AN: The characters took this chapter and ran with it? Because otherwise I can't explain the sudden existence of Cas, who I now have PLANS for, the use of Nasuada's POV, or the character development planned for her and Furry elf Bloedgharm. No, these two won't end up in a romance, at least I don't think so since I liked her with Murtagh. This chapter about killed me. I wrote most of it in a day, with lots of coffee and zero sleep, came back to edit it, and added some lil' details from original book three. I left much of it out too, because really? The third book had too much stuff that was non-essential and I want to focus this on Eragon/Vanir, the Vanir backstory stuff, the exploration of elven culture once I come to it and so forth...

Do I have too much planned for this? Why, yes, I do. Someone please get me a time turner. I need more time for this. At least now I am staying at home, and have time to write.

CHAPTER 7 – FOR EVERY BATTLE WON

ERAGON

Vanir came back to consciousness shortly before dawn, weak from loss of blood and the shoulder still not fully healed. Eragon had slept those three to four hours, on behalf of his cousin's stern look and threat to wait a full day if he hadn't. Eragon felt rested at least, and upon waking, decided to look after their new additions to the group. Ragnar had been staring wide eyed at them last night, clearly not used to battle wounds. The boy had been silent and was now helping bandage Cas who had gotten hit by the lethrblaka. The beast had torn the flesh in his calf with its clawed foot, leading to the limb from earlier. Eragon would heal it before they left the area on their way back, but now he couldn't chance his energy reservoirs. They were already low, and it looked like Vanir wouldn't go with them.

Of course the stubborn elf was anything but happy about this decision.

„Absolutely not! You're not leaving me here like-like some kind of invalid! I'm perfectly fine!" he said and tried to stand up, only to list to the side. Eragon hovered mid-motion, ready to help, but he saw the elf sink back onto the sleeping bag and relaxed. Vanir was still pale and his eyes held exhaustion in them as he glared angrily.

"I'm not alone. Roran is going with me."

Vanir scoffed, making his displeasure clear. „We were four people and barely dealt with one Ra'zac, how are you planning on winning this one with one human?" he asked, tone sarcastic.

"Maybe one human is better than one elf too stubborn to know when he's completely useless!" he shot back, only to regret it as Vanir crossed his arms before his chest. The link between them throbbed with hurt, before the elf closed himself off. Eragon flinched. His thoughtlessness would cost him his fragile friendship with the elf if he didn't try to rectify his words. "That's not what I meant…it's-"

Before he could get another word out, Roran interrupted them.

"The sun's coming up, Eragon. We need to go if we want to have the moment of surprise." His cousin said. He turned and saw that his cousin had his hammer and the borrowed armour from the Varden. Vanir wasn't looking at him anymore as he turned back to the elf. There was no time to apologize now, so he used their link and opened it to sent a single thought over it.

I don't think you're useless.

He had no idea if it worked. The elf could have blocked him still, but Eragon didn't think so. Vanir could be as hard headed as him, but he was also taking his duty as bonded seriously. Vanir hadn't yet blocked the bond for longer than a few hours.

The former rider stood up, following Roran to the Helgrind. They searched the area for a path, Eragon's sharp eyes spotting the best path up to a plateau mid height. They came to a wall, smooth and as black as the rest of the stone structure. A dead end.

The sun shone in the sky, like a clock ticking steadily in the background, telling them time was running out.

It was then that his eyes saw it. The air around the wall seemed to... ripple? It was! But not in the same way as water, more of a sense that it was giving off waves. After a full minute of staring at it, Eragon decided that he was literally seeing the effects of magic. As he told his cousin exactly that, Roran said: "Could they have hidden the entrance somehow with magic?"

Eragon found that it made sense. He neared the wall, hesitated. Then he used his hand and tried to lay it on the stone. It went through. He laughed beneath his breath as he realized the trick. The wall was just an illusion to make them think this was a dead end. He'd been nearly fooled.

"Come on. It's not a real wall." He told Roran and stepped through. The inside was pitch black, and he touched a wall, and after a few steps n the other direction, encountered another wall. A narrow tunnel.

