A/N: Aghhhhhh it's taking so damn long to revise! It's like running a marathon through a swamp. And going through my old writing is not fun. Not fun at all.

Plus I had different plans for these characters when I wrote the chapters the first time, and rewriting them is so weird, because I'm shifting the story onto a pretty different track. It makes me feel like what I write now isn't satisfactory, like it doesn't capture what I wanted to convey then or what I want to convey now. Ugh.

Anyway. Revised and updated 18/6/18, originally posted a bit more than two years before said date. Enjoy! 3

†

Several days later

Eragon pulled Murtagh into a tight hug. "Visit again soon, yes? And try to bring Roran with you the next time."

Murtagh stepped back after a long moment, lips quirking up. "Of course. Take care of yourself – and these children. Don't get yourself poisoned again."

"I'll try not to," Eragon smiled in return.

"I'm serious, brother." Murtagh placed his hands firmly on Eragon's shoulders, gaze steady. "You still have enemies out there. Stay wary."

"You as well. May good fortune attend you, and may the stars watch over you."

"And you."

They grasped forearms warmly for a moment, and Eragon then turned to Nasuada.

"I agree with Murtagh," she said, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Be sure to keep well, Eragon. I do expect you to outlive me long enough to fade into the mists of legend."

He laughed. "I will, I will. At the very least, I certainly plan to stay alive long enough to see Selena become queen."

Her eyes softened as she reached up to kiss his forehead. He hugged her, and she returned the embrace.

"Farewell, Eragon. We shall return as soon as may be . . . Good fortune rule over you."

"Good fortune rule over you," he replied softly, watching her walk away.

Saphira, they're leaving . . .

I know, I know . . .

Saphira nudged Selena towards her parents. The little girl started to turn back, but Saphira snorted, ruffling her curls with hot air, and she reluctantly went to her mother, Eragon giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek on the way. Nasuada tossed her up to Murtagh, who was already in the saddle, and climbed up after her.

Saphira then moved to talk with Thorn one last time, and Eragon turned to Arya, who stood by Firnen, a slight twist to her lips. Without a word, he moved to embrace her, and she returned it fiercely.

"You will tell me if the dreams get worse?"

"I will."

"If there is anything that might be worrying you, anything at all?"

"Of course."

"Even if it is interrupting me in my duties, I -"

"Arya,' he said, soft enough that no one else would hear.

Her fingers clenched in the back of his shirt, then relaxed, and she stepped away.

"I can't help but worry," she said, as softly.

"I know. But I will be well enough." He hesitated, then pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to her cheek, trying to swallow his sorrow and longing.

Her eyes drifted closed for one brief moment, and she sighed, soft as a breeze over grass. "I . . . will scry you every week."

"I will be waiting. Stay safe, and may good fortune watch over you."

"I love you."

He took a quiet, shuddering breath. "And I you."

She smiled painfully, touching his cheek fleetingly before turning to mount Firnen. Eragon knew she would not look back, yet he could not bear to look away as she settled gracefully into the saddle.

Thorn and Firnen spread their wings, bright sails against the clear sky, and Eragon tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he watched his family about to depart for the second time. Selena, only secured on Thorn's swaying back by Nasuada's strong arm around her waist, waved both hands frantically.

" 'Bye, Uncle Eh-ah-gohn! 'Bye!" she yelled down, as loudly as she could, the thunder of incipient dragonflight nearly drowning the words out. Eragon waved back, and tears were in his eyes, unashamedly, as they rose higher, higher, lifting up and away into the empty blue.

He felt a warm hand on his arm when they were nothing more but twinkling sparks, and looked down into Dara's dark, kind eyes.

"Come inside, Master," she said gently.

He nodded, wiping at his eyes hastily, and followed her.

†

Ten hours later

Dara sank down on her bed with a sigh. The day had been . . . sad. And the air of longing heartache around Master Eragon that refused to be dispelled, no matter how much he strove to smile it away, had been oddly draining for everyone. By evening, there was no one - apart from the elves - who had not seemed eager to retire and rest.

It was a day, she thought, she should certainly make a note of. Yet the thought of sitting and trying to capture every wayward reflection in lines of charcoal seemed unusually exhausting at that moment. She pulled her notebook towards her and flipped through it instead, quickly moving past the crowded scribbles of words in the ancient language and hasty notes from tuatha du orothim.

