A/N: Warning for some suicidal references later in the chapter. It's not too much (I think) but the warning is here regardless.

Chapter Forty: Ruin

Eragon felt his blood pounding cold and fearful as he stared at Roran just a short distance away. He numbly reached for Undbitr and the elven blade at his back, and checked the hammer in his cousin's hands.

It was a war hammer, shorter than was ideal against an opponent using blades, but still big enough to be plenty dangerous. Still, that meant nothing against Eragon—Roran was only human and the Rider was…

"At least give him a shield!" Eragon protested.

Morzan snorted. "I see no reason to waste one. He's going to die."

"I don't even have your word," the Rider retorted. "How do I know you won't just kill Katrina and Ismira if I go along with this?"

"You want my word?" The Forsworn's smile was cruel as he spoke in the Ancient Language. "I swear to return Katrina Ismirasdaughter and Ismira Katrinasdaughter to you alive and unharmed as soon as you kill Roran Garrowsson."

Eragon glared at him, but his eyes shifted to Roran when his cousin charged, raising his hammer in preparation to strike. He easily evaded the wild, powerful swings. Roran had grown taller and more muscular in the past five years, such that he could probably even fell Urgals with his strength, but Eragon had the supernatural speed and power of an elf at his disposal.

Roran seemed to be moving in slow motion as Eragon danced around the hammer blow, but he hesitated on the counterattack and backed off.

"Look at you," Roran's face was set in a scowl. "Was being human not good enough anymore? What are you supposed to be? An elf? A dragon? You're disgusting."

"Roran," Eragon choked out.

"You did this," his cousin spat. "You and Murtagh both! Do you know what he did to Carvahall?"

"I know what he did!" Eragon weaved around another hammer swing. "I saw what happened after he burned it down, but I thought you were dead! I thought all of you were dead!"

"Is that supposed to make it better? You went galavanting off with Brom and two little monsters on some fool mission and everyone at home was killed for it! I watched that thing burn and eat them!"

"What were we supposed to do?! Stay and wait for the Empire to capture or kill us?"

"Maybe everyone else would have been spared if you had! Maybe my father wouldn't have died if you'd just killed the damned dragons in the first place!"

Eragon felt rage curl against his fear. "We couldn't have hurt them!"

"And why not?!" Roran roared, swinging his hammer and missing again. "They're animals! You killed animals all the time!"

"It's not that simple!"

"It is that simple! But you chose to let them live at the price of everyone and everything we grew up with! That's what you traded, Eragon! You traded the blood and lives of everyone back home for a monster!"

"Enough talk! If I don't see some blood, I might just tear someone else open to cure my boredom," Morzan warned. His finger slowly began to point towards Katrina and his nameless dragon followed the motion like a hawk with its bloodshot eyes.

Eragon felt the fear surge back in his belly. He stabbed with Undbitr in a blur of speed, making a slash into Roran's shoulder. His cousin cried out in pain and the Rider froze at the sight of the red staining his blade, but Roran kept swinging.

Eragon, don't stop! Saphira screeched.

Roran's hammer clipped him while he was hesitating, a desperate blow that took Eragon in his left arm. He still felt the bone crack and roared in pain, dropping his elven blade. Sparked by the agony, he lashed out and backhanded Roran so hard the man was lifted off his feet and launched ten feet in the opposite direction.

"Roran!" Katrina screamed.

Eragon froze again, breath coming fast and hard with panic and pain. Instinct alone lifted his hand to the broken arm in order to try and heal what he could. The older man groaned on the ground and pushed himself up shakily. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and Eragon knew from how hard he'd been struck that at least part of his jaw was broken.

It was starting to set in that he was going to have to do this.

"Morzan, enough!" Murtagh roared. "There has to be something else—"

"If someone interrupts one more time, your cousin's wife will be in my dragon's belly before you can blink," Morzan snapped, silencing his son. "I think I am being rather generous, giving you a chance to take two of them back! I could kill all three if I were in the mood. You know I could."

The Forsworn regarded Roran as he struggled to his feet, holding his cracked jaw in pain. "That being said, it's obvious this won't be much fun if I pit your cousin against you in such a way. He simply does not stand a chance, and such battles are rather boring. Let's fix that."

