TW: Brief discussion of physical abuse to a child and parent, alcoholic rampage, P.O.S. feeling sorry for himself (maybe that's just a trigger for me? Screw it, I'm putting it in), some off-page death, and the beginning stages of a hazardous birth (though the final process is not shown. also, spoiler: it ends ok!)

None of these subjects are lingered on more than necessary, but they are particularly central to this chapter. Stay safe folks!

The help I gave the Varden took less effort than a letter-writing campaign. However, the effect was astounding. Their spies stayed safer longer, my enemies were framed for their crimes, and their supplies reached them more easily. The only hardship the ordeal brought me was occasional interactions with Brom; most of them unpleasant if not openly hostile. We were always careful to be civil in front of Selena but, behind her back, we didn't bother to hide our mutual disdain.

But my dislike of Brom was a candle to a forest fire compared to my growing hatred of Morzan. The gulf between him and Selena had only grown since the birth of their son. Morzan had, to borrow a phrase from Galbatorix, "fully committed to the cure," that had served him best all these years. He drank every waking moment; a lesser man would have dropped dead in days. Mom's surprising capacity, appetite, and handling of liquor had long been a running joke amongst the thirteen: the man practically bled wine. But, the deeper he fell into his addiction, the less of him remained. At his best, he roamed Uru'baen moping and lashing out at anyone who drifted into his path.

He left his worst rages for his own home… and family.

Gods below and demons above. The very same room that had been a sanctuary from the relentless evils of the world was now as silent as a tomb. Three serving women worked on rotation at all hours, though most of the labor was now done. Selena sat beside the bed, haggard and stooped with exhaustion. By far, the most distressing sight was the small form lying face down in the bed.

Maintaining a sense of calm was more difficult than I'd anticipated. Still, I knew no show of anger would do either mother or son any good. I lowered myself to my knees in front of Selena's seat. "How goes it?"

"As well as could be hoped." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her face was swollen and red around her eyes, no doubt from weeping. A blotchy patch of blue and yellow marred her left cheek; the unmistakable signature of Morzan's temper. She turned away from Murtagh for barely a second, but it was long enough for me to see the despair nested in her eyes- those same eyes that had once shone like stars were now tarnished and dull. "Is there anything you can do?"

I rolled up my sleeves. "At the very least, I'd like to make sure he's free of infection." My spells were designed to be as unintrusive as possible; the poor thing was better off sleeping through the healing process. I laced them into the melody of an old folk song I knew Murtagh enjoyed, just in case part of it reached him. I worked for the next hour or so, diligently examining every stray strand of muscle to make sure they were aligned properly.

The whole while, Selena stared hungrily at her son. She seemed to me like a starving wolf at the end of a chain, life-saving nourishment just inches from her nose. And, indeed, one could easily have mistaken her vigil for a bereaved mother-wolf. I knew enough of pack dynamics and maternal instincts to know what awaited whatever beast had dared evoke such emotions. If Morzan wasn't super-human and holding his wife against her will in oaths, he would probably be a dead man by now. Depending on what he has to say for himself, he still might not.

Careful, Katana interjected, we both know what Galbatorix will become if he loses his last comrade.

Balor and Beren are fine, not to mention Formora and Idril. Even as I formed the thoughts, I recognized the merit of her observations. Though others remained, many of the thirteen were directly opposed to one another. Hell, even I was still locked in a petty stalemate with two of them! With a verbal and mental scoff I added, make that three.

Katana disliked my tone, but only asked, Are you serious?

As a plague.

Selena shifted in her seat, joints creaking even more than the wooden chair. "What's your verdict?"

I sighed and scrubbed my face with my hands. "You did a commendable job. If you hadn't been here-"

"Please, don't say it." Selena shuddered. "I was here, that is all that matters."

"Right." I rested my right hand over both of her clenched ones. Her sun-kissed skin was dryer than I'd ever seen it, like wilting pages in an ancient tome. "You did well. He should make a full recovery; he probably won't even lose any mobility. However," I cringed at the sudden tension that shot through the poor woman, "he will be scarred, most likely for life." We both knew I referred to both physical and mental injuries.