- the most spectacular battle between -

She paused as the words caught her eye, and turned a few pages back.

We were lucky enough to witness the most spectacular battle between King Consort Murtagh and Queen Arya this morning! He could not match her speed entirely, but he held his own incredibly well, even managing to push her back a few times. I wonder if I'll ever be so skilled with a blade? Or indeed, with any weapon. I certainly hope so!

Her ebullience this morning confused me, for I'd never seen her so carefree, but we learned the reason for it when Master Eragon walked in for the midday meal. He didn't look very well - his skin was far too pale, his cheeks were sunken, and darker shadows than any I've seen ringed his eyes. He was able to walk fairly well, though, which I think is an achievement in itself, given how close he seemed to death a few days ago. As I said before, truly a horrifying prospect, having the hero of Alagaësia himself - and the promise of our education as Riders - snatched away before our eyes. Or would Queen Arya have abdicated to teach us? Well, he is well now, so that is not a possibility any longer, thank goodness. No offence meant to Queen Arya.

Queen Nasuada and the King Consort were as worried as Queen Arya, if not more so, which surprised me. I had assumed they knew each other fairly well, and of course he was her vassal during the war, but I had not suspected such a strong bond. I'm quite eager to hear in detail about the trials they all underwent together - Osra informed me that Master will relate to us his entire journey, 'from farm boy to Kingkiller', as she put it.

Mistress Saphira was almost exuberant, if that word can really be said to apply to a dragon - today, she corkscrewed through the air while doing a barrel roll while diving. Her joy seemed to to infect the others, and they were all wind-dancing the entire afternoon. Celestè and the other three – Lifaen, Corinne, and Jethran - were quite jealous when Mánya replicated Mistress Saphira's feat. Hah, Palé tried and ended up crashing into the sea.

Oh, Senshi came down today as well, looking nearly as exhausted as Master Eragon. It was good to see her up and about. We were all glad - except one person, of course. It was intensely irritating to see his uncaring demeanour - he seems as if he'd hardly be bothered if we were all skewered by a Shade at the best of times, but today he was just - agh. Would it honestly have been so hard to show a hint of gladness? Just a hint? I swear, if he intends to act so throughout my time at the Hall, we are going to end up at blows, and if that does indeed happen, I am sure I'll be doing my best to kill him. He's really that infuriating.

Dara smiled wryly - how indignant she'd been. The next mention of Këyal after that had been . . . She flipped through the pages, through nearly two weeks, occasional snippets catching her eye.

- Senshi is actually talking more! Whatever Caspian said, it -

- Akhtar's grip on his axe slipped and it smashed a window -

- and Master is still weak. Zae-elda taught us today, about history and -

- Ahh, I was late to class today, it was -

- I had an argument of sorts with Këyal -

Ah, there. She turned a few pages back and began to read.

Well, I'm not sure how to describe what happened today. I'm not entirely sure what exactly did happen, in fact.

To start at the beginning . . . well, for the past several days many of us have made our opinion of Këyal's indifference to Master Eragon almost dying quite clear - almost too clear, in some cases. I never thought it had any effect upon him, however, for he seemed to ignore all veiled remarks with his customary calm. Yet today, when Zelíe muttered something to Ravûn (something about stone-hearted creatures who were better off alone, I didn't quite catch it but that was the gist) he actually turned and glared at them. It was as though - well, as though a crack had appeared in his usual facade. I am not sure how else to describe it.

Unfortunately that spurred the both of them - Zelíe especially - to glare right back in challenge. It was nought but a rat's wink before they were all trading insults, hers shouted progressively louder, Ravûn's snapped out like a whip, and Këyal's said with all the smoothness of a slithering snake. No one seemed willing to do anything, so I - well, I stepped in, tried to keep the piece.

A monumentally ill-thought out decision, now that I think on it, but at the time it was an impulsive action. I told Ravûn and Zelíe to cease eating his head off about the matter, for they had no authority over him and it was ill-natured, to say the least (ahh, I was so nervous, I still don't know how I managed to say that without my voice shaking!). I think, if it had been anyone else, I would have gotten a sharp earful, but one of Zelíe's most admirable qualities is her honesty. She huffed in a rather furious way, but she nodded and sat back down, and Ravûn is a just person as well, even if he seems to rub against Këyal more than almost anyone else. So I suppose it did work, in a way?

