Archive of Our Own ^beta

She was born just outside a small village that hugged the Spine to the cobbler Cadoc and his lovely wife. Even now she could still remember the bitter smell of leather that flooded their small home. She had been alive through eight, maybe nine, summers, when her mother was heavy with a coming child. This child made her mother weak, and many of the woman's duties fell onto her. At this time her mother's brother lived with her father and mother, her brother and her. Nele was a good man, who worked hard in the fields with her father, and when her father had to work in his cobbler's stall Nele would work alone. All memories that she had of her Uncle Nele were wholesome, filled with his joking wide toothy grin. Expect for one. And this is when her story began. That day changed her life completely.

"My mother and I were sitting at the table snapping beans," the woman told Rose as they rode down the road side-by-side. "I remember because I was disappointed that I couldn't go outside and play."

Rose glanced at her almost humoredly, then turned forward, choosing to say nothing.

Her brother, his name was Garrow, ran into the house, damp from the day's work under the sun. He had been very upset. Her mother simply looked at him, she had been worrying about him moments before, as he blurted that Elis' father was there. The man had come to the house seeking justice for the loss of his son, his only son, but he had come to a place where none was to be found. There had been an accident weeks before, one that both she and her brother were involved in, one that Elis had lost his life over, and his father was now very drunk and very angry. Her mother had told her and Garrow to stay in the house, not to leave and to continue snapping bean before she ran out the home towards the commotion. She and Garrow hadn't listened to their mother's instructions.

"It had been a mistake not to continue snapping those beans," she said. "We should have, both Garrow and I knew that but we did not. We ran to the window and looked out, wanting to know what was happening. We heard my father yell at my mother to go back inside but she refused to do so instead yelling at him, her brother and that man. I never learned his name. I don't remember what she said but it made the man very upset."

Elis' father grabbed ahold of her mother, and though it should have been her husband who defended her, Nele was faster. Nele attacked the man, and the man attacked back until they were in a fully blown brawl. Somehow, and she hadn't seen how, the man pulled out a knife and stabbed her uncle. "I don't remember screaming or crying, though Garrow said I had," the woman continued. "According to him I had tried to run outside and get to my uncle Nele, and he had fought me down to kept me from doing so. Which was something that he could easily do, me being four summers younger than him."

Her mother had hurried in then and behind her, was her father. Her father was dragging Nele behind him, he was alive and awake, dripping with blood and begging for death. Her father had yelled, in his panic (he was not a yelling man), at her and her brother, telling them to get back. He then told her to get water and clean rags, and told Garrow to take their horse and run it into town and to call for help. Garrow was first to move, running out of the house like there were rabid dogs snapping at his heels, but it took her a moment to move and do as her father asked her to. By this time her father had returned outside, in a task that she never found out about but afterwards she never saw Elis' father again. They, she and her mother, tried to lessen the bleeding but found they could not and her uncle bled to his death moments before Garrow returned with a healer.

Months passed and soon her mother birthed a son. He was named after his uncle, and he lived only months before he joined his namesake in the Void. Her mother and father were devastated. Two years afterward her mother left this world also during childbirth. The babe, yellow and weak, followed soon after.

"I hold very few memories of my mother but what I have I cherish," she said. "She was a patient woman, always smiling. She had a beautiful smile, it lit up her whole face and made her seem ageless. She taught me much but not enough. She was always tender even when I caused mischief. You would have liked her, I think. The two of you are alike in many ways. When she left to journey into the next life, it was a hard time for my family. I was but child still and yet I was expected to fill in my mother's shoes. It was a demanding task, one I more failed more often than not."

The demands of her chores made her rebellious and reckless, and she soon began to long for a life away from her father's demands. It was around this time that she met Morzan. She and Garrow were in the tavern, running an errand for their father when she first saw him, she was perhaps fifteen years of age.

Morzan was a handsome man, tall and tanned. He was talking to a local and as he talked his fingers painted the air with worldly images. It was very little wonder that she was immediately enthralled by him, soon finding herself watching him, listening to the enchanting sound of his voice.

The son of the man running the tavern, said that he needed assistance with the package, and Garrow had told her to stay, that he'd be only a moment. She hadn't been happy with him, commanding her about like she were a naughty dog but she listened and stayed put.

This is when Morzan took notice of her, as his previous listening ear had excused himself and left. He turned to her, and for a time they talked on a subject she no longer remembered, until her brother returned and they said their farewells. But that was not the last she saw of Morzan. He came again weeks later in the early in the months of that summer.

Upon his return, he sent a message for her on a day her father and brother were spending the day in the Spine hunting for meat, and so they were not home. She did not think to go to him at first, but in the end she did, perhaps out of loneliness or perhaps not.

"We met in a valley in the forest near evening," she said emotionlessly. "It was a very long walk from my father's home to that valley, and I was very tired after walking all that way. He was sitting on a rock, poking at the fire, I had thought it to be a very normal thing to do. When I saw him, I thought my insides were to about burst, my heart was beating so fast and my head felt as if it were about roll off my shoulders. I thought he was prefect; brilliant, clever, funny, magnificent, and charming. He seemed to give off a light, in a way, as if there was something special about him, that he had access to a brilliantly illuminated part of the world and if I was lucky, he would share it with me. Like before, I was instantly enchanted."

They talked for a short time before Morzan requested for her to leave with him. He told her that he hadn't stopped thinking about her over the months they'd been apart, he could not stop thinking about her and that without her he was nothing.

Rose looked doubtfully at the woman then, and shook her head. "It seems doubtful that Morzan would say such a thing," she said. "It sounds to the very opposite of everything thing I heard about him."

"You've heard that he is cunning, haven't you?" the woman asked, her focus on the road.

Rose nodded and then realizing that the action wouldn't be seen, she said, "Yes, I have. However, for him to say anything to make himself seem vulnerable. It seems very unlikely."

The woman looked her with a mixed between a smile and a grimace. "He was baiting me," she said, "and I took it. Morzan was a clever a man, he knew how to get what he wanted. He was perhaps the only reason why Galbatorix rose to power so quickly and was able to bring about the downfall of the Riders. The King is a brilliant man himself, do not misunderstand, but he does not see things the way Morzan did; like everything is some brilliant puzzle that can be solved with the right understanding. I think that without Morzan, Galbatorix would still be hiding out in the wild." She shook herself. "As I was saying, Morzan for whatever reasons he had, he wanted me. I was drawn to him, his knowledge of the world, his brilliance, and I said I would go."

She didn't wish to carry on with her life under her father's reign; to soon get married to the man he picked, and have his children, and care for him and his aching back every night and every day until they grew old. When she agreed, he called down his dragon. The dragon landed in front of them, and she nearly ran away in fright.

"He, I always thought of Morzan's dragon as being a he, was the largest creature I had ever seen. At first, I thought it to be a monster," she said. "In some ways I was correct in my thinking, in others I was not. The dragon was big and red, darker in color than Thorn, with shining golden eyes, and there was a small tear on one of his wings, I remember seeing that and feeling bad for him."

Morzan then told her who he was, that he was a Rider, a Forsworn, and she had thought that only added to his grandness. He helped her onto the dragon then, and they stopped very briefly at her father's home, where she left a hasty note in farewell and grabbed a few things she held dear, and warmer clothing which she dressed herself in, per Morzan's request, before leaving the place that had always been her home.

They flew over the mountains where it was very cold, and she knew then why she was dressed so warmly. She thought it to be a beautiful sight, unlike any that could be imagined or described. They camped at night and talked by firelight- it was then that she began to care for him.

They reached his castle two days after leaving Carvahall, the town she had grown up in, and she was shocked to see such grandeur. Morzan landed in the courtyard and the next morning he left, saying he'd be back very soon.

She felt out of place living in that castle, there was so little for her to do there, wearing soft gowns and silk slippers, being taught the refineries of womankind, and she began to hate it. Before she always had a purpose, there she had none: she was to sit and look pretty, and this didn't sit well with her. The moment Morzan returned, a very long week later, he told her she was to come with him, and once again she did, eager to leave his fortress.

He took her to the capital, where she felt even more graceless and awkward, and there she met Galbatorix for the first time. The king had said many things, he and Morzan talked for ages, and she felt very put out by the formalities at play.

"The King is almost as charming as Morzan was," she said, "but he has a vehemence about him that cannot be hidden behind pretty words. Despite this Morzan was loyal to him, like a dog to its master which had, and still does, puzzle me."

They stayed there for a long time, and she found that she could not talk to the women there as she had in Carvahall, and she made no friends. As time went by, she turned more and more to Morzan as company, and began to love him. "He had done this, I think, on purpose," she said. "Isolating me. Forcing me to come to him more and more for companionship. I think he knew I wouldn't get on with the women of Court, perhaps if I had we wouldn't have stayed there for such a long time."

One day, a month after first setting foot into Galbatorix's castle, Morzan requested her to marry him, to make, as he claimed, their love known and everlasting. She agreed, how could she not? He was, as she thought, everything in a man that she ever wanted.

They were wedded on a lovely summer's day, the sky was clear of all clouds and the purest of blues and the sun glittered in the sky like a giant jewel. It was a grand and happy event, there was dancing and a feast and music unlike any she had ever heard. She was happy.

The woman paused, then and looked at Rose, for a moment, in silence. "Let's rest for a moment, shall we?" she said, steering them off the road.

Rose followed her in uneasy silence. "What I do not understand," she said, tightening her grip on leather of Starshine's reigns, "is how you didn't see Morzan for what he was."

"And what was he?" She turned around and gave Rose a questioning look.

Rose was silent for a time as she thought this over. "A sadistic bedlamite," said she, at last, in a matter-of-fact tone.

The woman laughed, but it was muffled by the wind. "Don't be rude even if it is very true. But love is a blinding thing, Rose, it makes you overlook another's faults," she said stopping near a sputtering stream filled with flat, round rocks. She dismounted and led Arvid to the water, allowing her to drink from its flowing water. Then she sat down, as Rose did the same with Starshine, and pulled out the traveling biscuits and tough meat, she handed Rose her share when she seated herself close to her. "We left Urû'baen that next morning, and returned again to his castle, and again he left me there."

He was away for well over a month, leaving her to be feeling rather jaded. She felt again quite useless, being stuck inside that castle with no real use, and she began to devise a plan.

"When Morzan returned, at last, I asked to enter his service, and he agreed to test me. He taught me basic magic and simplest words of the Ancient Language. When he was content with my knowledge he pitted me against a dozen of his finest solders." She paused for short moment and carved asideways cross into the dirt. "I healed them of their loyalties to Morzan and then I slaughtered them, there's no better way to describe it. I told myself it was no different than killing livestock, I've done that hundreds of times before, but it was still hard thing to allow myself to live with. After that Morzan trained me further in magic and telepathy, these I took quickly to. In my credulity, I was overly eager to please."

For many months he trained her, and when he was pleased her knowledge and abilities, he began taking her with him on his trips. For the first few voyages, which she would not speak of, she was beside him always, and he continued to coach her, and then he sent her off on her own. By then violence had become something normal in her life, and acting on it no longer bothered her, and she did as she was told and returned to him.

This continued for two more years, and a name was made for her, one that brought about fear. When she had heard of it, it humored her, and how could it not? She was in a way exactly what people thought her to be, an extension of Morzan's hands. She was able to go places and gain trust of those he could not.

In those years she saw what she had once only dreamed of witnessing; mountains that reached into the sky, big and purple with mist; endless spans of water which threw back fragments of sunlight; never-ending stretches of land that seemed to layout before her feet; villages filled with oddities and people. None of these things she would have saw if she had stayed in Carvahall. And through her life was violent, she was often in danger, and she rarely saw her husband, she was very content.

And then, she found out that she was with child.

She felt many emotions at that time, the most prominent of those was fear. It was out of that fear that she ran from Morzan, he made it very well known that he had no desire for children, nor did she. She spent three days in the plains before she returned to her husband with news of her state. He did not respond as he expected him to, he reacted pleasantly enough before whisking her away to his castle. There she hid for nine months.

"Over that time, I thought much and I grew to look forward to becoming a mother, to seeing my child grow into an adult. These were ideas I had by no account ever believing I would reflect on. And I began to change and so did Morzan's hold on me though he did not know it," the woman said, standing up, signaling for Rose to do the same. They mounted the horses before continuing on the trail.

"When you were born-" she began, but her voice faulted- "When you were born I believed I could have a family with Morzan as I've been dreaming of during those long, lonely months. That I would no longer be so forlorn. But at the time Morzan was not there, he was away at Urû'baen, and so for three days I was able to be your mother. The moment Morzan came back, he looked at you from the doorway and said that your name was to be 'Muirgheal,' before he forced a wet nurse to care for you. He then demanded I leave on another of his missions. I went through the motions and did the job quickly, eager to get home. Only when I did get back, he sent me away once more. It went this way for over five months before I was able to see my baby, you, again."

She was shocked by how much her child had grown and how little the baby wanted her, crying for the wetnurse each time she was held by her mother. The mother soon became bitter and angry, and that was when she first began to resent Morzan. Little over a week after her return she was, again, sent away. While she traveled, it began troubling her knowing that this would now be her life, to be sent away for countless months only to come home briefly to see her child grown and unwanting.

"Despite this I was still enthralled with Morzan," the woman said, "and it took extreme measures for me to finally see his hatred and cruelty but by then it was too late." She shook her head, her brown tresses swaying around her.

One day, four or so years after she first met Morzan, she met a man and they quickly fell in love. This was true and pure, untainted by abhorrence and war, though those were the very reasons for their meeting. He was bent on vengeance and for this reason he had found a way into Morzan's stronghold by pretending to be a maimed gardener by the name of Donet. Sometime after they met and began to love each other she learned of his past and her hatred for Morzan grew.

"I will not convey his past to you for it is not my story to tell," she said, pausing as she though carefully over her next words. "Know only that he had a reason to hate Morzan, more than I do."

She began to do all she could to defy her husband, giving away the Empire's secrets to the Varden, as she was one of the few individuals Morzan trusted she knew almost all there was to know. She did all she could not to flourish when she did Morzan's missions, as she had before, without him noticing. He noticed at times and others he did not.

After five years of marriage to Morzan she found that she was again with child, and she was petrified of her discovery.

"Why hadn't you left before this?" Rose asked, rubbing her arms, knowing what was to come. "You could have taken me and run from him, why hadn't you?"

The woman looked at her and shook her head. "I didn't because I knew I couldn't. If I'd run away from Morzan with you, he would have moved the heavens to get us back. He would have followed to me the ends of the earth, because I belonged to him and he would have never willingly let you go. I would have taken my chances and let him come after me, but I would never let him come after you."

"I was a nuisance to Morzan," said Rose. She looked at her hands as she twisted them in the reigns. "Why would he come after me?"

"You're full of questions tonight, aren't you?" the woman said jokingly. "You were important to him and he cared you in his own way though he let no one see it. In his eyes you belonged to him as much as I did and that is why he would come after you. His enemies could use you against him, and he didn't want a chance of that, not in the least."

Nodding, Rose fell silent.

She had been carrying another child and had known it for weeks, when Morzan sent her away once more. It was about this time she had met Padern and Voirrey. "I was sitting in a tree, watching them," she said, "when one of their dogs startled me. I fell from the tree and hit my head on the ground, knocking myself senseless. When I woke up, I was in a soft bed and Padern's mother was standing over me, tending to me. My first thought was the coming child and I panicked. He was unharmed but I was not. My leg was injured, a bone had been broken, and I could not walk on it for a time. They took care of me and befriended me as I recovered. I couldn't tell them who I truly was so I told them my name was Ailis. When I had healed, I left for Carvahall."

She took a route through the Spine, one that took over a fortnight, and when she arrived, she was heavy with child. Garrow hadn't been happy to see her and they fought for hours before he relented and embraced her, seemly having forgiven her without notice. He allowed her to live with him, his wife, and their son. During this time, she found out that her father had passed into the Void, and she was disappointed. She had hoped to receive his forgiveness for leaving as she had.

Then she birthed a son, who she named 'Eragon.' She stayed only long enough to recover from childbirth and ensure that her son would be raised by Garrow and his wife and live out his life in peace, and then she left to return to Morzan's castle. Upon her return, she was ambushed by a group of highwaymen and they nearly killed her, having caught her by surprise. She did to them the same justice they would have dealt to her, and then, wounded she continued forward. During all her time in Carvahall, she had worked on a plan to free herself and her daughter from Morzan completely and she was ready follow through but then she crossed paths with the man she called Donet.

"Can you not tell me this Donet's given name?" Rose asked breathlessly. "Surely there is not a reason to hide that about him also."

"Rose…" the woman said warningly.

"I'm only trying to understand, that is all," she said looking at the evening sky. "If you're to tell me you loved a man while you were married to Morzan, the least you could tell was this man's name."

The woman took a deep breath as if she were about to dive into water. "His name is Brom."

Rose nearly fell from Starshine's back thoroughly startled. Brom was once a Dragon Rider whose dragon was slain during the Uprising. He had killed Morzan and his dragon in Gil'ead not so long ago. Is there no end to this ludicrousness? she said to Thorn.

Listen to what she has to say, the dragon growled back. It may sound like absurdity to you, but it's her past. She is not telling you about it lightly.

Rose fell silent again. Thorn was correct once more, but how could she push aside the knowledge she grew up knowing and accept what was being said? Truth or not, this woman was telling her something she obviously rarely spoke of. But it seemed so very unlikely that any of this was true, though as the woman spoke she began to feel more and more that the words were ones of truth. She shook herself and listened.

Brom, or Donet as he was called moments before, had healed her of her injuries. He had reached Morzan's castle before she had, and when she insisted on continuing there, he told of what he learned. "I don't think he wished to be the one to tell me my daughter- you- had died, murdered while Morzan was in a rage," she said. She stopped for a time unable to continue. "I think in a way it hurt him to tell me as much as it killed me to hear it from him."

She wanted to kill Morzan but knew she could not. Even when Brom told her Morzan was dead she felt nothing, there was no justice in that and she just continued as she had before mourning her lost child. The morning after that night, they did go to Morzan's castle and she packed what was hers, magicked the servants to believing that she had died there, that very day, and left the castle forever.

She and Brom went to Padern's and Voirrey's farm estate where they were allowed to stay. They remained there for a month, before Brom and she separated. He went to Du Weldenvarden, for reasons she would not say, and she remained there. Brom returned, almost a whole year later, and they left for the Varden.

"While at the estate I decided to become Ailis, not wanting Galbatorix to know of my existence," the woman said. "It was an escape for me, also, to leave my mistakes and deeds behind and pretend to be someone else. I could function better, thinking of my past as if it belonged to someone else."

They reached the Varden, and Brom left once more. She sent him away, it was safer for him not to be discovered by Galbatorix's spies, and though he did not wish to, he did as she said. After that, she continued forward in her life, letting the years pass by, doing all she could to, as she said, to redeem herself.

"For years the only thing that kept me going was the drive to bring down the Empire and I worked vigorously on raids and war plans. Then eleven long years had passed one of the spies in Galbatorix's palace informed the Varden leader that you were in fact alive and not died as I had been deceived to believe," the woman said. "Your death had been Morzan's final ploy, the greatest trick he played on me yet. I had never despised him as much as I did then. Feeling that way towards a dead man, Rose, does you no good because you can do nothing to them."

After finding out that her daughter was not dead, she worked ferociously to come up with a way to get to her. She did research for years, until she thought of a way to get into the capital and then with the assistance of countless intelligent minds something was devised. The simple answer was to deceive those around her, in the Varden, into believing she was after the dragon eggs and wished to free them. She couldn't just leave, if she had, she would have no place safe to return to. And so, she worked on her problems until they were solved and then left to find Tornac.

"It was around the time that his brother had passed from this world, if I remember correctly, and he was already distraught over that," said the woman. "He cared for you, very, very much. And he was not happy to see me in the least. I thought at first, he wished to kill me where I stood."

They talked for a very long time, and at last, he agreed to help her, he agreed also to not tell Rose. Then she left to return to the Varden and did not see him again until they met in Urû'baen. When she returned to the Varden she worked even harder than before, until it was time to leave.

"Cordelia retired on her own accord," she told Rose, "I will let you know that her leaving was not my doing. If she hadn't things would have been a much more difficult, still workable just harder."

Her days in Urû'baen were stressful. She worked very hard to keep out of trouble and from the notice of the king, though she thought he knew she was there but she was not certain of it. She slept very little at night. She collected what news she could, and explored parts of the castle she hadn't the chance to before, and worked very hard on gaining Rose's trust.

"I thought that I might die there, and I wondered how I would withstand torture," the woman said. "I thought that my chances did not seem good. I don't know what made it possible, but I think Tornac had a hand in it, for me to get the eggs from the treasury and escape with you. After that I tried countless times to tell you and Tornac even tried to corner me into doing so once but I could not and I do not know why."

Rose looked at her, and studied her truly for the first time. This woman was unlike what she had thought she would be, and she had her doubts but her words rung true. No person would work this hard and create such a tale to deceive her, and speak about it with such emotion as she had… She didn't like it, part of her wished it wasn't so, but it seemed as if it was. She swallowed and turned away.

"And now we find your son?"

Selena nodded. "Now we find Eragon."

Rose continued to look ahead at the land that bowed before them, the mingling gold from the setting sun that reflected off the snow, to the west the lake glittered on colorful hues. It was truly a beautiful sight, unlike any she had ever seen before. She continued to watch the landscape fade of colors as the sky darkened and the shadows lengthened. They continued forward on the road.

After that conversation Thorn, Rose, and Selena pressed on in silence. The track they had been following was broader and flagged with stone, and though this allowed them to travel faster, the going was quite slow. That night fell over them like black satin; there was not a star in the sky, nor did the moon shine to chase the darkness away. They went slowly, leading the horses, fearing they might lose each other in the dark and worried that a horse might stumble on the uneven path. It was so dark they almost had to feel their way. Eventually as Rose's eyes gradually adjusted and she could make out dim shapes and the outline of road before her feet.

"It may be that we're out of our luck," said Selena. "I think it's going to rain."

Rose kept her face down, trying to make out the tiny shapes before her feet. "Wouldn't it wise if we made camp, if it's going to rain?"

"Do you think we'll get any sleep if we're dripping wet?" Rose could hear the ambiguity in Selena's voice as she spoke. "I think it is for the best that we continue forward for now."

They continued on for, perhaps, another hour before the rain started: a heavy, driving deluge that soaked them almost instantly and then froze them through their clothes with a cruel wind. Before long, any hope that clouds would clear that night to reveal light vanished, and their skin felt like ice. Rose felt so tired that she was dizzy, and all her senses were dulled by the punishing cold. Thorn flew behind them, close to the ground, claiming the winds above to be far too strong for him to fly any higher.

They reached a hill sometime after midnight, and spent most of the remaining night toiling up it, until at last they reach the crest of a mighty ridge. There the rain ceased altogether but it became colder and the wind blew bitterly again, chilling them to the bone. On its other side the land fell away in wide valley, and very far off they could the faint outline of a mass of serrated stone and the black shapes of trees, as the sky began to lighten.

A blast of wind nearly knocked them over as they began to cross over the top. They went off the road a little and found a ring of trees, dripping and black, and rested there; but it was so cold and they so wet that none of them could sleep except in short fitful dozes. The horses stood shivering together, their tails jammed between their legs. Thorn stood not far from them dripping with wetness, but seeming to be otherwise completely unaffected by the cold. Selena sat, rubbing her feet until a little life came back into them, and then she and Rose moved to the other side of Thorn, which lessened the punishing effects of the wind as it whirled about the copse loosing showers of water onto them from burdened branches and newly formed leaves.

As the sun rose, driving away the clouds, Rose's limbs gradually warmed from its heat and the trembling finally ceased. Everything seemed very different now, and she sat staring tiredly at the bases of trees before her; the raw, rough texture of their arboreal armor imprinting itself into her mind. She leaned back, resting against Thorn and closed her eyes tiredly, as she felt an immense weariness sweep over her. She huddled closer to Thorn, seeking out his never ending heat to fend off the cold of her skin. Looking next to her, Rose could see Selena rubbing her hands together, in a small hunt for warmth. Another chilling breeze blew, though now they protected from the worst of its cold because of Thorn, and the wind whistled a hallow scream.

Rose closed her eyes.

She was not quite sure what it was she was thinking at that moment. A part of her, a very large part, was angry at the woman, and yet, it seemed as if her mind were fighting with itself; a piece of her understood the woman's reasons. She hadn't forgiven Selena, knowing her reasons or not, it made no difference, because the simple fact was; the woman Rose knew as Ailis had lied to her countless of times by keeping the truth from her, if it was indeed the truth, befriended her under a lie, and as Selena she had abandoned her daughter to ensure that her son would grow up in safely away from the influence of the King, and took word without evidence that her daughter was died. Had she even bothered to search for her daughter even once? The woman had spoken once of a form of contacting another, some time ago, what could the reason be that this was not done for her? If she had perhaps she would have seen Morzan's ploy for what it was.

She felt divided, and exceedingly thankful that he was not alive as well, whenever she thought of Morzan. Rose did not care for Morzan, as a proper daughter should, how anyone could care for such a man was beyond her, yet the thought of her mother mongering with a man that was not her husband bothered her. It was a drivel thought but it bothered her nonetheless.

If she were wise Rose would forgive Selena and continue on with her life but it was it was a hard act: to forgive. She felt graceless in not doing so, though she also felt that she could not. She was unsure how to. Not now, at least, when the histories she was raised on believing were being called into question. The best lies hold a small withered seed of truth, Rose thought, thinking back to a quote she read once. Closing her eyes, she leaned back onto Thorn and allowed herself to relax completely. Histories continuously blurs the line between actuality and deceptions, until it seems that there is none, and you're completely unsure what is real and what is not. And you realize that there no truth, only lifeless shells filled with tales.

When she opened her eyes next, the sun was dripping towards the earth, the sky now free of its burdening clouds. She blinked and looked around, Starshine stood nearby grazing on a patch of tough looking grass, but Arvid and Selena were nowhere within sight. Rose stood and stretched, trying to loosen her cramped body. Her neck ached her painfully and she rubbed it, this relieved the pain a very little.

Rose looked at Thorn, who was resting his head on top the ground, his tail was thumping the ground and was covered in mud. She was so use the sound now that she hardly even heard it. Where has Selena gone off to? she asked him. Or did she not say?

She did say, answered Thorn, not stopping his assault against the ground. Rose leaned against him, and rested her forehead against his scales, shuffling a yawn. She went to a town. She had said she would back before long and for you to remain here.

Straightening herself, Rose wandered over to the bags. She did not give a reason as to why she left? she prodded when Thorn said no more.

She did not.

Rose look a deep breath and sat onto the ground, pulling the bags closer to her. She pulled out a biscuit and nibbled on it as she hesitantly searched through the bags until she found a large leather bound book. Still eating the biscuit, she stood, hugging the book to her chest, and returned to Thorn. There she sat in the sunshine, happy to do nothing and move nowhere. After a moment, she took a deep breath and opened the book, flipping through the pages until she found the place where Tornac had left off and began to read, fingering the scrap of paper he had used as a book marker. It was not long before she completely lost herself in the words, but unknowing of what it was exactly that she was reading. She realized, after a time, that it was a chronicle of a warrior by a name she could not pronounce.

When Selena returned, Rose was sitting there reading that book, trying to understand why it was that Tornac had been reading it. It wasn't until Selena stood in front of her that she looked up. The woman was looking down at her, her hands clasped behind his back. "You're spending your time well, I see," she said.

Rose bit her lip and swallowed down her sudden irritation, willing herself not to act on it. "As you have." Closing the book, she set it aside.

The woman's lips thinned and she knelt down. "I think it would be best if we continued on our way," Selena said with a sigh. "I had gone into a village and bought some fresh bread. It will be nice to have fresh food, don't you agree?"

"It will." Rose nodded.

"Those biscuits have gotten quite hard, I think it would be best if we tossed them," Selena continued musingly as she stood up. "But, I do dislike wasting food, so perhaps we should not." She looked away and scowled at the trees, her face suddenly distant as if she were deep in thought.

Rose stood also, the book held tightly in her hand. "What is it that's upsetting you?" she asked, seeing the knitting in Selena's eyebrows. At the moment Rose did not genuinely care to know, but it seemed to her a polite thing to do, a wise thing to say if they were going to cross any sort of distance that day.

Selena looked at her for a short moment as if she were searching for something in Rose's face, but then she shook her head, her shoulders dropping. "Nothing, I suppose," she said. "Let's go then, shall we?"

Rose paused and nodded, and then stood to saddle Starshine. She didn't feel able to speak to Selena though the gust of irrational fury had passed. Now she just felt despondent. She didn't know why exactly she felt such anger whenever Selena was around or whenever she thought of her, but she did and it was overwhelming.

Together they packed up camp and mounted the horses, beginning the slow jobs of picking their way back to the road, once there they rode quietly, each mussing over their own thoughts. They now began to see more people traveling along the road, it was crowded and they had to mind the people around them, so they would not lose each other. The more congested the thoroughfare became the more overwrought Selena became, scoffing at the smallest delay; a herder with a herd of misguided sheep or a flooded path.

Selena was turning over the in her mind the best route to Dras-Leona, as she was certain that that was where her son was headed to. She turned from the South Road into a smaller, less bustling path as soon as possible, and already they were diverted from their most direct course, but she could see no other way. She now debated with herself the opposing virtues of discretion and speed. The straightest way was also the most perilous, but the tarry had dangers also. She had to decide which road was best to take. She was deeply disturbed by the thought Eragon wandering about the Empire with or without Brom, for she knew that he was with him, she had seen as much when she scried them. It made her nervous also, the thought of seeing Brom again, it was very likely that he had yet to forgive her for sending him away and refusing to go with him. Though she had years of tracking various people, she was apprehensive that she would not reach them until after they had arrived in Dras-Leona. The thought of Brom taking Eragon there sent a trill of anger through her. Whatever reason he had to go to Dras-Leona best be decent, putting himself and Eragon into danger in such a way. There was something else that troubled her also; why had Brom taken Eragon from his uncle, her brother, to parade half-way across the country? She didn't need to know until she met with them, some days ahead, she was certain of this, but then again she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She could feel in her heart that the knowledge would only pain her.

That night they stayed in another circling of trees, again not far from the road and this time with a pooling of water in the center of the dingle. They kept shifts but they heard nothing sinister. The following evening they made camp under a huge oak near the track, again keeping watch. They lit no fire, for Selena would, again, do nothing to rouse attention to them, and Rose slept uneasily, feeling unprotected.

As they traveled, Selena passed the time teaching her more the Ancient Language, talking now of its uses and the deeper parts of its properties, using words in the divine tongue as example. She spoke of how the use of the ending of one word could change the meaning of a sentence, how a few words can produce a spell may succeed something almost unrelated to words use so long as the caster understands the connection. It seemed to Rose to be a dangerous mind game, played with words and thoughts elemented simply off ones knowledge or imagination; but she felt this to a dismal notion of the language and kept her thoughts to herself. Selena told her of the Dragon Riders' origins, and the desperate battles of between the elves and dragons. She explained some the duties the Riders would perform, their duty burdened lives, and her very limited knowledge about dragons; herbs they could eat, and plants that were like a poison to them, and how to clean their scales- things Rose wished she had shared with ages ago. Rose was taught how to reach out with her mind to touch another's; Starshine's mind for instance or a scurrying mouse down a field, it was an anomalous experience, and something she did not enjoy. Much of what Selena taught Rose, Morzan must have thought her, Rose realized and this unsettled her. She paid very little attention to what Selena was saying after that.

Most evenings Selena had Rose draw out her bow and she would shoot at a crudely carved target in the tree. Rose learned in these days how to empty her mind completely, and to shoot without hesitation. After the shock of Selena's confession, and all the events that preceded it- everything that had happened since she had left the capital- she was grateful for this peace and began to yearn for her viol yet she never withdrew from its case.

On their third day on the path, which bordered the road toward Dras-Leona a few miles to the west, Selena spent a small part of that day taking them in circles, stopping every few times at the same abandoned campsite, a makeshift hearth lay at its center still warm with dying embers. Selena appeared querulous, so Rose said nothing of it. They rode through that night, rejoining the main road earlier that evening, and Rose sat miserably on the verge of a very uncomfortable sleep, speaking quickly to Thorn who was flying over the lake. They stopped only when the horses could continue no longer, and they rose midmorning.

Rose was beginning to tire of Selena's reckless search, certain now that it might kill them or the horses. Not for the first time since they left the coastal region, she yearned for a bath; her skin felt sticky and filthy, and she remembered with regret the sweet-smelling oils at Haven Cove. But above all she wished for a warmed bed, instead of a bed of pine-needles and dirt under a worn bedroll.

The next morning she saddled Starshine discontentedly but Selena made no move to do likewise. The woman was sitting on the ground, brushing through her hair. "We will travel no further for now," she said, as she began to weave her hair back into a patterned braid. "I think it's best if we rest for the day."

