She woke, the first rays of daylight filtering over the horizon. Today she felt… different, although she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Behind her, a ceasless source of uncomfortable heat stirred. Somewhat annoyed she looked over her shoulder to see Fäolin there. She didn't want him there, not really, but after he'd spent over two hours comforting her last night she couldn't very well turn him away.

Doing her best not to wake him she rose from her bed. Glancing around the room, she noticed everything was in order. That was until her eyes fell on her writing desk. Walking over to it she noticed a large, leather duffel bag. A note was pinned underneath it. She wanted to reach out and take it, see who had dared come into her rooms uninvited at night. As soon as her fingers brushed the paper, however, she could almost feel the agony that permeated it.

Not quite ready to open it yet, she looked out of her window, onto the gardens and the ongoing festivities beyond. There were still two days of celebrations left, but she felt in no way motivated to join in. Not after what happened last night. It was her own stupid fault. She could have never hoped to fight a shade. The sane thing to do would have been to run. Durza had mentioned something, however. Something about Eragon that had infuriated her for some unknown reason.

Involuntarily her mind drifted to the young rider. She knew full well she was wrong to fault him for all the pain in her life, but she had to blame someone. The logical one would have been that damned shade, the one who robbed her of her honor and duty. When she'd found out the price Eragon'd had to pay on her behalf to break out of Gil'ead, however, she'd instead been furious he'd willingly put it down. She knew that to her left, on the wall, a fairth of Glenwing stared out into the sunrise.

That left her torn between a painful memory, an unwelcome friend and a painful mystery. She could, of course, also opt to just make a forward plunge out of the window, but that wouldn't do the world much good. Deciding to let the past be, she took a deep breath and pulled the note out from underneath the leather bag. Opening it, she read the content.

The handwriting was neat, though jagged. Distinctly male in nature. The first line she could read.

'What was broken now is whole again. May this guide you to new purpose.'

Underneath was a set of mysterious glyphs, utterly beautiful in form. Even more so than those used for the ancient language. Carefully she traced her fingers across them. She couldn't read them, but in her head the melody flowed all the same.

'Hold on to me and what was

Please believe you'd once have loved me

Though you don't know me.'

There was no doubt in her mind as to who had written the note. It was the very same person who had sung the song that verse belonged to. It had been so hauntingly beautiful. Even though she'd been hidden in the shadows, her heart had soared and crashed the same way everybody else's had. Although the notion was preposterous, she couldn't quite escape the feeling the very reason Eragon had sung it, was for her. The very last symbol was marred, as if something had washed out the ink before it had a chance to dry. Almost like a drop of water had fallen on it.

Or a tear.

Arya put the note down, unclasping the satchel to glance inside. Her breath caught. A dragon egg, flawless and the same size as Saphira's, but this one was green. Slowly she traced her hand over the smooth surface. Where did Eragon manage to get his hands on it? That only left one question, what did he intend to fix? What had been broken and now was whole again?

She pondered this question deeply until she spotted something very unusual. She quickly paced to the mirror and twisted her body in a fashion she would no longer have dared do after sustaining her injury.

No. She thought as her world stopped.

The yawë on her back was gone, as was the angry red fringing around her scar. All had been replaced by a discoloration slightly darker than her own skin in the shape of two wings, though the one that ran over the scar was crumpled, as though she had fallen and landed on it. Experimentally she put herself through the first sequence if the Ringmar. She half feared another episode, but to her surprise none came.

What had Eragon done to her?

Dressing herself she rushed out of her chambers, intent on finding her mother. She was the ruler after all, had to know everything that happened in these woods. Perhaps she would have some answers. The queen was surrounded by a number of her advisors, making unimportant small talk. Upon seeing her daughter, however, Islanzadí curtly excused herself and walked over to her. Cautiously the queen clasped her hands around her daughter's upper arms. "How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Good," Arya said, "much better in fact, Eragon-"

"He has left." Was Islanzadí's simple yet solemn reply.

Arya was struck with silence. It took a her a few moments to gather her wits about her again, but intent on finding out the truth, she pressed on. "Eragon… did something to me. Mother, if you know anything, I need you to tell me."

Islanzadí clearly struggled with something, as if she was trying to find a way to word something but couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Eragon…" she began, "has sacrificed half his soul to save yours."

Worry enveloped her. "Saphira-"

"She is fine, child. But Eragon… he's changed. Last time I spoke to him he appeared to be fine, circumstances notwithstanding, but I sensed something beneath the surface, something changing. I fear for the price he has paid."

Arya's mind went reeling. "I… should go." She said, turning away from her bewildered mother and heading back for Tialdarí hall. It all began to come together. How Eragon had sat with her for hours every night during her captivity. Until that weird scrying power of his began to give out, at least. The way he always seemed to rush in when she was about to get into the worst kind of trouble.

She had pushed him away time and time again, yet he'd been the one who had cared for her after Tronjheim. That outburst on the field, the way he seemed to always be in pain when looking at her. Eragon, of course, thought she didn't notice. The note, undoubtedly written just after he'd done whatever it was that her mother feared so. Then it struck her, all the signs pointing in the same direction.

Eragon cared for her and – dare she say it – loved her. However painful the conclusion, she couldn't ignore the sheer torture it must have been to see her in bed with another, held by another. To put down half his soul for her and then turn away. She of course never intended to take Fäolin that way, but he couldn't know that. Arya needed a moment to focus herself. To make a plan. Not caring where she was, she sat down smack in the middle of the hallway of her ancestral home and closed her eyes in though.

Time to reevaluate.

She'd wanted so badly to antagonize Eragon. To blame someone. It wasn't fair on him to use him as an emotional punching bag. Yet even though he only saw the worst from her, he still refused to hate her, to leave her in her shell. What do I do? She lamented. Her thoughts drifted back to a night long ago.

Glenwing poked the fire with a stick, watching her through the flames. "You love him, don't you?" He asked, eyes darting to Fäolin who was keeping watch some fifty paces away.

"I think of him as more than just a friend, but I've seen the way he treats the world around him. I cannot be ignorant to that, love someone who is that blind, just as he cannot see me clearly enough to love me in return." Arya replied, having no issues being truthful to her best friend. Between Fäolin and Glenwing, the latter had always been her favorite.

"And what will you do when someone with a better heart comes around? Someone who gladly carve out his heart and put it in your hands if you asked for it? Would you turn him away simply because he hasn't known you for the same extent of time we have?"

Arya shrugged. "I suppose. Probably I will cross that bridge when it comes to it." She replied evasively. Glenwing smiled sadly.

"That way of thinking will only lead to a lifetime of loneliness. Trust me, I know. Promise me, Arya. Promise that if that man comes around, you will at least give him a chance."

She was hesitant for a moment, uncertain what to say. "Alright, I promise."

Arya sat still for another moment. Her mind was resolved, she knew what she had to do. Rising to her feet, she stormed to her chambers. Eragon had a twelve-hour head start on her. True, she had no dragon, but if she rode through the night, she had a chance of catching up with him in three nights. All her plans, however, soon came to a screeching halt. For there, on the middle of her desk, was now a small, green, lizard-like, winged creature, it's head poking out of the leather satchel that had previously contained its egg.