A/N: This starts after the attack on Eragon in Farthen Dûr in Book Three. In my story, he was severely wounded and barely survived. Legend is below:

"Speaking out loud"

Ancient Language

'Thoughts'

[Speaking through thoughts]

On with the story!

Eragon Shadeslayer, Dragon Rider and partner of the dragoness Saphira, woke in a room that smelt strongly of herbs.

[Saphira, where am I?] He asked as he opened his eyes to reveal...blackness. The room was darker than the bowels of Helgrind, which was not a pleasant comparison.

No answer. Then he remembered the attack by the strange dwarves: losing his right arm at the shoulder, the deaths of his guards, and finally the searing agony as the flameless Erisdar lantern burst and burned his flesh to the bone.

Bile rose in his throat at the memory.

"Eragon? Brother? Can you hear me? Don't try to speak. Just wiggle your fingers." It was Orik, Eragon's dwarven foster brother. Eragon wiggled his fingers.

Eragon tried to contact Orik's mind, and the dwarf lowered his formidable barriers warily.

[Where am I? Why is there no light?]

[Eragon, this will be hard for you to accept, but the room is lit. Nine of mine people's finest magicians worked themselves nearly to death—three more did kill themselves—to try to heal you. There is nothing more that can be done."

[What are you talking about?! Brisingr!] Eragon screamed mentally, his panic turned to anger. He saw nothing, even though he felt the magic drain some of his energy to create a new sun in the centre of the room, inches from the ceiling.

[Let me show you.] Orik was still in contact with Eragon.

[...Fine.]

Orik briefly let Eragon see through his eyes, showing him the miniature blue sun, but was careful to avoid looking at the Rider.

[But...if the room is bright... Am I blind?] Eragon's voice had turned from hostility to childlike terror at the thought.

[Yes, Brother. The lantern burned your face down to the bone, and heavily scarred your arm and back. For some reason, we were unable to heal your wounds beyond making sure you did not die.]

[Who did it?! Who did this to me?!]

[I am still trying to find enough support to deal with them, but it is well-and-widely known who it was: Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. They have crossed a line that cannot be atoned for...but I fear mine fellow Grimstborithn will not see it that way.] Orik was concealing something, Eragon was sure. However, he was not sure what, and decided not to press the issue.

[Where is Saphira?]

[On her way. She—] Orik stopped as the sound of boots rushing into the room was heard.

"Forgive me, Clan Chief, but the dragon Saphira has arrived and requests to see her Rider. She says she cannot access this area."

The visitor spoke in Dwarvish, but Orik translated for Eragon when she finished.

"Very well. Bring mine ceremonial litter—no, not that...Bah! It will have to do. The one with the cushions!" Orik called after the retreating messenger, again translating afterwards.

/

Eragon was carried out of the infirmary on a padded litter borne on the shoulders of a dozen of the most bloodthirsty dwarves in Orik's clan, and surrounded by nearly three times that many more from Orik's and two other clans, in a solid phalanx of armed dwarves looking for even the flimsiest excuse to kill something.

Saphira shrieked when she saw his wounds. The sound was more like the cry of a Lethrblaka than that of a dragon, and Eragon's heart twisted as his partner rushed to his side.

[Out of my way!] She roared at the bodyguards. They scattered. Eragon felt a hum vibrate his entire body as Saphira's huge head nuzzled him, and he hissed in pain as her scales rubbed the exposed bone of his face. Saphira jerked away, horrified. [This?! This is the best you could do for him?!] She demanded of Orik, who shuffled his feet nervously.

/

Seven weeks later:

[OW!] Eragon cursed as he whacked his hand into the knife rack again. He could have sworn he'd put it in a less bump-able place. Fortunately, the knives were dulled by magic unless Veda touched the handles—he'd reluctantly admitted that the precaution was necessary after he'd had to regrow half a finger—but it still stung to slap his hand into what was in essence an iron stick.

Eragon wasn't supposed to be in the kitchen of the small house Orik had given him while he relearned how to function. The dwarves had built a human-sized house with as many safety features as they could think of, as well as an entire, truly gargantuan, room where Saphira could stay without being outside. However, his cook was sleeping off a hangover acquired at her great-granddaughter's wedding, and Eragon wanted an apple.

He'd have to pound it to mash himself, though. Because he lacked a lower jaw (both it and his tongue had been melted off in the attack, and what little of them had been left had been removed afterwards), he could not bite or chew, and his food was mostly gruels and pastes poured down his throat. Breathing was difficult, but he hadn't suffocated yet. Yet. He'd been told that if he slept upright (he had mysteriously lost his ability to dream instead of sleep), he should be fine.

Now he found something fruit-like and vaguely apple-shaped, and tore a chunk out of it before attempting and failing to mortar-and-pestle said chunk into pasty submission. He gave up and slid the chunky mess down his throat. He gagged, coughed up the chutney of extremely overripe onion that was burning his throat more than the vomit it had summoned was, and washed what was left of his mouth out as best he could...which meant not very well.

