After a few lovely, comfortable weeks, Eragon and Thrivka left Tronjheim and headed south on Saphira and Dorama.

Eragon visited Surda for the first time and met with King Orrin, who was proud to host such an honorable guest and quick to assert that the next human rider ought to be from his country—as if Eragon had any control over such things. But though he was interested to see the new country, he was grateful to leave for Ellesmera, where Arya was waiting for him and where he could relax at least somewhat, as the elves did not expect so much from him.

He enjoyed visiting with his mother again, and seeing the Crags of Tel'naer, and he felt a difference in the way the elves treated him now—a deference and respect that was not false or affected, but sincere. He was sad to leave, and especially to say goodbye to Arya.

Tierm was strange—he had never expected to visit it openly and meet with the governor, where before he had sneaked into the records and hidden from sight. But it was good to see that the city-state, despite its independence, remained loyal and supportive of Nasuada's rule.

When Saphira and Dorama landed outside Ilirea in early summer, Eragon felt a strange nostalgia, gazing up at the glittering city, and remembering how it had looked when they'd faced down the walls in siege, and his doom lay before him.

Nasuada had not been idle in the intervening years—the damage from Galbatorix's death had been repaired and then some; the houses that lay outside the walls were well-crafted and beautiful, and spread further out than ever before, speaking to the growth of the capitol in recent times. From above the city had looked clean and warm and full of greenery, a shining sample of Nasuada's skill in shaping the kingdom.

Eragon did not have to wait long on the hill outside the city, before he saw a glittering shape floating down from the clouds—Thorn gliding his way to meet them. Eragon raised a hand in greeting, and saw Murtagh return the gesture as the red dragon spiraled to the earth below.

Eragon prepared himself to be bombarded the moment he entered the city, expecting a crowd. Though spotting dragons was no longer the unimaginable thing it had been during the days of the empire, it was still rare, and Eragon did not doubt that most of the residents of the capitol would soon be aware of his arrival.

When Murtagh landed they embraced warmly, and Murtagh said,

"Good journey?"

Eragon nodded.

"And how long have you been here?" He returned, pulling his waterskin down and taking a drink.

"About a week. Left the Academy in capable hands," Murtagh assured with an amused glint, knowing Eragon's worry about being away from Mt. Argnor for the first time. Eragon was glad to see that the circles under Murtagh's eyes had not returned, and he was at ease. It had been a tough winter for him, and being close to Nasuada always seemed to bring him comfort.

Eragon nodded, as Dorama, Thorn, and Saphira exchanged greetings.

"If you're up for it," Murtagh continued, "Nasuada said we can make our way up to the citadel by foot—give the people a chance to see you. But if not we'll fly in overhead and avoid the crowds; maybe give them a wave or something."

Eragon was tired, but he understood the importance of letting the city residents see him and—more importantly—feel seen by him. Aloofness and distance was a recipe for resentment.

"If Thrivka and Dorama agree, we're fine to go on foot," Eragon concluded after receiving Saphira's consent. Thrivka and her partner were up for it, so instead of taking off from the grassy knoll upon which they'd landed, all three riders mounted their dragons and took the slow route—walking down the well-trod path towards the city gates, and watching a crowd gather along the edges of the road the closer they got.

"It's been so long," Eragon commented as they approached the open doors, through which Saphira would just barely fit, "I'm not certain what to expect."

Murtagh smirked.

"Worried you won't be as popular now you're not the only dragon rider?"

"More worried that the people will have forgotten who I am," Eragon returned in amusement.

But as soon as Saphira ducked through the opening and onto the main thoroughfare of Ilirea, Eragon was bombarded by a roar of cheers, and a crowd of people on either side of the cobbled road chanting,

"Shadeslayer! Shadeslayer! Shadeslayer!"

Murtagh gave him a sardonic look and shouted over the din:

"I think it's safe to say they haven't forgotten!"

Nasuada's throne room held almost no similarities to the room it had replaced. It was airy and full of light, with clean white marble floors and beautiful tapestries hanging everywhere. Wide doors at the front of the room stood open to the warm air, and fresh flowers sat in vases everywhere. Eragon could hardly believe he was standing on the same ground where, close to a decade before, he had fought Galbatorix and nearly lost everything.

He greeted Nasuada and received the same enthusiastic welcome from all the nobles with whom he was obliged to shake hands. He was glad to see his old friend Jeod again and promised to come to dinner with Murtagh—who had surprisingly struck up his own friendship with the scholar during his visits as ambassador.

While in the city Eragon was also able to see some of the former residents of Carvahall who had decided not to return to Palancar valley—such as Birgit and her son Nolfavrell. He was glad to see that all of them were doing well, and prospering in whatever work they had chosen to undertake.

His time in Ilirea was a happy blur, sometimes obliged to participate in formal events, but sometimes able to simply spend time with his brother and Nasuada, and those others in the city whom he had missed.

He and Murtagh were with Nasuada at almost every meeting, lunch and conference, though he made sure to leave the two of them alone when he could, knowing that their time together was always marked by Murtagh's impending departure, and that they treasured every moment.