He lifted a hand towards Roran and murmured something under his breath. Eragon had no time to try and figure out what was done, because Roran suddenly leapt forward with incredible speed.

His cousin's shoulder smashed into his chest as he tackled Eragon, blowing the wind from his lungs and cracking at least one of his ribs. Roran shoved him to the ground and lifted the hammer, desperate rage in his eyes, and Eragon knew Roran would kill him without a second thought. He was fighting for his wife and daughter, and nothing, nothing would stop him from trying to protect them.

Eragon rolled out of the way and leapt back, scrambling to get on his feet as Roran smashed his hammer again and again. He ducked under a swing and Eragon's hand snapped out, colliding with Roran's chest to push him back.

He felt bones give way with a low crunch and Roran screamed.

Horror curled deep in Eragon at the sight of Roran's chest indented from the impact. Even though Morzan had empowered him, he hadn't bothered to make Roran's body more durable—Eragon's draconic strength could shatter human bones like twigs.

"Well, that's no good," Morzan hummed a lazy tune. He muttered something and Roran was forced to retreat to him, where the Forsworn placed a hand on the man's ruined chest. Ismira looked up in horror as Morzan muttered a spell and forced the bones and damaged organs to snap back into place, causing her father to scream in agony. A hand rose to Roran's jaw and repaired the fractured bone.

"Back you go," the Forsworn said cheerfully as he patted Roran's cheek, ignoring the blood and sweat and tears on Roran's face. Ismira tried to grab her father's hand, but Morzan held her back.

Katrina let out a strangled sob and collapsed to her knees, but the soldiers still held her shoulders. Eragon felt like he was going to throw up.

The nameless dragon growled and Morzan's eyes suddenly snapped towards the elves. "Ah, ah, don't even try. I warded those soldiers myself. You touch their minds and she dies."

Blodgharm snarled in response. Whatever rescue attempt he'd been planning was clearly something Morzan had expected. Why wouldn't it be? The Forsworn was over a hundred years old and had been trained by elves before Galbatorix—he knew their tricks.

He wasn't stupid enough to leave gaps in his plans. Not for something like this.

Eragon, Saphira sounded heartbroken. She knew how this was inevitably going to end. If you end this quickly, he won't have to suffer.

Eragon knelt, shaking, and picked up his elven blade. When he looked up, Roran was already approaching him with his hammer at the ready. The man was panting and Eragon couldn't find words for the lump swollen in his throat.

Please don't make me do this, he silently begged.

He dodged another hammer blow and froze when Morzan growled. "If you keep running about, I'm going to start cutting limbs from the woman and feed her to my dragon in pieces. How long before she bleeds out?"

One of the soldiers unsheathed a sword and Eragon felt desperation surge in him even as Roran yelled. "NO!"

Eragon swung and Roran ducked under his attack with that enhanced speed again. The Rider watched as his cousin suddenly pulled a dagger out from the inside of his boot and stabbed upwards, driving the short blade hilt-deep just below Eragon's ribcage. Though it missed his heart, it drew a screaming roar from the Rider, made louder by Saphira's agonized howl.

Even Morzan froze then—Roran had hidden the blade from him and for a moment, he felt the slightest spark of fear that the man had actually killed Eragon. But he realized quickly the dagger was too small and the angle was off.

The sound of his life-partner sharing his pain was more than Eragon could take. Instinct took over and when Roran met his eyes next, he saw the wrath of a dragon.

Undbitr thrust forward and pierced Roran's body with disgusting ease, ripping through skin and muscle and bone and organs. It bit deep into his torso and punched out his back, leaving a devastating, gaping wound in its wake.

Blood poured from the wound and jolts of pain from his own injury jerked Eragon back to the present. He stared at what he had done with horror.

Roran's eyes were already getting glassy. The shock of the massive wound was already killing him. His cousin stumbled backwards, sliding off of Unbitr's blue-red edge with a sickening squelch, then collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"FATHER!" Ismira shrieked. Katrina wailed.

