Author's Note: Hahahahahaha! To CaramelBoost, miya! For her 5KB review. That thing had to be, literally, a page long. Seriously. Yes, it was very long. Not much of it was actually about the chapter, but it was pretty sweet anyways. :D Also, a little notice…it probably means more to me than to you guys, but my series now has more than a thousand reviews! Yeah! Hearts to you, lovelies! Kittie

Screams echoed over the castle. Screams of a mother, robbed of her children.

"Get them away!" she shrieked. "I don't want to look at them!"

The midwife cradled the two lifeless forms in her arms, staring sadly. Hands gentle, she wrapped them in a blanket. They would be buried later.

The mother shrieked again, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall of sorrow.

"Take them away," she sobbed. "Just take them away."

oooooooooooooooooooo

Eragon snapped awake with a cry. Ieran glanced at him, eyes gentle. It was always hard, the waiting. He had been as eager for Súndavar's birth.

A scream came from inside the room, and Eragon jerked in surprise.

"Get them away!" Rune was shrieking, sounding as if the very devil was chasing her. "I don't want to look at them!"

Eragon's eyes widened, and he got to his feet. He was in the room with unnatural speed, at Rune's side.

Caitlin's face was wan, her eyes sad. A blanket wrapped around something still and cold lay in her lap.

"It was too early," she told Eragon gently. She laid a hand on his shoulder, before leaving the room with the lifeless bodies.

Rune was crying, softly now, tears rolling down her cheeks. She rolled over, away from Eragon, and pulled the covers over herself.

Eragon's heart was caught in his throat. He had not wanted to be a father, that was true, but he had gotten used to the fact that it was inevitable. He had almost, almost begun to look forward to it. Look forward to grubby fingers and high pitched voices; look forward to giggles and laughing and being called daddy. And now…

"Stillbirths are not uncommon, especially with such a young mother," Ieran said in his ear, suddenly beside him. "There was nothing that could be done."

Eragon bit his lip, then turned away, running after Caitlin. He ignored the sobs that clawed at his throat, ignored the tears that streaked his cheeks.

"Give them to me," he said, when he caught up to her.

Caitlin fixed him with strong eyes. "Eragon, it will only make things worse. No parent should have to bury their children."

"Give them to me," he said again. There was steel in his voice.

Caitlin saw he wasn't going to budge, and handed him the small bundle. With a sad nod, she turned away and disappeared.

Eragon unwrapped the two still forms and stared at them sadly. They were small, but surely not too small for life. A boy and a girl.

They did not deserve this. Eragon cursed every god he knew; innocents should not be robbed of life before even getting to try it out.

Saphira, why? he asked, reaching out to his dragon, as he always did in times of distress. It isn't fair.

Life, Eragon, she answered softly, is not always fair.

Eragon began to cry again, bringing the children close to him. With a start, he realized they were warm.

He hurried back to the Hold, babies still clutched tightly against his chest. He ran into his room, setting them on the bed. Closing his eyes, he searched each one. A steady stream of mental feedback flooded his brain, and he laughed in relief and joy.

They were hungry.

The girl cried out, moving her arms as if searching for something. Eragon picked her up, then her brother, and brought them back to Rune.

She was sitting up now, hearing the cries. Her face broke into a smile when she saw Eragon.

"We have children," he told her. The joy in his voice surpassed any other words he could have said.

"No," Rune said. "We have a family."

ooooooooooooooooooo

Súndavar struck his sword against the manikin, cleaving the head from its shoulders. Before it hit the ground, he had sent a spinning kick in its direction, sending it flying and knocking another manikin over. Several more heads crashed to the ground as Súndavar decapitated them in new and interesting ways.

He twisted through the air, breaking a neck as he did a handspring off of the head it was attached to. Using the momentum, he kicked another over and spun around to sink Persephone into a toy footman's throat, where there was no armor.

"Stop!"

The boy halted, and ripped the black blindfold he had been wearing away from his face. He glanced around the ruined room. Of the hundred war-dolls that had been standing, only four remained. The others laid around him on the floor, either headless or with would-be mortal wounds in between the armor they had been equipped with.

Galbatorix looked pleased. "You'd make a brilliant assassin, Snakespawn," he said. "That's ninety-six soldiers in five minutes. Blind."

Súndavar felt a rush of pride. He fought it down. "They didn't fight back," he said, shrugging. "It's just like knocking over sticks."

The King laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your Shade-blood runs stronger now than it ever has," he said. "I'm almost tempted to try out your skill on a live group, but I can't spare the men."

