The first light of morning seeped through the heavy curtains of the room, casting a soft glow over the stone walls and wooden beams. Eragon stirred beneath the thick blankets, the warmth of the previous night still lingering in his bones. The room was a blend of function and comfort, the sturdy furniture crafted with the care of Carvahall's finest artisans. The bed itself was large and well-crafted, its frame carved from dark oak, and covered in furs and woven blankets dyed in rich, earthy tones. A simple but elegant fireplace sat at the far end of the room, its embers still faintly glowing from the previous night's fire.

Arya lay beside him, her hair a dark cascade against the pillows, her face serene in sleep. Eragon took a quiet moment to watch her, committing the sight to memory. It was not often that she appeared so at peace.

A soft huff sounded in his mind, followed by Saphira's amused voice. "Do you plan to stare at her all morning, little one, or will you tell her how much you adore her aloud?"

Eragon grinned but didn't respond, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. Arya stirred at the movement, stretching her limbs beneath the blankets before cracking one emerald eye open.

"You're staring," she murmured, her voice husky from sleep.

Eragon smirked. "Can you blame me? It's not often I wake before you do."

Arya let out a quiet chuckle and turned onto her side to face him fully. "Savor the moment, then, for I doubt it will happen often."

Eragon traced a gentle finger along her arm, his touch featherlight. "Perhaps I'll just have to find ways to keep you up later."

Arya raised a brow, an amused smirk forming at the corner of her lips. "You already talk too much for my liking—now you intend to keep me from sleeping as well? I should have known this was a poor decision."

He laughed, rolling onto his back. "You agreed to marry me. You knew what you were getting into."

She sighed theatrically, as if burdened by his presence, but the smile never left her lips. "So I did," she conceded.

They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, listening to the distant sounds of the village slowly coming to life outside the stone walls. The night's celebration had been long, but already the world around them was moving forward.

Arya stretched again before she sat up, pulling the blankets around her. "We should get up. The council meeting is tonight, and there is much to do."

Eragon groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Must we? The world will still be there in an hour."

Arya rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly before standing and crossing the room toward the washbasin. "Laziness does not suit you, Shadeslayer."

He smirked as he sat up, raking a hand through his hair. "I was simply appreciating the moment. Not all of us possess the patience of elves."

She gave him a pointed look as she splashed cool water over her face. "Patience is learned. If you desire more, I am happy to test you until you gain some."

Eragon chuckled. "Tempting, but I think I prefer my current level."

Arya shook her head but let the conversation drop as she dried her face with a nearby cloth. As she did, her expression sobered slightly. "Eragon… about the council meeting tonight."

He sat up straighter, recognizing the shift in her tone. "What about it?"

She turned to face him fully, her emerald eyes sharp and resolute. "I wish to speak on Sloan's behalf before you do."

Eragon tilted his head. He had expected to be the one to argue for Sloan's redemption, given that he had been the one to set him on the path of exile. But Arya's conviction gave him pause.

"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Arya folded her arms. "Because I am not human, and my voice will carry weight precisely because of that. Many in Carvahall see you as one of their own, even after all you've become. They may listen to you, but they will also assume you act from personal obligation. I, however, have no such ties. If I speak first, it will force them to reconsider their prejudices before they have a chance to form their arguments against him."

Eragon considered this. It was a wise approach, and he knew Arya was more than capable of swaying hearts with her words. "And what will you say?"

Arya's gaze was steady. "That I have known men who have sought redemption and failed, and I have known those who have earned it. That forgiveness is not weakness, nor is it given freely—it must be proven. But that we, as people, must also recognize when a man has already begun to atone, even if he does not believe himself worthy of it."

Eragon exhaled slowly, nodding. "Then you will speak first."

Arya nodded in return, then smirked slightly. "And besides… I imagine you might get carried away and start lecturing them like a schoolteacher if left unchecked."

Eragon gave her an affronted look. "I do not—"

"You do," Arya interrupted, her smirk growing.

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "I suppose marriage will be filled with these sorts of humiliations."

"Without a doubt," Arya said without hesitation.

Eragon sighed in mock defeat before rising from the bed. "Then I'd best prepare myself for a lifetime of them."

Arya leaned in, brushing a quick kiss against his cheek before stepping away. "Good. Now get dressed. We have a long day ahead of us."

