Prologue I

Arya

Dusk fell on the leafy boughs of Du Weldenvarden, and Arya Dröttning's mood complemented the evening fog. She waited for Fírnen on the Crags of Tel'nair, brooding with the sunset's last russet streaks. A pattering of rain kissed her face, but the clouds were not yet upon her – she had time enough to escape the oncoming storm. Cradled in her hands was a fairth. It showed a young man with dark hair, roguish for an elf but beautiful to any human. Behind him crouched a strikingly blue dragon at the height of its prime. The magical drawing was meticulously detailed; its lines precise as an arrow's flight.

After a long moment, Arya impulsively half-turned and threw the slate to the ground, letting it shatter on the rocks. Her brows furrowed, a hurt expression on her face. So troubled was she that she did not notice Fírnen, who had been hunting, until he was right next to her and his mind touched hers.

Why did you break it? the emerald dragon asked calmly, his mental voice as deep as an ocean.

Because it hurts, thought Arya. Isn't that obvious?

Fírnen opened his mouth in a great yawn, fangs clicking together as he did so. He had grown twice again the size he had been almost two and a half years ago, when they had left. You can't go on denying it. To ignore one's problems –

-is not to solve them, Arya finished. I know. She sighed heavily. Two years should be no more than a minute to an elf. So why have these felt so long?

You miss him, Fírnen reasoned. And I miss her.

The elf stood and approached the dragon, leaning against the scales of his foreleg gently. You ate well? she asked, trying to change the subject.

As usual. Did any –

No. Even after completing the exchange twice, the two eggs still have not hatched. Orik and Garzhvog are perplexed by their stagnant nature.

Maybe we should send for more.

Fírnen…

It's been a while since you wrote to him anyway! I'm sure he's busy, he added hastily. If he weren't I'm sure he'd contact us.

Arya pressed her face to his scales. Perhaps you're right.

Fírnen rumbled. "Perhaps" has to be the most-often-thought-of word in your mind, Arya.

She blinked. I cannot help but think of what might have been.

Nor can I help having visions of such forced upon me each night with increasing detail. The gleam in his huge eyes was so victoriously humorous that is was hard to become angry.

Come on, O Insufferable One, thought Arya. If we need more eggs, we shall have to mail-order them.

Prologue II

Eragon

After two and a half years, what could be called a castle now stood in the plateaus east of Alegaësia, in the mountain range Du Fells Yawë that ringed a fjord connected to the Az Ragni. Eragon and the thirty elves – Blöhdgarm's spellcasters plus the crew of the Talíta – had beached their ship and raised a settlement there. The beach took to rocky hills rather quickly, and inside the slope of the mountains a network of caverns stored the eggs and dormant Eldunarí. Above these heated vaults was a fortress jutting out of the cliff faces. It rivaled the halls of Vroengard in size, but no matter how much it was refined over the building process it had always seemed to Eragon that a grander building should stand where this rough-cut stronghold was. The castle worked around the cliffs with rooms and towers sprouting in three directions. The fourth, directly behind the structure, was the back of an overhang. The overhang itself hung above a field, accessible by a tunnel through the base of the rock formation.

The elves preferred to sing themselves houses in the forest nearby, but they helped use magic to build the Riders' citadel. Their gramarye and the Eldunarí's power had been indispensable – without these, the castle would have taken nearly a decade to raise. Eragon and Saphira alone would not have been fast or powerful enough. But with them, two years and five months had passed and now the castle was complete. In that time, Eragon had little contact with his friends and family. He occasionally scried with Roran, Nasuada, or Orik, while Arya he kept in contact with through infrequent letters due to the elven forest's wards against scrying. He tried to keep busy, but secretly he wished to see them all again in person. If only he could return…

But the eggs were not safe here, even with the elves and Cuaroc to protect them. Strange things had happened since their arrival in the easterling lands. For instance, a number of curious creatures had been encountered by Eragon and Saphira. In the river, several tentacle creatures nearly the size of a Nïdwhal had tried to capsize the boat. only fire could dissuade them. Additionally, a number of Fanghur inhabited the mountains, possibly having migrated from the Beors. One night Eragon had awoken to mysterious scratching noises and found a spider as large as a hunting hound climbing across his window. Although Saphira assured him that she would eat theses and any more besides that they found, Eragon was nervous. He had yet to understand the squids, and the spider's mind had been full of pure, hungry malevolence. If a baby dragon or even the eggs ran afoul of these beings somehow, something terrible could happen. Even after all of these hostile animals, Eragon sometimes felt tiny movements in the magic around him that set him on edge. Something dangerous always seemed close, but he could never pinpoint it. Most of the time he was able to tune it out or ignore it, but at night or whenever he was vulnerable, it gnawed at his conscience.

Always, though, his mind would turn back to Alegaësia, and his life in the west, and how much he missed all of his comrades from the War. Blöhdgarm, Yaela, and the rest of the elves were there, but after months turned into years their company began to pall. Although he knew and liked them as friends, Eragon longed to see a human, dwarf, or Urgal… or at least someone he was better acquainted with and understood. Still, what time he spent with them proved pleasant, and for the most part he was able to keep busy.

The Rider himself lived in the empty fortress with Saphira, who could come and go as she pleased thanks to a series of dragon-portals stylized after the elven Riders' houses in Ellesméra. Not only were they shielded by magic from weather, but they could also open and close with the traditional screens to prevent the rooms from feeling or looking too exposed. These portals allowed dragons to enter and exit the buildings at all points of interest, and were just one in a series of accommodating features that would come in handy while raising a brood of young dragons.

Eragon sat in his just-finished quarters, also made to imitate his house in Ellesméra. Saphira was curled on an enormous cushion, a furnishing she insisted on, and Eragon rested his back against her flank, writing thoughtfully on a scrap of parchment. The dark wood paneling was half illuminated by a crackling fire in the corner, and as the sky dimmed outside, the room began to glow. Eragon abruptly crumpled the paper and threw it into the flames, sighing indignantly.

Well? said Saphira's voice in his head.

Well what?

You've been on that letter for hours. What's keeping you? She blew a gentle puff of smoke from her nostrils.

Arya asked for more eggs. Three more, after we had discussed teaching five at a time.

So?

I'm going to transport them to her by magic tomorrow.

So?

So I'm trying to write her back!

So write that you'll send them tomorrow.

And how is that supposed to answer her inquiries about our health, the castle, the eggs, the Eldunarí, and the elves? He rapped his stylus on the floor. What am I supposed to say, that we're fine? Because I'm not. Should I be ashamed that I already want to go back? Why can't I just say what I'm feeling without feeling rotten about it?

Are we worrying about pushing someone away? Saphira asked knowingly.

More than we already have? Eragon ran his fingers through his hair. You tell me. you're in my head. He paused. I just wish –

I know.

There has to be some kind of loophole. There's always one.

Stop messing yourself over it or you'll get sick again.

I'm already sick, Eragon decided. I need to see my friends again. And to do that, I have to come to them… or they'll have to come to me.