A/N: Revised 1/1/19. A very late happy new year!

†

Several weeks later

"Andlát? You named it Death?"

Zelíe smiled at the amused question, smoothing a hand down her rose-hued sword. "So I did."

"Why on earth?"

"Simply because the colour causes death to be last thing people expect the blade to provide them with."

Dara propped her hands on the pommel of her own sword, grinning. "I'd imagine that every Rider that was ever paired wi' a pink dragon gave their swords the most ferocious names."

Zelíe laughed. "I would imagine so. And . . . my apologies, but do use 'with', rather than ' wi' '."

"Ahh, what's the difference?"

"As I'm sure Master Eragon would have told you -"

"Refinement of speech leads to refinement of the mind, yes, yes, I remember."

"Well, it is true. Have you thought of a name for your own sword?"

Dara tilted the silver blade, watching the light ripple down it in a lovely arc. "I'd thought perhaps Starbiter?"

" Evarínabitr ? Nice, but a tad clumsy on the tongue."

"Argetbitr?"

"Ravûn has already named his Svartrbitr, you know."

"Hmph. Well, there's no rush, for I've a good year or so to settle upon a name, yes?"

"True indeed. Shall we begin, then?"

"Ready when you are!" Dara presented her blade to Zelíe, and she quickly called upon her magic, guarding the edge in a matter of moments.

"There now." She stepped back, settling into her stance, Dara following suit. "Remember to be lighter on your feet, faster when you move, and to watch, rather than see."

"Understood."

"On guard, then!"

They clashed once, twice, and again, the ring of metal on metal adding to the din in the training room. Dara had improved, as she did every session, and her elven grace seemed only to have accelerated the process.

She will match me fairly soon, Zelíe thought as she parried. I've no need to shout commands any longer.

There was no little pride for her friend in the thought, as she knew herself to be one of the most skilled with a blade at the Hall - more so even than some of the elves, for many of them had only familiarized themselves with a sword recreationally, though that in itself would outstrip most human swordswomen and swordsmen by a wide enough margin.

They broke after an hour, both with sweat-dampened shirts and sweat-beaded faces. Zelíe took a moment to catch her breath as she sheathed her sword.

"A good bout. You're by far better than before. Have you been practicing outside of training time?"

"Aye, I've -" Dara paused, panting. "I've been sparring a bit wi' - with Këyal in the evenings. I thought, since he's so fast, if I could at least hold my own against him, I'd have a good chance against the rest of you all."

"Këyal, eh?" Zelíe glanced across the room to where Këyal was sparring with Caspian before looking back, her lips curving. "I see."

Dara groaned, turning to replace her sword. Zelíe caught the hint of a new flush on her fair cheeks as she did so, a deeper red than the one she had obtained as they sparred. "Not this again."

"Why, I said nothing!"

"Right, right." Dara made a face at her. "Well, I'll be leaving."

"Mhm." Zelíe gave her a knowing look. "I need to clear up, I'll meet you later."

"You're the worst, Zelíe," Dara threw over her shoulder as she left. Zelíe only winked at her before turning to survey the progress of the others.

Osra and Senshi had just concluded a match, and were in the process of bowing as they disengaged. Këyal and Caspian were still sparring, as were Sorya and Ravûn - and Kitai and Akhtar. Zelíe watched them for a moment or two before she realized that her mouth had grown hard and thin of its own accord.

Curse it. She looked away to watch Senshi string a bow and move to the archery range, attempting to divert her thoughts, but they remained on the distasteful track they had been set upon. It was only when Osra came to stand next to her that she managed to divorce her mind from them entirely.

"A good match?" she asked.

Osra raised her head a little, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face. "Indeed it was. Senshi is a worthy opponent. Yours?"

"The same. Dara learns fast."

"Faster when she has an elf to train with."

Zelíe glanced at her, somewhat surprised. "How did you know that? She only just told me."

Osra met her glance placidly. "Këyal mentioned it in passing."

