Here's the awaited update. I've decided to go for 5k chunks instead of 10k hunks. Hope this was worth the wait.


"Fire!" Brom shouted. "Fire! Don't just stand there, you fools! Fire!"

As Brom ran through the streets, a small blaze flickered in the trees from where he came. It was at the edge of the woods, and the snow would act as a natural barrier, but still the townsfolk of Carvahall rallied. No chances could be taken with flame that might grow out of control and burn down the whole forest and mayhaps take the town with it.

The bucket brigade began swiftly, men and women working together to throw melted snow and dirt onto the base of the doomed trees. Within half an hour, the fire was dead.

Brom, whom had taken part in the effort to put out the fires, explained himself to those that questioned him. "Damnedest thing. I was enjoying my pipe when I started to smell smoke. Stray spark from my tinderbox must have fallen on some kindling. Bad luck, very bad luck. I am so terribly sorry for causing such a fuss."

Given that the fire had not grown beyond their ability to down and was safely extinguished, the majority of people decided to write it off as an exciting interlude to the day and leave it at that. More than a few spoke ill under their breath about Brom's age and the dementia that seemed to have started to manifest. Brom endured it all, until finally the crowd let go of him. He made his way back towards his home, grabbing some supplies and placing them into a pack. Then he slipped out a backdoor and make a fast dash for the woods.

Sharp eyes followed the subtle clues that had been left for him, until the former Rider found himself on the path from Carvahall to Garrow's cottage, about a mile away from town. There, he found Eragon and Saphira waiting for him.

"I wasn't followed or even seen, so far as I can tell," Eragon said in greeting. "Is everyone okay?"

"No one was harmed, and only a couple trees were burnt," Brom stated. "Tell me, do I have a pyromaniac for a son? You seem to solve a great many problems with fire."

"It is a versatile tool, you must admit," Eragon fired back. "And it was the first word I learned in the Ancient Language, and eventually the name of my sword. It seems to be a part of me."

"Well, in any case, your little ruse worked. Now we simply have to make it back to your uncle's house and explain to your family that you are now a Dragon Rider."

Eragon huffed a breath, reaching up to pat Saphira. He winced slightly as her talons dug through his shirt and into his skin, but he was reluctant to move her from his shoulder. Soon she would be large enough that Eragon would be the one perching on her shoulder, and he wanted to enjoy the novelty of her small stature while he could. Plus, there was a simple, instinctive part of him that wanted to keep in constant contact with his dragon, one mirrored in Saphira to stay with her Rider. "The fire will prove less of a fuss to handle than Garrow in a tantrum."

"Allow me to do the talking. Remember, we must keep your foreknowledge a secret for as long as possible. We can't chance the information getting back to Galbatorix, and it's simply less complicated for you to pretend than to explain your… unique circumstances. You're simply a poor, ignorant farm boy who hatched a dragon and came running to the local storyteller for advice."

Eragon nodded, though he remained troubled. "It's been lifetimes since I saw their faces. I can't promise they won't notice something… off about me."

"With any luck, they'll focus more on the living legend using you for a stool than your odd behavior," Brom assured him.

"Indeed. Well… the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Eragon took a stride into the snow, making it to the tracks he'd made earlier than morning. Brom followed in his wake. The two picked their way through the snow, the miles vanishing steadily beneath their feet, until they were in view of the farm.

Garrow and Roran were outside working, shoveling the snow away from the house and barn. Eragon froze when he saw them.

"They're so… young," Eragon finally managed. "No wonder she could not imagine being with me. I look at them and see children."

Brom put a hand on Eragon's back. "None of that, now. You're but fifteen, remember?"

The traveller through time took a deep breath, wrapping his mind around Saphira and drawing her close to his heart. The young dragoness purred and coiled her tail around Eragon's neck. Emotionally exhausted from his harrowing morning, but recognizing that this was necessary, Eragon stepped forward. "Uncle! Roran!"

The two looked up. Roran dropped his shovel and ran over, while Garrow stood his ground, his eyes narrowed. "Eragon! Where were you? Did you go all the way to Carvahall? Why is Brom here?" Eragon's cousin halted midstep, almost falling over into the snow. "Is… is that a dragon?!"

Eragon put on a shaky smile, hoping to convey an overwhelmed daze rather than nostalgic melancholy. "It was an egg. The stone… it was an egg."

Brom stepped forward. "Roran, there's a great deal we all must discuss. I think it best if we join your father inside."

