Author's Note: This one's to all you Lexi-Lovers. Hope you're not toooo devastated. Hearts, Kittie.

The Dance of Snake and Crane, Súndavar thought grumpily. What a stupid name.

Oromis glanced at him, as if picking up on his thoughts. The old elf's eyes were hard, yet he didn't deviate from the exercise. Nor did he reprimand Súndavar for his thoughts.

"Bring your head down again…slowly, Súndavar. Feel the stretch in each vertebrae of your spine…"

Súndavar was trying. It wasn't fair of Oromis to correct him. But he had never been flexible, when you were a slave it was strength that mattered.

Ha! A slave. Súndavar had almost forgotten. Who would have thought that he, who had spent most of his childhood sleeping in the bottom of a crate, eating rotten food off the ground, would end up as a Dragon Rider? He wished the others could see him now.

Reminders of his past made him think of Rune. It was she who had made this possible. Without her, he would still be in that crate. Either that or be dead. Master Sigfrëd had never liked him…

He remembered the way Rune had plunged her dagger into the man's gut with satisfaction. She had looked so wonderful, with that fire in her eyes and the blood of evil on her fingers.

His heart ached for her. If Lexi was here, perhaps he could forget. But she hadn't come to Ellesméra with him. So Rune was all he had.

And she wasn't exactly in any position to do anything with or for him at the moment.

He moved into the next pose, conscious of Eragon's eyes on his back. He could almost feel the other Rider's laughter.

It's not my fault I'm terrible at this, he grumbled inwardly.

Rune would have loved this. She would have helped him stretch, kept his spirits up. He could envision her in the poses, her dark copper hair flowing down her back.

He glanced at Eragon, who was moving fluidly, able to do the motions without the slightest hesitation. Rage flared in the boy.

He has more practice than you, Súndavar-finiarel, Oromis told him in his mind. Resent him not.

Surprise made Súndavar tense up, toppling over. He landed in the stream.

Eragon gave a short bark of laughter. Oromis stood up from the pose, before striding over Súndavar, who was shaking frigid water from his hair. He blinked up at his master with his dark green eyes.

"Uh…sorry?"

"You allowed yourself to be distracted, Súndavar. See it does not happen again. Come, we resume."

"But I'm soaking wet!" Súndavar protested.

"A result of your own actions. Perhaps it will serve as a lesson."

Súndavar grumbled discontentedly, before picking himself up out of the stream. The trio resumed the exercise. Súndavar did even worse than before, as he was shivering with cold.

Eragon felt a momentary touch of affection for the younger boy. After all, he had been thrown into this world through no fault of his own, and despite any grudges between them, he really was fairly nice. And he tried his best.

"Briswir du adurna," he whispered.

Sundavar stopped shivering. He glanced back at Eragon. For a moment, Eragon thought he would protest. However, acceptance rather than hatred shone in his eyes. Very well, they seemed to say. There was no friendship in his face, but neither was there utter loathing, and that was enough for Eragon.

If Oromis picked up on the slight change in his apprentices' views of one another, he said nothing.

Sundavar blinked. What had just happened? Eragon…had helped him? That didn't seem right. It should have made him angry. He didn't need Eragon's help. Instead, he felt something he had never thought he could feel about Eragon. What it was…kinship, perhaps? Maybe it was the realization that they were in the same boat, whether they liked it or not. It was best to make the best of things.

A sudden, unexpected burst of pain in his chest made Súndavar stop. His blood rushed in his ears. It felt like fire. He fell over, unable to think or move. He felt both Eragon and Oromis at his side, but his vision had clouded.

The source of his pain was not his own, he knew that. It seemed to be coming…Lexi's ring! It burned on his hand, a ring of hot coals.

"R…ing…" he managed to gasp. Quick, gentle fingers worked the ring off his hand. The pain faded.

Súndavar's vision cleared. Eragon held the ring in his palm, staring at Súndavar with a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Something is wrong," Súndavar whispered, taking the ring from Eragon. Fear kept him from slipping into on his finger again.

