Chapter 29: The Deep Breath.

"I know I'm beautiful" he ran a hand through his soft crimson locks, sending them flying with a flick of his wrist, they flowed dazzlingly through the air, before coming to rest gently in a mess, yet was all the more attractive for its messiness "But you don't need to be stunned into silence Saph" he smiled at her, his eyes glimmering like pools of blood in the faint light. There was more than a hint of self mockery in his words, and bitterness flowed from his tone like juice from a lemon.

She was too shocked, fearful even, to truly acknowledge that fact.

'E...Eragon…'

Her body was tense, and she struggled to unclench her muscles as she stood before her Rider… was this even her Rider anymore?

He cocked an eyebrow at her, then chuckled again that same self deriding laugh, strolling towards and past her as he rolled his shoulders "Anyway, I'm gonna go get pissed and cry myself to sleep. This was a shitty night" he passed her as if nothing was wrong, as if his hair wasn't red, as if in that moment he did not look exactly as Legion had on that night, the night he took Durza's life.

'Stop.'

Eragon… or whoever this was, did exactly as she instructed, stopping, not turning to face her, but tilting his head back to gaze at her "What's wrong?"

'Do you even realise…' she frowned at him 'Your eyes… your hair… Eragon, if that's really you, do you not realise?'

Now it was his turn to frown "What the fuck are you…" his words trailed off as he took a peek through her eyes "Oh" he said, after several moments passed "That's explain it. Hmm, didn't honestly expect that. The eyes maybe, I like the eyes, but the hair" he posed in Saphira's eyes, using his access to her vision as a pseudo mirror "Not sure red suits me. I mean, of course it does, fucking lilac would suit me. But I think brown was nicer, more natural, less… Shade" he rubbed his chin "How would you word that? Bring out… covert… alter... " after a more moments she saw his palm light up, and her entire body tensed again "Bring out or convert the pigment in my hair until I am satisfied with the target colour being brown" he said, the words imbuing his magic with purpose.

He ran his glowing hand through his hair as it shifted from red like dripping blood back to the brown she had long known.

Once he was done Eragon again used her vision to examine it "Eh, it'll do" he said, sounding only mildly dissatisfied "Now are you coming Saphy, or are you gonna stand here all night, because I sure as hell aren't."

'We... we are going to go see Oromis' Saphira stated firmly, moving in front of him.

"We are?" Eragon asked, digging wax out of his ear with his pinky.

'Yes, we are, whether you are willing or not.'

He looked up at her then, and the expression on his face was almost… hurt, but there was understand there too. He understood her concern, her caution, his distrust, he couldn't blame her for them. But it still hurt "Fine" he said, shrugging "We going to his house, or you wanna cause a ruckus in the middle of the elves fuckfest?"

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Saphira awaited him outside his home, standing as he and Glaedr arrived, and Oromis could not help but feel a little… annoyed was perhaps too strong a word, but something similar, disgruntled maybe. The Agaeti Blodhren had been pleasant, and he had been looking forward to a nice peaceful sleep after all that. But no, there were issues regarding his apprentice and as a good master he must solve them.

So he would. He would not shirk his duty, but he did not have to take pleasure in it.

"Is there a problem?" he asked knowing that there was.

'Master… Eragon he…' Saphira sighed 'I don't know what he did, but something happened. I don't understand it. He claims he fought Legion, showed me it, and then… all that followed but…' she shook her head 'I don't know master, I want to believe him, and that is why I want you to look at the situation in my stead. I apologise for the inconvenience.'

He offered a smile "It is understandable" he looked to his hut "He is in there."

'Yes… I… I apologise master.'

The elven Rider laughed "Do not worry yourself over something so inconsequential Saphira" he told her, slowly walking towards his home.

He wondered if Saphira thought he knew far more than he did about the subject, or maybe she wanted him to form his own unbiased opinions. But all he knew was that Eragon claimed to have fought Legion, won presumably, and something followed that.

Oromis let himself into his hut, and found the young Rider sat there, facing the door, his feet causally crossed on the table, a bottle of something sat next to his legs, and a glass filled with said something in his hand "Welcome home" Eragon greeted him, swilling the liquid in his cup, crimson eyes surveying Oromis.

He considered the younger man for a moment, Eragon seemed rather dissimilar to the tired child he had watched during the Agaeti Blodhren, back to his old swagger and confidence. But there was something else too, something… something different about him, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on "I had not expected to see you so soon after the celebration" he said, walking around his table, stopping as naturally as he could next to Naegling hung on the wall "Pray tell, what brings you to my abode Eragon?"

Eragon chortled "Oh, my dragon forced me here. I was quite content to go wallow in my misery, but no, I simply must talk to you" he gave a wide shrug "So let's talk Master."

"Indeed" the sheathed point of Naegling tapped into the ground, his hands on the gem located on the pommel "What shall we talk about Eragon?" the boy was unarmed Oromis noticed, this was perhaps the first time he had seen the young man without his swords, and this was the most threatened he had ever felt by Eragon.

"Hmm" Eragon just smiled at him, even as he stood there somewhat threateningly, though he would prefer to call it cautiously "I wonder… Shall we talk about how I fucked Islanzadi?"

His eyes went wide, his body tensed for a single moment, and his mouth went agape "I…" Oromis closed his mouth, swallowed, and took a deep breath "I have" he struggled to word it, speaking in the ancient language as they were, he could not lie. Neither could Eragon, which meant that... "It is not my place to poke into my students personal affairs."

