Back at Borromeo, the rain dripped gently down the window pane, a symbol of the tears that had been shed over the many who had perished in the recent conflict, namelyOromis and Glaedr. Arya sighed softly and wondered at the sky, that it should pour down rain just when the world was in need of a cleansing from all of the blood and sweat and tears of battle. It certainly seemed a marvel that it was raining. After all, Surda was not exactly known for its wet weather. Yet still the rain continued on to wash away the dust and dirt. If only it could wash away the pain.

A knock sounded at her door startling Arya out of her reverie. Sighing again, she trod barefoot across the cool stone floor of her elegant quarters in Borromeo Castle and lifted her door latch. A little hooligan of a boy of perhaps no more than ten stood outside.

"Yes?" Arya said raising an eyebrow at the boy's ruffled appearance, wondering what he could possibly want of her.

The boy seemed to quail under the elf's stare and began to stutter.

"Well," Arya said agitated, "have you a message?" Dealing with children was not her strong point.

The boy nodded meekly and swallowed his trepidation enough to say, "The witch Angela has sent me to fetch you, milady. She wants to see you in her hut."

Forgetting the boy for a moment, Arya said nothing and pondered why Angela would have reason to send for her. Eragon had already cured Elva. Unless it was something about Nasuada…

"Did Angela say why she wished to see me?" Arya suddenly asked the boy.

The boy jumped at her sudden words. "No, milady. She didn't." At this, the boy shivered causing Arya to notice that his clothes were dripping wet. Frowning, she motioned for the boy to stay where he was, then ventured into her toilette room and returned with a fine cotton towel.

"Here," she said kindly. "You may use this to cover yourself as you return home. Keep it if you like. I have no need of it."

The boy frowned, his child's mind trying to understand how the elf had changed from threatening to maternal in less than five minutes. Giving up in the end, he bowed courteously, thanked Arya, and tore off down the hall towards the exit of the palace grounds.

Arya allowed herself a brief smile as she watched the boy, in all his youthful energy, run home, most likely ecstatic with the thought of being able to present his mother with a fine cloth for her kitchen. Or perhaps he had no mother. In that case, he might be running anxiously to a vender to sell the material for a few gold coins. Arya chuckled as she thought back to how the boy had begun to tremble and stutter when she had turned a threatening eye on him. In a way, the boy reminded her of Eragon Shadeslayer, another boy. Both had that youthful giddiness about them, that precious innocence…and that fear of angering her.

Ah well, she thought to herself. Naivety runs in both of them.

After donning a thick cloak in hopes of keeping dry, she glanced again outside. The rain was falling in torrents now. She smiled. Rain was exactly what this land needed.

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Arya wound her way through Aberon's crowded streets, ducking to avoid beams that were being hoisted up to rooftops and falling particles of glass and wood from above. The city was fortifying itself, a task not even the rain had been able to stop. The people were anxious and frightened. She could see it in their eyes. They knew not when Galbatorix would strike next. But they knew that when he did, he would strike them and he would strike them hard.

Arya's eyes grew sad as she saw the faces of the sad, lean children. Their eyes radiated suffering and fear. She could not blame them. They had been born under the shadow of a war that promised to decimate their lives…at any time. Every day, they had risen with the knowledge (consciously or not) that the fragile balance that was their existence could be torn away from them at any moment…and never returned. Even now, some of them…most of them, in fact…had lost a father or a brother or a cousin on the Burning Plains, and perhaps also in the recent skirmishes.

To her surprise, Arya spied the messenger boy atop a roof, laboring under the torrential rain to help a few old men secure a catapult to the floor. She smiled as she saw the cloth she had given him wrapped about his head in a turban-like fashion, no doubt to protect his eyes from the heavy rain. When he saw her, he smiled and waved. She gave a small wave back and made a mental note to find out more about the boy from Angela.

Angela's hut was located a good distance away from Borromeo. Although it was uncharacteristic for one such as Angela to be so far from the excitement of court life, Arya suspected that she secretly preferred an existence away from the stuffy old nobles and their insufferable wives who cared only for unmasking and disgracing their husbands' mistresses.

