This is detestable, Arya thought, making her way through the rotted, festering marsh, only barely able to keep her typically sure footing in the moist slush that was the ground. Mosquitoes, flies, and other such pests buzzed through the air around her, barred from her flesh only by a simple ward. The vermin had been quite a nuisance before she had thought to cast the shield, and numerous bug bites marred her smooth skin from the lapse in her attentions. At least, they had, until Arya had removed them with a distracted word.

Setting aside the irritant of the bothersome insects, she was still quite uncomfortable. Mud was splattered over her once polished boots and clean clothing, hardening into layers of muck around her limbs and torso. Small branches, loose leaves, and other such debris clung to her hair, only assisted by the film of sweat that caused her clothing and hair to adhere to her skin. The heat was abominable.

Ignoring her own discomfort, the elf continued on, wading through the mucky water and running with lithe grace over the muddy knolls. Occasionally, a leech attempted to make her its unwitting host, only to be repelled by a new ward that Arya placed around herself.

"Please, let this be the day…" she said, not entirely sure whom it was she was addressing. If it was herself, it was a habit she disliked and would rid herself of presently. If it was some spoken plea to the gods presiding over Alagaesia-if there was such a thing-then it was the first time she had ever prayed. Neither possibility appealed to her. Even so, in that moment, she did not particularly care, for she was growing increasingly worried and apprehensive of Eragon's condition, not to mention weary of the chase. It was the third day since she'd discovered the young Dragon Rider's capture, and she was now several leagues north of Melian, traversing the thick swampland of the area. She could think of no reason why Eragon's captors would bring him here… But that didn't matter.

The trail within the marshes was incredibly difficult to find, so undetectable that a hunter of her limited skill had no chance of finding it, which was an irritation in itself. Thankfully, while it may not be entirely the right path, Arya knew she was going in right direction, for the plants and animals all sang of Eragon's passage, glorying in the touch of the Dragon Rider. It was almost obnoxious, their praise, nearly as irritating as the elves praise of dragons, which is to say that it was understandable at first, but trying over time.

I talk as if I weren't one, she mused, a hint of sadness sinking through her as she thought of when she'd said that very thing to Eragon, and then, later, he had repeated it back to her. A small sigh stole from her, causing her to jump in surprise until she discovered its origins: contentment, happiness, and longing, all at the thought of Eragon.

No, Arya, she told herself, scolding, dismayed by the feelings. It was not proper to feel so, wasn't right… After all, didn't she owe some loyalty to Faolin? Or was that void, for her past love was now a corpse? No… He would have wanted me to be happy… But was Eragon what she wanted? What she needed to be happy? The puzzle was so complicated that it made her head hurt.

Even if she did want Eragon-which she was sure she didn't-she could not return his feelings, for it would distract from what he needed to do. It would unmake all that they had worked for. If she returned his feelings for her, all would be lost, for he would throw everything away to ensure her safety, and-knowing him-would likely do it at the most inopportune moment. And she had already pushed him away, warned the Dragon Rider on multiple occasions that they could not be, that they could never be. It was impossible. As she'd thought some days before, theirs was a doomed love, if it had ever been love.

Several warm droplets trickled down her fair cheeks when she finally reached this conclusion, for she had just splashed into a pool of stagnant, murky water. At least that's what she told herself, convinced that they were not tears. There was no excuse, however, for the depression within her.

Scowling in frustrated confusion, she stepped up onto the opposite bank, seizing a gnarled root to haul herself up onto the semi-dry land.

Arya?

Exclaiming with a startled cry, she lost her grip on the slick root and fell backward into the mucky water, submerging herself in the dark, mud-filled pool. Her wards turned the persistent leeches away as they once again made a beeline for her flesh. Kicking off the muddy bottom of the pool, she remerged onto land, spewing the fetid water from her mouth as she hauled herself out of the water, surprising herself as she indulged in a few vague profanities. She was even more surprised by the thought that had touched her mind, for it was not her own.

Eragon? she answered, astonished. Blinking in surprise, she pulled herself further onto dry land, settling down on a high, knobby tree root while she met Eragon's mind. Relief rushed through with a sigh; until that moment, she had not been entirely sure that the Dragon Rider had still been alive.

Her relief was quickly quelled by the horror and grief she felt for Eragon as she met with his mind more fully, feeling the pain within him that made his thoughts scattered and opaque, difficult to read. He was completely delirious, more in a state of dreams than one of consciousness. She was not, however, able to recognize the origins of his pain.

Arya! he thought again, projecting the name like a joyful shout. A wash of warm, fuzzy emotions overflowed from him into her, resonating with something deep inside her. A giddy happiness flowed out of him, mixed with a host of contented emotions so powerful, numerous, and hazy that she could not determine what they were.

Worst of all, however, was the feeling of love that poured from his every thought.

Worse was how much she found she wanted to respond in kind.

Yes, Eragon, it… she trailed off, losing track of what she wished to say, and not entirely sure what she was to say anyway. Arya found herself frozen by emotion, rage overwhelming her relief of finding Eragon alive. Now she could question his reasons for lingering in the Empire, now she could be furious at him and be completely justified. Such was her responsibility, was it not?

Arya… Eragon repeated softly, a dreamy sigh drifting through his being. His mind swelled toward her, caressing her own consciousness with what could only be interpreted as the mental equivalent of a kiss.

At first, Arya's anger melted away, her heart thudding hard within her chest as Eragon embraced her, sending her aflutter with an array of strange feelings she knew that she should not feel.

And then she was affronted.

Eragon! she shouted furiously, insulted by his ease of intimacy. Shoving his mind away, she lanced out with a sharp jab of her own. Eragon's mind staggered back, reeling, before he slowly returned, contrite and apologetic. His consciousness was still fuzzy with pain, but more lucid than before, a soft, sad music echoing through the confines of his mind.

