Skin torn from skin, skin wretched from muscle, muscles spilt open, he lay there. His skin a crumbled and torn blanket draped over cut flesh. His broken wrists were tied to a great rock while his legs were bound. His right knee was crudely sawn into, the serrated edge stopping halfway through the bone. Pain nestled deep into his mind, a dark replacement to the part of him torn away. Blood oozed down the cold rock staining it dark red.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

The jagged lightning rushed up into his brain. His eyes slipped open in shock and, before he could scream, torrents of blood poured into his mouth and nose.

The bucket empty, his captors threw it away to be refilled while the whip was readied again.

There, hidden, in the clenched hand, something glinted in the horrendous sunlight.


At first, no words were exchanged. Nasuada, clothed in pure white silk, lined delicately with gold was shocked. Blodhgarm, a rugged and bloodstained dark cloak thrown around his shoulders, was filled with sadness incomprehensible, defeated. Utter dismay exploded in her mind until her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

"Where is Eragon?"

That this, Blodhgarm flinched and swayed, but managed to answer the question and describe the rider's situation in one word.

"Lost"

Again, the sadness swirled up to choke her, but she managed to suppress it. Eragon was lost. Plan, unbidden and exciting, blossomed in her mind. A flurry and movement and confusion attraction her attention and moments later Arya burst into the hall, followed by the remainder of the elves that left with Eragon. She must have touched the other elf's mind for all of a sudden she became rigid, before sliding down against the wall and pulling her knees up to her chest, curling herself up in agony.

In a few moments, the wedding celebrations were cancelled and an emergency meeting held in Nasuada's private quarters, such alarming news should never be allowed to disperse across the new empire. Orrin's hand was on his goblet, Roran's head was buried in his calloused hands, the Urgal ambassador's hand was clenched with an expression of distaste on his face and Arya's hand were twisted together under the chin of an impassive face. The head of the human spell casters, Remus, a very old man, with ancient wrinkles all across his body, leaned back on his heavy chair, and mulled over the news. Murtagh stood behind Nasuada, a comforting presence and the 11 elves that went with Eragon leaned sadly against the walls.

Finally, Arya spoke.

"I-"

Her voice trembled, but she caught herself, rallied her mentality and continued smoothly.

"I will go and bring him back, it would not be appropriate for such a hero to be left to rot outside his home, nor should it be that people pay their respects to his memory without his body".


The clouds glided across the night sky as the rough waves thrashed around in the dark ocean. The crests, frothing in anger, roared as they crashed down. The moon hung precariously in the expanse of black clouds, its silverly light struggled down through the darkness, leaving anything in the raging oceans invisible. The rain poured down like never ending tears and lightning streaked furiously down into the water.

It was winter and the oppressively cold air bit into his skin and a harsh fog escaped his mouth when he breathed out. The lashing rain stung his pale face and the persistent thunder rang in his sensitive ears like someone had driven a spear into his eardrums. He was being tossed about, a tiny fish against a terrible sea. The sea-water gnawed into his wounds and the salt piled into his flesh. His eyes were swollen shut from the prolonged trial with the stinging water and his throat burned from the salt in his stomach, which frequently clenched in pain. The sea water bit in his bloody mouth and his wounds clenched in pain so bitter he couldn't see, even with his eyes open. One hand was permanently closed and a blue glint sparkled from the object he held: a memory of happiness in an omnipresent darkness.

Everything was dark, even all the memories. They all swirled and twirled around him, dancing about mockingly. And mockingly they called out to him. Such jeers ravaged his mind and clawed at his spirit.

It was autumn, the radiant sun glided into the horizon as the crisp and golden leaves drifted to the ground while he and his dragon sat, side by side, overlooking the expanse of the growing city. Dragons sailed under the sun while their scales caught the light in a memorising and beautiful way.

"We have done so much",

The was a short pause, before she spoke,

"We could lose it all as quickly as the old order did".

"You've been in a pessimist all week, we been cautious since we have arrived here, there is no reason for your feeling of foreboding".

She, turned, till his being was reflected in the pupil of her massive eye, and whispered in his mind.

"If...if I die, and the order we have nurtured...needs a leader, promise me that you will stay... at least until they reach another age of prosperity".

In a state of utter anguish and desolation, Eragon screamed. Saphira was gone and he was forced to stay. Finally, his wretched body and soul could take no more pain, he was enveloped in silent darkness, trapped in his lonely peace.

It was night when he awoke. The moon sent its gentle light down, on the bare beachhead. The water had evened out to a repetitive cycle with a slow wind brushing past his scarred face. He tried to stand but he immediately, painfully, collapsed into a crumpled heap. Self-loathing crept into his mind and he crawled, pitifully slowly, to the water to gaze at his reflection.

A shriek shattered the midnight silence. Suddenly still, Eragon waited. There was a rustle, and a familiar shape flapped upwards. Fear grasping his mind as memories of torturous treacheries flew in front of his eyes:

A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

The jagged lightning rushed-

Eragon blinked and watched as the owl soared away. Unable to stand the instability of his own mind, he curled into himself, tears, at last, flowing down his uneven cheeks as he remembered the life he had experienced, before.

A cool hand came to rest against his hot face. Startled, he flinched away, but another gentle hand grasped the other side of his face and slowly brought Eragon to look up.

Deep emerald bore into his pained self as he recognised it was Arya gazing, concerned, at his helpless form. He spoke first.

"Are they safe?"