Eragon…

Eragon found himself on an endless plain of white. The colorlessness surrounded him. His heart was pounding. Suddenly, a burst of color lit up the room. Rune.

She was weightless, as if floating in water. Eragon tried to approach her, but he couldn't move.

Her eyes were closed. Her hair drifted around her face loosely, as if carried by currents of a stream. She wore a gown of purest white, but it only proved as a distraction. Eragon could see right through it. Somehow, though, it didn't matter. This wasn't Rune, and Eragon barely noticed her exposure. This Rune was different than the real one.

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his. Her skin was paler than usual, and in the whiteness, the green of her irises stood out wonderfully.

Eragon…You have failed me, said the dream Rune. Her lips didn't move, but the words bounced around his mind all the same. Her words echoed.

I'm sorry, he thought at her.

I am part of you, and you part of me, she told him. The dream Rune moved into a standing position, but there was no floor for her bare feet to touch. She smiled.

What can I do to restore you?

The dream Rune shrugged. I know not. All I know is that I am locked within you. And I want out.

I'm trying, Eragon said sadly. I'm trying my best.

Rage flared in the dream Rune's all-too-green eyes. Try harder! she snapped.

Eragon felt pain race up his legs, through his body, and into his mind. Stop this! he begged, but the pain only worsened. The dream Rune laughed, the first real sound yet. It was an evil, spiteful laugh, and coming from Rune – even the dream one – it felt terrible and wrong.

I am locked in this vault of your mind, she said over the ringing pain in his ears. Let me out!

I can't! Eragon cried, falling to the white floor. I can't! Stop!

She sneered at him. You are weak, Eragon Shadeslayer. Súndavar would have restored me in the first week.

Just make it stop! Eragon called at her. The pain was too intense. His head felt like it would burst.

The dream Rune smiled cruelly. Oh, Eragon. Sad, stupid little Eragon. Why would I make it stop? I've just begun.

She took a step towards him, the see through silk swirling around her ankles. She placed a hand his back, tracing where his scar had been. Pain like none Eragon had ever felt before shot through his back.

Hmm… she mused. With unordinary strength, she pulled him to his feet. She met his eyes with hate. Suddenly Eragon saw what she had become. Her father. The rage and insanity in the dream Rune's eyes could come from no where else.

With surprising ferocity, the dream Rune pressed her body against his. She felt hard against him, unlike the real Rune. Her lips met his for a moment, then she pulled away.

Oh, little Eragon… she murmured, that evil grin still on her face. You are in quite over your head here.

What are you talking about? he demanded, relieved that the pain had stopped. His lips burned from where hers had been pressed to them. You aren't Rune.

Am I not? she asked, fixing her emerald gaze on him. People have many sides, little Eragon. Perhaps this is one of mine.

You're insane.

She cackled. Perhaps. Does it matter?

You aren't Rune, Eragon repeated. You are Galbatorix.

Makes sense, doesn't it? She giggled insanely. Just as you are Morzan.

I am nothing like him, Eragon snapped at her.

Aren't you? I think you are…she hugged herself and rocked back and forth with demented glee. You can feel the violence in you, Eragon. You can't deny it, for I am within you and can read your thoughts.

I control myself.

Do you? she cackled again. We are so much alike…Morzan's blood runs within your veins, Galbatorix's within mine. You can't deny it.

I can and do. We are nothing alike. And you are not Rune.

She shrugged. Think what you wish. You know I'm right.

Eragon turned away from her. He wanted to wake up from this terrible dream. He wanted to wake up and be rid of this terrible thing in his mind. This wasn't Rune.

Ooooh… she murmured. It would seem as though it is time to awaken…Goodbye, little Eragon. I shall see you soon.

She faded back to white. Eragon let out a sigh. Suddenly light and color flooded his world.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Eragon kneeled beside Rune. The real Rune. Not the insane, broken little being in his dream. The Menoa Tree stretched upwards endlessly. It seemed as though it – she – was watching with interest.

"I'm doing my best, Rune," Eragon told the sleeping girl softly. "Just a little while longer."

If only he had some clue. But Eragon knew nothing. And there was no one who did. This was a first for all the elves. Even Islanzadí hadn't been alive during the last andlát slytha. He hadn't asked Oromis – the elderly Rider hadn't shown his face so far in Eragon's visit – but he had a feeling he knew what the answer would be.

It was a moment before Eragon realized Arya was standing there. Her eyes flicked from him to Rune, then back again. "May I sit?"

"Surely. Go ahead," Eragon answered. Arya settled cross legged next to him.

"I dreamed about her again last night," he said with a shiver. "She…she said horrible things."

Arya examined her face. "The Rune you dreamt of…was she Rune?"

Eragon understood what she meant immediately. "No. She was her father. She told me that the same was true of me. That I was Morzan."

Arya pursed her lips, but said nothing.

"She said she was locked within me," Eragon continued. "Locked in this vault of your mind."

Arya nodded. "Eragon, there is hope. She may be locked inside, but somewhere there is a key for every lock."

Eragon frowned. He hadn't thought about it that way. "What is the key?"

"I don't know," Arya admitted. "It is different for everyone, I suppose."

"What about the first time this happened? What was the key then?"

Arya looked away. "There wasn't one."

Eragon felt his heart sink. "But…but how…"

Arya shook her head sadly at him. "Eragon, the first person who slept as Rune does never awoke."

Eragon put his head in his hands. "Then all is hopeless. I'll never succeed."

"That's your insecurity speaking," Arya told him. "I understand your pain. But you forget, all is not lost. This is the third time in history, not the second."

"What happened the second time?"