Eragon was able to get a real picture of what Nasuada managed as Queen, and his respect for her only grew as he watched her navigate the day-to-day headaches and challenges that went into preserving peace and justice throughout the land she ruled.

Problems were brought to her from every city and town, and even residents of places as far as Ceunon expected her to listen to their struggles and to solve them. Eragon only had to manage a few dozen people at Mt. Argnor, and he was often overwhelmed by the task, so his appreciation for Nasuada's skill increased the closer he got a look at her duties.

He also began to feel a strange sense of melancholy, as he realized that life in Alagaesia had moved on without him. He'd noticed it in Tronjheim—all the changes that the city had gone through—and again in Tierm, which was full of people building their lives and paying little heed to whatever he was doing at Mt. Argnor.

In some ways the war was present in everything—in the men he would pass that were missing limbs or had a hollow look in their eyes, in the newness of the buildings that had been rebuilt from the ground up, in the ever-prepared royal soldiers that kept a careful watch on the capitol.

But in other ways it felt as if there had been no war, as if Galbatorix had never existed, and the kingdom never shaken, and all the people who had died had simply never been there. Eragon had, for the first time, the sensation that time was moving on around him, and he was standing still. The humans he had left eight years ago had aged noticeably, and a significant part of their life had passed, and yet he was the same: ageless, changeless, with many more years stretching before him than he had left behind. It caused a strange ache in his chest.

Time moves for all creatures, Saphira reminded, We are not exempt. The seasons pass on the mountain just as they do here.

I know, Eragon returned, lying with his back against Saphira's belly, on the balcony that opened up from the chambers he'd been provided with, But somehow it doesn't seem to mean so much when we're there, surrounded by long-lived people. It makes me wonder what Roran will look like, when I next see him, how things will have changed with my mother in another eight years. How long it will be before…

Eragon swallowed tightly and looked down.

I understand, little one, Saphira comforted, nudging his head with her snout softly, It is a privilege to have things that we fear to lose, but the pain is real all the same. Only do not waste this precious time here by worrying over what will come—time will move, we know this, and all we can do is be grateful for each moment.

I am grateful, Eragon said softly, turning to her, and placing his palm around her head. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm summer air, and the gentle noises that drifted up from the city, and thinking how wonderful it was, that a place that had once held such darkness could be reborn in such beauty.

Eragon was obliged to attend Nasuada's public assemblies with her nobles, as many of them had come into the city specifically to see him. He didn't mind the task, though he often found these conferences dull and long-winded.

He happened to be with her in one such formal gathering—Murtagh next to him and Saphira and Thorn taking up most of the back corner of the throne room—when a delegation from the Wandering Tribes arrived to pay their respects to the Queen on a sweltering summer day. The leader of the delegation was none other than Chief Fadawar—the very man who, nearly a decade past, had challenged Nasuada to the ceremonial Trial of the Long Knives, in a bid to be leader of the Varden.

Eragon expected Nasuada to be welcoming and cordial—having set aside old offenses long ago—but what he had NOT expected was for the self-assured Chief Fadawar to make an open proposal of marriage to the woman he had tried to usurp.

"I come here as representative of our people," Fadawar had announced, his arms glittering with jewelry and his voice echoing around the throne room as he waved his gold scepter, "To renew our vows of friendship with one another, and to offer my hand to you in a suitable match—to unite the Inapashunna and your Kingdom, eternally. It would be my honor to serve the brave Queen Nasuada-Inapa-Nightstalker, vanquisher of Kings, and to stand at your side."

Everyone in the room seemed dazzled by Fadawar's elegance—except Nasuada.

Eragon knew this was not the first unwelcome offer of marriage that Nasuada had rebuffed, not even the first since she and Murtagh had been married. She had mentioned to Eragon the headache of having to repeatedly turn away strings of suitors, inventing some excuse or another that would assuage the men's pride and let them leave her alone, without angering them over-much. Eragon knew it was exhausting for her, and annoying for Murtagh.

To his credit, Eragon's brother remained calm and impassive as the proud Chief openly propositioned his wife. Eragon could see the squint in Murtagh's eyes and the tightness of his mouth, and the way he held just a little too tightly onto Feonndr's hilt, but other than that he gave no sign of his anger at Fadawar's impertinence.

"I thank you, Chief, for the honor you give me," Nasuada returned when Fadawar had finished his lofty speech with a bow.

"I am grateful for the renewal of friendship between the Wandering Tribes and my kingdom. I will never forget how you—the people of my birth—fought valiantly alongside the Varden, against the Tyrant King."

Fadawar inclined his head with a gracious smile.

"I must, unfortunately, decline the offer of your hand—worthy though it is. I wish you every happiness, and to find a wife who will serve the Inapashuuna people just as faithfully as you do."

Eragon's eyes moved carefully between Nasuada, Murtagh and Fadawar, whose visage became pinched with displeasure.

"I must ask Her Majesty, if she acknowledges that a hand is worthy, why she would dismiss the idea of a match so quickly?"

