4/23: Seriously, we're getting there. Only two more chapters of this time-sucking rewrite left to go :D The plot of this chapter is much the same as the original version, only with some... extra foreshadowing thrown in ;).

Disclaimer: I don't own The Inheritance Cycle. All original material belongs to me.

Aroughs was a major Imperial port, funneling precious resources from the Southern Isles into Alagaesia and where many ships from the western cities often unloaded their cargo after sailing around Rathbar's Spur. It was also the temporary home of a large portion of the Imperial fleet preparing to sail into Surdan waters as the cold war between the two kingdoms and their allies erupted into a true conflict. Situated at such a strategic location and with a vital portion of the Empire's naval power, Galbatorix could obviously not afford to lose Aroughs.

Should the Varden gain control of Aroughs and the surrounding waters, they would have effectively split the Empire's remaining navy in two, unless sailors wanted to brave the unpredictable waters and sea serpents of the open oceans by trying to sail around the Southern Isles, or running the risk of breaching on jagged rocks or dragged under by whirlpools if they dared sail through them.

The Varden had surprise on their side. Why would Galbatorix suspect them of taking the offensive so soon after several major battles had devastated their numbers (as his 'spies' told him)? Even his reliable sources were telling him that Eragon had departed on a mysterious assignment and had completely slipped off the map. Saphira would be too vulnerable with 'her' hatchlings to risk going into battle. And her 'mate', who had thrashed Thorn and Murtagh during their last encounter? 'Majesty' appeared to be growing disinterested in a war that did truly concern him, disappearing for increased periods of time each day.

With the southern forces obviously not going anywhere for the time being, Murtagh and Thorn had been sent to the northern cities to both curtail the elven advance south and to counter Oromis and Glaedr once their armies finally met in battle.

Asid from those in on his secret, none knew Eragon had never left the area. Aye, he slipped away to supposedly 'brood' by himself, but always remained within mental range of Saphira and at least one of his elf guards. His mentor, Eridor, was within his very mind, constantly assessing his strengths and weaknesses and correcting every little mistake he made. Ancestral memories of all those who had warred against humans before, from Rider's dragons besieging King Palancar's forces to wild dragons resisting attempts made by local villagers to drive them from their territories, fed his knowledge.

Remembering how he and Saphira had fought in the first battle of the Burning Plains on foot, Eragon cringed at his earlier stupidity. So long as she had been protected by wards, Saphira would have been best useful in the air, razing entire lines of enemy soldiers and destroying their war machines long before they ever reached the front lines.

Despite no longer having traditional magic, Eragon had flames that could burn through enchantments, and even Dragon Riders had come to fear and respect the wrath of a provoked King or Queen.

When the southern generals finally rallied their troops, the Imperial spies falsely reported them to be heading north to unite with elven forces. Intelligence now showed Imperial soldiers converging on Urubaen and the central cities in an attempt to intersect and massacre the rebellion's southern army before such a union could come to pass.

Those soldiers ordered to mobilize had marched north only until out of range of the Imperial spies still stationed in the Burning Plains. Those that had infiltrated the mobilized legions had been discretely hunted down and killed, with only the double agents alive to keep feeding Galbatorix false information. Once all leaks had been uncovered and nullified, the legions instead marched southwest, magicians strategically dispersed amongst them to help conceal their presence.

The forces left in the Burning Plains had been ordered to further fortify themselves. Should all go according to plan, they would unite with the main army and resume the campaign north, or else retreat into Surda if the gamble failed.

Eragon and Saphira had flown reconnaissance for the mobilized army, the elves perched upon their backs swiftly silencing all Imperial scouts they encountered and charting the most efficient route to Aroughs.

Now dawn was close to breaking, the skies around the horizon lightening. Even so submerged beneath the waves only his eyes and nostrils crested the surface, Eragon could clearly see the countless ships that bobbed in the harbor, their crews just bound to be waking up around now. With his mind tightly closed off to every external presence, Saphira included, he had no idea just how many of those thousands of soldiers would be prepared for what he had in store.

Keep your mind sealed tight, Eridor intoned. His calm and composed presence was always there, an inner strength that stripped away Eragon's doubts and fears, leaving only an iron resolve behind. If those magicians can't sense who or where you are, they can't immediately kill you with a spell of death. Leave defense of our mind to me. Just remember all of those memories on sea serpents, and that you use up air when you ignite your fire.

