Much fluv to DietCherryVanillaDrPepper, Citlali Angeni, Ashyx, Frosted-Pink, alsdssg for reviewing my last chapter! Don't forget your cyber muffins on your way out! –hands over party favour cyber muffins in a blue party bag—

Tacos (vegetarian tacos –tofu instead of meat– for all vegetarians cough Shay cough lol) to all who review!

Onwards.

Chapter 21: Patience is a Virtue

Battles and death oft follow hand in hand. The loss of life in one mere battle is astounding, the laments of sorrow of the deceased's loved ones even more so as their cries echo across a battlefield littered with dead. One can hear the women, for it is rare for a woman to be in the battle field and more often than not they are the ones to collect broken bodies, as they find their husbands', brothers' and sons' ravaged bodies; limbs missing, wounds gashed across bloody corpses, faces marred even in death. The cries of the old women mingle with the tears of the young as they find their newly married husbands on death's door, or their long-married lovers lying painfully still in the harsh dirt. All their cries lead any who hear it into a dark depression, as death oft tends to effect people that way.

So, if battles cause such sorrow, why fight? Why leave your loved ones if their's a chance that you wont return and they'll be left alone to deal with the pain of loss? Some might say honour, but what is honour really, but some mans' set of rules in search of praise? If there was no honour, none would be praised… and none would be deemed evil or bad. All men would be clumped together in one giant category, with none above the other. But in battle, no man is better. All are eventually killed or wounded; most soldiers anyway – but all are affected. None escape a battle unscathed, whether mentally or physically and if the soldier is particularly unlucky, both.

Why do men find the need to cause injury, or to kill? Greed? The overwhelming urge to gain in power? But what causes this urge, this drive that changes kind hearted men into bloodthirsty monsters? Is it some long-standing disease that festers in the hearts of all men? For surely none could be so cruel by nature that they wish to kill by pleasure.

And yet, people like Galbatorix prove this statement wrong.

"Ané?"

Ané, roused from her musings, turned to watch Angela as she changed Eragon's bandages for the third time since she first applied the original ones. The witch was bended over her charge, naturally curly hair frizzing and standing at odd ends. Bags and dark circles encompassed her eyes, displaying the lack of sleep she had received. Doubtfully Ané looked better, she hadn't even had time to change her clothes – she still wore her mystery man's tunic, although now it was stained with blood and dirt.

"Ané? Girl, answer me!"

Ané blinked out of her stupor, staring blankly at Angela, who hadn't even looked up as she berated her.

"Yes?" Her throat was scratchy and her voice hoarse.

"Go sleep. You're useless when you're tired – you don't concentrate. I would kill you if you inadvertently ruined all my hard work because you're too tired to pay attention to him. You can't help anyone if you aren't properly rested."

The witch tied the bandages at the end to ensure they didn't fall off Eragon's body and then straightened up to admire her work. It was nothing fancy, but at least it would do. Angela had managed to tie a white gauzy bandage around his chest, effectively making him look like he was about to be entombed. Ané shrugged, hey at least it was stopping the blood flow.

"But what about you? You haven't slept either."

"I have others I need to care for; then I'll rest. And while I sleep, Arya can watch over the wounded – she's resting now." At the mention of Arya's name, Ané straightened up and tried her best to look awake and competent, but Angela shook her head. "Whatever your quarrel with Arya, leave it for another day. You are not going to hinder us with your fatigue. Rest now, compete with Arya later."

"But –"

"No, don't argue with me. Sleep! You can take that bed over there." Angela gestured vaguely with her hand at a cot in the corner of the room; Ané was dismissed.

With a dull expression on her face, she dragged her feet over to the cot and plopped down on it ungracefully. The cot smelled like feet – sweaty feet that hadn't seen water in years. Ané scrunched up her nose to show her displeasure before swinging her feet over and laying her head on a lumpy pillow.

Sleep didn't come easily, and when it did, visions of Eragon's bloody body haunted her, as well as the voice from the abyss.

Ané sat up, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear them from sleep, and saw that the room Eragon occupied was full.

She also noticed that the Rider was awake and chatting amiably – if a little stiffly – with several beings, including Arya, Orik, Murtagh, Nasuada and Angela who was still fussing over him when she could. No one noticed her sit up so she took this time to go over the visitors.

