I woke as the dawn light spread its warmth across my bed.

The bright light streaming in through the windows and casting dazzling sparkles across the room and rousing me from my sunlight was bright and cheerful just as it was after a thunderstorm when the world feels new again and bursting with life - with promise of future prosperity.

I groggily pushed myself upright and looked outside at the garden where the flowers were open. The sheets fell back and I shivered slightly as the cool morning air touched my bare skin. I knew I had to leave the warmth of my bed and begin my day but it was hard. So often recently I had woken up this way and known that my day would be peaceful not full of things heavy with fate.

I left my bedroom as soon as I dressed. The palace was very quiet and I seemed to be the only one able to brave the brilliant sunlight and venture outside. My head felt a little fuzzy but sleep had done much to clear it and I felt rather normal considering I had been celebrating elven style for the past three days. I had literally been dancing from sunset to sunrise and back again.

I had the feeling that Eragon and Saphira would also be recovering this day and I half-wondered what had happened between him and Arya. Had the time spent teaching him of the proper time and place for words stuck and saved their friendship? Or had he told her of his true feelings and frightened her enough for her to cut everything of. Had she chosen to leave without even a goodbye? I could not be sure but I hoped something had interfered.

My feet took me along the path from the palace to the place I knew I had to visit first. Things could wait but first I had to talk with Oromis and Glaedr and I ran down the path towards the Craigs of Tel'nair. I had walked this path every day since Oromis had first invited me to his cottage and I knew the twists, the turns and the trees that lined it to the point that I did not really need to watch where I was going.

I hoped, for I knew how weak Oromis was, that he would be able to speak with me. The magic of the celebration could not have been easy for him and, the better I had come to know him, the more I saw how he struggled to maintain his current level of health. Eragon and Saphira could not have come any later if they wanted to train with elf Rider and his golden companion. What could I say? Did I tell him everything - right from the start - about how the story of Eragon and Saphira had made its way through the Gates into Earth? How I had learned it during my brief stay there and then carried all that knowledge here? I had to explain that before I told them of my mission. If I did not explain it then Oromis would not understand the full implications of this act - this change of the pattern - and I needed his advice. I needed Glaedr's help and I had the distinct feeling that they knew what this arch was.

I emerged from the trees into the sunny clearing that opened up in front of the small cottage. The leaves on the trees fluttered in the summer breeze and the picture might have belonged in an Impressionist water color it was so tranquil. Though, I doubted any Monet or Pizarro would have placed a golden dragon or silver haired elf in a water color. For Glaedr was stretched out on the green grass, his golden eyes gazing out at the horizon and, beside him in a chair, was Oromis in his familiar white robes that could have been an advertisement for stain removal they stayed so pristine. It was hard to look at them they were so blinding. I stepped forward, unsure if they were aware of my presence or not. Before I could speak, Oromis did in his clear, bell like voice.

"Zoe," he did not look my way even as I stepped up beside him and inclined my head, first to the Rider, and then to the golden dragon who blinked once at me.

"Oromis-elda," I said quietly as the Rider, at last, turned his ancient stare to me. His eyes were weary and I saw the lines of exhaustion on his face along with a pained glint to. An urge to provide some sort of comfort grew within me but I knew that the Rider would not appreciate that - he did not want to be treated like an invalid even though my heart ached to do something for him that would ease the burden he bore.

"Why are you here?" asked the Rider as he shifted slightly in the chair.

Before I could answer, Glaedr rumbled in my mind, Sit upon my front claw. I think you plan to speak for some time.

I smiled my thanks and sat down on the warm golden paw, drawing my knees to my chest as I did so. The grey eyes continued to gaze unwaveringly at my face. "I need to tell you something and, if I am to do that, you need to promise me that you will guard the secret I share with you until the end of all things. You have to trust me on this." My voice was quiet but firm and I saw the Rider's eyes widen slightly at the seriousness of them - at the promise I wanted from them both. They were silent for a gratifying short period of time.

"We promise," said the two together and the strength in those two words made me rock slightly. They hummed with power and truth - for a moment I wondered at it and the wisdom of asking a promise from them.