Eragon fell to his knees, eyes wide as he watched Roran's life ebb away to nothing. He felt the moment when his cousin's life snuffed out and let out a sob.

Morzan smiled cruelly. "Was that so hard?"

But Eragon was deaf to the world. The Forsworn saw the shock and horror and self-loathing in the younger Rider's eyes and knew he'd won. He lifted his hands from Ismira's shoulder and let the girl run to her father's corpse, then turned to the soldiers. "Let her go."

Katrina bolted as soon as she was free, rushing to her fallen husband. Murtagh ran towards them with the rest of the Varden's envoy behind him.

Morzan watched them approach and smirked. "Perhaps we will attempt negotiations tomorrow, when your heads are clear. Until then, Eragon Kinslayer."

Eragon went rigid and let out a strangled cry. The Forsworn turned away, but paused when Murtagh screamed at him. "I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!"

Morzan looked over his shoulder at the tear-ridden fury of his son, and scoffed. "If I had a coin for every time I heard that."

He walked back through the gates with the soldiers and his dragon, and the doors to Aberon slammed shut.

Nasuada rubbed at her eyes stressfully.

None of this could possibly have gone worse.

The elves had repaired the damage to Roran's body as best they could before he was carried away to be prepared for his burial. His wife and daughter remained beside him all the while, and they were still mourning beside him in another tent to give them some privacy.

Murtagh had flown into a rage and Thorn had insisted on flying away with him for a while. The young Rider needed to calm down before he could be anywhere near the others. Nasuada had never seen him so angry, but she didn't blame him. Morzan had played a sick, one-sided game he'd rigged from the start just to hurt everyone involved.

Her biggest worry now was Eragon. The wound from the dagger had been carefully healed, but he was despondent and had initially told them not to bother healing him at all. Arya, Brom, and two of the elves were with him now, and he wasn't to be left alone for any reason whatsoever for the foreseeable future.

Saphira was scared. That alone told Nasuada how bad this was. She had no doubt that if he had not been bonded to the blue dragon, Eragon would have let Roran kill him.

She was wracking her brains as she considered the meeting from every possible angle, but not matter how long she thought about it, Nasuada couldn't see a way they could have gotten the whole family away from Morzan. He had kept Katrina in the hands of soldiers whose minds were guarded by wards of his own making to ensure they couldn't be turned against him, and close to the insane dragon in case someone tried to trick the Forsworn. Ismira had been kept at his hands to kill immediately should his adversaries displease him.

His ultimatum had been simple: them or Roran. It had been non-negotiable and he had held all the cards on the table. A rigged game that would result in Morzan's victory no matter what they decided to do.

What then? What other choice was there?

Roran would have tried to kill Eragon regardless—in fact, he'd probably have tried even harder to kill Eragon if they'd allowed Katrina and Ismira to die. Nasuada closed her eyes and forced herself to accept that they had been handed the lesser of two evils.

She heard the sound of a dragon landing outside and opened her eyes in time to see Murtagh enter the tent. Her handmaiden looked up at the Rider and then glanced at Nasuada uncertainly. When he'd left, he'd been enraged. Now he looked…less furious, but most definitely still off-balance.

Nasauda gestured towards the tent flap. "Give us some privacy."

Her handmaiden nodded and left quickly, leaving them alone.

Nasuada stood up and hesitantly walked around her table to Murtagh, who was standing in the middle of the space. His hands were clenching and unclenching, still visibly shaky.

Uncaring for wards or secrecy, she approached him and reached up to frame his face in her hands. The gray eyes were dark and stormy, and she could tell from how bloodshot they were that he'd been crying.

Nasuada pulled his head down into her shoulder, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, gathering her to him and squeezing. His breath was shaky and uneven.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

Murtagh said nothing, just squeezed her tighter. He had enough control back to keep himself from hurting her—she knew how strong he really was since he'd been healed at Ellesmera. Though his embrace was firm and inescapable, he did not cause her pain.

She held him for a long time, aware of the clothing at her shoulder growing wet from his tears. His body shook, wracked by silent sobs, and all she could do was hold him close.

