Well, here is the promised Chapter right after the Prologue. Sorry I took a few minutes to upload it, got a little busy in between - where I actually got my first reviewer Islanderr ( I hope I spelled that right) Many thanks!

Summary: Set right after the Capture of Feinster and the death of Oromis, the aftermath of these events are etched into the worn faces of the Lady and Her Blue Rider...

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Paolini's creations though I wish I did so I could change a few things...


Chapter One

Of Endings and Beginnings and Goodbye's

It was indescribable - the bobbing and weaving, the heights of fleeting joy of past memories still fresh and the heart wrenching depths of a death not forgotten. He remembered him, paled toned skin littered with wrinkles that were earned rather than aged; they mirrored a regality of sorts. He remembered the slanted blue eyes, the steady voice that neither raised nor lowered in anger, the way he hung his head in that vain elf like manner, but not quite like them…He was a Rider first, he was his teacher, his ebrithil. He was Oromis.

Eragon had not slept in days that seemed to stretch into very weeks. He was broken…everyone had died. He was cursed…he was convinced of it. Brom…Hrothgar…Oromis… -Murtagh.

Murtagh, bloody…eyes flashing black with unmatched hatred as he reigned down upon a weakened Oromis with red cackling lighting in his hand…

Eyes flashed weakly with the painful memory, his stomach twisting in sorrow. Oromis was dead. Nothing, no one could bring him back. The pattering pain of hunger lingered as body wafted through the nameless days without sustenance. Body slowly faded, but his soul seemed broken; his mind left to replay those awful images over and over again. The only thing that kept him alive was her voice. The burning feeling inside his mind, that heat, that warmth, that presence that assured him that he was still alive. He was alive yet he was dead, just as Oromis was. ..just as Glaedr was. The golden orb of his Eldunari laid beside him sharing in the silent mourning of the Blue Rider and his Dragon. Yet his was a sorrow Eragon could never truly understand; a sorrow he hoped never to.

He had left them, Arya, the Queen, Blodhgarm… the rest of elves in Du Welden Varden. The Rider couldn't stand it being back there…it reminded him too much of him. It stung like salt in a fresh wound, their grace, their eyes, their unnecessary pleasantries….Yes the wound was too fresh, his death too soon to linger after the ceremony. They had flown back to the Varden almost the night after it had ended. The Varden had understood, they had left him be. They had allowed him to mourn in suffering silence with Saphira. The two were apart, he stationed like a statue within his dwelling, she seeking unfound comfort in vast the desert lands of the Hadarac; Yet the two were joined by the threads of their bond, sharing their pain in silent mutual waves over the past two weeks.

Two weeks…

It seemed longer to him as he slowly turned from his side unto his back. A muffled sigh escaped hunger cracked lips as his gaze turned heavenward. The tent was enveloped in utter darkness as it had been since he had arrived after the funeral a week ago. He had lain there for the remaining week, watching the sun rise and set habitually in a flurry of blinding colours behind the thick burlap. The world went on outside. The Varden continued unperturbed by the death of the great Rider, while inside Eragon's world lay in shadowed chaos. He lay there in his now rooted spot, propped haphazardly in his cot as hazel eyes drained of joy stared upon the hanging burlap of the tent roof. The rugged material seemed to pity him in his sorry state as it hung untethered by the world. Angrily, he turned away suddenly from the piercing gaze of the lifeless flap. Its stare seemed demeaning, frowning upon him as if in disapproval…the silent expression that had stilled the withered face of Oromis countless of times.

He had turned in anger, and then -he had slipped. A harrow groan split through chapped lips as bones racked against the hardened ground of the tent. He was too weak to get up, too weak to protest the piercing pain that had seeped suddenly into his body; too weak to fight the dreadful flashbacks. The Blue Rider only lay there unmoving, mind exceedingly numb as he was left up to the mercy of the memories that would not cease to haunt him…

-X-

There was a sigh, one of the many that had erupted from the full dark lips of the Lady over the past weeks. It seemed to her that things were ever so slowly, turning upside down. Well, rather perhaps it was the stagnancy, the quiet lull that had settled upon the Varden upon the Golden Rider's death that disturbed her, that fed her paranoia. The Empire had not yet attacked again and she was sure that Galbatorix had heard about their recent capture of Feinster. She couldn't help but feel that he was planning something terrible for them. Her mind then lingered to that of her unseen vassal before returning to the frustrating paper work at hand. It seemed she had become a scribe rather than the leader of the Resistance.

