As I have stated in any of the other stories, I pretty much have a huge thanksgiving update in the works...actually two. The first will be every story I have period. But the second will only be my biggest ones. And you know, if you are reading this, I want to congratulate you. Last night, I did a page count. I've done so incredibly much work on Evermore and already knew it was the longest story I've ever made, but GOD. I had expected one-hundred to one-seventy-five pages, but adding this and the next chapter, Evermore is over FIFTY pages longer than that. And by far, it is the longest I've ever stuck with a story.

But anyway, I have written waaay to much recently and am running a little dry on inspiration. But pretty much I owe you guys for all the terribly timed updates, and that chapter I had on the comp forever without posting, though it was done.

So, back to my point. I need to give credits to Diet coke, NOS, and for this chapter, Trading Yesterday's fabulously angsty song, Shattered. It so fits Eragon in this chapter and if you were to stretch the song out, you'd actually see I modeled this chapter after it. The second song actually had me in tears a little as I wrote this. The scene with the music, just terrible. It is dedicated to the second character, won't tell you who. The song? Guardian Angel by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. But enough blabber. I still have some thing like ten-thousand words to write.

Light tremors echoed across the ivory roof, the only proof the weather outside was anything but sunny. The sun shone brightly overhead. The rain was lighter then mist and more chilling than snow. It seemed highly out of place, refreshing and beautiful, creating a rainbow, which continuously crested atop the sky.

Most was drowned out by the chaos just bellow. The halls were either empty and hollow or packed with things being thrown this way and that as nobles frantically scurried around, hoping to beat the crowds. Nobles called to their servants, screaming at them to pack this and that.

"'Don't forget the fur coat.'

'The white mink one?'

'No, the black. Better bring the white too.'"

"'No, I want all of it.'

'Way too heavy.'

'I don't care. I won't have it looted.'"

"'Ten pairs of shoes.'"

From afar, Eragon watched, too distant and out of it to really comprehend the hastily emptying halls. He detachedly as nobles packed thousands of material, non-essentials. Furs, jewels, random, rich extravagants of little to no importance in the wild. He knew most of them would not last a week. They didn't seem to care about food or weapons or anything which could prove to be helpful in those cursed hills. It did not matter to the weather or wild animals how rich you were and it made you a good target for bandits and robbers.

He'd given up trying to reason with them. Despite his rank, they always looked at him like he was crazy when he told them to leave their riches behind. They were all rather attached to such things, though they would not even matter to the dwarves in truth. Every member of the clan they were about to join was treated as equals, save their queen, who was crowned out of the youth from the purest and most promising.

He sighed. His own race made less sense to him then any animal, wild or tame. At least animals were remotely predictable. They just were simply after the essentials. Everything they did was pure survival instinct. Hungry? Go hunt or forage. Thirsty? There's a stream. Tired? Go to sleep. Cold? Go somewhere warm. Something trying to kill you? Fight or flight. Want to ensure there are mini-yous? Breed. It was all so straight forward. But people...People carried things they didn't need, created drama where there is none. The game was to cut one another down, to be as irrational as possible to make yourself "live life." He would never fully understand his race. Saphira had been right when she had said everything on two-legs was confusing.

Saphira...

All thoughts lead to the same direction it seemed. It was as if his subconscious was trying to see how many random things it could connect to her. No on had any suggestions on how to save her. Angela trying to figure out what was going on, but it wasn't as if she had had too terribly much experience with treating dragons. After all, the only two dragons alive and out of their shells had been for the longest time didn't exactly come out on a regular basis...That and Eragon had ordered her to leave. They couldn't stand to loose Aiedail, who hadn't yet gotten better from her wound. She needed to get there safely.

He paused for a moment, wondering what they were doing. This had cost him so much. Everything. He'd lost his mother. He'd lost Garrow. He lost his home. He lost the only father and mentor he'd ever had. He'd lost his friend and brother. After loosing so much, he was surprised he had gone on after that even. But now it was even worse. He almost lost his cousin. He'd lost his freedom. And for all the blood and sweat he put into it, all the pain, all the drama, every thing he'd given up, what did he have to show for it? The Varden hung by a loose string. One slip and it would be over. And then there was one other thing he'd lost. The biggest of all. He'd lost his other half.

In the back of his mind, even though everyone promised they would get her out, that they would save her, that she wouldn't have to stay here, he knew it was over. The Empire practically had Saphira. All they needed now was to come and claim her. And once they had her, they as good as had him.

