A/N: Hi everybody... Sorry for being an ass and completely abandoning my first two stories... When I read ICR, I cringe at the childishness of it... So that one has been completely abandoned. Dragonborn was a much better story and one I hope to pick up sometime in the future...

I have been extremely busy in the intervening years and have had zero chance of uploading any new content ... But I have penned down several stories some of which will be uploaded in the near future.

This one is a product of watching Kingdom of Heaven amidst a rereading of the IC. I hope you forgive my absence and that you enjoy the new story. Do feel free to rate and review... Criticisms are appreciated, as always... .

Now for the usual: anything you recognise is not my work... All of that belongs either to Christopher Paolini or Bethesda Softworks...

Without further ado here's the first chapter...

Chapter 1

Riverwood, late night. September 15th, 1897 T.E

It was late at night, the sun's absence should have meant that the world outside should have been hidden under a veil of darkness, but it wasn't so. For the moon was in full bloom, casting a pearly white light over the town and the surrounding countryside.

The town itself was completely still. With only a few hours till dawn, everybody was resting, everybody, that is, except for the night guards and the young blacksmith who was hammering away at a plate of red hot steel beside his roaring forge.

The young man in question couldn't sleep at all, his mind haunted by strange images and sounds for the last few days. The fact that he was unable to recollect any of his dreams only made it worse, leaving him with a sense of approaching doom.

His uncle and cousin were due to return by the next day's afternoon from their trip to the northern mines... He hoped that they were safe and that they had made profitable deals.

He allowed the chest plate of the steel armor he was crafting to cool down, it was almost done, and allowed his mind to wander. It had been three weeks since they had left, leaving him in charge of the forge and the shop for the first time. He felt he had done reasonably well... having received and completed orders for three sets of light scale armor and several new battle axes -a very popular weapon for hunters and mercenaries in the region. Thinking of weapons led him to the shop and thence to the display rack behind the main counter where a brand new steel warhammer awaited it's owner. He had completed the weapon on the previous night, as a gift for his cousin. It would suit his combat style and his heavier build... So much like uncle Garrow's... The shaft he had wrought out of a thick heavy branch of seasoned oak, whittling it with a draught till it had achieved his desired measurements... He had then taken the wooden shaft and dipped it whole into a tub of molten copper-steel alloy producing a thin but strong layer. He was sure that the shaft would block the heaviest of weapons and not buckle. The hammer itself was one solid piece of tempered steel, the finest he could produce with a large round face, with the edges slightly curving inwards and a thick spike on the other end with a through hole in the middle for the shaft. The heavy head was balanced by a ball of lead on the other end of the shaft, about the size of a large apple. Overall the weapon was about four feet tall. He was very happy with the end result and hoped that Roran felt the same.

Stowing away the almost finished, and still warm, chest piece, Eragon decided to retire for the night. He let the forge die down on its own, knowing very well that the guards would appreciate it's warmth. Yawning expansively, he sunk into his warn bed, satisfied at the end of a hard day's and night's work.

Three days later, evening, Riverwood

"Your son and nephew have grown into fine young men, Garrow... Marian and Selena would be happy and proud, " Brom, the Guardian of the North, muttered to his old friend as both nursed their ale. The two of them were enjoying an evening in the Sleeping Giant, the town's only tavern. The fact that a person of the status of Brom could mingle with the common folk and no one had any problems spoke volumes of the Northerner's attitude towards nobility...

The man, Garrow, nodded -the golden glow of the dozens of scattered braziers giving his bald head a sheen of its own.

"I did my best by them, no we did our best..." the old man sighed, regret and longing filled his voice, "by the time Marian died, both boys were almost fourteen..." He took a deep breath before looking at Brom sharply, "why did the thought cross your mind, anyway?"

Brom chucked, the old smith was as sharp as ever..., "I know you won't like this..." the silver haired veteran started, "but both your boys have approached me to enlist in my forces."

Garrow was shocked, he has made it very clear to both the boys that they weren't to join the army. Roran was his only son and heir and Eragon... Eragon was his sole remaining link to his beloved sister... He couldn't bear losing either of them! His shock quickly gave way to anger and as he was getting up to go and give those... those scoundrels a piece of his mind, Brom forced him to sit down.

"Listen to me, old friend, before you do anything. Eragon and Roran are both eighteen- and while it is no longer compulsory for them to join the army, unlike in our time, they should nonetheless do so. The army shaped us into the men we are today... Life in the service is harsh, brutal even but it is a fire that forges young strapping boys into men, arming them for life and all of it's hardships. I'll make sure that they are looked after, I swear it. And after five years of service they can come back richer, both financially and in terms of the experience gained... So, what say you?"

Garrow gazed into his friend's cerulean eyes and knew that Brom was being completely honest with him. He forced himself to look at the question rationally, not one of his strongpoints... And was forced to acknowledge the truth of Brom's words- the army had shaped his life and had made him a better man. And the Army of the North, as their army was known, was unlike any other- it was a strictly professional service with strict discipline and very good officers... All the soldiers were well paid and honorable... Hell, the men of the North, of Palancar Valley prided themselves on their honor and trustworthiness. Also it wasn't as if the boys were helpless either. He has personally trained them to the best of his ability... Eragon was a great archer and a fine swordsman... While Roran was near untouchable with the warhammer that Eragon had crafted.

He grimaced, before reluctantly nodding to Brom, much to the latter's delight...