Chapter Forty-Four: Promises

"Gone?" Eragon stared at him, "What do you mean gone?" Mark rubbed his face, trying to keep himself together, letting Arya tell the Rider what had happened. The boy stared at him now, "Mark, what does she mean gone?"

He swore and slammed his fist against the wall, "She means my little sister is dead, Eragon. And I let it happen…"

Looking down, Eragon couldn't keep his thoughts together. It hadn't been all Mark's fault, he'd watched as the Urgals attacked. He should have fought harder to make her stay. There must have been something he could have done to stop her.

"Eragon."

He turned his eyes back up at Mark, his vision blurry with tears, who was now standing in front of him.

Gripping the boy's shoulders he looked him in the eyes, "This is not your fault. Listen to me; she is not your responsibility. Don't blame yourself, you did nothing wrong. You saved her, but that's not your job, it's mine. I failed to protect her when I should have."

Nodding, he forced Mark to accept his response and let him go, but inside he didn't care. It had been his fault, he was the other Rider, and it was his responsibility too. Less than a week ago he'd protected the Varden, killed a Shade and woke her from a sleeping spell, but he couldn't save his best friend. Saphira brushed against his mind to comfort him, but the only emotion she successfully transmitted was sorrow.

"It's late… you should sleep," Mark said. "And tomorrow we have to deal with Ajihad's death." He walked out of Eragon's room, aware of Arya following and shutting the door behind them. Pausing, he turned to look at her, speaking quietly to avoid anyone's wandering ear. "Arya Dröttningu, I would like to thank you for all your assistance today."

"Don't speak of it, you would have done the same for me, I am sure."

Mark inclined his head, "Of course." He watched her turn and walk down the hallway until she rounded a corner and went from his sight. Gripping his sister's headband in one hand, wrapped around the dragon scale, he walked to his room, placing a locking charm on the door behind him. Looking over the scale he sighed and set it down on the table nearby. Mark flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, twisting the cloth between his fingers, recalling the last time he saw his sister.

She'd been angry with him for trying to stop her, and in turn he'd let it get out of hand. Never did he think that they wouldn't ever speak again. Watching her leave with Eragon that last evening had made him feel angry. Eragon should have been going, not her. It hadn't been the boy's fault though, he'd done enough lately. Mark knew he wouldn't be able to go, but a part of him still wanted him to anyway, to spare his sister the trouble. And himself the worry. After unsaddling Aluora the rest of the way, he'd turned to Murtagh. The words between them since they'd met had been harsh and unforgivable at times, however once they found there was nothing else to yell about, they'd called a truce. However, the next statement stopped them both in their tracks.

"Swear to me that you'll do everything you can to protect her." It hadn't really been a question, but a request.

In turn, Murtagh had nodded – hesitantly. "May I ask why?"

"Because right now I can't. You're going with her, please protect her for me."

He'd watched Mark for a minute, as if thinking hard about his next words, "Eka weohnata halda onr systir trú."

"You shouldn't have done that…" Mark admitted, walking past him, back toward their rooms on the ground floor of Tronjheim.

And now, they were both dead. He sighed and closed his eyes, "You better have protected her like you said you would… if not, when I die I'm going to make your afterlife hell." He rolled over and tried his best to fall asleep.

She didn't know how long it'd been since Tronjheim had been in her sights. Her eyes refocused in the dimly lit room, there were only two torches lighting up the cavernous space. The floor was damp with slime and blood, the smell of decaying flesh filling her nose. Mariah lifted her lips up into a snarl, spitting into the face of one of the Twins standing in front of her. Around her wrists and ankles were rings of purple light, binding her magic and sapping energy out of her body at an alarming rate. He sneered back at her, wiping his face and stepping closer to her, "You can't even imagine what we've in store for you… causing trouble for us from the start."

"Your best is still nothing compared to what I'll do when I've broken free." She insisted, her attention focused on trying to find Andrar. Mariah remembered the Urgals wrapping glowing chains around his snout to keep him from biting or breathing fire first, then they knocked him over the head with their clubs until he was unconscious. She'd been shouting the entire time, trying to get to him without any success.