Arya, her head held high, was sitting as close to Eragon as she dared, looking the vision of an elven princess. She wore her tunic up to mid-knee and cut in the fashion of the Varden women, with vines as embroidery around the edges. Raven's wing black hair was knotted at the top of her head, with stray strands of hair framing her face. Ané rolled her eyes, Arya looked perfect. Mentally sticking her tongue out at the elf, she turned to inspect the next person.

Orik was standing on the other side of Arya. He was still as grim as she remembered, but somehow this grimness didn't appear so unhappy. She wondered if dwarves were always grim, and if there were varying degrees of it. The dwarf wore his own tunic, brown and black in colour, in the male style of his people. A long axe hung by his side, hooked on his belt. Wiry black hairs dotted with white made up his immaculately attired beard, while a brown hat hid his hair. With his hands clasped behind his back, he looked so formal there – one would think he wasn't close with the Rider.

Nasuada was next, as she sat on a chair beside the bed, her brow furrowed in worry, ebony skin paled as far as it could. She looked elegant in her ruby gown over lined with brown gauze, swirling with floral patterns. Her hair, a simple braid, was thrown over one shoulder where it ended at her breast. Ané smiled at her friend, though no one saw her. How could one so royal, be so casual in their own right?

And there was Murtagh standing behind Nasuada's chair, arms clasped on the back of it. He too looked worried, his mouth tilted in a frown. Despite this, she noticed how close he was to Nasuada and how his body seemed to lean towards hers. He wore a simple black tunic with white embroidery. Ané briefly wondered how he'd gotten there – last she heard, he was a prisoner.

As she was inspecting Eragon's visitors, she noticed Angela bustling up and down with her bag of herbs. Angela's hair wasn't nearly as frizzy as it had been when she'd gotten to sleep and she'd changed her clothes. The bags under her eyes had disappeared as well, so just how long had Ané been asleep? It couldn't have been more than a night's worth, and it definatly didn't feel more.

Out of nowhere, Eragon fell to the bed, writhing in pain. Sweat beaded his brow and rolled in miniature rivers down the side of his face. He screamed, low and agony-filled, as he attempted to clutch his back. It lasted no more than a couple minutes, but it showed just how truly the shade had broken him.

Feigning sleep – she doubted they would talk in the same manner if they knew she was awake – she waited until everyone had left before getting up and walking over to Eragon.

"Eragon?"

His eyes shot towards her, and he tried to sit up, only to fall back as another wave of pain over took him. Outside, Ané could hear Saphira's roar. Quickly, Ané ran and got the pot of water that Angela usually left by the table and some cloth and began dabbing at his forehead until the pain subsided. As he quieted, Ané knew him to be talking with Saphira.

She continued dabbing at his forehead until his hand caught her wrist. Pulling away, she took the pot and cloth back to the table and sat down in the chair that Nasuada had vacated.

"Eragon?"

He didn't answer so she sighed irritably, "Eragon if you don't answer by your given name, I'll be forced to resort to name you something hideously childish – and you know I will. And I'll continue using it to the end of your days, too. Answer me!" She hated the fact that she sounded so much like Angela, though there was nothing wrong with the witch; it just sounded like she was scolding him and she was in no position to scold anyone, least of all 'Alagaësia's last hope'. When he continued not to say anything, she smiled, sickly sweet in his direction, "Gon-Gon, won't you please answer me?" Her voice had taken up a sing-song quality.

Eragon choked and looked her over before coughing, "Are you wearing my tunic?"

"No, I found this tunic in some man's room."

"Do you make it a habit to wake up in strange men's rooms and steal their clothing?"

"Yes."

When he looked at her with a look of disgust and horror on his face, she rolled her eyes. "No, but I could hear the cries of battle and didn't want to be left out." He raised his eyebrows, "And I may not remember what happened for me to get into that situation."

"And you're not worried?"

"Reality hasn't really set in yet." She sighed, rubbing her temples gently to relieve the pressure that was building; it wasn't yet noon and already she had a headache. A pause settled between them before Ané broke it, "you said your tunic. If this is your tunic, what was I doing in your room unconscious?"

"Well, after that meeting with Ajihad…" Eragon considered lying and telling her that she hadn't been in his room at all, that he'd left her in a healing ward or something equally similar but he knew she'd never buy it. Yet somehow, the truth wasn't so appealing; after all, he deserved some fun, did he not?

