Pretty much making this up as I go… might be boring. One thing I hope won't make you hate me: I've chosen for the moment to disregard the elven trait of "waking sleep", for I believe that, quite frankly, no offense meant, that prospect is stupid and makes for plotholes and poor writing. I apologize for those who enjoy the trait or such. Feel free to flame me for that.

Thanks to reviewers: Reader.

Disclaimer: Who said that? WHO SAID THAT?

3

Nightlight

Arya had her own misgivings about Nasuada's actions during the meeting, although they were nothing that she would ever have voiced to the woman's face. Years amongst humans had shown her that the flawed species was not above placing his or her political activities ahead of crises in the order of priorities. She suspected that Nasuada was playing in the interests of herself, but she couldn't pin a reason to the cause. It was most unnerving, and she didn't know whether or not Eragon had placed what she had missed.

The confusion bothered her into the night, when she returned to her tent behind the city walls to report to Islanzadí of the day's meeting and decision. Her duties were not hindered, but up to the moment she scryed her mother's image in the full-length she possessed, it was a constant distraction. From the scrying moment onward, however, distaste took its place in occupation.

Her mother shimmered into existence before her. The rooms on both ends of the connection were shrouded in haze, barely visible. Islanzadí was not in her customary robes. Arya did not know whether or not she was in Gil'ead or another of the captured cities, but she appeared as if she were a moment's notice away from battle. Her wore light gray leather, flanked by a thin blade on her hip and a graceful bow slung over her back. The raven hair Arya had inherited was pulled back and bound from her face.

Before her mother had a chance to speak, Arya reacted with the customary greeting of their people. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Her mother replicated the gesture in the mirror. "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta ono."

Again before Islanzadí could slip in an extra word, Arya finished the formal end of the greeting. "Un du evarínya ono varda." This represented the subtle yet blatantly graphic hint of Arya's intent for the message. It was not a familial call, but one of duty. One she was only too happy to keep at the level she had chosen.

As Islanzadí slowly dropped her hand, she sighed. "Why must you be this way, Arya? The war has turned real, now. Any day the reality has become that one of us could be killed. I should not have our last words to one another be spent on mistakes decades into the past."

"I have but one matter of concern right now," Arya responded curtly. "And that is to inform you of what has transpired in the Varden camp, as you tasked me with as liaison. I must fulfill that task before considering personal matters."

"I am within my full jurisdiction to recall you and appoint another in your place. Then you could return to my side. With your people. Perhaps then we could form some sort of discussion about your personal matters."

An image of a blue dragon flashed across Arya's mind and she nearly physically flinched. "You are within your jurisdiction," she replied to the elven queen. "However, should you do so I will not come to fight with you. I shall remain here with the Varden, with or without your permission."

Islanzadí sighed again, and Arya felt no small amount of pleasure at frustrating her mother so. "I should regret it very much if I died tomorrow knowing my last act was to discontent you. I wish you would have stayed amongst your people all those years ago, so we would not be so far apart now, in mind and body."

"If I had stayed," Arya replied with perfect neutrality, "then the egg would never have found its rider and we would still be packed away hiding in Du Weldenvarden. Galbatorix would rule the land like an infestation, instead of the struggling dictator the humans are seeing him for truth."

"Perhaps." Islanzadí looked away for a moment. Arya caught a deep trace of sadness in the queen's eyes before she turned back. "What news have you?"

Without breaking her composure or saying one word more than necessary, Arya explained Eragon's plan detail-for-detail, sparing nothing nor adding uselessness. She told of Nasuada's aiding from the board and Jörmunder's opposition. Islanzadí heard without speaking for the length her monologue, listening with the patience of centuries. "The plan will involve waiting in Feinster for weeks in the beginning of winter," Arya concluded, "but it will result in considerably less wounded and killed than a direct siege."

"How do you feel about the Shur'tugal's idea?"

"Are my feelings not irrelevant? Nasuada has made her decision, backed by the war council. The matter is complete and I have no say to change it should I desire."

