Weeks passed quickly in Ellesméra. Time seemed to flow and sway like the trees in the wind, never staying put, sometimes going fast, others dragging by.

Súndavar had avoided Rune almost entirely. There was an occasional chance meeting around the city, which always ended in hurtful stares and awkward silences.

Slate continued to grow, until he equaled Saphira in size and weight. The female dragon had to admit, he was impressive. His wings were tough, and his scales shone in the sun brilliantly. Yet, he still hadn't managed to summon a flame. Glaedr said it would take time, but Slate was growing impatient. Saphira could do it. He was nearly as old as she was when she first flamed.

When the dragon asked his Rider about it, Súndavar seemed distant, cold. He was often absent for hours at a time. Each day he seemed farther away. Secretly, Rune was worried. But she would never admit that.

Rune had kept her distance from both Riders since that night with Súndavar in the moonlight. She could tell it hurt Eragon, but she was determined not to make any stupid moves again.

The day was windy when Rune knocked softly on Súndavar's door. She had gathered her courage to face him.

"What?"

"It's me."

"Oh. Go away."

Rune bit her lip. "May I come in?"

"If I say no, you'll do it anyway."

The girl took this as a yes. She opened the door quietly, slipping in. He looked up at her from his place on the bed, then away. Rune sat down next to him. "Súndavar, can we talk?"

"About what?"

"You. Me. I don't know. Just talk, I guess. Like we used to."

Súndavar snorted. "So you remember now?" he asked, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Rune got up to leave. "You don't have to be mean."

He pulled her back down. "No, stay. Sorry."

She glanced at him, then down at his wrist. She grabbed it, and he winced. "Súndavar, what's this?"

He pulled away, hiding the offending appendage behind his back. "Nothing. Cat scratch, that's all."

She sat down again. "I find that hard to believe. Unless you've been playing clapping games with Quickpaw, that is?"

He looked away in a mixture of shame and anger. "It's nothing, okay? You wouldn't understand."

"I could try."

"Leave me alone."

Rune touched his shoulder gently. "Súndavar, I want to help."

"Go help your lover! Eragon needs you more than I do!" he spun, striking her in the jaw.

She grimaced, her head snapping back. Tears formed in her eyes, but they didn't fall. "Eragon isn't my lover," she whispered.

His eyes widened. He…had hit her. As angry as he might have been, that was going too far. "I…I'm sorry….I didn't mean it…Rune, I…"

Her eyes were flat, emotionless. "I think I'm leaving now."

He caught her arm. "Rune, wait. I'm sorry."

She turned back. "I've been hit once in my life," she told him softly. Her voice was shaky. "And that was by my father. I was four years old, Súndavar."

Súndavar remained silent. He didn't know what to say.

"You're as bad as him," she told him. Her voice wasn't gentle, but it was quiet, as if it would break her world to speak in more of a whisper. There was disbelief in its chords, as though her heart was breaking in two and all the while she could do nothing about it.

"My father…"

"Don't use that excuse. Think of who my father was."

Súndavar hung his head. "I know."

Rune opened the door to leave. Her eyes met his for a moment, then flicked away.

When she had shut the door, Súndavar sat down on his bed and sobbed.

I hate you, he called to his father. Wherever you are, I hate you.

Some sort of urge made Súndavar grope for the new dagger under his pillow. He could make it go away. He could fill the empty place in his heart that Rune had left.

Ever so slowly, relishing every second of relief, he made another cut.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Rune was crying on her bed when Eragon came in. Her shoulders shuddered, and her hair fell on her back, torn from its braids. He touched her back gently, but said nothing.

"He hit me," she breathed. She was shivering.

Eragon brought her into his arms. She shook, her body racked by sobs. Eragon wasn't sure what to do. He stroked her hair gently, rocking her slowly. Softly, in a voice no louder than a whisper, he crooned a song:

"There is a ballad in Carvahall, that heals the wounded soul

There is a ballad in Carvahall, that makes the hurting whole

There is a ballad in Carvahall, that stops the worried sighs

There is a ballad in Carvahall, that mends the pained one's cries…"

Rune stopped shaking. "Where did you hear that?"

Eragon opened his mouth to reply, then shook his head. "I don't know."

She buried her face deeper in his chest, like a kitten searching for warmth. "Murtagh sung that song," she murmured absently, "Before…"

"Murtagh?"

She nodded. "The Murtagh man from my dream memory…" She closed her eyes.

He kissed her forehead softly. They sat in silence.

"Eragon, may I ask you something?" she murmured finally.

"Anything."

"Who was the woman? With the kind eyes?"

"What?"

"The woman," Rune's voice was wistful. "She stood by the hearth, kneading dough. Her voice was soft but powerful. There were two boys…they played with sticks and called them swords…a man worked in the fields…"

Eragon wasn't following. But Rune just kept on talking, lost in a memory that wasn't her own.

"The boys grew older…the woman didn't stand by the heart anymore…One of them, the younger one…he planted things. He talked to his plants, as if they were people…"

Eragon knew what she was talking about now. Some sort of unexplainable dread closed around his chest. "The woman? That was Marian. And the man in the fields was Garrow. The boys with the swords…one was Roran." He stopped.

"Who were they?" she asked innocently, looking for all the world like a helpless, curious child. Her eyes were still closed, but she had shifted position on his lap, so she was sitting sideways, his arms around her waist.

"They…they were my family."

"What happened to them?"

You're asking too many questions, he said, not wanting to reprimand her out loud.

