Heyyy :) I finally got this written :) thank you all SOO much for all the AMAZING reviews! I LOVED them. I know that not everyone liked the ending to the last chapter, with Arya being all OC and acting funny, and, to be honest, I didn't like it much either... But, it fits with this chapter, and so I guess that makes it ok I hope?

I gave a name to the song that the elves sing - Lüinneag fon Bhòrd which literally means Song of the Dead. I got it from welsh, and mixed the words up a tiny bit :) Well, its finally up, and I hope you guys like it. I really don't know where this story is going, I normally have a really hard time keeping it interesting and fresh, as I tend to lose the plot after a couple of chapters. Anyway, your reviews made me continue, I honestly thought it was going to be a One-shot, so thank you all for that.

Hope you like it :)

xxx

BErin

The early morning Sun streamed in through the gap in the tent doors, bouncing off the mirrors and tables that furnished the place and finally to gently caress the curves of the two sleeping figures that lay on the bed.

Hair that was blacker than the night absorbed the rays that gleamed over it. A strong, corded arm hung protectively around a slender waist, while the gentle curve of a woman's hips blossomed out from under it.

The Sun smiled at the beauty of the scene, smiled at the love that the two people so obviously shared. They would wake, she thought, and they would be happy in each other's arms. They would kiss and they would whisper tender nonsense into each other's ears, loving each other, caressing each other as they did.

Sometimes, the Sun envied the Moon, she got to see the couples when they fell together, when they would court and laugh and would eventually come to lie in the same bed; but the Sun got to see the magic in the morning, she got to see the look of wonder and adoration on their faces as they woke up and stared into the faces of their sleeping lovers, and she smiled, for when she did it would remind her of the days spent when she was first born, with her lover and their stars.

Arya woke with a start as a horse clip-clopped loudly past her tent. As she blinked, she focused on a pair of soft, pink lips that were parted slightly as their owner sighed in his sleep. And arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to a warm, muscular chest and she stiffened, feeling her cheeks heat up as blood rushed into them.

Oh dear. What have I done now? She wondered, feeling her blush spread as she moved her arms up to push herself away from Eragon's warm and slightly too inviting body.

She padded softly to the screen and dressed behind it, silently contemplating what had happened the night before.

Oromis and Glaedr's deaths still hung heavily over her, but the Lüinneag fon Bhòrd had helped calm her, as it had the night of her father's death.

She thought of Eragon, how, adult, he had seemed the night before. She thought of how safe she felt with him, and how somehow, when he held her all her troubles seemed to lift off her shoulders and she felt she could breathe again.

He's just a child! She told herself as she pulled her shirt on, He's not yet even twenty! Yet, something in the back of her mind poked her and niggled at her, telling her she was wrong.

No child had gone through and survived what Eragon had. No child could inspire such confidence or hope in people, or could fight and learn and love as much as Eragon could. No child could have held her that way, could have made her feel so loved and safe and warm and… NO! She shook herself, no.

She tiptoed silently out and across the room to the table where her sword was lying on. She buckled it to her belt and reached under it to pull out her boots. She sat down to lace them up, and let her gaze come to rest on the Rider sleeping in her bed.

The covers were bunched around his waist; the tops of his breeches were showing. She let her eyes linger over the flat panes of his stomach, making no attempt to hide the smile that came to her face as she realised that she had spent the entire night cuddled up against him.

His expression was one of beautiful peace, all his cares seemed to have gone out the window and he seemed to have no worries, the normal lines that would have creased his soft brow were gone.

His hair was in complete disarray, locks of it were sticking up in every direction, falling into his face. Arya smiled, and unconsciously reached out to stroke his cheek. He shifted slightly in his sleep and sighed, and she snatched her hand away.

She turned her back to him, swearing softly under her breath and laced up her boots as fast as she could. She left the tent seconds later and walked out into the morning, fixing her usual unintelligible expression on her face.

Eragon! He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, trying to muffle the sound of the voice.

ERAGON!

Go away. I'm sleeping. He complained, trying his best to hide from the unwelcome noise.

Eragon. Nasuada wants you in her tent. She's sent a messenger to look for you. When he finds you're not where you're supposed to be, everyone is going to 'lose it' as you'd say, and then they will eventually find you here, in Arya's tent and you will both be subject to questions as to why you were sleeping, half naked, in her bed.

He bolted upright as he was reminded where he was, looking straight at the tent flaps as if the entire community of the Varden would come barging in at any moment.

Saphira?

No you dolt, it's Snowfire. Hurry up, get dressed and then come to me. I've told Arya to tell them you were with me.