"But you want to" Eragon told him, before taking a sip.

Oromis couldn't deny that, it was correct after all, though... "Truthfully I am more interested in your interactions with Legion, and what might've occurred tonight with regards to that entity" and that was not a lie, that was more interesting than the prospect of Eragon having sexual intercourse with the Queen of the Elves, interesting as that may be.

"Oh are you?" Eragon responded, he sat more properly, removing his feet from the table, but instead leaned his body on it, his arm on the table the hand of said arm holding up his head "I suppose you would be, hmm? Well, Legion is no longer an issue. He is essentially irrelevant, until I desire he be relevant."

"And that means?" it was unusually crude of him to be so demanding, normally he would delight at, or at least go along with for a time, Eragon's unforthcomingness, finding some challenge in puzzling out the answer. Tonight was serious though, and he was in no mood for games.

"It means Legion is locked away where no one but I can get to him, and he can't get to me. He doesn't matter anymore. It's rather anticlimactic honestly, we had such a great war, and then it was defeated by the machinations of fate and now is no longer an issue. How boring" he laughed "If you must know, Legion and I battled for control of me myself. He won" a moment passed, but before Oromis could respond... "And afterwards he was defeated and I was granted myself again, Legion imprisoned."

Oromis took a moment, licking his lips and attempting to gain comprehension of the situation, a question came to mind, one he swiftly asked "Then can you assure me that Legion is not your present self?"

That made the young man laugh "Certainly I can. Legion is entirely removed from my present self, a statement which was not true previously where Legion influenced myself quite significantly."

"What do you mean?"

Eragon smiled as he looked away, finishing his drink "I am… I was rather, the… centre point, between Legion, Eragon and Whitey, I think. It's confusing. I'm Eragon, let me state that first and foremost, Eragon is the centre of my being, but Legion and Whitey influenced me, and Eragon influenced me too… no, that's not quite right. I was all of them?" he sat upright and scratched his head "No, not that either…" Eragon shook his head "It doesn't matter, and it's too complicated. I am me, Legion was an influence upon me, a part of me, now he's not. He's as good as dead."

Oromis tried to understand Eragon's… confusing explanation. He gave up fairly quickly "So you fought against Legion" he sat down opposite his student, still keeping Naegling close, but not as tense as he had been before "And won, yet you say you lost. How?"

Eragon shrugged "There was a dragon. A rainbow dragon that just popped up outta nowhere and was like 'I am mystical bullshit, do stuff for me, and oh here'" the Rider's impression of a dragon involved a deep booming voice and some clawed hands groping the air "Something like that? And he beat Legion, sealed Legion, saved me" Eragon looked away "Another thing I owe the dragons, bah, I'm so much in debt I'm drowning in it."

That made more sense, that spectral dragon that was summoned during the Agaeti Blodhren, he had noticed its sudden disappearance, had even assumed it was seeking Eragon. He had been somewhat distracted by the naked dancing girls, he would admit, but in his defence so were most of the elves there, including the women, it was perfectly justifiable.

"Oh, and I don't know if you realised yet" Eragon told him, grinning "I'm a Shade."

Oromis frowned "Yes… I am well aware of your status Eragon" that was a rather odd thing to say, it was common knowledge, to Oromis at least, and not something he was likely to forget or misremember. It occurred to him after a moment that that meant that there something more to that statement, Eragon's knowing smile only half gave that fact away. He considered it briefly, then frowned "Your mind… it feels… heavier."

"Oi, don't go feeling up my mind without my permission. Jeez" Eragon said playfully.

"Eragon" Oromis said warningly.

"Oromis" Eragon responded in kind.

The elder Rider sighed "You would kindly explain?"

"I. Am. A. Shade."

"And would you please expand upon that explanation?"

"What, you wanna kill all the mystery?" Eragon asked him "C'mon, there's gonna be nothin fun left to puzzle together if I keep telling you everything" Oromis was unamused "Fine, I'll tell you, grumpy old shit. There are… were… Whitey and Legion, they're similar but different, Whitey is Whitey, spirits roughly shaped into a dragon, Legion is a legion of spirits, with me so far?"

Oromis nodded.

"Good. So Legion is all locked away. Whitey is… dead, I guess is appropriate. Though you could also say his existence was appropriated into my own."

"You…"

Eragon grinned at him, his crimson eyes glowing in the darkness of Oromis's hut.

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His hands were shaking, tears streaking down his face, he spat out blood, a tooth going with it, his vision blurred. But it wasn't because of tears.

Eragon felt anger rise in him and he turned "What the fuck d…" the words died in his mouth, instead a lump rose in his throat. He pushed that back and, in some vain attempt to return to normality spoke as he believed he usually would, a casual careless remark for a sensitive situation "Right, you were dying weren't you, forgot about that."

He approached the glorious white dragon, stained and scarred by red. The great beast sent rough acknowledgement of his humour, it might've translated to a small smile, not really feeling the comedy but acknowledging his attempt.

Eragon knelt by the beast, what had passed moments ago pushed to the back of his mind, this was… this was important, and it deserved a clear mind. Maybe his mind was pushing it to the back of his mind, maybe Whitey was, maybe it was just that here, in his own mind, he could choose such things more precisely.

He placed a hand on the dragon's neck, feeling its slow methodical, and fading breathing.

'Eragon… I…' it struggled to rise.