Eragon had never been more lonely in his life. That connection, the sound of her beautiful voice, her encouragement, her odd sense of humor, the intimacy the pair shared, he missed it all. He even missed the sound of her breathing, feeling life's breath rising with in her. He missed every emotion, every insight, every gory desire she felt. He never knew just how much he needed her till she was gone. How other people, how he, could have lived with out her...it baffled him. She was the hope in his heart. The thoughts in his head. The strength in his muscles. Their connection was as essential to him as the air in his lungs, the beat of his heart. She needed to be with in him, as much as he needed blood to bring air to his cells. Apart, he had no mind. Apart, he felt no joy. Apart, he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't believe. He had managed in the course of a few days to become more cynical than anyone he knew.

He now understood why it hurt so much, to loose your dragon. Trouble was, she was still alive. And while it comforted him knowing that she was still among the living, it was almost worse. Would never ever seeing her again really be as being able to see her, to feel her, but not to reach her? For her to be as mindless as a wild animal or more so? For her to be deaf to his pains, his troubles, his cries? Not only that but also wanting to kill him? He wasn't so sure. But the whole deal was driving him mad. He wasn't sure how long he would last...

He let his mind wander to all the times they'd spent together. He could see in his minds eye a young dragon before him, liking itself clean after hatching. The way she mewed at him continuously, following him around. The look she'd given him when he first left her outside. The first time she flew and how proud he'd felt that she'd returned to him. As her size grew, he could see himself sitting in the hollow of her neck for hours, stroking her neck and murmuring softly to her. He remembered her saying his name for the first time and how shocked he'd been. He thought of the first time he'd called her by her name, how well it had suited. Skipping ahead, he remembered how scared he'd been when he'd flown with her, how she reassured him and they wound up having one of the top experiences of his life. Then came the feeling of pride as she grew bigger and bigger, magnificent and elegant, belittling whatever was near her.

He saw her protecting him, willing to waste anything and everything, risking her life for his stupid, trouble-prone self. Selflessly looking after him like she would the hatchling he was so sure she would have some day. He felt her comfort, her strength pouring into him whenever he was down. Her trying to shield him from the pains of rejection from Arya or the terrible attacks he got from his scar which had once ran down his back. Her love for him, always present, always there. Then came his darkest hour, when Murtagh had revealed they were brothers and had him pinned. He only saw how hard she tried to reach him, to protect him. Always to protect him. The way she'd desperately tried to convince him that he was not his brother nor his father.

Then came the more resent memories. The way they always laughed at the nobles, the way they were always in tune. The comfort she'd supplied after hearing about his first girl's death. The way Katrina had hurt her, but still she overcame her words to come to his aid. Roran at death's door and Saphira coming to the rescue, only to be so modest as to not tell Katrina. The phenomenal time they'd had which showed why they sacrificed so much for one another. Her caring for the hatchling. And then that moment when she attacked him rose to mind. She hurt Aiedail. She just about killed him. She severely wounded a guard during transport.

They had less than four days. Four days before the troops would arrive. Four days if they wanted to save his best friend. Four days to save his savior. Four days till they would come try and take her away from him. It was his time to protect her. He could not fail her. He straightened up, his eyes going darker. They were not going to get her. If he had to rip out Shruken and Thorn's hearts with his own two hands they would not take her. She was his. He was hers. And now, in her darkest hour, when she didn't remember herself nor anything she stood for, he needed to look after her.

With the determination which could normally be considered madness, Eragon continued to where he had been headed, a strong perseverance in his stride. Each step, he pretended, smashed someone who was in his way between him and his Saphira.

When her reached his destination, he entered without another thought, smashing his arms into the doors, slinging them back on their hinges as they hit the walls. A gust of wind came with him. All the faces, all one-hundred-and-thirty-seven, turned to face him, surprise, shock or fear on most. Not an eye strayed him as he walked with the same stride to the front of the roof, all of his muscles, from his abs to his biceps to his triceps tense.

When he had reached the front, he looked down the line, seeing each face individually. He saw few faces he recognized, no surprise really. Everyone who was staying knew it was a suicide mission, that they were almost guaranteed not to come out of this alive. The able-bodied men he was used to were not these people. Many seemed far too old or even a few, too young. Only around thirty seemed like they were able bodied. A few had injuries or diseases which were incurable and crippling. He'd seen a few in the hospital wing.

