Author's Note:) Hello. I've gotten some comments about "Tristam and Isolte" just to clear anything up…I know it's a legend, often grouped in with Arthurian legends in general, but the play is going to differ a great deal from the original story. :) It's not the same story, after all. Alagäesia's legends are a probably quite different from ours. Soo….basically what I'm saying is that if I put something into the story of these two that isn't really there, don't murder me. I do know the real story. :) Hearts, Kittie-chan

"It's so…strange," Rune murmured, turning the book over in her hands. It was close to noon now – Ieran had just finished declaiming the play for a larger audience. "There are so many parallels."

"How so?" Eragon questioned. He had found the play interesting, but didn't see what the fuss was about. It was a story, retold by the mothers of two in their party. "I don't see any. The King's evil, I suppose, but that's it."

"Not in the characters," Rune dismissed, shaking her head. "In the plot. Remember my sleep?"

Eragon nodded. That was one thing not easily forgotten.

"These words – the spell. It's similar. Mine were my life be bound to Eragon's."

"Except you don't know my true name."

"I didn't have to. Our purposes were in…whatsit? Agreement. To escape. But here, she used his true name, because he would have obviously rather that she lived. They were in love, after all."

Eragon chewed his lip thoughtfully, nodding. "I suppose it makes sense. But it's doubtless a coincidence – this was written long before. They wouldn't have known what you would say."

"But Lycona knew the outcome!" Rune urged. "Don't you remember the words? A life may be broken, yet another may start. Slate's life started, and mine was broken. I think there was another part in there too. About becoming one. But I can't remember."

Ieran was nodding. "She's right. Are there any other similarities?"

Caitlin watched quietly. "There are a few places where the play differs from the story in the book," she said. "Those could be where the meaning is." She took the book from Rune and flipped to a place. "Like here: Wounded in battle, far off from what he once was. In body and mind, Tristam was ravaged by the gore and death of the war he had seen. A brother he had lost to its hungry rage, and his own sanity was nearly gone. In the story, it said nothing about a brother. And certainly nothing about mental instability. In the story, he was wounded, but naught more."

Rune pursed her lips. "What we need is the missing page," she said.

"Why is everyone so convinced this has a meaning?"

Everyone turned to look at Súndavar. It was the first understandable thing the boy had said all morning.

"It was written by our mothers," Rune said stubbornly. "Why shouldn't it have a meaning?"

"Because perhaps they were merely bored and had nothing better to do with their time than retell a story."

"It was probably written soon after Sundavar's birth," Ieran said, shaking his head. "That would be when Lycona wrote her prophesy, as well as cast the spell that made Rune unable to perform even the simplest of magics. You probably would have been conceived a month or so prior, Rune."

Shay and Vanir watched quietly. Shay nodded. "Both would have had plenty to do – Lycona would have morning sickness and cravings and sweat a lot and ache all over and…" she trailed off. "Do we happen to have anything sweet on hand?"

Vanir sighed and patted her hand. "Elves don't get morning sickness," he dismissed. "So it wouldn't have been a problem."

Rune snorted. "I'm half elf, and I got it sure enough!"

Ieran cut both off. "It doesn't matter. This has meaning – we all feel it. Even you do, Súndavar."

Súndavar shrugged and was silent.

"Where's David?" Rune asked. "Another head would do us good."

"I'll find him," Vanir offered. He got up and strode quickly away. As soon as he was gone, Shay let out a sigh of relief.

"I wasn't joking about sweets!" she said, getting up. "I'm insanely starving."

Ieran began to laugh.

Shay frowned at him. "What?"

"Strange cravings, aren't they? Sweets when we just ate? Surely you shouldn't be hungry already."

"Well I am."

Súndavar cleared his throat lightly, and they fell silent. He was deathly pale, and shaking. "I think I know," he said softly.

"Know?"

He looked up at them with a blank stare. "I think I know what it means."

Rune frowned and sat down next to him. "What?"

"Tristam. It sounds a good deal like trisien, doesn't it?"