"You have heard the story before, I have no doubt. But I shall recite it for you nonetheless."

Arya closed her eyes. "Long ago and far away there lived the fairest elf maiden to ever walk across the surface of the ground, named Aurora. Her beauty was beyond anything anyone could ever imagine or hope to compare to. Her father was a widower, who doted on her. Yet through all the riches and gifts, she remained ever kind and peaceful."

"Her father decided that although he gave her everything she wanted, the one thing she really needed was a mother's care. So he married again, for in those times elves practiced marriage just as humans."

"Her stepmother appeared kind and loving at first, but inside she envied Aurora's beauty. When Aurora's father, too, passed on, the true nature of her stepmother was revealed."

"The woman her father had married was a powerful sorceress. She stole Aurora's soul, sealing it within a sword and casting the sword into the lake. However, she realized her mistake. For Aurora wasn't dead. She fell into a deep sleep, from which no one could wake her."

Eragon was sure he had heard this story before. Where, he couldn't tell.

"Aurora's stepmother realized the wrong she had committed. She created a crystal coffin for Aurora, and laid her in the Valley of Blossoms, surrounded by the beautiful flowers. This taken care of, she ended her own life, overcome with guilt."

"One day, the sword was found by an evil man named Lord Ryrkzan. Ryrkzan proclaimed that he was the rightful hair to the throne. Only one person stood against him, a young smith's apprentice called Derik. They engaged in a bloody battle. In the end, Derik won. But Ryrkzan had scored many blows against him with the sword."

"Derik was offered money and fame. All these he denied, preferring to journey to the Valley of Blossoms, where he was sure he could live the rest of his days in peaceful solitude. Of course, this was not to be."

"For when Derik reached the Valley, what found he but Aurora, still sleeping in her crystal coffin. She was so beautiful. Derik found himself spurred on, by what no one knows. He pressed his lips to hers. In that moment, Aurora awakened."

"But Derik didn't carry Aurora's soul…" Eragon protested.

Arya smiled. "Ah, but he did. For when his blood was drawn with that sword, she mixed with him. They became one, just as you and Rune are."

Eragon suddenly realized where he had heard the story. How couldn't he have remembered before? He had heard it thousands of times when he was little. Sleeping Beauty! He had all sorts of fond memories of the story being told to him, from being curled up in Garrow's lap to sitting in front of the fire and hearing it from Brom. "But…but that's just a legend," he spluttered. "A fairytale!"

"A legend it may be, but it is also a true tale," Arya told him.

Eragon thought back to when he was five. He, Roran, Katrina and Callista – a girl who had died of fever when they were both children – used to act out that story together. Katrina was always the evil stepmother, Roran lord Ryrkzan. Eragon had played the part of Derik, while Callista was always Aurora. He laughed at the memory. They had perfected their parts so well, Callista laying perfectly still in the flowerbed while everything unfolded around her, then opening her eyes, slowly at first, her eyelashes fluttering when Eragon had pressed his lips to her cheek.

He laughed again, remembering the look of disgust on Roran's face the first time they had played. Eragon kissed a girl!his cousin had sneered. Katrina had giggled, batting her eyelashes and murmuring about how 'romantic' it was.

Arya stood up, shaking him from his memories. "Eragon, I must go. I hope this has proved helpful." She walked off.

Eragon watched her go, then faced Rune again.

"A story!" he murmured to her. "The only clue I have is a bedtime story." He sighed.

Eragon examined Rune's flawless face, stroking her skin gently. She was soft, unlike the dream Rune. She was thinner than when he had first met her, her baby fat gone from time with the Varden. Her hair was long again, and plaited into a tight braid, which rested on her ribs.

Eragon laughed at the memory of Rune and Ellemo's catfight. Her eyes had been so wrathful, so full of hurt at being insulted. She had cried into his chest, Eragon remembered, soaking his tunic. He thought about the sadness in her green eyes when he had chopped her hair short with his simple sword. She had flipped her auburn tresses and sighed, flopping to the grass, moaning about not being able to braid it anymore.

"I miss you," he told her in a voice close to a whisper. "I miss you a lot."

He sat by her side for a while, holding her warm hand in his. The warmth of her skin comforted him, like it always did. She looked beautiful and serene. But something was wrong.

Eragon watched her for a moment longer, unsure what wasn't right. It nagged at the back of his mind. What could be wrong? All was peaceful about her face. A—

That was it! Rune was not peaceful. She was not serene. She was energetic and outgoing, a bubbling fountain of joy and hope and life. She may have looked peaceful and serene, but the look didn't suit her.

Her hair didn't belong in that tight, simple braid. Her body didn't look right, laying so straight, hands clasped. Such a pose was fit for laying in a coffin, not for Rune. Hands gentle, he unraveled her braid, splaying her hair around her.

He rolled her onto her side slowly, positioning her arms as a sort of pillow.

Her skin felt like silk. He rubbed his fingers along her arm, then across her collarbone. Without meaning to, he found his hands tracing her body. When he had first met her, she had resembled a girl, figureless beneath her cloak. Now her figure curved, her waist had thinned and her hips widened. She had chest as well, soft, womanly curves beneath her dress. There were other changes along with these. Eragon wondered why he hadn't noticed them before.

Suddenly Eragon felt horrible. How dare he touch her like this, when she could do nothing to prevent it? He removed his hands quickly, the once comforting warmth feeling like scalding water.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her still form. "I…I shouldn't have done that."

He didn't expect her to respond. But very, very slowly, her mouth curled into a smile.

Eragon Shadeslayer, said a voice in Eragon's head. Not Rune's voice, but close. Older, wiser. But very close. It begins now.