Selena bowed her head, eyes quivering but unable to shed a single tear more. "I just didn't know what else to do-"

"It's a complex process, and it requires more energy than you have at your disposal." What I did not say, though the thought burned at the back of my throat was: Morzan could have healed him completely, and with no more effort than it would take to pour his next glass of wine! Instead, I said, "It could still be removed, but it would require reopening the wound. It's a painful process, and not one I would inflict on a three-year-old." That information I'd gathered firsthand through years of fixing my own body after Galbatorix's tantrums. Scars were made of re-knitted tissue; stronger but also rougher than the surrounding skin. To undo the process, one needed to reshape the flesh completely. "If it bothers him when he's older, he can always come to me."

Selena unwound her fingers to lace them with mine. "Thank you for the offer, though I admit it's a less than comforting thought."

What could I possibly say to that? I decided that silence was a wiser course. I wrapped Selena in an embrace, stroking her back like she was my own child.

-:- -:- -:-

I had no plan when I set out to find him. My steps veered towards his chambers of their own accord, steady and silent as creeping death. My fingers itched for the feel of a hilt- any one of my blades would suffice- but I knew better than to come at Torix's right-hand man with open hostility.

Never mind the fact that the man fought like a demon!

Do you really intend to confront him?

Katana's wisdom had a hard time reaching through my rage, but her voice had become such a balm to my bad moods that it even worked on righteous fury. I don't know what to do. But I can't sit and do nothing! There has to be some form of consequence-

I understand how you feel, but we can't kill Morzan. Short of that, I don't think there's any way to get through to him-

A heavy footstep just around the next bend in the hallway derailed our debate. Too late for second guessing.

He loomed in front of a grey-tinged window, just a dark silhouette edged in murky light. He moved as only a man weighed down by a hundred years of badly repressed trauma can, like his whole body was encased in lead. His voice, one I had grown unconsciously accustomed to hearing overwhelmed with mischief and mirth, was lifeless as he growled, "Who's there?"

"Me." The flick of his arm was so fast I barely dodged the incoming projectile. I ducked just in time to avoid getting brained by an incoming bottle, though the shower of broken glass sprinkled over me like snowfall. I shouted, "What was that for?"

"Bothering me." He staggered fully around the bend, getting close enough to lean down and breathe his noxious breath- a foul cocktail of cardus weed and stale booze- in my face. "Get out Brat, or the next one will be shoved up your-"

"You have some nerve, threatening me when you should be begging for your life!" I stepped back from his expected swing, barely outpacing his absurdly long reach. "You're damn lucky it's me standing here and not Selena-"

Unlike most drunks, my mother still maintained the fighting instincts of a lesser god. His carefully measured steps and agile stance spoke of something I never expected to see from this man: respect. He tossed another half-hearted jab, from which I backpedaled hastily- even I wasn't brazen enough to face Morzan bare-handed. He snarled, "What are either of you tired bitches going to do?"

His projected rage felt… off. I'd seen him truly angry more times than I cared to remember. Something about this lumbering and sneering routine felt, for lack of a better word, fake; like a projection of anger meant to cover weakness. Morzan wasn't typically the type to bother with such deceptions- he didn't have any weaknesses that I knew of, and any that he might possess were buried so deep that I doubted even Galbatorix knew them. As much as I wanted to rage and spit curses at the man, I wanted answers more. "It depends," I began, "on what exactly is rotting your brain!"

I was sprinting before my words had even fully registered in the big man's ears. I shoved my hair down the neck of my shirt with a practiced twist and hurtled into the entrance hall. The stomping steps behind me were loud enough that I could judge our distance without looking at the man. If I'd tried to turn, I probably would have broken my neck as I leapt down the stairs three at a time.

My opponent was wilder still, vaulting over the upstairs railing and planting himself in my path with curled lips and furled fists. "It's none of your damn business what I do in my own house!"

"You tried to kill a child!" I hopped over the balustrade, putting another set of twisting hallways at my back in case I needed a speedy escape.

The cold snick of scraping metal made the hair on my arms stand on end. The blood-red tip of Zar'roc entered my view, followed by the shadowed, frenzied form of its wielder. "And I'm about to try and kill another one."

My hand burned for Stars' Song, but I knew even a twitch toward the blade would turn this scrap into a fight to the death. Even if, by some miracle, I managed to defeat Morzan, Galbatorix would hang me with my own entrails for my trouble. I turned my palms out, eased my shoulders, and laughed… a bit like a madman myself. "Because I called you on your piss poor behavior?"

Those words struck Morzan like an uppercut to the jaw. He stepped back, the tip of his sword lowering in unease.

Before he could regain steam, I pressed on. "Torix wouldn't want us butchering each other-"

"Don't you dare even speak his name!"

