Her eldest brother waited for her in the substantial office once used by their now deceased father. The tall ceilings reflecting the soft glow from inlaid wood, two huge elaborate chandeliers reflecting and refracting the daylight, each one hanging in precarious splendour from the ceiling. This mass of dazzling refractions reflected down onto large, ornate furnishings that, while they had been built specifically for the room, they appeared dwarfed by the grand proportions. The cool, creamy white of the walls was soothing despite its grand dimensions.

It was a room built to impress, and her brother had made full use of the space. He was using it to his advantage as he sought to secure his position after so many months of turmoil and then near annihilation. He remained three quarters of the way down, waiting behind the expansive desk so that any visitor had to make a long walk to be even within earshot of the new High King. All of this had been planned in advance, no detail overlooked - never mind that her brother had never used the space as an office before or that the real hub of activity was centred in his old office, a small, cramped, under lit space in the north wing of Caer Daythl far from prying eyes and stuffy nobles.

But they met here. Zoe was unable not to read into the situation, unable not to see this as another aspect in an already complicated game played between them, another signal, another carefully constructed charade. She held her calm, this time she was ready; this time she would go toe to toe with her elder brother.

He sat to casual attention, his air of composed confidence sharpened by a subtle edge, a sense of refined, restless power. The High King was a dangerous, powerful man.

But she was also dangerous and she was not without her own power.

"The attack," said Pethred without preamble, "did you know it was about to happen?"

Yes. "No," she said, making no further explanation. Validations were the sign of lies, and she would not let herself make such a mistake.

Not here, not now - not ever.

The dawn light was thin and watery.

Zoe felt worn.

Drained from events of the past two days, she had spent the remaining hours till dawn lying in her camp bed. Over and over, the events of the evening marched roughshod through her head…so much had happened. The events in Dras'Leona seemed a distant memory to her now…yet it was little more than a day and a half ago. She had changed her tunic to one that was slightly cleaner and braided her hair but her fingers had been numb, a dull chill had settled in her.

She stood in the entrance to her tent and breathed deeply, trying to ignore the smells of a temporary camp that permeated everything around her. Solembum crouched next to her, eyes sharp and clearly on edge. The werecat had latched onto her after the revelations of the previous night and she had let him come back with her after their words with the Rider and dragon to her tent. He had curled up at the end of her camp bed, silent, glowing eyes fixed on something only he could see. The pair of them mulling silently over the vast repercussions of what they had deduced that evening.

She watched the camp slowly come alive, watched and wondered.

In years past she had learned to hold silent and still, to let the life she lived roll around and over her. Sometimes that was all one could do, allow the currents of life to pull and tug one and not fight it…

Angela never said where you come from, said the werecat beside her, just that it was another world. He cast her a considering look and there was no judgment in his low drawl, Did you think you could just fit seamlessly into this one?

I did for a long time, she said with a shrug.

A year, said the werecat, is not a long time. It is insignificant.

Yes, she agreed, and I am old enough to know that. But so much has happened…enough that I fooled myself into thinking that certain things were the same across all worlds. I did not realize how deeply connected one is to the place one comes from no matter if you remember it or not. You do not realize – when I say I didn't remember anything I mean I remembered nothing.

It is very useful, said the werecat, clearing hedging towards some more important topic, the things you can do, that is.

The more I use my abilities, she said, the more likely the King is to sense it. He is clearly searching for ways to access it and that means he is spending a lot of time watching, trying to find some way to connect, to control. I cannot provide him with that link, I cannot bring myself to his attention.

But…

I am not a weapon that can be deployed, she said evenly, firmly. These forces are not weapons, either. It would be wrong to use them in that way. It would unbalance things even more. This world is fractured enough as it is without trying to break into multiple pieces on purpose.

What if you have to use them?

Zoe was silent for a moment, staring into nothing. The swirl of movement beyond her senses, the echoing call ever present and insistent that tugged at her, that she could reach out to -

I cannot use them in the way you are thinking, she said at last., struggling to put words to something that was so deeply intertwined with her soul. I can feel them, I can connect, I can listen, they can lend an act of magic on my part a burst of raw power…but I cannot use them in the way you mean. They cannot be dictated to, they cannot be reined in and forced to do a mere human's will…I don't know how you would even begin to hold them in check without being blown apart in the process –

She wanted to throw up, her gut clenching painfully. The mere thought of everything that would entail was so horrifying.