But when I turned to speak to Këyal as well - I was thinking of something along the lines of 'Master Eragon still deserves your respect, even if you dislike him, and it is disrespectful to behave so when he was so close to death', because they did have some excuse for feeling frustrated, given the way he's been, and it wouldn't be fair to ignore that aspect of the issue - perhaps the intention showed in my face, for he snapped at me before I could open my mouth. It was cruel, what he said . . . something about how he hated living with all of us, incompetents that we are, that as soon as he completed his time at the Hall he would make sure never to see us again (a ridiculous claim, unless he plans to leave Alagaësia entirely) and other such things.

I don't remember precisely what he said, however, because he pressed his mind against mine as he spoke (in truth, he was indeed so close to losing control) and though there was a roiling mass of anger and resentment and frustration, though I was terrified as to what he might do and what his mind actually was (I can still hear the music haunting the darkest parts of his consciousness, it refuses to be forgotten in a way that is very unsettling), I noticed that there was no feeling or thought to support what he was actually saying. No disgust or offended superiority, nothing that expressed the opinion that all races apart from elves are unworthy of being Riders and all the rest of it.

It intrigued me, to say the least, even in the midst of my fear. I am still intrigued. Why do his thoughts and the attitudes he expresses differ so, especially given the conviction with which he expresses them?
And yes, here is where Celesté is saying that I'm too curious for my own good, and perhaps that's true, but how can I help not being curious about the only elf I thought might be able to help me learn more about my heritage from my mother's side? Well . . . I suppose it doesn't matter. I can hardly go up to him and ask him about this, can I?

I don't see why not.

Dara turned from the page to look at Celesté, who was curled up comfortably on one side of the bed.

Right, because he would answer me willingly?

He would not, but you are no rabbit that you must needs cower from a creature with a sharp beak - or, in this case, a sharp tongue.

I am not cowering! And it is not that all he possesses is a sharp tongue.

Celesté opened one eye to give her a distinctly unimpressed look. If you are truly implying that he would go so far as to harm you -

Would he not? I heard that at Illirea, when Queen Islanzadí fell, the elves went so mad with grief and anger that -

That is on a battlefield. Here he is one person, amongst many older ones of his own kind who will have no hesitation in punishing him severely for the crime of harming a fellow Rider. And don't even say - yes, I see the thought biting at your tongue. Even you cannot possibly imagine that he would ever go to the extent of killing you - supposing he truly does hate you - if you merely question him. For one, he controls himself quite rigorously even in his anger for one so young, as you can deduce from the fact that the others have told you he has rarely lost his composure over the past three years, and even now he snapped only after two weeks of constant, vicious remarks muttered in his hearing. For another, he knows full well what it would do to me to have you dead, and the other elves know as well or better. The only thing that would stop them from executing him on the spot would be their consideration of how it would harm Layla. Still , they would visit some quite painful punishment upon him, and he would be sure to be expelled from the Hall. In short, your worries are groundless. It is only a visceral, fearful response to the memory of his strength that is holding you back.

. . . As you say. It is an irrational fear, my heart-partner – rational arguments cannot counter it with much efficiency.

Celesté's eye closed with a snick. Her tail snaked around, and, before Dara could even attempt to move, it slipped under her and flipped her off the bed.

Dara hit the ground with a thud, wincing as her knees slammed into the hard floor.

What was that for?!

Go.

Dara gaped at her. What?

Go. Right now.

I can't -

Dara.

He'll -

Dara.

I don't even know where -

Southernmost terrace. I can smell Layla from here.

How do you know he's with her?

If he isn't, you can ask her where he is.

Dara groaned, getting to her feet slowly. Why must you make me do this now?

Because if you don't you'll continue to dither about this for the next few days and I have no desire to listen to anything further on the subject.

Dara scowled at her, making sure to slam the door on her way out.

†

Këyal rested his forehead against Layla's scales, curled into the hollow where her chest met her foreleg, and tried to convince himself the despondency he was feeling was entirely temporary.

He wasn't sure he was succeeding.

