Evelyn's eyes lifted, her body aching and weary as she blearily blinked upward at the brilliant afternoon sky. Her steed huffed and coughed beneath her, and the coarse sounds reminded her of her own lack of water and food. It had been at least six sunrises since her escape from the castle, and her clean water had run out two sunrises ago. Her food had run out long before that. Trembling wracked her frame, and her lips were bleeding and cracked, resulting in dim pangs of pain shooting up her mouth with every movement of her face.

The young woman let out a groan, and her upper body hunched over the thick neck of the horse, her face pressing against the pungent, sweat-streaked fur. Whether the sweat was from the beast or from Evelyn herself, the woman couldn't be sure. Her mind was slowly fading into a haze, the sun's rays becoming harsher and more relentlessly as the day wore on.

Evelyn, in all her life, had never felt so weak. Even in the moments after being tortured, even in the span of time that she stood before the king's dragon as the Rider ate his meal, trembling in the face of those cruel teeth, as large as her arm, from elbow to the tips of her fingers. The weakness in those moments wasn't as taxing as the weakness that consumed her at this moment, and the muscles of her legs and abdomen twitched painfully. When the convulsions ceased, she was nearly unconscious.

Evelyn hadn't expected to go so long without seeing a village. But there lay the flaw in her great plan; she had never been outside the castle – save for her time as a child, and at that time she had only known the area around her own small village – and therefore couldn't possibly know where any nearby towns lay. She had glimpsed some maps in the castle, but most were labeled and explained in the human language. Evelyn was only able to read and write in the Ancient Language, and so such maps were utterly useless.

The ground beneath them was slowly melding to grass and soft dirt, but the former slave was too feeble to notice the eagerness to her steed's gait. The horse was trotting now, causing her head to bob up and down, spotting her vision with dots of gray. The wind was somewhat soothing against her clammy skin, and she found a vestige of strength, enough to shakily raise her face to the sky, closing her eyes to enjoy the breeze.

Splashing filled the air, and her body slid sideways as the horse came to an abrupt half, and suddenly she was falling. Instead of hitting the dry ground, as she was expecting, blessed wetness enveloped her. A gasp escaped her aching chest as she instinctively flinched away from the cool liquid, the contact relieving her foggy haze. But then, she realized what she was sitting in, and immediately flipped so she was face down, sucking in large mouthfuls of the water.

Water! Heaven seemed to be singing inside of her skin, and the cool liquid comforted her in its endless supply. In brief moments when she lifted her head, Evelyn saw the shimmering surface of a large oval-shaped body of freshwater. Trees ringed the shore across from her, and for a split second, she thought she saw something shining from within the forest's depths. But it disappeared when she blinked, and her mind sank down into the greedy need for water once more.

Thoughts of whether the water was drinkable were rudely brushed aside; all that mattered was sating her ravenous thirst. Evelyn's dry, hopelessly burnt skin – the girl had not seen the sun in many years, her skin was pale and sensitive – seemed to sigh in pleasure as the cool liquid soothed the stinging. After a while, she pulled her mouth and hands away from the water, and sank back into it, letting her hair dip down until only her face was above the water.

Evelyn's ears were muted, and she reveled in the watery echo that seemed to surround everything. Never had she been in such a large amount of fresh water – the twice-weekly baths the well-mannered slaves received consisted of a small tub of less than pristine, scalding hot water, with a rag and a bar of cream-white soap – and it amazed her to no end. The sky was such a pale blue, and her eyes absorbed the color greedily. After a few seconds of deliberation, Evelyn decided that she much preferred the rich blue color of twilight to the washed out imitation that the sky was at present.

Her eyes closed, hearing the muted splashing and guzzling of the exhausted horse that had carried her so far. She wanted to sit up and pat the creature in thanks, but the water was so soft and welcoming…she just wanted to sink down and let it consume her.

It was then that a human voice jolted Evelyn out of her peaceful state of near-unconsciousness, and she was so shocked that her legs slipped from under her. The movement caused her head to slip under the surface, effectively muffling her scream of terror.

~x~X~x~

Evelyn was watching little hands as they drew shapes on the small block of paper, the charcoal pencil hopelessly staining the tiny fingers. The girl was lying on her stomach, stretched out on a brightly colored rug, her feet bare and clean, crossed idly at the ankles. Evelyn was in the same position, and she noted that the two of them were wearing identical, backless dresses of deep crimson. The material was strange against the former slave's skin, and if Evelyn were able to, she would have rubbed it between her calloused fingers. Evelyn's head – she was forced to follow the actions of the little girl as if they were her own – jerked upward at the sound of a gentle voice at the door.

