I do not own the Inheritance Cycle

"The riders are alive, Eragon", soothed Arya, and, before he could utter another question, she delicately placed two fingers on his lips.

Both arms gently lifted him up and bore him like a babe to the flickering campfire. Then laying him down in a cradle of soft sand, she whispered at him to rest. Exhaustion creeping into his mind, he closed his eyes.

The setting sun bathed the sky a vivid blood red, appropriately, as the sticky, horrendous, powerful stench clung to his nostrils. Blindfolded with thorns, he could only listen as desperate roars echoed painfully in his eardrums, followed by a stabbing pain in his corresponding body part, and a splatter of what he knew was dragon blood. Shrieks of laughter followed.

There was no hope now, no happy dreams and no pleasant wishes. No memories of friendship could be conjured, no legends of success, nothing. There was only the never ending pain, of both body and soul. He could sense that she was close, but he could not see her. He could feel her presence, but he could not reach and touch her, comfort her.

His right arm, his good arm, was forced straight and something searing, sticky, was pouring, slowly, slowly across the top his arm. It boiled and it ate into his flesh, burning. The scorching liquid crawled around, encompassing his whole arm. His skin was agonizingly bubbling off his muscle. He screamed and she roared.

His eyes tore violently open and his chest thumped as his body viciously contorted awake, sweat drenching his exhausted body.

"Saphira!"

They had endured hell together, in the hope of together making it through but he had failed and he was left, so, so, alone.

He was tired, exhaustion had seeped into the marrow of his bones, rendering him for dazed a moment. It felt impossible that he would even wake up fully rejuvenated again. The fatigue itself was incredibly heavy but combined with the feelings of loss and mistreatment, Eragon felt immense pain.

He was being held. Cool hands were locked around his wrists and were pinning his flailing arms to his damaged sides. Arya was looking down on him, green eyes bright and streaks of tears down her smooth cheeks.

A whisper: "I am so sorry."

"You were far too late," he replied just as quietly. It was neither an accusation nor a compliant.

"You were not at fault"

, and then, "I failed her."

Lithe arms reached around his back and elevated him into her tender embrace. His forehead was nudged onto her shoulder while she whispered comforts into his ear.

"You are not a failure Eragon, you did all you could to save her",

"I did nothing to save her",

"You tried your best".

"She still…they…"

Gusts were starting to pick up around the beach, blowing tiny sandstorms across the barren land, and then, as quickly as they had formed, they dissipated. Salty air blew into their embrace, causing his head to suddenly burn and his vision to flicker between reality and memories of utter terror. Sensing his obvious distress, Arya tightened her arms around him and quietly called out to him. At the horizon, the sun peeked above the tumultuous seas, spraying the white beach with a thin ray of light and besides them, Firnen began to wake, his brilliant scales sparkling in the morning light, just like, exactly like, when she woke.

Around him sapphire scales flipped and flopped in the wind, propelled by the gales of misery. They were tattered and rough; some had jagged edges and most had screeching white scratch marks on them. Many were bathed in either black or red blood and they danced around him, glinting in the sunlight.

Releasing a shaky sigh, though through his dry throat, it sounded more like groan of pain, he unsteadily stood. He would have crumpled immediately, if not for Arya's quick and steady hands, which guided his clenched left hand over her shoulder as he limped, with her support to Firnen's waiting back.

The green dragon eyed Eragon for a moment, concern and empathy clear in his iris, he had lost his mate after all. Then, he rubbed Eragon shrivelled arm with his snout and the elf felt a surge of energy enter him, and for an instant his thought he had regained use of his right arm. Relief blossomed in is mind as the exhaustion ebbed and faded away. Grateful, he gave a brief, hesitant, forced smile and stroked the scales on the top of his head.

With him in Arya's secure grasp, she vaulted onto the tall saddle on Firnen's back. Instantly, the wind roared to life around them as Firnen flapped his huge wings and they slowly gained altitude. Looking out, from behind Arya's shoulder, he saw a shadowy shape under the water.

Suddenly, a huge, gaping, maw appeared from the water, rocketing towards them, the world spun and twisted as Firnen rolled and swerved away. Seawater erupted behind them as the creature crashed back into the water, raining frigid droplets into their backs. The smell and feel intoxicated Eragon with memories and he drifted away from reality before Arya could ground his mind.

He was in the dark, drowning in the vast ocean. Lightning streaked across the night sky and he winced as the thunder clapped in his ears. There was nothing, nothing, save the flashes of lightning that lit up the dark clouds and the fierce rain. There was nothing save the rough waves that crashed over his head. They frothed in anger at the crest while the vast body bore down upon him like a dragon.

Just like the dragon he lost.

"Eragon!"

Drunk with tortuous memories, Eragon refused to open his eyes. Pain was rooted firmly in the core of his being, as eternal as his lifespan. The pain of being alone wrapped his heart with thin wire, one tug of former happenings and pain would bulge in his mind and body.

Where was he again?

Forcing his eyes open, he gasped for air as the exhaustion he dreaded settled back into his limbs.

"Eragon?"

He released a sigh of relief as his surroundings swam back into existence.

"Arya."

"Tell me what happened Eragon, what they did to you." When he didn't respond, she tentatively, quietly, asked, "do you trust me?"

He rebuked her question. "Do you trust me?"

Instantly, he regretted snapping at her. Her hesitation made his heart drop and a brief spasm of pain ran across the length of his body that Arya could not have missed. With some shock, he realised that he was hugging her around the stomach, guilt instantly set in and he disengaged his arms.

Faster that he could blink, her hand had his wrist in an iron grip. Turning around, she firmly grasped his chin and brought it down. Leaning in, she whispered her true name. It was different to the one he heard, almost twenty years ago, but her devotion to duty, both as a rider and as a Queen, had not changed. On the other hand, he could hear her distaste at her elven post and difficult isolation from the other riders. In her name was her love for Firnen and, to his surprise, a strong relationship with him, he could not understand the nature of the connection, so he deduced neither could she. The repercussions of Gilead had yet to leave her, he doubted they ever would, but he was glad to hear that she had accepted and overcame Faolin's death.

"I trust you Eragon."

Another pang of guilt hit him. He did not know his own true name. There was nothing he could give her in return. Now that he was alone, Arya was the one he trusted most. Even so, he did not wish to share his ugly past with her, at least not until he had reconciled himself with his past, unless…

"What happened?" Arya murmured. While she did not seem concerned about his lack of an appropriate response, he knew that some apprehension about his reply was plaguing her mind.

Hesitantly gesturing for her to give him hand, he spoke, he placed his left hand, still clenched around its unseen gem, over her palm. He in kind murmured: "Arya." Slowly, expression furrowing in pain, he opened his hand above her silvery palm and the scale gently floated down into her possession. "Keep it safe," he whispered as he reluctantly removed his hand. "I trust you."

Its edge was jagged down one side, with white streaks running from end to end. The bottom was stained with blood, giving the scale a false colour. However, in a few small, lonely places, the familiar sapphire still shone and glinted in the sunlight.

Arya closed her hand around it and held it against her heart, releasing a shaky breath. "I will keep it safe." Realising his unwillingness to talk, she spoke softly, "Please, do not keep your pains to yourself, I do not desire you to experience what I did."

"I promise I will not."

In another week, they would reach the mainland.