It hadn't been too hard, at first, with only three others. They had accepted his tendency to be aloof after a while, and the process had certainly been hastened by the attitude he had assumed towards them and to Master Eragon. Even after Kitai and Senshi had appeared things had not changed by much, for Senshi had kept to herself as far as possible, like a snail cowering inside its shell, and Kitai had learned from the others fairly quickly. They hadn't bothered him - in fact, they had taken pains to remove themselves from his vicinity as much as possible, which made it easier for him. And so the years had passed.

Then the others had come, and everything had changed.

Akhtar had given Osra someone to spar with, to berate, to talk to about the home and culture she had left behind; he had become a trustworthy friend to Zelíe; he had given Ravûn and Kitai a companion to laugh with. Caspian stepped into the last role as well, so that the four of them were now fast friends, and he had even persuaded Senshi to try emerging from her shell. Dara danced between them all, light on her feet and cheer in her smile, binding them all closer than they had been before. It was only Sorya who avoided them all like the plague, far more rigorously than he had ever done.

Këyal tipped his head back to rest against Layla's steadily heaving chest, closing his eyes. Of them all, Dara's presence was by far the worst. He'd hardly been able to believe it when he understood that she was half-elf, half-human, and oh, he was so, so curious. Would she live as long as any other elf? Did she have the same magical prowess? Would she agree with the principles he and his kin lived by? Did she sing, did she dance as freely as everyone back home had done? What had her life been like, in a human settlement?

They were living in the very same building, and he had to act as though he utterly despised her, because -

A hard grip on his wrist, furious green eyes, but the voice was calm and unshakable. Imrys's voice never rose, never changed, but she could convey more shades of emotion with the slightest of modulations than most people Këyal knew.

"It is fortunate beyond belief that an egg hatched for you, that you are to be involved in the rebuilding of the Riders. You can work from within to purify them."

He met her gaze as best he could, trying in vain to suppress the pang of fearful deference that shot through him every time she deigned to speak to him. "Purify them, Aunt?"

"Weed out the unworthy," she said, eyes still burning, unwavering, yet the voice flat and cold.

"I - when you say weed out -"

"I am not asking you to kill them, child, do not look so frightened. But there are things you can do, young as you are, yes . . . work harder, be better, prove to them all that elves and only elves are worthy of being Riders. Overshadow them, throw their failing and instabilities into relief, so that when the time comes to decide whether Shadeslayer made a mistake, the answer should undoubtedly be yes. Other elven Riders will surely assist you, but you can make a start. Yes. Tthe kin of the ones who tore apart our family, you can begin the process of ruining them . . ."

"B-but Aunt, was it not Formora who was responsible for the death of -"

"She was led astray by that evil, unholy Black King! They all were! If humans had never been included in the bond, such an outcome would never have occurred!"

Këyal understood, now, why Vanir had taken such pains to keep him apart from Imrys in the years since their parents had perished. He had begun to realize, over the past few years, but understanding of the full extent of her madness burst upon him in its entirety at that moment, with her furious grip on his wrist and her eyes boring into his.

"Ah, that is a danger, yes," she said quietly, almost in a hiss. "I had not anticipated your susceptibility. Very well, then, before you go, you will make me this promise. You will associate with unworthy Riders as little as you can possibly manage without impairing your studies."

"I - but -"

"Do you understand?"

"Aunt -"

"Do you understand!" And her voice had risen into a shriek, and he had been so cowed -

"I - I do."

"Then say it."

"I will . . . I will associate with unworthy Riders as little as I can manage without impairing my studies."

"Good." The hand was withdrawn, the eyes now gleaming with a dreadful satisfaction. "And you will remember your mission, will you not?"

Këyal thudded his forehead gently against Layla's leg. Oh, he remembered, and a more hateful, ridiculous - discredit all Riders who were not elven, when they would now be three quarters of all Riders? Associate only with other elves? How was he ever supposed to fulfill his duty as a Rider if this vow bound him? The most noble of callings, one he had been looking forward to fulfilling with such eagerness, and because he had been too much of a coward, too unsure of himself to refuse Imrys, he was trapped forever in this -

And the worst part, he thought savagely, quite possibly the worst part, was that he could have had a second chance. Had he distanced himself till now of his own volition, the coming of the new students would have given him a chance to try to be one of them. Akhtar and Caspian were friendly and unprejudiced, and he was certain they would have welcomed the opportunity to befriend him. And Dara, she had seemed even more curious about him than he was about her, and she had used every opportunity to approach him and speak to him, eager and cheerful; he had had to rebuff her repeatedly, more harshly each time, and seeing her face fall every single time until she finally gave up trying had left a horrible taste in his mouth.