"Ah." Zelíe's gaze switched to Këyal and Caspian once more, watching as Caspian strained to block a powerful overhead blow. "Is that so? You've become fairly good friends with him, I see."

"I see no reason not to. He seems to me to be a worthy comrade. Have you not?"

"I have not . . . given how he had behaved for three years past, the distaste for his company I have developed is enough that I struggle to overcome it." She smiled slightly. "But somehow I doubt that will remain so for long. There is . . . a certain air about him now, an attitude that is hard to resist. Besides, I never could resist an underdog story."

Osra snorted. "That air is of honesty, one he believed he was forcibly restrained from assuming before; that is the only reason it is now appealing in any way. All you require is to give him forgiveness."

"Not quite my forte, Osra. But I hear you."

"I hope so." They fell silent for some minutes, watching the others. It was only when Ravûn managed to knock Sorya's sword entirely out of her hands with a clever twist that Osra spoke once more.

"How do you think she is progressing, our fiery one?"

Zelíe tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Better than before. I think she need not restrict herself to sparring with Ravûn any longer - she will certainly be able to hold her own against myself, Kitai or Senshi. You, I doubt. The power and height are too different between you two."

"Do not let her hear that."

She chuckled. "Perhaps if she honed her finesse. She is all attack, little to no defense, and while the bold strikes may disorient enemies, while they may cause uncertainty, they leave her open to retaliation from those more skilled. She is suited to a battlefield, not a swordfight."

"Mm. My thoughts precisely. She must learn, too, to keep a clear eye with which to view the fight. She is not overeager to anger, but once she is, she sees naught else."

"True enough. But that was something we all struggled to learn, was it not?"

Osra inclined her head. "That it was."

Këyal swept his blade towards Caspian's legs, and, worn out as he was, he stumbled after he jumped. It was the matter of a moment for Këyal to flick the tip of his sword to his throat. Caspian froze for a long moment, and then relaxed, laughing sheepishly. Këyal smiled, muttering something in return as they both sheathed their blades.

"Ah, I nearly forgot - I had something to ask you."

"Oh? Ask away, Osra."

"Your hair is - is different somehow? It has been bothering me for weeks now, but i simply cannot - what is the phrase? - put my finger on it -"

Zelíe burst out laughing. "It is indeed," she chuckled. "It is now flaxen, rather than gold, thanks to our training outdoors."

Osra smiled, her deep blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "That is all? Such a difference it makes."

"It does indeed." Zelíe shifted her braid over her shoulder, tugging at the end gently. "So too my complexion has become sallow from what my sisters used to call peaches-and-cream, and so too my hands have become calloused and torn when before they were as soft as lamarae. If my mother could see me now, she would be utterly appalled. She would most certainly go into vapours."

"Is that so?" Osra's gaze became penetrating. "That bothers you?"

Zelíe smiled, laying a hand fleetingly on Osra's arm. "It would have before - as you know too well, my friend. But where there would have been shame, there is now only amusement - and perhaps some vain regret, if I am honest. My thanks; I am flattered by your concern."

Osra snorted. "You are easily flattered by many things."

"Well, that I cannot argue with . . "

Within another ten minutes, they had all sheathed their swords and replaced them in their niches after Akhtar disarmed Kitai with a mighty blow. Zelíe leaned against the wall, watching them file out, as was her duty that day. Kitai met her eye for a fleeting moment, but she glanced away deliberately, to where Senshi was unstringing the bow she had been using. She caught a sigh from his direction before he walked out behind Sorya, and looked down at her fingernails, tamping down a surge of irritation.

If all he intends to do is ignore the issue, I've more than enough patience to wait until he pleases to speak. Of all the bullheaded - She exhaled sharply. A good thing he's on kitchen duty today. And what on earth is taking Senshi so long, how much time does she require to unstring a bow -

She turned to tell Senshi to lock up if she was to take much more time, and was startled to find her waiting quite close. Her amber eyes flicked between her and the door indecisively.

"Are you waiting for something, Senshi?"

