Author's Note: Although some characters from my previous series will appear in this story, it isn't necessary to have read them – they play only a minor part. Hearts, KittenofShadows

If there was ever a day of life at the Castle of Ilian that was quiet, today was not that day. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, something to do, someplace that they needed to be with all haste. The normal hustle and bustle was amplified a hundredfold. Each maid scurried about, dusting, sweeping, scouring every surface for a speck of grime. The cook, too, made himself busy, preparing dish after dish and course after course.

All the commotion was centered around two people. Two people who had never done anything spectacular, nor anything worth celebrating.

All they had done was live to see the dawn of their fifteenth birthday.

The sun had risen that morning, as it usually did on most mornings, on a kingdom, stretched beneath it like a map. It shed its sweet golden rays from the farms, to the mountains, to the cities below. It was not a spectacular sunrise – no more spectacular than any other, in any case – and it was soon forgotten, as each before it.

A pair of the palest of blue eyes had been watching, watching that sunrise, a heart fluttering nervously beneath smooth white skinned chest. Hair – the color of elf gold, spun so finely it was almost white – was pulled tight and fastened at the nape of a slender neck with twine. The rest hung down a thin back, curling slightly at the ends.

The girl had yawned, slightly, at the sight of the sunrise – she was not usually up so very early – but today, of course, was special. She had stripped quickly, casting aside the nightclothes she wore and pulling a simple dress over her head. She knew she would not wear it for long – she had seen the rich fabrics the seamstresses had shown her mother proudly. A dress of that would be a fine one indeed.

But finery was ill-suited for morning chores.

Her eyes flicked to the other occupant of the room. The child was curled in her blankets still, eyes closed. The blonde girl laid a hand on her cheek, feeling how cool and smooth her skin was.

Kissing the child gently on the cheek, the girl left had left.

She had padded softly in stocking-feet through the castle. It had been her home for a long time. She had been born here, raised here. People she loved had lived and died here. It was a home for her as assuredly as a den is home for a fox, or a nest for the mighty eagle.

Her hands had trailed along the walls, the cold stone on her fingertips.She could feel the age in the stone, feel the lives of those before her. The magic that ran through her veins as much as blood allowed it to be so, allowed her to be in touch in a deeper level. She leaned against the stone for a moment, let her head rest on it, and let a smile grace her lips, for she was home.

She had no idea how quickly that would change.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Lady Rune was a queen of the people. Everything about her, from the way she smiled – as if she had a secret, and was just waiting to tell you – to the way her voice was strong yet soft, made you want to be her friend. She could ease a grin out of the sullenest of farmers, and servants and housewives alike confided in her as sisters.

The people loved her, and she, in turn, loved them. She was a queen not by blood or by marriage, but by manner.

Today she paced in the throne room, quietly, her heavy skirts hiding her bare feet from view. She was young, in her early thirties, with lively green eyes and a head of red hair. Today her hair had been tamed into a braid, which hung between her shoulder blades.

"They should be here, Caitlin" she said, as much to the woman who stood near as to herself. "He is late."

"It isn't unusual," Caitlin soothed. "They are quite always late."

Rune sighed and nodded, but her hands didn't stop wringing worriedly. "Something may have happened on their journey," she fretted.

"Nothing could have. This is a time of peace. They are probably coming as we speak."

But Rune could tell Caitlin was as worried as she was.

"Mother!"

Rune turned to the sound of the voice. In the doorway, a boy stood. His brown hair fell haphazardly over his eyes, and his tunic was rumpled. He blew the hair away from his brown eyes, somewhat impatiently, and strode towards his mother.

She kissed his forehead, and he blushed – for he was no longer a child. He was taller than she now. She let go of him. The woman was tempted to lick her fingers and straighten his hair, but she held back. It would embarrass him.

"Is David here yet?" he asked.

Both women shook their heads.

"Find your sisters, Leon," Rune told him. "They should be here soon, with any luck."

The boy nodded and turned, beginning to walk away.