"Your insight is important to me," Islanzadí grimaced. "I simply wish to know how you interpreted the matter. It will help me to view it in my own way and manner."

Arya subdued her momentary stubbornness in light of answering the desired inquiry. "If explored, there may have been alternatives to the measure, but overall I believe that it is a viable plan that has a strong possibility of succeeding. The determining factor now is whether or not the Varden can mobilize at Eragon's word to coincide with the breaks in the armor and the weather. The fate of the objective may well fall in the hands of a judgment call, and that is the only danger I see involved."

"How fare he, the Shadeslayer?"

"Eragon is as well as can be expected of a human who represents the free world's final hope."

"In light of Oromis' passing, I mean."

The emotionless resolve Arya had placed around her conscious soul dissolved instantly, and agony struck a dull, aching blow to the heart. A night's silent sobbing had blunted the sharp point of the pain, but the Mourning Sage's death had affected her as much as the next devoted disciple. Somehow, she managed to hold back whatever sorrow she endured from spilling unto her physical expressions. Remembering the previous night's conversation on the twilit battlefield, she answered, "He is as well as can be expected. He grieves, as do I. It will not affect his ability to perform the duties he must."

Islanzadí nodded, and for the first time since her childhood Arya actually felt the need for her mother. The mutual look of pain that passed between them was almost enough to make her break the barrier that kept them eternally apart. But just not enough.

Islanzadí regained composure. "Glaedr and he could not be recovered. The evil that possessed the red rider desecrated the bodies. When victory is achieved, we will grieve for them in traditional custom."

Arya nodded, too broken to speak. A long moment passed before she found her voice. "Eragon… I fear for Eragon… I'm sure he has never felt so alone in his life, even though he has Saphira. In a sense, they are one and the same, however, and they're just beginning to realize that they must defeat the king's enslaved rider and the king himself alone."

After pausing, Islanzadí said, "He must have faith. Encourage him as you would yourself. Are you not his friend? You will help him as you will, but offer him your counsel on the journey. And keep your own courage as well."

Arya stared away, fighting back her emotions. "I will contact you when further change has developed."

"Be safe, my child," Islanzadí whispered. "Ono astá."

With the declaration of love, Islanzadí disappeared from the mirror, leaving Arya quite to herself in her spacious tent. For several long moments, she stood in front of the mirror surveying herself trembling. Gradually, she grew weary and crossed to the cot where she had slept the past few nights, sitting down to catch her breath and bearings. She calmed her thoughts and directed them away from Oromis and Glaedr; they had perished how they had wished, fighting for those that could not. It was not a sad fate, only misfortunate to the current time. There was proper time to grieve, but now was not it.

Neglecting even to undress, she turned on her side and strove to fall asleep, clearing her mind of the day's distractions curiosities. Try as she might, though, Nasuada and Eragon's tactic flooded her consciousness and continuously forced her to open her eyes in the darkness. The sounds of the surrounding camp permeated the thick cloth walls of her tent, but it was nothing she wasn't accustomed to and certainly nothing that usually kept her awake.

Rows over, for her ears, she could hear the deep, slumbering breaths of Saphira. Despite herself, she found her mind pushing outwards to brush against the dragoness'. She found contentedness there, not sorrow or grief. A spark of jealousy shot through Arya's body, unbecoming of her and mildly derisive. She shocked herself with the rare feeling, and shrank back from it with rare fear. But it was only fleeting; nothing to be afraid of. Pushing out further, Arya sought Eragon's consciousness. Her efforts went without reward, as in his tent she sensed neither his sleeping form nor his riling mind.

Despite her body's exhaustion she knew she could not sleep. She climbed from the cot and retrieved a cloak, donning it before escaping from her tent and losing herself from the night watch, away from the camp where her tent was situated, amongst that of the rider and elven guard.