Morzan's outburst almost blew me off course. I filed it away for the moment. "But what I can't understand is why you would do it in the first place? Didn't you threaten to beat Formora bloody for kicking me down a staircase? Why is Murtagh any different-"

He bellowed, "You think I wanted this?!" He swung Zar'roc in a perfect arc, burying the blade halfway to the hilt in the wall. In the stony silence that followed, I heard shards of wood clattering to the ground in the next room. "I didn't mean to kill the bastard! I just… he was… and… it just happened!"

A flood of unfortunate understanding gripped me. He's out of control. For decades, the Forsworn had been universally called "mad." The reality was more complex; they'd all suffered uniquely brutal lives. Some of them came to our group already fragmented, others slowly wasted away over the years, and often it was a combination of the two. But, even at his worst, Morzan had always directed his impulsive, violent tendencies where he willed them and nowhere else. If he was truly blacking out, losing all sense of agency and will, then he was no better than a fighting dog gone rabid. "You don't even remember it, do you?"

He levered down on Zar'roc's hilt, snapping a huge length of panel from the wall. His face was a twisted mask of emotions, too botched and broken for me to interpret. "Like it matters. There'll be a permanent reminder of it, whether I know how it got there or not."

The only thing that was unmistakably present was the one thing I couldn't tolerate hearing: fishing for comfort. It had been a favorite tactic of Galbatorix's for so many years that the vaguest whiff of it made my skin crawl. In my experience, the worse a man became the more sorry for himself he felt- hell, even I had fallen into that trap not so long ago. It was easy to be selfish when you'd already pushed everyone else away; and even easier to cling to the last stragglers that remained. I steeled myself for the inevitable pain; a friend would speak the words whether the recipient wanted to hear them or not. "You're pathetic."

Sure as a sunrise, Morzan's empty left hand hurtled toward me. I managed to sidestep enough that his fist hurled into-and through!- the door frame behind me. I swiveled back around as he pried his hand from the wood, splinters buried in his knuckles like the spines of a porcupine. He stalked toward me as he spat, "I didn't ask your opinion, Brat!"

"Ask whoever you want," I stepped backwards towards the front door of the manor. Somehow the room seemed much longer now than it did when Selena had come barreling across it to embrace me only a few short years ago. "Anyone will tell you the same; you're falling apart!" A wise person would have escaped there and then. But wisdom is a weaker force than passion, as many wise men have learned to their cost. "You can't just drink away grief, or pain, or anger. They fester inside you, unmake any part of the man you used to be until you're just another animal-"

"Like rider like dragon." He spat on the floor at my feet. "There's nothing left of us but hate. Why bother feeling anything at all-"

"By that logic, why bother living? You're like a thing dead; rotting where you stand!"

Zar'roc flicked up faster than even my eyes could follow. It was at my collar in half a heartbeat, weightlessly grazing my skin. A strand of my hair had been in the way of the blade. It dropped to the ground between us. I resisted the urge to move; I could never be fast enough to save myself if he chose to make good on his threats. He ground his teeth so harshly that I heard it from five feet away. "And whose fault is that?"

Several answers occurred to me, each with differing levels of pity and judgment. It would have been safest to console him that the Banishing was to blame for all our woes, or perhaps that Brom's ceaseless revolts had forced us to stray from the goals we'd once proclaimed. I swallowed gently. "Yours."

His hand twitched. I hissed as Zar'roc slid through my skin, unhindered by the dozens of wards I'd woven around myself. His face was dangerous; more malicious than I'd ever seen him. "That's a bald lie. You and I both know whose name you really thought of first." A smile, so incongruous with the murder in his eyes, settled on his scarred lips. "I know I just said not to, but you can go ahead and say it now."

I closed my eyes, half expecting him to run me through whether I obeyed or not. "Galbatorix."

"Galba-fucking-torix." To my total shock, he flicked the sword away from my throat. My hand darted up to the cut, soaking the tiny pulse of blood into the cuff of my sleeve. He resheathed Zar'roc and sat hard on the steps- the self-same steps where Selena had held me like her own sister. "Everything come back to the moment I chose to follow that bastard when I chose him over everything else."