"Little bird, its time..."

The voice roused the child from her game, and reddish-brown braids bounced as the girl turned to stare at her mother with pouting lips. It was as if Evelyn was not present, instead a mere shadow that was forced to follow the girl wherever she went. The girl's eyes were, at first glance, a nondescript shade of hazel, but when the girl stood to reluctantly walk over to the door, Evelyn saw that the eyes were instead a startling shade of amber, with flecks of gold surrounding the pupil.

The world around Evelyn was soft and shimmering, as if an ethereal light shone on her surroundings. The girl looked up at the woman standing at the brightly lit doorway to the small hut, and Evelyn was forced to look at the woman as well. But the light obscured her face, and the former slave let out a cry of indignation, something deep within her heart – something raw and exposed – lamenting at the inability to see this particular woman.

"Time for what, Mama?" the girl asked, her voice high and sweet, slightly darkened with confusion. The woman smiled sadly – Evelyn did not know how she was able to tell, seeing as the woman's face was indistinguishable – and reached down with a slender hand; the girl took it without hesitation. The two began moving toward the block of pearly light that was the outside, and Evelyn found that she could not follow. Her feet refused to move, and she saw that something was appearing on the girl's back.

A dark red tattoo of outstretched wings – striking in its simplicity – was inked across her shoulder blades. It was beautiful, and then there was a stinging on Evelyn's back, the hiss of magic, and the girl was sucked into the ground beneath her, sinking lower and lower. Pulling her, tugging her, choking her–

"That's right…open your eyes…" a gentle, obviously male voice murmured. Evelyn felt a racking shudder vibrate through her chest, and coughed violently, spitting up mouthfuls of brackish water. The coughing brought her to full awareness, and she blinked stupidly up at the person who had saved her. Before she could get a good look at his face, he turned her over and began briskly patting her back. This encouraged more of the lodged water to spill forth from her lips, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she heaved and heaved. Finally, her breathing became normal, and she felt large hands pulling her back so that she was resting on her back once more.

Dizziness and nausea pulsed through her body, and she felt a hand support her neck, spilling some clean water into her mouth. She tried to guzzle, but before she could, the water was pulled away. The man spoke, but the sounds were drifting away, so she just closed her eyes and let the dizziness sweep her under once more. It was oddly peaceful, to be so detached from her body. Dimly, though a curtain of blackness, she registered that she was being carried, and the clopping of hooves reached her ears. Her horse…the egg! He was going to…she had to wake up…stop him…

Time was skewed in her delirious state, and so it seemed like a mere moment later that she was being placed on something luxuriously soft, like silk to her peeling skin. Her eyes fluttered, but her body rebelled, and she sank into the darkness again. Sounds and smells were blurry, as if she was experiencing them through a thick fog, and her mind reveled in the lack of thought that went through her. There was no pain, instead a blissful softness.

Several times in her haze, Evelyn's body would register vivid sensations: someone placing a cold washcloth to her forehead, a warm mash being spooned into her mouth, the sounds of two voices speaking to each other…birds chirping…

The worst was when something warm and strangely scaly came into contact with her hand, and there was a brief moment of excruciating agony, so intense that it nearly broke through her haze of semi-consciousness. A scream had pierced through her, and the voices returned, higher in tones of anxiety. There was silence as the pain receded, and them one of the voices yelled. But Evelyn was already sinking back under, her mind numbly noticing that there was something foreign brushing against her thoughts, as if asking for entry. Evelyn, too far gone to comprehend what it was, ignored it, and after a moment it seemed to understand, and withdrew. A warm weight settled on her thighs, comforting in a way.

The softness was heavenly, and Evelyn was just beginning to dream–

A small ladle was placed to her lips, and the impossibly bitter taste that poured into her mouth was enough to make her eyes snap open. She coughed and sputtered, but managed to choke it down. The change in her was immediate; her vision cleared, and energy seemed to come back into her form.

Evelyn blinked, sitting up as quickly as she could. Her eyes snapped to the man that was sitting beside her – a quick glance told her that she was currently resting in an ornately carved bed. The man was nearing old age, his hair predominantly white, with streaks of its original dark blonde color. Evelyn noticed that the man's eyes were soft and patient, and it made her even more wary. She had never experienced kindness from strangers, and so she reacted with the only thing she knew: suspicion.

The old man smiled, his pale gray eyes crinkling good-naturedly as he leaned forward, his weathered hand reaching forward slightly. Evelyn's mind rebelled against it, and suddenly, a glittering green shape leapt up from its position on her lap – she hadn't noticed it when she first awoke, too focused on the man sitting not two feet from her – and a high-pitched squeak filled the air as little white fangs snapped dangerously close to the man's wrist.

