A/N:

A quick note on this chapter: Scene 2 is a re-work from a chapter of the same name in book 4, with a little of my own take of course ;) Thus, there are spoilers in it for any who have not read book 4.

That said ...

ENJOY!

Disclaimer: This chapter makes use of characters and locations that are part of the Inheritance Cycle. Except where noted all characters and locations are owned and copyright by Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 1 - Fírnen:

It was twilight. The Menoa Tree stood brighter than the brightest cluster of first stars shining in the sky, glimmering from the soft light of lanterns carefully suspended from the tips of its branches. At the west end of the clearing, that lay near the tree, was a large table, adorned with a spread of food and drink: wooden carafes brimming with elderberry wine and Faelnirv, an assortment of colorful fruits and vegetables stacked upon several wooden platters, nuts, seed cakes, aromatic stews and other elven dishes.

Along the outer edge of the clearing stood a gathering of elves, facing what appeared to be the subject of the celebration, some wearing an expression of disapproval, while others of genuine joy, or suppressed envy.

In the center of the multitude, near the Menoa Tree, were Eragon and Saphira, both facing the other, he standing and she crouching. Just behind Eragon stood Roran, his gaze held to the ground, as if in deep thought, face painted with an expression of disapproval, or worry. Next to him, holding their daughter Ismira, was Katrina. Behind them stood Arya and Böldhgarm, accompanied by the remaining elves under his charge.

The Spectral Dragon hovered over Eragon and Saphira, the tip of its tail attached to the twins, Iduna and Nëya, who were spinning so fast they appeared as one. The dragon's scales glittered with a dance of multi-colored lights reflecting from the lanterns behind it, its hue-strewn wings outspread as if it were preparing to gently brush the heads of the Dragon and Rider pair. It glanced between them, then fixed its gaze solely on Eragon as he turned his head to find the ancient dragon's eyes bright and intent, filled with a small measure of excitement that he found odd of the creature. He felt as though it was waiting for him to say … nay, to recite something, something he'd spent days perfecting for just this moment. But, oddly, he had no idea what it was he was supposed to say. He nodded then began moving his mouth, uttering words indiscernible to him as he looked back to Saphira, eyes betraying love, affection, and … and a certain … longing—

Longing? He questioned himself, straining to acknowledge the feeling for what is was, but since their bonding he could remember no time he'd felt it before. Nay, not this, not—

How?

The celebration resumed. Saphira dipped her head and pressed her lower jaw against his shoulder, pulling him into a kind of embrace. Eragon returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around her neck as he continued to speak. They remained as such, he rubbing her neck affectionately, until Eragon finished speaking. When they released each other Saphira drew her head back to look at him, betraying the same love, affection and longing in her own eyes. Her expression was firm, as though she were certain of something, a decision perhaps. He couldn't tell.

Eragon paused, his brow furrowed as though something were paining him, and then looked over his shoulder, passed Roran and Katrina, to Arya, who was looking back at him. No words passed between them, or at least none that he could tell, but none were apparently needed. Arya's expression remained stoic, save for a slight wrinkle in her brow. He could tell something troubled her. After a few moments her gaze dropped, lips pressed tight in thought. Then her expression softened again and with a faint smile she looked up at Eragon and offered him a curt nod, as though giving her approval. He offered her the same smile then looked back to Saphira and nodded as if in reply to something she'd said to him.

Saphira shifted on her forelegs then dipped her head and paused, allowing Eragon to take hold of her scaled cheeks with both hands and peck her snout with a gentle kiss before closing his eyes and lowering his head slightly. He uttered something to her and kept hold as she touched the blunt of her snout to his forehead.

He exhaled heavily, as though readying himself, the fingers of his hands clenching tighter into her cheeks. The faces of those around them grew intent, their mouths moving, as if uttering some sort of incantation, or song. The Spectral Dragon, who'd been watching their every move, lifted its head, jaws parted in what appeared to be a roar. A moment later the spot she touched began to glow, and then it erupted in a flash of light that blinded his view. When the light was gone he saw Saphira sniffing something on the ground. It was him, lying on the ground, as if dead, in front of her.

Eragon caught his breath, startled from the dream. His eyes remained half-lid, brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and curiosity, gaze transfixed on the interlaced fingers of his hands, which rested comfortably on his stomach. He exhaled slowly, shivering from a sudden chill that tightened his stomach and covered his body with goose-flesh.

