Yay! Another update! And this one did not take three years to publish!

Disclaimer: Um…No…It wasn't ME who kidnapped Murtagh!

To the story!

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The long Elven blade sliced cleanly through the air, forming an impressive wide circle as Tiranë swung it before her and twirled quickly around, pulling her filigree sword sharply downwards till it was a two fingers breadth from the ground, and coming to a halt

squatted down on one leg with the other stretched out beside her.

Practicing her stances always helped Tiranë to think. It calmed and relaxed her, despite the sore muscles that always followed a long, hard practice.

Relaxation was something she sorely needed, for she had spent much of the former night at Indis' bedside with Alanís, waiting and feeding the unconscious maiden tea every few hours. Not an easy task.

She had had to fight to stay awake, and they had also helped Avelyn to redress the bandaging on Indis head. There hadn't been too much blood, but Avelyn had made it clear that it was necessary for the wound to be cleansed every so often to keep it free of bacteria and to help it heal.

Tiranë's fingers still smelled of the heavily fragranced poultice they had applied to Indis' head. It had been thick, and smelled strongly of herbs. The dark grey-green colour it had been had not looked too healthy, and Tiranë wondered how on Alagaësia that something so revolting could help any wound to heal.

She lifted herself from her position and held her blade out before her. It had been a gift from an Elvish blacksmith; a gift she was most grateful for, because unlike Eragon, she had had no sword of her own, only Brom's training ones.

The sword was exceptionally beautiful, and was far different from Zar'roc. Her blade was long, thin and slightly curved at the end, (A/N: Think along the lines of Hadhafang's shape, people!) with pictures of vines and flowers along with a rounded symbol filigreed into it.

It was a more feminine version of the combat swords that were used in battle, and was far more sturdier than what it appeared. The sword cut cut straight through wood in a single stroke if enough force was applied.

Her Elven scabbard was also something that could be described as not of human make. It was cut out of durable blue-dyed leather, and had the same designs as on her sword etched into it. Both of the pieces were things that she could never have dreamed of using before she had found Turgon's egg.

The thought of Turgon sent a warm surge of affection coursing through her, for she loved the dragon dearly. Before she had returned home to eat and receive some much needed sleep, the last time she had seen him was at the party.

Turgon had been worried about Indis, but Tiranë had recited what Avelyn had told them to him, and that had set him at ease. Slightly.

Tiranë had visited Indis again before she had come to the training area, which, thankfully, had been empty, to check on her, but she had not yet woken.

She had stayed a long while, conversing with a tired Alanís, trying to get her mind off her cousin, and had met Indis' mother.

Tiranë had almost asked the graceful woman who she was when she had entered the room, for she looked nothing like her daughter, but before she could do so, Alanís had shot to her feet, exclaiming, "Aunt!"

Aynëya, as her friend's mother was called, was shocked at what had happened to her daughter. She had greeted Tiranë and shed tears, sitting at Indis' side, holding her hand, whispering motherly things to her.

Tiranë, during the silence, had taken the time to analyse Indis' mother's appearance. She was very tall, not uncommon among the Elves, but, the two things that set her apart from the rest of her race were her hair and her eyes. Aynëya had beautiful, light brown-red coloured hair which fell to her waist in loose ringlets, and lovely yellow-chestnut eyes, which simply glowed with her wisdom and great knowledge.

The Elf-woman did not resemble Indis in the least.

Alanís and Tiranë had explained what they knew, and Aynëya had kissed and thanked them both. She had concluded that Alanís looked dreadful, and that they should both get some sleep and go about their duties as normal, leaving Indis to her mother.

After a short resistance, and enough "Are you sure?'s" to fill a scroll, Alanís and Tiranë had left after kissing Indis' forehead and wishing her mother farewell. The two had parted ways, Alanís leaving to her home and Tiranë heading for the training grounds.

It had not been a long walk. She passed many green forest trees, great, colourful flower patches, and beautiful ropes of Lianí vine on the way there. When she had arrived, the realisation that the area was empty was a great relief. It was hardly ever deserted, and she knew that for a fact, since her training partner, Rían, insisted on them practicing every two to three days.

Tiranë had been there for what she guessed was three hours, honing her swordsmanship skills, in the hope that she might one day be able to beat an opponent with the skill and elegance with a sword as Eragon. She had never been able to beat him, fairly, and the few times that she had, it had been because he had held back.

Tiranë was determined to catch up to the elder Rider.

