(A/N) Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I've been splitting my time as a teacher, editor/reporter/web designer/everything for a newspaper, and as a full-time student. It's been hectic and hasn't left me with as much time to write as I'd like. Excuses, excuse. But here it is.

***WARNING***: This chapter contains multiple explicit depictions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts/tendencies. For those who wish to skip these scenes, a warning will appear before and after them. Love yourself.

Ch. 22: Empty Spaces

What are we: wisps echoing on a bitter wind, monkeys clawing to be something greater, sentinels of all creation, or are we just… here? Everything fades on this unforgiving plane of reality, so why should we care? What purpose does caring about anything serve? Nothing is forever, so why not act like it?

A brisk, cold air filled the lungs. Sheen rock crept into view. A jagged sword. Blue scales in flight… no free-fall. Nothing. She relaxed further into the soft mattress, wishing it all a dream. She wanted to curl into a ball, but the memory of falling apart when she was needed clung to her like the inevitability of death. After an hour of lying undisturbed, she rose, bathed, clothed herself, and set off into the labyrinth of Farthen Dûr to find the kitchen, or dining room, or any place that had something resembling food. As she walked, two people emerged from, at least from Azura's perspective, the wall of the corridor. A brown-haired man and a black-haired woman walked away in opposite directions with no intention of saying goodbye to each other. She stood mystified at the phenomenon.

"Ah! You have never witnessed the frethya hurdh have you?" A small, round dwarf interjected. His beard looked of snow that had begun to melt into the dirt, and his deep voice made the rock around him shudder.

"Ermm… no I guess I haven't," Azura replied, not in the mood to talk to anyone at all, much less a stranger.

The dwarf walked from his porch with his pipe still in hand, and put his hand on the rock face. "You see this ridge here? It masks the entrance to a little cave. It's an optical illusion, so to speak. The way our eyes perceive things is often fooled by the wonder of reality. What is one thing…" The dwarf moved inside of the hidden crevice, and a little tendril of smoke filtered its way out. "…is sometimes another. Isn't that fun?"

"Maybe if you're 4," Azura said under her breath.

"Another trick of this crevice is that it is designed so that the sound from the main corridor is heightened in a specific area… the one that I happen to be standing in." He walked back into the corridor. "Dwarven architects always have to go over the top with their work. It's a marvel any of them actually complete anything."

Azura remained silent, hoping to escape the banal discussion.

The dwarf heaved a sigh. "You don't seem too interested in company. Sorry for making you stop to hear the ramblings of an old man."

She gave a soft smile. "All is forgiven if you can point me in the direction of food."

***Explicit Scene Starts***

Days had past since his late encounter with Arya, and Eragon had yet to leave his room. His stomach had ceased to pain him, and his mind no longer raced. An ice had perpetually frozen inside him. The stone chair in which he had decided to exist had long since become warm with his temperature. A stranger's face stared at him through the mirror. The short, brown curls and dull, blue eyes of the stranger entranced him. The short, uneven beard that occupied his face felt real. No, was real. He ran his hand across his face and began to feel something; a searing light encapsulated within the blue ice. His dry tongue ran along his teeth, and nostrils flared with disgust. With a deep breath he suddenly stood and felt a warm liquid rolling down his clamped fingers. He refused to register the shattered mirror and glass deeply embedded in his knuckles. He walked to the washroom and sat in the empty tub. The tap turned and cold water began to fill the empty space, morphing into a cloud of red.

I don't need anything at all.

The mantra echoed within Arya's head; stale air filled her lungs. A memory stirred, one from her imprisonment in Gilead. She lay on the table with her limbs pulled past their natural reach. Faolin was dead, the mission all but failed, and she only had one thought: I hope this kills me.

Her bath had gone cold, and she had the thought once more as she submerged her head: I hope this kills me.

***Explicit Scene Ends***

"Goodbye cruel world."

The curtains fell upon the stage, and the crowd erupted with applause.

"You know, I've never understood this play. This kid kills himself after thinking a girl that he is 'in love' with for three days is dead. It's such a rash decision that nobody would ever make in real life. I understand it's a drama, but that's a little too much drama if you ask me," Orik said as the crowd began to exit the theater.

Ajihad chuckled at his old friend's ramblings. "You've never been one to appreciate the arts Oirk. It's overly dramatic because giving your life for a person the most sacrificial thing one can do."

Orik remained firm. "I stand by what I said."

"In any case, these types of things help the soldiers feel a sense of normalcy, and relief," Ajihad said. "And they needed it after the battle a few days ago."

"It's all about keeping that morale up right? And everyone was too hung-over from partying the night after winning to enjoy it until now."

"Exactly."

After a minute of walking in silence, Ajihad asked, "You hungry?"

"Starving. That's another thing I hate about theater; they don't allow food. If I have to sit for three hours listening to kids 30 years my junior spout ham-fisted morals at me that make no sense in the real world, I better be able to have snacks."

"Snacks? Really?" Ajihad chuckled.

"I'm a simple man. I like snacks."

***Explicit Scene Starts***

Empty spaces, that's all we are. Everything that's happened over the past two weeks is real. Every pain inflicted, every heart shattered… it's real. There's no point in putting on a fake smile anymore. Who cares if everyone can see the pain I feel? Who cares if everything I have ever known, have come to know, is obliterated? None of it matters. That is the only conclusion. All of existence is just an empty space, filled with empty people and loss. These people think I can just show up and every problem that has plagued them will just disappear? Bullshit. Escapism is bullshit. You have to run headfirst into the darkness of reality. When it rains it pours, and I'm fucking drowning. It's too late. We're doomed, and there's no way back.