Leon strode purposefully away, slowly, confidently, until he rounded the corner. Then he broke into a run. He would never have let Lady Caitlin or Mother see him acting so undignified, but he was not too old to dart through the halls as he used to.

Luné! He called out with his mind. Where are you?

There was no response in words from his twin, but an image of the gardens flashed into his mind. The boy turned a corner and almost ran headlong into Lady Lily. The woman let out a little yelp of surprise.

As always, Lily was dazzling. Her clear eyes had a wet, wide innocence, like a kitten. She smiled at him, giving a little curtsy. "Leon," she said, with a teasing soft of smile. "You ought to be more careful."

"Yes, Aunt Lily," he muttered, looking at the ground. It was hard to look at Lily for a long time – her beauty was almost painful.

"And where do you have to get in such a hurry?" She asked, playfully easing his eyes to hers with the tip of a long, slender finger. He met them hesitantly, face turning a shade of pink.

"N-nowhere, my lady."

"If it was no where at all, you would not have been running." But Lily was laughing. She waved him away. "Be on your way, nephew. Happy fifteenth year, by and by."

With that she was gone as quickly as she had appeared. Leon was grateful. Lily was his father's brother's wife and mate, but she had always made him a trifle nervous.

He continued along, slower now, careful not to run into anyone. His boots echoed emptily in the vacant hall. Unlike his sister, he could not sense the lives that had come and passed here, he could sense nothing but the beating of his own heart, the ticking of his own thoughts.

He reached the gardens easily – all the castle's exits lead to them. The real problem would be finding his sisters, for they could be anywhere. Luckily, they were obliging, and he found them at Luné's favorite fountain. It was always the first place he looked.

Luné heard him coming, and turned to him. Her eyes met his, and she smiled. He loved her smile, so simple and open, yet somehow mysterious. She mystified him, make him want to scream and claw his eyes out, yet her loved her. She was annoying, stubborn, stupid, but the smartest, sweetest person he knew.

"Leon," she greeted, eyes flashing. "You hardly look ready for a banquet in your honor."

Leon laughed nervously, glancing down at himself. She was right, he looked no different than he did any day. His tunic was slightly dirty, and crumpled. He took her hand and kissed it gently. "You look lovely, sister."

"Of course I do," she sniffed. Then she laughed, to show she was kidding. But he could tell, she was at least partially serious.

It was then that Leon became aware of the other girl who sat at the fountain. Her hair was short and coarse and black, like a horse's, and hung over her eyes. That was a relief – those eyes unnerved Leon. They reminded him that although she was his mother's daughter, she was not his sister. She had a small, pale face, which looked too solemn for her thirteen years. Her lips, which remained daintily closed most of the time, and only ever opened to say something that seemed serious and queer coming from someone her age.

"Eragon will be here soon, Eth," he told her. "Mother wants us in the entrance Hall."

Eth nodded, flicking her hair away from her eyes. They burned into Leon, and he turned away with a choking sound. She pressed her lips tightly together, and looked at the ground.

Her hands fluttered nervously. "Luné," she said, "Let us go greet them."

When they reached the main entrance hall, the twins' father was still nowhere in sight. Rune was still pacing. She caught sight of the girls and smiled, fanning herself with her hand.

Eth swallowed nervously, curtsying slightly to her mother, then to Caitlin.

"You've cut your hair again," Rune sighed, touching Eth's head. "You look so like him when you keep it like that. I wish you wouldn't."

Eth swelled with pride at being deemed worthy to look like 'him'. She knew her mother saw it as a flaw – reminder of Eth's father was painful for her, at best, agonizing at worst – but she could never quite bring herself to care.

Rune kissed her daughter on the forehead, then embraced Luné. "You look beautiful," she said, smiling. "You both do."

"That they do!"

The voice made Eth start. It was a loud, strong voice, with some coarseness in it, but much kindness too. She shrank away, without seeming to.

Rune stifled a joyful call, running into the arms of its owner. "Eragon!"

