When they found her, she was still under the bush. She had managed to walk from the sparring field back to the Elf Corner and seemingly fell asleep under the bush. Light pervaded the dark sanctuaries of her closed eyes and she opened them to see… an ugly face.

She screamed, "God's above!" The Urgal standing over her chortled and turned behind him, calling, "Drukjl, I have found the human you search for!"

Drukjl and Shepherd soon came over, the latter supporting her as she got shakily to her feet. She was not sure she'd be comfortable with Drukjl holding her like that anyway.

"Hah! You've drunk well the past night!" Drukjl exclaimed, making 'drinky drinky' gestures with his hand cupped around an invisible tankard.

"Did I?"

"Sure did!" Shepherd stated. "Should've seen yourself. You got up on the table, and used a fork like a sword as you pointed at Grthilunz. You know, the Urgal you had a drinking competition with? Well, you pointed at him and you shouted: Come you fearsome beast! I shall show you why women are not allowed in drinking competitions, because we best all the men!"

The two of them bent over with laughter and Frelsa gave a weak smile.

"Heh, funny. I don't feel so good…" All the vomit she had failed to retch up the last night seemed to deem this an appropriate time to strike.

"Woah, not on my tunic. New silk."

"Okay, on your shoes then…"

"Hey!" Shepherd shouted as she and Drukjl laughed at their distressed friend's face.

"Uh, Drukjl, hold her for a while won't you?"

She feinted sweet innocence. "Oh, but I'd much prefer the dashing young gentleman to support me."

Eventually they split roads with Drukjl who returned to the Urgal Corner while Shepherd carried Frelsa back to the Grid. He heaved a sigh of relief when he finally dumped her on her bed.

She stared up at the ceiling of the second floor and saw Errol's grey head poke out of the skylight.

Sweet dreams last night?

"Oh definitely," she called back.

He gave a snort. Easy for you to say, some idiot tripped over my neck last night. Aches like oblivion.

"Where's Kalla?" Frelsa asked no one in particular.

"Kalla? Oh, yeah, we asked for her help because she'd know where you were at once, but she wasn't in too good a mood when we found her. She drank eight casks last night! Eight! Well she was pretty snappy and left us to find you on our own while she went off to hunt."

Then she remembered. "About last night…"

"You want to confess how amazing my dance skills were?" Shepherd inquired.

"Urgh, no! Ebrithil and Queen Arya, where are they now?"

He raised one brown eyebrow. "She and Fírnen left this morning. Didn't hear the sad songs the elves played? Oh right, you were asleep."

Frelsa related the whole story of what she'd heard and seen that night. Shepherd listened attentively, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging agape. Especially at the part when she told of how betrayed Arya sounded when she thought Eragon didn't trust her. When she had finished, Shepherd took a moment to fully take in all in.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked slowly.

"No." Did Shepherd actually have real answers? Not just theories put together by him and Burkjl? Had he actually, Gods forbid, matured?

"Eragon's charms wore off!"

Seems not.

"It's incredible, charms aren't supposed to wear off till their user dies or stops them or- wait why are you looking at me like that."

"Because I have realised, just how incredibly…amazingly… stupid you are."

"Oh come on! Think about it, the charms have been in effect for nearly, when did the stories said he met her?"

"Well he found the island 70 years ago," she mumbled, humouring him.

"Yes, so that means the charms been in effect for more than 70 years. Eragon couldn't have been a master of spells back then, so he was bound to have left some loopholes in the charm."

"So what, seeing him again magically dispels the charm?" Frelsa asked sarcastically.

"Yes! Like those people who hit their head and lose their memory, then when they see something from their past their memories come rushing back! What if when she saw Eragon, she remembered the time before him, and the charm failed when she realised she didn't love him as much as she thought she did."

She was fed up with Shepherd. "How do you explain the end huh? He said: What more will you take from me?"

The passion left Shepherd's eyes and he slumped down into one of the padded study chairs, stumped. "I don't know, could be anything. Maybe he's gone crazy?"

"Hah! See, I win. Drop your theories Shepherd, they're never right."