Afterall, he wasn't that much older. They were both sixteen, only he was born a few months before. Eragon never missed the oppurtunity to tease her about it, though. Make that both Eragon and Turgon.

And occasionally, even Saphira.

Damn.

Would she ever grow older?

With a sigh, Tiranë resumed her fighting stance, her sword now held in her right hand, and extended infront of her. Slowly at first, she began to slice the air with her long blade, leisurely swinging it above her head, switching it from hand to hand, maneuvering her own body so it looked as though she were dancing. Then she began to pick up speed and criss-cross the sword rapidly in the space infront and around of her, adding in a few high kicks when she could.

Tiranë swung the sword in a clean line before her, bringing it down and using it to block her unseen attacker's weapon.

She grabbed the hilt with both hands and began to imagine an Urgal in front of her, stabbing and slicing at her with his scimitar. Unbidden memories of fire and blood surfaced in her mind, and Tiranë lashed out her weapon in a fit of anger.

The blade whistled as it was swung sharply to and fro, and Tiranë executed a neat backflip, landing on her feet with a thud. It had taken many hours of hard labour and a fractured arm to learn how to perform the acrocbatic move, but it had been easier for her than any other human for she was double jointed, and reasonably flexible. Not mention that she was a Rider.

Tiranë tossed the weapon into the air, and quickly reached out to grab it once more. That was another trick that had been a pain to learn.

Save for the sound of her own laboured breathing, the only other noise that could be heard was the swishing of her blade as she slashed at the imaginary Urgals around her.

She continued in this manner for what seemed to her like hours, but in reality was only half of one.

The sweat was now running freely down her forehead, and Tiranë was panting hard. Stopping, she crouched over with her hands on her thighs, sword still clutched in her right hand, watching the droplets of sweat drip onto the floor.

She continued to breathe in through her mouth, and amidst the whooshing sounds she was emitting, Tiranë heard a clapping noise behind her.

She gasped, stood up straight and turned around to see none other than Eragon leaning against a tree, watching her practise.

Had he been there the whole time?

He grinned and walked over to her. "You've improved." Tiranë noticed that he had his own sword with him.

She released her ihaled breath in a huff and rolled her eyes jokingly. "Yeah, Eragon, I have improved, seeing as how I still probably can't beat you."

"No, really, you have gotten better. That back flip was impressive," he told her.

Tiranë smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. "Thanks. I didn't nearly break my arm for nothing, you know."

Eragon laughed. "So I see. But mine are still better," he added slyly, smirking at the expression on her face.

She punched his arm. Hard.

"Ow! What was that for?" Eragon exclaimed.

"Hmm…I wonder?" Tiranë answered, her hands mockingly her hips in a very unlike herself gesture.

"I was only joking! Geez…your punches hurt more than Roran's," He added.

Tiranë's face broke out in a grin. "Well, Rider? Are you going to stand there whinging like a child, or are you going to challenge me?"

A devilish smile resembling Tiranë's own adorned his face at those words. "If you insist, Tiranë. I challenge you to a duel. Be ready to yield."

She snorted. "I think not! Your challenge is accepted.

"Excellent," he said.

She lifted her eyebrow, but said nothing in answer.

They walked into the middle of the ring and stood a few feet apart from each other. Tiranë and Eragon simultaneously drew their weapons, and Tiranë marvelled at how Zar'roc gleamed in the sunlight. Despite its previous owners, it truly was a beautiful thing.

Tiranë balanced her blade in her hands, and drew in a deep breath, bracing herself for defeat. She looked over at Eragon to see him do the same, Zar'roc glinting as he began to swing it around, readying himself for the mock-fight.

Again, Tiranë was amazed at how easily he used his weapon. It had taken her much longer that he to grasp the concept of using a sword, and the fact stung at her pride a little. Eragon was a natural born swordsman, and she knew that when he had finished his development, he would be able to best even the most skilled of the Elves.

At that moment, he walked over to stand closer to her.

"Let us begin, unless you need a little more time to prepare for defeat," Eragon jested.

For the second time that day, Tiranë found herself rolling her eyes.

"You wish. I'm ready now, boy," she retaliated, deliberately calling him 'boy'. She knew it vexed him.

He ignored the name and lifted Zar'roc. He positioned himself in his fighting stance, and Tiranë followed his example. She gripped her sword tightly, flexing her fingers around the hilt, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on Eragon.

The two began to circle eachother slowly, eyeing the opponent's stance, assessing the way they held themselves and their blade.

Without warning, Eragon took a swing at her side, and Tiranë brought her sword down to deflect it. He certainly was fast.