Blinking, unable to take his eyes of Saphira, Roran nodded. The three (well, four counting the dragon) walked over to Garrow, who seemed to be stuck still with a harsh frown.

"Father, it's Eragon. He's got a dragon," Roran said in a near-whisper, as if he were afraid to shatter the moment.

Garrow hiked up his shovel. "I knew nothing good would come of that stone. Give it here, Eragon. I'll save us all the trouble."

Eragon gaped, realizing with horror that Garrow meant to… he couldn't even finish the thought. Eragon stepped back, bringing up his hands to bring Saphira into his arms. She whined, but complied when he gave her a mental shove. Eragon turned and huddled around her, shielding her from Garrow's baleful gaze. His uncle's frown turned into a grimace. "For the love of the gods boy, see sense! It's either we kill it or the Empire kills us all!"

"But Father!" Roran started.

"Hush, boy!"

"Garrow Cadocson," Brom said, his voice low but throbbing with fury. "Say one more word of threat against that dragon and I will consider you an enemy."

Garrow swiveled his head to face Brom. In that moment, Eragon saw past his own fear to see his uncle's. The man was terrified. He hid it well, but his heart was pounding and his movements were jittery. The simple farmer was panicking. "Oh, really? And why should I fear some old storyteller?"

With movements faster than most eyes could follow, Brom reached out and ripped the shovel right out of Garrow's hands. He brought it down on his knee, splitting the sturdy wood into two halves, before tossing them behind his shoulders. Garrow gaped, suddenly disarmed and seeming quite thin and gaunt next to Brom.

"Now, before anyone else does anything foolish, let's all go inside and have some tea. That should give time for tempers to cool and for everyone to see sense. For gods' sakes, there's a reason we aren't born with rocks in our heads!"

Eragon moved first, still shielding Saphira from Garrow's direct line of sight. He walked into the small house and sat down at a chair, curling Saphira in his lap. She crooned up at him, concerned for his concern. He did his best to soothe her given his own troubled mind. The other three men followed in. Even though it was Garrow's house, it was clear Brom was in charge. With a few mental questions to Eragon, Brom got the kettle and set up the tea. He handed a cup to each of them, taking a draw from his own, piping-hot just how he liked it. Then he set his cup down, and began to talk.

"Let's get the obvious out in the open. Some weeks ago, when Eragon was hunting, the egg appeared before him. He kept it, and you all tried to sell it but the traders wouldn't take it. Just last night, it hatched, giving birth to the dragon you see now. When Eragon touched her, they bonded on a level that none of us can ever hope to understand. He is her Rider now. As the nearest thing to an expert on dragon lore in the area, he came to me this morning with questions and seeking help." Brom frowned. "I'm now doubly glad that he did. Based on your reaction, Garrow, you might have slain out of hand the one chance this world has to see Galbatorix brought down."

"He's a boy!" Garrow hissed. "And it's just a beast! I'll not see us all executed or worse, Eragon made a slave of that mad bastard we call a king!"

Eragon spoke up. He tried to sound like a boy and not a sage, but he wasn't sure it worked. Not that it mattered; when it came to Saphira, he was serious as the plague. "If you kill her, uncle, I'll kill you myself."

Roran winced. "Eragon, don't say things you don't mean."

"I haven't. She's mine. I can't explain it. She's mine the way you're Garrow's or Katrina is yours. I can't live without her."

Garrow banged his fist on the table. "Damn it all, Eragon! Cast off whatever sorcery that thing put on you and see reason! You cannot be a Rider!"

"Why not?" Eragon and Brom asked in unison.

Garrow frowned and looked between them. "Because, you're just a farm boy."

"Plenty of farm boys became Riders, in the old days," Brom stated placidly.

"These aren't the old days! This isn't the start of one of your fanciful tales of heroism. Eragon cannot become a Dragon Rider!"

Eragon sighed. "I already am."

"No, you're not!" Garrow insisted.

"I'm not saying I'm a warrior, or a magician, or know anything besides how to hunt and tend a farm," Eragon said resolutely. "But I am a Dragon Rider. My dragon is Saphira. Whatever magic binds us together, I already love her."

Brom spoke up before Garrow could counter. "Garrow, stop and look at the big picture. I know you love him. Believe me, I do too. You fear for his life. But it's not his own life to lose. The moment he and Saphira bonded, he became the only hope of Men, the Dragons, the Dwarves, the Elves, even the Urgals. Whether we like it or not, he has a duty greater than any of this."