"It's enough" he said before the dragon could continue "For all you've done… I… thank you. Thank you for existing, for being there for me, for everything. But you've done enough now, rest."

'I don't want to die' Whitey told him, Eragon could see him fading away, slowly ceasing to exist, his thoughts fading, until eventually there would be nothing left.

"I know… I could hold you here, stop you from fading. But you'll remain like this, almost dead, dying eternally" he shrugged "I doubt that'd be pleasant. You'd probably go insane, become worse than Legion, I'd have to lock you up in his cage for both our sake. Would you rather just fade away, or go crazy?"

'I'd rather live' Whitey told him.

"Well… that's unfortunate."

'Indeed… I… I thought I was content with existing for your sake, to protect you, guard you, help you… but… it's not enough. I can't be content with this Eragon… I don't want to die.'

"Then…" Eragon considered the sky "Join me?"

'Join… you?'

"Yeah, you're just a… a big spirit right, a big spirit emulating a dragon. So join me. Make me into a Shade, become one with me. Then you can continue to protect me, guard me and help me. Or would you rather fade away, or go crazy? Which do you choose?"

Whitey seemed to smile, if a dragon could do so 'There is no choice at all. If I…' its body was wracked by pain, and blood came dribbling out of its mouth 'If I can be of any use to you and remain alive at the same time, then that is certainly what I would choose… if you will let me."

That made Eragon smile somberly "You're not going to 'be of use to me'" he told the dragon, resting his forehead against the space between the dragon's eyes "You are going to become me, a part of me. As you once were, return now to be" Eragon embraced him fully, wrapping his arms around the dragon's entire head "Now let me in, and let yourself go."

It was strange, uncomfortable, to his eyes, his imaginary eyes, it appeared as if Whitey was being 'absorbed' into him. The same way Legion was trying to absorb him, or be absorbed into him, but Whitey was becoming a part of him, as Whitey had truthfully already done that. It's existence was based off of a fragment of Eragon, and now that fragment was returned to its owner, more whole than it previously had been.

Eragon felt himself become more whole, he was not broken before, he was whole before, he just now became more whole.

It was odd, and it made him realise that he and Whitey were really separate in the first place, the same way being merged with Legion made him realise how much of Legion was in him, in his day to day life, and how much Legion's influence had faded since he had been caged, faded to zero even, the same thing happened here with Whitey. He realised Whitey's influence over him, he realise that Whitey and he were not truly separate, and if they ever had been they could claim to be no longer.

Though it took but an instant it was a slow process, their minds slowly entwined, until the now he realised faint distinction between them faded into nothingness and they became he, we became I, Whitey and Eragon became simply Eragon.

He opened crimson red eyes that seemed to bask in hatred, ran a hand through crimson hair that looked like fresh blood, and laughed a little. He had become something more normal than he previously had been, a freak, with spirits trapped inside of him, a vessel, influenced by a freak and a freak, and a freak himself because he housed such beings.

Now he had become nothing more or less than a true and complete Shade.

...

Well as close as he could get to one anyway, he still had some weird collective of spirits locked inside his head, and technically what he emerged with wasn't spirits but a singular entity that had formerly been spirits but now was something more akin to a part of his own head but emulating a dragon, and merging with a part of his own head was a rather confusing prospect never mind that part being a dragon.

So yeah, as close as he could get to one.

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"He was dying" this was the first time Eragon's voice had this soft tone this entire discussion, soft and sad even "He had given his life, if you could call it that, for me. And he was going to fade away, or become something worse than Legion, a real monster. So I took him into me."

"You… merged with him?"

"Sort of. You could also say I just… closed the distance between us. Like… two glasses of water being poured together… or two lakes that are practically one actually becoming one. I guess there'd be three though, cause Legion, only Legion's been walled off from us, while we've been poured together."

"That isn't how bodies of water works."

"No it's a metaphor you cock."

"Then it's a bad one."

Eragon stuck his tongue out at Oromis, while Oromis considered everything he had been told.

'Ask him something for me' Glaedr said while Oromis was thinking 'Ask him why he purposefully makes situations more tense than they need to be. You were prepared to kill him, I was too. It's stupid.'

Oromis posed said question, but it just made Eragon laughed "What can I say master, I find dangerous situations incredibly arousing."

"I see… wonderful."

The younger man grinned "You come to a conclusion yet? Can I be trusted? Or am I..." he gasped "...an evil villain!?"

"Neither. I believe your story, though I will be keeping you under close observation, you understand" Eragon nodded "Other than that I am satisfied that you are not trustworthy and are most certainly an evil villain."

"Didn't we conclude evil wasn't real earlier?"

"Indeed we did."

"Cool, so I'm an imaginary concept" he chuckled "You can let me in now Saphira, I'm a good boy" Eragon shouted to her "Confirmed by elf bastard over here. Totally one hundred percent good."

So the spectral dragon held immense power that could influence its surroundings, or Dragon Rider's at least. It was not something Oromis had considered before, he had assumed it was just a spectre, it held power indeed but he assumed it was ethereal, like the power of natural magics, beyond them in terms of sheer scales but undirected without focus or purpose.

If it had the power to fight off Legion, then could it… Yes, it most likely could, and it had not, for whatever reason, through whatever series of choices, it had not deemed it fit to do so. He felt himself smile a little bitterly, despite all his wisdom, all his supposed compassion, he still thought selfishly enough to...

