I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or any of the scenes I've borrowed from the books. All credit goes to Christopher Paolini.

Pathos

"Our trade with the humans and dwarves has increased ten-fold and resources are more abundant now more than ever," Arya's advisor, Niraen, said. "The elves have benefitted greatly from the treaty you proposed."

Arya listened to Niraen rattle on about various updates concerning a myriad of issues. Her concentration was fragmented at present and she found it difficult to focus on the endless amount of information presented to her. Niraen's voice faded into an annoying buzzing in the background.

"And we have regained much of the prosperity we had before the Fall, according to several estimates. The other nations have expressed interest in increased relations and are eagerly awaiting your approval," Niraen paused, rifling through the stack of papers she held in her hand. "Did you hear all of that, Majesty?"

"Yes, yes," Arya replied irritably. "You can send a messenger to the other races informing them that I approve of additional trading and joint security. Is there anything else you must tell me, Niraen?"

Her tall, slender assistant had become accustomed to Arya's often abrupt and curt responses. "No, that concludes the annual report. With your leave," She replied courteously, gesturing towards the door.

"Thank you, you may leave." She sank in her chair; annual reports were something Arya had come to loathe. They were tedious and mundane, for it was merely a summary of the information she had received periodically throughout the year.

How was your day? Fírnen asked smugly; he knew exactly what day it was.

Must I relive that awful experience? She sighed, half-serious and half-mocking.

Well, I'd like to hear it, He quipped. Fírnen often teased Arya of the monotonous hours she spent in court.

If you must know, the report confirmed that the elves have advanced substantially both in economics and diplomacy. Since the war ended three years ago, we have restored much of what we lost, Arya stated. It was an oddly proud sensation knowing she helped bring the elves to where they were now.

A group of nobles walked into the throne room, having scheduled a meeting with Arya. They were from a sect of elves that were particularly opposed to dealing with the other races in Alagaësia. "Your Majesty," One of them said politely, "We wish to consult you about a…rather sensitive issue."

Though these elves were benign, Arya could not help but be wary of whatever issues they brought up. "What do you need?" She said tiredly.

"It's the pact Eragon Shadeslayer made with the dragons," Their leader, Arshuilduin said. "We believe that the other races are given too many chances to hatch a dragon."

Arya sighed, the elves were often extremely stubborn and set in their ways. She knew there was a fairly large number of elves who did not agree with Urgals and dwarves being Riders. Some radicals even opposed human Dragon Riders. "The other races receive the same amount of eggs as we do."

"We realize that, but do you not agree that the elves have always held the dragons in the highest regard? Should we not have the most Riders?" Arshuilduin said.

"The natural balance in Alagaësia relies upon equal numbers of Riders each race," Arya refuted. "It would be unwise to upset that balance." This much was true, for much of the elves' decline was linked to the demise of the dragons. Upsetting that precarious equilibrium again would spell disaster.

"You are close with Eragon Shadeslayer, are you not?" Arshuilduin, "Surely you can convince him to exclude the dwarves and Urgals from the pact at the very least?"

Arya seethed inside at their blatant prejudice. It was sickening to think that they still considered themselves superior, even when all the races played their part in the war. "I see no reason why I should do that."

"Because the dwarves do not praise the dragons as we do. No, they fear dragons and therefore should not be granted the privilege of being Riders. As for the Urgals, they are brutes and far too war-like. Having Dragon Riders could provoke tensions between the races," He refuted.

"Perhaps you may have noticed, but we are not what we once were. The rest of the world does not bend to our fingertips," Arya rebuked coldly, "I do not have time to deal with this insatiable squabbling. You may leave now."

"But—"

"You may leave," Arya reasserted firmly. The group of elves stared blankly at her for a moment before turning on their heels and leaving Arya to her peace. Her job if nothing else was exhausting.

I can't believe how provincial some people are, She said to Fírnen, It's truly surprising.

You know well that elves are a resilient race. Some are unable to see past their blind hatred, Fírnen answered. Don't be too harsh on them.

