I'm sorry this took so long, but it was finals week, and now I'm at a Creative Writing camp where they work us into the ground… yeah. Here it is:

When he arrived, Eragon saw that Roran had improved on his stick. Now, instead of breaking when hit with sufficient force, Roran had attached a bag filled with dirt on the end of a rope so that if he didn't hit a specific spot on the post, the sack flew around to hit him. So far, it looked like the bag was winning.

"Would you care for a human opponent?" Eragon asked as he watched the sack strike his cousin's thigh.

"You can hardly call yourself human anymore," Roran said playfully. Eragon winced internally; though Roran voiced it in jest, he couldn't help but feel a barb hidden in the innocent comment. "Even so, I wouldn't mind a break from this…thing."

"What shall my weapon be?" Eragon asked, looking around for something he might use to defend himself.

"Please do me a favor and don't attack me with that sword of yours," Roran said in mock distress. "I'm not nearly as good with my hammer as you are with most weapons. It might be awkward with an axe… though I don't suppose you'd have one lying around anyway."

"Perhaps I'll just use a hammer like you," Eragon suggested after spying one half-hidden beneath a bit of canvas. He hefted it and tested its weight with a few practice swings. He'd never practiced with a hammer before, but decided that the technique couldn't be too much different than a sword, like he was used to. "Let my bones be unbreakable," he muttered in the Ancient Language, invoking his magic. He said the same spell over Roran, but cautioned him. "Don't test the spell. I can only take so much before my strength gives out, and there could still be plenty of bruising." Roran nodded. He understood magic after Eragon had explained it a few days ago.

Eragon took a defensive stance several yards away, and waited for Roran to make the first move. He wasn't confident in his skill, and decided that the best course would be to watch how his cousin wielded the weapon before trying it for himself.

Roran charged him, running with his hammer raised to crush Eragon's shoulder. He pivoted to the side, bringing down his own hammer in the process to smack Roran's hip. To his elfin strength, it was hardly more than a tap, but Eragon knew that it carried more force than he realized. Despite the injury, Roran didn't miss a beat, and turned to land a blow on the shoulder he hadn't been aiming for previously. Eragon grimaced, and understood why Roran kept striking at his upper body: it weakened his offense and threw off his balance. Damaging the opponent's legs did little except inconvenience them.

With this in mind, Eragon switched his stance so that any it would be easier to defend against attacks from above rather than straight on, but left a gap in his defense for a split second. That was all Roran needed. He swept up his hammer and hooked Eragon's own, limiting his movement. With a deft movement, he flipped the weapon up out of his grip and swung up to meet Eragon's face, stopping inches away from his nose.

"Dead," he gasped, panting.

Eragon agreed, and returned the hammer to where he'd found it. "You're certainly someone to be reckoned with on the battlefield."

"I still need practice," Roran protested, but grinned, pleased with the compliment.

"Well, if you ever want a sparring partner, I'd go find a dwarf. He could teach you the finer aspects of the weapon, I'm sure," Eragon suggested. He could've easily bested his cousin if he relied on his superhuman strength, speed, and agility, but preferred not to use those when it was only jest. He lacked the true skill that came from hours of dedication and practice that Roran possessed.

"I can tell that you didn't come down to lock hammers with me, though," Roran said, calling Eragon back to his real reason for coming down to meet him.

"Correct. I thought you might want to see Katrina," Eragon offered. He didn't need acute eyesight to see the light that shone from Roran's eyes in reaction to the sentiment. He instructed Roran to cup his hands, and he filled it with water from his water skin. "Draumr kopa." Immediately, the water blackened, then filled with the image of Katrina, leaning against a background of pure white. No—further inspection proved that her father, Sloan, slumped next to her. Roran's fiancée frowned in contemplation, and then nudged something on the ground with bound feet. Suddenly, she froze, and feigned sleep. A new figure came into the picture: a Ra'zac. It surprised Eragon that he could see it; he must have encountered it during his stay in Dras Leona. He—it—put something down at her feet, probably food and drink. Katrina looked at her meal with interest; then glanced over at her father. She looked up at the Ra'zac inquisitively, and turned her attention to the meal before her, then scooted closer. Here, Eragon ended the spell; he doubted that Roran had any desire to watch his fiancée eat breakfast.

"Ready for tomorrow?" Roran asked Eragon eagerly.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied wearily. "You're sure that you don't want to take anyone else with us?"

Roran smiled and shook his head. "Eragon, you know that we can't afford to take an army, or even a few soldiers with us. Helgrind is accessible only from the air, and Saphira can't carry more than us two."

"I know," Eragon said. "I'm just making sure that you do."

They turned and went to breakfast together.

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As they weaved their way through the maze of hallways in the palace, Roran grit his teeth. He absolutely hated the way Eragon talked down to him—wasn't Roran a year his senior? Still, they were cousins, bound to stick together through it all…