Garrow narrowed his eyes. "What claim do you have to him? What makes you think you have any idea what I'm feeling, huh?"

"He's my son," Brom said simply.

Garrow and Roran weren't the only ones to gape.

What happened to only telling them what was necessary? Eragon asked with his mind, unheard by the other two.

This is necessary, in order for him to let you go. Brom opened his mouth and continued. "Whatever you think of me, know that I loved Selena very much. After she died and I learned of Eragon's existence, I came here looking for him. Then I saw him happy and whole with you and Marian, and couldn't bring myself to take him from you. But now, the time has come for me to take over his teaching. I will raise him to be the Rider Alagaësia needs."

Roran seemed stuck speechless. Garrow's mouth sucked in like he'd bit into a lemon. "Father or not, what makes you think you can teach him anything? Filling his head with stories of the Riders' glory won't make him one."

Brom gave a wry grin. "I had a life before I settled down in Carvahall as a storyteller. In years past, I had a great many pursuits. Among them were swordcraft, tactics, and even magic."

Garrow flinched. "How do I know you aren't simply mad?"

Brom rolled his eyes. He held out his hand and said "Brisingr." Flames appeared in his hand, glittering with blue tones, before vanishing into thin air. Garrow and Roran's jaws dropped nearly to the table.

You were right; it is versatile.

Eragon hid a grin and spoke up. "I need training. Brom is willing to give it to me. I'd prefer if it happened here, so we could stay together as long as possible. But if we can't have your blessing, we'll leave. We'll go into hiding and stay on the road, until I'm ready to do what is necessary."

Garrow seemed at a loss. He finally took a sip of his tea. He put the cup down a tad harder than he had to. "Okay. Say I play along with this madness. We raise the beast here and you make a warrior out of a fifteen-year-old boy. What happens when whoever or whatever made the bloody egg appear in the Spine comes looking? What happens when the Empire comes searching for rumors of a dragon seen flying in the sky?"

Brom smiled. "Ah, let me alay at least one of your concerns. I have reason to believe the stone was meant for me, sent by an elven woman I trust. Given the circumstances that would make her desperate enough to do such a thing, she can be forgiven for being so far off course."

Roran coughed. "Um, Brom? Why would an elf send the egg to you?"

Brom sighed. "Because both I and the elf work for the Varden."

Garrow clenched his hands into claws. "So, there's the truth of it. You want him to take up arms against the king and get killed."

"I don't want him or anyone dead, except Galbatorix. If I have to give my life to protect his, I will. Because only another Rider can kill Galbatorix. Eragon is what we've been waiting and hoping for for decades, ever since we first stole the egg from Ûru'baen."

Roran was still catching up. "The Varden? The rebels? You?"

Brom looked at Roran with waning patience. "I already said I had a life before coming here, Roran. Yes, the Varden. We're small and struggling, but we all share a dream: a land free of the tyranny of Galbatorix. I'm going to teach Eragon everything I know about how to fight, because we need him. Not just as a warrior, but as a symbol. A free Rider would bring hope back to the people. And that's something we need to win this war."

Garrow scoffed. "That's what you think will win a war? Hope?"

Brom eyed him intensely. "Yes, Garrow, I do. Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. A single spark can start an inferno. Eragon and Saphira will be our hope. He's already accepted the responsibility, Garrow. Will you accept your own, or is this the last you'll ever see of your nephew?"

Eragon saw the doubt and hesitation. He couldn't stop himself from speaking. "Uncle, please. I don't want to lose you just yet. The moment I believe that my staying here would put you or Roran in danger, I'll leave. But please, let me stay for just a bit. Let me enjoy a little more time with family before I have to go off and win a war."

Garrow gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just as stubborn as your mother," he muttered to himself. "Fine, fine, fine! You and your beast can stay. Just don't ask me to like it."

Eragon bowed his head. "Thank you, Uncle Garrow."

Garrow got up and went to his room, slamming the door behind him. Roran was left looking between Brom, Eragon, and the dragon that had just crawled onto the table. "It's beautiful," Roran said.

Eragon smiled. "She is, yes. You can pet her, if she likes you."

Roran reached out a hesitant hand. Eragon conveyed the truth of Roran's friendship with the Ancient Language and feelings of trust, prompting Saphira to allow the clumsy touches. She even purred when the 17-year-old managed to get a good spot.

"Amazing," Roran breathed out. "Eragon… I don't even know what to say."