They resumed circling one another.

She decided to try her luck and quickly crouched, aiming her sword for his legs.

Eragon jumped up, the blade hissing as it cut through the air underneath him. He landed on his feet with a thud, and lifted his sword to block Tiranë's sword as it attempted to slash at his ribs.

"She really has improved," he thought to himself as he saw her dodge Zar'roc as it tried to slice at her chest.

There were no words exchanged between them, for they were deeply engrossed in their mock fight. Tiranë was surprised that she had not been disarmed yet, and she sent a silent 'thankyou' to Rían for her forced training sessions.

Their duel had veered them back towards the ring of trees, and Eragon concentrated on steering himself to the right to avoid the trees. He aimed for her throat, and she brought her sword up to stop his in its path.

Unepectedly, she kicked his leg, and he stumbled. Muffling a curse, Eragon quickly reagined his balnce and threw himself to the side to miss Tiranë's stab towards his stomach.

Their fight was now a quick succession of blows, parries and thrust, and the sound of the weapons hitting eachother resounded through the arena.

Eragon barely missed a slice made for his thigh, and decided to pay Tiranë back with an aim for hers. Zar'roc flew to her thigh, not intending to harm her, for she was his friend, and was immediately halted in its path by Tiranë's blade, which had seen his intention and acted with snake-like reflexes.

Tiranë charged towards Eragon, her blade before her, and came to a stop when she was a mere inch from him. Zar'roc and Tiranë's own sword where now forming an 'X' as both Riders tried to push the other away and gain control of the duel.

Eragon saw the shine in her eyes and new that she would do whatever it took to beat him. But, being the male that he was, Eragon was not ready to accept defeat so easily. With a great heae, he pushed Tiranë from him, hardly, sending her stumbling a few feet backwards, and waited until she was balanced before he struck his blow.

He used Zar'roc to remove her blade from her temporarily slackened grip, which sent it far to the side of the area, and out of her reach.

Tiranë was furious at herself for letting him take her weapon. She would not let him win this one. She just needed to take Zar'roc, and finish this duel by using hand-to-hand combat, something at which she excelled. And she knew he knew it.

As she completed that thought, Eragon had moved closer to her, and was now trying to trip her. He kicked for her legs, and Tiranë performed another backflip, leaving Eragon to kick empty air.

She then kicked the hand that held Zar'roc. Hard. Tiranë hated to hurt her friends, but it was training. You needed to be a little rough if you are to fight in a war.

She heard Eragon hiss through his teeth, and made her move to grab Zar'roc, which she threw to lie near her own sword.

"It looks as though we will have to finish this using our own limbs, doesn't it Eragon?" She asked.

"I believe it does," he answered dryly.

Eragon knew that she would beat him. While he was ecxellent at swordplay, Tiranë was magnificent at hand-to-hand. Well, for a human anyway. He prayed that he would not go down like a fool. He had been practicing, and hoped that he had improved.

Neither of them moved, they just stood and watched the other. Tiranë noticed that Eragon was tense, which meant that he was worried. Worried that he would lose. Oh, well, he had beaten her plentiful times as well. And she silently promised him that she would try to not humiliate him.

At that moment, Eragon's clenched fist hurled itself towards her jaw. She quickly brought up her arm to keep it from breaking her bones. Eragon punched with a force unseen before when he was determined. The fact that he would do so with her made her proud, for it meant that he saw her as an equal, and not as some helpless milk-maid.

Tiranë used the arm not blocking Eragon's fist to punch his stomach. She was surprised to find that the muscles were harder than they had been before they had arrived at Ellesméra. Her face heated up.

He doubled over with a grunt, and this gave her enough time to spin around and deliver a firm kick to his lower torso which sent him sprawling to the ground.

To her surprise, Eragon kicked himself off of the ground (A:N/ You know that move that they make when they are on their backs, the one where the bend their legs and leap off the ground, landing on their feet? It's that one.) and once more prepared himself for attack.

"He's been practicing," Tiranë's mind echoed. It was true, for he certainly had improved. Only a few months before, she had been able to best Eragon with a simple blow to the stomach or high-kick to the side. Now, well, he was a lot better at the art of disabling a person without using weaponry.

Eragon clenched his fists, ready for one of his friend's unforseeable blows. It came, swiftly, but by the force of some unknown power, he was able to dodge it. And the one that came after it.