Against my every bodily instinct, I crept closer to the somber maniac. "I can't believe I'm even saying this, but I understand how you feel. Even so," I took a deep breath and mentally prepared an exit strategy, "you are responsible for the path you cut in the world, no matter what falls in your way." That simple truth had taken me ages to work out for myself. For so long I wanted to tack blame to Torix's shadow- what were a few more crimes compared to the mountain's worth acredited to him? However, I'd found the most healing part of my journey to be owning my failings and taking steps to improve them. That process could never have begun while I was still wailing fruitlessly at the unfeeling void. "Blame Galbatorix all you like, but he didn't force that liquor down your throat anymore than he rent Murtagh's back. You chose to drown your pain; you chose to lose control."

"What other choice do I have?" He growled, lurching back to his feet and staring down at me. "Some of us aren't free to float around like you do. And that's only because he likes some of the fight to be left in his favorite toys. If he never wanted to fuck you," he spit the profanity with all the tact of a spiteful bully, "you'd be just as trapped and crazy as the rest of us."

His low-blow illustrated quite plainly that my advice had fallen on deaf ears. He may not be actively throwing swords at the moment, but he was still woefully deep in his cups. Worse, he was in no mood to go through a metamorphosis potent enough to spare Selena further suffering. Morzan was a twisted and wretched thing; a shambling corpse masquerading as a man. "You and Torix are truly a match made in Hell." I walked calmly to the door and yanked it open. As it slammed behind me, I added under my breath, "I hope you'll both be sent back there very soon."

I consider this moment to be the true death of Morzan, though he lived another two years. Everything that had made me appreciate and respect the man- his humor, easygoing nature, razor wit, filterless honesty, admirable loyalty- all eroded until he was only his very worst qualities distilled down.

In that time, a longstanding feud of mine came to an anticlimactic end: Balor and Beren both fell to a Varden attack. I think Brom may have had a personal hand in it, though we were never totally sure. I had certainly handed over extensive information on both of them but, as I was neither part of the planning nor the staging of this little coup, I don't mark it as one of my victories. I did take a bit of comfort in knowing that Balor died like the rodent he was: out-witted, out-maneuvered, and out-matched.

Two more earth-shattering events played back-to-back. The blue egg (as there isn't a soul alive at the time of this writing that doesn't know she eventually hatched and grew to be the dragon Saphira Brightscales, I will refer to her by this name going forward.) was stolen from Morzan's estate. If his relationship with Galbatorix had been tense before… this set off an explosion of resentment on both sides. Torix felt that Morzan had been lax, Morzan thought Torix had been overly critical… the bickering lasted for hours. At long last, they decided that Morzan's redemption would entail the recovery of the egg.

He set off after Brom the same day. And he would remain on that road for two years, only pausing in the capital or his estate long enough to restock supplies. He was a man possessed, obsessed with finishing his old grudge; the last thing that gave his life meaning. Ironically, he may have had better luck finding Brom if he'd chosen to stay home.

Meanwhile, another member of his household spent her time… a "little" differently. As much as I loathed her liaison with Brom, I knew better than to try and make Selena do anything she didn't want to do. Eventually, she ended up making a very familiar miscalculation: she was pregnant again. This time, there was no way in any hell it could be Morzan's child (the two hadn't been intimate in well over a year, as much because of her loathing as his busy schedule). Difficult decisions had to be made by all involved. Brom set off; resolved to rid them of Morzan's shadow for good. I had a different concern; the closer Selena got to delivery, the more obvious it became to me that this birth was going to be more difficult than the first. She journeyed to Carvahall before any of the servants would notice her condition- her true name had changed so much in her years with Brom that her oaths barely tied her at all- and promised to send for me in the days before the birth.

And what a process that turned out to be...

It takes a diligent mind to read by werelight while on horseback. It would have been too risky to even consider on a more populated road, but the northern reaches of Alagaesia were sparsely populated. Thick, needled trees pressed in from either side of the road. The heavy scent of pine brought back so many mismatched memories: hiding in the hollow of a tree with Katana in my arms, nearly killing myself through a thoughtless spell, sparring with Gildor and Morzan, rolling in the grass with Veronica, Mother soaking fallen boughs in a kettle to fill our home with their clean and fragrant scent…. They feel like the memories of someone else.

In some ways, they are. But in others, they are not, Katana mused unhelpfully. You're going to have to reread that last passage, I didn't hear a word of it.

Sorry. I'd been obsessing over the convoluted spells for easing childbirth from the very moment I'd gotten an ill omen about this mess. Still, the finer points of anatomy and the (frankly, distressing!) number of ways things could go wrong seemed insurmountable. Katana had done her best to memorize them as well so we might have the best shot possible to assist Selena. Even so, it was a dangerous game we played. Midwifery was, in many ways, a spiritual art. Those who practiced it were hailed as sacred beings; guardians of new life. I'd never fully appreciated the work and knowledge that went into the craft until I tried learning it for myself. To think, the work that brought me into this world- the profession of my own mother!- and I know less about it than the average peasant woman.