Eragon breathed deep. "Maybe there's nothing to be said. This means that things will change, but what's most important will remain the same." Eragon reached over to clap a shoulder. "You'll always be like a brother to me, even when I'm off saving the kingdom and rescuing beautiful women."

Roran chuckled. "Thanks for that, I suppose." Roran eyed Brom. "So… does this make you my uncle?"

Brom snorted. "Alas, no. Selena and I were… not meant to last. Eragon was born out of wedlock, but that should mean nothing to the rational mind."

Eragon shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I have a father, I have an uncle, I have a cousin, I have a dragon. That is my family."

Roran looked at Saphira, whom was scratching at her wing joint. "You truly care for her that much already?"

Eragon revealed the gedwëy ignasia. "This marks where I touched her, where the ancient magic bound us together. We belong to each other, it's that simple." Eragon chuckled. "Maybe one day you'll become a Rider too and understand."

Roran shook his head. "Oh, no. No thank you. I prefer my feet kept firmly on the ground."

Brom stood up. "Well, fascinating as this conversation has been, we have work to do."

Roran blinked. "What, now?"

Eragon stood up, holding out an arm for Saphira to climb. "Every second counts. Brom says that whoever attacked the elf guarding the egg will come looking. I may only have weeks before the Empire or someone worse comes searching for the egg. We'll draw them away when we leave, but my training needs to start as soon as possible."

Roran nodded slowly. "And I thought I had it bad with winter chores."

Eragon grinned. Then he followed Brom outside.

"That went well, I think," his father stated.

"As well as could be expected, I suppose," Eragon mused.

"So, shall I decide your training or shall we defer to your greater experience?" Brom asked facetiously.

Eragon glanced back at the house. "We need privacy. Let's go into the woods."

They walked a fair ways into the forest, the trees like the pillars of a citadel amongst the snowy ground. Eragon paused when the farmhouse was out of sight.

"What I am about to reveal to you was considered one of the highest secrets of the New Order," Eragon explained. "I am trusting you as my father and as a fellow Rider not abuse it for your own ends. With any luck, I'll be able to manage the spell even as I am, and my training can begin in earnest."

Brom arched a brow. "I am intrigued. What is this magic that is so powerful you would keep it secret?"

Eragon breathed in deep. Then, in the Ancient Language, stated "Allow me to draw energy from the sunlight around me."

Eragon felt his magical 'muscles' flex and strain with the effort of the relatively simple enchantment. But that was okay, for he suddenly had access to a seemingly unlimited amount of energy. Reaching out with his mind, he felt the beams and rays of the afternoon sunlight falling through the trees, the power contained in the gentle light and heat. As he could from trees and animals and other living things, Eragon drew that energy into himself. He began to glow just slightly, as light bent towards him, but otherwise there was no outward sign of the magical act once thought to be impossible.

Brom gaped. "How? The greatest spellcasters of the elves and Riders tried and failed for centuries!"

"The failure stemmed from a lack of understanding of what sunlight actually is. As it turns out, it is comprised of minute particles, smaller even than dust, known as 'photons'. It is these photons that carry the energy of the sun and pass it along to every surface of the world. Once that facet was truly understood by a spellcaster, they could encapsulate the concept with magic and act on it."

Brom nodded along. "I see. Incredible. So, what is the extent of the energy you can use?"

Eragon grinned. "I could fill Aren in a month holding this spell."

Brom looked to his ring, the treasure trove of energy reserves he had painstakingly created over the decades, with pure awe. The sapphire held a tremendous amount of power, which made the scale of Eragon's statement all the more impressive. "I see why you hid this. I shudder to think what Galbatorix would do with this knowledge."

Eragon nodded, grimacing. "Yes. And the spell is… delicate. If it isn't properly maintained, I could burn myself to a cinder with the concentrated power I'm absorbing."

Brom's head snapped up. "And you attempted such a thing when you're barely better than an adept on their first day at the moment? What were you thinking?"

Eragon shrugged. "No risk, no reward."

Brom sighed. "Just what I deserve, a son as reckless as I was."

Eragon grinned. "The point is, now I have strength to hasten my training."

"How so, precisely? You still haven't explained that."

Eragon turned to a nearby tree. With an unsteady tenor he wasn't used to, he sung two branches out of the wood. Taking them, he tossed one to Brom. "Now, we spar. And I'll sing while I'm doing it."