"Great, now what? We can't fight them in this darkness."

"Wait a moment. I could... garjzla ven." A small orb of light floated around them and up to their eye level. "Huh." Commented Roran. "That's a nice trick to have."

"It's magic." Said Eragon, slightly affronted of Roran's use of the word trick to describe great feats of a mystical power that only few could master. Roran rolled his eyes and the atmosphere felt lighter between them, filled with the familiar back and forth of banter like it had been as they'd both been young.

The tunnel was narrow, but opened up high enough to get a lethrblaka through. The tunnel quickly opened to a hallway, where two of them could comfortably walk next to each other. Then it branched off into three separate ways. Eragon tried to sent his mind out, careful not to alert the Ra'zac. He couldn't sense heir presence with his mind, but last night he'd noticed again, that their presence left a lack of any kind of presence at all. An emptiness, that was as revealing as if they had a presence to begin with and unique to them alone. He nodded at the right one, ready to check for either prison cells, Katrina tied to a chair to be tortured, or the remaining Ra'zac.

He didn't get that far.

Suddenly the lethrblaka tackled him, screeching like nails on a slab of stone, with the force of a charging bull. He got the breath knocked out of him, his new instincts screaming at him to defend. Nails sharpened to claws and scales spread up his arms as his mind rendered into focus.

His back burned from the impact with the ground. Eragon let out a growl, inhuman and echoing off the walls. There was no time to look for Roran as the beak tried to gauge out his eyes. He twisted away from it. His sharpened nails scratched where he could reach its vulnerable underbelly. Blood gushed out of the wounds, blue green and smelling of rot. He gagged. The beast gave another screech and resumed with renewed vigour its attack on his face. He scrambled away and searched for his sword. It had been knocked away. He saw it to his right. Quickly he reached for the blade. His fingers touched the heft. The lethrblaka had noticed his intention and stormed at him again. It left bloody splashes on the ground. He whirled around just in time for the blade to stake the creature through the chest.

"Let's...never...do this again." Roran got out between heaving another breath. The Ra'zac laid motionless at his feet, his head caved in.

They looked for keys and found none, so they went through the middle tunnel where the lethrblaka had come from. After some time the dark tunnel was filled with the light of glowing moss, the plants winding their way up the stone. The air was damp and cool. Eragon detected a slight decline in their path like they were going down. It got colder the deeper they went and their breath became visible. He hoped they would fond Katrina alive, for Roran's sake and his own. Katrina didn't deserve to die in this hole.

Finally, the tunnel opened up to rows of doors, the wood covered in mould and one was completely rotten through. They checked every door, finding nothing but cobwebs, a lot of bones from previous prisoners that had either died or gotten eaten. The final door held Katrina. Upon hearing the door open, the girl pressed herself further against the wall, her eyes no longer used to the bright light. Eragon remembered that the small orb of light was still there. It was a spell that barely needed any energy, so he'd forgotten about it.

"Who's there?!" she asked, frightened. He saw that she wasn't hurt beyond the red chafed skin of her wrists and a bruise covering half of her face. They obviously had taken care not to hurt their high profile prisoner in fear of the king's wrath if his only leverage over Eragon should die.

"Katrina." Roran whispered, loud enough in the silence for her to hear. She stilled. Nearly inaudible she whispered his name. Roran was crying tears of joy as he embraced her, after so long. They held each other, like both needed reassurance that this was real, that the other was there.

"You're here."

"I'm here. I won't let you go, I promise you. We're going to get you out of here."

Eragon turned around, to give them a moment of privacy. Would he find such love, he wondered. Roran and Katrina clearly loved each other, and he was happy for his cousin to have found the one he wanted to marry, but he couldn't imagine himself leading a life where he worked on a farm or as a craftsman, with a wife and children of his own. Despite the way he'd pictured it before, he couldn't see it now, it wasn't for him. Arya had been clear in the way she'd refuted his try to court her. Also, he was bound to another elf on a level that would make possible future partners uncomfortable. Saphira had been a friend, their bond purely platonic, but Eragon had sensed from the start, that his bond to Vanir wouldn't be. He'd fought against what it would mean, had tried to stay away from the elf, but the magic woven into their bond made it impossible. It drew them into each other's orbit like stars circling the sun. What was the bond and what was his own thoughts talking?