"How do I help you?" Nasuada asked. She pulled his head up gently and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. "Is there any—mmf!"

Murtagh kissed her hard, taking her by surprise and lifting a hand to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes and sighed into his mouth until he pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers. Nasuada took a shaky breath as his thumb caressed her skin.

"Murtagh…"

"There's…nothing can really—can really help now, I think," his voice was hoarse, his throat raw. "But you—you being here is enough."

She nodded slowly and planted a shorter, gentler kiss on his lips before bringing him back into another hug. "I'm here."

Murtagh nodded into her shoulder and shivered. "I have to talk to Katrina."

"I know," she murmured. "She shouldn't see Eragon right now, should she?"

"No, she shouldn't."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Please—they can't see Thorn, and I need someone—"

"I'm there," she promised. "I'll go with you. I'll be there."

Murtagh shook in her arms. "What am I supposed to say to them?"

"We'll figure it out. We'll take this one day at a time, and it's not going to be easy, but we'll make it, ok?"

He squeezed her tight again. "I don't deserve you."

"Hush. Let me hold you. We'll go see Katrina when you've settled a little."

"Someone might walk in and see…"

Nasuada took a breath. "Thorn?"

The dragon outside clearly heard her, for his mind brushed hers. Yes?

I need you to stop anyone from coming inside.

It will be done.

"There," she whispered. "No one will bother us."

"But what if—"

"Shh. I said I would be there for you. If someone manages to get past Thorn…well, let them see. I am not ashamed of being with you."

Murtagh quivered, unable to speak in her wake. Nasuada held him and sang a quiet song into his ears. Slowly, gently, she brought him back and eased the weight of his grief, if only a little. And that was enough for now.

It was some time before they found themselves standing at the entrance to the tent where Katrina and Ismira were grieving. Murtagh closed his eyes for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and then walked in with Nasuada behind him.

The inside of the tent was dark, but it was lit with a few candles. Murtagh laid eyes on Katrina, who was holding her sleeping daughter, and tried not to look at the body of his cousin.

The young widow looked over her shoulder when they entered and her bottom lip quivered. She was miserable—and who could blame her? Her husband had been forced to fight his own cousin to the death in a hostage situation where the only winner was their captor.

Though she wore a dress of fine, pale yellow fabric, her face was tearstained and pale, and there were dark spots beneath her eyes. Ismira wore a similar, smaller dress to her mother, and Murtagh felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of the child.

She should have been born surrounded by family. She should have been able to get into all manner of mischief with her uncles and play with dragons and…and…

"Murtagh," Katrina croaked.

He swallowed. "Katrina."

She looked at his companion. The dark-skinned woman offered a smile with what comfort she could project. "My name is Nasuada. I'm the Leader of the Varden."

Katrina held Ismira close as she stood and made to curtsy, but Nasuada hastily waved her down. "No, don't. You do not need to. Things are difficult enough for you now without the decorum."

The copper-haired woman sighed and straightened. "Thank you."

Murtagh pursed his lips. "We need to talk, but…but it you would rather wait until—"

"—No, no, we should…" Katrina cast one more glance at the body of her husband and swallowed. "I need to take Ismira somewhere to sleep."

"I had a tent prepared for you earlier," Nasuada said. "Come. We'll show you."

"I appreciate it."

They led Katrina out of the tent and Murtagh quietly murmured in the Ancient Language to prevent anyone from entering and disturbing the body of his cousin. Roran would be left in peace until his burial the next morning.

The tent was close to Nasuada's, but on the side farthest away from the tents of the Riders and their dragons some distance off. They'd felt it best not to put them near the dragons, who were sure to frighten the mother and child.

The inside of the tent was simple, but had two cots for Katrina and Ismira to sleep in and everything they would need to be comfortable for the time being. A pair of Nasuada's servants had tended to it personally, and would continue to do so.

Katrina set Ismira on the smaller of the two cots and tucked her in quietly. She planted a soft kiss on the girl's forehead and then stood up, turning to Murtagh and Nasuada.

"I will not leave her," Katrina was quiet, but firm. "We may speak here."

"If that is your wish," Murtagh nodded.