He sighed deeply. This was going to be a lot harder than he had thought... "Let's get down to business. We had just under ninety-six hours." He looked into each of their faces. "This is not going to be like all those stories your grandparents told you. Or anything you've ever read. This is war. Take a look at the man next to you. Can you stand seeing his intestines on a pike in the ground? Have you tasted your own blood before? Will you give as good as you get, killing as many as you can? Can you follow my orders? Are you ready to die? If you answered no to any of these questions, I suggest you leave. This is not the place to get glory or vengeance. No one will know you existed. You will die. If you can accept this, step forward."

Most everyone made the step, save a couple, clearly intimidated by his words. He winced. One of them was an able-bodied. Still, he had to warn them.

"We get started. Now. We have to get this done. We need to start yesterday, you hear me?" He looked around. "Separate into two groups. Those who've handled a sword, whether you used it or not, gather on this side, the rest, on the other."

About half of the group went on the first side, the rest to the latter. Most of the able-bodieds went to the former.

"Now, those that have actually fought in battle, go to the middle. The rest of you, stay where you are." Only twelve, eight able-bodied, four youth,came to the center. Eragon had anticipated this. But what surprised him was to see a familiar face. The same boy who warned him of the attack, scarcely fifteen. He nodded at the boy in respect.

"You are the ones that will stay with me." he said aside to them, before addressing the rest. "You all have different talents. But since we don't have the time to evaluate your skills. We need to get right into the training. Those who have never had a sword still will not. Your focus will be archery. Those fighting with swords will spar regularly. You twelve are going to have a special job. But more on that will come. Right now, I need to get you guys started."

"Is it true then? That Galbatorix is going to be there?" A voice asked. Each man looked uneasily to the other as a rapid exchanging whispers.

Eragon looked very seriously. "I'm not going to sugar coat it. If the number are as big as reported, even if both the riders didn't come, we would loose. But if both come, I cannot face them. I might be capable of facing one if someone could distract their dragon for me, but never two at once. Not without..." his voice cut off as he once more got that feeling of being alone.

"Saphira? So it's true then. She is no longer with us." Eragon shot the man such a glare, as if just staring at him was enough to kill him. His chest tightened as he once more got an overwhelming feeling of being lost in himself without her. With out another word, he left. Despite odd looks and nervous gestures thrown at him. The crowd cleaved away as he walked, giving him plenty of girth. He handed one of the capable soldiers a list of how to further sort it out.

From behind him, he could hear someone yell after him, calling his name devoid of its usual titles, but he just kept walking a fast, powerful pace.

Things were about to get complicated…

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Eragon sat on the perch he'd been stuck in so much lately. Beneath him, Saphira slept peacefully, the steady sounds of her breathing. It calmed him greatly, though it wasn't the same. The normal intimacy was missing, something he longed for. More then anything he wished to be there, with her.

He leg his feet dangle downwards. His mind staggered on this thought. All it would take was one push. One expertly place jump and he could have his desire, even if only for a moment. He could be at her side and leave this world to their own problems, being just rider and dragon once more. The realization that she would surly kill him was a mere inconvenience. A jump to a quick and painless end or a dramatic, played-out, torture-filled life filled to the brim with pain. No contest. To him, it would be worth it. Hell, anything was worth it. He would rather be put to rest and take her with him than be forced to leave her to the wolves in a couple of agonizing days.

He hummed a soft, sad tune he had heard long ago in his youth. He couldn't remember the words, something to do with war he knew. Maybe it was some widow's song; perhaps a cynical outlook into the future. Whatever it was, it soothed his nerves. Imagining the pain the person who made it felt somehow relaxed him about his own.

There was a creak coming from the platform he was on. He didn't look up, simply reading the intruder's mind and knowing who it was. He could feel the hesitance coming off of him as easily as he could feel the platform beneath him.

The boards creaked once more and two feet, muddy and blistered, appeared next to his own. Without looking at him, his eyes on Saphira, he spoke up. "Surprised they let you down here..."

"You shouldn't be alone..." The boy instantaneously knew his mistake of words and quickly tried to find some other way to phrase it. Eragon stopped him.

"No, it's okay. I know what you meant...I never did get your name..."

"Hayden." He answered without a pause.

Eragon gave a sharp nod. "You know, this whole thing is pretty unjust to you. You come here to escape the war and the war follows you..."

"It's okay. I'm used to it by now, or I should be anyways..." The two fell silent for a moment.

Eragon finally spoke up. "I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here?"