She sent an array of apologetic blues back to him, then smiled and kissed him softly on the ridge of his jaw.

Eragon loved the feeling of her colors in his mind. He loved the way her head was open to him, like a lake he could just dive into without a care. The connection had come from her sleep within him, that he was sure of. It was one of the only benefits of losing her for what seemed like forever.

Eragon!

Saphira's voice.

He looked up, jerking to attention although the dragon couldn't see him. Yes?

Rune opened her eyes. What's wrong, Saphira?

For a moment Eragon was surprised at her recognition that Saphira had spoken. He shrugged it off. He could hide nothing from her, it seemed. If Saphira talked to him, apparently Rune could hear it as well. Which wasn't entirely for the best…

Islanzadí is receiving word from Aberon. Trianna has made contact, and Nasuada wants to talk to you.

Talk?

They were so far away…how could they talk to each other?

Enchanted mirrors, Rune answered his unspoken question. My father had them. I broke one once. It shattered and cut my hands.

Eragon picked her up and placed her on the ground, before getting off the bed.

Tell them I'm coming.

Bring Rune as well. Súndavar is already here, along with Shay and Arya. They'll say nothing until you arrive.

Very well.

He squeezed Rune's hand encouragingly, heading out the door. She padded quietly at his heels, barefoot.

Shay was rocking nervously back and forth. She shot Eragon a glance, and he saw the fear in her eyes. She may not have been under King Orrin anymore, but if was obvious she still felt it her duty to protect him. If anything had happened…

A small group was huddled in front of the large mirror. Both Trianna and Nasuada's images were etched on it.

"Eragon!" Nasuada cried when he came into sight. Her face was sad but determined. "You don't know how good it is to see you. You were sorely missed."

"Oromis scried Aberon, my lady. We know about what happened."

But from Rune's shocked, terrified expression, she didn't. "Was it my father?" she guessed, emerald eyes wide in shock.

Nasuada didn't respond to her question. "Rune?"

"It is she," Arya replied. "Her soul is free and she awakens from death."

Islanzadí shushed them with a hand. "Pleasantries aside, I assume Trianna is tiring from maintaining this connection. If we could hurry our conversation along, I am sure she would appreciate it."

"Thank you, your highness," Trianna mumbled, her forehead creased in concentration.

"What is Aberon's status?" questioned Shay? "Casualties?"

Nasuada nodded solemnly. "Orrin is safe, if that is whose life you ask about. But there were deaths."

Súndavar stepped in front of the mirror. "What about Lexi?" he asked. "The blind warrior girl with blonde hair?"

Nasuada blinked slowly and shook her head. Her eyes told Súndavar everything he needed to know. "I'm sorry…"

With a strangled cry of rage and pain, he shoved his way out of the group. Rune reached out for his shoulder, but he pushed her off.

"I suppose it's no consolation to him that she died a hero," Nasuada said softly. At the shake of Shay's head, she nodded. "I thought not."

Saphira shared a look with Slate, who was settled at her side. Shouldn't you comfort him? she asked. You are part of his heart.

I can do nothing, the dragon confided to her sadly. His relief comes not from me, but from a blade. The slits he makes give him more escape than I can offer. I try, but I am not good enough for him.

Saphira's eyes widened, and she nuzzled him softly, feeling terrible for the younger dragon. She wasn't sure what she would do if Eragon brushed her off like that. And the alternative…she couldn't imagine what would make Súndavar act in such a way. Oh, Slate, she whispered. I'm so sorry.

It isn't your fault, it's mine. I've failed him, and shamed the bond of all Riders with their dragons.

Don't blame yourself, Saphira snapped. You have done nothing wrong. It isn't your fault he doesn't want help.

Slate laid his head on his paws, while Saphira touched his side tenderly with her snout. She could feel his sadness in her head in that way dragon's have with one another, and it made her sad too.

The dragon's words were private. Not even Eragon heard them being spoken. Which was probably for the best.

"What of Angela?" he asked, unaware of the exchange between them.

"She took care of the children – Elva included – during the attack. She is well. Restoration of the castle walls is coming along well, also."

Rune frowned softly. "Roran and Katrina?"

"Katrina's child is due in a month. A girl, according to Angela. I'm not well informed, so I can't say more. But they give you all their love."

"My lady, I can't hold it much longer," Trianna hissed between clenched teeth.

"Very well. I'm afraid we have to say goodbye."

"I'll return as soon as I can," Eragon promised. "Wherever you go, may your journey be safe."

Nasuada opened her mouth to respond, but the mirror went blank, the image on it swirling into oblivion.

Rune looked at Eragon, then in the direction Súndavar had run. You should have told me Aberon had been attacked by my father, she accused gently.

Eragon felt a tiny bit guilty. You're right. I should have.

Rune stared in Súndavar's wake, a sad soft of softness in her eyes. He hit me, she said, but the excuse felt pathetic to her. I don't have to comfort him.

Eragon wrapped an arm around her waist and gave her a little half hug. Do what you think is right.

She sighed, and looked at him pleadingly, as if beginning for a reason so excuse her from the unhappy task. His eyes held no answer.

"Very well," she said aloud, when she realized everyone was looking at her. "I'll go talk to him."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Galbatorix has released you of your bond, Shruikan told Thorn. You are now bound to me. I am going to take charge of your education. It is time you learned the ways of being a dragon.

Thorn said nothing, unsure if that was a good thing or not.

We are going hunting, Shruikan continued. I'll explain once we're out of the city.

Thorn nodded respectfully.

Murtagh, he grumbled inwardly. You better really appreciate this.