"What happened?" Eragon asked, turning to Oromis.

The elf took the ring and bounced it a few times in his hand. He paused, closing his eyes. "I sense much agony. All is not well."

Súndavar's breath caught in his throat. "Why? What's wrong? Ebrithil, what happened?"

Oromis didn't answer. Instead, he helped Súndavar to his feet, and lead him to the stream, Eragon at his heels.

"Draumr kopa."

A roughly circular section of the stream swirled, turning black. A flicker of light shone in the middle, before expanding. The image that shimmered on the stream's surface made both Súndavar and Eragon feel weak.

"Aberon," Eragon whispered, too affected by the death and destruction he saw to say anything more. His tone was enough to portray his feelings.

"We have to go back," Súndavar said, almost begging. "Eragon, we have to help."

Oromis laid a hand on each of his apprentices' shoulders. "The battle is over. There is nothing more either of you can do. Leaving will put a dent in your instruction, no more."

Eragon sighed. Oromis was right. "Yes, Master." He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Súndavar wasn't so easily swayed. "What about Lexi? Lady Nasuada? King Orrin? How can we be sure they're safe?" There were tears in his eyes, and for the first time Eragon realized how much he had become attached to the Varden and it's members.

"Even if they aren't, there is nothing more you can do about it," Oromis said gently. "Come. Let us bathe. The dragons will be back soon, and we must be ready for them." He strode purposefully away.

Eragon helped Súndavar to his feet. "He's right, you know."

Súndavar pulled away with all the hatred he had previously harbored towards Eragon. "Get off, Argetlam. Nothing changes between us. You should have been there. Nasuada is your liege lady. You should have helped," he accused bitterly

"I could predict it no more than you could," Eragon defended. "Bickering about it will get us no where. What happened, happened. Let's move on."

"I don't want to," Súndavar hissed. Eragon huffed and turned on him.

Súndavar didn't join Oromis and Eragon. He didn't want to bathe with them. It would be like accepting that everything was okay, and that he could simply let go, move on. Instead, he stripped where he was. After washing himself quickly in the cold water, he robbed again. Only then did he join them.

Almost the instant Eragon and Oromis were dressed, the dragons landed. Súndavar had to marvel at the three of them, bold and brilliant. Slate stood proudly at Saphira's side, the sun glinting off his black scales.

"Go, now," Oromis bid them. "Today's lesson is finished."

Súndavar mounted Slate quickly, swinging himself onto the new, sculpted saddle Oromis had given him. The young dragon blinked at him hesitantly.

Fly? he questioned, Fly Shadow?

Yes, Slate. Fly.

Beating his wings, Slate rose into the sky again. He was silent for a moment. Then: What is wrong with you, Shadow?

Súndavar didn't know how to tell him. There were no words. Instead, he sent a picture. A picture of Aberon, as Oromis had scried it. His heart clenched painfully.

Oh, little Shadow.

Look who's talking. You're half the size of Saphira, Súndavar snapped, not enjoying being referred to as 'little'. Slate had matured since reaching Ellesméra, to a point where his talk was easier to understand, not so broken. He had grown, too, although he still wasn't quite as big as Saphira. But the more he changed, the more Súndavar felt himself growing annoyed with the dragon. Why couldn't he have just stayed as the cute little puppy dog that followed him everywhere?

Don't remind me, Slate told him mournfully. Saphira is wonderful.

Súndavar raised his eyebrows, even though Slate couldn't see his face. Maybe…

She's so graceful. Her voice is kind and wonderful and her eyes burn with great inner fire. Her scales glitter like spelled water. She is beautiful.

Perhaps. Why does it matter?

Slate hesitated. He heaved a dragon sigh. It…it doesn't. I'm being foolish.

You aren't old enough to mate. Besides, Saphira is twice your age.

Slate didn't respond. Instead, he swerved, tipping upside-down and flying in a dizzying circle.