Oh. How is she?

You'll find out soon enough, just hurry up please. I miss you. His expression of amusement disappeared at that, as he felt her feelings of loss and sadness seep through their mental link, although he could tell she was keeping them on a tight rein.

I'll be there.

He caught sight of her moments later, feeling his heart leap as she turned her head towards him and fixed him with her steady, blue stare.

Saphira! He cried happily, running up to her and leaping into the hollow in her back. The minute he was balanced enough, she leapt into the air, flying straight up for a bit and then leveling out to glide high over the Varden's camp.

Little One. She said affectionately, I missed you.

He felt his guilt surge, he had spent all last night with Arya, and he knew how Glaedr and Oromis's deaths had affected his dragon.

I'm sorry, Saphira. I didn't mean to sound so harsh. Compassion for him flowed through their link, and she turned her head to fix him with one tender blue orb.

It is alright, Little One. I know you were saddened by our Masters' deaths too, and I know that I was not helping you stay calm. She turned her head back, the steady woosh woosh of her wings filling his ears.

The elves song helped me. She said, and her voice was very quiet.

He patted the bit of shoulder he could reach, I think it helped everyone. I don't think I ever heard anything more beautiful.

Aye. Glaedr used to tell me how the elves' lament was laced with magic that would sing the 'sadness' out of everything. It helps them carry on with life the next day, but, Eragon, it felt like the whole world was weeping.

I could feel the very trees cry for them, and when I was up there, I'd never felt as sad or lost as I did while they sang. It was as if every worry or unhappiness was leaking out of me, as if the song was carrying it away, and when it was over, I felt nothing but calm.

It's strange, Eragon, the way magic affects you like that. It helped me, the song, but if magic can leech your very emotions out of you like that… She trailed off, and a small shudder, he was not sure whether from excitement or disgust, ran through her body. He knew what she was thinking, that if magic could affect you like that, could slowly 'free' you of all your emotions, it could be used in a way that would stop someone from feeling anything at all. They could immobilize an entire army with a spell.

He would have to look into it.

They flew in silence, enjoying each other's company. A bird appeared out of the blue ahead of them, and Saphira snapped at it lazily, causing it to let out a terrified squawk.

He was thinking about the night before, about Arya. She had been… strange. He was confused; she had been the one who had initiated the entire night, no matter how willing and eager to stay with her he had been. She had kissed him, and when she did, he had never felt happier. Falling asleep with her in his arms, fitting perfectly against his body was heaven to him, and he'd never wanted to let her go.

But last night she hadn't been herself. He had no doubt that she would remember the time they'd spent together, but how would she act when they next saw each other which was bound to be in a few minutes? He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, not after she'd shown him that she did, at some level, have feelings for him.

It was through this train of thought that the voice of the subject of his ponderings came to him.

Eragon, Saphira, Nasuada wants you in her tent in ten minutes. She says it's urgent and highly confidential, so try to be discreet.

He started, his heart jumping into his mouth at her voice. Her mind was guarded, the slippery walls that surrounded it were stronger than ever, and when he tried to speak to her, he realised she had shut him out.

He blinked when this hit him, stung. He wondered what had gotten into her now. He shook himself, he would talk to her later, and he would see her at the meeting.

He held on as Saphira dropped into a steep dive, feeling the familiar exhilaration as the air rushed past them at a blinding speed, stinging his cheeks and pulling at his hair and clothes. He whooped in delight, and she crowed as she let her wings snap out and they leveled out mere centimeters from the ground.

He hopped off of her and jogged over to the mound of red fabric that rose from the ground, the flag that was raised from its peak flying proudly in the wind. He grinned up at it and walked in through the flaps in the front, Saphira's head snaking in after him.

Nasuada was seated in her chair, Jörmundur looming protectively over her right shoulder. Eragon bowed to her and received a small smile and a gesture to sit in one of the chairs that lined the perimeter of the room.

As he turned, Orik caught his eye and waved him over to a seat in the corner next to him. He grinned and strolled towards the newly appointed dwarf-king,

"I thought you were still in Tronjheim!" he exclaimed as he flung himself down next to his friend, clapping him on his shoulder as he did so.

"Aye, but I couldn't bear to sit and watch while all of you were losing your lives to the thrice cursed King. I left Hvedra in charge, as well as a few trusted elders, and followed you here. We arrived this morning."

Orik pulled him into a conversation about nothing in particular, and as he talked, Eragon looked up to look around at the others in the room. Nasuada was looking more and more irritable as time passed, Jörmundur kept fidgeting and looking towards the door. Saphira had her eyes closed, seemingly asleep and the elf that had called him there was nowhere to be seen.