Rose simply stared her in disbelief, thinking that the woman was truly mad, and then turned to her horse and began to unsaddle him. It seemed illogical to stop after rushing through the land, especially this close to Dras-Leona; Rose could clearly see its towers rising into the sky. Thorn was resting, far off as they had made camp too close to the road for him to join them, for her to talk to him, and so Rose got out her viol and sat with it on her lap. She played no particular melody, but ran her fingers idly over its strings, letting the gentle notes soothe her. It wasn't long though, until she could play no longer and took instead to Tornac's book from in her bags (they had gone through his bags days before and sold what was not needed), letting the words wash over her.

She was still reading when Selena went off to set rabbit traps about the area, as the sun neared the center of the sky, and when Selena returned and sat across from her. The woman chatted idly with Rose, who answered back tersely, annoyed at being interrupted, for a time and then moved on restlessly to her bow to hunt for some meat.

When Selena returned some time later, she forced Rose from her book getting her to assist striping the meat from the squirrels that were caught. By the time they had cut the meat and began to cook it, it was well past noon, and Rose saw a change in Selena. She kept looking towards a bowl restlessly, and once forced them to move camp before the meat was done, as she became more and more piqued. Finally Rose turned to her and studied her face intently.

"We are not staying here to rest, are we?" she said, anger ebbing from her voice. "We are remaining here because somehow, through you mad rush, we ended up ahead of your son and so you wish to sit and wait for him."

Selena turned and looked at her for a moment, before nodding. "Understand, Rose," she said, "that I wanted to give him the choice to find us. If he does not wish to meet with me, than I will hunt him down and talk with him, but if does I will know he has forgiven me."

Rose looked at her in confusion, and bit her lip. "Your son?" she asked glancing quite suddenly at the ground. "I am in the understanding that your son does not know who are, any more than I did. That he does not know how to find you."

"I was not speaking of your brother," said Selena with a sharp shake of her head. "I was speaking of Brom. He is traveling with Eragon for reasons that are beyond me."

Slowly, Rose nodded, not wanting to know any more. Selena was allowed her secrets, Rose had taken a liking to her having them, and she did not wish to press. Rose turned away, resigning herself again to read the book.

Speaking to Rose seemed to have calm Selena, and finally the woman sat on a low, flat, rock lost in a trance, a bowl of still water resting her lap. Neither of them talked for a time, and then Selena gasped and set the bowl aside. She leaped to her feet and stared ahead, her face expressionless, and Rose knew she had saw them and was trying to feel them out through her mindtouch.

Rose shaded her eyes and looked. The riders were not far away but very little could be told about them. There were two of them, tall, dark figures, against the green of the hills and the blue of the sky and the veiling of the trees, sitting upon to two steeds. Rose reached out her mind for Thorn, knowing that he had moved closer to them some hours before, and briefly she told him of that was happening.

There is no way to know if it is them, he said, grumpy at being so far from her. It may be or it may not be. I cannot fly close enough to you to tell you else I may be seen, and you do not want that. I can't protect you here if it is someone else.

She watched the figures for a moment, still in contact with Thorn, and then stood and retrieved her sword from her pile of bags. At that moment Rose forgot her resentment towards the woman, and as she approached her to stand near her. Selena loosened her sword and glanced at her for a very short moment.

As they neared, Rose saw them to be two men, one of the men stood up on the stirrups, as if to get a closer look and then quite abruptly sat back down, and the other simply faced ahead. She sensed rather that saw their eyes on them, and she loosened her sword, remembering Tornac's lessons, though the men did not seem dangerous. She could not see a sword on either of them but that meant little.

The men stopped a few paces away from them, both of them seemed to be well traveled; their boots scoffed and spotted with mud, their clothing dulled from the sun's touch and frayed at the hems. Rose could not see one of the men's face, as he was hooded in a black cloak, but Selena was staring up at him intently and then she stepped towards him before halting and turning very rigid. Something passed between, something that was too private to witness and Rose quickly looked away at other man.

To say he was a man was overstatement as he seemed to have come out of boyhood only recently. He had a thoughtful look to him, as if he deep in thought, and his face was eager. He sat on a cinnamon colored, walleyed horse who was snorting indignity and digging at the ground, though he did not notice as he was looking from the hooded man to Selena, his lips forming silent words. The boy looked very much like Selena both in the face and complexion, with both her wide brown eyes and wayward brown hair. Rose felt despite herself rather resentful. This boy was Eragon, it certainly could not be the other man who had a wiry greying beard sticking out of his hood. This was the child Selena had chosen to hide in Carvahall, and he looked very little like Morzan. It seemed to Rose as she had gotten all of her father's appearances where he had gotten none but there was no denying the similarities in his face that they shared. She saw these only when she looked close enough, and when Eragon caught her studying him, she kept her gaze without shame of being caught staring.

"I suppose," Selena spoke after a long silence, "that you would like some stew?"

The hooded man grunted, Rose's eyes widened at the brutality of the sound, and slowly he got off his horse. He held himself with a hint of pride that did not go unnoticed by Rose. "That depends," said the man, his beard bobbing up and down under his hood, "on if your cooking has improved over the years."

Selena laughed. She threw her sword on the ground and hurried over to him, but did not embrace him as Rose thought she might, but instead stood before until he wrapped his arms around her. It was only then that she threw her arms around him and the man rocked back on his heels as they embraced for a long moment, and again it seemed too private of a moment to witness.

They woke up well before light the next day, and ate under the sheltering of the wood-limbed roofing, warmed by the fire.

"Does it always rain here so much?" Eragon asked. He was looking at the overcast skies, watching the clouds as they tumbled and grumbled, threatening more rain. "I haven't seen much of the sun in a long time."

"This time of year it does," Selena said. "I'm rather surprised it hasn't been raining more."

"You've been in this area a lot?" He turned to her, setting his bowl on the ground before him.

Selena nodded into her bowl. "I had lived across the lake for quite some time," she said. "Though I've spent a number of months in all seasons around this region. It's one of the more charming parts of the Empire, not the most peaceful, mind you."

"Why did you live there?" Eragon asked looking towards the lake in the west, as if he were searching, without know what it was that he was looking for, for the castle near the Spine.

"That's where my husband had resided," Selena said, sharing a long look with Brom, then stood up. "Now that's enough questions for a time, if you don't mind. There is something Brom wishes to talk to you about." She covered a yawn with her hand. "Rose, if you could come with me, it'd be appreciated."

Rose looked up from the bowl she was holding and stood without a word. She had been sitting in silence, waiting for her head to clear. Her mind was slow and felt heavy as if it were weighed down. It was far too early to be awake. If the sun was not yet awake, neither should she be. Shaking herself, she blinked away wetness from her eyes as they began to smart in the raw the morning air.

Selena collected the bowls, taking the one from between Rose's fingertips, and beckoned her to follow. Together they entered the forest, the branches of the trees tunneled over them. All around them the wood was alive with the pale green of early spring; snowdrops and field's rush-wood pushed through tangled scrubs and grasses, and marjoram and wild mint released sharp fragrances as they bruised beneath their feet. Low thorny trees and scruffy clumps of pine grew under the leafing limbs, bent by the wind, growing between tingles of bramble and whin. Selena stopped once, setting down the pot, and picked the flowers, stuffing them into a pouch at her waist. "Whin makes a succulent tea," she explained, closing the pouch. "Farmers use whin for fodder but I prefer it for other uses." Rose nodded and took notice to dropping blue star-shaped blossom that grew everywhere beneath the undergrowth.

Selena continued forward and led her to a small stream which flowed fresh and cold water from the lake. Behind the high bushes of large bramble and whin, a small bank of smooth grass shelved down to a pool of grey water. Bending down, Selena dropped the pot beside her and knelt over the stream, splashing water over her head. "There's something I need you to do for me," she said washing her hands; dirt and ash swirled into the water and disappeared. Rose sat on the grass nearby with a yawn, waiting for the woman to continue. "Keep what you know about Brom's past to yourself." Selena ran her fingers through her hair, untangling the dampened ends. "Eragon does not know about Brom being a Rider. It's something that Brom wants to talk to Eragon about himself."

Rose felt a tinge of irritation. Forcing herself not to look at Selena, she dipped her hands into the pool and splashed the cool water over her head. She gasped as the freezing water washed over her, waking her fully. "Don't worry yourself," said Rose, drying herself with her cloak, "I won't be the one who tells him."

Pulling the bowls from the pot, Selena sighed and stared at the dark metal. "Did Brom tell you much last night?" she said. She grabbed a rag and, dipping it into the water, began to scrub the pot.

"No." Rose plunged a bowl into the pool and set it beside her at a loss of what to do. Selena had only brought one rag, which she was using to clean the pot, forcing Rose to listen to what she had to say. With a yawn, Rose scrubbed her face with her hands. The wakefulness from the cool water was beginning to numb away. "Should he have?"

Selena was silent for a time, scrubbing and raising out the pot. Her face was set and unreadable, as she thought. "I supposed he wouldn't have but I hoped, all the same," she said after a time. She sat back suddenly and dropped the rag into the pot, staring blankly at her hands.

"What's wrong?"

"What is not?" Selena plucked the rag from the pot and began to scrub it with vehemence. For a time Rose wondered if she were hoping to scrub a hole though the metal. "My son is seeking vengeance and calling it justice." She sank the rag into the water and wrung it out, before returning to the pot. "It's a fool's task, what he is hoping to do. I would have thought that Garrow would have taught him to have a least some common sense but it seems as if he takes after his father." Selena lowed her voice and continued to grumble at the pot for a time, before raising it out and moving on to the bowls.

Rose sat back, watching Selena's movement as she waited for her to calm, before speaking. "It's not just his search for reprisal that is troubling you, is it?"

Selena shook her head. "No," she said. "It is not."

Rose waited again for Selena but the woman remained silent. "If you did not take me out here to assist you, then, I must ask; why am I here?" she said after a long moment.

"To give them the time they need." Selena paused and looked up. "Eragon wishes to seek revenge on the Ra'zac for killing my brother," she said and faltered, falling silent for a time. She looked down at her hands, and then returned to cleaning. "He's a rather determined about doing so and will be very unhappy to hear that we must continue without the delay. Brom and I came to the decision continue forward without seeking out the Ra'zac. This will upset Eragon greatly. I've dipped my hands in their affairs enough, rescinding their pastime, and so Brom wants to speak to him privately."

Rose was silent for a moment turning this information over. "How are you?"

Selena started and looked up. "Hmm?"

"I want to know how you are faring," she said, pulling her legs to her chests. "It cannot be easy hearing that your brother has passed."

"I'm well enough," said Selena.

They, again, sat in silence for a time, as Selena scrubbed the bowls clean, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself. Finally the woman stood up, and holding the pot with the bowls inside it, walked back to the path without a word. Rose scrambled up and chased after her, weaving herself around the overgrowth and thorny branches.

After a short walk they returned to the camp, and began the task of packing and battling the undergrowth to the road. They kept towards Dras-Leona, and turned east the first moment the road turned from loose gravel to soft dirt. By noon they passed the Helgrind. It towered into the heavens, four misshaped peaking crags of dark stone that stood out starkly against the pure blue of the sky- the threat of rain having passed. The pillars seemed to pull in the brightness of the world it rested upon, making the sky and haloing sun seem all that much brighter. The grassed land below the Helgrind was trampled, as if many men had been walking around the lands trampling it down, and stones loosely bordered a small path towards the city.

The people of Dras-Leona adulated the rock crags, believing them to be divine gates into the heavens. Rose had heard tales- whispers- that the priests of Helgrind sacrificed innocents and partook in their blood as if it were wine, in the ways of their twisted religion. She wondered very briefly why anyone would wish to see peaks up close when seeing them from a distance was sufficiently unpleasant, or if their worshippers had any sagacity at all. As far as she could see the Helgrind was simply a pile of jagged stone and nothing more. There was nothing to worship. Nothing that deserved praise.

"What does Helgrind mean?" asked Eragon from behind her.

Rose turned and glanced at him, she had been wondering the same thing but was very unwilling to inquire after it. If Helgrind meant anything, she had decided, surely its meaning was something of little joy.

"It means 'the gates of death'," said Selena, who was riding beside him, "in the Ancient Language."

Eragon nodded thoughtfully, and glanced again at the black peaks. "A fitting name," he muttered.

Indeed, Rose thought in agreement. She turned away, and looked impassively at the road ahead.

An unhappy sound came from Eragon very suddenly, a small declaration of his aggravation at not going into Dras-Leona. Selena had been quite right about his displeasure. He was keeping to himself, in a resentful obstinacy, speaking only when he had a question.

Rose had learned that only reason Eragon wished to go into Dras-Leona was to revenge his uncle's death. The Ra'zac had killed the man, poisoned his skin, and tortured him, thus forcing Eragon from his home in Carvahall, a small town very near the Spine in the north. Since his uncle's death Eragon had been traveling with Brom on the roads of the Empire with very few supplies through cities and dangers.

Perhaps it was because of the reason that Ra'zac came to Carvahall that stunned Rose the most. She had been told that the creatures came in search of a dragon egg, the one that was stolen over a decade ago from the King treasury, having somehow ended up with Eragon. The Ra'zac had come for the egg sometime after Eragon had received it but by then it was too late. As Thorn had hatched for Rose, the egg had hatched for Eragon, making him a Dragon Rider months before the Ra'zac arrived.

She didn't know how to react to this. Rose was hard-pressed enough into accepting that Eragon was her brother, knowing now that he too was a Rider made her completely undecided. A part of her, a very large part, wanted to know him. Yet it was this knowledge that stopped her from doing so, making her responses to him crisp and short.

The further they drew from Dras-Leona, the more seldom they saw people, and by late that afternoon they saw no one and passed no more houses. They moved at a brisk trot, feeling that the sooner they left the sullen country the better, and rode on after dusk until it was almost full night, guided by the light of the stars and half-moon. Only then did they draw to the side of the road and make camp under an old willow. Once the horses were unsaddled and tethered, with a long cord allowing them prospect to graze, they took their packs and set them around the base of the tree. After they gathered some dead branches Brom lit a fire, its light chasing the gloom of night away a little.

As they ate, Rose felt Thorn mindtouch her. Looking up she made out two silhouettes circling above, dark against the starlight, and reached her mind out him curiously. You and your four-legged beasts are very slow, he said, sensing her inquiry. I wished to see the truth for myself.

Did you find what you were looking for? Rose shifted on the ground, watching as one the shadows dived towards them, mending with the darkness.

Yes, he said.

She could feel an uneasiness from him, though his tone remained calm. Saying nothing about it, she continued to watch as one of the figures dove towards Eragon and landed nearby. The dragon that landed within the encampment was not Thorn. It was perhaps, as far as Rose could tell, agile and slim, whereas Thorn was bulky and stout, as if built solely for flight. The dragon's scales were a blue so dark that they seemed almost purple, and reflected light in silver fractions. It opened its mouth slightly, then, briefly studying the people around it, turned to Eragon, its long barbed tong flashed between two incisors as thick as fists.

Eragon jumped up, greeting the blue dragon warmly, and in turn it nudged its snout against his chest, causing him to grumble and almost lose his balance. Stumbling back, he smiled and said something to the dragon, before he rested his back against its belly. For a moment he stood there, before seating himself beside her and meeting Rose's gaze with a frown.

Looking away, Rose glanced towards the sky at Thorn, waiting for him to join them. Did you and the dragon not get on well? She asked when he continued to fly about in circles.

We get along well enough, he said with some reluctance.

Come down if you wish to, Thorn, Rose said, glancing in the direction of Dras-Leona. In the distance she could see the golden glow of the city's lights. It's your choice to make. Thorn came down very shortly after she said this, resting himself a short distance behind her, his tail sweeping across the ground. He and Rose talked very little that night, the silence they shared was comfortable enough.

After a time had passed, and that evening's meal was cleaned away, when the day's light had faded completely leaving the sky above them a dark satin filled with tiny dots of light, Eragon and Brom pulled out two swords and sparred for a short time. Rose didn't pay much attention to their swords at first, watching their forms and style instead. Their spar session was very different than Rose's had been with Tornac and Selena. They had used magic to shield the edges of their blades, allowing them full control with the blade as they fought without having to worry about cutting their opponent, and thus allowing them to bruise their foe head to toe mercilessly. Tornac had been opposed to such things, claiming that one would never learn to control their blade with barriers.

Rose couldn't help but to compare her new companions to one left behind, and as she did she realized just how sorely she missed Tornac and the illusion that Selena had lay out. It was however, when Eragon's sword flashed bloodedly against the fire's light that she started, and looked at it closely in disbelief, her former thoughts forgotten. "Is that Morzan's sword?" Rose asked, shifting close to Selena.

The woman sniffed. "Yes," she said. "I'm surprised you recognized it."

Rose was silent for a time as she watched the red sword swing through the air. When Brom killed Morzan he must have taken the sword with him, and when Eragon became a Rider it must have been passed down to him. As far was Rose was concerned, Eragon could have it. She wanted nothing to do with such a blade. "May I ask something?"

Selena nudged her arm in a playful manner. "Is that not a question within itself?"

With a frown, Rose continued to watch the swords flash, silver and red in the firelight. "I suppose it is," she said after a moment. "How are we going to get to the Varden? On which roads are we to take and through what lands, is what I want to know."

"We're going through Surda," Selena said after a moment's pause. "Most of the towns and cities we're going to try to avoid. From there we're to travel to the Beor Mountains then to the Varden itself. If anything Surda is not any less safe to travel than the Empire."

"And when we get there, to the Varden," Rose said, "we'll do what?"

Selena frowned at her, and leaned back onto her hands, as the sounds of crashing became too loud to speak over. "I do not know for sure," she said. "You and Eragon will likely learn from Brom, and assist in small ways within the Varden's hideaway. Later you'll likely go the elves to further your training, something I do not wish for. I'm not certain what I'll do, but I don't think I'll be leaving the Varden's sheltering anytime soon. We are all in need of a rest after this journey."

Nodding, Rose fell silent. They continued to watch the men for some time, until they stopped, their swords falling to their sides, supposedly done for the night. Eragon returned the red blade to his bags, hiding it from sight.

They continued through the dismal countryside for the next two days, traveling all day and keeping watch at night. They saw no one else on the road. Gradually the landscape began to change; the land began to fall away and a river carved itself from a ravine that grew deeper and deeper, and ridges began to shadow them, rising sharp shoulders of bare rock that dropped off to sheer cliffs. Little water falls fell down the cliffs gathering in swallow rock pools smiled with green, their mists curling into the air. Stunted pines and bumbles rambled up the jagged slopes. The wind shrilled through the teeth of rocks, and very high above sometimes they saw a pair of hunting birds. Eragon looked thoughtfully around him, and as they rode, Rose became uncomfortably aware of the sharp clop of the horses' hooves as they echoed sharply off the rocks.

"This is bandit country," said Brom as he looked warily around him. "Keep your wits about you, and be prepared for anything."

That night they camped slightly off the road under an overhang of rock. They lit no fire. The horses stamped and circled, cropping on rough, bitter grass. The dragons rested above them, the shelving of rock too narrow for them to fly into, for if they did, Thorn had said, should any danger come they would be trapped and without the ability to fly out. The travelers sat in silence, looking out into the road and rock horizon on its others side cutting off the stars with sharp blades of darkness. They were, Selena told them, six days ride from Melian. "If out luck holds we'll be past it in seven days or so," she said. "But I don't like these hills. It's far too silent here."

"We're not going to Melian?" asked Eragon.

"Nay," Brom answered, fingering the ends of a pipe. "We'll cut around it, and after we'll leave the road for a while. After Melian the roads runs to along the Jiet River straight to Feinster, or over to Furnost. They don't go any further south than that, or they don't anymore."

Just before dawn, that next day, the temperature dropped sharply and it began to drizzle. They started early just to get the blood moving in their frozen limbs. In the dismal light before dawn, the landscape looked even more dreary than it had the day before. Rose felt miserable; her hands were numb with cold, her cloak flapped damply around her knees as she ran beside Starshine, and her face felt raw from windburn. She tried not to think about a bath or a hot roast, although the images and desires kept rising within her, making the present moment even worse. The drizzle continued though morning, and then settled into a steady rain. The weather briefly cleared that afternoon and they stopped for an extended lunch and allowed the horses to rest for a time and shed their damp clothing.

As Eragon hastily shoved his wet clothing aside, he started as a creature flicked across the ground in the corner of his eye. He looked at it, and bent down, the toad croaked and stared at him. He stared back. They were ugly creatures, toads, full of warts and ill luck and bad magic. At that moment Eragon didn't need any more bad luck, he had his fill of it over the last weeks. "You know," he told the toad, "there's a witch out there trying to prove you don't exist."

The toad's body puffed up, and it hopped away.

With a sigh Eragon rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The sun wasn't shining and the sky was threatening rain again, and what was worse; Saphira wasn't around. She had gone off hunting with Thorn hours earlier leaving him the company of Brom and his new found companions.

He didn't know how he felt about Selena and Rose. Selena was his mother, he had spent half his childhood dreaming about meeting her, and now here she was, alive and laughing with Brom, but he wasn't unhappy about it. His mother, he should know her better, be able to call her Mother and he tried to, once, but found he could not.

And then there was Rose. Rose, who seemed to dislike him, avoiding him whenever possible without a reason he knew of, was his sister. Eragon had once dreamt that he had siblings that they would joke and play with him when his mother and father came for him, but now he wished he didn't have any. He had Roran, though he might never see him again, and that should be enough for him.

Eragon looked over at his sister then, she was sitting not far off reading a leather-bound book. He was very tempted to go over and find out what the book was about, see if he could read it, or talk to her. Before he knew what he was doing, he had gotten up and walked towards her. She looked up at him without a smile as he cast a shadow over her.

"Is there something you want?" she asked though not unkindly.

He sat down where he stood. "No," he said. "Not really."

Rose nodded and returned to her book. A short silence over took them.

"What was our father like?" he asked suddenly. He hadn't been able to get that thought out his mind since he found out Rose his sister. She must have known their father, seen him, and talked to him- known him for a time. "Where is he?"

There was a loud breath as Rose looked at him. "What do you think he was like?"

He was taken aback by that question. He didn't have a clue what his father was like, who he was, or what he looked like, he had ideas of course, many of ideas. "I don't know," he said. "I had always thought that he is someone of importance. That he's rich and important."

Rose nodded. "He was," she said, fingering the edge of a page. "He was all those things and many more."

"He's dead?"

She nodded and looked away. "Very much so."

Eragon looked down at the news. He'd had hopes to meet his father one day, now he knew that he never would. "You don't sound sad that he's dead," he observed. She said nothing for a time, looking again at the book. "What was his name?"

She stiffened, and wiped a loose hair from her face. "I'd rather not say," she said as if it were the end of the conversation.

Eragon nodded, deciding to save that question to ask again later. He sat down next to her, folding his legs in front of him. "Was he a good man?"

"Many believed so."

"Alright," he said slowly as he gathered his thoughts. He glanced around for something more to say, she wasn't telling him much. He didn't think she would. "What do you think of him?"

Rose was silent for a time, staring at the pages of the book in silence. One of her fingers moved in circles around the letters, as if she were thinking. Then, after a time, she looked at him, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Let me ask you a question," she said as if thinking over the words carefully, folding her hands upon top of the book. "What was Garrow to you? Was he good to you, as a father should be to a son, or not?"

Eragon looked down as shame colored his face. "He was very good to me," he said, staring at his lap. He felt something rise up inside his chest, but he forced it down. "Garrow was a good man. He shouldn't have died."

"He raised you as a father would?"

Eragon swallowed. "Yes," he said.

"Then that's all you need to know about your father," Rose said, standing up. "Our father is but a ghost that lingers in the past, and it's best to let him remain there." She didn't look at him as she hastily walked away to the fire where she sat down, and returned to her book.

Eragon knew than that his hunt for answers from her was over, and before long Brom called for them to pack up as a freezing wind cut over the land, cutting through their clothes and chilling them to the bone.

They continued until night, when it began too dark to go any further, and made camp under an over-cropping of stone. By then Rose trying to suppress a bad temper by staring at the book in her lap, not truly reading what it had to say. She was very near the end of it now and was beginning to think it would be best to reread it, this time from the beginning. She felt a pickling in the back of her mind and reached out for Thorn, mindtouching him with ease. I hope you enjoyed yourself, she said, fingering the edges of the papers.

I did, he said. As I'm sure you have been.

The day was rather uneventful if that's what you wish to know. In a silent debating, she paused a long enough moment for Thorn to land above, on a shingling of stone. Eragon asked about Morzan earlier, she said turning to him, just able to see him on the ledge above.

Thorn was silent for a time, his tail swaying across the ground. What did you tell him? he said at last.

Not much of anything. She turned back the book, fingering a small tear near the edge of the page. Just enough to get him to leave me be.

Thorn grumbled a laugh as he lay down. Then he's likely to ask you again.

Rose cringed at the thought. Eragon did indeed ask quite a lot of questions, and he was rather persistent about getting answers when he wanted them. She had known that Eragon would ask after their father eventually but she hadn't thought he would ask so soon. Rose had hoped for more time to come up with answers, ones that wouldn't have him running to Selena for more information. And yet, Eragon had come to her and she was able to avoid, though barely, telling him more than he needed to know before taking the first chance to saw to get away from him. It was only a matter of time, now, until he returned for answers that she didn't want to give him.

I know, Rose said. But I don't think he's ready to know that Morzan fathered him. He's upset about not avenging his uncle's death, Thorn. I don't think he'd react well knowing what I know. It would do nothing but burden him.

You're protecting him, he said after a moment.

She frowned. Only from himself, Rose said unable to deny it. She provocatively studied the page of the book in front of her. And you with your odium towards weasels. How was your hunt?

Thorn grumbled a rumble of disagreement, then enthusiastically told her of his time hunting with Eragon's dragon, whose name was Saphira as Eragon made sure to firmly informed Rose, as well as the tale around her name, seeming quite glad she had given him the excuse to do so. After a time his tale ended, and Rose nodded, returning silently to her book. As it became too dark to continue reading Rose closed the book and returned it to her bags, having just finished it. She had decided not to reread for the beginning as the ending of the mythology was very unsatisfying, and choose instead to assist with preparing a dinner. There was not much to prepare, however, as they ate a meal roasted meat and hard bread and cheese but it was a welcoming change to keep her hands busy.

The next day was not quite so miserable, the weather began to clear and some sunshine warmed them, and the ravine's walls began to falter and Thorn and Saphira, were able to join them on the ground at last. Though they chose to stay in the sky, as they traveled. After a while Rose forgot her dark mood in the rhythm of riding, and she soon turned her attention into conversing idly with Thorn. They didn't reach the end of the canyon until the end of the fourth day, and then at last they turned their faces south.

They followed a path that led into a messy flatland, walking at their ease through a flowering meadow that slumbered beneath occasional broad strands of trees. The turf off the path was poor, thick with burrs and small thistles, and everywhere grew long thin stems of wildrye. The sun shone warmly, and Rose thought that it would not be long until the last remains of winter ebbed away.

As Selena had predicted, Rose soon found herself under Brom's tutorage, him beginning roughly where Selena had left off. She found him to be rather severe and demanding, and his lessons even more so, but everything else about him confounded her expectations. Rose had thought that he would concentrate on the Ancient Language, and in that first lesson he rode next to her for a long time in silence. Rose felt a strange reluctance, she hadn't spoken much to the former Rider since they began traveling together. She felt apprehensive, not knowing what to say, and Brom took no care to put her at ease.

"Selena had told me what you know," he said gruffly. "And what you don't. There is much you should know about the Riders and their skills. To be a Rider and to be ignorant of what it means is a terrible thing. Which leads me to telling you some of what you already know." He leaned back on the white horse he was riding and glanced towards the sky, pausing for a moment, as if waiting for Rose to speak. When she did nothing, he began to speak in an oddly formal, steady tone, almost like a chant.

"When The Dragon Riders were established it after Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the war between dragons and the elves. It was after the elf Eragon helped end the war, and an assurance was born, that a few dragon eggs were given to the Riders each year and the Riders were able to grow. For the Riders to bond with dragons, a spell was cast over those eggs to ensure that the baby dragons inside would hatch only when touched by the human or elf whom they wanted to bond with. The moment a dragon egg is laid the dragon inside is ready to hatch, yet many dragons waited years to do this, waiting for their Rider or, if they were not meant to be bonded, the right circumstances."

Brom halted in his speech and glanced at her. Rose nodded at him, waiting for him to continue. "And when the dragon hatched?" she said when he remained mute.

"When the dragon hatched it would make contact with its Rider for the first time," he said stirring slightly. "As a Rider and dragon made contact for the first time, it left behind a mark called the gedwëy ignasia, or shining palm in the Ancient Language, on the Rider's hand. A bond is then formed between dragon and the Rider, which melds their minds and bequeaths the Rider with magic."

"What would happen if someone else came in contact with dragon before the Rider had the chance to so?" Selena asked, turning her saddle. Before then she had been silent, watching the trail ahead of them as Brom talked.

Brom looked at her sharply, and then looked down. "I've only heard of such a thing happening once," he said. "The bond between that dragon and Rider was greatly weakened. I never heard what happened to the man who touched that dragon. It's likely that no one cared enough to find out what happened to him. It's probable he went mad."

The woman nodded, seemingly satisfied with this information, and turned away. Selena had been riding ahead of them, appearing as if she were not listening, the reigns of Eragon's horse held firmly in the woman's hands. Eragon had, the moment they came enough to the woodland to do so, flown off with Saphira for the remainder of the day, promising to return to them at sunfall. Where they had flown off to, and what they were doing was unknown, but Brom seemed completely untroubled by the occurrence.

"In the beginning the Dragon Riders were merely ambassadors, but they later grew into something greater. It was near the time that humans were in included in the spell that bonded a dragon and Rider that this happened. The Riders became peacekeepers, and charged with the keepings of the laws, and skills, and knowledge. Under their law many people slept with their doors unlocked, there were no hungry people, and so people were not forced into desperate acts. The law was that the hungry must be fed, and the homeless must be housed, and the sick must be healed. That was the way of the Riders." Brom paused again, and glanced at her before shrugging, turning away again to continue riding.

Rose was silent for some time, digesting these new ideas. She felt frankly, quite skeptical of the efficacy of what Brom had said but she kept her doubts to herself.

Brom looked at her steadily, and added, as if he caught the tenor in her thoughts, "Many things have changed under Galbatorix's Rule. You wouldn't recognize the land you now if you saw what it a hundred years ago. Places that were once governed under noblemen and Riders are now only overseen by the Empire's men, and there is corruption in places there should not be. The Laws then were not often broken. If they were, there were punishments and the law breaker would be tried in a court of Riders and townspeople. They would decide what was best. Usually it was some kind of restitution, if a man murdered, say, they would serve that family for a number of years. There were no prisons." Brom paused in his speaking again, listening to the thrilling of the birds around them.

"Things then were not impeccable but they were certainly better," he continued, after a time. "There are many places you will see that were once cultured that are, now, no longer. The land that we travel on now was once a region known as Anial. The land we pass was once a countryside filled with rich pastures and abundant fertility, rows of vines stretching as far as the horizon. This dilapidated path was a road to a grand city that was overwhelmed and raved in battle. Many Riders and dragons fought here and died in one of the first battles against Galbatorix and his Forsworn. The land was lain in waste, and its people were slaughtered without mercy. What you see now is now a dim memory of what it was before."

Brom stopped speaking, and Rose sat in silence for some while, caught in her own thoughts. It seemed to her as if the armistice Brom spoke of was not possible. It would a very large amount of effort for there to be no crime. However if people were housed and feed and health, what reasons were there for crime? Rose didn't know.

To have no prisons and to keep the population from attacking each other was quite a feat, one that must have taken much patience and skill. The idea seemed far too miraculous, and she would not help but wonder if there was any real venality in the Order of Dragon Riders, enough to warrant each of their deaths and their dragons.

Surely the Riders were more than diplomats, charged with keeping peace and order, they were also warriors. The tales she heard of them as a child, told her that their forces were great and proved to be deadly to those who were foolish enough to pin theirselves against them.

History had told her that the King had mustered up a small army in his rebellion to take down the Riders. For a people, such as the Riders, being as powerful as they were, how was it they fell so quickly, in a matter of years, to fourteen Riders and a small troop of warriors? Or was the only reason Galbatorix won was because of the element of surprise?

She glanced across at Brom; his eyes were remote and sad, as if he were gazing up at a living memory. "What reason was there for the King to destroy this region so?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"Nay," he said. "I do not. Gabatorix's reasoning can only be guessed at. It could be that the city was one of the few built by the Rider's, and so it was treasured by them, or it could be that he simply disliked where the citadel sat." Brom fell silent once more, and said no more, lost in his own thoughts.

They traveled in silence for a time before lunching briefly in a corpse of ash, and had a quick, cheerless lunch. The horses ambled about cropping grass, and seemed averse as to stop for a short time. However it was dangerous to tally, and they were soon off again.

For the rest of that day they rode through the valley, listening to Brom as he talked about the ethics and history of the fallen order of the Riders. The land they passed soon gave way to a thin woodland, which bore very little sign of former society. Once they saw a rumbled wall at the base of the road, on which a growth of creeping vines grew, but they saw little more. When the wind blew, Rose thought that at certain times she hear the saddened cries of the dead, and the foul reek of rotting vegetation tainted the air.