They both let out a hollow laugh, "I don't think you realize how futile your struggling is… or how empty your threats are. Galbatorix will own you before the day is out."

Her eyes snapped back to them, words didn't seem to form in her mouth as she tried to contemplate what they'd just said.

"Yes, you heard right." One of them nodded. "Come along now. Since you've woken up, it's time to go." When she refused, he bellowed in her face, "Move girl!" A matching purple rope appeared between his fingers and he pulled her along after him, his twin following behind her. They dragged her up a winding staircase, leaving her more exhausted with every step. Reaching the top, she blinked slowly at a massive throne room.

With her ragged clothes and cold wet blood dripping down her skin, it was freezing. There was no light coming through the heavy drapes covering the windows. She stumbled toward the middle of the room as the Twins shoved her. She turned back to them, snarling until she heard a thunderous growl from behind her. Spinning in place, Mariah looked at the massive black dragon in front of her. Its mouth opened slightly, teeth as large as her entire body slowly becoming more visible. Letting out a snort, forcing her to fall backwards with eyes fixated on the creature, it pulled its head backwards and then snapped forward, scales brushing her leg as he let out a deafening roar.

The purple magic around her wrists faded as the last of her energy seeped away. Slowly, she crawled backwards, staring at Shruiken, praying this wasn't going to be the day she died. Finally, her back hit the wall and she just sat there, too frightened to move.

"Stand up, child, before I make you." A man said, coming through door beside her and walking down the center of the room. Mariah stood carefully, using the wall behind her for support. He climbed the steps to the throne and spun around, sitting in the chair with his cloak flaring around his ankles. "Welcome to Urû'baen."

Her eyes stared unblinking at the man in front of her. Under his cloak, looking to be of the same substance as dragon wing membrane, were broad shoulders. His long and lean face covered by a close-cropped black beard and mustache and framed by shoulder-length black hair. His dark eyes were shadowed by his brow; the bladelike nose dropping straight down his face to his wide and thin mouth. For someone so old, he appeared no more than forty.

"Quite defenseless now, aren't you?" He asked her, "Without any energy to spare, not as much as a knife to fight with… and let's not forget your dragon. Gone."

Andrar. Her mind snapped to her dragon, "Where is he!"

"Do not interrupt!" Galbatorix shouted at her, his voice reverberating around the room, leaping to his feet. He hurried back down the steps, striding to her. She pushed herself against the wall as he approached, trying to become invisible. "You… you tiny little girl, you need to watch your tongue in my presence, understood?" He asked, grabbing her face with long, cold fingers. "Am I understood?"

"Yes…" she whimpered, nodding.

He let go of her face and turned around again, taking a few steps. "Your dragon is alive, for the time being. I am disappointed to see that it is a male dragon, however, I was hoping to catch the female." His eyes snapped towards the Twins and they flinched, "Take your leave!" They turned and hurried off, the door slamming behind him.

"Now," he spun back to Mariah, holding his hands in front of him, laced together. "Let's see what your little mind holds that we can't break into, shall we?" Before she had time to so much as blink, he was speaking rapidly in the Ancient Language and swimming through her mind feverishly, searching. "Gah!" He spat, retreating almost instantaneously. "What's this, damaged? Ah!"

Sliding to the floor, crying, she took a ragged breath, just not wanting to hurt anymore. "Durza."

"Durza, of course. Extracting your memories and dying before he could finish, that would leave your mind broken. Then your mind is of no use to me!" Galbatorix turned and walked back toward his throne, contemplating. "You will stay here as a Rider for the Empire. You will do as I say, or you shall be punished, am I understood?"

She nodded, bloody tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Good." He turned towards her once again, lifting her face up to look at him with one thin finger under her chin. "I'm sure you will enjoy being here with me, my dear, after you get used to it. Show her to her room." Galbatorix said, striding back to his throne.

