Five people were seated before him on intricately carved seats, almost throne-like in appearance. No doubt spoils of war from sacking the castle of Aroughs during their invasion. The five people were on a dais, elevating themselves from the lone chair in the middle, a plain chair that looked rather rickety.

Roran recognized one of the five as Jörmundur, Nasuada's right hand man.

Two men, one tall and one broad, sat beside him. A woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks sat beside the broad man. Another woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice. The woman with painted cheeks stared down at the approaching form of Roran Garrowson with pursed lips as the other woman idly tapped the pommel of her dagger. The two men were emotionless, faces reminiscent of stone statues.

Roran, suddenly self-conscious, slowly sat down in his chair, wincing at the sound of the ominous creaks that erupted from the aged wood in protest to his weight.

Though Katrina had given him his best garb to wear for this meeting, a hand stitched wool tunic of Katrina's design, beautiful in its simplicity, the two men and women wore the finest of silk for cloth, their stitches the color, and possibly made, of gold instead of yarn. Only Jörmundur wore a simple tunic, though he wore it under chainmail.

The Council of Elders.

Roran cleared his throat, uncomfortable as the five stared at him, as though searching for something in him. "You summoned me?" he asked them, nervous.

Jörmundur nodded his head, besides him his fellow council members looked down upon Roran Garrowson with interest. Jörmundur seemed to straighten himself from where he sat in his chair, seated in the very middle with the other councilmembers flanking him.

"Indeed we have, Captain Roran. The Council has summoned you here for a matter of grave importance."

"And that is?" Roran valiantly tried to mask the suspicion in his tone. He didn't trust the Council, they had been some of the most adamant of the Varden leaders to question Roran's story of what had happened at Helgrind. None of them seemed to have believed him fully, perhaps finding Roran distrustful. Had they summoned him to discuss the whereabouts of Eragon? He knew that they did not believe his story.

The woman with painted cheeks blinked at his words, painted cheeks reddened. She didn't seem pleased with him, if the narrowed eyes were anything to go by. She seemed to try to hide her displeasure behind a simpering smile, revealing yellow teeth. "Nothing terrible, we assure you, Roran Stronghammer." She said, her voice soft.

Roran didn't fully believe her. Though if the Council had realized that he had lied about his adventure in Helgrind, surely they would have detained him for treason? They wouldn't have brought him to their chamber with no guards to be seen.

The tall somber man spoke next, eyes the color of tempered steel and a voice like thunder. "You have been promoted, Stronghammer."

Roran blinked, unable to understand. He was a Captain in the Varden, the only higher position that could be attained by a soldier was…

"Commander Roran." The other older woman called his name, breaking him from his thoughts. He faintly remembered her name was Sabrae.

"Yes?" He asked her, still trying to comprehend what was happening.

Sabrae looked at him warily, as though questioning his promotion herself. "Do you understand the importance of this promotion?'

"Aye, my lady." Roran said dutifully, bowing his head before the Council in a show of utmost respect, even though he only did so to hide his confused expression from the Council, least they interrogate him and ask him questions that he would rather leave unanswered.

Roran was doubtful. He looked back up at the Council of Elders, all too aware of the lack of Nasuada's presence. She, of all people, should have been there to promote him. She alone held the power to do so, but then why was she not there?

"Does Lady Nasuada know of this promotion?" he asked them, as her absence had been terribly apparent to him the moment Jarshan, a young messanger, had escorted him into the room.

Unease suddenly went through the four figures like a breeze of wind, the only one who maintained his composure was Jörmundur.

"Of course our leader knows of this, Roran Garrowson," Sabrae sniffed out, head raised up as she looked down upon the new Commander with heavy-set eyes, she looked thoroughly offended but Roran noticed the tension in her shoulders.

They say Nasuada knows of this, but if she were the one who wanted to grant me such power, surely she would be here right now? The rank of Commander is no small achievement, with such power I have the ability to have my own troops who have to follow me. Wouldn't Nasuada be the only one, save Orrin, to grant someone such power? Roran thought to himself.

"Than why is she not here herself?"

There it was again, that ripple of unease. Sabrae looked at Falberd, as though for reassurance while Jörmundur watched on silently, never once speaking.

It was Umérth who spoke then, his voice as gravely and somber as his expression. "Lady Nasuada has too much to accomplish as our leader, and while you have been of a great service to the Varden and her people, Lady Nasuada did not have time to attend this meeting, as she had more important matters to attend to, I'm afraid. She is, of course, aware of this meeting taking place as well as your promotion to Commander." He said this placidly, as though that alone could silence Roran's suspicions.

