Here again with another Chapter of The Thirsty Hibiscus. Thank you for the reviews of Restrained Freedom and BrightWatcher! They were thoroughly appreciated.

I'm so happy that you guys loved the Gandhi quote in the last chapter. Tried to find another one as equally awesome, yet failed miserably so it shall be mediocre quotes from now on until some awesome ones that relate to the chapter written in some way.

I'm really happy with the reviews I've been getting so far. Thank you so much for your support guys!

Summary: The Lady Nasuada reads the letter.

And none will hear the postman's knock without a quickening of the heart. For who can bear to feel himself forgotten? – W.H. Auden

Chapter Three

Of Discoveries

The streets were dangerous at this time of night; a thought that did not come to mind. What mattered to him was being caught.

The dark figure slipped through another alley as agile and stealthy as a cat. Black boots sputtered noiselessly in the empty street as he slipped over another wall and into the tiny backyard of some sleeping resident. The lights were out, windows shut and he assumed bolted on the inside. There were no chances here in the slums…it was every man for himself.

The moon was faint tonight, its glow barely lighting the cold, trash littered streets that wound in an everlasting confusion of narrow twists and circles and dead ends. It would have confused the hell out of anyone else and most people would have been caught by now. But he had grown up here…he knew every nook and cranny – every alley and passage way…the benefits of the dark and a proper hood. He tugged a little closer to the black hood that covered his face, as he skeetered silently atop a wide edged roof and jumped unseen into the soft landing of rotting garbage. The smell nearly knocked him over as he belatedly stood to his feet, half exposed by the soft light from the window of a house whose owners had fallen asleep with a lit candle. The sound of muffled voices suddenly tore through the air and the figure ducked to the ground, pressing further into the darkness.

Peeled eyes peered out from the dark alleyway watching keenly as a small group of soldiers chattered on in the main street on their patrol. And his whole body itched in impatience as they slowly lumbered down the street past him too busy in conversation to truly note anything. He then slipped out, glancing in their direction for a split second before scampering down the opposite way. Belatedly he ducked into a nearby alleyway engulfed in utter darkness.

He stood there for a moment in the smothering dark, unsure if this was the place. There was a rustle and the man stepped back drawing on a dagger he had strapped to his belt. He eased a bit as he could make out a figure as it stepped out a little more into the light.

"I hear you want something delivered…" he heard the voice say. It was obviously male, a bit husky yet young.

The hooded man reached inside his pocket of his hood, pulling out a leather satchel. He held it precariously at its strings for a bit, staring contemplatively at it, before handing it to the stranger hidden in shadow.

"Can you deliver this?" the tone was sharp, firm.

He heard humour in the stranger's voice, "I usually like to know what I'm smuggling…It isn't pleasant if ignorant and caught." it murmured.

The hooded man's eyes narrowed at the dark figure. "Don't get caught." He hissed.

"No one…" he said his tone adopting even more fierceness "is to open that satchel. It is to be touched only by the Lady herself…" he murmured and slipped out back out into the main street, leaving the stranger there with the small satchel in his hand. The hood flapped against his face as he ran back into the darkness of the winding alleyways and gloved fingers pulled closer at the material shadowing his face. He slipped easily over the barring wall. This was up to fate's hands now, he could do nothing more. That thought in mind, the man skittered silently upon another rooftop and jumped into the adjoining alley for a moment soaring like a leaping cat. Then he disappeared silently into the night.

-X-

In all honesty for the first time in her life, Nasuada found herself unsure of what to do. It seemed that her whole world was caving in around her. The feeling resounded as she gazed at the letter again, the tattered envelope lay discarded on the table its seal broken. It seemed with the solution garnered for Surda, they had now found even greater problems.

To the Unseen Hand of the Dragon,

The recently coroneted Prince Murtagh of the United Empire has given first command under the blessing of the King Galbatorix ruler of the United Empire and its territories, for the execution of the mission 'Black Wave'. Upon the elimination of the Enemy Gold Rider, his Royal Highness and His Majesty now feel that the Rebels have been weakened enough to deliver the final blow that will facilitate the resounding crumble of the Varden and all supporters. The content instructions of this message are to be transcribed and delivered to various assets across the region as was once customary.

Janus Isengildson

Captain of the Crimson-star Guard

Nasuada felt herself sicken as her hand slumped uselessly to her side, the letter in her grip. A wave of even more stress washed over and she felt as if she were drowning. Things had gotten so much worst, so fast. Before her in the large Feinster dining hall, the whole Council of Elders had been gathered for the day and she wondered rather irritably to herself if they were here really to advise or to give her even more of a head ache.