I know, I know, Arya grumbled. He was right, as he always was. I suppose that my time with the Varden truly helped me understand the other races.

And Eragon, Her dragon added. He is a human, no?

That he is, Arya agreed. Though he is more elf than human now. It had been a long time since she had spoken to Eragon. They communicated through letters occasionally, but never verbally. The wards surrounding Du Weldenvarden prevented any sort of magic from entering, benign or not.

I never knew him before he was transformed. And I don't know any other humans, so I will take your word for it, Fírnen replied. In the few years that had passed since his hatching, Arya had only journeyed beyond Du Weldenvarden's fringes a handful of times. Fírnen rarely met other races; and when he did, it was only for a short time.

One day you will meet people of other races, Arya promised. It would be unfair to chain Fírnen to throne for his entire life. I shouldn't think that I'll be queen until I die.

I will wait patiently for that day, Fírnen said. As long as you are happy being the queen, I will support you.

Arya sent a wave of gratitude through their connection. He was the sole reason she had stayed sane when Eragon and Saphira had left. Fírnen never asked for anything in return; she truly was in his debt.

The rest of her day passed in much the same manner, with several issues arising through the day which she handled promptly. Several nobles approached her with issues concerning the preparations for the next festival, which House should accommodate the newest guest in Ellesméra, and the rate of children being born. Arya listened to all of these patiently albeit with white knuckles and a sore backside. At times, her mind wandered, thinking of Fírnen and days long past.

Though her job was stressful and tedious, Arya was driven by the knowledge that she was helping her people achieve prosperity.

Where are you going? Fírnen asked as Arya opened the door leading to the Crags of Tel'nair.

To the Menoa Tree, She responded. The tree was only a short walk from her home, though it would have been much shorter had she lived in Tialdarí Hall. But Arya was different, for she was a Rider, and it only seemed right to pay homage to the Dragon Riders of old by living on the Crags of Tel'nair.

Would you like to fly there? Fírnen asked, landing in front of her with a thump. He lowered his neck to the ground, allowing Arya to climb up easily.

Arya obliged and took her normal seat in the juncture between his neck and shoulders. Feeling the wind envelope her was one of the best feelings after a long day in Tialdarí Hall. There was nothing quite like flying far above the land, looking down at the trees. Arya pitied those less fortunate.

The area surrounding the Menoa Tree was desolate, for it was dark and most elves had retired for the night. Arya often came at this time to sit under the tree and relax. The burdens of the day evaporated whenever she sat here. The isolation made it easier to ponder thoughts, for there were no ambitious nobles striving to complete their agenda.

Staring blankly into the darkness ahead of her, enabling the void to seep into her very being; Arya did not react when Fírnen rested his head next to her. What are you thinking about, Arya? Her dragon asked her. His large, scaly eyelid turned towards her.

The usual, She replied. Arya often reflected on how drastically her life had changed in the last few years. I just felt…empty…today while listening to Niraen and the other elves.

But you've felt like that for several months now, haven't you? Fírnen said.

It was true. For the past few months, Arya had sought the Menoa Tree increasingly often after enduring the court's constant bickering. Ah…yes…, She admitted. It's just something that I'll have to live with. Every monarch deals with this.

Fírnen pondered her statement for awhile; his slow, steady breathing soothing her troubled mind. Let me ask you this: are you happy?

Of course, why would you ask that? Arya asked, startled by the question. There was no doubt about it; she was serving those whom she valued most, what else could she ask for?

Because you've changed, Arya. You're no longer the same person you once were, Fírnen said.

No I haven't, She refuted, I am still the same person I've always been. I—

Her partner-of-the-mind interrupted her, No you're not. It may not be evident to you, but it is clear as day to me. You are not the same person you were when you took the throne three years ago.

Tell me, how did I change? Arya had a sinking feeling Fírnen was right, partially at least. Some of the things she once enjoyed no longer held the same level of interest for her.

Well, Fírnen started, The way you think has changed. You used to do be completely certain about what you were doing if it were for the greater good. Now, I'm not so sure. Lately, your heart has been influencing more of your thoughts and decisions. Am I right, my Rider?