Eragon's face paled visibly. "That's a Shade word!" he cried. "Oromis told us not to touch that book! The whole language is cursed, Súndavar!"

"I didn't read Oromis's stupid book, fool," Súndavar hissed. "I just know it." He voice was raspy. "Trisien. It means Darkest Hue."

Saphira's head lifted. What?

"Darkest Hue. It's a curse of sorts. If something is of the darkest hue, it is corrupt, dangerous, evil."

Saphira's eyes widened just a bit. She breathed deeply, and began to sing the lifesong. It seemed forever since she had heard it, but it rolled simply and easily, her voice carrying the tune, her thoughts the words. She stopped when she came to the line that had caught her attention.

Throne that glints in darkest hue.

Súndavar shivered as if an invisible force was racing through his body. "Tristam is Galbatorix," he hissed.

Eragon blinked slowly. "Galbatorix lost his dragon. Tristam lost his brother. It makes sense."

"Both were near insane," Caitlin added. "One of the discrepancies between the play and the original."

"If there is a parallel there, there must be others as well. We need that page!"

David and Vanir returned as Ieran finished saying this. David's eyes were glittering dangerously.

"Vanir told me how things stand as we walked," he said. "It would seem we have ourselves a bit of a riddle."

"We've found a parallel between the play and our lives," Rune told him. "Tristam is Galbatorix."

"Tristam dies," David nodded. "That's a good thing, right?"

Súndavar laughed. "A good thing. A good thing!" he howled like a wolf. "It's not a good thing, jester! It's not so easy. Not easy. Not…" he seemed to lose his trail of thought. His eyes went blank for a moment. Then he laughed again, looking almost evil. His voice was low and breathy, a voice of a lover whispering sweet dirty nothings. "Foolish David. We can't simply stake Galbatorix in his sleep. No, no, no. Foolhardy, foolhardy. Silly David."

David looked at him with a mixture of hatred and pity. "Losing your dragon has reduced you to a babbling idiot," he said. "I am truly sorry – I so enjoyed our hatred for one another."

Súndavar's eyes blazed, and he launched himself at David with animal strength. He pinned him to the ground, before Vanir managed to force him off. He hissed angrily, and slunk away to his room.

David picked himself up and watched him leave. He glanced at Rune. "I know you loved him," he said. "I'm sorry on your account too, for losing him."

She shrugged sadly. "He'll come back. He must."

David seemed to accept this. He sat down next to Caitlin. "Now."

"We're looking for other parallels," Rune told him. "Between the story and our life. We can't find any. The only girls are myself and Caitlin and Shay, and none of us would die of grief if Galbatorix died."

"Who says Isolte is a girl?" Ieran asked. "It doesn't have to be. They were lovers in the story – perhaps in our story, they were simply close."

"Isolte betrayed her father in loving Tristam," Shay pointed out.

They all thought for a moment. Galbatorix had no friends. He had no one close to him but Shurikan. Would Shurikan fell him? Then, would the dragon die, as Isolte had? But what of the betrayal? Were they taking it too literally?

"We need that page," Rune said. "It's no use to wear ourselves out, as it is quite obviously part of our riddle. Tomorrow Ieran, Caitlin, David, Shay, and Vanir will search the library and see if they can find it. Súndavar, Eragon, and I will read over the play again to see if we missed anything."

Everyone nodded.

"We've been leaving something out."

Caitlin's voice was a soft whisper. The eyes turned to her.

"Tristam, Isolte and her father are not the only characters," she said. "If Galbatorix has a parallel, it's likely we all do."

"But only the King kills Galbatorix," Vanir protested. "Who the rest of us are doesn't matter. What matters is that he dies."

David nodded, then frowned. "He is right, but think about the rest of the plot. There must be…"

Súndavar's door opened, and all eyes turned. David fell silent.

The boy had cleaned himself and changed his tunic. His hair was still wet from a bath, and he smelled of soap. His eyes were soft and normal, with no hint of the primal element they were becoming used to. He still wore a glove on his sword hand, but no longer was it covered in blood and grime. His tunic was fresh and clean, and his skin didn't look so deathly pale, as if he had scrubbed color into it. He sat down quietly.