"Do you resent it?"

He looked up at Eragon, suddenly feeling extremely weary, more tired than he had in a long while, that train of thought may have been the final blow to his tired mind, but the Agaeti Blodhren had been a tiring affair "What do you mean?" he wondering if the question was what he thought it was, or just some other random thought.

"Do you resent that the dragon chose to save me, instead of you?"

Oromis sighed softly, and thought about the best way to word it. He had no desire to reveal his own inadequacies, especially to his student to whom he was supposed to be a role model, so he stated quite simply "I did not need saving, you did."

"Indeed" Eragon nodded "And if you think pragmatically, I'm superior to you in terms of raw strength, and a bigger threat if I go out of control. But that's all. It could've healed you. It could've saved you from your illness, given you back the power you lost. Why did it not? Why did it choose me instead?"

Oromis folded his hands "I am old Eragon, you are young. The old are always replaced by the young."

The younger man shook his head "Except we're immortal, it doesn't quite work like that. You could've easily taken my place, you're… superior to me in all ways but one. You're smarter, your mind is superior, you handle diplomacy and interpersonal relationships better, you'd be a better choice for the savior of Alagaesia than me. So why the fuck did the dragon choose me?"

The elderly elf leaned back on his chair "I… Because of the reasons you stated. If you went out of control, even at the height of my strength I would not be able to deal with you… If it will sate you, I will confess I am jealous, I will confess I am embittered, but I do not resent you Eragon, you deserve this peace of mind."

That made Eragon chuckle "Really, you think I deserve it? Is that what you think, or what Oromis the Rider thinks, or what you think is true but not the value you hold in your heart, or…"

With a heavy sigh Oromis stood, and Eragon silenced, as he walked over to the younger man, he took Eragon's face in his hands, forcing him to look Oromis in the eye "I believe you deserve this gift Eragon, if I had to choose between giving it to you or myself I would give it to you, I do not resent you. I wish I could have been healed, I desire it, and I resent the dragons that they did not choose me, even understanding their reasons" he offered Eragon a smile "Now leave me in peace, I am tired and you are tiring. Return to me two days hence and we shall continue your instruction, and only then."

Eragon laughed boisterously at that, standing and patting Oromis on the head as he made to leave "I'll see you soon, old man."

"Indeed."

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They returned home, well he wasn't sure if either them considered this tree house their home, but it was the closest thing they had right now. And thinking along those lines...

Eragon stared at the plain wooden walls dissatisfied "It's so boring in here" he told her, walking into his sleeping quarters, only the fairth of Brom and Saphira brightened up this room, and just this room. There was nothing here. It was all plain wood. One could, and likely would, argue that is showed a good side of the Rider's, they did not need to surround themselves in fancy, in gold and gems and art, and were content with simplicity.

But that was dumb to Eragon, this was his home, and he'd be damned if it remained boring plain wood for the rest of its existence, and the rest of the time he had to spend existing here. Fuck that.

So he set about with an art he was none too skilled with: singing.

Eragon would preach his ignorance as to the finer parts of this art, he understood its general principles, but it was… stupid. Singing to plants to make them grow? So while he attempt to sing it, it was less coercing or manipulating and more ordering, ordering the tree to move and alter as he wished. It was crude, forceful, and he encountered much resistance, far less than he would have if he were skilled in the art of singing and could gently direct the tree's efforts to his own ends.

Stories, those Glaedr, Oromis, Brom, Rhunon and Orik had told him, that was what he forged the walls into the shape of, using the image his mind's eyes saw when he thought of them. It took hours, and he had to draw on enough strength for even Saphira to collapse before he was done. As for him, his legs weren't working well, he was leaning against the wall, panting, sweating, and surveying his work with only his head, the rest of him refused to move.

Over there dragons and Riders, there dwarves and dragons, Rhunon forging a Rider's sword there, just dragons there, and there… surrounding the fairth of Brom was delicately inscribed knot work, not an image, just complimenting the fairth that was now embedded into the wall. There was colour too, save around the portrait were it was plain wood, and it would not fade, unless he had gotten his wording wrong. The tree would now grow in those colours as per his orders.

And this was just the bloody bedroom.

'Maybe…' Saphira could barely get the words out mentally she was that tired '... we wait before doing the rest.'

'... Good plan.'

And that was how Eragon spent the two days that directly followed the Agaeti Blodhren, creating 'art'. This was worthy of being presented at the Agaeti Blodhren, far more than those stupid little statues 'People seemed to like them' Saphira told him, but even she admitted this was far superior. Every wall in this place was now converted in works of art, some telling stories, some just pretty. In the dining room he had held off on doing much, wanting to wait and build the stories there around the weapons he would place there.

Already he had an image of a doe stuck with an arrow while a man approached her dying body with a knife surrounding his bow and dagger, not consuming them, the weapons were still prominent, and removeable from the wall, but were complemented by the artistry, as if telling the story of the weapons themselves.

In the bathing room he took great pleasure in creating images of all races and genders naked and bathing, elves and dwarves and humans and urgals and dragons and even a werecat, children and the elderly, all were represented, though he would confess to there being a predominant presence of young to middle aged women baring their naked bodies proudly.

In the central lobby he emblazoned images of great dragons, some armoured, others resting amidst gold and gems, there was a Rider clad in golden armour wielding a golden blade, another facing away from the viewer, a milky white sword in hand, a white dragon flying in the background.