After hearing this advice so many times, Eragon no longer nodded in understanding, burning blue eyes focused on Aroughs itself as he awaited the signal.

Not a minute later, a light most would have attributed to the coming sunrise flashed above the city.

The white dragon took a final breath, an inhale so deep his lungs strained from the pressure, and vanished entirely into the ocean's dark depths.

Keeping his wings tucked to his sides and his limbs beneath him, he advanced on his oblivious targets. Big, bobbing hunks of wood that stood no chance against a dragon's flames. Sailors that would never get the chance to fight back before they were flung into the ruthless sea.

Human sentimentality can no longer afford to get in the way. They are the enemy, those who will eagerly kill your kith and kin if given the chance. Would you rather see Trinnean and Caradoc slaughtered by those too bloodthirsty to spare the innocent? Your cousin, your last true relative, to die in vain and leave his wife and unborn child behind in a tyrant's world? To see Saphira, our beautiful and proud Saphira, the beaten-down and broken plaything of an abomination?

Visions of blood-stained blue scales flashed in his mind's eye, the sight of a fantastically fierce she-dragon helpless against unholy creatures that threatened her very life, and the bitter memory of himself being powerless to stop it. The burning rage surged up, and again Eragon gleefully embraced and acknowledged that primal fury as his own.

He aimed toward one of the largest vessels at the edge of the harbor, the one closest to him likely to hold a hostile magician, and didn't hesitate as he surged forward. Six sharp horns gouged the wooden hull and wrenched themselves back out. Ocean water surged into a hole far now beyond repair.

Eragon seized the one opportunity given to him, his horns and spiked tail ripping into every ship he could reach before the stunned sailors could rally against the destroyer that stalked them from below. There was no time to pay any mind to the screaming figures he sent spilling into the sea. The ocean, but could not silence, their terrified cries, the wooden hulls that cracked like broken bones, and the last groans of ruined ships falling to their graves on the seafloor.

Finally, even the last reserves of air his massive lungs could store ran out, burning for fresh oxygen. Eragon surged toward the surface, exposing himself just enough to take a greedy gulp-

ERAGON!

Eridor's warning came just in time for the white dragon to duck back under the waves, narrowly missing the supernatural green fire that struck where he had been not a moment before. The flames boiled the water around them and Eragon reeled back as the flesh beneath his scales was scalded. His agonized shriek brought salty death flowing into his lungs.

Eragon exploded forth from the debris-laden waves with a furious bellow he managed between his chokes and splutters. Below were entire crews fearfully captivated by his overwhelming presence, those that had prepared for battle against a single aggressively tenacious sea serpent and found themselves facing an adult dragon.

But already the spell of awe was breaking. Men fumbled for their quivers while their superiors screamed for catapults and magicians to be readied. Some opened their mouths, words of power forming on their lips as the furious white dragon descended on them. Flames straight enough to burn through every enchantment thrown his way ravenously devoured every ship and unfortunate soul they touched. Another inhale, and another four ships attempting to raise their anchors were consumed by a blaze of blue.

Rising further above the harbor, Eragon glanced back toward Aroughs. From the faint shouts he heard in the city, the fleet would receive no rescue. There were far-off explosions of magic as Blodgharm and his elves ruthlessly hunted down and executed their counterparts. Varden soldiers swarmed through cracks the Du Vrangr Gata had made in Imperial defenses. Somewhere amongst them Nasuada was delivering orders, Arya had entered a deadly dance with those unfortunate enough to underestimate her, and Angela and Solembum were happily throwing themselves into fights anyone saner would have considered suicide.

Above the city he saw Saphira continually swooping down to raze rows of archers or to knock out a catapult. One of Blodgharm's elves, Sindri, was perched upon her back, protecting her from magical offenses while firing off her own spells. Saphira was again a force of majesty and destruction, a wrathful demigod who demolished every obstacle put before her.

Then Eragon folded his wings and dove, sending out a final burst of fire before he vanished beneath the waves.

While submerged enough to avoid normal attacks, Eragon could now feel unfamiliar magicians swarming around his mind, searching for cracks in his defenses. Eridor fought them off, sending out waves of burning rage so strong the magicians were sent flying back to their bodies.

Feeling his confidence in his abilities growing with every felled ship, Eragon grew bolder in his attacks, head rising from the waves to send off more devastating bursts of flame as he advanced deeper into the harbor and to some of the strongest ships in the fleet.