He had thought, initially, that her elven ancestry might mitigate the conditions of the vow - but he had soon realised that instead it strengthened them. Imrys would certainly include a half-elven Rider who tarnished the powerful lineage of Yaela, one of the most accomplished spellcasters in elven history, with human blood, among the strictest definition of unworthy.

And so he was alone, save Layla. No one to sing with, to dance with, even to simply talk with, and it would remain that way for the foreseeable future, all because he had been such a fool -

"Këyal?"

Layla, who had been stirring uneasily in her sleep due to his despondent thoughts, now woke fully at his shock of surprise. He turned to face the door, realizing as he did so who it must be. The voice was lilting and bright, and considering that he hadn't heard footsteps that would have alerted him to someone approaching . . .

I am not going to enjoy this.

"Dara," he said coolly, wiping his face clear of any emotion.

"Good evening." He could see the hesitancy in her smile, even from this distance.

He got to his feet easily, keeping his gaze steady on her face. "Am I needed somewhere?"

"Ah? Uh . . . No . . ."

"Do you then require something of me?"

"I - in a way -"

"I would appreciate it if you would make it fast, then. I do not wish to waste my time waiting for you to stop stammering."

To his mild surprise, she did not scowl or recoil. Instead, her eyes narrowed speculatively.

"As you'll have it. I have only a single question for you."

"And that is?"

She shifted into the ancient language, then, tripping a little on the smooth syllables. "Do you truly believe in th' attitudes you express?"

His brows drew together, and he did not have to try too hard to feign the sharpness in his voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Everything you seem to imply with yer every word and action - that elves are th' superior race and th' only race worthy of being Riders. Your contempt for th' rest of us. Do you truly believe that?"

What? Why is she asking me this? How could she know -

Layla spoke then, cutting through his shocked confusion. I did tell you you should not have used your mind against her. That loss of control then has led to this.

He cursed to himself, mind racing.

"Why do you ask me this?" he said, in an arrogant, clearly irritated tone he knew she would perceive as flawless. "Is it not evident to you that I do?"

There, that should work -

Dara tilted her head a little, like a child trying to decipher a puzzle, a small smile Këyal found far too disquieting playing about her mouth. "You must ha' learned how to weave half-truths and - what is the word? - evasions, in your cradle. I did not, but I am not too dull to notice you haven't answered my question. I'd very much like either a yes or a no, please."

He stared at her in disbelief, trying to tamp down a rising surge of frustration.

"Who are you," he said deliberately, glaring at her, "to question my motives and attitudes? I was not aware that I had to answer to a halfblood for my actions."

Her smile faded instantly, a flash of hurt appearing in her eyes.

"That is all you think of me as?"

"Is there any more to you I should take into consideration? I do not see it."

He groaned silently as she set her jaw. Why must you make me do this, why cannot you take me answers and leave thinking me a selfish, unfeeling boor, why must you push me until -

"Answer my question, Këyal."

"I am under no obligation to do so."

"Why d'you refuse?"

- until I have no choice but to -

He would say this in the old tongue, it would have more impact if she believed that he believed what he was implying.

"As I said, I have no wish to explain my actions to a halfblood - and a nosy one, at that. I do not know why you harbour doubt as to the authenticity of my attitude, but rest assured it is not lightly assumed, for my amusement. Is that what you thought? Did you think I would rile every person around me for no reason but to watch them fume? For years on end?"

"No - I -"

"Well, whatever be the idiotic reasoning, I have no wish to hear it. Kindly do not pester me with such nonsense again."

"Just who d'you think you are," she snapped, losing all composure. "Acting like th' king of this place, when in reality you're -"

Këyal felt a pulse of attention, of quick anticipation from Layla, but despite that she was just a shade too late to do anything more than slow the tide of anger and hot shame that rose within him - and that only cooled it, solidified it, turned into a sharp blade of furious determination.

