Author's Note: Well...here it is. The final chapter of ReEragon. But fear not, the sequel, ReEldest, is in the works, and will hopefully begin posting...sometime next week. Possibly. There are a few plot kinks to work out still. But, thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, and enjoyed. I hope you enjoy the ending, too. (smiles)

Chapter 38: The Parting of Ways

“Move over, I want a good seat!” Durza said, trying unsuccessfully to shove Eragon aside.

“Shut up,” he said. “This is the last chapter, and I want to make sure I get a good part! I’m the main character, I deserve it!”

“You shut up,” Arya said. “I want a good part to make up for that joke of a last chapter.”

“I haven’t even been in the story for chapters and chapters,” Brom mumbled. “I want to be in the last one, at least…”

Subieko rolled her eyes. “Would you all shut up? I’m trying to write, here! You’re all in the chapter, okay? Now stop distracting me.”

The characters obligingly shut up, if only because they were busy shoving and pushing each other around to get a better view of the laptop screen, and Subieko began to write the last chapter of the story they had begun so long ago.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Eragon stood close to Murtagh, with Saphira pressed against his other side. He had never been on a ship of any sort before, and the dwarves’ barge seemed impossibly awkward and heavy. Eragon had no idea how the thing floated, or how it moved, or anything. Murtagh had been on ships before, though, and he seemed confident enough. Saphira had no fear at all; she would just swim if they sunk, as she had told him more than once while they were waiting to board. Eragon had resisted the urge to remind her that she’d never tried swimming before, and might be as bad at it as he was.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Murtagh murmured in his ear. “It’s just a trip on the river. And the water is calm this time of year. We’ll be fine.”

It was hard not to grab Murtagh’s hand for reassurance, but Eragon resisted. He felt embarrassed to be so out of place, especially in front of the dwarves, who were completely at home manning the ship.

Saphira had grown tired of standing around with the two young men, and began poking her nose around the barge, exploring it. The dwarves glared at her, but didn’t dare say a word against the dragon, except for a few mutterings in their own language. They hadn’t spoken much at all to the humans and the dragon. Eragon wondered if they had offended the dwarves somehow, but couldn’t imagine what they might have done to inspire so much hostility.

Murtagh had some idea of what the problem was; he had been taught about the history of Alagaesia as a child, and remembered that the dwarves and the dragons had never trusted each other. It must be galling for them to have to ferry the dragon and Dragon Rider to the land of the elves.

He was more concerned about Eragon, though. He was unusually quiet, and his face was troubled. Murtagh was troubled by this. He missed Eragon’s cheerful, curious side, but had no idea how to cheer him up. For now, all he could do was at least be there.

“We’re off!” called Orik, who King Hrothgar had requested be sent with them to Ellesmera, on the grounds that the dwarves had as much stake in this as anyone. Orik was pleased enough to be off on a mission after long years of hiding and occasional guerilla strikes. Eragon seemed to trust the dwarf, but Murtagh wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t stopped the twin magicians from interrogating them. From separating them.

They would stop at the hall of one of the dwarven clan chiefs enroute to rest and restock their supplies. Murtagh was apprehensive; being surrounded by dwarves was not an especially safe thing for Eragon, or for Saphira either.

Murtagh was going to keep both eyes open for trouble. Eragon seemed to have a talent for attracting it.

The mountains swept past as the river carried them onward, towards a place that no one but the elves had entered in almost a century.

-o-o-o-o-o-

(You’re late), Rashid informed them once they had finally gotten back up into the foothills of the Spine where they had left the horse.

“I got held up. Starting riots, nearly dying, things like that,” Durza said dryly.

(I was living off of weeds.)

“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” Durza said, checking Rashid over for any injuries. He seemed to be in good health, so Durza brushed off the tack they had left nearby and began resaddling the horse.

Arya watched, not sure whether she should speak. She would have to ask soon, there was no way of avoiding it, but…she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to her question.

Three words. Just three words, but she felt frozen, unable to speak them.

Where to next?

What answer did she want, and what answer could she expect? Durza had agreed to help her kill the Ra’zac, nothing more. Technically, they weren’t allies, only enemies temporarily working together. She had every reason in the world to never see him again.

The Ra’zac had been Galbatorix’s most feared assassins. And yet she and Durza had killed them and lived to tell the tale. They made a good team, and Arya wasn’t sure whether she was happy about that or not.

At this point, she didn’t even know where she should go next. Back to the Varden? That was where she had been trying to go when she’d been captured; it seemed like a lifetime ago. Or maybe she should head to Ellesmera, to tell the Queen what had happened to the egg, and to Arya herself. The Varden must have gotten intelligence of her capture, and her subsequent disappearance; they had no idea that she was free and well.

She wanted to return to Ellesmera, if she was completely honest with herself. She missed her homeland. She hadn’t been back to see her mother in several years, what with various assignments for the Varden and ferrying the egg between Tronjheim and the elven settlements throughout the forest. Her mother might even fear that she was dead, that her daughter was lost forever. It had always seemed like there would be time later, time next year, next decade, whenever, to see her mother again. She had thought to do it when there was a gap in her duties. Everything had seemed so urgent, but now…it suddenly seemed terribly important.

