Chapter Twenty-Four

Two Outcasts

From then on, Galbatorix's recovery was steady and assured. He stayed awake for longer periods, and ate as much as he could. Skade continued to minister to him as best she could, and, in a way, it was her presence as much as what she did for him that brought him out of the sickness and back toward life.

He could not get her out of his head. As the days passed, he thought of her more and more, as if his whole world now revolved around her. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because she was a dragon. Although she looked like an elf, the way she spoke and the way she acted was dragonish. Her ferocity, her flat way of speaking, her fighting spirit, and the unnatural heat that lingered around her… they were all a dragon's traits. Sometimes, when the lingering effects of the fever confused him, he thought she was Laela.

But she was not. She did not have Laela's dry sense of humour, or her mischievousness, or her reckless streak. Skade was a wild dragon, through and through. She was fierce and distant, she was savage, she was untamed. She was Skade.

He got her full story out of her soon enough.

'I hatched in Ellesméra,' she said. 'In Einás' home. My sister Saphira-,'

'Saphira?' Galbatorix said sharply.

'Yes. She's blue. She chose a rider.'

'Brom…'

'You know him?'

'Yes, we were trained together. So you're saying Saphira is your sister?'

Skade nodded. 'Saphira and I had been in our eggs for a very long time. Ever since the war.'

'Which war?'

'The one before the riders,' Skade said vaguely. 'When the elves and dragons fought.'

'The dragon war?' Galbatorix stared at her. 'But that was a thousand years ago!'

Skade nodded. 'Saphira and I, and our brother Kullervo, were stolen from our father by an elf called Eragon.'

'Eragon? The first rider Eragon?' This was too much to take in.

'Yes. He hated my father, and he stole us from him. Einás kept us after her father left, and we stayed in her house for hundreds of years. Saphira hatched for Brom, and I hatched the same night because I wanted to find her. Einás raised me. I trusted her. I thought she was my friend. She promised she would help me find my father. But she lied to me. She tricked me. My brother, Kullervo, she bonded with him and became his rider. And then she betrayed me. She said we would go to Ilirea to ask the riders for help to find my father, but instead she handed me over to them to save herself. And they cursed me…'

Galbatorix took her hand. She was used to this gesture by now, and wrapped her fingers around his, gripping them awkwardly. 'Afterwards the riders sent me away. I wanted to die, but Rangda found me. She said she would help me to change back. And she brought me here for Durza's help. They can undo the curse together, when they're ready.'

Galbatorix had already seen the two Shades by this time. Rangda was just as thin and pale as Durza, but had white hair and pale silver eyes. The Shades took very little interest in him – Durza paused briefly to ask him if he was well, and left it at that, and Rangda said nothing at all. But Galbatorix had been shocked to find out the truth about them. Rangda and Durza were lovers. He saw them kissing passionately, and they spent most of their time away from the cave, walking out into the sunshine hand in hand. He had never, ever imagined that Shades were capable of loving each other, but here it was. It seemed the world was a bigger and stranger place than he had realised.

'What about you?' Skade asked, taking him by surprise. 'What are you going to do?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'I don't know.'

'Well, what do you want?' said Skade. 'I want to be changed back into a dragon, and to find my father. What do you want, Galbatorix Taranisäii?'

He didn't know. Or rather he did know, but avoided thinking of it directly. But when Skade looked at him with that direct, challenging stare that he had come to know well, he couldn't hide it from her. 'I want revenge,' he said softly, staring into the fire.

'Revenge on who?' Skade asked.

'All of them.'

There was silence, and Galbatorix suddenly wondered what Skade would think. He looked at her, a little anxiously.

'Revenge,' the elf repeated inscrutably. 'On the riders?'

'On everyone who betrayed me.'

'Revenge is a thing for dragons,' said Skade. Then, suddenly and spontaneously, she smiled. Not with her mouth, but with her eyes. 'I like that. You're like a dragon.'

For some reason that made him feel warm with happiness. 'Thankyou, Skade.'

Later Skade left the cave, and he sat alone and thought.

Revenge. He had never really considered it before, but the more he thought about it the more he realised he wanted it. The worst of his suffering was over. The madness was gone, the sickness nearly so. But he had not escaped it unscathed. He knew that. Deep down, he admitted to himself that he would never be the same again. The cold, empty feeling inside him where Laela had been torn away was all he had left in the world. And he wanted to make them feel it. All he could think of was Vrael's cold face and contemptuous voice. Half-breed. Filthy half-breed.