"Súndavar," Rune whispered. "Are you…better?"

He glanced at her. "What is better supposed to mean? I will never be over what happened." He looked at his hands. "But I am of little use to any of you a babbling idiot."

"Funny, the things a bath can do to someone's sanity," David remarked.

Súndavar's head snapped towards him. He grinned devilishly. "Is that all it is? Friend, you should bathe more often!"

Both laughed. It took a moment for the group to realize that there was no ill will in either. Then they all broke into laughter.

When the mood had quieted, Súndavar glanced at them all. "I believe I've found something that you need." He produced a small book. On the cover, it said Heart Writing.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Tawnyclaw's wings ached. His talons were sore from keeping such a grip on the letter held in them.

Beat, two, beat four, feathers flare, catch wind, warm air, soar. Beat two…

The incessant rhythm of it all was beginning to wear him down. He shrieked and beat his wings harder to gain altitude.

His thoughts turned to his mate, his egg, anything to keep himself from thinking of the terrible burning in his wings. The white hawk he had chosen as a partner was certainly sitting on their egg now. Would it have hatched? He should have been there, to help with feeding.

His thoughts wandered again, to Rune this time. He was happy for her – she had found a mate who could love her, and had chicks. Little, featherless, human chicks, but all the same. He still was puzzled a bit by who the father was – she touched so many males that it was a bit confusing. There was the Bad Blood Boy, who of late seemed quite animal, and the Rider. And the elf with black hair, whom she sometimes talked to or hugged. And the other boy. The Magic Blooded boy. The boy in whom Tawnyclaw could sense greatness, bottled, waiting to emerge. There was something curious and almost fierce about that one.

Nonetheless, whomever the chicks' father was, Rune was happy. And that was what mattered to Tawnyclaw.

Why did it matter? He wondered quietly why he cared so much for the girl. She had helped him, for sure, back when his wing was broken and he couldn't fly at all. But it wasn't duty that bound him to her – not a sense of owing. She hadn't wanted him to owe her anything.

Was it love?

Perhaps. Perhaps he simply cared for her, cared enough to live his life doing things to help hers be easier. Like these letters.

The letters. Again, he felt the weight of them. With his hawk vision, he could see the Castle's highest spire, on the horizon. But it was still a long ways off. Still, it was coming steadily closer. Steadily…he beat his wings harder.

Then he heard a noise. It made his heart soar.

The white hawk joined him in the sky. Their wingtips brushed, and Tawnyclaw could feel his tiredness pass to her. She knew his aching, from the touch of his wings. She shrieked at him, wordlessly, for with her it was always wordless, but he got her meaning.

Tawnyclaw opened his talons, letting the letters fall. The white hawk swooped, snatching them herself. She shrieked again, this time less shrill, less of a command. Land, she seemed to tell him. She would take them the rest of the way.

Tawnyclaw swooped and landed in a tree branch, and the white hawk cried at him approvingly. She beat her own cloud colored wings, and was soon gone from sight.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ieran stared at the diary Súndavar had handed him. There were tears in the corners of his eyes, but they didn't fall.

"How long have you had this?" he asked, quietly. Caitlin stood and went to his side, placing a hand on his arm tentatively.

Súndavar shrugged. "Quite a while. Practically since we got here."

Ieran bit his lip, and glanced at the girl on his arm. He breathed in quietly, then nodded.

"There's a page stuck in," Súndavar said. "In the back. I never read it."

A shriek interrupted them all, as the white hawk flew through the part of the ceiling that was open to the sky. She dropped the letters at Rune's feet, before landing on the only thing she could – Ieran's shoulder.

The Shade grimaced as her talons sunk several inches into his flesh. A stream of blood began to trickle down his bare chest.

Rune picked up the letters and held out her arm. The hawkess released Ieran's shoulder and flew to the girl.