The Twins re-appeared and forced her to her feet, prodding her to walk ahead of them through the massive double doors. In the hallway, she caught sight of herself in the reflection from a suit of armor. Her eyes were dark and appeared to be bleeding now that her tears had dragged the blood down her cheek and onto her neck. Mariah stumbled ahead of them, feeling light headed as she walked. One flicked his hand to the side, throwing her into the wall, sneering. Her hair was already matted with blood. The other twin snarled and pulled his hand forward, wrenching her off her feet onto the floor. Her face hit with a loud thud and she blacked out.

When she woke back up, she could feel blood gushing from the gash on her cheekbone. The Twins hadn't bothered to move her, merely waited for her to regain consciousness. "Get up. Your weakness is pathetic."

There wouldn't be a way out of this, she realized, pushing herself up onto her knees. They would take any opportunity to make her bleed that they could, beat her senseless until she feinted, then wait for her to wake again to start the cycle all over. Rubbing the corner of her mouth free of blood, she stood and continued down the hallway, refusing to stumble in fear of what they might do a second time around.

"These will be your quarters for now." She blinked at the room. They had walked for what seemed like a mile. The castle was enormous and the walk had brought them to an entirely separate wing. Having expected a dungeon cell, she was surprised to find the room lavish and filled top to bottom with furnishings and décor. "You will stay here until your companion wakes. Then both of you shall meet again with his majesty." They shoved her in the room and locked the doors behind her.

Mariah took a weak step forward, and then fell to her knees. How could I let this happen? She asked herself, wiping her face on her sleeve and looking up. Her heart skipped a beat and she pushed back up onto her feet, rushing to the bed. "Murtagh!" She shook his shoulder, "Wake up!"

He moaned and looked up at her, "I'm trying to sleep…" Rubbing his eyes, he blinked a few times and looked back at her. "You can let go of my shoulder now, there's a gash there." Blood was soaking into the dark purple blankets covering the bed.

She blinked and stared at him, quickly removing her hands. "What happened?"

"We were ambushed," he hissed slightly, trying to sit up. She made to stop him and he waved her off. "And those two freaks transported us here by sapping the magic out of your dragon."

"And what happened to you?"

"I woke up first and the two of them had extra fun torturing me before throwing me over to Galbatorix. Let's just say he wasn't too happy to see me after I left last year. Look at you, can't believe you're still standing to be honest. Sit, before you pass out again."

Mariah did so, staring at him. "You look awful."

"Yeah, well you look worse," he said, rolling his eyes. "When you have enough strength, there's a water basin over there. Clean the blood off yourself, will you?" Looking around the room, she saw a few plants sitting in clay pots lining a shelf - poisonous, from the looks of them. Mariah drained the energy out of them, feeling the smallest bit revived. She stood and walked over, grabbing the pitcher of water and returning. "Damn girl, I said when you have enough strength."

She took the clean washcloth that had been by the basin and dipped it in the water, ringing it out. "Clearly I do, so you can stop getting so angry with me about it. Hold still," she told him, pulling what was left of his sleeve off and wiping the damp cloth over it. The damage to his shoulder was worse than she originally though. Not only was it still bleeding with no signs of clotting soon, but the bruise forming around it was the deepest purple she'd ever seen. "Don't suppose there's anything in here that could help alleviate the pain…" Mariah muttered to herself, looking around.

"Doubt it," he sighed, letting go of the blanket he'd gripped onto. "Wouldn't want to heal us all up too quickly now would he?"

"Why bother keeping us alive then?"

"Because," Murtagh winced, "He wants you alive… you're a Rider. He can use you."

"There's no point in keeping you here though."

He let out a dull chuckle, "That is purely out of revenge. He hates me for deserting him and wishes to torture me for it."

"Stupid," she muttered, finding a tunic in a drawer nearby. Mariah shrugged and ripped it into long strips, walking back over to him and tying them tight around his shoulder to keep the wound from bleeding. "There, better. For now at least. As soon as I get some magic back, I'll heal it for you." Stretching, she returned to the dresser and found a shirt and some pants near her size. "Shut your eyes."

"What?" He blinked at her, "You're joking."

"Only if you want me to gouge your eyes out instead," Mariah glanced at him. "Close your eyes, please. I refuse to wear torn, bloodied clothing if I have a better option." He muttered to himself and shut his eyes. She stripped her clothing quickly and threw it down, pulling the long green shirt over her head, then pulling on the tan pants. "Okay." Mariah said, tucking the loose ends into the waist.