In the days that followed his transformation, during the Agaetí Blödhren, he had grown accustomed to the vivid nature of his waking dreams, but few had been so vivid as this. And none that left him so split: warmed by the lingering remnant of feelings the dream had stirred in him, but chilled by the implication of one in particular. And so many questions that begged answer, first and foremost:

What did I just dre …

What does it mean?

He wanted to mull over the dream, try to understand it, but before he could begin his thoughts were interrupted.

Well? Are we going to tarry about all morning or are we leaving?

Eragon sighed, deciding it best to save the dream for another time.

Later, he told himself.

What!?

No, no Saphira, he began. I wasn't speaking to you. I was just making a …

Hmmm, a mental note.

After that he tucked the memories of his dream behind mental barriers and relaxed, sighing with relief that she had not picked up on it.

He couldn't really blame Saphira for her impatience with him. He was looking forward to seeing Arya too. It had been months since either of them had spoken to her, and, although neither of them had made mention of it, he and Saphira were more than a little curious about the green egg Arya had taken with her. With so much time having passed it was no small wonder as to what became of it. Of course, the fact that the trip meant another chance for them to go flying together didn't hurt either. A wide grin slowly crept across his face. Then he sat up in his bed and threw his legs over the side.

Coming! I'm coming … oh impatient one. He quipped.

Saphira sent him an image of claw marks freshly etched into a stony surface, and then another of his window as viewed from the court below. She was undoubtedly waiting for him there, and wanted him to know it!

Eragon pursed his lips.

Careful Saphira, he urged. Nasuada would likely disapprove defacing the fine stone floor of what is now her court.

There was a brief pause then the image of another set of claw marks, next to the previous set, was sent to him in reply.

Alright, alright I get it! He said, laughing.

Jumping from his bed, Eragon donned his tunic and trousers, strapped Brisingr to his waist and rushed out the door.

Saphira set down atop a rise overlooking an empty plain lining the Ramr River at its farthest point before curving eastward. Eragon looked over it, straining a glimpse for anyone below; but the land appeared barren and empty, save for a small herd of wild oxen. One of the beasts, a large bull, looked up to take notice of the new arrivals, a tuft of grass hanging out the side of its mouth.

It seemed to recognize the likes of Saphira. With a sudden snort it bucked then scampered off, the rest of the herd lemming in pursuit. Saphira snorted.

Lucky for them I've no time to hunt, she said smugly.

Eragon smiled, shaking his head at her as he kept watch over the plain. Save for a handful of other, smaller animals scatted about there was no sign of Arya. Disappointed, he turned his gaze to the eastern horizon, but again, saw no sign of her.

Saphira crouched as Eragon unstrapped his legs from her saddle, and then hopped off and settled down next to her, his back resting against her shoulder, to wait.

Their wait was not long.

An hour later, Saphira's head rose to look across the plains, towards the near-distant Hadarac Desert.

Eragon felt her body stiffen against his back, and a strange feeling from her that stood the hairs on the nape of his neck on end.

Look, she said.

Eragon lunged to his feet, a half-finished, slate-stone dagger clutched in his hand, and looked eastward. Seeing nothing, he panned his gaze left to right in the hopes of catching a glimpse of what had so roused Saphira's attention. Nothing.

What? he asked, confused.

Ignoring the question, Saphira stood silent, shifting slightly as she maintained a firm and attentive fix on a single point in the sky. Eragon prepared to ask again, but was caught short as he looked up from the plains, to the blue of the eastern sky.

There! He thought. It was a flick of light, like the twinkle of a green emerald moved beneath the sunlight, approaching at a hurried pace.

Keeping his eyes on the object, Eragon dropped the stone dagger he'd been working, climbed atop Saphira's back and strapped his legs to her saddle.

Saphira unfurled her wings, raising them in readiness to take flight, but made no move to leap.

Soon the speck grew larger until, after only a few minutes, its true shape became visible. It was a green …

dragon!?

Saphira trumpeted her excitement and, unable to wait any longer, leapt from the rise and flapped her wings to gain height.

She'd leapt with such force that Eragon had to clutch the neck spike in front of him to stay upright, keeping tight hold of it as Saphira ascended at a near vertical angle, desperate to reach the dragon as fast as possible.

Saphira climbed to an altitude just above the green dragon, and then leveled off while coming about to match its heading and speed.