"Perhaps traitors?" Súndavar asked hopefully. "Or slaves?" He had never felt as alive as he had in the exercise. He'd never been allowed to fight like that, never stretched his muscles to such wonderful extents. Oromis would have condemned that sort of fighting – it was slaughter, cold-blooded Shade's tactics, not honorable Rider's battle. But he had felt so acutely aware, so in tune with his mind and body and the world around him. Every breath of the exercise rang in his head still, a whisper that would never be forgotten.

Something flashed in Galbatorix's eyes. "Surely murdering a hundred real men wouldn't sit well on Rune's stomach," he said. "These are toys, Súndavar. It is harder to sink a blade into the softness of a man's throat, hear his scream die with a gurgling of blood. That maneuver you pulled with kicking the head into another was clever, but could you do it in real life? When that head has cold, dead eyes?"

"I am strong," Súndavar growled. "Besides, I've proven I have a stomach for blood. Gore bothers my type little."

"Your type?"

"Shades, I mean. I am a Shade, aren't I?"

Galbatorix frowned. "Perhaps, in every way but the spirit-possession. Your mind is quite your own, Shadow."

Súndavar nodded, and felt a stinging in his heart. Was his mind his own? Did he really make his choices for himself? Or were they the King's choices, given to him so cleverly that he thought they were his own? Was he just as pure as he had been, just as devoted to the right and just? Just as determined to kill Galbatorix and bring peace to the realm?

Was he the Súndavar who had slept next to Rune, curled with her, legs entangled? Or was he someone else?

Had he changed?

These thoughts puzzled him. Would that Súndavar have sought refuge with the King, running his deadly errands?

No.

That Súndavar would have spat at the very idea that he would be a King's toy. That Súndavar would have sooner taken his last breath in Rune's good graces with a dagger between his ribs than become a murderer for the King's glory.

Súndavar frowned, brows creasing slightly in confusion. The King watched him, detecting the change with fury.

"Put the blindfold back on," he ordered. "We'll try it again."

Súndavar didn't move. His face was touched lightly by a cute, sad sort of confusion, like a puppy robbed of a promised bone. "No," he whispered, very softly. So softly, so very softly, he shook his head. The blindfold fell from his fingers, and he turned around, the trancelike look still haunting his eyes. He glanced behind, at the furious king in his wake, and whispered again. "Maybe later."

Quiet steps lead him away from the King's spire, and into the castle's forgotten hallways. When the King could no longer hear his steps, he broke into a run. He ran, ducking around halls and through doorways, until his muscles burned. Then he ran some more, feeling the pumping of his heart in every muscle in his legs. It felt like acid was surging through his veins, like blood had been replaced by fire. Sweat poured from his skin, soaking the pretty black tunic the King had given him, until he ripped it off and threw it away, never pausing the pounding of boots on tile that had become the world.

He ran until he collapsed, until his muscles refused take another step. He didn't know where he was, or even remember getting there. The vague smell of mold and rot reached his senses, but he didn't find it unpleasant. It didn't even register in his mind that it was there.

The fire still burning in his veins, Súndavar gave into the welcoming blackness, sinking into a sleep seemingly deeper than death itself. It was a relief.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Rune rocked slowly in the chair, feeding the girl. Eragon held his son with a look close to awe.

"He's so tiny," he breathed, one finger stroking the child's cheek. The baby moved against him, giving a little whimpery breath, before settling back to sleep.

"They'll get bigger fast," Rune said, repositioning. The girl had caught hold of a strand of hair that had fallen from her braid, and was clutching it tightly. "What color do you suppose her hair will be?" Rune she, stroking the baby's hair. The girl had thick, feathery locks the color of pale gold. "Think it will darken to your color?"

Eragon shrugged. "They're so beautiful," he murmured absently, smiling. The baby he held yawned contentedly.

"Of course they are," Rune snorted. "You expected them to be ugly?" she smiled to show she was teasing. "Their father is very handsome."

"And their mother is very fair," Eragon returned, meeting her green eyes with his intense brown ones.

Rune laughed. "All I know is I'll be glad to have my stomach its proper size again," she said. "At least you had the sense not to say anything stupid."

"I thought you looked beautiful, belly and all," Eragon teased, stroking the boy's dark hair.

"We should probably think of names now," Rune dismissed, changing the subject from her looks. "Now that we've seen them, and all."

Eragon nodded. The child in his eyes awoke and began to cry, stretching and writhing. He rocked it gently, trying to remember a lullaby he had heard. The words didn't come, so he hummed it.

Rune began to sing, voice high and sweet.