Murtagh looked at her and sighed, "Eragon was right. You shouldn't have come along."

"Too late now," she said, rolling up the sleeves. Mariah walked around and flopped on the bed beside him. "I need to sleep."

"Shoulda done that first," he told her, glancing over to see her already passed out. "Spent the last of her energy changing clothes and helping me, figures." Murtagh watched her. A week ago she'd been dying, and now she was in so much more danger because of Galbatorix. "I promised your brother I'd keep you safe…" he admitted to her quietly. "And I couldn't even do that."

Mark waited against the wall of the circular room. The sky blue dome overhead was decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Igeitum - an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars – stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall – Umerth - and one broad - Falberd; a woman with punched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks - Sabrae; and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice - Elessari. This handful of people was Ajihad's council, or had been. He'd scoffed upon meeting them all, surprised that Jörmundur appeared the best of the lot and he hadn't thought very highly of him from the start.

A young boy had just been sent off to fetch Eragon, wherever he may be. Having overheard about the meeting, Mark had subtly invited himself through Jörmundur to the room. The man didn't realize in the slightest that he'd used magic to persuade him. Finally, the Rider arrived alongside Saphira, taking a seat in one of the many chairs. Mark walked over and sat beside him, arms folded over his chest, kicking his feet up onto the back of the chair in front of him.

After introductions and a quick apology for their loss, Jörmundur began the meeting. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While we was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."

Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."

Eragon glanced over at him. The corner of Mark's mouth twitched into a smirk, They wish to see you bend to their will.

Saphira says it might be a trap.

She's quite right in guessing as much. Mark watched him nod, telling them, "Very well, you have my word."

"Mine as well," he said. These people really thought that was good enough? The simple fact he'd not sworn in the Ancient Language was one thing, but the amount of loopholes he'd made by saying that in such a way was bordering on foolish. Mark shrugged to himself and listened.

"Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?" Eragon asked.

"Nasuada."

Eragon's eyes dropped as he thought. Mark could practically see his brain over loading with the process. Take your time and think through your answer, yours is the one that matters. After a moment he turned to the council, trying to buy him some time, and asked, "Why not you, Jörmundur? You're Ajihad's right-hand man. Shouldn't you be considered to take his place?"

Why would they want Nasuada? She's your age. She is Ajihad's daughter, but why would they want her to lead? There's no benefit to it.

Are you sure? Mark asked, only half listening to the council babble back an answer. She's young, but she is Ajihad's daughter – everyone knows who she is and trusts her. The council on the other hand… I'm thinking not as much.

The Elessari woman was speaking now, "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden. I've watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love her. Now I," she patted herself affectionately on her large bosom, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience should be no barrier to her taking her rightful position."

They want a puppet!

Mark smiled slightly, Very good. They believe they can easily control her because of her youth, I doubt they've thought of her strong will however. She isn't the type to take orders from anyone.

"Ajihad's funeral will be held in two days," broke in Umerth. "Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you to be present at the appointing – no one, not even Hrothgar, can complain about it then – and to swear fealty to the Varden. That will give back the confidence Ajihad's death has stolen from the people, and prevent anyone from trying to splinter this organization."

Fealty?

Oh, look, they're trying to control you as well. Mark said, Answer them, they're looking at you.

"What happens," Eragon asked, "if I decide not to accept your offer?"

"Offer?" Falberd asked, seeming puzzled. "Why, nothing, of course. Only it would be a terrible slight if you're not present when Nasuada is chosen. If the hero of the battle of Farthen Dûr ignores her, what can she think but that a Rider has spited her and found the Varden unworthy to serve? Who could bear such a shame?"

Mark's eyes flicked towards them, suppressing his own anger. Remain level headed Eragon.

"Since Riders are so highly thought of, I could decide that my efforts would be best spent guiding the Varden myself."

Not what I meant. Mark said, feeling the entire aura of the room fall dead from the sky.

"That would be unwise," Sabrae said to him carefully.