Tension was making it hard for me to sit still and my heart rate seemed unnaturally fast. I felt as if I was about to engage in a fight though there was no fight. It is hard to tell such a thing, it is hard to look at someone you have not told the truth to and tell them. It is hard to tell a truth that you have long hidden and protected. I had to tell it now and, for all I wanted to, I would rather never have placed this burden on their shoulders. Gathering my voice and the words I needed to speak, I began.

I began at the start. I began with a book with a picture of a blue dragon and how that book led to another and another. How an author, a young one, had created an entire universe based around a land called 'Alagaesia.' I told them how that book was fiction and why I had been sent to read it - why reading that book had been important enough for me to live on Earth. How, already, I had seen much of what occurred in the books happen around me and, even more importantly, what had changed either because of my meddling or merely because of my presence. When I fell silent the sun was bright above us and my throat was dry from speaking so much and the brief moments in which I could not restrain the emotion that such things roused in me.

"What happens again," said Oromis, "if Galbatorix succeeds?" The elf was very calm, his face implacable, and yet I could see faint lines of tension in the way he sat so still upon the chair. He was merely concealing his true emotions and, as for Glaedr, the dragon had said nothing during my speech and gave no sign of what he might be feeling.

"Then everything is lost," I said quietly. "Not only in this world, but in all the myriad worlds and universes. Billions of lives, tens of billions, will be lost." It was a heavy statement but I was committed to telling the full truth even if that truth frightened me more then anything ever had.

"And you know the future." It was statement not a question.

"I know one future. In that future, that strand of time, things worked out."

"How do you know to trust this information?"

I sighed heavily and nervously clasped my hands before me, "I do not know, I can only hope. I have seen evidence that it is true and that the future I know does happen like it did in the books. I have meddled but I knew you were here and that Brom was meant to die..." my voice trailed off and images flashed before my eyes of a stormy night in which I had ridden to my friend's defense. Of how I had felt while I waited for Oromis and Glaedr to appear as I stood beside the Queen and her courtiers. I had not always believed things would happen like they had in the books but, for the most part, they had.

The elf reached out and placed one of his thin, dry hands over top of my own, clasped ones, and I was forced to meet his eyes and confront him in a way I had been reluctant to do after such a speech. I gazed into his ancient, kind face and waited for what seemed an age.

"I understand," he said. "I can see why you never spoke of it before and, while I sensed something hidden about you, I never guessed it was of this magnitude. You will go and risk fate for this task?"

I met Oromis's grey eyes and said quietly, "The tides of fate are flowing Oromis-elda. I would not turn away now."

"Even if it means the end of you?" he asked. "The end of all of us?"

I looked out and saw the sun and I saw the pale sky stretching out in a great dome. I turned once more and gazed at the elf. I saw him clearly then, as if I could see beyond his implacable mask of calm reason and empathy. He was tall, like all elves were, and his silver hair fell in a rippling waterfall. There was no sign of age in his face until one looked into his eyes and then you could see it. They were clear and bright, and yet profound, with uncounted memories within them. Still, despite this and the frail look to his face, he sat erect and proud.

"I will go," and the words fell from my lips like heavy stones as they had the last time I had turned and made a choice that could save or shatter a world. "I will go and see what may." I knew as I had known many times before. I turned to face things I had not wanted to face until now and I made my peace with them.

Glaedr lowered his head to meet my gaze and said, in a voice as final as my own, I will go with you.

Thank you, I told him, I know you do not want to.

He chuckled and suddenly I felt as if I understood a little better who he was and how the long years had made him hunger for purpose and adventure once more. He was a dragon - not a treasure to be fawned over and guarded until the end of time. Even without his one front leg he was still mighty and as dangerous as a tidal wave held back until it breaks through the walls that restrain it. This chance to steal back a dragon egg was exactly what he wanted to do. It was a chance for both him and his Rider to fly with a purpose and strike back against the ruler who had taken so much from them.

But I do, said the dragon and we both understood then.

Oromis sighed heavily, "We must speak with Islanzardi before anything is done."