From their vantage point Eragon saw that the dragon was young, a little younger than Saphira by the look of it. While it was well built it still held the gangly look of a hatch-ling, its limbs lacking the stocky weight of Glaedr's or Thorn's. The scales along its back and sides were a dark, forest green, while those of its belly were of a lighter shade, likened to that of the tall, windblown grasses that covered the plain below them.

At the base of its neck Eragon noticed a saddle much like his, and upon it he saw what looked to be Arya, her dark hair blowing in the wind. Eragon's breath caught at the sight, his heart filling with joy as the emptiness he'd harbored vanished.

The dragons swooped past one another then banked round so that one was chasing the other. This carried on for a time, all the while Saphira roaring her excitement, with the other following in reply. Then each both broke off, banking round in wide, opposite circles before meeting again and leveling off. Saphira flew just above and behind the other as they made their way back to the rise.

Eragon smiled and shouted into the wind. Arya looked back and shouted to him in return, waving an arm in greeting as she smiled. When she turned back round Eragon briefly touched her mind, just to be sure it was really her. In an instant he knew it was, and that neither she nor the dragon meant them harm. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her; however, not wishing to be rude, he withdrew. One of the questions had been answered the moment he and Saphira saw the green dragon. The rest she would answer when they landed, or at least he hoped.

As they drew near, Saphira flew ahead to take the lead where she spiraled down to the same rise they both waited on earlier. The green dragon, on the other hand, chose a spot a ways off from them, spiraling down in like fashion as Saphira had done. Eragon watched him alight atop the ground, then crouch to let Arya dismount before rising again to stand fast. Eragon ripped the straps from his legs as soon as she'd dismounted and jumped off Saphira. He took a moment to straighten the belt of his sword, which had shifted round his waist a little when he'd jumped off, and then ran to meet Arya, who was also running to meet him. The dragons followed behind their Riders, at a much more sedate pace.

Drawing near Arya, Eragon noticed a circle of gold resting on her brow, instead of the leather strip he'd grown accustom to. Around her waist hung a green-hilted sword, Támerlein, which had once been offered to him by lord Fiolr as replacement for Zar'roc. However, its hilt looked different, more graceful, and it was encased in a slightly narrower sheath.

By the time he reached her, he'd realized the meaning of the diadem Arya wore around her head.

"You?" He questioned, astonished.

Arya forced a faint smile. "Me," she said, inclining her head. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Eragon."

Eragon paused while Arya looked back to him, and, remembering the proper response, inclined his head in return.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Arya …

Dröttning?"

"Dröttning," she confirmed with a curt nod. "My people chose to give me my mother's title, and I chose to accept."

By this time the dragons were standing over them, their heads drawing closer to sniff each other. The green dragon was shorter than Saphira and had to stretch his neck to reach her. Eragon looked up at the new dragon for a moment, then glanced at Saphira, who was clearly preoccupied with the young male, before looking back to Arya.

"And him?" He asked, gesturing upward.

Arya smiled; then, to his surprise, took his hand and led him forward. The dragon, in turn, lowered his head in preparation to meet this new Rider he'd heard so much about.

"Eragon," she said, gesturing to the dragon, "this is Fírnen."

Arya placed Eragon's hand atop the dragon's warm snout and, gesturing towards Eragon, said.

"Fírnen, this is Eragon."

Eragon gently rubbed Fírnen's snout, admiring its feel, and looked into one of his brilliant green eyes.

I am glad to meet you, Eragon-friend-Shadeslayer, said Fírnen. My Rider has told me much about you.

Eragon's brow furrowed with a twinge of bewilderment. For such a young dragon, Fírnen's mental voice was deep, much deeper than he'd expected, than even Thorn's, Glaedr's or any of the Eldunarí.

After a moment, he gently pulled his hand away. He could feel the young dragon's excitement at meeting this new dragon and Rider pair, Saphira in particular. This gave him pause. Although a measure of wonder filled him that such a thing had come to pass, he suddenly found that he did not entirely share in the dragon's excitement. Rather his sense of wonder was cut with a certain, inexplicable uneasiness, one that the dragon, and Arya, seemed unaware of, but apparently not Saphira.

Well? Aren't you going to say something? she urged him privately, slightly impatient.

Eragon stiffened briefly at her unexpected intrusion of his thoughts and, blinking from his daze, offered.

"I am glad to meet you as well, Fírnen-finiarel. I never thought that I would live to see you hatched and free of Galbatorix's spells."