His fists clenched as he saw them all in his head, the memories mocking him with his own impotence. The rider elders, condemning him, sending him away to be tortured and then killed. The two riders who had destroyed the only family he had ever had and then taken Laela from him forever and so torn his heart in half. Flell, betraying his trust and selling him to the elders in order to save her own hide. The elves who had mocked him and tried to make him ashamed of being himself. Even Carina, who he had trusted, sending him to Ilirea to face his death. So many people. They had worked together to destroy him, they had taken everything he held dear, leaving him with nothing. His home, his power, his love, his child, his dignity, and most of all his beloved Laela. All gone.

All he had left was his life, and his sword. And his rage.

He drew White Violence and held it tightly by the blade, not feeling it cut into his fingers. 'I swear,' he said. 'Laela, I swear. I swear by my life, my soul and my blood, I swear I will have revenge. I will have revenge for you, Laela.' He said it three times, first in the common tongue, then in the ancient one, and finally in the language of the dark elves, and afterwards he had a strange feeling of inevitability, as if he had just begun a new life. And he had.

He stood up, still holding White Violence, his face drained and empty, his mental voice wandering through his head, talking to itself as it had once talked to Laela. Arren Cardockson is dead. He was murdered that day in the Icelands. He died with Laela. I am all that is left. I am the dark shadow that comes in the night. I am the rider without a dragon. I am the fear that lurks in every heart. I am the wielder of the white blade. I am the vengeful one. I am Galbatorix Taranisäii, and I will have my revenge.

Filled by this voice, which was a cold and flat and commanding, he walked out of the cave and into the forest outside. It was broad daylight, but there was no sign of any people around. This cave was well out of sight of the village, and there was no chance of being seen here.

His walk was still a little unsteady, but he persevered. He moved on into the trees with something of his old grace returning to him. Once he had found an isolated clearing, he took up a fighting stance and began to practise with White Violence, stabbing and slashing at the air. It was heavy, much heavier than he remembered, and at first he nearly overbalanced. But he kept going. He chose a dead tree and began to attack it, hacking away twigs and branches and chipping flakes of bark away with an expert hand. His former confidence began to return, and that gave him some encouragement, but he tired quickly and eventually sheathed the sword. That was enough for today. He would try again tomorrow.

For the time being, he wandered among the trees, enjoying the clear air and the sunshine. So strange that such a beautiful day could exist, and that he could be out in it. In fact, as he felt the sun on his face and thought of Skade, he started to feel happy. He hummed to himself and let the feeling lift him out of his former misery. Seeing some purple anemones growing among the trees, he started to gather them into a small bouquet. He'd give it to Skade. She might like it…

He stopped dead as he slowly realised what he was doing. 'Oh, gods in heaven,' he mumbled.

He was mooning over a dragon. Not an elf, he reminded himself, a dragon. And now he was picking flowers for her? Was he out of his mind? He threw the flowers away, burning with humiliation. All his good cheer disappeared, and he stalked off back toward the cave, his shoulders hunched.

It was as he passed by a small stream that he heard the sobbing. He stopped dead, listening. Sure enough, the unmistakeable sound of someone quietly crying was coming from somewhere along the stream-bank. Unable to contain his curiosity, he walked quietly toward it, on the alert for any sign of danger.

It was Skade. The silver elf was sitting hunched by the water's edge, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking with sobs. Galbatorix stood hidden among some undergrowth, watching her. It was plain that the cause of her unhappiness was deep and profound; her sobs were broken and passionate and had clearly been going for some time. He watched her, embarrassed and guilty to be doing so, not wanting to spy on her like this but not knowing whether he should leave or reveal himself. Would she want him there? He didn't want to make her angry with him. Her anger was a dragon's anger, and frightening.

But his heart would not let him leave. He stepped into the open and moved hesitantly toward her, being sure to make plenty of sound so that she wouldn't think he was sneaking up on her. She looked up sharply, her red-rimmed eyes widening when she saw him, but she showed no sign of anger. Instead she turned her face away from him, trying to hide her tears. He sat down beside her and tentatively touched her on the shoulder.