A lack of experience has never stopped you from mastering a new subject before, I don't expect it to do so now. Katana was even more agitated than I was by the gravity of Selena's situation. While dragons and humans had virtually nothing in common biologically, they shared an abiding concern for their offspring. And, even among dragons, Katana's emotional investment was… extreme.

A thread of conversation reached my ears from farther up the path. I cut off my light and shoved the grand old tome into my pack as fast as I dared. Damn. Who in their right mind is out here in the middle of the night?

You mean, besides you?

I said, in their right mind.

Once my eyes readjusted to the true darkness of the forest, I noticed a tinge of orange warming the next bend. I guided my horse forward. (Mostly with mental nudges; I'd never been especially fond of riding the spindly-legged, excessively-delicate things. I found it easier to just tell them what I wanted in the ancient language rather than nudge and prod them with bits of leather and metal.) As we turned the rounded corner, the source of the glow came into focus: a camp circled by several large wagons and with scattered tents thrown up between them.

Traders. I was less than pleased. It hadn't occurred to me that the weather- still bitterly cold compared to my preferences- was fair enough for the caravans to begin their march south. Should we avoid them?

That may not be an option. Katana had been observing through my eyes, and I was grateful for her diligence. I became aware of movement to my right and left. Watchmen, set on either side of the road to look out for trouble.

I teased, Trouble like us? As tempting as it was to bolt through their camp like morning fog fleeing a sunrise, I wasn't too keen on the idea of making a disturbance. One bad word reaching a small town like Carvahall would be enough to have me thrown out in a moment. We may as well ask the ladies for some advice if we have to pass through. Worst case, I'll veer from the main path and dissappear.

Not too far; the Spine is not to be underestimated.

I knew well whereof she spoke. During my absence, Galbatorix had made a grand show of sending troops into these very mountains. The result was one of the most spectacular disasters in living memory. Then I'll need to make a very good impression.

I slowed the horse a ways back from the watchmen and slid to the ground. The ground was still frozen over from the receding winter, though it was pockmarked with ridges from past travelers. "Evening, strangers. Do you have room for one more around your fire, at least for a moment?"

They exchanged suspicious looks. The man on my right said, "We don't typically sup with strangers, Miss. We mean no offense, of course, it's just a bit dangerous out here is all."

"No harm done. I'll carry on if I would only be a bother-"

"Not at all!" The man on the left said, stepping closer and holding a hand out in front of his comrade. I couldn't have missed the way his eyes darted up and down me if I tried. "We need to ask our leader first, but I see no reason why he would refuse to safeguard a little miss all on her own."

Should have stayed on the horse, I thought glumly. Now it would be much too suspicious if I swung myself back into the saddle and fled into the wilderness. "I appreciate the extra effort, but I really don't want to intrude-"

The right man waved me off. "No need for all that. Please, follow us."

I wrapped one hand around the horse's reigns and followed the pair toward the camp. Truly, it looked as bright and colorful as a summer festival- much of the common folks' celebrating around the solstice had to do with the merchant's presence, after all. A dozen shades of green, lavender, puce, berry, scarlet, and saffron decorated the myriad woods and fabrics; it was a feast for the eye. Many of the textiles were woven with the care and precision of master craftspeople. Nearly every cart had a different carving near the entrance, each picked out lovingly in harmony with the wood itself. At the center of the convocation, a bed of glowing coals crackled beneath a turning spit. Shadowy figures sat around the brilliant light source, most of them hunched close as much for warmth as to inspect the meat roasting there- a deer by the look of it.

"...the boots," one of the men in front of me thought he whispered, "they have to be worth at least ten crowns."

"Twenty if those buckles are real silver," the other man replied.

I slowed my steps and raked a more incisive gaze over the people. There couldn't have been more than two-score all told, though there were enough wagons alone to house three dozen more. Also, each of them appeared to be a grown man- not a woman or child in sight. One of the wagons boasted a leash hanging on a peg and the carving of a friendly hound, but no trace of the animal remained. I breathed deeply, sifting past the pine, roasting meat, acrid sweat, and sour dirt until I found what I was looking for. There was a discordant clang of metal on the air; freshly spilled blood.

I sighed. Why must these things always happen when I'm in a hurry?

