon and Saphira's wellbeing before I listen to anything further.

Why, certainly. He is right here.

There was a sensation of shifting weight, of a boot pressing into something soft, and then she was brought into contact with Eragon. His side was cold - he was lying on the floor? On stone? - and hard-edged leather was digging into his neck painfully. When he looked up, it was at a tall female figure, face shadowed by tangled hair.

Arya? His mind was slower than usual, clouded, but it was undoubtedly him.

Eragon! Are you hurt? Is Saphira?

No, but she is true when she says . . . she would not hesitate to maim us . . . or the children. Arya, listen to me . . . do not make the mistake of underestimating the, the powers she contr-

He choked as the boot pressed down, and his voice vanished.

Have you yet sufficient motivation? The woman asked pleasantly.

It was that moment Arya chose to allow her desperation, her fury, her fear, all that she was feeling to burst forth as a single, infinitely sharp point with no purpose but to capture the other voice and crush it. She succeeded, and the other writhed in her grip for a brief moment. Then the two of them were yanked apart by - by something, something that was not the brute force of another mind, something she could not describe and was utterly helpless against. The connection was reduced to nothing more than a mere thread in an instant. And she was being held in place, pinned down firmly - she could no more attempt to reclaim the woman's mind than a dragon can refuse to hunt.

This power - what -

The thought was involuntary, but she was heard.

Impressive, isn't it, the voice drawled. Don't make things difficult, Dröttning. I have no real need for you. I took the heroes of Alagaesia without much trouble - I can do the same again, and I will if you force me to come all the way south and capture them myself. Younglings who have never taken a life will pose no threat to me. Only then I might well decide to kill a few for putting me to the effort. Do make things easier for me, elf-queen, it would be so much neater all around. And you really do not have any choice at all. You do see that, do you not?

I cannot allow the first of the free dragons and Riders to be enslaved thus -

But you can allow the first one to die? Dead before he reaches thirty years of age, is that what you want? No, you cannot hide it from me - I see clearly that you would rather take his place if it were possible. Well, it is not. We are wasting time. Your vow is that you will be where I tell you to be in five day's time, with five Riders and dragons accompanying you. Whether they come conscious or not, injured or not, I care not, but you will bring them. And you will tell no elf, human, dwarf, Urgal, or dragon that you have spoken with me thus and that I have ordered you to do this. I am understood?

Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a way to escape this - five enslaved Dragon Riders was by far worse than one, but she could not allow Eragon and Saphira to be hurt, or killed - there had to be another way, something, anything -

You! The voice snapped, in an echo of the words the woman was saying aloud. Slit that girl's throat for me. And you, you can take a couple of fingers off the Shadeslayer. You'd enjoy that, yes?

No, no - Arya pressed her hands over her ears as Eragon began to yell, as Saphira roared distantly. Enough, stop! I will swear it!

Then do so.

Don't hurt them, anyone, please -

I will not, the woman said impatiently, shifting to the ancient language. No one will be hurt until you arrive, if you make the vow.

Would she truly be forced to deliver half the free Riders thus? Was there truly nothing she could possibly do?

My patience wears thin, elf-queen.

I . . . I swear to bring you five dragons and five riders to a location you will specify, five days from now. I will not tell any elf, dwarf, human, Urgal, or dragon that about this conversation, or that you are coercing me thus.

Excellent. We will be awaiting your arrival with considerable anticipation. Do hurry . . .

And the connection was gone.

Arya stared at her hands blankly, trying to process the implications of what she had just done. Fool that she was, she had not only placed in serious jeopardy the freedom of the Dragon Riders, but also the fate of the dragons as a race and the fate of Alagaesia itself. If she had only been able to think faster, outwit that woman, not allowed herself to be trapped into a vow that even now bound her tongue heavily, should she attempt to speak out -

Fírnen stirred uneasily in his sleep, and that brought her up short. She could not waste time wallowing in despondency, for if Fírnen woke she would be hard-pressed to stop him from reading her thoughts and thus breaking her vow. Saphira's pained roar, Eragon's drugged mind - she could not afford to dwell on them now. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to think.

Her vow had three components - the number of people she was required to deliver, to arrive there within five days, and to tell no one. The first, she could not circumvent. Even had she been able to, there would be no meaning to making the journey alone. The adversary had powers she was entirely uninformed about, including whatever force had brushed her mind aside and held it pinned against her will, and Eragon too had warned her not to underestimate the enemy. Going with only Fírnen would only be likely to get herself and him captured, punished, and used against the others.

There was also no way to avoid being there in the stipulated time. Within five days, she would have to present herself whether she wanted to or not.

Which left only the condition about not telling anyone. She frowned at the sheets fiercely, biting her thumbnail. How to circumvent that? If they had a Ra'zac conveniently chained up, it would have been perfect, but in the absence of that . . . the Eldunarya? They were still, fundamentally, dragons; one had only to enter their presence for a moment to be entirely convinced of that. Unless she could make herself believe they were nothing more than sentient jewels - a task nigh impossible, even for her - she could not confide in them either.

What, then? Somehow use an animal mind as a conduit? Would the vow allow that? Would an animal mind be able to hold the thought long enough to be decipherable, even if she made it simple?

I could try, but I doubt that would succeed. There must be a way, however; I cannot afford not to find one. Tell no elf, dwarf, human - oh!

She got to her feet, mind racing, hope beginning to flutter in her chest. She should have thought of this instantly!. It was likely to work, certainly more than anything else, if only she could convince herself of a single malleable fact.

She looked to the window; the day was just beginning to dawn, indigo being washed pale by honey and rose. She had no reason to wait to test her idea, and she could not bear to remain still for a moment longer. She left the room quietly, careful not to wake Fírnen, and flew through the corridors as fast as she could.

Dara was still asleep when Arya burst into her room, as was Celesté.

"Wake, child!"

She stirred, blinked, frowned sleepily as she tried to focus. "Dröttning? What -"

"You must listen to me, we have not much time -"

Dara sat up straight, her gaze sharpening as she took in Arya's haste and the urgency in her voice. "Of course, Dröttning, how may I serve?"

Arya met her eyes directly, willing Dara to understand and obey with all her heart. "Tell me that you are neither human nor elf. With all the conviction you possess, tell me now."

"I - What?"

"You are not both. You are neither, a creature caught between two races. Are you not?"

"I - I am -"

"I do not believe you!"

"I am!"

"What are you?"

"Neither human nor elf."

"Again."

"I am neither human nor elf."

"Again!"

Celesté raised her head from her padded hollow as her Rider drew in a deep breath.

"I am neither human nor elf!"

"Tell me again!"

"I am neither! I am a new breed, caught between two races, and I am neither one nor the other!"

"Once more!"

"I am neither human nor elf, and I never have been! I am neither, and that will never change!"

Arya had done her best to cement the idea in her mind herself as she had made her way to Dara's room, and with this vehement declaration, she was finally able to shift her mind entirely. She grasped Dara by the shoulders, grinning fiercely as she felt the chains around her tongue loosen.

"Excellent!" And without further delay, she poured all her memories of the night's conversation into Dara's mind. Dara frowned at the sudden influx, but it was hardly a moment later that Celesté raised her head; her lip curled and a low snarl filled the air.

"Oh, gods above, we need to find Blödhgarm-elda - tell the others -" Dara ripped the sheets back, leaping out of bed.

"We should," Arya agreed, striding out of the room before her. "But it will be you who will tell them, not me. I will call the elves, you may call your comrades. We will assemble in the courtyard. You may head there ahead of me."

"Understood. Dröttning -"

"Yes?"

Dara paused before she headed up the stairs to the other Rider's rooms with a grin as fierce as Arya's had been before. "My congratulations on circumventin' the vow so quickly. We will surely make them wish they had never been born."

†

Once they were all assembled, Dara explained the situation quickly and concisely. Arya barely waited for the furious roars to die down before stepping forward to speak.

"What we must do now is decide upon a course of action," she said, her words clipped and clear. "Mine is the fault for allowing myself to be forced into that vow - I cannot apologise enough, but I am now bound. I must be at the location stated with five Riders and dragons at least. How do we then proceed such that we retrieve Eragon, Saphira, the children, and remove this enemy once and for all?"

We attack, Fírnen snarled. We attack and rip them apart until they lie broken and bloodied and unmoving for what they have dared to do. Your vow does not prevent you from bringing more people than were specified. We go, and we kill.

The dragons roared their unanimous agreement, loud enough that dust was shaken loose from the highest Erisdar of the Tower. Blödhgarm was first to speak, once everyone had uncovered their ears.

"I sympathise with your sentiments entirely, Fírnen-vor," he said, his voice deep and purring. "And I see that many of you all agree as well. Yet you must forgive me, for I cannot refrain from counselling restraint. Eragon made sure to warn Arya specifically not to underestimate this enemy's powers, and even before we were discussing that that was one thing we cannot possibly afford to do. We can be fairly certain they have powerful magicians on their side, and we cannot even guess at what else they may have apart from this mysterious control they exercised upon Arya Dröttning's mind. It is because fighting is the most obvious course of action that we must be cautious about rushing to do so. I in no way wish to cast aspersions onto your abilities, my comrades, you young ones, Arya Dröttning, but on the off chance that the enemy is indeed capable of defeating or restraining us all - what will happen then? Alagaesia will be entirely at the mercy of the whims of someone who quite clearly espouses Galbatorix's views, for we will have delivered the power she needs to her doorstep."

This was met with much vociferous disapproval, and the meeting remained a cacophony for some time after, with everyone trying to speak at once. It was finally Osra who brought back some semblance of order. She rose to her full, towering height, spreading her hands wide until most every eye was turned to her.

"Blödhgarm-elda, your counsel is good and wise," she rumbled, a hard spark dancing in the deep blue depths of her eyes. "And I am without doubt grateful for it. However, consider the force we have on our side. We have with us eleven full grown dragons, beings of the most powerful race ever to exist. One dragon can raze half a city in the blink of an eye, can kill two score Urgalgra with a sweep of the tail, can rip out the throat of a Lethrblaka given the opening of a mere second. A single dragon would turn a thousand soldiers to ash and blood within minutes of setting foot on the battlefield, and even if our enemy has amassed a force of ten thousand, one dragon could remain without sullying their teeth and claws with a single drop of blood. The battle would be brief and bloody and over before we have cause to even unsheathe our weapons, for even the strongest of magicians could hardly guard against a single attack of a dragon, let alone multiple attacks. I hope no one does disagree with this?"

Having been reassured by a rousing chorus, she continued, "And as for magicians, why, we have with us the greatest spellcasters of the race whose blood fairly hums with magic. We must be cautious, yes, but I do not think I am being precipitate when I say that I doubt the enemy has spellcasters that could pose to you all an overpowering threat. We too are not weak, we Riders, in matters of magic and the mind. And even should they somehow prevent magic from being used, why, we will skewer them with our swords and the strength of our arms. The Hornless King had power, yes, and allies, yes, but I cannot believe that those who support him have the power to prevail over eleven mighty dragons, eleven Riders, and a score-odd of old, wise and powerful elves. We are as formidable a force as any that has ever been gathered, and I, for one, would like nothing better than to go and discover what nightmares they may have recruited to fight against us - and to watch their despair when we triumph over every single one."

"Hear, hear!" Sorya cried, and she was echoed by twenty other voices.

Rosalie arched her neck, pearly pink scales shimmering. Well argued, Osra. Blödhgarm-elda, I cannot see that we have any choice but to mount an attack in full force, even as we remain cognizant of the dangers we are likely to face. Leaving some Riders behind in case they may be captured only makes it more likely that the ones who do go may be defeated and turned against the rest. I agree that we must be cautious, but our caution should cause us to take as many people as possible so that we can be sure of crushing this enemy thoroughly.

"We can leave as soon as we have gathered the necessary provisions," Senshi said, "and on the flight there discuss the forces we are likely to face, and take all necessary precautions while constructing a plan of battle. The Eldunarya could help us with this, and they have said they will lend us their power, no? We have a great many resources to draw upon, of strength, knowledge and tactics all. We will not fail."

"It is well said, all of you," Arya said, heart singing at their conviction, their determination, their confidence. "What say you, Blödhgarm? Have your concerns been settled?"

He tilted his dark head. "Most. I am convinced - to attack in full force is the wisest option. The Riders are not all experienced in killing, and none in battle, but that is something we cannot help. Yet there remains one among our number who is inexperienced in a way that could prove disastrous."

The Riders and dragons both appeared confused by this statement, but every elven eye immediately turned to one person - Dara.

She looked around with dawning realisation, and then with dawning anger. "It is me you refer to? Because I found magic only a week past? I am to be left behind?"

"Child, you have no conception of the kind of battle this will be, and you have been practicing well, but to be so inexperienced with magic leaves you a too vulnerable target -"

"I am to be left alone in the Hall while even the Eldunarya are taken along, then! And what of Celesté? WIll you ask her to go without me?"

"That is something Celesté herself must decide, but you -"

"Master Eragon was my teacher too! This enemy threatens my home, my people as well! And you expect me to fold my hands and sit quiet like some - some princess? I am the best archer of all of the Riders, all of them, and I'm a sight close to besting a few elves, too. I apologise for my rudeness, elda, but - if I must, I will fight from the back of the field, or from the sidelines, but do not counsel me to hide here because it is dangerous! It is a battlefield, it is dangerous enough for every single person here, and I - I will face it alongside you all, without flinching!"

Silence fell, uncomfortably charged. Arya did not know how to break it, for it was a pertinent concern that Blödhgarm had raised. But how to tell the child? It would only exacerbate the situation, make her more stubborn -

"He is right."

Everyone looked to Yaela, who tucked her silvery hair behind one ear. "He is right, Dara. You have no conception of what the battlefield will be like, and you are doubly disadvantaged by your lack of experience and your lack of expertise with magic. The wisest course would be for you to remain behind."

Dara opened her mouth, eyes blazing, but Yaela forestalled her with a slight gesture. "However . . . I am well aware that you will do something foolhardy if you are left behind - you are entirely capable of walking the entire distance after us, if I know you at all - and, well, it may be foolish pride, but I would not have it said that my granddaughter could not face her first and greatest trial with her head held high." She turned to Blödhgarm, meeting his gaze steadily. "I will stand by her side. I will protect her from whatever magic may be thrown her way. Her bow and her sword are valuable assets, and we should not leave them behind if we can possibly avoid doing so."

Blödhgarm smiled slightly, and inclined his head. "Understood. Then I have no further objection. We will attack, all of us."

"We will attack," Arya echoed. She spread her arms out wide. "Are all agreed?"

"Aye!" The chorus was unanimous, thunderous and strong as starmetal.

She clenched a fist tightly, turning her face to the sky. "Umaroth-elda? You heard?"

I did, he replied, currents of anger and resolution and pride swirling through his thoughts. We all did. You have our blessing, and we will come. Attack, and with all force possible, alfa.

"Yes, ebrithil," she said, already itching to be off, to run, to fight, to bring home her love and her friend. She drew a deep breath, and channeled everything, every painful, twisted emotion she had felt since Eragon had disappeared, into one mighty shout.

"We leave at noon! Prepare yourselves, steel your resolve, for we do not return without Eragon and Saphira and the children - and that woman's head on a spear!"

Chapter Text

Four days later, late evening

“We are a little ahead of schedule,” Arya said, her shoulders set high and rigid as she sat on a tree root and looked around at them all. “We need arrive only by tomorrow night, and we have hardly half a day’s flight more ahead of us. We can afford to rest tonight, and prepare ourselves for the morrow. Dragons especially, do not exert yourselves unduly - you have been flying nearly constantly since we left. Drink plenty of water, catch something small, perhaps a boar or some such, or share a stag with someone else.” An early owl called from the trees, and Arya allowed the eerie cry to fade into silence before continuing. “Before we disperse to forage and make camp, shall we go over the entire plan one last time?”

There was a low murmur of assent, and Zelíe could not help but notice that even the elves seemed unnaturally tense as they leaned forward to listen.

“We attack as close to noon as we can manage. Galbatorix was clear about the existence of more Ra’zac eggs, and though the battle will happen underground we will have the advantage if we can lead them up to the light. It may not be possible, however, so do not depend upon that. The dragons should also be wary of attacks by Lethrblaka and perhaps more such creatures.  As for any soldiers she may have amassed, they are likely to be painless - the laughing dead. Remember to be sure to decapitate or cut open major arteries when you fight. That she somehow seems to be able to control how minds interact, at least to a certain extent, means that we must keep our mental defenses ready to throw up at a moment’s notice if we are to deny her entrance. This also means that, when we encounter magicians, we will be unable to enter into mind-duels. It is dangerous, but you must cast your spells instantly, silently, and kill without a moment’s hesitation without being drawn into a prolonged battle. I am aware that it goes against all established rules of magical combat, but we have no choice. If at all possible, leave the magicians to us älfakyn.

“And there is the matter of the Name of Names not working. What this means for how magic will work, I cannot tell - in the end, brute strength and energy will be our fallbacks. The Eldunarya will support us as much as they can, with energy and insight. Again, be sure to fight fiercely and fight briefly. We want to conclude this battle as soon as possible. Caspian and Akhtar will immediately move to protect the children, if they are present, and Yaela, Dara, and Ellaer will move to where Eragon and Saphira are, to prevent them from being used as hostages. You five will also be in a position to observe the battlefield, and so you may give us warnings or advice on where to move next, if you can, along with the Eldunarya. Since we cannot use our minds to communicate in her presence, we will perform spells to increase sensitivity of hearing and volume of the voice and speak to each other thus. This is also how we will coordinate our approach before the battle. The location is an abandoned outpost of this empire, in ruins and overgrown, but there will be guards posted outside to inform her of our arrival. We will approach in all silence, using the surrounding forest as cover. Six dragons will fly overhead to attract their attention, while the rest of us dispatch them on the ground. There will be a way downwards - we will descend, we will attack, and we will win. That is all. Any questions?”

There were none, and they soon dispersed. A light meal was quickly made and distributed, and they all settled to sleep while the last of the dusk was yielding to the night. They would have an early start, and the more rest they had, the better shape it would leave them in.

Yet sleep would not come. Zelíe stared sightlessly at the sky above, her thoughts running the same, tired track - what the battle would be like, if she would be able to kill as effectively and quickly as was required, what shape her teachers would be in, what shape the children would be in, what forced they might possibly encounter . . .

“All right, Zel?” Dara murmured, curled up on her left.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Nor can I. Was reviewin’ lists of spells before, like a couple of the others, but it made me more nervous, I think. You . . . ever killed before?”

“Strangely enough, no - I didn’t get much of an opportunity, living in Belatona.”

Dara snorted, amused. “Right.”

“At least you used to hunt regularly.”

“I - doubt it’ll help all that much. When it’s a person, it’s - the thought of it is -”

“Mm. I know.”

“ . . . It’s worryin’ all of us, I think.”

“Except Osra, yes?”

“Ah . . . yeah, she gave me some advice, before.”

“What did she say?”

“Well . . . that it needs to be done, and goin’ round and round about it will serve no purpose, and it doesn’t - doesn’t make us bad people. The enemy made this necessary, not us, and we’ve no choice but to do our duty. And she said -” She gave a huff of laughter. “She said please never even think about mercy or hesitation, because they won’t, and she would rather all the Riders come through this with our lives intact, if not necessarily our bodies.”

Zelíe had to smile. “Did that help you?”

“A little. You?”

“Maybe a little, yes.”

“We’ve resources and weapons and power Master Eragon would have given his left arm for, during the war, and we’ve trained so hard, so . . . I doubt it will be half as difficult as it was for him. Or I hope, at least. I suppose this is our true test, in a way. And - I think we owe it to him to pass with flyin’ colours.”

Zelíe sighed quietly, tugging her blanket higher over her shoulders. “You’re right, I know. And I’ll do my best. But logic does not combat fear.”

“I’m aware.”

“Mm . . . we should sleep, I think, before the dragons return.”

“Aye. Night, then.”

“Good night.”

When she turned onto her side, it was to meet Kitai’s soft gaze, half-lidded and hazy with approaching sleep. He reached out to curl his hand around her wrist, warm fingertips pressed against her pulse, and - well, the fear of hurting and killing and hurt friends and spilling blood would not be washed away so easily, but it receded enough to allow her to sink into slumber.

After all . . . she was fairly certain that she would not be sleeping well for many nights to come.

⸶⸷

Somehow, five massive dragons crawling through the forest with thrice that number of two-legs on their backs made about the same noise as a herd of deer, and yet it surprised no one. They had landed half an hour ago while the rest continued ahead at a sedate pace, and had moved fast enough that they caught sight of the outpost when the other six’s wingbeats were just beginning to be heard. There had been one Ra’zac, who scuttled between the shadows of the ruins and screeched horribly when Nelim thrust his lance through its heart, and fifteen guards immune to pain. They were made quick work of, even if more than one Rider had been unusually pale after the last one had stopped twitching. They had all had quite strong mental defenses, and unfortunately those attacking had been too distracted trying to kill before being killed to attempt to break their minds.

Three elves then fanned out, searching for any magical traps and triggers around the place, and found none. By the time the other six dragons had landed, those on the ground had combed the entirety of the building and found nothing but dust.

They had then congregated in the main hall. Dragon saddles had been unbuckled and stacked neatly, weapons had been checked, last minute prayers had been muttered, the dragons had rolled their shoulders and bared their teeth in anticipation. Then Arya had spoken the password given to her, and the entrance underground had opened.

They had only been able to stare in silence for the first minute or two, for it was a massive, yawning hole with broad, shallow steps that led down into pitch darkness, large enough to admit two full grown dragons walking side by side. There were large claw marks gouged into the stone, certainly large enough to have been made by Lethrblaka. It was a grim, forbidding thing, and even the dragons had not been all too eager to enter.

But enter they had, after checking for traps and triggers one last time, and so they descended now into ever deepening darkness. The dragons’ claws clicked on cool stone rhythmically, the sound muffled by a quick spell, and if they had not had far better vision than everyone save the elves they would have slipped or bumped into the curving walls more than once, for it was pitch dark.

The staircase gently spiraled downwards for close to an hour, taking them deeper and deeper into the earth. There was just about space for the smallest dragons, Corinne and Drëya, to flap their wings, but certainly not for Mánya and Jethran, and the sound would carry far in the closed, still air. So the dragons continued on foot, and eventually they began to scent cooler air coming from a wider space. The darkness began to lighten just a little.

“Nearly there,” Arya whispered, her voice easily audible to even those at the back. “Tailor the hearing sensitivity spells to apply only to allies now - they will hinder us in battle if they remain general in application. There does not seem to be a force gathered immediately ahead; proceed with caution. Remember the plan, fight calmly and without faltering. We will win this. May the stars watch over you all.”

There was no time to reply before Fírnen proceeded forward. The other dragons followed, snarls settling around their snouts and tails twitching, and together they passed through the entrance to a massive cavern. Large enough to compare to Tronjheim, the curving walls faded into the distant darkness, dotted with other entrances to huge, winding tunnels. The air was cold enough to bite at all exposed skin with a vengeance, and the soft sound of water dripping down stone was the only sound to be heard. Some distance ahead, towards the middle of the cavern, glimmered a faint pool of light.

They spread out as they approached, Fírnen in the lead with five dragons flanking him on either side; a sight that could not but strike fear into the hearts of the strongest army. There was no longer any attempt to keep silence. The cavern was seemed empty of any large forces save for the living beings clustered near the light - attacks on eleven dragons by anything less than an army would be the height of foolishness, besides - and so they advanced rapidly towards the lanterns, that they would find and fight their enemy as soon as possible. Though everyone had erected solid walls around their minds, it was evident to all that bloodlust and menace radiating from the dragons was increasing steeply by the second.

Given the speed of their advance, it was hardly a minute before their adversary came into sight. Surrounded by bright lanterns mounted on tall stands, she lay lounging on a stone throne that had been set upon a roughly hewn boulder. Her clothes were ill-fitting and unkept, her hair tangled, her collarbones throwing sharp shadows across her skin. She showed not a single hint of discomfiture at seeing eleven dragons where she had expected six, an uncomfortable signal that no one missed.

A short man was crouched at her right hand, seeming almost hunchbacked. He grinned to himself and rubbed his hands together as he watched them approach. On her left stood a well built, bare chested man with black hair that cascaded down his back. He bore a sword, a shield, and a spear that he held with the ease that comes only of long familiarity. His expression was one of faint distaste. On the rough steps that led up to the woman’s throne was curled a young girl, whose dirty dress blended almost perfectly with the grey-black stone. She was hugging her shoulders tightly, forehead pressed against her knees, and did not look up at their approach.

“Welcome,” the woman called, lazily slinging a leg over one arm of the throne.

The dragons all crouched at her echoing voice, ready to spring, and there was the scrape of steel as weapons were instantly drawn.

Her smile widened slowly. “My, my, so hostile,” she said softly. “I see you managed to defy my instructions, Queen Arya, but I suppose things will be quicker this way, if a tad messier. You may call me Siska. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you all.”

“Eragon and Saphira,” Arya snapped. “Where are they?”

“Why, here.” She motioned with a careless finger, and a cluster of lanterns to her right burst into flame, illuminating a crude enclosure. Inside were Eragon and Saphira, both lying unconscious, as well as the twenty-odd children, dressed in rags and huddled as far away from the throne as possible.

“They’re only unconscious, älfa, you have no need to look so fierce. And this, this is about you all, not them.” She leaned forward a little, resting her chin in one palm. “Your dragon is a beautiful thing - Fírnen, isn’t it? All of you are such lovely, lovely creatures. You know, the first dragon I ever saw was Shruikan, black Shruikan with the icy eyes. Bigger by far, and certainly awe-inspiring, but seeing all of you arrayed so neatly, well . . . You are without doubt far more pleasant to the eye and mind than that mindless beast ever was.”

“We have no interest in hearing anything you have to say,” Arya snarled. “Give them all to us, and this may still end without bloodshed.”

“When you have come all this way? Now, wouldn’t that be a pity?” The light in Siska’s eyes was approaching something feral. “I don’t think so, älfa. I am so looking forward to seeing how you will tackle my forces, after all. I’ve bided my time for years, suffering grandiose fools and petty idiots with no scope of vision, all yammering about revenge for the Black King and revenge upon the Shadelsayer when they hadn’t the sense to run a fish stall. Fools all, just like the old king. I’ve amassed allies even he would covet, and it will please me to see you take your chances with them.”

She snapped her fingers, and her army began to step out of the darkness from behind the throne.

The stench of rotting meat was suddenly overpowering as several Lethrblaka came forward, ugly beaks gleaming in the light as they shrieked. Twice that number of Ra’zac scuttled between their feet, hooded and bow legged. And behind them came scores of the most malformed creatures it was possible to imagine - pure black eyes, short snouts, crooked limbs, patches of rough fur, long strings of slaver dripping down from between crooked yellow teeth onto sharp claws as they loped forward on their hind legs. They looked utterly rabid. The picture they all presented together was enough to force more than one Rider to stifle rising retches.

After all of these marched a good-sized squadron of ill-assorted humans - men and women, carrying everything from whips to maces to daggers, some eager, some apprehensive, some stoic, but all determined, and all almost certain to be immune to pain. And behind them -

“Morgothal protect us,” Ravûn whispered into the cold air, and Akhtar touched the tips of his horns with shaking fingers.

It was a Tsuhei, of the same class of creature as the Nïdhwal, born of caves and the earthy dark instead of the deeps of the ocean. It growled deep in its throat, eyes rolling as it looked down at them. Massive quills rustled angrily on its back, quills that an Urgal could have used as a spear, and stocky limbs rippled with muscles under pale, lichen-spotted skin. The head was vaguely frog-like, the eyes red and deep-set and almost glowing in the dim light. The size was hard to comprehend at first, but as it crawled forward there was more than one dismayed exclamation to be heard from the Riders. Four full-grown dragons could sit arrayed comfortably on its back with still room for more. Blunt, black claws clicked ominously on the stone, and four rows of sharp teeth gleamed in the faint light as it snarled silently.

Few were even aware of the existence of such a creature as the Tsuhei, for much of its time was spent slumbering peacefully in deep caves underground. It was not malevolent like the Nïdhwal, and even if its territory was trespassed upon it would not rouse itself beyond a warning growl unless the intruder themselves wandered into its reach. Once roused, however, its rage was a force to be reckoned with - as many dragons who had inadvertently irritated its weak eyes and light-sensitive skin with their fire had discovered to their fatal cost. A soft underbelly was its weakness; but it could project its quills surprising distances, it was strong enough to break through even dwarf-engineered defenses, and its teeth were sharp enough to cut a thread laid upon them. It had always been considered to be a dangerous and certainly untameable creature.

Which was why, when Nina said “It is wearing a bridle,” in soft, horrified tones, there was no one who could quite stifle their gasp of shock. And when the person holding the reins leaped down to the ground, even Blödhgarm cursed viciously under his breath.

It was a woman. She wore a black hooded cloak that fell to her ankles and black boots; as she walked forward her every step seemed to radiate power. When she was well within range of the light, she removed her hood, shook out her long blood-red ponytail, and gave them a grin that displayed her pointed teeth. Her maroon eyes burned with anticipation, and she drew her sword almost lazily as her hungry gaze flitted across their faces.

“Lovely, isn’t she,” Siska said softly, clearly enjoying the way her opponents were now crouched tensely, huddling to form a strong defense. “She’s still quite young for a Shade, but oh, the things she can do . . . she’s been rather circumscribed with me here, I’m afraid, but I hope you can show her a good time.”

Arya stepped forward, sword raised and emerald eyes burning with an all-consuming fire. “Make no mistake, we will not leave before all of you cease to draw breath. It may have taken the world a century to rid itself of the Black King, but he perished in the end - as will you too, now.”

“Kindly do not bring him into this, älfa,” Siska sighed. “He was a power mad fool. I want no part of his ambitions. I never did. And your declaration is all very fine and spirited . . . but I’m afraid I have one more piece of rather bad news for you.”

“And what is that?”

She smiled, regal as a queen and savage as a rabid dog. “Within these walls, you cannot use magic. I’m sure you älfakyn will afford me much entertainment quite shortly as you struggle to fight my pets without it.”

“You lie,” Arya snapped. “You lit the lanterns with magic yourself not five minutes ago. And why would you then keep Eragon and Saphira drugged, if they do not pose a magical threat?”

“Simply because it is more convenient for me. They were being such nuisances - the Tsuhei, in particular, did not take to Saphira’s antics at all. And I said you cannot use magic, not that I could not. Ah, such patent disbelief on your face! I am hurt at this lack of faith in me. But you need not believe my word - you will find out for yourself soon enough.”

She raised one hand above her head and gave a raw, mighty shout that echoed off even the far distant walls. The Tsuhei began to lumber forward, and the mass of assorted creatures at its feet rushed forward with furious, bloodcurdling cries. The hunched man on Siska’s right cackled shrilly, almost capering on the spot in his glee, and the other man closed his eyes wearily as the tide rushed onward. The Riders, elves and dragons roared in defiant response and raised their weapons high - more than one terrified, but all determined that if this cavern was to become their grave, they would take at least a score of enemies with them.

And so was battle joined.

Chapter Text

Mánya bit down and jerked her head back viciously. The powerful and skinless shrill-beaked-two-leg-eater shrieked even as its throat was being torn out, clawing frantically at her neck and struggling to pull away. She leapt backwards and spat out the mouthful of flesh as it fell and writhed on the stone. Rosalie, having concluded battle with her own Lethrblaka, limped over and crushed the skull of Mánya’s erstwhile foe with a quick stamp.

These things taste disgusting, she said, as blue-green blood and squashed brains pooled around her feet.

Mánya snorted agreement, flicking her tongue out several times before turning to lick at a gash on her shoulder. Are you hurt?

That one managed to take a bite out of my leg. How many left?

Lifaen finished with his fairly fast, and Palé and Celesté are battling the other two.

Fairly worthy opponents . . . Of course, even were they not, they could not hope to win against so many dragons.

Certainly not ones trained by Saphira-fierce-teacher, who killed two at once when she was some five years younger than we are now, Mánya agreed.

They were interrupted by a pack of the strange-snapping-halfbreeds, who came upon them howling and leaping. Snarling, Mánya turned on them and had killed three before they had time to react. But they were powerful and tenacious and utterly mad, and their claws and teeth were strong and sharp enough to get past even dragonhide. Brown and pink dragon scales scattered through the air as the halfbreeds swarmed over the two of them and ripped and clawed and bit. Mánya took slow laboured flight, gaining a good height before diving into three quick rolls; many of them fell off, and she roasted them with a blast of blinding fire. They plummeted howling to the ground, their sparse fur burning as Rosalie shot past them like a rosy comet, following Mánya’s example. The ones that still clung to Mánya’s back, Rosalie bit in half for her, and she did the same in return. The creatures’ blood was black, and tasted only marginally better than the blood of the shrieking-two-leg-eaters.

Panting, they both hung in the air for a moment to observe the battlefield, the flickering light from the few lanterns just barely enough to make out what was occurring. What drew their attention instantly was the battle with the Tsuhei, whose roars were echoing around the massive cavern. Fírnen, Ikraan, Corinne, and Layla were clinging to various parts of its body - the base of the neck, the throat, the chest, the shoulder - and were biting and clawing at it; Lifaen was on his way to assist them. Arya, Kitai, Invidia and Talia were there as well, hanging precariously onto the ridges near its jaw as they attempted to injure its eyes with the heaviest blows they could manage. Judging by the Tsuhei’s roars, they were making some headway. Mánya knew that her and Rosalie’s considerable bulk and strength would lend them much needed aid, but she allowed herself a moment to cast an eye around for the others before moving to assist them.

The five who had been detailed to watch over the hostages had managed to cut their way through the tide to their post. Their very presence there had attracted a good number of adversaries at the start of the battle, but they were holding their own fairly well. Dara’s arrows found their mark without fail every time, and with Yaela and Ellaer by her side no enemy was able to approach closer than ten feet before being shot dead. Caspian was crouched with his sword out, unnaturally still as he scanned the field for approaching threats. Akhtar had been pulled a little away, into the main battle, and was fighting side by side with Ravûn and Drëya, clearing a good area for them with his twin axes and skilled speed. Ravûn and Drëya themselves had cut a massive swathe through the tide of enemies, for two-leg enemies could not reach him on her back and he could protect her from any that might try to take her unawares. They seemed to be making their way to where a knot of six elves were swarmed by several half-breeds, three soldiers and two Ra’zac.

Senshi was fighting with Naumys at her back, her sword a mere blur in the air as she cut, ducked, stabbed, and cut again. A Ra’zac rushed towards her, mouth open and shrieking, only to gargle and fall as Naumys’ arrow caught it in the chest and passed straight through. They were doing well enough, Mánya decided, looking further afield.

Keyal was alone and beleaguered by four halfbreeds, holding his own but unable to do much else. Zelie was nearby, close to the edge of the melee, and seemed to be steadily working her way inwards towards him. A soldier rushed at her as she dispatched two half-breeds, shrieking something unintelligible, only to be swiftly cut down by Blodhgarm’s dagger from behind.

It was somehow reassuring, even for her, to note that wherever the elves stood there was a bare patch in the seething army. Their strikes were precise and imbued with a kind of deadly beauty, with never a wasted movement.

Can they truly not use -?

They cannot, was the immediate reply from an Eldunari, Oenir. No magic spell seems to be working, no matter how simply or complexly phrased, no matter whether spoken aloud or in the mind. They have resorted to pressing the attack and killing as quickly as is possible, but even somber-quick-älfakyn can and will flag as this continues -

He was cut off abruptly, gone without a trace, and Manya howled in frustration. Mind-touch was getting more and more erratic, removing them from their greatest source of power and support.

Mánya, Rosalie said sharply, directing her attention to a dim corner of the battlefield she had as yet to notice.

Osra and Sorya were sparring with the mad-red-possessed-shade, turning aside brutal blows with difficulty while the creature laughed, high and vicious even amongst the accompanying giggles of the maimed-laughing-dead, and Mánya’s stomach clenched painfully. Osra was wounded, a deep pain she could feel resonating through their bond even with their minds closed to each other.