Arya pondered what he said, attempting to objectively examine every decision she had made recently. His proposal held truth in it; even referencing the day's events, her mind had not been present when dealing with her subjects. When Arya had first begun her reign as queen, she had memorized every detail presented to her, no matter how insignificant. You may be, She sighed, Then what should I do?

Hmmm, Fírnen said, withdrawing into his own thoughts. If there was a solution to her dilemma, Arya could not see it. Do what makes you happiest.

It was a piece of advice that only further befuddled her. I don't know what makes me happy, She sighed. Every breath she had taken since becoming the elven ambassador was for the betterment of her people.

Does being queen bring you personal happiness? He asked. It seemed as if Fírnen were trying to coax Arya in a specific direction.

Yes…no…It's who I am, that's all. It was the best explanation she could come up with. It was true, for she virtually had no interests outside of Fírnen and her people.

Why do you feel like some of your duties no longer interest you? Fírnen continued, gently nudging her with his words.

I don't know, Arya confessed, frustrated with the lack of progress in the conversation. I just don't feel as complete as I once did.

Then perhaps you—Whatever Fírnen had been about to say was lost; for at that moment, Arya suddenly clutched her right hand tightly to her chest in shock. A cold numbness paralyzed her hand, the muscles not responding properly. This happened sporadically, increasing in severity every time.

Arya! What's happened? Fírnen's voice rang with alarm.

It's my hand, again. She said, nursing her arm. It's getting worse, I can't feel my entire hand this time. She tried to clench her fist, but to no avail. The muscles in her hand refused to bend. Her mind immediately contrived several outcomes of varying degrees of horror. The prospect of losing her hand terrified her.

She had never thought of how closely she identified with her physical abilities until the numbness in her hand became a concern. Now, Arya was well aware that the coordinated use of her muscles was a large part of who she was.

Holding her limp hand as one would a baby, Arya willed her hand to obey her commands. And eventually the dead sensation slowly disappeared, enabling her to flex her muscles to her great relief. It was not until her hand successfully opened and closed several times did Arya lean back against the sturdy Menoa Tree. The sudden bout of numbness left her full of worries and trepidations.

I worry about you, Arya, Fírnen said gently. It was difficult to forget that Fírnen was affected by her disability nearly as much as she was. Her dragon draped his long, leathery wing over Arya, cradling her against his side.

I know…But there is nothing I can do, the most talented elves have tried to heal my hand without success, Arya replied wistfully. The most prestigious healers in the modern era had been called upon to cure her ailment, but each of them failed as miserably as the last.

Indeed they have…His voice trailed off. The most talented elven healers tried and failed…But not those from ages long past. Excitement began to emanate from Fírnen, an idea taking root in his mind. The Eldunarí from the Vault of Souls must contain much information that has been lost over the generations.

There is bound to be some magic lost, but the Eldunarí are inaccessible now, Arya reminded him. It was a good idea, she thought; but it was impossible to access their vast store of knowledge. They had been taken by Eragon when he left the continent three years ago.

But you and I, we can travel there. I have thought of the distance described in Eragon's letters; it is not so far that I can't fly provided we rest on the islands between us.

I cannot leave Alagaësia, I'm the queen. It would be irresponsible for me to leave now, Arya countered. The thought of leaving Alagaësia troubled her greatly. Never before had she entertained the thought of leaving her home, even temporarily.

We don't know how much worse your hand will become if you wait any longer, Fírnen pressed. Already, your condition is steadily deteriorating. You must act now if you wish to have any chance find a cure.

Her eyelids closed, enclosing the multitude of emotions bottled up inside of her. Fear, anxiety, desolation; these were all threatening to overwhelm her. Abandoning her own people to save a part of herself, it seemed a selfish act to commit. What if the Eldunarí do not have the cure I'm looking for? There is a good chance that I will lose my hand, regardless of my choice.

What other option is there? Hope is all you have to cling to. Time is not on your side.