Katana shared my irritation. So you don't waste time playing with them.

Fair enough. I slid my hand to Stars' Song's hilt, grateful for its unassuming silvery finish. Best to get this over with.

I treated the aspiring bandit gang a tad more roughly than I normally would have- I was in no more mood for delays than I was to spare random ruffians. But, to my relief, they'd taken most of the camp's previous occupants prisoner rather than put them all to the sword. Most of the injuries were treatable- only two of the older men (the ones who'd fought to protect the others) succumbed to their wounds. As thanks for my help, the caravan very kindly agreed to forget ever seeing me. They also gave me some quick lessons of the northern villages- blend in at all times and at any cost. Most people wouldn't say a thing to a stranger's face, but communal opinion could be thrice as damning when it sidelined the unprepared. I exchanged my "fancy" (though, to me, they were as casual as could be!) boots for a more unassuming pair, and my soft grey cloak for a coarser, brown wool. I felt worse overall, but the attention to detail was much appreciated.

Garrow likely would have thrown me out of his home if he'd seen me as I was.

I rubbed my hands together, fingers aching from the cold wind whipping over the empty field. The treeline didn't seem all too far from the rough, shed-like house, but apparently, it was plenty far enough that the trees no longer blocked the gale. Against my instincts, I wrapped my aching digits against the door as hard as I dared.

No answer.

And then, as if to give me a reply, the night was rent by a tortured scream. I shuddered, it sounded like the wailing of a doomed soul. It's coming early! I pushed the door in at once, tugging off my gloves in preparation for whatever work awaited me.

"What the-" A man, who I presumed could only be Garrow, stopped mid-pace at the end of a narrow hallway. I tossed my gloves aside and my cloak after them, covering a wooden table. A small boy, no older than four, poked his head from between Garrow's legs.

"I am a friend of Selena's." It was the only truth I could offer the man that would be acceptable. "I was worried about her and the baby, so I've come to help."

The man started to say something, but the door to his left opened and a woman inched out. "What did I say? Stay in the kitchen! If you want to make yourself useful, boil rags for me-" she broke off when she saw me. "And who is this?"

I was grateful then for Selena's many, rambling stories about the family she'd left behind. "Another set of hands, Marion. Selena is expecting me."

The woman sighed in relief. "Thank goodness; you're right on time. Scrub yourself and then join me in the bedroom."

I swept my hair into a sloppy knot fastened with a hair stick, scoured my hands, and followed Marion. "Bedroom," was excessively generous- the room was little more than four walls, a palette covered in straw, and a long wooden shelf. A lantern was ablaze with precious oil and three separate taper candles burned in various dishes. The golden glow did nothing to soften the impact of seeing Selena. She was disheveled: shift stained with blood, soaked with sweat, and hair in a loose curtain around her pallid face. Her teeth were bared like a cat, fingers digging into the wood beneath her like claws. She knelt upright, though her legs trembled from the strain. When she heard the door, her wild eyes wandered to my face. Her voice was weaker than I'd ever heard it as she whispered, "Lilly? You came."

"I promised I would." I floated the her side, brushing her hair out of her face. She radiated heat like she'd been boiled. "How long has the labour been?"

"Hours already, and perhaps hours more," Marion said, dabbing Selena's neck and face with a damp cloth. "I can't get the little devil to turn!" Her patient groaned, whether from another wave of agony or at the woman's words it was hard to tell.

My gut clenched. Traditionally, a flipped infant spelled near-certain doom for either mother, child, or both. Luckily, I had some very untraditional methods at my disposal. "Marion, I hate to ask this of you after only just meeting, but I need a moment alone with Selena."

Marion stared at me as if I'd slapped her across the face. "She needs all the help she can get!" She wrung out the sweaty cloth and re-dipped it in the fresh water. "For prayers, if nothing else."

"Please, we've lost enough time already. Pray for her to your heart's content, but do it outside that door." Either my tone or my serious expression must have swayed the woman because she scurried from the room. I marched to Selena's side and lowered to one knee. I tried to ease her onto her back, but she resisted like the action of laying down would kill her instantly. "Come on kid, you've been through worse than this."

She clenched her teeth harder and hissed out something like a laugh. "I thought so too. Until about two hours ago. Now I think I'd rather be training agai-AH!" Her words dissolved into another soul-tearing scream.

