AN: Guess who's back...back again...

Obsidian knew where he was going, which was fortunate, because my head was a mess of worry and self-doubt. I kept my eyes closed tightly for most of the journey, finding that the usual sense of euphoria I achieved when flying was now replaced with the dizzying nausea of vertigo. I tried to distract myself with other things: the safe anchor of Murtagh's arms around me; the knowledge that my family were in the safest hands in all Alagaesia; the beginnings of hope that Eragon may actually come to accept his brother as an ally; the memory of the tiny, pudgy fingers of my only nephew tugging on a lock of my hair...but somehow, my thoughts always seemed to circle back around on themselves, back to the one thing I was trying so desperately not to think about, caught in the undertow of fear that was determined to drag down my otherwise buoyant, hopeful heart.

I tried to rationalise, to compartmentalise all of the elements of my life that I had previously taken for granted, and which now seemed so hopelessly out of my reach.

I thought ahead, to the upcoming battle for Feinster. I knew, in my heart as well as my mind, that should Oromis fail to diagnose and treat whatever cruel ailment it was that had rendered me helpless, I would be in no fit condition to fight. But what of Obsidian? Would he still be expected to fly into battle...without me? And would he fight alone, or would he be forced to take another Rider?

Arya would be my first choice. I thought, numbly, being sure to keep my thoughts to myself. She and Obsidian had already flown together. She had proven herself to be far nobler and braver than I had anticipated, and I knew that she was a capable fighter. Yes, she would be my first choice. A fitting replacement.

I thought of Nasuada, who was neither Elf nor Rider, and yet she herself had fought bravely alongside her people. Granted, she was largely protected by the magic of Eragon and her numerous spell-weavers, but she fought, nonetheless. So then, if Nasuada could do it, was I giving in to my fate too easily? I wondered what Murtagh and Eragon would have to say about this line of thought. I knew both of them well enough to know that there was no way that either of them would allow me to ride into battle in my current, enervated state. They would tie me to a chair before they saw me risk my safety in such a way: an attitude that had irked me more times than I could count, but that now, feeling the ache that grew in my muscles simply from the motion of riding, I knew I could not argue with.

And why should they want me there? I would be nothing more than a hindrance, a distraction to them both, as they strove to ensure my safety as well as fight their own battles. I would be of no help whatsoever to my fellow Riders. Could I even call them that, still? After all, if one is without the ability to ride the dragon they are bonded to, can they still take the name of Dragon Rider? But if that was taken away from me, then who was I? Every part of me that I knew, everything that made me sure of my own identity, was being stripped away from me, piece by piece. I was no longer a noblewoman: Galbatorix had made sure of that. If I was no longer a Dragon Rider, then what was left? I wasn't sure I even wanted to find out.

Murtagh seemed to sense my distress, and he pulled me closer to him, brushing his lips against my up-turned forehead. I sighed, deeply, as I felt my muscles relax a little in response to his touch. But my thoughts continued to rip and tear like poisoned daggers at any peace I might have found.

Because what would become of us, of Murtagh and I, if this change transpired to be a permanent one? I knew that Murtagh was a good man: too good to leave me just because I no longer had the strength to wield a sword in battle. But what of the inevitable trials that would surely arise from my weakness? I could already feel the slow darkening of my mind, I could taste the bitterness in my mouth, and I knew that the anger would only grow with time, the slow-burning embers of self-loathing only fuelled by the inevitable jealousy of watching him continue on the path that should, by all rights, belong to us both. Not to mention the fact that he would be forced to treat me with constant care, always afraid that he would break me. How long could any love survive under such constant strain and fear of destruction? Power and fragility were opposite sides of the same coin: never looking the same way, never seeing eye-to-eye...opposites do not attract. I wondered how long it would take for him to eventually give up on me.

And Eragon...our bond of friendship had been born of the shared experiences of our calling as Riders. But if that was a call I could no longer answer, how far would the threads of our lives unravel when he continued down a path I no longer had the power to tread? How long would it be before I lost sight of my friend? How long before he forgot about me? Eragon was destined for greatness; you only had to look at him to see it. Greatness has no time for average...and that is what I was now. I was average. I was less than the girl I had been before Obsidian had tumbled, tiny and helpless, from the prison of his egg those many moons ago.

I could not be the woman who waited at home while others went off to fight for what I believed in. I could not go back to being the girl who thought that riding a horse bareback was a great show of rebellion.

Of all the paths that were laid out before me, I found that the one which I feared the most to tread was the one that lead to nothing. All of the heart-pounding, knee trembling anxiety I had felt before battle, the soul-trembling, painful fear of failing, the crushing weight of the world on my shoulders...nothing scared me more than the stark possibility that I may never again get the chance to feel any of those things again. I wanted all of it: I wanted the fear, and I wanted the pain. I wanted the exhilaration and the devastation. I wanted to once again feel the familiar pressure of the weight of the world on my shoulders. Those were all things that I knew, things that I could deal with. I thought back to the countless times I had selfishly, short-sightedly wished that the burden I carried might fall to another: now that it had started to slip, all I wanted was to shoulder it once more.