“We need some help here!” Sorya yelled as she blocked yet another heavy blow from the Shade, her voice as clear as if she was standing next to Mánya, thanks to the clear-hearing-spell cast before. Those who could afford to turn did so, and those who could afford to move began making their way towards them, but they had to cut their way through to many enemies and would be unlikely to make it in time -

You assist with the Tsuhei, Mánya said grimly, already flapping hard as she sped towards her heart-partner. I will join you as soon as I have burnt the Shade to ash, and then burnt her again.

Make it soon, Rosalie snapped at her back, making her own way to where she was needed. We must - Mánya!

Manya looked back to see Corinne hurtling through the air, having been batted away by the Tsuhei’s massive paw; an instant later her scream rent the cold air as one of the Tsuhei’s quills, projected at an incredible velocity, tore clear through one of her wings. The creature reared up and caught the approaching Lifaen, too, in its mouth, and tossed him away viciously. He tumbled head over tail, wings billowing out helplessly, and slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch.

Turn! We are needed!

Manya kept to her course for a moment longer before swinging around with a frustrated roar. The Tsuhei’s rampage was a threat to everyone in the cavern - four dragons tearing at it, and still it refused to flag! - and it took priority over all else. A vague sense of approval and reassurance reached her from Osra, who was standing protectively over a fallen Sorya.

If you die, she thought viciously, I will rip apart all these foul creatures one by one before chasing you into the next life and dragging you back. Do not lose!

She did not expect an answer, and did not receive one - but she knew the sentiment had been received. She pressed onwards faster despite the fatigue in her wings, eager to sink her teeth into fresh blood. They would end this battle, and rip apart the female who sat on that throne, and then it would be a world in which she had no longer to fear for Osra’s safety.

She roared, and Rosalie roared in return, and together they dived for the kill.

⚔

Some minutes before

Sorya stabbed the painless man in front of her clean through the ribcage - he gasped, fell to his knees, and, as she withdrew it, keeled over. In fascinated horror, she watched him try to drag himself forward even as the spark of light in his eyes slowly died out.

She did not know how long she had been fighting, an hour or five. It seemed like she had been stuck in this dank dimness forever, surrounded by the smell of rotting flesh and blood, the sound of ghastly laughter and pained screams, the sight of monsters and the dead, standing within a faint circle of light that was encroached upon by utter darkness from all sides.

She dropped her blade, allowing herself a moment to try to breathe. The sheer revulsion and fear she felt had remained constant, pounding companions to her long enough that she was almost numb to them. Yet no matter how this might come back to haunt her later, as it surely would, she could only push onwards and hope that the battle might be over even a minute, even a second sooner if she fought harder and did not allow herself to stop.

There was a deep clang behind her, loud enough to be heard over the roar of battle - a sound that Sorya had heard many times before. She turned to see, with sudden horror, that Osra was dueling the Shade, twin axes straining against the weight of the creature’s sword.

She started towards them instantly, heart in her throat. It was unwise to take on a Shade alone at the best of times, to say the least, but with no dragon, no magic, and no access to the Eldunarya or the elves’ energy and advice, it was tantamount to suicide. Could Osra possibly still be unaware of, if not the inability to access magic, perhaps the fact that she could not access the Eldunarya either?

She was only a few moments away from joining Osra when her hair was caught and yanked back with a painful jerk. She yelped and whipped around to see a half-breed with its claws tangled in the end of her long braid, grinning cruelly as it raised a paw to strike her.

This was not the first time the length of her hair had inconvenienced her in this battle, but it was by far the worst. Frustration, fury and a pounding anxiety to reach Osra’s side welled up in her like a tide, and she gave a furious shout as she raised her sword, all her seething energy focused around a single, burning thought - how deeply she desired to be rid of the hindrance that was her hair. To her astonishment, the braid at once fell limp, cut off at the top as neatly as if she had used kverst.

The half-breed stopped short in shock, staring down at the vivid length left in its hand, and Sorya took the opportunity to strike, stabbing quick and hard under the ribs with Kveykva. She was running before it fell, leaping over dismembered limbs and patches of blood to Osra’s assistance, her discovery thrumming bright in her mind - it was possible to use magic here, only if one did not use the ancient language.

Osra was on her last legs, fighting valiantly but bleeding from several deep gashes. Sorya cut upwards with a yell, catching the Shade’s strike on the flat of her blade and pushing forward to allow her comrade a breathing space. The Shade blocked her every attack with ease and shoved her back, laughing as she stumbled.

“What have we here?” Her voice was clear and sweet, utterly repulsive issuing from below those burning eyes and shaped by that cruel mouth. “The littlest Rider, hmm? A dwarf, oh my. How interesting - like a little doll, you are. What happened to your pretty pretty hair? Did you lose it? Did someone cut it off?”

Sorya snarled at her, limbs aching with the effort of deflecting her blows. The Shade grinned, circling Sorya as a wolf does a feeble lamb. A mind duel was impossible and foolhardy, for even if she were able to initiate it she would be open to physical attack, and Osra was in no condition to defend her for more than a few moments. And the Shade was certainly far more capable than she of mind dueling and wielding a blade at once.

So I can do nothing except try not to lose this battle, but I do not know how long I can manage that -

“We need some help here!” she shouted, hopping backwards as she parried, hoping that someone would hear and come to their aid. The Shade feinted forward and she flinched back, almost stumbling. The Shade laughed again, high and sweet, and resumed circling. Sorya thought she saw an opening and lunged forward swiftly - only to miss having her throat slit by a hairsbreadth. She jumped back, hissing, and the Shade’s teeth gleamed in the gloom.

“Naughty, naughty young Rider. You can’t kill me like that, little doll - you can’t kill me at all!”

Her movements were almost a dance, effortless as she toyed with Sorya, whose arms were growing heavier by the second as she struggled to deflect blow after blow. Osra surged to her feet with a roar, cutting upward in a wide arc to give them both space to breathe. The Shade fell back for the briefest moment, then spun to the side and gracefully stepped into Osra’s reach. Before Osra could react, she kicked her in the stomach, hard.

Osra’s mouth went slack, and she fell to her knees, clutching at the gash on her stomach as red bloomed darker on her shirt. Sorya barely had time to lift Kveykva in defence before it was locked with the Shade’s sword at the hilt and she was straining to resist the immense pressure bearing her down. She let out a furious shout, and the Shade smiled, her cruel, cruel smile -

She had been careless - the pale angry creature-of-the-cave had realized she was within its reach. She turned to flight instantly, but it was too late. It struck at her with one tremendous paw; the blow was too heavy, too powerful, she could not stop her fall. As she tumbled through the air, helpless, something flew at her, ripping right through her right wing, and she screamed; oh it hurt it hurt it-

Sorya screamed with Corinne, and faltered. The momentary distraction was more than enough for the Shade. Kveykva clattered to the floor; the Shade’s hand was tight around her throat, and she was being lifted into the air with merciless force. She choked, striking at the hand that held her, but it was like iron.

The Shade tilted her head to the side, like a child surveying an interesting insect. “Shall we see how pretty you are with your eyes popped out and your tongue swollen and purple?” she asked, almost cheerfully.

Black spots swam in front of Sorya’s eyes. She was vaguely aware of Corinne dragging herself forward slowly somewhere on the floor of the cavern, and she knew Corinne was aware of her plight; but even that thought slipped out of the edge of her consciousness as she choked for breath. She struck the Shade’s hand again to no avail, and it tightened around her throat. “Sorya-” she heard Osra groan, but Osra was injured, she would take another minute to get to her feet, and it would not take another moment for the Shade to snap her neck like a twig. With the last of her breath and strength born of frantic desperation, she swung her legs upward and kicked as hard as possible. Her feet connected with skin and hard bone, and there was a crack before she was released and fell to the ground, retching and gasping for air.

She looked up through tear-blurred eyes to see the Shade’s head thrown unnaturally far back, her neck crooked. But even as she watched, the Shade rolled her head forward, and a flare of red light from her neck indicated that it was already healing.

The Shade was no longer smiling - her crimson eyes were blazing with fury. She started forward with a snarl, and Osra appeared over Sorya, sword at the ready. She blocked one strike, and another, and another, her guard getting lower each time. The Shade howled, slashing faster and more powerfully. She would disable or kill Osra in no time. Sorya staggered to her feet and raised her sword, a prayer on her lips -

- and a massive white spike thrust through the left side of Shade’s chest.

The Shade stumbled forward and looked down at the dark blood coursing down her body, uncomprehending. Then her eyes went impossibly wide, and she shrieked, long and shrill and terrified.

Corinne pulled her tail back with a low grunt, and her tail-spike slid out from the Shade’s body with a crunching, sick noise. The Shade’s skin shimmered and became transparent, black streaks of darkness frantically twisting across every inch of her. She shrieked once more - a shriek of such pain and anguish that Sorya grimaced and clapped her hands over her ears to escape the unearthly sound - and then her skin split all along the lines of her body and the darkness coalesced into three pulsing green-black orbs that fled upwards and out of sight. Of the woman who had hosted them, there remained no trace.

Sorya met Osra’s gaze, both struck dumb. They turned in unison to look at Corinne, who was tenderly licking her torn wing. She glanced downwards to meet their gaze, exasperated query so clear in every line of her body that Sorya had to laugh, if unsteadily. She limped forward and hugged her dragon’s leg, pressing her forehead hard against the white scales.

“Thank you,” she said in the ancient language, hoping it could convey even a tenth of the fierce love that thrummed through her blood. “Shadeslayer, queen of dragons, queen of mine and my heart.”

“Thank you, Snowscales,” Osra rumbled from behind her. “We would not have survived had you not arrived.”

Corinne inclined her head, briefly touching her snout to Sorya’s forehead at catching her cheek with the tip of her tongue, before returning to licking her wound. It was a terrible thing, the wide rent in the delicate membrane, and Sorya’s gorge rose the longer she looked at it. She turned away abruptly, moving to a hunched Osra’s side.

“How badly are you - ah.”

The gash on her stomach, a few deep cuts on her arms and legs, and a wrist that was clearly broken by the way she was cradling it to her chest; they all came second to the most obvious injury.

“She broke one of your horns.”

Osra turned away, uncharacteristically subdued, the weight of the intact left horn causing her head to tilt to one side. “So she did,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry. I know they were your honour-”

Osra looked further away and said nothing, though her mouth tightened even more.

“But we must assist the others, and you cannot fight wounded so.”

“It makes no difference,” she rumbled, low and listless, one hand pressed over her stomach. “I cannot - I cannot heal myself either way.”

“You can. Magic can still be used as long as one does not make use of the ancient language.”

Osra looked up at that, the anguish in her eyes receding somewhat. “You mean - use it instinctively? Without words? That -”

“It is dangerous, yes, yes, but we have not much choice at the moment.”

“You tested this?”

“I used magic, yes.”

“Sorya -”

“Berate me later, we have not the time!”

“I cannot heal myself that way - no energy, and too much pain, my mind is not clear enough . . . gods above, but if she has somehow negated the effect of the ancient language - the implications would be -”

“You stubborn -” Scowling, Sorya reached for her magic. “I neither know what she has done nor how she has done it, and I do not care either. Don’t move now!”

Osra took a step forward in alarm. “Sorya, the risk - !”

But the magic was flooding through her, icy and powerful and familiar. She immersed herself in it more completely than she had ever before, and she focused her entire being on the thought of healing Osra and nothing else.

It was far from a safe bet, using pure desire and instinct to guide the flow instead of definite instructions on how to knit flesh and bone together, but it bore the desired results. Osra grunted low in her throat with relief as her pain was alleviated and her wounds were healed, at least partially. Sorya shifted her mind to Corinne as quickly as she could to heal the tear in her wing, and Corinne arched her neck with a groan, watching it disappear. A wave of dizziness struck Sorya as she released the last of the magic, and she slumped ungracefully against Corinne’s side, struggling to stay awake. Corinne nudged her, humming gently.

A hand gripped her arm, steadying her. “Fool,” Osra said, but her grip was gentle. “Reckless as always, Starksword. That was a risk you did not need to take, and I am grateful and in your debt.”

Sorya could only nod, too drained for words.

“Have you no energy stored in Kveykva?”

“Not . . . nearly enough.”

“Use it, whatever it is.”

She did, and it was enough to arrest the tremors and dissipate the aching cold. Sorya steadied herself, looking up at Osra. “You can fight?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Do you wish to go to Mánya?”

Osra gazed across the cavern, as did Sorya. The Tsuhei was on its knees, bellowing and bleeding from dozens of different wounds. It seemed that five attacking dragons - out of whom three were the oldest and largest dragons in the cavern, apart from Saphira and Firnen - was too much for even it to cope with.

“She does not need me,” she said, mouth quirking up just a little. “I will come with you.”

Sorya smiled briefly in return, glad that her focus was back to the battle. “Good. Let’s go.”

They climbed up Corinne’s foreleg, and an Eldunari contacted them as they settled themselves in the saddle.

To alfa Nina’s side, children, she requires assistance.

Understood, elda. We are on our way.

Osra clapped Sorya on the shoulder, Sorya gave her a nod in return, and together with Corinne they plunged back into the melee.

⚔

The third halfbreed fell with a howl, Blödhfëon sliding out of its throat with a sickly sound, but the last one was right behind it, snarling as it struck. Këyal managed to dodge it, but clumsily, and hot, biting pain flared up from half a dozen wounds as he stumbled back. The creature grinned madly, baring its fangs, and struck again with even more swiftness. He brought Blödhfëon up too slowly; it stepped forward, far inside the sword’s reach, and slammed a fist into Këyal’s abdomen. His breath rushed out in a gasp, and his lungs refused to expand to replace it.

There was a distant note of alarm from Layla in the back of his mind, but he could pay no heed to it. The halfbreed prepared to strike again, and he could do nothing to stop it, for the blood-price taken by the three others had left him too hurt, too slow to fight back, and this one would claim the final one.

Ah . . . so then this is how I end.

It was inevitable - that knowledge settled in his bones like cold, cold lead, and there was no use in even attempting to cry rebellion. There was nothing that could be done. The cruel paw was swinging through the air, and his lungs were on fire, and he flinched back in a useless effort at evasion -

A shimmering blade sliced through the air and neatly removed the creature's head from its shoulders. It thumped to the floor, trailing blood, and the body toppled forward a moment after. Këyal pushed it off of him with what felt like the last of his strength, finally able to breathe again.

Andlát, he thought dazedly. Death.

And it was, indeed, Andlát, dark red blood coursing down it in ugly contrast to its own delicate pearl-pink. Zelíe’s face was creased with the weight of battle as she knelt beside him.

“Alright?” she said, placing a hand on his heaving back. “Take a moment to breathe. We have time.”

He heeded her advice, only speaking after he had drawn in multiple long, deep breaths. “Thank you. If you had not come when you had -”

“Do not dwell on it, Këyal. I did come, and I will stay by you from now on.”

“I am - grateful. I feel like I am bleeding from fifty different places.”

Her mouth twitched as she looked him over. “As to that, you might well be. Can you still fight?”

“I must. If I rest a little, I should be fine enough.”

“The battle is going well, however. You may not be called upon to overexert yourself.”

“Is it? I have not moved around the field much, I have not been able to see -”

The Tsuhei roared, its bellow echoing out over various pained shouts and cries, and both of them winced. “It is,” Zelíe said. “The Tsuhei is evidently struggling, and we are making a dent in their numbers. All of us are still able to fight -”

There was a flicker of movement behind her, and Këyal’s eyes widened as he registered it. “Zelíe -!”

But it was too late. The enemy soldier, a man with a trim brown beard and a sneering mouth, swept his hand down in a vicious arc, and Këyal and Zelíe were sent flying in opposite directions with a blow that felt like a dragon’s kick to the ribs. All of Këyal’s pain flared up again as he slammed into the ground, and he groaned, struggling to move as the soldier stalked towards him.

He could not, and when the man gestured again his head was raised up and slammed into the ground. Dull pain ripped through his head, black and red flashing behind his eyes. He could not move, he could not think, only endure as his head struck the ground twice, thrice -

And then it stopped. He was left curled in on himself, head throbbing in unison with the ringing in his ears. “ -yal!”

It was faint, but Zelíe was calling his name, and there was the sound of - flames? Dragonfire? And wingbeats? He looked up dizzily, only to duck down again, squinting, for Jethran was hovering above them all, bathing the soldier in a stream of bright blue-white flame. Zelíe was sprawled on the floor beyond, shielding her face with one arm. Let him not have had wards, please let him not have had wards -

But Jethran snapped his jaws shut, the light faded, and the man was standing there scowling, unsinged. He raised his hand once more, but Zelíe was already on her feet, advancing swiftly. She slashed at his neck with a yell - it glanced off his wards, sparks flying. She was not deterred, but pressed the attack so ferociously he was driven back a few steps. He snapped something at her, yanking a knife from his belt, but Zelíe’s assault had given time to Jethran to land, and he now struck at the man’s back with one huge paw. The man faltered, stumbling forward before whipping around as he realised the position he was in, forced to fend off attacks from two sides at once. Jethran snarled low in his throat, lifting his paw once more, and the man glanced behind him briefly, letting out a panicked shout. Zelíe flew back as before, mercifully not cutting herself on her sword. He turned instantly to face Jethran again, attempting to dart to the side, but Jethran moved faster than he had expected, his head snaking forward and snatching him up in his mouth.

The wards were still active, however, so he was left with the man writhing awkwardly in the space between his teeth. He bit down, and the wards flared bright and painful. The man howled, and Jethran spat him out instantly, pawing at his mouth as if it had been wounded. The man staggered to his feet, drawing in a breath for, presumably, another spell.

Këyal was still on his knees, but Zelíe was too far away to assist and Jethran would bear the full brunt of the attack if there was no intervention. He drew a dagger from his belt and threw it as swiftly as he could, hoping against hope it would at least be a decent distraction. It in fact struck home between the man’s shoulder blades, to Këyal’s relief and surprise.

His wards are gone!

The soldier howled, clutching at his back as he staggered. Jethran needed only a moment to dart his head forward and neatly nip off his head. The body crumpled, blood steadily pooling underneath.

Këyal slumped as well, averting his eyes, overcome by a strong urge to curse every circumstance that had caused him to be in this hellscape. Zelíe limped to his side, wincing with every other step. “You can stand?”

He huffed a weak laugh. “In all truth, I should not like to make the attempt.”

She smiled at that, bending to slip her shoulder under his arm, and he was painfully hoisted to his feet. His head swam as he stood, and he had to lean on her quite heavily, but he maintained enough presence of mind to thank Jethran for his intervention.

The dragon paid no mind to this, pinning them both with an unwavering azure gaze before lowering his head to the floor in a clear invitation to mount. They did so, and Jethran took flight, cool air whistling past.

The hearing spells were still active, however, and Këyal could still hear Zelíe as if she was speaking in his ear.

“He used magic so easily, and with no words. Magic did not work for us even with the spell said in the mind, yet she was not lying when she said -”

“I know. I do not know how she did it, and I am not sure I care to. But the others should be told.”

“Let me try and see if I can talk to any of the Eldunarya. They would have a better chance of getting through to everyone than either of us would.”

“Agreed.”

Jethran wheeled over the battlefield, allowing them a brief respite, and Këyal could no longer fight the urge to close his eyes. He slumped against Jethran’s cold scales, thinking vaguely how odd it was that they were blue, instead of the red he was accustomed to. Zelíe tapped his shoulder lightly, but there was a peaceful darkness beckoning, and he was so tired, his every muscle was aching with pain, and he would be able to fight again once he’d rested just a little -

His eyes snapped open; the fatigue was beginning to be soothed away, and even the pain was receding somewhat.

What - Jethran! There was the slightest thread of a connection between them, so slight that he had not noticed until now. Jethran widened it, acknowledging his exclamation.

Yes?

Jethran-vor, you mustn’t waste your energy on me. You will need it yourself!

I have enough to spare. And you need it more than I.

But -

There is no use you being here if you cannot even stand. Spare me your protestations - they will be of no avail.

And so it proved. Këyal advanced argument after argument, but Jethran continued to feed him enough energy that he was more than half restored to his usual strength. In a bare few minutes he was able to sit up without cold creeping in his limbs and ringing deadening his hearing, and he felt fully able to handle his sword at an adequate level of skill, if not what he was normally capable of.

Now you shall do. I see a skirmish there - the black-furred-elf. Shall we assist him?

He assented, unable to keep a certain disgruntled colour from his thoughts. Jethran was more amused than anything else. As he tipped into a dive, he said, On a battlefield you take your help where you can, and have the sense to be grateful. You owe me no debt, Këyal. Forget these unimportant matters, and instead raise your sword as the warrior you are.

I am no warrior.

The thought was bitter, and more despairing than he would have liked.

You are here. Here, if you are not a warrior . . . you are dead.

And with that unyielding but not unkind statement, they tipped into a dive to rejoin the battle.

⚔

An hour or so later

“They are all dying,” Caspian said, his grip on his sword tight as his gaze swept the battlefield. He had not wanted to say it before, but it was clear to even the meanest eye by now. The Lethrblaka were dead, the Ra’zac were dead - mostly cut down by elves - the Tsuhei was dead, the Shade was dead, some three quarters of the humans soldiers and half of the halfbreeds were dead.

“We will win this battle,” Ellaer agreed from beside him, bow as ever at the ready, though the battle had shrunk to a handful of skirmishes towards the center of the field. “I will confess, I knew some misgiving when I realized the power the woman has on her side, but truly there is little in this world that can match the full strength of dragons.”

“And with älfakyn fighting as well,” Dara said, smiling sharply, “even those mutant things stood no chance. They’re scatterin’, now, with their numbers dwindling.”

“At a price, however,” Yaela said. “No deaths, but that we realised too late how magic works here caused us to suffer more loss than we should have. Even älfakyn have a limit to our endurance. Without magic . . . the fighting feels foreign. Unnatural.”

Caspian resisted the urge to glance behind him, where five elves lay, too wounded to do further battle - along with Lifaen, who had snapped three ribs and half the bones in one wing when the Tsuhei had sent him flying.

“True enough,” Ellaer said. “But still we fight well, and still we dent their numbers, they who are hundreds and we who are but thirty-odd. And the price was, thankfully, one we can afford to pay. We have many wounded, but as soon as we are outside this place we can rest, we can recover. The battle will end soon, and their pain will be alleviated.”

“I hope so,” Caspian replied, Lifaen’s pain a dark, writhing burden in the back of his mind. His gaze drifted a little way to his right, where Master Eragon lay curled up, unconscious, in the hollow between Mistress Saphira’s neck and shoulder. “I hope so, elda.”

The children sat huddled close together, not a foot away from Master Eragon. They were ragged, silent things, with eyes too large in stark faces and bodies too unnaturally still for their age, for the oldest - of the humans and Urgals - could not be more than fourteen summers and the youngest could not be less than seven. Of the dwarves, of whom there were four, he would guess that none were older than thirty or forty - truly children, by dwarf standards.

The Tsuhei bellowed, and there came the sound of a loud thud and a roar. A small human boy flinched, clapping his hands over his ears, and an Urgal girl bent to murmur to him, stroking his hair gently. Caspian’s heart broke a little at the sight. The wariness etched in every line of their faces, the blank eyes with which they watched blood being split - no child should have reason for such expressions to cross their faces when they were still so painfully young.

“May I take a minute?” he said to the other three, and crossed the distance to the group of children with a few strides. They watched his approach without a sound.

He crouched, smiling as reassuringly as he could. “I’m sorry we could not come talk to you before, but we have been a little busy - as I’m sure you could see.”

No reply, not a sound, but one or two of them nodded ever so slightly.

“I-” He hesitated, wondering how to phrase it. “I’m sorry, young ones, that you must be witness to this. It will be over soon, and we will get you home as soon as we possibly can.”

“Home?” a dwarf boy said, his voice quiet and guttural. Caspian had to strain to hear it over the din.

“Home,” he replied. “Away from this, this place and that woman.”

“We have not seen home in years, Rider,” said a human girl with long brown hair and a small Urgal girl curled in her lap. Her voice could have cut steel.

“You will. It is my promise to you.”

“Your name?”

“Caspian.”

“She took the Shadeslayer, Rider Caspian, and his Brightscales. She took us, and many scores more of us. She is strong. You still promise we will go home unharmed?”

Caspian me her gaze evenly. “I do,” he said. “I swear it to you, all of you.”

“You will pardon me, but oaths have not much value here. This is her realm. If she chooses to kill you a minute from now, what will your oath have been worth?”

“If my oath will not suffice,” he replied, “will my conviction? She has not faced a force such as ours before. I believe, with my full heart, that we have the power to defeat her and return to the sunlight, with all of you. I believe that we will do so, and I believe that you have every cause to trust me when I say that you will not have to remain here for a single moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”

Something flickered in the girl’s eyes, some desperate, terrified hope, revealing her youth for a bare moment. Caspian could not help reaching out to her to squeeze her shoulder gently.

“Riders do not deal first and foremost in blood and sorrow. We teach, we heal, we care, we protect. It is my duty to give that to you, for you have seen too much blood already, I think.”

Sudden tears welled up in the girl’s eyes, and a black-haired human boy next to her slipped a hand around her wrist as she turned away. “We will trust you, then,” he said to Caspian, giving him a wavering smile. “Protect us, sir.”

Caspian returned the smile as he got to his feet, cursing in his heart. The woman would die, he would make sure of it. She would die a thousand times over before he allowed the faint light that had been kindled in their eyes to be extinguished.

“Caspian!” Dara called.

He hurried to her side, looking to the battle. With the added strength of those dragons who had been occupied by the Tsuhei, Siska’s forces were being rapidly decimated. All elves and Riders had moved aside to allow them free rein, and their sheer, savage ferocity was at once a terror and a marvel to behold. They ripped, they clawed, they roared fire and crushed all enemies under their feet with power that few creatures could ever hope to match.

“To the throne,” Yaela said, watching Palé bite two half-breeds in half with catlike eyes. “We will surround her.”

Others seemed to have had the same idea. Within only a few more minutes, the battlefield was deathly silent, and they stood ranged in a loose semicircle in front of the stone throne, elves, Riders and dragons all.

Siska looked precisely the same as before as she watched them, seeming in no way discomposed by the loss of her entire army. The long-haired man on her left, too, had the same studiously blank eyes, but the hunchback on her right looked mutinous, furious. He bent to murmur something into Siska’s ear. She nodded, and he padded backwards, vanishing into the shadows behind the throne.

The girl sitting on the steps still had her face pressed to her knees, still had her arms wrapped tight around her, and was shaking.

Siska clapped her hands once, loudly. A few of them flinched as the sharp sound echoed around the cavern.

“Well done indeed,” she said, low and rich. “You took less time than I expected to wipe them out. My thanks for the service.”

Akhtar stepped forward - he had both sleeves drenched in red, Caspian noticed - and his voice rang out louder than hers. “Play no games, vile one. We destroy your army, and you congratulate us? You give us gratitude when your soldiers lie as corpses?”

“That army was left to me as a relic by dear, dear brothers. I had no need of them to accomplish my goals, and I had to get rid of them somehow, didn’t I? There is also, of course, the added advantage that you are all of you left weakened and bloodied.”

“Enough.” Queen Arya stepped forward, clearly wounded, but with her back straight and her eyes burning and her bow in her hands. “A clean death is more than you deserve, but we will grant it. See that you meet it with honour.”

As though the signal had been predetermined, she, Senshi, Dara, Ayana, and Nelim brought up their bows and began to loose them in quick succession. Siska merely gestured with a finger, and they veered off into the darkness.

Queen Arya snarled, and she stalked forward, never ceasing her attack. The four others followed, and behind them came the rest, all advancing on the throne in an ever tightening circle. Siska did not even move, now, she only watched them approach with deep amusement as arrows buzzed over and around her.

A deep sense of foreboding settled in Caspian’s stomach even as he followed. She had some trick up her sleeve, that much was certain. But how to know what it was, or when she would use it -

He looked behind him, to the children, and they were all watching with haunted eyes.

Something is coming!

He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but Siska was already rising to her feet, stretching luxuriously.

“I think that will do,” she said. She took a step back, then leapt down the stone stairs with inhuman grace, landing in a crouch in front of one of the archers - Senshi. Senshi drew an arrow immediately, aiming right at Siska’s right eye, and had she loosed it and it had found its mark it would have been a beautiful kill. But the drawn arrow suddenly snapped in two, and Senshi faltered, stumbled, and then grew unnaturally still.

“Senshi!” The cry went up from five different throats - Kitai, Sorya, Zelíe, Queen Arya, Caspian’s own. Ikraan roared, prowling forward instantly. But she did not turn, she did not move, only stood, trembling, a grimace carved into her face.

“Her mind!” Nelim shouted. “A mind duel!”

Kitai had already realised, and was lunging with his sword to stab through Siska’s side. But the blade stopped short a good two feet away from her, and he cried out, dropping it in shock as the force rippled back through to his hands.

Siska grinned, watching Senshi without a flicker of a glance for anyone else.

Ten others did the same as Kitai, and each was stopped short, no matter what weapon they used or how they attacked. Nelim and Ravûn stood to the side for a moment, brows furrowed in concentration; then they too cried out and joined the attack. It was to no avail. The barrier was impenetrable, unmoving even when bathed in a furious Ikraan’s fire from above.

Senshi slowly sank to her knees, clutching her head, and fear seized Caspian by the throat. Siska would break her, he could see it, she was evidently more than powerful enough to do so, and isolated from everyone else thus she had no distractions to divert her from her task. He opened his mind, seeking Siska’s, and yelled in frustration when he found nothing. There was no avenue of contact open for him to even touch her.

Then what to do? How to rescue his friend? How to break through before Senshi herself was broken?

There must be something, anything, but - we have no leverage, we cannot touch her nor harm her with the mind or with weapons. Gods above, she could very well subjugate us all one by one in this way, and we would be able to do nothing to stop her -

Ikraan roared again, almost frenzied now. He landed heavily and began to beat at the barrier, snarling, his claws carving grooves in the stone ground. The rest were forced to fall back for fear of injury, so ferocious was his attack. He drew his head back and breathed fire once more, a rush of blistering flame that would have burnt both Senshi and Siska to cinders, had it only touched either of them. But it did not, of course, and Ikraan raised a paw to strike again -

- and paused, suddenly arrested in the motion. There was utter silence in the wake of his lack of his movement, enough that even Caspian, standing the furthest away, heard the faint whimper from Senshi.

“Kneel,” Siska said softly.

Ikraan snarled between his teeth, his tail lashing, and yet his head sank to the ground inexorably. Senshi had a hand pressed over her mouth so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. Siska tilted her head, and Senshi whimpered again. Blödhgarm hissed, ears flattening, and Kitai gave vent to a shout of fury.

“Kneel, dragon.”

Tears were spilling down Senshi’s cheeks. Ikraan’s wings slumped.

And he knelt.

The elves howled as one, and Siska was almost lost in the storm of arrows that swarmed her. Caspian was sure he was going to be sick. A dragon, the freest and most beautiful of all living beings, kneeling? Captive? Servile? Every thought, every feeling rose up in revolt against the sight, it was wrong, it was cruel - it was - it was -

There was a quiet sob from behind him. The children, he thought, and he thought of what he had promised them bare minutes ago, and he wanted to scream until his throat was raw. This could not be how it ended, he refused to believe that the battle would die here, with Siska lazily crouched by Senshi, with every sign of enjoyment on her face as Senshi shuddered in pain, with Ikraan kneeling, with his friends and comrades uselessly throwing themselves at the barrier until their bones wore out.

“Rider!”

He turned at the call, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

The girl from before was pointing to the throne. “Get her to help you,” she called, brows furrowed fiercely. “It’s your only chance!”

Who? Caspian whipped around to look at the throne. The only she was the girl sitting on the steps - it could be no one else!

He almost broke into a run, then checked himself. He could not bank on the confusion being enough that Siska would not notice his movement. He reached out with his mind instead - if this did not work, he would go to talk to her face to face and pray Siska did not stop him, but he had to try this first -

He was successful. There was no check, no sudden, suffocating presence forcing him back to his own mind, and he reached her consciousness with ease. Even at this distance, he could see the way her head jerked up, they way she whipped around to search wildly for the source of the questing thought, and all he could sense from her was fear, fear, fear. It made his stomach turn over with how deeply physical it was, how bone deep it ran.

Little one, he thought quickly, trying to get past the overwhelming storm. Little one, listen to me. I will not hurt you -

- sorry sorry sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I don’t want to I didn’t want to she made me I’m sorry please -

Child, listen to me! He sent her whatever reassurance he could afford, whatever compassion he could muster, but it was precious little with the image of Senshi shuddering on the floor burnt into his mind. Listen, listen, listen, I will not hurt you. I do not want to hurt you. You do not have to be afraid, you are safe from me.

The storm calmed somewhat, and a questioning thought flickered briefly, like lightning between the clouds.

Your friends, they told me you could help me. He frowned, trying to decipher the jumping thoughts. Angry? With you? Why, little one?

Despair, despair, and terror -

Because you’re helping her? But you don’t want to, I can see that so clearly. I would be just as scared of her as you, if I had been living in her power for so long.

Anguish, and still terror -

Has she sworn you to her, child?

An instant negative, like a sharp, brief gust of wind. No, sir. She has not.

Are you sure? You know the old tongue?

. . . I know a - a very little, sir. She has not sworn me to her. She has never - never needed to.

Images flickered past, of Siska with a whip in hand, Siska’s terrifying smile, the girl cowering, the screams of her friends -

Caspian cut them off with a gasp, anger bubbling in his chest. But he tamped it down for the girl’s sake, and said Your name?

. . . Amha.

Amha, I am Caspian. Will you tell me how you help her?

She - she could be listening to us - Terror sparking again, the billowing clouds growing larger, darker.

She is not, Amha, I would be able to feel her if she was also here. But if there is a chance that she will come here soon, then you must tell me fast. You do want to help us, yes? You want her to lose? You want to see the sun again, with your friends?

I do! The girl let loose a sob, and Caspian could feel it in his own chest. I do, I do, but she’ll kill me, and she’ll kill you too, I can’t betray her -

You must tell me before she thinks to look in your mind, for I fear that without knowing this there is no way we can win this battle. Just show it to me quick, yes? It will not take a second -

Ikraan keened, loud and high and pained, and Senshi screamed into her hands. Celesté and Palé roared in unison, but Caspian could hear the helpless note in their voices. Again and again came the musical sound of swords, axes, arrows hitting the barrier and bouncing off.

Quickly now, child!

Amha sobbed once more, but allowed her mind to open more fully. Caspian stumbled at the influx of information, struggling to pick out what was pertinent.

- cut off all contact between Shadeslayer and Brightscales -

- remain in readiness to restrict the elf queen if she attempts to attack -

- you will sit at my feet, and watch the battle -

- there are powerful voices, ancient voices, you will not be able to see them, but whenever you find one you isolate it -

- force the dragon to listen to his Rider while I break her -

Caspian gasped like a man surfacing from ice cold water, his mind spinning.

You - you can control the interactions of minds? You - He skimmed through the uppermost memories. You can force contact, you can prevent contact, you can allow it only one way, and you don’t even have to know whose minds they are to be able to - how?! How can this be?

I don’t know, came the miserable whisper.

Well, it doesn’t matter right now, I -

“No!” It was Senshi screaming. “Don’t touch him! Don’t make him, please, please -”

Her voice was choked off abruptly. Ikraan shuddered, scales rising along his entire body, and then he turned to face Celesté. She eyed him for a brief, uncertain moment, then hopped back with a startled yelp as he snapped at her. He pressed the attack, snarling and leaping, claws outstretched, and again she managed to avoid it. Rosalie moved in between them, snarling at Ikraan in warning, but he paid her no heed, seemingly focused only on getting to Celesté. On hurting her.

The bitch, Caspian thought, the anger from a handful of seconds ago now helpless, boiling fury that was almost burning through his chest. How dare she force him to harm his mate -

He remembered Amha’s presence only when he felt her gasp softly. They - they are -

They are. Amha, we cannot win this without you. I will ask only one favour from you. Will you do it for us? For me?

The clouds scurried across the landscape of her mind, driven ever faster by an onrushing gale, and for a moment he knew a deep fear that she would refuse. But in spite of the fear overwhelming her mind, she took a deep, deep breath, and whispered Yes.

Chapter Text

Thank you, Caspian thought fervently, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Thank you. I know what this is costing you.

The clouds in Amha’s mind lightened, just a little, as she acknowledged the statement. Hurry, she whispered.

Of course, we will end this within a moment - you will allow me access to everyone else now, yes?