Her mother, a skilled enchantress, had told her that fear was the most dangerous thing a spell weaver faced. Fear made one stop thinking, made one's focus scattered and shaky when it should be iron solid. And Zoe was afraid, she had been afraid for a long time.

Zoe gazed at her hands, forced herself to breathe and said the werecat, Do not push this with me, Solembum.

The werecat nodded, I understand.

No, said Zoe, you don't. But I would appreciate it if you kept this…like so much of what we have discussed to yourself?

He cast her sideways look and she kept her gaze focused on him, unblinkingly. With a low growl the werecat nodded his head and bounded forward, vanishing between the tents set across from Zoe's.

Zoe sighed. What had she expected?

Solembum was a werecat - he was a law unto himself.

Zoe of Angard and Llyr stood, back rigidly straight and face a mask, on the edge of the open space between the command pavilions. Her eyes were slate grey, her hands folded behind her back. She was the very image of cool reserve and distance, regal and unapproachable even in her worn and dirtied gear. The Varden soldiers skirted her with respectful nods, cautious and wary of her, aware that she held some position of influence but not sure exactly what it was.

The Rider came and stood beside her, eyes flicking up occasionally to the sky where Saphira was coasting on air currents.

"You know," said Zoe quietly studying the gathering men, dwarves, and Urgals, "I've never quite figured out what kind of leader is best."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged, "It all seemed so arbitrary, so senseless. Power handed from father to son, king to king, no thought given to whether or not that was the right thing to do, whether or not that person would make a good leader. The lines between right and wrong, enemy and friend, trust and betrayal made more impassable through the generations." Zoe sighed deeply, "It takes a special kind of leader, able to use all the tools at their disposal from military might to political influence to simple common sense… someone able to encourage debate and challenges and questions that lead to growth and change without allowing them to become a destabilizing force."

"You've thought about this," said Eragon.

"I've had to," said Zoe. "I am the eldest daughter of a High King who faced a very serious challenge to what had previously been thought to be an unassailable claim to the throne." She cast her friend a very serious look, "And you need to spend more time thinking about it, Eragon."

"Why's that?"

"Because one day," said Zoe, "you might find yourself trying to decide what is best. Who is the best one to rule?"

"Is anyone fit to rule?" he asked bitingly.

"Don't be a cynic," said Zoe, "you don't wear it well. And while human nature is human nature, one still has to find the best way forward is. One needs to find the middle ground."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That you think long and hard about power and what kind of person should be given so much so quickly. That you think about how close liberty and anarchy are and how the slightest spark can whip up civil unrest into armed defiance. How easy it is to start a fire that burns unchecked across the land, leaving nothing but ashes."

"The day I start arguing semantics is a long way off," said the Rider darkly, his mood as sour as the misty weather. His stormy gaze taking in the army camp, "There is still a mad King on the throne, I'm still a Rider no one takes seriously and…"

"It starts here," said Zoe suddenly, "it starts now, Rider. Right here. Right now." She turned and faced him the words tumbling out of her in a rush, a dark confession she had never made to him, "A long time ago - before all of this - I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. I'd stayed…I had allowed myself to hesitate and, in so doing so, I stayed. And every day after that decision I struggled to balance on a knife edge." She took a breath, never looking away, "I kept everything together by force of will, set my eye on a goal and powered ahead. I became completely disassociated from what I thought mattered, from what was right and what was real and true. It took me to pieces."

She gripped the Rider's arm tightly, her grey-blue eyes never leaving his, "Never leave yourself behind simply to survive. Never become a completely different person, relinquish your conscience because it seems necessary. Never allow yourself to be dictated to."

The Rider was silent for a long moment, shocked momentarily out of his bad mood, "How does any of this…"

"You've been offered an opportunity. Take it, leave it, make it your own or not - but don't do nothing." She gestured at the gathering Varden soldiers, at the dwarves banners, the Urgals towering forms and the milling Surdan noblemen, "This is a chance. Words," she said quietly, "have a power far greater than any magic spell or sword."

"You told me once that power was a means to an end, not an end in itself."

Zoe smiled, "I did."

She glanced at the milling crowd of soldiers, they were forming a more cohesive group, soon Nasuada would emerge and the chance for Eragon to speak would be upon them. She would withdraw, better to be further back, away from the center of attention.