I apologize, Arya Svit-Kona… It was heavily apparent that the Dragon Rider had been more asleep than awake before, but now he was fully aware. I was not myself. I am… Distracted.

Apology accepted, she answered, a brief irritation flashing through at the fact that she had to be so formal with him.

What are you doing here? he asked tiredly.

Looking for you.

You should not have come. I am fine and capable of tending myself. The tone of his mental voice was flat, almost uncaring.

Anger burned in Arya, an anger directed at everything Eragon was. Did he no longer wish her to be around? Do not lie to me, Eragon… It ill suits you and will gain you no favor from me.

Eragon laughed through his pain then, amusement rolling through his mind. Arya was suddenly irritated that he could find humor in the situation. Eragon's laughter was suddenly quelled by a series of melancholy thoughts and impressions that she barely caught a glimpse of. In a bitter voice, Eragon said, No, but it doesn't seem to matter how much favor I gain with you, does it?

Arya didn't answer, a lump forming in her throat.

Regret flowed from him to her. I am sorry, Arya, he said. I did not mean to trouble you…

It is of no consequence,Arya answered, glad in that moment that they were not speaking in the ancient language. In her mind, she hid her own feelings, sorry that she was causing him pain. Eragon, what happened to you? I discovered evidence that indicated your capture, and your mind is filled with pain… Where are you?

I- Eragon began, suddenly retreating from her mind. When he returned a moment later, a new pain was throbbing through him. In a weary, stressed voice, he said, You're correct… I've been captured. Another series of images flashed through his mind, though not of his conscious doing.

You have been tortured, Arya said, horrified, as she interpreted the images.

Eragon winced inwardly. Yes, he said, retreating from her somewhat. She could tell that he was hiding things in his mind from her. Arya felt grief and sorrow fill her when she realized what Eragon had already been through.

Are you alright? she asked anxiously.

Eragon laughed again. Arya blushed when she realized how foolish the question sounded. I am better than I could be-which is dead-but that is little comfort, considering what is awaiting me.

Arya abandoned that line of conversation, fully aware that it would only deepen both their pain. Where are you?

She felt Eragon peruse their surroundings before answering, A thousand feet north of you, on the edge of the marshes. Another surge of pain shot through him, making Arya cry out in sympathy. Eragon did not answer it.

Who has captured you? she pressed.

His answer was long in coming. Ra'zac… There are two more Ra'zac. Maybe more. I don't know.

Arya suppressed her own surprise and horror for a time when she could do something with it. I am coming after you. Hold on.

The burst of passion that exploded from him was so unexpected, so powerful, that she could do nothing but flinch in surprise. No, Arya!

Arya hesitated. Why not?

Because I am already lost. There is nothing you can do. I… I won't have you captured or killed for my sake.

Arya hissed in frustration. That is what my mother said…

Your mother said that? Eragon asked, surprised.

It matters little. I am coming.

No! Eragon cried, a burst of pain rushing through him. Don't… Look. He pressed frantically against her mind, seeking permission to show her his deeper thoughts. Out of habit, she resisted for a moment before succumbing.

A huge, leathery skinned creature reared up in front of her, its bulbous black eyes glaring hatefully out at the world that so resented it. Its hide was a gray color, hairless and naked, like the skin of a human in cold death. From its sides protruded enormous bat-like wings, and from its head lanced a long, sharp beak. Arya's eyes smarted as a putrid, rancid odor met her nostrils, so full of horrible aromas that she automatically blocked it out.

The terrible image remained etched into Arya's mind as it faded away, leaving a horrible impression on her soul.

Eragon's mind gently touched hers. Softly, he said, The Lethrblaka… There are more of them as well. Two have just arrived… You cannot help me.

Determination hardened Arya's back into a band of steel. Nevertheless, I come.

Arya, Eragon growled, shoving her away with his mind. Flee. You will only be killed.

You're lack of confidence is astounding, Arya said calmly, standing up and sprinting in Eragon's direction, recklessly throwing herself over the stagnant pools and flying through the soft mud.

Eragon didn't laugh. Please, Arya… For me. His voice was desperate, pain wracked.

Before she could stop herself, she answered in the ancient language, It is for you that I do this.

Eragon froze, his mind uncomprehending. You're too late, he said after a moment, sounding satisfied. We're already in the air. Then, an errant, insignificant thought floated from him to her, a curse followed by, Blazes, this is different than riding Saphira!

Arya was too distressed to laugh. With a broken sob, she threw herself against Eragon's barriers, shattering them to pieces like a rock shatters glass and searching his surface thoughts for hints of where he might be going. With a silent-yet savage-growl, he fought back against her, attempting to push her away. To his surprise, he was unsuccessful; he may have been the stronger fighter, but her mind was stronger than his own.

Still, his struggles kept her distracted and unable to absorb much of what was going on around him, such as what he saw through his eyes. To her relief, however, she distinctly heard the word "Helgrind" through his ears.

Snarling in fury, he wrenched her from his thoughts and shoved her away. Don't you dare, he growled, unable in their meeting of minds to hide the flow protectiveness and love he felt for her. Stay away, Arya.

Arya didn't answer, but slowly withdrew from his mind so she could sob without his awareness. She had failed… It was going to be nigh impossible to rescue Eragon now. Still, she would try. What else would she do? Her life was tied to his in so many ways, many of which she didn't like…

Gasping in her weeping, she emerged in a full sprint from the edge of the marsh, spraying mud into the air around her. Warm and comforting, the light of the sun gently touched her filthy face. Tears carved ravines down the mud matted to her cheeks.

Looking up blearily with tear filled eyes, she saw two massive, gray-skinned creatures fade into the northern horizon, dark shapes huddled between their translucent wings.