Yes.

And you are still blocking her from everyone except Ikraan and Senshi?

. . . yes.

All right, this won’t take a moment -

He blinked, coming back to himself. Siska seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of Celesté attempting to deflect Ikraan’s attacks without wounding him, paying no heed to the slam of weapons on her barrier and the slew of shouts and curses hurled at her through it. Senshi was sprawled at her feet, barely moving. It would surely not be much longer before she chose her next target.

Umaroth elda!

The response was immediate. Yes, child?

Caspian flashed through his interaction with Amha like lightning, knowing that the old dragon would be able to decipher the bolt of recollection with ease. She will open Siska up for attack, he said urgently. But I do not know what Siska’s mind is like, if she too has Eldunarya assisting her -

If she had, she would have gloated about it long before, Umaroth said grimly. Your concern is well noted. But we will be sure to crush her thoroughly.

I will tell the girl, then.

We are ready.

Caspian drew a deep breath. “Be ready!” he shouted as loudly as he could. “She will falter!”

Several faces turned to him in shock and enquiry, but he paid them no mind.

Amha!

Yes! She was trembling.

Now, please!

He could see, even from this distance, the way she cowered - but she raised a hand, and at once the shields surrounding Siska’s mind vanished, as though they had never been. The Eldunarya lost no time to invade in a swirling, roaring tempest, ripping through with a ferocity that terrified even Caspian.

Siska lurched to the side violently, head dropping low as she reached up to clutch her hair with a howl of agony. Akhtar yelped in shock when his axe met with no expected resistance, and missed Senshi’s back by a hairsbreadth. The other attackers too paused in surprise, weapons at the ready as they watched Siska stagger around to face the throne.

“What-” Her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, and she raised a shaking arm to point at Amha, cowering on the stone steps. “You!”

Amha whimpered, covering her head with her arms. Siska took a dragging step towards her, listing to one side like a ship in a gale. “Traitor,” she snarled, “you little -”

She broke off with another howl, and fell to her knees with a thud. It was a horrific thing to watch, someone’s mind being deliberately pulled to pieces, no matter how they deserved it. Yet Caspian could not help but be impressed by the woman’s mental fortitude - with scores of dragons ravaging her mind, she still possessed enough strength of mind, enough sense of self to be able to speak.

“It will not - end like this -” she gasped, strings of spittle beginning to run down her chin. Her hands trembled violently as she tried to crawl forward, towards the throne. “I was meant - for more - it was my triumph - it will not end - because of - one - worthless - child - it - cannot -”

She fell onto her side, her mutterings fading into incoherent rasping as her chest heaved. Queen Arya strode forward, an arrow drawn and aimed straight at Siska’s throat.

Siska’s eyes rolled back behind trembling eyelids. One hand reached out, wavering, as though seeking some tangible support. Queen Arya’s lips drew back in a snarl, and she raised her bow sharply. There could be no doubt that she would find her mark.

But even as she did so, Siska’s hand fell, and her shoulders slumped inwards. Her fingers twitched convulsively, she drew a long, rattling breath - and ceased to move.

Queen Arya looked down at her for a long moment, her bow perfectly still. Then she lowered it, turned on her heel, and strode towards where Eragon and Saphira were lying.

There was a faint sigh from the circle, a barely perceptible release of tension. Caspian sank into a crouch and pressed his hands to the cold ground, the rush of relief making him lightheaded.

They had defeated her!

“And you?” Nelim’s voice rang out. Caspian looked up to see him facing the long haired man, who was still standing beside the throne. “WIll you too die a dog’s death, as she did?”

The man knelt to sit with both knees on the floor, back perfectly straight. He deliberately removed his shield, his sword, and his spear from his body, placing them to one side. “I surrender,” he said, his voice startlingly deep. “I will not fight. I will not escape. I only ask that my weapons are treated with care.”

Nelim turned to look at Blödhgarm, who turned to Arya, who was bent over Eragon’s limp form. She looked up, her gaze cutting as it considered the man. “Take him,” she decided. “We could use some answers.”

Nelim nodded, detaching a length of rope from Pale’s saddle before mounting the steps to bind the man.

And now the battle was truly over. Akhtar dropped his axe to cup both hands to his mouth, letting lose a hair-raising bellow of victory that rang through the cavern, and it was echoed by half a dozen more voices - and half a dozen roars. Kitai and Dara knelt by Senshi’s side as she stirred weakly. Swords were sheathed, lances stowed away, arrows placed back in quivers. A low murmur began to rise as people examined their own wounds and those of their comrades, and it was bolstered by the excited, elated chatter of the children as they spoke to those who went over to speak to them.

“Thank all the gods,” Caspian said to himself, smiling as he sheathed his sword. Lifaen snorted in his head, though Caspian could sense his own triumph close to the surface.

Thank the fact that you had dragons on your side.

That too. How are you feeling?

Terrible. I won’t be able to fly for a while even after the bones heal.

You’ll be better in no time, I know it.

Someone’s giddy.

Why, we won!

So we did. And we might not have if it was not for you convincing the girl. Well done.

Lifaen’s warm affection filled him up like honey, mingling with the relief and euphoria to soothe a portion of the weariness from his body, and he returned it with enthusiasm. Lifaen hummed, pleased, as it infected him.

You’ll be all right for a minute? I have to -

Yes, yes. Go.

He sent Lifaen a flicker of gratitude, and hurried to the stone throne. “Amha,” he called softly, looking up to where she was sitting. “Won’t you come down?”

She came timidly, like a little brown mouse, clinging to the steps as closely as she could. He crouched as she reached him, and held out a hand to her.

“You did so well,” he said warmly, as she tentatively took his hand. “You were so brave, Amha. It was only thanks to you that we could win. You have our gratitude.”

She said nothing, only dropped into a quick, trembling little curtsy. She was barefoot, her hair a tangled mess over her face that made it almost impossible to see her eyes, and so dirty that it might have been any colour underneath the grime. Her dress was grey, and torn, and certainly too thin for the chill of the cavern.

“Goodness, you must be cold,” he said, trying to sound cheery. “I have a lovely cloak I can lend you before we leave, I hope you don’t mind using it. Is there anything you need? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you want food, water? I believe we have some provisions left -”

“No,” she said, so softly he had to strain to hear. “No, sir.”

“Well, if you change your mind, just let me know, yes?” He pressed her small hand with his own. “We are here to make sure you are all safe.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you need me for anything, at anytime, don’t hesitate to ask even for a second. If you have something you’d like to say, or something you need -”

Dark eyes looked up at him and back down so quickly he almost thought he had imagined it.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, still staring at the floor. He gently drew her closer, resting his free hand on her head.

“You can say what you want to, Amha.”

Her mouth opened, and closed, and opened again. “I-” She sniffed, and swallowed. “I felt her. When the old ones - the hidden dragons -”

“Yes?”

“When they - I felt it. What they did to her.” She looked up at him again, and he could see tears starting in her eyes. “Will they - hate me too? Because I - I blocked them, and I helped her, protected her, and I - I don’t want to die like - like she did -”

“Oh-” Caspian thought he felt his heart break, just a little bit. “Oh, little one, come here -”

She buried her face in his shoulder, and he began to stroke the back of her head soothingly as her tears soaked through his shirt.

“You’re safe, I promise,” he murmured. “They are not angry. They’re grateful, we are all grateful to you, you hear me? Hush now, it’s all right. There’s nothing to fear anymore.”

She whimpered, burying her face deeper. He murmured to her as soothingly as he knew how, and held her until she chose to step away.

“All right?”

She nodded, rubbing at her eyes with a sniff.

“Shall we go to the others, then?” He stood up, smiling down at her. “I know I want to get out of this place as soon as may be.”

She grasped his hand, and for the first time, looked him in the face as she spoke. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The other children received her with cries of joy and relief, the black-haired boy opening his arms for her, and she ran straight to him to hold him tight. They clustered around, murmuring and petting her. Caspian caught sight of tears running down her face once more, but she was smiling through them.

Ayana came up to him and patted him on the shoulder as he stood, watching. “Well done, Caspian-finiarel,” she said. One hand was held oddly against her chest, and she had a splash of blood on her cheek, but she smiled as kindly as ever. “If you had not convinced her, I do not know how we would have won.”

Agreed, Umaroth said in his head, radiating approval. Well done.

Caspian ducked his head. “Thank you, eldas,” he grinned, happiness swelling in his chest. “I am only glad it ended as soon as it did.”

Ayana hummed, looking around. “True. Jethran and Fírnen are trying to wake Saphira, for with no magic and the dragons all exhausted we will be hard pressed to find a way to carry her out. We are to gather to assess injuries and decide who should be removed first, that their wounds must be healed the fastest.”

“Understood. How is Master Eragon, has he -?”

“He has not woken yet, but Queen Arya and Elaren do not seem worried overmuch about his state, so I doubt it is much more than a sleeping spell.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear.”

“Indeed. Neither he nor Saphira should be impaired in any way - though, of course, they will have to be examined with magic to be certain.” Ayana was still scanning the cavern, a small frown gathering at her brow. “I do not like this darkness. It presses too heavily, it hides too much.”

Caspian followed her gaze, a prickle of unease suddenly running up his spine. “You think there may be more foes in hiding?”

“Perhaps. It would be easy for them to regroup and wait for us to lower our guard.”

“Does Queen Arya -”

“She is the one who first mentioned it. And I think she is, unfortunately, right.”

“Then what do we do? Rout them? If we were attacked now -”

“I think not. It is a real threat, but our priority now is getting our wounded and the children out of this place. They will keep. I doubt they will be so bold as to attack now, with all of us clustered together - and with all the dragons together as well.”

“As you say.”

“You do not seem to be wounded overmuch. It is good. Come, will you help me gather the younglings?” Ayana smiled down at him, dark eyes twinkling. “You seem to have rather a knack.”

He laughed a little, falling into step beside her as she began to walk towards where the rest were gathered.

“I’m glad you think so, elda. I should be happy to help.” “Come then. Let us leave this place as soon as may be.”

⸶⸷

“She kicked you in the ribs,” Kitai said in their mothertongue, helping Senshi sit up with one hand on her back.

“Feels like it,” she grunted, tenderly pressing the sore side of her chest. “Gods. One is definitely cracked.”

“And your head?”

“Hurts like Ikraan sat on it.” She winced as her temples throbbed particularly painfully, lowering her head to rest on her knees. On her hands and knees in front of everyone, writhing in pain . . . it was not an experience she would be eager to ever repeat.

“Was she trying to - to pull you apart?”

“No . . . first she trying to break through, then she was just - it was just. Pain. To make Ikraan do what she - wanted -” Her eyes flew open as recollection slammed into her mind. “He did, didn’t he?”

Kitai’s mouth was a rigid line. “He did.”

“That’s why he’s feeling . . .”

Stark pain, searing shame, and a deep, helpless fury at what he had been forced to do - it all swirled into one massive, howling tempest that pulsed through their link, despite his efforts to hide it from her, and despite her assurances that he was in no way to blame.

“Ikraan?” Dara asked, crouched next to her. “Yeah, he’s mopin’ off to the side. He knows full well that Celesté doesn’t hold it against him, though.”

“Still - suppose it was you who had been forced to attack me, or Keyal -”

“Oh, I understand how he’s feeling, sure enough. But I think he should be back to himself soon - or so I hope. And you? How’s your mind?”

Senshi grimaced, rubbing her temples. “Scattered. Hurting. If you don’t mind . . . I can think better when I speak in my own tongue, so -”

“Surely, I don’t mind at all. You let Kitai look after you, then. I’ll be off.”

Senshi gave her a grateful smile as she got up to leave, and turned back to her brother, trying to swallow her own pain and shame. “And you? How are you hurt?”

He rolled his shoulders, stretching. “A few cuts, a few bruises, nothing unbearable. More sore muscles than anything. It’s better than I would have thought, after being tossed around on that creature’s back for so long.” He nodded to the Tsuhei’s corpse. “A beautiful thing, it was. I do not think it could think like a dragon, or even a Nidhwal, but still, for such a creature to die for the - the convenience of a madwoman . . .”

His grimace was almost a snarl as he glanced towards Siska’s abandoned body, and he muttered a few choice words that summarily summed up her breeding, morals, and how much she deserved the death she’d gotten.

“Language!” Senshi said, unable to help a laugh. “You and your filthy mouth.”

He grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re the only one who can understand, so it doesn’t count. Can you stand?”

She staggered, but managed to find her balance with his hand gripping her arm. Her head throbbed again, and she brought a hand to it with a wince.

“Ahh, my head . . .” “You held out well, Sen.” His voice was gentler than she was accustomed to. “You’re wounded anywhere else?”

“What? Oh - a cut on my leg, and someone slammed the butt of their spear into my stomach. And I ache everywhere. But my head is the worst. I keep feeling like . . .” She frowned, closing her eyes tight. “Like I will go floating off if I don’t keep a tight hold over my thoughts. Like she - she somehow loosened my grip on my sense of my identity.”

Kitai hummed at her words, his fingers tapping on her arm absently. “Sen.”

“Mm?”

“Remember the first time you tried to spear a deer?”

She opened her eyes to narrow them at him in confusion, fighting a sudden smile. “Very clearly.”

“It snagged in the branches, and you slipped on that moss and fell into the pond, and you couldn’t get the stink out of your hair for -”

“I remember, I remember! Why are you -”

“And remember when we were doing that endurance training with Ravûn and Osra, and Master Eragon found out that you were the one who’d finished all the water before we even got halfway?”

She snorted with laughter, shaking her head. “Oh gods, don’t remind me.”

He grinned. “And when we were sitting after dinner a few months ago, and we heard roaring from outside, and you and Dara couldn’t look each other in the face for the next two days -”

“Stop,” she whined, embarrassment rising like a tide at the mere memory. “Why are you dragging up all these -?”

“How’s your head?”

She paused, surprised by the answer. “ . . . Better. Oh, I see.”

Kitai looked smug. “I do have good ideas occasionally, you know.”

“Only occasionally,” she teased. “But it helped. Thanks, Kit.”

“You’re welcome. Just think of a strong memory when you start to feel like you’re . . . unraveling.”

“Yes, I -”

There came the sound of a low, rumbling groan, loud and long enough that everyone looked around. Saphira had raised her head and was blinking blearily, while Firnen nuzzled her jaw and Jethran nudged at her wings with a pleased hum.

Senshi had to smile, gladness rising within her and soothing away even more of the pain left over from the attack on her mind. Everything seemed brighter and more hopeful with Saphira awake and moving.

She was still fairly disoriented, and could not quite walk straight, but she seemed to be recovering gradually the longer she was awake. She settled next to Queen Arya, humming faintly when Arya patted her jaw.

“Gather, please!” Queen Arya called as Firnen crouched on Saphira’s other side. “Are we all here? Two, four, eight -” She scanned the group quickly, counting. “All right. Who are the least wounded?”

She quickly and efficiently apportioned them into groups, one per dragon, taking into consideration those who needed immediate attention and the carrying capacity of the dragon.

“I think we need not force Saphira to carry people when she is still recovering. This leaves us with . . . some seven people left behind, if we are to prioritize the wounded and children. One of the dragons will have to come back.”

I can, Celesté said. Seven people is fine.

“The only thing is leaving those seven here while the rest are carried up. Or else a dragon will have to wait with them while Celesté goes up and comes back.”

I can, Dreya replied. I will wait, queen.

“Very well. Then let us not waste more time.” She climbed up Firnen’s foreleg and settled into the saddle, shifting Eragon’s body to the side so she could sit comfortably. “I will see you all above ground.”

Invidia climbed up halfway after her, and began to help the others who were to go with Firnen mount him. Everyone began to mount their assigned dragon, apart from those who would stay behind - Kitai, Zelie, Caspian, Senshi, Nina, Ayana, and Elaren - and those who were to ride Dreya.

“So we have to wait,” Kitai sighed, leaning into Zelie’s shoulder as she squeezed his arm. “I want to leave this cursed place already.”

“Don’t lower your guard, child,” Nina said, taking a ready stance with her bow in her hands as she looked around. “There is a very real threat, even now.”

“Yes, elda.”

“We should keep our minds open. If there is to be an attack, we should be able to sense them coming.”

“Hopefully,” Elaren replied. “In the war in Illirea, we could not -”

“True, yes. I only hope Siska did not think to use that spell, given that she had a more effective way of achieving the same result in Amha.”

They waited in silence thereafter, all with their hands on their weapons. Senshi was gently pushed to the middle of the circle, though she pulled out Vindbitr with the rest of them. It was a practical thought, not a kind or a pitying one, and she made no complaint.

They waited, and waited, Dreya’s breath like a low bellows beside them. A few of the lanterns began to flicker, and they moved to cluster around the brightest ones. The darkness pressed in regardless, Senshi’s ribs and head seemed to hurt more with every passing moment rather than less, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of her bloodstained clothes and curl up for a good, long sleep.

It could not have been more than twenty minutes that they stood waiting, but it felt twice as long. Dreya raised her head then, listening.

I hear Celesté. Those who are to come with me, you may mount.

They did so, and Dreya rose to her feet, shuffling her wings with a sound like leather scraping against leather.

“You may go, Dreya,” Nina called. “I too can hear Celesté. She will be here in a matter of moments.”

Dreya dipped her head briefly in acknowledgement, and began to move towards the stairs. Senshi watched her dark form meld into the darkness, and noticed when faint silver gleams began to shine through from the same direction she was heading in. She’s here, she thought, with a rush of relief. We can finally leave -

“I hear something!” Ayana snapped, raising her spear at the ready. “Metal!”

They all tensed instantly, turning to look in every which direction in a vain attempt to pinpoint the location of what Ayana was hearing.

“Here!” Kitai shouted as he raised his sword. “Ten of them!”

Senshi whipped around to where he was standing. There were indeed ten attackers, heavily clad in cloth and armour, charging forward with weapons upheld. Defiance was carved into each of their faces, as though they knew that they were charging towards a certain death. Celesté roared from behind them, the sound of her footfalls suddenly louder and heavier, but they did not turn. The one in the lead was the hunchbacked man from Siska’s side, black cloak flapping behind him like the wings of a monstrous bird as he screeched a battle cry.

Senshi’s field of vision narrowed to him for one long, still moment. His sword was a massive thing, and serrated, and there was an oily, unnatural gleam to its edge -

Then Elaran and Nina’s arrows shot past her, finding their marks in the attacker’s throats and eyes with ease. One woman stumbled and fell, blood coursing down to stain her shirt, and then another fell, and another -

They will be whittled down before they ever reach us!

But even as the elated thought flashed across her mind, they suddenly seemed to accelerate. Kitai, in the vanguard to receive them, took an involuntary step back, his shoulders tensed.

“Careful!” Senshi shouted, reaching out with a helpless hand.

Yet another soldier fell, but the man in front took no notice. He charged straight at Kitai, raising his sword with a howl, and still he was accelerating, and Kitai was bringing his sword up to block but he was too slow. The man brought his arm down with the speed of an elf -

- and slashed Kitai right across the eyes.

There was a collective roar of mingled horror and fury, and the hail of arrows intensified as Kitai recoiled with a scream, clutching at his eyes. Zelie - the only one close enough to Kitai to be able to reach him before the man struck again - stepped forward swiftly, rent the man’s head from his shoulders in one smooth, clean strike, and whipped around on her heel to catch Kitai in her arms as he stumbled back, dropping her sword in the process without an instant of hesitation.

Ayana sprang forward then, spear upraised, with Caspian by her side. The other five were dead in the next ten seconds, and were left to bleed on the floor while they all gathered around a kneeling Zelie. Kitai was whimpering in her arms, hands pressed to his face, and her brow was furrowed deeply as she looked down at him. Then she let out a pained, hoarse cry, and his head fell back, his body going limp.

Senshi hurried to kneel by his side, horror crawling up her throat as she looked at her brother’s ruined face. “He - is he -”

“I put him to sleep,” Zelíe said curtly, her face bone white and smeared with Kitai’s blood. “He needs healing. Now.”

Celesté skidded to a stop beside them, snarling. Put him on my back, she snapped. Hurry.

They scrambled up her side, heedless of all else save settling Kitai securely. Celesté spread her wings as soon as they were all mounted.

Hold him tight, she said, and leapt with a grunt. They traveled so, in a series of long, gliding bounds, even on the stairs when Celesté could manage space for her wings. Senshi gripped the sides of Celesté’s neck tight and tried to tamp down the sick fear roiling in the pit of her stomach.

Was this how he felt when it was me being attacked?

“Elaren elda!” The shout was from Caspian, over the thuds of Celesté’s jumps and the air rushing past. “Why did you bring his sword?!”

Senshi leaned forward to look. Elaren did indeed have the sword that had been used to cut Kitai, the blood drying to a rust red on its edge.

“There was something on the edge!” Elaren called back. “It might have been poison!”

Celesté landed with a jolt, the shock running through Senshi’s body and hammering into her tender ribs hard enough that she had to trap an anguished whine in her throat. She curled over into Caspian’s back, knowing he would allow it and would not question her, and struggled against the urge to vomit.

Poison. Poison. Then - if he doesn’t recover? If he goes blind? No, they should be able to regrow his eyes entirely if need be, but if he has scars? If they can’t?

Blurred light began to fill the edges of her vision, and she looked up, squinting, to see that they were in the stone outpost from before. It was early afternoon, the light filtering through the dusty air, illuminating -

For a moment she thought she was hallucinating. But no - she squinted, rubbed her eyes, looked again, and the scene had not changed.

“What-?” Caspian said, a frown in his voice as he looked around.

More than one dragon was growling, but Queen Arya had an arm raised, signaling them to keep back. She was at the forefront, and the whole group was fenced in by a ring of warriors, with weapons raised, and in - no armour? They had instead -

“The clan crests?” she said out loud, and more than one person looked at her.

“You know who they are?” Ayana said from behind her.

“Yes, I think -” She shifted, trying to extricate herself enough to climb down without jostling anyone else or her chest more than necessary. “Can I get down -”

She slid down Celesté’s leg and hurried through the press, sidling around the edges of bare swords and the points of aimed arrows to stand at Queen Arya’s side.

“Dröttning -?”

“We’ve been standing thus for a minute or two,” was the reply. Queen Arya’s face was grim, her eyes hard as they looked around, and her arm trembling just a little as she held it out. “Your people?”

Senshi looked at the two who seemed to be the leaders for the first time, taking in their stance, their weapons, their clan crest painted on the sleeve of their clothes. “Yes, Dröttning.”

“Can you then speak to them? Convince them to let us by? I did try to say something in the ancient language, but the woman shouted what sounded like a warning, so I thought it was better to wait for you instead of them attempting to kill us for what may be perceived as magic. They seem more wary to me than anything.”

“So too would I be, if I had never seen a dragon before and eleven full grown ones sprouted from the earth.”

That drew a snort from Queen Arya, and she gestured with a nod of her head. “Go on then. We must not lose more time.”

Senshi’s heart clenched. “Yes. Dröttning, if you would attend to Kitai - or ask someone else to do so -”

“Kitai? He was hurt? Now?” Queen Arya’s voice sharpened. “You were hardly down there for more than half an hour!”

“He is hurt, yes, and badly. Please, if you could . . . “

“I will ask Blödhgarm. Obtain a path free of this for us, Senshi.”

“Yes, Dröttning.” Senshi drew a breath and squared her shoulders, turning to face the leaders. “I will do my best.”

*

Are we making a mistake, Nila?

Meiji’s wife glanced at him quickly, out of the corner of her eye. Why do you say so?

The more I think on it, the surer I am that these are creatures from the palace of the cliff Lidéna has said we are not to -

Lidéna, she thought, and Meiji caught the disgruntled, twisting undercurrent to the thought. The woman is no more Lidéna than I am Reksha.

The point still stands! Look at them, these massive, clawed things, in all possible colours. And most of the rest cannot be human. Horned, stunted, and those tall, beautiful beings, like statues - all of them look unearthly. And even many of those who look human are the wrong colour, as though they have been bleached with snow. They must be from that palace. Then too, they have children, they have wounded, they make no move to attack though they obviously wish to leave, and though they could do so easily, if one of the scaled things decides to move against us. We would all of us be trampled in a minute. They do not seem as hostile as we first thought.

Now that, Nila said reluctantly, is a practical reason. Do we then issue the order to down weapons? We did not raise ours until they did theirs, but I am beginning to wonder if they did so without realising who we are.

I wish to all the gods we had not come this far east to hunt!

It’s no use saying that now -

There was the sound of something approaching - something massive - with claws clicking loudly on stone. Another of the scaled creatures emerged from the hole in the ground, silvered and with several people on its back.

How many of them are there? he hissed.

Too many, she said, her hand tightening on the handle of her axe.

One of those on the silver one’s back scrambled down, and made her way through to the black haired one in front, who seemed to be the leader. She gave them a quick look before turning to the woman and conducting a quick, murmured conversation.

Negotiation? Explanation?

Probably. Gods, this one is the only one who looks normal.

The young woman turned to them and stepped forward, bending at the waist to bow deeply to them both.

“Do I address the commanders of this force?” she asked.

Northern accent.

Mm. At least she can speak to us.

“You do,” Nila replied, taking a step forward. “Your name?”

“Elpe Senshi,” the woman replied, bowing again. “Clan Reksha. And yours?”

“Peravan Nila. Clan Aadi. He is my husband, Peravan Meiji, also clan Aadi.”

She blinked, looking between them quickly. “The - the queen? And - oh -”

So she knows who we are!

She made haste to kneel, despite Nila’s half protest. “I am truly fortunate to have crossed paths with you, illustrious ones,” she said, eyes trained on the ground. “I -”

“Do stand, child,” Meiji said. “We will not stand on ceremony in this place. There is no need to be so formal.” He smiled at her as she obeyed. “Now, it is evident that you are of this kingdom, unlike those who stand behind you. We do not wish for bloodshed, but you can understand that we were fairly taken aback when all of you appeared from the bowels of the earth without the least warning.”

“Of course, my king. I understand your concerns entirely. There was a battle we had to fight, and we were forced to go underground to find and defeat our foe. We did so, but we are sorely wounded and exhausted, and as you can see, we have children with us as well. We too have no desire nor cause to desire further bloodshed. I have been instructed to beseech you to allow us to pass.”

“Is that so,” Nila said, watching Senshi keenly. “Yet you leave us with many questions, child.”

“I - I understand, my queen, and I would be happy to answer your questions at any time, but right now -”

“I understand. Your wounded. Tell me, can you say in the Old Tongue that you desire only peace? That you and your comrades have no ill will towards us and will not harm us? Even the large scaled ones?”

It was said without hesitation and with remarkable fluency, and Nila turned to Meiji, raising her eyebrows. He nodded in return, and she turned to face Senshi once more.

“Do you lead them, child?”

“I do not.”

“Well, if the one who does can give us a similar assurance, we would be happy to guide you all to the nearest healing house. Myself, my children, and our advisors have taken up residence for a week or so. They will be directed to provide you with every assistance - including for the scaled ones.”

“A healing house? That’s -” Senshi’s eyes were wide. “Yes, thank you, my queen! We are deeply indebted to you for the generous offer. I will provide you with the assurance immediately, if you will but excuse me for a moment -”

Nila waved her off. Meiji watched her go, signaling behind him with one hand for the rest to put down their weapons.

“She herself was wounded,” Nila murmured as she came to stand next to him, both of them watching Senshi talk urgently to the black-haired woman from before.

“I noticed. The side of her chest, no?”

“And yet commendable poise.”

“Indeed.” Meiji turned to smile at her. “I think this will be a far more interesting week for us than we anticipated, my dear.”

Chapter Text

It was a lovely sunrise.

Colours blossomed across the lightening expanse of the sky, rose and lilac and delicate azure. Mist pooled in the dark valleys, looking like the purest cream where the first rays of the sun caught it. The peaks of the hills were slowly, slowly turning to lovely, glowing green, stark against the sky, the east-facing slopes lit up in startling depth of colour and clarity, while the west-facing slopes were bathed in deep shadow. The air was chilly, crisp, and alive with birdsong, setting the leaves of the creepers rustling and the heads of the flowers in the garden nodding.

It was lovely, and Osra, though the bench she was sitting on gave her an impeccable view, paid no heed to any of it. Her eyes were trained on the ground by her feet, and she did not look up as the sun rose higher and light began to play across her hands, clasped in her lap.

No one would understand fully, she knew, apart from Akhtar. It was not enough to read, there was some knowledge that was bone deep. Without it, it was only possible to sympathise. And she knew her comrades would do just that - they had been trying to do just that - but they did not understand. Not truly.

There were parallels, certainly. Vamgrimstn for the dwarves, perhaps a clubfoot or a cat lip for the humans, and for the elves it would be one who could not do magic. There existed the concept of honour in all cultures, and so there existed in all of them ways of being such that one would lose that honour.

And how would it affect her ability to work as a Rider? She would have to settle somewhere like Surda, nowhere north, nowhere near Urgal settlements, for it would take only a glance and she would be left struggling for scraps of respect from even the lowest Urgalgra.

One-horned as she was.

She put her face in her hands with a quiet sigh, allowing a tear or two to escape. She would never live it down if anyone saw her, but thankfully there was no one around - “May I sit?”

It was Ravûn standing by the bench, smiling at her. His head was bound with a linen bandage, and his left leg was set in a cast.

She shifted without a word, and he sat with a brief groan, stretching his leg out in front of him.

“Why a cast?” she asked, feeling as though she should make some semblance of effort at conversation.

“They don’t use magic quite like us,’ he replied, looking up at the now entirely blue sky. “They didn’t heal it entirely, only enough for the bone to be set properly and be encouraged to begin to heal. They believe it is best to leave some processes to the body wherever possible.”

“They healed my wounds within minutes.”

“Yours were quite deep, and would have been life threatening had they been left alone. Besides, bone heals cleaner than muscle.”

“Mm.”

“I will not die if I cannot use my leg for a week or so.”

“I see.”

There was a brief beat of silence. Ravûn leaned back, taking a deep breath of the cool, sun-baked air.

“And you, Osra?”

“As I said, they healed all my wounds.”

“Not quite all, I think.”

Osra refused to meet his inquiring gaze. “I requested them not to touch my horns.”

“Why so?”

“The shame is already too great, I would not have it compounded by having regrown them by magic, for our horns do not grow again after they are shed once as children. Akhtar would be in honour bound to denounce me as false and as a coward for resorting to magic.”

“I see. I have to admit, I do not quite understand -”

“I did not expect you to.”

He let out a soft huff. “I do not quite understand why this is a mark of shame, rather than one of pride.”

She turned to look at him at that, incredulous. “A mark of pride? A broken horn?”

He met her gaze without a blink. “Why, yes. Because this is not the same as being Vagrimstn, yes? One must have committed some act that drove the clan leader to make one outcast in that case. But here, you lost your horn while fighting a Shade. Not a feat that many people could lay claim to. It is like any other battle scar - a mark of courage, of bravery, and one that in my opinion should certainly be carried with pride.”

“If it had been any other part of my body, I should have agreed with you - even were I crippled. But our horns are what set us apart from every other race. They are the pride and joy of any Urgal who can be called an Urgal. They proclaim our strength, our courage, our beauty, our very identity. You know this, Ravûn!”

“I do,” he replied, quietly. “Still I say it is a mark you should be proud of. Certainly, all of the rest of us feel only pride when we see it.” “That is - thank you,” she said, having been thrown somewhat off balance. “But no Urgalgra will see it so.”

Ravûn shrugged, crossing his uninjured leg over his lap as he watched a pair of kingfishers swoop into a branch together. “No knurla thought the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin were deserving of the most basic courtesy after the attack on Master Eragon, and neither did elves, Urgalgra or men. Certainly, most knurla thought it was a disgrace when the first dwarven Rider was chosen from that very clan. My own clan, my own family, thought the same - though for very different reasons, of course. Leaving them aside, I could not dispute the opinions of the rest - had I been in their place, I should have thought the same. But I knew I would work harder than anyone to prove myself worthy. I knew I had no choice but to do so, and so I walked with my head held high through the halls of Tronjheim even when I was insulted, when I was spit upon. I, I was hated. I drew strength from the knowledge that I did not deserve to be. You - you will be pitied. Draw strength from the fact that you need not be. That those who pity you could not meet you in honest combat for a bare minute without being bested. Those who say that you have lost your beauty will never be able to match your radiance in battle, your kindness in healing, your diligence in your work. Keep your head held high, Osra, and if they refuse to admit it then you show them - that you have gained honour, not lost it. They cannot define who you are unless you allow them to do so.”

Osra gave him a long look, unsure of how to reply to this. “It . . . sounds too simple.”

“It is simple. What it is not it easy.” Ravûn gave a sudden laugh. “You are an Urgal Rider, and a Kull. You would have received your fair share of unwelcome attention from at least humans and knurla either way. It is more difficult with your own people, I know, but you are their Rider. That is something they respect, and cannot ever forget. And you are strong. You will soldier through, I know it.”

She smiled down at him, a warm gratitude blooming in the center of her chest. “My thanks for your counsel - and your support, Nightrider. I will remember your advice, and I will strive to apply it when the need occurs.” She switched to dwarfish, though her accent was rough. “A strange day indeed, for a dwarf Rider to advise an Urgal Rider thus.”

He laughed again, loud and clear, and replied in her tongue. “But a good day, no?”

“A good one.” She nodded, and turned to face the bright sky. “Yes, a good one.”

⸶⸷

Eragon, too, had witnessed the sunrise, for the room Arya had been placed in was on the eastern side of the building, with a bay window that looked out onto the garden and the rolling hills beyond. He sat by the window with his chin on one knee, watching sunlight creep up the slopes and the thick mist dissolve into nothingness, leaving behind forests fresh and dewey.

He saw Ravûn make his way to where Osra was sitting, but they had not been in conversation for a minute before a low murmur came from the bed. He rose swiftly, moving to sit cross legged by the low bed, and waited as Arya’s eyes wandered uneasily under closed eyelids. She sighed softly and curled onto one side before waking properly, eyes roving blankly over the paper curtains by the window and the dark wood of the ceiling before coming to rest on Eragon’s face. “Eragon -?”

“Good morning,” he smiled.

She tried to sit upright with a soft gasp, and he gently held her shoulders down. “You - you’re alright? And Saphira?”

“We are both in perfect health.”

She laid her head back on the pillow with obvious reluctance, a frown beginning to gather at her brow. “Why am I here? How long have I been asleep? The last I remember, I was outside, in the grounds of the king’s house, and -”

“You have been asleep here, in the healing house, since late yesterday morning. I myself woke in the late evening. You were working on the dragons with some of the others, yes? And after healing Drëya, I was told that you passed out on the way back to the house.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow, laying one hand upon hers. “Neglected to ensure than your own wounds were sufficiently attended to, love?”

A smile flickered on her face. “Of course not. It was only exhaustion - and worry.”

He bent his head to gently press his mouth to the back of her hand, and her fingers closed tight on his.

“I’m glad you are safe,” she said, quietly. “I suppose she did not, in fact, cut off any fingers?”

He chuckled, a little wryly. “She did not. She did nothing much save put us to sleep - and starve us to some extent, I suppose. She had not much interest in us, save as pieces that would serve to bring the rest of you there.”

“And how did she get you there in the first place?”

He sighed, the recollection clouding his brow, and looked down at their clasped hands. “We chanced upon a little lake, Saphira and I, and she set me down there so I could eat while she went to hunt. So we were parted, and I was sitting under a tree, when suddenly I could not feel Saphira anymore. Not the slightest hint of a thought from her. You can imagine the panic I was thrown into, for I had not felt any pain or distress from her, but to have all communication cut off so -”

“I can well imagine, yes.”

“Yes. Well, I sprang to my feet, intending to run in the direction she had flown, but I had barely taken a single step when I was assaulted by five minds at once. Not Siska - not then - but they were all perfectly competent. I could not see nor hear them, for they were concealed at the bottom of the lake. I resisted, I fought, I managed to kill three of them with quite disgracefully vaguely worded spells, but it took a lot out of me. I could not retreat either, I could not block them out, because she had brought Amha as well, and Amha pulled my barriers down as fast as I made them. I had no choice but to fence with them. Then the other two fell back, and Siska did what she does best. She - she reminded me of nothing more than Galbaotrix, if I am being truthful. The other two prevented my attacks on her, while she was free to attack how she pleased. If I’d had Saphira with me, the story would have been different, but I was nearly out of my mind with worry for her and - well. I lost.