"Nasuada leads an army who wants to be controlled, they have a single goal and reason to be pulled together. But that can so easily fall apart. Don't let it. You," she said with an almost mocking smile, "are legend come to life. A dragon does not follow, Rider, a dragon sets the terms."

His eyes widened slightly.

"Lord Taren would tell you that one should start by doing what is necessary…" Zoe turned away and said over her shoulder, "then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible."

Eragon considered Zoe's words carefully, analyzing them, sorting them out. He was distantly aware of Saphira diving down towards him and then with a rush of wind and great thud upon the ground, Saphira landed behind him, snaking her head around so that she had an unobstructed view of the gathering soldiers. The two remained like that for a long time, considering the spectacle before them.

Will you speak?

I am expected to, he said. I don't know what I should say, however.

You don't need to say much, said Saphira, they know who you are…what we are after all.

Eragon nodded but he was distracted. Zoe's words had unsettled him, fired something within him he had only just become aware of.

What was necessary?

The Rider considered it for a brief moment, really considered it. What was necessary was to inspire the gathered soldiers and commanding officers in front of him with the urgency and importance of this fight, to quash any suggestion of turning back. What was necessary was to reach out them, to reassure and to inspire even as he laid the foundations for the future he was beginning to imagine in his mind.

He was the Rider. The first of his kind in a century, bonded to a dragon who had carved a place for herself in legend and song. This was necessary. Otherwise, he thought, they were little more than arrow or a cannonball aimed and than retrieved by Nasuda. A tool used and then set aside.

He listened to Nasuada speak and then Orrin. But he did not fully register their words, they were familiar – he had heard these sorts of speeches a thousand times before. He listened to the cheers that followed their speeches but all to soon it was over.

Soon it was his turn.

His time to claim the moment…to claim this right that he had not known he even had.

He looked at Saphira but she made no move just stared at him with her great blue eyes. This was his moment, she said without needing to say the words, and he should take it alone. He winked at her and saw the faintest spark of amusement in her great eyes before he turned again and walked slowly and confidently forward.

He gave the men he walked through the gracious attention he knew they deserved, taking the time to nod to them and recognize that they were here, they were fighting – deserving of recognition and honour.

When he reached the place where Nasuada had just given her speech, Eragon forced himself to stand as straight and tall as he could. He wasn't nervous, he wasn't even anxious. Looking out over the gathered crowd he took his time, didn't rush this. He took this moment, wondered at how far he had come. From farm boy to Rider…suddenly he didn't want to go back.

"I am indebted to you, all of you," he said in a voice that carried, "for your sacrifices, your service. You have come together to fight, to challenge the rule of the mad King and to build a free and just world. You should all be proud – all of you – for your efforts. We have come so far."

The crowd cheered and Eragon paused, letting the noise subside before he continued.

"We know the dangers that await us in Uru'baen, but we also know what we fight for. We fight for the future, for a world free of strife and injustice. We are not so different – any of us be we Rider, dragon, dwarf, Varden, Surdan, Urgal or werecat. We are all members of this world; we believe in the same inalienable rights, the same unacceptable outrages that have defined this past century. We are all outraged by the injustice we see, the death of our people, the destruction of our lands, and we are all encouraged by the courage and hope of the many. If there is one thing we must all carry forward…let it be the knowledge of our shared hopes, our shared aspirations that carry us to Uru'Baen and then beyond.

"It will not be easy. It never is. But what we have accomplished and what we stand on the brink of accomplishing will define our world for the next age. We stand there…at the brink of a new dawn, a new age. The struggles we have overcome, the alliances that have been forged, the friendships kindled – they all remind us of what this fight is truly about…justice, compassion, tolerance and hope.

"I see in all of you have pledged yourself to this cause, who have fought and lost and dared to fight again a chance for change. Regardless of old enmities and past deeds, regardless of all of that – there is a future. One which we can all pass on to our children. One without war or divisions, a constant threat of destruction, one without past prejudices and intolerances that once propelled Galabtorix to power. A future that we have all laid the foundation for in our actions.

"To those that claim we cannot succeed, that we are unable to work together to achieve anything, look around. Look at what we have done. We have faced insurmountable odds, we cursed it, we railed against it, and then we fought and we built and we refused to give in."

He stopped briefly, his eyes scanning the faces turned towards him, the hush that had fallen over the crowd. "The path is long and it is hard. We won't just have to fight but we will have to listen, to build. But I hope – I know – one day we will see the fruits of our labours. I believe that all of you will make this possible."