"I - wanted to ask -" Senshi cleared her throat, one hand fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "He - did Kit tell you about what Master Eragon wanted us to decide?"

Zelíe's brows drew together without her consent, dull hurt welling up in her throat. But she kept her voice steady as she replied, "He did, not a week past. Why do you ask?"

"Had he made up his mind?"

"He has not," Zelíe said, curter than she would have liked. "We argued over the matter. We continue to do so. Why do you not ask him yourself?"

Senshi frowned slightly. "I did. He will not answer."

"And so you ask me. I am entirely aware you do not consider me a bosom friend, Senshi, but I do not appreciate your questioning me at your convenience. If you would like to find out what he is thinking, you may mend your bond with him enough that he will do so. I do not wish to become involved between you two."

Senshi's eyes flashed at that. "Neither do I have any desire for you to -" She stopped short and took a quiet breath, closing her eyes briefly. "I did not mean to upset you. If I did, I apologize. I only wished to know what you encouraged him to do, what may be motivating him as he makes his decision. I - would not wish for the two of us to part ways after leaving the Hall, and he will not speak to me. Please. I would not ask had I another choice."

Zelíe met her gaze for a charged moment, then sighed, rubbing her neck with one hand. "He wants to stay while the rest of us leave. I was trying to convince him to come with us. He says this is his land, these are his people he will be leaving behind, and I understand that pride, but . . ."

"There is no place for a Rider here," Senshi said quietly.

"Precisely so. Alagaёsia has desperate need of Riders, and if he was never thinking of coming at all, why stay and learn to speak the stone tongue and the Urgal tongue? Why learn of Alagaёsia's history at all? I understand that leading a life in a different country is daunting, but he will hardly be alone, and he will be doing work that is very necessary. What is left for him here? Or for you, for that matter?"

"True enough. And . . . you will pardon, but - it is also that you do not wish to be parted from him, no?"

There was just the barest hint of challenge behind the word. Zelíe crossed her arms, closing her mouth tight. It was true, but to hear it stated so candidly somehow caused tears to prickle behind her eyes.

"Yes," she said, after a silence. "I do not wish to be parted from him - even though, there, we will most probably be working in quite different parts of the country. But at least he would be five days' flight away, not two weeks'."

Senshi blinked, as though she had not truly been expecting her honest answer. "I see," she said slowly. "Thank you, Zelíe."

"You have naught to thank me for," Zelíe sighed, suddenly tired. "Only . . . please convince him to come. You know it is the right choice."
"I believe it is, yes." Senshi tilted her head, her gaze now curious, cautiously searching. "You . . . truly care for him."

Zelíe's laugh was more choked than she would have liked. "I do. More than I have ever cared for anyone. And what caused you to finally realize it?"

Senshi smiled, hesitantly, as though she was unsure if she was allowed to do so. Her reply was slow to come, but when it did, it was by far more candid that Zelíe had expected. "That particular expression of combined - exasperation? - and affection, I've only seen between those who care for each other beyond most everyone else."

To that, Zelíe had no answer. It was only when Senshi nodded farewell and made to step past her that she found her voice once more.

"Wait!" she said. "I - it was not in jest, what I said before. Mend your bond with him, Senshi. He - he is not entirely whole without you."

Senshi's eyes darkened, just slightly, but she nodded, and when she walked past Zelíe, she left her with a brief touch to the shoulder. And she was left alone in the empty training room, a bittersweet mixture of pain and affection flooding through her veins with every beat of her heart.

Fix this, Senshi, she thought, resting her head against the cold wall for a moment and closing her eyes tight. Fix this, for I do not know how to do so.

†

Late that night

"Ye," Dara said authoritatively, one wavering finger pointing at Caspian, "canna hold yer liquor. A' all ."

Caspian winced, resting his head in one hand as the world seemed to tilt around him. "Can you not . . . your accent gets far worse when you're drunk. It's much more, how do you say . . . diff - difficult, it is more difficult to understand you."

"Mah accent's perfectly fine, thank ye ver' much," she said, patting the ground beside her. "Where's th' damn gourd?"