I know, Arya sighed. All of her options seemed to lead to the same place: away from Alagaësia. She had hoped to never be forced to make a decision such as this, but it was unavoidable now. I will go to Eragon and seek his aid, She finally said, quelling her tumultuous heart. It pained Arya to put her own concerns before those of the elves', but it would be unfair otherwise.

Good, Fírnen said, relieved. I'm glad you came to that decision.

We will not be able to leave right away, Arya warned, There are preparations I must attend to.

Watching the elders enter the throne room, Arya noted their confusion dispositions. She had called for an emergency meeting, summoning the elves with short notice. A few had approached her seeking answers, but Arya turned them away, maintaining her silence until the official announcement.

When the last of the elders had arrived, Arya collected herself and stood in front of the Knotted Throne. This was a monumental decision, one that would have severe repercussions. "You all must be wondering why I summoned you here today," Arya started, receiving a few nods in return. "The reason I stand here before you is to inform you that I plan to visit Du Valdrvarden, home of the Dragon Riders." Each face she looked at remained stoic, awaiting additional information.

"As most of you already know, the hand injury I sustained in Helgrind has bothered me. But what you are not aware of is its decreasing condition. With each successive bout of numbness, more and more of my hand is lost to the sensation. Soon, I fear I will lose control of my right hand permanently." She paused, allowing the words to sink in. "Due to such forebodings, I have decided to seek the aid of the Eldunarí stored in Du Valdrvarden. Such is the reason I have gathered all of you here today." When Arya finished, the entire room was eerily silent, sulking in the mood she bestowed upon it.

One of the elders, Tlaéri, spoke up, "Your Majesty, surely there is an alternative to the solution you have proposed."

"There is no elf alive able to cure my ailment, but the Eldunarí contain endless amounts of information lost to us," Arya replied.

"And how long will you remain on Du Valdrvarden? There will be a great many effects due to your absence. Tlaéri asked.

"I cannot honestly answer that question. It may be a few short weeks, or it may be several months. There is no way to determine that at this present time."

"I see…" The elder thought for a split-second, "Then we have no choice but to elect a substitute monarch until you return. We must maintain stability within the nation."

Arya had known the elders would arrive at this decision, for it was the only sensible one available. "Do as you see fit." She let them sit in deep silence for a few moments before continuing. "Do I have your approval for my leave of absence?"

Tlaéri glanced at each of the gathered elves' faces before responding. "You do, Your Majesty. May your travels be safe."

How much further? Arya asked Fírnen. They soared far above the ebbing tide, flying at the same altitude as the native seagulls. Though they departed from Alagaësia only a few days ago, she already felt isolated from her people.

We should be there within the hour, Her dragon replied, Land should appear on the horizon soon. This journey pleased Fírnen greatly, for the pair did not have the opportunity to fly often.

Only fifteen minutes had elapsed when Arya first spotted Du Valdrvarden in the far distance. In the three years since the Dragon Rider order was reformed, she had never once visited the stronghold, thoroughly occupied by her royal duties. But a part of Arya knew that she had intentionally refrained from making the trip. Though she would never admit it to anybody, she was afraid that once she traveled to Du Valdrvarden, the allure of its lifestyle would draw her in.

Are you excited to meet all the other dragons? Arya asked. There had been many eggs that had hatched, and though Fírnen had met many of them, the acquaintances had been fleeting. Arya sensed that her dragon longed to live with other dragons and it pained her to deny him so.

Of course, He replied coolly. Though Fírnen's tone was calm and collected, Arya knew him well enough to detect the restrained undercurrent hidden beneath.

And Saphira as well, you haven't seen her in three years. Think of how much she'll have grown since then. In truth, as Arya talked of Saphira, her thoughts strayed to Eragon. How much had he grown? Was he still the same person? Did he continue to hold feelings for her despite the passing years.

I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to see everybody, Fírnen assured her. Neither of them had any idea how long their stay would be. It could take a few hours to heal Arya's hand or several months to find the remedy. There was no way to tell.