"I feel like such a ponce for calling this art" he said after he was done, sitting on his bed and considering the wall opposite him.

'Oh, why is that?'

"Because I don't like 'art', it just... This looks pretty, it has a story behind it, but even without the story it looks nice, awe inspiring in places. Is that art? What is art? And who gets to decide what it is?"

Saphira shrugged 'Art is whatever people want it to be. The elves called my rock art, it's just a rock, elves call poems art, but they're just words, elves called your statues art, but they're just mini wooden people, how are they art? So therefore art must be defined by people, but not general consensus, nor is there a 'body' approving what is and is not art, art is simply whatever someone defines as art. Your face is an artwork, Eragon, why, because I define it so.'

"But you don't."

'True' she agreed 'Your face is stupid looking, but I'm sure you'll meet someone who will tell you your body was sculpted, as if you were a statue, as if it were art.'

He shook his head "But it isn't, I didn't have to work for this, it didn't take any skill" he lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

'So art requires skill?'

"Does it not?"

Saphira curled up in her own bed 'If I cut a gorge in the earth with my claw, is that art?'

"No" he answered immediately.

'Why not?' she responded just as instantly 'How is that different from my rock? What separates the two of them? Time, thought, effort, skill? So if I spend longer, think more, put in more effort and more skillfully gorge the earth, will it become art?'

"Um…"

'So you see, art is very undefined, because anything defined as it is it.'

Lying there, on his back, staring at the ceiling, Eragon felt just as uninformed as when they had started this conversation, and briefly made a mental note to never bring it up again "Art's stupid."

'Yes, it is.'

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Orik awaited him as he and Saphira landed together at the sparring field. He considered the wide grin Eragon gave him carefully, and choose his words similarly "You look well brother" he spoke in the dwarven tongue. A frown on his face.

Eragon snorted "Indeed" was his response. Orik had asked him a similar question earlier, and the dwarves caution was likely due to that exact encounter and the difference between then and now "You here to get batted around by the elves little man" he teased, not really wanting to answer questions about the state of his health, any of them.

"Ha-ha" Orik intoned "No, I'm here to watch you fight."

"Oh?"

"What can I say, it's been awhile since I've seen the might Eragon Shadeslayer in action. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen Eragon Shadeslayer fight" Eragon didn't miss the emphasis on his title, and shrugged. He supposed Orik hadn't "So?" Orik queried "Will you allow me to witness your bladework?"

"So will you be the one tasting the blade, as well as witnessing it?" Eragon asked, grinning viciously at the thought. He didn't have any real desire, or intention, of harming Orik, it just amused him to present the prospect and see the way Orik struggled to find the polite words to refuse.

"That… err" Orik eyed the wine red blade at Eragon's hip and took a step back "That's quite alright, I got a little axe work in earlier. And my axe is not a good match for a sword. Better to watch you fight one of these elves, I think."

"Indeed" Eragon drawled, he patted the dwarf on the head, an action he hope Orik didn't think was intended to be patronising, just a friendly tease. If he did think it was patronising, well that was Orik's problem "Vanir" he called to the elf who stood watching the pair of them calmly "Draw your sword, my dwarf friends wants a demonstration."

"Indeed, Eragon-elda" Vanir touched two fingers to his lips, first to Eragon, then the dwarf, before he drew his slender sword, guarding the edge "Shall we?" he inquired when Eragon made no move.

"Go ahead" Eragon said, his hands empty of weaponry. He grinned at Vanir when the elf didn't make a move "Go ahead, I said" he repeated more forcefully. With that Vanir acted, striding forwards with his sword moving swiftly enough to blur its form, to keep Eragon guessing as to what he was doing, truthfully it was more limiting than holding it steady but it had more visual impact.

Said impact was far exceeded by the impact of Eragon punching him smack dab in the face, having grabbed his wrist mid swing. The elf went down like a sack of potatoes, falling heavily and not looking like he would get up in a hurry.

Eragon considered his hand dispassionately.

He wasn't weaker, wasn't slower, and while he could not yet confirm it he also doubted his body's stamina had been negatively affected. Despite Legion being sealed off from his mind, despite now only have the cumulative power of himself and three spirits, his physical prowess remained the same. Was this the limit of the human body? Would going higher cause him damage? Or was it simply impossible? These were not questions Eragon knew the answer too.

He scowled, knelt and slowly revived Vanir with a spell, it was a rather complex one, designed to minimise the effects of concussion as well as heal any internal bleeding and clear out the blood, essentially right any wrongs that there may be in the skull, any wrongs that he might've caused at least. It was by no means perfect, nothing involving the brain was, but it would help the elf get back on his feet at least.

Vanir was far more steady and less delirious than he might've been without Eragon's spell, showing the effect in motion, but Eragon was dissatisfied.

He felt… weaker. Weaker than he should have, weaker than he would have expected from such a spell. That was the negative he supposed, giving it a moment's thought, he was cut off from Legion and all of its influence, but he was also cut off from one of the most powerful beings he knew, whose power was his for the taking, with some drawbacks, but Legion was not stingy with its might. Eragon had been king after all, he desired it, he was given it, grudgingly or not did not matter, it was still given.

The image of a hand, extended beyond black iron bars entered his mind, the promise of strength it brought, and of madness and rage. Eragon snorted, Legion may be caged, may be unable to reach Eragon of his own might, but Eragon could reach for him, could grasp him.

