Chapter One- Aftermath

Eragon sat on a small hill overlooking the dilapidated ruins of Feinster. Fires still raged in some areas of the city, and here and there a building would collapse. Clearly, the battered city would not be able to house the Varden for any extended length of time; a move would soon be necessary. So much destruction, he thought. And for what cause?

A noble one, came Saphira's reply. Crouched next to Eragon was the most magnificent sight in all of Alagaesia: his glimmering dragon. He marveled at the way her scales caught the light of the setting sun before returning his gaze to the smoldering ruins in front of him. For a time, the two sat in companionable silence, neither wishing to broach the uncomfortable topic of their former masters. Nearly an hour passed before Eragon spoke.

I cannot believe they are gone, he murmured.

Nor can I, she replied. But they aren't entirely. Glaedr will be with us at least until the end of the war, and through him, Oromis. We are not completely on our own.

In times like these, Eragon was most grateful for his dragon's company. She was the rock that kept him from being swept away by the tides of madness that threatened to consume him. Instead of replying, he simply reached out a hand and began to scratch the scales beneath her jaw and a low, satisfied hum began to resonate from deep within her.

We are not alone. The thought comforted Eragon as he contemplated the present state of the Varden and the war.

But Galbatorix is, Saphira stated. His twisted bond with Shruikan is nothing compared to the love we share.

Aye, that it is. And neither is he invincible. If only we could free the Eldunari...

Silence reigned once again as the pair's thoughts turned to the demise of the enslaved dragons.

There has to be a way to free them. There must, he thought, more to himself than anyone else. Saphira silently agreed.

Their musings were interrupted by a soft padding noise behind them. Without even looking, Eragon knew who it was: the ultimate desire of his heart, Arya. Already, he could feel his heart rate increasing and his muscles tensing. Not wanting his body to betray him, Eragon kept his impassive gaze on the city of Feinster, not acknowledging her presence.

The padding of her feet stopped for a second, a few feet behind Eragon, as she hesitated. Then Arya walked up and sat down on the lush grass beside him. Only then did Eragon glance at her.

"Arya," he said, nodding to her, abandoning all formalities.

"Eragon, Saphira..." Arya trailed off. She did not seem to know what to say. "You have my utmost condolences for your loss."

"And you as well. You have lost as much as we have, if not more."

Arya sighed. "Aye. He was a second father to me. After my father died on that battlefield ..." her voice broke as emotion threatened to overcome her. "After my father died, my mother, overtaken by grief, could not take the sight of me. I reminded her too much of Evandar. In those days, I saw very little of her. Most days, I stayed with Oromis. He showed genuine kindness to me, something very few others have done. He took me in, let me stay in his hut, and never even asked why. He simply accepted me and I... I will miss him greatly," she finished, a tear threatening to fall from her emerald eyes.

Eragon looked over at her and pity welled up inside him. Never before had he seen her look so broken or so forlorn. "I never realized he meant so much to you."

Arya simply nodded, hiding her face from him with her raven hair, and Eragon suspected that tears had indeed begun to fall. Steeling himself, and hoping he was not going too far, Eragon shifted closer and wrapped his strong, bronze arm around her shoulder.

Careful, warned Saphira. Eragon gave her a mental roll of the eyes.

She's distressed. I'm just trying to comfort her.

In response, Arya simply leaned into his chest. Just this once, she would allow herself to be comforted. For a time, the two Shadeslayers sat in silence, watching as the last bloody rays of the sun faded from the land.