A/N: I'm rewriting this story, and adding a few chapters to the beginning, but the general plot is going to be the same. I know the fourth book is coming out in November, but I still want to finish this...

Aknowledgement(s): I would like to thank my beta Cheesie, and all the past reviewers, alerters, and favouriters (are those words?)

Disclaimer: I do not own the series, CP does

The Aftermath of a Siege

Eragon stood in front of the mouth of a cave, feet placed shoulder-width apart, right hand reaching across his body to grasp the hilt of the sword on his hip, with his mouth hanging slightly open in wonder. No, there was nothing particularly beautiful inside the cave, it was the sheer size and depth of it that held his attention… that, and the loud steady guttural growl emanating out of it and shaking the ground beneath him. Taking a deep breath, he gingerly took a step forward, half expecting to be sucked into the ground. He paused for a second, but nothing happened, so he took another step in, and then another and another. Soon, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and on impulse, he turned back, only to find that the mouth of the cave and his sole source of light had disappeared altogether. With rising panic, he reached for his magic, but found nothing.

Greetings, Eragon Shadeslayer, rider of dragons, a loud voice boomed in his mind.

Eragon let out a squeak and backed up against a wall. The mind that ad brushed against his was greater than Glaedr's more powerful than the Menoa tree's, and as vast as Alagaesia itself. Who are you? He thought back, and sensed the other being's amusement at his fear.

Suddenly, the cave flared up with a bright light, and Eragon covered his face with his hands, tears of pain streaming down his cheeks. After a few second, he finally dared to peek through the gaps between his fingers… meeting the concerned chocolate gaze of his doppelganger and screamed.

Eragon jolted upward on his cot, panting, and soaked with sweat. Almost immediately, he felt Saphira presence rubbing against the back of his mind. Little One, she hummed softly. He didn't need to explain to her what had transpired, and for that he was grateful. Her mind wrapped around his and soothed the fear within him. They remained that way in silence for a while, Saphira simply comforting him by being there.

Thank you, Saphira. I don't know what I'd do without you.

I love you too, Little One, the added, sensing his fatigue, You should go back to sleep now. And he did.

When he woke again, it was morning. Outside, he could hear Saphira growl in her sleep. She had one corner of his tent between her front forelegs and was tearing at it quite viciously, as the twelve elven guards looked on in slight horror. Eragon laughed and crept out into the fresh air, careful not to wake her.

The rider yawned, stretching lazily. This was the old Eragon's favourite time of the day. Since it was still quite early, most the Varden were not up yet. As a farm-boy, Eragon had been awake each morning at the crack of dawn to work the fields, taking advantage of the early morning chill. The grass was slick with dew as Eragon's bare feet hit the floor. He had on a blue tunic, a shade darker than Saphira's scales with a leather belt around his waist. His leggings though, were crumpled, as if he'd slept in them, which he had. He quickly unwrinkled them with a word in the ancient language.

"Argetläm?" Eragon turned around slowly. A message-runner – Jarsha if he remembered correctly from his stay in Trondheim – stood panting before him. "Lady Nasuada wants you in her pavilion, she's calling a meeting." He managed to say between heavy breaths, then rushed off to the next recipient of the message.