Errol poked his head out from the skylight again. Gotta admit it Shepherd, you are starting to sound like the crazy one here.

"You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Thank you, Errol. See Shepherd. There's something else at work here. Eragon said it 'consumes me from inside'. And then 'So it has ended'. What's killing him, what's ended?"

This ending thing is obviously tied to Arya, came the mental voice resonating from outside.

Kalla?

One and only. Open up the roof.

Shepherd placed his hand on a metal plate on the wall and sent out a small charge of magic. The plate vibrated for a moment before the roof silently folded in on itself.

'Dang, this Elven stuff runs smooth," Shepherd commented.

Kalla was hovering up above, her green scales in stark contrast to the blue sky. She swooped in and perched on one of the beams jutting from the walls before jumping down to the second floor and laying down so that her head poked out over the edge of the skylight opposite Errol.

Shepherd hurriedly raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Before you kill me for waking you up just now, I just want to say how incredibly sorry I am."

Calm down, morsel. I've no taste for human. Too bony, and the clothes are a curse to pull out of your teeth. But I must say that your charm theory is absolutely stupid.

"Not you too!"

By the way, I went looking for Master Saphira and she said there were no lessons today.

"So any ideas on this, Kalla?" Frelsa asked.

None at all, but you should've seen Master Saphira. Saw her on the other side of the mountain. Tore up a few big oaks, roared a bit, shot some fire and then just lay down there and cried. You know how I said she told me there were no lessons? It was actually more like: LESSONS DON'T MATTER! LIFE DOSEN'T MATTER! NOT WITHOUT HIM!

Wow. Any idea what caused it? Errol asked as he scratched his neck.

Obviously Fírnen, they were mates it seems, long ago.

Frelsa wondered what it was that could push her and Eragon to sacrifice the loves of their lives, to be restricted to seeing them for one or two days a year, if they were lucky.

"Well something's serious going on, something killing Ebrithil. And it's our obligation as Riders to help those in need," Frelsa stated resolutely.

"How do you suppose we do that?"

"We ask him."

They had called out to Drukjl with their mind, calling him and and Dýrgrir to meet them at the side of the sparring field near the base of the mountain an hour before midnight.

When the time came, they left their quarters. The floating lanterns had already risen to their perches up and down the main road. As they made their way out of Men's Corner they passed a man riding high on the saddle of a beige dragon. The dragon was twice the size of Kalla. The rider wore a cuirass of black leather and a pale blade hung without a sheath at his side, his tanned skin shone like copper in the lantern light. He and his dragon paused next to Frelsa and he shot her a smile so blinding he should've given her a warning first.

"Greetings, Frelsa, Kalla."

"Greetings, Shahnz, Dayine," which Kalla echoed with her mind. "Beautiful evening."

Shahnz looked up as if to double check it was evening. "Yes, beautiful, as are you, Frelsa."

Kalla growled at him, seeming to forget that Dayine was twice her size.

"Wo-o-oh. Looks like we got a fighter here. Well, I get the message. See you around, girls."

He shot her another blinding smile before he and Dayine continued on their way. She scowled and Kalla growled again once they were a distance away.

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, to which Frelsa replied, "Don't ask."

Errol snarled at Shahnz's back. I pity Dayine.

Shahnz was something of a controversy, spending more time training to look fit instead of being fit, and wooing maidens. He took regular rides down Men's Corner main road on Dayine, always silent, seemingly wanting to advertise his body. No one knew why Dayine was silent he just was. Frelsa had been on the receiving end of several of Shahnz's flirting attempts, though he was always sorely disappointed. He never seemed to target her when she was alone, just when she had company just to show he could.

As they walked she could see Shepherd stifling his laughter. "So…that happen often?"

Frelsa grimaced. "Shut up."

"Hah!"

When they finally reached the meeting point Drukjl was already there, sitting against a lying down Dýrgrir. He scowled. "What delayed you?"

Shepherd was still stifling his laughter. "Well, get this, Ram, you know Frelsa? The Frelsa we've known for so long? She's actually attracted attention, of the…" *ahem "…male kind."