She loped in seconds later, her long hair cascading down her back, swaying and glinting in the sunlight that streamed in behind her. She apologised for her lateness, then turned and settled herself in a chair that was directly opposite from Nasuada.

Eragon straightened, craning his neck to try and catch her attention. He could see her face perfectly, and the impassive, unfeeling mask was plastered firmly on. His heart sank, but he continued to stare at her, silently willing her to look his way.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that Orik had fallen silent, and was looking between him and Arya in confusion. Saphira too had opened an eye to silently scrutinize him.

It wasn't until he prodded her mental shields hard that she turned around to look at him. Their eyes met for just a fraction of a second, and the word 'Don't' echoed in his mind before she turned back around again.

He felt his eyebrows draw together as he stared at the side of her face. A faint blush had crept up her cheeks, but other than that, she was even more detached than she had been before. The coldness in her voice had stunned him, and he found himself doubting whether or not last night had actually happened, or if he'd dreamt the whole thing.

Nasuada's voice cut through his reverie, "Alright. It appears that some people won't be appearing," irritation seeping into her voice.

"I've called you all here because, after what you, Eragon, told me yesterday, it is obvious, I think, that the only way we'll even have a minute chance of defeating Galbatorix is if we separate him from his Eldunarí.

"I've already filled Orik and Jörmundur in, and I've asked Jeod to see if he can find any weaknesses in the castle at Urû'baen; he'll be here soon.

"I suppose you know that I've called you here to ask if you have any ideas of how we could possibly get in, and more importantly, out, with the Eldunarí; and maybe the dragon egg as well. The Eldunarí are our primary objective though, and Galbatorix will have put them under the protection of a multitude of wards and spells, more so even than the egg, since they are the source of his power.

"We need to get them away from him." She looked around the room, her eyes meeting theirs. Beside him, Orik was nodding in agreement.

"Well," Nasuada said after a few moments of silence, "Ideas, that's what we're here for!"

Ideas flew. Mostly, they came from Orik and Eragon, each one more elaborate and complex than the last. Every one was dismissed as 'impossible' by Arya or Saphira. Nasuada and Jörmundur stood between them, nodding, their faces lighting up occasionally when a particular 'plan' came up, only to fall again as Saphira and Arya dissected it and finally declared it unmanageable.

"What if," said Orik after about twenty minutes of exchanging ideas, "What if we were to simply fly over Urû'baen and bomb the place? If we aimed for where we thought or knew the Eldunarí were, then we could probably release them, destroy the wards or spells and swoop down and pick them all up."

They all looked at him. One of Arya's delicately sculpted eyebrows was raised. Saphira snorted.

Next?

Jeod slipped in some time later, providing a welcome relief from the endless supply of ridiculous ideas that seemed to have been tumbling forward as if from a waterfall.

He had dug out his old maps of Urû'baen, and after assuring them that whatever they were planning on doing was planning their own deaths, started to show them the entrances and exits into the city.

There were more 'secret' entrances than Eragon could have dared to dream about. Used for centuries by smugglers and that sort, there was one, Jeod said, that he thought led right under the castle. He wasn't sure whether it could still be used, or if it was still 'secret' enough for them, and he had to have more time to see. They assured him that they weren't going anywhere very fast, and that he would have as long as he needed.

Eragon? Saphira's voice echoed inside his head, what about Master Glaedr's Eldunarí? He could feel the suppressed excitement emanating from her, and that fuelled his own. If anyone knew how to break Galbatorix's hold on the Eldunarí it would be Glaedr.

However, the dragon was almost definitely still in shock from what had happened the day before. The pulse and glow of the golden Eldunarí was still subdued, as if someone had placed a translucent covering over it that dulled and distorted everything.

Not now Saphira, I think it would be better if we asked another day. He met her eye across the room and saw her blink in agreement. Around them, their companions had resumed coming up with various plans.

He studied each of their faces as they talked; Orik's was eager, thoughtful. He loved a challenge and as he wracked his brain for possible ways, his face would contort and he would bite his bottom lip in concentration. Nasuada too was enjoying herself, although she knew the severity of the topic they were discussing, she, like Jörmundur was absorbed in the challenge of finding a plan.

Arya, well. She would look from one person to the next as they fired their ideas at her, would think about it briefly and then dismiss it. A small smile played on her lips, a chuckle escaping through as Orik thought of yet another ridiculous plan. Her eyes were wide and alive, sparkling happily as she debated with the others.

