Hey guys. Man, this chapter's been up on my computer for the longest time. It was done before Brisingr came out, but I've had a lot of chaos lately and never remembered to post it till I was looking through my stories today after I posted on my newest work, Apocalypse, a Supernatural fic. And the thing is, with a new episode every Thursday, I have been in a rush to get parts of it out before the actual show dismantles the images I created.

On a side note, what do you guys think on Brisingr? I was...disappointed to say the least. I won't ruin it for those of you who haven't read it yet or aren't done, but still. I had hoped, though, that he'd come up with something far more shocking. His vocab and descriptions have improved, but that spark is missing. The esk of innocence. The sense of wonder. I think CP was trying too hard, and his story has been lost in the translation. But enough of my blabbing...

Without further a due and before I loose whatever I'm saying, here is "A way out."

Nausada sighed, gazing at the floor with dismay. Her every moment felt labored and weak; her own limbs seemed to weigh a ton. Her eyes carried more bags than she could. Words of other's seemed to slur. The attack was taxing her, sheer worry alone keeping her up for hours late into the night. Even her clothes and hair seemed worn and ragged, no matter how she tried. And it was becoming difficult to know what was real and what was her tired eyes tricking her once more.

Equally ragged though much better at hiding it, Eragon sat a seat away, listening closely to the proposition but saying nothing and keeping to his own private counsel. He seemed in the best condition of everyone, though Nasuada had no idea if this was because he really was relaxed or if his features just hid him better.

Her thoughts were suddenly lost in the drone of her headache. She looked opposite her at Orrin. He too seemed unusually quiet. Like her, he was worn out and seemed unusually serious and stern. Yet she subconsciously one wrong word or gesture could knock him down like a pile of sticks. Somehow, it seemed odd that this quirky, often odd King could seem so down. But why shouldn't he? His whole country could be gone forever if they did not play the right cards.

Right across from them, four milky eyes watched them, their emotions hidden behind bushy eyebrows. Their gruff faces and short statues revealed them to be were dwarves, but then again not. Their stature was more elegant, built for greater speed while still managing to move tons of earth at a time. Their faces bore a strange, slight hopelessness and were covered with dirt. One had snarly, light brown hair; the other was similar with a slight strawberry tint. There was a little silver both their hair; along with heavy bags under their eyes.

A harsh grunt blurbed out of the smaller one. He had a slight elvish appearance in the right light. One he turned to his larger counterpart, his face glowing in the soft light of the room. They seemed to speak with their eyes, before turning back to the trio of humans across from them. He addressed them "The council is unlikely to make their decision for months, years even. By that time, there will be nothing left to defend. And if we try and force a decision now, a full scale war will break out. They do not have the strength, not even the nerve, to take you on. Not even if the Agretlam is part of their own. I doubt even Hrothgar's return from the grave could help..."

The other dwarf spoke. "The road is treacherous, many will never make it, but to those who do, their faith will be well rewarded..."

Nasuada kept to herself, her mind on her limited options. Surda could not defend itself, that much was clear. After centuries of opposition, they were running out of steam and time. She turned to Eragon, whispering to him. "The elves? Any news from them?"

"No milady, my liege. Du Weldenvarden has too many shields, too many safeguards. Our men need to pass through each and even then, the capitol is in the most hidden regions. We shall be lucky any return a month after..." Nasuada shifted uncomfortably. To take the offer would likely cost many casualties. But there wasn't many other things to do...

"Do you see any other way?" Nasuada pleaded. Eragon shook his head grimly.

She felt cornered, the weight of the world on her shoulders and not an escape root. "Orin? What do you think?"

Orin looked up, stains from tears left across his face. He suddenly seemed much older, lines across his face recoloring her perspective on him. "The road looks bleak, but nothing doesn't.."he choked, before adding bitterly, "Especially just to stay here. There is no other way out; this is the free ticket out. There will be no more if we do not take it now. I fear we will perish before week's end either way. We must act now to save who we can..."

"We assure you. You will be safe. No fool would dare cross that mountain." The dwarves said assuringly. That was precisely the problem.

Nausuada stood. "The guess work is over. We must act now. This or there will be no one to save." She turned to the dwarves, attempting to muster a grateful smile. "Thank you for helping us in our time of need. But it is important we get to work. Now. Tell your leaders we accept their hospitality." The two rose, slightly taller then her herself sitting in the big marble chairs.

As Nasuada stood, both Orrin and Eragon also rose. They towered above the dwarves, though they seemed not to mind. They seemed unfaised as they discussed the final plans and handed her a vague map. She watched them with a silent admiration as they bowed gracefully and turned to leave. They were a great people for offering their home, no matter how parlous, in the Varden's most dire hour.

After their faces become a distant memory, Nasuada turned back, sitting back in her spot. She rested her head on her hand, running her fingers through her hair.

"We may yet regret this..." She said, exhausted.

"We may just live to see today was necessary." Orrin answered.

"How could such an ultimatum be necessary?" She looked up at him. "If we had more time, I would say we should make our last stand here and now. Leave an impression on those soldiers they won't soon forget so that they see that we aren't dying for nothing. But I fear an attack like the one we are to face is on a scale we would not last the third day."