He shook his head, like he could shake off the thoughts as if they were cobwebs. The search around led to no new discoveries. Another cell showed him the cold body of Sloan. The man had been dead for some time, his corpse stiff as he prodded it. He didn't feel bad to se the man dead, although a sliver of remorse stole its way into his heart. The man had only tried to protect his daughter, and even if he hadn't been nice to Eragon, he represented a pat of hi childhood. Eragon closed the door so he was no longer looking at the corpse.

"I found Sloan." He told Roran sombrely. "He's dead."

Roran closed his eyes for a moment, likely to pay his respect to the dead man, since he would've been their father in law once Katrina and Roran married. The former dragon rider let him and turned to Katrina, now out of the cell. Her hair was a mess, but she gave off a shaky confidence as she met his eyes.

"Nice to see you again, even if I'd hoped for the circumstances to be better." He said. She smiled wryly. "A shared sentiment. Thank you for making sure this one hasn't gotten himself killed on his way here."

Roran gave an annoyed grumble of "Eragon's as bad as me!", that was ignored. Eragon laughed.

The sun was a red ball of fire, low on the horizon as it sank steadily. They'd been gone far longer than he'd thought. Time had been warped inside the Helgrind. Katrina's eyes had accustomed to the floating light orb and the dusk was not as bright as the daylight so it wasn't needed for her to close her eyes. She looked at the sky filled with reds and purples like she had given up hope to ever see it again. Roran's expression, Eragon observed, was soft as he looked at her. He was clearly hopelessly in love.

Eragon hid his smile, and slowly led them down the stone monolith, back to where Vanir was probably planning to murder him. Their connection had been silent during the day they'd been inside and now he still didn't sense anything beyond a general impression of Vanir being cross with him.

Ah, well. He would proof to be a responsible human and deal with it later. They had Katrina back and his cousin was happy.

Katrina, Roran and Eragon were greeted by relieved faces and the smell of a hearty stew cooking in a pot over the fire. Ragnar and Cas were seated side by side with plates and spoons in their hands. Vanir was sitting atop his bedroll, a lot less pale then last time they saw him. He still looked tired but they wouldn't need to delay their return. This wasn't the only thought Eragon had but he was quick to hide the burst of complicated emotions because he wasn't in the right mind-set to deal with it now. He felt exhausted and depleted after using his magic in the last several days with just his own reserves and the use of small animals. They would need to return. The week long travel was going to be longer if their luck ran out and they needed to hide from the imperial soldiers patrolling the main routes. He hoped they wouldn't be forced to go into the Hadarac desert because the way he was now he wasn't sure if he could continue using magic to care for their water supplies.

Roran led Katrina to one of the unoccupied bedrolls and started rummaging for some leftover bread for her to go along with the stew. He held it out to her and she took it thankfully. Maybe tomorrow they could all wash off the grime in the Leona lake before they left. Eragon decoded to take inventory of what they had left of their provisions. They would need more if they wee indeed forced into the desert.

Afterwards he followed his insistent stomach growling and helped himself to the stew. The hot air was trailing lazily above the simmering liquid and the smell was mouth watering to the hungry ex rifer. It was a simple meal where the flavour came from the added spices. Since travelling around all 9f Alagaësia had given Eragon insight on different and exotic meals but he preferred the simple dishes he knew from his childhood in Carvahall. Although if he could he would probably add one or two sweet dishes from his time in Ellesméra. The fresh berries added to most desserts gave it a less cloying taste that he preferred.

He barely batted an eye at the scales covering his wrist and travelling up his arm in a spiralling pattern as he took the spoon Roran offered him. Katrina though gasped in shock.

"Eragon your arm! What happened to you?!" she exclaimed.