Evelyn didn't want to look down, her eyes closing in an effort to deny the undeniable.

Her questioning of whether the egg would hatch for her…it had been a moment of weakness. A moment in which she foolishly imagined that perhaps an ordinary girl such as herself was destined for greatness. Evelyn had desperately hoped that her life in the king's castle wasn't just a result of chance, of cruel coincidence. Instead, she childishly yearned for the day that she would be chosen to make an impact on the world.

In truth, Evelyn wasn't cut out for greatness. Surely, destiny had taken a glance at the life of Evelyn, and immediately deemed her too tainted for such a heavy burden. A Dragon Rider was a figure of power, of peace, of wisdom. In this time and age, a Rider would have two choices; join the Varden and be hunted by the most powerful magician of Alagaësia, or join Galbatorix and perform impossibly evil acts, an eternal servant to a mad king.

And yet, defying common sense and any semblance of wisdom, this dragon had chosen her. Evelyn, still not opening her eyes, felt the slight uplifting of her lips. Perhaps the dragon was well matched to her after all; it seemed to be as illogical as Evelyn was.

There it was again, the faint pressure Evelyn now labeled as the dragon trying to communicate with her. If she had been a normal human girl raised in a normal family in a normal town or city – Evelyn's heart ached; she would have done anything to be normal – she most likely would have thought that dragons were nothing but animals, beasts that had been tamed to suit the Riders' uses. That was what was whispered in the slave quarters, and since the slaves were mostly farmers and city-folk kidnapped from their homes; Evelyn assumed this was an opinion that was commonly shared throughout the Empire. It was an opinion that Evelyn too had held, but that had changed relatively quickly.

After spending many a night standing in Galbatorix's rooms, waiting until the king finished his meal, she had noticed something rather odd about the onyx dragon. It had been when her eyes had been level with those of Elris, when her body had just begun its change into womanhood.

~x~X~x~

The dragon – Evelyn did not dare even think the name, much less speak it – had lay quietly, curled up on the cushion opposite her, and she spent a majority of the leisurely meal stealing glances at the beast. The dragon was immense, with piercing eyes that were so dark that Evelyn did not allow herself to do more than glance at them, for fear that she would be sucked into their pitiless depths. The dragon sat silently, staring at her, and Evelyn suddenly found herself looking into those eyes, her own eyes wide and frightened.

Instead of growling at her, as the dragon usually did, the creature instead laid its head down on the ground, its eyes holding a strange softness to them as they pierced through her defenses. They were not the eyes of a mindless beast, a horrible creature of the night. Of that Evelyn was certain, and it frightened her in a way.

Evelyn made to look away, but there was a sudden stabbing in her brain, and—

The sky above Illirea was a pure crystalline blue, and outlines of bonded dragons flew far above the cliffs, appearing to be mere specks to those traversing up the rocky path. A human female – barely past puberty – clambered over boulders, her short hair tied into many tight braids, and the young onyx dragon was filled with love at the sight of Reyna – his Rider, his partner-of-mind-body-and-soul. She felt his love through their bond, and turned to smile at him, her mind touching his happily.

Come on! Master Síeri said that fireweed grows up near the top, we should get some; Master said that he was running low…

The dragon's thoughts soured at the thought of chewing the mushy stems, and sent her an brief memory of how unpleasant it felt on his tongue, and how long it took to pick out of his teeth. Reyna rolled her tree-bark-brown-eyes in exasperation, but leaned down to rub the dragon's muzzle all the same.

I'm sorry it isn't pleasant, but your breath really has been awful lately. To make up for it, when you go to afternoon flying lessons, I'll sneak you some faelnirv from Master Síeri's basement. She keeps it behind the scrolls of summoning; I'll just ask her if I can borrow some of her scrolls. You have to promise not to drink too much of it though…you remember what happened last time!

Both cringed at the memory of an outrageously intoxicated dragon – and indirectly, an intoxicated Rider, seeing as the dragon was unable to keep up the usual separation while under the influence of the elvish beverage – nearly tearing apart their entire room. It had been nothing short of a miracle that none of the neighboring apprentices and their dragons remained asleep through the night.

I'll be more careful, this time, the dragon promised, and Reyna nodded before turning to continue her ascent. The muscles in her arms strained to lift herself up onto the next ledge, and the male dragon snorted before using his snout to give the girl some leverage. Reyna sent him a grateful thought, and then her mind spiked in shock, and then in wariness.