Their conversation ceased as the looming island rapidly approached. With the size of buildings quickly increasing, Arya spotted two immense guard towers rising far above the land. Between them lay a palace rivaling Tialdarí Hall in both size and majesty. It was intricately decorated, containing architectural designs from ages long past. Archways curved gracefully over cobbled walkways, circumventing a beautiful central garden. It was humbling to think that only three years ago, this place was teeming with forests.

Fírnen landed in the garden, placed conveniently in the center of the castle. While Arya extricated herself from the leather saddle, one of the Dragon Riders, Tímern, greeted her. Tímern was an elf Rider she had met while his dragon matured. Typically, Riders did not receive training until a few months after their dragons had hatched. "My Queen," He greeted courtesously. Though Dragon Riders were unaffiliated with continental monarchies, most still retained some form of attachment to their race. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"And you as well, Tímern," Arya replied cordially. "I realize that I did not send warning of my arrival, but where may I find Eragon?"

"Ah, let's see," Tímern mused, "Master Eragon should be in his office at this hour. He always handles the paperwork after dinner. Would you like me to escort you there?"

"That would be most appreciated," She said gratefully. In an unfamiliar castle of this magnitude, Arya was certain she would have lost her bearings if she were alone.

Her guide started walking at a respectable pace, angling towards one of the entrances to the palace. I will seek out other dragons, Fírnen announced, taking to the air. Arya noticed her dragon move with haste, eager to meet others of his kin.

Arya passed several other Riders, greeting them politely in the richly adorned hallways. There were men and women of all races in this cultural mecca. It was wonderful to see the unity that thrived within the halls, something that was not present anywhere in Alagaësia. Though the Riders hailed from different regions and cultures, the dragons had drawn them all together.

"We've arrived," Tímern announced as they halted in front of an inauspicious doorway. It was decorated no differently than the rest of the palace, a fact that surprised Arya greatly given Eragon's status. After thanking the elf, Arya knocked hesitantly, wary of her unannounced visit.

"Enter," Came the muffled reply. Turning the knob on the door, Arya gathered her wits and strode into Eragon's personal office. Inside, she noticed a multitude of fairths decorating the walls. They were of old acquaintances Eragon had made during the war. There was one of Nasuada and Murtagh, of Roran and Orik. The largest one of all was a fairth of herself, hanging above an empty fireplace. It was similar to the one Arya kept in her room, created by Eragon before he left. Finally, she saw Eragon writing furiously on a wooden desk. Focused on his task at hand, Eragon never lifted his head as she stood there in front of him. "Eragon," She said softly.

Abruptly, Eragon dropped his quill and raised his head. "Arya…" He breathed. Nostalgia-riddled tension hovered between them before Eragon composed himself and said, "My apologies, Queen Arya, I wasn't expecting you."

"There is no need for the formalities, Eragon. We may not have conversed as much as we would have liked, but our friendship has endured the years, has it not?" Though Arya had not seen Eragon in years, he looked the same as the day he set sail aboard the Talíta. A rush of memories overwhelmed her, stirring the feelings she had set aside.

"Of course," Eragon agreed, "I was merely caught off-guard. Now, is there something I can help you with, Arya?" He asked. There was a subtle hint of curiosity hidden in his voice. There were many possible reasons as to why Arya, Queen of the Elves would come to Du Valdrvarden.

"Well," She started slowly, "Do you remember the injury I sustained in Helgrind several years ago?" Eragon nodded in grim remembrance. "For an unknown reason, the numbness that was once limited to a small patch of skin has spread to the rest of my hand."

Eragon's eyes opened wide in surprise. "What?" He exclaimed, "That's not possible. The injury was merely a few frayed nerves, it's not a disease."

"The elves do not understand why this is happening. Only that my condition is becoming progressively worse," Arya paused, holding back the fear that engulfed her. "It's only a matter of time before I lose function of my hand, possibly my whole arm."

Arya watched as his hand clenched on the desk between them. "How do you think I can help you?" Eragon asked in a strained voice.

Placing a cool hand atop of his in an effort to calm him, Arya said, "Perhaps the Eldunarí have knowledge that has been lost to our time. If anybody would know how to heal this wound, it would be them."