He looked up. Self-conscious he pressed the appendage to his body. Was it really as hideous that people were shocked to see him now? He felt conflicted since he had quickly gotten over the shock and accepted it as part of himself. His problem lay with the deadly claws his hands would transform into in a dangerous situation. The scales were more like the pointed ears and elven looks. More a mark of beauty than his body turning into a weapon.

"Katrina let him eat. Its rude to ask a starving man their life story."

"Nah. She would have known the moment we were back at the Varden." He gave her an apologetic smile. She meant no offense by her outburst. "I left Carvahall because I found a dragon egg and it hatched for me making me a dragon rider. Brom taught me everything he knew of the riders but the Ra'zac killed him too. I travelled to the Varden and then to the elves in Dû Veldenvarden to learn more about my legacy."

The two humans were listening in rapt attention to his tale he noticed.

"The first great battle between the empire and the Varden was on the burning plains." He continued with his voice lowering as he recalled the blood shed. He had enjoyed it and it ashamed him how shallowly he'd taken lives. His sleep was light nowadays because he didn't need much of it and because he feared confronting his dreams. "What we didn't know was that the empire has a new dragon rider."

"The red dragon! I saw it fly over the city once!" Ragnar exclaimed excited while Cas looked grim. Everyone looked at the red headed boy who blushed as bright as a tomato.

Eragon continued.

"Thorn. He's young but the king uses his vile magic to make him grow quickly into adulthood. So I confronted them in battle… unbeknownst to me the rider was….had been a friend. He knew how I fought. We were even in battle. Our fight could have gone for hours this way. In the end he was controlled by the king and I lost what was most dear to me. Saphira. She…"

He couldn't say it. He had been useless he knew. He'd failed her. He'd been the reason she was dead. Ot was wrong that a rider could live but a dragon could not if one of them died. She should have lived.

"She was everything to me."

He stopped again as the blurred memory rose to the surface. He felt the sword pierce through his armour again. The memory he could remember repeated like on a loop. Again and again. And again.

"She…I cant-"

The sword.

The pain.

Her echoing roar as she felt him slipping. He had been bleeding out. She- she had felt him bleeding to death.

Blood soaking the ground and the vacant eyes of his brother.

He breathed in and out and air wouldn't come. It was like trying to breath underwater and you only found yourself drowning. She was dead. Gone! His mind screamed at him. Or was he screaming?

The touch to his shoulder burned him and he tried to get away. His bowl of stew landed somewhere. He was focused on the feeling of the hands grabbing him. He wanted them to stop- leave him alone! He couldn't breathe!

„She's dead!" he screamed. It felt like he screamed because his throat was hoarse and raw. He didn't hear it. His ears were full of water and he was drowning, wasn't he?

A voice was whispering to him. It was her, trying to calm him. Calm down. It's alright. It's not your fault-

It was his fault. Eragon wanted the hands to stop touching him- STOP!

„I failed! I failed-„ he raged. His claws were back and his back itched and he couldn't breathe-

Darkness.

NASUADA

It had been a gruelling week for Nasuada. Her efforts to make a new strategy based on their forces after the battle of the burning plains revealed to be a herculean task. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cursed this much, nor the migraine plaguing her right now. Tiredly, she rubbed at her temples, her eyes turning back to Jörmundur. The man looked at her, telling her of their options. Like she wasn't all too aware, she thought. They should have all retired to get some sleep five hours ago. Instead they'd held counsel with Orin and Arya, as well as the delegate of the urgals. The dwarfs had sent an official letter regarding the election of a new king. She had no choice but to sent Eragon once he was back. Dwarfs were the most traditional folk she knew in all of Alagaesia. To their luck, Eragon was part of the Durgrimst Ingietum.

The tent flap opened, letting in the dying sunlight for a short moment. A messenger entered. The boy searched until he found her, promptly falling into a salutation, his tone clipped and precise as he told her that some southern tribesmen pleaded for an audience with her.

"Let them through. I'll see to them shortly. Have they stated their business?" she said.

The boy shook his head. Jörmundur next to her frowned. "Their routes are nearby, but we haven't blocked their trades yet with our troop movement, and they never said outright whose allegiance they followed."