The dragon's senses perked, and he saw – by channeling his mind through his Rider's – that a tall, dark haired man was standing there. He was holding a lethal sword, and on his face was the strangest look of contentment. His eyes were staring at Reyna, who was unfamiliar with this man, and the dragon heard his Reyna speaking, her tone cautious.

"Hello, fellow Rider…do you require something?"

The man smirked, and Reyna's eyes widened as he lifted his sword to press against her chest. The girl had no weapons, nothing but the weak magic that she was just beginning to learn, and her mouth opened to scream. The onyx dragon roared in desperation, and began to scramble up the side of the cliff, feeling her fear, he needed to protect her!

But with a harsh and cruel stab...the sword pierced Reyna's heart. The young dragon roared and roared, his own mind shattering as he felt his partner's panic and agony. He finally reached the top, and leapt to her side, pushing all of his power into her slender frame, his mind pulsing with misery as he felt her slipping away from. He roared and roared, but suddenly a dark and fierce magic clutched at him, making him unable to move. The dragon watched in horror as the wound – the wound that the untamed dragon-magic had begun to heal – reopened, and the tentative string that was Reyna's life force was slipping even more hurriedly now. No, he could save her, he could!

Her eyes stared up at him, and her mouth parted, red-rust-tang spilling forth in thick rivulets. No, no, no—

I love you, Reyna whispered, and said a name. The name struck the dragon's chords so deeply, so strongly, and he knew that she had just given him his name. It was unusual for the Rider to give a dragon its name, but it was not unheard of. The dragon clung to the name, and poured all of his love, all of his loyalty, all of his life…into the mind of Reyna. Her eyes closed, and his child-fragile-human-partner slipped away from him, into the void that was death.

The dragon was alone.

REYNA!

Evelyn was screaming, her knees hitting the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks as she experienced the pain and the loss. Galbatorix did not look up from his meal, instead scolding the dragon coldly.

"What have I said about torturing the slaves?" the king asked, and the dragon tilted his head as he stared at his master. Galbatorix seemed to be thinking very hard, and after a moment his face smoothed out and he laughed, a cruel and chilling laugh. "Ah, a drowning scenario? How cruel of you. It really is a pity we no longer use drowning as a punishment. Perhaps in a century or so…"

~x~X~x~

Evelyn was pulled back to the present as the pressure became more indignant, and with a sigh she opened her eyes, looking down at the dragon currently perched on her legs.

It was a vivid emerald in color, its scales catching the light streaming in from the window and shimmering in the most beautiful way. The scales of its underbelly were a paler shade; more of a smooth, cream-bottle-green compared to the rich gemstone-like scales on its back. The head of the dragon was roughly triangular, and had a unique pair of horns – instead of curving downward, like Galbatorix's dragon, the green dragon's horns were more straight, having only a slight curve upward at the tips. Translucent, leathery wings fluttered nervously under her scrutiny, and she smiled, raising a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Upon doing so, a silvery mark caught her attention, and she lowered her right hand, only to see that upon the palm was a small oval patch of skin, glimmering a bright silver color and oddly smooth to the touch. She had never seen such a mark on the king…was this normal?

The dragon chirped at her, seeming proud of itself that it had warded off the potential enemy – also known as the old man seated beside the bed. Evelyn continued to smile at the creature, unable to be wary in the face of such innocent happiness exuding from the dragon. It was extremely pleased that she was awake, that much was clear from the adoring pulse to the dragon's examination of her figure.

Evelyn looked up to the man, and found that he was smiling.

"The dragon hatched in your bag a few days ago, it took a bit of time for it to find you, as it was on the other side of the house. Nearly gave Murtagh a heart attack, it did. Walked in on him when he was in the bath," the man said, chuckling at the memory. He saw the distrust in Evelyn's gaze, and held up his hands. "There's nothing to fear, young one, I know where you come from, and mean you no harm."

Evelyn frowned at the calm, honest aura of this man, and her brow furrowed. "You…know?" she asked warily, and the man nodded solemnly, and leaned forward, pausing with a smile.

"Now, may I remove the washcloth from your face? Or can you do it yourself?" he asked, and Evelyn nodded, reaching up with slightly shaky hands to peel the wet cloth off of her forehead. It was warm, and she grimaced at how much sweat had been absorbed into the previously clean fabric. The young woman was glad to hand it to the man, who took it without flinching.

"Yes, I've given shelter in the past to fugitives of Urû'baen…though I usually get no more than one every decade or so. And yet, it was only a few weeks ago that Murtagh came here, and now you. And now, a Dragon Rider, of all things," he muttered, standing and moving to place the cloth into a small bowl of steaming water – the bowl was resting on a table across the room.