"You had twice as much as me -"

"An' ah'm holdin' it better, like ah said!" she roared, her voice echoing down the corridor. "Ye've skipped righ'ta th' mornin' after already, haventcha?"

"Quiet," Caspian, hissed, struggling to wrestle his unruly tongue into forming coherent words. "You'll call attention. And you know I had seven siblings, you think I had time to go out and learn to drink?"

Dara giggled and took a swig, part of the faelnirv trickling down the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. "That's why ah'm here ta teach ye, aye?"

Caspian groaned playfully, leaning back until his head rested against the stone wall. "You're a horrible friend to have."

Dara pointed at him with the gourd, giving him a clumsy wink. "Ah'm th' best type of friend ta have. Who taught ye all the slang she knew in two weeks of meetin' ye?"

"I repeated only a single word to Zelíe once, and I've never seen her look so . . . shocked. Ever."

"Who introduced ye to steak n'kidney pie?"

"And a more repulsive dish I've never encont - enounct - met in my life."

"Who taught ye ta string yer first bow?"

"That, you did."

"Ah'm sure Zelíe was impressed by tha' , eh? Yer nearly as good as me wi' a bow."

Caspian grimaced, poking her in the side as hard as he could manage. "Do not even - I know there ain't no hope , as you'd say. Do not tease me."

Dara swatted his hand away. "Leave her be, boy. She'd not fit ya' by any rights, and Kit's hard ta compete with. A racsap - a rapscallion, ya know? Got that spark in his eye and spring in his step, the one tha' girls swoon for leagues away. Bu' he be good ta her, he knows the worth o' what he has."

"My thanks for the advice," Caspian muttered. "I've no spark, eh?"

"Oh, you have. Jus' a different one. One tha' ain't meant fer her."

"Tch." He plucked the bottle from her side and took a long, deep draught.

"Ye'll find a better lass, don' doubt it."

"Well, if you find her first, be sure to recommend me to her," he grumbled. Dara laughed, patting his cheek gently.

"I'll be sure ta'. Now, we've had a good long talk, but -" She heaved herself to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. "I've an early morning on the morrow, an' we've been here hours already. Ye be sure not ta fall asleep here, yeah?"

Caspian gave her a flat look. "If you do in fact manage to wake early tomorrow, I will do your chores for a week."

"Done!" Dara tossed him the nearly empty gourd and mussed his hair roughly. "Drain it, bury it, burn it, or Ellaer-elda will hunt us down with pitchforks. Nigh' nigh', Cas."

"Night," he called after her receding figure. He sighed and drained the gourd, hardly registering the taste as it hit the back of his throat.

Hopeless, hopeless, so they all say, do they think I do not know? It is a waste of my time and my energy and my focus, but ahhh . . . He dropped the gourd and buried his face in his arms, fighting the rising, absurd urge to cry. She is so lovely, I cannot help but admire her. Even though it is a betrayal of him, too -

"Cas?"

He looked up, the figure crouched in front of him slowly coming into focus.

He who is . . . right in front of me -

"Kit!" He sat up straight, hastily pushing aside his despondency so as not to betray himself. Kit looked him up and down, making a show of wrinkling his nose. His eyes were dancing with laughter. "I don't think anyone else breached the stock of faelnirv so fast, after arriving here. Your courage is admirable - especially since you are sitting where any might stumble upon you."

Caspian held his arms out imploringly. "Save me," he mock-whispered. "It was all Dara's fault! I'm far too young to be skewered by an angry elf!"

Kitai chuckled, pulling him to his feet. "Unable to walk?"

"I've no idea. Let's find out -?" Caspian shook off his arm and attempted to walk a straight line, placing one foot carefully before the other. He made it six steps before stumbling.

Kitai was quick to catch him, slipping a steady arm around his waist with a grin. "Most definitely unable. I will help you to your room."

"My thanks," Caspian mumbled, allowing him to take most of his weight.

"Your room is the third or the fourth floor?"