I know exactly what I am, don't you dare - I will not hear you say it!

He strode forward, mouth set. Dara looked first startled in her anger, then alarmed, and then frightened, looking up at him with wide eyes as he let his the fingertips of his left hand rest gently on the skin of her throat, exerting a pressure that was just shy of insistent.

He could hear her heart pounding against her ribs, and could not help taking a perverse pleasure in how well he was executing his vow.

This is what you wanted, Aunt? Well, this is what I am doing. I am the most hated person here. Have I made you proud?

Këyal smiled as sweetly as he could manage, looking directly into her eyes.

"In reality I am what?"

She swallowed, and said nothing.

He pressed down very slightly. "I would be . . . appreciative if you would refrain from questioning me further - about this or anything else. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded, moving her head as little as possible.

"Good," he said quietly, dropping the smile. "I would not want to have to tell you again."

He did not move for a moment more, making sure that the threat, the menace, had been adequately conveyed - then he moved away and turned on his heel, not bothering to look back when he heard the muted sound of her shoes on the floor as she fled.

She was convinced, Layla said quietly.

Këyal laughed weakly, putting one hand to his head. He felt as though something precious, something he hadn't known he had needed, had been extracted from his body painfully and mercilessly. Why would she not be? I have surprised even myself with how consummate an actor I am.

Këyal . . .

I will come to the room later, he said abruptly, turning away from her and beginning to run. Where to, he did not know - he simply ran. Across the terrace, up the first staircase he saw, spiraling around and around, higher and higher until he burst onto the ledge at the top of the slim tower.

He sank down, chest heaving, and leaned back against the cool stone, closing his eyes against the threat of building tears. The cool wind curled around his face and through his hair, carrying the promise of the monsoon to come in the scent of fresh earth and crushed leaves. Ordinarily it would have calmed him within moments, but now he was so full of - shame and rage and longing and self-loathing and hurt and - and distress, the way she had looked at him had been - he hadn't meant to scare her too badly, had he gone too far? Had that been a mistake?

Had he forever lost any chance of ever becoming close to anyone at all?

Like I had a chance anyway, he thought viciously, wiping his tears away.

The moments trickled by, and by consciously forcing each muscle in his body to relax as he gazed steadily at the stars, Këyal did eventually manage to calm himself to a certain extent.

I should be used to this by now, he thought, resting his knees on his chin. It is simply inescapable. I need to accept it once more. Just because there are now people present who invite friendship, I can't change the situation I'm in . . .

If he could, though, he knew Dara would be one of the first people he would like to befriend. She was kind, and cheerful, and fair, and he was entirely sure that her visit to him was prompted by equal amounts of genuine concern as well as curiosity. She would make a good Rider, the kind of Rider the people adored, like Avelyn the Benevolent, or Rhistel the Charitable . . .

He shook his head firmly. There was no point in thinking like that, for there was no way he could -

His heart clenched, soft and quick, like a quiet gasp of shock.

Wait. I just . . . what did I just - I just thought that Dara would make a good Rider.

A tendril of questioning thought made its presence felt in the back of his mind. Why is that significant?

Because . . . his mind raced. Because! Oh! Oh, how could I have not seen this before? Fool, fool that I am! Moonling, brainless, blockhead that I am!

Oh! Layla was as surprised, her joy beginning to sing over his. We were so focused on Imrys's definition of 'worthy' -

- that we never even thought -

- but it is your definition that matters, not hers -

- and so I can go and hug every damn person in the Hall right now if I want to! Because they work so hard and they train so much -

- they are all certainly worthy Riders in your eyes -

- and so the vow no longer binds me! Këyal leapt to his feet, giddy, heedless of the sheer drop before him. Oh, if I had only realized this earlier! Years of seclusion, of estrangement, and all it took was - ah, I cannot believe - halfwit, dolt, jackass -

Layla's joyous roar echoed up to him, and he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled back as loud as he could, euphoria filling him like a drug.

He was free. Finally free!

And the very first thing he would do on the morrow was find Dara and apologise and explain; and then he would apologise and explain to everyone else, and even if they made him grovel on his knees for forgiveness he would do it without a second thought. For all he wanted was to put the hate in his past behind him as fast as possible, and never look back at it again.

†