He smiled after her as she turned back toward the basin, already reaching for her comb. The meeting still loomed, but in that moment, in the quiet of their shared space, Eragon found comfort in the fact that he would not face it alone.

The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced porridge filled the air as Eragon and Arya descended from their quarters in the dragonhold. The morning sun had barely crested over the Spine, casting long golden rays through the narrow windows that lined the adjacent keep's hallways. The warmth of last night's feast still lingered in the air, but today was a different day—one that would bring decisions far heavier than those of celebration.

As they entered the dining hall, they found Roran, Katrina, and Ismira already seated at the heavy wooden table, sharing the morning meal. Plates of steaming eggs, smoked venison, and dark rye bread were spread across the table, with a pitcher of fresh milk and a pot of hot tea nearby.

Ismira, ever observant, grinned as she spotted them. "You're late."

Arya arched an elegant brow, pouring herself a cup of tea. "We had much to discuss."

Ismira smirked but said nothing, biting into a chunk of bread as Eragon pulled out a chair beside Roran.

Katrina smiled warmly as they sat. "You both must be exhausted after last night. It was a beautiful celebration."

"It was," Eragon agreed, pouring himself tea before glancing at Roran. "But now we must prepare for something far less pleasant."

Roran sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Yes. The council meeting."

Arya studied him carefully. "What can we expect?"

Roran straightened, his expression shifting into the practiced composure of a leader. "The council meeting will be held in the great hall this evening. The villagers who hold a direct stake in Sloan's return will be there, including Birgit and anyone else who lost a family member or was directly affected by his actions. They will have the right to speak before the council deliberates."

"And you?" Eragon asked.

"I will be present, but I will not be acting as judge," Roran said, his voice firm. "Normally, I would have the right to veto a decision if I found it unjust. But in this case, I have decided to recuse myself."

Eragon frowned. "Why? You are the leader of Carvahall—your voice should hold weight."

Roran sighed, taking a sip of his tea before setting it down. "It's because I am the leader that I must step back. My connection to Sloan is too close. If I intervene on his behalf, no matter how justified, it will cast doubt on my ability to govern impartially. If I spare him, they will say I have allowed my personal ties to influence my leadership. If I condemn him, others will see it as an overcorrection, as if I am proving that I hold no bias. Either way, it damages my authority."

Katrina placed a hand on his arm. "Roran has carried this burden since he took over from Nasuada. She had him tutored by some of the most politically astute minds in Alagaësia. They taught him that a leader does not simply impose his will—he must manage the expectations of his people and understand their fears before they turn to resentment."

Arya nodded slowly. "A leader must ensure that the will of the people does not turn into a mob."

"Exactly," Roran said grimly. "Sloan's presence is already causing unrest. The best thing I can do is let the council make its decision, free from my influence."

Eragon was quiet for a moment, considering. It was a difficult choice, but he saw the wisdom in it. If Roran were to interfere, it could cast a shadow over his leadership, one that could fester and grow long after Sloan's fate was decided.

"But you will still be there?" Arya asked.

Roran nodded. "Yes. I will listen, and I will ensure that order is maintained. But the decision will be made by the council."

Katrina exhaled, stirring her porridge absentmindedly. "Birgit may be the most vocal opponent. She lost her husband to the Ra'zac, but to her, Sloan is no different than them. She may not be able to see that he has changed."

"She has the right to be heard," Arya said. "And we must be prepared to answer her grievances."

Eragon sighed, setting his tea down. "Then we will speak after her?"

"Yes," Roran confirmed. "Anyone who wishes to make a case for or against Sloan may speak before the council reaches its verdict. Arya, if you still wish to speak first, you will have the opportunity."

Arya inclined her head. "I do. I will set the tone before Eragon speaks."

Katrina looked at her curiously. "Why speak first?"

Arya's expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp. "Because I am not of Carvahall. They will not expect me to argue for him, and that may make them listen in a way they would not if Eragon were to speak first."

Roran studied her, then nodded approvingly. "That's a smart strategy."

Ismira, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, suddenly frowned. "What if they decide against him?"

The table fell silent.

Katrina's fingers tightened around her cup, her knuckles white. "Then he will have to leave Carvahall," she said softly.

Eragon clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of the moment settle over them all. Sloan had changed—he had seen it. But would that be enough?

