For Alagaesia: 49. The hope is taken

The last few days had taken her to the brink of uselessness. Having a routine life was almost unbearable – it was on par with a battle day. Nasuada had no idea when she became such a workaholic, but she was. She hated being in the room for most of the day and hear to reports from sentries and spies. She would have been fine if the reports had any substance in them, but they hardly did. It was all a repetition of the same news: nothing is odd.

In one way, she was happy for the temporary respite from the war and its gloom. The people seemed really happy these days despite the biting cold of the winter. When they were satisfied, she too was. But personally, her mind was restless. Ever since she had literally forced Roran to take up the mission to Teirm, she had been nervous, thinking her plan might backfire and the Varden might face a crushing defeat in that battle.

For Alagaesia: 48. Best friends

Gloomy. As he went into his waking-dreams, if there was a word to describe that day at Silthrim, Eragon would choose only that. Everything seemed to have gone against him on that day. The experience at Katrina's home was the high-point of misery what with Galbatorix's attack on Roran and his tongue-slip about Arya. But the other low-point in the day was the evening event of the 'presenting ceremony'. Eragon was now accustomed to the egg rejecting every potential candidate and it was no different on that evening. But even then it hurt him for he had hoped the egg may hatch for someone in Silthrim as the egg had left its mad search for 'the one' – atleast according to Glaedr.

When presented to the three children of Silthrim, the egg had remained as unmoved as it did when it was presented to every other person. The other potential voluntaries – that is the elders who chose to touch the egg were no where near luckier than the others.

For Alagaesia: 47. Despair and Hope

Hunkering on the ground, eyes intently fixed on the water before him, Eragon said in a deathly quiet tone, “Roran. Wake up.” He refused to allow the tears to fall from his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. His cousin wasn’t dead. ‘No! Roran can’t die.’

He noticed not the comforting touch of Arya’s fingers or the calming presence of Saphira’s mind in his. The only thing his eyes saw and ears heard was Roran and his motionless body. His pained mind couldn’t comprehend what had happened moments ago: Roran walking towards Galbatorix as if possessed; Galbatorix attacking him and the much more powerful counter-attack seemingly orchestrated by Roran and Galbatorix’s disappearance from there. And he didn’t try to. The only thing that mattered was Roran. And his life.

“Madhura!!”, Arya called as the elf came into the circle of vision. “Drottningu..”, the elf replied and bent down to examine Roran. Eragon turned away not wanting to hear anything that the elf had to say. He couldn’t and wouldn’t believe that his cousin was dead.