"Hush, hush, Lion,

Don't be scared,

Stars are high,

Above your lair,

Papa hunts,

While Mama sings,

Night-gales fly,

On golden wings,

So Hush, Hush, Lion,

Go to Sleep,

Moon keeps witness,

Not a peep."

The boy quieted at the sound of her voice, settling back into Eragon's arms to stare at him with wide navy eyes.

"Lion starts with L," Eragon said absently.

Rune laughed. "Leon!" she said. She would have clapped her hands in glee – a habit Eragon found rather cute – if she hadn't have been nursing the girl. "His name is Leon. Leon, Leon, Lionheart."

Eragon smiled, looking into the boy's eyes. "Leon. He looks like a Leon. It is a strong name."

Rune glanced at the child she held. "Moon keeps witness," she hummed, before giggling. "Luné."

"Lune-ay," Eragon said slowly, tasting the name. "Lion and Moon. A name of power, and a name of magic."

"Leon and Luné," Rune crooned, yawning and laying back in the rocking chair. "Leon and Luné, Lionheart and Moondance."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ieran nudged Súndavar's still body with the toe of his boot, a frown on his face. He blinked his maroon eyes slowly. The boy didn't stir.

"What's wrong with him?"

Ieran spun, rikan drawn and flicked into working position. Caitlin watched him with an odd expression.

The Shade cleared his throat nervously, looking at his feet, before flicking the rikan shut and tucking it in his belt again. He shuffled a little under her gaze, as if embarrassed. "I don't…I don't know. What's wrong with him, that is."

Caitlin kneeled and touched Súndavar's brow with two fingers. She leaned and kissed his cheek, without knowing quite why. Ieran stared at her incredulously.

"I doubt David will be very happy about that," he said. There was a sort of fatherly protection in his voice, although Caitlin couldn't tell whether it was towards her or towards the unconscious boy at his feet.

She flicked her hair and got to her feet. "Why do they hate one another so much?" she asked. "David never told me."

"Some things are better left untold," Ieran said, shaking his head and turning away. Caitlin caught his shoulder.

"Wait. Ieran, please."

The Shade looked into her eyes for a long moment, as if contemplating. He reached his decision and nodded. "Not here," he said. "You can come to my chambers."

Caitlin was equally excited about finally finding out where Ieran spent his nights as to finding about David and Súndavar's feud.

Ieran picked up Súndavar as if he weighed nothing, pressing his lips to his forehead gently, before motioning for Caitlin to follow and striding off down the dark hallway. He lead her down halls and stairways, until they reached the dank maze that was the dungeons.

"Why do you live down here?" she questioned, jumping out of the way of a drizzle of water, only to be dripped on by another. "It's so…gloomy."

Ieran didn't respond, simply shaking his head and urging her to hurry. She almost lost him when he ducked around a corner.

"Don't get lost," he said. "You'll never find your way out. You'll die of either starvation or despair."

Caitlin stayed closer to him after that.

Finally, the Shade stopped. They had reached something that looked like it had once been a doorway. It had been strung with silks and damasks, sheer fabrics lined with bells and embroidered with gems. He pulled one aside, letting Caitlin pass before entering with Súndavar's limp form still cradled in his arms.

The room behind the silks was equally exotic, strung with fabrics and links of bells. Shelves lined the walls, covered with trinkets. Several dozen little figures of carved wood sat on the shelves as well. Pots of paint littered the floor, and a divan littered with colorful pillows was draped with expensive blankets and sheets. Ieran set Súndavar down on it, staring at his son for a moment, before turning back to Caitlin.

The girl was looking around the room in wonder. She had never thought of Ieran as the type of person to be interested in art or literature, but his room was like something straight out of a fairy story. She picked up a little figurine of a cat, curled and sleeping. It was half painted, its face and upper body painted with a calico pattern. Each hair, it seemed, had been done separately. It seemed as though it was almost living, frozen in time and apt to awaken with naught but a word. Ieran glanced at it, then quickly away.

"I was making that for you, actually," he said. "But it is not yet finished."

Caitlin set the cat back in its shelf sheepishly and sat down across from Ieran. The Shade had settled into a nest of pillows, but not before taking off his shirt and kicking off his boots. He ran his fingers through his orangish hair and blinked at Caitlin, before reaching for a bottle of wine. He poured it into two glasses – little for him and less for Caitlin – and took a sip from his own.

"So."

Caitlin examined him quietly, as he got his bearings to tell the story. His chest was finely muscled, his skin smooth and hairless. If she looked beyond the fact that he was Súndavar's father, she could see him as very handsome, almost to a point of boyish beauty. He could have been only a few years older than Eragon, though Caitlin knew he had to be about thirty.