The scribbly rather untidy handwriting of Roran StrongHammer was etched into the dimly lit parchment that she had presently in hand. For a moment Nasuada struggled with it, then frustration getting the better of her, she resorted to catching the wick deeper in the oil lamp beside her. The flame visibly brightened, illuminating the small space of the private study that had been rather conveniently connected to her new bed Chambers. Relatively soothed, she settled back into hard discomfort of her wooden chair and attempted to decipher the 'glyphs'.

Brown eyes narrowed belatedly as they scanned the moderately lengthy report again. It seemed things were a bit unsettled after all. There were reports of small uprisings in Surda, particularly in the capitol, Aberon where Nasuada had charged Roran, as General, to keep the Varden presence in the country steady and disciplined. Tired eyes blinked as they read the parchment again, and yet another sigh was procured. Things were definitely unsettled. She had received similar reports from across the southern country since the taking of Feinster.

"Drink M'Lady…?" The dark skinned woman leaned slightly as an older feminine voice lingered to her from the opposite side of the small study. Farica, her hand maid had made it her point of duty to keep her company in the nights after Jormundur had scolded her she was 'running herself into the ground'. At first Nasuada had deemed her great distraction, but after few weeks she had learned to love the company…relished it even. Farica just somehow knew how to relieve her from her work even when she didn't even know how to do it herself. It was also nice having someone to talk- to distract her when the work became too much. For so long she had braved the nights, the unending stress and recently, the utter creepiness of the Feinster stronghold alone. The rooms just seemed to have this darkened aura and Nasuada found it difficult to concentrate in such space. A part of her wondered how the Lady Lorana had borne it; the whole Chambers just seemed suffocating: And made her miss the open space of her Varden tent even more.

The cool surface of the familiar metal goblet slipped within her grasp again. Nasuada sighed, feeling if only some of the stress melting away as Farica poured the cool red liquid from the wineskin smoothly into the cup. Belatedly inhaling the sharp aroma of the small Surdan delicacy, she then sipped it, restraining herself from taken large gulps as the reality of the past few weeks settled in mind.

The Rider Oromis was dead. Nasuada personally did not know the elf, but it had been a great hit to the Varden. Yet again the Red Rider had managed to wreak absolute havoc on their troops in Gilead: greatly wounding their numbers, destroying another Rider and permanently damaging Eragon's already tethered psyche. And although Arya and Eragon had managed to kill yet another shade and the Varden gain another city, there was great unsettlement within their region: Unsettlement evident in reports such as Roran's.

"King Orrin's people have yet again managed to ruin my evening…" Nasuada murmured almost angrily to no one in particular. Farica had heard however and turning away from her tiny make shift cot and her almost completed quilt, she tinkered closer to the Lady's table which had been overlaid with a disarray of various parchments. The older woman drew a chair beside her, took the report from her and placed it on the cluttered table.

"What of our Rider?" a sallow smile stilled the dark woman's face at her hand maid's rather pathetic attempt to change the topic. The thought of Eragon at the moment only managed to procure even further stress. He had not been heard from in almost two weeks. She had only known of his arrival back in Feinster the week before, as he had been spotted by a Varden tower guard flying towards the citadel. She had not seen him. She had not spoken to him in so long. A bleak expression stilled her features as she turned towards the older woman. She glanced at her for a minute, sighed, then turned back towards the Surdan report. Eyes further furrowed.

"The groups of peasants who now call themselves the Night Lighters have escalated from the mere nuisance of harassing Varden soldiers on duty in the capitol, to torching the storage houses assigned by King Orrin for the Varden. One large grain house has been burnt completely to the ground, two others have been severely damaged… " She read the parchment out loud, her own tactic of avoiding Farica's question. She couldn't think of Eragon…not now. She knew that he would heal eventually as she had….

-Had she?

In retrospect, Nasuada wasn't truly sure. She had simply been thrust into position and so thrust all thoughts of ripping grief and dead father out of mind. She had neither cried nor grieved…she had fought, and led and even bled in some instances: but she had never truly grieved. She thought of Eragon and her eyes softened. He had experienced so much loss for someone so young. A dreadful unknown voice whispered to her of their close proximity in age.

-Another sigh.

"I will need to speak with King Orrin in the morning about this." She said finally, turning to her handmaid again. The older woman nodded at her and stood, grasping the wineskin in hand. A darker hand grasped hers suddenly.

"Leave it." She said absentmindedly, brown eyes still glancing upon the stack of reports that she would have to read for the night. This would be the third night without sleep. She could literally feel the headache waiting to attack.

A faint look of disturbance stilled Farica's face at Nasuada's request. The young woman had taken even more to drink over the past few weeks. Farica always knew she was a lover of wine like her father was, particularly of the Surdan vintage, but this went to another level. Since the battle of Gilead she had increased her intake by almost double; downing almost half a bottle per night and to a point mirroring the Surdan King's own recent distasteful drinking habits - the difference being that Nasuada never drank in public. Nevertheless she relented in silence; and accepted that this was her own way of dealing with the mind weltering stress. Leaving the wineskin on the table beside her, the hand maid slithered to her small cot in the corner of the study, giving her Lady fair amount of privacy.

"You may retire to your quarters, Farica." She murmured belatedly, grasping another parchment from the large pile. Umber eyes scanned it quickly, then deeming it relatively unimportant; she then placed it on the opposite side of the table – the less urgent pile. Nasuada recognized bleakly that these reports consisted mostly Varden squabbles, citizens who felt cheated by the vast increase of theft – the less urgent indeed; she remembered a time when actually had time to pay attention to such matters, where she enjoyed bringing small justices to her people. She glanced up at the pile again, and Nasuada felt herself heave in frustration as she realized the 'urgent' pile vastly out sized its counterpart.

"Farica…?" eyes stopped their reading as belatedly she realized that her hand maid had not answered her. Twisting herself around, she glanced up towards the cot where she thought her servant had dozed off. She was relatively annoyed however to find her wide awake, finishing the last few squares of her quilt. She had obviously heard her.

"M'Lady…?" the older woman questioned, eyes still not breaking from her work at hand. Nasuada felt herself seethe inwardly a little. No other servant took such measures with her, such open disregard. She huffed in bit as she realized that Farica was no ordinary servant. The woman had practically grown her for part her life. Farica had been attending to her since Nasuada was eleven; for eight whole years. She was a mother of sorts; not that Nasuada knew what having a mother was like. She had never known hers. And strangely she had always found herself not caring.

"It wasn't a request." She murmured her tone firm but not unkind. She then turned back to the task at hand as the hand maid reluctantly stood from her seat, gathering the now completed quilt in hand.

"M'Lady…" Farica suggested, taking on a more humbled tone. "I could stay with you, until you have finished."

Nasuada smiled weakly at the suggestion, but shook her head and turned to the woman again.

"No. I would not deprive you of what little sleep that you get. At this rate…" she pointed to the devilish pile of reports and the like on the desk. "I'll be here the whole night and would not have you suffer the same." She paused a bit as the woman neared the study's door.

"Farica…" she called again hesitantly, glancing at the colourful quilt that the servant had left on the seat beside her.

"Yes M'lady?"

"Your quilt, you've forgotten it." She made to get up, but her servant quelled her attempt with a wave of the hand.

"It's yours." She said, glancing at the Varden Leader with an inexplicable expression on her face. Nasuada looked surprised as she continued. "I made it for you…Winter's a few months away and the nights can get chilled sometimes."

Nasuada nodded at her, murmuring a thank you while a small smile stilled her tired face. Eyes then widened as the hand maid teetered through the door. Her words sunk her like a giant weight. Nasuada grabbed the goblet again and took a long gulp, finishing its contents as she slumped against the paper laden desk. All this while she had been focused on the Empire troops, on Gilead, on Eragon and the uprising in Surda…what she should have been focusing was on Winter. She felt herself sink even further into the hard discomfort of her seat, mind set on edge. And suddenly she understood….

-X-

"They want food." There was a glint of a smile on Nasuada's face that did not reach her eyes as she turned to King of Surda in the light of the new morn. After a whole night of toiling at her reports she had finally relieved herself at dawn, not that the reports were finished –she still had more than forty to go through. All notions of sleep having left her body, she had resorted to an early morning stroll about the corridors and had come across the young King by chance. There were large bags under her eyes, evident of her now third day without sleep, yet there was triumph in her realization.

"I do not understand…" Orrin murmured softly, Roran's report in hand as they walked lengthily down the Feinstern corridors. A soft cold emanated from the cobble stone walls of the hallway and Nasuada clutched a little closer to the deep blue dress that she had worn that morning. Beside her Orrin continued to glare at the document as the two emptied into the belly of the large dining hall that she had converted into a hall for the war council. The confused expression of the Surdan King remained as they finally took seat at the head of the Council's table.

"The Night Lighters...they have organized these uprisings because they want food Orrin." She murmured to him from the other end, discarding the courtly formalities absent company. The soft yawn punctuating her statement echoed through the large lonely hall. Orrin raised an eyebrow at this, but settled on to reading the report again.

"This makes no sense, Nasuada." He concluded, turning to her. "They have burnt three grain houses without taking any of the food." He placed the report on the table as a servant brought the morning meal. Nasuada frowned lightly at the almost disgusted expression on Orrin's face as he glanced at the array of vegetables and venison that was set before them. He was about to complain when she interrupted.

"It's the Varden." She said taking a grape from the fruit bowl that had been set before. She then belatedly popped the small purple fruit into her mouth. Orrin placed his fork back into his untouched platter, green eyes questioning.

"The Varden numbers in Surda are too large with the addition of the Wandering Tribes and of course the large concentration of dwarves within the country." She continued midst her chewing. "With the over increase in population, the citizens do not want to share their food when Winter's only a few months away and hunger would be rampant. With the recent hit of the summer frost plague, you do not have enough grain to support both peoples – the citizens know this."

The frustrated expression that Nasuada wore the previous night was mirrored in the young King's face. The words summer frost plague seemed to hit him. He remembered the devastating crop plague. It had struck the country suddenly, almost conveniently a week before Feinster's capture. The citizens had said that it had been the work of some devil, but black magic seemed a more pliable answer to him – Summer frost – indeed it had been. He could practically imagine the horror stricken faces of Surdan farmers as they awoke to frost burnt corn and the wheat in the middle of the searing Surdan temperatures. Everything had been hit – they lost half their harvest in the space of four days. He sighed a bit, her words resonating with him as he brushed back dark blond hair with jeweled fingers.

"The Varden and Surda have lived side by side almost two years now. I would've expected some amount of cohesion or loyalty to one another, not burning grain houses." He murmured daring take a bite of the Feinster dish. Nasuada almost shook a head at the thoroughly contemplative look on his face as he began chewing.

"Loyalty is almost always foregone when self-preservation is questioned." She sighed and glanced at her own meal in hesitation. Feinster's dishes seemed repetitive. This was the fourth day that they would have venison for breakfast.

"What do you suggest I do?" his tone held a scruple of hostility, his ego obviously bruised. It had always been rumoured that the Lady of the Varden had always been secretly governing the Kingdom of Surda as well as her own people, and observations such as this only managed to heighten such suspicion. The fact that Orrin for majority of times could only find solutions through her advice propelled such rumours closer to the truth. It became rather obvious to her over the years that he felt somewhat threatened by her presence.

"You are the king, Orrin…What would you do?" she murmured almost coyly attempting to soothe somewhat damaged ego. It worked for the while. Orrin straightened in his seat, suddenly adopting a regal presence.

"The elves…" he said his eyes suddenly alight. "I have heard that they sing food out of the ground…"

Nasuada almost immediately shot down his answer with a shake of her head.

"I know what you are suggesting King Orrin, but we do not have enough elves in Feinster to spare. Galbatorix may attempt to reclaim this land at any time and we are not ready. The spell casters from Gilead are still recovering from the battle, and the Princess Arya and her company have yet to return from the Gold Rider's funeral." She paused deciphering the exasperated expression on his face. It was strange how she felt pity for him and wondered if that was how Jormundor and Farica felt when they saw her in same state.

"Then what?" he almost growled, fork clattering against the dense silver plate as it fell from his grasp.

"We have to move." Her words seemed even more foolish to herself as she procured them hesitantly. A laugh sounding more like a light cackle erupted from the king's lips.