I dropped my pack to the ground and removed both Katana's eldunari and the tome. Katana connected with Selena at once- the deepest sign of trust any dragon could offer a non-rider. Immediately, her tremors decreased in strength and frequency. I could tell through our link that Katana was partially sheltering Selena's consciousness from her bodily pain. It was a poor substitute for true numbness, but anything was better than enduring the brunt of her agony. I flipped to one of my bookmarks and scanned the spell to refresh my memory. I held Selena's hand, though it was limp in mine. Her eyes fluttered like she would lose consciousness at the slightest breeze. "Once I begin, the pain will be worse for a moment. But it should decrease right after. Are you ready?"

I saw her nod.

I began to sing.

It was a gruelling process, especially considering my total lack of experience, but my hours of study paid off: little Eragon entered the world as a perfectly healthy child. Selena held him close for all of ten minutes before she gave in to exhaustion. I was allowed to cradle the bundle of blankets and pink, wrinkled skin for a moment as Marion prepared his bedding. The experienced mother insisted on keeping the two as close together as possible.

Eventually, our patient reawoke and proper introductions were made. I was "an old friend" from Selena's "other home"; any more information would have been too risky. To their credit, Garrow and Marion decided not to question to situation. They even agreed to an important detail: I had never been there.

I left before dawn.

By the time I'd returned to Uru'baen, news had reached us of back-to-back attacks on Idril and Formora. That latter's estate had been utterly erased from the earth; nothing but rubble remained of Xanist's murderer. Formora had gone out in a blood bath, an army's worth of troops littering her manor. Galbatorix was seething over these losses… but all too soon word would come of an even more crushing blow…

Brom and Morzan's feud ended at last… with the latter's demise.

I fled Uru'baen as soon as I heard; I didn't want to be within fifty miles of Galbatorix until he'd processed the event. I went straight to my late teacher's home to deliver the news to the woman who most needed it…

But, as usual, I was too late to do a damn bit of good.

The thick scent of herbs permeated the space. Bundles of various good omens and potion components were hanging in every window; strewn over every surface. The strongest positive influences known to mundanity or magic were arrayed in full force; the arsenal of master magicians against the worst maladies.
The scent called up feelings of impending tragedy.

I pushed the thought down as soon as it occurred. The best healers in the world are here; she'll be just fine.

I stepped through the threshold.

Murtagh was tucked up to her side. He was snoozing; clearly, he hadn't moved since she'd come home. The moon had long since risen and set. I asked Selena, sticking a smile up over my concern, "A bit late for him, isn't it?"
"A bed is a bed. Besides, he wouldn't leave me. He wants to keep me safe." She pressed a kiss to his downy brown locks. "Isn't he an angel?"

"He is," I agreed. Most of the children I'd known were irritating, at least in some way. Murtagh was as close to the perfect child as I could imagine- years of trauma will do that to some children. "How do you fare?"

Her smile slowly lowered as she lifted her striking eyes to mine. "Badly."

I refused to register the dark thoughts just yet. "If anyone can get through this, it's you."

She bit her lip. "Lilly, you've been the truest friend I've ever had."

Her praise warmed my chest and cheeks, but I tried to act humble. "Aside from Garrow, perhaps?"

She tried to laugh, but only a harsh gagging sound escaped her. She struggled for breath for a moment before laying back. Murtagh kicked and fussed in his sleep. "You're right, but I have asked too much of him already. You as well," she hesitated before saying, "but I cannot ask any other. No one else would do as well. Please forgive me for asking one more favor of you?"

I said, without hesitation, "Anything," and I meant it. I would have gotten her gold from a sunken pirate wreck, packed ice from the highest peaks of the Beors, or plucked the stars straight out of the heavens if she had asked; if I thought it could save her. But I still wasn't prepared for what she said next.

She reached for my hand. Her grip was weak but steady. "Protect my boys. They are only babies now, and our world has no mercy for the weak. Guard them as best as you can." A tear rolled down her cheek. "Please."

I was speechless. Murtagh had been the most important thing in Selena's life since the moment he was born, and I knew that baby Eragon already enjoyed a similar privilege. She was trusting me with her whole soul, and she knew that I knew it. I kissed her fingers and whispered the words that would come to haunt me in the decades to come. "I swear it. I will do everything in my power to keep them safe and then some. They will always have a friend in me, even as you will."