“Saphira had been winging her way back, for she turned around as soon as she felt me vanish. Siska had me well before she returned, and once she did, it did not take long to bind her as well. Thus she broke both our minds. She could have forced us to swear ourselves to her then and there, but she did not. She was not . . . vindictive, that way. She bade us fly to the cavern, sent Saphira to sleep when her roars disturbed the Tsuhei, and kept me bound and gagged. And starved, so my mind was not clear enough that I might reach for magic without use of the ancient language. I think she contacted you soon after. She drugged me as well once she knew you had arrived, in case any thought or action of mine resulted in an outcome she was not prepared to deal with. That she never expected that from those she had kept captive for so long was her downfall. And what happened after that, you know better than I.”

He was aware of her gaze upon his face, and looked up after a moment or two to meet it. Her mouth was tight, and her eyes shadowed with a reserved solicitude that spoke of deep understanding.

“You cannot blame yourself, Eragon.”

He gave her a half shrug, smiling in a way that he knew to be too bitter. “How can I not? Had I not lost, none of this would have occurred. Had I not been such a fool as to have been captured -”

“No one wins all their battles, all of the time. No one would blame you for having lost six to one, trapped by Amha’s power and battling a sharp and powerful mind alone, without Saphira’s or anyone else’s assistance. No one does blame you. And we have crushed the last remnants of Galbatorix’s resistance. We have recovered the missing children -”

“Though Charles was not there.”

Her mouth tightened further. “He was not. But I am confident that we will at least know what has happened to him, when we interrogate the one we brought back. Your students acquitted themselves with true courage, and true skill, and upheld both their own honour as warriors and yours as their teacher. It was a grueling time, but much good has come of it. We are all of us safe and whole. Take solace in that, and cast your regrets behind.”

“As always, only wisdom escapes your mouth, my queen,” he said, smiling more easily. She scoffed softly, and he squeezed her hand. “I am glad to hear you speak thus about my students. I will do my best not to dwell on what has occurred . . . I will be better when we are back at the Hall, and I have you to myself for longer. Though I utter no disparagement of our hosts, of course.”

“They are being most kind,” she agreed. “How are the children? The Riders? Blödhgarm and the rest? I could only speak to them briefly, the past day was nothing but haste and confusion . . .”

“The elves are all perfectly well again, and have spent their time since yesterday in either assisting with healing the dragons, since the healers here of course know nothing of dragon anatomy, and engaging in convivial discussions with the royals’ retinue about, oh, everything under the sun, from the proper place of magic in society to the various forms of proof one would require to believe in a god. I can only be thankful they took it in better part than most dwarves would have - and that the ancient language is not spoken in the healing house by those who are not heillanin, who are not the kingdom’s healers, so those resting were not disturbed by these spirited exchanges. The children are - healing. They have endured a trial that many would not have been able to bear, and have come out of it forged harder than steel. But they are beginning to laugh, beginning to play, and I hope they will regain some portion of their lost childhood in the company of my students. And my students themselves . . . “ He sighed. “Physically, they are well. Mentally, I cannot say. They are strong, but it was their first battle - their first time drawing blood, for some of them - and they have not escaped unscathed. They faced death, and stared it down, but I cannot tell the cost. They have a new deliberation in their words, a new weight on their brows, new burdens to carry. Osra’s horn, Senshi’s mind, Kitai’s eyes . . . and the dragons. Ikraan keeps to himself as far as he is able. Lifaen has not spread his wings to fly as yet, though it has been long since he was healed. Corinne noses at her left wing every few seconds, as though to make sure it is still intact. They are themselves, and yet they are not themselves.”

“And you worry.”

“And I worry,” he agreed, inclining his head. “I will always worry for them.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, pushing herself up to swing her legs to the floor. Eragon looked up at her with concern, trying to read any weariness or pain in her face. “Are you quite sure you are well enough to get up?”

“Quite sure,” she replied, with a small smile. “I could sleep for another day, but I think I have slept more than enough. And if I remember aright, Blödhgarm intended to interrogate that man, Callan, today. I do not wish to miss that.”

“I see.”

She bent to rest her forehead against his and cupped his jaw with both hands, her hair falling forward on one side to brush against his cheek. He slid his hands up to hold her wrists, and they breathed together for a brief time.

“I’m glad you are safe, Eragon,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, and he smiled as he breathed in the scent of her.

“I’m glad you saved me.”

She laughed, and kissed him again through her tears, and he thought he had never felt so full of love for her.

⸶⸷

Zelíe looked up sharply at the groan from the bed. Finally, was her first thought as she hurried to kneel by the bedside, much as Eragon had done some hours ago. She had watched in silence half the previous day as two heillanin had laboured in vain to save Kitai’s eyes, and had watched in silence as her comrades came in one by one to check on him - the last one still sleeping, now, since Queen Arya had woken. She had watched in silence, trying in vain to think of how to tell him that he would never be able to wield a weapon again, would not even be able to walk without assistance - him, with so much pride in the physical skill and athleticism he had worked so hard to develop.

And now he was waking, and still she did not know how to say it. How to convey such a deep loss of identity to one you loved so dearly?

She grasped his hand and pressed it to her cheek, relief overpowering everything else for the moment as he raised a wavering hand to the white bandage bound over his eyes.

“Zel-?”

“Here, Kit,” she said quickly. “I’m here. How do you feel?”

“Rested, though I have a headache. Why - why do I have this -?” He tugged at the bandage. She caught his hand in her own, bringing it down.

“You don’t remember what happened?”

“I remember . . .we were the last to leave the cavern, you were by my side, and then . . . and then we were attacked . . .” His hand tightened on hers painfully. “The one in front - he attacked. He cut my face open, my . . . eyes . . .”

“That is what happened, yes,” she said. “I killed him, and caught you as you fell.”

“Do I have new eyes, then?” he said, a vaguely cheery note entering his voice as he turned his head blindly towards her voice. “It would be a shame if they were a different colour now, you always -”

“You don’t,” she said, quietly.

His brow creased. “I don’t?”

“No.”

“ . . . Who healed me?”

“I don’t know their names, two heillanin -”

“Heillanin?” His mouth parted in shock. “We are at a heillan?”

“A healing house, yes. When we emerged from the cavern, we were stumbled upon by the royals’ hunting party. There was a brief confrontation, but after explanations were given, they very generously offered us all assistance. Everyone has been healed here, and those who are now well are living in the royals’ summer house, a bare ten minutes’ walk away from here. There is no space here for everyone to live, especially with the dragons.”

“I - I see.” His hand relaxed a little, though his brow was still furrowed as he tried to comprehend this information. “So what happened when the heillanin tried to heal my eyes?”

Zelíe swallowed. Be brief. Be honest. “They could not. There was a - a vicious poison on the edge of the blade. They could remove the dead tissue, and arrest the poison’s further progress - they removed all traces of it - but new tissue refuses to grow, no matter how much they coax it. They said they would try more spells as long as you are here, but if what they have done so far has failed, they do not know of much else that might.”

She allowed her voice to die, and there fell a heavy silence. He slowly pushed himself up to sit with his back against the wall, and she clenched her free hand in her lap at the expression on his face - blank in an effort to begin to cope with the terrible, terrible blow that had just been dealt. She leaned forward to press a long, fervent kiss against his forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“So I - am blind?”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly, turning away from her. She watched him swallow, trying to keep her own breath steady.

“Is - is everyone else alright?”

“Yes. Osra is upset about her missing horn, and most of us are more . . . withdrawn than before, but as far as our bodies go, we are healthy.”

“Good. That’s . . . good.”

She shifted to sit on the edge of the bed and slid her arms around him, tucking his head under her chin. He hugged her back fiercely, fists clenched in the back of her shirt as his shoulders began to shake.

“I’m here,” she whispered into his hair. “I’m here.”

He let out a choked sob. She clutched him tighter, and held him as he cried silently, rubbing circles into his back.

He said something into her shirt, and she had to shift back a little to bring his mouth closer to her ear. “I didn’t hear you, Kit,” she said softly.

“I said -” he swallowed and took a breath, tears coursing down his cheeks. “I will never be able to - to see your face again -”

It struck her like a knife to the heart, and she could only sit there, frozen, as he raised a finger to her cheek.

“You’re so - so beautiful, Zel,” he choked, shaking with the force of the sobs he was holding back. His finger trailed to her mouth, tracing it slowly, haltingly. As though that tiny movement was the most immense strain he had ever undertaken. “The most beautiful person I have ever seen. Your mouth, your eyes, your hair, I will never see - never again -”

“Don’t,” she whispered, anguished, tears escaping her own eyes now. “Kit, please -”

“And you - you said - my eyes - you said my eyes were the most beautiful colour.” His voice broke, and he snorted, wiping messily at his face ever as the tears continued. “Nothing but - but a pair of scars now - no one will ever see them again, you’ll never see -”

“Stop,” she implored in a breaking whisper, wanting nothing more than to scream, scream and scream until this pain stopped. She held him tighter, closer, trying to stem the tide of grief for both of them. But his grief was different from hers, untouchable and unreachable, though he held her in return, his hands were cold, and over her shoulder the bandage stared sightlessly at the wall.

⸶⸷

“And you have been a healer for how long?”

Paras tilted his head, thinking back. “I qualified two years ago, when I was twenty years of age. You see the copper rings in my left ear? They signify the number.” “How long must you train?”

“Five years, at the very least, and that only to reach the lowest level. The others, you attain through experience.”

“And the blue coat is a uniform?”

“That and the masks, yes.” He gave the Rider a quizzical look. “So you speak in the Old Tongue all the time?”

The one named Caspian laughed, skin wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. “No, goodness, it would be too exhausting, having to be cautious with my every word in case I unlocked some spell. We speak the common tongue of Alagaesia - at least, the common human tongue - when at the Hall. The elves, however, they do usually speak in the Old Tongue. They are closer to magic than most other races.”

“And you can all of you do magic?”

“We can, yes. It comes with being bonded to a dragon, for they truly live and breathe magic.”

“Ahh, I see. It is a great honour, to be chosen? How are you chosen?”

“If a wild dragon chooses to give eggs into the safekeeping of Riders, the egg will be set to be bonded. Once that is done it cannot hatch until it meets the right partner. How the dragon chooses that partner, only they know, but if a Rider is needed the egg is taken throughout the land so that as many people as possible may touch it and the dragon may decide to hatch. And it is a very high honour, yes.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes absently. “We do not have a society like yours, where magic is part of daily life. Most fear it, many doubt its very existence. It does not enter into their lives, you see. So a Rider will be guardian, healer, teacher, everything.”

“A heavy burden indeed. Surely it would be easier to train magicians?”

“What boundaries, then? What will protect those who cannot do magic from those who can? Who polices the magicians? It is all too easy for them to abuse their power.”

“Well-” Paras frowned. “I . . . I cannot answer, for in this land to use magic against one who cannot is the highest disgrace. It is not only that the penalty is death, it is a matter of honour. But if that framework, that structure, is not part of the society itself, then I do not know . . .”

“Mm.” Caspian leaned back on his hands. “We have time to think on it, to make change slowly. There is no rush . . . oh, I’d wanted to ask -”

“Yes?”

“Why is it not allowed to use the Old Tongue in the healing house?”

“Oh, that. There are many subtle spells woven into the very substance of the building, and only the healers who live there know precisely what they are and how to work with them. They are for many things - to amplify any spells cast by a healer, to keep the air pure and avoid contamination, to keep patients calm and relaxed when they are being attended to . . . many things. And so the Old Tongue is not allowed to be spoken by outsiders because it would be all too easy for them to break enchantments or adversely affect a patient by accidentally tampering with them.”

“I see. It must take a long time for these enchantments to be layered, no?”

“Years, sometimes. The first thing a new healers must do upon being assigned to their healing house is acquire an intimate knowledge of every single spell in the air, no matter how trivial. It is a struggle, I can tell you.” He gave Caspian a wide grin. “But, well, we’re paid quite handsomely, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

Caspian laughed. “Out of the royal treasury?”

“Precisely.”

“Does it compensate for having to live here, away from your family?”

Paras shrugged. “My family does not live too far, and I get two weeks free in summer and two in the monsoon to visit them. People have done more for less recompense.”

“And a worthy occupation.”

“Very much so.”

Capian hummed softly, looking to the path that led to the house at the sound of someone approaching, and got to his feet with a raised eyebrow. “Keyal?”

It was one of the elves, one much younger than the rest, with leaf-green eyes. He smiled as he approached them, bowing his head slightly. “Good morning. I do not think I know your companion?”

“This is Paras, he is a junior healer working here. Paras, Këyal, a comrade and Rider. His dragon is Layla, the red one.”

“One of the oldest, yes,” Paras said, rising to his feet and bowing a little as well. “I did not tend to her, but I did to Pale, and he told me about all the dragons. It is good to meet you.”

“And you,” Këyal replied, his voice softer than Paras would have expected. “My gratitude for your hard work.” “Not at all, it is an honour to be able to help.” He gave him a grin. “And I am not as yet old enough that tales of a mysterious foreign land do not excite me.”

“I see,” Këyal smiled.

“You are well now, my friend?” Caspian asked.

“Perfectly. I only needed a night’s rest after I was healed, and I now feel fully back to myself.”

“And everyone else?”

“Osra and Ravûn told me they will be up here soon. As will Zelíe.”

“Zelíe?” Paras caught the sharper note in Caspian’s voice, and wondered at it,

“Yes. She will go back in the evening, she said. Kitai woke, and desired her not to continue to remain alone at his bedside.”

“And he - is he - ?”

“Blind,” Këyal replied quietly, and Paras caught a soft curse from Caspian.

“Arya Dröttning has come up already, I think?”

“Ah -” Caspian was still frowning distractedly. “She did, Master Eragon with her, some hours before. You will find them inside.”

“Then I will go to them. If you will excuse me?”

Paras bowed as he left, and turned to Caspian in enquiry. “Kitai is the Reksha boy, no? Senshi-senn’s brother?”

“Yes, her brother.”

“Ahh. It was truly a shame, that he could not be healed. I know the ones who worked on him were quite frustrated by the lack of response, but some things even magic cannot repair.”

Caspian sighed, falling back to lie on the veranda. “Unfortunately.”

“Paras!”

It was Irié rounding the corner of the house, charging towards them with all the energetic enthusiasm of his fifteen years.

“Irié-sunn,” Paras smiled, patting a place next to him in welcome. “How may I serve?”

“So -” Irié hopped up quickly, giving Paras an engaging grin and Caspian a polite nod. “Jabaii-senn is going to test me on the fifty five spells cast on the heillan today, would you please, please listen and tell me when I fumble, because I know that I’m wrong somewhere, I just don’t know where, and Rina is useless, so -”

“Hey!” Irié’s sister had followed close behind, and she now stood before them with her arms crossed and her hazel eyes austere. “I told you precisely where you went wrong, Irié, and if you choose not to believe me, you may very well fail your exam.”

Paras got to his feet immediately, bowing. “Rina-senn.”

She huffed. “Must we stand on ceremony, Paras?”

He shrugged as he straightened, unable to refrain from grinning at her. “Your status, my lady -”

“You treat Irié as though he was your younger brother!”

“Yes, for he has not half your dignity of bearing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Irié interjected, sticking his tongue out at his sister.

“And also your father would not be happy if I addressed you too - familiarly,” Paras said, trying not to laugh. “Irié he does not care about.”

Rina snorted, one foot tapping restlessly, and Paras forestalled her before she said something acidic. “I’m sorry, have you met them, Caspian? Rina-senn and Irié-sunn, Meiji-mari and Nila-miri’s children.”

“You ate with us yesterday, but we did not speak,” Caspian replied, smiling at them both. “Well met.”

“Well met,” Rina replied, bowing. “I do hope you are enjoying your stay here? If there is anything you lack -”

Irié rolled his eyes at his sister’s punctiliousness, and Paras pinched him lightly. “You could learn from her,” he whispered in an aside, as Caspian responded to Rina.

“Stuffy,” Irié sniffed. “I would by far rather be a heillanin.”

“Brat,” Paras said lazily.”No ambition at all, have you?”

“My ambition is far more worthwhile than hers,” was the superlicious response. “We both know that mother’s family has held the throne for three generations, this time’s Tournament will be the hardest, and -”

“All right, we don’t need to go into that,” Paras said hastily, catching Rina looking daggers at them. “You wanted me to listen to you recite the spells, yes? I will do so after the midday meal - which should be served any time now.”

“I’ll go check,” Irié said, jumping up.

The veranda door slammed behind him, and Rina sighed, coming to sit on Paras’s other side.

“He’s a handful. I apologize, Paras.”

“Not at all. I am glad he knows he can come to me whenever he would like help.”

“You’re too soft,” was all she said, and they sat in silence for some time, listening to the rush of the stream that wound behind the house.

Rina was the first to speak once more. “Which one is your dragon, Caspan-sunn?”

“Oh - Lifaen. The green one.”

“I have seen him, yes. He was sunning himself in the garden not two hours ago. The others have gone hunting, I think.”

Caspian shrugged slightly. “He broke a number of bones in the battle, and he is not eager to fly again. It will take him some time.”

“I see. It must have been a tremendous conflict, to have injured even a dragon so.”

“It was. I would be well pleased if I had never to take part in one again.”

Paras, watching Rina, saw a distinct hint of wistfulness in her eyes. “In love with the dragons, Rina?” he murmured, and received a sharp pinch as a flush rose to her cheeks.

“You cannot tell me they are not the most beautiful creatures you have ever seen, Paras!”

“They are, they are!” he exclaimed, shielding himself from further attacks. “My apologies -”

Caspian was not bothering to hide his laughter, and Rina stopped after a moment, allowing herself to smile.

“They are truly beautiful,” she said again. “I never believed half the rumours, but they surpass everything I ever heard. And I do wish we had them here.”

“You would be most welcome to visit Alagaesia whenever you please,” Caspian replied, eyes twinkling. “Particularly if you become queen.”

Her smile was a little wry. “Not very likely, Caspian-sunn, but I will certainly keep it in mind.”

“Visit the Hall, at the very least, you and your family and all those who helped us. We must return your hospitality somehow.”

“I would very much like to one day, thank you.”

“You will be sure to come too, yes, Paras?”

Paras inclined his head. “To be sure. There is much more I want to learn, about Alagaesia, about dragons, about Riders, about this - overwhelming new land I have never known of, never thought of. I will be sure to come.”

Caspian’s smile was warm. “Master Eragon will be glad to have you, I know, for no one who wishes to learn will ever be turned away. And I think we too have much to learn from you.”

The door slammed open again, and Irie hopped out. “Food will be served in a quarter of an hour in the dining hall! And, um, Rider -”

“Ah, yes?”

“They were looking for you,” Irie said, gesturing to the three figures peering out from behind his legs.

“Oh -” Caspian shifted onto his knees, holding out his arms with a welcoming smile. “I hadn’t seen you all today.”

The smallest girl, the quiet one, hurried straight into his embrace without looking up from the floor. The girl who had been holding her hand nodded briefly, her long hair bound in a braid over her shoulder. A young, black-haired boy stood on her other side, fidgeting.

“Our apologies for rising late. Amha had bad dreams last night,” the girl said, speaking the Old Tongue almost flawlessly though she could not be older than thirteen. “She fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. I was loath to wake her or leave her. Princess, healer, greetings to the two of you.”

Rina returned the greeting with Paras, both their voices softer than before. They had met this girl, Kelsie, before, and the sheer iron in her soul was equally humbling and heartbreaking to witness. It was second nature now to speak more quietly to her, to be more friendly, so that she was not required to use it.

“And Torben?” Caspian asked, extending a hand to the boy while he cradled Amha’s shoulders with the other. “Bad dreams as well?”

The boy went to him shyly, hands twisting in the hem of his shirt as he shook his head.

“Torben,” Kelsie sighed, looking reluctantly proud, “heard Amha crying in the night, and instead of waking me or Landan or Taihaz up, talked Amha out of her terrors and took her to sit in the garden for a while until she felt better. I thought he deserved to sleep in as well.”

“Did he now,” Caspian smiled, tucking the boy’s head under his chin. “I’m so proud of you, Torben, that’s such a lovely thing to have done. Amha looks like she feels much better now, and I’m glad she didn’t have to cry alone. Did you get enough sleep, the two of you? Did you have anything to eat today?”

Paras watched him murmur to them, unaware that his face had softened into a smile until he caught Rina’s amused glance. He shook his head at her, smiling back, as Kelsie went to sit by Torben.

“You should see the look on your face,” Rina said, in their own tongue.

“What can I say, I like children,” he replied. “And he is so good to them. Even after what they have been through, with him and the others, I am certain they will heal fast.”

Both their gazes drifted to Caspian again. Amha had curled up in his lap, evidently content, and Torben was pouring some story into his ear while Kelsie listened, a half smile on her face.

“I agree,” Rina said, softly, and Paras could hear how glad she was,

⸶⸷

Sunset

Ikraan nudged Senshi’s side gently, pushing her closer to his paw. If you must fall asleep, at least do not do so on the ground.

She settled her head in her arms on top of his paw, yawning. I won’t fall asleep. Just . . . tired.

You have been busy all day, translating in the healing house. It would be surprising if you were not.

Mmm. Elves make terrible patients, you know that?

He snorted, settling his head next to her. I can see it. They do not agree with the healers methods?

For some, that is putting it very lightly. She yawned again. I am glad you thought to bring us up here. It is a nice place.

It is. Peaceful.

They were at a clearing on top of a small cliff that afforded them a view of the royals’ summer residence, the healing house, and the streams that tumbled down to merge with a rushing river a way down the hill. Ikraan watched it flow, shimmering red and gold in the twilight, feeling out the shape of Senshi’s mind.

It was . . . it was whole, if a little jagged at the edges, but that was only to be expected. She had recovered with remarkable alacrity - understandable, given the situation at the time and the demands that had been placed upon her - but having one’s mind broken into is not something that could be overcome quite that easily.

As he well knew.

Ikraan.

Yes.

Affection, and care, and tenderness. I do not know exactly what you are thinking, but I can feel the shape of it.

And what is it that you feel?

I feel . . . I can feel the shape of growing anger. At yourself. At Siska. I can feel guilt. I can feel shame. I can feel regret. I can feel pain, I can feel the . . . memory of pain . . .

He snorted softly, closing his eyes. Sounds fairly accurate

The pain I understand -

It flashed across both their minds together - Siska’s sharp, cruel mind boring into theirs,, cutting, twisting, forcing them to do as she pleased - their minds and bodies crying out together as she forced him to listen while she broke Senshi -

Stop, Senshi gasped, and cut it off. Sorry -

It’s fine. Ikraan’s claws curled in the ground. It’s fine.

Sorry, she murmured. I was saying . . . the pain, I understand. The regret, I understand. The anger at her, I understand. But at yourself? The shame? The guilt? I do not understand those.

Do you not? Do you truly not, Senshi?

I could, I think. But I want to hear it from you.

Do not make me say it -

You must. Or will you continue like this? Hiding from everyone? Hiding from Celeste?

You - He growled deep in his throat, frustrated and reluctant. I forget how forceful you can be.

I take it as a compliment, she said, and he felt her smile a little. I will wait. But tell me.

He growled again, flexing his claws once more, and allowed himself a moment to try to get his thoughts to settle.

. . . It - it is because I gave in,Senshi. I gave her what she wanted. I became her weapon. Her toy. I was the first pawn, her first triumph. Fool, fool that I was -

No one blames you.

They should! he snapped, grief burning through his chest. I knew what she was doing! I knew what she wanted! But when she held you, I reached out without a thought, and then - you, you were still thinking, you were screaming at me to leave, but still I hesitated, and in that split second the girl forced me to stay, held me in place - though I tried, I swear by all the stones in the land that I tried to leave -

She would have forced you anyway, Senshi murmured, a softer echo of his hurt coming from her. Even had you not stayed. You know that.

I still should have left the moment I realized what she wanted.

I do not know if I could have, had I been in your place. I don’t know if anyone else could have. To ask a dragon or Rider to leave, when their partner is -

It is what we were trained for. I should have - she made me kneel, Senshi! She - He cut off the thought, for tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks.

You knelt for me. My prince, my sun, you knelt for me. To know that you would - that you could do that, for me - it would have brought me to my knees if I had not been on the ground already -

A sound escaped him, something dangerously close to a keen. Her adoration, her pride, and her own grief, it was too much. They came relentlessly, in wave after wave after wave, and they crashed into his emotions and made them wilder, stronger, more painful. She was sobbing, now, curled into his scales and crying her heart out. He pushed his muzzle into her side, doing his best not to mewl like a kitten.

He did not succeed.

They grieved together in silence for a long, long time, allowing everything that had been locked away and pushed down for the past two days to surface. Offering up their wounds turn by excruciating turn for inspection, understanding, and care, before turning to the next. To no one else could he bare his soul thus, and know he would be met with nothing but acceptance. No one else could help either of them to heal like this.

It hurt, he whispered eventually, when their thoughts were beginning to settle down. So much. To feel what she was doing to you. To hear your pain at knowing I could feel what she was doing to you. To feel such fear, for your sake and my own, when I thought that my life would be spent as nothing but a weapon in her use. And I know, I know no one will blame me, any more that they blamed Shruikan for being bonded to the Black King or Master Eragon for what happened to his uncle. But still this guilt chokes me, because I know, in that moment, I could have done more, and I should have, and I did not. And I - I attacked my mate.

She will not hold it against you. I know that you know that.

The fact that I attacked her will not change.

Oh, Ikraan . . . Senshi wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead against his jaw. Compassion was a warm glow in her heart, soothing his thoughts like clear water washing away everything unclean. We are safe now, all of us. No more fear. No more pain. We will never undergo such an ordeal again. And I will always, always be here with you.

He hummed low and sweet in his throat, curling tighter around her. As will I. I love you.

And I you. More than anything. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, and his humming grew louder despite himself.

The stars are out. Do you want to return?

I want to sit here with you for a time, if that is -

They were interrupted by the faint thunder of dragonflight. Ikraan raised his head. Someone is coming.

Senshi looked up as well, searching the sky. Oh, it’s -

Trepidation crawled up his throat as he saw what she saw. Celesté .

I will wait for you, Senshi said, getting to her feet. You have to face her at some point, no?

I would have preferred it not be now!

She pressed her forehead to his jaw for a long moment, her hands warm on his scales. Face her. Be brave. I will be only a few steps away.

She left with one last lingering pulse of affection, going to stand a few trees past the edge of the clearing. Ikraan acknowledged it with reluctant gratitude, and waited as Celesté slowed and landed.

Well? she said, her tail waving back and forth slowly. Have you an explanation, Ikraan?

He huffed softly, raising his head high to meet her gaze as he drew his thoughts together, drew his strength together.

I - I was ashamed. I have no other explanation. I . . . apologize for avoiding you before. You and the others.

She looked at him for a long moment before stepping forward, sliding her neck along his before settling her head on his back. He closed his eyes, doing the same with relief.

Forgiven, she said.

I also apologize for allowing her to - you know what. For attacking you. I should have said this long before -

Any one of us would have done the same. Leave it behind, Ikraan.

I did not hurt you, did I?

A low, amused hum thrummed in her throat. You think you could?

He snorted, gently nipping at the scales at the base of her throat. She shifted so that their necks were further entwined, and hummed louder, pleased and content.

They flew together later, with Senshi on Ikraan’s back, among the diamond stars and the velvet night. They dived, they looped, they flew free and they flew with joy in a solitude that was almost too sweet to be believed. And for the longest while, all of the shadow that Siska had cast in their minds was forgotten in entirety.

⸶⸷

A few hours before

“Akhtar? Sorya?”

Akhtar looked up, stepping away from the wall he had been leaning against, and the others followed suit, crowding around. “Master.” He raised his chin high, and Master Eragon did the same. “Good evening.”

“Good evening to you both - ah, and Dara as well, I see. And -” Master Eragon gave them a quizzical look. “Lying in wait, were you?”

Dara gave him a grin, settling one hand on Landan’s shoulder. “We have a favour to beg, Master, if you’d -”

“Why, this is quite a crowd.”

Queen Arya and Queen Nila had arrived with Blödhgarm in tow, and it was Queen Nila who had spoken, one hand going to rest on her hip with the musical clinking of bangles.

“It is indeed,” Queen Arya said, replying in the ancient language as well. “Children?”

“They would like to bear witness,” Sorya said, blunt as ever. “It is their lives that were blighted, their years that were stolen. They deserve to know why.”

“It is the oldest ones,” Akhtar said. “They have left the others to Caspian and Ravun and Osra tonight. They are more than capable of hearing whatever it is this Callan may say.”

“Though it goes against the grain with me, given what they have already witnessed, I am inclined to agree,” Master Eragon replied, to more than one sigh of relief. “Arya?”

Queen Arya’s penetrating gaze rested on each of them for a few heavy seconds before she spoke. “To be sure, I cannot deny that you have the right. And if you all so judge that they can and should hear this, then I will not argue. Will you then introduce them to us, and Queen Nila.”

“T’tarmek, of the N’rerin tribe,” Akhtar said, gesturing to each in turn. “Zulkaz, of the Bolvek tribe. Thas’rika Lightfoot, of clan Nagra. Orvistr Horinsson, of clan Quan. Landan Dacre, from Teirm. And Inkeri, of the wandering tribes of Surda. You all, Peravan Nila, the queen. Queen Arya, Master Eragon and Blödhgarm-elda you already know.”

“So we do,” Thas’rika replied, stepping forward to bob a curtsy. “We are honoured.”

The others echoed her, all bowing or curtsying save for the Urgals, who bared their throats. Queen Nila folded her hands in return, and Blödhgarm inclined his head.

“Shall we proceed, then?” Queen Arya asked, gesturing for Queen Nila to lead the way.

She took them down a series of corridors, occasionally responding to murmurs from Queen Arya as though they had known each other for years. Blödhgarm followed, the children behind him, and the Riders brought up the rear.

“ . . . and Këyal?” Master Eragon was saying to Dara.

“Hurtin’,” she replied in an undertone. “Shaken. To have come so close to death - it was no easy thing, for him -”

Akhtar increased his pace slightly, unwilling to listen when it was not meant for him to know. Sorya gave him a brief nod as he fell into step beside her, and they continued in silence until they arrived at a row of nondescript doors set into the stone wall. Queen Nila stopped at the third one, murmuring a spell before pushing the door open. They filed in after her, the young ones arranging themselves along the wall across from the chained prisoner. Nila too went to stand with them, as did the Riders. This interrogation was not theirs to conduct.

It was a cheerful room, lit bright with lanterns and evidently meant to be a guest room. The furniture had all been pushed to one side, however, and the prisoner sat crosslegged on a mat on the floor, observing them all without a hint of perturbation. His hair was unbound, and he wore a loose shirt and looser pants of white cotton.

“Callan,” Blödhgarm said, the tips of his teeth glinting.

“Blödhgarm,” Callan replied, nodding in acknowledgement before looking around. “Arya Dröttning, Nila Dröttning, Eragon Shadeslayer, Landan, Inkeri, Zulkaz, T’tarmek, Thas’rika, Orvistr, and Riders whose names I do not know. A large gathering. To what end?”

“Your interrogation,” Master Eragon said, his jaw set.

“Ah, so?” Callan looked to him expectantly. “Go ahead.”

Master Eragon’s eyebrows went up, and he looked at Queen Arya, who shrugged with one shoulder before pulling up a chair and seating herself, crossing her legs fluidly. “Very well then. We will start from the beginning. Your place of birth?”

“Uru’baen.”

“Raised there?”

“Yes.”

“Your family?”

“A sister, two brothers. Mother’s husband, a drunkard. She was a servant in the castle. She could not afford to house me, working alone as she was, and so I ran tame with a ragged pack of children that everyone assumed were the king’s bastards - which two of my siblings were. I was not alone. Many of them had nothing to do with the king, but their mothers left them there for lack of another choice.”

“He never discovered the falsehood?”

“He never paid enough attention to me for there to be any risk of that.”

“So you grew up there.”

“Yes.”

“And who was Siska?”

“His daughter. I never knew who her mother was.”

“Then she was your sister in all but blood, for I assume she too grew up as part of this group of children.”

A shadow of an expression crossed his face for the first time, his lips twisting up slightly in distaste. “If you must say it so, yes.”

“And he groomed her, the Black King? Taught her his secrets? Gave her power?”

“He groomed those he thought worthy. The ones he thought might be useful. Might become powerful. They were part of his Black Hand, or his runners, or his generals. His secrets? A few, he taught a few. What he taught them, I wouldn't know.”

“So she was no more special than the rest of them.”

“No. He did not choose her, specifically.”

“Then how did she come by her power?”

“After he died, they dissolved into chaos, those who had supported him, guarded him, those he taught. They squabbled among themselves. Plotted. Poisoned. Each trying to rule their own pretty faction, though they all wanted the same thing - to avenge their father. To rule the country. But they could not achieve much apart from infrequent assassination attempts on Queen Nasuada and turning some of his surviving agents to their cause. Siska, she watched them cut each other to pieces for a year or two, always backing the strongest faction to stay alive. She was one of the youngest. They thought her no threat. By four years after the war, she was advisor to Esalor. A big man. Crafty. Bullheaded. Not one to cross. With her, he became unstoppable. He left Alagaesia so he could consolidate without looking for Murtagh over his shoulder, intending to return one day. His army grew to the largest any had ever had.”

“And she then double crossed him?”

Callan snorted softly. “She got angry with him. One reason was his grandiose plan of taking important children from Alagaesia. Why he wanted to do so, even he could not articulate precisely. But he was fixated upon the idea. They would come in useful, they could be bargaining chips, they might be trained, it would demonstrate our power, it would scare people when they disappeared and create chaos. Siska argued against it to no avail, and she could not at that point move against him. So she had to assist. Turned it to her advantage as well. Experimented on some of them. Made them her own tools. Amha had a gift even before, but she was truly dangerous when Siska was finished with her. The girl can’t run for longer than half a minute because she gets out of breath, that’s how many spells are feeding off her.” Callan nodded to Master Eragon. “She heard of Elva, and thought it was an excellent idea.”

Queen Arya’s hand curled around Master Eragon’s clenched fist. “Continue,” she said, coldly.

“It was when she tried to kill you, Shadeslayer, that her patience truly ended. He made a bargain, obtained Vilta, poisoned you. He did not listen to her insistence that you might be an asset, that you could be turned to use. His hate was that great. He made the attempt on your life without informing her, and when she found out she was furious. She turned his people. Killed him. Managed to triple the size of his forces. Made a Shade. The Shade tamed the Tsuhei not a month ago. It was she who jettisoned most of the children - apart from the ones she found to be of use. Or ones she liked, ones with aptitude for magic or mind dueling. And they still served a purpose as blackmail material.”

“She did not kill them?”

“Death never pleased her. Power did. Outmaneuvering, outwitting the enemy, seeing them writhe in her grasp, that was what she enjoyed. The children meant no more to her than sheep - with the disadvantage that children do not provide mutton once they are killed. And if they were indeed killed, who would populate the country she was to rule?”

“She intended to rule, then.”

“She did. Enslave the Riders, go back to Alagaesia with their backing and a sad story about her evil father, and rise in Nasuada’s confidence until she became the true power behind the throne. With so many Riders as her pieces in her game, she could not have but succeeded.”

“You do not seem to me to be particularly enthused about that idea,” Master Eragon said, one finger tapping against his hip. “And I was in that cavern for five or six days, yet never once heard you speak, unlike the hunchback. What were you to her?”

Callan gave him a long look, and his answer was slower this time. “The hunchback . . . he was to her what she had been to Esalor. Advisor. Master of poisons and torture. His faith in her was blind, and stronger than steel. I . . . left the castle some years before the Varden attacked. I became a mercenary. I learned to fight. To fight well. Siska found me a year after the war. Convinced me to stay. Made promises. I fought for her, when I had to. I stayed, I kept to the shadows. I had no ambition. I knew no one else, would trust no one else. I made her a good tool, she made me a good shield. And so I stayed, through the years. But I - began to grow disillusioned. Killing, I understand. Pain, I understand. But when she came into her full power - “ He pressed his lips together for a moment. “Needless suffering. Endless torment for those who crossed her. Experimenting with magic on children. On children. To satiate her own curiosity.”