Drukjl raised one shaggy brow so high it seemed it would fly off his forehead. Even Dýrgrir bared his teeth and gave one of those strange dragon laughs. Kalla saved her Rider from embarrassment. Well, so where's Master Eragon and Master Saphira?

Drukjl's brow ratcheted down. "No one knows. Whole of the Urgralgra Otrag," gesturing to the Urgal Corner, "have not seen scale nor skin of Dur Firesword and Dur Flametongue."

"So why are we here?" Frelsa asked impatiently.

"Ahhh, I chose this spot for a reason, you know?" Shepherd told her.

"You do things for a reason?" she asked in amazement.

"Of course, have I ever done any different?" Shepherd puffed out his chest and swept a few strands of loose brown hair back in a gesture to make himself look heroic. Frelsa laughed. Hard.

"Anyways, you know how no one knows where Eragon and Saphira sleep?"

They all nodded.

"Well, I saw how the old hands make their homes in the caves along the mountain arms when their dragons get too big, so I thought maybe Eragon and Saphira do something similar. But they wouldn't stay in any one area that would show that they are favouring the race there over others."

What is this? Shepherd, thinking rationally? Kalla asked with mock incredulity.

Amazing isn't it? Errol remarked.

Indeed… Dýrgrir mused.

Shepherd ignored all of them. "Well, so where else could they live? Somewhere they were safe, could live in peace. Then Frelsa told me about last night, and I realised if he really had lost so much, he'd want somewhere quiet to brood. Mark of the depressed. Trust me. So where else, but up high?"

Frelsa looked up the mountain. It was impossibly tall, a dragon could fly around three quarters the way up but if they had a Rider the Rider would faint from the thin air soon past the halfway mark. And dotting the mountain side were innumerable large caves, any one of them could possibly be Eragon's and Saphira's home.

A crack of thunder reached her ears. She looked out to sea and saw a legion of dark clouds marching their way.

"How are we going to know which one?" Frelsa asked.

"Indeed, and when to enter? I doubt Dur Firesword would appreciate us entering his home uninvited."

"Yes, yes I thought of all these. There are more than a thousand caves, so which one? Then I realised that half an hour to midnight, Saphira leaves her cave with Eragon. It happened one night so I climbed to the roof to watch."

Could've made less noise doing it, Errol complained. A dragon needs his sleep.

"They don't do much, just go to the pier and watch the Sea. They return at midnight. I found this strange, and happened to glance out the same night next week and saw Saphira leaving again. They do it without fail."

"Don't you find this behaviour a bit obsessive?" Frelsa asked.

"No, it's not. Anything to prove to you that my theories are true. And if we look up and watch for them, we'll see where exactly their cave is in say, 3…2…1… now."

They looked up. A huge patch of stars were blotted out and a few of Saphira's scales reflected moonlight back at them.

"Anyone see where their cave was?"

"Nope."

"Nay."

I thought you were watching!

Shut up, Errol.

Calm down, so no one saw?

"Appears not," Frelsa said. Typical. "At least we have a feel where it is. How high up was that, Kalla?"

I'd say, maybe halfway up? 4000 metres, maybe 4100.

"Okay so we search that area. Drukjl and Dýrgrir take the left face, Errol and Shepherd take the right. Kalla and I'll go straight up front."

They didn't really object to her plan, partly because they didn't have one themselves.

A flash of lightning appeared over the Sea and the boom of thunder quickly reached their ears. Drukjl looked up at the darker than dark sky. "We have less time to complete our task. The storm moves fast."

As her companions flew up, Frelsa realised she hadn't brought Kalla's saddle, again. She'd used it so little times she might as well throw the moulded leather saddle away. She swung one leg over Kalla's neck and settled in the hollow in her back.

Come on, let's go!

About time.

They flew up the side of the mountain at an almost vertical angle, Frelsa hanging on for dear life onto the ivory spike in front of her. She did not even dare to adjust her legs as they were chaffed and rubbed against the rough scales. She remembered the time she flew around the island on Kalla without a saddle. She could still feel the pain in her legs.