"Argetlam! I have told you not to come in here! It is not safe!" Veda chided as she came to investigate the noises coming from her domain. She shooed him away from the counter and surveyed his mess, sighing. "Went for the apples, eh? We have none: the last harvest was almost all wormy, and the old ones went bad yesterday."

[Ah.] Eragon could not speak out loud. Fortunately, very few could resist his mental strength, especially since he had practised constantly with Saphira and Orik. Also, Veda was smart as well as an excellent caregiver, and she had quickly learned to recognize and allow both Eragon and Saphira to contact her. [Do we have any fruit?]

"Just some jarred pears."

[Some of those please. With honey, if you have any.]

"Very well. Now, sit."

[Yes, ma'am,] Eragon said without a trace of humour. There had been nothing to laugh about lately. Saphira had done her best to cheer him up, but nothing had worked. All he could think about was how crippled he was. And how hopeless his cause was, now that he could no longer fight. He was useless, and that hurt him most of all.

There was a knock at the front door. Veda opened it. Eragon turned his head as Veda spoke. "Good day, Lady Elf," she said pleasantly.

Eragon's eyes widened when he heard Arya, the elven ambassador to the Varden...and the woman he loved, reply. She couldn't see him like this! He quickly buried his head in his arm and pretended to be asleep.

"Is Eragon here?" Arya asked. "I have a message for him."

"Yes, Lady Elf. Please come in."

"Arya, please. There need be no formalities here."

"Very well...Arya. I am Veda. Argetlam Eragon is in the kitchen. He is pretending to sleep."

"Thank you." There were footsteps, and then Eragon felt a cool hand on his back.

"Eragon? It's me, Arya. Your teachers want you back in Ellesmera; they say they have something to give you, and an important lesson."

[NO! They can't see me like this!]

[See you how?] Arya's wards had been thinner than cheesecloth and fragile as glass when faced with Eragon's mental shriek. She did not protest, however, or force him out of her mind. [Nasuada told me something had happened, but she did not say what. She didn't seem to know, in fact. Is it your arm? Many famous warriors have had only one arm. One of the last Riders to die, Gilgamesh, had no arms. He fought with a flail strapped to one stump.]

[It's not the arm.] Eragon's fist clenched so hard his nails went completely through his palm and out the back. He didn't notice. Arya did. She healed his hand with a spell. Eragon paid no attention.

[Then what is it?] Arya asked after she finished. In response, Eragon turned his mangled face towards her. She studied it for a moment, before sighing. [I see.]

[You see?! You see?! Is that all you can say?! Look at me, Arya! I'm a monster! Something parents frighten their children with! 'Go to sleep, or the Skull-Face will come for you!' My aunt told Roran and I that nightly, before she died! It was the last thing I ever heard from her!] Tears leaked from what remained of Eragon's eyelids.

Arya slapped him. Hard. He hissed in pain.

[You are not a monster!] She yelled. Her fury was a thunderstorm in Eragon's mind. [You will only be a monster if you let this define who you are! Be a man! Defy your emotions, or you might as well slay yourself now!]

Eragon pushed her out of his mind and thought. An hour later, while Arya still stood in silence before him, he realized, 'She's right. This doesn't change who I am unless I let it. And I'm stronger than that. I will not give in!'

Outside, Saphira roared in joy. [I was so worried!]

[I know,] Eragon replied. [I apologize.] Redirecting his thoughts to Arya, he said, [I apologize. I have been negligent of my duties as of late. I swear to you: I will not let this defeat me.]

[Then you are again worthy of your status, Dragon Rider.] Arya said as Saphira snaked her head into the kitchen through the oversized window, her scales scraping on the stone.

[I want to fly! Get out here, Eragon!] She ordered.

[Yes, My Lady!] Eragon threw her a happy salute and went outside for the first time since he'd arrived at the house. He walked into Orik a foot from the door.

"Ah! My apologies, Eragon. We need to speak. I have news." But Orik sounded angry, even enraged.

[Oh? Did you get Vermûnd and his lackeys executed yet?] Eragon asked hopefully.

"About that..." Orik yelped as Eragon slammed him into the wall of the house.

[Tell me those murdering menknurlan are dead, Orik!] Eragon shouted. He chose the worst possible insult in the dwarves' vocabulary on purpose, and Orik flinched in his grasp.

"...No. And the news gets worse, I'm afraid."

[Worse? Worse?! How could it get worse, Orik! You promised us that rat-coward-murderer's head mounted on a spike!] Saphira joined the conversation with a snarl that was nothing compared to the rage in her thoughts.

Orik gulped and muttered something only Eragon caught. The Rider hissed.

[What do you mean; he's been declared to be 'in the Favour of Gûntera'? Just what does that mean?]

"It means that son-of-a-((blank)) is above any laws the dwarves have, and cannot be touched." Arya's voice frightened Eragon. He had not heard her sound so angry since his confrontation with her during the Blood-Oath Celebration in Ellesméra.