"You have questions for me, but I need to hear things from you, as well," she said. "What happened in Carvahall that caused you to leave, how you found yourself here, the…the dragons, too. Morzan told Roran a lot, but he never spoke to me. He was never that interested in me. I suppose that's a good thing."

"It is," Murtagh remarked. He took a breath and launched into the growing story he'd told many a time before. Almost everything from the moment the dragons were sent to them to their arrival at Aberon.

They all sat down eventually, when Murtagh made it clear the story would take some time. Katrina was silent for the most part, though she sometimes asked a question here and there.

"I wondered," she murmured when he finished. "Morzan would always tell Roran something new whenever he visited Aberon. That man whispered poison and did everything in his power to twist my husband against you and Eragon. I told him not to listen. Morzan burned down our home and killed our friends, and then he trapped us here. I don't know how much of his venom Roran actually believed, but even I thought maybe he was telling the truth when I saw what Eragon looked like. I suppose I'm grateful he didn't change his appearance willingly."

"It still unnerves you."

"I would be lying if I said it didn't," she admitted. Her hand reached over absently to caress Ismira's copper locks. "And the dragons—you say they are as intelligent as we are, but Morzan's dragon has always been a slavering beast. It eats everyone who goes near it save Morzan himself. I watched it kill a child who was chasing a toy."

"Morzan's dragon is cursed. When it betrayed the Riders, the dragons used their magic to strip it of its name and turned it into a savage as punishment. They did so for all the dragons of the Thirteen Forsworn. Whatever the monster is now, it's not a dragon. Not really."

"They will have to earn any trust I have left," Katrina told him. "Until then—I don't want them near me or Ismira."

"They already know," Nasuada assured her. "They've been told to give you plenty of space and not approach. You will not encounter them unless you should wish it."

"Thank you."

Murtagh watched her carefully. "What about Eragon?"

Katrina bit her lip. "I don't know. Why isn't he here?"

Nasuada and Murtagh exchanged a glance. Eventually, it was Nasuada who spoke. "Eragon is…despondent. He's under guard to prevent him from harming himself. He didn't want the dagger removed in the first place."

"He…he wants to die?"

"He had to choose between killing Roran or feeding you and Ismira to Morzan's dragon," Murtagh said, swallowing. "He's not thinking clearly."

"I don't imagine any of us are," Katrina looked down. "Your father is a monster, Murtagh."

"He's my birth parent, but he is not my father. Garrow was my father."

"Good. If you'd said otherwise, I would have to kill you."

Murtagh cracked a weak smile. "You haven't changed much."

"In some ways, no," she agreed.

"What happened? How did you find yourselves here?"

Katrina took a deep breath. "When Morzan attacked, Roran and I—we were meeting in secret again on the edge of town. The only reason we got away in the first place is because we heard the dragon coming. It circled the village and rained down fire to trap everyone inside. We barely escaped that first attack. Then it just started pouring dragon-fire over Carvahall. We made a run for it, but Morzan landed at some point and he chased us."

She shivered. "Of course, he caught us. Once he found out Roran was your and Eragon's cousin, he knocked us out and I guess he must have flown us straight to Surda. We only woke a few times on the trip there. He let us wake long enough to eat and drink, then put us to sleep again.

"Once we got to Aberon, he essentially locked us into the palace with the nobles. We were allowed to wander the building, but we couldn't leave. We only had to try escaping once for that to become clear. Morzan left magicians in the palace to keep us trapped whenever he flew off on his dragon. For all the finery of the palace, it was a gilded cage. We were always hostages."

Katrina swallowed. "He told us as much when he explained why we'd been taken—that you and Eragon were Dragon Riders who would eventually come to steal Surda back from the Empire like the traitors you were. Neither Roran nor I bought that last bit. The Empire's never done us any favors, even before all of this. Morzan insisted we could live happily and that we would be left unharmed, but I never believed him. Not really. Even when he allowed Roran to marry me, there was something so wrong about him."

Her expression hardened and her breath became shaky. "He wanted us to be happy then so he could hurt us now."