“You lost your respect for her, then. Is that why you did not fight?”

“She did not order me to, so I did not. She was confident in her own power.”

There was a brief silence. Akhtar looked at the young ones - faces of stone, all of them, not a trace of emotion in their eyes as they watched Callan. Queen Arya was watching him too, as a hawk watches its prey, and Blödhgarm’s face was settled into a slight snarl. Master Eragon looked thoughtful, nothing else.

“The cavern,” Blödhgarm said eventually. “Why could we not use magic? Why was the ancient language of no use?”

“It is unfortunate for you that Esalor found it. The Grey Folk bound magic to language, yes? Giving a sword a scabbard, a knife a hilt, so it became a tool that could be used more safely. Because it was too powerful when unrestrained. But there are always people who are attracted to power. People who do not see why they have to sheathe their swords. The cavern has old magic in its walls, deep magic, divorcing magic from the ancient language. For that connection is, in itself, only another kind of magic, is that not so? It can be modified. Nullified.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from more than one person in the room. “Fascinating,” Blidhgarm murmured, his eyes gleaming. “You are sure of this?”

“It is not my guess, it was Siska’s. And she was as wily as her father. I do not doubt there is some truth to it.”

“There was one boy she took,” Queen Arya said, quietly. “Charles Orrinson. What became of him?”

For the first time, Callan smiled, his eyes lighting up slightly. “Ah. He was being trained with another boy and girl, older than him, and all three with an aptitude for magic. Siska would take them to the building above the trapdoor for them to practise. It was not her but one of her lieutenants, one day, who took them, and they escaped from him.”

What?

“What?” Dara exclaimed, and Master Eragon took a step forward. “How?”

“They knocked him unconscious, I do not know how, and they ran. By the tims Siska realised, they had been gone for hours.”

“She could not find them with magic?” Queen Arya demanded.

“They set spells. They may have guessed how she was likely to look for them. In any case, she could not. She never found them. They may have survived, they may have perished, they may have found a family in this kingdom to take them in. I cannot know.”

Queen Arya turned to where Queen Nila was standing. “Nila-”

“We will search,” Queen Nila said reassuringly, tucking her long braids behind one ear. “Do not worry.”

“They were intelligent children,” Callan said. “I would keep hope.”

“We will,” Master Eragon said, going to crouch by him. “Callan, if we let you go . . . what will you do?”

Callan looked at him, eyes blank in the lamplight. “What will I do?”

Eragon’s mouth curved up briefly. “Yes. Where will you go? How will you live?”

“Well . . .” Callan looked down for the first time, staring at the floor. “I might return to being a mercenary. I might join Nasuada’s corps, if I am allowed. I cannot use magic well, but I know more than most about how to use it. I . . . I do not know. I cannot answer definitively.”

“And your former comrades? If you met one in a bar, say, a remnant of the Black Hand, what would you do?”

“Leave. If they follow, stab them in the eye.” Callan met Eragon’s gaze then, his lip curling slightly. “I want nothing to do with them. You may depend on it.”

“I see. Well then, I can think of no more questions to put to you at the moment.” Master Eragon looked to Queen Arya, who looked at Blödhgarm, who shook his head slightly. “And it appears that neither does anyone else. You will still be confined to this room, though not chained, and you will be required to swear some oaths in the ancient language. Apart from that, you are no longer our prisoner.”

Callan inclined his head, dignified even seated on the floor and chained to the wall. Master Eragon nodded back, falling into low-voiced conversation with Queen Arya as she moved to the door. Akhtar turned to the young ones to lead them out, and found them to be advancing on Callan as one.

“What-?”

“Did we check them for weapons?” Sorya hissed, belatedly hurrying to catch them.

“No, we -” He broke off, following her hastily. I never thought to check them for - !

The young ones reached Callan before anything could be done, however, and as they stood there looking down at the man Akhtar was unsure if they were going to spit on him, kick him, shout at him -

“Thank you,” Landan said, quiet but clear, the others bowing or raising their chins behind him. Callan nodded, looking slightly startled.

Akhtar, stopped dead in his tracks, stared at the children as they nodded in return and turned away from him.

“What was that?” he asked Zulkaz, walking beside him out of the door.

“He . . . helped us. When he could,” Zulkaz replied. “However he could. We wanted to show a token of gratitude.”

“I see.”

Not a bad man, then, Jethran said absently.

So it seems, Akhtar replied, taking a deep, deep breath, savouring the feeling of a weight having lifted off his chest. One good thing to come of this battle, us taking him. The mysteries are solved, nearly all of them, we are all safe, all alive, all healing. We have only to find the little prince, and we shall be done with this.

And then - in the next day or two - to Alagaesia!

To Alagaesia indeed. Akhtar grinned at nothing, a buoyant hope rising in his gut. To duty, and home. To Alagaesia.

Chapter Text

Two days later

“Hey.”

Kitai opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. It was still dark -

Ah. Right.

His mouth twisted bitterly as he shifted, turning his head blindly to the hand on his shoulder. “Mm? Sen?”

“Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t ask,” he rasped, slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Early. An hour before dawn. The king and queen are going to offer the morning prayer at a lake a little down the hill, with some healers and those of their entourage that choose to accompany them. Would you like to come?”

“You want me to stumble through the forest -”

“You can use my eyes,” she said without hesitation. “That will not be an issue.”

“The morning prayer . . . I have not offered it in years.”

“Neither have I. That is why I thought . . .”

You might never again get the chance to offer it in your own country, in the presence of your king and queen, Palé murmured in the back of his mind. Go.

He sighed, but threw the sheets back and swung his feet to the floor, wincing as cold air rushed over his skin. “I will come. I should begin to get used to making my way around, either way.”

He pushed himself to his feet and immediately swayed forward, his sense of balance off. There was a brief spike of alarm from Palé, and then Senshi’s hands were on his shoulders, steadying him. He grasped one of her wrists, taking a moment to anchor himself.

“All right?” she asked, quietly.

“Yes, but - don’t!” He held her wrist tighter, stopping her from shifting away. “I - I do not know my way around the room. Can you -”

“Of course,” she said. “Of course. Here -”

She grasped his upper arm lightly and took some of his weight. She said nothing as they began to move, and he knew she felt no irritation or frustration at his pace, but he did. At being forced to limit his long stride to clumsy shuffling, at being forced to keep an arm outstretched to avoid bumping into walls and furniture - by the time she had helped him to the privy, helped him change, and led him to the front door to step outside, resentment was a seething heat in the pit of his stomach.

He stoked it, not heeding Palé’s attempts to soothe him or calm him, for anger . . . anger was, at the very least, better than pain, better than sorrow, better than fear of how he was to live his life henceforth.

He stepped out with his sister into air that was noticeably cooler - a thick mist was rising, most likely - to hear a low murmur, as of several people chatting with each other a little way away. He raised his chin and straightened his back, for he couldn’t see them and he’d be damned if they saw the least hint of anything other than perfect poise in his bearing.

“Eyes,” he muttered, and Senshi opened his mind to him easily. There was a current of hesitancy, of sorrow and pity there, that he did his best to ignore and she did her best to suppress, though it did nothing but vex him further.

He looked through her eyes to see some thirty people gathered there, several with the copper rings of the heillanin in their ears and other with clan crests or royal badges on their shoulders. Two were younger than the rest, a girl perhaps a year or two younger than him and a boy who could not be older than fifteen.

The king and queen, Senshi whispered, directing his gaze to them. Queen Nila was short, a little plump, lovely long hair tied up tight in a bun, with sharp eyes that were bright in her dark face and a deceptively soft mouth. King Meiji did not stand much taller than her, and had a trim figure and solemn eyes. He wore his hair just below the nape of the neck, as he should, with two strands pulled back from the temples. His most distinguished feature was his moustache, curling down then spreading upwards with a flourish over his cheeks. Both lacked the gold ornaments that would bedeck their bodies upon any other occasion.

Both of them were gazing straight at him.

Senshi was careful to keep her gaze trained downwards so that he saw each step well, and yet the process of having to respond to images seen through someone’s else’s eyes was so novel that it took them a good few minutes to descend the steps and reach the gathering. He bowed once, in general greeting, and made his deeper, more respectful bow in the direction of the king and queen, Senshi matching the timing of his bow to the second.

“Nila-miri, Meiji-mari, good morning,” she murmured.

“Good morning,” he echoed, his voice still hoarse from the early hour and from disuse.

“Good morning to you, Elpe-senn, Elpe-sunn,” Nila-miri replied, bowing slightly in return. “We are glad you are able to join us.”

“You’re feeling well today, Elpe-sunn?” Meiji-mari asked.

Kitai managed to reply with tolerable composure, “As well as can be expected, my king. Thank you for the concern. It is truly an honour to meet you and Nila-miri.”

Meiji-mari smiled. “It is good to see you on your feet. This is my son, Irié, and my daughter, Rina.”

They both bowed, and Kitai returned it, looking them over with a tinge of curiosity. Rina-mirin had her hair far shorter than her mother, her father’s stature and his slightly lighter complexion. Irié-marin had his mother’s bright eyes, slight and excitable as a colt. They made their bows, and Kitai and Senshi returned them.

“We are glad you could join us,” Rina said softly, Irié nodding shyly beside her before sttepping back. Nila-miri then introduced them to all the rest in a bewildering whirl of names. Only a few remained - Jabaii, tall and stately, governor of the southern province; Arara, quiet and solemn, mistress of coin; Vayar, old and stooped, ten rings in each of his ears, the head of all heillanin across the land; Harja, surprisingly young with five copper rings in his left ear, head of this heillan; and N’daya, slim-waisted with a profusion of diamond piercings in her ears, commander of the royal army.

Don’t worry about remembering their names, Senshi murmured. You can take them from my mind.

He didn’t bother to reply.

Meiji-mari asked, “Shall we set forth, then?” once all the introductions were over, and they began to walk down a twisting path leading down the hill. Senshi again made sure to look to the ground often, noting the position of every shrub and twisted root so that Kitai could be careful to avoid it; and he knew that Palé was circling overhead, ready to take him back if he began to feel too worn out. That in itself was enough to make Kitai vow to tramp on even were the lake was a half day’s walk.

Overprotective fools.

Senshi heard him, and snorted as she guided him to step around piles of slippery pine needles. We worry, Kit. You cannot blame us.

You would not fuss like this if it were somebody else, Sorya or Dara or -

Looking to be sure you do not tumble off the side of the hill is fussing?

I can hear what you’re feeling, Sen.

She sighed. I would not feel quite as sorry if it were anyone else, yes. But this hurts you more than it would hurt them. A cruel thing to say, but we both know it is true. Zelíe will not show it, but she is so worried for you.

I don’t need - He cut himself off, and continued more calmly. I am aware. I appreciate it. But it does not help me.

What will, then? She held a branch back for him, allowing him to walk in front of her. She was crying on my shoulder last night, because she has never seen you like this before - I’ve never seen you like this before, for that matter - and neither of us know how to help. Tell us.

She was - ?

There was a brief flurry of sensation and memory, of light hair glinting in lamplight, of tears splashing onto skin, of red rimmed eyes, of gripping shaking shoulders tight, fabric rough underneath fingertips. The sound of choking sobs - the sobs of someone very reluctant to be sobbing at all - a few snatches of conversation - “ - no injury could have been worse -”, “ - chances of regaining his previous abilities are -”, “ - so lifeless, so silent, Senshi, I don’t know how to -”

Kitai stumbled. Senshi caught him, her hands strong at his shoulders.

Tell us how to help you, she said, quietly, and we will do it. But as long as you too do not know how we might do so, we will fuss out of care for you.

He did not reply, but she read the colour of his thoughts and was content to reduce their connection to a thread and leave him alone.

The sun was nowhere near rising. They were heading downhill, mist curling between the trees, not quite thick enough to obscure the ground. The earliest birds were just waking up, tentatively beginning to test their voices. A few people were carrying on low-voiced conversations, some of them glancing back at him and Senshi, but most walked in silence, the only sound being leaves crunching under their feet.

Tell me what happened with the interrogation, he said eventually, not wanting to remain in his dark thoughts. I slept for most of yesterday. Didn’t get to hear about it.

Senshi acknowledged him, pulling up a memory of Akhtar telling her about how it had gone.

-Akhtar’s earnest dark eyes, his rough voice,“Siska, half-daughter - was the advisor of a man called Esalor, who was the one that poisoned Master, who took the children - - moved here some years ago - she killed him and took over, creating her own army, changing some of the children and letting the rest free -”

“Changing them?” Kitai said out loud. “Changing them how?”

Everyone within hearing turned to look at him curiously. He bit his tongue, realizing that he had used Alagaësia’s common tongue.

A flash of amusement reached him from her, and she said, You can ask Sorya, Akhtar, Dara, or Master when we get back. They can give you a detailed explanation.

He acknowledged her with a flicker of restless thought.

They walked in silence after that, but Kitai allowed the connection to remain a little wider, for Senshi was careful to limit her background thoughts to general observations. Rina-mirin and Irié-marin moved to walk by them after some time. Neither of them seemed to know how to - or whether to - start a conversation, so they simply kept pace with them in silence. Senshi gave them a small smile, and received a similar gesture from Rina in return.

They reached their destination after nearly half an hour of brisk walking. Senshi stepped out of the trees before him, so he could take in the view before he actually arrived there. The lake was one of middling size, a sheet of beaten silver in the grey-blue light. It lay at the bottom of a small cliff, made of stark grey slabs of rock slick with morning dew. A small river coursed around the cliff to feed into the lake, then continuing its journey further downhill on the other side. Streamers of mist floated across the still water, and the bushes around the edge of the lake were of the cheerful spark-of-the-morning flowers, ranging in colour from brightest red to palest yellow. Where they had emerged from the forest, there was a sandy clearing by the edge of the water. A tall river-kissing tree grew right in the middle of the clearing, the twisted aerial roots that reached down into the water creating a lattice barrier that divided the edge of the water into two sides as well. A small altar had been erected in a hollow between the ground roots, on the side facing away from the water.

The women of the party were beginning to move to the left side of the tree, and the men to the right. Kitai’s jolt of panic when Senshi saw this startled even himself. She glanced at him quickly, and he saw his own face through her eyes, brow furrowed and mouth pinched.

“You’ll have to ask someone to guide you,” she said, nothing in her words betraying the concern he knew her to be feeling.

He forced himself to relax, shaking out his clenched hands, telling himself it was necessary, he had no other choice, there was no shame in it. “Yes. Will you - ?”

Senshi tapped Irié’s shoulder, smiling when he turned with a startled look. “E-Elpe-senn?”

She looked to Kitai, who said, as pleasantly as he could, “Peravan-marin, I’d be grateful if you could guide me to the water and back out during the prayer.”

“Oh! Of course!” the boy said, nodding vigorously as he hurried forward. Kitai broke the connection between him and Senshi, ignoring her last, worried glance at him. Seeing what she saw now would be nothing but confusing, as well as an invasion of the privacy of the other women.

“Just Peravan-sunn is fine,” Irié’s voice piped up from somewhere near his shoulder. “Uh, shall I -?” There was a featherlight touch on his wrist.

“Yes, please.”

Irié held his wrist, carefully guiding him to the side of the river-kissing tree. “The ground is quite smooth,” he said, sounding slightly uncertain. “You need not have to worry about tripping or stepping on anything sharp . . . Will - will you disrobe now?”

Kitai suppressed a groan. The king and queen would, of course, perform the most formal version of the prayer, especially if they made the effort to come to a lake for it. The very thought of disrobing and stepping into water at this hour, at this temperature, was enough to set his teeth chattering.

I could come down there and warm everyone up.

Go chase a pigeon, Palé.

Palé laughed in his head. Feeling somewhat better, Kitai replied belatedly, “Ah, yes, I will.”

“Very well, then I will do so as well. I won’t be a minute!”

The grip on his wrist vanished, and Kitai heard the rustle of cloth sliding over cloth. He sighed shortly, beginning to strip off his own clothing. He paused when he got to his underwear - he did not want to stand naked, waiting for Irié to guide him again, while eyes he couldn’t see could see him. But how long could he wait -

“Ah, here!” A long, thin piece of cloth was pressed into his hand. “My apologies, I should have given it to you earlier.”

“My thanks,” he muttered, thinking Thank the gods above. He quickly wound the cloth about his waist, removing the underwear from beneath it when it was securely in place, then knelt, uncertainly collecting his discarded clothes to set them against a thick root where they would be easier to find.

“Peravan-sunn, are you ready?” he called quietly.

“Yes, yes I am! Just a moment-” There was a soft grunt as Irié, presumably, tugged at his own loincloth before the small hand was back at Kitai’s wrist. “Shall we?”

Kitai nodded his assent, and they slowly moved towards the water.

“The ground slopes down into the water quite smoothly, there is no sudden dip,” Irié said muttered.

“Right,” Kitai said absently, expecting his toes to encounter freezing water at any moment. Had the water been this far away? Surely it couldn’t have -

Gods above - !

He recoiled with a hiss between his teeth, hopping back hastily. Irié did nothing to encourage him - in fact, he seemed even more reluctant to enter.

“We have to do this every morning we are at the summer house, “ he whispered in a burst of confidence. “Isn’t it horrible?”

Kitai couldn’t stop his mouth from quirking upwards. “I am not arguing otherwise,” he muttered back.

Irié had only just chuckled in response when there was a firm, warm hand on Kitai’s bare back, and a no nonsense voice saying, “Come, a cold dip in the morning is good for you. Don’t balk, now.”

“Father, it’s so cold -”

“Yes, and it is not getting warmer anytime soon. In you go.”

The gentle pressure was irresistible - and it was the king giving him an order, there was no question of refusing. Kitai hastily shuffled in, imagining his nerves screaming in agony as the water reached his calves, his knees, his thighs -

He shuddered and stopped. “I-is this f-far enough?”

Irié’s teeth were chattering too, and his fingers were trembling around Kitai’s wrist. “Y-yes, e-everyone else has s-stopped t-too.”

“Will I be able to h-hear -?”

“To the king of the gods, we make our bow, as he harnesses his eagles to bring us light and warmth.” The deep voice rang out over the water, together in perfect unison with the clear voice of the queen. Kitai hastily pressed his palms together, bowing his head.

“To the tamer of the wind, we offer our minds, that she may teach us to control our unworthy impulses in the same manner.”

The voices of the rest repeated the chant, swelling gently to fill the air with the lilting rhythm. Kitai joined them, wondering at the ease with which the words rose from the depths of his memory.

“To the lord of the earth, he of steady gaze and solid worth, we offer the dust our bones will return to, that he may bring us forth time and time again, until our time on this earth is complete . . .”

As they progressed through the verses, Kitai found himself forgetting the chill of the water in the comfort offered by the old, familiar phrases. To the lord of fire, we offer the soul, that he may cleanse and purify it . . . to the queen of the forests, the fruit of our labour, that she may take it and multiply it a thousandfold for the benefit of all creatures under her wing . . . to the mistress of the hunt, the first blood of our kills, so that she may bless all future hunts with success . . . to the lord of knowledge and new beginnings . . .

The sun had risen before they completed the prayer, for there was a faint heat warming his face and shoulders, and the birdsong was everywhere, lovely and vibrant.

“ . . . to Shikha, chosen by the gods, saviour and protector of all the sentient peoples, we offer our hopes and dreams in entirety and beg his guidance, for he is the beloved, the perfect human, the blessed one. And finally, we pray to the three god-sages, those who shall not be named, who keep the balance of the universe and to whom we are nothing more than dust in the wind. We are humbly grateful to them, and we prostrate ourselves before them above all. And thus, this prayer is ended.”

“Thus this prayer is ended,” Kitai echoed with the rest, cupping a handful of water and pouring it over his head, shuddering as it hit his skin, soaking the bandage - once, twice, thrice. He bowed deeply once more, hands folded, to the east - and it was done.

Irié’s hand returned to his wrist, cold and wet. “Oh, thank the gods it’s over,” he muttered. “Come, let us go back to the shore.”

Stepping out of the water was almost worse than entering it in the first place. Kitai rubbed his shoulders briskly, trying to warm himself up. A thick, rough towel was pressed into his arms - by whom he had no clue - and he held it close around himself with a shiver.

“Elpe-sunn, the offering,” Irié whispered. “It is not done yet.”

Kitai huffed, wrapping the towel around his waist and allowing Irié to lead him into the line before the altar. Senshi touched his mind, then, at the same instant she tapped his shoulder.

“Haven’t said those words in a long time,” she murmured, and Kitai agreed without words as he slipped into her vision. Senshi looked to the front of the line, and they both saw Nila-miri waiting, balancing the lamp and two small cups on the copper plate, fresh sandalwood on her forehead.

The line moved quickly, and it was soon his turn. Guided by what Senshi could see over his shoulder, he bowed from the waist and touched the base of the idol on the altar. He then turned to Nila-miri, cupped his hands over the flame, brought them to his eyes, and folded his hands at his chest. Nila-miri dipped her smallest finger into ash and touched it to his forehead, dipped her third finger in the sandalwood paste and touched it to his throat, and he moved out of the line to allow the next person to make the offering.

Irié was hovering nearby, uncertain as to whether he was still required. “Elpe-sunn, do you -?”

“Thank you, but my sister will help me now. My gratitude for your assistance,” Kitai replied, bowing his head briefly.

‘You’re welcome, it was my pleasure!’ he said, bowing in return before hurrying to his sister’s side.

Senshi joined him a moment later, helped him locate his clothes, and as he began to pull them on she went to do the same. By the time the sun was a handsbreadth above the horizon, they were both dressed and warm once more.

Now what? Do we march back immediately?

I am not sure, I thought I saw people carrying food -

“Excuse me?”

They both turned to see Rina standing behind them. “My parents would like to invite you to join us for breakfast. Will you come?”

Could we possibly refuse? Kitai muttered.

“Of course, we could be honoured,” Senshi replied, saying to him Grumpy, grumpy. She is only being polite by asking. As if you would truly refuse, given a choice.

Hmph.

Be nice, now, she said, grinning when he grimaced at her, fully aware that the prayer had left him in a better mood than before.

They followed Rina to a tree a little away from the water, under which Irié and his parents were sitting in a circle, opening packets of wrapped food. Meiji-mari looked up and smiled warmly.

“Ah, come, both of you. Sit.” He patted the ground next to him. Kitai gingerly settled himself by the king’s side, with Senshi on his left. Nila-miri gestured to the food spread out before them. “Take as much as you like, we have no lack.”

Murmuring thanks, he and Senshi followed her direction. The food was fresh and steaming hot, delicious and warming in the morning chill. Meiji-mari struck up polite conversation with Senshi - Kitai could sense a faint nervousness running through her mind, but she kept her composure and answered tolerably well. Irié and Rina ate in silence, for the most part, apart from remarks they occasionally addressed to their mother or admonishments they addressed to each other.

Nila was the first to address Kitai. “Elpe-sunn,” she said softly, “If you do not mind me asking, how are you managing to make your way around so well?”

“I am using my sister’s eyes, my queen,” he replied.

“I see.”

Kitai could see his own face through Senshi’s eyes, still and slightly taut, and Nila-miri’s, quietly contemplative. He tried to school it into a more neutral expression and continued with his meal. Nila-miri did the same. She finished before him, however, and leaned back against a tree, studying him once more with an occasional glance at Senshi.

“My condolences for your injury,” she said eventually. “It is a terrible thing to be maimed so, and so young.”

He did not know how to reply to that, so he simply dipped his head.

“If I too may ask a question?” Meiji-mari said, turning away from Senshi. “My apologies if it is a delicate subject, but why do you not wear the thread?”

Senshi’s eyes flashed to Irié, who looked uncomfortable, his own thread peeking out from under the short sleeve of his shirt.

Kitai forced himself to swallow past the growing discomfort in his throat. “The day of my manhood passed while I was studying at the Hall. There was no priest to perform the ceremony.”

Nila-miri hissed softly, an expression of sorrow, and Meiji-mari’s face grew solemn. “That is a shame indeed,” he said. “But would not your master have allowed you to return so that the ceremony could be performed?”

Senshi answered for him. “He would have, had we asked. But Kitai did not realise the date at the time. Furthermore, we had no wish to return to our house, and no priest will perform the shikha ceremony without a parent to provide proof of lineage.”

“Why is it that you could not return?”

The first day they speak to us they ask questions more demanding than any Eragon ever asked at the Hall!

Senshi glanced at him worriedly. He turned away from her gaze, leaving her to answer the question.

Should I?

Why not?

Everything?

He asked. Let him hear the answer.

“Our father,” she said slowly, “ . . . was an officer in your army, Meiji-mari. He perished while fighting against the Chorih. Upon his death, our mother steadily began to lose her - her ability to compose herself, to think rationally. She could fly into furious rages or deep depressions on the slightest provocation . . . We should not have lacked for much, for she was the only daakyir in the village and she had no shortage of supplicants, but as time passed, she began to care less and less about us, about our welfare. We turned to our friends for food, for companionship, for a place to sleep. We could not bear to live under her roof. When Della - Lidéna summoned us and gave us our quest, we did not know it would necessitate leaving our mother forever - and I suppose that, technically, it did not - but we could not go home with two dragons in tow, and we had come to believe that she would be better off without us, so often did she -”

Senshi broke off at the flash of memory -Wild eyes, tangled hair, “Worthless, the both of you! Get out! Out!”, the smashing of glass, hiding, curled up, crying, screams ringing through the house -

There was a brief pause, which Kitai broke by muttering, “Eventually, she could not recognise us as her children. We understood why, later, how she was hurt, why she behaved as she did, but - at the time -”

“ - we were too young to understand,” Senshi finished. “Too young to be - so hurt.”

The silence stretched on for a while this time. Kitai watched Senshi note the grave sympathy in Rina’s eyes, the anxious worry in Irié’s, the sorrowful understanding in Nila and Meiji’s.

“My apologies,” Meiji-mari said at length. “For asking you to speak about it when it hurt you so deeply.”

Kitai and Senshi both bowed their heads together, neither knowing what to say.

“Yet it was not in idle curiosity . . . You see, Nila and I would like to know if the both of you might consider staying, rather than accompanying Eragon and the rest to Alagaësia.”

Kitai felt Senshi’s eyes go wide, and he couldn’t stop his own head from shooting up in shock.

Nila smiled slightly. “We would certainly welcome the Dragon Riders here. I spoke to the elf-queen, Arya, and she explained to me the purpose of the Riders and how they were formed. We could use such peacekeepers here as well - as you well know, the multitude of mountains this kingdom has makes it difficult to take action as soon as and when it is needed. Soldiers must needs tramp up and down, through swamps and forests, and arrive at their destinations exhausted before they even carry out their duties. The two of you could give such aid in less than half the time. You would not be under any obligation to follow orders from either of us - simply, we should request you, and you should act if you decide it is necessary. So if you would like to stay, this an option that is very much open to you.”

Senshi turned to Kitai, at a loss for words, and he too was blank for a moment.

This changes everything, Senshi whispered, her thoughts flashing bright. We thought we had no choice but to leave, before. Now we could be under the protection of the crown, we can help people right here, we could even help Master Eragon with the next group of Riders -

Oh, we could remain in our homeland, but - will he allow us to stay?

We could-

It might-

It’s possible that -

We’d have to ask but-

He wouldn’t say no!

We would never have to meet Mama, for she would never dream that it was us, us could even use different names if it was necessary -

But leaving everyone else?

They’ll be fine without us! And they can always visit here, they will do so anyway at the Hall -

But where are you needed more?

Palé’s voice echoed in both their heads. They stopped short, shifting their attention on him.

What do you mean? Senshi asked.

Are you needed more in a country where magic is systematically used to benefit the population, a prosperous country, a country which is well and thriving - or in Alagaësia, where the rebuilding is not yet complete, where the last dregs of the Black Hand are yet to be flushed out, where the Riders are still the only ones to use magic openly?

The excitement slowly drained away from their minds. Kitai could feel Senshi’s shoulders begin to slump.

If you have a duty to help others with the powers you have been given, Palé continued more gently, should it not also be a duty that you go where your help is needed most? You can always come back and visit. You can even stay here for years at a time. But the Riders are meant for and are needed in Alagaësia.

Ikraan’s presence had been growing steadily more noticeable, and he now said I agree. You have a very long life ahead of you to come back to and settle in your homeland, now that the royals have granted you permission. But Eragon trained us all to help people in Alagaësia, and we owe him the courtesy of helping those he meant us to help until they no longer need us, or until there are others to take on our burden.

. . . They are right, Kitai finally thought heavily.

Yes. She was silent for a moment. Then she shook herself, making an effort to throw off the gloom that had settled upon her. Yes, we can always come back. We should take this chance to explore Alagaësia, to do what we can there, and then return. Nasuada and Murtagh are depending on us as well.

As are Orik, Orrin, and Arya, yes . . . Ikraan -

Yes?

You also . . . don’t want to leave Celesté?

There was a beat of silence. No, he agreed. I do not.

Kitai felt Senshi shrug, felt her smile. Of course we would not dream of staying, then.

We will come back, Palé repeated, softer than before.

We will come back, they echoed. But for now, we leave.

Senshi turned to Nila-miri and respectfully relayed their decision, citing their reasons. She and Meiji-mari were slightly disappointed, but assured them that they would always be welcome whenever they chose to return. Rina and Irié too assented to this, she calmly, he eagerly.

The sun was now fully risen. Kitai turned his face to it, basking in the warmth while around him people began to prepare to head back, an oddly defiant little flame beginning to dance in the center of his chest, in the ashes of disappointment and regret. To be sure, his work would be much more difficult now - but it was only one more obstacle in his way. Enormous, to be sure, but he would overcome it, for giving up was not an option and it never would be. He would persevere, and he would triumph over his body, his mind, his anger and his fear, so that the next time he felt this sun, the next time he breathed this air . . . his home would be as proud to receive him as he would be to return.

⸶⸷

That day, Eragon used the name of names to search for Charles Orrinson, and the two who had gone with him. The relief they all felt when all three were found to have been taken in by a family in the region was enormous, and for the rest of the day the atmosphere was contagiously convivial.

He was retrieved the day after. He came in looking wary but healthy, weary but alert, and when he heard the tongue of Alagaësia and met the other young ones who had been trapped with him, his joy knew no bounds. He was more silent than the cheerful child Eragon and Arya remembered - he had grown up too much, too fast - and he tended to stick to Amha and Landan most of all, but he made a point of going to every single Rider and elf and thanking them for rescuing his friends. Arya and Eragon both thought that Orrin would miss the child he had lost, but would learn to love the one he had regained.

That was the night, also, that Arya met Dellanir.

She came silently, melting out of the forest, leaving no mark upon the ground to show that she had ever crossed it. No one else saw her. Only Arya was there to take note of her wise face, lined like Rhünon’s, though more lightly; of her limbs, somehow resembling those of a bird’s; of the calm assurance with which her light voice sang out.

She came in the night, to the garden, where Arya was sitting and thinking over the preparations for leaving on the morrow. She stood, bathed in moonlight, and held out a kind hand.

“You are doing well, granddaughter, as Dröttning,” was the first thing she said.

Arya gaped, then twisted her hand over her chest and bowed deeply, the phrases of the opening greeting tumbling over her lips. Dellanir laughed and bid her to straighten her back.

“I am no longer queen,” she said. “And my years have given me some wisdom, yet not nearly enough. How are the young ones I sent to the Hall? I hope they proved satisfactory?”

Arya gazed at her in wonder. “They have grown. They are well, and they are strong. They leave for Alagaësia with us tomorrow.”

“Ah, so they chose well. Good.”

“My lady, how did you know to send them -?”

“Your mate knows. He has experienced premonitions like I have. I do not get them often, for I am no longer instrumental to the workings of fate, and thus when I do, I make sure to heed them well. I saw that those two will become valuable assets to the Riders, and will forge a bridge between this kingdom and the one I left. All I had to do was command them to achieve the goal of touching the eggs I indicated, and to clear the path by alerting Valdr. What they will accomplish, you shall be there to see.”

Her eyes twinkled over Arya’s form. “And do not ask me, as I know you are about to, for the solution to the turmoil in your own heart. That is your choice, and yours alone.” She stooped and placed a kiss upon Arya’s brow. “You resemble Evandar in your eyes and courage, Islanzadí in your hair strength, and both in your intelligence. You will not fail them, whatever you choose. That much I can tell you.”

“I beg your blessing,” Arya whispered, seeing that she was about to leave.

“Why, my child, you already have it. I remain in this land, to counsel the rulers if they should need me, and so shall I also counsel you if you should need it. All you need do is return here. But, as I said . . . you do need my advice.”

She turned and seemed to be gone in a puff of wind. “Be well,” was the last sigh that Arya heard.

“Be well,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes for reasons she knew not.

And the day after was the day of leavetaking.

They were sent on their way with food, water, and gifts of ornaments and clothes and art. Eragon protested, saying they could not possibly return the favour, but Meiji said, “The gift you have given us is that of learning and friendship, of joy in the grace of the dragons and wonder in their beauty. There is no favour to return - if there were, the mirrors you have given us to communicate would be more than enough to do so. We are very glad to have hosted you here, and will be as glad to host you at any time in the future.”

Eragon bowed from his place in Saphira’s back. “And you can be sure you or any citizen of yours will be welcome to visit the Hall or Alagaësia at any time.”

Meiji nodded and smiled, stepping back to stand beside Nila.

“Thank you!” Ayana cried out, as the dragons lifted their wings.

“Thank you!” they all cried out after her, together, as they were lifted into the air. The dragons roared their gratitude. And those on the ground shouted their goodbyes as gladly as the dragons disappeared into the sky.

Then came the homecoming.

They reached the Hall after days of travel that left them less weary than they had been at the start, for now they had the children to tease, to laugh at and to play with, and they had their home to look forward to. And when they entered through the Tower and settled on the ground -

“Eragon!” Nasuada cried out, running to greet them. “Arya! Where have you been all this time?”

Murtagh clasped him in a strong hug, pounding him on the back, as did Orik. Hvedra curtsied deeply before moving forward to greet them all. Orrin was there as well, with his queen, she who had been Lady Julia Hawthorne - as kind as she was determined, and more intelligent than she was either - and his young daughter, Annalise.

“It is good to see you safely returned, Shadeslayer, and you, Queen Arya,” he said with a bow, which they both returned. “May I ask where you have been?”

“Recovering treasure you, of all people, will appreciate,” Eragon said softly.

Orrin frowned, tilting his head. “I don’t quite - ”

“Father! Mother!”

Orrin whipped around at the joyous shriek, staring in disbelief as Charles scrambled in a very unsafe way down Jethran’s shoulders.

“Charles . . . ?” he whispered as his son landed on the ground with a thud and instantly sprang to his feet, running towards his parents. He sank to his knees unsteadily, opening his arms wide as Charles barrelled into them.

“Charles!” Queen Julia cried out, tears beginning to pool in her eyes, as they did in her husband’s. She hurried to join the embrace as well, and her daughter followed suit.

“Did you find all the children?” Murtagh asked in disbelief, over Orrin’s sobs of laughter and Charles’s relieved tears, as the rest began to dismount.

Arya tore her eyes away from the affecting sight that was the Langfeld family, trying to suppress her delighted smile, as indeed most of the other elves were trying to. “That we did.”

“How? When? Where? You must tell us everything, Arya!” Orik exclaimed.

She laughed. “We will, we will! But first let us wash the dust from our bodies and our throats, and let us offer you some sustenance. You cannot have found much to eat here, can you?”

Orik waved an impatient hand. “We arrived two days ago, and have managed to sustain ourselves well enough. The only communication we had from you lot was that damn cryptic message! If I don’t hear the whole story in the next hour - ”

Hvedra came up to them just them, laying a comforting hand upon her husband’s arm. “Now, delva, don’t overwhelm her. You can see they are all in sore need of rest. The story can wait till tomorrow, yes?”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’ll answer you as soon as I can, Orik,” Arya said soothingly, trying not to laugh. “But a lot has happened in the past two weeks, and it is not a short tale. When we are all rested and sated, you shall hear everything.”

He grumbled, but didn’t push her further. Hvedra gave Arya an apologetic look before pulling Orik away to attend to the young dwarves, who were looking lost.

Arya happened to meet Eragon’s gaze, then, across the crowd of excited and exclaiming people, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to curl into him and sleep for a day and a night. He smiled, and she knew he understood, and felt the same.