'Skade…'

She let out a passionate cry, turning toward him and burying her face in his robe. He put his arms around her and held onto her as she cried, full of a desperate desire to free her of her misery. But there was nothing he could do but let her cry until her tears died up.

She calmed down after a time and tried to withdraw, but he embraced her again, her head on his shoulder, his hands in her hair. 'It's all right,' he said. 'It's all right, Skade.'

She relaxed against his thin body, his beard brushing against her face. 'Oh, Galbatorix. I can't stand it, I can't…'

Galbatorix let go of her, looking at her with concern. 'What is it, Skade? What's the matter?'

She sobbed again. 'I didn't mean to. I just couldn't… saw myself in the water… I'm so… I'm hideous.'

'No you're not,' Galbatorix said softly. 'You're not hideous at all, Skade.'

'Yes I am!' she burst out. 'Look at me! They made me a freak!'

'You don't look ugly to me,' said Galbatorix. 'You don't look ugly at all.'

Skade looked at him, her ferocity gone. 'I don't?'

'No. To me you're beautiful.'

'Don't mock me!' Skade snarled.

Galbatorix took her hand. 'I'm not!' he protested. 'I wouldn't do that, Skade. And to me you're beautiful. To me you're the most beautiful thing in the world.'

She faltered. 'I am?'

'You are.'

Skade looked at him suspiciously. He looked back, unflinching, and she relaxed. 'You're very strange, Galbatorix,' she said. 'But… I like you.'

He smiled bashfully. 'I like you too, Skade.'

Skade watched him without saying anything until the silence became uncomfortable, and then left quietly. Galbatorix watched her go with a strange sense of shame. He made no attempt to go after her, but stayed by the stream, alone.

The sun was setting. He looked into the water where Skade had seen the thing she hated most, and like her he saw what he had become.

He barely recognised himself. The boyish softness that had lingered about his features was now gone forever, and the little sprinkling of freckles he had had on his nose had also gone. He had grown up. The last of his youth had been stripped away from him, and what he saw now was not a boy but a man. A man with matted, filthy hair and a scruffy beard that obscured the lower half of his face. There were faint scars inflicted by fingernails on his cheeks and forehead, and from out of all that his eyes stared, hollow and desperate and hungry, with a spark of madness dancing somewhere inside their impenetrable black depths.

'Oh, gods,' he mumbled.

Was this what he had become? This pathetic piece of humanity, barely clinging onto a life that no longer had any joy in it?

He remembered his true name then. Fárbjóđr. Destroyer. But his true name right now should not be "destroyer" but "destroyed".

Without thinking he reached out for Laela, searching for her with his mind. But there was nothing there, any more than there had been the hundreds of other times he had tried to find her. It made his stomach give a little lurch, as if he were walking down a set of stairs in the dark and had missed a step. The madness was gone, but somehow he still couldn't quite grasp the fact that Laela was gone forever.

His stomach began to churn, and he went cold all over. The pain inside him from where Laela had been rose up once more, and a terrible fear and confusion rushed into his mind, smothering him. He huddled on the steam-bank, shivering until his mind cleared again, but when it did it left him full of a despair so profound that it crushed him. All around him, spectres rose to haunt him. He saw the faces of the elders, staring down at him, their accusing voices spiralling in his head.

Half-breed! Traitor! Filth! Betrayer, betrayer, you betrayed us, bastard half-breed, worthless creature

Galbatorix tried to blot the visions out, pathetically lashing out at something only he could see before he covered his head with his hands, moaning; 'Leave me alone!'

The boy is insane, Oromis' disdainful voice whispered.

Take him away. Let him die the traitor's death. The boy is insane. Take him to the dungeons and whip him, the boy is insane…

The raw scars on his back twinged, and his head was full of his own screams, again and again, and beyond that, Laela's voice. I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, please don't die, don't leave me, please don't, please HELP ME!

'LAELA!' the name ripped itself out of his throat. The visions and voices left, and he slumped forward, sobbing brokenly.

He was weaker than he had realised. His tears dried up after a time, and he dozed for a few minutes. When he woke up, it was as if clarity suddenly flooded into his mind.