He paused, the silence hanging in expectant anticipation. "You will make that future attainable, a reality. Never give up without a fight."

And then he turned away, left the platform moving towards Saphira. The cheers of the crowd, the beating of dwarven drums, the roar of the Urgals…it rolled in a swell around him as he moved. It was deafening…overwhelming and totally, completely exhilarating. And it wasn't really because they liked what he said, thought the Rider, it was because of what he was, what Saphira was...all that they had come to represent and recall of legends of old.

He wondered, as he rejoined Saphira and leapt into her saddle, what the fall out of his words would be…wondered as the dragon leapt into the sky, a legend brought to life, if he had just started something far bigger than he had originally intended.

And he also knew how much more important the mission to Vroengard was...so many lives, dreams and hopes now rested on whether he, Zoe and Solembum were right. He could not let them done. Not now.

Not ever.

From her slightly removed position, Princess Zoe of Angard and Llyr watched the spectacle before her with a faint smile and a growing sense of wonder.

She hadn't quite expected this but then again, thought Zoe with some amusement and a little pride, this wasn't the farm boy she had known once upon a time. It wasn't the fledgling warrior facing his first major offensive or a Rider coming to the realization he could give orders of his own.

She had thought to warn Nasuada that she should not try to use Eragon. Had considered trying to say that the Varden's commander should consider playing another game but Zoe had known she wouldn't listen.

Of course she wouldn't. After all she had only seen Eragon make a few cursory official public appearances and, while he had played his part well, he had never actively tried to shape his image. He had never actively pursued a role in the Varden, never pushed or prodded. Now, however, he approached the task with a different air.

The crowd was excited, their cheers exhilarated. He was their Rider.

He took his time. He responded to the soldiers, putting forward the image they so wanted to see and he knew it. Young, handsome, carrying a sword that had already carved out a place in legend with its blue flames. A man comfortable with his position and his power. There was no need to prove anything, a confidence and a bearing that no one could have faked.

He was unapologetically the Rider.

And he spoke with grace and poise. Every gesture, every pause and tilt of his head perfectly timed yet genuine. She had taught him that. She had told him that it wasn't always the one who could draw a sword - it was the words they used.

They had a power all their own.

And he was unashamedly using that power. Claiming his place in this world.

Not for a moment did she regret her role in this. If it made this road a little easier for him; if it made him better able to guide this cracked world, torn apart by years of heavy taxes, civil strife, discontent and bitter pain than she was glad she had taught him. Now he would find his own way, keep learning and growing – he was still so young.

But she could not help but wonder at it all. Could not help but reflect on the changes she had witnessed in her friend and ally. From boy to man…

If not for that still unfinished argument brewing since Helgrind or that order that had sent Roran on his own to an Empire city…or the many other countless instances where the Rider had found himself at a disadvantage, shuffled around by others when he should be acting independently, Eragon may not have made such an open move.

Would never have made this decision to pursue his own goals.

Would never have sought to use the skills - to turn his knowledge of both good and bad to serve his own purposes. Would never had chosen to back with her and actively propel the army towards the final confrontation with the King. Would never have chosen to make the journey he was about to make.

She turned away from the crowd, slipping away into the maze of tents, keeping to the side of the path worn between the double rows. Eragon was planning on leaving that night with Saphira, his departure carefully orchestrated with his elven spell weaver guards and Brom. Nasuada, Zoe knew, would find out that afternoon, just before dusk and the Rider's scheduled departure. Until then, she had to meet with her cousin and work through her own endless to do list which would keep her safely out of the line of direct questioning for a time.

Zoe planned to be unavailable for comment until sometime after the initial storm had past.

She was not being a coward, she told herself, just cautious.

"Why are you so mysterious?" she asked, shivering slightly.

She took a single step forward…and stopped, something about the small, bare room bringing back a vague memory. Not a nice memory, a memory of a white walled room, low ceiling with a simple, stark desk and chairs. Why was it always these rooms? She forced herself to take a breath of the stale, icy air.

He still seemed so young; blameless and guiltless and harmless…and completely, unquestionably dangerous. "It worked. You came"

She stared at him for a long second before she found her voice again, "Why are you here?"

"To play the game of Kings, my royal lady."

"You are a traitor to Kings."

"Which is why I am talking to a Queen."

She glared at him, "That is treasonous."

"I think you and I have similar views."