She stole up a ridge inside the city limits that climbed above the terraces of most of the taller buildings, moving to the edge to observe the movements below from where she would go unnoticed in the shadows. She crossed her arms, overlooking their conquered city with a small amount of pride, aware of just how pivotal a role she had played in its capture. Not nearly as large as Eragon's, but significant, of course.

From her vantage point, she could see roughly the entire city, as well as views to the north, east, and south. Most of the landscape beyond the city limits was unremarkable. For those soldiers that were not yet encompassed into the city, their camps had been laid out on the strong side wall of Feinster, to the southeast facing Surda. Hundreds of campfires for thousands of soldiers burned in the night, casting a halo of light that stretched to the fantastic array of stars in the sky. Shadows danced amongst the tents as soldiers went about their business, guarding, amusing, eating, enjoying the time they had before they would be off for war again. In the far distance, past what the human eye could identify, Arya spotted more fires, soldiers not yet arrived from the haven of the south.

As she stood alone on the ridge, completely hidden from the world below, Arya found herself contemplating Eragon's plan. It was superficially attractive, plain truth. She could, however, see more than minor faults in it. There was assumption that, because of the relatively low number of attacks being made simultaneously, everything would succeed. While she could clearly see why such an assumption was not without reason to be true, the prospect of failure was something Eragon had not seemed to consider. It was also more physically-oriented than mental—the obvious issues were taken care of, but those who were slick of mind—like their enemies—could easily find ways to disrupt their plans if they were not careful. This surprised her especially, as she had considered Eragon wise enough to foresee such weaknesses and plan around them. In light of his oversight of the issue, however… perhaps she had misjudged him once again.

Abruptly, a presence bumped her mind from behind.

She wheeled around swiftly. A hand disappeared into her cloak, retrieving a dagger and wielding it back to defend herself against whoever tried to break into her consciousness. No attack came from the darkness, and after a split second she recognized the figure that stood a dozen paces away.

"Forgive me," Eragon said quietly, bowing his head in shame. "I thought you had noticed me before. I would not have approached had I known. Excuse me."

"No," Arya called as he turned to leave. "I was simply distracted. There is no need for apology." She replaced the dagger inside of her cloak as he turned to face her again. His hands were in his pockets, and he wore no warm clothing as she did. He was merely clothed in dark pants and a sleeved tunic. Nor did he seem troubled by the soft, chilling wind that ripped across the knoll they stood atop.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"Sleep evaded me," she answered, half-turning back to the fields of soldiers and fires. "I came to clear my head. Unfortunately, it seems there is too much to clear. I did not sense you in your tent. I wondered where you were."

"Saphira was having vivid dreams I would rather not be involved with, and her subconscious mind wasn't being shy about it. I imagine some of the elves will have nightmares for centuries, come tonight."

Arya chuckled, and Eragon stepped forward to join her overlooking the ridge. She found his presence comforting, especially after the discussion she had just survived with her mother. They stood silently side-by-side, overlooking the encampments without words for several moments. At length, Eragon sighed, "Murtagh could be huddling just over the horizon in any direction, and we wouldn't know about it."

She felt the emotions in his words, and lightly opened up her mind to comprehend the feelings. "He would not dare to attack the Varden alone. It would be foolish. Galbatorix stands nothing to gain with such a ridiculous maneuver."

"No," Eragon agreed. "He's much too smart for that."

A silence passed between them, momentary and strange but somehow comfortable. Both of them crossed arms and tried to pick individuals from the dancing shadows of the fires. "What troubles you?" Eragon asked her at length, repeating the same question twice in a day.

"It is of no consequence." He fixed her with a knowing glare and she sighed at her miserable attempt to brush the question off. "I am not troubled. I am simply uncertain about something."

"Tell me what you're uncertain about, Dröttningu. Please."

"It is little to be so concerned of, Eragon," she said, a quiet instance of utilizing his chosen name. "I am merely presenting caution in the light of the council's adoption of your proposal. There are areas of uncertainty that I find… unnerving."

"Such as?"

