Hey Guys! Sorry this one took so long, I was really trying to finish the newest chapter of my other story. No, we aren't getting the trolls this chapter, but it will be next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Elf, hobbit, Istar and dwarf remained thus for a good while of the night, the two opposing races singing of their separate lands, as the moon reached its head in the midnight sky, and all declared it was time to set down for the night (apart from Bilbo, who had already fallen asleep, fully clothed, in his four-poster bed). The dwarves took up every available space of Bag-end, even the pantry, in the case of Bombur (he had said he was getting a 'midnight snack' and had drifted off on the floor), while Eragon and Gandalf stayed up a while longer, discussing what they would need to do to keep Saphira secret on their journey, whilst pretending to be asleep. Each then drifted into their separate dreams, Eragon to the phantasms of his waking dreams, and Gandalf to wherever his state of rest took him. Upon the first rays of light filtering through the windows of Bilbo's abode, the two awoke (it seemed as if Gandalf's resting state was similar to Eragon's) and began tidying Bag-end before the dwarves and Bilbo woke up, preparing themselves for the journey ahead. Eragon retrieved Brisingr from Gandalf's cart, along with his armour, which he placed in his pack like he had done when he was sneaking through the Empire with Arya. He spent a good while polishing and cleaning it all with magic, repairing the gash in his chainmail where Murtagh had pierced his side. He finished just as Thorin and one or two others walked into the living room. They were not surprised that Eragon chose to wield a sword, as was the elven custom of Middle Earth, though they were entranced by its workmanship, which soared above and beyond all the dwarven and elven weapons they had seen. They demanded to know who had made it, and Eragon replied in half-truth that he had from brightsteel (It had been his body, but not his experience or mind). The dwarves compared it to a similar sword named Gurthang, forged from meteoric iron, which had killed Glaurung, the first dragon, though the comparison again disturbed him, as he was again reminded of his false identity among them. They largely ignored his bow, though they briefly admired the unbelievable draw-strength, and therefore Eragon's own physical prowess. When they were all ready and accounted for, the company left Bag-end, exiting the Shire and beginning their journey. Dwarves and Istar rode on horse and pony, while Eragon strode alongside them, showing no trace of fatigue from the weight of the sword at his hip, or the armour on his back. Above them, Saphira circled high, appearing as but a bird, tracking their progress and forewarning Eragon of anything on their path. It was in this way that he knew Bilbo was rushing towards them from the way they had come, but held his silence, only turning around when he heard the footsteps of the hobbit behind him. He stopped and turned around, tapping the pommel of Brisingr in mock impatience, shaking his head in amusement at the sight before him. Bilbo stood panting, in front of Balin, who was looking over the contract, inspecting the proper places with a magnifying lens. Happy that everything was as it should be, he rolled up the contract, and welcomed the hobbit in Thorin's company, winking. Rather roughly, Fili and Kili hauled him up onto a pony, and the group resumed their journey, Bilbo sitting on the pack-pony, looking rather miffed.

/

After many interruptions, mainly by Bilbo searching for some item or another, then complaining that he had left it at Bag-End, the group left the furthest reaches of the Shire, and passed beyond them, climbing down cliff-tracks and passing through dense forests. During this journey, Eragon struck up a somewhat friendly conversation with Fili and Kili about the finer points of swordplay, and then got challenged by Balin to game of riddles, which he ignominiously lost.(Balin would forever boast, even in the mines of Moria, that he had beaten an elf at something aside from mining.)

Through valleys, over hills and across rivers the group traversed, putting more distance between them and their starting point and less from their goal. Eventually, they put up camp on a stony ridge overlooking a gorge, and the dwarves lay down to sleep. Bilbo, however, was shaken from sleep by Bombur's earth-rattling snores, and walked over to the horses, observed by Gandalf and Eragon, who were both pretending to keep watch. In reality, Saphira was guarding them from an unseen ledge higher up, and the two were just staring into the distance. Bilbo furtively fed his pony an apple from his pocket, but his attention was drawn away by screeching further down in the gorge.
"What was that?" he asked. It was plain for all to see that this was new to him, and he was certainly unnerved.
"Orcs." Came Kili's reply, who had stayed awake around a small fire with his brother.
"Orcs?" Bilbo replied disbelieving. Orcs were a fairy-tale to most hobbits, a bogeyman; certainly not real. Goblins were real, they knew, but orcs? That was unheard of. Thorin was also awoken by the ghastly screams below, and quickly drew his senses to him.
"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lone-lands are crawling with them." Fili piped up, threads of amusement and mischievousness in his voice. He was going to have giving this particular burglar a scare.
"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood." Kili picked up on his brother's fun, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Bilbo's face contorted in shock, and the pair started laughing.
"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" Thorin interjected, shutting down his nephews' prank to teach them some sense.
"We didn't mean anything by it."
"No you didn't." Thorin replied angrily, and stalked off to the precipice, muttering "You know nothing of the world." Balin come over and leant his arm on the rock wall, looking at his two younger kinsmen.
"Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria."
Eragon turned his head to look at Thorin for any sign of emotion, and checked the dwarf's mind. Inside, he saw the image of a battle, raging and swirling, dwarves in armour with hexagonal shields and axes battling with malformed, pale monstrosities, clad in leather and wielding curved scimitars. He plunged into the prince's mind, enraptured in horror at the unfolding events, Balin's voice echoing faintly in the background.
"But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began, by beheading the king."
"No!" Eragon heard Thorin's memory cry out, as Azog threw his grandfather's head at his feet. Balin's speech continued, unheeding.
"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf prince facing down the pale Orc." Eragon saw all this unfold, as Azog smote Thorin's shield and weapons from his hands, and kicked him off the ledge, in the chaos below.
"He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armour rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield." Eragon saw the Orc bearing down upon him in Thorin's mind's eye, that accursed club biting into the hard wood, and his sword arm severing the Orc's hand from his arm.
"Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken." Thorin's memory charged, leading ranks of dwarves against the ferocious tide of the defending Orcs, cutting down and slaying the foul creatures, oaken branch still in hand.
"Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back." Orc after Orc stepped into Eragon's view, and each was cut down by the bite of the Prince's sword.
"And our enemy had been defeated." Eragon silently extricated himself from that bloody scene, slipping away like a thief in the night, and returned to his body.
"But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call king."
With those poignant words, Thorin turned to face the assembled dwarves, who had all been woken by Balin's tale and were staring at the leader of their company with new-found respect. Even Eragon was seeing the dwarven prince in a new light. To lose his father and grandfather in such a way… no wonder he had seen that sorrow in Thorin's eyes as he opened the door.
"And the pale Orc? What happened to him?" Bilbo asked, gaze switching between Thorin and Balin, trying to process the information he had just received.
"He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago." Thorin replied, tone succinct, but venom evident.
Unbeknownst to all but the bonded pair among them, two Orcs, seated on Wargs, were spying upon the company.

/

"Here, Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?"
It had been raining for the past three hours, and even Eragon was beginning to feel depressed from the weather. It didn't help that Saphira, who was soaring above the clouds, was being her usual, energetic self, and constantly teasing about the unfortunate state he was in.
"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another Wizard." Gandalf shot back, false irritation his guise as the horse he was sitting on ploughed through the muddy ground.
"Are there any?" Bilbo asked curiously. His Took side, which he had repressed for most of his life, was now freely showing, and he was unafraid of saying his mind.
"What?"
"Other wizards."
"There are five of them, Bilbo. In level of respect and age; Saruman the White, Gandalf himself, the Grey, Radagast the Brown, and Morinehtar and Rómestámo the Blue. Each holds a name in Quenya. Gandalf's is Olórin, Saruman's Curumo, Radagast's Aiwendil, Morinehtar's Alatar, and Rómestámo's Pallando."
"You would be wise not to repeat those names, Eragon. They hold power, more so than most do." Gandalf warned the elf, thinking of the fell creatures that roamed the land and sky, listening for news and looking for unwary travellers to ambush.
'I think, Gandalf, you are right, though I have one other name I have not told you about, and it holds more power than even your own.' Eragon swung back in the Istar's mind, and Gandalf's lips quirked in amusement.
"We shall see, Eragon. We shall see."

/

They had travelled a good while longer, until even the rain had stopped, before the first odd event of their journey occurred. Eragon, who had been walking beside Gandalf at the time, opening his senses to admit the information from the forests around him, revelling in the life around him, was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of evil, rushing in, it seemed, from every direction. Images flashed before his eyes; a blue stone, a black blade, a fiery orange eye, slitted; a figure, cast in darkness that made the darkness around him creep away. Fiery letters, rings of burning gold, hooded figures, ghostly images of wraiths hanging above their heads. These and more assaulted his vision, until his body shut down from the onrush, and the dwarves stopped in surprise as he crumpled onto the grass.
"Eragon? Eragon?! What is it?" the wizard swung off his horse, and cradled the elf's head, as he came back to consciousness.
"Darkness… so much darkness. A castle… a fortress. Black blades… blacker night. Fiery eye… ever-watching, unblinking. A figure, of whom his very shadow is afraid…letters of fire…wraith…Ring. " Eragon murmured in his stupor, and Gandalf froze with the last word. Surely…it couldn't be.
'Eragon! Are you alright? What was that?' Eragon grimaced as Saphira's concerned voice rung his head like a gong, only worsening the oncoming headache.
'You think I know? I'm still trying to figure it out!' He responded, cutting the mental contact to subdue the throbbing in his skull.
"Eragon, get up." Gandalf shook the elf by the shoulder, concerned of these portents "We need to keep moving. You can rest when we find camp." Gandalf promised, furtively sneaking glances at the now menacing-seeming forest, gently hauled the elf to his feet, and the group resumed, the dwarves whispering amongst themselves as they carried on, unaware of the troubles in their companions' minds.

/

"We'll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them. Oín, Gloin. Get a fire going."
Thorin and the dwarves had decided to set up camp near a destroyed house, and were currently dismounting and unpacking the necessary equipment, whilst Eragon and Gandalf were paying more attention to the state of the dismal building.
"A farmer and his family used to live here."
"Aye. And whatever did this had strength. Lots of strength, and rocks." Eragon commented, taking the roof and timbers. It reminded him of the state his own house had been in after the Ra'zac had attacked.
"What makes you say that, my dear fellow?" Gandalf asked, genuinely curious as to how Eragon could possibly discern that.
"See the holes in the roof, the depression? Something bigger than the house did that. And given they managed to knock a sizable hole out of the fireplace, I'm guessing a club or thrown rocks. Do you know of any beast in this range that could do this, Mithrandir?" The dragon rider explained, breaking down his observations for the wizard to analyse. Gandalf just grunted amusedly (the wisdom of elves always seemed to be a constant), his bushy eyebrows slanting darkly as he considered the possibilities, each worse than the last, and walked back to Thorin.
"I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley." He suggested, and Thorin's expression turned sourer than usual.
"I have told you already. I will not go near that place." The prince spat, the usual venom lodge firmly in his tone, and Gandalf's face lost some of its hopefulness, but remained determined.
"Why not? The Elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice." Gandalf pressed Thorin again, making it clear he would not take no for an answer.
"I do not need their advice." Thorin cut in, also making it clear he would not give in.
'Great. The old 'immovable object-irresistible force' situation.' Eragon bemoaned, as Saphira laughed at the sight unfolding below her.
"We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us."
"Help?" Thorin all but shouted, and launched into a quiet, but no less potent tirade. Both Eragon and Gandalf attempted to persuade Thorin of the folly of staying here, but the answers left both Eragon and Gandalf thoroughly fed up with the dwarf's views. Both stalked back to the horses, one picking up his pack, and the other mounting his horse, waving off all questions and riding and running off into the woods, leaving the dwarves and hobbit wondering what had just happened.