"Yes? After the meeting with Ajihad..?" Her headache had made her even more impatient.

"Well, we went to the kitchens because I was hungry and you looked as though you could eat a bit…" Ané tuned out because her head was killing her, and oh God was he rambling? She managed to catch the last line though, wishing she hadn't quite heard it. "And well, we had too much mead and…" Eragon trailed off.

Too much mead? What's that supposed to mean?

Too much mead…

Oh Gods, had she gotten intoxicated and not realized it? She didn't get intoxicated! And… if she'd gotten intoxicated, and he'd gotten intoxicated and she'd woken in his room… Her eyes widened as she realized what he'd been implying. Had he tumbled her? Oh Gods, this was not going to be good…

Eragon's sudden laughter cut through her dismal musings, his eyes wide as he gasped for breath. "You really shouldn't believe everything you hear Ané, honestly."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she glared at him from the chair, her arms folded across her chest. "So there was no mead?"

The Rider shook his head before going into the details of the events leading up to her 'awakening' – was her spontaneous fainting more realistic than the intoxication falsehood? Probably. Especially since she remembered that 'dream', something he was lucky for; if she thought he'd been lying to her again, she'd have dumped that water all over his bed-ridden body.

Ané shook her head, disturbed by the trail her thoughts had taken her upon. She sounded as though she was speaking with and thinking about one of her friends from home; not some Rider worn out by Shade's blade. Did this mean she'd forgiven him, if there even was anything to forgive? She wanted to say no, truly wanted to, but every time she tried to, an image of Eragon, broken and bloody after his battle with Durza, came into her mind. Another image of him, screaming in pain and clutching his back, came unbidden as well. He'd sacrificed so much; his mind, body and what appeared to be his soul, the least she could do was to accept his apology.

A messenger suddenly came in wearing the colours of Ajihad's personal servant. Ané stood up and curtsied in the manner she knew she was required to while Eragon sat there and took it all in. Without speaking he handed Ané a note and stood by the door, obviously waiting. Looking over the piece of parchment carefully, Ané turned to Eragon and motioned for him to sit up.

"It appears we have a meeting with Ajihad before he leaves. We are to arrive as soon as you feel up to it." With a tilt of her head, she motioned to the messenger, "He requires us to send a message with him telling him when you think you'll feel well enough to go. Hopefully as soon as possible."

The rider nodded, and removed the blanket that was twisted around his legs. "Let's go then."

"What?" Ané blinked; this wasn't something she expected.

"The letter says as soon as possible." Eragon began slowly, "And I think if we are only going to his office and returning, I can handle it. I'm not that weak."

"But–"

"No. I can walk there and back; it's not that far. I'm going." He glared at her, fixing her with a death stare that none could oppose. Unfortunately for him, it was much less effective since he was wearing a hospital shirt that Angela had placed upon him to make it easier to change his wounds in.

"Your back isn't yet properly healed, you can't possibly–"

"I'm going." Eragon murmured firmly, bending over to retrieve his pants that had fallen on the floor when Ané stood up from her chair; their previous resting spot.

"Fine, but if your back bothers you don't expect any sympathy from me." Grumbling she passed him a clean tunic and some water so he could wash his face and attempt to flatten his hair with it; he had to look somewhat presentable.

Once Eragon was suitably dressed the three made their way to Ajihad's quarters, if a little slowly. Eragon's muscles were stiff from lying in bed all day, and every once in awhile they'd have to stop for him to rest. Eragon's once-presentable tunic was now dotted with beads of sweat and crumpled at the edges. By the time they'd reached Ajihad, it was nearly noon.

Ané glanced at the messenger, who gazed down at Eragon in sympathy, not noticing her stare. I wonder if he truly is worried.

He probably is; Eragon just killed a shade. No doubt that he's worried for the Varden's 'savior'. A female voice entered her head and she recognized it as Saphira. She tried not to laugh as the sapphire dragon murmured 'savior' sarcastically, sending the impression of what would be the equivalent of rolling her eyes.

Don't you agree with them that Eragon is a 'savior'? Ané was vaguely wondering why Saphira was even talking to her. The two weren't close and hadn't ever been, really.

I don't believe Eragon is a savior in the sense that they are thinking of. He saved the day, yes. That does not give them grounds to worship him. He feels the same as I… and I'm conversing with you simply because my Rider is becoming too irritable to hold up a decent conversation.

