Disclaimer: I own nothing, Jon Snow. Now go and marry Danaerys!

A word of warning: while Melikir's POV is pretty badass, you may want to skip the POV after that if you don't want to be bored to death from repetitive stuff.


Chapter 9: A Sudden Blaze

It was the fifth day after Rhunon began to forge the Riders' swords. The sun was rising on the horizon when the eight Riders were summoned to the elf's workshop, just a few hours after the last Rider to work with her, Vanir, stumbled into his tree house half-supported by Diamanda. He had only a few hours of sleep before being roused early by his own dragon padding noisily around his sleeping quarters.

He was sorely tempted to toss a pillow in her direction but fought back the urge.

His eyes slowly opened as he sat up, exhaustion still lingering in his limbs. Diamanda stopped moving as he did, and she regarded him with her stormy eyes. Ah, you have awakened. The others wait for you outside with breakfast. Rhunon is getting impatient, I heart.

And no time for me to at least look decent? Vanir raised an eyebrow as his lips quirked up into an amused smile.

Very well, but please hurry. I do not wish to anger her.

Vanir nearly laughed. Nearly. He went through his morning ablutions quickly, donning on a random white tunic and a dark cloak. He joined the other Riders assembled downstairs, and Arya handed him some mushroom pies. He ate quickly as the dragons carried them to Rhunon's forge. It was a lovely day, but seeing the city so empty was unnerving.

War changes everyone and everything.

No one will ever be the same even once we gain our freedom, he mused.

Diamanda agreed. The world itself as we know it will change. Why should the people stay the same? What you must concern yourself with is whether it will be for better or for worse.

Birds overhead began to sing their sweet song as they stepped into the forge. The elf looked so haggard – a testament to five days of nonstop forging, and then an extra night laying enchantments on the swords. Dark bags, uncharacteristic of most elves, adorned her pale eyes. A table concealed by a length of white cloth revealed eight mounds, where the swords were hidden.

"Well, at least you are more punctual than your teachers," she noted.

As if on cue, a loud flapping sound outside heralded the arrival of the elder Riders. A few seconds later, Ash stepped into the forge, back ramrod straight. Serylda was right behind her, flattening her hair nervously.

"Forgive us for our tardiness, Rhunon-elda," she quipped with a smile. "Father has been quite preoccupied, so he sent us ahead to complete the ceremony with you."

Rhunon graced them with her customary scowl. "Well, so be it. Your father always has some excuse in place to send you in his place."

"Father is good at that," Ash agreed good-naturedly. "But we are senior Riders now, and we have all the right to oversee the awarding of the swords. We are their teachers, after all."

"Though it is customary for teachers to all be present, I suppose this is a custom that we can safely ignore during war," Serylda added.

Rhunon smiled. "Ah, I have long ago cast custom aside," she admitted. "And thanks to that, I have achieved the impossible! I have circumvented my oaths to make swords again, faster than I would normally do. And with hands that are not my own! And they are the finest I have ever made." She made a face. "I have used magic, that is true, but that is a minor qualm compared to what I have achieved. Behold!"

She removed the sheet covering the swords, revealing her latest work.

Rhunon did not waste the handful of hours that she had as intervals between the different Riders she worked with. Though Vanir heard of her amazing skill, he never expected her to work much, much faster than the lesser smiths of Du Weldenvarden. Eight blades, as magnificent as the ones that the Riders lost, lay on the table.

I do not want to be biased, but it seems to me that her newest works are better than her older ones, Vanir noted with a small smile.

Maybe you are right, countered Diamanda. After all, the circumstances of their creation is quite unique.

Eight swords glittered on the table, shining like dragons' scales.


Melikir was perched wearily on his seat. The last few days were a blur, especially since he was challenged by Fadawar. He recalled Angela being summoned to clean their wounds with herbs and poultices. He recalled Orrin scoffing at him, and Brom scolding him.