"For instance, there was never established an exact number for the troop complement in Belatona. Likewise, much of our information regarding the supplies and the Dras-Leona armaments are based in speculation. Galbatorix will see through our plans the moment we initiate them. These are the things that cause my concern, and I am slightly surprised you didn't see them in your own plan. Or that the council did not challenge you."

Eragon took a long pause before responding. "You endorsed the idea. You didn't raise these objections yourself."

"It was a happy alternative to Jörmunder," she replied. "His proposal ended in chaos. Yours had some semblance of being successful."

"You didn't supply one yourself, either…" She thought about this for a moment, and had to admit that she hadn't volunteered an option because she hadn't foreseen an option she liked. Eragon's had been the happy median in her mind. Either she had shown this mental breakthrough on her expression or his mind had surreptitiously penetrated her own, for he grinned slightly and added, "I assume you've come to the conclusion that I have the best scenario for our endeavor?"

"That does nothing to sooth the nerves."

"Every plan has a hole in it," Eragon said. "A perfect plan doesn't exist except on the plotting table. When it enters the battlefield, everything falls apart. It's only about how advantageous it can get before the first pane falls from the shattered window."

Something in his voice made her glance over to his face. By the light of the distant fires, city candles and the stars above she caught something resting in his features that she couldn't identify. He was staring out across the cold plains, and he had a look of something akin to frustration pinned across his face. She was about to ask him what it was that caused him to look so when it abruptly switched to disgust as he rolled his eyes across the landscape. His eyes slid all the way across the spectrum until he realized she was watching him, and then he quickly glanced away again.

"What is it?" she asked him heavily.

"Nothing."

"Eragon…"

"It is of no consequence," he murmured, perfectly mirroring her words, glancing at her with the tiniest smirk beheld by the starlight.

"You're not telling me something," she argued. "You're hiding something from me. That is something you should not do, Eragon."

"I hide things from you everyday, Arya," he said, turning to her with eyes blazing of emotion. A mere moment after he unleashed his torrential voice he took a physical step back from her, shaking his head. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have said that. It was unfair."

"It is of no consequence." She smiled of amusement when he turned at her redundant words, but inside his outburst had affected her. He smiled back at her and they mutually turned back to the fires beyond the city limits, but there was a slight rift between them now that hadn't been present before. A pause stretched the length of her patience; being silent around Eragon had always troubled her. It made her feel as if she were opening a door for him to pull something unexpected over her. "I do wish you would tell me what troubles you inside of our discussion, however."

"Nothing," Eragon replied. "I'm just worried about it succeeding, too. Murtagh will pull something out of his sleeve, I'm sure. It's just going to have to be a matter of how we can all respond when he does. Excuse me, Arya Svit-kona. Saphira has awoken, and would like… me closer at the moment."

"Eragon," she called as he turned away. She wanted to tell him something about trust, but that would consign frustration. A trait of a human woman. This was an aspect that she detested, and halfway from transferring the words from her mind to her lips she reconsidered. "Good night."

He smiled wearily a final time. "Slytha mor'ranra, Svit-kona."

He disappeared into the night as quietly and inconspicuously as he'd come, leaving Arya alone on the ridge. His visit had only bothered her into believing that there was something very important he hadn't shared at the meeting, much less with her, and for some reason this troubled her deeply. She thought of the conversation he and Saphira must have been having at that moment, and for the briefest of split seconds she found herself experiencing unbecoming jealousy of the blue dragon.

Her thoughts utterly stopped, startled by the fiery emotion that had appeared from nothingness. She erased it and its traces from her mind instantly, only to be left wondering where it had come from and why it had occurred. She spent minutes overlooking the city dwelling on the subject, but found that she couldn't put a positive identification on the matter. Nevertheless, she had significant reason to be surprised, and it was a matter of minutes before she had calmed herself enough to return to other, less confusing thoughts.

She remained on the ridge into the early hours of the morning, until she finally returned to her tent to rest.

Slytha mor'ranra. - Peaceful sleep.