Ané blushed, slightly horrified that the dragon had caught her train of thoughts. I-I wasn't thinking that in an offensive way, I was merely nothing that we didn't… talk often. She ended lamely, tucking a strand of her loose hair behind her ear.

A nice way of putting it, Saphira commented dryly, but you needn't defend yourself.

Their conversation ended as the messenger knocked on the door, opening it as a muffled, 'enter' was heard. Eragon stood straighter, fingering the seams of his tunic as he entered the office, closely followed by Ané. The Rider stumbled, almost falling, but Ané caught him at the last moment, hooking her arm through his for support.

Ajihad raised an eyebrow at their entwined limbs, and frowned, opening his mouth slightly as though he were to request they separate.

"Rider Eragon is still recovering; he was going to fall. I helped him." Ané made sure her tone didn't suggest anything more or less than what she was saying as she let go of Eragon so he could sit. The Varden leader nodded, and motioned for her to do the same as Eragon, to which she complied.

"First and foremost, I thank you Eragon. You have rid the world of an evil, and done the Varden a great service." He nodded solemnly at Eragon, "second I must point out that while the hardest part is behind us, there is still more work to do. I am to go through the tunnels, today, I should think, and continue to eradicate any remaining Urgals."

A servant came in bearing a tray of juice and biscuits, serving Ajihad first before moving on to Eragon and Ané. Ajihad paused slightly to drink from the goblet before motioning the young girl out with a slight wave of his hand.

"The elves will want you to come to them and train immediately once they receive word of this – which we have already sent to them. We need you to know as much as possible Eragon, so as they can teach you the finer arts rather than have you learn the basics. While I'm gone, I wish for your magic lessons to resume." He stared pointedly at Ané who blushed and ducked her head, "And it would be part of the bargain if you were to continue to tutor him with whatever you can provide during the time he spends in Ellsemera. No doubt the elves will teach him all they know, but you," he quirked an eyebrow at her, "may know other things."

Ané raised her head in slight protest, "It would not be part of the bargain for me to go to Ellsemera! I was only to teach him here!"

"Which you have not done."

"I can not go to Ellsemera." She raised her defiantly, as though challenging him to counter it.

"Transport has already been made for you. You can go."

Ané sighed, "Fine, let me re-phrase that: I will not go to Ellsemera."

To this, Ajihad only smiled, "Oh but you will, dear girl. You have not fulfilled your end of the bargain and until then, you are a prisoner of the Varden. And now, the Varden wishes for you to teach Eragon magic."

"But certainly the elves will want to teach him solely!"

"As I said, you may know something they do not, or," he paused thoughtfully, stroking his beard, "have forgotten."

"And what if the elves don't want me in their city?"

"Times are so rough that even enemies must lay down their swords to fight the greater evil. See this, as an ambassador's position, bringing together two people and helping Eragon in the process." Ajihad smiled down benignly at her and took a bite of a biscuit.

"And if I don't accept the position?" Ané raised an eyebrow at the leader, as if to say 'going to punish me, are you?'

"You won't have a choice." Eragon, who had been quiet throughout this transaction, suddenly spoke up, "this is a political war now, and the stakes are far too high."

Kill, or be killed. Saphira added, her voice ringing throughout their heads.

Ané sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she'd be heading towards the hornet's nest. Yes, most likely I will 'be killed'. How aptly put.

"Good." Ajihad nodded, interpreting her sigh as acceptance, "Your dragon will accompany you on the trip, if only to smooth matters with the Queen." When Ané opened her mouth to reply, he held up a hand to silence her, "It has been decided. Leave and teach Eragon, I will see you when I return from the tunnels." He nodded at them each in turn and sat down with an air of finality.

Great. When will my drama end?

Why, dear elf, Saphira murmured slyly, patience is a virtue… and drama is amusing. She added as an after-thought.

Ok, I'm sorry for the whole OOCness on Eragon's and Ane's parts... And I'm soo sorry with the lateness of this chapter! My muse abandoned me for this chapter and I'm thoroughly disgruntled with it. That and the fact that I'm going through a craze isn't helping. Story is --almost-- over now; only a few more chapters to go. Pray to the Gods that I'll get them up sooner, rather than later! Again, I'm sorry with the delay!

I know, I know, I'm a horrible person. Go ahead, start the Caramel-Bashing. ::hangs head in shame::

xox Caramel