She nodded, familiar with her father's people. The southern and eastern traders, nomad tribes, held no recognition of the empire's borders, or their king. Galbatorix had left them to their own devices since they were only there to trade spices above other things. As long as coin came into the empire's chests it seemed the king couldn't be bothered with them.

Why would they want an audience with her, she wondered now.

Nevertheless, her talk with Fadavar was exactly like she had expected it to go. He talked down on her, in not so subtle words that made even Jörmundur bristle with indignation, and she listened to his demands for her to acknowledge her connection to her people and split the Varden's gold to give a percentage to the tribes. She had to hold back her own furious outrage at these demands, recalling no help from them after all as her father founded the Varden and led them into battle against the army of Urgals under Galbatorix control.

In the end, she made it clear that the Varden wouldn't part with their resources without an offer in return of equal value; the tribes following Fadavar had to fight in the upcoming battles or otherwise assist the Varden. Fadavar had been less pleased about this, but he'd conceded. His gold armbands and the long tied back hair with the feather of a red tailed hawk marked him as leader of the two tribes outside this tent, but she held the allegiance with the elves and the dwarves.

VANIR

Vanir woke first, accustomed to waking with the break of dawn and sensitive to the unfiltered light of the sun. Since leaving the forests he'd called his home for over a century, he'd felt her rays of bright light tickle his form, rousing him from his light elven slumber. Like many times before he was surprised for a moment not to find himself beneath a roof of leaves. Instead, the brightening sky greeted him and a fresh wind caressed his skin when he left the cocoon of his blanket.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers overnight. He left to find a secluded spot to relief himself. Roran was awake, having had the last shift of guard watch. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement as Vanir brushed past him.

The elf went through their plans for today. They needed another horse, if they could get two it would be even better. Also, clothes. The two former slaves couldn't go around in just crude grass loin clothes. The tunic had been a patchwork job at best and the thing was slowly unravelling. Vanir admitted that he had only basic understanding of these things, never had he bothered to learn how to weave fibre of all kinds to make stunning dress. He could quicken the process of hand weaving a tunic from lamaré, cotton, wool, or any premade fibre, but it would never be as good as the ones made by those who mastered this craft and excelled at it.

He returned and stepped over to Eragon. The man was still asleep, buried deep into the blanket and his limbs tightly packed together like he'd tried to crawl into his shell if he were a snail. He looked adorable, thought Vanir. His sleep was as light as an elf's nowadays, but it was troubled with nightmares. Vanir was relieved not to have detected any nightmares tonight. The ex-rider needed some sleep. His sudden bout of shouting, caught up in the most terrifying moment of his life, had frightened Vanir. He wasn't afraid of Eragon, but the way Eragon hadn't been able to hear any of them until he'd simply passed out, gasping for air.

What if the ex-rider had such an attack in battle? Vanir hoped it was just this once, but he logically knew it wouldn't be. Many children that had survived the fire of Calath, his home, had suddenly gone still, the memories making them shake in fear, but unable to move, or they'd sobbed for their friends and families, the ghost of the inferno making them shy away from a simple flame, making them break out into hysterics.

The reactions were different but at the same time they told the same story, of an inferno burning itself through a city and into the souls of their children, leaving behind scars that never quite healed.

Vanir shook off his sombre thoughts, deciding to wake Eragon. He called the ex-rider's name softly and soon gazed at warm brown eyes, blinking from sleep. His own eyes were entranced by the sight of sleep mussed hair and cream coloured skin, as the sun slowly ascended on the sky, making the hair glow like it was spun from gold. Vanir swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He forced himself to look away, the urge to move overcame him as his thoughts raced without any direction. He was at a loss at what to do. He knew the other was aesthetically pleasing and Eragon had been attractive for a human rider, so why was he shy now? The elven features bestowed upon Eragon had made him even more attractive, which wasn't really fair, he thought. Exotic, with brown eyes and light brown-blond hair.

His looks aside, he'd never let it affect him this much, because he had hated humans. All humans. That had changed though hadn't it? Was it that? In his heart he knew it was more. Eragon had changed too. The man was young, so much younger, but he couldn't compare his own age to Eragon's this way. Elves needed more time to mature, and then they stayed eternally youthful, and were slow to change in their mind-sets. Eragon was considered an adult, in human years. Would it be so wrong to consider it?