"Fourth."

Kitai hummed in a mildly disgruntled manner. "Climbing those stairs will be a chore."

"You will help though, will you not?" Caspian fluttered his eyelashes clumsily, and Kitai leaned away with a groan of laughter.

"Your breath reeks of liquor, did you drink half the stock? If we happen to come across an elda , be quiet and stay still, and they just might decide to be merciful."

"Teachers who could disem- dismem - cut me up me in my sleep without a sound are not at all what I was expecting when I came."

Kitai snorted, the soft puff of air ruffling a curl or two of Caspian's hair. "At least you had some idea of what to expect."

There was an underlying current of bitterness to those words, but Caspian's mind was by far too clouded to even begin to decipher it, let alone reassure his friend. So he did not address it, and the journey upstairs was uneventful apart from Kitai's quiet pants as he began to feel Caspian's weight.

"Careful as you step . . . there, we've arrived. All right, now?" Kitai shrugged Caspian off carefully, and he reached for the door with a nod and an unsteady hand, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep for a day and a night.

"Cas -"

He turned, yawning. "Yes?"

"When I came upon you - was something worrying you? Is there anything I can help with? You seemed . . . sorrowful, unhappy."

Caspian belatedly realised his face had twisted into something sadly sardonic, and hastily rearranged it into a more bemused expression. "Nothing at all, just the melancholy that comes with a little too much to drink. I'm well enough, I swear."

"Hm." Kitai eyed him for a second, then nodded uncertainly. "If you are sure."

"I am." Caspian smiled, raising one hand in a wave. "I will see you tomorrow, yes?"

Kitai inclined his head, smiling in return as he took his leave. "Sleep well."

"And you."

Caspian was just closing the door behind him, all assumed cheeriness drained out of him by fatigue, when there was a soft shout.

"Wait!"

Kitai hurried back to the door, his shoes clacking on the stone floor. "Apologies, I am aware you must wish to rest more than anything, but I could not rest if I did not tell you -"

He fell silent, worrying his lower lip with his teeth - an uncharacteristically nervous gesture in one of his irrepressible self confidence. Caspian narrowed his eyes, a slow anxiety building in his chest as he wondered what this was about.

"What is it?"

"Just - I heard yourself and Dara speaking. Before. I didn't know what to - I did not realize the subject of your conversation until I caught my own name, and then it was too late to turn back, I could only stay still and hope not to be heard. My - my most sincere apologies, I should not have eavesdropped -"

Caspian reached out to grip the doorframe as well, his dizziness suddenly multiplied tenfold as his words sank in.

"You . . . you heard," he whispered, tears of horrified shame rising behind his eyes. "And you, you are apologizing? I - Kitai, I am so sorry. You should never have known, I can - only imagine what you must think of me -"

"Ah, no, no, do not!" Kitai made a quick gesture with his hands, nothing but regret and concern in his gaze. "I could not blame you for anything, not in the least. There is no fault of yours. On the contrary, it is I who should have apologized for not noticing, for not realizing - I am certain I made things more difficult for you, without the intention. If I did so, I ask pardon."

Caspian stared at him wordlessly for a long moment. Then he swayed forward, nearly falling into Kitai's shoulder, who staggered a little.

"You truly are a good person," Caspian muttered into his shoulder, not caring that the foolish tears had escaped. "You never did, and I ask - ask pardon as well. I had no - no unsavoury designs upon her, I swear -"

Kitai patted his back soothingly, and when he spoke, his voice was tighter than usual.

"Of course, I never thought that. Not for an instant. I am not - I have hurt people in the past, people close to me, simply by my ignorance, by neglecting to pay enough attention to what had been obvious to the dullest eye. I did not want that to affect you as well, for you are a good friend, and I would not lose you through my own fault."

Caspian laughed through his tears, sounding faintly hysterical to his own ears. "Am I so?" He pulled back, wiping his face with an unsteady hand. "Then you are, to say the least, a remarkable friend. I am - glad to know you. More glad than - than I can say."