Evelyn took a moment to look around the room, noticing that there was a variety of herbs and flowers tied to the walls and messily arranged. But from the way that the man moved around, preparing something in a small pot, Evelyn knew that there was not one thing that didn't have a definite place. The smell of medicinal herbs was soothing, and she allowed herself to relax somewhat.

"Where is this, exactly?" Evelyn asked, her voice still a little hoarse from disuse. The man came back with a cup of something hot, and handed it to her. Evelyn apprehensively sniffed the steaming liquid, and the old man chuckled good-naturedly.

"It's just mint tea, my dear. You are safe here, that I swear by everything I hold dear."

Evelyn stared at the man, and slowly took a sip of the drink, surprised at the sharply sweet flavor, and her eyes widened as she took a large sip, enjoying the way it made her mouth feel cool and fresh. The old man smiled at her obvious pleasure, and returned to his seat by the bed.

"My name is Cannel, and when I was fifteen years of age, it was decided that I be apprenticed to a high-standing scholar, who was to go and work for King Galbatorix as his scribe. Being one of the few who did not approve of the king's ideologies, I refused, and when my parents would not listen, I had no choice but to run away. You see, I had always been drawn to the art of healing, and had already been training under the most skilled healer in Melian; the town in which I was born and raised. And so, I ran to the east, hoping to come across a place where I could live in peace. I settled in Furnost – the city that lies west of here – for a time, but was constantly coming here, to the Silverwood Forest. And so I decided to live here, where I could be close to the source of my medicinal herbs. I travel to Furnost once every month or so, to sell my medicines and purchase supplies."

The practiced, even way of explaining his past made it apparent that Cannel had told the story many times before.

Evelyn was sitting, numb with shock, and her eyes flickered down to the dragon in her lap. She never knew…she never even imagined that there were other towns outside of the castle; she didn't even know the name of her own village. The enormity of the world outside of Urû'baen consumed her, and so she sat, silent, trying to absorb the information offered to her. Cannel seemed to sense her need for solitude, and stood, bowing his head to her briefly.

"I will leave you now. You may stay here as long as you like; the Silverwood forest is said to be haunted by many, and not even Galbatorix's armies dare enter it. You and your dragon are safe here, please remember that."

And with that, Cannel strode from the room, and Evelyn was left staring at her hands. A small, raspy tongue lapped at the skin of her forearm, and Evelyn looked up at the baby dragon, which was peering at her with intelligent, curious eyes the color of polished emeralds, the pupils vertical and slanted like those of a feline.

Evelyn reached out, and the dragon squeaked in contentment, waddling over to cuddle against her chest, humming as Evelyn hesitated. Then, she gave in to her sorrow and confusion, and held the dragon close to her, feeling its steady breathing and healthy heartbeat.

What was she to do? She couldn't be free, not with a dragon as her companion. How long would it take for the Empire to find her, or the Varden? No longer was it possible to run away to a far away town, and settle down there. No longer present was the idea that once she escaped Galbatorix's castle, everything in her life would be perfect. The option of freedom was gone, torn away from her as quickly and as suddenly as her mother had been torn from her, that fateful day.

The young woman could only remember two occasions in which she had cried –her life before slavery was muddled and fuzzy, full of terrible longing. The first time had occurred during her first night in the castle, and, looking back on the moment, Evelyn could say with assurance that losing her entire village gave her liable reason to cry. The second time had been only a few weeks ago, when she had finally succeeded in escaping her miserable existence as a slave. Freedom after so many years of oppression seemed a very reasonable occasion in which to cry.

Now, as Evelyn felt herself once again being placed into servitude – the absence of physical chains and thick walls the only difference between her past and present situation – she found that the tears simply wouldn't come forth.

She would either be a tool for the Varden, or she would be a slave for Galbatorix. Either way, she was going to have to fight for her freedom, or fight those wanting freedom.

It seemed that freedom would always tempt Evelyn, smiling at her, cackling when she flung herself at the metal bars keeping her motionless, hands curving into claws as they stretched toward the bright light. It would tease her, brushing just close enough for her to taste it, and then flit away again…just out of reach.

The dragon flinched as it sensed the resentment in Evelyn's thoughts, and of confusion and guilt rocked between them. The dragon thought that it was at fault; it was trying to take the blame. Evelyn had a brief desire to affirm the dragon's assumption, but with a sigh, she shook her head.

"It's not your fault, little one," she murmured, and the dragon perked up at the sound of her voice. Evelyn leaned her cheek against the dragon's head, sighing as she stroked the spot in between its wings.

"No one is at fault."

And then, without any warning, the tears came.