Eragon, you can't do this. Taking control of the Varden is not something you are ready for. And even if you were, someone is going to be angry with you for doing so. You are a Rider first and foremost, pledging loyalty to one group over another isn't a good idea. We're going to avoid this best we can.

How do you suggest we do that? They want me to swear fealty to them. After I do that, what are they going to do? They might ignore the Varden's earlier pact with the elves and refuse to let me go to Ellesméra.

Mark looked over at him, not caring whether or not the council thought the motion strange. That will never happen, no matter what you will make it to Ellesméra. Agree to attend the ceremony tomorrow with Nasuada, I have a plan.

What plan?

Just agree; we have to go quickly.

Eragon nodded quickly to them, standing, "As you wish; I shall attend Nasuada's appointment."

Jörmundur looked relieved. "Good, good. Then we have only one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There's no reason to delay, with all of us here. I'll send for her immediately. And Arya too – we need the elves' approval before making this decision public. It shouldn't be difficult to procure; Arya cannot go against our council and you, Eragon. She will have to agree with our judgment."

"Wait," commanded Elessari, a steely glint in her eyes. "Your word, though, Rider. Will you give it in fealty at the ceremony?"

"Yes, you must do that," agreed Falberd. "The Varden would be disgraced if we couldn't provide you every protection."

Damn, Mark said, standing beside Eragon, I was hoping to leave before they decided to make you do this now. You know you can't refuse.

They wouldn't dare harm us if I did though…

Physically? No. However, there may come a day when we wish the Varden to be our allies instead of our enemies. Imagine yourself facing Galbatorix's army on your left and the Varden on the right. At that point would you rather fight both sides, or one with the assistance of the other?

Saphira agrees, we can't afford to say no at this point. Eragon said, looking at them. "I'll give it." The entire room relaxed with those three words. It was apparent that the council didn't want him on their bad side.

The boy that had been sent to fetch Eragon was then sent off to get Nasuada and Arya. While they awaited his return, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Mark ignored it and focused on his plan, Eragon, you know there are ways to twist out of a promise, correct?

It's difficult to do so, I know that much.

Yes, it is. And even more so when those words are in the Ancient Language. Your promise to them was only to swear fealty, nothing more. Keep that thought to yourself for the time being, I'll explain more later.

The door opened again and Nasuada walked into the room, chin held high and eyes steady. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black, deeper even than her skin, broken only by a slash of royal purple that stretched from shoulder to hip. Behind her was Arya, her stride as lithe and smooth as a cat's.

The boy was dismissed, then Jörmundur helped Nasuada into a seat. Arya ignored the chair proffered to her and stood at a distance from the table.

"Arya," acknowledged Jörmundur with a nod, then concentrated on Nasuada. "Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered…" In a lower voice, he added, "You have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."

Mark watched the exchange, a lump forming in his throat. He felt sorry for Nasuada. It was the first time he really thought about it. She'd lost her father. He'd been much too busy thinking of his own sister to realize that she was probably distraught.

"Thank you," murmured Nasuada, lowering her almost eyes. She sat, shy and demure, and with an air of vulnerability. Her demeanor was tragically different from that of the energetic young woman who had visited the dragonhold before the battle.

"Although this is your time of mourning, a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours – the Varden expect it of you."

Nasuada bowed her head with shining eyes. Grief was plain in her voice when she said, "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young. Yet… if you insist it is my duty… I will embrace the office."

The Council of Elders beamed with triumph, pleased that Nasuada had done what they wanted. "We do insist," said Jörmundur, "for your own good and the good of the Varden." The rest of the elders added their expressions of support, which Nasuada accepted with sad smiles. Sabrae threw an angry glance at Eragon and Mark when they did not join in.

"Will the elves find this agreeable?" Falberd asked Arya.

She stared at him until he fidgeted under her piercing gaze, then lifted an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."

Arya's remark obviously pleased the council. Nasuada thanked her and asked Jörmundur, "Is there anything else that might be discussed? For I am weary."

He shook his head, "We will make all the arrangements. I promise you won't be troubled until the funeral."