The man spun her around, lifting her up, laughing. When he lowered her, she promptly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

If there was one thing that the kingdom found flaw with in Lady Rune, it was she and Eragon. The affair between the Rider and his lady had lasted for years – Luné and Leon themselves were testimony to that. But the lovers always found some excuse not to marry. Everyone quite wished they would settle down, commit, but neither seemed to want anything of the sort. They were content to live as husband and wife in all but law – sharing chores and bed pleasures, secrets and worries. They could have married, certainly. But they chose not to.

Some close to them thought perhaps the reason they chose not to be bound was Eth's father. The man – boy, more like – had died just over fourteen years prior. The story was sung about in countless ballads– how the mighty Shadow had slain the dark King and gave his life forfeit – but Rune had never seemed to quite recover from her love for him.

When Rune pulled her lips from Eragon's, he grinned. He kissed her firmly again, as if to finalize it, and let her go. They still acted like children around one another, flirting shamelessly and indulging in public displays of affection.

"Luné! Leon! Greet me."

His children did not need any command. They ran to his outstretched arms, hugging him tightly.

Eth followed, a bit more slowly. She did not hug him. Her hands were sweating. The father of the twins always made her nervous. It was not that he held any bitterness towards her for being the fruitage of a love affair between his Lady and another – indeed he and her father had been as close to brothers as any can be without blood. Eragon was quite willing to accept Eth as his own daughter, would she accept him likewise. But she was reluctant to do such.

Leon was the first to pull away from the hug. He stood tall. He was fifteen now, after all. A man. Hugs were silly.

Eragon kissed Luné on the cheek, before letting her go as well. He shooed her into line next to Leon.

"Let me have a look at the two of you."

Eragon's eyes flicked over the both of them. He took in all the changes that had occurred in the two months he had been gone at the Rider outpost in Melian.

"You've grown another inch, Leon. You'll have to stop soon or you'll be taller than me."

At finishing inspecting his children, Eragon turned his eyes to Eth. She bit her lip and stared at the ground.

"You look like your father more and more every time I see you," he said. He bent to kiss her hand. "You've cut your hair like him too. It looks fabulous."

Eth smiled slightly. She blinked.

"He used to give me a look just like that," Eragon laughed. "So positively devious. I'd hate to know what's going on in that mind of yours."

Eragon stood, and grinned at his children. "I've brought presents for your special day," he told them. "You'll find them in your rooms."

Luné and Leon glanced at one another. Eragon always brought them presents – the best of presents.

Eth's fingers were in knots with the front of her dress. She was very nervous.

Eragon's gaze touched her, and she drew away hesitantly.

"I haven't forgotten you, either," he told her. "There's something for you in your chambers as well."

"Th-thank you, sir."

Eragon's presence was the only thing that could make Eth stutter.

He smiled. "Now be gone, the three of you," he said with a smile. "There's only an hour until the guests start to arrive, and I expect to spend it in the sweet company of your mother. Preferably alone and in our chambers."

Luné and Leon groaned. "Contain yourselves until we leave!" they cried as one, before rushing out the door. Eth glanced at Rune, and quiet Caitlin who still stood behind her, before following them, quietly.

When they rounded the corner, Eth breathed a sigh of relief. Eragon's eyes burned in her mind, and it was all she could do not to give a little sob of desperation as she followed the twins.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Leon was firstborn – he had an additional four minutes of experience on his shoulders than Luné had upon hers – and so it was he who entered the Courtyard in view of all of the guests first.

He cleans up rather nicely, Eragon said to Saphira, proudly.

He is your son, Saphira laughed in his mind. See how tall he stands? Like a little prince.

Not so little, Eragon said with a smile. Saphira laughed, and glanced across the Courtyard, at her own child. The white dragon Topaz stood tall and handsome, her scales glinting in the rising moon. The sky above still sparkled blue, but the sun was setting the dusk beginning to rise with its fall.