"I will attempt to find a solution with them. It may take some time though," He warned. That was all Arya could ask of Eragon, for there was no guarantee the Eldunarí would even be able to aid her. "In the meantime," He continued, "I will have a room arranged for you. All of our facilities will be available for your use."

"Thank you, Eragon," She said sincerely. Excusing herself from Eragon's office, Arya headed back to the garden, desperate for fresh air. All she could do now was hope Eragon found a cure before it was too late.

Walking up the now familiar pathways of Du Valdrvarden, Arya angled towards the training grounds. Though she rarely took up arms, she enjoyed spectating the fledgling Riders train. It was calming to watch the future guardians grow into their own. "Hello, Queen Arya," A voice came from behind her. It seemed as if everybody on this island knew who she was, even those not of elven descent.

Turning around, Arya found herself looking at a slender woman with long, brown hair. "Ah hello, Keverna," She replied. Keverna was a human Dragon Rider whom Arya had met while visiting Aberon on a diplomatic mission. She had been of noble heritage before her dragon, Ophelia, had hatched. "How is your training coming along?"

"Well enough," Keverna sighed. "My master is unrelenting. He accepts nothing less than perfection."

"As he should," Arya replied, "The more rigorous your training, the stronger you will become." There was something to be said about frustratingly difficult mentors. Had Eragon been coddled by Oromis and Glaedr, the war may have very well been lost.

The young Rider nodded, "As you say." Every Rider on the island seemed to pay deference to Arya. Whether they did from respect of her station or relations to Eragon, she was uncertain.

"Who is your master, Keverna?" Arya asked curiously. Out of all her explorations in Du Valdrvarden in the three weeks since she had arrived, not once did Arya find a Rider who qualified as a teacher.

"Umaroth," The Rider answered. "Sometimes, he is difficult to understand, for his ways of thinking are beyond mine."

"Umaroth? Why does a Rider not teach you?" Arya questioned. Umaroth was one of the ancient Eldunarí and they often thought on a far different level, for they spent centuries honing their mental craft.

"There are no fully-fledged Riders yet," Keverna answered swiftly. "Master Eragon asserts that it used to require several years of training to become a Rider of old. There are a few initiates who are close to achieving that status, but they are still a year or two away."

"I see," Arya said. It was a tricky situation indeed, for there were many Riders to train, yet Eragon and Murtagh were the only trained Riders alive. And the latter had not been seen since he departed to the North several years back. "So each Eldunarí has a pupil to train?"

"Aye, but as of now, the amount of Eldunarí far outnumber the amount of initiates," Keverna said. "Of course, Master Eragon has a pupil as well. I've heard that he's even more rigorous than the Eldunarí."

Arya nodded seriously, "That's to be expected. He was trained at an unnatural pace. Eragon is likely pushing his student as hard as Oromis pushed him."

"I suppose," Keverna replied wistfully, "I just wish that my training were complete. Then I'll be a part of the force that really purges Galbatorix's taint from Alagaësia."

"And you'll do much more than that," Arya agreed. "If all goes well, the Riders will help unify the land. You will help eradicate the blinding hatred that has escalated between the races."

"And what of you, Queen Arya? You're a Rider too, aren't you?" Keverna asked, her eyebrows slanting upwards.

Often this question was directed towards her, but never by a fellow Dragon Rider. Its accusation left Arya unsettled. "I have my own duties to my people. It's not possible for me to be in two places at once."

"I mean no offense, but you can make a larger impact as a Rider than a queen," Keverna rebuked. "A queen helps only her own people, Dragon Riders work for the betterment of all." Her words struck a chord deep inside Arya. It reawakened the urge to forfeit everything she knew and loved for a new life. "You said it yourself, we can dispel the animosity between the nations. Something that no single individual is capable of."

The conversation had unnerved Arya, its implications far-reaching. "It is getting late and I should return to my quarters; it was a pleasure speaking with you, Keverna," She said hastily, excusing herself from the room. Without waiting for a response, Arya turned on her heels and escaped through a nearby door.