She looked his way, and their eyes met. For a fraction of a second, he felt the heat course through him and his heart accelerate as he stared into her eyes; then, she blinked and looked back at Jörmundur as he presented a new theory to her. She seemed distracted now, pink coloured her cheeks and her green eyes seemed conflicted.

Not for the first time, he wished that he could dive into her mind as easily as he could another's, to see what she was thinking and to try and understand her better. His mind whirred as he studied her and her alone. He didn't see anyone else, didn't hear the ongoing conversation, so lost was he in his thoughts of Arya.

He started and almost fell out of his chair when he heard Nasuada's accusing shout of "You're late!" He looked across to where she was pointing an accusing finger and saw the witch Angela stroll across the length of the tent, Solembum padding lazily behind her. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the carpet, and she smiled lazily at Nasuada, showing off rows of sparkling white teeth.

"Sorry, you can't rush wisdom and were-cats. I had to finish something, and Solembum wanted breakfast. We hurried over as soon as we were done." She smiled again, and went to place herself in the middle of the group and immediately started up the debate again. This time, Eragon joined in, grinning inwardly as he noticed Nasuada's seething expression.

Solembum came to wind himself around his legs, his slanted amber eyes flickered as if reflecting flames as they gazed up at the individual faces, boring into them. The glowing amber orbs came to rest on Eragon's face, their gaze never once wavering.

I suppose this 'meeting' hasn't been particularly fruitful said Solembum, his tone dry and somehow mocking. He cocked his head at Eragon, obviously expecting an answer. Eragon, however, didn't much feel like telling him that the entire morning's discussions had resulted in near to nothing and didn't say anything, especially since he knew that the were-cat probably already knew the answer to his own question.

They watched the debate for a while, watched Angela volleying theories with an incredible speed. As they watched, Eragon grew more and more restless. He knew this wasn't going to end in anything useful, and Saphira, who had been providing him with an ear to listen as he ranted mentally about Arya, had fallen asleep in the mouth of the tent.

He looked longingly towards the door, letting another ridiculous idea fall out of his mouth. The conversation was slowing, everyone was getting bored, and it wasn't long before Nasuada called for them to depart. The group heaved a collective sigh at this, and all wore ill-disguised looks of relief.

Eragon turned, catching Saphira's now open eye happily, flying? she asked. He nodded, But not now, I have to talk to her, he replied, glancing quickly in Ayra's direction. He was just about to call out to her to wait when he was interrupted by a loud yowl.

They all whirled around to look at Solembum, who had perched himself in the middle of the table they had just been gathered around and was now fixing them all with his bright, yellow gaze.

I understand that you, being human, Arya and Orik bristled, aren't getting anywhere with your discussions. Angela thought I might know something, so I have decided to tell you that you might want to consider the size of the problem. The wards Galbatorix has placed around those Eldunarí are very, very strong, yes, but they have weaknesses which he has overlooked.

I do not know what exactly these weaknesses are, for trust me, if I did, I would have already disclosed them to you. I wish to see this tyrant overthrown as much as the rest of you, so I am telling you all that I know. I know because of a feeling, a sixth sense, if you like, that all were-cats have. I wish you luck, for I cannot tell you anymore. Good day.

Solembum blinked and looked around at all of them, and then, with a flick of his tail, he was off the table and trotting towards the opening of the tent, Angela following closely behind him. Eragon slowly turned to face Nasuada, who was looking after the were-cat with a thoughtful expression.

"My lady, should we stay?" he asked, looking around at the others as he did so. They all bore similar, contemplative expressions, and were regarding Nasuada with slightly hazy eyes. She shook her head dismissively, "I will call for you when I need you again. In the mean time, please consider what Solembum has said. I think we all know that it was the most useful thing that came out of this entire meet."

He spent the rest of the day wandering around looking for Arya. She had flitted out of the tent immediately after Nasuada dismissed them, and by the time he was outside, she had disappeared. Somehow, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was avoiding him; for every time he caught sight of a long, female, legginged leg or a swish of midnight hair, and had called her name, it would disappear around a corner and wouldn't be seen again for a long time.

He gave up eventually, and decided to take a walk outside the walls of the camp. Saphira had gone hunting, and he was feeling restless, so as soon as he was a reasonable distance from the Varden, he broke into a ferocious sprint and charged around the walls, circling the perimeter of the camp in mere minutes.

He slowed to a halt as he came up behind the hill that he and Arya had been on the night before. The sun was nearly touching its curved top, its bright colour a stark contrast to the black hair of the elf standing there.

He moved towards her slowly, he booted feet barely making a noise on the soft grass. She wasn't crying like before, but was looking steadily out into the horizon, her face a neutral mask.