Remembering a conversation she had had with Faolin on the topic of mistresses, Arya frowned. It pained her to remember the night they had spent out under the stars and the warm feel of Faolin's gentle hand as it caressed her cheek. He had told her that she was as beautiful as the night and as glorious as the dawn; and then he had kissed her, sweetly and without pretentions. Afterwards, when she had smiled and said that, for all his flattering words, she expected to find him in the bed of another in less than a week, he had looked back at her with his brilliantly blue eyes and said that she was the only one he could ever love. Then she had slapped his cheek playfully and told him to snap out of his fanciful notions.

But even in that moment of lightheartedness, Arya had known that he meant what he had said, every word. And it was this knowledge, that there had been a one so faithful for her and that now he was no more, that pained her more than anything else and caused her to despair a little more every day.

By the time Arya pulled herself away from her nostalgic thoughts, she had reached Angela's hut and could see the spunky witch in the yard standing over a boiling cauldron that kept spewing bits of green ooze.

"Angela!" Arya called out. The witch either heard her not or chose not to turn around.

Arya smiled and let herself into the yard through the small gate of a whitewashed fence. "Angela!" she called out again as she drew closer.

Angela turned around quickly, scowling at the intruder. When she saw that it was Arya, her face broke into a relaxed grin. "So you've finally come, eh?" she barked lightheartedly.

Arya nodded and smiled slightly. "As you requested."

"Yes, well…" Angela muttered. "I haven't seen you in a while, not informally at least. We've always been in this council or that strategy meeting. That's certainly no way to visit with one's friends, now is it?"

Arya smiled, something she could not help but do while in the company of the witch. "I suppose not."

"Well, don't just stand there!" Angela chided. "Let's go into the house and have a cup of warm tea. I brewed it not half an hour ago." Seeing the look on Arya's face at the prospect of consuming one of the witch's infamous teas, Angela smiled and added, "Don't worry. It's only blueberry. Nothing poisonous or in any way harmful. I made sure I cleaned out the cauldron that I used to make the poison for the battle before making our tea."

Arya grimaced. Angela only laughed.

Once seated inside Angela's cozy hut, the pair took to drinking tea and talking about old friends and memories.

"Do you remember the time," Angela said as she poured them both another cup of tea, "when we challenged that old thump Gannel to a game of riddles?"

Arya smiled. "Of course, how could I forget? Telling him in the Ancient Language that it was a game he couldn't lose. What was he to gain if he won? Oh yes, the recipe for Faelnirv. You were quite conniving, if I remember correctly. You told-"

"Me?" Angela interjected. "Oh no, no, no, no. You, my high-born conspirator, were every bit as sneaky as I. In fact you still are! I cannot believe that you would keep the truth of your heritage from me! You two-sided, sly-tongued, liar! What were you thinking?"

Ordinarily, Arya would have cursed whoever would have dared speak to her in such a manner. But Angela was certainly an exception.

"I apologize, Angela. You must know that I wanted to tell you; truly I did. But the time was never right. And I had no desire to drag out my troubles again. I wanted to bury the past."

Angela sighed. "It did not work, did it?"

Arya frowned. "What did not work?"

"Burying the past," Angela murmured. "It never works. I know."

"No," Arya murmured, then paused before saying, "you are right. The past is a part of the soul."

Angela nodded.

After a prolonged silence, Arya decided to break the awkwardness by asking Angela about the boy.

"The boy you sent me, is he a friend of yours?"

Angela chuckled. "Ah, so you met Arrin. He is a stable boy with no family, no connections, and certainly no money. But I wondered if he would give you the message…or run the moment he saw your formidable stare."

Arya rolled her eyes. "I am not that terrifying, am I?"

Angela made no reply, but instead smiled rather smugly.

Arya smirked in return. "What a friend you are!"

"Oh yes," Angela countered, "the best! I am here to point out your every flaw and blemish so that others will not say of you, 'What a beautiful Princess! Pity I'm scared to death of her.' If I reform you here and now, people will not speak so of you, as they have previously done."

Arya frowned. "Who has spoken so of me?"