"This may very well be a diversion…" she heard the short stocky Umerth say. It was like a tape recorder (not like she knew what that was) stuck on repeat. She had been hearing the same thing over and over and over again. Her eyes lingered over to the open terrace in front of her and she gazed out into the cold crisp night, the dark air whipping across her face. "The Empire's letters do not simply land into the Varden's hands." She heard him conclude. His valid statement was rebutted by a weary Jormundor for the umpteenth time…they had been at this the whole day.

"There may be a Varden presence within the Empire's high ranks who smuggled the letter to Feinster." Was the commander's excuse. He had been arguing that they had a spy within the high ranks of the Empire itself – a thing that Nasuada had wished many times, but 'til recently had never achieved. Galbatorix somehow kept his men utterly loyal…well perhaps it was because the Empire didn't hesitate to murder whole families who refused to send their sons as soldiers for the King. Yet the thought of spy was not too farfetched – in fact neither of them was. This was in fact the problem. They were both believable – both contradicting - and the Lady had no idea which could be right.

"Forget it!" She finally heaved in exasperation, drawing her gaze from the open view of the night lit city from the terrace. The whole Council in surprise had turned their heads towards her. King Orrin who looked visibly exhausted as she did, seemed to adopt a sudden expression of relief. After almost half an hour of merited silence she had finally decided to speak again; hopefully he thought to stop all the chaos. He eased himself up from the slumped position he had taken at his seat.

"We have no way of knowing if this document is real or not; no way of knowing what the Black Wave is or when it will occur. And worst of all, we do not know who the Unseen Hand of the Dragon is…." She stated turning her back towards the open terrace and facing the Council. She stepped towards them, taking her seat and placed the letter on the table before them. Every face held the same look of disturbance and impending doom.

"This may have been one of the Empire's conniving tricks or the work of a lone ally tucked unnoticed in the heart of the Empire who managed to divert the letter here. The letter is too coded and unspecific for any real facts to be drawn." She nodded tiredly at them before continuing. "The real problem that we should be majorly concerned about is …" Nasuada paused momentarily before murmuring in a deadly tone. "….the Red Rider."

At mention of the name, a dark presence passed over the face of each member of the Council. His slaughter at Gilead and his betrayal was still fresh in each mind.

"His elevation is merely the King's reward for the murder of the Gold Rider. He is a figure head: and his new position holds no major concern or threat to us." Nasuada turned to the cracked hollow tone of Sabrae. The middle aged woman shook in her seat from the mirrored exhaustion shared by all in the Council of Elders –the sallow sags in her neck followed in the same. Umber eyes narrowed at her lack of insight.

"It is not only reward." Jormundor shook his head at the woman, and Nasuada's glare eased slightly. Sabrae on the other hand had taken on a look of offense at his rebuttal. "Galbatorix has reigned for almost a hundred years…" he whipped. "Even with the Forsworn – he had never chosen an heir. The crowning of the Red Rider is a symbol of the continuity of his reign." He said with almost conviction. "With an heir, Galbatorix secures the continuing existence of his tyranny. The question is however after so many decades…why now?"

Nasuada's eyes creased at Jormundor's final statement. He had a point. Why now…? She felt herself sicken with unease as the question settled in mind, countless of possibilities flying out at her.

"The snake has something up his sleeve…" she murmured or more –hissed lowly to herself, but the Council had heard. Most of them nodded in agreement, a few of the others looked too dazed or exhausted to take note.

Nasuada felt her eyes closing as she sat in the hall which had suddenly gone silent. It was evident that this was going nowhere…Everything had been only conjecture.

"The meeting is adjourned for tonight, council." She said adopting a sense of finality as she slowly stood from her seat. Almost immediately the Elders rose from their seats as well, obviously anxious for dismissal; a few of them murmured in disgruntled tones about how things were slipping down upon them. The King of Surda started to make his way over to her, but was stopped by Jormundor, who had abruptly stepped in front of him. The elder man rested a hand on the young king's shoulder.

"May I speak with you in private, King Orrin." The man looked visibly surprised but consented to the polite demand of the General. He shifted away from the Council table where Nasuada had sat herself down at again and slithered on with Jormundor through the mouth of the hall into the large cobblestone corridors. The room emptied in mere minutes and Nasuada was soon left to the disrupting thoughts and weltering emotions that she had been silently repressing.