After a while the path they were following took a sudden dip and shade fell over the riders as they the path they followed faltered and then petered out completely. They continued through the wood, battling the undergrowth until they passed out of the woods into empty grassland in which there was evidence of a farmhouse long abandoned; its walls crumbling, it roof collapsed, overgrown with ivy and weeds so it almost looked like a small hill, a line of trees that once served as a windbreak, and orchard grown wild. The land fell away from them to the horizon, bordered by trees, pocketed by frequent dips and hollows and by outcrops of huge rocks, looking as if they had been tossed there long ago by giants, which now and again gathered in tors that casts long shadows away from them. Above them were huge swags of grey clouds, and the wind was turning chilly. The sun was low in the sky, bleeding long streaks of orange along the horizon.

They had gone about five miles when Brom called them to a halt. They set up camp under one of a wooded hallows, in the shelter of a fallen tree that was leaned against an oak at a rough angle, its leaves still green. Brom had studied it for a long time before deciding that it was a safe place to set up camp, and it was not long after camp was set that Eragon joined them, looking rather winded. He hurried down off of Saphira and rushed to the bag filled with their rations, dragging out a roll of hard bread, he sat on ground heavily.

"You didn't join us for lunch," said Brom, glancing at him quickly before looking away. "Where were you?"

Eragon shook his head, and took another bit out the bread. "There are ruins everywhere around here," he said. "Saphira and I decided to explore them. I believe the runes are what's left of a city."

"They are." Brom pulled out a pipe from his bags, and studied it for a moment.

"What happened to it?" Eragon asked, shoving the rest of the bread into his mouth.

"It was sacked," the man said, looking into a small sack, "years ago when Galbatorix began his campaign against the Dragon Riders." He shook the bag, and grumbled as he shoved his pipe inside it before tossing the sack and pipe into his saddlebags. Looking over to Selena, he said, "We'll need to find a town to replenish our supplies before long."

Selena didn't look away from the fire as she turned over the cut meat that had been caught earlier that evening. "I had forgotten that you and Eragon hadn't the chance to restock," she said. "You're right, we are getting low on food. It won't be long before we run out of preserves completely, and some greens would very nice, however, it'll be some days before we reach a town. We will simply have to survive with what we have and what we can gather until then."

Brom did not answer, poking keenly at the fire instead. They munched, not long later, on a hot meal in silence, listening to crackling of the fire and the horses as they huffed, and the sounds of the night. Then Selena took Brom's place as Eragon's sparring partner. Rose watched as the woman easily blocked his blows, but then, after a time she called it to an end. Selena then fixed Eragon with a pinning glare and told him if he wished to better his skills he best give it his all, before demanding he try again. After that it was a hard-pressed match as they seemed to be equaled in skill, though it was Eragon who disarmed her.

"You're no elegant fighter, but you're fast and strong," said Selena, breathing heavily and picking up her sword. "To think that you only begun you learning so recently. I wonder where your skill would be had you learned earlier in your life."

Brom grunted and stood up, startling Rose from her spot. "I've been thinking on that myself," he said causing Selena to frown at him. "We need more wood for the fire. I'll be back."

Selena watched as he walked away, then sat down. She looked at Rose in a silent question, pointing to Eragon with her thumb.

Rose shook her head. She had been quite thankful that she hadn't been forced to practice swordcraft with Eragon as of yet. She didn't wish to face him for as long as he held that blade, the same blade that she had night terrors about as a child, and had left a distorted scar down her back. No, she did not wish to spar with Eragon.

Rose was on first watch, and sat at the edge of the dell, leaning against Thorn. She was very tired, and thankful that Thorn was thumping the ground with his tail, keeping her awake. To pass the time, the two of them played a mind game, sending mental pictures through their mindlink. Over everything was a huge silence, save for the sounds of slumber and the cracking wood from the heat of the fire.

Three hours after sundown the half-moon rose and cast a chilly light over everything. She shifted on the hard ground; it was becoming very cold, and the dew was falling, and her legs cramped with stiffness. She was thinking that it was time to wake Selena, when she heard something. Immediately she sent out her mind and looked over the landscape, and relaxed when she saw it was Eragon shuffling through the encampment. She started however, when she saw how wan he appeared.

"Hard time sleeping?" she asked.

He looked at her for a moment, before he walked over and sat down a little away from her. "Yes," said Eragon, almost petulantly. "I got bored of just lying there. How much longer is your watch?"

"Not long," she said.

Eragon didn't answer. He was staring over the plains, and Rose glanced in that direction, watching two shadowy forms, likely deer, shoot across the empty grassland. She stirred uneasily, and he turned suddenly aware of her.

"Have you been having dreams about a woman in a cell?" he asked abruptly.

Rose met his eyes. In the darkness she would hardly make him out, he appeared to almost to be a complete shadow. "No," she said. "It seems as if you have."

"Yes." He looked away.

"When did they begin?" she asked, after a silence. Eragon looked briefly taken aback. "You wouldn't have asked me if your dreams weren't recurring."

He nodded, or at least Rose thought that he nodded, and was quiet for a moment as he thought it over. "Not long after I found Saphira's egg," he said.

A silence seemed to overtake them, as Rose thought about his answer but her mind was too heavy and her thoughts were sluggish. "I'll go wake Selena now," she said softly. "Unless you wish to speak more about your visions."

He shook his head. "I'll keep watch," he said. "You don't need to wake anyone."

Rose leaned forward and glanced at him for a moment. She was too tired to inquire after him. Standing up, she walked towards the fire, and ran her fingers along Thorn's snort. "Have a good night," she said to the both of them.

Thorn playfully whacked his tail down near her foot, nearly tripping her, but Eragon chose to say or do nothing, his cloak wrapped tightly around him against the wind. Rose watched his stillness, and it seemed to him as if the dreams, if they were indeed that, were truly haunting him.

That night Eragon didn't sleep. He lay on his back, under Saphira's wing, staring at the shadowed smoothness of the wing above him, and listening to the gentle breathing of his companions. Saphira stirred restlessly in her sleep and began to hum, and Eragon smiled at the sound. He could hardly believe how much she had grown in the last months, he wouldn't have noticed the difference as much if Thorn wasn't there to compare her to.

Thinking of the dragon, he peeked his head out from under Saphira's wing and looked at him. He was thumping his tail against the ground in a rhythm Eragon did not know. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, enveloping himself in darkness. Thorn had a resentment for the ground or for others getting sleep, Eragon firmly believed, for him to mercilessly beating the ground.

Even if Eragon wished to sleep, he knew he could not, or he couldn't without being awoken within a few scarce hours of sleep. The dreams that once intrigued his sleeping mind now hunted after him, a dog following its master in hopes for table scraps. When he slept, he could almost hear voices ringing dimly in the back of his mind, beckoning to him. Every moment he dreamed he saw not only the woman and her cage, he saw the cell now as a cage, but the passions that blazed within, shifting in the darkness like veils; the fears and hatreds and loves and greifs and desires. Though he did not know what they directed towards, he knew of her desire to feel the fabric of the earth and, worse of all, the eerie knowledge that she was dying.

The moment he turned his back on Dras-Leona, he felt an overwhelming urge pulling him away towards the north. It was nearing impossible to ignore and seemed to grow with each and every moment. He wondered if migrating birds might feel something similar, when they returned to their nesting in the springtime. It was a desire like hunger that ran through the fiber of his very being, pulling to a particular place which became harder to ignore with each passing night and the dreams that came from the darkness, robbing him of his sleep. He was sure that he was meant to find this woman, where ever and whoever she was. The thought of leaving her to her fate now, when he was sure she was dying, filled him utter desolation; why would he be having these dreams if they didn't mean anything?

He often wondered if this was it was like to go mad. He was almost completely certain that he going to lose his sanity, or that he already had.

The racket Thorn was making dragged him out of his thoughts, and he rolled onto his stomach and wiggled his way out from under Saphira completely, giving up on sleep. Eragon stretched, feeling as if his muscles were locking up on him, and wandered outside to sit with Selena, who had woken up and taking over his watch shift, sending him away to rest, some hours before. She turned and frowned as he sat down next to her but said nothing. It was the coldest part of the night; the turf glittered with hoarfrost under the moonlight and his breath curled white on the air.

Eragon looked over the lands, watching the light from the moon shift behind the clouds. The clouds shifted again, releasing the moon from its barring, and he watched the silver light wash over the landscape. Not taking his eyes off the hills, he let his mind wander. In the distance, though he couldn't see them, he knew that there were ruins of an ancient city. He had walked through its ruined streets, or what he thought to be its streets, looking at the rising outlines of bleached stones covered in ivy and creeping thorns. The last remains of the buildings were the fencing to messy weedy gardens. Small creatures called out their dismay at the sight of Saphira as she walked next to him and they scattered away before Eragon could identify where they were. He had heard a sound from somewhere behind him and turned to see the only ruin taller than he. He had thought it to be a guardhouse and, intrigued, had passed under its thick granite lintel into the roofless ruin. Looking up he could still see what was stairway that had led to a lookout high above. For the most part the walls, made of huge stones cunning placed together, without cement of any kind, still stood high. Although the floor and roofing had rotted long ago, leaving marks of fireplaces where rooms had once had been. There was only one doorway, and slits high on the wall for windows, and no roofing at all. Eragon had turned and left, feeling as if something was watching him. Not long after he had talked Saphira into flying out that area, it was an eerie place. He didn't want to go back there even if he had to, it reminded him too much of what he saw in Yazuac.

Would people ever come to live in Yazuac again? Or would its bloodstained ghosts keep them away? If no one ended up moving to Yazuac, would it become like the city he had walked through? The images of the dead people flashed in his mind, as his anger grew. People didn't deserve to die like that, as if they were game to be hunted, only to be tossed aside like a pile of rubbish. No, he thought, no sane person would come to live in Yazuac once word broke lose about the slaughter of its people.

He shook his head, willing the images from his mind, and thought instead on something else. Brom had promised him, not long ago, his revenge on the Ra'zac for killing his uncle but now they were running from the place he was sure that the Ra'zac were staying. Eragon had been told that they would travel to Dras-Leona at a later time, when his skills were better honed, yet he doubted they ever would. He didn't believe that Brom meant what he said. Brom had seemed far too willing to toss aside their former pursuit, replacing it instead with traveling to the Varden. The question that bothered Eragon the most was: why?

Brom had made his views on going to the Varden very clear. He didn't wish to go there with Eragon yet, claiming that he, Eragon, as a Dragon Rider, wasn't ready. Was he now ready or was because of something Selena had told him? Eragon thought the latter to be most likely. He was certain that she was hiding something, not just one thing but many. It must be a very good reason for Brom to change his mind so quickly. He'd have to ask Brom later, when he was sure that the old man would answer him. If he asked him now, Brom wouldn't say a thing.

The more Eragon thought about it the more he wondered who Selena was exactly. She claimed to be his mother, swore it to be true in the Ancient Language but he still doubted it despite know that no one could lying in the language. He had asked her why she had left him with his uncle, and was answered by a swift: "It was the best option at the time." And when he questioned why she hadn't returned for him, she claimed that she wanted to but it wasn't safe for him, that she didn't want to disrupt his life in Carvahall, and that she didn't know if his aunt and uncle had told him that they were not his parents. He had asked her who her husband was, this question caused her task him with a time-consuming errand, fending off his questions completely. Despite this, Eragon found that he enjoyed the woman's company, though she was very different than he thought she would be, and found her to be knowledgeable and filled with a kindness that was never cloying.

Eragon hadn't been around women for a long period of time, not including Saphira, since his aunt Marian had died, and he found the continuous presence of Selena and Rose unpredictable. Were all women that way? Eragon remembered that once he had asked his uncle what his mother was like and he had gruffly said that she was storm but he told him nothing more. If his mother was like a storm, then his sister was the pulsing gale before it.

Rose confused him. There were moments, like earlier that night, when she seemed sincere as she spoke with him, then there were times when her remarks were short and she seemed to dislike him. It seemed also that they shared very little in common; Eragon was interested in archery and hunting, some of the subjects that Rose shied away from. Nonetheless their close proximity forced them into conversations and they learned a little about each other. He had learned that she hadn't grown up as he had but someplace much different. He didn't know where. She wouldn't say. She didn't say much to him or anyone else for that matter.

Eragon also wondered about her relationship with Thorn. She didn't seem close to Thorn, like he was with Saphira. Brom had told him that a Rider's closeness with dragon was irresistible but Eragon could count on his right hand the number of times he had witnessed her show affection to the ruby dragon in the weeks he had met them, and even then, they were small things. They seemed to pester each other more often than they showed any sort of affection. It made Eragon very thankful for his bond with Saphira. As if knowing that he was thinking of her, Saphira grumbled in her sleep.

Something warm was placed into his hands, as Selena asked him what was on his mind. He looked up, saying nothing, not knowing what to say, and experimentally taking a sip of the tea. It wasn't scolding hot, like he thought it would be, but pleasantly warm. He took another sip.

"I know you're downhearted about not punishing the Ra'zac for Garrow's death," she said slowly, settling down next to him. "I understand how hard it must have been for you see what you saw, but I want you to understand something, Eragon."

He roughly set the cup down next to him, nearly spilling its contents. "What?"

"Garrow would never have wanted you seek his killers and kill them for their crimes. I may not have seen my brother in the recent years but I once knew him very well," she said. "He was not an unforgiving man. He could never hold a grudge for long no matter what the person's crime was. It would sorrow him greatly to know that you were seeking to avenge his death."

"You don't want the Ra'zac to die for what they did?" He turned and looked narrowly at her, his hands clenched into fists. "They tortured my uncle. He suffered because of them. It's their fault he's dead, and they should pay for it."

Selena merely poked at the fire, unaffected by his anger. "That they should," she said in a quiet voice. "Vengeance, however, is not the answer to your grief. Repaying evil with evil is a path that leads to nowhere expect for further hurt, Eragon. I've met many good men who have died or gone mad as result of their hunt for retaliation. I don't wish for you to risk losing who you are because of it." She shifted and set the stick, she had been using to prod the fire, on the ground between them. "I cannot tell you what to do, yet, I do hope, all the same, that you'll listen to my words and take them to heart."

Eragon grumbled moodily, and looked up at the moon. He thought a little on what she said, then shook his head and looked at the ground. He wanted to tell her that she didn't know what she talking about, that she hadn't seen Garrow die and that she had no right telling him not avenge his uncle, but something in her face made him bite his tongue.

"Why did you choose to live with the Varden?" he said instead. He had asked the question before, but she had refused to answer at that time.

She sucked in a startled breath. "It's the safest place for me," Selena said, poking again at the fire. "I couldn't return to Carvahall. That would have been far too dangerous, and I didn't want to put you at risk in that way. Nor could I sit by idly waiting for my life to end, so I went south to the Varden looking for something useful to do."

"Why couldn't you return to Carvahall? Uncle would have helped you and let you live with us," said Eragon glancing at her. "What did you do that put you in danger if you came back?"

She laughed lightly, as if he told a joke, and shook her head. "What hadn't I done is the better question to ask," she said. "I've done many things, Eragon, and I want you to know none of them. I won't tell you either so don't ask." Eragon closed his mouth and looked down at his hands. "Brom told me that you enjoyed your stay in Teirm, why don't you tell me about that."

Eragon closed his eyes and smiled before telling about what had happened in Teirm. She listened to him without interrupting, allowing him to say what he thought and what he saw in the city. When he told her about Angela the herbiest, her eyes narrowed and she dug the stick deeper into the fire. "She told me that she predicted the future of a woman named Selena," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Was she talking about you?"

Selena made a face, making her look as if she had bitten into something rotten. "It was," she said, "and the most foolish thing I had ever done. Fortune telling is a faithless act. The future changes so very quickly and there's no true way of knowing one's fate without living through it. Did you allow her tell you fate?"

"Aye," said Eragon. "Do you remember what she told you?"

"Yes," she said, her head bent.

Eragon looked up at her curiously. "What did she tell you? Did any of it come true?"

Selena turned her sour look to him. "She told me a bunch of twaddle," she huffed. "Why are you so curious about this?"

Eragon knew she was avoiding answering him but with some probing on her behalf for him to continue, he didn't question her about it again. Remembering that Angela said it had saddened her greatly, he continued his tale about what had happened in Teirm. By the time he was done the sky had begun to lighten, causing him to sigh with relief. For the first time in days, he hadn't had to dream about the woman and hopefully he'd be so tired that he wouldn't dream about her that coming night.

Rose dreamed of Tornac. He was not dressed in the clothes as she had last seen him, but as if for a festival, with a long cloak embroidered with a bright colored thread and a silver brooch shining at his throat. They were wondering through one of green meadows filled with wild flowers that surrounded Urû'baen, laughing yet without the knowledge at what they laughing about. The grass was almost as high as her knees, and she experimentally snapped a stem in half and ran her fingers along its golden fuzz. The valley, and Tornac, reminded her of the days she had spent riding in the woods behind the castle, but she saw no horses or other men and women near nearby, and she almost voiced this, then she remembered that Tornac was dead, and he and the valley disappeared.

She woke, and the dream vanished completely from her mind, leaving behind it a ghost-print of grief. It was still some hours before the sun would rise. She stretched, and rolled over, wishing to return to sleep.

You best not, Thorn said, sensing her thoughts. The old one wishes to begin travel before the sun does.

Rose took a deep breath, the air chilled her thoroughly. Perhaps I could and gain a few more moments of rest, she replied. People are not meant to this live way. All this traveling is wearing me thin, and I haven't gotten a proper night of rest in ages. I'm tired. Let me sleep.

She felt a prickle of Thorn's concern but it was so brief she wondered if she felt it at all. He grumbled an amused sound then and withdrew from her mind.

True to Thorn's word she was soon forced to abandon the warmth of her blanket, and after a poor breakfast of hard bread and dried fruit, she was busied helping the others strike camp. They saddled the grumbling horses and moved south and though they had no road to follow, there was not so much as a deer's trail, and the ground was uneven, they continued forward at a swift pace. Here a large stream carved its banks through the grass, its water bubbling over stones and around reeds. They followed the river, while keeping it on their right always within sight.

Brom spent that day going over lessons on magic with Eragon, as much to distract them as for any other reason. Rose and Selena listened on in silence. When they began speaking in the Ancient Language, Selena would occasionally turn to Rose and tell her the meanings of the words.

Rose looked at the backs of Eragon and Brom, not understanding the words they exchanged, and wished, feeling put out, that Selena had taught her more of the Ancient Language. Had she left Rose ignorant on propose? She shook her head, clearing it of thought as the feeling vanished and she began to feel conflicted. Rose did not want to learn and made her feeling about the subject known, and yet… Thorn too far off to speak to, and the conflicting thoughts kept creeping into her head.

Meanwhile, they journeyed with no sign of trouble. When they passed onto a road, it was so crippled with overgrowth and in such shambles that it would have gone unnoticed had sound of the horses' steps changed.

Despite its beauty this place eroded the soul, Rose thought, as if it were haunted by despair and endless lamentation. She felt a silence inside her, echoing the stillness of the valley. She heard very little chattering of from the birds and saw no proof of life besides her companions. The flatland they passed felt strangely hostile, and although she never saw anything sinister, the farther they traveled, the jumpier she felt. If this land was indeed a battle field, then they were undoubtedly walking upon the graves of an ancient people.

She was more than glad when they struck camp, and she was at last able to look at something other than the valley. A south wind rose, rushing over the grasses and thrashing the branches of trees where they sought shelter. A layer of clouds spread over the sky, and the moon climbed up from the horizon, blurred and dim, casting a pale light over the empty lands around them.

After they ate their evening meal, as a seemingly nightly ritual, Eragon took out his sword, its blade shining bloodily in the firelight, looking at Brom as he waited for the man to move to do the same. "Would you like to spar?" asked Eragon.

Brom looked up at him, his eyes bright behind his bushy eyebrows. "Not tonight," Brom said, piling more wood into the fire. He sighed, and sat down, stretching his legs before him. "There are two other people occupying this camp, Eragon, maybe you should ask one of them."

Eragon startled and glanced between Selena and Rose before turning to look at Saphira, who was resting between two trees. As they seemed to have a quick conversation, Rose glanced away and caught Selena staring at her. "Why don't you practice with Eragon," Selena suggested. "It's been some time since you've done any sort of practice with your sword."

Rose bit her lip. She hadn't practiced much since Tornac had passed- how long ago had that been? It didn't seem to a long time, perhaps, two or three weeks. "I'd rather not," she said with a quick shake of her head.

Selena blew through her nose in exasperation. "You should else you fall out of practice," she said gently, her eyes closed. "It cannot do you harm, Rose, it's nothing but a tool. His crimes do not befall it."

Looking down, she untwisted her fingers from the piece of grass she was fiddling with, knowing that Selena was speaking of the sword that once belonged to Morzan. The sword was merely an extension of his hands, though, now, he was no longer the one wielding it. Rose looked tensely at Eragon then stood, unsheathing her own sword. "Shall we, then?" she said to him.

Eragon nodded, and after the edges were blocked on both of the swords they faced each other, him crouched down looking on rather hesitantly. Then his expression shifted, and he swung his sword at her, hardly giving her enough time to react, their swords meeting in midair. He drew back from her, in quick movements, he didn't seem to give it a second thought as he swung his sword at her again.

She dodged away, with a sudden breath as the red blade came slashing at her, whapping her on the arm and she nearly fell backwards in surprise. Despite herself she gaped at him, shunned for a short moment, then as she righted herself, twisting away from him. Rose felt a boiling tide of rage pour over her orbiteering rationally, sense, anything but rage, and bouncing forward, she thrust the blade in her hands at his head before she thought about what it was that she was doing. He defended at last moment, pulling back with flourish and a grin.

Watching as Rose twisted her blade away from him, Eragon stepped after her trying to get within reach of her. Each time he did this, she pulled away from him, forcing him to step forward and swing his blade at her or wait for her to do so to him.

Rose was faster than he thought her to be, quick to move away or swipe her sword at him. He was taller and stronger than she, and she didn't seem to be trying to hit him, this he to his advantage. She wasn't used to aiming for the limbs and hitting others, he thought. Just as he thought this, she struck at him with as if in an iron fiery. He reflexively lashed out at her, hitting her again in the arm with the flat side of the blade, having broken through her defense causing her to look at him again in a look of withering disbelief. Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. After that however Eragon wasn't able to get gain any advantage on her as they struggled against each other.

After some time, he was growing tired, his moves sluggish from the lack of sleep the night prior. At last Eragon saw the opening he was hoping for and knocked her back, sending her rolling to the ground, her sword sliding away from her. She bounced back to her feet, blinking rapidly, her chest heaving, and nodded before grabbing her sword which had wedged itself in between a small stone.

"You fought well," she said as she pulled her sword off of the ground, looking like she wanted to throw it at him.

"You fought just as good," said Eragon tiredly. She fought differently than him, and though she had lost the match, she put up quite the fight. They weren't evenly matched but they were close. She must have had a skilled teacher, he thought knowing that the first time she wielded a sword was less than a year ago, and a very demanding one.

She nodded again and looked down at the sword, before sliding it in the scabbard she had abandoned on the ground before they began. "If you'll excuse me," she muttered not just to Eragon but to Selena as well as Brom, before walking quickly over the pass to Thorn and into the valley beyond. The ruby colored dragon stood and followed after her, his tail swishing across the grass as he walked.

After wiping off the hilt of Zar'roc, Eragon returned it to his bags. Then he sat down tiredly thoroughly exhausted. He was sure that he would have no dreams of the woman that night.

What was your interest is now your haunt, said Saphira amusement mixed in with her concern. She snaked her head around to look at him, and blinked. Sleep well, little one.

Eragon didn't answer her, he couldn't seem to find the energy to. Listening briefly to the conversion Brom and Selena were having, he decided that what they talking about didn't concern him. He staggered to his bags and opened his bedroll. It seemed that the sparring had taken what was left of his energy and he had no more to give. He had hoped that sparring would do this and that he'd sleep heavily without the simplest of dreams, yet it did not seem to enough. He fell quickly to sleep, not remembering lying down, and slipped straight into a dream.

In his dream he saw the woman. She lay on a tattered mattress, unmoving, and for a moment he thought that she was died. The pale moonlight washed the color from the room and from her, with an unbearable clarity. Then her finger twitched and she shifted slightly, and he knew that she was still alive. He watched, unable to move, as she moved again, huddling herself closer to the wall, and felt as if he were about to be ill, his gut twisted wickedly turning his dinner against him. He felt an increasing premonition of doom. She didn't have long left; this he was certain of.

High above were the blossoms of a magnificent glow, like many beating hearts of light, casting away darkness. They glittered in the internal and dark meadow of its inheritance, hosted, however they were, by a great globe of white flame. Through the decades the eternal congregation remained the same, wholly unaffected by the many lifetimes of hurts and joys, bright and guiding to those who knew how to read the night skies.

The most noble of noble guides, Rose thought. She sat on a foothill, looking into the darkness making out dim shapes, in a dumb stupor. That night was quiet and still; there was nothing peeping from around the brushes and nary a cricket chirped its nightly song. The soft breeze cooled her ire and the dragon beside her brought about a gentle peace. Neither she nor the dragon said a word.

There were times where Thorn's seemingly endless forbearance troubled Rose. Each time she felt the heat of anger, the dragon seemed to smother it; like water putting out a flame, and she was left feeling rather hollow and mulish. More troubling was that she did not wish to withdraw from his steadfast stillness, he was an anchor to the swirling ocean threatening to pull her under. Dark emotions loomed over her, shifting and swirling until she was as tentative as a deer and completely subdued into silence.

It occurred to her then that somewhere throughout their journeying together, Rose had begun to turn to the dragon opening their mindlink, and allowing him to be guiding eyes for her when she couldn't seem to see herself. This troubled her and she wondered when the shift had taken place. Thorn saw the more intimate and vulnerable parts of her and she did not push him away whenever he explored through their mindlink, and she wondered; why? The question seemed to be suspended in midair, in middle of nothing.

She often thought of Tornac and what he might tell her, if she were able to talk with him, and when she tried to think of what he looked like, she couldn't get the image of him correct; she knew what eye color he had had, the shape of his nose and his face, but all the images of him were separate and flawed, like a rippled portraiture in a stream. The clearest image she had of him was in the Pass, when the arrow had speared him and he fell from his horse. And even Rose hadn't been enough to save him. Why not? A pain she never allowed herself to acknowledge opened and flowered in her breast. Why couldn't she save Tornac?

If she hadn't ridden Thorn into Teirm, would he still be alive today? Perhaps if she had remained where she was supposed to, the events in the Pass would have never have happened and Tornac would not have died. Her eyes burned threatening tears, and she shut the thoughts down, focusing on watching something, anything in the night. For a long time, she sat overlooking over the broken hills, shadows in the dim lighting, carefully thinking of nothing as a hollowness swirled in her chest threatening to choke her. Tears built behind her eyes, and she closed them.

When the moon had climbed high into heaven, Rose sighed and nudged Thorn through their mindlink. We should get back, she told him, and when he agreed, they made their way back to the campsite.

The first thing Rose noticed upon reaching camp was that everyone, save Selena, was asleep. A rush of heat that burned her cheeks; Rose was certain that her lapse in temperament hadn't missed the woman's notice. Rose had grown close to Selena in the previous months, and despite the resentment she felt towards her, she still trusted the woman. Before Rose knew of the ploy the woman lay out before her, for quite a long while she was one of the few people they could rely on, and even after Tornac died there was only Thorn and Selena. No one else. No one, that is, who knew the truth of what she was. This didn't, however, change the fact that Selena had broken Rose's trust in her and awoken an anger she believed to be buried at long ago.

Now Selena sat with the remaining dragon egg in her lap, her fingers tracing the white veins that danced atop its surface. Sitting at her knee was a steaming mug and emptied bag, likely the one that was used to hide the dragon egg's enchanted bag. The woman didn't appear to take notice of them but Rose knew that Selena had heard them; Thorn was no silent walker.

When Rose pulled her bedroll and blankets from her bags, Selena glanced up at her with a hard look in her eyes, and packed away the dragon egg. She stood as Rose was hunting down the softest spot on the ground, looking for a place to lay down. It wasn't until, Rose, at last, choose a fairly rock less grounding to slumber on that Selena came over.

"You looked upset earlier," she said, touching Rose's cheek.

Her face felt raw still, from those angry tears that couldn't seem to help theirselves at the chance of escaping. She felt herself scowl. "I'm fine."

She heard more than saw Selena sigh. "I'm not going to inquire after it," she said. "I have a strong feeling that you wouldn't tell me, even if I did. I just want to tell you that you did well tonight. I know that it wasn't easy for you to face Morzan's blade. You should be proud." With that said, Selena bid her a good night and returned her spot, looking over the plains.

It was a very long time until Rose was able to fall asleep.

Rose did not wish to travel; rather that she could rest and go nowhere and sleep until she had her fill of slumber without needing to be awoken in the middle of night, and eat rich meals instead of the tasteless bread and unseasoned stringy meat. She felt a yearning for a place that maybe never was, a lost place that was forgotten in the echo of time. She longed for a place that was nowhere and her heart saddened.

She thought of her childhood home in the capital, and the cold stone walls that towered around her, and memories of exploring the many hidden, forgotten rooms and gardens grew unwarranted into her mind's eyes. The warmth of laughter and simplicity beckoned her, and wondered where she might be had it not been for that fateful meeting with the King and his demands.

Rose thought it was likely that she would have made her way to the fortressed walls of Waelcombe Castle, and lived a life she once desired, and for a time she thought of that life, before her mind drifted to another. What would her life had been like if she had been raised as she should have, not within the castle but elsewhere? She could not imagine a life without Thorn, he often seemed to star in her daydreaming. But she wondered who she would have been if she had been away of the King's hold, under the care of her mother or perhaps another. How much of his influence had marked her? Were her choices were own or they tainted, tarnished by the King's hands?

You've made your own choices, Thorn said to her in a mild tone, sensing her thoughts. Whatever good or bad that the deserter you call "King" may have helped you in making them, you followed your inner knowing as you knew you should. Do not give him more credit than deserved. You could have another path, a darker one but you did not.

Rose pulled a turf of grass from the ground, weaving it between her fingers. I have not forgotten that the choices I made were out of fear, she said, throwing the grass to the ground. Everywhere I turn the only choices I seem to have are between commitment and slavery. To work for the Varden to do what they hope to for and believe in with the depths of their hearts, or to do as King would force us to. Anything between that seems to be beyond reach. I wish there were more choices, more freedom to do as we please, to go where we please but there is not.

There are those choices but now is not the time for them. Thorn began to sweep his tail lousily across the ground. Going to that king of yours is not one of them. No, he will sooner be torn to shreds before I allow you to return to him. He has done too much that he has yet to answer for.

I don't wish to return to Urû'baen nor do I wish to go the Varden. I don't know what I want, she said with a sigh. Simpler choices maybe.

It is not as if the Varden will declare war within moments of our arrival, he said, nudging her arm with his snout.

She stirred and ran her hand gently across his scales. I know, she said. War will come due in time. I don't know what will happen or when it will, Thorn, and that frightens me. She shook her head, surprised by her words, spoken in such a solemn manner. But she continued, refusing to stop now, allowing her thoughts to be said. Tornac told me before I left Urû'baen, that the days of peace were soon coming to end, and he was not one who said something simply off of hearsay. I had thought we might be able to avoid such if it were just you and myself, but now that we met with Eragon and Saphira, I suspect that Tornac was right. The question is: who will make the first move towards it, the King or the rebels, and when will it happen? If it hasn't already.

Thorn didn't answer her at first, resting himself on the ground behind her, but she could tell that he was thinking over what she said. When he did speak, he startled her as she taken to looking at the sky. I hadn't thought so as first, he said lightly, but perhaps Eragon had knocked you down too hard with you fought.

Rose narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. Perhaps, little menace, she said, or perhaps you had been knocked around in you egg for far too long. I'm pretty such it rolled down a hill or two before I found it.

Thorn rumbled a laugh, a deep, calming sound that vibrated his whole body. Rose leaned away from him as his it shook her as well. Were you truly thinking about returning to that dark city? he asked after a moment. It wasn't truly a question asked out of mere curiosity but one she felt a tinge of foreboding from him, as if he were reminding her of the reasons for her fleeing and why she traveled as she did, and what would happen if she changed route now. He was reassuring her, she realized, and though the thought made her want to scoff, she was rather touched.

Not necessary. She leaned back against his bulk, wrapping her arms around her knees. I was merely thinking over the options.

And the conclusion of your thoughts?

Rose huffed and glanced again at the dull hills, her former anger had faded away during her exchange with Thorn. The same as it has been since I've left Urû'baen, she said. The Varden seem to be the safest option. I still don't like it though as I wish not to so openly oppose the King.

They'd had this conversation before so Rose turned the subject. There simply was not an answer to her fears and doubts, nothing that Thorn could say would calm her. It seemed to her that her mind was turning the subject around and around, forcing her to look at it in every angle. It was arrant madness.