"Katharean?" Murtagh murmured softly into my hair, stroking a thumb over my cheekbone. I leaned into his touch, instinctively, and I felt his body shift in the saddle behind me to draw me ever closer to his muscular chest. "You are awfully quiet. What's going on in there?" He asked, gliding his thumb gently up my face to stroke my temple.

"Even if I could find the words, I do not think you would like to hear them." I admitted, sheepishly.

"If the words are yours, there is nothing that I should like to hear more. I told you that I love you, Katharean...that means I love all of you: not just the countless things about you that are easy to love. Please...do not feel like you have to hide anything from me." He sounded a little hurt, though it was not in a selfish or impetuous way. I knew that I would feel the same, if our roles were reversed. I sighed, reluctantly.

"I don't want to hide from you, Murtagh. Never from you." I promised. "But my head is a mess...a labyrinth of fear that I myself am having difficulty negotiating. I cannot give the fear a voice. I can't give life to it."

"I know you're worried, Katharean. But we'll find a way. I'll find a way to fix this." He sounded determined, but his words only made my heart sink a little further.

We are here. Obsidian announced, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. His words centred me and I inhaled, deeply, thrusting my own problems aside.

We soared over the canopy of green that was the rooftop of Ellesmera and Obsidian dove, breaking the surface of the tallest trees with more grace than a creature of his size should have been capable of. His sense of direction was as accurate as ever, and we landed neatly on the pale green carpet of the forest directly in front of Oromis' hut. Glaedr was nowhere in sight, but by the time Murtagh slid easily from the saddle and reached up to help me down, the door to the hut was thrown open and Oromis stood in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. His eyes twinkled with relief until they slid over Murtagh, and a small frown creased his wizened brow.

I gestured for Murtagh to wait, and strode over to meet him.

"Katharean…you bring this boy here, of all places. Explain yourself." He did not shout, but there was an undercurrent of quiet rage in his soft voice that sent an unsolicited shiver running down my spine. I steeled myself and met his piercing gaze with as much certainty as I could muster.

"Murtagh has changed his true name, Oromis-elda. He is no longer bound by the magicks that held him. He is repentant for the crimes he committed while under Galbatorix's control, but he is with us now. He and his dragon have freed themselves, and they mean to fight by our sides so that the rest of Alagaesia may know that same freedom. I vouch for him, on my honour as a Dragon Rider."

The ancient elf said nothing, but studied my face, pensively. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity that I wondered if perhaps he was searching my mind, but I felt no presence there but Obsidian's.

"You speak the truth." He said. It wasn't a question, and I released the breath that I hadn't realised I was holding in a small sigh of relief. He believed me. It had been far easier than I had been prepared for, but of course, why wouldn't he believe me? Oromis was the wisest of all of us. He would know a falsehood the moment it was uttered or sooner. I nodded, in gratitude as well as confirmation, and his gaze slid beyond me to Murtagh.

"Come then, Murtagh Morzansson. Lady Athem will escort you inside."

"Katharean will suffice, Master Oromis. I am nobility no longer. The King has stripped my family of our titles." I said, with forced nonchalance. Oromis seemed to see through what was intended as a throwaway remark. The corners of his eyes crinkled into a small, mirthless smile.

"Aaah…the King. Is he your King, Lady Athem?"

"No, he is not." I replied, defiantly.

"Nor is he mine. He cannot strip you of any title in my eyes. Nor, I daresay, in the eyes of the Varden. Among we who fight against tyranny, you are nobility of the highest order."

"Thank you, Master Oromis. That means…something." I decided.

"Now, take Murtagh inside. We have much to discuss. I would know exactly how the events of yesterday transpired. There is someone I must speak with, and I will join you both shortly."

With an infinitesimal nod of his head in way of dismissal, Oromis moved silently past us and began walking towards the water's edge with a slow grace that whispered of his affinity with the world around him. I took Murtagh's hand in mine and turned to Obsidian.

Glaedr is on his way. He said, his ears twitching endearingly.

I know. Go and find Eragon, Arya and my family. Give them aid if they need it. Let us allow dragon and rider some privacy.

Will you be okay? He asked, and I knew he meant in more than body.

I'm always okay. I replied, with a rueful smile.

That is patently untrue.

I know. But keep it together anyway.

Keep it together anyway. He hesitated, but nodded in understanding, before spreading his great wings and taking flight once more. I turned back to Murtagh with a smile and led him inside.

Keep it together anyway.

AN: I know it's been way too long. The man I love accidentally placed me in an enchanted sleep state for like two years and I just woke up.

Okay, that's not true. He did give me an antihistamine last week that made me fall asleep on the couch halfway through watching Rock of Ages, but that was hayfever related.

It's just been a while because I've been adulting and haven't written a thing in longer than I'd care to remember. So I'm a little rusty. So be kind. Or don't be kind. Be super mean. I can take it. Either way, leave a message. I've missed you guys. Monkey-covering-it's-face-with-it's-hands-emoji