A strange smile spread over his face. Of course. Of course! He knew what to do now. It was all so simple…

He stood up quickly, and walked away into the trees. The sun was setting, and he came to a halt at the base of a large oak tree. There he untied the crude rope belt that fastened White Violence to his back, and gently laid the weapon down by the base of the tree. Then, taking hold of an overhanging bough, he pulled himself up the trunk, balancing awkwardly on a broken branch. Holding the rope in one hand, he tied it around the bough, tugging it to make sure it was secure. Working feverishly, he fashioned the other end into a noose and looped it around his neck, pulling it tight.

'I'm coming, Laela,' he whispered, and let himself drop.

Skade sat by the cave entrance and watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon. It would be night soon, and she was nervous. Galbatorix had not returned to the cave.

It was strange. She constantly told herself that she hated riders, but she could not make herself hate Galbatorix. It was not just because of what the riders had done to him, no – it went deeper than that.

It was the look in his eyes. She had seen it when he first looked at her and asked her who she was. It was a look that continued to show through from time to time, one she found herself unconsciously searching for in his face. There was a coldness about him, and a distance, as if he were not there inside, and that frightened her. But when he looked at her, there was life in him. And that look came through – that lost, wounded, frightened look. It made her want to reach out to him and hold him close, to take his pain away from him and tell him that everything was all right, that he was safe. She had resisted that urge; as a dragon it was not in her nature to be emotional.

But she had cried. She had cried and reached out to him for comfort, and he had held her. It was something she had never experienced before. To be embraced like that, to be touched… it was outside her experience, and had confused her, and she had left quickly, almost fleeing from this new and powerful feeling that she did not understand. She didn't know what it meant, whether it was a good or a bad thing, but she could not let herself forget about it. It stayed with her. Her mind was full of it. His body pressed against hers, his hands in her hair, the rough feel of his beard on her face, the soft sound of his voice, his warmth, his strength, his sympathy.

She brooded on it for a long time, wrestling with her emotions, trying to make herself understand what she was feeling. Was she angry with him? No. Nor was she afraid. But as she dwelt endlessly on that moment of warmth, a powerful longing awoke in her to see him again.

But he was not there.

Skade watched the sunset. It was not orange or gold as was usual in this part of the country, but a vivid, bloody crimson spread over the horizon. Where was he? Why hadn't he returned? He was still weak. Maybe he had collapsed again. Maybe he was even now lying helpless somewhere in the woods, vulnerable to the cold or wolves.

Skade got up, suddenly concerned. There was a horrible feeling of apprehension in her stomach. Without pausing another moment, she hurried away into the trees to look for him. Her sense of smell was still acute, and she lifted her head, letting the wind carry a hundred different scents into her nostrils. And, sure enough, she found his scent. It was sharp and musky, a wild, strong smell that filled her head with an image of him, and she ran toward its source as fast as she could, still clumsy on her new legs.

She reached the stream and followed its bank, her golden eyes piercing the gathering gloom with ease, letting her nose lead her on.

When she reached the spot among some oak trees where the trail ended, she paused, confused. There was some large, dark object hanging from a tree not far ahead, swinging gently to and fro. Skade looked at it, not knowing what it was. And then it moved.

She ran toward it, filled with panic, and in moments she was below it, looking up into Galbatorix's contorted face. He was hanging by the neck on a piece of rope, his hands rigid claws, his face slowly turning blue, twitching, choking, dying.

Skade panicked. She grabbed ineffectually at his feet, trying to pull him down, but it only made the noose tighten. Looking around desperately, she saw the sword lying at the base of the tree and picked it up, wrenching it out of its scabbard. It was sharp, and she took hold of the hilt as best she could and made a wild, clumsy swing.

White Violence's blade hit the rope close to the tree, instantly severing it, and Galbatorix dropped onto the ground. Skade threw down the sword and rushed to help him, loosening the rope and pulling it back over his head. She dropped it and touched his face with her fingertips, calling his name urgently.

He did not respond. Not knowing what else to do, Skade slapped him, hard.

It worked. He jerked, gasped, and began to cough violently. But after a few moments his breathing settled. The colour slowly returned to his face, and Skade felt cold with relief.

She touched his face again. 'Galbatorix, can you hear me? Wake up!'

He opened his eyes slowly. 'Sk-skade?' his voice was harsh and croaky. 'That – you?'

'Yes, it's me, Galbatorix. It's Skade.'

Galbatorix coughed again. 'Why?'