And that was how they came home.

Chapter Text

“Good morning!” Ravûn said cheerfully, stepping through the kitchen doors. “Isn’t it good to be back -”

Two pairs of frantic hands seized him by the collar instantly, and he was almost deafened by the overlapping commands flung at him.

“Get as many people as you can to help you pick vegetables, we need more now -”

“- we wrote a list, here, strip the Garden bare if you have to -”

“- we need it in one hour, do you hear me -”

“ -also wood for the oven -”

“- ask Nina-elda, Elaren-elda, Osra too if she would like, actually anyone, we just need help and we need it as soon as possible -”

“- even if they can’t right now ask them to come in when they have a spare hour -”

“- even Sorya if you have to, it’s fine if the kitchen is set on fire, just anyone -”

“- understand?” they concluded in unison.

Ravûn blinked. “Are you two all right?”

“No!” Senshi and Caspian shouted in unison, with Caspian continuing. “We are preparing dinner for approximately seventy people, do you realize that?”

“Ayana-elda came in with Këyal earlier and took everything we’d prepared for breakfast and luncheon!”

“If it is to be as lavish as we were asked to make it -”

“- we need more supplies and we need them now!”

“Three sweet dishes,” Caspian moaned. “Three sweet dishes and five main dishes, for seventy people. I will never cook in my life again. And we still need ice for the icebox, oh hell -”

“It is hardly three hours past dawn, surely you have enough time -”

“We do not have nearly enough time!” Senshi snapped. “Are you going to help us or not?”

“All right, I’m going, I’m going,” Ravûn said hastily, backing away. “Will you two still be, uh, sane, when I get back - ?”

“We won’t if you do not get out and get us what we need right now!”

He turned on his heel and fled.

Two hours later, however, it seemed that sanity had been restored, though a frantic energy permeated the long kitchen. He stood next to Dara, both of them stirring two massive cauldrons filled with bubbling rice that was stained yellow with turmeric and saffron. The last row of bread was being rolled out and left to rise by Caspian. On the other side of the kitchen, Senshi was expertly encasing vegetable filling in light cases of dough, twisting the top and tossing the packages into a wicker container to steam. Close by, Elaren was supervising a series of simmering pots where various fruits were steeping in cinnamon and sugar syrup, and Nina was flitting between two tremendous pots - one containing a thick, richly brown stewn, and the other a clear broth that gained its colour from the multitude of colored vegetables floating within. In the ice box rested large bowls of every possible fruit and vegetable the garden had to offer chopped up, bowls of fresh, sweetened cream, bowls of thick curd, and five large slabs of cake soaking in diluted faelnirv. And there were still elements of the meal that were yet to be prepared.

“These two should open a tavern together,” he muttered to Dara. “Their fortune would rival the queen’s within a month.”

She laughed, her hair flashing bright even in the low light of the kitchen. “Which queen?”

“Why, any!”he grinned, stirring the rice once more with the long paddle he held. “You think this is done?”

She peered into his cauldron. “I think so. Mine should be as well, then.”

He nodded, turning to shout over his shoulder. “Oy, Caspian! Have another task to set us to?”

“Here!” Caspian called back. “Come help me with this!”

They slid the lids of the cauldrons on and extinguished the fires under them before going over to where Caspian was rolling a wad of dough out into an immensely thin sheet.

“One of you roll,” he said, flashing them a brief smile as he looked up. “Other one, cut the sheet into half breadthwise, and then into strips. If they begin to stick, dust them with some flour. A uniform as you can.”

“What is this?” Ravûn asked, accepting the rolling pin handed to him. “I have not the least clue as to what you might be preparing.”

“That is the point,” came the reply, accompanied by a sly grin. “None of this is food you would find in Alagaësia. This feast will truly be one of a kind. You wait, Ravûn - you will never forget it!”

‡

Torben raised his head when he heard the hiss of pain, and saw Rider Sorya sucking a finger on her right hand. The tip of her needle gleamed red.

He raised his hand with an “Oh -” slipping out of his throat as he noticed the small stain soaking into the cloth. Then he blushed furiously, choking himself off, one could not simply speak so familiarly to a Rider-

But she heard, and she looked down, and a look of annoyance crossed her face as she beheld the work the drop of blood had done. Torben felt the annoyance as well, a quick red pulse in the back of his mind that bloomed and held steady for a moment, and winced at it. Then she spoke a single word, and the stain vanished; another, and the wound on her finger closed over.

“Careful, Sorya,” the elf by at her side, Arlen-elda, said chidingly. “We are almost finished, and it will do you no good to allow your impatience to take over now.”

She nodded to him, and he turned back to Kelsie, correcting her mistakes just as gently. Rider Sorya’s glance fell on Torben, sharp and piercing. But even as he shrank back her gaze softened, and she smiled - still sharp, but less so than before - and beckoned to him. He went to her, still nervous though sensed only a brisk kindness from her.

“Thank you for drawing my attention to the bloodstain, Torben. Will you do me a favour?” He nodded, and she placed a stack of folded clothes in his arms. “Will you deliver these to Rider Kitai? Third door on your left on the first floor if you use the southern stairwell.”

Rider Zelíe looked up at these words, but when Torben met her gaze she only smiled and continued with her work. He nodded to Rider Sorya and made his way out of the room, holding his burden carefully. Southern stairwell . . . first floor . . . third door on the left . . .

He shifted the clothes to his right hand, hesitated for a moment, then knocked softly.

“Who is it?”

“Um, it’s Torben? Rider Sorya sent me wi’ some - some clothes-”

There was a brief pause, and the voice then said, “Oh. Yes, come in.” And the door swung open.

Torben stepped in, slightly nervous than he had been before. This was the blind Rider, he had never spoken to him, though he had felt what he felt for days - he could feel what everybody felt, Siska had made it so - and though Rider Kitai’s sorrow and hurt had dulled and settled, and were nothing close to as piercing as they had been, they would be certain to still be present in some amount.

When he entered, Torben’s eyes immediately flew to the huge golden dragon occupying most of the room. Massive ribs heaved mightily as breath entered and exited his lungs, and tiny plumes of smoke issued from his huge nostrils. Torben swallowed a squeak when he realised that one giant golden eye, thrice the size of the largest shield ever made, was fixed upon him. But then a broad wing was shuffled, a quiet snort sounded, and a huge shimmering eyelid slid closed over it.

Torben took a quiet, shuddering breath, and shifted his gaze to Rider Kitai.

He sat on the bed, wearing a rough shirt, slim trousers, and a simple linen bandage bound across his eyes. His hair had been cropped short recently, but it had grown out a little into gentle black waves. His clothes hung on him rather more loosely a week or so ago, Torben was sure.

With a start he realised that while he stood gaping, Rider Kitai could have no clue as to what he was doing, so he hurried forward and, after a moment of hesitation, placed the clothes on Rider Kitai’s left side.

“It’s - for the feast t’night,” he said hesitantly. “They’re makin’ them for everyone, even us . . .”

“Who are ‘they’?” One hand reached out to touch the cool, silky material lightly, only the slightest hesitancy in the movement.

“Um, elf Nelim, and elf Naumys, and Rider Sorya, and Rider Zelíe, and Kelsie and Faye and Edward are helpin’ too . . .”

“But not you?”

Not as much bitterness in the air as he had been expecting - a faint shadow of sadness, but nothing more than that apart from a certain quietness, and a little curiosity.

“Ah, I was - bad at it, so they said no need, I could just watch if I liked, and run errands.”

The corner of Rider Kitai’s mouth lifted up slightly.“I see. Thank you for giving them to me, Torben. Will you - could I request a favour of you?”

Palé snorted softly, still with his eyes closed, and Torben darted a glance at him before stammering “Oh - o’course,” wondering what kind of favour he could possibly do a Rider. The air was changing now, coloured faintly with embarrassment.

“May I - use your eyes for a minute or so? Just to see-” One hand gestured vaguely to his left. “To see what I’ll be wearing. In the evening.”

Torben’s mouth fell open. Of all the things he might have been asked to do, he had certainly not expected this.

“It’s all right if you would rather not,” Rider Kitai said, when he did not respond. “I would not want anyone poking around in my mind either, if I were you-”

“No!” he blurted out. “No, of course I’d be willin’. I was jus’ a bit surprised.”

“Are you sure? Other Riders will come in later to speak to me, to help me get dressed. I can very well wait for them.”

Then you would not have asked, Torben thought. The air had hope in it, now.

Besides . . . he could never refuse a Rider, least of all one who had rescued him and his friends from that dank pit. He owed a debt, and this was but a small means of repayment.

“I don’ mind, Rider,” he said softly, walking back to the bed. “I’d be glad to. Whenever you’re ready . . .”

There was another brief pause, and then he could feel the Rider’s mind. He could not stop himself from wincing in anticipation, which was foolish; he had known this would hurt, and he had still agreed, he had given his word, and it was only for a minute or so, a Rider would not lie-

Hurt? There was a sense of puzzlement. Why should it hurt, Torben?

Torben couldn't help gasping out loud at how gentle the touch was, how respectful, when Siska had always -

The Rider’s mind recoiled slightly, the mental equivalent of a flinch. Then-

That is not the only way to treat a mind, Torben, and I am not her. I will simply use your eyes, and then leave. Yes?

Yes, he managed to whisper. There was a sense of acknowledgement, of approval, and then his eyes were moving independently of him, which was - the oddest feeling he had ever encountered.

He could feel Rider Kitai gazing at the clothes, drinking in every stitch of embroidery, every glimmer of gold on shimmering purple.

A moment, he murmured, as he reached for the clothes and began to unfold them. Sleeves till the wrists, a small, straight collar, the entirety well cut and suited to Rider Kitai’s body like a hand to a glove. The cuffs and the hem were embroidered prettily in gold, and the thread danced across the rest of the garment, tracing patterns that seemed random but managed to create a beautiful, cohesive whole. The pants were the gold of the embroidery, too dull and pale to be flashy but bright enough to be distinguished.

Gold and purple. The mind-voice was faintly amused, and slightly wistful. Royal colours? Will your dress match this, Zelíe . . .? Or will Senshi’s? Gold and purple dragons, hah, yes . . . Ah, my apologies, Torben, I am rambling.

He withdrew, and Torben blinked as he regained control of his eyes.

“Thank you, Torben,” Rider Kitai said, his voice a little stronger, his smile a little broader.

“My - my pleasure, Rider,” Torben said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was dismissed with a nod of the head, and he began the walk back to the door, still thinking about how gentle, how warm the touch had been . . .

“Um!” He turned to face the bed, one hand on the doorknob again. “If you ever need my eyes again - I’d be happy to - you’d just hafta ask!”

Surprise, a splash of yellow in the air, and then Rider Kitai chuckled, pink fluttering amusement and dark velvet gratitude trailing after it. “That is very kind of you, thank you. I’ll be sure to remember that. In fact -” He stood, holding out a hand. “Will you help me dance tonight? It woulspoil it for the others if I was to use one of theirs while they were with other partners.”

“Dance? Oh -”

“Yes. I had not intended to, but I suddenly find myself much more amenable to the idea.” Rider Kitai’s smile became a grin as Torben laid his hand in his. “Is that a yes?”

Torben grinned back, happiness filling his chest. “Yes, Rider!”

‡

“I’m here!” Dara called, hurrying to the courtyard in the middle of the Gardens. “Who needs help?”

Two immense tables had been placed there, end to end, with a multitude of chairs close by. Yaela and Invidia were singing, causing flower-laden creepers to crawl over the trellises that shaded the thirty benches dotting the circumference of the courtyard. Blödhgarm was stringing rows of tiny Erisdar from one trellis to another, encircling the entire yard in lines of multicoloured lights. Nine young trees sprouted from the ground, where the marble had been removed to make way for them to grow, forming a smaller circle for the dance floor. Akhtar stood with two other elves, singing to another sapling that was growing steadily. Osra was in the process of lowering a tablecloth that could have been a bedspread onto one of the tables.

“Here,” she called, and Dara went to her. “ We need three more trees and we need to hang the lights from them. And the flower bushes, for the end of the celebration. How are they in the kitchen?”

“A little less frantic now, I think they’ve lost all their energy from shouting so much,” she replied, rolling up her sleeves. “Ravûn is staying to help them, saint that he is. Shall I start with the trees, and then help with the bushes after?”

Osra nodded. “When you’re done with that, help Nelim-elda with tuning the instruments, and then I think that should be all.”

It took her two hours to finish all of it, and another half hour to finish up the lights with Blödhgarm-elda before she was free to leave. She hurried up to her room, slamming the door behind her in her urgency.

You still have time, calm down, Celesté said lazily, shifting into a more comfortable position.

Not enough time! She pulled one shoe off, hopping on the other foot. Not enough time, not enough time -

I could just incinerate all the clothes off your body. That would be faster.

Dara made a face at her, stripping her shirt off and hurrying into the wash closet. She made do with a five minute rinse before tugging on a loose shirt and looser pants, and making her way, barefoot, to Zelíe’s room.

“I’m here!” she said, jumping into the room with a grin. “Show me!”

Zelíe clicked her tongue, dropping the strands of Sorya’s hair she had had gathered in her fingers. “Impatient, impatient. If I had messed up her hair -”

“Zelíe, please,” Dara whined, and Zelíe sighed.

“It’s in the cupboard, the pink one.”

Dara hurried over to yank the cupboard open, and stopped dead. “Gods above.”

“If you do not like the colours we can do something,” Zelíe called over her shoulder, Sorya’s hair in her hands again. “But if it is the cut -”

“It’s utterly perfect,” Dara breathed, pulling the dress out. “You are an utter, utter genius, Zelíe.”

“Don’t I know it,” Zelíe grinned back. “Try it on.”

The dress was of lamarae, thin enough that it was not oppressive in the summer heat, and wonderfully soft to the touch. The body of the gown was a soft pink, as were the sleeves till the elbow. At the shoulders, elbows and waist were slim black ribbons gathered into small bows. The long, narrow skirt was a pearly grey, and the sleeves from elbow to wrist were of the same hue, flared slightly at the ends. Both colours almost glowed in the lamplight. The neckline was flatteringly heart shaped, and the back of the dress plunged gently in a way that would expose her upper back. The neckline was rimmed with black ribbon as well, but here the ribbon ended in two loose ends meant to be tied about her neck, instead of continuing on to the back of the gown. Silver embroidery shimmered at the hem, waist, and wrists, and seemed to be subtly woven into the very fabric of the gown as well. It fit beautifully.

“I have never worn anythin’ like this my whole life,” Dara said, twirling in front of the mirror and grinning as she watched the skirt flare out. “My deepest thanks. Show me yours too, both of you?”

“In the cupboard, you can take them out!”

Zelíe’s had much the same cut - she seemed to have dropped the fashion of ball gowns and hoop skirts that prevailed in Alagaësia entirely while designing, favouring instead straight skirts and sleeves that flared only slightly, if they flared at all. Her own gown was severe and without frills or ornamentation, but it still caught the eye, for the sleeves, though they reached till her wrists and fitted snugly, were of intricate lace that would display the skin underneath. The neckline was unconventional as well, cutting straight across from the end of one collarbone to the end of the other. There was no collar, only lace extending above the neckline and ending in an irregular pattern (that recalled nothing so much as tongues of fire), with a small strip of cloth dancing across the ends, binding them so that the lace wouldn’t fray. The body was trim and snug-fitting, the skirt long and falling in soft folds; the colour was a muted purple, the material a cross between silky and velvety. Tiny, flat chips of golden crystal dotted the hem and the neckline, where the lace ended and the rest of the gown began, and a slim ribbon of the same shade of gold was the sash, the ends tied in a bow over the right hip.

Sorya’s was less restrained. It was a deep red, not bright, and sleeveless. The collar was close and small, encircling the base of her throat, and the shoulders were cut straight instead of being allowed to mold to Sorya’s body. It was a style Dara had never seen at home, but recalled seeing at the heillan multiple times, and it seemed to evoke a certain military sense, a sense of dignity and quiet power that Sorya, of all people, could certainly carry off. As if to counter this, however, the skirt was not as narrow, instead pleated and flaring out just the slightest bit. Emerald embroidery gleamed at the shoulders and collar, and from left shoulder to right hip was a small flounce of the same colour. The flounce continued down and across, like a playful creeper, to encircle the gown and finally end at the hem, in front. There were no bright threads or crystals here, for the material had a sheen all of its own.

These two creations in themselves were more beautiful than most other clothes Dara had ever seen, including dresses the elves made for themselves with their nimble fingers. But Osra’s dress was truly a triumph. Being tailor for a Kull was enough to daunt the most skillful dressmaker, but Zelíe had created a dress that surpassed good to exude an air of sartorial superiority. It was a deep blue that echoed her eyes, made of soft lamarae so that it would mimic the shape of her body as closely as possible; the skirt gently flared, not narrow, and the sleeves reaching the wrist; the neckline falling and rising in a gentle curve from one shoulder to the other. The sash was a wide ribbon of darker blue, and the dress had tucks artfully placed here and there, along with ruffles and pleats, so that without seeming overdressed, Osra was striking; without seeming bulky, she had a presence; and without seeming ornately attired, she was elegant.

She stood in front of the mirror for quite a while, taking in the magnificence of the figure that gazed back at her. She then turned to Zelíe to thank her, but Zelíe held up a hand, saying, “Wait until I’ve finished with your hair before you say anything at all. If you’re going to compliment me, I would rather you didn’t have to keep repeating it.”

Osra returned her cheeky smile, and acquiesced. Dara had changed by that time, as had Sorya, and they took their turns under Zelíe’s deft hands. Osra’s immensely long hair was carefully braided and pinned in an intricate bun; Sorya’s short crop was brushed to the left, with one strand from each temple twisted and pinned back; and Dara’s brown waves were brushed severely back and tied in a high ponytail, with the end flowing over her shoulder. Only when Zelíe had given them each jewellery and slippers to match did she allow herself to change, and of course, she looked stunning in her own gown, with her hair tied up similar to Osra’s in a way that heightened the ethereal effect of the pale skin exposed by the lace.

It was only after all this that Senshi showed up, panting as she burst through the door.

“The food took - so long -”

“Yes, yes,” Zelíe said, pushing her towards the wash closet. “You’re terribly sweaty. Bathe, fast, I will hand you your dress.”

Senshi did bathe fast, and when she emerged she was dressed in cheerful sunshine yellow. The dress was sleeveless like Sorya’s, but without the straight shoulders and close collar; here the neckline was triangular, and the bodice of a stiff material that did not flow. The pleated skirt was the same hue but of a softer cloth, and the hem was cut asymmetrically - shorter in the front and longer at the back. The sash was black, silky ribbon, tied at the back, and discreet black embroidery glimmered at the hem and neckline.

Senshi looked at her reflection much as Osra had, twisting to see the bow at the back and twirling to see how the skirt flared out. Eventually she turned to Zelíe and demanded, “Do Alagaёsian nobles wear clothes like these all the time?”

“Not quite like this, but yes, they do,” Zelíe replied with an amused smile.

“I see.” Senshi turned back to the mirror, smoothing the skirt down, unconsciously reflecting the smile. “Thank you for this, it’s very pretty. Though rather impractical -”

“I quite agree, but we do not have much time, and we can debate the practicality of various clothes later.” Zelíe firmly pushed her into a chair and gathered her hair up in one hand, beginning to brush through it. It took her a bare five minutes to braid back two strands from above her ears and fix them in place with silver pins. She placed part of her thick hair over her shoulder, and grinned in satisfaction.

“And we are all ready!” she exclaimed. “Shall we head down?”

Dara followed Sorya out of the room, heart suddenly drumming in her throat with excitement. It all suddenly seemed like a dream. She, insignificant peasant girl from Ceunon, was a Rider, had been taught by Eragon Shadeslayer, had learned to use magic, and was now wearing a beautiful gown, walking towards a celebration the likes of which had never been held before; with kings and queens and dragons and elves - and she was to dance and converse and sup with them all.

If it is a dream, Celesté said from where she was waiting in the courtyard, Enjoy it while it lasts, yes?

Her pace quickened as joy and anticipation sang through her. Tonight, she was going to enjoy herself thoroughly, so she could keep the memory precious as one of her last days at the Hall.

‡

It is sunset, mellow light drenching the courtyard, where, within a circle of twelve young trees, six male Riders stand in a line. Each faces the back of another, and the first faces the dais from whence the music will come. To them has been granted the honour of performing the opening dance. The tiny Erisdar dance in a multitude of colours, casting flickering shadows on their faces. The partner of the Head Rider is a queen, and so she should be seated at the side, watching; but she is also a Rider, and he has claimed her hand tonight. Twenty three elves, twenty one children, three kings and three queens, and one former prisoner (who always seems to have an elf hovering close by) are seated outside the circle, waiting for the dance to begin. On one side, inside the circle, four elves sit on a dais with instruments they have carved and strung themselves in their laps, also waiting patiently. There is space enough for all twelve dragons too in the courtyard, but just barely. They keep to themselves, for if they were to move around none of the two-legs could move freely; and they are content enough to do so, for there is no food nor entertainment for them here. They are here to watch, to provide company, and to be amused by the antics of the smaller creatures. Some of the children dart covert, admiring looks at them, wanting to approach but not daring to. They have flown on the backs of these dragons, but are still shy; before the night is over, more than one will be nestled happily under a velvety wing, against glittering scales.

Many of the children comment, also, in hushed whispers, on how handsome the Riders look in their smart clothes and their boots with gleaming buckles. All have hair brushed back and gleaming; all wear clothes of a similar cut, the hem till mid-thigh and the cuffs till the wrist, cut to fit their admirable figures, and soft trousers of neutral colours that invariably match the embroidery on the upper garment. The colours are rather subdued - the dwarf wears navy blue, the elf wears green so dark it could almost be black, the Urgal wears wine red, the human with the blindfold wears rich purple, the younger human without a blindfold wears cornflower blue, and the older human without a blindfold wears dark rose. On his breast only does a silver brooch of a dragon in flight gleam; but more than one of those standing behind him wears a discreet brooch or a sparkling ring. All wear sparkling belts that are more decorative than practical; all stand to attention, backs straight as can be, waiting for their partners to arrive.

As they do now.

A whisper starts among the crowd, and grows in a wave to break against the ears of those waiting in the line. Yet they do not turn to look, but wait until the arrivals stand in a similar line, facing the musicians. Then, at an unspoken signal, both lines turn to face each other.

More than one person catches their breath.

It is to be expected of those who are mated, such as the ethereal, fair human girl and the blindfolded human boy (who is using the eyes of a boy he met earlier in the day, a boy who is currently clinging to a tree and peeping out from behind; the Rider has chosen his eyes rather than those of his fellow dancers who offered, for it would have spoiled the dance for them else). But more than one person in the crowd, too, is dazzled by the stately Kull who looks like a queen, and struck by the sharp beauty of the dwarf, who seems to exude a vivid vitality that demands attention; and these people murmur appreciation at the lovely sight these two present. But there is one figure who commands the gaze of every person in the courtyard - even the dragons lift their heads to look briefly.

It is the elf queen. She is not dressed brightly - her dress is rich black. There are no sleeves to the gown, and her shoulders and neck are not bound by any cloth. The neckline is heart shaped, the bodice outlining her figure admirably. The skirt is high waisted and flares gently, with two rows of ruffles, and has, on the right side, a slit that extends until just above the knee. Small, diamond-shaped mirrors dot the hem, neckline, and waist of the dress, mimicking the diamond drops in her ears and the thin silver chain around her neck. It is certainly the most daring dress in the gathering, and there is more than one gasp of mingled shock and appreciation. The elf queen knows it is because most people present are accustomed to seeing her in dusty leather and nothing else. She prefers not to wear dresses as a rule, and this dress especially - she knows there is an unusual tinge of red in her cheeks at how revealing it is, but she keeps her head high as the opening notes of the music ring out.

Till now her eyes have been flitting across the younger Riders, noting and approving of their dress, and more than one returns her warm smile. She realizes, however, that she is avoiding the eyes of the one with the dragon on his breast in unconsciously assumed self defense, and she forces herself to meet his eyes.

His eyes are glowing - with awe, with love, with desire, with admiration - and his lips have parted slightly. She smiles, cheeks burning brighter but less unsure than she was a moment ago, and steps forward to meet him as the music begins.

“Your hair - ” is the first thing he says to her when they come together for the first time. Her smile widens, and she manages to reply, “Zelíe’s work, it took nearly an hour - ” before they are swept apart again. In truth, she herself was startled by how the younger Rider had arranged her hair; numerous braids, almost more than she could count, pulled back and across and together and apart and finally the intricate entirety coiled, twisted and affixed to the crown of her head, leaving free only two straight strands of black hair to fall from her temples to her collarbones.

The dance brings them together once more, and he says, “Diamond chips?” She smiles again, thinking of the tiny, sparkling chips nestled in the dips of the braids in her hair, and says, “Ice.” His eyes widen in surprise and amused appreciation as they move apart. She twirls, lifts the skirt and taps a foot, claps twice, and is swept back -

“That dress,” he says now, something akin to a growl in his voice. “Zelíe again,” she says softly. “I did not want to wear it, but she insisted, they all did -”

She is forced to whirl, now, up the line. She clasps hands with Ravûn, with Këyal, with Akhtar, with Caspian, and with Kitai in turn, almost laughing out loud at how much they are enjoying themselves. Then it is him again, with an arm around her waist and her hand in a warm clasp, and his voice in her ear says, “You look more beautiful than I had thought possible.” The sweet notes of the flute signal the end of the dance, and as he dips her he adds, with a roguish smirk, “You did not want to put it on, hmm? Well, I’d request you -” His arm tightens as he pulls her up by the waist to stand chest to chest with him, their eyes inches apart. “- not to take it off.”

She tilts her head quizzically, and his smirk widens. His lips drift to her ear, and he breathes, “I beg to reserve that pleasure for myself.”

It is her lips that part, now, and her eyes that flame. He steps back with a bow, and she steps back with a curtsy, their gaze never breaking. But then the music stops, and they must step off the dance floor to make way for others. She tosses him a playfully challenging glance over her shoulder, resolving to discover how far she can manage to tease him for the rest of the night - for ‘tis a celebration, is it not?

In the audience, Queen Nasuada and King Orik glance at each other, and smile knowingly.

The sun has set properly now, and the Erisdar are revealed in their true beauty. Chatter fills the air, with the occasional-bright-sparkling laugh of an elf ringing out above the cheerful chaos. The occasional snort or loud hum is heard from the dragons as well, as they try not to fall asleep. The children play their own games at first, dance their own dances, but then Invidia tugs Tylor into the circle, and Arlen pulls in Thas’rika, and soon Landan is dancing with Dara and T’tarmek with Queen Hvedra and Kelsie with King Murtagh, who looks happier than his brother has ever seen him, and handsomer too. None of the royals wear any distinguishing crowns tonight. Only the sumptuousness of their clothes proclaims their wealth and power, and it a testament to the skill of all the dressmakers at the Hall that the clothes of the elves, Riders and children are hardly outshone. The royals dance, and laugh, and dance again, happy to be able to forget the cares of their kingdoms for a few hours in a way they cannot anywhere else. The prisoner does not join in - he is content to sit and watch, and if his lips twitch at the sight of Torben clutching Kitai’s hand on one side and Zelíe’s on the other, or at the sight of the Urgal Taihaz dancing with a laughing Amha and an indignant Orvistr borne on each of her shoulders, no one observes it.

In an hour or two a few glances begin to be directed towards the tables, and suddenly they are loaded with food and plates and glasses. The children are the first to reach there, and they peer into every plate and bowl curiously, sniffing at the various dishes and exchanging excited remarks. There are two tremedous vessels of spiced rice, and smaller vessels of cool, salted curd with diced cucumber and sliced onion mixed in. There are five plates heaped to overflowing with small, pearl-like dumplings that melt in the mouth to allow the vegetable filling within to burst with flavour on the tongue. There are five more plates of hot, soft buns arranged around a simmering tureen of thick, richly brown stew. A spoonful of the stew is to be put into the hollowed buns and the whole eaten together, something the children enjoy immensely. There are two immense bowls of the freshest produce the Hall can provide - gleaming cherry tomatoes and sweet yellow peppers and crisp cool lettuce and a myriad others - drizzled with a tangy, creamy dressing and tossed with the slim strips Caspian had been preparing with Dara and Ravûn, that have been cooked by being plunged in boiling water for half a minute until they are soft, tender and almost translucent. The final dish consists of a clear broth, ribbons of many-coloured vegetables floating within, and of a massive mound of tiny lemon-yellow noodles. The broth is to be poured over the noodles, into small porcelain cups, and the whole drunk in a single gulp. There is a hint of chilli that makes throats burn, and hints of other spices that make feet itch to go back to the dance floor.

For the drinks, there is faelnirv - watered down, so that the celebration remains appropriate for children - and punch, hot and sweetly spiced. The dwarf king sighs at this, as do the human kings, but they both acquiesce in the lack of anything stronger with a good grace.

The crowd drifts from the dance floor to the tables and back again. The dances grow wilder, the music faster as the night turns. Soon the piles of food are decimated, yet no one is so heavy with food that they cannot continue to dance. Some of the revellers sing, and sweetly; some begin games that stake pebbles and shells, yet which are as enjoyable as if rubies and diamonds were used instead; some retire to the benches under the trellises, gaining a brief respite before heading into the crowd once more.

When the full moon is overhead, the silver light lancing through the Tower and illuminating the celebration, it is the cue for the sweet dishes to appear. Huge bowls of all manner of fruit, some familiar and some not, drenched in sweet cream, and another dish that makes the children shriek with delight - a massive mound of shaved ice, with at least twenty different kinds of sugar syrup that have been infused with the flavours of various fruit and spices arranged all around. Soon most of them have sticky hands and chips of ice on their clothes, and more than one adult is guiltily licking syrup off their fingers.

The revels continue for another hour, then slowly begin to flag. The younger ones have fallen asleep in corners or under dragon wings long ago, more than one elf stealing the opportunity to stroke their heads and croon lullabies. Even the older ones have heavy eyelids, and the Riders, many of whom were up early to prepare, are surreptitiously rubbing at their eyes. And so the cake is brought out, the final edible item, and the most sumptuous.

It is a thing of beauty. It has been crafted to resemble the Hall itself, with a tiny dragon perched on the edge of the Tower. The layers are brown, moist cake soaked in faelnirv for five hours, and are interspersed with tart, light cream. Raspberries and mulberries and blueberries are arranged in swirling patterns across the walls and roof and terraces. The entirety seems like enough for a hundred people to eat. Some people groan laughingly at the prospect of more food, but they take a slice nevertheless, and cannot help going back for more. The younger ones are shaken awake just so they do not miss the chance to taste the wonderful cake.

And Caspian and Senshi smile at each other in the weary manner of soldiers home after a war.

The moonlight is slanting - it is only a few hours to dawn. Few are dancing, now. Most sit and carry on quiet conversations, and some sing softly in unison with the gentle music.

The Head Rider rises, then, and waits until he has the attention of all still awake.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for being here with us, for lending us your aid, whether that aid has been political, social - or even helping a tardy Rider weed the garden.” He smiles as some of the elves chuckle. “This place was built to train Riders, to house them, to give them all the facilities they will need to grow into the guardians and protectors Alagaësia needs them to be, and so it is fitting that it is in this place that you hear these words. We have been beyond fortunate that the dragons chose their Riders from all races, and even from kingdoms beyond Alagaësia. I have taught them, and you have helped them, and they are, all of them -” His glance sweeps across the gathering like a flame. “- everything I have ever wished or dreamed that they should be.”

This quietens them, and more than one Rider blinks away a sudden tear. The Head Rider smiles. “They are still young, but they will learn. And they will learn well. They will be the first to lead Alagaёsia into a new era of peace, and you must not doubt that there are none worthier to take up this burden. But they would not have become who they are today if it were not for you, all of you - yes, even you, little ones, for you gave them something to fight for, and you taught them what is worth risking their lives for. For all this, I thank you. I thank you for the aid you have given my students, and I hope you will continue to give them that aid as they work to make this world a better place.”

“Hear, hear!” The dwarf king cries, and he is echoed by fifty voices.

The Head Rider smiles, raising his glass. “To the New Riders!”

“To the new Riders!” comes the cry, and on a hundred bushes encircling the courtyard large pods explode, releasing into the air thousands of flowers that glow luminously in the night, floating down all around and scattering tiny seeds that glow as well. The seeds drift down like bright rain, and now tears flow unashamedly from more than one eye as the sparks settle on hair and shoulders and illuminate beautifully the faces of every person there.

And the dragons roar victoriously, for this marks the start of their return, and the start of their rebuilding.

Chapter Text

A ray of sunlight woke Eragon as it touched his closed eyes. He blinked and turned on to his side to avoid it, and Arya’s hand slid off his chest at the motion, though she did not stir. He allowed himself a minute to look at her, quietly absorbing the play of sunlight across her bare shoulder, how her pulse jumped faintly in her throat, how she peaceful she looked in repose.

Eventually he ran a slow hand through his hair and sighed to himself, glancing out the window. Melancholy was already creeping into his heart, and it was echoed by Saphira, who was curled up as close to Fírnen as she could get.

We cannot dwell on it, he murmured. This day was always to come.

She acknowledged it with a wave of such sorrow that he had to clench his teeth against tears.

Saphira, please!

I am sorry, she said, tucking her nose further under Fírnen’s neck. Just -

I know. He took a long breath. You will speak to the dragons together?

Yes, on the cliff.

He acknowledged her, and then did what he had to. He shaved, cleaned his teeth, bathed, everything he needed to be ready to face the day. When he stepped back into the room, Arya was sitting up, sheet clutched around her body, eyes watchful. His heart twisted at the sight of her, and he went to her side. She tilted her face up, the light catching the emerald in her eyes.

“Are you ready?” she asked quietly.

He placed his hands on the bed, on either side of her, and leaned down to kiss her. She returned it; and when he kissed her cheek, her jaw, her ear, her throat, she turned her head obligingly. But when he moved away to look at her, she remained with her cheek pressed into her shoulder, eyes closed, and asked again.

“Are you ready?”

He took a soft, unsteady breath and leaned into her neck, making a quiet sound of denial.

She moved back to rest against the wall, one hand settling at his waist, the other moving to his hair, pulling him forward. He moved with her to kneel on the bed, curved into her with her arms protective around him, breathing in the scent of crushed pine needles.

“I will return as soon as I can,” she whispered, as light as the flutter of a moth’s wings.

He shook his head slightly, feeling the pulse in her throat beat under his mouth. “Not soon enough,” he whispered. “Never soon enough.”

The fingers in his hair tightened just a fraction. There was a silence for a minute before he continued, “And they are all leaving too. It will be - so lonely.”

Her mouth opened, and closed after a moment it closed - they both knew she could offer no comfort that might console him. She only held him closer, pulled him to her more tightly, and they remained like that for a time.

It was not enough. It was never enough. But it was the best Eragon was going to get, and he could only be grateful for it.

So they sat together as the sunlight crept across the room, and if her grip was tighter than usual, or his breath more unsteady than was natural, neither of them mentioned it.

‡

Four hours later

The knock was firm yet unobtrusive - a hard combination to achieve, Eragon reflected.

“Come in,” he called.

Akhtar stepped into the room, raising his chin respectfully, and made his way to the chair in front of Eragon’s desk. Eragon smiled at him, and Akhtar returned it as he seated himself.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Eragon asked, “Do you feel prepared?”

Akhtar pondered the question before replying slowly, “I feel prepared to learn . . . to learn how to to do my best. To learn to fulfill my true capability.”

“A good answer.” Eragon lowered his gaze, contemplating his interlocked fingers. “A good answer. I have full confidence that you will learn ably and well. When the question of assignments arises, if you do not wish to work with the Urgalgra, I would suggest you request to work somewhere in the rural reaches of the empire first. You understand why?”

Akhtar looked wry. “Very well, Master. I did compete in the Games, you remember.”

“Aye, so you did. I, however, have never witnessed any part of the Games. Would you describe to me some part of . . .?”

Akhtar knew what he asked. He shrugged with one massive shoulder. “I am aware you introduced the Games as a means of fostering brotherhood and tolerance; but I would say there is still a ways to go. Perhaps things are better now, but when I was there, the hostility was merely veiled, not diminished in any way - despite even the role we played in the war. Much of the land still hates the Urgalgra, and they will not change their minds so easily.”