"I don't agree with that," she said calmly, feeling surreal. "The answer is not killing every single person who disagrees or destroying the past." She took a breath, "They want to kill my family and destroy my home. I don't agree with that."

"Neither do I," said the man. "But are you sure you want things to go back to the way things were? Angard on top and all the other Houses squabbling over petty land disputes and whose daughter was abducted by who? Death and war and strife all for naught?"

For the first time, she wasn't sure. Suddenly, she could see herself on the giant chessboard of this war - a figure of the white set, but fully cognizant of the goals of the black pieces and even somewhat sympathetic to them. Is this what he saw, had he seen in her from the start?

The request was delivered by a smartly dressed dwarf whose polished armour was almost blinding in the sunlight. Eragon received it, looked at it briefly and then nodded his thanks, already moving in the direction of the dwarves tents. Saphira nudged him along, warning him to be careful.

The rocky outcrop was set a few meters away from the dwarves heavily fortified camp. The King of the dwarves, Orik, was contemplating the group of tents and the bright banners that flew above them, each one showing a different sigil and the dwarves that were just beginning to dismantle the camp in preparation to leave. The sapphire Rider did not pause, made no effort to acknowledge the guards that stood a respectful distance away. He had stopped noticing the formalities, the pomp and ceremony long before.

"Orik," he said quietly not bothering to sketch a bow. He knew Orik too well to bother with what seemed like frivolous formalities when they were alone.

The dwarf King turned and regarded him for a moment, heavy-set face lost in thought. "Eragon," he said at last, "now what do we do?"

The Rider shrugged. But he knew what he had to do. Sometimes, he thought, you had to sacrifice everything, for even a chance to start again.

He hadn't realized he had spoken that allowed until the dwarf let out a low snort, "Quite a statement…almost worthy of an elf."

"I am not an elf," said the Rider quietly, barely restraining the urge to snap the point, deeply aware of the challenge in the dwarf's words.

"No," said the dwarf slowly, "and you aren't a Varden puppet." The dwarf King sent him a considering look, "You are one of the few who can claim to stand apart. Not really sure where you fall in all of this."

"Is that why you wanted to see me?"

"Yes," said the dwarf King and then, after a momentary pause: "Is this a game to you, Rider?"

Eragon started, shocked and then instantly upset. "No!"

"Really?" asked the dwarf King, pressing him harder now.

"This is not a game," said the Rider his voice steady, "this is not a charade…this is not that at all. You are one of my closest friends, Orik. You know that. I don't know how to play these games."

"I know Eragon," said the dwarf King with a piercing look. "I know the idiot boy I pulled out by the scruff of his neck from the waterfall in Farthen Dur. I know the man that supported my claim to the throne even in the face of outrageous provocation otherwise." The dwarf leaned forward slightly, "But I do not know this Eragon."

Eragon flinched. "I'm still the Eragon you know," he said.

"I am glad to hear it," said the dwarf King. "I spend my days listening to empty-headed pleasantries and flattery of a thousand advisors and courtiers. I watch their petty power plays, hear their schemes and wait for the day that they turn on me. They are a bunch of hungry wolves and I am the pack leader waiting for them to turn on me, to sense a weakness and attack." The king turned his eyes to Eragon, they were deep-set and dark, unreadable as a granite slab. "Are you going to become a part of that mess?"

"No," said Eragon, and he felt a quiet confidence fill him, the words spoken with conviction. "I'm not. I am a Rider. I am not a politician or a King or a lord. I never will be."

"Good," said the dwarf King. He nodded towards the area in front of the command tent where Eragon had given his speech. "I wasn't sure watching you."

For a long moment the two studied each other with the same open, nonjudgmental regard. Eragon wanted to think that Orik looked exactly the same and he wanted to think that he looked the same as he had when he had stumbled out of that damn waterfall. But, after all that had happened, that could never be true for either of them.

There was something different in him, Eragon knew that and he knew that it was a recent change, born out of the pressure cooker the past two weeks had been. But he also felt tired right then, knew that there were dark circles under his eyes, knew that he hadn't relaxed once since…since he didn't know when, everything locked up tight, even here in front of one of his closest friends.

And he knew, all of a sudden, that he couldn't lose this friendship and the only way to keep it was to confide - not everything, he knew that - but some. Because these things still mattered to him, these friendships and ties that others would have discarded as weak. His desire for closeness with Arya, his search for some kinship with his father, the urge to help Roran, his desire to please Nasuada - all these things he had been warned about, knew were complications but that the old Eragon still whispered of and he occasionally listened even now.