Comprehension lit up Brom's eyes. "I see." He swung the stick side to side, testing its weight. "I'll go easy on you, considering you'll be using up a lot of your breath. And it's only your first day."

Eragon nodded, his mind far away. Then, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

He sang of strength and vitality and agility. He sang to his muscles to become strong and supple, to his sinews to become corded and flexible, to his bones to withstand harm, to his blood to carry oxygen better, to his heart and lungs to process it better. As he began to move through slow, measured stances and combos against a blocking Brom, he sang of the beauty of swordplay, to his arms and legs to remember the movements and repeat them smoother, surer, more swiftly. He sang to his nerves to heighten his reflexes, to his very being to translate what he held sure in his mind to his unsure body. All the while, he also balanced the enchantment in his head that made all this possible, that provided a steady flow of energy for him to feed into the song he wove.

Hours passed, with Eragon going into a trance state, repeating his song over and over to new melodies, imbuing his will, his magic, into every cell of his body, shaping it to his desires. He wasn't aiming to mutate himself as some of the more aesthetic elves did. Eragon merely tried to convince his body to speed up what was naturally occuring, forcing days' worth of progress and growing into hours. When the sun began to hang low and the shadows were long and dark, Eragon held up his hand. With a muttered "Stop," he ended the first spell, and all but collapsed from exhaustion.

"Eragon!" Brom yelled, rushing over to cradle him. "What's wrong? Fool boy, why did you push yourself this hard?"

"It's the nature of the spell," Eragon explained, his words slurring alarmingly. "It fills you up with power, makes you feel invincible, when all the while it quietly takes its toll. When it ends, it catches up with you all at once. Don't worry, no one's died from it."

"Can I assume that all those who used it were Riders well-trained in gramarye, with bodies accustomed to the strain, not teenagers dabbling with magic they have no right knowing so early into their training?"

Eragon blinked. "Oops."

Saphira, whom had been watching all this from a branch on a tree, glided down. She nosed her way in between the two, poking Eragon in the chest with her sharp head. She whined in distress, her young eyes filled with concern as she broadcasted worry over the mind link.

"Hush, little one," Eragon crooned. Then he shook his head. "Oh, gods above, I'm acting like you will one day."

Brom sighed. "Come on. Let's get you two back to the house before you keel over. She should be hungry soon, anyway."

They stumbled back to the farm, Roran fretting over Eragon's condition almost as much as Brom while Garrow watched with silent disapproval. They enjoyed a simple meal, all of them taking enjoyment from watching Saphira gorge herself on a handful of jerky. That done, Eragon retreated to his room, where Brom laid out a sleeping pad and settled himself in.

"I'll have to get used to not bathing regularly," Eragon muttered, pinching his sweaty shirt where it hung close to his form.

Brom sent a mental reprimand. No comments like that, not outside the safety of your own head. We cannot take any chances.

Sorry.

The ache and toil from the longest day he could remember finally caught up with him. Eragon was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.


The days fell into a punishing but rewarding rhythm. As Eragon recalled, the Ra'zac had appeared roughly six weeks after Saphira hatched. So Eragon had a month and a half to hammer his body into something capable of killing two creatures evolved to kill humans and their parents that were as good as dragons in terms of sheer deadliness. In a best case scenario, Eragon would remove all wards with the Word and down them with one of the effortless words of killing. But if the Ra'zac proved elusive to his magic, then he would have to fight them the old-fashioned way, while Saphira dealt with the Lethrblaka, with Brom providing assistance.

Eragon had misgivings at first about artificially speeding up Saphira's growth. But as soon as she had enough of a language base to understand what he was offering, she leapt at the chance. All dragons had an innate desire to be the biggest, the strongest, the mightiest. Saphira was all for her Rider using his magic to make her large and massive, much as Murtaugh (really Galbatorix) had done to Thorn.

Eragon and Saphira woke with the dawn, hunting for their own breakfast to strengthen their bond as Eragon tracked them and Saphira downed the poor prey. Then Eragon would spend hours singing, encouraging their mutual growth with the force of his magic and the unending source of energy that was the streaming sunlight. Eragon would spar with Brom, perform the Rimgar, engage in calisthenics to target specific muscle groups, and practice magic and spells when he was taking breaks from his aria.

While Eragon could pull energy from moonlight, it was much less potent than direct sunlight. Therefore, training ended promptly at sundown, at least the physical contingent. The evenings were meant for conversation with Saphira and Brom. He filled them both in on the wonders of the world, the secrets of how things functioned, of the miracles of science that would one day be discovered and the principles behind them.

