Lily was pushed forward. Unable to catch herself with her hands, she landed face first in the dirt. The binding on her wrists was too tight, and she felt dizzy because of the blindfold that obscured her view.

"She didn't do anything!" Shay cried. Lily could feel her struggling to free herself from Vanir's tight grasp, but the elf man was stronger than her. Her dismay tickled in Lily's mind.

"That is to be decided," said a new voice. An elegant voice, regal and reserved.

Lily reached out to Shay with her mind. The contact was startling and brilliant. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be part of the two of them. It was as if her eyes had suddenly been open to the world again. From the rush of pleasant tones from her companion, Lily could tell she felt the same. There were no words for her to say. Shay knew already.

"You are not elf. You are not supposed to be here." The regal voice seemed strained, as if it was an effort to keep it in control on the part of its bearer. Lily shivered at the rage that was scarcely concealed in it.

"She didn't do anything wrong, your highness!" Shay cried again. Lily tried to soothe her, but the other woman wouldn't respond.

"It is not your home that was burned to the ground, Shay Everwood." The voice was flat now.

Lily felt Shay's tears, as if they were rolling down her own cheeks. She sent a steady, understanding thrum, but Shay turned it away. Lily drew back, hurt.

Lily was dragged to her feet by a strong arm, gasping her tunic.

"I do not know how you came to be here," the voice hissed, malice and contempt clear. "But I will find out. And you will pay for what you have done."

Lily had no doubt that such a debt would be payable only with her life. The world was a burst of color as she was struck across the face. A glancing blow, which jarred her skull and snapped her neck back. The blindfold was ripped free from the force of it.

Shay flinched. Lily knew she could feel the pain of the blow. She swiftly cut herself off from Shay, as much as it hurt to do so. Lily refused to cause her pain. Shay reached out to her again, but Lily pushed her away.

"Arya!" Shay pleaded, struggling against Vanir's grasp. She fought like a child having a tantrum. Vanir watched her unemotionally, not minding when her blows rained down on his chest and arms.

Lily could feel Shay tiring, feel the strength going out of her as she struggled for some way to reach the body that housed the other half of her soul.

Finally Shay couldn't resist anymore. She sobbed into Vanir's tunic, her hands flat on his chest. He looked at her, a fixture of disgust, surprise, and perhaps a little compassion crossing his features for the briefest moment. Then his face was impassive again.

The elf woman's eyes flicked momentarily towards the two, before returning hatefully to Lily. Her hands clenched tightly, and Lily could tell it was all she could do to keep from killing her right then and there.

In a way, Lily wished she would.

Disgusted, Arya tossed her aside, as if she weighed little more than a sack of feathers. She moved to leave, not glancing back. It was clear she was appalled by her mere existence. Such hatred made a chill run down Lily's back.

As if sensing this, the elf woman turned. There was a tiny smile in her voice.

"She dies at dawn."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Rune sat, looking at the belongings in what had been her room. It was hard to believe this place had been a place of comfort. Now she sensed sadness in it, a sadness that reverberated from the very walls.

She placed her hand gently on one of the walls. A low, hollow cry echoed in her mind, but it was distant. The forest moaned now – moaned in pain and in lost for its fellows. Its sound was like that of a mourning woman. Rune knew the tears of the forest would haunt her for years to come.

Her presents still sat, stacked in neat little piles, all wrapped up nicely. Rune thought it a bitter joke on the part of fate that such things of little value were preserved, but not the mighty forest itself.

The protection spells that had been laid on Tialdarí Hall over countless centuries had proved safeguard enough to keep it from the fire's wrath. The rest of the forest was not nearly as lucky.

Rune touched the presents, a wry smile on her face. They seemed so petty now. She knew she couldn't bring herself to open them. It wouldn't seem right, just to go about life as if nothing had happened.

The past can bind you as well as any fay, and fay as well as iron.

Rune jumped at the voice in her heart.

Lycona.

Rune sat down on the bed. The words didn't make sense. The past could bind you?

Dwell on sorrows, and they consume you.

Rune shook her head. Living life as if everything is fine is like living a lie.

It felt silly, talking into the thin air like that. Lycona was dead. Rune knew that. But something always made her voice turn up in Rune's head, like a forgotten memory.

Perhaps. But living as though you are dead is not living at all.

Rune pursed her lips. The voice was right.

Who are you? she asked.