Skade didn't understand. 'Just breathe,' she said.

He lay still for a time, his eyes unfocused and his chest heaving. Life of a sort seemed to return to him, and his body became a little less limp.

'Why did you do it?' Skade asked him, tentatively touching his chest.

Galbatorix opened his eyes again. There was a terrible emptiness in them. 'Because I wanted to die,' he said. 'I wanted to be with Laela. I've got nothing left to live for.'

There was. Skade yearned to tell him that there was. But she could not think of a way to tell him so.

'Why did you save me?' he asked piteously. 'Why?'

'Because…' Skade hesitated. 'Because I don't want you to die.'

Galbatorix smiled faintly. 'That's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever… ever said to me.'

Skade managed to get him to stand up, and half-carried him back to the cave, holding White Violence in her free hand. The Shades were already there, talking quietly by the fire, and she laid Galbatorix down to rest on his crude bed, covering him with a blanket and putting White Violence beside him. 'Keep still,' she told him. 'I'll get you some water.'

She picked up a mug and crossed the cave to where a large earthenware jar full of water had been placed. Rangda and Durza watched her pass.

'What have you been doing?' Rangda asked in her flat, emotionless voice.

'I went into the woods,' Skade said briefly.

Durza looked at Galbatorix. 'What happened to him?'

Skade paused. 'He tried to kill himself,' she said in a low voice.

'But you stopped him.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes,' said Skade. She turned her attention back toward Galbatorix, going to his side and giving him the water. He drank and did not protest when she commanded him to rest. She watched him until he fell asleep and then curled up beside him, her golden eyes still fixed on his face.

When Skade woke up the next morning, she found herself alone in the cave. Galbatorix was gone.

She sat up quickly, her heart pounding. The spot where he had lain was empty, but someone – almost certainly him – had placed a blanket over her. She shrugged it off and ran outside, full of a horrible certainty. It was too late. He'd killed himself while she was asleep, she knew it –

She halted in the cave entrance, taken aback.

There he was, large as life, sitting cross-legged on the grass just outside the cave, his hands occupied with something. Skade went straight to him. 'Galbatorix! There you are!'

Galbatorix glanced up. 'Good morning, Skade,' he said, and although there was a livid purple mark around his neck, his voice was perfectly calm.

Skade stood and watched him. There was a large piece of leather lying on the ground in front of him, with strange shapes drawn on it in charcoal. He was holding a sharp knife and carefully cutting around one of the outlines.

'What are you doing?' said Skade.

'I'm making myself a new pair of boots,' said Galbatorix. 'This pair has practically had it. I went into the village last night and stole the tools and the leather.' He glanced up at her and blithely added, 'Would you like me to make you a pair? I haven't got all the tools I'd like, but I think I can remember how to make ladies' sizes.'

Skade sat down beside him, feeling thoroughly bewildered. 'You're making boots?'

Galbatorix put down the knife. 'Well, why not? I need a pair. And it's something to do.'

Skade just stared at him.

Galbatorix's expression became more serious. 'Look, I'm sorry about what happened last night, Skade. I didn't know you'd find me like that.'

'You're lucky I did,' said Skade. 'You'd be dead now if I hadn't.'

'Yes… I suppose I would be. Thankyou, Skade. I… thankyou. A hundred times.'

Skade shook her head. 'How could you do that to yourself?'

A slightly pained look passed across his face. 'Gods, Laela said that to me once. I think you know why, Skade.'

'Promise me you won't do it again,' said Skade.

Galbatorix fixed her with a direct stare. 'Why?'

'Because I'm asking you to,' said Skade. 'You're my friend, Galbatorix. You'll find something to live for.'

'All right, then,' he said softly. 'For you. I promise I'll won't try it again.'

'Good,' said Skade.

She sat in silence and watched him work, marvelling at the deftness and surety in his hands. He cut and trimmed the leather with the efficiency of someone who had been doing it for years, then picked up a large needle and a spool of thick waxed thread. Skade watched over the next hour or so while the first boot slowly took shape, and then the second. Galbatorix fashioned some laces out of leather strips, saying; 'It'll be a nuisance not having any metal eyelets or aglets for these things, but I'll have to manage. Are you sure you don't want a pair?'