"Again, thank you. Would you leave me now? I need time to consider how best to honor my father and serve the Varden. You have given me much to ponder." Nasuada splayed her delicate fingers on the dark cloth on her lap.

With every word she spoke, it was harder and harder for Mark to resist grinning. He wished his sister had enough control over herself to speak in such a way and act as proper as her while being so powerful. She never would though, he remembered, because she was gone. His gaze flickered to a wall, remembering why he was here. Looking at Nasuada for a moment, he worked his way into her mind, Ask us to stay. I have something I wish to discuss with you.

If she was surprised by the intrusion, she hid it well, "Eragon, will you please stay?" She flicked her eyes up towards the Rider and then Mark, "You as well Marcus?"

He glanced toward the door, meeting Arya's gaze as she shut it behind her. The Rider lowered himself back into his chair. Mark stood behind him, "Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya." Eragon turned his head to look at Mark as he moved to a chair, sitting down. "No one outside this room will be able to hear us speak now."

"Thank you, you don't know what a gift that is." Her voice was stronger and more self-assured now.

"What I wish to discuss with you is a private matter and shouldn't be overheard, it's for my own benefit as much as it is your own Lady Nasuada. However, before we speak of such matters I wish to offer my personal condolences for the loss of your father. I'm sorry I haven't said something before now, but I've been distracted." Mark told her.

Eragon nodded, "Ajihad was a great man – his name will always be remembered… I have something I wish to tell you. Before Ajihad died, he charge me, commanded me, to keep the Varden from falling into chaos. Those were his last words. Arya heard them as well." Eragon said, "I was going to keep what he said secret because of the implications, but you have a right to know. I'm not sure what Ajihad meant, nor exactly what he wanted, but I am certain of this: I will always defend the Varden with my powers. I wanted you to understand that, and that I've no desire to usurp the Varden's leadership."

Nasuada laughed brittlely. "But that leadership isn't to be me, is it?" Her reserve had vanished, leaving behind only composure and determination. "I know why you were here before me and what the council is trying to do. Do you think that in the years I served my father, we never planned for this eventuality? I expected the council to do exactly what they did. And now everything is in place for me to take command of the Varden."

"You have no intention of letting them rule you," said Eragon with wonder.

Mark shook his head, "Pretending to be naïve of their plans was part of the act. If they knew her true intentions, they would not have appointed her."

"Precisely. Eragon, please continue to keep my father's instruction secret. It would be unwise to bandy it about, as people might take it to mean that he wanted you to succeed him, and that would undermine my authority and destabilize the Varden. He said what he thought he had to in order to protect the Varden. I would have done the same. My father…" She faltered briefly, "My father's work will not go unfinished, even if it takes me to the grave. That is what I want you, as a Rider, to understand. All of Ajihad's plans, all his strategies and goals, they are mine now. I will not fail him by being weak. The Empire will be brought down, Galbatorix will be dethroned, and the rightful government will be raised." By the time she finished, a tear ran down her cheek.

"And what of me, Nasuada? What shall I do in the Varden?"

She looked directly into his eyes. "You can do whatever you want. The council members are fools if they think to control you. You are a hero to the Varden and the dwarves, and even the elves will hail your victory over Durza when they hear of it. If you go against he council or me, we will be forced to yield, for the people will support you wholeheartedly. Right now, you are the most powerful person in the Varden. However, if you accept my leadership, I will continue the path laid down by Ajihad: you will go with Arya to the elves, be instructed here, then return to the Varden."

She's being honest with you, Mark said, smiling a bit. "Nasuada, your dream to follow in your father's footsteps is noble, however alone you will not be able to see it fulfilled. We have something to propose to you, personally and as leader of the Varden."

Eragon nodded, drawing Zar'roc and standing in front of her. Fear flashed in her eyes as he did so, her fingers slipping into a fold of her dress, grasping what Mark could only guess was a dagger. He watched as Eragon stopped before her, knelt and held the Rider's blade flat in his hands.

"Nasuada, I have been here for only a short while. But in that time we came to respect Ajihad, and now, in turn, you. You fought under Farthen Dûr when others fled, including the two women of the council, and have treated us openly instead of with deception. Therefore, I offer you my blade… and my fealty as a Rider."

