A/N:

I'm posting everything I have right now for all of my stories. No promises that I'm coming back to any of them but it's unfair for me to still have stuff in the vault, so to speak. The stories will continue to be listed as in-progress but, if I change my mind and decide to really abandon them, I'll mark them as completed at which point they might be up for adoption for anyone who wants. If you'd be interested, just make sure you pm me :)

Eragon sat in what was once his father's rooms, trying to feel something past the numbness he felt encroaching from somewhere within his chest. Staring idly at the white scale held in his hands was doing little to help fight back the numb grief, but no other ideas came to mind.

I am an orphan now...

Eragon, for the first time in over a hundred years, felt almost alone. There was still the steady pulsing of Saphira's mind in the background of his thoughts, but she had afforded him the time he wanted to try to work through his own emotions by going hunting.

For his entire life, his father had been a constant. Vrael hadn't been just a steady leader, he had always had a firm hand in his son's development and education. He allowed his son to fail, to learn from his mistakes, but was never hesitant to offer judgement or wisdom when Eragon asked for it and oftentimes when Eragon did not.

The same could not be said for Eragon's mother, though to no fault of her own. His mother had also been a rider, bonded with a pale lavender dragon. She had died soon after Eragon's third birthday but had died doing what she loved: helping people. She had been visiting Gilead on a routine trip around the territory just in time to see the town in flames. She fought against the fires valiantly, buying the townspeople time enough to escape safely but controlling the fires, fueled by the log style houses in the summer drought, took too great a cost from her. Unable to draw water or extinguish the powerful fires alone, she perished.

Now, though he was no child, Eragon felt uncertain on how to proceed without his father's patient guidance. And with such terrible news, he truly had no idea how to press forward.

They had arrived in a city barely resisting panic. King Evandar had fallen to Galbatorix on the fields of Illirea and Islanzadi, his mate, had assumed power in his absence. Worse still, Formura and Kialandi had turned against Oromis and Glaedr in their journey, revealing themselves as members of Galbatorix's Forsworn. As a result, both Oromis and Glaedr, though still living, were crippled. One of Glaedr's forelegs was severed at the knee while Oromis lost almost all ability to manipulate magic.

Oromis and Glaedr had retreated away from the public eye to heal and mourn for the lost, claiming the house Vrael once lived in by the Crags of Tel'naeir. Eragon and Saphira elected to stay in the tree house that was traditionally the Lead Rider and Brom, though reluctantly, was a guest of Islanzadi's house.

Sick of staring at the white scale in his hands, Eragon sighed and closed his hands, leaning back in his seat.

It had been long since he'd been in Ellesmera but the city showed no change. The forest was preserved in its solemnity, the largest change to be found in the singing of the elves. The last time Eragon had been to the forests were before the beginning of the Fall when the songs were joyous and happy. Now they rang with sorrow and mourning.

And the other races think we incapable of emotion, of expression... Fools.

Eragon opened his eyes and studied Umaroth's scale once more. Focusing his energy, he murmured in the ancient language to protect it from discoloration and deterioration before very carefully piercing a small round hole into the wider top of the scale. He would put a ring through the scale so that he could run it along a chain as a necklace so the scale and the memories behind it would remain close to him at all times but, for now, the scale was returned to the safety of his pocket.

If I sit here much longer, I shall grow mad. Perhaps I should give Brom that scale now...

A new destination set, Eragon stood from his seat and headed for the stairs.

Time passes in mysterious ways, Eragon noted, staring into the sunrise. Sometimes it would seem as if the Fall was only yesterday, but other times he felt the full five years it had been. Much had happened in those five years though much had stayed the same.

Brom had stayed only briefly in Ellesmera. After recovering from his wounded leg, Brom had gone to Rhunon and all but demanded a new sword. When the smith had refused, he had to be physically restrained from attacking Rhunon who only continued on with the chain mail she had been so focused on when he first entered her smithy. After that, he had left Ellesmera to return to the world of men and take advantage of the confusion that reigned as Galbatorix wrested control of the Broddring Kingdom. Eragon knew that his mind was bent on revenge for his fallen partner and the rest of the Order and, knowing that he could not steer the human off of his chosen path, had wished the man luck in his goal. He would need luck as well; to gather the disquiet of the new Empire together into a cohesive rebellion force was a task that would not be easily accomplished.