"Such things are necessary. War is not a thing to be taken lightly. The path to victory is always lined with many defeats." Orrin answered.

Nasuada gave a cynical, bitter laugh. "You still call this victory? Our enemies drive us into hell's own mouth and somehow we are still victorious? There is no chance!" She paused, her own body trembling with hysteria and fear. She began to weep hard. Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry. I truly am. I should not be so hopeless, but what do we have? What could there still be left?"

Orrin grabbed her head, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "We will get through this. No one said it'd be easy, but we will make it. I promise." He forced her in to his arms.

"Milady." Eragon said after a while. She looked up at him. His face was hidden, shadowed as he looked down. She nodded, somehow understanding he needed to speak with her. Alone.

"Orrin?" She said.

"Okay." He answered. The great king left with out another word, bowing gracefully as he made his exit.

When he was gone, the room went quiet. No crying. No talking. No breathing even. No one moved. No one spoke. No one even tried. The silence was welcomed from both. It let Nasuada swallow the bitter taste in her mouth and stole her tears. She wiped her eyes and stood.

"They aren't going to like it, are they? The council?"

"No," Eragon answered. "They probably won't. But what choice do we have?"

"What have I gotten myself into?" She sighed deeply.

"More than you know." Eragon answered. There was something cynical and odd about the way he spoke. He seemed like there was a great weight in his words, more so than usual.

She looked at him, a new light in her eyes. "You're not coming, are you?"

Eragon stopped dead cold in his tracks. He stuttered a little, hesitating. His hesitation was her answer.

"Eragon, it's okay to let go. Please, we'll figure out something."

"There is no other way." he answered coldly.

She was just about to respond, but the glare he gave cut her off. She knew, although she was his liege, there was no way she could force him. Not when he was only half of himself.

"Don't get caught intentionally, Eragon. I know you don't want to leave her..."

"The Varden is your duty, Nasuada. And you care for them well. I do not feel like I am doing mine anymore...I don't feel like I can."

"We need you, though. You, Eragon..." She answered.

"You have Aiedail. What use am I, anyway?"

He got up and left, leaving her to her thoughts in the study.

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The opaque light lofted into the tan cloth of the tent. It was the kind that was just enough, not too much and not too little, as that the cherry-wood engraved desk was seen in crystal detail. Unlit candles littered the collapsible shelves, which where all random assortments of books and maps and weapons of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The clammy humidity of the outside had found its way in; near the top, two vents were open, though they did little good. The impending attack set an heir of suspense and silence in the air.

But the only thing on his mind was what would she do if she saw him. Could she, whom he lied to all her life, ever find it in her to forgive him? He knew for sure she was a rider, as the egg had been spider-veined shortly after he stuck it in her bag, checking in silence.

Murtagh sighed. She was too young for this. Too small to be sucked into a war which could end her life. At least Eragon would knew to get her out...he hoped...

He gave a small chuckle. It was like he was some worry wart. Like a mom sending her child out into a cold world or a lover waiting to hear news of her drafted husband.

Always expecting every time someone taps him on the back, it means she's coming home in a coffin.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to meditate. On a hill separate from most of the camp, the chaos war brought was drowned out by the presence of Thorn nearby, eating his lunch zealously. His body could feel everything around him. But he paid no heed to the many presences and feelings he felt. They all melded together, like the endless drown of wind. It was like nothing was truly by itself; they were all one entity of earth. In fact, it almost seemed like the earth itself was a living, breathing organism.

The gentle feeling each life-force created iced him mind, numbing it to all the pain he'd seen. All the suffering. It was striped away as his own body joined the single entity.

Suddenly, a sentry broke though his tent, completely destroying the peace Murtagh felt. He flickered one eye open, a little annoyed someone would disturb his tranquility. The sentry gave a soft gulp, resting his hands on his knees as he recovered. His face was almost mauve, sweat dripping down his face. His skin gleamed like a beacon; most of his body was colored an off gold color. His clothes were typical, a dull gray color lined with sweat. He was a typical sentry. He tried to catch his breath as he spoke, without success "The rebels are on the move. Toward the Beors."

A sudden thought entered his mind...no, they couldn't, could they? The potential of such a feat could be catastrophic. Not that he really cared that much...expect this was his daughter he was talking about. "What direction? Exactly?"

"Southeast. Some have separated and curved their trajectory a little north." He answered instantaneously. Murtagh gave a worried frown and he nabbed a map under his desk. He got out a pen and created a straight line. He was right.

"Baltar. No doubt they'll take the Tangor Bay route." He traced a line down, following the safest routes he knew. "Akroth River, the uncharted regions of the Beors." he listed. Then he circled a massive mountain on the map. He shoved the map into the sentry's hands. "Take this to Galbatorix with haste."

The sentry looked at the crumpled map, reading a set of strange, foreign words scrawled messily onto the page. "'Az Bazul rak Guntera?' What is that?"

Murtagh turned to him, a dead serious look on his face. "Hell."

Kind of a dramatic chapter, even for me. But it was extremely hard to create a bridge here so that they go where I want them too. So please tell me what you think and review.