Hi all! Welcome to the sequel of Fallen: Istalri and Nuaen.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything taken from the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini in this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Prologue

Xiana's POV

She stood alone, at the top of the hill; for no one knew she was there. The world was quiet and still. No leaves rustled in the trees or wisps of wind curled across the grass. Just as the sun began to come up from the horizon, blessing the woods with a sparkling brilliance, a single bird echoed out its call through the forest. A few seconds later, another, far off toward the mysterious Crags of Tel'nair, answered it. Soon the forest was alive with the chorus of chirping birds, eagerly welcoming the morning. So it was in Taíthos, as it was in the rest of Du Weldenvarden.

Once the sun had risen fully above the horizon, the girl hastened to the leafy home where she lived. If her father, Toseir, knew she had been out that early, she would be dead. But he didn't know, for he, like so many other elves, had left a long time ago to fight in Islanzadí Dröttning's army. The last missive to Ellesméra, the major city just a league away, had only said they would begin to storm Urû'baen that day. Even though her father was at war, her mother would be sure to report her insubordination to him as soon as he returned.

He had not allowed her to fight, and for this she was angry at him. "Your swordsmanship is not good enough," he would tell her, "and your archery rather mediocre." That had been two weeks before he left, and in those weeks she had worked vigorously at both these skills. In the end, however, he still denied her request saying, at the age of twelve, she was too young to go into battle. Her mother had agreed with him wholeheartedly on that fact. So she was stuck here, in Taíthos, instead of helping Shur'tugal Eragon and Bjartskular Saphira in their quest to overthrow Galbatorix. But no matter. She would prove herself to her father, one day.

Xiana picked up the bow her father had fashioned for her and strung it easily. She searched for something to aim at, but nothing came to mind. Finally she alighted upon an old dead stump with a knob in the middle. She drew back the bowstring and experienced the familiar twang that came off sending the projectile flying through the air at an alarming rate. The arrow embedded itself at the very edge of the knot, not in the middle like she had hoped. She retrieved it and nocked it again, for she had only one arrow. Originally, her mother had sung three arrows from the tree, but only one remained in Xiana's quiver. The first had got stuck high in a tree, and then, before Xiana could compose a spell to get it down, a strange raven with pure white feathers snagged it in his beak, and, after several tries, flew off with it in his beak. The second had been a foolish shot when she was little, and had flown almost straight up. The wind gusted then, and it had been blown away. She shot again and was pleased to find that it had hit the center exactly. Her third shot was not so fortunate, however; it missed the knot entirely and buried itself several inches to the right.

"Xiana," her mother called.

"I'm here," Xiana responded as Neyä touched her mind. Shouts and cries broke the peaceful tranquility of the forest. Neyä came out of the house with a worried expression on her face, but soon realized the cries were of great jubilation, not sorrow. "Shruikan is dead!" the elves proclaimed, "Galbatorix is king no more!" Cheers went up, which Neyä and Xiana joined joyfully. The war was over, and soon her father would return home.

Two Months Later

Xiana paced, the soft grass tickling the soles of her bare feet. Almost two months had passed since the news of Galbatorix's downfall had reached Taíthos. Arya Dröttning had accepted her title of Queen, as was her right. Though all were much saddened by the loss of Islanzadí, there had never been a time of more rejoicing. Arya had brought with her a green dragon egg of their very own, the last in Galbatorix's castle.

Many elves were also returning from the battle, but Toseir had yet to return. They all were returning home, laying down their weapons, and reverting to playing with the subtle nuances of the world. Finally, so late that Neyä feared it would never happen, her father came back.

His face was as serene and fearless as she remembered it being. In one hand, he grasped his spear. In the other, his shield across his chest. His eyes were closed, unblinking, and his body was completely still as two grim-faced warriors carried him past in a silver casket.

Xiana turned away, vowing silently that she would fulfill all of his expectations and more. She would not fail him. There was nothing she could do better than revenge.

Thanks for reading! Back to Kyra and Veyna next!