He shook his head "Apologies Vanir-vodhr" he said, drawing his sword now, even guarding the edge as he expected to, yet rarely did "That was uncalled for."

"I was defeated by it" Vanir said, taking a moment, breathing, steadying himself, before finally standing ready for combat "So it is of course a valid strategy. Therefore there is nothing to apologise for."

Eragon wondered if that reasoning was for him, or for Vanir, to whom was it justification, who was it meant to placate. It didn't matter, his words did nothing for Eragon, he wasn't looking for forgiveness, he was just going through the motions, apologising as more of a taunt than an actual attempt to make amends.

He was something of a dick, that Eragon would happily acknowledge, it was true after all, an understatement if anything, it would be like calling Galbatorix a 'not very nice man' or Oromis a 'mild tempered gentleman' or calling Hrothgar a 'grumpy old goat', well one of those was a perfectly analogy, but that was beside the point.

The Rider gave Vanir a grin, which the elf acknowledged with a nod.

And thus they began.

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"Why do you continue to bother me?" she muttered, not truly bothered by his presence, but by the silence that he brought with him. She wasn't usually the one who broke the silence, but the Rider's near utter silence over the past few days was starting to bother her. No questions, no asking for stories, none of the things he had previously bothered her over since bringing her the wine, which she had sadly finished, now he would just sit there in silence.

"Hmm?" Eragon glanced up at her, a slight grin touching his features at her words, a nice change from his previously quiet, bored and sombre look.

Rhunon scowled and looked away, instead focusing again on her plans. She wasn't satisfied with them, they were… well they were wonderful, beautiful pieces of silver armour crafted in the style of a bird, a work any elf man or dwarf would pay dearly to possess. And she did not find them at all interesting. She had bloody drawn them, planned them, figured out the material needed, even begun preliminary work, but she was just not enthused at the prospect of forging them.

The elderly elven women sighed loudly, balled up the parchment and tossed it into the flames of the forge.

Eragon chuckled, and that brought her gaze right back to him.

His crimson red eyes glistened in the orange glow of the flames, the only light in her smoky workshop. They were truly terrifying to behold, and totally at odds with his calm, melancholic expression. They were a rather nice colour though, and briefly she pictured a sword rendered in that colour, the mere thought made her tired, just thinking about it exhausted her.

Her offerings for the Agaeti Blodhren had taken time, effort, planning, foraging, and they had consumed much of her time. And now, in the aftermath of that, she found herself with nothing to do, hence why she had planned the armour set whose plans she had just burned. Rhunon cursed herself for that now, it was stupid and wasteful, and those plans were better than nothing.

Unable to think of anything again she looked to Eragon.

Despite what she would claim, Rhunon did not find the young man a bother at all, he was content to be used as merely a place for her tools to sit while she used a different one. He asked her stories, brought up memories of long ago, he was interested in the grand and the mundane, she told him about the pact with the dragons, of Eragon and his white companion, of forging swords for Dragon Rider's, the name of the sword, of the Rider, and of the Dragon, and she told him of that one time when she broke her finger while forging and yet still carried on and finished the project, without stopping for a single moment.

He found her work fascinating, and asked numerous questions about armour, why are there plates here, why not here, why not this, why not that, why metal, why this metal, on and on and on, she she saw him admiring many of her pieces, including a piece of silver mail on a model that he had spent a long time viewing.

"You can have it if you want" she had said, she had no further use for it. She would either melt it down and use it in another project, or give it away to anyone who cared to replace the material. It may be armour that even an elf, capable of creating anything they desired, would pay great sums for, but to her it was just another project and worse, one she was done with.

He had considered it, truly, but shook his head after sizing it up "Wouldn't fit right."

At the time she had just shrugged and gone back to her designs, but that time she had had a design in mind. This time she didn't… well, she did now.

Locating a piece of string she used for measurements she barked at him "Stand, and raise your arms" he looked both confused and amused, but did as she bade, and she began measuring him, starting with his chest, far broader than an elf's, and moving on to his arms, his legs, everything she needed measurements of she took.

Once she was done with her measurements she sat down with a new piece of paper, a clean sheet, and began drawing anew, mumbling little things she needed to remember.

"What are you doing?" Eragon queried interrupting her thoughts for just a moment.

A flash of anger rose in her mind at being interrupted, as several ideas were lost due to his words, and she shot him a glare, silently telling him to be silent, before returning to her drawings.

Only once she had a rough outline of what she was going to do did she finally address the Rider and his question "I'm making you a set of armour."

He smiled at her, rather amused by this whole series of events "I have one."

"I'll make one better" that wasn't arrogance, in truth there were few smiths in the world who could match her, and she was reasonably certain that they were all dead, so whatever she made for him would, without a doubt, be better than whatever armour he had been equipped with. Though she should have a look at that, see what he was used too, and she'd need to see him fight as well, figure out how he moved and therefore how the armour would need to move. She noted all of this down "Besides" Rhunon said once she had done so "I never said you had to wear it. You don't even have to take it from me, I'm just making it" she didn't care if he didn't want it, she wanted the project, it would be, not fun per se, but interesting to make a Rider's armour. She had done so before of course, but… this one was different.

Eragon chuckled "Well, I'd be honoured."

She grunted, focusing again on her drawing and working out what details she could right now, as well as beginning a list of things she'd need from Eragon, as well as raw materials.