Another crack of thunder. They had to get this over quick. The wind began to pick up.

Frelsa, the storm…

We can make it! They couldn't afford not to, if they wanted to save Ebrithil before whatever condition he had got worse. She didn't bother wasting breath speaking here where air was thin.

The wind was getting stronger. Frelsa stared straight ahead and felt something strike her in the eye. She wiped it on her tunic's sleeve. Rain?

Kalla had been up till then flying in a perfectly straight line, but now she seemed to stray and waver slightly. More rain. Frelsa gripped the spike with one arm and raised the other to shield her eyes. The rain was pouring now, and Dýrgrir and Errol were invisible.

They heard a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning striking the mountain, followed a second after by a blood chilling roar of pain, then a shape fell past them so fast it was a blur. For a moment they heard a dragon's roar as it flashed past them.

Drukjl! Frelsa called out with her mind. There was no response.

Kalla, we have to turn back!

No! Dýrgrir can make it. We can't turn back now!

They still couldn't see nor hear Shepherd or Errol. Frelsa cast out with her mind, looking for them, but they weren't there.

Another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. The wind was so loud she knew if she thought to Kalla she wouldn't hear. Kalla herself wasn't able to fly in anything resembling a line, just going in that general direction.

She tightened her grip on the ivory spike and realised how wet it was. She thought she heard Kalla saying something but she could barely hear the thoughts. Her long hair was whipping all around her face and she wondered whether she'd become bald. Her dragon jerked and Delswoir nearly slid out of its scabbard and into the night sky but Frelsa managed to grab the hilt and push it back in. She could not lose Delswoir.

Then the wind seemed to grow even stronger, and suddenly Kalla was blown to one side. Maybe a wing raised at the wrong angle. The wind caught the membrane and Kalla and Frelsa were spun to the left. She knew she couldn't hold on. Her hands easily slipped off the rain-slicked spike and she flew off Kalla's back. She screamed both mentally and physically and stretched out a hand trying to reach Kalla who had already disappeared in the pouring rain.

She tumbled through the air, trying to figure out which way was up so she could adopt the free falling posture she had been trained to use if she ever fell off Kalla. How was she supposed to do it again? Asked one part of her brain. Scream and die, answered the other. Her limbs flailed uselessly through the air. Soon the ground would come rushing up like a wall of death and it would all end. She felt the air blowing through her fingers and rain pelting her face.

Then something large slammed into her back. Had she hit the mountain? Was she dead? No, Frelsa was still flying through empty air. Then something else slammed into her, two strong claws that grasped her shoulders and did not let her go. Her fall slowed down, and she looked to her shoulders. Barely visible through the rain, but the scales on the claws were most definitely green. She reached out with her mind and felt Kalla's familiar presence.

They flew up for a moment before Kalla made a sharp down turn and Frelsa saw a gaping black hole appear through the rain. She almost cried with joy, but if she did her tears would have been blown away.

Kalla would've hit the huge cave mouth smack in the centre, but a strong gust blew them to one side and her wing collided with the right side of the cave mouth. The impact to her side was powerful enough for them to be sent careening and spinning through the empty space within the cave. As they flew, just for a split second Frelsa saw it past before her eyes. A wing, mangled and bent at all the wrong angle, bones splintered and membrane torn all the way from the far edge to the bone frame.

When they landed Frelsa was thrown with such force she collided with the cave wall. She felt a sharp, mind numbing pain and glanced down and realised arms weren't supposed to bend back like that.

Her last sight before her vision dulled to shadows, was Kalla, lying on the floor grasping weakly with her foreclaws for her Rider.

When Frelsa regained consciousness, she felt a numbness in her left arm. She looked down and wished she hadn't. She felt the stinging of vomit in her throat but managed to keep it down. She looked over and saw Kalla, spread-eagled on the cave floor, her wings stretched out over the cool stone. The left wing was ok, perfectly fine, but the right…

"Oh Gods…"

The vomit fought its way back up and splattered against the stone floor. She tried to get her mind off the acrid stink in her nose by concentrating on the world outside.