A flicker of annoyance just barely crossed Nasuada's features, and Eragon knew she was keenly aware of the dozens of nobles who stood in the crowded throne room, watching the exchange and waiting with excitement for her answer. No doubt they would have been tickled to be able to witness her accept an offer of marriage, and no doubt they all wondered why their young, beautiful Queen had not chosen a partner yet.

"I have many duties to attend to," Nasuada said coolly, "Which do not lend themselves to my seeking out a husband at this time."

"If not this time, then what time?" Fadawar returned bluntly, "Your Majesty has sat on the throne for nigh on eight years; you are young and of suitable marrying age, and many less worthy suitors have come seeking your hand, which you have refused. Will you wait until you are wrinkled by the sun and past your prime to accept a worthy hand?"

There was a murmuring among the nobles, all aghast at the Chief's impertinence, and Eragon saw Murtagh's shoulders twitch. Jormundur stood on Nasuada's other side, scowling openly.

Fadawar was playing a dangerous game, but Eragon knew the people of the Wandering Tribes did not mince words—Ajihad never had, and Fadawar had shown this for himself when he'd first challenged Nasuada to the Trial.

"It is not only I who am asking such things," Fadawar continued, "Many have come seeking a chance to court you, and have been rejected for no other reason than to appease Your Majesty's pride."

Eragon noticed an older man amongst the nobles nodding in agreement.

"Your people expect you to produce worthy heirs, to carry on the peace of this kingdom after you are gone," Fadawar reasoned in a honeyed voice, "Such is the way of things, and yet Your Majesty refuses to choose a marriage partner with whom to sire children. I do not say it must be myself—though I am worthy as any—but surely there is some worthy suitor that may have a chance at winning Your Majesty's hand."

"You speak uncouthly, Chief Fadawar," Nasuada said sternly, before the Chief could make any more wild accusations. Her eyes were flashing, but Eragon's gaze was glancing around the muggy room, and in the gathered faces he saw not shocked offense, but curiosity.

The old man was not the only one nodding his agreement. Nasuada's nobles were waiting to see what she would say; they, too, wanted to know what Fadawar was asking—they wondered why their queen had remained alone for longer than was customary, and no doubt had been trading gossip about it for years.

When Eragon returned his gaze to Nasuada, he could see that she had noticed the same thing—the eager looks on her subjects' faces, the way they expected an answer from her. Eragon guessed that some of the very men whom she had rejected were in this room—nobles and sons of nobles who had offered their hand and been turned away. All eyes were on her as she said in a clipped tone,

"It is not your place to tell the Queen what she must do, and were I to choose to remain alone for the rest of my days, still it would be my right as woman and Queen. I do not owe you any explanation for my choices, Fadawar-Chief-Inapashunna. You are a guest in my kingdom, and would do well to remember it."

Nasuada took a calming breath, sweltering in the heat, but holding her composure, her chin raised.

"Perhaps I am not owed an explanation—though we are of same tribe and same blood," Fadawar scoffed, "But surely your people—who have put their faith and their lives in the security of your kingdom—deserve an answer. Surely they deserve to be assured that their trust is not in vain."

"It may interest you to know," Nasuada snapped,at the end of her patience, "That I have refused offers of courtship and marriage these past many months, not only because I am too busy to bother with such things, but because I am—in fact—already married. And have been so for over two years."

Shocked murmurs broke out among the crowd, and Eragon watched his brother carefully; Murtagh's expression was calm but watchful. Neither of them were sure how far Nasuada was going to go.

She plays a dangerous game, Saphira said from behind him

She knows what she's doing, Eragon assured, reminding himself to take a breath. He supposed this was as good a time as any for things to come out in the open. The dwarves were on steady ground, Orik was firmly on their side despite knowing of Nasuada's marriage, Alagaesia was prospering, and the kingdom adored her—even her most difficult subjects had begun to see the benefits of having a non-tyrannical monarch on the throne.

If ever the people could handle a shock like a secret marriage to a former enemy dragon rider, it was now.

Has to come out some time, Eragon said, watching the nobles whisper and gasp among themselves. Murtagh was suddenly very still, but he didn't look alarmed, he was just watching Nasuada carefully, as if trying to read her mind.

Fadawar—no less shocked than the rest of the crowd—took a moment to recover his wits, spluttering and scoffing as he said,

"But this is a fabrication, of course!" He dismissed in a high voice. "Where is this mysterious husband, hmm? Why is he not at your side as he ought to be? Why have none of your people known of him before this very moment? A convenient excuse, I say."

"My husband has duties which are far more important than hanging at my beck and call, Chief Fadawar," Nasuada said sharply, no longer holding back, "And until now our marriage has been a private matter, because both of us put duty before personal desire—a lesson you ought to take to heart."

"Duties?" Fadawar exclaimed, "What duties could possibly be more important than to serve and support the Queen in her rule?"

"The duties of a Rider," Nasuada snapped, and there were audible gasps, as every single eye in the room turned immediately to Eragon.

Nasuada rolled her eyes, exasperated.

"...not Eragon."

The crowd exploded.