"From the Varden," Rune said, stroking the hawk's head with one hand. "You've done well, pretty thing. Give regards to Tawnyclaw."

The hawk looked at her with her black eyes, then nodded once and took off. She flew out the way she had come.

Rune glanced at Ieran. He was staring in a state of either confusion or pain at the six daggerlike wounds in his shoulder. He reached up and touched one gingerly. "Would someone mind…"

Súndavar stepped forward, and laid a hand on him. He whispered the words, and the wounds healed. He sat down again, wordless, but Rune would see the anguish in his face.

Ieran glanced at his son, then nodded. "That was hard. Thank you."

"I have to get used to doing magic on my own sometime," Súndavar said with a shrug and a sad sort of sigh. He glanced at them all. Of everyone, it was David who laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You are brave, to move on," he said.

"I do not feel brave. I feel like a traitor." Súndavar glanced at the heavens, then down at his hands. "But I am so tired of being sad. It wears on a person."

David clasped his forearms in a brotherly way. "Be strong," was all he said.

Rune waved the letters above her head. "Come!" she said. "Let's read, before they explode or some such thing. If Orrin's touched them, it's likely."

Everyone laughed, and Rune tore open the thick envelope. There were many pieces of paper inside. She pulled one out.

"Dearest Shadeslayer," she read. Then she giggled. "It's from Arya. Shall I read it aloud?"

Eragon turned a shade of pink and shook his head, snatching the letter away from her. "I'll read it myself , thank you very much."

Rune shrugged with an expression that was between a tease and a flirt on her face. "Very well." She pulled out another. "Shay. Orrin's not much one for beginning his letters, is he?"

Shay took the letter and clasped it tightly against her heart, as if recalling all the times she and the King had shared. As one of the King's Elite, they had been together nearly since she had come to Surda, when she was fifteen. They were close friends.

Rune peeked inside the envelope. Her eyes widened and she crowed in joy. "I got one too! From Katrina and Angela, together!" She hugged the letter and slipped it into her belt. "There's two more," she said. "One from Nasuada to us all and one…" her face twisted. "One that is not addressed to any of us."

Ieran's heart quickened. "May I see it?"

Rune handed him the letter, and he scanned it. He recognized the writing immediately. It matched the writing in the book he held in his other hand.

"It is from Alyss," he said softly. "It would seem your mother has found her way to the Varden, Súndavar."

Súndavar blinked. "That means, when Galbatorix is dead, I can meet her." He was smiling.

Ieran sighed, and left the room without another word.

"I'll read ours aloud," Rune said, knowing it was best to let him go. "Then we can all go read in private."

Everyone nodded, and Rune began to read.

"To those in the Lion's Den,

"Hello, from each and every one of usHello from Nasuada and from Orrin, hello from Trianna and the new mage Ellemoe. Hello from the sword smith down the road, hello from the battle instructor. Hello from Angela and Solembum, hello from Arya and Orik. Hello from the pages who tend the horses

We all wish you good luck.

She broke into a smile. "It's written in all different hands!" she laughed. "Look!" she sported the letter for them to see. It was true, the letter was a patchwork of handwritings. It strayed from a girl's gentle strokes so the chicken scratch of a man who barely knew how. It was written by a child here, an adult there. It was written by the Varden.

"You cannot know how great of a relief it is to know that you are well and alive. We have worried night and day about you. YOU AR A HEERO ERAGON."

"That was written by a child," Rune giggled.

"WE MISS YOU."

Rune's eyes widened. "Oh, look! The rest is all written by children!"

The rest of the letter was haphazard and strewn every which way. There were doodles of dragons and mighty swords, drawings of princesses and towers and even a drawing of a wedding ring.

"SHADOW FITES FOR TH VARDN. RUNES A PRINCESSS. WE LUHV CAPTIN SHAY. SAPHIRA IS THE PRETYEST DRAYGN."

They all gathered around Rune, looking with hungry eyes at the letter. There were smiles on every face and tears in every eye.

We miss and love you. Come home victorious, come home soon.