"Oh," Angela twittered, "no one in particular. Just some of the nobles at that lummox Orrin's court. Bloody terrified they are of you too. Although, despite your formidable demeanor, they seem to admire you very much. Only, not for your diplomatic ways."

Arya's face seemed to incense. "So just what do they admire me for?"

Angela looked at her knowingly. "This and that, dear. What else?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, for men what else is there? I have a good mind to horsewhip them and send them home to their wives!"

Angela sighed. "Now, Arya, there you go again. Making ready to smite anyone who annoys you. It is no wonder that Eragon is so afraid of you."

After a few moments, Angela's words registered in Arya's mind. "Eragon is afraid of me?" she queried in a voice no more than a whisper.

Angela frowned. "Now, don't let those words dishearten you. You and I, we've been friends for a good many years. I wanted to be honest. But on another note, I think that-"

"Did he tell you so?"Arya murmured. "Did Eragon tell you that he was afraid of me?"

Angela sighed. "I suppose I cannot lie my way through this one."

Arya remained silent.

Angela shrugged. "He is a boy with no one to confide in except for his dragon, who I doubt has much more experience in these matters than he does. He is alone, Arya. I trust you know the feeling."

Arya dismissed Angela's last remark and instead asked, "What more did Eragon want?"

"My advice."

"About me?" Arya questioned.

"Yes," Angela replied shortly.

"Well?" Arya asked impatiently.

Angela chuckled softly. "I told him that he was a lovesick infant and that if he didn't snap out of it and leave you alone, I would make sure that he did." The witch smiled and held up her staff threateningly.

Arya's lips curved in a smile. "I suppose I can always count on you to look out for me."

"Yes, I suppose you can."

Upon looking out the window, Arya saw that the sun had finally overcome the threatening weather. It was once again a typical Surdan day and it seemed as if the rain had never come.

Arya rose gracefully and walked over to Angela. Placing her hand on the herbalist's shoulder, Arya murmured, "Thank you for the tea…and the company. It is good to see you again. But now I must go. I have duties that needs be attended to."

Angela sighed. "You work too much."

Arya smiled. "I do what I must do, what must be done to defeat Galbatorix."

"Still say you work too much. Always hiding behind your job, always busy with some mundane task, or else involved in some perilous clandestine intrigue, what kind of life is that for an attractive woman like yourself?"

Arya smiled softly at Angela and met her eyes firmly. "It is the only life." And with that, Arya exited the hut and made her way back to the street.

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Despite all of Angela's claims that Arya was far too absorbed with her job, Arya found herself with absolutely nothing to do. Nasuada was in Orrin's lab enjoying her day of leisure. Though, since she was with Orrin, Arya doubted that Nasuada was having a pleasant day at all. Briefly Arya thought about trekking around Aberon, but quickly discarded that idea because there was really nothing that she had not already seen. Finally, Arya decided to visit Eragon and Saphira. She had avoided them since the siege at Feinster. after the fight, when she had looked back on all that had occurred, the memory of him holding her made her feel slightly ruffled. Avoiding his presence seemed like the wise thing to do. But she could not avoid the young Rider forever. And today was as good a day as any to restore their camaderie.

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Arya found Eragon sitting on a decrepit fence that looked as if it were about to cave in at any moment. He had buried his face in his hands and seemed to her more thin and haggard looking than he had been before Oromis and Glaedr's death. She sighed. Perhaps she had been too hard on him at the Agaeti Blohdren. After all, he was so young. An infatuation such as his was only natural. And already such a heavy burden had been placed on his shoulders. Perhaps it would not hurt to give him a little company.

Without calling out to him, and without him turning his head, Arya managed to take a seat beside Eragon. He knew that she was there, yet he declined to look up at her. Still she spoke, regardless of that fact that he seemed to be ignoring her.

"I heard that you went to see the witch Angela."

Eragon nodded. "She told you about that, did she?"

Arya nodded. "I went to see her today. She seemed concerned about you."

"Really?" Eragon murmured, a sharp edge to his voice. "I was under the impression that she didn't care too much for my…sentiments."

Arya sighed. "What exactly did you tell her?"

Eragon shrugged. "I told her about Murtagh, about how I pity what he has become. I told her about Oromis and Glaedr too.."