Roran exhaled and sat forward. "We can only do what is right. We will give the council all the information they need. After that, it is in their hands."

Silence stretched between them, each lost in thought. Then, Arya reached for her tea again, her voice steady but laced with quiet conviction.

"Then we will make them see the truth."

Ismira, who had been stirring her porridge with a thoughtful expression, finally spoke up, her voice breaking the heavy silence. "You all talk about what's fair and what's right," she said, pushing her spoon around the bowl. "But I don't think most people care about that."

Eragon turned to her, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

She looked up, her brown eyes sharp with understanding beyond her years. "I think people just want to be angry. It's easier than forgiving."

The table fell silent at her words.

Katrina turned to her daughter, a soft frown on her face. "Why do you say that, love?"

Ismira shrugged. "Because it's what I'd do if I were really, really mad. It's easier to stay mad than to admit you don't have to be anymore." She stabbed at a piece of bread before adding, "And because sometimes, it feels better to be mad than to be sad."

Roran exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "That's... not far from the truth."

Ismira looked around at the adults. "But aren't adults supposed to be above that kind of behavior? Shouldn't they know when to stop being angry?"

Arya gave her a small, approving smile. "One would think so, but the reality is much different."

"I know why they don't," Ismira said, shaking her head. "Because when you're mad, you don't have to think about the sad parts. Like how Grandpa Sloan was scared and made bad choices instead of asking for help. Or how he lost everything, just like we did when we had to leave Carvahall. But if they stay mad at him, they don't have to think about how maybe they could have done something different too."

The table was silent again, this time in deep reflection.

Eragon watched his niece, marveling at how simply she had cut through the tangled mess of emotions and politics with the clarity of a child. He shared a glance with Arya, who inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment of the wisdom spoken.

Katrina, her throat tight, reached out and brushed a hand over Ismira's hair. "You're too clever for your own good."

Ismira scrunched her nose as though she detested compliments as a whole. "I'm not that clever. I just listened to you all talk through the mirrors growing up."

Roran chuckled, shaking his head. "Remind me to be careful what I say around you."

"You should have learned that years ago," Katrina teased.

Eragon leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You're right, Ismira. People will stay angry because it's easier. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to show them another way."

Ismira nodded, satisfied. "Good. Because if I ever did something bad, I'd want a second chance too." She paused, then grinned impishly. "Not that I ever do anything bad."

Roran snorted, and Katrina shot her daughter a knowing look. "Of course not."

The tension at the table lightened some, and Eragon and Arya chose to use the moment to excuse themselves. Saphira had informed the pair that Firnen wanted to visit the place where Saphira and Eragon had once lived. The news surprised Arya. In their many years together, he had never asked her to visit it once.

"I knew it would sadden you Emerald Eyes," Firnen asserted. "With the statue being there, I assumed that you would prefer to avoid it, and I suppose it would have saddened me as well. Still, a part of me longed for any connection to Saphira in those days."

Arya pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "Then we should go," she thought at last, turning to Eragon. "If it does not trouble you."

He nodded. He had never thought Firnen would want to visit Ellesméra's outskirts, let alone the secluded forest glade where Eragon and Saphira had once lived. It had been a home of sorts—more than the buildings, more than the hall in Ilirea that had housed his Rider's quarters. That glade had been where he had trained, where he had dreamed, where he had spent endless days with Saphira planning for a future that had once felt so distant.

The pair left the keep, striding towards their giant blue and green partners of heart and mind.

Saphira's mind brushed Eragon's gently. "It will be good to see it again, little one. And for Arya to return, not in sorrow, but in remembrance."

Firnen rumbled in agreement, his presence warm and steady. "Yes. And I would like to see where you lived. It was always spoken of in quiet tones—like something sacred."

Arya's gaze flickered to Eragon, searching his face for any reluctance. "Are you sure it won't trouble you?"

He thought about that. Once, it might have. Once, it would have felt like visiting the past, a past that no longer belonged to him. But now, with Arya at his side, with Saphira and Firnen bound together, with the future stretching ahead of them, it did not feel like a loss.

"No," he said finally. "It will be good."

Arya studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Then let us go."

The four of them leapt into the sky, creating a miniature dust cloud that dissipated into nothing almost as soon as it appeared.