Galbatorix and his Forsworn, now only twelve after Glaerun's death at the Battle of Doru Araeba, established their reign quickly. Galbatorix, after his victory at Illirea and the death of Evandar, took the capitol for his own, renaming it Uru'baen. His faithful followers were given their own estates and castles to be waited on hand and foot. He rewarded his pawns well, so it seemed.

The Forsworn did not escape the Fall unharmed, though. The wild dragons banded together for one last act of magic, a work that came to be known as the Banishing of the Names. As the name implied, the spell stripped each Forsworn dragon of their name and their self-expression, reducing them to mere beasts. With their partners reduced so, rumors began to spread of the madness that had claimed five of the Forsworn's members.

In the five years since the Fall, Eragon had little to do. He could not leave the forests of Du Weldenvarden lest he risk having the knowledge of the Vault of Souls lost to the world just as he could not reveal that he had escaped the Fall. As such, he had done little more than train and learn in the five years immediately following the Fall.

Indeed it does, Saphira responded, her thoughts only half-lucid as she awoke. ... I had an idea last night, after you fell asleep.

Wonderful, Eragon replied dryly. Your ideas are oftentimes as bad as my own.

Hush! Saphira growled half-heartedly before continuing. Galbatorix still has two eggs in his possession, correct? I won't allow two more of my kin to be subject to him, so-

You wish to arrange a thievery of the eggs? Saphira, the risks we would face-

Would be well worth it if we succeed.

If we failed, we would have no anonymity to our name, my friend. The reason we've spent this time here, in Ellesmera, is to convince Galbatorix that we really and truly are gone. He cannot know that we are alive for both our sake and the sake of the Vault of Souls.

We cannot let him hatch the eggs!

He will not. Brom will be preparing some sort of scheme, I'm sure. He and his Varden grow stronger each day, remember?

Saphira growled, a low and rumbling sound, and Eragon took a deep breath.

Have you forgotten our mission? her voice was cold and Eragon glanced back at her, shocked that she would even say such a thing.

Of course I haven't! Vrael and Umaroth bid us to wait, Saphira, and that is what we must do! It has been hardly five years; Galbatorix's guard is too strong and his Forsworn still overpower us! We must wait until they weaken or lower their guard!

And if they do not? I shall not wait forever, not while two of my kin are amongst his treasury!

Before Eragon could formulate a reply, Saphira was on her feet and then out of the room, soaring away over the treeline, her mind closed off to him. He could only watch as she flew away, rising on the thermals until he could no longer see her.

Unsure of what he could do until Saphira returned, Eragon allowed his feet to take him down the familiar streets towards the Crags of Tel'naeir. If anyone could understand his plight, it was Oromis.

Eragon ended up spending much of the day with Oromis. After explaining the reason for his and Saphira's disagreement, Eragon listened to Oromis' judgement as openly as he could. The wise elf empathized with Saphira but he could not refute the facts. There was simply no one able to even match Galbatorix at this point in time. They needed to wait for an opportunity to strike. On the bright side, as the two elves talked, a plan began to form.

If even one of the eggs could be taken away from Galbatorix and a new rider found, that new rider could be the symbol of hope for the next generation. It might take years to find the new rider, but it would be worth it. He or she, elf or human, would be trained in the old ways by both Oromis and Eragon while the dragon, be it red or green, could be trained to fight and fly by Glaedr and Saphira. Then, when the new pair of rider and dragon were strong enough, they could venture forth with Eragon and Saphira behind them. Oromis and Glaedr, whether they liked to admit it or not, were too great a liability to risk in battle unless there was no other option.

With a loose plan set, there only remained the task to free the egg.

Eragon would have to meet with Brom.