It wasn't long until they were interrupted; Eragon awoke with a groan and splash, that she was able to forget them completely. Rose looked over as he rolled to his feet, looking alarmingly down at the puddle of water he stood in to his wet trousers.

"You'd sleep if the world was at its end," she told him. "It rained some hours ago. Brom had wanted to wake you so that we could move to higher ground but your dragon was very persistent about allowing you to rest. I take that your dreams are still bothering you once more."

He made an annoyed groan and began to wipe at the dirt caked onto his trousers. "Her name's Saphira," he told her, picking up his blanket and wrapped it around him as he looked around the empty encampment. "Where is everyone?"

"Brom and Selena went to remedy our low provisions," said Rose, unable to meet his eyes. She turned over the tinderbox in her hands and closed her eyes. Selena and Brom had left not long after she fell back to sleep, apparently telling only Thorn where they were going and when they were going to be back. Both of them, Thorn claimed, were quite worried about the lack of provisions they were traveling with and went off in hopes to catch some meat or perhaps find some rare edible vegetation that grew in this region in the early time of spring. "Saphira flew off early this morning to scout the area for a herd of deer she saw in the valley, and for any other dangers that might be lurking about."

The wind blew chillingly over the hills causing both Rose and Eragon to visibly shiver. Rose pulled her cloak closer around her, feeling the cold settle in, and leaned closer into Thorn taking advantage of his everlasting warmth. If these elements kept up, she thought, the sheer cold would kill us before we make out of this valley.

She shivered once again, much to her displeasure, and having decided that the cold would not do away with her as of yet, she stood up. Making her way to the pot of water, she asked if Eragon would like a cup of tea before scooping the leaves out the rumbling water and pouring both herself and Eragon a cup. Rose gave the mug to him, and settled down next to Thorn, cherishing the little bit of warmth that the tea gave.

"What are we supposed to do?" asked Eragon, his fingers tapping against the mug impatiently. It was the same sort of restless energy Rose had often seen Selena possess. "Do we just wait here? There has to be something we can do."

Rose hesitated.

They could unpack everything, sort through it and repack, or perhaps they could get some washing done and mend the tears in their clothing, but she was hesitant touch what was not hers, nor did she know where the needle and thread was kept, also she had a feeling that Eragon would not be keen on doing such things. She was willing to bet that Eragon hadn't meant that they ought to do chores; he looked impatient and upset, with his eyebrow shadowing his eyes as he looked off into the distance as if he were watching something only he could see.

His dragon had been rather upset when Brom went to wake him when the rain began to fall, refusing to let anyone near him and covering Eragon protectively with her wing. Rose had been annoyed, which was not helped by being woken up only moments after falling asleep after her watch, but after a time, when it was decided that they would remain where they were, she had shrugged it off and sought shelter under her blankets. The rain hadn't been pouring down from the heavens, it was merely dribbling enough to make the night unpleasant and keep everyone on the verge of wakefulness. Besides the unpleasantness of the rain, Rose had fallen back to sleep without so much of a thought towards Eragon.

Yet, now she could not help wonder why Saphira had been so protective of him- were his dreams affecting him in such a way that he was losing sleep? Or perhaps it was something more. Something that was unrelated to the dreams... something more concerning, perhaps?

Rose was so lost in thought that it took her a moment to release that Eragon had asked her a question. "Pardon," she said, shaking herself from her thoughts.

"I had asked if you knew how long they were going to be gone."

"I cannot say that I do." Rose frowned, watching as Eragon stood up and brushed off his trousers. "Where are you going?"

"I need to move," he said. "I can't sit around and do nothing." Rose must have been scowling more fiercely than she thought she was because Eragon smiled. "Walking is better than sitting around and doing nothing for who knows how long."

Rose agreed, though she did not voice it. "Where will you go?"

He shrugged, and picked up his bow and quiver. "I don't know," he said before pausing. "There're the ruins of that town not too far from here. That one we passed through yesterday. I guess I'll go there and explore. You're welcome to come with you want."

Rose felt herself smile suddenly, heat coursing through her body and stood up quickly. An eagerness she hadn't felt in a long time pumped through her veins, and she found that she wanted to explore that town very much. She grabbed her sword.

Will you join us? The question was pointed at Thorn.

The dragon merely blinked at her, and began to sweep his tail across the ground. Go on, he said looking hungrily at the horses. I shall stay here, and watch the four-legged beasts. Should you need me, call for me and I will come.

Rose nodded once more before strapping on her sword and turning to Eragon. He stood over his bags, his back to her, his bow and quiver slung across his back, chewing lousily on his breakfast. "Shall we?"

Eragon turned and swallowed. "You're coming?" he asked, with a cough.

"You said I was welcome to join you," Rose said, shuffling her feet. "Unless you withdrawing you invitation, then, yes, I'm coming."

"Um, right," he grumbled, kicking a pile of dirt with his foot. "Let's go."

They followed a small, broken foot trail to the remains of the road, edging around wiry briars, evergreen creepers and stinking pods, in complete silence. Rose watched as Eragon nearly stumbled over the road, its edge rose up from the ground without warning, but he was able to catch himself falling completely. They stayed on the overgrown road as much as was practical; in some places it was so overrun by creeper plants or rutted that they have to scoot around it. This wild seemed desolate to Rose, more so than it once had: a landscape untamed by human hands had its own meaning, yet here the land was neither tame nor untamed. It just felt abandoned and eerie and sad.

They kept walking until just before noon, when they found the ruins of the abandoned town with a high wall. Behind the wall rose the remains of what had been a tall tower and several other buildings. And for a brief moment they paused under the broken archway, carved into it was a rutted design that neither of them could make out. Eragon studied at the archway for a time before shrugging and walking into the ruins, but Rose hesitated and studied its pillars. Carved into the pillars was the name the town, now long forgotten and unreadable. She studied the carved runes for a time, trying to decipher what they might read, then giving up she followed Eragon. He had walked into the center of a square courtyard, bordered by ruined walls covered in creeping overgrowth, and was looking at it curiously. There were three other gateways, one in middle of each wall, leading off in different directions.

"What do you think this place was like before the Fall?" Eragon said, picking up a loose stone.

Rose shrugged and glanced around. "More than likely in less pieces," she said, clasping her hands together. "Are we just going to stand here? You said that you wished to move about and I see a building that isn't completely in ruin. We should take a look at it."

Eragon answered her by walking under one of the archways, then wandering deeper into the town. Rose trailed after him, looking around. They kept straight, there were many roads and it was easy to get lost though the town was less than half the size of Teirm. Sometimes they passed a house that was almost intact, apart from its roof which had long ago fallen in. The stone roads were broken and clogged with dead weed but still passable, and all the roads lead the courtyard they had first gone through.

They worked their way through the town without finding anything of interest until the came to the building Rose mentioned. Its Stone walls were blackened by fire, and now covered springing ivies.

It was likely a grand building in it's prime, she thought as they pushed open the broken door into a wide entry hall. The building, though not tall, held an air of faded glamour. Shattered floor tiles cracked under her boots, and they could see charred beams and broken doors and pieces of brightly colored glass as the wondered deeper inside. Once they came across a large chamber, it was impossible to guess its use; maybe it had been some kind of throne room, or a meeting place for the people of the city. At one end there was a dais, raised the height of a man above the rest of the room; but like everything else it revealed no significance.

"Maybe it was a temple of some kind," Eragon said.

Rose studied a piece of ancient vase; it had once had a design of a winding flower across it. "Perhaps," she said. "Brom did say that this area was special to the Riders. Perhaps it had something to do with them."

"When did he say that?" Eragon looked confused.

"In passing… It's likely that you were with Saphira at the time."

Eragon nodded and for a time he looked at the dais, as if he were watching a showing, his face growing pale. "Rose," he breathed, keeping his eyes fixed on the empty air above the pulpit.

"Yes?"

"Let's get out of here."

Rose glanced over up at him, she was kneeling, sorting through a small pile of rubble. He was beginning to sway as if he growing faint. "Are you alright?" she said.

He glanced at her. "You don't see her?"

"Who do you see?" She raised an eyebrow at him, thinking at perhaps he was delirious. "There's been no one here save for us."

His eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I thought I saw someone. Maybe I imagined it." He looked around the room, and fingered his bow with a shaking hand. "Let's go back."

Rose frowned but agreed. She didn't think too much of it, this land was full of haunts, and neither of them had had much to eat as of late. Perhaps he was just imagining things like when she was a child, exploring the forbidden rooms of the castle, the eerie setting playing tricks on his mind but somehow it didn't seem to be likely, and she couldn't say why.

They slowly made their way out of the city, having to stop every so often as a wave of dizziness rocked through Eragon's body. He was unsteady, often tripping over the loss stones or sticks or nothing at all. Rose kept a slow pace, walking beside him, and eying him from the corner of her eyes.

When they returned to the campsite, Selena and Brom were waiting for them, a full pot of watery stew boiled with fresh meat. Rose sat down and, after making certain Eragon had a bowl of stew, she ate, her mind mulling over the events of day. The though kept rising up within her that something was not quite right.

Rose did not voice what had happened in the ruins of the city, something within her seemed to forbid it. Thorn knew and for a time they talked it over before their conversation shifted elsewhere and soon camp was broke and they resumed their journey south towards the flatlands of Surda. All of them were anxious to leave the reaches of the Empire far behind and so they traveled at a harder pace than the days before.

The next day they stepped off the broken road into forest and bent their way eastward meandering through the trees for some days towards an isolated village that stood at the edge of the woodland. There they had stayed one night, replenishing their supplies and poured over the map, deciding the best route to take and then moved on.

Selena suggested that the party should travel through Melian towards the border of the Empire, which would merely be a matter of following the road south. She knew that there was a Varden outpost somewhere within the city and guessed that if there was any news about the dealings of the Empire, Melian would be as good as place to hear it. After discussing various alternatives, Brom had grudgingly agreed that they might as well go to Melian as anywhere, and folded up the map and returned it to their bags.

Brom could not tell Selena of his real despair of going to the Varden, nonetheless Surda, that the chances were too high that news would get out about dragons and their Riders causing a power struggle between the king of Surda, Islanzadí (if she was still the elven queen), and the leader of the Varden. He also kept to himself his concerns about traveling the roads south: from what he had heard, there was a very real danger of encountering bandits, rogue soldiers, Urguls, or worse. But it was the fastest route to Farthen Dûr and, once there, he and Selena could decide what to do next.

It hadn't escaped his notice that over the last few days, it seemed as if Eragon was troubled by a deep unease that no one could quite identify. Often times he would stare off into the air as if he seeing something no one else could, and he did not sleep at night. Brom soon became aware of the dark half-moon shadows forming beneath his eyes, and when the boy looked at him it seemed as if he was looking right through him as if he weren't there but then he would blink and focus in on what he was looking at a distance in him seemed to form, an anxiety now distressed Brom that perhaps his and Rose's adventure into the abandon city had awoken something that was meant to sleep for an age longer.

Meanwhile, they traveled with no sign of trouble. The weather held crisp and fine, and after stopping there was plenty of food, so they only made hasty stops at nightfall, where they would eat dinner and practice swordcraft. When they reached the South Road and turned toward Melian, Brom insisted that dragons stay out of sight; keeping away from them until well after nightfall. Here they traveled briskly as they were on proper road again, but everyone kept oddly alert. Once Rose caught sight of Brom casting a veiling spell over the dragons, so that they would not be seen by passersby, when no one else was paying him any mind.

Despite the suspicion, the travelers rested inside the local tavern- in any case it was certainly better than camping beneath a dripping tree. The town that they were now staying in even had a name, Tońun, and not far from its limits was a stinking roadhouse that doubled as the village forge.

Rose had been trying to drink from a mug of mulberry very slowly, savoring the warmth of the tavern and perhaps even the noise of the townspeople after so many nights in the isolating wilderness, talking lightly Thorn. She looked the people over and sent him a picture through their mindlink to keep herself, and him, preoccupied. He sent her an image of a man wearing a fur-lined hat and sheep-hid jerkin, and she looked over the crowd to find him, and once she had, another image was sent his way.

What did you fear most as a hatchling, Thorn asked as they grew tired of the game.

Rose took a long sip from the mug, and pulled her hood closer to her head. The Platnak, she told him. He is a faceless shadow creature with long, spindly limbs who searches for nasty children to snatch up in their sleep and bring to his mountain lair. There he fattens them up with sweets and custard tarts and once they're nice and fat, he eats them. I once believed that he lived the shadows and if I did not behave that I would become his next prey. I was once so frightened that I made Tornac sleep on the divan in my rooms to protect me.

Thorn's laughter echoed in her mind, and she smiled into her mug. He must not have liked that, the dragon responded.

No, he did not, Rose told him. She set her glass in the table with more force than necessary, it clinked lousily against the wood, and she noticed with some regret that some of the wine slipped over the edge of the mug. The door opened and the smell of rotting fish and parsley blew through the tavern, and Rose hid her face with her sleeve.

A silent formed between them, though it was not unpleasant, and Rose finished her wine. She had no taste for mead, sticking to tart wine that the keeper also stocked. Despite it being a light wine, she discovered after finishing her first mug, it was much stronger than it looked.

The tavern grew louder and louder as the room grew stuffier, and soon the stank of the tavern was giving her a headache. She looked up and caught Eragon's eye; he was being pestered by a young lass, who had trapped him in conversation, clearly curious about his travels. He looked away, and she straightened herself, untangling her conversation with Thorn, and turned herself in her chair to face him.

"I hope you are not planning to drink all of those," she said, looking at the mugs sitting in front of him.

The lass asked Eragon a question, one he politely answered, flouting her for a short moment. He sighed and turned to her, giving her a bleary look. "Why shouldn't I?"

Rose shrugged. "It's getting late, and we're to leave not long after sunrise," Rose said. "I'm actually thinking of retiring for the night myself but I'm hoping that you would escort me. I do not wish to walk back to our charming abode alone."

Eragon nodded dolefully, looked to the lass, and after a moment, he said, "I'll walk you back. Just give me a moment."

"I thank you very much," she replied as Eragon turned back to the young woman, and after a short time, he pulled away from her and beckoned Rose to the door, looking very much annoyed. She didn't ask about it, eager as she was to have a roof over head as she slept.

She squinted up the road, trying to see through the pall and darkness. It was pitch black, but after a moment her eyes adjusted, black shapes of the other buildings could be made lined the streets would be made out. Eragon looked up and down the street, and then stepped out from under the roofing. The road was empty. "Let's go," he said.

Rose followed after him, eager to get away from the stinking pub and the watchful eyes within. They silently made their way down the road to the inn. The street broken and clogged with dead weed and dark, stinking pools liquid but still it was very much passable, if slightly perilous.

"Where would Galbatorix keep his prisoners if he wanted to interrogate them?" Eragon asked suddenly, his words slightly slurred.

Rose was stilled for a heartbeat. "Why ask me?" she said, her voice sounding small in the night.

"I thought that because of the man who raised you-" he paused for a moment as if he were searching for the name "-Tornac, wasn't it? Since he was in the Empire's army, I thought that he might have told you."

"Tornac was never part of the King's army." Rose frowned, looking down the road, silently praying she wouldn't trip. They had no lantern, and she was uncertain about their footing, fearful even that one of them might stumble and fall into the filth. "He worked with the army, even fought beside an distinguished general but never was he in it."

There was a short, heavy silence. They passed a large building, its windows dark and blink as if it was abandoned.

"How would that work?" Rose heard him say, after a shuffling sound. Perhaps he had found a giving in the road and his had caught on its edge, or perhaps they were not the only one roaming the streets. She glanced behind her but saw no one.

"I never asked." Rose rubbed her hands together, willing that the feeling return to them. "But, yes, he did tell me about the prisons." It seemed likely to her now that he had told of these horrible places to scare her into behaving and listening to him.

Eragon was silent as if he were waiting for her continue. "What did he say?" he asked when she did not. "Where are they at?"

She huffed. "Why do you wish to know?"

"I'm only curious."

Rose kept silent, having arrived at the inn. The roadhouse was a small building, once a divided home that had been abandoned by the family who owned it. After a time, the family turned the small building into a roadhouse, allowing the occasional stray traveler to stay if the need arose. It seemed however that it was a rare thing, the floorboards were dusted over by soot and the roofing in disrepair; water dripped down from the ceiling, hitting the tin bowls rhythmically below, teeming over the edge and pooled onto the floorboards, streaming towards a fissure in the wood. Rose wondered why the building was kept around at all, wouldn't it be easier to let it go?

"No doubt," Rose said dryly as she glanced at him, suspicion growing in her mind. She saw that there was a fire laid but no one and lit it, the wood sat there gloomily in the overshadow of the chimney, nor had anyone yet lit the lamps, and the hallway was almost completely dark. Eragon walking up the flagged hallway that ran from the back door to the front, leaving behind him a trail of wet footprints.

"It's likely that any prisoners are in Gil'ead or Cellwair, though the capital would be my best guess," Rose said as she followed him to the room they were staying in. Eragon knocked on the door, the sound echoed eerily though the hall and was silenced the muffled voices inside. "But, I'm warning you, Eragon, if you're looking for someone, it'd be pure madness to go after them. The King prefers to keep close console, and it'd be a grueling escape once you're within his grasp. Whatever it is that you're thinking about doing, you'd best forget about it."

"I wasn't thinking about doing anything," he grumbled lowly.

Choosing to say nothing more, Rose waited until Brom unhinged the door and allowed them inside. The man overlooked them gruffly, his beard frizzled and in a hostile disarray. He caught her gaze, and looked away sharply. "I was wondering if you two were lost," he said, turning around and walking back into the room. "It's a cold night."

"Not lost yet," Eragon said, plucking at his sleeve. "Where were you? We ate supper without you."

"I had business of my own to attend to." The old man waved him away, and stepped around the pile of their bags in the center of the room.

Rose walked into the room, ignoring the conversation between Brom and Eragon, and sat down on a bed near Selena. The bed lurched dangerously, and shuttered but it held firm. Selena looked up at her, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Thank you," she said.

Rose nodded, and pulled her cloak tightly around her. "Why are you thanking me?"

"You have given me the time I requested," the woman said. "There were quite a number of things Brom and I needed to talk out. Had you not stayed with Eragon, we wouldn't have been able to. It appears, however, that your brother is stewed."

Rose shrugged, looking down at her feet, as she fought back a grin. "So it seems," she said, with wry mischief. "I'm thinking that he is going to pay for it, twice over, come tomorrow."

He did not see strange creatures walking in the green lands around them, nor was it that he saw the woman from his dreams in the daylight's hours, but sometimes when he looked out of the corner of his eye he could a shifting the air, or he would hear his name or some weird unclear snatches of noise. It was a shadow of neither light nor dark, form nor shape. What he thought he saw was an endless twisting of obsolete dim beings in ceaseless motion, stepping out of the silence like a young fowl following after its mother in the winter snow. Whatever it was, it followed quietly behind him, sending him haunting visions and wan echoing cries from things that could not quite be seen. Everywhere there seemed to be shifting grey veils of light and shadow, moving and changing so that the eye could fix on nothing. At these times the earth no longer seemed solid, that mists that mingled in the air, and shapes and sounds seemed not as they should be, and an urgent calling blazing inside him like a burning hunger. And then there were thin moments when everything seemed tangible, real and clear, and the veils stilled and what was truly there could be seen. Sometimes he found that this reality to be difficult because Eragon found that it was hard to adjust to the sudden clarity. Everything seemed, in those rare moments, too real and too detailed. Often this left him wondering which was worse; seeing horrors that he knew were not truly there or witnessing ones that were.

Eragon awoke with a start, feeling cold sweat sliding down his back and forehead. He turned his head, and groaned as his stomach protested. He choose, without much remorse, to keep his eyes closed. He would be forced to get up soon enough.

After a moment, when he was on the edge of sleep, he felt the cool fingers ran though his hair to his forehead, and then a hand rest against his skin as if to feel for a tempter. He jumped slightly and his eyes opened on their own accord, the light blinded him momentarily. "You shouldn't drink so much," a voice said. He blinked and his vision cleared. He saw Selena seated on the edge of his bed, a mug of steaming liquid in her hand. "You'll make yourself ill. Here, now, sit up and drink this." She waited until he sat until she placed the heated mug in his hands.

He looked at the liquid inside, it was yellow and steaming. Its warmth seeped through the mug and into his skin. "What is it?" he asked, closing his eyes. If he kept staring at it, would it shift into something more and show him an image that was not there? He didn't want to know.

"A tonic. It'll help clear your head." She stood up, he could hear the bed groan as she moved. "When it's emptied come out and join us."

Eragon hunched over and tightened his grip of the mug, the after cautiously sipping from it he reached out his mind to Saphira. She didn't miss a moment to her mind touched his. Eragon felt her emotions flood into his being, utterly confusing his senses.

How did you sleep? she asked.

Well enough, he said, taking a sip from the mug. What about you? What did you do?

I waited, she said sending him a tendril of impatience. You need to tell someone, Eragon. It's getting worse.

With a scoff, he took another sip of the tea. It tasted poorly; extremely bitter, leaving his mouth dry and tingling, but it calm the twisting in his stomach. I know it is. He groaned, and leaned forward. But who can help me? Let alone believe me? They'll all probably believe that I've mad, and I'm not completely sure that I'm not.

Someone might be able to help, little one, she purred. You do not know unless you seek the help.

There are some things that cannot be said and this is one of them. He drained the last of the yellow liquid from the mug and stood up. I'm going to see what Selena wants, he said.

He stretched, savoring the moment to himself, the walked to the door and out into the hall. Pulling his jerkin closer to him, he listened to the voices talking. What words were being said, however, Eragon did not know. He let the words wash over him, instead focusing on the curling puffs of white vapor that formed each time he breathed.

That night before, he found that the thin walls brought very little shelter, and the wind blew through the gaps in the walls in thin, high whistles. Noises of the night echoed in the hallway, whether it be people's throaty snores or scratches and calls of the nightlife. It seemed as if neither his mind nor nature wished for him to sleep.

Eragon pinched himself to chase away his thoughts. If he thought of her, the woman in his dreams, he was certain the tonic would revisit him. As he walked into the main room of the inn, he thought instead of what he would be doing if he were still at his uncle's farm if nothing had changed. He would with no doubt be ploughing through the fields. Uncle Garrow had been complaining for the last few years that his back could no longer handle the task, and since then Roran and Eragon had taken it over. Now that Roran was gone, the task would fall on Eragon's shoulders' alone. While he labored in the fields, Garrow would be mucking the pigs' pen, setting aside what he collected for fertilizer. Later they would lunch on the thin fare they had left over from the winter's stock, to hold them over until that evening. He could almost taste the soil on his lips, collected there from the overturned earth, and the salt of sweat.

These thoughts entertained him until he entered the den and saw Rose, furiously combing through her hair as if it had insulted her. In front of her was a small fire, looking fragile and weak in the depths of the fireplace. The reality of Garrow's death hit him anew, and with a strangled gasp he collapsed onto the cushioned seat near him. Better the cushions than the floor, he thought as he listened to the struggle that Rose's hair put up.

"Wouldn't it be easier to cut it off?" he suggested after a time, when his breathing returned to normal.

She startled slightly and turned, pinning him with a look that made him wonder if he had implied her chopping her head off instead of her hair. "I beg your pardon?" she said, her voice hard.

Eragon knew she had heard him so he shrugged. He suddenly didn't want to talk with her. "Are Brom and Selena outside?"

She nodded and told him they were in the barn. "They've been out there for an age," she said as she yanked on her hair.

"I'm going to see if they need help." Eragon stood up and pulled his cloak around him. The floorboards creaked underneath him as he walked to outside. It didn't surprise him much when he was greeted by a cold slap of wind. The strength of wind nearly knocked him over. It reminded him a little of the storm in Palancar Valley. As wind cut through his cloak again, he understood why Rose remained in the roadhouse. It was a deathly cold outside, like ice being driven through his body.

He sighed with disappointment. He had hoped the last of the cold weather was over.

Brom and Selena did not want help, or at least that's all that Eragon could guess since he couldn't find them anywhere. Not being able to find them, or having something to do, he wondered into the barn and took a seat on an old stool. He unwrapped a brush and set to work. His horse stood patiently chewing on chaw as he brushed the dust out of its coat. The brush scraped rhythmically through Cadoc's rough fur.

Eragon leaned his forehead against Cadoc's warm flanks, as the horse came to greet him. Nearing the brink of sleep, his mind drifting and unclear. The sounds and smells of the barn mingled with the ones he grew up to.

He felt the desire for sleep swarming through his body, like the murmur of hives in summer, and his mind unfocused. As his eyelids grew heavy he found that he was able to lie to himself; he was still in the barn near Carvahall. It was easy to pretend such a thing was possible. Too easy. He could lose himself in this dream-state as easily as he did in the shifting veils of reality.

A cock cawed in the distance, and the dust from the straw made his nose itch, but a deep unsettling feeling within him lifted just lightly. It was as if someone had pulled away a stiff board bound to his back, and he was again able to move.

A breeze blew through the boards of the barn.

There was a thin whistling.

He sat abruptly still in the agony of listening, and as he did he felt an overwhelming sensation of suffocation, as if he were being enclosed in a small tomb. His sight went dark. An unreasonable terror possessed him, as if his life were directly being threatened. That the threat was a mere arm's length away.

Cadoc nickered and Eragon drew his head away from his flanks.

He opened his eyes, and rubbed them, before looking around blinkingly. The air about seemed to crackle with something, a silhouette of what he guessed to be a woman, and Eragon knew he was seeing something that was not completely there. He called out once, just to be sure, but there was no answer. For a moment he felt as if a wave of cold pass through him. It shook him to the core, leaving him shivering from the phantom cold. He backed away, and blinked again, and found with a mixture of dismay and pleasure that barn was empty apart from him and the horses.

Saphira, what are we going to do?

Do? I already told you what I think you should do.

That won't help any, he said. We have to find out if there's a way to help her. I think she might be hurt.

You no longer believe that you're going mad? Saphira asked her tone grave. Or that perhaps Galbatorix is tricking you? Making you see and hear what is not there so you will be drawn into a trap.

No. I don't think so. Eragon shuttered as he remembered the last weeks. He couldn't coherently tell Saphira why he had to find that woman, only that he knew, with an iron certainty, that he must.

It'd be easier to decide if you talked to someone. Ask about this, Eragon, or I will. I will not take you into a risk, Saphira said. I'll have you tied you to my saddle if I must.

Then you'll have to carry me all the way to the Varden fighting you all the way, he said, squatting on the ground, spinning a piece of straw between his fingers. I have to go. I can feel it. It's the only thing I'm certain of right now.

Saphira was silent for a time, likely considering her next words. I love you, little one, she said. It goes against my counsel, but if this is something you're certain must be done, I'll do what I can to help. But before that you need to talk to Brom. He might be able to give you some answers that I cannot.

They left that day at noon just as the sun peeked the center of the sky. It was a dank and cheerless day, though the wind had ceased the bitter chill remained, and a heavy mist rose up from the damp ground. The trail they followed was rutted, causing them to travel slowly, none of them eager to risk the chance of having a horse injure their leg.

Now they traveled through occupied country. There were many homes dotting the hills in the distance, surrounded with the bright greens specks of spring, and the shining whites of wooly sheep. They passed many of the things that Rose had already seen; children playing with hoops and dolls or walking with their parents to town, a basket in hand sometimes with a head of chicken poking out, staggering carts drawn by oxen, and the rare sole traveler riding on a worn steed. The sightings here seemed no different than the ones she had seen in the past months, and they quickly lost her attention.

Having left the dispiriting region of Anial behind, Rose found herself in a mildly joyful mood. For a time she rode in silence, enjoying the sights of the woodland, quietly watching the limbs of trees that seemed to merge together in a twisted maze, and chatting with Thorn about trivial things; books she had read and tales she was told as a girl, but these were short, and at times one-sided conversations, which left Rose feeling wistful. She would also listen to the drilling of pressing questions Brom often burdened Eragon with.

It seemed as if Brom found amusement out of frustrating Eragon. He sat atop a proud white stallion, the type Rose often saw lords ride- the steed looked rather out of place next to Eragon's stocky traveling breed- devising detailed fictions for the poor boy had to answer questions throughout the tale, deciding the hero's fate. Most of the time the hero ended up dead, or once taken prisoner. It was not the lacks of intelligence that killed the hero, nor was it the lack of information, more than often what killed the hero was the smaller things that one would often overlook. A solider, per say, mentioned so very briefly that he was forgotten about moments later, until he was purging a knife through the hero's chest. After the hero's death, Brom would grumble unhappily and turn away for a moment before coming up with some other absurd tale for Eragon to work through. The whole thing was rather interesting, and at times even humorous.

Sometimes, though these were scarce, after a question was asked Brom would look behind him at Rose, as if willing her to join them, but when she did not volunteer anything he turned away with gruff snort. Brom did this now; turning slightly in his saddle to glance at her. His gaze was questioning at first, his bushy eyebrows drawn together and his mouth completely hidden behind the shadow of his beard. Then as Rose avoided his eyes, looking instead the tree line ahead of them, his face hardened and he returned his attention to Eragon.

"You should join them," Selena said. She was riding beside Rose, and had remained silent until then. "He is teaching Eragon something you should know as well."

He's telling stories not lessons, Rose thought to say but held her tongue. "I'm listening," she said instead. There was no reason to start something that could be avoided. If she could avoid quarreling with Selena she would and for as long as possible Their friendship had been compromised, strained beyond what it should, and the thought often filled her with angering regret; why could Selena not remain the woman she met the capital?

Rose often noticed times when Selena and Brom seemed completely carefree, as if, now that they were reaching the end of their quest, they could allow some their former anxieties to fall away. If she did not know the truth of them, both of them, she would have come up with many ideas about them both, and few of them would be kind. "I'm quite certain I'll be burdened with plenty of his lessons tomorrow. If it distresses you so, why not resume your teachings?"

Selena frowned, her lips setting into her face. "It was never my place to teach you. I only did what was necessary at the time," she said.

Glancing up at the sky, she rubbed Starshine's neck, tangling her finger within the horse's silvery, coarse mane. She felt for a short moment the fire of anger burn through her veins, then it smoldered before she realized exactly what it was. "How," she muttered lowly, "is now any different?"

Selena's eyes narrowed, looking as if she were wishing to shoot out white-hot needles. "Now is quite different," she said plainly, with a slight wave of her hand that dismissed the subject completely.

With a scowl, Rose turned away. She watched as the distant tree line inched closer. Surrounding the trees was a pale stone pillar that rose into the sky as if it were grasping for the clouds. Even from a distance people could be seen milling about, circling the pillar and rising and falling and twirling as if in dane. Rose brought her hand up, to block out the glare of the sun, trying to get a better look.

"Do you know who they're worshiping?" she asked.

"They're not worshiping anything," Brom said, turning in his saddle to look at her. "They're doing a ceremonial dance for their gods. They're hoping that their dance will please the gods enough that they'll cast the Malasuci back into the spirit realm."

Rose watched them a moment longer. "That makes little sense."

"What's the Malasuci?" Eragon asked at almost the same time. He looked more than glad to have a change of subject.

The old man turned to him, his hands moving beneath the shadow of his cloak. "A fabled spirit who is believed to possess the children born within the last year and turn them wicked."

Rose frowned, and shifted on the saddle uncomfortably. "How would that work, I wonder," she mussed and then laughed. "I suppose that if the worse came, they could frighten away the dark spirit away with their dancing."

Brom grumbled, and pointedly said. "Let's take a rest, the horses look as if they need it. I certainly do."

They rode off the road to a thin deer path. There they followed the path through the trees for a short time, to a silent river guarded jealously by a stony overhang. The pale blue water reflected the greens and browns of the trees, and the golden brown and red and grey from the splintered stones.

Reedy grass poked out from the stones, waving at them in the breeze.

They picketed the horses and, after a time of searching, found a small marshy sloop to guide the horses down to drank. After the horses were left to rest, Rose found a fallen tree to lean against and closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the trickling stream and twittering birds relax into her. She could feel the tight muscles, from the long day of riding, loosen and she felt as if she could melt into the soil and would be happy to never get up.

"Don't get too comfortable," Brom said, interrupting the peace of the moment. "We have a long way to go yet."

Despite Brom's warning, Rose did get comfortable. So comfortable in fact that she was the brink of sleep within moments. But it seemed as if the slumber was not meant to happen for soon Brom's voice pulled her back into herself. "Are you still dreaming of that woman?"

There was a short silence, which only the rustling of the leaves in the wind and the snorts of the horses could be heard and then from somewhere behind her, "Every night. It's gotten worse."

"You're seeing her while you're awake now too. Don't give me that look. Saphira told me about it."

"I asked her not to."

Brom huffed. "She's worried about you," he said. "I don't blame you for keeping silent but you should have come to me about it yourself when it first started."

Rose could hear a soft rustling; Brom scratching his beard perhaps. Snuggling closer into the log at her back, she drew in a long breath.

"Why is it only happening to me?" Eragon asked, it seemed to himself more than anyone else.