But there was still a problem. She had no idea where Durza was planning to go next, but there was at least one place which he most definitely could not go: Ellesmera. Arya wasn’t sure she was ready to say goodbye just yet.

He would be a valuable ally for the Varden—I could never have killed the Ra’zac alone. He has information we need. Those were the only reasons. Arya refused to admit that she had gotten used to his company.

“Where will you go now?” Durza said, interrupting her thoughts and dragging up the very subject she had been hoping to avoid for at least a little longer.

But there was no point in delaying the conversation now. “I’m…not sure,” she admitted. “What about you?”
Durza shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much now.”

At that, Arya’s temper flared up. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You could still help the Varden.”

“I highly doubt the Varden wants help from the enemy, let alone from a shade.”

“You’re not their enemy anymore!”

“They don’t know that.”
Arya rolled her eyes. “I’ll write a letter for you. Go to the Varden and show it to them—that’s proof enough, isn’t it?”

Durza knew that this was a stupid idea. He knew that the Varden were unlikely to believe a letter written by someone who had not so long ago been the prisoner of the enemy. No matter what help he could offer the Varden, it wasn’t worth the trouble he would have to go through to convince them to accept it.

Arya watched him, her expression one of fierce optimism.

I’m an idiot, Durza told himself, even as he nodded and dug through the saddlebags for some pen and paper.

Arya smiled at him with what might have been gratitude, and he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at her. A complete idiot, he thought.

“You don’t have a horse,” he pointed out while she wrote. “Ellesmera is a good distance from here.”
“It’s not so bad for an elf,” she said. “You could probably do the same.”

That was true enough; shades and elves were faster, stronger, and had greater endurance than humans. But it was still a long and treacherous journey through the wilderness.

I’ve gone beyond stupidity into insanity. “Take this with you,” Durza said, digging a small, black box out of a pocket inside his cloak. “For good fortune.”

Arya took it, looking puzzled. It was a black lacquered box, inlaid with letters in a language she didn’t know. “What is it?”

“Something from the desert. Just keep it.” There was little point in waiting any longer. “Safe journey, Arya,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Safe journey,” she said, grasping it with her own.

Neither of them moved for a moment, but then Durza turned to mount his horse and Arya went to start walking. They parted in silence, neither looking back as they grew farther and farther apart.

It was only after she had been walking an hour that it occurred to Arya to open the box Durza had given her. There was a simple latch made of copper, which she lifted with only a little trouble; age had made the metal rusty. She sneezed at the dust when she gently flipped open the lid; it must be quite old.

Inside was a pressed flower, a simple five-petal one. Its petals were faded from age, but a dark pink color still showed through, and the white throat at the center was only slightly yellowed. Arya vaguely recognized it as being called a desert rose.

Her steps dragged to a halt as she stared at it, her throat tight. At last she carefully shut the box again, tucked it safely into a pocket of her stolen soldier’s tunic, and forced herself not to think about why he had given it to her as she kept walking.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The small room was utterly beautiful, fine without being gaudy, all of it delicate and ethereal and inhumanly lovely. Even though he was underground, Brom didn’t feel closed in at all. A lamp made of elegantly crafted silver illuminated the smooth slate tiling of the floor, and the walls were covered with bright mosses. A little table, sung from the trees by magic, was there for him to sit at, reading or doing whatever he chose. No guest could have been more comfortable.

Brom held his head in his hands, despairing because he could not get out of the beautiful cage. Eragon was in terrible danger, and Brom was the only one who knew. But he had no way to warn Eragon. Again…again, as so many times before, Brom had failed.

He had gone to Ellesmera after parting from Eragon, hoping that the elves would be able to quickly find Eragon and get him safely to the Varden where he could be trained. He had been certain they would be as overjoyed as he was that the Dragon Rider had at last appeared.

They had smiled politely, escorted him to this charming prison, and left him there.

“Eragon…where are you?” Brom muttered, tugging at his beard. It had grown long during his captivity. “Oh, gods…please protect him…”

Brom knew that only the gods had any hope of hearing him now.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“That’s it? That’s the last chapter!?” Eragon cried, outraged. “Once again, I acted all stupid! And nothing happened in the chapter! And you left all cliffhangers everywhere! This is terrible!”

“And what about me?” Arya said. “I’m just left walking off to Ellesmera! That’s not a resolution at all!”

“And my part didn’t even make any sense,” Brom said.

Subieko rolled her eyes again. “Oh stop fretting. It’s called a sequel, guys.”

Everyone perked up. Then Brom thought of something.

“The readers are going to kill you, you realize. You ended the story just as you put in all the new plotlines.”

Subieko smirked. “Oh, they won’t get me. I have you guys to protect me, after all.”

Eragon raised one intense eyebrow. “What makes you think we’ll help you?”

Subieko shrugged, smiling innocently. “Oh, nothing. Just…you do want to finish writing the story, don’t you?”

A moment of silence. Then—

“We’re with you all the way, Subieko! No angry readers will lay a finger on you!” Durza cried. Arya applauded next to him, and Eragon loosened his sword in its scabbard, nodding enthusiastically. Even Murtagh reluctantly got up so he’d be ready to do something.

“Great,” Subieko said. “Now, about that sequel…”

And everyone leaned in to start planning.