Murtagh felt the guilt and sorrow and rage curl in his cut, such that his fists started to clench, but then Nasuada's hand slipped into his and gently squeezed until he calmed some. If Katrina wondered on the contact that definitely wasn't professional, she didn't comment on it.

He glanced at the sleeping child. "And Ismira?"

Katrina's eyes followed his to her daughter and whatever love was left in her heart was poured to the little girl. "I became pregnant in our first year here, before we were married. It's why Roran demanded he be allowed to marry me, so my honor wouldn't be put into question. So our child wouldn't be born out of wedlock. He didn't tell Morzan I was with child, but I think Morzan guessed. He made several hints towards Roran regarding me, and when I started to show, no small number of threats if we tried to escape again. The things he said—well, there's a reason we never tried to leave more than once."

Murtagh studied the slumbering girl for several moments and felt a pang of wistfulness in his heart. "She looks like you."

Katrina smiled a little. "She's more stubborn than either of her parents."

The Rider looked from the daughter to her mother and lowered his head. "I'm sorry. Gods, Katrina, I—"

"—I know," she stopped him, eyes glistening again. He wondered how she still had tears left to cry. "I know you wouldn't have let this happen if you'd known. You said Eragon tried to come to Carvahall?"

"He went there shortly after the Battle of Farthen Dur," Murtagh pinched the bridge of his nose. "It couldn't have been longer than a week after the attack. He buried what villagers he could find. We thought everyone else had been burned to ash."

Katrina fell silent for a time. "Ismira doesn't have a father anymore."

"No."

"Her uncles will have to fill that void," she said. "As best they can."

Murtagh nodded, then looked up at Katrina again. "Eragon…"

She opened her mouth and hesitated before stopping to think. "I'll talk to her, but just…just bear with me, Murtagh. She's too young to understand. She only knows that Eragon killed her father."

"I know. I'll…tell him to keep his distance for the time being. He's the Leader of the Dragon Riders, so…we'll find ways to keep him busy until she's ready to see him. If she's ever ready to see him."

Nasuada looked between them when they both faltered and slowly stood up. "I think we've spoken enough for tonight. We must all rest. Katrina…will you consent to a burial for your husband in the morning?"

"Yes," she answered quietly. "Thank you."

Arya had spelled Eragon to sleep some time ago.

He'd been despondent and unresponsive, and she knew he'd continue tormenting himself throughout the night if someone didn't force him to sleep. She'd since sent Blodgharm and Invidia back to their tents to rest, but she remained at Eragon's with Brom.

She was not going to leave him alone. Even after Carvahall was burnt to the ground, she'd never seen him in so broken. So lifeless.

And she did not deny the fear she'd felt when he'd all but begged them to just leave that dagger in his chest, too close to his heart even while he bled badly.

Brom looked as miserable as he felt, she figured. The old man looked like he'd aged decades just today. But he wasn't going to leave his son either—not after what he'd seen today.

"Go to sleep," Arya said at last, when the night was growing dark.

"Someone needs to watch him."

"I will watch him."

"You do not need to, Arya. You need to rest as well."

"Not as much as you do."

"What sort of father would I be if I fell asleep while my son was in such as state?"

"A wise one. Eragon is going to need whatever counsel and kindness you can provide him for some time. You must not be dead on your feet when he needs you."

"That still isn't a reason to make you stay—"

"I will not leave him," she murmured, quiet and final in the Ancient Language.

Brom stared at her for a moment, startled, but he nodded slowly. "Very well. If you insist."

"I shall wake you if anything happens in the night. Until then, rest."

The former Rider stumbled up from his chair at Eragon's bedside and approached the cot he'd brought in earlier. It had been a foregone conclusion that he'd be staying with his son for the foreseeable future the moment they'd brought the young man back here. With little grace, he collapsed onto the cot and fell into an uneasy, light sleep quickly.

As soon as he was mostly unconscious, Arya approached him and whispered a quiet spell, pushing Brom gently into a deeper sleep. He would not be able to rest well if he only drifted, and Eragon was going to need his father to be strong until they put the pieces back together.