"I don't know," the old man said. "I could come up with a few predictions but I'd prefer not to. How do you know it's only you having these visions?"

"I asked Rose," Eragon said with a sigh. He began to beat a stick against the log.

"If she was having these visions, do you think she would admit it?"

There was a short pause in Eragon's tapping. "No," he said quietly. "That why I asked Saphira to ask Thorn about it. She's not. It's just me."

"I see," said Brom. His shoes scuffed against the ground as he stood. "I have a feeling that whoever is responsible for this, isn't somebody we can trust. No matter how horrible these visions may seem to you, no heroics. Heroes have tendency not to return. No heroics, Eragon, promise me that."

Sitting up, Rose turned to look at them. Despite nodding, Eragon looked as if he didn't agree to such a thing, there was a fire in eyes told a different story than the one he was portraying. Brom grumbled and stood, walk around the stump, to the rocky riverside where Selena sat, there he kneeled down beside her and told her something in voice too low to be heard. Then he stood and made his way to the bags and pulled enough food for a light meal out of one of them.

After a hasty meal they followed the trail back to the road and continued back down the road. They traveled as swiftly as they dared; the sun furthered its descent to the horizon. They didn't stop until it became too dark to move on. Brom found an overgrown copse where they might conceal a fire without too much trouble, and unsaddled Snowfire, then rubbed down his rough coat. Rose leaned against Starshine and watched him as he worked. She was no closer to understanding him now than she was before.

Frowning, Rose dug a hole in the dirt with a stick. Her interactions with the man were, at the best of times, strained. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that lay between them, that forbid idle chatter. It was no new news to her that Brom had ended her father's life, and though she felt little love for the man that fathered her, she found no want to the former rider. Neither did it seem that man forgot who her father was; his glances at her were often short as if he couldn't look at her for long, and his words were crisp though not always unkind.

She sighed and turned her face into her horse's coat.

Her whole family seemed to be made up of murders and lairs. There didn't seem to be an end the cycle; her father was a Dragon Rider and he had ended countless lives, and now his children were ones as well. When she killed, as she was certain she one day would, would she find an joy in it? She often wondered how long it would be before that happen and who would lay on the other side of her sword. Would that person have a family? Children? Or would they be too young to have started one? Was she selfish enough to end someone else's life to save her own?

Fragmented visions flashed in her mind of the failed assassinations on her life. Thank the gods she hadn't born been a boy; they would surely have been much more frequent and crueler. But most of her father's enemies overlooked a girl, until they found out she was the sole heir, or believed that her father's evil had been passed to her. But what could a girl do against them?

She hadn't been much of a threat of a child. As a child, she had been, she thought, extraordinary unremarkable. More often than not, she wished to be unnoticed and free to explore what she wished. It didn't matter to her childish mind what that adventure might be, whether is lay in books, or the castle, or on, rare occasions, the world outside the capital. If it was new to her, it was worth seeing, and if it held peculiar riddles or mysterious histories, it was worth knowing.

Rose was so deep in thought, she didn't notice that the night had deepened, and the dragons had joined the camp until Thorn nudged her back with his snout. You look as if your pain, he stated.

You don't look so grand yourself, she said, turning to look at him. The fact was that Thorn did look grand. His red scales shone regally in the fire light, like fractured glass in the streaming golden light of the sun, and his large wings looked like veined silk tumbling down at his sides.

Snorting out a puff of gritty smoke in reply, he lay down, winding his tail around her. He blinked at her, his rubicund eyes gleaming laughingly. What were you thinking so hard on?

Nothing of much importance. She sat down and leaned against his bulk. How far is a stream from here?

Too far to go to this night. Why ask?

I wish to bathe before we continue tomorrow. I feel as if I've rolled in a pile of filth.

Thorn shuttered, his scales rubbing against the fabric of her cloak. Then I shall take you at first light.

I thank you, Thorn, she said, settling closer into him. It's not too horribly far, is it?

You'll want to let someone know where you're going. They might think you've run off on them.

Oh, she said, and closed her eyes. I'm going to need a saddle or something of the like if we keep going off like this. I'm going to look like a patch-worked doll before the week ends.

You promised you'd ask about it again.

I know, and I will. Rose shook her head slightly. When the time is right. Now does not seem to a good time for requesting much.

When is? Thorn rumbled a growl.

When things settle, and we have the proper time and supplies to do such, said Rose with a smile. They'll probably be in shock that I ride with you at all.

Thorn grumbled his laugh. What do they think we do?

They likely believe that we beat each other with sticks or, perhaps, chase down a weasel or two. The former being something I'm quite certain you would do.

Thorn, catching on to her teasing, said nothing, and a silence formed over them

It was growing late into the night, the moon had risen high and was now inching downwards, a faint silver limned the trees and the grasses. Rose was beginning to think of getting up and crawling into her bedroll, when the leaves, an arm's length in front of her, crackled as if stepped on. At once her head snapped up and Eragon emerged into visibility through the shadows of night, his skin shimmering with sweat, and a bag dangling at his side. He froze midstep, taken by surprise, as she forced herself to her feet. For a long moment, he and Rose stared into each other's eyes.

His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. "I thought you were asleep," said Eragon as he moved the bag behind him, as if he were trying to hide it from view.

"Where are you going?" asked Rose, eyeing the bag in his hands. She raised an eyebrow. "It's rather early to break your fast, don't you think?"

Eragon and Rose were hidden deep within a hovel in a large growth of brushwood. It reminded Eragon very much of the one he found in Carvahall, where he and Brom had spent their first night of travel, before he had cleaned it out years before. It was cramped and full of prickles, the barbs around him were always threatening to poke into him, leaving his skin to sting for hours.

A sigh in the back of his mind reminded him that this was not Carvahall.

He missed Carvahall with such intensity that it felt now like a physical pain within his chest. There were times his simple missing for his home turned into a carving and when it did, it would leave him breathless. But it was not Carvahall that he missed, what he missed were the simpler times with his cousin and uncle; a time when he did not have to worry about anything more than a hunting trip or where it was best to make a trade.

He frowned and shook his hand, the left one that he had wrapped the briars around, as a wave of nausea shook him.

He felt for once as if he were at home, in the woodland behind Carvahall waiting for game to pass by, that he was one hunting not the one being hunted.

Except, of course, he was not being hunted. There was no real danger; this was just Rose overreacting, looking for dangers where there were none to be found. Or, at least, he hoped.

Eragon didn't know what he would do if there was danger; he had left Zar'roc in his bag along with his best knife. He didn't even want to think of what Brom would say if he knew. Even with him hundreds of leagues away Eragon practicality hear the old man now telling him off for his stupidity, how his brain did indeed work and that it was not filled with rocks, that it was better to be prepared and not to leave a valuable weapon behind…

Eragon looked down at his thorn covered gloves. He did not know for certain why he had wrapped his hands in the briars, just that every time he tossed the strings of undergrowth to the ground they kept catching on his tunic, poking him. His gloves were thick enough to protect the skin underneath and as he thought about the thorns, he began to wonder about the idea of using it for a weapon. It would be good to know if he had something of use on him.

He would rather just use magic but the idea remained with him.

With a sigh he looked out from between the thin wiry branches, searching and listening for any movement. Gradually a blanket of cool blankness slipped over him, and for the first time he felt something familiar- something of the place he was born in. And though He may miss his home dearly but there was nothing left of it and he could not go back, not after all that he had learned and done.

At this moment, he needed to be focused but he found that more he tried that there was little to focus on. His mind felt divided; part of his thoughts were his own but the remaining were Saphira's. He could feel everything she was doing; the wind she was cutting through high above in the clouds, the whistling of air as she sped up, the keenness to come down to the ground and swoop those she cared up and to fly away with them. The only reason she wasn't down here already was because whoever was traveling down the path could now be heard.

Something he now heard also. It the crunching of many feet marching through the undergrowth, not troubling theirselves to be quiet, that now could be heard. Eragon thought that they didn't sound human.

He cast a small charm to allow them to hide from prying eyes, so that as long as he and Rose were quiet no one would be able to find them. And they were, hardly a sound came from either of them.

For a very long time they were silent, neither of them daring to move. Their breaths, and the teetering of birds, were the only things heard other than the marching. And then a large, gray hand came out of the shadows, pulling back a sapling and breaking it as the creature moved into the light. Before Eragon could recognize what the creature was, he heard Rose gasp and then her hand flew over her mouth.

Not a moment later, a dozen or so Urgals came up behind their leader, as ugly as Eragon thought them to be last time he saw them. The Urgals looked around with bright, piggy eyes and their snout-like noses wrinkling as if they were sniffing the air. After the Urgals, poured out humans, sitting edgily on top of steeds, where short red tunics and golden chainmail, a helm on each of their heads.

"Where're they?" the soldier nearest the Urgals sneered.

"Here," one of the Urgals told him. His small eyes were sweeping the small valley. "Somewhere."

"Yes, yes," said the same soldier as before, "you said that before. Where is somewhere, though?"

Eragon scuffled closer, trying to get a better look, and hit Rose in the back with his elbow. She jolted and fell forward. As Eragon reached out to seize her, she grabbed ahold of a thick barbed branch in front of her, trying to steady herself, but the branch broke with rebounding snap! She fell forward, and then regained her balance before going very still.

Eragon cursed as all the Urgals and all the men looked in their direction. One of the Urgals pointed its stubby finger at the brush they were hiding in and said, "There."

He could feel his heart beating wildly against this chest, but a wall seemed to form between what he felt and what he needed to do. Taking ahold of Rose's arm, he pulled her, willing her to move, but she did not, completely frozen as the Urgals advanced. "Come on, Rose," he hissed at her. "Come on, move! Move now!" She did not move, nor did she seem to hear him. He cursed and continued, "They're coming. We don't have much time. We won't have time at all if you don't move!"

Rose stood up suddenly and shook his arm off, before she began to forcibly push him out of the brushwood. The reedy branches under their feet snapped as they hurried from the brushwood. At the hole Eragon had made in the back, he pulled the branches aside and pushed Rose through, letting her get ahead of him.

The Urgals grunted as they got closer, their footfalls were like distant thunder. When they reached the brushwood, Eragon and Rose had been in, they simply plowed through it, entangling theirselves in the thorns and prickles.

Burn them, said Saphira from somewhere above. It will be much simpler than blasting them into nothing, or have you forgotten your lesson? Be sensible, Eragon. Burn them.

It would not feel right to burn the Urgals. Yet as Eragon heard them snarl, he thought of the people lying dead in Yazuac, the years of childhood fearing them, the threats before he had tried to blast the Urgals away from Brom, and lastly Brom's anger when Eragon had put forth so much energy to blast them away.

I cannot save you this time, I'm too high up. Do it now!

He wheeled around on his heel, facing the Urgals in the brushwood, and raised his hand. "Brisingr!" he shouted and, as the dry wood caught ablaze with blue fire, he turned away.

Thorn is not far, said Saphira. Go to him. I will keep the two-leggeds busy.

By doing what? he said sharply, notching his arrow. I'm not running like a coward! Not when you're going off to get yourself killed!

Saphira snorted. I'm not going to be killed by those creatures, Eragon. I'm much smarter than they are, she said blatantly. Go to Thorn. I will see you before long.

And if I refuse? he challenged, turning around to see where the Urgals were. Some were burning in the fire trying to get out, he only one escaped, while others, the ones that stayed away from the brushwood, were running toward him and Rose. They weren't far behind.

Then I will have Thorn carry you away in his claws.

He frowned and looked ahead before turning around. He did not need to look to see that Saphira had already begun her attack on the Urgals, he could hear their shouts as she roared and snapped her massive teeth at them.

"Run!" Eragon shouted out to Rose. "Keep going. Thorn's not far." He stopped briefly and turned to let an arrow loose and then another, one of them hit an Urgal that was charging at them in the knee. It fell over, and pulled the arrow out before slowly rising. It limped forward, much slower than before.

Eragon turned away and sped up to Rose, before he turned again and let more arrows loose. He would follow her to Thorn, he did not want to waste the time looking for the dragon himself, and slow down a small unit of Urgals as much as he could as they came charging. Sometimes one of them would vanish and reappear with a loud thud as it fell collided with the ground- it was Saphira's work, Eragon knew it.

Eragon reached back in search of his arrow but is quiver was empty. He cursed, spinning around and caught up with Rose. She looked up him and sped up, racing him to Thorn who was shielded from view by a large blossoming bush, watching them as they sped forth.

Eragon glanced behind him, worriedly looking for Saphira but only saw a blue glint as she dived towards the ground. Why couldn't it have been Thorn who was fighting with the Urgals and soldiers instead of her?

Turning back, he saw that Rose had already climbed onto Thorn's back, and was waiting for him to do the same. He hesitated, looking back at direction Saphira was in and then rushed forward and climbed on, grabbing ahold of Rose for balance.

When he looked back towards Saphira, shouting for Thorn to go, a stabbing pain shoot through him. He looked over himself and released that it was not his pain. He wheeled back on Thorn's saddle, almost falling from the dragon's back, as his head began to spin.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear it.

Feeling Thorn dragon crouched down, with wings spread wide, to jump into the sky, Eragon looked back towards Saphira. He then swung his legs over Thorn's back and dropped to the ground. Something grazed him as he landed in a roll, and looking up into a mouthful of large dagger-sharp white teeth.

Eragon rolled away from Thorn and dived into a bush, before taking off towards Saphira in a run. She was hurt, something had happened to her, he was sure of it. His body tangled and stung with pain that was not his own, his steps were wobbly as if he were drunk.

He had to help her. Somehow, someway.

He saw Saphira rush toward him, her flight labored and swaying. Fool! She roared at him. I told you to go with Thorn!

Her anger cleared his head. He saw that she was hurt, there was scarlet droplets of blood arcing behind her as she flew. I can't leave you, he said. You're hurt.

The burning anger he felt from her softened but only a little. Little one, she said in a forgiving but hard voice, like brittle metal. I was just leaving.

Eragon frowned at her, and looked around at the advancing Urgals. I didn't know, he told her. You said you were going to try to hold them off so I thought you would keep trying.

There wouldn't have been a reason to if you were safe, she said and landed between him and the Urgals. It was a foolish thing to do. You should have listened to me.

Nodding, Eragon looked for the wound, and found it on the joint of her wing. He ignored Saphira's protects, telling him not to worry about it now, and healed her anyway. She looked at him with darkened eyes. If you're done wasting our time, she said, let's go.

Eragon grabbed the strap on her saddle and started to pull himself up. Out of nowhere something rammed into him knocking him to the ground. There was a noise like a gust of wind and then one like a screech of stone, so loud that Eragon thought his ears were burst.

Louder and louder it grew.

Until quite suddenly it was gone.

Now Eragon felt that he was on the ground but he saw nothing, and he felt as if he emptied of everything. Slowly his vision returned to him but it was strangely warped around the edges. He could not think of why that was; all of his thoughts were still.

There was something was caught in his throat. He tried to cough it up but found that there was no air to do so. When he tried to breath he found that he could not do this either. Every time he tried to breath he gasped painfully, feeling like an icy splinter was stuck inside of him, but could not stop himself from trying. He needed to breathe.

There was a roaring above him.

He could hear her thumping footfalls coming closer and closer but could not see her. He turned his head, his vision blurry, his breath caught in his throat. Something colored in red and gold was on top of him. It was holding him down.

He blinked, and gasped but no air came.

The soldier turned his head and shouted something. Eragon could not make out the words, they sounded strange to his ears as if the soldier were speaking another language.

He gasped again.

Suddenly the soldier was whipped off of him by a flash of blue scales and Saphira moved closer, her head hovering protectively over Eragon.

He gasped loudly but no air went into him. He couldn't speak to her, the words wouldn't form. His head was swimming. He felt as if were about to be ill.

There was another roar, and a flash of something long and dark as Saphira's head disappeared.

And then there was a pain along his head. Sharp and stabbing. It over took everything else.

Blackness enveloped him.

It was a swaying, swinging blackness.

There was nothing except it; that blackness that had become everything.

.

When Eragon came to his senses, he found that he was laying on flat panels of splintered wood, in a mess of deafening noise that made his head ache with stabbing pain. Something was moving beneath him. The movements were jutting and jiggery, and made loud screeches every so often. The lunging, bumping feeling was one he recognized but he hadn't felt it in sometime, and though the sounds were different, he knew he was on a cart.

Why would he be on a cart?

He tried to move his arms but found that they were bound tightly behind his back. He frowned in confusion; what was going on?

Slowly he opened his eyes to see where he was, and was instantly blinded by a glaring white light. He jammed them shut with a groan.

"Is he awake?" a heavy voice asked from somewhere around him. He didn't recognize the voice.

Something hard and pointed poked him in the side. He fought the urge to move, and focused instead on staying still.

"Nah," said another voice.

"Good," said the same voice as before. "Grevist wouldn't be happy if he were. He'd want us to him to get the Iron Tower, at least, before he awoke."

"He'd be much happier if brought him the right one," said a different voice.

"It's a Rider," said yet another man's voice. "Grevist will be pleased enough with that."

There was the sound of someone scoffing, and then, "It don't matter what we bring Grevist, he won't be pleased with what we have to tell him."

There was a round of agreement from several other men and then they all fell silent.

Eragon didn't dare open his eyes now, nonetheless move. He had a fair idea of what was going on; that he had been knocked unconscious and taken by the soldiers to Gil'ead, or at least he thought he was in Gil'ead.

He gathered that he had been attacked when he was getting ready to climb onto Saphira- Saphira! he thought suddenly. But where was she?

Eragon cast out his mind for Saphira but did not feel her. Nothing of her, not even her calmer sleeping mind. He could feel the soldiers' minds and the people around him but little more. His head fought against him as he tried to continue and he withdrew into himself, his heart pounding behind his eyelids. His mind felt as if it were trying to split in two at the effort.

For now he would just have to wait and see if Saphira was behind him- he thought, and hoped, that she wasn't- and try to come up with some plan.

With a great amount of effort he forced himself to remain still. He was only able to do so because of the amount of times he pretended to be asleep over the last weeks, when he was truly just listening to the sounds of night, avoiding sleep because of the dreams that might come. There were times during those nights where Eragon had felt Selena pressing the palms of her hands against his forehead as if checking for fever and cluck her tongue when she felt one, or Brom walk loudly around his head and bend down for a moment just lingering there as if he were waiting for something.

He wiggled his legs and found that were unbound. That was strange. Why would they only bind his arm and not his legs? Eragon was not question it too much though, in his mind it was a blessing. Despite the fact that it was a small one.

The cart gave a great heave, probably hitting a stone, pitching Eragon into air some. His head came down onto the wood so hard that he thought he was going to be knocked out again. He wasn't but a great lurch of stabbing pain hurtled through his head stunning him for a moment.

He groaned again but this time the men didn't seem to notice.

Eragon felt a brief moment of encouragement; maybe he would be able to find a way out this mess without having to fight. He couldn't be that lucky could he? No, it was likely he was not but he had to try.

He listened to the sounds for a moment, they seemed to overtake everything else in harsh blaring beats of sound. He slowly summoned the willpower, and his mind swirled as he concentrated as he search for the strange, intangible world of feeling where his magery held its power. Bracing himself he pulled some of that power forward and focusing it, he said, "Jierda!"

Immediately the cart lurched, slamming Eragon forward, and loudly buckled. Before the soldiers could think to take action Eragon and a knocked one of the guards to the ground as he jumped off the cart. Two of the soldiers, taken completely off guard, stood with their mouths open. Eragon charged between these two and ducked under the flinging arms of another, braking through their ranks and onto open street.

A man shouted behind him, harshly giving out orders but Eragon did not dare to look back. He kept his eyes on the road as he bolted blindly through the crowd, only snatching a look as he sped around a corner: two soldiers were in pursuit. Eragon had a good lead, but his head was pulsing with black pain and more than once he nearly lost his balance. He knew he didn't have long before the pain became too much.

He gritted his teeth, pushing the feeling aside. All he knew was that he had to keep going. It was unbearably bright. Although Eragon stood in the shadows of the city, his vison blurred and swam. He was so disoriented he almost retreated into a dark alley to sit down.

He felt as if he were moving through syrup, his movements were slow and his mind felt vague but he forced himself to keep moving. As Eragon walked through the streets he found that it was not easy to keep his sense of direction. He did not know how far he had gotten, nor when he lost the pursuing soldiers. He was looking for a wider road, one of the few that he had gone through days before, but with each turn he found nothing of familiarity.

Quite often he completely lost sight of the Iron Tower, something that he hadn't believed to be possible, and felt as if he were wandering in circles. The backstreets of Gil'ead were unsettlingly empty; no more than twice did he pass a group of soldiers, and when he did he did his best to hide rather it was behind a stack of crates or pile of rubbish, and when they moved on so did he. Eventually Eragon found himself mindlessly picking his way through the alleyways that were little more than black, filthy crevices between long barracks, only to come to a dead end or worse a busy street filled with searching soldiers.

The only he truly knew was that he was past tired, past thought; that he was simply moving on nothing more than determination to leave. To leave and find Saphira. He needed to find Saphira, to make certain that she was alright. He didn't know if she had gotten away from the Empire and was safe somewhere with Rose and Thorn, or if she was being held as prison within Gil'ead. More than once, out of a cold fury of worry, he tried to reach out to her with his mind but when he did he could never force his mind out far; his head felt as it were pulsing beneath his skull and whenever he tried to push the blinding pain away he could not. In those moments the world seemed to distort and whirl until eventually he gave up.

As night fell over Gil'ead, a deep blackness relieved only by occasional lamplights glowing in sheeted over windows, Eragon began to despair that he would never leave Gil'ead, and sank down in a shadowed part of an alley. He closed his eyes as he fought away cold wave of exhaustion. Eragon was far too weary to continue; his head felt as if it were lost long ago in a fog.

The building in front of him swayed and darkened. Eragon closed his eyes, trying to still it.

As soon as the sun had disappeared completely from the sky, it began to get very dark. He sat for a long time with his head bowed, stuck in the twisting, swaying world, listening to the night. There were few sounds to listen as most people were hidden from the darkness of night within their candle lit homes. There were very few people on the streets; expect for perhaps a sway drunkard or an occasional soldier, and Eragon and hidden deep enough within the shadows of the alleyway that they did not notice him. Still Eragon felt himself tense whenever he heard the slightest of noises, feeling unsafe. He thought lightly of Saphira and reached out his mind again to contact her. She was not within Gil'ead, he thought but the thought gave him no comfort.

Eragon was alone.

.

When Eragon awoke, he found himself shrouded by a warm golden light. He didn't want to open his eyes, the light was blinding enough without looking into it. He had a bad enough headache without having to look into the light that would make it worse. He was laying on something soft, and the air around him was warm.

He lay very still, listening to the sounds of something moving round, and a faint metallic cling, and the gentle pop of a burning fire. Eragon knew he was not in the street anymore, but he could not seem to force himself to be worried about this fact. Instead he gingerly reached his hand to touch what was covering him, it was some kind of rough wool but it was warm. He heard some moving toward him and tensed as a hand stroked his forehead. Involuntarily he opened his eyes and saw the lined face of a woman hovering above him.

"Oh good, you're awake," said the woman. "I had thought for certain that you might not wake up."

Eragon blinked and ran his hand over his forehead. It was damp and felt raw. "Who are you?" he asked in a gush. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

The woman frowned and blinked. "My son found you outside," she said. "He brought you in and I cleaned you up. You had taken quite a beating to your head, why don't you rest, yeh? There is stew if you like to try something to eat."

Eragon shook his head and denied her offer for food. The smell coming from the pot made him feel slightly nauseous. He turned over, too tired to push for his questions to be answered, and fell back to sleep.

.

When Eragon awoke, he didn't know where he was. He blinked, looking disbelievingly around the small hut. It had plain wood walls that were now striped with dusty bars of light that slanted in through shutters, by the bed he lay on was a chest, on which was placed a bowl of stew and two slices of bread. Seeing the food made his stomach rumbled and he picked up the soup and dipped in the bread.

As he ate, memory flickered back; he was in Gil'ead in the home of a woman he had never before met. The events afore his arrival at the hut was a strange twisting blur that he could not sort out. He puzzled over this for a while, disturbed. He still felt as he were living in a world of haze.

And then he realized that he did not know how long he had been asleep; if it was merely a few hours or one day and one night or many. Eragon was so stiff and sore he could barely move, and his arms and legs were covered in grazes and bruises.

Eragon set down the bowl and looked at his wrists. They had been carefully wrapped with thin clothe, hiding, as he could feel, the very raw skin beneath. He cautiously unrolled his sleeves, and then slowly stood up. After testing his balance, he walked slowly to the table in the center of the room where there was wine and ale set out.

He looked around for someone, and waited for a moment, but seeing that no person was around he helped himself to a goblet filled with the ale. He sat down at the bench and took a long, slow drink. It burned his dry throat and mouth.

Setting down the goblet, Eragon thought of Saphira, and Rose, and Thorn. He was certain that Rose and Thorn were somewhere safe; he had seen Thorn fly safely away. He hoped that Saphira was with them, though he knew that if she had gotten away from the soldiers she would go looking for him. Maybe she was already over the city. Eragon looked at the shuttered windows, thinking that he would look out of them for her but he couldn't seem to force himself to stand. He thought of reaching his mind out towards her but the memory of the crippling pain he felt before halted him. What if it came back?

Just as he thought this, the door open and the glow of the sun flickered into the room. Eragon stiffened and looked as the woman he had seen before walked into the hut. She was carrying an iron bucket, and her dark hair was gathered up into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her dark eyes looked at him for a moment and then she put the bucket down next to the door.

"You feel better, yeh?" the woman asked.

Eragon nodded. "Who are you?" he blurted out. "What's your name? I mean…" He frowned and looked away.

"You may call me Margery," the woman said. "I however do not need to know what to call you, I've heard enough from the rumors within the town. If they question me I want to able to say that I haven't an idea who you are nor why you are here." She turned her back to Eragon, and began to unlace her boots. "For now you should simply rest," she said softly, "regain your strength, and when you are ready you will leave, yeh?"

Eragon frowned. "Do you want me to leave now?"

Margery looked up at him. "Do you have a way to leave now?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Without the soldiers seeing you?"

"No."

"Then you stay," she said. "You can rest here without worry of them soldiers."

"Why are you helping me?" Eragon asked after a moment. "If the Empire catches you, you could be executed."

Margery looked at him and frowned deeply. "I only do, what I would hope you would do for me," she said, and then turned away to the bucket and took out a hand-full of dried leaves. She was silent for a long while as she moved around the room.

"Did you sleep well?" said Margery as she sat beside him. She began to ground the leaves into a bowl with a rounded stone. "You look rested."

"Yes," he said, feeling slightly tongue-tied. Her earlier words had shocked him.

"I am glad," she said, and fell again into silence.

Eragon watched her work. When he was younger he had often watched Gertrude do the same thing, that is whenever he the misfortune of having to visit her. After a time, Margery seemed to grow tired of his staring and set him to work pounding the herbs and occasionally had him stir the stew. Eragon did not complain, it was something to do and he knew he couldn't leave yet.

He found out from talking to Margery that he had slept through a whole day and most of the night. She told that he woke often but it was never for long, and he would go quickly back to sleep. "Sometimes head injuries do that," she told him. "Sometimes it can be worse. You are very lucky."

"I just wish I remember what exactly happened," Eragon said lowly.

Margery set the knife in her hand aside. "It could be worse," she said, looking directly at him. "You could remember nothing at all." She looked away. "Would you like some mint tea? It helps settle the stomach."

"Sure," Eragon accepted with a frown. He hadn't said anything about the queasiness in his belly. In fact until she had said something he almost forgotten about it completely. "How did you know my stomach was upset?"

"I just know," said Margery as she stood up and made her way to the cauldron in the hearth. "It matters not whether one is my child or another, I can always tell."

Eragon looked over his shoulder at her. He vaguely remembered that she had said something about her son but he did not for certain what. "You have a son, right?"

"Yes. My son is not much older than you," said Margery slowly, as she handed him a cup. She smiled at him wearily. "He's the one who found you the other night. If Harman were still here I would introduce you to him. He works for a trader and is away quite a bit. He likes it though or at least I assume he does, he hasn't told me otherwise. I miss him, It gets lonely here." She turned away then and began study the leafy plant hung on strings above the table. "Here," she said, untying a pebbly looking spout, "gird this up nice and fine."

Something about her seemed to forbid further chatter, and Eragon was silent as he pounded the plant. When he was done, he drank the rest of his though now it was stone cold, and ate very little of the stew Margery gave him. He found then to his shock that it was dark outside, and that he was very tired.

He stood up and stretched lightly, and then looked at Margery. "You're going to sleep, yeh?" she said before he could say anything. "Go on and rest. When morn comes we'll speak of how to smuggle you out of here, yeh?"

"Alright." Eragon nodded. "Thank you."

Margery smiled and began to clean the dusty mess from the table. "And the same to you," she said.

Eragon made his way to the bed and lay down. Curling onto his side, he closed his eyes but could not sleep. Each time he came close to it, it slipped away from him. After a long while of just lying there, he sat up and blinked. The hut was completely dark; Margery must have gone to bed as well, though Eragon hadn't seen another bed besides the one he lay in now.

He frowned and pushed the thought away. Pushing the blanket off of him, he found that his stomach no longer bothered him. If his stomach felt better, would it hurt to reach out to Saphira?

Eragon didn't think so, and very gingerly he reached out his mind. A wave of nausea swept over him, but his head remained still. Encouraged he touched Margery's mind first, very lightly like what Brom told him to do to test one's motives. He saw nothing in her that worried him.

Then Eragon reached his mind out further, past the limits of the small hut he was in and into the night. He found what he looking for almost right away, a glowing figure in the darkness, very small, very bright, glowing with an unknowable power. Reached out for it, he called, Saphira?

He felt her astonishment. Eragon? Is that you?

Yes.

There was a pause, and then he felt her mend with his. I am coming, she said. Stay put.

Immediately, Eragon stood up and fumbled through the darkness of the cabin to the door. He unlatched the hooks and walked outside, looking towards the sky. The alleyway is too small, you'll get stuck, he said.

I told you to stay! Saphira growled.

And have you get stuck between two buildings? We'll have to find a wider road, he said. Then he went back into the hut and grabbed his boots by the door, thankful that he had looked for them earlier.

The night was not as cold as the ones before it, and Eragon was able to wonder about the streets easier. Without the pounding pressure in his head or he heavy fogginess he had before he was able to find a wider street with Saphira's help.

When he reached the street, Eragon did not stop, he ran to Saphira, who landed loudly on the ground in front of him. He wrapped his arms around the great blue dragon's muzzle, pressing his cheek against Saphira's scales. There were no words for what he felt. Humming, Saphira pressed against him and then shook her head demanding to be let go. Eragon released her and touched his head where it began to ache again.

I missed you too, but we must move or we will die.

Eragon frowned and climbed onto her back, looking around for Thorn and perhaps Rose. Where are they? he asked.

You will not like it, she said. But perhaps it will force you to listen to me next time. Be ready.

For what?

Thorn, Saphira said taking into the skies. He is not happy about it but I could not leave you there.

Eragon frowned. What happened?

I'll tell you later, she said turning to the great tower overshadowing the Saphira growled suddenly. You're an idiot, and if you ever do something like that again I swear I'll kill you myself.

Love you too, Saphira.

That night passed painfully slow.

It seemed that the darkness itself were creeping through the small woodlands, and into a dimly lit cave, hungrily carving to extinguish the feeble light that brightened its dark corners. Selena firmly believed that it would go on forever; that daybreak would never come.

There had been little for them to do but wait that night, and the wait was if anything worse than the battle that was about to take place. She wished that the Ra'zac would attack just to end the forbidding silence that had descended on her and Brom. There didn't, in truth, seem to be anything to say. Their situation was clear: they were trapped by a formidable foe, who had powers that they did not fully understand.

She had been heard once long ago, in some place she didn't reminder that the Ra'zac drew their strange powers from the darkness and their targets' fears and that they fed off both of these things, though she did not know if these were true or if they were simply rumors spread across the lands to scare off the King's enemies. She wondered if they would do that them now.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her body, she reached out her mind again, mindful of the dangers out there. She wasn't looking for the touch of their minds, she found out the dangers of doing such things many years ago, but for the sounds they made. She could still hear them out there in the same place they had been throughout the night. They hadn't moved.

Though Selena could not say that she did feel nervous about the Ra'zac being there, she had thought that they would have come for her much sooner, and an icy appetence had overtook her. For the majority of that night it had stayed there until it was melted by a flaming thought.

In a way she was glad that the Ra'zac had come after her. Her heart ached with the burning vengeance to make the beasts pay for pain they inflicted upon her brother and son. And though she had said that vengeance was not the answer to grief, it would be a favor to the world to kill the Ra'zac, to insure they cause no more pain, no more fear, no more suffering. And, a small part of her agreed, the simple act of repaying them for what they've done would feel so very good.

She shook herself, and looked into the fire. She could not afford such thoughts in times like this. Her mission now was to get the dragon egg safely to the Varden; far too many people had helped her get this far for her to fail because the Ra'zac. Gritting her teeth, she looked at the corner where she had placed the dragon egg, snuggly hidden within the enchanted bag. It was safe there.