"I know," I said as I turned to look once more out across the cliffs toward the line where sky met forest in a shimmer of blue and green. "But no one else. It is too heavy a secret for me to share easily with others. I do not word either of my knowledge or of my quest to go beyond a select group of people."

"What is your plan?" asked the elf. "You have no way of reaching Morzan's keep and no idea of what waits for you there." His voice was quiet and yet it was honest to - demanding an answer that was true and well thought out. I had none to give.

"I have no plan," I said quietly. "I do not know what waits for me. I can only trust in the message that I was given." It was a poor answer and I hated it - I hated all of this because I did not know enough and I had not known enough for a long time. Gathering myself together, I continued and ignored the doubts that tried to creep in like shadowy tendrils. "The dragons showed me an arch. A place in Du Weldenvarden - do you know of it?" I looked from Glaedr to Oromis as they fell silent in a way that told me they were speaking to each other and knew of what I spoke.

We know of it, said Glaedr quietly and the words were uncharacteristically hesitant.

"The place you speak of," said Oromis seriously, "is forgotten by most elves. It is a remnant of some distant time, before elves and humans came here. How it came to be there and how it works has never been discovered." The elf drummed his long fingers against the chair and continued, "Whatever it is the Riders of Old avoided it."

My mind was racing. It was racing down a line of thought - of possibilities - and suddenly I understood through some instinctual understanding. It was an understanding backed by a memory of something similar in my world. A kind of gate that had taken me from one world to another as easily as jumping into a still pool. How convenient! If this place, this arch that led nowhere, was what I thought it was then I was one step closer to accomplishing the task set before me. My heart was thrumming with excitement and I felt as I someone had just handed me a key to one of the problems I faced. I was one step closer.

"I know what it is," I breathed out the words and Oromis looked at me with surprise. "It's a gate," I continued my words coming faster now. "It is a gate that I can use to get to the egg and then to get back." I looked at Glaedr, "You can take me there and I will go on alone."

Oromis sighed once more, "Islanzardi will not let you go if she finds you have no plan and no idea of what waits for you."

"I have to go," I said firmly. "The dragons showed me the way and I know what I must do."

Glaedr rumbled deep in his throat, I will take you there and wait for you to return. If the memory of my kin showed you the way then would not have done so lightly. You must trust to them and let them guide your footsteps.

I looked at the dragon and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his endless support and continued belief in the message given to me. It is awesome to have a dragon on your team especially if the opposite side includes a ice queen and your own insecurities. "Will Islanzardi be able to see me?" I asked Oromis and the Rider sent me a long suffering, worried glanced that made me feel both guilty and more determined than ever. "Could she come here?"

"I will send for her now," said the Rider."I can only hope she will be willing to listen to what you have to say."

"Tough for her," I said right back.

Because, through the following meeting with Queen in which she questioned every little detail, I knew I would go whether she said yes or no. And, perhaps because I was so certain of what I was doing, the Queen of Du Weldenvarden gave in and agreed. She did not like it but she didn't have a choice.

None of us really had a choice anymore.


They hurried from alley to alley, street to street, never once did they utter a word to each other nor pause in there twisting streets of this part of the city like an endless labyrinth that threatened to turn them around and lead them back to the house on the dark street where a dead man lay in his own blood and street dogs fought over an old bone.

Murtagh knew they were close to the palace. The streets had begun to subtly change from the lowest of low to slightly more middle class and, soon, they would be coming up on the back of the wall that encircled the palace. Once there…well he had no idea what to do. He did not know how to deal with the painful truth that was Vivian could not escape free for, sooner or later, she would once more face him and there would be no loopholes in her oaths to prevent her from acting as the King wanted her to. Could he knowingly let her go? Could he watch another friend be lost to the King? She would face unimaginable pain and tortures he did not dare think of and, when Galbatorix was finished, there would be nothing of the friend he had grown up with. Even now only shreds of that girl remained and they were bitter shreds.