And you, as well, Firnen said in her mind. Her dragon was just outside, comforting Saphira while she slept. The blue dragoness was understandably distressed by her Rider's current state, and her mate had taken it upon himself to do whatever he could to lighten her burden.

He will need his immediate family more than I, Arya responded.

What are the Dragon Riders if not a family?

She thought on that for a short time before conceding the point. Blood, after all, did not amount to everything.

Firnen, do you think he would really try to end himself?

I think he was lost in that terrible moment, covered in his blood and the blood of his cousin. Had he not been bonded to a dragon…yes. Yes, I think he would try. But Saphira's cry of pain was what drove him to kill Roran, and it is she that will keep him going. Once the immediate shock wears off, I think he will be less inclined to consider such thoughts. But until then—

—he mustn't be left alone.

Firnen sent a pulse of comfort to her. I will stay awake with you, my dear.

There is no need for—

Arya.

She knew that tone; he'd learned it from her. The elven Rider didn't bother arguing with her partner. Thank you.

Arya shifted her seat closer to Eragon's bedside and for a long while, she and Firnen were content to speak to each other in silence. They did what they could to distract one another while it was allowed.

As the hours crept closer to dawn, Eragon started to drift out of the deep sleep she'd placed him in and in his lighter rest, she saw the telltale signs that he was dreaming. The slight furrowing of his brow, followed by short, faster breaths. He quickly grew uneasy, despite his state of sleep, curling into himself and turning onto his side so that he was facing her.

She knew what nightmares looked like. Arya decided to nip that in the bud before it got worse, and leaned over him to sing quietly in the tongue of her kin. It wasn't long before she soothed the younger Rider back to a more peaceful state.

Even so, she still felt the need to comfort him somehow.

She brushed some of his chestnut hair out of his face, careful not to disturb him. The brown locks were longer than usual, and she absently thought that he would probably want to cut it sooner than later.

Firnen started laughing in the back of her mind and she frowned, not seeing what was so funny. What?

Nothing. I just find it strangely amusing that you know when he wants to cut the fur on his head. It always looks the same to my eyes, yet you can tell at a glance whether it is too long for his liking.

It would likely be easier to understand if you had 'fur' yourself.

Ah, but then I would not be armored and strong with my brilliant green scales! I would be fluffy and soft, and Saphira would eat me!

I do believe she loves you too much to consider such a thing.

She has never bitten you before.

Arya had to fight the urge to laugh, but she smiled widely.

Would you prefer it if I had scales?

I think they would be too small and thin to protect you.

His reasoning amused her. Since you are an expert on dragon scales, I shall relent to your superior judgement.

Wise of you, he chuckled.

When the sun rose, she allowed Eragon and Brom to return from their deep slumbers to the waking world.

In hindsight, maybe she should have called for the elven spellcasters first.

When Eragon awoke, she watched as his face passed several emotions by. Recollection, grief, horror at himself.

And then she saw the rage.

"Eragon…" Arya warned, going stiff. The young Rider rolled off his cot and stood. Arya was grateful to see he had regained his energy, but she did not like the aggression in his movements.

"What time is it?"

"The sun has just risen."

"Good."

"Where are you—"

"Patrol."

Arya's eyes narrowed. She watched as he shrugged on his tunic, only grunting briefly in pain from the tender, healing places on his body from his wounds. He strapped Undbitr and his elven blade to his body in a matter of minutes.

Brom rose and approached his son carefully. "Eragon, slow down."

"No."

"Eragon—"

"If I don't do something, I'm going to lose my mind," he snapped.

"Roran is going to be buried soon."

That made the young Rider freeze for several moments, but then he started moving again. He splashed his face with water from the basin. "Katrina won't want me there. I'll—I'll visit his grave afterwards."

Then he was striding out of the tent, with Arya hot on his heels and Brom just behind her. Saphira was awake and at attention with Firnen. She seemed relieved to see Eragon back on his feet, but also worried for his state of mind.

The young Rider quickly set the saddle up on his dragon and was on her back in record time. Arya raced to keep up with him, but mentally swore when Saphira leapt into the air before she finished tying the saddle.

Hurry, Firnen urged. I do not like how angry he is.