Vanir batted away the thought, angry with himself. He hoped Eragon hadn't been able to listen to him berating himself over an inconvenient attraction.

They ate breakfast.

Deciding who went into the city was not easy. Roran wanted to go, because he was worried his cousin needed more time to recuperate, but Vanir could see he was not necessarily happy to leave Katrina out of his sight. Katrina was fine staying at camp with the former slaves and Eragon, but the ex-rider wanted to go since he'd been to Dras Leona before and knew a good trader for their needed food. In the end they decided to sent Eragon and Roran, since this way he and Eragon would be able to communicate through their link, should something happen. Vanir wasn't happy to see Eragon depart without him again, especially as he'd complained about back pains and itchiness the whole time they held their breakfast, but Vanir had been unable to talk the ex-rider out of going to Dras Leona. So he watched him go, worried.

ERAGON

Dras Leona. The last time he'd been here had been with Saphira and Brom. Eragon remembered the time spent with Saphira at the Leona Lake happily. It had been fun to dive into its depths on the back of a dragon, flying over it and playing in the water. He couldn't remember another time he'd had as much time just to themselves, to have fun like this, which was sad. Their time had been cut short after picking up their duties and fighting for the Varden. In a way, it had robbed them of just enjoying the bond that had existed between them.

Roran looked around curiously after they'd passed the gates unnoticed. The stream of travellers was big enough for two men in dirty travel garb to slip through. The sword and hammer on their belts was not an unusual sight, since even before the war. More people saw the need to arm themselves now, though, as he let his gaze travel over a group of merchants with haggard looking ponies carrying their backs. The sturdy small animals had their necks bent tiredly to the ground, and their hooves dragged through the dirt littering the street.

"Watch out for thieves." He advised Roran after spotting a kid with bony fingers help herself to the gold of a man clothed in rich embroidered garb. The man never noticed the long fingers taking his gold, too engrossed in a heavy necklace made of expensive looking jewels, the metal glittering in the sun and shining brightly on the dark satin sheet. He smiled as he saw the girl get away safely, feeling pity for her. She shouldn't have to resort to stealing just to survive another day. In Carvahall, nobody would have let her live on the streets. Children whose families died would have been taken in, he was sure. He couldn't see Horst or Elain letting him or Roran starve if something should've happened to their uncle. Roran would've learned to help in the forge and Eragon would've either followed in his steps too, or he would've been useful to help around the house with the tasks that needed muscle, and strength to accomplish.

His cousin acknowledged his words and made sure to have his eyes on the gold they carried with them. It was fortunate that Eragon could spy the possible thieves beforehand, his senses alert. His mind gave him the image of a tapestry, the minds of the people flowing like water around them.

The food was easy to get, Eragon haggling for a better prize but in the end he had to settle for a compromise. The trader grumbled as the gold was in his hands. Apparently the influx of people meant an increase in guard activity. They also got the information that the shipments from cities along the coast had broken down completely, because the king had isolated them from trade. They were no longer allowed to export anywhere.

"How are they going to live without trade at all? The coastal cities need the wheat imported from the east, the same way many spices come from the caravans travelling along the eastern routes. The people are going to protest if he starves them." Eragon said. The merchant laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, right. Like the king cares for his people. We're helpless against the Varden, and our benevolent king- what are you standing here, eh? I have to work!" and he rudely ended the short talk. Eragon understood he had feared being overheard. Dras Leona seemed to have ears everywhere. They would need to be careful.

NASUADA

The elves came on white steeds with fluttering long manes, their beauty matching their riders'. Wild and untamed with an air of mystery surrounding them.

Nasuada approached the leader of their group shrouded between her Nighthawks. The discovered spy in their ranks had rattled her men and Garven had insisted her to utilize the full guard today. She agreed with the safety measure. Another blow to the Varden like the one that had bene dealt to then on the burning plains and they could just as well surrender. She swallowed the proud woman inside her and took up her mantle as leader of the Varden. She was a figure head now and no longer her fathers little girl who could go on small adventured around Farthen Dûr. It meant a responsibility to the people.