"Vivian," he murmured as they came to a stop at the end of the alley they had been traveling down. A slime covered wall rose in front of them and was all that separated them from the last street before the wall that surrounded the palace. "Vivian," he said again as she ignored him. "We need to speak now." He grabbed her arm and pulled her against the wall and met her gaze with his own. Her face was bloody and weary but there was also a spark of adrenalin in her eyes which seemed to be all she was running on. It was a face pale with exhaustion and, he to, was so weary that it took all of his determination to keep his senses operating on the level they needed to be at if they were to escape detection.

His voice was level, quiet and carried all the authority of someone who knows of what they speak. It carried weight and power that she could not escape nor could she deny the truth of those words despite the way they cut her. "Perhaps you are the sort who would sacrifice yourself on the alter of principle, but I doubt it. Most of us do things for reasons that are more purely personal. For love, or for hate. Or for revenge." Where had those words come from? Why did he speak them to her now? He did not know anymore - he did not care - he just wanted this to be over. The words were spilling out of him and he could not stop them. He could not stop time and he could not stop fate and turn it to another curse.

He was helpless.

Vivian met his gaze. "You are right," she whispered softly. "You can read people so easily Murtagh," her gaze was defeated. There was no hope in her green irises, no light and she looked old. So old and so weary. "You always knew what to do and why it had to be done."

"No," he said, "I really don't know anything." The young man spread his hands out in front of him in a gesture of defeat - of hopeless admittance that fate was stronger and a once unbreakable will had been shattered. "I don't know why any of this is happening nor why you and I are sitting here like this. I don't know why you did all of this or why you choose to help me. I can't know." He fell silent and met her eyes and the silence lengthened as neither said anything.

"I hope she knows how lucky she is," said Vivian with a bitter smile. "How lucky to have you." Her words did not carry any sting or acid but rather a terrible sadness and defeat. There was something chilling, so horrifyingly cold and desperate, about not caring. About just not caring.

He stared at her and then suddenly He realized what she meant. "I," he opened his mouth to continue but she cut across him.

Her eyes glittered with deep pain, with resignation and he suddenly realized he would rather face an army then see someone come to the very end of their strength. Vivian was done, her fire quenched and her heart broken as she sat there, in front of him, in a dark alley. Worse it was partly his fault. It was the fault of fate, of love, of a King and choices they had both made without knowing where those choices would lead them.

"I hope she realizes it," continued the young woman. She grabbed his hands and held them tightly in her own, slim but filthy hands. The blood from the wound on her arm trailed down and wound through their fingers like red ribbon binding them together but also separating them. "This must end," she whispered softly. "I must end."

"No," he whispered. "No. There is a way. I am sure." He knew what she intended to do - what she intended to ask him to do and he would not face it. He could not bear to do it and so he gripped her hands tightly and refused to let go even as she tried to remove them.

"Yes," she said, "I will do this one last thing. I will do it for you."

"No," he whispered for he suddenly realized that he did not want to lose her. He loved her like a sister - a dear friend - and he could bear to lose her like this. Who knew that love could cut so? Yet, like so many times before, he had to let her go. He had never known how much he loved her until he had to let her go.

"You cannot have everything," said Vivian with a bitter smile. "You cannot have me and your freedom. You cannot of me and her. You cannot have me and the Varden. Besides, I want to be free. I want this cruel joke of a life to end. I am a coward but I won't lie. I won't go to death lying, I've done it enough."

"I..." his mind was moving quickly from option to option but, before he could speak, she cut him off.

"He will know. He always knows and so I must die. If I die than the Varden will be safe for a little while longer. You will be safe. I will have what I always wanted: freedom. Do you know something? They sent me here because I am such a good liar but I can't do it anymore." Her gaze unguarded and her words steady even as she spoke, so softly he had lean forward a little to catch them. "What is her name?"

The question caught him off guard and he fought to speak past the lump in his throat. "Zoe," he whispered, "her name is Zoe."

A smile, a small tragic smile, drifted across Vivian's face. "Zoe," she said the name, "who is she?"

It seemed so strange to be speaking of such things here and with this young woman but he answered and it warmed his heart a little to speak of the girl who was rarely out is his thoughts. "She is strong. She is her own person and," his voice caught, "she cannot stay here. Her fate is not with me."