Eragon nodded. “And the majority of that hate is focused in the large cities, where rumours grow tenfold as they leap from ear to ear. If you work in the villages first, you have fewer minds to change, and a greater chance of changing them, as they are less exposed to views from the rest of the country. You have a smaller, more close-knit community to convince. Would you agree?”

“I would.”

A brief silence passed before Eragon said, “Compassion. Empathy. A sense of responsibility. The drive to do well. You have these necessary qualities, and many more. What you lack is only . . . I suppose care is the right word. Care in choosing your words, in completing a task, in carrying on a conversation. Being just that little bit more careful, more conscientious, in how you do what you do. It is not the quality that will do the most harm by its lack, but by agreeing to requests for blessings with a smile, or having a kind word for a child you treat for an illness, you make your work that much easier and you make their lives that much brighter.”

“I understand.”

Eragon nodded and regarded him for a moment. Then he rose to his feet and came around the desk; Akhtar rose also, slightly confused. He looked up at him, smiling. “Regardless, you will do excellently. I know it. Jethran could not have chosen better.”

Akhtar blinked as he bent to accept the embrace offered. His strong arms wrapped around Eragon’s shoulders, and Eragon thought there was a tinge of huskiness in the low voice as he replied, “Thank you, Master.”

Eragon stepped back with an approving nod. “Change their minds, Akhtar. It will be slow, arduous, but you can, and I know you will. And I know Alagaësia is by far the better for your existence, and for the work you intend to undertake.”

Akhtar raised his chin as high as it would go. Eragon could see the muscles in his throat working as he strove with himself. Banishing the melancholy beginning to steal into his heart once more, he nodded in quiet dismissal.

“Request Caspian to come next, please.”

‡

“Has your mind settled?”

Caspian looked a little quizzical, and Eragon clarified, “I refer to the battle. Is your mind settled now? Have you made peace with what was done?”

“I -” Caspian gazed at the desk intently. “I do not think I can say for sure. It feels like a bitter canker that I can never fully rid myself of. And sometimes -” he hesitated, and flushed dully. “I don’t sleep as well as I used to.”

The words were low and muttered quickly, and in them Eragon could read what he had felt long ago, was reminded of-

-what was wrong with him, that he woke screaming in the middle of the night, no other hero of yore did so, what kind of excuse for a Rider was he-

“I understand entirely.” Eragon smiled encouragingly. “Do not assume that none of the others are unaffected, or would not comprehend how you feel. Do not be afraid to speak to them about it. I myself was surprised when Arya told me how she felt after her first fight, for I thought her one of the most dangerous warriors I had ever encountered. You, too, you seemed very well put together, and I was beyond glad that you chose to confide in me. I will repeat the advice that Arya gave me - imagine yourself in a place of peace, and gently allow your body to calm itself. Focusing on breathing always worked for me. And of course, hard work is the best medicine for a wounded soul. The peace you seek will come in its time, do not doubt that. And it changed you, of course it did, but do not fear the nature of the change, either. You are what you do -”

“- what you speak, and how you think.” Caspian smiled a little.

“At least you learned that much in your time here, eh?” Eragon smiled in return. “Changes are like rocks in a river you are travelling down - they have the power to shift your course, but you always have the power to decide how and when and to what end. You are always in control of what you do, think, and speak.”

“I will remember.”

“And I urge you not to lose your curiosity or your interest in experimentation. It is a valuable asset, and will, I’m sure, help us unearth a great many mysteries - and help many people in the process.”

“I will be very sure not to, Master.”

“And have you thought of where you would like to be assigned?”

“I would prefer to remain in the Broddring Kingdom, but in truth I have no particular preference. I will go where I am needed.”

Eragon nodded in approval. A moment passed before he said slowly, “The people you interact with will like you - you should face no difficulty there. Helping other people comes very naturally to you. But you tend to dither, to be unsure of the soundness of your own decisions. And the danger is that you hide your indecision behind a mask of confidence very well - all too well. People who would be ready and willing to advise you will not think to do so because you will not seem as though you require it. Never hesitate to ask for help when you require it, and rely on yourself and your instincts more. And if not yours, then Lifaen’s. As he will tell you, a dragon’s instincts are rarely at fault.”

Caspian nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I understand.”

Eragon rose and held his arms out. Caspian hesitated, then accepted the embrace.

“You will make many people’s lives much brighter, Caspian, just with your words and your smile. It is a rare talent, and one that will serve you well. You will do great work, I am sure of it.”

Caspian’s jaw clenched, and there was undeniably a hint of a tear in those honey-brown eyes; but he only bowed deeply.

Eragon inclined his head as well. “Tell Dara to join me next, please.”

‡

Eragon tossed the small marbled stone, and she caught it is some surprise. Then he raised an eyebrow, smiling broadly, and she grinned.

“Up!”

And the stone flew up to hover six feet above both their heads.

“The fatigue?”

“Far less than previously, Master.”

“Hm. Nevertheless, the others have been training with magic for years, and you have barely had a few weeks. You still a ways to go, yes?”

“Well yes, but only in terms of practice!”

“I am well aware at your proficiency in magical theory. I only wanted to remind you - do not overestimate your abilities, and give yourself time to grow accustomed to using magic. Do not rush yourself. But do not hold back out of fear or insecurity, either. Learn your limits fast, and learn them well, so that you become as proficient as possible as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Master. Master, may I - do you think - requesting an assignment to Du Weldenvarden would be unwise?”

Eragon leaned back in his chair, regarding her thoughtfully. “Why would you wish to do that?”

“Various reasons . . . It would be close to where I grew up, for one. And, well - I would welcome the chance to immerse myself fully in elven society.”

“Hm-mm. Have you thought of the hardships you would face?”

“Hardships such as . . .?”

“Reactions to your heritage, for one. Many would view it unfavourably, and even those who do not would most likely disapprove of your lack of mastery over magic. And then there is the intricate game they play among the Houses. It would be a delicate climate, and I am not entirely sure how well it would suit you.”

“I can take veiled insults, Master,” she said confidently. “And I won’ mind their disapproval. Besides -” She flashed him a grin. “They’ll be won over by my charming personality.”

Eragon smiled slightly. “Right. Well, the decision is, of course, yours to make. I’m sure Arya Dröttning would welcome the chance to discuss it with you during the journey to Alagaësia. But think it through carefully, and be sure to consider her advice.”

“I will!”

“Have you been experiencing any difficulty after the battle? In the form of flashbacks or . . .?”

“I did for a while, but I know how to combat nightmares and such. They don’ bother me half as much as they used to.”

“That’s good to hear. Well, there was another thing I wanted to speak to you about - your tendency to drag your feet.”

She ducked her head a little, with a sheepish grin. Eragon gave her an amused look. “You are aware of it, which is good, but you must take concrete steps towards remedying it. In your work there will be chores you will not enjoy and tasks you will not look forward to. Especially if you intend to enter eleven society, where the level of punctiliousness has to be witnessed to be believed. For one of your unrestrained temperament, it will be irksome. Even in human society, people will tell you about themselves and their ills, and they will expect you to listen, and be concerned. Sitting in conversation for a lonely old woman or man for an hour, or memorizing the fifty four various forms by which you may address an elven noble may not be enjoyable, but you must learn to work as quickly and cheerfully at unsavoury tasks as you do at enjoyable ones, instead of allowing yourself to put them off or do them half-heartedly.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmured,

He stood as he continued, “But I’m sure you will learn soon enough. You have a genuine kindness for every living creature, and that shows in your speech and actions, and makes you a joy to be around - likeable, in a word. You will do good work as a Rider, Dara, and you will do it excellently. This I know.” He spread his arms. “And I wish you the best of luck.”

Dara hugged him, her fingers tight against his shoulderblades before as she gave him her thanks and turned away.

“Inform Këyal he may come in now, please.”

‡

“Have you thought of where you would like to be assigned?”

“Not Du Weldenvarden,” Këyal said with a slight smile.

Eragon tilted his head. “I would have thought it would be the ideal place to find your feet as a Rider, in terms of familiarity and so forth.”

“That is true, but I do not feel like I require that familiarity in order to find my feet, thought it might help. And I would like to explore the rest of the country as soon as possible - further my education. I had, in fact, thought of requesting to be assigned to the banks of the lake Fläm.”

Eragon’s brows went up a shade. “The Urgal settlements? Why?”

Këyal gazed at his hands, taking his time to answer. “The Urgal have not had a good history, nor do they have a good reputation. Living among them appeals to me, for I would learn about them as much as I can, and spread as much truth about them as I may. They are at once secluded and not secluded - they guard their histories and culture fiercely, but bellow feats of their combat to the world. Teaching the world of the former and proving that they do not think only of the latter is, I think, a worthy aim. They are, also, the smallest of all races in numbers - excluding the werecats and dragons, of course - for the war hit them hard, and they had precious little to begin with , , , as you taught us. Queen Nasuada’s gift was generous, and it certainly helped, of course, but - I feel that the Rider of the most secretive and powerful race choosing to live among them would be a symbol of . . . I suppose inclusion is the right word. A sign that the world intends to accept them.”

“But the world has no such intention,” Eragon pointed out.

Këyal met his gaze steadily. “Then I shall make it so that it does.”

Eragon smiled. “A vast difference from your attitude when you first joined us here.”

Këyal bowed his head slightly, the tips of his ears slightly red. “I - am well aware.”

“You truly are very much like your brother.” Eragon grinned at his half-pleased, half-chagrined expression. “Well, I think your aim most worthy, and I wish you all success. It is, perhaps, what I might have liked to do, had I stayed in Alagaesia. But do remember to be cautious, yes? Elves and Urgals have not had as much bad history as Urgals and other races, but I doubt you will be particularly welcome.”

“I will remember.”

“Good. And - my apologies, but whatever it is - or whoever it is - you are avoiding in Du Weldenvarden, I hope you will be able to face it soon. Particularly if it is about family.”

Këyal’s eyes widened a little, and he opened his mouth as if to deny the statement; but he caught himself, and merely nodded.

Eragon nodded in return. “I am glad that you retain your curiosity and your passion for learning, and that you intend to continue learning after you leave. But remember to keep it in check when necessary. As a Rider, your interactions with the people you serve are just as important as the bones you set or the wounds you heal, and thus delicacy and diplomacy are necessary qualities. You possess them, but not, I think, in full measure, for you are inclined to forget them when interested in unearthing information or solving a conundrum - and when the conundrum is a person, or a trick of speech, or a pattern of behaviour, you tend to unwittingly offend. Cultivate those qualities, then; improve them until the ability to converse fluently and with grace with any member of any race is second nature to you, even if your mind is consumed with curiosity about someone or something. I am aware of your dislike for the fact that elves are seen as cold and haughty and so on - you can be the proof that elves are not merely meticulously or distantly polite, but that they can and do laugh and banter just as Urgals, dwarves and humans do. That would truly be a great step forward towards true equality in Alagaësia; and I have full faith that you can achieve it.”

Këyal said nothing, only twisted his hand over his chest, but Eragon could feel his gratitude in his touch when they embraced.

“My thanks for your teachings, Master,” Këyal murmured with a bow.

Eragon smiled. “You’re very welcome, Këyal-finiarel. Would you tell Kitai I would like to see him now?”

‡

“Do you require my help?”

Kitai’s steps were slow and shuffling, and his arms were outstretched. He smiled faintly.

“No, that’s all right. I just need to know that I’m moving in the right direction.”

“You are. If you take a few more steps, the chair will be a few inches away from your hand - yes, there.”

Kitai seated himself, his hand never leaving the wood of the chair, and faced Eragon expectantly.

“Does it get easier?” Eragon asked gently.

“Gradually. It’s only been two weeks or so, however. I have much to become accustomed to.” There was a brief silence, and then Kitai said quietly, “Master, are you sure - is there nothing that could-”

“You know the answer to that, Kitai,” Eragon replied, hating the note of desperate hope in his student’s voice. “You remember what happened when we tried to grow new eyes for you, a few days ago.”

They had been destroyed by Kitai’s own body, Eragon recalled with a slight shudder, and the experience had been extremely painful. Kitai had woken the next morning with his eye sockets red, scabbed over and dotted with pus-filled boils, and the eye tissue had been eaten away entirely.

Kitai averted his face slightly, and Eragon continued, “We still do not know how the human body recognizes different substances and responds to them, or how the poison altered the substance of your eyes. IF we did, we might be able to find a spell that would work, but unfortunately it is beyond anyone’s capabilities at this time. We have discussed this before, have we not?”

“We have, Master. My apologies.”

“You need not apologise - I understand your feelings very well, believe me. Before the Agaeti Blödhren, I thought I would be crippled forever, and I struggled immensely with that burden - luckily for a relatively short while, but I remember my anguish and sorrow very clearly, far more clearly than any of my other, physical wounds. Always remember that many things are possible in this world, and there is hope, always hope. However, it would be wrong for you to rely on that hope. Be ever alert for opportunities to heal your vision, be ever willing to try or devise spells that might conceivably work - but also learn to live with your disability. Learn how to work around it. You are more fortunate than most in that you can use magic and you can use other people’s minds to help you, and I have no doubt you will still be able to perform your duties as a Rider admirably. I met a smith at the Varden, once, who could forge weapons though he could not see. If he could do that, you can learn to fight once more. Many people before you have overcome worse injuries, and many after you will do the same. You can do it, Kitai. Do not doubt yourself.”

“I - will try.”

Eragon nodded. “Have you given any thought to where you would like to be assigned?”

“It does not matter to me all that much. They are all the same to me, now.”

“I see. Very well, then Nasuada and the rest will decide where you are to go once you reach Alagaësia. If you change your mind, however, do not be unwilling to speak up.”

Kitai nodded, and they both fell silent. Eragon scanned his face, then lowered his own gaze as he said slowly, “I am aware of the fact that you prefer to be self-sufficient as far as possible, and that your injury has hurt you all the more because of that. Yet even had you not been so injured I would say what I am saying now - just because the people you work with will come to you for advice and for healing does not mean that you have nothing to learn from them, or that they cannot help you in any way. They will be grateful, and they will want to do what they can for you, and being willing to accept help you need with grace and gratitude will be an asset. Will you remember that?”

Some of the tension seeped out of Kitai’s frame, and he sighed slightly, and his voice was quiet and acquiescent. “I will.”

Eragon rose from his seat. Kitai tilted his head at the sound of the chair legs scraping on the floor before following suit, Eragon came to stand in front of him, and grasped his shoulders lightly.

“You will do just as well as the others, Kitai. I have absolutely no doubt of it. A single injury cannot eradicate your resourcefulness, or your intelligence, or your responsible nature. I would hate to see you allow it to do so. You are not weak, you are not crippled. You are everything you were before. This is just one more obstacle to maneuver around, one more puzzle to solve.” Eragon smiled. “In fact, if you think of it as such, you cannot possibly fail, for you can never resist a puzzle, can you?”

Kitai laughed a little at that, a muffled sniff escaping him as Eragon pulled him into his chest.

“You’ll make me proud, I know,” he said softly when the embrace was broken.

Kitai shrugged with one shoulder, a shadow of his cocky smile appearing on his face. “Now that you have said so, I have no choice, no?”

Eragon chuckled and ruffled his hair lightly before guiding him back to the door. “Tell Osra she can come in, please.”

‡

“Did you speak to Akhtar before you came in?”

“Aye. He told me what you said, about requesting assignments to the outer empire.”

“You agree with my reasons?”

“I do. I think I will go home for a time, first, though Akhtar may not choose to do so. I have been away longer than he, and I would settle my thoughts and become accustomed to my duties at my home, that I may do better elsewhere.”

Eragon inclined his head. “Sensible. And have the effects of the battle worn off as yet?”

Osra met his gaze, then looked away. “In themselves, yes. I carry only wounds I have made for myself - here -” She touched her broken horn. “And here.” She touched her temple.

“Tell me about the latter.”

“It is rather stupid, I suppose, seeing as I’ve been around dragons for several years now, but it is the Tsuhei that haunts my mind. Sometimes the Shade as well. The blood not so much, but those two were -” She shook her head slightly. “One was a power almost beyond control, and the other was purely evil. They do not bother me all that much in the day, but at night . . .”

“Did you speak to Caspian as well?”

She smiled slightly. “I did.”

“Good. I myself am sure that you will overcome these demons of your mind entirely in your own time, but remember your breathing techniques, confide in the others and in me, and do not doubt yourself.”

Her eyes were an inscrutable, almost glowing blue as she nodded.

“I also wanted to speak to you regarding your . . .” He tapped a finger on the desk for a few moments. “I think detachment would be an apt word. Your happiness, or your satisfaction, it is not dependant on the actions or words of others, for you expect nothing from them, not even what you would expect from yourself. There is no investment on your side, I might say. It is a good way to avoid unnecessary attachment and to keep your mind clear, and it will stand you in good stead in your dealings with people across the land. However, there is one disadvantage to this - you become less able to predict the motivations behind actions. For example, say a man who has consistently displayed his dislike for you as a Rider displays a sudden change in attitude after you - healed his child, let us say. You would not think to dissect the meaning behind his behaviour. Whether he has some ulterior motive or is truly grateful is not a question that would bother you, for the answer would not matter. In either case you would behave towards him the same way. Am I right?”

She looked slightly startled. “Well, yes. I think so.”

“Because what matters to you are his actions, not his inner thoughts; which is entirely admirable. But this allows you to be taken by surprise when it might be disadvantageous, even dangerous. It makes you naive, in a way. This man could very well be cleverly concealing his hate for you while persuading the entire village or town to take up arms against you. It is an extreme example, yes, and I have no wish to make you paranoid, but do try to think more of ulterior motives and of why people may say what they say, instead of dismissing such things as irrelevant. They are not, and this quality will most certainly come in useful; especially since you are the first Urgal Rider, and a Kull as well. At the very least, it will give you a greater understanding of the people you serve.”

She raised her chin. “I will be sure to remember.”

Eragon got to his feet as he said, “This is one of your only flaws, and a minor one at that. You are level-headed, collected, intelligent, and skilled - both physically and with respect to magic. And your sense of responsibility and your drive to prove yourself will take you a long way. I hope that you will not face as much discrimination as I fear, but if you do, do not let it stop you, for you will do exceedingly well as a Rider, and it would be a shame if Alagaësia were to lose your assistance because of frightened, prejudiced fools.”

Osra accepted the offered embrace with her customary dignity, only showing her emotion in her clenched fists and how high she raised her chin.

“Thank you, Master,” she said quietly. “And thank you for teaching me, these past few years.”

“It was truly a pleasure.” Eragon smiled and raised his own chin. “Will you tell Ravûn to come in next, please?”

‡

“So not back to the Beors?”

“I . . . do not think so, no. Already the situation is delicate, and I would rather that the knurlan nation get a chance to settle to the idea of a dwarf Rider before they are presented with the conundrum of a dwarf Rider from Az Swelden rak Anhûin.”

Eragon nodded. “I would have advised so myself. So where would you prefer to go instead?”

“Ah, well, I doubt the Urgals would take to me very kindly either, and the Riders are hardly needed in Du Weldenvarden, so I suppose I am left with the Broddring kingdom.”

“Why, would you avoid the Urgalgra entirely because they may not take to you well? Akhtar has plans to work in the Broddring kingdom as well, and you cannot say the humans will be pleased at that.”

“Ah, it was a figure of speech. Of course I do not intend to avoid all Urgals forever, but I’d prefer to begin my work and find my feet in an atmosphere that isn’t actively hostile. A reasonable desire, yes? Akhtar is more thick-skinned than I - even if he were pelted with rotten food every day he would work just as well and just as cheerfully.”

Eragon smiled. “I think that is something of an exaggeration, but your point is well made. And do you feel prepared to undertake the duties of a Rider?”

“I am somewhat apprehensive, but I am confident in my abilities, yes. I think what I do not know as yet can only be learned practically.”

“It is good that you are confident. I think you have the right to be, also; you work well with other people, and that will stand you in good stead. But there is one quality you possess which you would do well to rid yourself of, or at least exercise as little as possible - your tendency to hold grudges. In your life you are going to meet people of all races, of all backgrounds, and among them will certainly be rude, stupid, and cruel people, whom you would have no hesitation in punching in other circumstances. But you are a Rider to serve all of them, without any exception. And holding grudges will only hinder you in that. Make an active effort to keep your mind open and flexible, and be ready to forgive and forget as much as is wise.”

“I understand,” Ravûn said, looking slightly chagrined.

“Also, how do you feel now about the battle?”

Ravûn blinked, then turned his gaze to the window as he thought. “I feel . . . it sounds odd, I think, but I feel grateful for the fact that it occurred, despite the blood and gore and the fear I felt. It was something of a trial by fire, but it made me stronger.” He grinned suddenly. “You would think that after seeing the Tsuhei and everything I would be even more scared of the dark, but - perhaps because I was able to fight and win against most of my opponents - the fear is gone. That is the best effect it had.”

Eragon smiled as well. “I’m glad you feel that way. Certainly you have made your peace with it far faster than I was able to. Well, I think that is all I had to say to you.”

“Is that all? I had thought the speech would be much longer,” Ravûn said, innocently.

Eragon raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking as he got to his feet. “Yes, there is a much longer speech, but that’s addressed to all of you. You will hear it later.”

Ravûn got up as well, accepting the embrace. “I look forward to it,” he said warmly. “You are a very good teacher, Master, and I am lucky that I studied under you.”

“Flatterer.” Eragon smiled fondly, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Truly, you will do well. Tell Senshi she can come in next, would you?”

‡

“And how are you feeling?”

She gave him an uncertain look. “Well enough. Should I be feeling any other way?”

“Well, I would assume you would be, considering that you went through a very bloody battle, and had your mind broken not more than two weeks ago.”

“Ah.” She shrugged with one shoulder, her smile a tad sheepish. “But . . . I do not think I will change my answer. It was - a lot, but I am working through it all. Ikraan helps, of course. I will not say it is gone, but it is bearable, and lessening every day.”

Eragon studied her. “But not as fast as you would like.”

It was a statement, not a question, and she accepted it as such. “That is true, but it is what it is, and wishing otherwise will do no good.”

“That is a wise perspective. I would still like to remind you, however, that I will always be available for you to talk to after you leave, if you need a word or two of advice, or even an ear to listen to you. You may contact me any time you wish.”

She bowed her head briefly. “I will be sure to, Master.”

“Very well then. Have you given any thought to where you would like to be posted?”

“Wherever I go it will be new to me. I honestly have no particular preference - though I would prefer to be placed near Kitai. But I suppose that is unlikely?”

“I am afraid so. Even were you stationed a few hours of flight from each other, your duties would not allow you much time to meet, especially in your first year. He told me the same, in fact, that he had no preference as to where he should go. Thus, you two could be sent to opposite sides of the country - it is quite likely, especially since most of the others have already declared their preferences. But are you entirely sure you have absolutely no preference?”

She thought for a moment. “Well . . . both the elves and the Urgalgra seem rather intimidating, if I were to be honest. I think - I think I would prefer to work in the Beors at first.”

“The Beors? Not the Broddring Kingdom?”

“Well, of course I would be most comfortable in the Broddring Kingdom in terms of familiarity - race-wise - but in everything else . . . the way the dwarves worship, the structure of their society, the principles they abide by, all resemble the culture I grew up with. I would be most comfortable there, I think.”

“I see. Anywhere particular within the dwarf kingdom?”

“Any city or town large enough to warrant a Rider’s presence to heal and keep the peace.”

Eragon raised an eyebrow. “Think about that answer.”

She met his gaze with a quizzical glance, then frowned slightly. Some time passed before she said slowly, “The dwarves are entirely new to the concept of Riders in their kingdom, as well as to the concept of dwarven Riders. And there have been many rumours spread over the last hundred years, most vilifying and degrading, So I would do well to choose a less populous area, where fewer clans congregate, that my work is not constantly impaired by new, derogatory opinions coming in from members of many other clans, and it would also be advantageous if such an area belonged to a clan like Dûrgrimst Ingeitum or Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn, known to be more sympathetic to the Riders. I would have fewer minds to change as well. If this place also happens to be a center of trade, all the better, for then news of the work Riders do would spread faster.”

“Excellent.” Eragon smiled warmly. “All those classes where I blathered on about reasoning and logic were not wasted, hmm?”

She smiled, a tad shyly. “Apparently not.”

Eragon chuckled. “And what else did I teach in those classes?”

“The importance of measured words, and . . . about the quality of introspection, wasn’t it?”

“Correct. So will you use that quality, and tell me what, within yourself, could possibly hinder your work as a Rider?”

“Ahh, Master, why . . . is this not supposed to be your job?”

He motioned with one hand, smiling. “Humour me.”

She sighed softly. “I would say . . . my tendency to hesitate to be firm?”

Eragon nodded. “If you are asked to execute a criminal, or judge a thief, you will not have the luxury of being lenient. You will be judge and jury, and they dispense justice, not mercy. A large part of a Rider’s duties involve benevolence, yet there are times when the whip is needed more than a gentle touch. And you cannot show hesitation, for there will be those who look up to you and those who despise you, and both will be quick to spot the faintest hint of weakness. You will remember this?”

“Certainly I will.”

“Good. In truth, I have not much worry that this will be an issue with Ikraan behind you, but it is still something you must remember and practice even if he is not there to prompt you.”

He rose and came around the desk, and she rose as well to accept the embrace.

“You will be a good Rider, Senshi,” he said when he stepped away. “You are intelligent, and curious, and kindhearted, and you perform your duties conscientiously, with all possible attention to detail. I am aware that it might take you a while to adjust to a new environment, but I know you will not let that hinder you for long. Have confidence in yourself; I certainly have confidence in you.”

Senshi bowed, a tremble in her voice as she thanked him. He smiled in dismissal as she stepped back.

“Tell Sorya she can come in, will you?”

‡

“You intend to go back to the Beors?”

“Definitely,” Sorya said firmly.

Eragon scanned her features, then said, “You do realise you will be shifted elsewhere within a few years, yes? And I do not know if you will be able to take your brother with you.”

Sorya blinked at the astuteness of his guess, then tilted her head. “Is there any reason I should not?”

Eragon pondered the question. “If he had some skill that assisted you, then there would be reason for him to come. If he is simply to accompany you for your own peace of mind - hmm. I suppose there is still no cause for him not to. But will he agree?”

“He will,” she said confidently.

He gave her a measured glance. “He may not be willing to leave the only home he has ever known to travel the country, amidst people of all races. I do not say you would coerce him, but make sure you take his wishes into consideration when you request him to come with you.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it and gave him a sharp nod. Eragon smiled slightly.

“How do you feel about the battle, Sorya?”

She frowned slightly. “It happened, and we won. I feel no heartburning, experienced no shock at the sight of the gore.”

“You did fight a Shade, however. Has that had no effect on you?”

“It taught me caution, gave me a few bad dreams, made me vow to become stronger so that next time Corinne will not have to save me. Nothing else.”

“That’s good to hear. I admire your fortitude . . . So, do you feel that you are ready to undertake the duties of a Rider?”

She drummed her fingers against her knee for a moment. “I think so, yes. Do you?”

His chuckle was surprised. “I think you are ready in many ways that the others are not. You are direct and focused on attaining the goals you set for yourself. If that goal is healing someone, for example, then you will direct your full attention to it and you will not rest until the goal is achieved perfectly. You do not dither - you decide on the most appropriate course of action fast and implement it instantly. Both of those qualities will stand you in very good stead. And in terms of skill, you are certainly not lacking.”

“But?”

“But being too direct can be a handicap as well. When you speak to people, you do not soften your words. This has the disadvantage of putting people off from speaking freely to you, and will quite possibly give the impression that you help them simply because that is what a Rider is supposed to do, not because you genuinely care. Your work will be much easier, both for them and for you, if you can build up a rapport by employing a little diplomacy at times.”

Sorya’s nose wrinkled. Eragon raised an eyebrow.

“You will be working with representatives of all thirteen clans while in the Beors, Sorya. Even elsewhere, it is a valuable and necessary skill. Certainly you will not be able to deal effectively with most any elf if you do not develop a more delicate turn of phrase.”

“Understood.”

“But, well,” he said as he rose to his feet, “I’ve no doubt Corinne will keep you in line. And even if she did not, someone as resourceful as you, with such a determination to do well, would certainly not fail in any aspect of their duties.”

She accepted the embrace with a surprised look, but when she stepped back she was smiling a little. She bowed deeply.

“Thank you, Master.”

“You’re very welcome. Send Zelíe in when you leave, please.”

‡

“Why am I last, Master?” Zelíe asked with a laugh as she seated herself.

“Unfortunately your name starts with the last glyph of the Liduen Kvaedhi. My apologies.”

“Alphabetical order? How terribly unoriginal.”

Eragon smiled. “I’m glad to see you are in good spirits. No lingering effects of the battle?”

Her smile faded a little. “Not as such.”

“Not as such?”

“Not - of the battle itself. Just of . . . when Kitai got hurt, towards the end.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Ah . . . something like that, yes.”

“Mmm.” Eragon laced his fingers together, resting his chin on top. “Zelíe, you do realize - you would like to be assigned to a human city first, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Even if Kitai is assigned a similar city, he will most likely be placed quite far away from you. There are only ten Riders, excluding King Murtagh and Queen Arya, and an entire continent to cover. You will be spread thin, especially at first.”

“I know this, Master,” she murmured.

“You must trust him to do what he can on his own,” Eragon said gently. “He is a strong person, a resolute person. I understand that you must feel apprehension, having to be parted so soon and for so long after his injury, but you must not let this distract you from what you must do.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I know it, but it does not help me worry less.”

“As long as you remember it.”

“I will.”

“Good. There was one other thing I wished to discuss with you . . . let us suppose a criminal is brought to you for judgement. She is a bandit, a brigand, however you might say it - she waylays travellers and steals their valuables, often killing them. What punishment would you advocate for her?”

She looked slightly surprised, but answered readily. “How long has she been doing this, in the situation?”

“Let us say one month.”

“She should be jailed for two, in the strictest confinement.”

“And if it were six months?”

“One hand cut off, and two years in prison.”

“If it were three years?”

“Execution.”

Eragon nodded. “And your reasons?”

“A bandit like that would attack the most well-traversed routes, and the main victims would be the travelling traders who carry essentials to many remote villages. The punishment I would impose is proportional to the number of lives her actions would affect. If she continued the same way of life for three years, not only would those traders that manage to get through have fewer commodities to sell, but there would be a significant drop in the number of traders that even make the attempt at all. If there happens to be a harsh winter and the harvest is bad, or the granary happens to catch fire, there will be no way to get spare grain to grow the next year. If there is no healer in the village, many may die of illnesses that could have been otherwise cured, especially children. There would be a myriad such effects, and the quality of life in multiple settlements would decrease steeply, all due to one person’s greed. Thus, if she continued to commit this crime for three years or more, I would advise execution.”

“I see. If the reason that she committed this crime was to buy furs, jewels and such?”

Zelíe looked quizzical, and a tad amused. “The same.”

“If the reason was that she had no other way to make a living, and had two children to support?”

“Still the same, Master.”

“And that is one of your greatest assets - your inflexible sense of justice. More sentimental people would have ordered her executed earlier in the first case, and later in the second, though the crime is the same. Then, if this crime was occurring in the area you were assigned to, how would you handle it?”

She frowned slightly. “I would lie in wait, set a spell or two to warn me of any movements she might make - or simply use a locating spell, capture her and hand her over to the nearest prison.”

“Nothing else?”

Her frown grew deeper. “No, Master. Have I missed something?”

Eragon leaned back in his chair. “The reason behind her actions makes no difference in terms of the punishments deserved, but that does not mean it makes no difference at all. What you have not included is making an attempt to speak to her. If she indeed committed the crime simply to buy jewels you may chalk it up to greed, and leave it at that. If, however, she did it for the second reason, you would then be able to discover where she came from, the circumstances that led to the loss of her livelihood - which could perhaps warn you of trouble or scarcity elsewhere- why she could find no other work, how she managed to execute her attacks . . . and, most importantly, you would be able to ensure that her children are cared for, that they do not suffer for the sins of their parent. All of this is important, useful information, is it not? Your zeal for justice blinds you to the fact that a criminal is also a person, to the myriad circumstances that surround any crime. You must learn to be more flexible in your thinking, to see all aspects of a problem, when it comes to issues you are passionate about. In a word, more receptive.”

Zelíe’s eyes were reflective. “Understood.”

Eragon pushed his chair back, standing for the last time. “Do not think, however, that I perceive in you only issues to be remedied. I also see a strong, intelligent, and compassionate young woman, who is willing to use her intelligence quite dangerously unscrupulously to help other people. In short, I see a Rider who will do much good for many people.”

Zelíe accepted the embrace willingly, and Eragon smiled at her as she stepped back, biting her lip fiercely. After a brief struggle, she bowed deeply, and when she said, “Thank you - for everything, Master,” the tremor in her voice was nearly unnoticeable.

Eragon smiled, feeling the melancholy that he had fought down grow and twist and expand -

“You are very welcome,” he replied softly, trying not to bite his own lip. “Please inform the others that I would like to speak to all of you, together, one last time before you leave, and request them to assemble in the courtyard an hour before you intend to depart.”

‡

They assembled in good time, as did the elves. Arya was there as well, silent and watchful on one bench. Fírnen stood close by, and Saphira was beside him, on Eragon’s left side.

Eragon gazed down the line. They looked, suddenly, distinguished. Perhaps it was the fact that they were dressed soberly, in travelling gear; perhaps it was the fact that they all had their swords on their hips; perhaps it was the way they were standing to attention, like soldiers being inspected; perhaps it was the dragons that stood behind them, who had an odd aura of sorrow about them, in the drooping lines of their graceful necks and in their half-lidded eyes. They looked mature, and ready -

- but somehow unreachable, somehow distant. They were looking to the future, and he was now their past. They were to go forward, to alter the flow of the world, and he was stagnant, in the same place. He was no longer the arrow to go forth, for he had done so, and had hit his mark, and was no longer needed. Now he had become the bow, and these youngsters were the new arrows, sharp and new and ready.

What he would not give to go with them.

He swallowed, and raised his chin. “There are many things to remind you of,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Things that I have stressed many times in the duration of your stay here, but will go over once again. The most important is that you have been gifted with powers and abilities that few may ever aspire to, and thus the responsibility that weighs upon you is immense. When you can read any mind like a book, you must remember how not to do so. Oromis told me that the benefits of monitoring minds outweighed the risks, but that was a different situation, a different time. Now, I would tell you to only enter a mind once you have been granted permission, for it is an invasion of privacy so intimate that you may never be able to remedy it. Use your discretion in such matters wisely and well. Be wary, be careful, keep yourselves safe, keep your wards strong and flexible. Practise guarding your mind and keep your body fit, as much as you can. Both are weapons you may be called upon to use at any moment, and you must keep them honed and ready for use. You never know from which quarter danger may approach, though the entire country looks forward to your arrival eagerly.

“And thought they do, I urge you to remain humble, and to constantly be alert for opportunities to learn and better yourself, especially from those you serve. People will say you are young and inexperienced, and may mistrust you. Grant them the first, but never the second - collect experience and learning like jewels. They will also be wary simply because the world has not seen benevolent Riders working amongst the people for nigh on a hundred years. They do not know what they may or may not ask of you - some will go too far, while some will ask too little. Some will have exaggerated hopes, and some will be cynical as to your capacity. What they want, ultimately, is a symbol of hope - the ultimate figure they can turn to for help. Scholar, healer, warrior, teacher, mother, father . . . you will be all this and more. It may be overwhelming, it may be exhilarating, it may be exhausting, but keep your head. Be patient, be firm, be alert, and above all, be kind. To you will come the wretched, the outcast, the unloved, and you must accept them and tend to them as though they were your siblings, your children, your parents, for they have no one else. You must give your love and your help freely, without expecting them in return. ‘The Riders take no money, no land, only goodwill and gratitude’. I trust that you will work so the old saying remains true. And . . .”

He broke off, running one hand through his hair, and took a breath, and smiled a little. “And I am giving you all this advice without ever having worked much in such a capacity myself.”

There were a few quiet chuckles.