Dammit, dragon! Súndavar yelped, clinging to his scales. You'll be the death of me!

Slate shorted smoke, continuing to beat his wings. We land, he proclaimed, touching down outside their tree-home. Súndavar swung off his neck, starting towards the stairs. Slate didn't follow.

Come on, Súndavar urged. What are you, dippy?

Saphira promised to hunt with me, Slate sniffed. I shall return.

With that, he flew away.

"Saphira this, Saphira that," Súndavar grumbled. "Sooo graceful." His voice was mocking and high.

Don't be jealous, said a little voice in his head.

But he was.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Shay avoided the blow, sweat dripping from her hair. She thrust, then retreated a step, her feet pounding on the ground in a rhythm that she knew well. Her sword parried again, almost of its own will. She kicked out, but her foot met air. Vanir had moved too fast.

The fight had been going on for hours. The two combatants had settled into a sort of rhythm. Backhand thrust, parry, overhand side…

Over and over they repeated, going in circles. Dust coated Shay's pants, and her brow was furrowed in concentration.

Occasionally one or the other would throw in an extra slash. It was always met with an excellent parry.

"Not bad, Everwood," Vanir said, his face a mask.

Shay knew he coud tell she was tiring. She had never been able to hide her emotionsm which shone and danced in freely in her blue eyes. Yet Vanir seemed invincible. No matter what she tried, her sword seemed to be there a mment before.

"Does the human need a break?" he asked mockingly.

Shay said nothing. He was trying to distract her, get her to concentrate on something besides their deadly dance. Besides, she wasn't speaking to him. She hadn't said a word since the night by the beach, even when he had asked her to spar.

Shay stepped up her offence, letting loose a wild succession of blows in an illogical, dangerous order, which left her chest and stomach fair game.

It was a series no swordsman in his right mind would attempt, a move breaking all the rules.

Vanir blocked each blow, but they were so random, he stumbled. Shay nicked his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He didn't cry out, but there was a spark of rage in his eyes. He attacked with renewed ferocity.

"Weakling!" he spat.

The insult didn't bother Shay. She was weaker than Vanir, she knew that. But perhaps she was trickier as well.

She stopped attacking. Vanir hesitated a moment, unsure what she was doing. His sword arched for her throat – to be wrenched out of his hand by a surprise swipe. He roared in pain. Shay heard two fingers snap.

He kicked her in the chest, causing her blade to go flying. It came out of her hand just a bit too easily…Shay fell to her knees.

Vanir caught her sword, flicking it again towards her neck. An instant before the cold blade was pressed against her throat, Shay laid backwards. Vanir fumbled, surprised. Shay's feet shot out, tripping him and herself. They both went tumbling.

Vanir landed on top, Shay's thin form pressed beneath his. Her eyes glittered. Two of her fingers were pressed to his neck.

"Dead."

Vanir opened his mouth to protest, then glared at her, snapping it shut. He stood up, shooting furious glances at the elves who watched, before jogging off into the woods.

Shay picked herself up daintily, dusting dirt off her clothing.

"Shay!"

Eragon's voice echoed over the practice courts. Shay turned to him. From the expression on his face, there was no good news to be had.

"Eragon. What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's Aberon."

Shay's heart stopped beating for a moment as she read his meaning in his eyes. "Orrin?"

"I don't know."

She turned away from him. "I have to go."

He caught her arm. "Shay, be reasonable. The battle is over, and there is nothing we can do."

"You're just saying that because that's what Oromis told you."

"Perhaps. But it's true."

Shay felt tears welling in her eyes. Aberon…her home, for three years. She pushed the tears down. Captains didn't cry. Neither did former captains.

"Come on," she said, grabbing Eragon's arm. "We've got to talk to Islanzadí."

Author's Note: Hey guys. You know what? I'm going on another vacation. Joy (rolls eyes) I'm moving soon, and my dad wants to go on vaca before the big move. Soooo…I'll see you all next week sometime.