"So," he repeated, sipping his wine again. "You are here to hear a story."

Caitlin said nothing.

"To make a long story short, I suppose David blames Súndavar for his mother's death," Ieran continued. "But short stories are boring, and tell little, mm? So I guess I might as well start from the beginning.

"In this case, the beginning is a little before David and Súndavar were born. I had a sweetheart – a lover, really – at the time, whose name was Alyss. Then there was Freya. I had never noticed her, really, but she was a friend of Alyss's – a half-elf slave of Galbatorix's."

Ieran swirled his wine in the glass a little, before taking another sip and making a face, as if it had suddenly turned sour. He set it aside, then fixed his eyes on Caitlin again. "I'm sure you know how things go, when love is made," he said, looking embarrassed. "I was young, and unconcerned and oblivious of things that could result. It was quite a shock when Alyss told me she was pregnant.

"Scarcely a week later it was revealed that Freya was also with child – the father was unknown, even to her. You know how it is with slaves."

Caitlin shivered. If David hadn't protected her, she might be one of the poor slave girls – like Freya – who had had unwanted children, born of pain and frigid, malicious, hated love. She had delivered enough babies like that to know the pain and fear of a mother whose fault was not her own.

"In any case, at the time I was under a sort of apprenticeship with Galbatorix. I…I took care of things, for him, and he taught me strength. I took no pride in it, even then, but I thought it was necessary if I was going to flee with Alyss. To be able to protect us, I suppose. In any case, Galbatorix learned of Alyss's condition, and told me that to be truly strong, I would have to kill her, after the child was born, and raise it in my image."

"But that's awful!" Caitlin cried out, unable to control herself. Her hands had clenched into tight fists at the thought.

"Of course," Ieran soothed, nodding. "I was far too in love – or what I thought was love, at the time – with her to even think of such things. So we concocted a sort of plan. When the child was born, Alyss would flee. I would tell Galbatorix that both she and the child had died in birthing, and Freya would raise my child with her own."

"It worked fairly well. Freya's child was born early, about two weeks before Alyss's. She gave him a human name, David. When Alyss had Súndavar, she ran, and Freya assumed mother duties for him as well. It was about five years later when Galbatorix realized the trickery. Freya was killed in cold blood in front of the boys, leaving Súndavar and David to fend for themselves. I did what I could for the both of them, but it was not much."

Caitlin had a stricken look on her face. "You mean…David's part elf?"

"Only about a quarter," Ieran dismissed. "Not enough to affect his appearance, but certainly enough to give him strength and an affinity to magic and dragons. It's lucky he hasn't touched any of Saphira's eggs, or we may have two squabbling Riders."

Caitlin was silent after that for a good minute, deep in contemplation. "So David hates Súndavar because he blames him for Freya's death?"

"As I said – Long story made short." Ieran sat up from lounging against the pillows, abdomen moving under his tan skin, and shook out his hair. "But they never got along, even as children. They were constantly competing. You know the scar on David's back? Súndavar bit him."

Caitlin stifled a laugh, remembering the scar in question. It was fairly large. "What did he have, lion fangs?"

Ieran laughed with her, and shrugged. "It wasn't long after that that I…left," he said, face pained. "That was when I was freed from bondage – my Shade-spirits left me for dead, and I crawled from the castle. The next thing I remember was waking up bandaged in a slave cart. I ended up a slaver, after I managed to kill the one in charge of me. Under the name of Keorg."

"Why Keorg?"

Ieran shrugged and stood up. "Come," he said. "I'll lead you back to the surface."

"You shouldn't leave Súndavar. If he wakes up – "

Ieran glanced sadly at his son. "He's not going to wake up, Caitlin."

"What?" Panic touched Caitlin with icy fingers. "He's not—"

"No. But he's exhausted." Ieran let out a sigh. "Now come. Unless you wish to stay the night here, we'd best go."

Caitlin didn't protest any more, allowing Ieran to lead her back the way they had come.

Author's Note: Heh. Second one in one chapter. Anyways. When I began this chapter, I had every intention of Rune having a stillbirth. You know what stopped me? It wasn't that I was afraid to kill them – being babies and all. It wasn't that I just couldn't do it, or even because I knew you (a few of you in particular) would murder me. They wouldn't let me. Luné and Leon wanted to live. I may sound crazy here, but the characters do have lives of their own, and Luné and Leon just wouldn't die. They refused to. Mm.

Also, to lyokolady, I truly am sorry I haven't been sending these to you for editing. I'm just in such a rush to get them up and get this story finished with. :sheepish: