Vanir woke to an uneasy feeling.
The forest of Du Weldenvarden was always peaceful. No battles had been fought in the forest for one hundred years, with the exception of sparring.
If you woke to an uneasy feeling, then something was different. And if something is different in an almost perfect utopia, then that something was bad.
Vanir got up from his bed and healed his sprained ankle that he received in a sparring session. He put on a dark colored tunic with brown leggings, anything dark that could blend him in with the shadows.
He quickly took his sword and dagger, and went out the door. Of course, he could see almost perfectly, but for some reason there was fog outside.
Fog wasn't normally bad, for it was just part of nature, but there had been no grounded clouds in Ellesmera in years. Though this disturbed Vanir, he didn't pay the fog any attention and quickly headed to the palace of Islanzadi.
On his way towards the palace, Vanir saw more patches of fog. By this time he knew something was afoot.
This is no ordinary fog.
The patches of it were too far apart and were relatively small to be anything made by nature.
Vanir knew that he shouldn't get close to mist; it was probably filled with soldiers.
Why do they not try to strike me down? Why are they charging straight into the middle of Ellesmera?
As Vanir thought, he heard a slight crackling sound grow. Then came the slight glow of a candle. But a candle did not crackle, fires however did.
Vanir saw an elf carrying a giant ball of water and he tried to get the elf's attention.
"Hey! Stop!" Vanir yelled.
The elf came to a stop and said, "I cannot, the Menoa tree has caught fire!"
Both elves left towards their destinations, the tree and the palace. Something was happening, but what was it?
The soldiers in the mist were most likely Sellfar troops; they were the only ones who stood a chance against elves. And the fire was used as a distraction, which left two things that were possible.
A takeover or a kidnapping.
He had to tell Islanzadi, it was his duty. It was his father's duty. Though, nothing prepared him for what was coming straight at him.
The arrow made almost no whistle as it went through the air.
Vanir ducked and saw the bolt imbed itself in the tree that was right next to him. But he did not see the powder on the arrow that was burning.
There was an explosion that threw Vanir towards a nearby tree. He hit his head and saw that the patches of fog disappeared and were replaced with Sellfar troops.
Whatever that something was, it was going to start soon.
Then Vanir relinquished himself to the darkness in his mind, bringing a fitful rest.
Eragon, Roran, and Roran's squad were about to the border of Surda. Eragon could see the edges of the desert as they drew nearer and nearer.
"This is where the hard part begins," said Roran.
As Eragon walked through the desert, he pulled the heavy blanket closer to himself. He didn't give a damn if he was a freak or a Dragon Rider, it was freaking' cold.
After walking for a good four hours through winds and sand, Roran decided to set up camp.
Eragon noticed that something about Roran had changed. He walked with more authority, spoke in a voice that demanded that one hundred and ten percent should be put into work, and yet he found time to care for the wounded in his own squad.
He was no longer the Roran who was unsure of himself when he was leading Carvahall to the Varden. He was a hero.
"You cold?" he said.
"No," replied Eragon, even though he was freezing his butt of. "How far 'til we get there?"
"I'd say about another two hours if we keep a fast pace. If you want, you can go on ahead and we'll meet you there. We can spare you an extra blanket too."
"Sure, I can probably get there in about half an hour. Plus I'd like to sleep in an actual bed," Eragon said with a grin.
This was the first time Roran saw Eragon smile since he found him. It looked almost menacing with his features, but if you knew him, you'd know that he was just a kid.
"Here," said Roran while handing Eragon a blanket. "See ya tomorrow."
"A Shade! A Shade is coming!"
Eragon sat patiently by the gates as soldiers circled around him. He couldn't ask for a better welcome party.
"Do not fight me," he said. "I am Eragon, rider of Saphira."
The soldiers tensed as Eragon spoke.
Well then, looks like I have to do this the hard way.
Eragon ran straight towards the wall with as much speed as he could muster. Then he jumped and landed horizontally on the wall and ran straight up it.
When he reached the top he jumped up and landed on the other side of the wall. Then the dumbstruck soldiers recovered and charged into the gate, ready to kill.
This may actually be challenging, I'm going to have to do this without killing anyone.
He ran into the palace while dodging arrows that seemed to narrowly miss him. Eragon had to get to Nasuada's room; she might be there to call them off.
As he ran up the steps, he could feel a powerful aura that seemed all too familiar.
Eragon ran down towards the ground level while sensing the power grow stronger as he ran to the source.
Finally, he reached a door. The feeling was drawing him to this room, nothing mattered as he stood at the door, the soldiers, Nasuada, Arya; they didn't matter for what lay beyond the door was greater than all of them.
Eragon opened the door to see a giant sleeping form in front of him.
He walked towards it carefully, until he was a yard away. Then he slowly lifted his arm until it was a foot away from the creature.
The room Eragon was in was giant. It seemed to be able to fit almost anything. The room had reddish stones for walls and it was well lit.
Eragon took a step closer and touched the brow of the dragon. As he met the dragon's forehead, he saw a blinding light that sealed his hand to the dragon.
Then everything changed about the dragon.
Her blue scales turned a blackish-blue color, her wing membranes turned silvery, almost none of her body was the same.
But then, the dragon shuddered and then opened her eyes. Her eyes were the same beautiful color as before, a dark blue.
Eragon?
"Good morning, Saphira."