On any other day, she would've seen the serene form of Festa eom Líf, the huge sparring field, the four Corners. Dragons soaring through the sky and riders duelling. Teachers instructing classes. Students wandering freely alongside dragons and laying down in the grass to relax and study. But not today. Today the rain pounded on the island, the droplets obscuring anything past the mouth of the cave. An impenetrable grey cover over her world. What happened to Drukjl and Dýrgrir? Falling at that speed was definitely not good for their health. And she hadn't even seen Errol or Shepherd after they left.

There was a faint flapping noise, barely audible over the pouring rain.

"Errol? Shepherd?" She called to the rain at the mouth of the cave.

The flapping grew louder, and something brushed against her mind. That was definitely not Shepherd. She lifted up her arms and cowered as a powerful presence bore down on her, immediately breaking down her barriers with what seemed like no effort at all. It sorted through her scattered thoughts at great speed, seeming to have found what it needed.

Frelsa backed up all the way to Kalla, breathing raggedly.

A shadow appeared in the rain, and a great creature burst forth like through a waterfall, rain flying from its body onto Frelsa and the incapacitated Kalla.

It was so large that with wings stretched it spanned the entire width of the giant cave. It was a beast of shadow, indiscernible in the dark. A smaller shadow detached itself from atop the great mass and dropped to the ground, boots clacking against stone.

Frelsa shakily drew Delswoir, her hand shaking so much that she wasn't sure the weapon would be much use. The shadow walked forth and raised one hand, muttering, "Garzla."

A mellow werelight grew in the shadow's hand and revealed him to be flesh and blood. Frelsa lowered her weapon as she stared into Eragon Shadeslayer's face.

"How did you find me?"

"I think the better question would be: How did you find my home?"

Eragon flicked his arm forward his werelight shot forth to attach itself to the roof and flaring to a great intensity, illuminating the entire cave. Or home. There was a huge bed made of animal hides, rags and cloths. The bed was so large that two Saphiras could squeeze within it. There was no bed for a human. A wardrobe was fixed to a wall and there was a shower station at the other side. The floor was marked with a thousand claw marks from where Saphira had landed and taken off so many times. It seemed that Kalla had flown true and delivered them to their target.

Saphira herself stood at the mouth of the cave, silent till then. Answer, little one.

"I-I was out flying with Kalla when the storm started. It blew us to the mountain and Kalla saved us by flying into this cave," It was a feeble lie. Even she knew how unconvincing it sounded. "But that doesn't matter, her wing got hit on the way in, you need to help!"

Saphira growled. She obviously did not appreciate her home getting invaded. Eragon walked over to her and held her giant snout with one hand, seeming to have a conversation with Saphira. He ended with, "Yes, yes I agree."

He briskly made his way to Kalla's side. "You did not use any healing spells?"

"No, I didn't think the ones I know would work."

"Good, if you did you might've caused irreparable damage. Move over."

Frelsa tried, but her arm flopped to the side and the shattered bones collided with stone, causing her to cry out. Eragon glanced at her and his furrowed brow became more pronounced. He instructed her to keep her arm as still as possible and not move.

He stepped over Kalla's dying body and lay one palm over her crushed and mangled wing. Mumbling a simple, "Waíse heill." Amazingly, with the simplest of healing spells damage she had considered impossible to fix. The fragments of bone snapped back into place as if they were magnetised to each other and the delicate membrane seemed to reknit itself. All of this with two words? How powerful was he?

Kalla's chest heaved, then relaxed. Her breathing regulated and the snarl let her snout. Eragon stepped over the now fine dragon and crouched down next to Frelsa. "Uncover your arm."

She reluctantly moved her right arm so her shattered limb was bare. Eragon grimaced and held out his palm and mumbled, "Waíse heill." Frelsa turned away. She'd never gotten used to the healing of even tiny cuts.

For a moment all sensation in her arm was lost and she felt something under her skin moving and twisting. She risked a glance down just as the last bone found its place. Perfect. Not a single scar. Even that little one on the skin between her thumb and forefinger she never even knew how she had gotten. Nothing there. The skin felt soft and bouncy like a baby's.

