Du Vollar Eldrvarya

The shadows of the night were rapidly retreating; the sun was reclaiming its realm. The darkness had hidden violent red skies, red like the tortured fields they blanketed. Fields buried under the slaughter of war-the lifeless mass of men, dwarves and urgals who fought, defied and were prevailed upon by fate. Fields that flamed with sickly green torches, lit by eternal fires rooted in the peat saturated earth. Fields of nightmare that mortals had named the Burning Plains of Alagaesia.Two distant figures were silhouetted against the gore-stained horizon. Silent, stoic they stood; statues that as dawn refracted against their shapes, seemed the very centrepiece of battle's turmoil. A pair of women was observing them from the shadows of a large, red pavilion.

"Eragon should not be the one to suffer so; he has been put through much already. Fate has been cruel to him." This was the ebony-skinned Nasuada, daughter of Ajhihad. Her gaze still fixed ahead, the elf replied, "The fate of the rebellion depends on them, they know this. They know their responsibility and uphold what it is to be Shur'tugal. They'll do what is right."

"Yet our Rider is young, his burdens great and his enemies far stronger. I fear that his path might prove too difficult and that he shall falter."

This time Arya turned her full attention on the Lady of the Varden. "No, Saphira shall never allow him to falter. Nasuada you, yourself haven proven that no hardships are barrier enough, that mightier foes can be dealt with and that youth has no bearing upon disposition."

A moment passed in silence, while Arya kept her eyes trained on her companion. The young leader finally squared her shoulders and drew herself up. When she spoke, her voice had regained its resolve. "As Eragon's liege, it is my duty to to have faith in him. I shall ensure that my vassal keeps sight of our goals."

"I shall meet you the at the noon council. In the meantime, may the stars watch over you." With that the elven ambassador dismissed herself, all the usual gracefulness in her movements.

The Varden began stirring, as the morning sun began its ascent. The healers who had worked through the night tending the wounded, let others relieve them. Officers of the army, who had been making inventories and had dozed off in between, roused themselves, ready to dispatch reports. Scouts sent the day before were returning on exhausted mounts, having driven hard across leagues. Those soldiers better rested than their comrades, made through the camp in search of more bodies to bury. Young squires and stable boys, the cooks and their maids, the smiths and other able-hands, all waited for the flurry of activity to begin. The battle was over, this was the aftermath – work amidst the sorrow.

Saphira lowered her head towards her Rider. Feeling her hot breath against his cheek, Eragon emerged from his meditative trance. Turning towards his beloved dragon, he placed a gentle hand on her snout.

We have a long day ahead of us, Saphira.

Come hen little one, if you want some time by yourself befor we are needed.

Leaping into the saddle with feline grace, Eragon clutch the neck spine steadying himself, as Saphira worked her mighty thews, lifting her wings into the air. They glided above the putrid cloud; the bright, blue scales dazzling in the untainted air, made Eragon's spirits soar. Saphira sent a feeling of smugness across their link that made both of them erupt in shared laughter. Minutes later, they descended once again into the miasma.

Roran had left the tent. I suppose he went back to the rest of Carvahall.