Once Rhunon had been quite enamoured with the Rider's, their goals, their ideals, their power, their dragons, there was a reason she had swords for them after all, she had even once taken one as her lover, though ultimately found him less interesting than his title. Eragon reminded her a little of her, of her original feelings towards the Riders, rather than her present sorrow. He reminded her of her awe and amazement, of the wonder that the Rider's were.

Perhaps that was why she wished to craft him armour, because of that simple reminder, perhaps she simply wanted a project, perhaps she wished to have her works influence the world once again… she didn't know, nor care.

She had work to do.

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Oromis watched Eragon practise his writing, considering the latest piece that Eragon had written. It was near perfect, certainly legible by any standard, it lacked some fluidity and flair that was common, but it was acceptable.

His skills at magic were increasing, yesterday Oromis watched as he gained complete mastery over a glass of water. It was perhaps the simplest way of doing it, as the water did not moved, lacked impurities and other organisms, but still it was not something expected of a student who had studied for maybe half a year, and a fair portion of that had been on the road and therefore not the focus.

There was more, he had observed Eragon opening his mind and was now satisfied with his progress, even if Eragon had stopped even talking to him about the act, instead moving the lesson on, indeed Oromis had to sneak to observe it.

His swordplay remained sharp, his bowmanship was strong, he was forming into a well balanced Rider.

In terms of combat abilities.

In terms of everything else Eragon was far more patchy. His grasp of history wasn't terrible, but he focused on tales that interested him, stories that were epic, not caring about boring stuff like the 41 tenants of the Broddring Kingdom or the treaty regarding the treatment of non-natives that had been signed by the elves, dwarves and humans before the Rider War, he didn't give a damn and remained ignorant as to a lot of it.

But other stuff he gobbled up, culture, religion, art, folk songs. It was odd that one could hold so much interest and the other so little, though it wasn't like Eragon was utterly uninterested in a treaties and articles and the politics of history, he was just less interested and therefore didn't focus himself upon it, when Oromis made it a focus he did what was required and nothing more.

Regardless looking at Eragon's knowledge now compared to when he arrived, Eragon truly had learned years of study in mere weeks. He was perhaps the most voracious student Oromis had ever taught, perhaps the smartest, the strongest, the most determined, it was hard to quantify exactly what made Eragon better than the rest, maybe it was all of those things, or one in particular, either way Eragon was the 'best' student he had taught, that much was true.

So it came to pass that he taught his student the one thing he had worried about since the start. He watched as Eragon took energy from the world around them, to lift water from the river, and paid close attention to his expression as everything around Eragon died. There was a flinch, from the feeling most likely, that was replaced by thoughtfulness, then by a frown.

Oromis felt his heart soar, there had been no pleasure, the thing he had feared most of all.

"It seems wasteful" Eragon told him "And no good for our public image. 'Eragon, bringer of death, everything around him dies sometimes for undisclosed reasons' I can't see that going over too well."

"No" Oromis agreed "Thus is should only be used in the most desperate of circumstances, else used in such a way that no lives much to be taken for the spell to take effect" it was no quite the agony that he might have hoped for, the anger at Oromis, the love of life he wished Eragon possessed, it was calm though, pragmatic, and not sadistic.

"It's not very enjoyable" Eragon said, scratching the back of his head as he surveyed the devastation he had caused "Dying I mean."

"No…" Oromis looked away, over the cliff edge, into the ocean of trees that stretched out below,, remembering the day his own master had taught him the art, and remembering his own response, his anger and fury at the man, remembering feeling cold and shaking for several nights after feeling so much death so closely "No, it is not."

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"So where the hell are we?" Eragon asked Glaedr as he was led by the dragon deeper into the cave. The light was fading as the strode further and further in, and soon it would be gone entirely, but Glaedr had bade him to not light a torch. Eragon may have incredibly good eyes, better than even an elf's, but he still required light to see, just not as much.

'A place' Glaedr rumbled.

They continued for a while, going deep, until all light was gone. Eragon heard Glaedr bump into things several times, and purposefully suggested lighting a torch, loudly and with a large dollop of mocking, each and every time it occurred.

Glaedr didn't respond any time.

Eragon felt the air shift a little, it no longer felt so closed in, dare he say it felt a little cooler. He heard Glaedr stretch his neck up as the dragon emerged into what Eragon presumed was a large cavern in the cave system that had been traipsing for a good hour or so.

'We have arrived' Glaedr told him.

"To what?" Eragon asked, his voice echoing far more often than he would've liked. Hearing his own voice speaking to him over and over reminded him of Legion, and he had no good memories involving that creature.

A burst of golden flame emerged from Glaedr's maw, but that only held his attention for a second, as the light that radiated from the flames was caught and reflected, refracted, and soon the room was alight with golden light, the walls looking as if they were covered in faceted gold. It was full of, covered even, in crystals, highly reflective crystals and all.

It was beautiful, heavenly, like standing in god's own hall. It was a divine place, an artwork.

Glaedr's flames died away, leaving them again in blackness.

'We call it the Cave of a Thousand Hearts' there was more to that name, something weighty but not something he knew. He could feel it in the impression Glaedr's words gave off. The trouble with mental communication was that it was even harder to lie there than the ancient language, for even your meaning could not be hidden. Or at least not entirely.

He didn't know what the meaning was, just that there was one. Something he wasn't grasping about that name.

"Hmm" Eragon's voice was painful to hear, in this place of such majesty, it felt callous and unnecessarily vulgar.