He recalled the tribes swearing their loyalty to him, and him staggering to his tent to recuperate. He was also aware that he sent Garrow on some mission or another with some men of Carvahall and some Varden veterans.

The Council of Elders stood before him, the four disagreeable members voicing their displeasure about Melikir's acceptance of Fadawar's challenge, Sabrae even outright speaking of the Wandering Tribes with disdain. Behind them, Brom, Faolin, and Angela glowered, talking quietly among themselves, while Jormundur stood to Melikir's right.

"And letting those wild, uneducated barbarians join our camp is most ill-advised," Umerth was saying as he addressed the circle. "They might harm the women of our camp!"

"Considering their help would be preposterous! We have managed so far without them!" added Falberd. "Now, if you just listen to me, my boy, I have quite a lot of strategies that would help us in this foolish siege that you are intent upon. But if you were truly to listen, I say that you summon the Riders back. We march to Uru'baen and get this done with immediately, be done with this childish foolishness of yours."

"You dare insult Lord Melikir's wisdom?" Jormundur asked, raising his eyebrow.

Umerth let out a long-suffering sigh. "And you may want to remember, Jormundur, that you are only part of the council in military matters."

"But the question still remains, and it is a valid one," Melikir finally said. He was getting tired of their prattling.

Elessari's hand flew to her dagger. "And you may wish to remember, boy, that you would not have risen to power without our help!"

"Help that is not freely given is no help at all," Brom said loudly, before launching back into conversation with Melikir's other true advisers.

Melikir drummed his fingers idly on the armrest of his seat. "Deflecting unwanted questions by changing the subject is a tactic that grows old as the days pass, my good men and women. Unfortunately, to those who have been repeatedly exposed to such strategies grow wiser. I may be young, but I am not a child, nor a fool."

He smiled at the stunned silence.

"You set me up to a position of power. Was this for you to gain more influence? Or to put a puppet that can dance to your whims?" He stood up. He was not so weak anymore, now that he had sufficient time to recuperate from his ordeal. "If you sought to create a puppet, I am afraid that your strings are no better than a spider's filmy web."

"You ingrateful bastard," Sabrae hissed. "We have given you the highest honors."

"The Council was made to provide sound advice to a current ruler – not as a method of seizing political power. You have devolved so much. It seems like the Council is no different from Galbatorix now."

More silence.

Faolin looked up from the scrolls he was reading with his companions. "I suppose, Melikir-vor, that there is no point for the council to exist if it does not serve its original purpose anymore."

"Most interesting," agreed Brom. "That the Council was made by me to be filled by people whom the current leader trusts – not treacherous snakes who are more interested in squandering power and playing games."

Sabrae's eyes bulged. "You can't dissolve the Council! Your empty threats will not work anymore, child!"

Melikir smiled. Finally, he was getting the opening that he sought for. "What about those that are not empty at all? In fact, I am quite willing to enact my threats. After all, this is not the original purpose of the Council, as Lord Brom has quite helpfully pointed out."


There was an air of anticipation in the forge as Serylda and Ash took their places beside Rhunon, who looked ready to explode with pride. Eragon was not just excited with the prospect of seeing the finished swords. He also wanted to see the small ceremony that was to take place.

Listen and watch well, young ones, for you shall witness what you shall be doing in the future, Aegar announced. In the old days, such ceremonies were attended by Riders, dragons both bonded and not, family members, and anyone else in the vicinity.

Ash picked up the last sword that was forged. Ripples of stormy gray seemed to dance on the surface of the hilt when it moved slightly, the same color as Diamanda's eyes. Black-tinted brightsteel capped the end, and stylized stars of the same hue decorated the mouth. The crossguard itself was made of the same colored brightsteel, as was the small dragon clasp that kept the milky diamond in place. The hilt was made of hard, black wood, though.

"Vanir, Rider of Diamanda, step forward and kneel," Serylda said. Pride rang in her voice as the young elf did as he was told.

Ash unsheathed the blade, revealing a slender, graceful white sword. Its hue subtly took on a grayer hue when it shifted, playing on the colors of the Diamanda's scales and her eyes.