"Orik," said Eragon, "I need to know something: can our friendship lie outside any action we might have to take?"

The dwarf raised one thick brow, "I think past events have shown that already, Rider." The words were said stoutly, no hesitation.

A solid hammer blow, a well-made shield.

Orik, the Rider knew, never bothered with games, never held back and would offer his counsel without reserve.

"I'm leaving the Varden for a little while," said Eragon. "There is business I need to take care of. The Riders and dragons of old left something for me - for Saphira. The werecats and Zoe have agreed with me. I need to go to Vroengard. It's the only chance I have against the King."

The dwarf nodded. "When will you leave?"

"Tonight," said Eragon simply.

"Does Nasuada…"

"Not yet."

Orik grunted.

"It's my only chance," said the Rider.

Zoe was right, he couldn't lose this opportunity, couldn't hesitate and therefore lose the initiative. And one way or another, whether it was working with the Varden or not, he would take it. His friend's words from earlier that day had struck some cord within him, had hammered home the fact that he had spent so long fighting day to day, moment to moment, that he had never looked to the wider future.

"Nasuada won't understand," said the dwarf, "and I don't really. But you've never once lied to me, Eragon. I know you will explain more fully when you return." A piercing stare followed those words, the dwarf making it clear an explanation would have to be given one way or the other, success or failure.

"I will," said Eragon.

Funny how time plays tricks on one's mind, thought the Rider.

Early evening was upon him and so to was the matter of informing the Varden leader and other commanding officers of his and Saphira's plans.

Eragon remained still for several seconds, eyes on the guards. He reached out, focusing on the guards, power and intent flawlessly applied, wiping away any memory of his having been there at all. As he walked past, entering Nasuada's red pavilion, they made no effort to stop him, didn't even turn their heads.

For the briefest of seconds, he paused. But then he straightened his back and stepped could not concede defeat so readily, even in this. Backing away now - such an obvious capitulation - would earn him nothing in the future.

But if it was one thing he had cultivated over the course of the last year and a half it was an intuitive sense for when things were about to blow up. And this…well this could only blow up - most likely in his face.

It was as he had suspected: Nasuada had convened a council of the other commanding officers of the different races to discuss the best way to dismantle the camp and move towards Uru'baen. They were mid-discussion, Orrin trying to slow the move down and Orik growling what sounded suspiciously like a dwarven insult in response. They all fell silent, however, when he entered, traveling cloak billowing slightly around him as he pushed through the heavy fabric.

Nasuada started and asked, "Rider Eragon…What are you doing here?"

With a nod to her and formal greetings given to the other commanders including Grimr-Halfpaw who was regarding him with a lazy kind of knowing smirk, the Rider forced himself to be calm. He could not show any disrespect, had to be perfectly in control if he wished this to come off without a hitch.

"Last night," said the Rider, "I received information that has far-reaching impacts for our campaign." He allowed his eyes to drift to the uneasy King of Surda and then back to Nasuada, "This information requires Saphira and I's immediate attention. We must leave the Varden this coming evening."

"What?" thundered Orrin. "You can't just leave-"

In retrospect, the Rider would think, he had perhaps been far too blunt. He had made no effort to soften his words, to soothe ruffled feathers before making his bold announcement. But he was still young, his nerves still got the better of him sometimes and this was so mind-blowing -

"What information is this?" said Nasuda, her voice cracking with tension.

"It is highly sensitive and crucially important," said the Rider, his voice brooking not dissent. "It is connected to the Fall of the Riders and the source of the King's power."

"Where did this information come from? Is the source trustworthy?" demanded Nasuada. "You need to be more specific."

"The source is trustworthy," said Eragon, allowing none of his doubts to surface because he trusted Zoe, he trusted Solembum but, even more important, he didn't have a choice. "But I cannot be more specific about the information."

It concerns, said Saphira who, while not physically present, clearly had no qualms about joining the conversation, a secret protected and guarded by my kind for generations. It is not idly shared.

"You want to leave tonight?" said Nasuada, leaning back against the carved chair, her face a mask.

"Yes."

"Impossible." Orrin's voice broke across the tense pavilion like breaking ice slabs, his face red and his hands clenched around the arms of his chair.

Eragon turned his gaze to the King, studying him for the briefest second. The challenge sparked something within him, it couldn't be ignored, it couldn't be let go. He found himself shifting his weight, adopting the air of a swordsman loosening up even if he didn't want to fight.