Are you sure this was a good idea Mark?

Best one I had at the moment. I had to think fast, otherwise you were going to be doomed as the Varden's dog for the rest of your life. I'd rather you were only Nasuada's dog, much better choice. He said.

Surprise flitted across Nasuada's face. She grasped Zar'roc's hilt and lifted it – staring at its crimson blade- then placed the tip on Eragon's head. "I do accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword."

He did as he was told, then said, "Now I can tell you openly as my master, the council made me agree to swear to the Varden once you were appointed. This was the only way we could circumvent them."

She laughed with genuine delight, "Ah, I see you have already learned how to play our game. Very well, as my newest and only vassal, will you agree to give your fealty to me again – in public, when the council expect your vow?"

"Of course."

"Good, that will take care of the council. Now, until then, leave me. I have much planning to do, and I must prepare for the funeral… Remember, Eragon, the bond we have just created is equally binding; I am as responsible for your actions as you are required to serve me. Do not dishonor me.

"Nor you I."

Nasuada paused, then gazed at him and added in a gentler tone: "You have my condolences, Eragon. I realize that others beside myself have cause for sorrow; while I have lost my father, you have also lost friends. I liked Murtagh a great deal, and I owed Mariah my own life… it saddens me that they are both gone… Goodbye, Eragon."

The Rider walked from the room with Saphira, leaving Mark standing with Nasuada. They observed one another for a moment before either of them spoke.

"Lady Nasuada."

"Marcus," she said. "Despite the loss of your sister you're standing before me and providing guidance for Eragon. What do you wish to speak with me about?"

He took a deep breath before speaking, "I believe your rightful place is at the head of the Varden, however, and please don't think me rude, I also believe you to be young and inexperienced. The guidance the council is willing to provide you is only going to benefit themselves. My grandfather established this alliance, and though I ask for no position, I would like to offer myself to you, as an advisor, soldier or wherever else you see fit to place me."

"You believe you could be of help to me?" She asked plainly.

"Our goals are the same, and I no longer have my sister to protect. My purpose has gone with her, and I cannot stand around idly while the world falls into war and chaos around me."

"You're providing council for Eragon, are you not?"

"Until such a time when he leaves to train with the elves, yes. It was my grandfather's wish I see the new Rider to Ellesméra, however placing him in Arya's hands is close enough. I see no use in me going with them now that my sister is gone. I could be of much more use here."

"Are you offering me your fealty as well?"

"No," he said. Nasuada blinked at him, clearly not having expected that answer. "My promises are useless, I know of several ways to break them – even magically binding ones – without killing myself."

"Then, what are you offering?"

"That is up to you."

She stood there for a moment, observing him. "You are a Rider's brother, and the grandson of Brom, whom my father trusted fiercely. I owe your sister a debt that now can no longer be repaid. If you would allow, I wish to take you with me as a guard. The debt I incurred shall be repaid by my allowing this without your sworn word, only my trust in you. I wish for you to be my right-hand, as Jörmundur was to my father."

"And join the council?"

"No, you report only to me. I would need you to swear fealty to me after Eragon however, in front of the entire Varden."

"Just to show that I am loyal," he nodded. "It would be my honor to serve you."

"Thank you Marcus," Nasuada said, "I trust you."

He smiled at her, "The feeling is mutual my lady, if it were not, I would never agree to such an arrangement. I will do everything in my power to protect you, know that, without promises."

Nasuada nodded, "Now please, I do have planning to do, and preparations to make." She paused, her smile dropping, "And I am sorry for the loss of your sister…"

"As am I," he said. Mark bowed to her at the waist, "By your leave m'lady." He straightened and walked from the room, a smile playing on his lips as he walked back to his room.

Eka weohnata halda onr systir trú. - I will keep your sister safe.

Betcha didn't see that coming, did ya?

What do you think about throwing Mariah to the dark side? Yes or no? I really wanna know what you all think – it's gonna determine a lot of this story, as you can imagine.

Do you like the jumping back and forth format or would you rather a solid chapter of Mariah followed by a solid chapter of Mark?

With Love, As Always

Mariah