"For learning the lesson of accepting changes, you have grown into the Rider that you should be. You have gained an insight on the different races of Alagaesia by simply opening your heart to the truth that every one of them have their strengths and weaknesses," Serylda announced in her clear voice. Ash lightly tapped the broad side of the new sword on Vanir's shoulders before sheathing it, and handing it to him. "Henceforth, you shall be Vanir the Impartial, Rider of Diamanda. Rise and take your place among our ranks."

Vanir rose to his feet, a faint flush to his cheeks as he accepted his sword and stood behind the table.

I'm betting ten crowns that he's about to explode in glee, Murtagh noted with a mental snicker.

Do not be so mean, Aesyr reproached.

Vanir sighed. You do know that I can hear that, right?

Eragon's lip twitched. Vanir my friend, they are very much aware.

Ash was already with the next sword – its black scabbard glinting, small specks of dark gray dancing on its surface with the slightest of movement. White-tinted brightsteel capped its tip, and formed spiral patterns at the mouth. Whitened brightsteel also formed the dragon clasp that held a jet-black diamond on the pommel. The hilt itself was of ivory-hued wood. The blade was revealed – a slightly thinner than usual piece that seemed best made for quickly drawing out. Like the hilt, small flecks of gray seemed to flash on the surface of the blade when it captured light.

Aesyr stepped forward, and Serylda began to speak once more. "For learning the lesson of being your true self, you have grown into the Rider you should be. You have cast aside any pretenses that hid the true you from the rest of the world, and you have began to face life as you should. Henceforth, you shall be Aesyr the Sincere, Rider of Sardonis."

Eragon smiled at his younger sister, who smiled back as she took her place beside Vanir.

The next sword that Ash took was of a rich golden hue, like solidified sunlight. Reddened brightsteel capped the scabbard, and formed a sunburst pattern on the mouth. The crossguard and ornate dragon clasp – which this time carried a pearly sunstone. The hilt was made of ivory-white wood. The sword itself was of standard appearance, though a little longer than usual. The golden hue of the blade seemed to deepen from edges to the center.

Nasuada stepped forward to take part in the ceremony. Serylda smiled proudly. "For learning to defy your limits, you have grown into the Rider that you should be. You have discovered the truth that sometimes rules need to be bent in order to make the most out of certain situations. Henceforth, you shall be Nasuada the Willful, Rider of Solaris."

The next sword revealed had a silver sheath glinted in different hues reminiscent of moonlight. Violet-tinted brightsteel capped its tip, decorated the mouth with an ornate pattern of crescents, and formed the crossguard and clasp for the moonstone on its pommel. Its grip was made of black wood. The sword itself was slender and light, apparently better-suited for thrusting. The blade was lighter in the center, steadily darkening at the edges and the tip.

Katrina was solemn when she knelt down, head bowed. Serylda nodded approvingly and proceeded with the ceremony. "For learning to face your future with confidence, you have grown into the Rider you should be. You have discovered the merits of putting your faith in the skills that you have been gifted it, and that you have honed. Henceforth, you shall be Katrina the Resolute, Rider of Luneria."

As Katrina smiled and took her place behind the table, Ash smiled and exchanged places with her sister. "I suppose you now know why it is important for the teachers to be the ones to preside over such ceremonies," she said with a chuckle.

Eragon nodded, stroking his chin. "Most interesting, Master. It seems like truly knowing who and what your pupil is would be an important part of being a teacher."

"Ah, that it is," Serylda agreed. She regarded the last half of the Riders still without their blades. "I know that you have not yet truly finished your lessons, but I am confident that you have actually learned the most important ones of all."

Roran stepped forward, head held high as Serylda beckoned him. Their elf teacher was holding his sword. The sheath glinted a light violet, like Askanir's neck and stomach scales. Silver-bright brightsteel capped it, and also formed patterns that resembled lightning on the mouth. The crossguard and the dragon clasp that encircled the pommel gem – an amethyst – were made of the same material, connected by a white wood hilt. The sword itself was thicker than usual, made for someone who preferred to slash and smash his way through enemies.