The rejuvinating feeling of not being sent to the ground was not to last, though. Eragon, being the show-off that he was, decided to execute a few impressive acrobatic tricks of his own. He ducked to avoid a quick succession of right and left hooks, before he jumped in the air, twirled and brung his leg out to catch Tiranë's abdomen.

The girl was sent back with a cry, and fell to the ground on her back with a thud. She did not move.

For the first few moments, Eragon was sure that she was jesting with him. But, when she still did not move, concern and panic began to creep their way into his mind.

He rushed to her side, fell to his knees and shook her.

"Tiranë. Tiranë, are you alright? Tiranë, get up!" He said as he gently shook her shoulder while leaning over her from his position at her side.

She lay motionless.

Eragon was now beginning to panic.

"Tiranë, wake up! Please, get up!" Eragon's voice now had a slight waver to it.

His breathing became erratic due to his panic. He continued to shake her.

All of a sudden, her eyes burst open, and her fist rapidly came up to connect with his nose. Eragon head was whipped back with the force of her blow, and his hand immediately rushed to his nose while Tiranë burst out laughing.

She sat up, arms around her middle, still laughing maniacally.

"Oh, Gods Eragon! I can not believe you fell for that one! You should have seen the look on your face!" Tiranë gasped out between uncontrollable giggles.

"That was not funny! I thought you were seriously hurt!" Eragon burst out, hand still glued to his bleeding nose.

"Yes it was! It proves you are far, far too gullible Eragon! Even my brothers never believed that trick!" Tiranë;s giggles were now less powerful giggles.

"Never do it again, Tiranë! You scared me. And I think you broke my nose."

The The laughing immediately stopped. "Oh, no. I'm sorry about that. I honestly only meant it as a joke. Let me have a look at your nose," Tiranë prompted, feeling a little guilty about his nose, which now seemed to be bleeding heavily.

"It's alright, I'll look after it at home," said Eragon, his voice sounding nasal.

"No, I want to look at it now. Don't deliberately try to make me feel bad, Eragon," Tiranë said firmly, but with a joking tone.

He sighed and removed his hand, his mouth curving into a slight smile. Tiranë cringed when she saw the blood that ran down his face and covered his hand. "Well, you deserve to feel bad, Tiranë," he stated with fake sterness.

"Oh, Eragon, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

"It's alright," he repeated. "It was a fight. The whole idea is to harm the other person."

"It was a mock-fight. I wasn't supposed to break your nose," she answered. "Let me heal it."

"Please. It hurts like Helgrind," he joked.

Tiranë laughed slightly and muttered "Waíse Heíll", her gëdwey ignasia glowing as she felt the magic flow through her.

"There. Is that all better, Eragon?" Tiranë asked, pinching his cheek as though he were a child.

"Agh, stop that. You really need to grow up." He said as he released his cheek from her death-grip.

"So do you."

Tiranë then noticed the blood covering her hand. "Ew…You should see yourself, Eragon. You look like a mess."

"I feel like one aswell."

"I hope Saphira won't be too angry with me."

"You know she will be."

"Damn."

"True."

"Yeah, well, I did break the nose of her beloved Rider…an incident for which I am sorry, though."

"I know. You have said only about thirty times."

"Ha ha. That was so funny I forgot to laugh."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Tiranë sighed. Eragon mimicked her.

"Your're a pain, Eragon."

"As are you, dear Tiranë, as are you."

"Oh, and Eragon?"

"Mhhmmm?"

"I won the duel."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Okay, fine. Why don't we say that you one the sword fight, and I one the hand-to-hand combat part."

"Deal."

"Excellent."

Tiranë lifted herself off the ground, followed by Eragon who stood and wiped his hands on his training tunic. "Darn, Eragon! After losing all that blood I'm surprised you can even stand!"

"So am I," he answered, before wiping the sticky residue from his face with the edge of his practice tunic.

"Well, I must be going. You know, scrolls to read, dictionaries to conquer, and so on. Give Saphira my regards," she bid him.

"Sure. Give my condolences to Turgon, and, I wish you luck in conquering that dictionary Oromis saw fit to assign you."

She laughed again. "Thanks."

"See you."

"Yeah, bye."

The two fellow Riders bid eachother farewell, and Tiranë left the training area alone, heading for her treehouse. She arrived to find it quiet, which meant that either Turgon was asleep or out flying.

In the meantime, she needed to get some sleep of her own.

Breaking your friend's nose was hard work.

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Well that's it! For now. I am sorry about the amount of time it is taking me to update. Crappy computer! Anyway, read, review and enjoy people!

Sayonara,

Artanisofavalon.