Far off, he could notice other ships sailing into the bay. At first glance, they appeared to be typical Imperial ships, flying the colors of the Empire while their crews wore the typical uniforms. Only the bottoms of their hulls, painted white or any other striking color their crews had gotten their hands on, marked them as allies. They easily inserted themselves into the Imperial navy, firing off shots that turned the enemy against each other.

Even the Dragonwing, the massive battle ship Roran had helped capture to carry Carvahall's villagers to safety, was amongst the allied ships. While the battle ship had been battered by the time it had made it to the safety of the rebellion, it had been repaired and refurbished in the time between the first Battle of the Burning Plains and the assault on Aroughs. Rather than being operated by a ragtag crew and carrying desperate refugees, the ship was now commanded by a crew of experienced Surdan and ex-Imperial sailors that were no strangers to naval combat. Someone had even persuaded a magician to help carve a new figurehead, a sapphire-scaled she-dragon that snarled fearlessly at her enemies from her perch on the bow, a loyal guardian to the ship that had been aptly rechristened the Dragon's Vengeance.

With new allies in his mission, Eragon soldiered on his assault even as catapults and shrapnel from the ships he wrecked took a toll on his hide. Only able to hope that Saphira was still well, as his mind was still completely severed from hers, the white dragon turned his attention to one of the largest surviving frigates in the fleet and tried to keep the worry from his mind.

Trinnean had been to young to understand what had been going on when his kin-dragons and the leader-humans had argued over what to do with him and his brother-nestmate. He had only comprehended Uncle-Eragon and Auntie-Saphira had been seriously discussing leaving him and Caradoc behind. They had even ignored what their wise-father-king had ordered, convinced that they had known best.

So Trinnean and his brother had done their best to convince their parent-siblings otherwise, never leaving their sides and sending them all the pleading-thought-pictures they could.

Only now, over a whole month old, was Trinnean mature enough to realize that Eragon and Saphira were to again head into battle. Like the brave-warriors of ages-long-past, they had gone to war to avenge their fallen kin and make the world once again safe for dragon-kind. Their cause was noble, their spirits as hot as the flames they breathed, and both adult dragons more than ready to teach the egg-breaker-traitor-king to never again underestimate their mighty race.

Caradoc had yearned to throw himself into the battle alongside his family and make their father-king proud. Even when Trinnean had tried telling his brother-nestmate how dangerous it was to charge into danger at such a young and vulnerable age, Caradoc had been determined to defy the orders father-king, Auntie-Saphira, and even Uncle-Eragon had growled at him.

The moment they had flown off, the human-warriors following in their wake, Caradoc had tried to drag Trinnean along after them. Camp had been left mostly empty, save for the not-warriors and those ordered to watch over them. Even their human-cousin, Roran, was absent, having chosen to stay back in the Burning-Plains with his pregnant mate while the others of their clan had marched to the human-city-Aroughs.

The only family member left to watch over Trinnean and his twin was Elva, the strange sister with the human's body and she-dragon's sharp mind. Caradoc had argued that since they were now bigger than their care-giver, that they were thus strong enough to go and and protect her.

Now, with the roars of distant battle and his Uncle-Eragon ringing faintly in his ears, Trinnean found Caradoc had still managed to get his wish of protecting their little-big-sister.

Sister-Elva was more handicapped than even her scrawny human-girl appearance let on. A mistake made by Uncle-Eragon had left her with the need to shield all others from the pain. When she did not, she would be agonized by all the strange pain she couldn't just shake off or block out. With a battle raging within earshot, and the agonized thoughts of the wounded and dying raging in her mind, their normally strong-stubborn-sister was curled up and crying like a wounded hatchling.

With the humans pretended she and her agony did not exist, it was Trinnean and Caradoc, her annoying-little-brothers, curled up around her, doing their best to embrace her as she had done for them when they had been helpless hatchlings. Their wings blocked out the sights of humans worrying over their own kith-and-kin and their hums drowned out the sounds of far-off-battle.

Hush, little-big-sister, Caradoc soothed in unusual tenderness. Father-king and the not-blood-siblings will return victorious.

Sister-Elva thrashed again, her agony broiling over into their young minds. Despite the pain, Trinnean only held her closer and did his best to drown out her suffering in wave upon wave of calming blue. Keeping Sister-Elva as comfortable as possible was a battle in itself, a debt repaid to a little-big-sister that had looked out for them since long before their hatching. It was a reason that made even Caradoc glad their clan-elders had demanded they remain in camp.