Let them try, Selena decided. Let those murderers try to take the egg from her, and should they it would merely be her excuse to do them what they did to her brother.

With a frown she turned to Brom. After a moment he looked back at her grimly and then slowly stood up. He said nothing as he threw in the last of the logs into the fire, building it up so the flames leaped high. It was unbearably hot.

Then Brom cleared his throat. "I think that they're waiting for us to do something," he said slowly, his voice echoing off the stony walls. "For what, I do not know. We've waited them out for quite some time to see if they would make their move but now that it's nearing morning I have a feeling they may not continue on in this way. "

She nodded in agreement, folding the blanket and placing it into her bags. They had very few more hours left of night; she felt as Brom that if they were going to attack it would be very, very soon. "They are either waiting for us to come out or they know not that we are waiting for them as well."

"Both, I would think." Brom leaned back against the rocky wall. "Which means we have to figure what to do."

Selena shifted with a sigh. "What can we do? Remaining here in hiding will force them in and we shall have very little room to fight them off, and should we come out we know they will attack. It leaves us with little advantage."

Selena looked at Brom meaningfully, and he slowly shook his head. "I know," he said, his eyebrows drawn together. "They've done a mighty fine job trapping us. Until now there is little we can do now except to wait and see but I believe it is time to draw them out."

"Let the hunters become the hunted?" She smiled lightly, and shook her head. "That's a stupid plan," she said. "They'll turn whatever or whoever we send into a breathing quiver, at best."

"What else do you suggest we do then?" he grumbled in a steely voice. "Stay here and wait from them to attack or for us to eventually die from starvation?"

"Don't start this ridiculousness," said Selena, "we'll likely run out of water then we will food." She slowly opened her eyes and looked at him, fighting back a yawn. "You cannot jump into this rashly, Brom. You'll get us both killed if you do. We need to think this through."

"It's been a long night. I've had plenty of time to think over it," he grumbled lowly. "We just need to smart about it."

Selena swept her hair back from her face and tied it back with a length of cloth. "That should not be too hard, we're smarter than they are," she said softly. "Had we been the ones ambushing we would not make so much careless noise. They're confident that they can take us."

"Aye, they are but be careful when they attack," Brom said, "and I'm fairly certain they will. When they do remember that they are stronger and faster than we are, and watch out for their breath at all costs. Your mental spells won't work against them, they have shields on their minds, and they have some sort of armor on their body." He paused and looked down at his sword. "Their blades are probably poisoned."

"Of course they are."

"Galbatorix had probably set some sort of wards around them, too," he continued to warn. "Stay as close to the fire as you can, they don't like bright lights. That won't stop them from coming for us though."

Selena looked at the blinding fire with sudden realization and smiled. "What else?"

Brom looked at her and for a moment firmly held her gaze. "Stay alive," he said gravely.

"I can take quite a liking to that plan," she said and then paused. Her smile fell and a deep frown replaced it. "It sounds as if you have had a run in with them before."

Brom nodded, and stood up, well, he stood up as best as he could with the low ceiling of the overhang. "I have."

"What happened?"

He didn't move but stared ahead in silence as he tried to listen. His face was hard and unreadable, his sword held firmly at his side. His eyes were closed.

Poking at a long branch that stuck out from the fire, she frowned. "Brom?" she said.

"Hmm?" he replied not moving in the least.

"What happened when you ran into them?"

Brom huffed and leaned against the stony shelf wall. "They caught me off guard," he said. "It was just before Garrow died, not long after they had arrived in Carvahall. I was trying to find out why they had come to Carvahall. At first I thought that Galbatorix had found out where I was hiding and had come repay me for all the trouble I've caused." He shook his head and opened his eyes slowly, almost lazily, then looked at ground as if studying it. "They had come after Eragon, or Saphira's egg is what I should say. So, I was sneaking around and they caught me off guard and attacked me. Neediness to say I thought I could handle them and keep them away from Eragon but they were stronger than I was. I should have known better."

Selena narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. "And you call me conceited."

"That's because you are," Brom said with a small shake of his head. He stood up and began to shuffle through the bags, apparently looking for something of use.

"What do you think the chances are of them just simply leaving?" she asked after a time of watching him.

"Not likely at all."

She sighed, and looked down at her hands. "That was perhaps hoping for too much," she sighed. "What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing of much use." He looked out into the night with a frown. "I have a vague plan, but you're not going to like it."

"If it is one of your ideas we both know I shan't enjoy the outcome," said Selena rather seriously. She looked at him with a frown and then sighed; she could tell what he planning. "Don't you dare try to tell me that your plan is to go out there-"

"Selena," Brom began softly.

"And play the part of the hero," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Heroes do not return."

"Do you have any other ideas?" he grumbled, his head falling into his hands. "If you do I'd love to hear them."

There was a short, charged silence. Selena didn't look at him as she stared out the small opening. "This hangover is low enough to protect us fairly well from their arrows," she said after a moment, "but I can shoot my arrows out. You said they do not like light, and we have a fire or the ability to magic a fire. We could use that and the fatty oil we have to set up a raging fire outside. It's worked for me before, though not with the Ra'zac but it's an option that does not involve you being an escape goat."

Brom sighed forcibly, and looked out of the opening. He was quiet for a long time.

Selena turned away and watched the light throw harsh fractures of shadow across the stone wall. As she watched her mind began to wander; hadn't she been told once that she would had she would die should she ever be ambushed? Morzan had gotten quite a laugh out of it, once, long ago. Even as she grew under Morzan, and he told her of her culpabilities more and more often, the subject of her being ambushed seemed be a blaze spot in her weaknesses. And it seemed to her, as if he took some sort pleasure from watching her face fall and her struggle as she tried to correct it during his trainings. No matter how hard she worked at strengthening herself, it was never enough. Even now, after all these years, it was a weakness she could not overcome.

Selena knew what he would have said, had he been alive when she had been ambushed on her journey back from Carvahall, and the mere thought made her grit her teeth. She didn't even want to think about what he would have said if he knew what had happened at Spine Pass and the events afterward. It was ridiculous that she had thought of them so often; normally she could push such thoughts away but these hung heavily in the back of her mind. She had been thinking of Morzan too much lately, it seemed. She wondered what started it; why she was thinking about a man she had worked so hard to forget.

"Can you hit that died brushweed?" Brom said suddenly, startling her.

Selena blinked and took a deep breath, before looking out where he pointing. She could see nothing but shadows in the darkness. "Where? All I see is shadows," she said. "Your eyesight is better than mine, remember?"

"Just straight ahead."

Selena blinked into the darkness. "Oh, I shoot straight no problem," she muttered lowly. "Where is straight ahead exactly, Brom? You're going to have be a little more detailed than that."

Brom sighed, and pointed out into the darkness. "Aim there," he said and as notched an arrow battered in fat he gave her further instructions. Selena pulled back and said a silent prayer to the gods before she released the arrow into the night, and then released a spell.

It was as if Selena had just singled the monsters of their whereabouts, and by doing so, signed the warrants of their deaths. Perhaps so, if the Ra'zac had not already known their location. She backed away from the entrance as she watched the arrow sail from the shallow opening and into the dark air, its tip glowing bright like a flare. The flaming arrow hit the brush of the wood, setting its dead limbs crackling and spurting as fire quickly took it over. And if they had not known, well, they certain knew now, she thought, this blaze is more than efficient at giving us away.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw the man seated beside her give a slight nod, and silently she began to move, crawling over the deadened coals and past him to the bag. She began packing what they needed as quickly as she could, cursing herself for not thinking to do this beforehand- it was a waste of precious moments to have to pack after setting ablaze the distraction.

"The spare horses need to be released," Brom hissed from somewhere behind her. "It pains me to say it but we will be faster without them."

Selena nodded, pulling out the cooking pot from within the food bag. "Where's the egg?"

"In a bag with that instrument. It seemed like a good place as any to hide it." His voice was flat and orderly, now like a commander on the battlefield. "There is a swift river a third of a mile east of here, at the base of a cliff. Should anything happen, we should be able to lose them there by swimming under the current. If they catch you, kill them. They have a weak spot, here." His fingers trailing lightly under her neck. She shifted under his touch, moving away. "You ready?"

"No," she muttered, shouldering her packs, "but let's go."

It was like an old practice; Brom placed his hand lightly on hers pointing towards her sword, silently telling her to be ready for a fight, before shuffling out the hallow. She scoffed at him and followed, the burlap sack bouncing across her back. We are equal, Brom had once told her. He may have spent more years fighting, but she had been in the midst of just as many battles. They were the same in so many ways, and that was perhaps why they worked so well together.

Selena wondered as she often had when she was younger, that if fate had been different and the Riders hadn't have fallen whether they still would have met on different terms, kinder ones. How different would their story be then? She shook her head, chasing the thought away. Wondering about such things was worthless- they were never to be no matter how many she wished for it.

Selena squinted into the night, trying to see past the huge winged shadows from the fire. Its heat burned her face even from the distance. To her right the horses could be whinnying and scuttling and stomping their hoofs against the ground in fear. She could hear them better than she could see them, having made the mistake of looking at the blazing fire and now being blinded from its glare. She ducked her head she walked blindly towards the horses, cursing the same noise that led her toward them. If she could hear surely them, surely the Ra'zac could as well.

As she reached Arvid and placed her hand against his golden flank, she muttered a calming spell. It worked almost instantly, the horse stilled and his ears relaxed forward, as he allowed her set the baggage down beside him as she went about saddling him. After she finished tying the bags, she made her way over to Snowfire, patting Starshine on the snout as she walked past. She kicked aside the blankets from Brom's saddle, as she reached out her mind and sought the Ra'zac in the shadowy world. They were easy to find; wavering in the blankness, strange twisting lights exactly where they were before. They seemed to her the very thing of unlife, of creatures neither died nor alive but caught in the tormenting void between, condemned to envy and hate everything that took joy in existence…

At last she heard something, but so slight she hardly knew if it was the wind. The slightest sound of slow flapping whispered through the night. Wings from a creature that she could only imagine, taloned and heavy and completely without feathers, and then a long ticking click. Something hard scuffled through the grass, coming closer and closer. Instinctively she looked up, straining her eyes, her hand going for her bow. The saddle she had been supporting fell to the ground forgotten.

"They're close," stated Brom, dropping the last of the bags at her feet. He moved beside her and after picking up the saddle he began to finish strapping Snowfire.

Selena frowned. "I do not believe that fire will hold them off for long."

Brom nodded grimly and picked up his packs. "Be ready for anything."

"I am," she stated climbing onto Arvid's back.

Brom tied off the last of the packs and lifted himself onto Snowfire. "Let's go," he said as he steadied himself and then commanded his horse forward, slashing the blade of his sword through the ties that held Starshine and Cadoc. He muttered something low under his breath and then the horses took off in a fury, kicking up clouds of dust and whinnying into the darkness. He turned around to look at her and then nodded as she jumped onto Arvid's back.

Not a moment later they took off onto the night toward a trail they both knew was there, or at least they tried to. Even with Brom's sharpened vision leading them, the brush and stone and trees proved a hindrance. Not long after they set down the path that something shifted in the darkness. A dark, misshaped shadow fragmented the shifting light of the fire. Selena pulled a knife from her belt and tipped the flagon over it. Then as she turned around, she thrust it at the creature with all her might, muttering a single spell under her breath. Selena supposed it hit true because the creature wheeled away and there was a loud thump as it crashed into a tree. The tree shuttered, its leaves whishing in the air before crushing the creature. The tree fell to the ground with an earth shuttering crash.

Turning away, she wordlessly urged on Arvid. She doubted the beast would be down for long, and when it did get up, she did not wish to be anywhere near it.

Suddenly a cold chill ran down her spine causing her to shiver as the air shifted. Selena huffed and lounged forward as a sharp gust of wind cut above her. The chestnut horse let out a panicked a squeal, her ears flat to his head and reared- knocking her from his back. She tumbled onto the path, and felt her body jolt again into the air before hitting the rocks a second time. Dazed she lay, gasping for air that would not come, as a large, beak-faced creature leapt out of nowhere. It stood over her, a wicked blade in its hands as she lay there, watching, though not completely comprehending what it was that she was seeing, as the light flickered off the blade the Ra'zac was rising higher into the air.

"Don't kill it," hissed a voice as light as air from somewhere in the distance. It sounded pained. "The King wantsss them alive!"

As the words were spoken, a blade slashed down through the darkness viciously towards the Ra'zac over her like a hatchet. With a hiss the creature swirled around and lifted its hooked blade, colliding with Brom's with a reverberating cling! The Ra'zac turned away, forgetting her as Brom swung a blade at its head. She closed her eyes, taking deep clearing breathes. She was aware of Brom to her right, slashing and hewing, beset by the creature.

Slowly as her head cleared, Selena sat up and reached for her sword. Her throat stung, and a sickly sweet smell she had not notice before faded from the air. She looked through the darkness for the other Ra'zac but not seeing him she bolted towards Brom. He and the Ra'zac were in a vicious combat, but neither of them had yet gained the upper. Brom was knocked head over heels by the force of a sword stroke, but he sprang back to his feet like an acrobat. His right arm was bleeding, and the Ra'zac was unscratched.

An earsplitting screech cut through the night, with the sound of ripping and tearing as the wood from the fallen tree was torn apart. Something was trying to free the other beast trapped beneath its weight.

The Ra'zac was fighting him back, step by step, toward the fiery wall. In the flickering light she saw him almost disarm the Ra'zac which righted itself, spring back, and slash its blade into Brom. It made a crackling sound like a laugh as Brom fell forward, gripping his side with both hands. His sword lay forgotten at his feet. The Ra'zac raised its blade, and as it did, Selena reached toward her belt, pulling to small knives which she threw at it. The daggers hit the Ra'zac at the base of its neck, and it froze, swaying slightly, before turning itself toward her. It clicked its beak angrily as if cursing her, as it pulled the knives from its hard flesh. As it tossed the knives aside, Brom shakenly stood up and swung his sword at the creature. The Ra'zac's arm severed the same moment its head toppled to the ground. Brom, breathing heavily, and fell heavily onto his knees, growling out curses profusely as he looked towards her.

A crashed sounded from where the tree had fallen. Selena resisted the urge to look towards the sound as she ran towards Brom. She fell onto her knees beside him and studied his pale face. "You look about as bad as feel," said Brom hoarsely.

"As long as I'm the better looking one," she replied softly with a frown. "Let me see your wounds."

Brom let out a breathy laugh and slowly struggled to his feet, his hands clenching his side. "Stop worrying and find the horses. Do not give me that look, we need to leave. Now. Before they figure out what happened," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'll be fine."

Selena gave him a doubtful look, and reached out her mind for the horses. She found them without much trouble and called them forth. "The horses are coming," she said. "You should let me look at your wounds, Brom, they look serious."

"You took a nasty whack to your head. It's bleeding quite a lot," the man growled, "and you don't see me bellyaching over that. I know that you'll live and I'll be fine, I promise. Worry about me when there's a chance we won't die in a few minutes."

Selena reached her hand towards her head and found that it was slick with blood and tender. As she found the wound, she felt like she was spinning, and pulled her hand way quickly. She shrugged. She had been through worse. Slowly she stood on unsteady feet and looked out for the horses, calling out to them again with her mind. They came within moments, though rather jittery and with ears flat against their skull. After helping Brom onto Snowfire, she struggled onto her own horse, and wordlessly they urged the horses into a gallop, leaving, hopefully the two injured beasts and the remaining living Ra'zac behind.

Dawn broke the cold night in a haze of pale grey. The earth lay silent and still in the early hours that the sun remained hidden behind morning cloud, until slowly as the pearly dimness faded and gradually the world filled with color as the sun broke through the clouds, wildlife began to awaken and chatter. The squats and squabbles from the birdsong were enough to startle Selena to a stop. She pulled harshly on Arvid's reigns and peered around, looking, though it seemed as if she peering through fogged glass, for the first at where exactly they were for the first time in hours. Silently she prayed that she hadn't fallen asleep, she had no memory of riding through the leafy cave behind thim. "That's far enough, Brom," she called out, rubbing her head. The man turned his head to leer at her over his shoulder, giving no signs of stopping anywhere, anytime soon. She rubbed her head again, starching slightly at the dried blood. "We have gone more than far enough without looking at your injuries."

The man turned his head away. "I'm fine," he said.

Selena sighed and instantly wished she had not. "We're covered in blood," she said breathlessly, "and people could very well be traveling these trails."

Brom scoffed. "No one travels through this area."

Closing her eyes, Selena took a deep breath to steady herself. She was very tired and wished more than anything for a rest even if it were for a short time. Looking again at Brom's hutched form, she saw the dried blood clinging to his boots and trousers and the grey of his skin, and called him again to a halt. "I need to rest," she told him steely. "You may be able to go day in and out with no break but I cannot. I must rest, Brom, if for only a short time."

The man nodded, and with her help slide from the horse's back and lay on a small patch of grass. He stared at her for a short moment before he closed his eyes. "If you want to heal me go on ahead. I know it's the only reason you wanted to stop," he told her. Without a word of agreement, Selena sorted through her bags and after pulling out a bag of finely crushed herbs she poured as much as she dared into a flagon and brought it to him. He looked at it and shook his head but grabbed out of her grasp nonetheless and drank deeply. After he had his fill, he closed his eyes once more. She pulled off her jerkin and lay it under his head, and as she did, he opened an eye long enough to see what she was doing before closing it again. "It looks worse than what it is," he mumbled as she peeled away his long shirt. "The blade didn't hit anything vital, and it wasn't poisoned either. I'd likely be died by now, or raging with fever, if it were. By the gods' mercy, it's a clean wound. I'll live."

Though the blade did not go deep enough into his side to hit anything that would kill him it did go deep, and after a moment of prodding the split, bloodied skin, she lay her hands gently onto of the wound. He cringed beneath her but said nothing. Moving her fingers so that they did not go into the laceration, she began to murmur spelling of healing and to ward off infection, and as she did a radiance of colored light gathered, glowing intensely.

She did not feel the crushing exhaustion until she finished and looked down at the wound. With a frown, she ran her fingers beside the angry gash. In the least it stopped bleeding when the skin was moved. As she studied the wound she wondered briefly how he had kept riding for so many hours, unless Brom had taken the time out to mutter a spell he should have bled to death.

"It feels better," he muttered.

Selena's frown deepened. "It certainly doesn't look any better."

Brom placed his hand over hers though his remained closed. "You worry too much," he said slowly, his voice thick.

Selena watched him as he fell into a slumber. As his breathing evened out, she pulled her hand away from his grip and set it in her lap. "You don't worry enough," she said before turning her gaze to the woodland about her.

Thorn, seeing the pair as well, curved into a steep dive and landed unsteadily, slipping on the small loose pebbles on the ground and sending many of them flying. He swiveled his head around to the man and the woman and flicked his tongue in greeting. Rose peeked around him and, seeing Selena give the dragon a soft smile, she slid from his back. The stones gave way to her landing, grinding and sliding, nearly taking her feet out from beneath her. She stumbled and after correcting herself, she held onto the straps of Thorn's saddle for balance and stayed very still until Saphira landed beside her. Eragon raised an eyebrow in her direction but left his question unsaid.

"Mindful of the stones they're slick," she said quietly.

He nodded and slid carefully from Saphira's back and stood next to her. Looking from her to Selena and Brom, he frowned. "They're not going to attack us," he told her, "at least I doubt they will."

Rose glowered at him but stepped with him to greet Brom and Selena despite her body demanding her to remain where she was- safely hidden between two dragons. Her muscles ached from the many long hours of flying.

As she walked she felt as if the tumbling stones beneath her feet would give way to the movement sending her, very much against her will, into the murky green water beyond. She wished for nothing more than to stay where she was and examine the tall swaying green and gold grasses and tiny crumb-like yellow flowers at the lakes edge that glistened from the misty water from the roaring falls.

When they stepped forward Selena and Brom came to them from their place in front of a great gasping hole in the precipice, examining their faces. "Well met," said the woman coolly as she enveloped Rose in a loose embrace that held neither comfort nor warmth. As her grip tightened, Rose felt a pressure in her mind as the woman mindtouched her and resultantly she let her in. What we have to say to each shall have to wait. If you value yourself at all you will smile and act pleasant as if you are pleased to us, she said and then withdrew from her mind just slightly, though her presence remained there. "It is very good to see that you have made it here safe, at last."

Rose glanced over the woman's shoulder to the great opening beyond. She saw no one but that did not mean that they were not there, standing silently and watchfully from within the shadows. "Well met, indeed, my friend," she said, a soft smile forming on her face. She hugged the woman politely for a short moment before stepping away. "I apologize that it took us so long to arrive."

With an approving nod, Selena tinted her head and studied Rose's face- her eyes lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary on the bruise on her cheek. Apparently seeing what she was looking for, she patted her cheek affectionately and stepped away. You best greet Brom, she said. Follow us afterwards and say as little as possible. The people within shall want to gain as much influence as possible over you and Eragon and the dragons. Any words you say, any actions you display, may be used against you to gain that control.

Are we in any sort of danger, Selena? asked Rose, stepping around her towards where Eragon and Brom stood in a loose embrace. It seemed likely that Brom was telling him a similar version of what Selena had said to her. Rose, not turning her head, looked at her out of the corners of her eyes.

Selena was stepping alongside her, staring ahead blankly as she pushed her loose hair back from her face. As of this moment, she said to Rose, you are not. This could change at any given time, mind you. We know not all of who are allies and enemies. I believe that Ajihad, the leader of the Varden, shall be your chief ally but even so there has been signs of Empire spies within Farthen Dûr. Things here have changed, I can feel it. She paused and looked at her seriously. So keep a façade and say no more than you must until a time comes that we can freely talk.

Very well. Rose sighed and greeted Brom quietly, trying to determine the weight of the solution from his face but he gave away nothing- he looked as grumbly as he always had- and she stepped away quickly and all too eagerly. As she stepped back, slipping slightly on the stones, she noticed that Selena still had Eragon locked in an embrace, looking for all the world as if she would rather strike him. She wondered what exactly was awaiting them when they could talk freely. Biting at her lip, Rose reached out her mind to Thorn, who remained just steps behind her, and resisted the urge to look at him. She said nothing- there were no more words to say- but she liked know that he was there.

After Selena stepped away from Eragon, he began to tell Brom about the elf in a low voice as they began to walk towards the cave entrance. When Eragon had finished the man whipped his head around and examined the unconscious elf laying limply around Saphira back. "I will insure that she's taken to the healers and given an antidote," he vowed softly. "Do not worry about her for now."

Rose bit at her lip, her head bent to see where she was placing her feet. She was quite certain that the old man was speaking about more than just the elf though she could just be searching for answers when there were none.

They entered the cave silently, its chilling shadow passing over them, and stopped. The small loose peddles brought in from their walking feet bounced across the grey-brown stone flooring. Rose watched them bounce as the earth below began to tremble and the golden sunlight shifted and began to fade as the stone door behind them beginning to close. When the day's light disappeared completely- all warmth disappearing with it- she looked around the cavern blinking, seeing nothing but the ghost of white light before her vision that faded all too slowly away allowing her to able to see what was beyond the entrance of the stony gates. Before her stood a company of a dozen men unlike any she had ever seen before; appearing to be nearly half her height with dense faces, they stood armed on axes nearly as large as they were, their braided grizzly beards decorated with trinkets intertwined or for binding of silver and gold and copper. Rose knew then what exactly they were though the stories and poetries of dwarfs had often described them being small and usually ugly. Maggots- one tale even said- that festered the living stones and rocks, greedily guarding the doorways in the mountains which opened the Between Worlds.

Rose did not know how many of those tales were written with truth. Perhaps, she thought, it would be best not to mention them at all.

Amid the small mass dwarfs stood two men, like identical towers over a small grisly township, their bald heads gleaming in the torchlight. One of these men looked from Eragon to her, catching her gaze- his eyes were the color of dead stone and just as cold. He did not smile nor did he show any sort of emotion. Instead he merely staring at her for a long moment if he were looking through her and not at her at all. Rose narrowed her eyes at him and turned away, a cold sinking shiver tingling its way down her spine.

She studied the smooth cave walls instead of the people, seeing only faint nearly none visible signs of scratches from the chisels that carved from the within the mountain polished with age to the point that they were almost not there at all. As she was looking around, one of the bald men stepped soundlessly forward. "Take off your weapons," said one of the men. "They are not permitted beyond this point."

Rose looked again at the dwarfs within the cave, her eyes focusing on the sharp blades of their axes, shortswords, and spears, and raised her eyebrow. Deciding that she was far too tired to worry about much beyond the point of finding a place to rest, she took off her belt and tucked her sword into a saddlebag. She moved as slowly as she dared, lingering at Thorn's side, running her fingers over his scales. It have very easily been worse, she said to him. They could have threatened us and taken our swords.

Not much good that that would do them, he said flickering his long tongue out from between his sharp teeth. I do not like it in here. It is suffocating, and I cannot stretch my wings without hitting one of these small two-leggeds.

Rose grinned tightly, and finding no other reason to remain as she was, walked to stand by Thorn's shoulder, so that the sight of the dwarfs and men were blocked by the dragon's bulk. She looked over and saw that Eragon was glancing nervously at Brom, as if he were waiting for something to happen, his hands tangled in his jerkin.

"Follow us," the man said slowly as if he were speaking to unruly children. "Ajihad, the leader of the Varden, is awaiting you. You do not want him being kept, so come!" He and the other man then turned their back to the group with an eerie swish of their long dark robes and walked into the colossal, shadowed tunnel beyond without pausing to see if they were being followed.

"You go first," said one of the dwarves, and Eragon stepped forward pulling Rose alongside him by her arm. Brom and Selena stepping ahead of them, nearly walking into the siblings and remaining close enough to them that Rose had to cut her steps painfully short. Thorn and Saphira followed close behind, their claws tapping sharply against the rock flooring as they walked.

"How did you know we were coming?" Eragon whispered after a short time.

Brom glanced back at him, and held a finger to his mouth- a sign for him to be quiet- but answered in the same quiet voice: "There are watchers throughout the mountain range. The Varden received word of your arrival as soon as you entered the range. Two dragons hardly go unnoticed."

They spoke no further. The bald men were hurrying them as fast as they could go, and it took all of their energy. Many times they passed the mouths of other passages and tightly closed doors that Rose presumed were entrances from other parts of the mountains but their depths were unlighted and she could see no further down them than a hand's span. She quickly lost sense of time, feeling as if she been forever walking through the dark tunnel with its shadows falling far behind her, and her legs heavy as stone. Eragon walked beside her, his mouth set in a firm, determined line, as he looked around. She knew he was as tired as she was but he did not betray any sign of it.

After a long time they left the carved passages and passed into a large circular room. The walls were painted a soft slightly faded blue and lined with large marble pillars. Pillar after gleaming pillar of white stone, was bottomed with gold lacing gracefully to its top, gemstones of all colors peeking in-between the embossing. Silver lanterns were stringed around the room, defusing a soft golden light. Beyond these the room held no decoration save for the two large polished wooden doors at its far end.

And it was in this room, that Brom stopped suddenly and gave Eragon a warning look. "Before we continue you should know that my pupils have brought with them an injured elf," he said, gesturing vaguely to where Saphira stood. "It would be in everyone's best interest, for the sake of the allegiance with the Elves, for Arya to be taken to the healers so that she may be given Tunivor's Nectar without delay."

The two bald men stopped and turned, the bare skin on their heads shining in the lamp light, and looked at the elf laying limply across Saphira's back. One of them, the one who spoke before, looked flatly at Brom. "We will send for someone to bring her to the Healing Halls as soon as we reach Tronhjeim," he said before turning away and walking soundlessly towards the doors.

"Perhaps," said Selena stepping forward, "it would be best for the two of you to take her. The healers will need as many helping hands as they can get if Tunivor's Nectar must be administered. As the lead magicians within the Varden it is your obligation to assist where you are most needed. We can handle escorting the Riders and the dragons to Ajihad, of that I am certain."

The speaking man turned to Selena, his eyes narrow as if he knew the snare she had so easily laid them in, and slowly he nodded. "Very well. We shall see what can be done for the elf," he said and stepped towards where Saphira stood. With the help of two of the dwarves they were able to get her down and carry her back through the tunnel for which they came.

As the two man and their company faded into shadow, Brom turned to Rose and Eragon and briefly studied them, looking over their heads at the two dragons, before saying simply; "Stay close."

The doors began to open from the outside, and rich beams of sunlight stumbled into the room, overwhelming bright after their trek through the darken tunnels. The light and the soft warmth it brought into the room, fell onto the people and the dragons. Rose closed her face to it and relaxed slightly in the warmth, and after a moment she peered beyond it at sight below.

"Look well, humans, for no Riders has set eyes upon this for nigh over a hundred years," said a deep voice behind her. Rose started and turned to looked at the dwarf who had spoken. "The airy peak under which we stand on is Farthen Dur. A wonder discovered thousands of years ago by the father of out race, Korgan, while he tunneled for gold. At its center stand our greatest achievement; Tronjheim, the city-mountain." Just as he finish his speech the door came to halt making her wonder just how many times the dwarf had spoken it.

As Brom gestured them forward, she began to feel very apprehensive. This perhaps had been a very great mistake. She glanced at the dragons and dwarfs behind her before following after the woman and man down a steeping slope. They emerged, at last, and Rose blinked, dazzled, and looked around in amazement. She was certainly in some type of city but she had never seen anything like it.

Tronjheim, the sanctuary for the Varden and central clans of Dwarfs, was, as Rose, guessed, a fortified settlement. It was built within an enormous volcanic crater, dormant since a time forgotten, and stretched more than a league from end to end, and its dome reared high into the sky. The large buildings were built of a pale marble; most homes contained more than one family. The teeming, noisy city was a shock after the solitude and silence of their days of travel, and she grasped her hands firmly in front of her to keep them from shaking. They picked their way through a tingle of streets, past the humans in rough clothing and dust-faced dwarves. Several wooden carts sat on the side of the cobbled path in front of homes, and Rose saw a dozen children playing a wild game of tag, who paused when they noticed them and stared in open-mouthed curiosity. The people of Tronjheim seemed to live on their balconies; it afforded them the pleasures of chaffing passing friends, minding each other's business, and exchanging gossip. She saw them washing, dressing children, eating, and cooking, all in open air. When they seemed to notice their procession into the city they paused and watched but the farther in they walked the more and more people came to the roadside to see who they were.

Thorn bumped his head along her back after a time and many people had gathered. Eragon is stirring the crowd, he said.

I know. I can hear their ovations perfectly well, she said, looking warily at the cheering people. I did not come here to play hero and give these people hope, yet if he wishes to be a show horse than he may. I shall have no part in it.

As more and more people lined around the streets, Rose turned away, studying instead the lofty luminous spears of ice above- hanging from the tops of the mountain like many deathly chandeliers. They dangled arching diagonally from the crater walls around the large opening to the heavens in the center. Harsh white light beat down from it, so that the blue of the sky could not be seen, and blinkingly Rose stared at, imagining living in a place where one would never see the sky.

She didn't have much time to look around as her guides were hurrying to the large building at the very center of the space. It was built of white marble and rose well over eight stories high, columns of red jasper and jade pirouetted around its walls in at least a dozen places between them were sculptures of animals Rose had no name for. A set of high gold embossed doors remained open long after they entered, and it seemed even more people followed them through and whistled and cheered before being ordered to go back to their day-to-day lives, though many lingered outside the doors.

Rose gasped when she walked in; her first impression was the blind blaze of rosy light, a surge of ancient power. It was the most beautiful hall she had ever seen. The floor was of polished stone, pearl white and scarlet and black, with gold rune inset all around its perimeter. The zenith of the ceiling was a large red stone, a dawn-star sapphire she was later told, shaped as a bloomed rose, casting an unnatural blushing light. They walked through the wide passageways for an immeasurable time leading to a huge room in a cramped hall. Armed men stood in front of double-leafed doors but moved when they saw them. Selena stopped before the doors, knocked once, and then wordlessly opened them for everyone to walk through. Selena followed them afterwards, shutting the doors firmly and muttering words under her breath. The dwarves remained outside.

Once they were inside the chamber, Brom staggered to a chair at the far corner of the room and fell gracelessly into it, wincing as he straightened him. "Eragon, Rose, Thorn, and Saphira, this is Ajihad of the Ta'ih, Leader of the Varden," he said briskly. "Ajihad, my pupils." And then he closed his eyes and remained very still.

Rose stood in front of the Varden leader as Selena moved forward and crouched beside Brom, talking to him in hushed tones. Ajihad seemed no older than Selena. He was tall and broad shouldered, his skin the color of pitch, and his face calm and intelligent with quick mobile eyes that were now filled with quiet trepidation. He was dressed in a tapered blue vest embossed with gold thread and a dark tunic of woven silk. To gain time, she looked around the chamber.