“I was a Rider in a time of war. You are all the Riders in a time of peace. The world is different; the expectations are different. I can only trust in your capabilities and wish you good luck on your journey. And . . . and what else is there to say? Only that your dragon is your greatest strength, and that bond must be the one thing you cherish above all others.” He looked up at the dragons. “Of course, you are not expected to take interest in the petty troubles and squabbles of the two legs -”

Most of the Riders grinned, and the dragons snorted softly.

“But you can give your Riders valuable support, and catch their mistakes and berate their stupidity, and I hope very much you do so as much as you can, for without you they would be stumbling in the dark. Take care of them; do not let them overwork themselves.”

And Riders, Saphira said, speaking for the first time, your dragon is the one person who will never leave you, never betray you, who knows you better than anyone else. Do not get so caught up in those petty squabbles that you neglect them.

The Riders bowed their heads as one.

Dragons, I trust you will practise everything you have learned as often as possible. When they write of the new generation of dragons, they should say that they were faster, brighter, stronger than any who came before. This charge I lay upon you.

The dragons dipped their heads, and Saphira snorted, satisfied.

Eragon swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I have something for you all,” he said, pulling a tangle of strings from his pocket. From each hung a small medallion, with a crystal of quartz embedded in it. He tossed one to each Rider.

“They will let me hear your voices as easily as if you were speaking into my ear. It will save you a lot of energy and time, especially in the event you cannot get hold of a mirror, if you wish to consult me on something. As I told a few of you earlier today, you can always come to me with any problems you might face, at any time. In fact, I lay upon you the charge of -” he couldn’t stop his voice from breaking then, just the slightest bit. “- of not forgetting your teacher.”

Their smiles were pained now, sorrowful, and more than one of them was blinking more often than was usual. At that moment Eragon heard the faint sound of approaching people - children - and the heavy tread of a dragon. It would be Nasuada and the rest, with the young ones, and Thorn.

I hear them too, Saphira said, raising her head. Finish soon.

“I do not have much else to say, I think. If you can, keep an eye on the children, for I have a strong feeling that more than one will prove a valuable asset to the land. Those of the Rider’s Council will do their best to help you, so you have their advice to rely on as well. Do not be apprehensive - you all will do exceedingly well. I know it. Keep in good health, may good fortune watch over you, and - and -” He blinked as the first tear rolled down his cheek, and tried to laugh. “And your teacher is exceedingly selfish, for he - does not wish you to leave!”

It came out almost as a cry, and Saphira let out a soft keen. More than one Rider was crying as well.

Ravûn stepped forward, hastily dragging his sleeve over his eyes. “As the oldest of the students who have learnt at the Hall,” he proclaimed, his voice shaking only slightly, “I thank you, Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom, and you, Saphira Brightscales, daughter of Vervada, for the guidance you have given all of us, and for teaching us so well, with such patience. I speak for all of us when I say that the time we spent here will remain as cherished memories for the rest of our lives. We could not possibly return to you what you have given us, but as a token -”

He pulled out a sheaf of papers, marched forward, and handed it to Eragon with great ceremony. It was neatly bound, and across the front was written only ‘To the teacher of the Riders, from his students.’ Eragon leafed through it as Ravûn returned to his position, and could not help laughing through his tears. The first ten pages were messages to him from his students, the next fifty were memorable incidents that had occurred while he was teaching them, and the last five hundred were a detailed account of Eragon’s journey from Carvahall to the Hall, and included the time spent at the heillan with King Meiji and Queen Nila. Opposite each page were illustrations - some sketches, some lazy doodles, and others beautifully intricate drawings.

As Eragon looked up to thank them, Ravûn barked, “Bow!” and they all knelt in unison, heads bowed. The dragons bowed their heads as well.

Eragon placed the book on a bench and strode forward, almost running. He caught Ravûn in a crushing hug, and pulled in Këyal on his right side and Osra on his left, and soon they all lay together in a messy heap, sobbing and laughing, trying to speak and failing, holding each other tight, the dragons nudging them and thrusting their heads into the mess to be patted. And that was how the royals found them when they reached the courtyard.

Murtagh pulled Eragon up, looking quizzical and then concerned when he noticed the tears on his face. But Eragon allowed him no time for questions. He hugged him fiercely, bidding him farewell, and then did the same with Nasuada and Orik and Hvedra and Orik and Julia, wishing desperately -

Why, why, why, why must they leave, why must I stay-

He knelt to take his leave of the children, laughing and caressing their heads, wishing them good fortune. When he turned back, all the bags were strapped to saddles, and Murtagh was already helping Nasuada mount Thorn. Eragon opened his mind to Fírnen and Thorn.

Watch over them, I beg of you. Keep them in check, keep them safe -

Thorn snorted softly, bending to tap his snout to Eragon’s forehead.

We will, he said softly. Do not fret, Shadeslayer.

We will, Fírnen echoed, doing the same.

Eragon placed a hand on both of their snouts, taking a deep, steadying breath. Good fortune to you, and may the wind rise under your wings. I hope to see you again as soon as may be.

May the sun be at your back, Thorn said, nudging him.

May good fortune watch over you, Fírnen said as he lifted his head.

And then Eragon turned to Arya. Her eyes were bright and hard, and her lips pressed together tightly. Anyone else would have mistaken the expression for anger, but he saw her throat working, and he knew she was doing her best to remain composed when he himself was already so vulnerable.

She reached for him and cupped his cheek, stroking the tracks of his tears away. “Soon,” she said quietly.

He grasped her wrist tightly. “I will be counting the days,” he whispered, allowing his voice to break, his fingers to tremble.

Something in her eyes flared, and she pulled him into a crushing embrace. He returned it, breathing in her scent, winding his fingers in her hair, listening to her heart beat against his as tears streamed down his face.

All too soon, the elves finished saying their goodbyes, everyone had mounted, and he had to let her go. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth as she pulled away, tears now sparkling in her eyes. He could only twist his hand over his chest as she walked to Fírnen, for his heart was too full for words, and if he spoke, he felt as though he would howl.

Thorn spread his wings, and the rest followed suit with a sound like the unfurling of a hundred sails. “Farewell, Master!” someone yelled - he thought it might have been Caspian, or perhaps Sorya? - and the air filled with similar cries and the thunder of dragonflight, and Eragon sank to his knees, face upturned and one hand on Saphira as she roared farewell.

“Farewell,” he whispered as the New Riders - and his family - gradually disappeared into the blue sky, leaving behind only golden sunlight to fall on his face and motes of dust to dance through the air.

And they were gone.

The silence was deafening.

Saphira keened softly, pushing her head against Eragon’s side. He clutched her, and wept, and together they mourned the home they would never return to, the students who were leaving them, leaving the Hall, so that it was as empty as it had been years ago, when it had first been built.

After a time, Blödhgarm laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he rose to join the elves. More than one smiled with weary understanding, and he smiled back, wiping the tear stains from his face. Ayana handed him a small slip of paper. He took it, giving her a quizzical glance, and she nodded to the book he had left on the bench. “It fell out,” she said simply.

“Oh?” He looked down at it, and laughed.

We intend to give you weekly reports, Master, so be prepared for considerable annoyance.

I look forward to it, he thought, still chuckling. Then, with his heart feeling lighter than before, he leapt onto Saphira’s back, and they followed the others to the kitchen, where they prepared the evening meal in determinedly cheerful camaraderie.

And when Eragon went to bed, his last thought was, They will make me proud.

And Saphira agreed with him, and he nestled against her as he ebbed to sleep.

Chapter Text

“So,” Nasuada said, seating herself. “I think that went quite well.”

Her smile was mirrored in the faces of the young Riders seated around the long table. Murtagh was present, as were Commander Jörmudur, King Orrin and Vanir of the Rider’s Council.

“I agree,” Orrin said, rubbing one thumb absently along his jaw. “It was a good display, calculated to inspire hope and enthusiasm. May I ask who was responsible for devising it?”

Ravûn and Zelíe raised their hands. “It was originally my idea, and we did much the same in Tronjheim, if a more restrained version,” Ravûn said in his deep voice. “These two helped me tailor it to a human audience, however. Of course, it was the dragons who devised the more . . . flashy part of it.”

“I assume you did not do the same in Ellesméra?” Murtagh asked.

“Certainly not.”

“And at the lake Fläm?”

“Not quite as flashy, no, but we did attempt to make it something of a spectacle. It is not every day that the Riders return, after all.”

“I quite agree,” Jörmudur said, his mouth quirking in the depths of his beard. “May I ask if the dragons themselves choose their names?”

Ravûn grinned, as did several others. “Of course. There was quite a lot of squabbling over the names that sounded similar . . . but I think the end result was tolerable enough.”

Jörmudur nodded in agreement, and Nasuada judged it time to attend to the business before them. “Now, we have only the matter of your assignments to be dealt with. Shall we invite Eragon to participate in this discussion?”

A chorus of agreement met her, and she nodded to Murtagh, who gestured to a large mirror placed at the head of the table and muttered a few words. Before long, an image of Eragon’s face shimmered into view.

“Greetings to you all,” he said, grinning broadly. “How did it go?”

“Very well,” Nasuada replied. “Your students have the uncanny knack of making their statements loudly and quite unforgettably.”

There was a low ripple of laughter, and Eragon’s chuckle was distinctly proud. Nasuada smiled, and continued, “We are just about to proceed with the assignments.”

“By all means, go ahead.”

She nodded once more, and turned back to the table. “Now, Eragon has already informed me that most of you have chosen where you would like to go. Would you state those preferences now, for the benefit of those who have not heard them?” She gestured to Zelíe, who was seated closest to her.

Zelíe inclined her head. “I would like to be posted within the Broddring Kingdom, preferably to a city, as that is the environment I am most accustomed to. Before that, however, I intend to pay a brief visit to my family at Belatona.”

Sorya spoke next. “I would like to work in the Beors, preferably Galfní, as I am most familiar with that city.”

She nodded to Osra, who said, “I would like to begin my work amongst my own people, in the vicinity of the lake Fläm.”

“I would like to work there as well,” Këyal said serenely.

It was then Ravûn’s turn, and he said “I would like to remain in the Broddring Kingdom. I think Akhtar, too -

Akhtar met his enquiring glance and nodded. “I too would like to be assigned to the Broddring Kingdom, preferably a more rural area.”

Dara spoke next. “I would like to be assigned to Du Weldenvarden.”

Caspian smiled as all eyes turned to him. “And the three of us have no preference at all, is that not so?”

Senshi smiled in return, and Kitai nodded. Caspian continued, “I intend to visit my home before I begin work. I would prefer to carry out that work within Old Surda, but I will go wherever I am needed, as will they.”

“But if I do indeed have a choice, I would like to be assigned to the Beors,” Senshi said in her soft voice.

Nasuada drummed her fingers on the table. “You have made things rather easy for us by dividing yourselves up so neatly. I know Orik will be pleased to have you, Sorya, and I’ve no doubt he will extend a welcome to you as well, Senshi. Dara, I have already spoken to Queen Arya, as you have done, and she has approved of your choice, so there is no trouble there either. The size of Du Weldenvarden should warrant another Rider, but I doubt they have need of it, and Queen Arya is willing to settle for one Rider at the beginning; is that not so, Vanir?”

Vanir’s eyes flickered away from Këyal’s face, where they had been for a good minute or two, to rest on Nasuada’s. He inclined his head. “It is indeed, Queen Nasuada.”

Nasuada nodded in return. “That leaves seven of you. Unfortunately, I feel that two Riders for the Urgals is one too many. The community is small, and the rest of the country has urgent need of you. One of you must relinquish your claim.”

Këyal and Osra looked at each other for a moment. Këyal opened his mouth to speak, but Osra looked back at Nasuada, saying, “May I remain there for two months or so? Afterwards I will be willing to go wherever I am needed.”

Nasuada glanced at Orrin, who frowned slightly but nodded, then at Jörmudur who shrugged with one shoulder.

“You have spoken to Nar Garzhvog with respect to this, both of you?”

“We have, your majesty.”

“Then I have no objection. However, two months is too long. I would request you to keep it within one month, if you possibly can.”

Osra inclined her head, and Nasuada returned the gesture.

“So Këyal, you and Osra will travel to the Urgal settlements; Sorya and Senshi, you will return to the Beors; Dara, you will make your way to Du Weldenvarden. The rest of you . . . Caspian, if you are to go to Old Surda -” She looked to Orrin once more, who nodded decisively. “Then we need, at the very least, two Riders in the north as well. Will you be willing to be one, Akhtar? I am aware that hostility to the Urgals has run high there in the past, but Roran Stronghammer has changed many minds, and you will work in the more rural setting you desire.”

He nodded ponderously. “I have no issues, Lady Nightstalker.”

She smiled at the old title. “I think the settlements clustered about the Ninor River would be a good place. Shall we say, from Therinsford in the west to Marna in the east, and from Cuenon in the north to Gil’ead in the south? Osra and Këyal could assist you as well, if required, since lake Fläm is close by.” She waited for their assent, the nodded, circling the area lightly on the map in front of her. “Then, Zelíe, will you take the other northern post?”

“I would be glad to, Queen Nasuada.”

“Excellent. The other side of the Spine would be appropriate, I think. So that would be from Narda to Kuasta, and everything in between.”

Zelíe gazed at the map for a moment, then nodded. Nasuada nodded in return. “Then, Ravûn and Kitai, we are left with two more areas - the Central Kingdom, that is, Illirea, Belatona, and Dras-Leona, and New Surda, consisting of Furnost, Melian, and Feinster. You may decide which you would prefer to work within.”

Ravûn glanced at Kitai thoughtfully, who tilted his head slightly. There was a brief moment of silence. The Kitai said calmly, “The Central Kingdom, Queen Nasuada,” and Ravûn nodded and said, “New Surda.”

“Then it is settled,” Nasuada said, quill hovering above the map as she prepared to mark it.

“Hold,” Orrin said abruptly, frowning at the map. “Would not such an arrangement be impractical?”

He gestured impatiently in response to the quizzical glances he received. “New Surda and Old Surda,” he explained. “They each span a considerable distance from east to west. It would be quite tiring for the dragons as well, if they are to keep flying back and forth. Why not divide them into the eastern and western cities? The east would consist of -” His finger touched each city in turn, light as a feather. “Furnost, Lithgow, Petrovya, Aberon and Reavstone, and the west Cithrí, Melian, Dauth, Aroughs, and Feinster. Is that not more logical?”

“It is indeed,” Nasuada said thoughtfully. “Does it suit you, Ravûn, Caspian?”

Caspian nodded, and looked to Ravûn. “Shall I then take the east?”

Ravûn nodded as well. “And I shall take the west.”

“What of Eoam?” Kitai interjected. “Do they not also require the services of a Rider?”

Nasuda lifted an eyebrow, impressed at his recollection of the map.

“I can make periodic visits there,” Ravûn replied. “It is a small town, and it should not be a hardship.”

Orrin nodded at this, and so Nasuada demarcated the boundaries as discussed. She then addressed the table as a whole.

“I would like you to remember that Murtagh is also a Rider, and has been doing this work for several years now. If you run into some difficulty, or find that you cannot cover your area effectively, I encourage you to tell him so, for he would be glad to assist.”

Sha glanced at Murtagh, who nodded, saying, “Akhtar, I think your area, in particular, is most densely populated. I would be willing to take up the duty between Bullridge, Gil’ead and Marna, if you would like me to.”

Akhtar looked at the map for a moment or two, then nodded. “I would be very glad of your assistance, King Consort.”

“You could have spoken up earlier, if you felt that your assigned area was too vast,” Jörmudur said, looking quizzical.

Akhtar smiled slightly. “I was confident in my ability to handle it, especially given the assurance of occasional assistance from Osra and Këyal. Yet if I had been fool enough to refuse help freely given, I am certain that Master, for one, would not hesitate to chide me quite caustically.”

All eyes went to the mirror, where Eragon sat with his chin in one hand, now smiling. “Indeed I would not.”

Nasuada couldn’t help smiling as well as she asked, “Are the arrangements to your satisfaction, Eragon?”

“If my students are satisfied, so too am I,” he replied.

“Nasuada, are two Riders really enough for the entire Beor range?” Jörmudur asked.

“Nowhere near enough, but the political climate there is delicate, and not all the people are willing to have Riders amongst them. Orik wishes to start on a smaller scale, so that they gradually grow used to the idea.”

“I see.” Jörmudur frowned at the map. “Are we then finished with our deliberations?”

Nasuada dipped her quill in ink and began to draw it over the map. “I think so. The only remaining issue is that of the children who came with us from the Hall. Twelve of them, and quite a few from Surda, I think?”

Dara met her inquiring glance. “Yes, Queen Nasuada, four. Faye is from Dauth, daughter of Lord Teynham; Erika from Cithrí, though we know only that her father was called ‘captain’, so she may be of the family of the captain of the guard; Asmund is from Aroughs, son of an influential merchant; Anyin is from Petrovya, but is too young to remember much, so there may be some difficulty in locating his family. So Erika, Asmund and Faye should travel with Ravûn, and Anyin with Caspian.”

“You’ve forgotten Inkeri,” Caspian said. “She should go to Aberon, that we may hand her into the care of a representative of the wandering tribes.”

“Ah, yes. So she too should go with you. As for the rest, Landan, Tylor, and Torben should go with you, Zelíe, to Teirm, Narda, and Kuasta respectively. Edward and Ylva with you, Akhtar, to Gil’ead and Cuenon, and Kelsie with you, Kitai, to Belatona.”

“Thank you, Dara. That seems satisfactory -”

“Ah-” Vanir raised a finger. “I apologise for the interruption, but is there not one more child remaining?”

There was a brief moment of silence before Ravûn muttered, “Amha.”

The atmosphere tightened uneasily. Sorya was first to voiced what they were all thinking.

“She has no home,” she said bluntly. “She lived on the streets of Illirea - there is no family waiting for her. And her ability makes her dangerous. She should be watched over, not left to roam the country.”

“I agree,” Murtagh said musingly. “Then, if she were to stay here?” He looked across the table, meeting Nasuada’s gaze. “Elva resides here anyway, as a matter of course. Surely we can shelter Amha as well?”

“I think it should be possible, yes. And they are roughly the same age - in years, at the very least. Perhaps it will give Elva a sense of some responsibility.”

In the mirror, Eragon snorted softly. “If she’s anything like she was when I left, I should say you’re being far too optimistic.”

“We can but try. Very well, then, Amha shall stay here, in Illirea. Is there any objection?”

A chorus of nays met her. She nodded in satisfaction and began to roll the map up. “Very well, then, it seems our business here is concluded -”

Caspian raised his hand, looking slightly apprehensive, but also determined. Nasuada raised an eyebrow.

“Is there an issue you wish to raise, Caspian?”

“Not an issue, precisely, your majesty, but there is something I wish to propose. I would have brought up the matter in private, but it seems to me that the present company is as apt as any.”

Nasuada noted Eragon’s satisfied expression, and the raised eyebrows and upturned lips that accompanied glances the Riders sent each other.

They know what he is to say . . . and they approve, it seems. I will have a hard time vetoing any project he cares to name, if ten Riders back it unanimously - no, eleven, including Eragon. I hope it will prove to be reasonably innocuous.

She calmly laid her hands in her lap , betraying none of her internal cogitation, and inclined her head. “Please, go ahead.”

Caspian drew a long breath and stood, making his way to the foot of the table, where he was in clear view of everyone in the room. He placed his hands flat upon the table and looked down at them for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were sharp and focused.

“On Tiruvin, there is a centralized system of education. I am sure everyone in this room is aware of that fact. Each centre of learning, or school, covers a range of basic knowledge, such as reading and writing, but they may specialize as well. There are schools where you may learn sewing, embroidery, forging, woodcarving, fishing - anything that could conceivably allow you to ply a trade. In many cases, students reside at a certain area for a period of time, paying a certain amount annually, and return home when they have completed their training. In the case of fishing, for example, they stay in the fisherman’s house - or rather, houses, for it is often a group of five or more who offer their knowledge so - pay for their boarding, and go out on the ocean everyday to learn. Thus anyone who wishes to learn a craft may do so, with others of their age, if they can afford it. They need not wait for a master to decide they are worthy apprentices.”

He paused for breath. Nasuada kept her face smooth and politely interested, and said, “As you said, we are all aware of that. Is it that you wish to implement that system in Alagaësia?”

Caspian looked slightly surprised. “I certainly think it would be a good idea, but Alagaësia is far larger than Tiruvin, and I am sure it would take more time and effort for the system to run smoothly here. What I wish to propose is with respect to magicians.”

Nasuada couldn’t prevent a small frown from marring her brow at that, though she contrived to make it look natural enough.

With respect to magicians? Then, does he mean -

“I have no desire to criticise your decisions or decrees, your majesty, so please do not take my words in that sense, but it is my belief, and the belief of many of my fellow Riders, that the magical potential of Alagaësia is being wasted.”

Her frown grew deeper despite her best efforts. “Is that so?” she said, and Murtagh silently moved across the room to stand by her side at her tone.

Yet Caspian met her gaze unwaveringly. “When we were hosted by King Meiji and Queen Nila, we had the chance to observe some small part of the immense benefits a country could reap if only magic was utilized in a systematic manner. I can imagine a myriad more, each making the land a far better and richer country. Yet as it now stands, those benefits are available to no one, least of all the magicians themselves, because of the attitude currently prevailing.”

“Due to my decrees, is that what you intend to say?”

“Of course not, your majesty. There was a deeply ingrained mistrust towards the idea of magic prevalent long before you came to rule, as you know far better than I. But I must say that your decrees only furthered that mistrust, rather than dispelling it.”

She gazed at him long and hard, trying to gauge his intentions, his motives, trying to predict what he was most likely to say and how reasonable it was likely to be. To her knowledge he was an intelligent young man, yet a lack of experience among the people might result in impractical suggestions that she could be hard pressed to refuse.

To his credit, he did not waver under her scrutiny, though there was a tight tension in the set of his shoulders as he awaited her reply. What he said true enough, but what did he intend to suggest? How difficult would it be to refuse him? What if -

Ridiculous, she chided herself. I am allowing myself to be thrown off balance because of the appearance of ten new, powerful pieces in the game. They are on my side - it should not be necessary for me to resist or fight them. And Eragon is listening. That is sure enough to check any suggestions I may not be able to handle -

Murtagh’s fingertips resting lightly for a moment on her wrist helped dispel her tension still further. She smiled slightly and inclined her head. “That is fair enough. What, then, do you propose?”

His mouth softened in relief. “To state it baldly - a school of magic.”

Her previous doubts and apprehensions raised their heads once more instantly, whispering warnings in her mind. Yet she managed to keep her expression still as she said, “Elucidate that, if you will.”

“A test could be designed for experienced magicians to attempt, to gauge their knowledge and expertise. If they pass, they may teach, and anyone who has a talent for magic may come and learn, residing at the school. They may be taught the ancient language, reading, and writing to begin with, and then they may choose to leave, or undergo a period of further education in a different branch of magic, the most obvious one being healing. One condition of study may be that all students take a vow in the ancient language, upon completion of their learning, that they will not use magic for malicious purposes. This may also extend to those who can hear minds - we can teach them to protect themselves, how to control their abilities, how to respect the privacy of those whose minds they can see. Even those who simply wish to learn to protect their minds may come. I did say a school of magic, but it is my hope that it will eventually be open to everyone, and will teach reading and writing, numbers, how to know if one’s mind is being read, how to know if a spell has been cast; all things that may give the common person a more level footing with magicians.

“Your majesty, I believe this is necessary. If magicians are allowed to practise freely, for the good of others, it cannot but help the country. And is it not safer to have taught them at least the basics of their craft, that they may not harm others or themselves through their ignorance? If we have a centralized system of education, a haven for those who have such abilities but do not know how to use them or what to do with them, the crown can keep a watchful eye over the magic that is allowed to proliferate the kingdom, and ensure that it is all to the good. No more will we have incidents where children who cannot control their energy kill themselves through overexertion; no more will we have incidents where untrained sorcerers become Shades, as Durza did; no more will unregistered or unchecked magicians do as they please, in small towns where the law cannot reach them; no more will there be whispers of changelings and such, for people will know what magic can and cannot do; no more will lives be allowed to fade away because fearful people refused to allow the use of magic. Magic will become an ally, rather than an enemy to be feared; as it should be, for it pervades everything in this world, and should not every person know it, understand it, embrace it? I am aware that there are not nearly enough magicians competent and qualified to teach thus, but we can at least make a start. I am positive that, as time goes by, that will change, and the school will grow, becoming an instrument of good and powerful change that will be beneficial to all.”

He fell silent, watching her with some anxiety. She dropped her gaze to look at the polished wood of the table, taking time to think.

“Do you all support this idea?” she said eventually.

“We do,” Këyal said quietly.

“We do,” Ravûn affirmed.

“We do,” Dara said. “And some of us rather wish we had thought of it ourselves.”

Nasuada smiled at that. There was a palpable release of tension, and Dara grinned and continued, “Studying at the Hall has given us an entirely new appreciation for education. It open minds, your majesty, it clears prejudices and engenders empathy. I would, in fact, like to add that in addition to such practical skills as mindblocking, students can also choose to learn about the various races in Alagaësia, about history and culture and anything they wish to know - about why rain falls from the sky, and why the seasons turn, and why you may find bones in chalk and coal in peat. Parents may not wish to send their children, I know, for how can you make a living by knowing why rainbows may appear after the rain? But we should at least offer it, so that when that one student who is curious about such things, as Caspian is -” she turned to King Orrin. “- as you are, your majesty; so that when that student comes, she or he will be able to learn. Perhaps you could even teach there, if duties permit.”

Orrin looked slightly taken aback, but he smiled back at her in instinctive response, eyes beginning to sparkle, and Nasuada knew he was won.

“Hold. We have not yet decided whether this is to happen,” she said sternly. “Jörmudur, your thoughts?”

He rubbed his chin with his thumb, taking in the assemblage of Riders looking at him expectantly.

“I’m bound to say I understand the logic,” he admitted. “And it does sound like a wonderful prospect, the way your silver-tongued students describe it, Shadeslayer.”

Eragon chuckled in response. Jörmudur’s mouth twitched upwards as he continued. “Yet there are some pitfalls I can see, some wrinkles that must be ironed out. The vow the students would take, for instance, the location of such a school, the extent to which the crown would be involved in this enterprise . . . if those are resolved to your or my satisfaction, however, I raise no complaint, your majesty.”

She nodded, still frowning slightly. “Vanir?”

“It is an intriguing idea, and I must say it does seem to have the potential to do a lot of good. I do think it is at least worth an attempt. I cannot speak for the Council, of course, but considering the number of magicians who are seated there and who have struggled to learn and accept magic, I am inclined to think they will welcome the idea. If you decide to allow it, your majesty, and the entire Council agrees to it as well, I can assure you, Riders, that you are likely to have our full support.”

She tapped her fingers on the wood abstractedly, absorbing his words. “Murtagh?”

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “teaching people yourselves in the areas you work within would be too much trouble?”

“It would,” Zelíe said. “The time we could devote to teach would be limited and fragmented. Having a central institution where we can spend an extended period of time when possible, where what is being taught can be overseen, and where competent magicians from anywhere may reside is by far the better option.”

“Hmm.” He frowned down at the table. “I would like to discuss this further with you all, especially with regard to the curriculum of such a school. I hope, Eragon, you will assist with that?”

“Of course,” Eragon replied. “I should be glad to.”

Murtagh nodded to him. “Then I think - yes, I think this is a possibility it will do us good to explore. Magic is a resource, and it is one we have not utilized as we should. This seems to me a good way to begin mining it.”

She had expected his response. The arguments were persuasive, and she could not pretend they did not appeal to her. She seemed to hear an echo of Galbatorix, as he stood above her, gloating - ranting about how magic was the force that unbalanced the world, how the old Riders had hoarded knowledge for themselves and grown old and fat and complacent. What was being proposed would solve the latter, yes, and as for the former . . . She had tried to solve that by repressing magic, and it had not borne the fruit she had hoped. Allowing magic to blossom, while pruning as necessary, was indeed an attractive idea. A world where the ancient language was on every tongue, where magic danced from fingertip to fingertip and coloured each life bright, an idyllic world, such as one the elves lived in -

Yet, as Jörmudur had said, there were numerous pitfalls she could see only too clearly. The vision was still only that, and she could not allow herself to be dazzled. There were very real dangers, and if she was to avoid her greatest fear, that of magic ruining the world, she had to be cautious.

“It would be like a far smaller Doru Areaba,” she murmured. “Yet it was with knowledge from Doru Areaba that the Forsworn could do what they did. If I refuse you this permission, what will you do?”

Caspian’s fingers closed in on themselves, his mouth thinning anxiously, but he answered with perfect composure. “We will ask King Orik if he will allow us to build this school in his kingdom. If he denies us, we will ask Queen Arya. If she too denies us, we will have no option but to build in the Hadarac, so that we do not transgress upon the boundaries of any kingdom.” He smiled suddenly, eyes crinkling. “It would be rather symbolic, would it not? The perfect center of the land - equally accessible to all sentient beings.”

“Equally inaccessible, you mean,” she replied dryly. “Rider Caspian, smiling charmingly at me will not blind me to the fact that you have, in essence, declared that you and your fellow Riders intend to proceed with this, whatever my answer may be.”

He flushed slightly, and his next words were respectfully subdued. “It is because we deem it necessary, your majesty - urgently so. We would not push so otherwise.”

Nasuada looked across at Orrin, who nodded slightly, a rueful smile at the corner of his mouth. It was all the answer she needed from him.

She sighed as she got to her feet. “If this is what you spring upon me on your first day in Illirea, I shudder to think what I will have to deal with in a year or so.” Caspian opened his mouth, and she held up a hand, forestalling him. “I agree with my advisors. I think this is a possibility worth exploring, and I would like to discuss it further. I do, however, see a number of dangers, and I will not give full consent until I am convinced that they have all been averted. This also needs to be discussed with the Rider’s Council, and King Orik, Queen Arya and the Herndall. It is not a decided matter as yet. Please be very clear about that.”

Her sharp tone did nothing to dim the bright smiles that rippled across the Rider’s faces. Caspian bowed low, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, your majesty,” he said, tone warm with gratitude. “I swear you will not come to regret your decision.”

She snorted softly as she tucked one hand into Murtagh’s arm. “I hope you do not intend to scatter such airy promises about when you work, for they are certain to come back to bite you when you least expect them.”

His expression did not alter in the slightest, and she couldn’t help directing a half-exasperated, half-amused look at Eragon in the mirror, who looked just as happy as his students. He met her gaze with a grin, and she shook her head at him as she turned back to the room, fighting her smile back.

“On the morrow we shall consult with Orik and the Herndall, with respect to this idea of yours and to finalize your assignments. Eragon, thank you for your presence. Shall we have the pleasure of your attendance tomorrow as well?”

“Certainly,” he said, rising from his chair. He twisted his hand over his chest, bowing slightly. “Farewell, Murtagh, Jörmundur, Vanir. And the best of luck to you, my students.”

The Riders returned the gesture as one as they rose from their chairs, as did Vanir.

Nasuada smiled slightly, satisfied.“Supper will have been prepared by now. Shall we move to the dining hall?”

The Riders bowed once more, to the room at large and to the mirror, and followed her, murmuring to each other in low voices, dignity in their bearing and calm in their faces. The new Riders . . . they were sure to give her numerous headaches, she could feel it, and they certainly seemed to be fairly unpredictable, but they were, without a doubt, worthy of the title they bore. Each and every one of them.

She inclined her head in the direction of the mirror, a gesture of farewell, and as Eragon’s face shimmered into nothingness she could see that he thought the same.

††

Eight hours earlier

The whisper rippled through the city like a quiet storm, hissing rather than howling, promising rather than threatening, catching excited glances and hopeful murmurs and tossing them carelessly from house to house, ear to ear, mouth to mouth. It was not the first. It was, in fact, one of a long succession; and it was not as tantalizing as some, nor as believable as others.

But it was the last.

Some did not believe it was the last, having been fooled by the other, less tempestuous whispers before. But still they gathered in the city square of Illirea, urged on by those more credulous. Later, when they recounted the day to their grandchildren, they would silently offer up a prayer to all gods listening that they had been present that day.

Ell was one of them. Living on the streets ensured she caught most of the whispers that flitted through the city, but she had heard this one so many times for so long she nearly groaned when she caught it again, louder than before. She only decided to head to the square with her group because it would be packed with people waiting - a perfect opportunity to cut some purses.

“Hob, you and Addy take th’ east road. Noll, Avy, you with me, right? We’ll take th’ south and spread out.”

They’d nodded and followed, but when they got there they found the crowd restless, shifting, waiting for the promised ones. So she’d motioned for them to climb, and they’d settled themselves on a roof from where they could look over the entire square. Eventually people would grow weary and less alert, and that would be the best time to make their move.

She’d tipped her head back, soaking in the weak sun as it danced out from behind the dark, stifling clouds, and taken a brief moment to relax. No need to worry about angry shopkeepers or members of the city guard likely to give her a cuff on the head up here, above the rabble, where the air was fresh and heavy with the promise of rain.

And then she’d heard it.

THUMP

She’d opened her eyes, looked around curiously. An odd sort of thunder-

THUMP

Louder this time, and no, not thunder. It was like someone was beating a massive drum, somewhere above the clouds.

THUMP

The sound reverberated, now, like it was two drums-

THUMP

Five drums-

THUMP

Ten-

She’d clapped her hands over her ears, wincing as her eardrums vibrated in sympathy with the steady beat, and got to her feet, eyes flickering around warily. In the square below, the crowd had rustled, milled, confused shouts erupting here and there as they tried to discover the source of the sound. It had pulsed and beat again and again, growing louder and louder until Ell’s very bones had seemed to vibrate in sympathy, until she had been forced to her knees, arms clasped over her head, until it had seemed to echo from every which direction at once, assailing the city like some mighty hammer.

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

Louder and louder and louder, her teeth rattling in her skull -

Then a new sound cutting through the beat like a knife, a faint whistling that grew steadily - a keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee -

And the first dragon plunged out of the clouds.

Massive, sparkling silver, it hurtled towards the ground faster than anything Ell had ever seen in her life. Then, just when she thought it would hit the ground with a terrible crash, two wings snapped open, translucent against the roiling sky, and the dragon leveled out, talons nearly skimming the heads of the crowd, and swept up, and out of sight -

There was utter silence in the crowd.

Then again, a keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEE -

The dragon was black this time; the black of a dagger dipped in pure ink, scales gleaming with a muted brilliance. It came from the opposite direction, and as it whizzed over the crowd it twisted dexterously, corkscrewing through the air. Then it, like the other, swept up and into the clouds.

Ell realised her mouth was open, and she meant only to close it, but some strange impulse took her over, and she cried out, her voice louder than ever it had been before.

“The Riders are here! They’ve finally come!”

By her side, Noll was vibrating with excitement, his bright eyes gleaming, and Avy was nearly pulling out her hair in her joy as she stared up into the clouds. They both shouted after her-

“They’re here!”

“The Dragon Riders!”

And across the square she heard Addy yell with joy, and Hobb roar, “The Dragon Riders!”

There was another beat of silence.

Then the crowd shrieked.

The frenzy was unbelievable - Ell had never seen anything like it, not even when the queen herself had come to distribute bread and mutton. The sound was nearly as loud as the shattering wingbeats, and so high pitched she had to cover her ears once more. The crowd roiled, everyone pushing the person next to them as they struggled to stay upright, and there was no one without their face turned to the sky. Ell could see the more nimble ones rushing to the fountain in the middle of the square and beginning to climb, and many more - those who dared look away for a second - rushing to the houses on either side. But just as Ell reached for the dagger by her side, convinced she would have to fight if she was not to be thrown to the ground by those rushing up from below, two more dragons appeared, red and burnished gold, sweeping down and up and across like those before them.

And suddenly they were everywhere.

Green, blue, brown, purple, white, pink, red, gold, black, silver - Ell counted ten colours as the dragons twisted in the sky. They were terrifying, magnificent, majestic, tremendous - teeth and talons long as sabers, tails long enough to lay along any street in the city, eyes so large and so deep and so brilliant-

She could have sworn the red dragon looked her dead in the eye as it swept past, the wind of its passage causing her to reel back and cling to the roof. The crowd was still going utterly mad, and the sound of wingbeats was worse than deafening now that all the dragons were flying within the square. Yet just as she thought that, as though they had heard her, five of them swept up and away, and the others flapped higher, circling widely some ten stories above the crowd.