Vivian shook her head, "Fight for her - do not let your choices be dictated by something you do not know. For my sake," her smile turned shaky and her green eyes were bright with unshed tears, "for my sake live well. Experience all that this world has to offer - for her, for me and for you." He had never seen her before now and it seemed tragic that only now did he see her as she really was. Brave and beautiful she was but lonely and desperate for something that had always been just out of reach. One moment flying green through sunlight and then next gone. Out, out brief candle.

"It isn't fair," whispered Murtagh. "Why this? Why us?"

Vivian just smiled and he knew she had no answer and neither did he. Only Zoe had some answers but she did not know the answer to this one. There were no answers and, in the end, they were nothing more than dust and shadows across the pages of history. Shadows that would flicker and go out - not even remembered. Sacrifices made on dark streets and in isolated rooms that would never be spoken of. Things done by people who no one cared about and, if they did care, it was a fleeting thing.

"Goodbye," said the young woman and she squeezed his hands tightly. She leaned forward and went to kiss him on the cheek but he did not let her. Maybe he wished to know what they could have had or maybe he sensed that it was better to give her something to remember him by and this did not seem much to him. Maybe. Who knows in the end?

Letting go of her hands he gently gripped her face and kissed her. It was a desperate kiss. A kiss in which her tears ended up on his face and the taste was of metallic blood, salt and metal. It did not last long - they did not have long - but it was a kiss. It was a kiss full of longing; a kiss that tested the waters but knew it was merely a fleeting thing and never could be repeated. It was a bitter kiss and yet it was warm and full of the friendship and hope that had kept them both alive in the cage that they had lived in.

"Goodbye," whispered Murtagh as he drew back.

She slipped her hand to his belt and drew the knife; a long knife with a simple hilt and a deadly blade. His knife - a thing left over from his life in Uru'baen. Galbatorix would recognize it and put two and two together to equal that it had been him to kill her. He would not know the true reasons but that did not matter because the King could not understand such things - such reasons. It had killed men that day and its blade bore traces of rusty blood. He would not carry it again.

"Go," said Vivian. "Do not stay for this." He went to protest, to say that he would not leave now after all of this but she stopped him. "Don't disobey me on this Murtagh. Go. Now." she bit her lower lip and said softly, "Remember me not like this but as I once was. This is not a bad thing Murtagh - it is a chance for me to be free."

Maybe she was trying to make him understand, but she did not need to. He already did and, had he been her, he would have done the same thing and, maybe, he would have to sometime in the future. The world was cold and too much had been given. The chance to be free of it all, the relief that would offer, was too tempting and, if that came and one could save more than yourself, it was an easy choice. Vivian could save the Varden, she could save him and she could be free.

How he hated it!

"I will never forget you," he said in Ancient Language. It was a promise to stand against the current of time - a promise that would haunt him until he too found death. He would never forget the rank smell, the damp air and the blood that stained his hands no matter how much time and distance was put between him and that moment, that choice that ended all other choices. His voice caught as he spoke the next words but he forcibly steadied them as if he would not do her the dishonor of breaking now. "I shall make sure you are placed somewhere free." She smiled but there was no more words - in any language - that could be said between them now.

So he turned away. So he left the alley and did not look back. He would always wonder if he had stayed if she would have...have done what she did. if they could have found another solution - if Brom or Arya or someone, anyone, could have found another solution to a situation that, he knew in his heart, had only one answer. Someone - whether it was he or Vivian - had to go.

There could not be two of them.

Galbatroix had made it impossible to escape his cage and he had, unknowingly, left just one small loophole. a loophole that he and left open because Vivian was a spy and supposed to kill herself rather than be captured and give up secrets that were others to tell. It was that little loophole, a loophole that ended with a cliff into nothing, which would save them now. If dying could save anything.

Murtagh walked determinedly forward. He felt numb. He was lost and yet he was not stopping. He was moving as if he was thinking, as if this was all part of the plan. As if he actually knew what he was doing and not as if he was just a young man who had seen too much and had no home to run to.


Revised 2/6/2014