Kitai smiled, gripping his forearm. "I will not ask if I can help, the question is ridiculous in itself. But if you need to speak to me, at any time -"

Caspian returned the pressure fiercely. "Thank you," he said, the words almost vehement. "Thank you, Kitai."

Kitai nodded once, slipping his hand out of Caspian's grasp. "You'll not forget this tomorrow, yes?"

Caspian sniffed. "To be sure. It would be a shame if I did."

"That it would." Kitai clapped him softly on the shoulder and turned to leave. "Good night."

"Good night," Caspian called back, his heart lighter than he could have hoped for not half an hour past. "And thank you once more."

†

Senshi paused with her hand raised to knock, staring at the bottom of the door. There is no light.

Then he is either sleeping, or elsewhere in the Hall. Ikraan yawned, causing phantom muscles to stretch in Senshi's jaw. Sleep now, you may find him on the morrow.

You cannot ask Palé?

He is out on a late night flight.

She sighed, allowing her hand to fall. Zelíe's words have been eating at me the whole day.

You two have managed this long - you can afford to wait one more night.

I suppose . . .

"Senshi?"

She turned to see Kitai coming towards her, one eyebrow quirked inquiringly. "Looking for me?"

He spoke in their own tongue, and she followed him with an easy relief that she would not need to consider how appropriate was each word before she spoke. "I was. But if it is too late to speak -"

"Not at all. Unless it is a very weighty matter?" He pushed the door open, entering before her, and she followed.

"You may say so. Whether it'll take much time to discuss, though, that depends on you."

He gave her an amused look over his shoulder. "Is that so?"

"Mm. Oh -" Her gaze fell upon his desk, where there stood a small, unfinished wooden carving of a wolf with a sparrow perched upon its head. "The wolf-and-sparrow!"

"Aye. You remember it?"

"Surely, how could I not?" Senshi ran a fingertip over the wolf's snout, smiling in spite of herself. "When he told us the story, I cried so much, remember? Because I wanted to be the wolf."

"And I very graciously let you."

"Nonsense, you fought with me so much that papa wrapped us up in bedsheets to make sure we didn't touch each other."

Kitai chuckled quietly. "He never told that story again."

"A pity. It was my favourite." She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to think of how to begin, how to proceed. As siblings, and more so as twins, their fights had hardly ever ended in apologies. There used to be only a few hours of each ignoring the other, followed by some offhand gesture - an absent remark, an invitation to go play, finding some small treasure to give to the other - to indicate that all was forgiven, if not forgotten. But that would not suffice now as it had in the past; for the wounds were too deep, the words left unsaid too heavy between them. Kitai seated himself next to her, waiting without complaint for her to speak - though there was some tension in his expression, as though he expected her to attempt to discover whether he planned to leave or stay once more.

How, then, to make him see? To catch him off guard?

"Do you . . . remember her? Lady Lidéna?"

She saw the bedsheet crease a little in his fingers. "Not clearly. Not anymore."

"She must have cast some spell, for I cannot recall her features with any clarity either. I only remember that air of - of power, and danger, and beauty too alluring to be human."

"Why do you speak of this? Of her?"

"Do you resent her? For pulling us into this, this world of politics and intrigue that is not our own, being trained for something that has never been part of our lives?"

He met her eyes for a heavy moment before looking away, out of the window. "I did," he said quietly. "For she never even gave us a choice. But I learned to leave it behind, for there was no use in railing against it once all was done."

"Yet you always seemed happier here than me."

His mouth twitched into a bitter smile. "I adapted faster than you. But I clung to home more - as I still do."

She drew in a breath, hugging her knees to her chest. "And that is why . . . you do not wish to go?"

His gaze flicked back to her, suddenly sharp. "How - Zelíe told you?"

"You left me with no choice but to ask her."

"You were not supposed to know before I decided - I wanted time to make up my mind."

"And have you done so?"

"Have you?"

It was her turn to look away now, to stare unseeingly at the gleam of lamplight on the polished wood of his desk. "I believe that to leave is the better option."