She heard her breath stop, as fingers slowly reached for the letter again. The words seemed to sear through her. Black Wave…the very name seemed dark and ominous - like it death itself. For a moment she contemplated the true meaning, before sighing in frustration and pushing the parchment away from her again. "…deliver the final blow that will facilitate the resounding crumble of the Varden…"

The letter did not help in the least more than unease her beyond compare. Not only had they learned nothing of the specifics of the enemies plan, but the mere mentions of such conspiracy only managed to resonate the true vastness of the King's power. He had agents – and they were everywhere. A sinking feeling enveloped her stomach at the thought as she remembered the assassination attempt in Surda. In truth, she had been frightened – the attempt on her life only made the danger seem all the realer; it was like Galbatorix was everywhere… and always watching. The bright light of the lit torches flickered haphazardly against the floor making the shadows dance erratically about the wall. Outside she could hear the howling of lone dogs in the street. Eyes furrowed as present thoughts continued to trouble her.

The Red Rider…a part of Nasuada could not believe that the boy she had met those two years ago had become so…evil. She had heard the tales of the horrors he had brought against her people, the ruthlessness in his eyes as he torched villages, the horrid raw power that she had witnessed herself– killing scores of her men with a single word. Eyes flashed at the paper again… 'Prince' – upon her first read of the letter, the title had scared her. She had never imagined the boy who had shared his open hatred of the Empire becoming the leader in line to inherit the tyranny he had spoken against. He had truly become Morzan. A slow sigh slipped from full dark lips and she stood from her seat, suddenly in need of a drink.

She stepped over towards a smaller station table behind the extensive dining table where she had been seated. Dark fingers smoothed over a large wine skin tucked within the small, round table-topped container were the Feinster servants stored all the alcohols served in the dining hall. Grabbing a goblet from another compartment, she then poured the thin amber liquid into the cup and pressed it to her lips.

Feinster's pear wine could not compare with Surda's vintage, yet Nasuada could not complain. It was drink and that was all that mattered. She inhaled as the goblet tipped to her lips again and the scent was faint, flowery like honeydew – not the sharp tangy aroma of zesty grapes and lush pomegranates of Surda. As she continued to sip slowly from the goblet, eyes lingered about the hall in attempt to still churning thoughts.

Nasuada noted that for a smaller citadel, Feinster's halls were in fact built fairly well – it echoed a sort of simple elegance. Like the corridors, the hall was made of cobblestone but unlike the ruddy brown stone that had been used in the corridors – the Feinster dining hall was littered with stones that were pastel toned: light blues, peaches, soft yellows and off whites. They had been hewn to perfection: each stone appeared mirrored in size, length and breadth and were arranged in a clever pattern that she found fooled the eyes at first glance. The thought made her almost smile as the soft light of the six torches that dotted the corner pillars of the hall, flickered against her cobalt blue dress. She turned to her right towards the beautiful open archways that reminded her so much of Surda whose architecture was noted for its open halls and sky roofs. The terrace itself was opened into a huge balcony that had several openings from the dining hall. It was clever really, it kept the place well lit in the days and well cooled in the nights. Nasuada stepped closer to it, favouring the covering darkness of the night shadow than the light in the dining hall.

The wide balcony was barely lit. The moon hid behind a thick blanket of dark cloud. A large apple tree stood in the midst of the courtyard, its long wide branches hung broadly, brushing against the terrace so that part of the ground could not be seen. Nasuada stepped closer to it, leaning on the edge of the balcony and thoroughly enjoying the calming sounds of the whipping wind whistling through the thick foliage. Dark eyes closed as the sound enraptured her, and she placed the half empty goblet on the wide railing which had been decorated with twisted metal figs and leaves. Breath sharply whistled in and out of her chest as she made attempt to quell the sickened jittery feeling that seized her whole body – evidence of the prolonged lack of sleep. The howling wind whipped against her, causing the tail of her deep blue dress to flash about in terrific waves against deep brown legs. The cold wind…reminded her of him, her father. He had been her father – her blood, yet he had been aloof – and Nasuada remembered wondering to herself in her younger years if he saw her as his daughter or merely a future for the Varden. She remembered wondering if he had truly cared for her. And in retrospect, she found that in his own cold distanced way, he had. Eyes flittered taking in the dark scenery of the city that she had conquered. Lit Feinster houses dotted the distance and glittered against the backdrop like amber stars. The scene did not make her smile, rather it made her cringe as rustic memories began to resurface after two whole years of avoiding them. . .

"He seems of fair stature...What do you think of the boy?" Nasuada's eyes were shut as she listened to the deep baritone of her father's voice lull over her as they strolled through the rough rock gardens of Trojenheim. She had worn her violet dress that evening, a colour she knew her father favoured and a part of her knew that he had already figured out she was here for another reason.

"Nasuada?" Umber eyes flashed open as a larger hand rested on her arm waking her rudely from the quiet lull she had come under from the soothing tones of his voice.