The red water consumed Eragon. The cosmic grip of nihilism held tight, as the man with everything to lose had lost just that: everything. Dense fog clouded his mind as his blood had clouded the water.

Weak. That's the word… he had begun to feel weak. All this time he had been treading water, and now his muscles were ready to stop.

(Line Break)

The uncaring void accepted her offering with cold indifference. Small bubbles floated to the surface in a desperate attempt to flee their confinement, the same prison Arya had willingly accepted.

I hope this kills me. Her final refrain willed into existence.

At what point do you give up? What final straw has to break before you're ready to die? When do you start to revel, or even thrive, in the gloom? It's a point some will understand, and others will balk at. You give up on hope, on love and life, and on ever understanding normalcy again. Despair is the normal. Every birth and death is shrouded in despair, and the fact that people collectively agree to ignore the despair because it will all work out in the end is absurd; existence is absurd. That obscure end everyone refers to is death. We will all be skeletons sooner or later, and nothing will change that.

The dim light flickered. The bubbles finally stopped, and the surface of the water stilled.

A bright light flashed into view, and Arya was finally at peace. A voice echoed in light.

"Is this really what you want," The voice asked.

"Yes. I want the pain to stop. I want this fallacy that life inherently means anything to cease," Arya replied.

"Those terms are not mutually exclusive," The voice gained a dim figure Arya barely recognized, "Life may not inherently hold meaning, but that makes it all the more important that people make their own meaning." The figure began to take shape, and it was one that Arya was least inclined to listen to: her mother. "We are so dependent on other people confirming that we are important, that life is important when it isn't and we aren't. Realizing that reality is a construct is not the end… it's the beginning. The pain will cease when you decide what you live fore, what life means to you. No one can decide that for you."

Arya paused for a moment. "What if I don't want life to mean anything?"

"Then you will die stupid," Arya began to get mad when the voice continued. "You think losing Faolin was hard? Really? That silly little crush? I lost my husband of 200 years. I lost more than you can even begin to imagine, and when I close my eyes I hear every word he ever said to me. Every sweet nothing and every argument, I hear it all at once and it burns. Shall I tell you what you do with that pain? You hold it tight, and say, 'I will never let his memory be forgotten. No matter how bad it feels, no matter how long it hurts. He will never be forgotten. Not on my watch.' That's what life means to me.

The stillness broke as Arya pulled herself form the depths with her last shred of strength, gasping for air. Her tears and the water blended together in a melody of sadness.

***Explicit Scene Ends***

Arya wiped away the evidence of her experience, and made her way to the nearest dining hall. As she entered she noticed a teenage girl absent-mindedly picking at her food, eyes lost in thought. A tall man sitting with a dwarf, clearly inebriated, caught her eye.

"Arya, how's it going," Ajihad managed to get out, slurring his words.

"Well enough."

"Come to join us in a night of revelry after that drivel they call drama," Orik shouted, even though she was right next to him.

"Not exactly," Arya responded.

"Bah," Orik swung his arm, spilling the mug of beer in his hand in Ajihads lap.

"Where is Eragon staying," Arya asked innocently enough.

Ajihad struggled, but finally managed to tell her his residence.

"Thanks," she said before leaning into Oriks ear. "Make sure he gets home safe."

"But of course," Orik shouted again. "What kind of friend would I be if I left him to rot in a ditch?"

"Right," Arya said clearly unconvinced.

Arya traversed through the labyrinth that was Farthen Dur, finally approaching her destination. She knocked on the ordinary stone door. A minute had passed with no response.

"Eragon, I know you're in there," or at least she hoped.

No response.

"Look," Arya laid her forehead on the cold stone, "I wasn't ready to talk. I needed… need to work through a lot of things, but I'm ready now."

Still no response. She waited another minute.

"Fine. I respect your need for space, but I'm coming in anyway just to make sure you're okay."

The door swung open revealing a typical room, but what caught her eye was the broken mirror with dried blood on the fractured glass. Her heart raced. She set aside how hypocritical she was being and rushed into the room. A trail of dried blood lead to the bathroom, and inside…

"Oh shit," she breathed.

A bath full of red filled her vision. In it was Eragon, eyes closed. Arya rushed to the bath and shook him.

"Eragon," she shouted.

No response.

She pulled him out and laid him on the cold ground. Blood poured from his right hand, a large piece of glass protruding from his knuckles. Arya pulled it out and a gush of red flowed.

"Waíse heill," she managed to eek out through her sobs.

(A/N) I hope you liked the song I posted yesterday, and it (obviously) inspired a big part of this chapter. I apologize if this whole fic seems like me just venting my own issues, and truthfully it is. I can just hope that it works for you too. I had about half of this ch. done a year ago, and I just lost myself. Sorry. I don't really know what to say at this point. I got very intimate with descriptions of the suicidal aspect of things, and I don't want that to make any of you feel like suicide is the right answer. I fought a lot with the ideas I portrayed in this ch. All of that comes from the heart, and so does the argument against suicide that Aryas mother posits. It doesn't make it easier, but it does provide a much-needed framework for working through this shit. The musical "Dear Evan Hansen" helped me feel like I wasn't alone. And when I finally opened up to my friends about this, they sat down and talked about their own struggles with these thoughts. That's when I really felt the lyrics to the end of Act 1 of the musical. And I would like to leave you with the seminal line of it: "You are not alone." I don't know you, but I value your existence. Not because you're reading my fic, but because you are a person that makes this world a better place because you're here. All the love. You are not alone.