Interesting how they only say that Nasuada has knowledge of this meeting and my sudden promotion, but yet they do not say it was Nasuada herself who entitled me to the rank of Commander. Did Nasuada not wish for me to become a Commander, or did the Council promote me on their own accord? Roran wondered. If so, for what gain? I am no noble, nor am I wealthy. I have nothing to give them, nothing… Roran's eyes widened at the startling realization, but my blood.

They hadn't promoted him because of his prowess on the battlefield, nor due to being beloved and respected by the soldiers. They had promoted him to the rank of Commander because of one person: Eragon.

They've lost their Rider, Roran thought to himself grimly. They have to make due with someone who shares his blood. Eragon is my cousin, his only family, and the Council will no doubt use this to control the soldiers. As a Commander, I have to report directly to Nasuada and, through her, the Council of Elders.

They didn't want him to lead, to help ensure the success of future battles. They only wanted a pawn. To them Roran was nothing more than a puppet, and they were the puppet master pulling the strings. Guiding him. Controlling him.

I am no one's puppet! Roran thought to himself angrily, gritting his teeth as his hands curled into tight fists.

Eragon had warned him of this. He had warned Roran of the Council of Elders during their flight back to Aroughs. His cousin had warned that those of higher power might try to take advantage of Roran because of his relation to Eragon. He had been right, it seemed. The thought infuriated him more than anything.

"You will, of course, have new responsibilities. In the absence of your cousin, you will remain within the Varden, no longer will you and your men be sent on raids You shall remain here in Aroughs." The grey haired woman with the motherly voice said this with a sweet smile, but Roran could see the slender fingers wrapped around the pommel of her dagger.

The unspoken threat was clear: We're watching you.

They don't trust me! Roran concluded grimly, hands still clenched into tight fists that he hid from the Council of Elders. Do they suspect that I am a traitor to the Varden? Do they know that my true loyalties do not in fact belong to Nasuada or that bastard Orrin? Do they know that I am aware of the treachery that has been given to my brother? Do they know that I am loyal to none in this city, but rather to someone who they have betrayed? Roran grew worried more at each thought, doubt seeping into him at the thought of his true loyalties being discovered. No, surely they cannot know. He rationalized to himself, thinking back on the past few months in relief. I have done nothing to show signs of disloyalty to Nasuada, though my contempt for King Orrin is well known by all. But I am not alone in such thoughts, most men in the Varden dislike the sovereign of Surda, save the Surdans of course.

"The Varden is starting to break, Roran Stronghammer." Jörmundur said gravely, catching the man's attention immediately. Out of all the men Roran had meet within the Varden, Jörmundur was one of the few the former farmer trusted. Jörmundur was a man of the people and wanted what was best for the Varden, unlike Orrin who seemed more concerned with gaining power and wealth for his own country. "Slowly but surely, the foundation that was created by Brom and preserved by Ajihad has started to be chipped away, little by little. These past months have been trying to our people and our cause. Our men have been questioning our leadership, creating tension in the city. It began suddenly and slowly, but now our very cause is on the verge of breaking."

It started with Eragon, Jörmundur, Roran thought to himself. It started after the Battle of the Burning Plains, when Orrin and that dwarf Vermûnd dared to suggest killing my brother in cold blood, stabbed in the back by those he trusted and swore his life to. Nasuada might have tried to prevent it, even though exile is by no means helpful, but in the end… this started because of Eragon and it will end because of Eragon.

"Some of our soldiers have lost faith in us," Sabrae began. "Ever since your cousin disappeared after the Battle of the Burning Plains, suddenly disappearing into the night to never again be seen, men have begun to lose faith."

Eragon didn't disappear, Sabrae, he fled, Roran thought to himself darkly, wanting nothing more to tell them that, but held his tongue.

"I do not know why my cousin fled after the Battle of the Burning Plains. As you are well aware, I had only just sailed there with my fellow villagers, we met briefly but the heat of battle separated us. Eragon gave no reason as to why he left, we did not have much time to talk." Roran said. It wasn't a lie either. Eragon had left before they could talk with one another. It was only during Helgrind did the two cousins confront one another after a year of separation and hardship.

He saw Sabrae share a meaningful look with Umérth.

"You must understand, Roran, that the Varden is on the verge of destruction. We must not let that happen, if we do than all that we have sacrificed will have been for naught. All the lives given to taking back our freedom and homeland would have been for nothing," Jörmundur said, looking tired and weary. He looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"And what would you have me do? Men may follow me willingly into battle, but I cannot prevent the destruction of the Varden alone." Roran couldn't help but point out.