Skade shook her head, her eyes following the motions of his hands. After a while she went and got some food for them both, which they ate together in companionable silence. Afterwards Galbatorix went back to work. And, as he stitched the soles onto the nearly-completed pair of boots, he began to talk about his life. Not about his time as a rider, but about his boyhood in Teirm, when he had worked at the leather stall.

'…and they used to say I could sell a glass dagger to a swordsmith if I wanted to. Arren Silvertongue, that was my name. I was very proud of it. Of course, I've collected a few other names since then. You know, when I was governor of Teirm I made myself a pair of boots. Used my office as a workspace. They thought that was rather odd of me, but I enjoyed it. Reminded me I was human.'

Skade laughed. 'You're very strange, Galbatorix.'

He looked seriously at her. 'Do you really think so?'

Skade hesitated. 'Yes. I do.'

'Well, it's true enough,' said Galbatorix. 'Even before… what happened… I've never really fitted in anywhere. I was just born different.'

'You don't look different,' said Skade. 'You look like… well, a human.'

'I'm not,' said Galbatorix. 'Not completely, anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

Galbatorix paused and put down the nearly-completed boots. And before he knew what was going on, he was telling her everything. His birth, his parents, the legacy he had unwittingly inherited from both, and how it had all worked together to bring about his downfall. He told the tale with more bitterness than he had expected, and with anger as well, speaking of Vrael with a level of hatred toward the old elf that he had not felt before. The only part he left out was his time with the dark elves. For some reason he had the feeling that talking about it would be violating some secret that his lost people had entrusted to him.

Skade listened seriously.

'…and after we escaped we were safe in hiding for a while. But they found us in the end. Came after us. And Laela was killed…' he closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

Skade touched him lightly on the shoulder, and Galbatorix took hold of her hand, drawing strength from the warmth of her skin against his.

'And… and… and after that I can't remember much of what happened at all. Not for months.'

'Why?' Skade asked.

'Because I was insane,' Galbatorix said baldly. 'I can see that now. I lost my mind. Forgot who I was, forgot where I'd come from, forgot how to be human. I can't remember how I survived, and I'm glad. I must have been an awful sight.' His expression twisted with dark amusement. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii, the wandering lunatic. Charming. I ate my own gloves, you know. I got back to Teirm somehow or other, and that was where they caught me.' All trace of humour left his voice. 'They took me back to Ilirea in chains. And when I saw Vrael again… saw his face, heard his voice… it all came back. I remembered who I was and what had happened to me. But it didn't do me any good. Vrael… he condemned me to die the traitor's death. Him and the other elders. And when I accused them, they said I was insane. The guards dragged me away to the dungeons and whipped me and then threw me in a cell. And I would be dead now if Brom and Morzan hadn't rescued me. They got me out of that place and let me go free, but the marks on my back turned bad and I got sick, and… well, Durza found me and then you came.'

'It must have been so terrible for you,' Skade said softly.

Galbatorix sighed; a long, weary sigh. 'I died,' he said. 'Out there somewhere in the snow… I died. What you see here is all that's left of me, and I don't know who I am now or what I've become. I'm not a rider now, not a human, not an elf… I'm not anything any more. I'm just… lost.' He stopped. 'I suppose that doesn't make any sense.'

'I understand,' said Skade. 'I know what you mean, Galbatorix. Because the riders destroyed me too.'

They looked into each other's eyes then, and a strange stillness came between them.

'Skade,' said Galbatorix. 'I have to… there's something I have to tell you.'

'What is it?' said Skade.

Galbatorix stared at the ground. 'I don't… I can't… it's not… I don't know if I should say this, Skade, but I can't help it. I tried to hide it, but I couldn't. And I can't pretend it isn't there any more.'

'Galbatorix, I don't understand,' said Skade, beginning to be a little frightened. 'What are you talking about?'

Galbatorix took her hand in his. 'I… I love you, Skade. I know I shouldn't, I know it's wrong, but I do, and I can't help it. I love you. You're so precious to me, Skade. Before, I wanted to die. But now, looking at you, I know that I want to live again. I love you, Skade, and I always will.'

Skade was staring at him, bewildered. 'No,' she said, pulling her hand away. 'No, Galbatorix. You can't. It's not…'

But he had confessed what was on his mind now, and a sudden feeling of power and certainty came over him, such as he had not felt since the day Laela hatched. On a mad impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Skade stood up sharply, shock written all over her wild, beautiful face. 'Galbatorix, you can't!' she cried. 'Stop it!'