Sister-Elva needed her annoying-little-brothers, after all. Far, far more than their elders did.

Ever since Eragon had gone and gotten himself transformed into a dragon by a dead king squatting inside his head, Saphira had not been fond of wearing the damn saddle, or having to adjust her flight to prevent inexperienced passengers from falling right out or vomiting all over her beautiful scales.

Sindri had proven herself an exception to that rule.

Saphira did not have the luxury of simply ramming into ships from the refuge of the ocean like a slippery sea serpent. Nasuada and her tacticians had needed her flying overhead to directly decimate the city of Aroughs, but also putting her at risk to arrows and enemy spells. Everyone had refused to let her go charging into the fry without one of Blodgharm's strongest elves as an escort.

Slender and silver-haired Sindra had proven herself herself to possess the lethal grace and beauty of a sleek wild cat. Her wards deflected arrows and othe projectiles Saphira couldn't afford to dodge. When unable to use one of the simple words of death and conserve her energy, Sindra would politely request Saphira to swoop down low over the tides of soldiers streaming out of Aroughs.

Not even the resourceful Imperial magicians had been prepared for the very air they breathed to become poisonous, preventing their use of verbal spells and scrambling their concentration. In their desperation for life, more than one magician had blindly lashed out with their magic, and took multiple Imperial lives along with their own when the magical whiplash hit.

Damn, Saphira swore as she completed another circuit around the still impenetrable walls that surrounded Aroughs. Those wards on the barricades just aren't coming down. Do you see any weaknesses, Sindri?

With the enchantments on the city walls still standing, rebel forces were constricted to storming the port's few gates. The entrances were blocked by bodies and tenacious defenders ready to protect their homes and families down to the last man. While the allied rebels had more than enough men to simply butcher every last Imperial soldier, such wholesale slaughter would both excessively drain their own reserves of able-bodied men and further the belief that the Varden were unappeasable monsters. Bringing down the walls of Aroughs would allow the rebellion to easily capture the city and reduce the number of lives being lost at the gates.

"I see no way, Saphira Bjartskular," Sindri intoned grimly. "The Black King weaves his enchantments too skillfully for a single elf to undo them all alone."

The silver-haired elf momentarily glanced in the direction of her comrades. They were effortlessly hacking through enemies like a farmer would weeds. Blue-furred Blodgharm was the most visible of them all, fangs bared in a bloodthirsty grin that made him seen a demon incarnate. All were too far away to reach, and Saphira could not risk landing in such a crowded and bloodied field to risk picking one up.

Saphira turned longingly toward the harbor, where Eragon helped the Dragon's Vengeance and other allied ships rip the Imperial fleet to pieces. His magic-burning fire was sorely needed at the moment, but he had his own battle to win, and she had not seen him harness the full power of the King's Wrath since that fateful confrontation with Thorn.

Saphira paused thoughtfully, hovering safely above the carnage below as she considered their options. Her fanged smirk was an ominous warning to any Imperial who saw it.

Sindri, would you be so bold enough to temporarily join your strength to mine?

The elf-woman gasped in that sad but flattering way all elves did when in their dragon-worshiping state. "Brightscales, such melding of the minds is an honor reserved for but a dragon and her Rider. I could not dare intrude upon such a sacred-"

I have no Rider, Saphira answered brightly, just someone I can now possibly call my mate. Besides, since you act like I am so high above you in rank, I can order you to do so.

Reluctantly, but with a tinge of nearly feverish excitement, Sindra lowered the last of her mental barriers. Elf-woman and she-dragon briefly became one, the carefully honed and concentrated magic of a a master magician combined with the raw and primal power Saphira herself had no true control over. When Saphira let loose a plume of yellow-fringed fire at the walls of Aroughs, the tips of her flames flickered with the potent edge of magic.

It was nowhere near a match for Eragon's blue fire. Saphira and Sindri's creation drew strength from traditional magic, and thus was immediately inferior to a flame that could burn right through it. Common dragon-fire only enhanced every last drop of the elf-woman's power, channeling it into a force that sent Galbatorix's wards toppling with audible snaps. It did not take long afterward for the walls to finally start blackening under the onslaught of flames.

Just in time, too, for Sindri's magic reserves were nearly depleted by the time the magic would release them. The elf was pale and quivering, nearly having fallen off the saddle were it not for the straps that kept her secured. Saphira faltered in her flaps, dropping several storeys in height before managing the energy to hover.