"Yes, father…" she made an attempt to sound like she had truly been listening.

"The Rider…Eragon?" A sharp eyebrow raised at her in expectance and Nasuada for a moment seemed lost, then quickly regained herself.

"He is young." She answered. "As I am. But he is brave, and he will learn." She murmured, and Ajihad chuckled slightly at how much the answer mirrored response he would have given if faced with similar question at her age.

A silence stilled between them and Nasuada itched in anticipation, wondering to herself how to present the favour she wished from her father.

"I believe you brought me out here to speak about something else, my daughter." Ajihad turned to his heir as they stopped before a bracket of orange hibiscus, a flower she favoured greatly. It was a wonder how such strong plant could bud such a delicate flower. "Or rather…" Ajihad continued. "Someone else.." Nasuada turned in surprise to her father at this, and found herself unease further as he turned to stare at her with a knowing gaze.

"It is his friend, the Forsworn's son." She murmured lowly almost to herself. Ajihad nodded at her his knowing gaze twisting into a blank one as he turned away from her to stare at the bracket of hibiscus, one of the few flowers that were not stone in the Rock Garden of Trojenheim.

"I do not understand him father." She said speaking her heart. "I have learned for so many years to hate such men, monsters. He is the son of a monster, yet…he is not his father." The dark eyes of her father visibly glazed at the mention of Morzan and for a moment, Nasuada thought her father had not heard her. A long silence settled between them, and Nasuada sighed thinking this was her father's way of avoiding her.

"One cannot make judgement on persons, Nasuada, without witness of their actions." He said with a weary tone. "I have taught you this, my daughter, and I wonder if you have truly learnt it."

The displeasure on his daughter's face was evident as her tone tightened. "You have also said one cannot be judged by another's tyranny. He wishes to provide such actions, but confinement to a cell does not accommodate this."

"He refused to be probed! I am doing what I think is best!" He snapped at her. Nasuada was taken a back at the harsh emotioned response. She had never heard her father shout before. She had never known him to be an emotional man. He was calculating, calm and was infamous for the dangerous political smile he always wore – anger was almost never seen. It was evident that this boy, this son of Morzan…disturbed him greatly. A surprised expression enraptured her and the anger swept just as quickly from his eyes. Her father turned away from her, dark masculine fingers reaching to trail along the soft delicate petals of the sunset toned flowers that stood before them.

"Morzan was a viper never to be tethered with and his son has yet to inherit his wile. Your curiosity and trust, Nasuada will be your down fall." He murmured, his tone singed with that cold detachment she had known. "You are strong, hardy, and stubborn like the hibiscus shrub." He said, before taking a hand and yanking one of the flowers in bloom. As the large orange petals sat in the open palm of his hand, they already began losing its bright hue. It had begun withering.

"But your trust… your heart…" he whispered to her. "Is like this flower – bare, delicate, easily bruised, and even more easily destroyed." Dark hands clamped shut upon the flower and reopened again. The orange flower was completely shriveled. Nasuada looked almost offended and utterly confused as he continued.

"My daughter I will not always be around to protect you from brooding intruding hands that may pluck at your flowers, causing them to wither. So, you must grow thorns my dear…a hardness of heart that will protect you." He handed the flower to her, and Nasuada gazed down at it, knowing exactly what he meant. She then looked up at him, an uneasiness settling within her. As umber eyes locked with mirrored toned ones, Nasuada frowned already knowing his answer.

"Won't you reconsider his confinement?" she asked nonetheless.

"No."and it was left at that…

…Rustling…

…Rustling… The sound retracted her from the awful memory like a tick from its host after it had drunk its fill. Nasuada found herself left emotionally tired as her body slumped against the protective railing of the balcony; she hadn't thought of Trojenheim…of her father in what seemed like forever. She remembered herself then. And bitterly she realized her father had been right. She was young, naïve – trusting. The brutal world she discovered soon after his passing had hardened her. She laughed humourlessly at how much her father would have favoured her to the dwarven black rose at present moment; a flower ridden with poison filled thorns. A flower he had favoured. The smile was crooked as the memory replayed in thought. She had become the exact woman he had wanted her to be - a warrior, a leader and cunning in both regard. Nasuada found herself indifferent to such thought as a sliver of moonlight peaked from behind the large blanket of cloud.

…Rustling…Umber eyes blinked becoming accustomed to the peaceful darkness of the night. The wind soothed over her, unfelt …Rustling…the sound peaked again, softly this time, and suddenly Nasuada found herself alert, dark fingers already reaching for the jeweled dagger she kept at her side. That sound she realized was not the wind. It was something, someone climbing up the tree…climbing towards the balcony.