Quite fitting, he told Murtagh, who snorted.

As long as he doesn't use it on us, then I am fine with it.

Shut up, both of you, Roran growled.

Ash took over the next part of the ceremony. "For learning to be strong for the sake of those that need you, you have grown into the Rider that you shoud be. You have learned to draw upon your inner strength, and have lent the same stability to your allies and peers when needed. Henceforth, you shall be Roran the Resilient, Rider of Askanir."

The next blade had a scabbard with a green hue that shimmered faintly like a wet leaf that was hit by a ray of sunlight. Pale blue brightsteel capped its tip, and formed stylized vines on the mouth. A deeper blue steel comprised the crossguard and the small dragon clasp that held a lovely emerald, brought together by a hilt made of black wood. The sword itself was a richer emerald hue, iridiscent like the others and definitely beautiful.

Arya beamed beatifically as she stepped forward to take part in the ceremony. Eragon felt his stomach lurch in excitement and anticipation. Their teacher gave him a knowing look before she proceeded. "For learning to defy labels that were expected of you due to your status and race, you have grown into the Rider that you should be. You have discovered the power and joy that your own choice to be different is offering you. Henceforth, you shall be Arya the Distinctive, Rider of Firnen."

Serylda brandished the penultimate blade, the scabbard a dark, slightly menacing shade of red. Gold adorned its tip, and formed stylized flames on the mouth. The same material also formed its thick crossguard and the rearing dragon that encircled the ruby on its pommel. The sword itself was a richer ruby red, playing on the hues on Thorn's scales. A balanced blade, it was good both for thrusting and slashing.

Murtagh exchanged nervously elated glances with Eragon before stepping forward with a bow. "Masters," he said. "I am ready."

"As you should be," Serylda told him.

Ash cleared her throat, silencing them. "For learning the importance of protecting the ones you love in your own way, you have grown into the Rider that you should be. You have finally understood that you cannot deflect their pain all the time, but you still prioritize their safety. Henceforth, you shall be Murtagh the Devoted, Rider of Thorn."

Murtagh flushed as he accepted his sword and joined his comrades with a shy smile. Ah, it is your turn, brother, he said in glee.

"Eragon, come here," Serylda coaxed with an uncharacteristic sweet smile.

Eragon knelt before Ash, eyes flitting to the sword that Serylda held. The light blue scabbard reminded him of the scales on Saphira's throat. It was tipped with deep green brightsteel, the same material adorning the mouth as stylized waves and snowflakes. The crossguard and ornate dragon that held the sapphire on the pommel in place was steel with a lighter shade of green. The sword itself was a vivid sapphire blue, an almost-twin of Murtagh's own weapon.

Ash began. "For learning to embrace pain, you have grown into the Rider that you should be. You have grown to accept that pain in all forms is inevitable, using it as strength in facing the future and inspiring those around you. Henceforth, you are Eragon the Valiant, Rider of Saphira."

Eragon accepted the blade with a smile on his face and a surge of strength. They were ready to face the future and fight for Alagaesia.


I wanted to explain more on what the teachers said about the Riders, but it might be a bit fun to watch you guys figure out a few things xD

Seriously, I am amazed by those who power read the series in a few days. I am such a slow reader, which also contributes to my even slower and attrocious updates. Erk.

The sword presentation ceremony was inspired partly by graduation from school. I graduated from college-level education in 2013 and I was kind of baffled as to why Eragon did not get even just a small ceremony in Eldest/Brisingr... I know it's war time, but hey! Just a few minutes of words wouldn't hurt.

More Melikir action next chapter! And a snarky Brom if I can throw it in.

Once more, DA fans, you may want to read my fic called From the Ground Up. This is the last unashamed advertising for my other fic, I promise. *blushes*

Read and review, as always!