Neither do I, she agreed, watching with wide eyes as Saphira flew towards the head of the Varden—closer to Aberon. She tied the saddle with swift hands and jumped onto Firnen, glancing down at Brom as her dragon crouched to take off. He nodded at her and began to hurry towards the tents of the elven spellcasters.

When Firnen got into the air, Saphira was wheeling through the air past the Varden and along the wall of the Surdan capital city. For a moment, Arya felt the tension in her chest ease. Maybe he was just patrolling after all...

And then Saphira tucked in her wings and dove.

"Firnen!" Arya shouted, and her dragon bellowed in alarm at the sight of his mate diving into the heart of Aberon. Horror filled Arya's every cell—was he really so far gone that he was going to attack Morzan on his own? With no one to support him?

Did he want to die so badly?

Firnen belted through the sky and she heard a roar that made her blood go cold, but then realized it was behind them. A glance over her shoulder saw Thorn flying in pursuit. Still, she scarcely dared to breathe.

They flew over the wall and she expected to see Saphira and Eragon assaulting Morzan's dragon.

But she saw none of those things.

Saphira had landed in front of the castle and was sniffing the ground. Eragon had dismounted, and currently held a hand up to the door to check for enchantments.

Firnen dove down and landed close to his mate. Arya jumped off of her dragon and stormed up to Eragon. Before he could so much as turn, she grabbed his arm, spun him around, and shoved him against the door.

"Have you lost your senses?!" Arya was rarely so angry, but his behavior was too much. "I will not stand aside and watch you try to get yourself killed! Get back onto Saphira this instant and—"

"—THEY AREN'T HERE!"

He cut her tirade off with a furious shout, pulling away from her with a jerk. Eragon was so enraged he was shaking. He took several heavy breaths before he spoke again. By then, Thorn had landed and Murtagh had joined them at the entrance to Borromeo Castle.

"The dragon isn't here," he spat. "Morzan isn't here. I cannot sense him and the wards are gone. They left in the night!"

Arya froze and quickly began to check their surroundings with magic. Eragon was so angry, maybe he'd missed something…

But he hadn't. Her mind scanned in a wide search with Firnen and they sensed nothing. The nameless one's savage thoughts were gone. Morzan's cruelty that stung like needles was gone.

The scent is already going stale, Saphira told them, connecting their minds. They fled as soon as it was dark, I think.

"Then they concealed themselves with magic," Murtagh breathed. "No one saw or heard that monster take off. It would've been reported to us immediately."

Thorn suddenly growled uneasily. I smell blood.

Arya felt something cold form in her heart. Eragon pressed his hand to the door and growled out a spell before they could do anything, and the doors swung inwards.

The hall was empty. No servants or soldiers. Her uneasiness grew.

Eragon stalked inside, unsheathing his blades in an instant. Arya glanced back at the dragons, who would not fit into the hall for their great size. "Get in the sky. Be mindful."

They all jumped into the air and she readied her sword as Murtagh brandished Zar'roc, then they hurried after Eragon. Cautiously, but with purpose, they moved through the castle hall towards what she assumed was the throne room. It was eerily quiet.

There were no wards or traps detected when they searched for spells. The castle had been stripped bare of spells that would have cost their master valuable energy, and Arya had a bad feeling she knew what was waiting for them in that throne room.

They stopped at the entrance and checked for more spells. There were none.

Eragon opened the door and their worst fears were confirmed.

The throne room was the site of a massacre. Nobles were strewn in a bloody mess all over the floor, in places where they'd tried to flee from their murderer or cowered against the walls as they begged for nonexistent mercy. In the throne itself, Arya saw a man slumped over, a distinctive hole in his chest that had pierced the back of the rich seat. She had no doubt the dead man was King Orrin.

The hostages were all dead. Morzan had killed every last member of the Surdan Aristocracy and fled in the night with his dragon.

Eragon roared in rage as Arya realized the scope of the ruin they would have to repair.

A/N: I have worked almost 100 hours in the past two weeks. My body hurts. This chapter hurts. Everything hurts.

As ever, PLEASE REVIEW and thanks for reading!