Shame washed over him. 'Skade, I-,'

Skade did not wait to hear. She turned and ran away into the woods.

Galbatorix, left sitting by the cave, felt as if his insides had been torn out. He couldn't believe what he had just done. Self-loathing burned in his chest, and with a sudden motion he took hold of the barely-healed fingers of his right hand and twisted them, causing pain to shoot up his arm. It did nothing to lessen his guilt.

He had a sudden, wild urge to run down to the stream and throw himself into the water, or to slash his wrists with the leather-knife… but he had promised Skade that he wouldn't. But he hated himself more in that moment than he hated Vrael, or any of the people who had killed Laela and destroyed his life.

The rest of that day passed miserably. He finished the new pair of boots and put them on. They fitted quite well. And there was enough leather left over to make a pair of fingerless gloves to replace the pair he'd eaten. He didn't see Skade again. Evidently she was avoiding him.

She's a dragon, you idiot! he raged at himself, again and again. But somehow he simply could not imagine her as a dragon. Whenever he tried to, all he saw was a vision of Laela. When he thought of Skade, he saw a silver elf with golden eyes; an elf he adored – could not help but adore. In his head she was not a dragon. In his head she was a woman; a wild, cold, passionate, ferocious, beautiful woman. In his head she was Skade. And he knew that he felt for her a million times greater than he had ever felt for Flell.

But it could never be. He saw that now. He should have seen it all along. And the declaration he had made had only driven her away from him.

Toward nightfall, he left his spot by the cave entrance and went off into the woods, hoping to find Skade. But there was no sign of her anywhere. He wandered among the trees at sunset, deep in unhappy thought. There was only one thing he could do now. He had to find Skade and apologise to her for what he had done. The prospect scared him, but he knew it was the only way to set things straight.

He caught a pair of rabbits with the aid of his magic, and carried them back with him to the cave.

Skade was there, huddled alone by the fire. His heart fluttered at the sight of her, and he almost left, but she saw him standing in the entrance.

'Oh. Hello,' she said.

Galbatorix held up the rabbits. 'I got some dinner for us,' he said, his voice full of horribly artificial cheerfulness.

Skade said nothing, but she let him join her by the fire. He set about cleaning the rabbits, and spitted them over the fire to cook, unable to make himself speak.

At length Skade said; 'I miss my fire. I was just thinking of it now, when you came in. I can't breathe fire any more now. This body feels so weak.'

Galbatorix screwed up his courage. 'Skade,' he said.

She looked sharply at him. 'Yes?'

'Skade, I'm…' Galbatorix twisted his hands together, unable to look her in the eye. 'I'm sorry for what I said this morning. I shouldn't have. It was wrong. I just… please forgive me, Skade. I couldn't bear it if you were angry with me.'

He gave her an imploring look.

Skade looked back, oddly thoughtful. 'It was strange,' she said. 'You scared me a little, but…'

'But what, Skade?'

She fixed him with a penetrating stare. 'Did you mean what you said? Did you really mean it?'

Galbatorix hesitated.

'Answer me,' Skade commanded.

'I… yes,' said Galbatorix, shame-faced. 'I did mean it, Skade. I wouldn't lie to you, not ever.'

Skade said nothing. Galbatorix looked up at her, his heart pounding, dreading what she might be about to say.

Skade was looking at him. She did not look angry, but there was a strange look in her golden eyes… a dark, burning, almost predatory look.

'I'm sorry,' Galbatorix said again.

And then, without warning, Skade threw herself at him, hitting him square in the chest and bowling him over. He landed flat on his back, and before he knew what was going on she had pinned him down. She bore down on him, and for an instant he thought she was going to tear his throat out with her teeth, but instead…

Skade kissed him. Clumsily at first, then again and again, more and more confidently, her mouth pressed against his, her claws kneading at him and giving him exquisite pain. He overcame his initial shock and kissed her back. Her lips tasted like sweet blood, and fire burnt in her eyes, and it awoke a wild, maddened passion inside him.

The pair of them rolled over, their bodies entangled, making no sound save for their rapid breathing.

So it was that Galbatorix and Skade first came together, two outcasts with nothing left, who found love in each other. It was a coupling that would change the world.