The Varden

Súndavar was staring at his hands. "Shadow," he whispered. "Shadow. Shadow fights for the Varden."

"Now go on!" Rune laughed. "Read your letters. Be happy." She glanced Súndavar's way. "Tonight we're going to figure out a riddle!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Do you love me again, Súndavar?"

Rune was sitting on Súndavar's bed, watching as he strengthened his arm muscles by pulling himself up on the window. He had done ten, and was not yet out of breath. Rune was not surprised – Súndavar was thin and light.

He dropped from the window and glanced at her. "Why do you ask? I am of the hinatel. Of the dark."

"Why do you use Shade words now?"

"Because I can." He shrugged and sat down on the bed next to her. He touched her face, then kissed her lips gently. "There. Have I answered your question?"

"No. Vanir could kiss me if he wanted to, but that doesn't mean he loves anyone but Shay."

Súndavar laughed. "I suppose you're right. We've grown apart, haven't we? It's fnhentiel. Fate."

"Not grown, and not fate. You've pushed me."

"Well, I'm through pushing. You and I are for etrinten. Eternity."

"If we live so long."

Súndavar laughed again. "You know something?"

"Mmm?"

"I think all this time, I have thought that I loved you. But I haven't until now. Who can know what love even is, until it is stolen and then returned?"

He got up off the bed and began to pace. "May I hold Luné?" he asked suddenly.

"She's sleeping."

"I won't wake her. Promise. Can I just hold her?"

Rune hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. But don't wake her. I'm not feeding her again tonight. If she's woken, you'll be the one staying up all night with her crying. Clear?"

Súndavar nodded and darted off, leaving Rune slightly puzzled.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The letters had lifted everyone's mood, even those who had not received one. Ieran, however, did not show up until late. It looked as though the Shade had been exercising; beating his lean muscles back into the precise shape he wanted them. David noticed Caitlin's eyes stray on him a bit too long for his liking.

"It is time to read our poem," Ieran said. His eyes were bright and glittering. He produced the sheet of paper that had been torn from the book and tucked in the diary.

Everyone gathered around him. Luné was still asleep in Súndavar's arms, and both looked about as comfortable as they ever had. Shay had brought a sweet roll with her, and was eating it somewhat noisily.

Ieran began then to read.

Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone,

One is two, and two is its own,

The key to this quest is one word yet three,

The first is a title, for eternity

The second is simply naught more but fate,

While within the third lies deepest hate.

Word one, the truth, what the Dark One be,

Word two is known, I gave it free,

The third is hidden, but easy to find,

Inside the depths of Shadow's Mind.

Hero of this legend true,

Which he is, what he shall do,

He strikes not in revenge, as the story so goes,

But to right all the wrongs that only he knows,

Looking back, all three were perhaps in the wrong,

But what does it matter when victory's sung?

Die the dark one, Die Hero's heart,

Die his most essential part,

Die until dead, Die 'till done,

Only then shall the war be won.

Everyone was silent when he finished. There was very little to say.

Finally, Rune spoke. Her voice was small. "I don't understand," she said.

"This doesn't help us," Eragon cursed. "All it's doing to proclaiming doom to the hero! One is two. What is that supposed to mean?"

Súndavar sighed gently. "We've hit another dead end. Curse the nthkngr. Curse the King." he said. His voice didn't sound convincing.

Ieran glanced at him. Súndavar's eyes didn't seem like the eyes of someone admitting defeat. They looked like the eyes of someone who knew destiny with surety. The eyes of someone who had seen the future, and liked what he saw.

They looked like the eyes of someone who understood.

Súndavar met his father's eyes, read the suspicion, and stood up. "I'm going to bed," he said. He kissed Luné's forehead gently. "May the baby sleep in my room?"

Rune raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "She may. If you drop her I'll murder you."

Súndavar nodded. On the way into his room, he muttered something.

"You may not have to."

Author's Note: Can anyone figure it out? I've given you everything you need to figure out the riddle. Hugs to whomever figures it out first. :P Hearts to all, Kittie