The emerald dragon snorted softly. Then he looked back to Saphira. Eragon felt, through Saphira, the thoughts and feelings exchanged between them, which only added to his uneasiness, though he couldn't understand why.

He turned his face away from Arya's slightly and flashed a wary glance between the two dragons before lowering his gaze, brow furrowed in confusion.

Arya took his hand again and squeezed it gently.

"They seem to have taken to each other."

Eragon closed his eyes at her words and quietly sighed; then, steeling himself, managed a smile and looked back to her.

"Aye, that they have."

Gesturing him to follow, Arya and Eragon walked out from under Saphira and Fírnen, leaving the dragons to themselves. As they walked Eragon glanced back every so often, until he and Arya stopped a respectable distance and turned to face them.

Eragon noticed that Saphira did not sit as she normally did. Instead of her usual, relaxed posture, she was crouched as if ready to pounce. It was matched by Fírnen, the tips of their tails twitching occasionally.

Shaking his head, Eragon forced himself to look away from them and turned attention to Arya. She looked well, or perhaps a better word was … happy, he thought.

Arya paused as if needing to find words, and said, "I apologize for not contacting you sooner. You must think badly of me for ignoring you and Saphira for so long and for keeping such a secret as Fírnen."

Eragon paused, and asked. "Did you receive my letter?"

"I did," she said and reached inside the front of her tunic and pulled out a folded square of battered parchment, showing it to him.

"I would have answered, but Fírnen had already hatched and I did not want to lie to you, even by omission."

Eragon let go of her hand and reached up to scratch his chin in thought then asked.

"Why keep him hidden?"

Arya thought a moment then looked to Fírnen.

"The dragons are still too few. With so many of Galbatorix's servants loose in Alagaësia, I did not wish to risk danger to him."

Arya signed and looked back to Eragon.

"I wanted to keep him hidden until he was large enough to defend himself. I would have kept it so much longer, until he was so large that no one would dare attack him, but he wanted to leave. He was eager to meet Saphira and, of course, you."

Eragon frowned at her last words, almost without realizing it. With a gentle shake of her head, Arya added.

"I couldn't deny his wish."

"Would it really have been possible for a human, intent on killing him, to get past the wards protecting Du Weldenvarden?" Eragon finally asked.

Arya moved her gaze aside in thought and shrugged.

"Aye, stranger things have happened," she said, looking back to Fírnen. It was not a risk worth taking to expose him too soon."

Arya paused and looked back to Eragon.

"But, as I said, he wanted to leave. And so here we are. I suppose it is just as well. I've been away long enough. The time has come for me to meet with Nasuada and Orik in my new role."

Fírnen was telling Saphira about the first time he'd caught a deer, which Eragon heard and felt through her. The interruption of his thoughts caused him to look back at the pair. Saphira was engrossed in the exchange, oblivious to anything else, prodding him with another twinge of uneasiness. Eragon felt his fist begin to clench; then, noticing it, forced himself to relax and look down, eager to talk with Arya and learn more about her happenings while away, and to distract himself from what was growing, little by little, into a nagging ache.

"How long —," he began, but paused to look at her.

"How long have you been queen?"

"Since a month after my return, but Vanir doesn't know. I wanted that knowledge kept from him, and our ambassador to the dwarves, so that I could raise Fírnen with as little distraction as possible. It may interest you to know that I raised him at the Crags of Tel'naeír. It seemed a fitting place. I'm sure that Oromis and Glaedr would have approved."

Eragon nodded, smiling. "Aye, I agree. I'm sure they would have."

Then his smile faded as a long silence fell between them.

As the dragons continued their exchange, Eragon became more relaxed and able in keeping his attention fixed to Arya.

"How did all of this happen?" he said, gesturing to her diadem, and to Fírnen.

Arya smiled.

"I noticed, at one point, during our return to Ellesméra that Fírnen was stirring in his egg. I didn't really pay it much attention because it was not uncommon. Saphira had done the same during the times I ferried her egg between my people and the Varden."

Eragon saw a gleam form in Arya's eyes as she went on.

Once we passed through the wards of Du Weldenvarden he hatched. I was carrying him in my lap at the time, telling him of the world, and that he was safe. Then—"

Arya shivered and lowered her voice, speaking just above a whisper.

"Eragon, it was wonderful, everything I'd always imagined the bond would be."