The boy didn't speak for a moment. He seemed at a loss. Eragon dared a glance to him. His eyes were distant. He didn't appear to be looking at anything in particular, but he could see a layer of great sadness in his eyes, one that aged him far beyond his year. He noticed for the first time that he hadn't changed his clothes. They were sewn up and washed to the best ability, but they were the same mangy clothes he'd seen him in the first time he'd seen him in. His hair was in a messy, dirty blond mat on his head and there was a cowlick with seemed determined to stay up. He seemed less than concerned with how he looked, though his body was lanky, toned no more than a farm boy's should.

He heaved a great sigh. "You know, I was born and raised far from any of this. So far. I remember some nights we would go down to a field by the coast, my older brother, me, and my younger sister. And we would just talk, all night, no matter how cold, till the stars started to fade. About our dreams. About everything really. And we'd always said we would be together no matter what, that our family was perfect and it could never be broken."

He gave a bitter chortle. "You know, she was always following us around, little Vexia. She was a miracle. Mom had had nearly a half a dozen miscarriages and one still born. But she wanted one more kid. Vexi was a gift. She was kind of quiet, but always there, soaking up whatever we said or did like a damn little sponge. She was three years younger than me and eight years younger than my brother. No matter what I did, she always looked at me like a god.

"One day I was with her and it was her first day ever going swimming. She was so excited, but I didn't really pay that much attention to her. My brother had gone hunting and I hadn't gotten to go yet; so in my frustration, I paid no mind to her, no matter how excited or how long she called.. Not until I heard the screaming. She'd been carried out to sea and was desperately trying to go back. I dove in after her and managed some how to get her back to the coast. She wasn't breathing. I tried everything, till finally she inhaled and let out this raspy cough. First thing she did was say it wasn't my fault and that she shouldn't have let the tide take her.

"After that, I never let her leave my side. She almost died because of me. I was on her like a hawk. Never let her out of my sight for more than a second. I gotta say, even though she was glad I hung out with her, I think she eventually got annoyed with how on her I was."

He choked, obviously invoking a really sad memory. "And then it happened. She got sick. Real sick. She was shaking constantly and puking out blood." he paused his voice wavering. "All I really know was that I was glued to her bed side. Didn't eat. Didn't drink. Barely breathed. Just held her little hand in mine, never let her go. As if by holding her would stall death. But she grew iller and iller till she was scarcely breathing."

His eyes grew glassy. "I remember it perfectly. Was only a little less than eight, but I can see that day. The way the air seemed still around her. The raspy little noise of each breath slipping into her body. Her little pulse seeming to flutter. I can see her in her bed, a sour smell in the air. She lost a lot of weight. And anything and everything she said really didn't make sense. But as I watched her fade away, she turned to me and said it was not my fault.

"Those were her last words. She was gone after that. I'd like to say it was great that she was no longer suffering and yada yada, but I missed her. Missed her like crazy. It was like having a part of myself torn out when Vexi died. Not a day went by that I didn't pray for her to return to me. I still do. She was my baby sister. For weeks after, I would cry myself to sleep. I distanced myself from the rest of my family, not willing for another bond like that to be broken."

He stopped for a moment and sniffled. "Over those dark weeks after her death, I was gone. Out of it. I thought it would be better just to end it now and be with her once more. I knew she wouldn't want it that way but I just...I couldn't. I couldn't go on, not without her. One day, I went down to the same coast we had gone down to so long ago. I stood on the cliff and looked down. The rocks would surely do it. Fast. And fast, to me, would mean painless. I just couldn't take it. Blamed myself for what happened. I should have tried harder. I should have found a way...

"Then, just before I'd done it, a hand grabbed me. It was my brother. It was Pace. He talked some sense into me. He told me this wouldn't do anything but give death a three for one. Asked him what that was about and he told me if I jumped, he would just have to jump right after me. Told me with out his two pain-in-the-asses, what would he do?

"It was hard, but you know, he got through to me. It is pretty senseless to kill yourself, even for someone you care about. If I had died that day, who would of warned you of the attack?" Eragon looked down, finally seeing the meaning behind his story. How had he guessed it? He didn't say anything. "We'll make it through, Eragon. Trust me. You'll live, she will live. It's not over. Not yet..."

Just a load of angst and set up. I would like to know what you guys think on Hayden, Vexia, and Pace. I can tell you they will be poping up here and there. God damn I have like a million charactors I am intro-ing right now in this story. Oh yah, and while searching for the right names for those three, I stumbled on a site that had a name I recognized as an Eragon charactor. Quimby. It was just great. Well, now I have another ten thousand words to write. Hasta Lavista