There was no response, and Rune knew whatever it was that was speaking to her had vanished. It was like the presence she felt in Lycona's room. Lycona was there, somehow. In the walls, in the floor, in the air.

But that was silly.

Still, the voice of her mother had a point. Hesitantly, Rune picked up a present from the top of the stack. This felt wrong. But nonetheless, she opened it carefully.

It was a tiny, silver chain, so thin it looked like a spider's web. But when Rune picked it up, she could tell it was stronger than any jewelry worn by highbred women in Alagäesia. In the bottom of the little wrapping it came in, there was a name scrawled. Rhunön.

Rune had only met the smith once, and the meeting was a brief one. But she vowed to thank the curt elf woman for her gift.

Arya had given her a practical, simple belt purse, made of sturdy material and painted with a dove and snake intertwined with one another. Rune tied it at her waist immediately.

Most of the gifts were small, practical trinkets. A wonderfully carved hair comb, a new pair of boots, which laced tightly to above her knees, a stone that felt warm and comforting when she held it in her hand. Tunics – in a more feminine design than what she wore now – a few kirtles, a scroll containing a beautiful painting of a sleeping form beneath a great tree, behind watched by a mighty snake and dove – the two animals seemed to have become her unofficial crest.

Vanir gave her a ring, which had been engraved with a protection spell against pregnancy. Rune stifled a laugh, remembering his 'beds of Riders' comment. This was as close to a joke as the serious elf ever got.

Islanzadí's gift was a finely crafted saddle, made of leather. Leather was scarce in Ellesméra, and Rune felt her heart warming to the queen even more. It was engraved with the ubiquitous snake and dove, and painted accordingly. Beautiful.

Shay's gift was a bow and quiver – of course. The woman had given her a dagger previously, at her 'funeral'. It was only natural the warrior give her another weapon.

Rune's eyes fell on the last two gifts in the pile. Eragon's and Súndavar's. Eragon's was a small box, while Súndavar's was a simple envelope. Neither were labeled, but she could identify the senders easily, just by looking at the gifts.

She bit her lip. It was silly to think of this as a big choice, she knew. But somehow, she felt as though opening Eragon's gift first would be an affront to Súndavar, while the opposite was true if she chose the dark-haired Rider's gift.

Rune shook her head. This was stupid. What did it matter which she chose to open first? They wouldn't knew either way.

She picked up Sundavar's then set it down. She picked it up again. She'd give Eragon a hug later, to make up for it.

She opened the envelope carefully. It contained a wrinkled piece of parchment, ink stained and grubby. She looked at it for a moment.

You are truly something special,

When I look into your eyes,

I see the beginning, I see the end,

I see through all their lies.

ooo

You are truly something wonderful,

A maiden fair and true,

I thought I would be happy,

Just knowing I had you.

ooo

You are truly something beautiful,

And now I see today,

Your power lies inside your heart,

For from it you ne'er stray.

ooo

You are truly something magical,

The fay that binds your soul,

Until your heart beats next to mine,

I shall never be quite whole.

ooo

You are truly something baffling,

I don't understand your whims,

But I know that evermore,

You'll save me from my sins.

ooo

You are truly something priceless,

A love that can't be bought,

I try and fail, and still you're here,

Leaving me distraught.

ooo

You are truly something special,

And I know without delay,

Even if you journey far,

In my heart you'll ever stay.

ooo

My undying love,

Sundavar

Rune felt tears in her eyes. She brushed them away. There was one more thing in the envelope: Súndavar's snake charm. The little silver snake with the emerald eyes that Rune had first seen when they met, oh-so long ago.

Rune strung it on Rhunön's chain and let it fall under her tunic. It hung between her breasts, over her heart.

She picked up Eragon's present, then set it aside. She would open it later. Right now, she wanted to talk to Súndavar.

Darting out of her room, poem still in hand, she looked for the Rider.

He wasn't hard to find. He stood by Oromis's shack, trailing a stick in the water absently. He heard her coming, and got to his feet. "Rune? Are you alright?"

Rune held out the poem. "Súndavar, is this how you feel?"

Súndavar looked at it, then glanced at the ground. "Oh, that."

"What?"

"It's a terrible poem," he murmured. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you anything better."

Rune laughed. She was in his arms, her lips on his before he could say anything more.

He came out of the kiss to protest. "Rune, I—"

Shut up, Shadow Boy.

He did.