A/N: It doesn't matter when you're reading this. This story is about the magic of Christmas. I know it doesn't exist in Alagaesia, but the magic is still there. Now... I just gotta get that tree up.

This is about 500 years after the great war.

Chapter 1

Eragon awoke to a gray dawn. He silently slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. A sleeping New Vroengard sat below. Him. No lights glowing in Tarus' window. No Eulyn practicing her magic in her room. He heard a rustling of bedsheets behind him, and Arya walked up to him. She lightly kissed him on the cheek, and together they looked on the window. The sun rose slowly over the horizon. For an eternity, they watched. Then a shape came into existence. A red speck. It grew larger and larger until it blotted out the sun.

Thorn! Murtagh! Eragon mentally shouted.

Murtagh replied with a simple Down.

Both of them ran to get dressed. A moment later they were at the stairs. Eragon was dressed in a blue shirt, simple pants, and some leather boots. Arya, to his surprise, wore a sparkling emerald dress. They ran down the stairs, tripping over each other to get to the bottom. At the bottom, Eragon paused. They were in the great hall, which had been built for the senior riders a hundred or so years before. The ceiling was taller than any dragon so as to be able to fit Saphira and Firnen inside.

Eragon could hear the joyful roars of the dragons outside. What would he find outside? Would Murtagh be the helpful brother he once knew? What if Murtagh hated him? All these questions hit him in the few second that he paused.

"We'll be fine, Eragon" Arya reassured, sensing his distress. Eragon nodded once in acknowledgement and continued toward the door, his face a hard mask blocking out emotion. The door opened to reveal a tired, but excited looking man. His eyes twinkled with adventure. Murtagh was changed. All his hate and anger had left him.

"Murtagh. It's been so long..." a faraway look entered Eragon's eyes as he remembered.

Murtagh with a determined look in his eyes as he cut down men left and right in the Battle of Farthen Dur. Murtagh saving him from the Ra'zac. Murtagh letting him go in the Battle of the Burning Plains. And Murtagh leaving for the North, tears in his eyes as they said a final goodbye. That was the last time he saw Murtagh.

"Are you coming? I mean to the reunion. I mean will you come to a reunion at my castle in the North? Nasuada, Orik, even Angela and Solembum are coming."Murtagh stammered.

"How can we disagree then?"Arya laughed.

"She means we're too busy."Eragon corrected hastily. Arya shot him a murderous glare. "Okay, we'll come."he sighed.

Arya grabbed him by the legs, pulling him off his feet. The air whooshed out of him as he hit the ground. Then she proceeded to drag him up the stairs. It took her but a few seconds to pull him to the top. He moaned, Arya laughed, her voice like chimed in the wind.

"Waise Heill." he muttered to himself. Slowly his bruises faded. "What was that for?" he angrily shouted."

"For fun!" then she ran off to pack leaving Eragon fuming.

When Eragon walked in, he saw a large pile of clothes on the floor, more landing on top, and Arya zipping around emptying their closets. She paid no attention to him. Eragon simply sighed and began packing.