Ajihad's study contained a huge ornately carved desk that was almost covered with tottering piles of books, lengths of parchment, and drafts of paper. In the center was a scroll or parchment which was clearly half finished; it was covered with a beautiful flowing script written in black ink. Next to it was a stone inkwell, and next to that was a gilt lamp that cast a circle of warm light over the desk, picking up the azure and silver fabric that covered the three chairs beside it. One was clearly where Ajihad sat, the others were empty. Behind the desk were rows upon rows of books and rolled papers and discarded pens. Despite the mess the room did not give off the impression of shabbiness so much as chaotically ordered industry. A small grate held a fire. Rose sniffed the faint scent of ink with pleasure; feeling a sense of familiarity seep into her bones.

"Welcome," said Ajihad, "to Tronjheim. I apologize for the disarray but I have had little time to prepare before your arrival. Please, seat yourselves."

Rose glanced tensely at the couple behind him, they were still talking in hissing whispers and it sounded to her as they were arguing. She turned away, seating herself beside Eragon. The dragons settled behind them, cramped together in the small space. Ajihad surveyed Eragon and her as if judging their facility. Then he moved all the books off this desk, dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor and seated himself behind it.

He looked at Rose. "I had promised your mother long before you came here that I would provide the same shelter for you as I have for her. This has not changed," he began. "Your linage is for you to tell though I would ask that you do so wisely. The dwarf king, Hrothgar, knows and has agreed to secretary on your behalf." He paused and looked between the siblings before settling his hands atop his desk. "Should either of you betray this trust in anyway, you will examined by my magicians as I would usually have them do upon your arrival. Brom has vowed for both of you and his word is one I trust and respect beyond many, take care to remember this because once my trust is broken it will remain that way." Ajihad fell silent, waiting for them to say something and when none of them gave any sign of wanting to speak, he continued in a friendlier tone, "If it would not be too pressing I would like to hear what had happened once you separated from Brom and Ailis, and I know they would like to know as well."

"Aye," came Brom's voice. "We would like to know that very much. Along with whatever foolish reason that caused you four to leave in the first place."

Rose turned to Brom and saw his and Selena's eyes focused on them. Not wanting to meet their gaze, she flushed and looked away. Beside her, she saw Eragon flinch and glance at her. She nodded and he began to speak, telling them first of the visons and dreams and how they haunted him before moving on to their trip to Gil'ead and what happened within its walls. Rose listened silently, hearing for the first time what had happened to him- she hadn't inquired after the full story believing it best to allow him to tell her in his own time. When he told them of how he left the woman's, who sheltered him, house and met with Saphira he looked to Rose, as if telling her that it was her turn to speak. She blinked and sat straighter in her chair, doing her best to tell what had happened after Eragon went missing. Thorn filling her in on parts she missed though she left most his suggestions unsaid. They needn't know everything, she said to Thorn when he bristled after she shrugged one his details off. I prefer to keep certain details to myself.

As she told them about how she found Arya and what happened with Shade and the words she remembered him saying, she gave Eragon a hard look. She hoped that after the time they had spent in a silent argument over these details he would leave well enough alone but if anything he looked more exasperated than ever before, swerving around in his seat to pin her with a cold glare. "So you did know about the poison," he muttered in a low tone.

Rose turned to him with a scowl. "You knowing wouldn't have made a difference," she said plaintively. "If anything you have been more upset. Worked up over something out of your control when you needed to rest."

Eragon grumbled at her and turned away, allowing her finish what she had to say. When she was done, she looked towards the books on the floor, reading their titles, and said nothing more. After a moment Eragon took over telling them of how they came to find the Varden and his conversation with the elf. Upon finishing his tale he fell silent and looked at his lap for a short moment. "I wish to, once I rest, see Arya whether she had woken up or not," he said, glancing up at Ajihad.

The Varden leader nodded. "Is she with the healers now?" he asked turning around to look at Brom.

"Aye," he said. "Your twined magicians took her the Halls."

Ajihad's eyebrow fell over his eyes, casting a shadow over his face, and he frowned. "Why were they with you? I had asked them to leave this matter alone."

Selena smiled slightly and shrugged. "Of that I know not," she told him. "What I do know is that they were waiting for us once we returned inside. I could not think of a reason for why they were there but I did not question it."

He nodded and turned back around. "We will talk more at a later time," he said to Rose and Eragon. "Now it is getting late and I am sure you are tired from you journey and require rest. Should you need anything ask and I will do what I can. Brom and Ailis will show you and tell you what you need to know. But for now rest." Ajihad waved them away, and silently the four stood and walked towards the door, stopping to wait for Brom and Selena before they passed through into the hall beyond.

The armed men standing guard around the doors paused whatever hushed conversation they were having, and stood deferentially motionless as if they were nothing more than stone. They wore no metal armor, nor uniform, nor did they have a crest across their breast yet even so they seemed no less decorous or dangerous. It was as if their stillness was merely a performance that might change into a deathly wrath within a breath of air. As Brom walked out from the shadows enveloping the space beyond the door, he paused, considering the guards, and nodded slightly, and as he did they relaxed back against the wall. No doubt that when the dragons and the travelers were out of sight the guard's conversations would begin anew.

Brom then turned his head to the company standing around the doors, looking at each dragon and Rider in turn, before he rubbed at his face. His beard, Rose noticed, had been neatly trimmed as had his hair, and he wore a clean, bronze-buttoned green tunic and dark beeches and boots- making him appear to less of a forest man but one of a civil society. Though the lack of his usual long, tousled beard made him look younger and very much kinder, it did not improve his irritated grimace when he looked at them or the sharp steel in his voice as he spoke. "Keep close," he said gruffly as he turned away. "If you fall behind I'll not stop and get you." Then, without looking to see if they followed, the old man walked deeper into the shadows of the hallways.

The halls of Tronjheim were, as Rose had first thought, nothing more than a marble maze, built in such a way to complicate even the simplest of routes. There was no straightness- the halls all seemed to curve- and more than twice they seemed to have back tracked until at last, they came to a wider hallway, though there were few people. The walls here were covered in murals that must have once been bright, but now the colors were so faint that Rose could hardly make them out; she saw the shape of a giant man standing over a mountain range and a strange creature with the head of a woman and the body of a mountain cat.

Rose noted these halfheartedly, her mind drifting again and again to the conversation earlier had with the Varden leader. She was rather perturbed by the brevity of the conversation, having thought that they would be in there for ages upon ages, and not no more than a brief hour. Surely, there was more the man had to say, she thought. Yet, perhaps, the leader could not, or perhaps he did not wish to. Whatever the reason may have been, it worried her very much, for there was very little the leader did tell them. She know not where she stood and what was expected of her, this was something she did wish to understand wholly and heartedly.

These thoughts remained with her, overtaking any other, and she hardly took notice of where they were walking and the sudden bubble of conservation as they turned into a wide arching passageway before turning towards a distant gate. It was only when silence fell over the massive hall that she was brought out her thoughts, and looked up at the men and women and dwarfs who had paused to stare openly at the dragons, their talk having come to an abrupt halt at the sight of them. Young children were seen looking out from behind their mother's skirts, their eyes wide with wonder or terror, some were too young to know the legends of the Riders and the dragons and sniffled softly, their faces hidden. As Rose looked towards these people, some met her eyes, while others turned away, and she realized then with a cold sort of start that these people were mere strangers. Their lives could mean nothing to her or, should she choose them to be, they could become everything.

Turning away, she decided to ignore them for now, and continued to follow after Brom, who seemed to take no notice of the people and dwarfs as he talked with Eragon. She turned her attention to them, wanting to think no more on the Varden's people, or the dwarfs hidden beneath the mountain.

"Where are we going?" asked Eragon, keeping step with the old man.

"Out of these halls," said Brom. He was walking with slight limp, one Rose was certain hadn't had before, and his skin was slightly flushed. "I'm going to show Thorn and Saphira where the dragonhold is so that they can rest while the four of us have supper. You can join them afterwards."

Eragon nodded, considering this, and adjusting his cloak, he asked; "Where's the dragonhold?"

"Do you remember the large red gem in the ceiling?" Brom asked turning to look at him. Eragon nodded. "It's called the Star Rose here, or as the dwarves call it: Isidar Mithrim. The dragonhold is above there. The dragons will have to fly to get there. Before the Fall the marble caves were used whenever a Rider and dragon came to Farthen Dûr."

Rose's steps faltered as she stared blankly at the back of the old man's head, suddenly feeling very cold. She had been expecting, upon coming here, that they would staying a building of some sort, a place with walls and a ceiling that were manmade that held a bed within its confides, and certainly not be resting in a cave. It would be as if she had never left the wilds but had found some cavern to rest in for the evening and perhaps the day after. She dearly hoped that if Brom was not jesting and his words were true that at the very least there would beds with blankets- her body was sore enough from sleeping on rocks.

Feeling Thorn nudge her on the back, she continued to walk far behind them, well out of earshot. Had they had more to say about the dragonhold, or perhaps that there were no bathhouses in which to bathe, she didn't wish to hear it. She already felt like cursing, or spitting, or perhaps a fair amount of both. She no longer wished to think of it, and stared instead at the back of Selena's head as she followed them through an open gateway. The woman had, like Brom, bathed and wore a clean set of clothing. Her hair had been trimmed and fell in loose curls half-way down her back, weaving back-and-forth as she walked. Surely, then, if Brom and Selena were cleaned and bathed then there had to a bathhouse of sorts, Rose concluded, or perhaps they had jumped into the lake outside the mountain upon coming here.

This thought did not make her feel any better.

Once outside the polished iron and gold gates, Brom stopped beside a gleaming statue- it was of an extraordinary creature Rose had no name for- and turned to the dragons. She glanced around the dome's walls looking for the caves Brom had spoken of but seeing nothing but gloom and rock and ice and large patches of springy moss, Rose listened to what he was saying. "I've been told that there is fresh meat and water awaiting the two of you," he told the dragons. "You may rest in whichever cave you want. Later tonight someone is supposed to come with bedding and whatever else you might need."

Thorn switched his tail against the ground- a few bystanders started at the unexpected noise and, seemingly remembering quite suddenly that they had elsewhere to be, walked away. He turned his head to look down at the statue behind Rose, his tongue flickering between his teeth. When your matters are settled and you are ready to sleep I will come and bring you up, he told her. Until then try to act as agreeable as you did when we first arrived. It was a pleasurable change.

Rose stared at him stoically. I'm always pleasant when there's good company.

Thorn made a throaty sound that meant he was laughing, and walked off the path, far from the crowds, before taking flight. The people stirred, turning to look in amazement as he spread his wings and soared into the empty air, his scales iridescent in the torchlight. Not a moment after he left, Saphira followed after him, gracefully arching toward the white crown of the marble city and disappearing from sight.

Eragon and Rose were directed then back through the gates and passed through even more streets. Without the dragons following behind no person- human or dwarf, young or old- stopped to gawk at them, and they were able to pass through the streets without watching eyes.

They came to a stop inside an arched room, low tables lined on the floor forming small, barely passable walkways. A few dwarfs sat around the tables, jesting with one another, more than eating the food in front of them, taking no notice to the people who paused under the archway. Once they stopped, Selena walked ahead to charm the dwarf at the blazier for some supper. It was a short conversation, and she returned to them with a covered pewter platter in her hands and an earthen carafe resting in her arm. Without speaking, the man and woman swept from the cramped room, and down more halls and passageways until Rose was certain that she would never find her way out on her own.

It was just when she became convinced of this that they stopped before a set of steep stairs, carved out from the living rock on a passageway where there was no other person in sight and hardly any noise at all. Then as Eragon began to voice a question, Selena and Brom hurried up the staircase, disregarding them completely. After a moment of watching their disappearing backs, Rose unhurriedly followed after them.

She was not certain how long they continued up the stairs, only that her legs ached and her lungs burned, demanding her to rest but the couple pressed them on slowly and she had trouble keeping up even at that pace. They passed many archways blooming out from the small landings, and opening up to a balcony overlooking the marble city below with a bubbling fountain in the center of its small courtyard. Once she saw the glint of colored glass on the ground, likely from a broken window or ornament, and a forgotten copper dollop, stained and tarnished with age. When she was certain that she could go no further, Selena stepped into one of these terraces and came to a stop, waiting for the rest of them to catch up with her.

Rose stood under the cloister, winded, as Brom opened one of the two doors set into the wall and without pausing he and Selena disappeared through it. She watched Eragon as he glanced tensely around him, his gaze settling on the doorway. He looked as if he wanted to say something, anything to cut the dense silence, but decided against it with a shake of his head. Knowing what he was feeling, Rose walked up and stood beside him.

"They're livid," he stated, not looking at her as she stepped beside him.

She nodded in agreement. "Very much so," she said. "Were you expecting something other than them being upset?"

"No." Eragon frowned and shoved his hands into the pouches of his jerkin. "I wish that Brom would yell at us," he said. "I can handle his shouting but this…I don't want to go in there. I've only seen Brom this angry at me once and I don't want to go through that again."

"Nor do I," she said and then took a deep breath. "We best not keep them waiting, it may only make what is to come much worse. Shall we?" Rose tilted her head towards the door, and then not waiting for him, stepped under the archway. She paused briefly to look at the glyphs carved into the side of it. The carvings were recently painted and gleamed brightly in contrast to the old worn stone.

Pressing her fingers to the colorful paint, she had walked into a small, rather overfull room; a tall and long wooden chest had taken over the majority of it, leaving little room to walk. Beside the chest, painted by a graceful hand was a mural showing a long necked white stork by a grassy pond, on the other walls were even more paintings but these had faded long ago, almost completely disguised against the dull stone walls. A beaten looking divan faced the chest and colored mural, its fabric worn to something that was unrecognizable, and beside that was a small table with a copper ewer filled with yellow and orange and white seashells. Knotted chairs, which were painted with vining flowers in the same style and hand as the mural, stood around a small stone hearth which sat in the corner of the room. The hearth was filled with glowing coals as if a fire had been hastily put out merely moments ago, casting a dull light to outline of a small hallway. At its end was a dark wooden door, which was also painted in the bright colors of sunflowers and irises and vines. A makeshift dining room stood in the far corner of the room, far from the hallway, a long wooden table pushed against the wall with a fair number of mismatched, painted, wooden chairs littering around it.

Rose felt herself frown as she carefully took a step deeper into the chamber.

"There's nothing in here that will bite," came Selena's voice from behind her. "Feel welcome to come and sit and eat with us."

Rose jolted and turned to her, she had half forgotten that Selena and Brom were within the hovel. The woman had moved, unnoticed, behind her to shove a chair in front of the door forcing it open. No wind stirred through the room- everything was deathly still- nothing to expel the faint smell of mildew.

Biting at her lip, Rose backed away, nearly stepped into Eragon, who stood behind her, overlooking the room with interest. She was half expecting the woman to attack her as she had done in Teirm, or yell, or something, anything to show how she felt- but Selena just looked at her and Eragon and closed her eyes before meshing her lips together. With a great huff the woman walked around Rose and Eragon to a long table opposite of the divan, and looked inside a large basket on the ground next to it. After a moment she sighed, slamming the top shut, and turned away from them. "There will be no bread tonight, Brom. I'll see what I can do to come by a basket or two tomorrow," she said. "Jannet mentioned that she was making sweet bread, perhaps I will see what I can get from her."

"I'll not disagree to that," said Brom. "Jannet is your friend's wife, correct? The one from the Northern Lands?"

"You mean Herb? Yes, she's his wife."

Brom nodded, and seated himself at the table. The dark wooden table was set with earthen dishes and plain goblets and it too was painted; gracefully stroked sunflowers and irises and leafy ivies danced around the edges. Rose walked over, the smell of food having called to her, and touched her fingers to the delicately painted petals, feeling the rise and fall of paint. She seated herself and looked up from the paint on the wood. The plate in the center was piled high with carved meat and vegetables, and she realized suddenly that she was ravenous. Her mouth began to water. As the conversation continued, showing no sign of end, she squeezed her hands tightly in her lap as if to hold them still.

Finally the talk ended, though rather suddenly as if Brom and Selena were merely filling the silence, before they began to serve themselves. When they had taken their fill, though they did not eat it, Rose could wait no longer and piled her plate as well. As she waited for Eragon to take his share she studied the paintings on the table a little more and then looked up, eager to eat something more than dried fruit and meat, and hard, tasteless breads. She was sick to the back of her teeth with travel fare.

"What is this meat? I have never seen anything like it," said Eragon, as he took a large slice.

"It's a roasted beef," said Selena, passing the jug to him. "You will want to try this too, as will you, Rose. It's some of the best wine you will ever taste."

After pouring himself a generous amount of the wine, Eragon handed the decanter to Rose for her to do the same. The wine was pale as straw and swirling, and poured out like the softest of silks into her glass. After setting the remaining wine aside, she took a small sip. The wine ran lightly over her tongue, crisp and sweet. It was, as Selena promised, quite good.

Then they began to eat and she concentrated on the food. The food was delicately flavored, and far from the rough traveling cooking; the meat was stuffed with herbs and garlic, roasted so tenderly it dissolved on her tongue, and the carrots and turnips and beets had been cooked in rosemary and thin slices of onion. Brom glanced at her, as he helped himself to more of the meat, and something in his face seemed to change. "Whatever excuses you two have, keep them to yourselves. I do not want to hear them," he said in a steely voice. "What the two of you had done was daft. Beyond daft. I'm not sure if you're imprudent or unsure of how exactly your brain operates. You could have gotten yourselves and the dragons killed, or worse captured. It sounds as if you almost did!" He looked between them as he picked up a knife, his knuckles turned white as he tightly gripped it, pointing its shining blade at them each in turn. "Do either of you have the faintest idea what would have happened if Galbatorix had gotten ahold of either of you, or the gods' forbid, all four of you?"

Rose knew exactly what would have happened but even so she remained silent, feeling as if she had no voice at all, and, no longer hungry, pushed her plate away. She set her hands in her lap and rubbed them together. Her fingers were cold as ice. She keep her face blank and stared at the raging man passably.

"He would torment you until you agree to become nothing more than his puppet!" exclaimed Brom, answering his own question with hardly a pause. "He could set you out to destroy your own family, to prove to you that you are no longer in control, and you would do it without hesitation. You would have no mind or body of your own."

"I'd would die before joining Galbatorix," Eragon declared, dropping his food roughly onto the plate. "I would never join him!"

Brom turned in his chair to fix Eragon with a hard stare. "You say that now," he said, "but when he threatens Saphira or forces himself into you mind, you might find that you haven't a choice. You would join him because Galbatorix would do all in his power to force you. He wouldn't let you die either. When there is something he deems of value it is protected from death. He may drive you to edge of dying but you would pulled back again and again to the point of complete madness. Once he supposes you are insignificant you shall be tossed aside like rubbish but until then you would nothing more than a prize." He took a sudden breath and leaned back his chair, his face slowly paling. "While I'm certain you're brave words are truth now, boy, but if Galbatorix ever got his hands on you they would mean naught."

Eragon's face reddened and he said something in the Ancient Language, pausing between every word as his eyes narrowed. The meaning of his words were not lost on Rose, she figured that he was repeating his earlier statement in attempt to clearly state his point. It was when he fell silent, and Brom fixed him with a sad smile, that her suppositions were conformed.

"I hold onto what I said," the old man said. "I meant it not as an insult but as a warning, should either of you decide to repeat that idiotic adventure."

Eragon held Brom's gaze, his hands balling into fists. "I remain with my statement," he said.

"As do I." Brom leaned back in his chair with a grimace, his hand rising to his chest before falling onto his lap. He clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth; "Remember to pick your battles, Eragon," he warned.

"That is quite enough!" Selena said sharply, rising suddenly from her chair. "Brom, please, if your injury is troubling you, go lay down. Since I cannot get you to see a healer the very least you can do is rest. We can easily move this conversation into the sitting area while you do so."

His attention turned to her with the air of a conversation had many times over. His eyes hardly focused on her at all. "I do not need to lay down," he said absently. "I'm fine."

Selena huffed. "Then let us sit elsewhere. I believe we have all ate our fill and are content to leave the plates here until a later time," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Come now, you old crippled goat, up you get."

Brom grumbled irritably but stood up and walked, slightly hunched over, to the divan anyhow. There he hushed and inelegantly dropped into the cushions, with a small hiss through his teeth.

"What happened?" Eragon asked quietly, his eyes fixed on Brom. His hands twitched and he hid them inside his cloak. "How did he get hurt?"

Selena turned to him but did not take her eyes away from the man. "Not long after you left the Ra'zac ambushed us. We escaped but we did not do so unscratched."

"We didn't leave them unscratched either," came Brom's voice from behind the divan. "Now, are you three going to come over here and join me?"

Rose stood up and rested her hands on the back of the chair. "I do not suppose that either of you know how the Ra'zac came to find you, then," she said, leaning forward to grab ahold of her goblet of wine.

"We do not," said Selena. "I think that they have been tracking us for a time. In that aspect I believe it to be fortunate that you two were absent. That does not mean that I have forgiven either of you for leaving as you did. I'm still currently thinking of ways that I might strangle to you both."

Rose felt herself frown, and to hide it she took a long, thin sip from the goblet. "And what of the threat you told me about?" she asked, cradling the cool glass in her hands. "Should that not be explained in full."

At first Selena did not answer as she walked across the room and seated herself beside Brom. "Sit down and we shall tell you about it," she said and then remained silent until Rose and Eragon seated themselves in one of the unevenly stuffed chairs. Rose moved around in the chair for a moment, thinking that perhaps the floor would be much more comfortable, until the woman began to speak. "The moment I got here," she said to the both of them, "certain events have taken place and have been set up, like pieces to a board game, waiting to be put into play. The moment when you and the dragons arrived so did these pieces move. The leaders here, whether it be of a large or a small organization, have been, and will continue to try to, state a claim of either one or both of you because it will likely be that the two of you and the dragons will be bring the end of Galbatorix's reign. His end is the Varden's current goal, anything beyond that is ambivalent."

"And the spies?" Rose asked. "What of them?"

"There are always spies," grumbled Brom. "It does not matter where you go or how many people you think you trust, always know that there are spies."

"Believing so is naught but supposition," muttered Rose, carefully watching his face. "Peering over your shoulder at all times leaves you with a sore neck and an empty heart."

"Rather a sore neck than a slit one," Brom asserted, his head leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

Rose considered him bleakly.

"If there are spies, what will we do?" asked Eragon, looking uneasily between her and the old man.

"Be as careful as we plan to be without them," said Brom. Stirring, he looked between Eragon and Rose without any display of emotion. "Which is to say; very, very careful. Which brings us to what needs to be said tonight before you two go off and rest. While you are here, I want you to be mindful of the words you say, you must think before you speak, and should either of you walk about Tronjheim you are to do it together either with one of us or each other. I do not request this because I believe either of you to be inept but because it is for your own safety. Perhaps in the future things will change but as of this moment we know not everyone's intentions and I will not have either of you become their pawns, nor will I have your blood spilt because of them." He paused and scratched at his short beard. "The two of you are in unique position. One of power and influence but remember you are guests here. Powerful guests, yes, but guests nonetheless."

Brom fell silent and that silence fell over them for a short time, as they were each wrapped up in their thoughts. After a moment, Rose took another sip of the wine favoring her its sweet taste. It had been so very long since she has held anything so lovely or drank a wine half worth its labor. She settled the etched goblet into her lap and reached out her mind to Thorn but he turned her away, forcing her from his company. She huffed in annoyance, silently cursing him, and studied the design set into the glass.

"So," said Selena after a time, "tell us what truly happened in Gil'ead."

Rose looked up at the woman and frowned. "You have been told of what happened."

"In parts but we all know there is more to it," the woman said. "The way the both of you hesitated before speaking did not help matters any. This and the fact that we have traveled with you both long enough to where we are not fooled by your watered-down version of events."

Rose scowled, and looked around the room once, her eyes not settling on any one thing. She had a distant feeling that Selena didn't truly wish to hear the story again- though she had to admit that what she and Eragon told them was very clipped- but wished more for a reason not to let them leave just yet. Turning to Eragon, she saw him looking dazedly at her, his eyes drooping, and he then turned away and began again to tell them of Gil'ead, and unlike before, when they had met with Ajihad, Rose added in details- odd bits and pieces of information that she had a hard time forgetting. As they talked of the Iron Tower within the wheel shaped city, and meeting Dormnad, and his assistant who stood outside his door, Eragon paused. "There are a man outside with him," he said. "He had been there when we entered Dormand's… home, I guess you can call it, and when we left he was still there. He watched Rose when we walked away almost as if he knew her or thought he knew her. I remember because he looked like he was about to call her out."

Selena turned in her seat. "Do you think perhaps that this man might have recognized you?"

Rose frowned, trying to think of what that man might looked like but her mind drew a blank- she could hardly remember him at all. "He may have," she admitted. "I had thought that he seemed familiar, yet, I could not recall from where, nor could I think of who he might have been. To be honest I still haven't the faintest idea."

"Can you think of who it might be?" asked Selena after a moment. When Rose shook her head, the woman sighed and looked at the emptied goblet in her hands. "Could he have been one of the men Tornac took with him to Gil'ead? He had said that a fair amount stayed in the city."

Rose shook her head again. "No," she said firmly. "I did not see any of those men and they did not look upon me. When Tornac left I did not see him out. There is no way for one of the soldiers to know who I am. They were all very new to the region." She paused, rubbing the back of her hand with her thumb. "Besides, this man was no soldier. He was of another ranking."

"A noble, then, perhaps."

"I highly doubt it. Noblemen tend not to travel near Gil'ead for reasons that are of their own," she said, thinking of the crowed conversations she had once listened to. "Some might send their assistants, though, to gather news or to send a report. If nothing else, he was likely one of them."

"It could have been someone who had an acrimony towards you," said Brom, rubbing his beard. Until then he had been completely silent. "I'm certain there were people within the Courts who had some sort of discord either with you or your father. It very well could have been a watchful eye, as well. Who knows what word Galbatorix spread after you left his city."

Rose looked at him evenly. "The King sent word that I was either dead or captured by his enemies," she told him. "That is to say the Varden."

"That's a curious move for him to make," said the old man after a moment. "Clever too because if anyone were to recognize you they would either think nothing of it or far too much and try to rescue you. If you were to resist them, they would conclude it to being that you were of weak heart and fell into the enemies' hands, but still you'd end up at Galbatorix's throne."

"I had thought the very same." She turned in her chair glance out the door, seeing if there was any daylight remained. None did, the air beyond of the faint light was nothing but black and shadow. "This is why I stayed out of towns and away from people as much as possible. In Gil'ead however I could not sit around idly as Eragon walked into a city filled with Empire soldiers. It did not bode well with me."

"How did you even know of this?" asked Selena, leaning onto her knees. "I've heard no word of Galbatorix or his deeds in many weeks."

Rose stiffened and for a long moment was silent. Selena knew very well that she had gone to give Shadowless, Tornac's former steed, a proper home and who she had met with while doing so. She had told her because she felt that if nothing else the woman should know that much, though she had not said much beyond that. "It hardly matters how I heard of it," she said, not looking at Selena. "There's been painfully little news of the King's deeds. It's unnerving. I believe that he is planning something significant."

"Galbatorix is always scheming," Brom scuffed. "I think that we have talked long enough into the night. Why don't you two join the dragons and get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow."

Rose stood up and moved to set the goblet on the table as Eragon stirred. He looked around with heavy eyes and then slowly rose to his feet and stretched. "Before I go to sleep, I'd like to bathe," he said heavily, "and to have clean clothes."

Selena looked at him and nodded before standing up and disappearing behind the door down the short hallway. After a short moment she returned with three bags, and handed one to Eragon. "The clothes you left are in there," she said. "They have been cleaned and mended, and for now they shall have to do. I have yours as well, Rose, and your viol. Your other belongings can wait for another time but until then know that they are safe."

With a tired nod, Rose took the bags from Selena and held the instrument close to her chest. She had missed its comfort. Perhaps in the morning she would pick it up and play its strings, to listen to its sound if nothing else… "What of the horses? They are in the sables and well, yes?" she asked. "I would very much like to see Starshine come morn."

The look Selena gave Brom was not lost on her, and she frowned. "The horses," said Selena slowly, carefully as if she were thinking over the words, "Eragon's and yours that is, were lost when the Ra'zac attacked. We could not afford the risk to backtrack and look for them. Some of our supplies and smaller, less important belongings were lost as well. I am sorry."

Rose looked down and studied the earthen floor. It would do the woman good, she thought, to invest in a rug. She pushed the thought away and gradually nodded. It was merely a horse, she told herself as her eyes began to burn and sting, though she knew it was more than that. From the time Starshine was a foal, she had known him and would often spend her days with him as he grew. They had become attached to one another in a strange and wonderful way, and when the testy stallion didn't accept anyone else's care he became her responsibly and now she would never know the creature's fate. It is as if all the good things from my life at the capital are being lost or taken from me leaving only the bad and the new, she told herself, and then walked towards the door, silently waiting for Eragon to join her, only he did not.

"How were they lost?" he asked, suddenly sounding awake. "It's not easy to lose a horse, or even two."

"It's easy when two assassins and their monsters are chasing you down," growled out Brom. "Very easy. Now off you go. We've talked enough tonight. I'll see you both later."

"You're not going to walk down with us?" asked Eragon, unfazed by the man's harsh tone.

"Nay, I'm going to stay here and rest," Brom told him. "There's no telling what Selena will do to me if I overextend myself and collapse." He turned to Selena and raised an eyebrow. "Is that not what you said earlier today? That if I overextend myself you shall either skin me alive or tie me down?"

"I said nothing about skinning you," said Selena without glancing at him. "Skinning was never my forte, it's far too delicate of a procedure." She walked to the door and stopped beside Rose. "Come, now, Eragon. I shall only take one more trip tonight, anymore and I'll be sleeping in the halls leaving you to wonder about hopelessly lost."

Eragon started and stood up, casting Selena a suspicious look. As he came closer to them, he turned and called out a good night to Brom. Then without a word Selena led them back down the staircase. The stairway was in Rose's option worse going down than up. Her already tired mind and body burned with the agony of moving as it was, and the stairs seemed to have grown much longer in the time spent dining and conversing. When they reached the bottom it brought no relief, her whole body burned with exhaustion. But without a chance to break and catch her breath, she and Eragon were led through more darkened streets lit with glowing red lights- they heard no noise from any sort of human life, likely everyone had gone to bed- until they reached a stout archway and passed through it into a rough, short stone passage. After quite some time of walking doubled over, so their heads didn't hit the ceiling, Selena stopped them, and pointed to the open door to her left. "Bathes are through there," she said. "One for ladies and one for men. I shall wait here for you but, please, be quick."

Rose made to walk through the doorway but paused and glanced at Eragon- he had stopped and was talking quietly to Selena. The woman nodded and then waved him away, telling him that they would speak of it in the morning. Not commenting on it, she waited until Eragon was closer to her before disappearing into the room beyond the door.

The bathing-chamber was a massive room, carved from within dark rock, a large still pool of water in its center. Soft red light reflected off the water's surface, completely unbroken, and a jug filled with soap rested at its edge but otherwise it held no other decoration. Rose stood in the open doorway and then slowly closed the door behind her. She stepped further into the room, glancing nervously at the water for a long moment before she took off her stiff, dirty clothes and tested its depths with her fingers. It was warm and stank of sulfur and salt. After grabbing the ewer, she found a set of steep stairs and lowered herself into the water. Once she was knee-deep she sat on the stair behind her. She did not know how deep the water was and felt quite unwilling to find out, and so she washed herself and her hair quickly before dressing in clean clothing and quickly exiting from the room.

Rose waited silently in the shadows until Eragon exited from the chamber across from her. He took his time, and she found herself growing heavy with sleep, and then eventually he came out and they walked towards the wide archway together. Selena was where they had left her, leaning against the wall, her gaze focused on an unmarked spot. She looked towards them as they came closer and pushed herself to her feet.

Wordlessly they exited the tunnels and walked to the gate at the far end of the hallway, and then paused, standing there a moment. Everything beyond the light of the gate was the darkest of night, there was not a hint of starlight or candle-glow from the homes- all was pitch.

"We will met here after you wake," said Selena in a quiet voice. "Let us know when you are ready and either Brom or I will come." She covered her mouth and yawned. "I didn't say before but if you are to call me anything here, call me Ailis. Inside these walls that is what I am known as, and for now, I would like to keep that way." Turning to them, the woman hugged them both briefly. "I am glad you two are safe. I cannot begin to tell you how worried I was, but if you ever do anything like that again don't expect me to ever forgive you for it."

Eragon nodded and rubbed his arms, looking above the great building. As he did, Rose felt Thorn mindtouch with her. Is everything sorted out? he asked, and as he did two shadowy forms of dragons come into the soft light.

I don't believe so, Rose said tiredly, but it is as far as we are willing to go tonight.

The dragon snorted and landed beside her. He did not have on his saddle, and she wondered absently who had taken it off.

Quickly, Rose turned and said a quick good night to Selena before scrambling onto the dragon's back, her bags swinging from her shoulders. She held tightly onto his spine as he took off into the empty air. Over the beating of his wings she did not hear the woman shout after her wishing her a good rest. It felt strange, to her, to fly with Thorn without a saddle but the flight was over before it truly began and she slid from his back.