In the space of a month, both Eragon and Saphira transformed beyond recognition. She went from the size of a small cat to thrice the length and breadth of a large horse, having aged three or four months in the time of one. Eragon, meanwhile, had gone from a wiry farmhand to the unmistakable build of a soldier. His shoulders were broad for his frame, leading down to corded arms. His pectorals jutted out above his carved abdomen, and his legs were strong and steady as a horse's. While shorter and thinner than Roran, there was no doubt looking between them who would win in a fight. His grasp of magic had improved greatly as well. While not up to the levels he had enjoyed in a body that had soaked in magic for a millenium, Eragon considered himself a competent spellcaster by his own exacting standards. He was easily better than the whole of Du Vrangr Gata, and that was after only a month.

Roran marveled at the accelerated progress of his cousin's training, while Garrow kept to himself, but superstitious fear was obvious in his features. Brom explained the concept of spell-song as far as they were willing to listen and could understand, which proved quite far in Roran's case and extremely limited in Garrow's. Roran once asked jokingly if it could make him more handsome than he already was, and Garrow had nearly howled himself hoarse that 'his son' would remain pure of magic. The tension had lingered in the household ever since, it becoming more and more clear that Garrow was very close-minded and didn't like anything he couldn't understand, such as magic and dragons.

Roran left one evening to have a chisel repaired by Horst, and came back with a conflicted expression.

Eragon, sensing a disturbance in his cousin's mind, walked out to greet him. "What troubles you?"

Roran narrowed his eyes. "Hey. No reading my mind."

"Sorry, it's hard not to walk into a house with an open door and a welcome mat set out," Eragon teased.

"I've tried those exercises, but I can't do two things at once the way you can."

Eragon grinned, before his face turned somber. "Is this about Dempton?"

Roran flinched. "Yes, if you must know."

"You want to leave, earn money to marry Katrina," Eragon stated more than asked.

Roran sighed. "Part of me does, yes."

Eragon cocked his head, confused. The Roran he remembered had been set on going, making something of himself, earning a wage that would make him respectable in the eyes of Sloan. "And the rest?"

Roran gestured at Saphira, flying high enough in the sky to resemble a bird. "The rest wants to go with you! A war is about to start, one that just might end a century of oppression. And it's one you've decided to put yourself on the front lines on. Part of me wants to beg Brom to let me into the Varden so I can help you win!"

Eragon was taken aback. "You… you would do that for me? What about Katrina?"

Roran got a tortured expression. "That's the part that wants to stay, live a quiet life and let the war happen in the far distance."

Eragon considered what to say. He couldn't reveal his knowledge of the future, of the doom of Carvahall. But maybe he could use hypotheticals backed by logic. "You… might not be able to live a quiet life even if you stay."

"What do you mean, Eragon?" Roran looked unflinching into Eragon's eyes. For all his unnatural changes in the last moon turn, Roran still saw nothing but his cousin.

"If and when Galbatorix learns of my existence," Eragon began, "he'll probably reason out where I come from. He could send forces to take you, Garrow, maybe all of Carvahall hostage to use as leverage against me."

Roran gaped in horror. "That's… that's despicable."

"And exactly something he would do, as far as Brom is concerned," Eragon said, taking advantage of speaking Common to engage in minor falsehood. "He's thinking of warning you two to flee, but he knows Garrow will never leave."

Roran grit his teeth. "So, what can I do?"

Eragon took a gamble. "Stay in Carvahall. Work with Horst, volunteer around town, do anything to get stronger. When soldiers start to arrive, come forward with the truth about me. Convince as many as you can to flee west to Narda, take a boat south to Surda or at least Teirm. There's a contact in Teirm, look for Jeod. If you make it to Surda, just say you want to join the Varden and you should be led to where you need to be." Eragon took a deep breath. "There's a storm coming for Carvahall, once the king learns of who I am. You may come to regret knowing me."

Roran surprised Eragon by pulling him into a hug. "Whatever befalls me, Eragon, I will never regret having you for family."

Eragon returned the hug. There was a heavy thump as something massive hit the ground and then the two found themselves encased in a curtain of sapphire-bright scales.

This is what you call a 'group hug', yes? Saphira asked.

Roran and I chuckled. "Yes, Saphira."


Next, we have the confrontation with the Ra'zac and the start of the journey out of Palancar Valley. Please wait patiently.