"Why so?" His voice held a raw note she had not been expecting, and she swallowed.

"We are needed there, not here. We have been learning all this time to work there. Not here. And we have nothing left here, only a mother crazed with hate and grief. Where would we live? What would we do? Eke out a solitary living apart from the rest of the kingdom, when we know what we know? When we learned what we've learned? Could you be content thus for close on an eternity?"

"Could you live there?" he countered. "Among cultures we have only studied or heard of? Living a life dedicated to working for the improvement of people who are not even our own?"

"How does it matter whose people they are, Kit? They are people, and they need us to keep the balance. They have no system of magic like ours, and so they depend on the Riders. I do not think it is ideal, but that is they way things are. We could try to change it, perhaps, if we went. And they are Zelíe's people, Aki's people, Dara and Këyal's people, Ravûn's people. Will you deny them because you - you are frightened of what might await you there?"

There was a silence as he stared at her, surprise and hurt and something searching in his eyes. Then he laughed, short and choked, and raised a hand to his forehead.

"You - gods, you are entirely right. A coward, am I not?"

She slipped an arm about his shoulders, holding tight. "You've the right to be afraid . . . you won't be alone, remember."

"I know. It's just -" He ran a restless hand through his hair. "My shikha ceremony should have been done months ago, do you realize that?"

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know."

"I miss home. Not mama, but home. Ourselves. Our lives. Even praying thrice a day, even fasting on the second day of every second month - all of it."

"You always were more - more grounded in it than I was," she murmured. "It all meant more to you. But we can come back, we can visit - perhaps even make our bow to the king and queen, if we work up the courage for that, yes?"

He snorted, "That's not -"

"Not impossible. It's not probable, but it's at least a possibility." She shifted back so she could look him in the eye. "So . . . you will come?"

He smiled weakly, but the hand that ruffled her hair was strong. "I will. Thank you for speaking to me, convincing me."

She smiled in return, looking down at her lap. "You need not thank me for that."

He did not reply, not until she looked up to find the reason, and when she did she saw something vulnerable in his eyes.

"Not that I am not glad that we are once more as we used to be, Sen, but why did you suddenly choose to - we have not truly spoken as we once did in more than a year, and after the Vilta, I thought . . ."

Something cold settled in her stomach at the hurt in his words. "That is - the fault is mine." She shifted away from him, hating how small her voice sounded. "I . . . apologise."

"There was a time when you would have used my blood without hesitation, was there not? "

"Of course there was, Kit," she said instantly, desperately. "Of course there was."

"But that time is - is it not past?"

"We could bring it back, I know we could. I - I'm sorry. I pulled away from you, and I should not have, for you were struggling as well, I was foolish and I envied how seamlessly you fit in with them when I could not. I'm sorry."

He reached for her hand, held it tight. "And I am sorry for not realising how deep your hurt cut, how deep your anger at mama and your loneliness cut. There is fault on both our sides . . . we will do better? We will trust each other as we used to?"

She returned the pressure, smiling more easily than she could remember doing in weeks, and her words were a promise she vowed never to break.

"We will."

†

Arya laughed, cupping her chin in one hand. "And thereafter?"

Eragon sighed, his mouth curling up on one side. His shirt was unbuttoned enough that the skin of his chest gleamed in moonlight, and he cupped a crystal goblet of mulled wine in one hand.

"And thereafter I pulled them apart, lectured them, and sent them in opposite directions. Upon my sword, they cannot go two days without bickering like children."

"Well, such situations are to be expected to arise frequently when one decides to teach."

"True enough." He tipped the goblet to his mouth, taking a deep draught. Arya's eyes flickered down to the sharp line of his throat and thence to his collarbones before returning to his face; and she was forced to swallow a sudden surge of longing as he smiled at her, mouth stained red anew.

"I'm sure they would give even you a hard time."

"I did teach them, you remember? Tuatha du orothim. They gave me no trouble of the sort they seem to provide you with in abundance."