Saphira gave a short leap, short leap to her that is, to Frelsa it was gigantic vault over the heads of her, Eragon and a sleeping Kalla.

Eragon sat on the edge of the giant bed. "Mind telling me why you're here?"

"I already told you I-"

He silenced her with a raised hand. "I've lived long enough to recognise clumsy lies. I'd prefer not to use a spell to force the truth from you."

Frelsa gave a sigh. Seeing no other choice, she told Eragon the truth. How she'd seen and heard his conversations with Arya and tried to find out his plight to help him. She omitted the part where she'd told Shepherd and Drukjl.

"So, when I found Drukjl and Dýrgrir clinging to life by a thread on an outcrop further down the mountain, it was a coincidence?"

"Ebrithil, they must have-"

"How about Errol? And Shepherd. They had crashed into some trees on the Wild side of the island. Errol's wing got torn off!"

What? She sensed muddled emotions of concern and fear from Kalla.

"Ebrithil, how are they now?"

"Hah! How are they, fine of course! A simple matter to find the wing, got blown around onto the sparring field, then reattach it and heal. Simple matter. Gods, I am amazing."

When she looked up at Eragon, she was surprised to find him with a dirty glass bottle of ale in his hand and arms on his knees. That one bottle changed him, not a hero, not an unapproachable Rider of old legends. He was a different person, and not a better one. His shoulders were slumped, his tunic seemed stained with dirt and soaked with rain. His normally neat hair was matted to his skin.

"Master, I know you are not fine. I know you need help, I'm sure I could-"

"You want to help me?" His voice shocked her. It was the voice of one defeated, not one who led a Corp that defended the innocent.

He chuckled. "I wouldn't share this burden with the Queen of Elves. And you expect me to share it with you?"

Saphira had lain her head on the bed and the water on her scales was starting to evaporate. Eragon had finished his first bottle and started on a second.

Frelsa didn't know an answer.

"I… I don't know."

Eragon simply said, "Neither do I."

"Wait… what? What are you talking about, Ebrithil?"

"Heh, I don't know. What are you talking about?" Eragon was well and truly inebriated.

"Why don't you use a spell to um... restore your sobriety?"

Eragon threw the bottle to one side where it rolled in sad little circles. "What's the point? This, this can relieve me of all my stress. Heading the Riders. Teaching. Putting on this mask for the public. This!" Eragon grew agitated, pointing with both hands at his face, matted with wet hair and fixed in a furious scowl. "This is what lies behind that mask!"

Frelsa was scared. Ebrithil settled back into his sad position, head between his knees.

"Ebrithil… if you only let us help you, we could."

"How?" He sounded like a child. "I can't count on anyone close to me. Not anymore. They'll leave. Like Roran, Nasuada, Orik, now her! She was the one I thought I could count on to stay by me, and she's gone too. Just like they said she would."

"They?"

He smiled at her and tapped the side of the head with his index. "The voices in my head, girl. You wouldn't know."

She definitely wasn't liking this drunk Eragon.

She heard him mumbling something about another bottle. In their condition, everything seemed a shade darker. Even Saphira's and Kalla's radiant scales seemed dim and dark. Then the fit began. Eragon smashed his new bottle against the cave floor, the drink spreading out over the flat stone. He cried out and curled into a ball and seemed to want to tunnel through the stone with his head. Saphira roared, the sound echoing up and down the cave. She spread out her legs and shook her head furiously. Soon, they stopped convulsing and Eragon returned to his seat, more dilapidated than before, producing a new bottle of ale from within the piles of clothes forming the huge bed.

A memory came to her.

"Do you remember what you taught me, when you found me unconscious on the shores of the island?"

Eragon lay silent, swirling the last remainders of his new bottle around at the bottom of it.

"Frudhe wiol Thorna Iknol caan frudhe neo…" Frelsa recited.

"Hm?" There was a hint of recognition in Eragon's eyes.

Fight for those who cannot fight, she'd remembered the words that had once been branded into her mind but now lay dust laden in some hidden alcove of her brain.