Such an unnatural fusion of elf and dragon magic had nearly sapped their lives along with their energy reserves. The connection between them had felt so wrong, in a way a natural bond between dragon and Rider, or between two dragons, never had. By the fierce pounding in her heart, Saphira grimly assumed she would have one hell of a night ahead of her.

Until the feel of victory overwhelmed her soreness, and Saphira roared her deafening triumph to the heavens. Her bellow drew the rebellion's attention to the newly vulnerable walls. Trianna pushed her way through the crowd, coming together with the elves and other Du Vrangr Gata as they sent the walls toppling down and allowed their soldiers to swarm straight into the city.

"No offense, noble Brightscales," Sindri managed weakly, "but I think I shall have to refuse your orders the next time you demand this of me."

So do I, Sindri, so do I.

Saphira made a slow circle around Aroughs, satisfied to see the Varden was rapidly gaining ground against the city's defenders. Her strength and fires largely spent, she drifted back behind the front lines while fresh waves of soldiers eagerly swarmed forward to seize advantage of her success.

Her part in the invasion was complete. With the walls breached, Blodgharm and his elves could entirely dedicate themselves to crushing the last of Imperial resistance and helping to capture the local lord likely cowering in his estate. Trianna and her magicians would hunt down the last of their counterparts and begin tending to the wounded. Arya would somehow find a way to involve herself in everything and be there for the official surrender of Aroughs's soldiers as miraculously immaculate as ever. Nasuada, still covered in the blood she had shed for her cause and people, would of course be there to gracefully accept the surrender of a cowardly lord who had not made such a sacrifice for his own city.

Retreating behind friendly lines, Saphira glanced over to the harbor. Most of the ships left afloat were Varden vessels bobbing amongst the remnants of the Imperial fleet. Enemy soldiers still treading water or trying to make it to shore were picked up by rebel crews and taken as prisoners of war. Eragon had given up his attack and was focused on regaining the air he had been rationing for hours.

Sapphire eyes locked with those of burning blue as the dragons finally restored their connection. Leaving so soon? Eragon asked in genuine surprise. I thought you'd remain for the surrender. I certainly never thought you'd miss the opportunity to make defeated enemies piss themselves from fright.

And show our enemies how exhausted and undignified I look right now? Saphira sniffed teasingly. Please. I need time to collect myself, eat a cow or three, and check up on the hat- er, the little ones. Why did the adorable younglings of her kind had to grow up so quickly?

Unfurling his wings, Eragon rose to fly alongside her, sparing the half-conscious Sindri a respectful nod and his gratitude for her selflessness in offering up her own magical energy to break Galbatorix's barriers. But it was Saphira he had still managed to worry over the entire battle, and he resumed his private conversation with the she-dragon as soon as he could.

I hope Elva is faring fine. The white dragon closed his eyes and shuddered, self-loathing seeping across his link with Saphira. I avoided the sailors whenever I could, to try and spare her as much relief as possible, but I...

Both dragons fell quiet as Eridor's distress escalated. Although the disembodied spirit remained silent, his emotions all too clearly rang out in their shared minds. How terrible it felt to have three children in dire need of a loving guardian and yet be unable to physically touch them without temporarily stealing the body of another.

My sons should be watching over her, Eridor replied gruffly. I've raised all of my children to think of their clan first and foremost, above any and all selfish desires, and Trinnean and Caradoc should always be there at a clanmate's side in their hour of need. Finding an acceptable emotional outlet, Eridor's distress flared into a fiery rage over his sons' hypothetical shirking of their duty. If I return and saw that they abandoned Elva, their own sister, to try and chase some damned glory, I swear I'm going to-

Eridor's rage sputtered and died the moment he saw his sons protectively curled up around their surrogate sister. Landing as quickly as they could, the elder dragons did their best to console Elva until Angela, the only healer she trusted near her, arrived to ease her agony.

Eragon and Saphira no longer had any wish to attend the surrender ceremony and the massive celebration that followed. Even after Elva had largely recovered from her curse, Trinnean and Caradoc remained too shaken up to stray far from their sides and wanting to hear nothing more of the battle that had left their proud 'little-big-sister' curled up and screaming in utter agony.