/

"Mae g'ovannen, Elrond."
"Mae g'ovannen, Mithrandir. What brings you to my home?"
Eragon and Gandalf had travelled to the Hidden Valley, guided by Gandalf's knowledge of the land, and were greeted by the Lord of Rivendell upon the bridge.
"Annoying dwarves, black portents, and one who is not what he seems." Gandalf replied cryptically, his bushy eyebrows slanted, before his face opened, and a radiant smile beamed from his wizened visage, the happiness as clear as the gem in his staff. The two embraced, and Elrond turned to face Eragon, who gave him the greeting traditional to his homeland among elf-kind.
"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Elrond, maerr-madr thornessa ílias." Elrond's brow, uncreased, now wrinkled in confusion. Turning to Gandalf, he whispered into the Istar's ear in Sindarin.
"Mithrandir, man pêd? Úbelin ten heniad."
"Nónen eithro remmen, Elrond, ir athradellin den. Lamed naw… said, ach te be i lam pedim hi. Semin hirithog megiled a penged be haid." Gandalf still held that smile on his face, though it was now more mischievous than welcoming. Knowing the meaning of the words Gandalf had spoken (for he had seen them in the wizard's mind) Eragon removed Brisingr from its sheath, and his bow from the quiver on his back, and gave them to Elrond. The elf marvelled at the sword, taking it in one hand and testing its weight and balance. He strung the bow and tested the draw-strength. By the time he handed the weapons back, the amazement was clear in his eyes, but also a deeper, hidden thought, the machinations of one discerning the whole situation.
"So this is the one Galadriel talked of." Elrond muttered to himself, almost processing the entire situation, before returning his attention to the waiting elf in front of him. "Welcome to Rivendell, Cyll-hui. I am sure my children would be most interested in the craftsmanship of your arms, if you would permit them to study them, but there is something more important for us to talk of at the moment. Come." Elrond turned and walked back through the gates of Rivendell, haste evident in his movements, and the pair followed. Eragon, though, was still trying to unravel the name, and turned to Gandalf for advice.
"Gandalf, what did he call me? 'Cyll-hui'?"
Gandalf, as well, was equally submerged in rumination, but was shaken from his musings at the question.
"It means 'Souls-bearer', Eragon. I wonder what possessed him to call you by such an odd name. The Lady Galadriel is rarely wrong about these things." Gandalf answered, his voice sinking to contemplative tones as he pondered the meaning. It was irking him greatly; he felt as if the name was familiar, but he could not place where.
By the time their conversation had closed itself, Elrond, Eragon and Gandalf had arrived at a circular enclosure, marble arches meeting at the apex in a circle. Elrond sat upon the highest-backed seat, whilst Eragon and Gandalf seated themselves about the circumference.
"So." Elrond pronounced, spiring his fingers in much the same way as Oromis, "What brought you, Cyll-hui, to Rivendell?"
Eragon just shook his head amusedly. He had just explained this to Gandalf. By the time he finished this tale, it would be night.
'This seems to be becoming an annoyance to you, little one. What say we liven the story at some point?' Saphira pointed, the mischievousness unmasked in her stifled a smile, and replied in equal tones.
'Aye. Be careful, though. I fear whether these elves would take kindly to a dragon. You must remember this is no longer Alagaësia.' He warned, fearful of whatever power these elves held deep in this place. Returning his gaze to Elrond, Eragon breathed deeply, and launched into his tale.

/

It was sunset as Eragon finished the last words of his tale, and Elrond was completely enraptured, whether from surprise, interest, or another reason, and had not questioned the tale at all, but Eragon could feel them bubbling just below the surface. Standing he walked to the open night sky, and cried out in the Ancient Language.
"Saphira Bjartskular, dautr abr Vervada un Iormûngr, mor'amr du ven abr Elrond, sönr abr Eärendil un Elwing, un atra älfr sjon ono, wiol hvaët ono eru!"
The words resounded through Imladris, echoing off the valley walls and ringing high into the violet sky. In answer, a low reverberation pounded the air, as the familiar pressure of wing-beats pressed upon Eragon's body. Gandalf, already accustomed to this, simply took his pipe and lit it, chuckling quietly at Elrond's reaction, who was glancing suspiciously at the tree-lined walls enclosing his home.
'Shall we make this a performance, little one?'
'We shall.'

So? How was it?
I f any of you are wondering how to pronounce Cyll-hui, if I replaced the letters with English pronunciations, it would be spelled like this: Kill-hoo.
Translations next!(sorry, but this is going to be here to stay)
"Mithrandir, man pêd? Úbelin ten heniad."
"Gandalf, what is he saying? I cannot understand him."
"Nónen eithro remmen, Elrond, ir athradellin den. Lamed naw… said, ach te be i lam pedim hi. Semin hirithog megiled a penged be haid."
"Neither could I, Elrond, when I came across him. His tongue is… odd, but similar to the one we speak. His sword and bow are equally different."
"Saphira Bjartskular, dautr abr Vervada un Iormûngr, mor'amr du ven abr Elrond, sönr abr Eärendil un Elwing, un atra älfr sjon ono, wiol hvaët ono eru!"
"Saphira Brightscales, daughter of Vervada and Iormûngr, reveal yourself to Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing, and show him the truth of your existence!"
Now that's out of the way, it may be a while before the next chapter is put up. I have exams next week, so there is going to be very little writing done in that time, so again, it may be a while.
Novaer, mellyn. Harthon sevithogir i vronwe darthad an lû.