The degree to which the gentle accusations stung surprised her. Normally, when others questioned her choice, Arya was able to brush it away effortlessly. But a Rider had raised the accusation this time, one who was a part of the very conflict.

Did you listen to that conversation? Arya asked Fírnen.

I did, Fírnen said. There was an indiscernible edge in his voice, though she could not fathom why.

Do you think Keverna is right? Could I be doing more serving as a Rider? Her own doubts seemed to creep their way into her thoughts, plaguing her very existence.

I think, He answered, That you're just asking me to verify your own thoughts. You already know the answer, Arya.

Perhaps, She admitted. But is it the right thing to do? I need your opinion on this. Every decision Arya made affected Fírnen, but this one especially so. She could not, in good conscience, decide this outcome without first consulting the partner-of-her-mind.

You will be helping people regardless of what you choose to do. But will you be happier doing it as a queen or as a Rider?

I don't know, Arya confessed, I can see myself in both of those roles.

Then perhaps what you need is more time, Fírnen advised. You will have plenty more time to think while you are on this island. Whatever you choose to do, I will stand by your side. Have no fear of that, Arya.

Arya was in the midst of reading when sharp, excited knocks rapped on her door. Sighing, Arya closed her book gently before answering the intruder. "Eragon? What brings you here at this hour?" Arya asked as her friend stumbled into her quarters. It was the middle of the day and the Master Rider was normally in his office fending off various reports.

"We did it, Arya," Eragon gasped. He must have run all the way to her room to deliver the news, for he was short on air. "The Eldunarí, Saphira and I managed to create a spell to cure your hand."

"You're certain?" Arya exclaimed. It had been three months since Eragon first embarked on the daunting task. The last she had inquired, he had been no closer to the remedy than when he first started.

"As sure as we'll ever be," Eragon confirmed. "We won't know for certain until we try it out. We can do it now if you'd prefer. It won't take but a minute."

"Yes, that would be excellent," She replied. The mere thought of returning to full health excited every nerve in her body.

"Let's get started," Eragon murmured, grabbing her right hand. Muttering under his breath, Eragon began to invoke the healing spell. An alien feeling swept through her body, unlike any healing spell she had encountered previously. Deep lines of concentration were etched on Eragon's forehead as he twisted the magic to his whims, willing them to serve his purpose.

Fire burned through her severed nerves, causing her to gasp in pain. The heat scorched her hand, a stark contrast to the cold numbness she had grown accustomed to. She could feel severed nerves bridge the gaps, torn ends rejoining reluctantly; a most painful sensation. The procedure was over within fifteen minutes; but to Arya, it felt like several hours had elapsed. She rubbed her hands together, surprised that she could feel the chafing where her injury had previously been.

Across from her, Eragon looked exhausted, yet ecstatic at the same time. "Did it work?" He asked, his curiosity thinly veiled.

She nodded, "Thank you, Eragon." He had managed to accomplish what the most talented healers of the century failed to do, an extraordinary feat. Arya's gratefulness was as sincere as it had ever been.

"There was a lingering poison in your body, one which slowly spread throughout your body," Eragon explained, "Had you waited a few more years, your entire arm would have been lost."

"But how did nobody notice the poison?" Arya asked, mortified. The thought of having a poison nestled in her body chilled her to the bone.

"It was hidden, nearly invisible. Impossible to detect unless you knew what to look for," Eragon said gently. "Nobody could have known."

"Then how did you find it?" Arya questioned.

"Deep in the recesses of Umaroth's memories, the symptoms of your peculiar injury was touched upon," He said. "Long ago, the monks of Helgrind used to brew a poison that would replicate the effects that you experienced. But the knowledge to create such a poison has been lost, the drops in your blood were likely the last in all of Alagaësia."

The pair fell quiet after that, the realization that Arya had no reason to stay on Du Valdrvarden quickly dawning upon them. Now that her hand had been healed, the Knotted Throne awaited Arya in Ellesméra. "When will you return to Alagaësia?" Eragon asked somberly.