Luné entered after her brother, a flourish of silver and blue. She blinked at Leon, and he offered her his arm. With grace, she accepted, and the twins walked towards the table that had been set together.

Behind them, followed Eth. She was quiet, as she entered, silent, sneaking. The guests barely noticed her, and she was quite content to leave it that way. She was a precocious little creature, and her wide eyes took in the guests quietly. She could feel something funny about them. There were too many.

What could the feeling mean? Eth was not fond of crowds – she was delicately built and got pains from being jostled – but that was not all. She could not understand just how there were too many. It was as if there were more than expected.

The little girl dismissed the thought. Soldiers, she supposed, did their duty whether they liked it or not. Even the bravest may not have felt so very comfortable, going into battle. It was expected of her to be here, and so be here she would, until she could plead it past her bedtime and leave the rowdy company.

Almost as soon as she had quieted her mind to the uncomfortable factors of it all, she found Freoh at her arm. The boy smiled quietly at her, his green eyes dancing. With her on his arm, he walked back to the table, and sat her down quietly, before sitting next to her.

Three years her elder, Eth thought of Freoh as a good deal more of a brother than Leon. He was her father's half brother, truly, but the two were close, and thought fondly of one another. They had long since agreed that they were to be cousins.

Rune glanced at her daughter, sitting quietly. She worried for the girl, at times, for she seemed not to care for company her own age. More often than not she could be found in the library, conversing with one of the elf mages on the properties that allowed birds to fly, or the way wind-currents flowed over a moor.

"Eth," she said, softly, for fear of embarrassing her, "there is a seat for you at Luné's table, with her friends. Audrey is there."

Eth bit her lip. She liked Audrey fine, she was sweet and somewhat bright, and the two were the same age but for a week or two. But the other girl never seemed to think of anything worthwhile. Boys and dresses and who shot which buck, but such things hardly amounted to much.

Nonetheless, the girl nodded, and stood. Freoh kissed her hand fondly, and the child walked carefully to Luné's table.

Luné glanced up at her from laughing with her friends. "Oh," she said, blinking her eyes. "Eth. Do sit."

If Luné was a stunning beauty, Eth was nothing special. She strongly believed herself to be ugly. She did not have Luné's girlish figure, nor her fair, pale hair that was so like elven gold. Her own hair, by contrast, was heavy and did what it wanted. It was rather like raven-feathers, windblown and messy.

Eth sat next to her sister, still chewing on her lip. She kept her eyes shaded and down-cast.

Draumira – who was Luné and Leon's cousin – looked at Eth from over her slender nose. She sniffed disdainfully, then seemed to forget about the little girl entirely.

"Look!" one of the girls cooed, glancing over at the table where Leon had his friends. "Isn't that Elleran of Surda?"

Luné fluttered her eyelashes with contempt. "That oaf?" she snorted. "He'll be stone cold drunk in an hour."

"But he's so dreamy," another giggled.

"Only until he opens his mouth," Luné growled. As the birthday-girl, Luné's word was law. The girls nodded obediently, like trained dogs.

Eth glanced at the boy's table, where her half brother sat and laughed merrily with his friends. Freoh had joined them, and was laughing along. He looked so very handsome when he laughed, Eth noticed, before glancing at Luné. The girl's eyes were fixed on the boy, and from the dangerous light in her eyes, Eth knew what she was thinking about.

Freoh met Eth's eyes and smiled. He motioned for her to join him. The girl blinked.

Luné's eyes narrowed. She was a girl who was quick to love, quicker to hate, and Eth cringed at the thought of being on her bad side. Being invited to sit by Freoh – related as they may have been – could very well make the light shine that way.

Luné sniffed, and dismissed her with a hand, before returning to the mindless chatter with her ladies.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

A pair of plain, unintelligent blue eyes watched from the shadows. They glimmered, a bit, with an animal emotion describable only as bloodlust. A smile flicked on pale, thin lips.

"Tonight," a voice snaked from between those lips, "is the night we move."