Arya paused, overcome with a momentary flush of emotion. Eragon remained silent, but took opportunity to smile back at her, acknowledging her wonder and joy. While Arya gathered herself he took a moment to recollect, with great fondness, the moment he'd bonded with Saphira.

Arya cleared her throat. "As I was saying, it was wonderful. I'd always wanted to be a Dragon Rider, so that I could help protect my people, and avenge the death of my father at the hands of Galbatorix."

"When you touched him, did it— " Eragon started to ask.

"Yes," Arya interrupted and lifted her left hand to show him the silvery mark on its palm, the same as his own.

Eragon nodded, acknowledging that it was indeed the same, a gedwëy ignasia; the mark born by every Rider.

Saphira was now telling Fírnen about the time she and Eragon went for a swim Leona Lake, during their search for the Ra'zac with Brom. Eragon became, for a moment, conscious of the dragons again, eliciting another feeling of uneasiness that was accompanied by slight tightness in his stomach, catching his breath. He paused, thinking to himself.

What's wrong with me? This has never happened before.

Slowly and quietly he exhaled, forcing himself to keep his gaze fixed on Arya's hand, instead of looking at Saphira and Fírnen. Then, a little more relaxed, he looked up at Arya.

"So you returned to Ellesméra."

"Aye, we returned to Ellesméra."

Eragon thought a moment.

"But why? Why become queen when you were already a Rider?" he asked, his brow furrowed with a mixture of confusion, and concern.

Arya remained silent, thinking the best way to answer him. As the order's newest leader she knew of his concern that serving as both queen and Rider might conflict with one another, each competing for priority. She drew a deep breath and answered him.

"It was not my idea," she began.

"Several of our elders, including Däthedr, came to the house on the crags, and asked me to take my mother's place. I refused, of course, but they were determined. They came each day for a week, each time offering new arguments of why I must. By the week's end I agreed it was the best choice for my people, and so accepted."

"Why must it be you though? Is it because you are Islanzadí's daughter, or that you had become a Rider?"

Arya thought a moment.

"Neither of those alone was the reason. Being Islanzadí's daughter was part of the reason the elders sought me, but it was not the reason I chose to accept."

Arya paused to consider her next words and continued.

"It is difficult to explain to an outsider. By comparison, elven politics is far more complicated than that of humans or dwarves. The choosing of a queen requires consent from many houses and families, and from the elder members of our race. Every choice made by each is part of a bigger, more subtle game that we as a people have been playing amongst ourselves for many, many years."

Eragon shifted, unable to understand her decision.

"But, how can you be a Rider as well as a queen?" he asked.

"You know as well as I that the Riders aren't supposed to support any race over another. Besides, how can you help rebuild our order and raise the next generation of dragons if you're busy with your responsibilities in Ellesméra?"

"Eragon," Arya sighed.

"Alagaësia is not as it once was, and neither is the order. We are only just beginning to rebuild, and are still too few to be as we once were. It will be a long while before the order has grown large enough to assume its former stature. Until then my place must be here."

Arya paused, then forced a faint smile.

"Besides, you are pledged to Nasuada and to Orik and Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are you not? My people cannot claim such, making it only right that we should have a Rider of our own."

"Arya," Eragon began in protest. "Saphira and I would fight for the elves if the need arose, as much as we would for the dwarves or humans … you know that."

Arya sighed again.

"Aye, Eragon, I do, but my people do not. You cannot take back the word you gave to Nasuada, nor can you take back the loyalty you pledged to Orik's clan, and my people have suffered greatly over the past hundred years. It may not be apparent to you, but we are not what we once were."

Eragon was silent for a moment as he considered her words; then, realizing she was right, he sullenly offered.

"Aye, the same is true of humans, or so Glaedr told us."

"And he is right," she nodded.

"You see, both our races will need time to recover, and much of that will depend on the return of the dragons. Right now your race has need of Nasuada, to help in its recovery. It is the same for mine. I could not turn my back on my people when they need me most of all."

"But they will always have need of you," he said, dismayed.

"And I will always be there for them," she replied, her expression firm. A moment later it softened.

"But do not worry, Eragon. Fírnen and I will not neglect our duty as Dragon and Rider. If you have need of us we will come."