Bloedgharm was cordially introducing himself and his looks threw stares from onlookers. She could understand. He was unlike the elves shed come in contact with previously but her visage was schooled into a mask befitting a meeting between political figures. Her father had believed in training her as his sole heir despite their tribe customs not allowing a woman the rights to become a clan leader. She would honour him by following his teachings and stay true to them. She played the political game even if it disgusted her sometimes.

Bloedgharm looked around her with barely hidden suspicion.

"I was of the opinion that we would be greeted by the argetlam himself. It is an honour for us to guard Eragon shade slayer and Saphira bjaartskular." His tone was respectful but a hint of accusing swung with it. She gave a polite nod.

"Your arrival hasn't been scheduled for one concrete day you have to understand. Eragon had to depart rather abruptly for an important mission. It has top priority."

The elf showed his sharp teeth and his slit yellow eyes glittered dangerously.

"I trust your judgement my lady. Still I find it jarring not to be informed of this." He spoke. He obviously awaited more cooperation from Nasuada's side. She had to threat carefully how she would deliver the news of Saphira's death. She wasn't sure how to formulate it.

"We can accommodate you for now until he returns. Lets move this discussion to a more private setting." She offered.

Bloedgharm nodded and signalled for the other elves to follow him. She turned on her heel and walked back into the heart od the Varden camp. Her tent was as unassuming as the other two dozen around it. Should they get attacked they were at lead tin no danger of hers getting singled out. A blue and black scarf was tied to one side of the entrance. Otherwise the tent was only slightly bigger than the standard double one and could have been the mess hall or the weaponry. Her guard split up, one part outside while four followed them inside.

Bloedgharm watches the humans around him with a curious stare. Rhen his attention snapped back to her. She didn't sit down but stood tall. She wouldn't show weakness while revealing their greatest disadvantage.

"I wasn't truthful to you."

"Explain."

"The battle at the burning plains took their fair share of victims and while it is a fact of every battle fought, we lost Saphira. She died at the hands of the king's own dragon rider."

The look on Bloedgharm face could be described as somewhere between shocked and furious. He growled low in his throat like a cat and stepped up to her until he was inly a foot away. She noticed that he was taller than her. The nighthawks drew spears and swords warning the elf to try anything. They wouldn't hesitate. He seemed to realize his error and breathed in. As he exhaled his body forcibly relaxed and he stepped away slowly. He eyed the spears with a sneer.

"You're playing with fire my lady, if you think you can deceive our queen like this." He said. She shook her head.

"Its neither my attention to deceive you nor hold secrets against your people. This war can be won as long as Eragon lives on."

"Is he of sound mind still? I know the stories. Few riders experience the loss of their partner of geart and soul and lived. They lost themselves or died."

"I wouldn't have sent him on a mission if he were not able to listen to reason." She said. He seemed glad to hear this. Maybe not all was lost yet. If she could convince the elf, she wouldn't lose their help completely.

"I'm going to make my own opinion on this. Until then me and my people will stay. The queen has already taken matters into her hands and moved our people into this war. All we can do now is follow you but should this hope prove false I will hold your responsible for every death you've indirectly caused."

His words didn't inspire fear in her. She knew this all too well. Shed fully known the weight that would be on her shoulders and the backlash of a failed revolution. She wasn't sure what she would do then but she couldn't allow herself to think like this. She would not fail. The Varden had to win. They had to.

"Are you threatening me, elf?" she asked and lifted her chin to provoke him.

"I'm just making my opinion known to you. Isn't that what makes you superior to the empire? Free will? The freedom of opinion, of thought?"

"Thoughts can be dangerous if wielded carelessly." Was all she said. He smiled at that.

"You don't strike me as someone who would throw it around then like one would toss around sweets." He said with one last smirk and left the tent. She looked confused to her nighthawks. One lifted an eyebrow. Apparently she wasn't the only one.

Elves, she thought, were just strange.