Dark body swept quickly backwards to the very edge of the terrace towards the one of the large pillars parting the open archways. She slithered into the dimly lit dining hall and pressed her body against the pillar, heart thudding in chest. Memories of the assassin in Surda came reeling back to her, images of the Red Rider, of the letter, the mentions of the Black Wave.

Nasuada could feel herself panic and cursed herself for such human response. She realized bleakly that her guards were too far away in the outside of the hall for her to shout towards them before the person slipped up to her and murdered her right there in the dining hall. The rustling loudened and Nasuada could hear the faint breathing of the intruder. She felt her chest tighten as the dagger's hilt pressed tightly in her hand. Umber eyes then widened in horror as memory came surging back to mind….the goblet. Nasuada could've stabbed herself right there for forgetting the wine goblet on the balcony. The intruder would now know that she was here.

She could hear footsteps momentarily punctuate the light grunt that sounded before and Nasuada knew that the person had made it over the balcony's railing and into the terrace. A braveness seized her as her heart thundered loudly in her chest. This was Galbatorix after all – the twisting conniving snake – preferring to send some slithering servant of his to murder her in the shadows of his former city than face her honourably in battle. He was a coward – and the thought gave Nasuada even more courage. The footsteps resounded closer, the faint breathing stilling to reasonable soft sighs of breath whistling through the silence.

Fingers itched in impatience against the hilt…

…The breathing whistling…

...Her heart racing…

…Footsteps clicking closer…

…closer…

…Closer…

Nasuada closed her eyes momentarily before plunging head first into the dark terrace again. The dagger was drawn dangerously above her head; her body coiled like a cobra about to strike. The taller intruding figure stood there seemingly frozen in surprise. She did not wait for him to regain sense.

Blindly she swiped at the shadowed figure who visibly staggered back at last moment avoiding the dangerous move. Encouraged, she struck again - plunging the knife towards an open chest. The figure however ducked her move with ease. A panic seized her causing her to strike almost frantically as she realized…no ordinary human moved like that.

Again, again, the shadowed figure twisted around her almost gracefully avoiding strikes that would've killed others in seconds. Nasuada could feel the panic pump through her whole body like the pounding in her chest. She did not realize that she was so close…so close to the edge.

A simple step, he had shifted at lightning speed to avoid another attack, when she found herself still lunging forward dagger in hand. Umber eyes flashed as a soft scream shot from parted lips, her body slamming across the railing. The dagger clattered uselessly to the stone floor, the half filled goblet was flung from the railing and down into the empty courtyard - its contents spilling about her. Her feet slipped against the decorative metal leaves and stuck there. Her body rattled violently in the aftershock - the pain was delayed.

A gasp, as it set in – an agonizing tremor split through her, as the ragged metal dug into soft flesh. Blood streamed down her leg, staining her dress.

Teeth clamped firmly into dark lips muffling her screams.

The shadowed figure slowly sauntered over to her tall, ghostly in the dark.

Her fingers grabbed frantically at the ground for the dagger.

She could feel him getting closer to her…slowly…ever so slowly…like he savoured every moment of her pain…

Blood rushed through her whole body, hot – she could taste it in her mouth, the metal.

The searing pain heightened in her leg, and dark fingers struggled against the distance…the dagger was too far away.

Breathing sharpened, her heart thundering like a war drum.

She was pinned to the railing, the piece of metal stuck firmly in her leg. The shadow slithered closer…each step resounding loudly in her ears. . .

"Nasuada, are you ok?"

A smooth voice murmured to her – a voice laced with concern…? The Lady froze at the familiar sound. Her body practically slumped in relief as face twisted in a sour mixture of the same sprinkled with anger and confusion. The figure slithered closer to her, bending down at her slumped body, and skilled hands stilled over her injured leg. Nasuada gazed up at the familiar face, tension in her eyes…yet with it, there was relief…with it there was the tiniest sense of hope. She sighed grasping the hand from her leg as it shot with pain. The moon finally parted from its companion cloud glittering brightly, illuminating the dark space of the balcony. The soft contours of a familiar face were revealed - hazel eyes that she would know anywhere…

"Eragon…."

This Chapter felt a little strange for some reason; maybe its just my writer's paranoia (it tends to creep upon me unawares sometimes)...XD

I personally enjoyed slipping in a flashback of Nasuada and her father, as their interaction throughout the series is nil. I just wanted to create a bit of relationship there to further explain her behaviour she adopts throughout this story.

Thanks for reading guys. (Working on my other chapters presently, while awaiting more reviews for my other story Highschool).

Remember to R&R!