Arya's words unsettled Eragon, but he did not show it. Prior to their arrival, he and Saphira had discussed that leaving Alagaësia might be the only way to ensure the safety of the unhatched dragons, and Eldunarí. But it was a big decision and, despite the prophecy Angela had given him in Teirm, they both remained undecided. However, if they did decide to, what Arya had promised him would never be possible. She seemed firm in her decision, leaving Eragon afraid that she was destined for a path he would be unable to follow. He sighed and forced a smile. For the moment they were here, and there was still time to make their final decision. Perhaps they would not have to leave. Perhaps fate would turn, favoring them with a means to safely raise the dragons in Alagaësia. Aye, for the moment they were here, and he would focus on that. Bowing his head, he accepted her decision.

"Then I accept your decision, Arya. And I know you won't neglect your responsibilities—"

"You never do," he added, not intending to be unkind.

She smiled again, bowing her head in return.

"Thank you, Eragon. I am pleased that you accept." Eragon's expression became thoughtful as another long silence fell between them. Then he looked down to the sword, Támerlein, strapped around her waist, thinking to ask about its change in appearance. Before he could; however, Saphira and Fírnen began to circle one another, their tails whipping back and forth along the ground, both of them breathing thickly through jaws part open to reveal long, white teeth. It was only after hearing the succession of low, whining grunts from the pair – the likes of which he'd never heard before - that Eragon's attention was ripped from Arya. His head turned sharp to look at them, unsure of what was going on. He did; however, become conscious of his earlier uneasiness, which had flared again as soon as he saw them. Only this time it was accompanied by a tight knot in his stomach, and a tingling sensation along his back that stood the hairs of his neck on end.

Though it appeared as if they were going to attack each other, he knew, from the feeling coming from Saphira, that their sudden behavior was spurred by something far different. In fact, as he continued to watch them, he slowly became aware, as if by some innate knowledge or instinct, that the source of his uneasiness was linked to them. Or perhaps more accurately, her proximity to the young male dragon, which, it appeared to him, she had taken a rather immediate liking to.

I want to test him, Saphira began, slapping her tail against the ground. I want to find out if he has the iron in his bones and the fire in his belly to match me.

Saphira began whipping her tail again, staring down the young male with eyes gleaming of her desire, and waited for Eragon to give his consent. But it did not come. Instead his hands clenched to fists, his former uneasiness gone, replaced by a new and overpowering emotion that seized him. Suddenly he became divided, caught between the urge to lash out at the young male, in attempt to discourage his obvious effort to court Saphira, or give consent to her request.

In that moment he lost all track of time, unaware of exactly how long he'd been mute. When his answer was not forthcoming Saphira stopped whipping her tail and swiveled her head to look at him, her head cocked in confusion to his apparent reluctance, eyes fierce and questioning. Eragon's gaze snapped from Fírnen, whom he'd been looking at, to meet Saphira's the moment he noticed her head turn. Her jaw was still half open and her breathing still thick, but it was not until he looked into her eyes that he came to his senses. Aware of his unwarranted reaction, Eragon's cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. He immediately averted his gaze, hesitated a final moment, and then forced himself to give her the answer she was waiting for, his reply strained and unsure.

Aye of … of course, Saphira. Go. Go and do what you must.

For a time Saphira made no move. Instead she kept her attention on Eragon, staring at him as if she were uncertain what to do. It did not last long. She looked at Fírnen, then back at Eragon, before rolling her head. Whether from some hidden frustration or an attempt to steel her resolve, she roared and unfurled her wings then turned and leapt into the air.

Fírnen paused, watching Saphira rise higher into the sky. Then, appearing uncertain, he turned his head to look at Arya, as if seeking guidance of whether to take Saphira's sudden action as rejection or take flight in pursuit of her.

Arya remained silent, herself uncertain of what just happened. Then she spoke, urging the young male.

If you want her then you must let her know it. Go after her.

Fírnen remained hesitant a moment longer then roared and let loose a pillar of green fire. Afterwards he opened his wings and leapt into the sky, banking east in pursuit of Saphira.

Eragon had kept his gaze averted the entire time. Not long after Fírnen took flight his hands relaxed and he found himself rubbing them along the sides of his legs. He managed, after a moment, to look into the sky and watched with a mixture of confusion and sadness, as Saphira and Fírnen faded into the distance. When they disappeared he felt his heart sink, as though he were secretly mourning a missed opportunity that he'd waited all his life to take. But he knew not why he felt this way. It was as if his heart knew something that his mind did not … nay, could not understand.

When he did manage to regain some measure of composure he turned back round to face Arya, who stood silently regarding him, her expression unreadable save for a single raised brow.