But a dragon would fight.

He would fight.

The situation was disintegrating. Rapidly.

"Look," said Nasuada her eyes flicking to Orrin, "I have no fight with you. Neither does King Orrin. Let's all take a moment and calm down?"

But Eragon, while outwardly calm, did not back down and he didn't soften his rigid stance. And while his face still had the enviable, unlined luminosity of youth, making it difficult to reconcile what he was capable of to the narrow shouldered Rider before her, Nasuada knew there was much more to the Rider. He had changed, something in his eyes and the abrupt, smooth strength of his movements gave him an edge. The youth had become a man and then become a leader who, as she had seen that day, was capable of emanating an effortless, confident power which broached no dissent, glacial eyes which could even silence Orrin.

"Why is it that you need to leave the Varden? Please explain it to me again."

"I've explained why," said the Rider cooly. "Now I am asking you trust me."

"This is going against everything-" began the Leader of the Varden her eyes darting ever so briefly to Orrin's rapidly reddening face.

"We have given you every reason to trust us," said the Rider, his voice breaking across her own like rock sliding across rock, his jaw tightening. "I have given you my sword, my magic and Saphira has done just as much - we have both given and assisted in every way we can."

Nasauada held quiet at this, aware that thus far, Eragon had been the consummate supporter of the Varden. He had never challenged her authority - had backed and supported her ever since she had taken control. He had managed Orrin and his nobles with grace and decorum, held firm to the Varden and to Nasuada's cause even in the face of the elves provocations. She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she had badly misjudged the situation.

But she would not back down quite yet. "Whether you want to think of you and Saphira as one or not, Eragon, you are valuable assets. Assets that I might need at any moment. You are moving forward and backward all at once - I don't know if you are telling the truth or not."

"Just because it seems like that," he said, "doesn't mean you should doubt my objectives or my means of getting there. Because no matter what I say or do, I'm still heading in the same direction and that direction is the exact same as yours: Uru'baen."

And she knew that she would have to let him go. Right then and there.

Because looking out at the bigger picture, the greater cause, she realized that trying to use him would be wrong.

Wrong because he was a Rider. Wrong because neither he nor Saphira were meant to be used by one such as she - they were not tools, weapons that could be deployed with a snap of her fingers. Wrong in some fundamental way.

And he knew that.

And he would not compromise.

He had learned the final lesson. She saw it in his eyes. A burning fire, some elemental change. The lesson they had all learned including she was written in those eyes, in the clench of those scarred hands. Murtagh clearly knew it and so did Lady Zoe. It was there, a lesson that changed them all somewhere deep inside. A lesson learned and reinforced for each of them through some fateful event, a crumbling of some final link to a past self. For Nasuada it had been when she sat in mourning beside her dead father and every single commander and advisor in the Varden had tried to manipulate and diminish her like a fragile puppet whose strings could be pulled and yanked by whoever chose to.

Each of them turning to shields built endlessly and relentlessly each and every day, each of them using the remoteness of their positions to create a self-imposed solitude, distancing themselves from all but a few. The few allowed in were those who they had known before and even then the lesson made them wary and reticent. Closeness was a weakness and it made one easy to be controlled, manipulated - actions stifled and power muted.

When had that defining moment occurred for the Rider, she mused…she knew that the Rider had been shaken and troubled by previous events, but that didn't account for his subsequent decision, his sudden and deliberate efforts to shutter everything and everyone from the inner workings of his life and plans.

She stood then, dress falling in elegant folds around her. Zoe's coldly delivered challenge underlined with a pointed threat from the previous day echoing in her mind briefly. She could not stop.

She would not stop.

She knew she had never really commanded him or Saphira. They had allowed her to because they knew what it bought them and her as commander. She had taken it for granted that they always would.

Back straight, eyes never leaving the Rider's she asked, "We will see you before we lay siege to Uru'baen then?"

"Of course," said the Rider. Saphira echoed the sentiment.

Orrin was huffing and blustering but she remained totally calm, silent. Jormunder, who trusted her lead in almost all matters, was uneasy but he held his peace to her left. Orik to was calm as were the other representatives. None of them made the slightest movement to stop the Rider or to question his bold decision any further.

And why should they? Eragon had been nothing but a man of his word. He had shown nothing but courtesy and understanding to them and their peoples.

And she would show him the same.