"Lady Nasuada…you jest too well." He murmured to her, testy smile etched across his lips as he returned to his breakfast.

"I'm not joking." She said firmly, taking a few figs from the bowl of fruit and placing them neatly in her own plate. She then poked at the venison with her fork before taking a bite. When she glanced up green eyes were fixed upon her with a deadly glare.

"The fact that you would even dare insult my intelligence by suggesting such a thing is reprehensible in itself. Nasuada, you and I know that the Varden cannot move from Surda at the moment. Surda is a country, Feinster is a city. The grain houses here are far smaller, less in number and less adequate. Your people would starve here." He said almost like a father scolding a child. Nasuada did not take to the attitude and soon adopted her own.

"They will starve in Surda, and the few grain houses burnt will soon turn into full bloody riots, and then everyone, Surdan and Varden will starve." She said calmly, her tone almost searing. "If you want your people murdering each other by winter, then let the Varden remain. Galbatorix would certainly entertain the thought of his enemies weakening themselves by turning against one another." She paused for a moment, then added daringly. "If your citizens arm themselves, the Varden will fight back, and things will only become uglier after such event."

The glare of green eyes softened to a reasonable stare at this, yet the anger remained in his eyes. He knew that Nasuada was right, and it only upset him more.

A moment of silence stilled between them, the both of them evidently enveloped in own thought. The only sound was the shuffle of servant feet and the gentle trickle sound of goblets being filled with sweet wine. The soft light of sunrise had risen to reasonable glow and the sun shone brightly through the adjoining terraces creating long sharp shadows in the open dining hall. A part of Nasuada wondered about the company within the stronghold. The Feinstern halls just seemed all the lonelier now that the Varden had been divided somewhat. The majority of the dwarves had returned to Surda, as the city could not accommodate the heavy numbers, Eragon was nowhere to be seen and Arya and her company of elves had left for the Funeral of Oromis the Rider. Nasuada had only the Council of Elders and the testy King of Surda to keep her company and the thought depressed. She had managed however to avoid them for few days by diving into her work, yet this report needed attention and so she had emerged from recluse to address the need.

"Halve the numbers…" Nasuada turned to the sound of mumbling from the Surdan King, abandoning her own thoughts. His mumbled words soon formed into louder sentences as he formally addressed her.

"We need to halve the numbers of the Varden and divide them equally between Feinster and Surda. That should give enough relief to the grain houses in Surda while not straining those of Feinster to the point of starvation."

Nasuada's answer was silence as she contemplated the words of the King. She gazed at him as he took a swig at the sweet pear wine that the servants had poured for them. Ever so slowly she nodded. It was reasonable…the only reasonable solution at the moment. And though it wasn't perfect- she knew that hunger would still ravage both lands- Nasuada could do nothing more but agree.

"Yes," she murmured afterward. A coy smile stilled the Surdan King's face at this, and a look of triumph glazed light green eyes. He had won this round. He had found solution for the Lady instead.

"M'Lady…!" Nasuada turned acutely at the sound of her title, interrupting Orrin's silent gloating. Brown eyes widened as they beheld who had called her. It was Jashar the messenger. The boy had visibly grown in the two years, stretching up to reasonable height, but it was not his sudden growth that had alarmed her. He was huffing, visibly out of breath like someone who had run a mile with dogs at his heel. And even more, he was completely dirty, as if some cruel person had kicked him down in the muddy streets of the city before he came there. Nasuada stood as the boy collapsed to the ground gasping for air. In his hand was a crumpled piece of paper, also visibly muddied. She shifted suddenly, plate clattering as she hurried out towards his out of breath figure at the mouth of the hallway.

Orrin stood as she knelt beside the boy, who managed to push the piece of paper into her dark hands. Nasuada ordered the servants attend to him as she stood unfolding the tattered parchment. She jolted realizing that it was in fact an envelope…moreover an envelope with the Empire's seal.


Well hope you guys enjoyed this. Just wanted to give a little background to the present situations taking place so I can get the ball rolling. Stay tuned for another chapter! Remember to R&R and for any of you who are interested you can check out my other stories:

Turn my Grief into Grace - A one shot...

Highschool and Its Problems - A modern chaptered fiction.

See you guys soon - S.B.