Dawn's Despair

Burning Planes War Camp:

'He threw himself at the rider, trapping both swords between their bodies, hooked his fingers underneath the helm, and ripped it off. And there in the centre of the plateau, on the edge of the burning planes of Alagaesia, stood Murtagh.'

Eragon twisted violently through his fitful sleep.

'Misery and Thorn, a fit match.'

Images of the battle spiralled uncontrollably throughout his tortured mind, mingled with memories of him and Murtagh's better times.

'Morzan was our father…'

The final words tore through him again and again, vibrations and echoes piercing his mind and splintering his shattered sanity.

'So be it. I take my inheritance from you, brother. Farewell.'

Eragon woke suddenly, twisting franticly out of his sheets he toppled out of his bed and came to rest on the ground in a tangled heap. Squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted to the soft light of dawn he reluctantly rose from the dew-dampened floor and stretched out his sore muscles.

Are you all right, little one?

The words were simple enough but the underlying compassion and slight comfort they brought him were like a lifeline from his fevered nightmares.

I'm fine Saphira

His words were stiff and impatient, as they had been ever since the battle three days past. As he turned to leave the tent his gaze drifted over Roran. A slight hint of a grin appeared on his face as he studied his rugged cousins' dishevelled features. Roran's mere presence comforted him slightly driving away his depressing memories.

He left the tent slowly smiling at a sleepy Saphira, while both eyes and mind subconsciously scanned the Varden's camp for any unwanted visitors. Since the battle the 'Black Hand' had launched several retaliation strikes, aiming to remove both Nasuada and himself from the Varden's ranks. Fortunately the surviving soldiers had kept up a sturdy vigilance, not allowing their brief success to get to their heads and warding off assassins and spies time after time.

Nodding greetings to the various messengers and guards scurrying between the tents Eragon arrived at Nasuada's domain and was promptly granted entry by the several large guards. The war council was seated around a rectangular table in the centre of the tent and, to Eragon's amusement were in the middle of a heated discussion about lace. After looking up briefly to acknowledge him Orrin cleared his throat and boomed,

"As I said before, the very idea is preposterous! Surda keeps a good income through various armoury guilds, and the local farmers reap more than enough to provide for us."

"Aye, but if we wish to continue our offensive campaign against Galbatorix we need methods of income that are both more reliable and cheaper to maintain. I propose that the Du Vrangr Gata continue their lace production, the weavers of Surda can aid them in this to prevent further argument and the overall income can be divided accordingly between our offensive forces and the defence of Surda."

The argument continued for several minuets, during which Saphira cautiously poked her head through the opening and Eragon had to struggle to keep from falling asleep on the spot. Finally the council of elders, Orrin and his advisors left the tent, leaving Eragon alone with a bored looking Arya and scowling Nasuada.

"You requested our presence my liege?" Eragon said cautiously.

"Indeed and I would have done so sooner, if under different circumstances" replied Nasuada briskly.

"Due to The Battle of the Burning Planes our forces have suffered huge losses, this was unavoidable however our economy is also stretched thin and the men's morale is dwindling." She continued however her voice had risen slowly to a high pitch of despair.

"I've listened to that fool Orrin spouting on about how he can provide for us… But my rider I fear its time to take matters into our own hands. I will handle our recourses; I already have numerous economic strategies, some of which I have put into play already. However I leave the soldiers morale to you."

Then I take it you agree on our plan concerning the Ra'zac?

Arya finally looked up and spoke "We do Saphira; the death of those demons coupled with the rescue of a fair maiden will certainly boost the soldiers opinion of you. If you were to cure Elva in front of them then praise would be sung in your names for generations."

Eragon's eyes rose to meet Arya's as she said this. He smiled slightly while drowning in the emerald depths however she held his gaze without emotion and he looked down quickly, a light blush colouring his cheeks. Saphira continued for her as if nothing had happened.

Then the healing of the Star Rose, Isidar Mithrim in Tronjheim would keep the Dwarves support for us… it would also show our respect for whomever they choose as Hrothgar's successor…

Eragon and Nasuada bowed their heads in sorrow at this, remembering Hrothgar the previous dwarven king. Even Arya looked slightly pained.

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Uru'baen:

"Enter" the voice was cold, hard and completely commanding.

Zarin, the kings head sorcerer and personal assassin entered the room. He glanced around nervously. The king's study was impeccable as usual; almost everything within it was carved out of solid black marble radiating an incredibly un-subtle aura of power, however Galbatorixs' presence filled it with malovenance. His gaze reached Murtagh, huddled in the corner of the room still recovering from Galbatorix's rage after the battle. He then looked to the floor at the king's feet.

"Our informants report on the Varden your highness" he spoke clearly in a controlled voice while placing a scroll of parchment on the desk.

"Ah the Black Hand" the king murmured in a slightly affectionate voice. They were one of his more successful ideas. "You may leave Zarin, be sure to arrive at the Pentacle Tower in time for your transformation."

"Thank you, oh mighty one" replied Zarin his voice loosing its controlled edge. He had been awaiting this chance ever since joining the king's personal guard, after the shade Durza's death the king had been awarding 'transformations' to his most loyal servants.

"Oh one last thing"

Zarin turned cautiously at this.

"Any news on the band of Urgal's I sent through Du Fells Nangoroth?" the kings' voice was harsh, and accusing.

"None my lord, they seem to have disappeared just like the last troop. Yet the Hadarac Desert is a vast and dangerous place, it's possible that they have been waylaid by nomads."

"I see… You have given me much to ponder over." The king whispered in a clearly dismissive tone. After Zarin had left he turned his gaze to a basin of some dark liquid upon the marble desk, conjuring up an image in his mind he murmured:

"What are you playing at Grieg?" The scryed image remained black however he could feel intense power radiating from it. "So you are alive", his thoughtful muttering turned into a screamed oath as he hurled the basin at a cowering Murtagh.

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Isidar Mithrim- Star Rose

Du Vrangr Gata- The Wandering Path

Du Fells Nangoroth- A mountainous area in the Hadarac desert where wild dragons used to mate

A/N:

Will Eragon and Roran triumph over the Ra'zac?

Who are Zarin and Grieg? What's the 'Transformation' King Galbatorix is offering?

My first fan fiction! So please read and review, I'll cherish compliments and criticisms alike so don't go easy on me! There's more to come soon.

Btw sorry about the lack of action, there will be plenty of that in later chapters once the stories set out.