"And what did she say about them?"

"She feels sorry for Murtagh and mourns for Oromis and Glaedr. As do I."

Arya nodded. "Galbatorix has done great wrong in pitting brother against brother. I too have pity for Murtagh. To be in Galbatorix's presence must be…" she trailed off.

Eragon said nothing.

Arya pursed her lips. "Eragon…are you well? You seem distracted."

For the first time, Eragon looked at her. "Do I?" the bitterness evident in his voice.

Arya only looked at him.

Eragon clenched his jaw. "I'm tired."

"Is that all?"

At her words, something within Eragon snapped. He laughed bitterly, looking to the heavens. "Of course it isn't all! I'm in agony! To start, my uncle died a horrible death. Do you know what his wounds looked like? His flesh was rotted through with acid. He was burning! And Brom…I had to watch him die, slowly, painfully. And what happened to Murtagh...And ORomis and Glaedr!" His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Why couldn't I save them?"

Arya looked into his eyes, a look of deep compassion upon her face. "I understand how you feel."

Eragon sighed. "I'm sorry. I apologize. I don't know what came over me. I…I need to rest. I'm very tired. I just need to…"

Arya put a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "You needn't face this alone, Eragon. You have friends who would help you shoulder this heavy burden."

Eragon nodded. "I know. I know. Again, I apologize. I did not intend for you to hear my mad ramblings."

"They're not mad," Arya countered. "You feel as any person would feel under such circumstances."

"You don't seem to," Eragon said softly.

"I do not seem to do what?" Arya questioned.

"To feel," Eragon murmured.

For a moment, Arya was speechless. Then she looked Eragon in the eye. "I do feel. Whatever made you think that I do not?"

Eragon shrugged and declined to answer.

Arya pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Eragon, understand that I have had many years to learn how to control my feelings. When I was young, I was every bit as vocal and boisterous as you are now."

Eragon's shoulders slumped. "I feel…so inadequate." He looked up at Arya, pain written across his lined face. "I can't do this."

Arya frowned. "Cannot do what?"

Eragon looked up to the sky as if it would give him the right words in the shapes of the clouds. "I can't win this fight. The enemy is too strong. As it is, I was barely able to defeat Murtagh with the help of thirteen spellcasters! If I had difficulty facing the Razaac, Galbatorix's minions, how then am I supposed to kill Galbatorix? He's one hundred times stronger, more cunning, more experienced. He has a kingdom at his call, an army." Looking helplessly up at Arya, he whispered, "What do I have?"

Arya cupped his cheek with her cool delicate palm. The contact made him flinch, but she ignored it. She looked deep into his eyes and murmured, "A heart, Eragon. You have a heart. And that is worth more than all the men and magic in the world."

Eragon looked away from her, his mind unsettled with her so near. "Yes, but-"

Arya brought his face back to meet hers. "Do you not see? Galbatorix may have vast resources, but you have love and a sense of right and wrong and friends and family that care about you. Galbatorix does not value these things, nor does he have them. You have a dragon that is yours, not some beast twisted by evil magic to serve the raving fancies of a madman. You wish to do good in this world. Does that not count for something?"

Eragon locked eyes with her. "But what if it is not enough?"

Arya smiled softly. "But it is. Weapons and magic are useful. But without love and goodwill, they can become a poison to their master."

Lowering his eyes, Eragon murmured, "Perhaps you are right. I just…I haven't been myself lately. I've been upset and out of sorts. I suppose that seeing all of the people from my village has made me wish for my old life back. I don't feel ready for this new one. The tasks that await me seem insurmountable."

Arya smiled again. "In order to climb the tallest mountain, you must first take one step."

Eragon laughed. "Some days I feel like I've taken ten backwards."

At this, Arya laughed as well. Still chuckling, she stood from her seat on the fence and turned to face Eragon. Slowly, she bent down and planted a small, gentle kiss on his left cheek. Rising to her full height, she murmured, "I do not know beneath what sky or on what sea shall be thy fate. I only know it shall be high. I only know it shall be great."

Flushed, Eragon said, "That's from The Deed of Geda!" But as he looked up to face her, he found that she had already gone, gone away with the wind.