Jörmundur looked tired, the grey in his hair seemed to have spread and wrinkles around his eyes had formed deeper than ever. Roran felt pity for Jörmundur, the one man in the Council that had the people in mind. Jörmundur was a good man, just and loyal, and it pained Roran to see him look so defeated.

He did not know where Jörmundur's loyalties would lie at the end of this war. The man was loyal to Nasuada and would never betray her; did that make him Roran's enemy? Would they one day meet on the opposite sides of the battlefield when he eventually defected to his cousin's side when the time was right, or would Jörmundur see reason and aid them? Doubts plagued him, Roran did not know what side Jörmundur would remain on.

It was Falberd who spoke next. The shorter man seemed a bit shaken, nervous even, as he spoke. "The Varden must not fall, Commander Stronghammer. All we have fought for will be for nothing if we allow ourselves to fight with one another." Besides him Umérth nodded gravely while Sabrae pursed her lips. "You have something that none of us posses. You share the blood of the Varden's hero, Eragon Shadeslayer."

I knew it! Roran thought to himself, struggling to hide his emotions from the Council of Elders. They are interested in my blood. They know that Eragon still holds sway with the soldiers, despite his absence, and know that most of the soldiers will listen to me as I share blood with their Rider.

"As Eragon is no longer with us," Falberd said it as though Eragon had perished in the battlefield, "You must take your cousin's place."

"I am no Rider." Roran reminded them.

"But you share the blood of one." Umérth stated, expression grave.

Sabrae glanced at her fellow councilmember, Falberd, as Umérth said this; the two shared a meaningful look with one another.

"In such dark times, we must prevail. You are well known to the Varden and even beyond our ranks for your prowess in battle. You are a skilled tactician and hold the trust and respect of your men well. It was unanimously agreed upon that you would be promoted." Jörmundur said, looking at him weirdly, it was as though Jörmundur knew of Roran's thoughts speeding through his mind, seeing the indignation brewing within him at the thought of being nothing more than a glorified puppet.

"You're a good man, Roran Stronghammer, and even though you have had, er, small altercations with authority in the past, we believe that now is the best time for you to ascend the ranks." Falberd said.

Oh Roran was well aware of his past encounters of his troubles. His back throbbed painfully at the reminder of the whiplashes that had been given to him months before, due to ignoring orders. It was a wonder he lived, if not for Angela and her healing abilities he could have died from blood loss.

He knew all too well what happened when he stirred the hornet nest that was the Varden's authority, but that still didn't stop him from following Eragon's request.

No matter what, even under the threat of death by treason, Roran would follow his cousin's request. He would ensure his cousin's victory in the war that was coming. Eragon had told him of plans to create an army, a true rebellion, and Roran wished to help his brother in as many ways as possible. And now Roran was a Commander, the highest rank in the military, he had control over hundreds of men. Soldiers whose allegiance were to him.

Falberd was correct when he said the Varden was breaking, but he was wrong about one thing: the cause. It had been Orrin and those who wished Eragon harm that had helped break down the Varden. And now Roran would ensure that the Varden could never hurt his cousin nor his cause. Roran held no allegiance to this Council or even to Nasuada. Eragon was the only one Roran would willingly kneel to. Eragon Shadeslayer was the key to it all, the harbinger to a new era of peace and prosperity for the people of the Empire.

Eragon is the champion of the Varden. Your so called esteemed Council may have power in politics, but Eragon holds the hearts and loyalty of the soldiers. And when he left, so to did their loyalty. Some soldiers, pah, more like the entirety of the common soldiers, who make up roughly the majority of the Varden.

These people, this Council of Elders, were complete and utter fools. They believed a few words and some promises could save the Varden. They did not realize the severity of the situation. They did not realize that they were not in control, they assumed they were in control, of both Nasuada and the Varden. But they were wrong. The soldiers cared not for the men and women before him, save Jörmundur, and did not hold their allegiance to them. Their loyalty was to Eragon: their Rider.

Roran had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying these words to them, refraining from speaking. He could not give himself away, he could not let these people know that he was a traitor. He could not fail Eragon. He could not fail his people.

So Roran quietly bowed his head to them, muttering his gratitude and assurances of his cooperation and loyalty, and they believed him. Sabrae exchanged a not so subtle smirk with the ever dour Umérth, though he could see something flickering in Jörmundur's eyes, something weary. I'll have to be wary of Jörmundur, Roran realized.

"You are excused, Commander Roran."

He stood up stiffly, bowing his head once more. He left the tent silently, eager to find Carn and his men to tell them of his promotion. New possibilities had been opened for him, new opportunities to change the war. He only hoped that it was enough.

Eragon was counting on him.

He would not fail his brother.