"Arya Svit-kona," he said quietly, touching his two fingers to his lips. He saw a blush creeping into her cheeks as he drew further in front of her.

"I've been trying to find you," he murmured softly, letting his eyes bore into hers. He reached out slowly and took both of her hands in his, his thumbs drawing slow circles over the backs of her palms.

"Arya…" he started and hesitated, what was it that he was going to say?

"Arya… I… I don't really know where we stand right now… After last night." He stopped, looking into her face as he tried to read her.

She had dropped her eyes and was staring fixedly at their interlocked hands. Pink stained her creamy cheeks, and when he stepped closer to her, he saw her long lashes flutter as her eyes flickered to his chest and back down again.

It wasn't until he reached out a hand to cup her cheek and tilt her face towards his that she moved.

"No Eragon!" She gasped, wrenching herself away from him.

"Last night was a mistake. I wasn't myself, I wasn't thinking." She stepped away from him, her eyes and face cold.

"I thank you for comforting me, but last night, we went way too far. Do you not understand that we can never, ever be like that? Last night meant nothing. You are infatuated," she threw the word at him like a curse, "and it will not last. Please, it will be better for us, safer for us, if you did not do this again."

She turned to leave, her words leaving a stinging hole in his chest. He ran after her, catching her by the arm and pulling her roughly round to look at him. She did, and her back was poker straight, her face cold and unfeeling.

"Why?" he asked. The word was barely a whisper, it sounded alien on his dry lips.

"It was you, Arya that kissed me. It was you that asked me to stay. You gave me hope that this" he gestured wildly between them, "had a chance after making perfectly sure that I knew it never did." He stared at her, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, the lump in his throat growing as did the ache in his gut.

Her face was still that cold mask, but her eyes had softened, and her hands twitched by her side.

"So why, why are you telling me that it meant nothing? Was it some sort of sick game to you? To lead me on to forget about Oromis? Did it mean nothing to you when I held you? When I kissed you? When you woke beside me?"

He didn't attempt to hide the hurt, the pleading, the anger, confusion, betrayal. Every single emotion was flowing out in his voice, his hands, which were clenched into fists at his sides, trembled. A tear rolled down his cheek, and in the silence that followed, he could have sworn that he heard it splash onto the grass.

She didn't move. Not a single muscle twitched as she stared at him, at the way his shoulders slumped, or the way every breath was broken, heart-wrenching.

And then she spoke. And when her clear voice cut through the silence - cold and beautiful - the same wind that had danced around them the night before sprung up and whipped the words away as they left her lips; cutting them, sharpening them so that each one sunk even deeper into him.

"You do not understand, Eragon. It does not matter what I feel, it is not important. To love is to lose, and to love now, when you could lose everything at the drop of a hat, is foolish. It is too dangerous for you to be focused like, say, your cousin, when the fate of Alagaësia rides on your shoulders." She paused and looked at him, her emerald eyes like icy daggers stabbing into him.

"You are just a child, you would not understand, and you would not be able to cope."

He felt as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him. Everything seemed to go numb, yet he was ridiculously aware of every pore and feeling and thought.

"I am not a child, Arya." He lifted his chin to meet her gaze, His jaw was clenched, his hands tight fists at his sides.

"I am young, I know, I am inexperienced, but I am no child. After all that has happened you still think that? My body may be so, but inside, I feel as if I am an old man, burdened with troubles and worries that no 'child' would have."

The wind howled even stronger as he spoke, angrily whipping their hair and clothes about them. He stood and stared at her, hard, begging her with his eyes to say that she was sorry, that she didn't mean what she said, that it was some sort of duty-bound obligation to say what she did. She stayed silent and cold, staring back at him unblinkingly.

Finally, he shook his head and turned to walk back to camp. He walked slowly away from her, and after a few steps turned and looked straight into her stony eyes. "Arya, no child would care for you as much as I do."

The Sun watched sadly as the man walked slowly away from the woman. He didn't see her as she turned around so her back was to him, didn't see her when she wrapped her arms around herself or when the tears started to cascade silently down her cheeks.

He was gone too, his heart breaking from her cruel rejection. The Sun's dying rays touched them, trying to comfort them, but they did not feel her phantom caress. The man was flying with his dragon now, up, up, up and over the clouds. The woman stayed, watching them, and the Sun cried with her as they mourned the loss of their love.

Well? PLEASE review, they honestly inspire me, however corny and cheesy that sounds lol. I need ideas as well, as to how they're gonna do whatever they do. As I've said, I am bloody awful at coming up with interesting plot lines. heehee :) B