She held my gaze until the oath's completion. "Elrun, Lilly. I think that is as close to peace as I can come. I want to apologize- to you, to Brom, to Morzan," I held my tongue. I knew of Morzan's fate, but the news would do her no good in this state. "I have too little time, too little…" She was still petting Murtagh's hair, fingering a stray curl as she often did when she read him to sleep. "Do you remember when he was born?" I nodded, not willing to interrupt her. "I didn't know it was possible to be that happy. He is the most wondrous thing I have ever done. Make sure he knows… how he is loved. It did him little good... but everyone deserves to know… that they are loved." She kissed him again.

I tightened my hold on her fingers. "He will never be allowed to forget it."

"And you," she said, more kindly than even Xanist had ever spoken to me, "I want one more promise from you." I nodded. "Promise me that you will stay hopeful. The world is dark, darker these days than ever before, but there is still endless beauty in every corner. Find it for me?"

If it had been any other person in any other situation, I would have refused outright. But I daren't take her lightly. "Wiol ono, I will. And I'll try to teach them the same."

"Good. That…is good." Her eyes closed slowly, another tear sliding down her cheek until it was lost in Murtagh's hair. I expected her to say more, but she just lay there breathing. I assumed she had fallen asleep. I measured her breaths until we were breathing together. Then, they simply stopped. My lungs burned as I silently urged her to continue, to pick up that precious rhythm. But even as I gasped in a shaky breath, she lay utterly still. Even worse, the sound roused Murtagh from his already fitful rest.

"Mommy?" His tiny hands reached up to her shoulder to shake her. Her head drooped further. "Mommy!"

I pulled him off of her as he began to wail, crying out in desperate alarm tones.

But our pleas- his screams and my silent prayers- fell on deaf ears.

-:- -:- -:-
A few days later, I stood several paces from the crowd. Morzan's entire household was assembled before the freshly tilled earth. I was revolted by the idea of my dear friend buried next to her tormentor, but Torix had insisted. Besides, it was listed in their wills: neighboring graves sequestered safely in her garden; her one sanctuary. A part of me wondered if it had been her idea in the first place. I scanned a few faces. Almost everyone was at least somber if not crying outright. I knew that none of them were mourning the master of the house. Everyone adored Selena.

The exception of course was Torix. He appeared stoic, but I knew just how much violence that silence could portend. He of course tendered a loss of more weight than all the others. Morzan had been much more than a servant or even a friend; the two had been bonded on a nearly spiritual level. I hardly expected him to recover, if he even survived. But, even then, one mourner was by far the most difficult to hold in my gaze.

He was wearing his best clothes along with a thick black cloak that was several inches too long for him. The dark fabric drowned him and made him seem even smaller, just a little dot of ink staring numbly at the ground as tears flowed freely down his face. He hadn't so much as spoken to a soul since I finally told him the whole truth of the tragedy. Judging by his unsteady steps, he hadn't slept either. I wanted to hold him, but I knew it was useless. There was simply no comfort for pain that deep.

Very few people understood that fact as well as I did.

The loss of Selena cut me to the quick. I hadn't allowed myself to care for another person in a very long time- even my affection toward Harold was tempered by our different stations and my desire to protect him. Her death also ended any semblance of civility between Brom and me. I won't record that particular conversation- as much because rage clouds the memory as from embarrassment- but I know that we both said spiteful things that weather came to regret. We blamed each other for not doing enough, not coming faster, not seeing the future… as if the very act of loving her made us inherently responsible for saving her. It was foolish and childish. And yet… I know that I longed to blame Brom because, in my mind, my only alternative was to blame myself.

I still have no idea how I could have made some foolish promise like that. I had never even successfully protected myself, let alone someone else. For fuck's sake, I had just let my only friend die in front of me! What tangible good could I do for an orphan boy or an abandoned bastard? What wisdom could I impart that she couldn't do better?

My only hope was to keep Murtagh as far from Torix as I could. This was made infinitely harder when he was brought to Uru'baen on his "legal" guardian's orders. Torix is technically the boy's godfather, even to this day, and that fact would come to torment us both in later years. All I could do was my best… and hope it would be enough.

Luckily, I did have some help.

AN: I added a few "fun" little easter eggs into this one just for me and maybe one other person, if she ever reads this. Glad we both made it, Mama ;)

Hope everyone's winter holidays are going well! In a sense, I celebrate an off-off-off Broadway version of the "winter festival" I devised for this series; from the solstice through to new year's is one messy holiday for me~ Then I get to hang with the family on Christmas, order Chinese food on Yule, and a bunch of other fun silliness~ This is your reminder that there are no rules, celebrate whatever brings serotonin to the sadness months~ 3