"Soon I should think. I…" Arya trailed off, thoughts and worries swarming her mind. The time spent on Du Valdrvarden had been unequivocally peaceful and comforting. Living on the island had offered Arya a different perspective of life compared to Ellesméra. One that she seriously considered taking. But now that the choice was thrust upon her, she wavered between two futures. Can I do it? Arya asked Fírnen.

You must do whatever you feel is right," Fírnen answered. She had often consulted Fírnen for his opinion on the matter, and each time he responded with the same answer.

"I…I think that I shall renounce my title and remain here…as a Dragon Rider," Arya said slowly. She gripped the wooden arm of her chair tightly, seeking the support it offered. Her the muscles in her hand clenched as she thought of all that she would be giving up.

"What?" Eragon exclaimed. "But your duty, surely you can't surrender that?"

"In the short time that I've been here, I have come to the realization that I can do just as much good as a Rider. I would be a part of the changes that you are bringing to Alagaësia," She replied. It was not an easy decision for sure, one which she would question for the next several years at the very least. "Of late, my whole-hearted commitment to the elves has been wavering. They deserve a ruler who has no doubts, someone who can give everything without a second thought. I am no longer that person," Arya concluded, her resolution strengthening with each passing minute.

"I see…You will be welcome to our order, Arya," Eragon said in a low, hushed voice.

She hesitated before voicing the other thought that plagued her mind. "Eragon," She lifted to meet his, "Do you…still feel the same as you did three years ago?" It was an unresolved topic, one which they had neglected to answer throughout their brief correspondence.

"My feelings remain unchanged, Arya," Eragon said firmly. There was no doubt in his voice, none whatsoever.

Arya sighed in relief. "Then you know how much you mean to me," She said. Eragon nodded mutely. "If you are willing…I would like to see where this takes us," Her voice shook with years of suppressed emotions. "Slowly though, for you are too precious to lose due to a mistake." It was a moment of déjà vu, these words having been said three years ago, before fate had separated them.

Eragon's eyes lit up momentarily before he carefully reigned in his emotions. "I…would like that, Arya." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing, "Then, would you like to accompany me to the dining hall tonight?" The Rider stood up, offering his arm to Arya.

"I would," She replied with a smile, grasping the proffered limb. Between them, Arya could feel the vibrant hope of the future. Whatever fate lay ahead, they were the masters of their own destinies.

To the honored Elven nation,

It is with the greatest regret that I inform you of my decision to relinquish my title as queen. You may not understand my reasons for doing so now, or even in several years; but I truly hope that one day, you will comprehend my reasons. When I first accepted the crown, I ignored the other responsibilities pressing upon me in favor of leading the elves out of these dark ages. I wished to pour my heart and soul into the elves in order to usher in a new age of prosperity and freedom. Three years from that day, I have played my part in the rebuilding of Alagaësia and hope that my efforts will lead to the golden age we once enjoyed. But it is impossible for me to continue serving you as the queen. As the time has passed; other, more qualified leaders, have emerged from the shadows, ones who may better lead the elves.

As a Dragon Rider, it has always been my duty to provide order from afar, not with the political bias associated with the Knotted Throne. Three years ago, accepting the crown was the most logical choice to serve Alagaësia as a whole. But now that others have emerged, it is my time to embrace the role that has been thrust upon me, for better or for worse. Becoming a true Dragon Rider was an inevitable outcome, one which is just as important as serving the Knotted Throne. And so it is with unending grief that I will release the honor you have bestowed upon me to pursue my true role in life. I am certain that no matter the monarch, you will continue to prosper as you so richly deserve. No matter what happens, you will be in capable hands and you will continue to make me proud to be an elf.

Atra du evarínya ono varda,

Arya Shadeslayer

Author's Note:

So sorry for the long delay. I had meant to get this chapter up almost a month ago, but I got real lazy. But I'm just going to blame college because it makes me feel better ;).

Anyways I hope you enjoyed the story. You can't really examine the chapters individually as they are basically one large chapter split-up into three neat sections. There are overall themes running through the chapters that make no sense whatsoever if looked at in individual chapters.

Reviews are always welcome.