"Ah, they had not blossomed then to reveal the full extent of their mischief."

"I will trust your word on the subject . . . not to divert the discussion, but has something untoward occurred, Eragon?"

"And why do you ask, my queen?"

She gestured to the goblet he held. "You drink rarely, and never to an extent that causes you to slur your words so. Certainly not with wine rather than faelnirv."

He chuckled softly. "Guess, then."

"The nightmares."

He tilted his glass toward her. "Precisely."

"They still come every night?"

"Hmm, not every night. But most. And when they do, oh . . ." His smile twisted into a grimace. "They are more vivid than normal dreams, too tangible to be nothing more than mist. I am reminded of nothing more than the first time I dreamt of you, in Gil'ead, and that was no fantasy, yes? Every - every horror I see seems as real to me as you are now. I do terrible things, I witness terrible deeds being done, and who's to say that they will not one day become my reality and you -" He gestured to her, and to the room around him, the crystal flashing in his hand, gaze suddenly haunted. "You, my love, and this, all of this, will not fade into fantasy? Who is to say I will even notice if that were to occur, as warped as I feel my mind becoming?"

Arya could have cried out at the pain in his voice, at the way it tore into her heart. Instead she straightened her spine, and pressed a hand to the cool surface of the mirror, and spoke his true name softly.

The syllables seemed to resound in the air long after they left her lips. He blinked as though she had slapped him, part of the haze vanishing from his eyes.

"I say so, for that is who you are." She swallowed the waver in her voice, and replaced it with steel. "You are someone who will not succumb to these twisted visions. You are Saphira's Rider. You are Kingkiller and Shadeslayer, you are the new hope and the deliverance of an entire country, and you are the one I love and trust beyond everyone else. You will triumph over these horrors, Eragon, do not ever doubt that. And you will always have myself and Saphira to watch over you. Never think that we will let you fall."

He was utterly still for a moment. Then, he slowly kissed his fingertips and pressed them against her hand, his eyes more liquid than was usual.

"I know not what I did to deserve you," he murmured, "but I am forever grateful that I did. Thank you, nuanen ."

Her fingers curled at her side, but she kept her composure. "Rest," she whispered. "For your students' sake. If any demons visit in the dark, I will fight them for you."

He smiled, bright and full. "Always my saviour."

She smiled back, though she felt as though it was trembling at the edges. "Stay as strong as I know you to be."

"If you so command me, why, I have no other choice. I will not fail you."

"You never have." She blinked away the tears in her eyes, taking a deep breath to ground herself. "Good night, Eragon."

"Good night, Arya."

It was only after his image faded into nothing that she curled up in her chair and allowed her pain to be felt. To be situated thousands of leagues away while her struggled so left her feeling utterly helpless, and frighteningly desperate. But she could do naught except encourage him, and trust in him to keep himself safe.

Ah, yet what I would give to be at his side now . . .

It was at that moment that there came an insistent knock on the door. She sat upright, erasing all trace of her tears with a deft hand.

At this time? What could it be?

"My queen?" someone called in the old tongue. Young, insistent - Vanir. "I beg your pardon for disturbing you at this hour, in your private room, but there is something you must needs be informed of."

"I will come," she called back, donning her cloak as she stood, and, with it, the visage of her authority. When she opened the door, she knew there was no trace of grief upon her face.

"What is it?"

Vanir met her gaze squarely, though she could easily detect the anxiety in his demeanour. Arya noticed he was turning the ring on his ring, a habit that he exhibited only when he was distinctly disturbed.

"King Orrin and Queen Nasuada have both sent us urgent communications in the past half hour. Since you were occupied, they were taken by Lady -"

"That does not concern me at the moment," she interrupted, her tone intentionally cutting. "What was the communication that was so pressing at this time of the night?"

Vanir swallowed. "The children of Alagaësia . . . they are being taken. They are vanishing, none know how or by whom. And among them is the young prince Charles . . .

Arya stopped dead in her tracks.

" . . . King Orrin's son."