"Frudhe… wiol… Thorna Iknol caan... frudhe neo…" Eragon repeated, struggling to wrap his tongue around the difficult words.

"…un Thorna Iknol wilean neo."

…and those who will not.

"You taught us that rule. You taught us to fight. Not for ourselves, but for others."

He looked at her, with what seemed like pity in his eyes.

"Give up this fight girl. Against the one who ails me, there is no victory. I've given up this fight."

"Then I will fight for you!" She wasn't about to let her last chance of redeeming her master slip away.

He frowned. "You understand what you are getting into? A promise of death."

"How many will I save?"

"More than a few."

She looked Eragon in the eye. "Let's get started."

"My Queen…"

Arya turned and saw a manservant standing in her open door and hurriedly placed her crown on her head.

"I assumed you would have knocked."

"I apologise, my Queen, the door was open," the Elf spoke bowing low. "But your meal has been laden."

She turned back to her mirror, waving at the elf. "Ask them to bring my meal to my room. And remind them to knock."

"Yes, my Queen." The Elf said as he retreated out the door, still bowing and also closing the door at the same time.

Arya stared at the mirror as she removed her crown. More of a tiara really. She dipped her hands into the dish of petal scented water and wiped her face with the fragrant water.

She toyed with the ring one of Eragon's students had given to her. A girl with a green dragon just like Fírnen. She'd said it was a gift from Hothgeir. It reminded her of some of Rhunön's greatest works and those of the Dwarves.

Wiping the top with one slender thumb she inspected each individual, perfect gem, which formed a perfect petal, which overlapped to form the perfect flower. The perfect flower.

"As are you…"

She cast aside the memory. Just a stray thought about someone she didn't know anymore.

You do know that what you're doing is irrational?

Arya glanced up at the ceiling. Fírnen was somewhere on the deck, weathering out the storm. Normally, even in this weather, she'd be out there with him, rain soaking her fine clothes, all for the presence of her closet companion. She didn't answer Fírnen.

He told you he has sworn in the Ancient Language not to reveal the secret. And he told you that in the Ancient Language.

There was no way he could have lied. Yes, but you heard him. He couldn't tell me, but he could show me. But he didn't. He doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm too weak.

Arya, his judgement is clouded at best. Who would dare to name you as weak? And you saw how different he was.

Indeed she saw. When he was out of the public, just with her, when he thought she couldn't see. His shoulders slumped and his head hung sullenly. His very mental presence seemed to fade slightly. Eragon was barely able to keep his facade of a confidant leader together.

Something has been eating him. He has taken the brunt of it. Saphira is barely affected and only through their link.

Arya looked again in the mirror and realised how comforting the sound of rain against the windows sounded. She was silent for a long time.

I don't know what ails him Fírnen, but I would gladly suffer it with him.

A wave of affection from Fírnen that she had finally spoke. He doesn't want you to suffer as he had.

I have suffered enough. I could handle the burden, she spat vehemently at Fírnen. She wasn't usually so brusque to him, but he his only response was to make a mental replication of the dragon's laughing.

It is not 'I'. It is 'we'. Whatever storms come our way, we shall weather through them together.

The ship sailed over a large wave, causing the water to slosh out of the bowl and the mirror to tip to and fro.

We must pray the ship weathers this storm first, she remarked.

Fírnen gave a laugh but suddenly stopped. She sensed him turning back towards the island.

What is it, Fírnen?

It's… it's nothing. Just the storm. Just the-

A knock on the door.

"My Queen? Your dinner."

27-11-13

So, that's chapter 3. I'm not sure how I did on the Arya part, but hopefully I did fine. I'm thinking of writing the next chapter of segments of the chapter from another character's point of view, either Shepherd or Drukjl. I'm not too sure how to write from their dragon's pov, I'll have to read up to check. Well, help me along on this journey and leave a review with suggestions or whose pov I should write from. It'd be greatly appreciated. Oh and btw, this chapter and the last have been shortened to 5000-6000 words so I could release them in under 24 hours. If you'd like a 9000 word chapter I'd have to extend the wait time to 36 hours at least.