Thorn wordlessly swished his tail and lead her to the cave he had chosen for them to rest in. She followed him to it, not bothering to look around at the catacomb of caverns above and around her or the glistening floor of the massive red sapphire, the Isidar Mithrim. What she had to say to Thorn could wait until the sun shined its light, she decided as she walked after him into a cave.

It was dry and the floor looked as if it had been recently swept- tiny crisscrossed groves scratched their way across the thin layer of dirt. The cave drove in about a dozen feet and then turned sharply, a large cushion lay at is curvature, her bags and the saddle were next to it. She turned, looking around and saw a hovel carved into the wall- it had a thick mattress and many blankets resting upon its opening. She walked towards it, dropping her bags carelessly to the floor and slipped off her boots. With a great yawn, she crawled in-between the covers, pulling the blankets around her and lay down. The blankets were already warm, and without another thought she fell asleep.

Rose spent the following days sore with a seemingly never-ending ache that worsened with each movement. She hadn't been certain what to anticipate when she agreed to follow Brom. What she did not expect was for him to lead her to the training grounds and put her through her paces with both the sword and hand-to-hand combat. Brom had trained with her before, yes this was true, however this time seemed to Rose wholly and completely different. It felt to her as if Brom was seeking for more than a simple sparing match, to her it seemed as if he were searching for something specific but what, she did not know.

When they both arrived to the training fields it seemed bursting with activities; men trotted from one side of the field to the other, whether it was arms burdened with crates, loose pieces of armor or shovels or weapons, though a few could be seen training with each other or running laps at the edge of the cavern. Brom had said nothing as he made his way to the middle of the arena where wooden barrows of water often rested and began to drag one away to an isolated corner where he turned to Rose and gruffly commanded her to 'help him with this'.

After the water had completely emptied onto the ground, they trained with blades that were unshielded from wards, as Tornac had taught her. She was reminded of a time not so long ago when she stood across from the man questioning the bare blades. It felt like an age, a wholly different time from a person she did not quite recognize. Rose, however, did not question Brom and the lack of the charm, feeling rather eager to spar without it for a rare change.

It was there on that muddy field that she spent a gruelingly long evening learning how the former Rider had survived as long as he had after the Fall. She had known that Brom was a formable warrior, and had sparred with him a few times before, yet something within her now told her that he had been holding back his true skill. That same something seemed convinced that this time, he would not do so, and indeed Rose found herself harder pressed than she ever had been in the past.

His aged appearance was deceiving, she decided, and it seemed likely to her that it was done so on purpose; to make one underestimate just how skilled the man truly was. Rose wondered what Brom would look like without the elderly guise he seemed content to keep; would he have a strong jawline and cleft chin as Eragon had? Would he stand straight as a warrior often did, instead of being slightly hunched over? And was his hair as heavily lined with silver naturally or was it merely a rouse?

Even as Brom tossed her unceremoniously face first into the muck behind him, her sword having ended up in his hand, she couldn't help but wonder if, maybe just if, he had forgotten long ago who he truly was without faux identities.

Rose forced herself out the mud, brushing it off herself as best as she could and turned to the man. The filth stubbornly remained in long streaks over her face, and she was certain that it covered nearly surface of her body. Perhaps, she would be unlucky and it would never wash off.

The man raised an eyebrow at her in a silent question. "You're enjoying this far too much," Rose accused him quietly, pulling her hair from the back of her neck. It was heavy enough wet but with the mud it was almost unbearably so, and was pulling at her scalp.

"You willing to go again?" He said ignoring her accusation. His beard couldn't completely hide the smile that played on his lips. When she hesitated answering him, Brom said, "Ignore them. If there was no one but the two of us, would you be willing to go again?"

Rose hadn't realized that she was eying the men that had gathered around them in a loose circle. The soldiers and had much better things to be focusing on, and though most of them watched for a short time before pulling away to whatever task they had, a few lingered to watch them throughout more than one match.

Her name was called, and she started as if pulled from a trance. Rose glanced at Brom her eyes settling on him and then she slowly nodded. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I would be willing."

"Let's go again," said Brom, returning her sword to her. His footsteps were balanced on the slick ground as if he were gliding over dry land. "Pretend they aren't here. They're trees. Even if they're nosey ones who have better things to do." He said the last part loud enough to carry over the group, and most of men scuffled their feet and left without a word, thoroughly rebuked.

After Rose nodded, Brom continued as he had before. By the end, she had resisted being disarmed, and even disarmed Brom before he sidestepped and surprising her, dumped her into the mud retaking his blade for the final time. He stood over her, reminded her that if the fight were real, she'd be dead but he seemed satisfied as he helped her to her feet.

"You defend yourself better without the blade wards," Brom told her as they stepped away from the field. "I wasn't holding back on you either as I might have done otherwise. Your mentor, Tornac, he taught you well. I might not have known him but I have the feeling that were he here now, he would be proud of how you've progressed."

Rose breathed in sharply, as if pained, and looked away. Her eyes focused on the ancient chisel markings of the wall and even as they began to burn, threatening tears, she kept her focus. Her nose itched her and she resisted the urge to rub it, not wanting to spread anymore mud over her face. Once the feeling settled, she glanced at the man but said nothing.

Brom, as if sensing the shift in her, inquired, "Who taught you to guard your mind?"

"One of the tutors Tornac hired," she said softly. "I cannot remember the details nor his name but I remember he taught me enough that I could defend my mind against most attacks."

Brom nodded solemnly. "When?" was all he asked.

Rose frowned as she recalled Tornac sitting himself beside the hearth, as he had many times, to tell her once again that her life was in danger and what she was about to learn. How long ago had that happened? "I believe that I was coming to my ninth nameday," she said, "Tornac had believed that it was time for me to learn basic defense. He taught me what was appropriate at the time and what he could not teach me, he hired another. If he hadn't done so, I would have been killed within that year or the years following."

Now as her mind was on the man, she began to recall the way that he would sit; how his smile was twisted strangely from his scar so that it never reached his scarred eye; and the way that he laughed deep and warmly, and how it would always put her at ease; how he always had a grip on his sword when she was beside him as a child, as if he were preparing for danger; the hard flash in his eyes when he was angry. Her memories of him seemed so insignificant and she wondered how much she had forgotten. What she could recall seemed to pale the liveliness of the man who been a centerpiece in her life throughout the years.

Her chest felt hollowed out, as if someone had carved out a piece of her sometime ago and even now it remained missing, and she stopped for a moment as her breathes were cut short. It felt for a long torturous moment as if she could not get enough air to breath. Whether or not Brom had noticed her reaction, Rose knew not. He kept his back to her, his steps steady and unfaltering, and watching him, she was able to walk again.

In a way, Brom reminded her of Tornac, not in his words or his attitude but there seemed to her a strength within the two men as if they had been cut from the same cloth. Perhaps, beneath the years of lies and hiding from the King there was a mark of the former Rider; a man who once stood proudly beside a dragon prepared to fight off whatever danger fate might bring. Perhaps, after all these years, that mark was nothing more than a scar, faint but still there, despite the gathering dark, it yet remained bright and bold, marking the time he had endured while many others forfeited the fight.

She did not have long to think about this as they soon came the bathhouse. There Selena stood with two clothe bags at her feet. Her hair was dripping from a recent wash, and her clothes looked clean. She smiled softly though it did not meet her eyes. As they approached, the woman picked up the largest bag and idly handed it to Rose. "I never got an answer to what you needed, so I took a hazard guess. I hope that I wasn't too far off," said she, and then the woman gave Brom the other satchel. This one much lighter. "It should be enough to get you through the trip you're about to make regardless, and should you need anything else, let one of us know by noon tomorrow. We might not be able to acquire it but there's a small possibility that we will."

Selena gave Rose one last brief very soft smile before her eyes settled on Brom. They seemed to have a brief, wordless conversation before the woman turned and walked away, and Brom disappeared into the bathing house leaving Rose standing alone in the passageway.

Rose could feel the exhaustion of the day settle heavily into her bones and, holding the bag away from her so it wouldn't get mud on it, she stepped into the bathing room. No one was in there, thank the gods, and she washed quickly before dressing hastily in the first clean garments she touched without truly looking at them. She stepped out of the room, and hurriedly made her way to where Thorn stood near the gates.

The dragon nudged her as she struggled to scramble upon him, and though they relayed no words they seemed to come to an agreement of what the remainder of that evening would contain, which would be nothing more than a long-needed rest. Thorn thumped his tail once upon the ground before taking off and when he landed, Rose slid off of him, stumbling to her bed and falling almost instantly asleep.

.

When Rose awoke it was sometime within the darkest hours of the night. For a time, she lay, unmoving, willing herself to return to her dreams, though she had no memory of them. When, at last, she came to the conclusion that she was awake, she thought over the events of the previous day.

A part of her, and a large part, couldn't help but wonder over her choices. Rose had known from the moment she realized that she was a Dragon Rider what she would have to learn to wield magic. She was just not willing to admit it to herself nor did she want to admit it because she knew that the moment she did, it would whisk further down a path she would have never chosen for herself. And even though she had given her word, Rose did not wish to learn but her life was full of doing things she did not wish to do. Already she was a Dragon Rider, as a child that had been her greatest fear. Of course, that child she had believed that her nursemaid, Cordelia, was secretly the boogie beast and only her knitted blanket could keep her safe from the woman, and that if she touched a toad she'd get a wart; among other ridiculous notions.

Rose remembered something, then, said to her so long ago that she could not remember when she had heard it or where; 'there is no shame in not knowing something, the shame comes from the unwillingness to learn.' It sounded like something Tornac might have said when she began learning to play her viol though she wasn't entirely certain.

She had had this thought before, weeks ago when Brom had first spoken to her about learning, about how she learned to long for her instrument after many months of denying vocally, many times over, that she hadn't cared for it at all. It was a passion that had transcended years. And then she broke her viol, and while it was an accident, she never forgave herself for be so careless.

Rose peered at her fingers, barely seeing them in the darkness; long and slightly crooked from the way she held the bow for hours at end or perhaps they had always been that way. She could not remember. Sighing, she pulled her blanket closer to her and curled onto her side.

The Ancient Language and magic were not the same thing as playing an instrument. In her mind they were to vastly different subjects that lay many a mile apart. Brom may have said that he would not force to her learn but she knew that at point she would have to learn, and now voiced her willingness to do so. She knew now that the time to learn magic was nearly upon her.

Some of these thoughts were new to her, but the majority of them were rather puerile, and she knew this. Her fingers trailed over the scar on her left hand, the skin was smooth to the touch. She had seen the same scar on Eragon, and knew that it marked her as a Dragon Rider, rather than it being from her battle with briars as she had originally thought.

It was the thought of the woodlands that finally chased her from the safety of her covers, and she stood, her bare feet smarting against the cold stone. Rose glanced at Thorn, her mind softly touching his and finding that he was fast asleep, she exited the small cavern they were nested in.

The silence that night felt heavy, and she picked up the lit lantern left at the entrance and crept towards the tunnels Eragon had told her about. She no longer wished to think, and so she walked barefoot under a narrow stone passage and after hesitating just a moment, she ducked into the maze of caverns. Rose walked slowly for what seemed like an age, dragging the tips of her fingers along the smooth walls which vanished at times into a gap where an aged door stood, soft with time. Soon passages tunneled off from the main artery leading up and down and through the rock. Shadows leapt out at every corner, dancing in lantern light.

It felt old here, immeasurably old. She knew that if she traveled long enough, she would become lost and time would become meaningless. And, so she made herself turn around and return to the dragon hold and lay in bed. She forced herself to promise not to return to those caverns. Not because the dark halls frightened her- she had little reservations exploring dark halls, abandoned chambers, and whatever else might lay long forgotten- but rather because the place hindered it. Standing beside that oldness, she had felt a foreboding against light and laughter. Caverns filled with dark rooms were not meant for people to live in, she thought as she fell asleep.

.

The next time Rose woke it was morning, and Thorn was seen at the entrance of the cave blocking the entry. Voices drifted lazily towards her and at first, she didn't realize what she was hearing. When she found that did not recognize one of the voices, she reached her mind out Thorn. As his mind welcomed her, Rose got up and dug through a bag grabbing a cloak that she had noticed the night before.

Thorn, do you know who is here? she asked, snapping the clasp shut. I don't recognize their voice.

The dragon huffed loudly. A female two-legged, was all he said.

Very helpful, said Rose, shoving her feet into her boots. Do we know her?

No but she is talking with Eragon. Perhaps he does.

Rose nodded and stepped around him. As Thorn had warned her, there was a woman standing talking to Eragon, a leather-bound book resting in her hands. The woman was long and lean, each of her features perfectly formed and smooth. Her loose red dress contrasted with her dark skin tone, and a thick brocaded sash covered much of her waist where a bag rested against her hip. An ivory and gold bracelet glimmered around her wrist, and her feet were covered with thin cloth slipshoes. Her hair was unbound and undecorated, and fell in dark mossy curls down her back.

As Rose make her way to them, the woman turned toward her and she saw the hint of a knife hidden beneath the woman's thick belt- she studied it, weighing its threat.

"You must be Rose," the woman said. "Ailis has told me much about you."

Rose gave the woman a tight smile before her eyes flickered towards Eragon. He would not meet her gaze. "I am. I don't believe I've had the pleasure meeting you before."

"We've seen each other in passing," she said in a steady voice. "I am Nasuada."

"Nasuada is Ajihad's daughter," Eragon pipped, shifting his feet. "She just came up here to deliver a message."

Rose hadn't been aware that the Varden leader had family of any kind but she supposed that it made sense. She nodded. "It's pleasure to meet you," she said, and then glanced closer at the book. "Are you reading Mannix's Sojourn?"

Nasuada smiled truly for the first time. "I am. Not many know about Mannix nonetheless read his work. Have you read it?" she asked, offering the book to her.

"No, I have only heard of the tale," Rose replied, and taking the book, she looked over it. "I've only seen one copy of Mannix's work, and much of it was far too faded to read."

"You shan't find that issue in Tronjheim. There are many copies," she said. "If you haven't read Mannix's Sojourn I suggest that you would read The Cognizant first once the opportunity offers itself."

"I'll keep that in mind." Rose glanced at the bag at her hip. It was filled with a thickly worn leatherbound book, an epic perhaps or a thicker tome of poetry, and a number of scrolls. Returning Mannix's Sojourn to the woman, she said in light voice, "Have you gotten another ancient poesy?"

Nasuada grinned and, taking to book pressed it firmly to her chest. "No, I'm not reading anything that remarkable," she replied, shifting on her feet. "I was planning to read about different war tactics throughout history. It fascinates me, how people fight and win a war against the odds. Not many people understand it though, they think it's an impropriate matter for women to read."

"Many of those people have eccentric ideals that needn't be passed them on to what one reads. That is one of the subjects that ought to be untouched," Rose said. "You have quite a task ahead of you. I pray that it one you do not plan on completing this night."

Nasuada smiled sweetly but shook her head, her fingers tightening around the volume. "I won't have the time but I may another night," she said. "My father mentioned to me that your heading much of the evacuation once we leave here. I want to do what I can to help, should you have me."

This was news to Rose and she blinked to mask her reaction as she would within the Courts. "I don't know what I'll need at this moment though I'm certain if I need anything at a later time that it shan't be terribly exciting," she said in a steely tone.

Nasuada nodded and, looking between her and Eragon, said, "It was a pleasure to meet both of you but I am afraid I must go." Suddenly, she grabbed Rose's hand and squeezed it. Her fingers were surprisingly calloused- in all the spots where the hilt of a sword or dagger might rest. Rose met her dark eyes blankly as she dropped her hand, she took a quick, small step back. Rose drew her hands behind her back and clasped them there firmly. "We will meet again soon, I'm certain of it," said Nasuada, her shoulders slumping slightly, and quickly vanished from sight.

Rose glanced at Eragon but he said nothing, looking quite put out. "Is the message something I should know of?" she asked.

Eragon shook his head before turning away and climbing onto Saphira, who until that moment had been standing completely still. "There will be a meeting that Ajihad wants you to join. It's at noon, in his office," he said, still not looking at her. After a moment, he sighed and then said, "I talked with Saphira. I don't agree with you. I'm not sorry for saying what I had but it shouldn't have been said like that."

Rose nodded but remained silent and as she turned away, Saphira took off and flew towards the city below. She glanced at Thorn, who hadn't move during the interaction.

You match, he said, eyeing her cloak. What is it that you call the fabric fall?

A cloak, and yes, I know it matches you.

I like it. His chest puffed out again, larger than before.

Rose frowned at him. Of course, you do.

With a sigh, she looked down the cloak around her. It was warm, lined with a soft, short fur she didn't not recognize, and its fabric, though unadorned, was sturdy and would not fray for quite some time. The cloak Rose had received in the capital was worn and torn, filled with tiny, neat stitches of different colored threads from the trials of travel. Still, despite her dislike of its imperfections, which she often found herself glowering over, she was hesitant to trade the cloak in. The only reason she was wearing the red one was because her old cloak been forgotten in Selena's apartment some nights before and has since vanished. It was likely that she would never see it again.

Well, I suppose that I should get ready for this meeting, Rose said after a pause. Do you truly believe that Ajihad has charged us with anything other than the egg's safety?

Thorn snaked his head down to her level, and blinked an eye at her. It sounds that way.

It would be a smart move on his part, said Rose flatly, sorting through the bag of clothing she had discarded the night before. It would be an entanglement of sorts. To anyone outside of our small counsel it would mere appear as if the Varden were taking the threat of a battle seriously. It would appear as if we had sided with them and would display the unity that Brom asked we present.

You do not agree with it, Thorn stated as she striped from the clothing she had put on the night before.

I did not agree to be responsible for anything save for the egg, Rose stated, tightening the draws at the side of a dark brown tunic. It fell to her knees, and was bordered with a blue so dark it appeared black in dim light. She found a jerkin made of a soft leather that she slipped over it before wrapping a thick maroon belt at her waist in a similar style as she had had seen about the city in the last weeks.

Rose wondered if she would ever again wear lovely things and if she did, would she comfortable in them? It stood out to her that she desired her tunic and boots to dresses and slippers, and thought that such fine things seemed to belong to someone from another age.

Thorn waited until she had finished dressing herself to reply, You could refuse.

I believe that I'll wait to hear what it entails. For all we know it could be a front, and I shan't be burdened with anything than we agreed upon. Rose plaited her hair, wrapping the end with a worn scrap of fabric. She laced her boots and, turning to Thorn, she said, I'm ready whenever you are.

I'll be joining you in this gathering.

Settling herself at the dip between his wings, she said, It won't be until later. I wish to break my fast and see if I can find Brom or Selena beforehand. If I do not see them, I shan't burden them but I'm hoping that they will have some insight.

Thorn leapt from the ground in response and glided slowly to the ground below. I will meet you when it is time, he said as she slipped to the stone flooring, and then without another word he returned to the landing above.

Rose made her way toward Selena's apartment, and finding no one inside, she helped herself to a slice of bread and a dry, very flaky cheese. After a time, when the rooms remained empty save for her, Rose set aside the book she had been reading and left, slowly making her way towards Ajihad's office. Thorn met her outside the doorway, eying one of the guards who had shifted nervously when he approached.

She raised an eyebrow at the dragon and he sent a tendril of humor her way, and the doors opened. Ajihad beckoned them inside. "I'm glad you came when you did," the man said, shutting the door firmly close when she stepped inside. "I was hoping to speak to you privately before the others arrive."

Rose looked up at him, her eyes finding his. "I was hoping to speak with you as well."

Ajihad nodded and said, "Please sit," and waiting until she had, he continued, "There is much for us to discuss and little time. Beyond you and a few select others no one knows of the dragon eggs' presentence. I had talked with both Brom and Arya this morning and have come to an agreement to keep it as such."

He paused, to take a breath and Rose straightening herself, took the chance to say, "Am I correct in my understanding, Ajihad, that you've told those under you that I'm helping to lead the evacuation thus explaining my presence among the woman and children? This is something that neither Thorn nor myself have agreed to." She felt a mask slip over face, both similar to one she had worn in the capital and yet so completely different. Her words sounded to her, closer to something that Tornac might had he been in her place but the thought pained her and she quickly pushed it aside. "May I be so bold to ask what exactly you expect from us?"

"I expect you to protect the dragon egg and perchance should things go negativity for us, that you shall do what you must to keep it safe from the Empire's grasp and deliver it to the elves," he said simply, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Many people have risked more than just their lives to retrieve the dragons from Galbatorix's grasp for us to lose the last remaining egg now."

She felt Thorn grumble more then she heard him. Tell him that the unhatchling will not return to the Egg-Slayer. I will not allow it.

Rose nodded and told him what Thorn had said before adding, "Like Thorn, I don't intend on it falling from my protection. I've lost enough in the last months for those sacrifices to be in vain."

For moment the leader of the Varden and Rose stared at each other, each measuring the other, before he nodded and sat at his desk. "Thank you," he said.

"I do not appreciate being put in a position that I did not agree to," said Rose softly though she was certain that her words were not unheard.

Again, the Varden leader nodded but said nothing. After a short time, there was a knock at the door and he said, "I know that I have asked much of you, much that you did not agree to however I have a personal favor to ask, and I do not ask this lightly," he said, waiting until she glanced his way. "While you are within the valley, please, keep an eye on my daughter." He watched as she nodded, and after this he turned from her, and unrolling a map onto his desk, he called for the person at the door to enter.

A young man came in, one of the scout leaders, with flame red hair and the uncanny ability to seem to be everywhere in the room all at once. He and his group had been surveying the valley the women were to travel, and had found nothing of concern. As he gave his report to Ajihad, two more men came in; one Rose could not remember the name of despite the amount of times she heard it, and the other was the true leader of the evacuation. His name was Vers, and Rose learned he was once a captain of the Empire's army before deserting and joining the Varden. Despite that his service had been many years ago, and those years showed clearly on the lines of his face, his mind however seemed unaffected by time and was sharp.

Rose spent the remainder of her day leaning against the stone table with Thorn beside her, as she listened to instructions and watched a scout map the trail, she was to take to led the women to Kealii Valley and other trails she might need to know of, should the Varden lose their fight and what she was to do if that were the case. She learned of the supplies that were to be taken, and the number of men that would be traveling with them- mainly men fresh out of their youth and those who were too old to fight- as well as the approximate number of women and children who were to go.

It wasn't until late in the evening that she was released only to be pulled aside by Selena who stood outside the door. The woman looked harried; there were dark cycles under her eyes, and she maintained a deep scowl as she led Rose towards her home. Neither Eragon nor Brom were inside, likely busy elsewhere, and for a long time she said nothing, too tired to speak.

"Do you believe that you'll have enough supplies to hold you over?" the woman asked at last, pouring some pale wine into metal goblet before handing it to her.

"I do," said Rose. "I wish to thank you for the clothing."

Selena waved her words away, before pouring herself a goblet. "You will likely be away for some time. I do not wish you to wear all your clothing to rags." She settled herself close to the unlit hearth. "No one knows what the outcome of this battle will be. The Varden could lose or they could reign victorious. Only time will tell," said the woman, her eyes focused on the freshly stacked wood, "Should something happen to me, should the Void take me at last as it might have many times before, I wish you know how much you mean to me. You are my daughter and I've wished nothing more over the years to be sitting here as we are now. I understand that you're upset, and you do not like being reminded that I am your mother, yet, Rose, I cannot help but pray to the gods that we will be able to mend whatever remains broken between us. To have a relationship with you, as a mother and daughter should, means more to me than you could ever know."

Rose remained frozen in her seat, the goblet in her hand forgotten. During the time that the woman had spoken, her mind seemed to have stopped working correctly and now emitted a hazy buzz.

"You may now run out of here as I know you wish to," the woman said when Rose didn't respond.

To Rose's own surprise she remained and took a slow sip of the wine. It was sweet, if a little dry, and was quite good. "There's no reason to waste good wine," she said softly, feeling completely exhausted.

"Eragon mentioned to me that you met Ajihad's daughter this morning," she stated when Rose said nothing more. "It is not unusual to see her out and about however she keeps mostly to herself."

Rose looked down and studied her hands. That final piece of their meeting, the piece that had been troubling her, finally made sense. Nasuada hadn't wandered all the way up to the keep to deliver a message, nor had she been carrying those books around to read to enrich herself in the history of war, she was more likely planning strategies to win one. It seemed likely to Rose that their meeting was not by chance, and that the woman had searching for an opportunity to introduce herself for quite some time. Rose had the feeling that Nasuada had gone to the keep- not as a grab for power, but rather one of observation. If she is indeed the Varden leader's daughter than it was a chance to decide whether an association was worth the effort that it would take from both ends.

"Do you know her well?"

"I know her enough to think that the two of you would get along well," said Selena, bending towards the fireplace. She stayed there a moment, and then with a sigh, a small flame flickered to life. "I think that it comforts Ajihad to know that you will be going with the women and children. He's rather protective of his daughter."

Rose nodded, remembering his request, and said, "Will you be seeing us off tomorrow?"

"No," said Selena, "I have other matters to attend to during that time." And then they talked on other topics until at last the wine was gone and Rose excused herself, feeling that if she stayed a moment longer that she would fall asleep there in her seat. As she made to leave, Selena stood and pulled into a tight hug before pulling away and studied her face for a very long moment. "You are my daughter," she said softly pulling away, "and I love you very much." Saying no more, the woman walked away towards the small bedroom at the end of the short hallway.

Rose took a deep breath, her arms wrapping around her, and walked slowly to the courtyard to meet Thorn. The two of them remained silent, not needing words, and as Thorn landed on the platform above and Rose wordlessly walked to the cave and began to pack. She did not think over Selena's words nor the day but forced herself to focus on the simple act of packing up the items that she lain around the cavern. It wasn't until Rose sat down on her bed and pulled her viol onto her lap that the dragon spoke, You miss him.

Rose traced her fingers along the wood, and nodding, More than I thought it was possible to ache for someone. It feels as a part of me that belonged to and loved him is now missing from me and I do not know how to get it back. She plucked at a string idly, and frowned. It pains me too much to talk about him, nonetheless think about him and yet I find that I almost always am. I do not know how to live a life without Tornac in it, only that I must. How can someone who was once so alive- how can they so suddenly vanish as if they never were?

For this Thorn had no answer and merely thumped his tail against the ground. Rose closed her eyes after a time, listening to the rhythm. He would not wish you to live a life only missing him, he said after a time.

I know this, Thorn, said Rose. I know this, believe me. He wanted the best for me, and I believe in a way I have failed. I don't know what to do here or who I should be. Everything is so perplexing and I cannot seem to keep up. She stood then and put away her viol before crawling beneath her covers. Regardless, I cannot do anything about it now only live another day and another after that, hoping that I've made the right choices. Still I miss him and I will miss him for a long time, I think.

Thorn let out a low hum. You have not failed, the dragon said, and then quickly added, I am here when you need me. I miss the old two-legged as well.

Rose turned to him, and studied his bulk for a time. She hadn't thought about his feelings for the man nor had it occurred to her that he might have been attached to Tornac. Surely, she thought, dragons grieve differently than humans, and it was with this thought that she closed her eyes.

Sleep did not come easily that night, and Rose spent much of it, thinking of the previous day's events, what was to come, and finally Tornac's death. The scene of his death replayed in her mind, and she concluded that it was Brom's fault for bringing up the memories, if he hadn't asked about Tornac surely Rose wouldn't be thinking about him now, not when she had made so much effort to not recall that day or the man or the feelings around it at all. She had been doing so well but now, now she could not stop thinking about Tornac. Beside her, Thorn hummed his strange deep purrlike grumble, and eventually late into the night Rose fell asleep. That night she dreamt of a river at the bottom of a winding crag.

.
.

The people came in droves; mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children, friends, and lovers. Hands grasped for one another, pulling bodies wordlessly into an embrace. They were a soft whispering sea. With so many voices the murmurs became a loud cry, their farewells became shouts. The sorrow of their words was physical, an energy all its own that washed over the courtyard.

Rose watched silently, her fingers trembling as she tightened the straps of the saddle. She watched as a babe was handed to a young girl with nothing more than a quick peeking kiss onto each of the children's forehead. Whispered promises, trails of tears falling from pale cheeks, and then the father was gone, disappearing into the massing crowd. The girl clung to the toddler, burying her face into its chest. Her shoulders began shaking.

Beside the girl stood a couple, a woman in a homely dress with a swelling belly and fair-haired man dressed in chainmail and leather greaves. They did not embrace each other, did not speak but merely looked into the other's eyes. The man's hand fell from the woman's belly and then slowly he backed away from his lover, his hand now on the hilt of his sword. He vanished into the crowd.

The sound of a child's scream tore her eyes from the man's retreating form towards a young boy clinging desperately to a man's leg, he had a weathered face and greying hair. The boy became louder as the man pulled him away and handed him off to a mid-aged woman. Her skirts were hampered down with children of varies ages, none of them appeared to be related. The old man placed the screeching child in the woman's arms and hurried away without looking back.

Rose's eye met an elderly woman's irony stare. The woman tilted her head to the side, her face free of emotion, masking what she felt underneath. As she had a few days prior, the woman held a buddle close to her chest, a babe who was just beginning to fuss. When she turned away to shush the child, Rose turned away from the crowd. Her eyes met the dragon's ruby gaze, his head hovering close to her. He blew a stream of smoke at her, and she quickly finished fixing the knot of the final bag and batted the vapor away.

Her gaze scanned the crowd once more, and after seeing only a sea of strangers, she clambered onto Thorn's back. The dragon started down the large tunnel away from the crowd. The courtyard was not the meeting place for the group that was leaving, that was further into a tunnel, she had been told, and yet everyone met there anyhow to talk to their loved ones one last time. It was no secret that the people who stood there now may not be seen again. Even the smallest children, the ones who did not comprehend what was truly happening, seemed to have picked up on this. They were silent in way that children should not be. Their eyes were downcast. Those who were older whispered to them, and were awarded with small smiles. These were ones watched with wide eyes as Thorn passed, elbowing their siblings or friends, turning away to whisper only to look back again mere moments later.

The closer they got the tunnel the more eyes Rose could feel on them. The feeling did not cease even after the guards at the entryway allowed the dragon through. The moment Thorn took a corner, hiding her from the crowd's many eyes, she slid from his back and fell into step beside him.

You look like a peacock, Rose said, eyeing his puffed-up chest. Had he walked the path through the crowd in that fashion? You only need feathers, Thorn.

Thorn deflated in a long wisp of smoke before turning to look at her with a single eye. He said nothing though she could feel his curiosity. It flowed through their mindlink like a trickling stream.

The King had one imported some summers back. The courts' children had a grand time chasing him around the gardens. That is until the feathered beast grew tired of the game and decided to chase them back. It was decided that they'd leave Prince alone after that, Rose answered his thoughts, as they walked around the bend into a large antechamber.

He sent her drift of his humor through their mindlink but said nothing. She could feel her wariness creeping into him and pulled away slightly. It had been a long, tiring day already, though that day had only just begun. Brom, Eragon, and Saphira had met her earlier that morning before the gates of the city, in what was to be believed the early hours of morning. None of them talked much during that time, until people began to gather and then Eragon and Rose spoke softly, each wishing the other safety and then when Eragon left, Brom passed a familiar bag to Rose and gruffly said, "I do not have to tell you what this means or to keep it safe, do I?"

"No, you do not."

He pulled something out of his pocket then, and took her hand, folding the object into her palm. "Take this," he said. "Should the worse happen, it will be of use to you. Don't lose it!"

Rose turned the ring over in her hands, studying it for a long moment. It was a simple ring of gold with a small symbol etched into the inside, and as she examined it the sapphire glimmered as if it were on fire. "It will be too large for my fingers," she said. "I haven't a safe place to keep it."

Brom grumbled. "Put it on that necklace of yours," he told her, and she unclasped the chain, "If we die you will need it to take the egg to the elves. Show them the ring, it will show that you are an ally."

"The necklace and ring are made similarly," she observed. "They're both elven, are they not?"

"They are." Brom huffed, and leaned back. "Don't lose either of them. I won't be able to find replacements if you do."

"I do not plan to."

Brom looked at her for a time, then clasped her shoulder. "Everything will be as it should be," he said, and stepped away. "Do not worry. You'll do well enough. Farewell, Rose."

The old man had disappeared into the crowd then, as quite a crowd as gathered, and Rose was left with Thorn, she turned him then and glanced down at the bag containing the remaining dragon egg. It seemed that everything had begun with this bag and this egg and now it was left in her hands.

Sighing Rose, hefted the bag over her shoulder and turned to dragon beside her. In the distance she heard a bell tone echo toward them, and slowly, she began to move. In an hour's time, she would be standing in the world outside having few to turn to besides herself and Thorn. It did not sit well with her, her stomach felt unease and she was glad she hadn't eaten that morning; never in her life had she had been charged with anything beyond herself.

Thorn thumped his tail, and she turned to him, her mind leaning towards his steadiness and she at once felt a calm blossom through her being. At least, she wasn't completely alone in a sea of strangers. The bell chimed again, and she stepped forward, those who would follow shadowing not far behind her.