Leaving the soldiers to their drunken revelry, the dragon family retreated as far away from camp and battlefield as they could, settling down for a calm night under the stars. The sight of a cursed little girl comfortably nestled amongst four dragons would have been enough to raise some eyebrows if anyone was close and sober enough to care, but Elva had the heart and soul of a dragon, and that was all that mattered. Eridor, after all, was nothing but heart and soul and yet the cornerstone of their unlikely family. Without his awakening, Eragon would have never transformed, Elva would have never revealed her true identity, and Caradoc and Trinnean would still be wasting away beneath the Mother of sea serpents.

Exhausted from the trying day and safe and sound beneath the wings of their guardians, it did not take long for Elva and her brothers to nod off, and Saphira couldn't help but follow them in blissful oblivion.

Such peace did not come to Eragon. Beneath a cold and clear sky, the stars were far too prominent, countless dragon souls impassively staring down at the least free members of their race. Did they consider him to be a member of their kind or simply a mere human pretending to belong, lacking the heart and soul that would burn on long after his body had died and rotted away?

We can't afford to waste any more time, can we?

No, Eridor agreed simply. We cannot.

Aroughs had been but the first of many battles that would have to be won before the Empire's heart could be reached; there were still many long weeks of marching and grueling conditions ahead, precious time for Galbatorix to consolidate his forces around Urubaen and deliver a devastating blow to all the armies that had united to defeat him.

Despite the rebellion's confidence in an inevitable triumph against evil, for they now had more than double the dragons Galbatorix controlled and the last of the original Riders to boot, a little voice in the back of Eragon's head whispered something would go terribly wrong. Galbatorix had annihilated an ancient Order once believed invincible, after all, and he'd had decades to further hone his powers and grow in strength. And Eragon no longer had the gifts of a Rider to counter him.

Yet, despite the blessing given to him at the Blood-Oath Ceremony and the long months of training he'd endured in Du Weldenvarden, Eragon and Saphira had both been forced to rely on Murtagh's mercy to let them go after that first humiliating defeat on the Burning Plains. Eragon had returned the favor only after Eridor had awakened and kindled the terrible power of the King's Wrath within him.

You're going to have to teach me how to harness the King's Wrath on my own, Eragon said quietly. It takes too much out of us when you have to channel that power through me. We might have caught Thorn and Murtagh by surprise the last time, but Galbatorix will have heard the stories and be prepared. We're going to need more than sheer dumb luck to kill him. I-

North.

Eragon blinked. ...Pardon?

North, Eridor repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. You need to fly north. Saphira and you did promise to return to your masters when able, and 'Majesty' must meet with Oromis to begin forming a future in which elves and wild dragons will be living together again. After all, I know how I despise oath-breakers.

NORTH!? Do you know how many cities are still between here and-

The cities the rebellion face will be nothing like Urubaen, Eridor growled. How could these humans ever hope to take the capital if they need dragons to do all of the dirty work for them? The spirit had always disguised his emotions well, but not even he could completely disguise the peculiar undercurrent of both anxiety and eager anticipation to his voice.

Eragon's burning blue gaze unconsciously fixated north, his mind's eye focused not on Ceunon or Ellesmera, but on flying far, far past them. I take it you intend for me to do more than just speak to Masters Glaedr and Oromis.

Eridor neither confirmed nor denied his broad hunch and his memories betrayed nothing more than the all-consuming thought of north, ever north, to where He Called, ever north to answer His Call, ever north to ri-

Sleep finally claimed Eragon, Eridor's memories melded with his dreams and into a feverish blend of a desperate flight north, north, ever north.

But whether he flew to absolution (AND ROSE) or damnation (and was dragged down screaming), he could not say until he had actually gotten there.

I was going to put a whole brand new scene somewhere in this chapter, but that not only broke up the chapter's flow, but I also realized it fit much better after a certain event in the next chapter or so ;)

1. Sadly, no matter how absurdly long-lived dragons are in this world, they also grow up extremely quickly. Trinnean and Caradoc are rapidly becoming adults and learning how to speak, but are still pretty young. The weird hyphenated words in their part shows they're meshing their mental images with their newly-learned human words, much like a human toddler will mix actual language with utter nonsense.

2. Sindri's spell with the air was a supposed to a simple but ingenius solution: swapping a few molecules around to turn some innocent O2 molecules into the poisonous O3 (ozone) gas, at just a high enough concentration to prove lethal to those unlucky enough to breathe it in. Minimal effort with maximum impact.