'We dragon's found it, long before the elves, and even then it was only shown to a few, most of those Rider's or our most trusted friends and allies' Glaedr told him 'It was considered… holy ground. And for a dragon that is…' dragon's had no faith, for them to call something holy meant that they too appreciate this beauty, that they too found it as awe inspiring as he '...something worth mention. We thought it to be where a dragon had…' Glaedr paused, and Eragon felt him struggle to relay what he wanted '...We thought this was a dragon.'

'You thought…' not wanting to speak any further in this place, Eragon too spoke with his mind 'A dragon turned itself to crystal?'

'In a sense' Glaedr agreed, after some more mental wrangling.

He wasn't saying every, indeed he was purposefully not saying something, but what it was Eragon didn't know. Perhaps he knew what these crystals were in truth, but dared not say. Perhaps the truth was not considered something he should know. Perhaps Glaedr himself did not know the truth.

It hardly mattered.

Eragon conjured a brilliant blue flame to his flame, burning without heat, and raised it so he could looked around.

Truthfully he needn't have.

The reflective nature of the crystal sent the light every which way, even the crystal behind Glaedr's massive bulk shone with blue light, as it was reflected from those above down. He threw the flame up, letting it hover above even Glaedr's head, forging itself into a perfect sphere of flame.

Eragon sat down and turned his gaze to Glaedr for a moment 'So master, why did you bring me here?'

'Because I thought you would enjoy it' the great golden dragon confessed 'And because it is a nice backdrop upon which I can tell you of my next tell, which also involves gems. The tale of the dragon, Evaroa:

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The dragon Evaroa was fierce and proud, strong and unyielding, and widely considered the most beautiful dragon in all the lands. Her scales glistened like polished silver, in the sunlight she was blinding to behold, at night she reflected the light of the moon like she was a goddess more than a dragon. She had mated with seventeen dragons, and raised fifteen hatchlings to adulthood.

One day she came across an old man and his flock of sheep. She landed and snatched a sheep up in her jaws, killing it. But neither the old man, nor the sheep fled from her.

She turned herself to the old man and demanded 'Why do you not flee?'

The old man merely smiled at her "What would be the point? If you wished to kill me, you would do so, if all you wished was for one of my sheep that is all you shall take. You are as nature itself compared to one such as me. I cannot outrun a famine, or a plague, a tidal wave, or an earthquake. Similarly I cannot outrun you."

'This is true' she responded, for she enjoyed praise as any does, and found being compared to nature itself very praising 'But what if I should decide that, a man who does not fear me deserves to die?'

The old man nodded "Then I should die I supposed."

'What if I decide to kill all of your sheep.'

"While I would very much like you not to, I can do naught to stop you."

'What if I should decide that your family, your children, your grandchildren, all needed to die for the sins of an old man who dared to not fear me.'

The old man became very quiet, and spoke in a hushed whisper "Then I would be very sad. But angry as well. I would seek vengeance. I would seek to harm all dragons, not just you. I would hunt your children, your grandchildren, and the rest of kind down and murder them. Or I would die."

The dragon was amused by his anger, amused by him even, and, after consuming a few more of his placid and unafraid sheep, she left him unharmed.

The next time she was hungry she found the shepard again, and once again consumed two of his sheep. He greeted her kindly, which she found very strange. And it was then that she noticed two children playing in the river. The old man explained "Those are my grandchildren."

'Indeed' Evaroa spoke 'You bring before me the very creatures I threatened? Are you a fool, or just so arrogant?' her voice spoke of great anger.

"Neither, at least I do not believe I am" the old man said calmly "When they heard I had encountered a dragon, they did not believe me, and decided I needed to prove it. So I bid them to come with me, that we might witness you again."

The children did not approach, the admired her from a distance, scared in truth of her might, as they should be. But the old man was not, he was not cowed by her great and obvious strength, nor even stunned by her immense beauty. He treated her… normally, and that angered her greatly.

She visited him nine more times, consuming only one of his sheep each time and speaking at length with the elderly man about any manner of topics. She spoke of dragons, of war, and of her children. He spoke of sheep, of harvests, and of his children, and his grandchildren.

The grandchildren witnessed her twice more, each time becoming slightly more courageous until the youngest of the two, a girl, presented her with a ring of flowers "Please accept this, mighty dragon" she had flat out begged.

'What is it for?'

The girl seemed terrified that the dragon could talk, and in her head as well, so the old man informed her instead "It is a wreath of flowers, you wear it upon your head, though I suppose your head is a little large for it. Perhaps it would fit upon a spike, or a claw?"

'But what is it for?'

The elderly man shrugged "What are necklaces, rings, and indeed clothes for?"

'I am a dragon' she reminded him.

"Indeed you are. But can you not appreciate such things. Regardless of your use for it, she made it, it took her time, time she has precious little of, though she does not yet understand this."

The dragon considered the pair, and then took the ring of flowers, letting it slide down a claw 'I… appreciate your offering' she told the girl, who nodded hurriedly and ran back to her brother or cousin or fellow child, Evaroa knew not which, nor did she care.

On her twelfth visit she did not find the old man, but she did his sheep, faithfully stood there.

'Where is the old man?' she asked them, though they did not deign to respond. She killed them, all of them, for that slight, and went about in pursuit of him.

For a day and a night Evaroa searched, it was only as light broke on the second day that she located something. Two children, crying outside of a burnt hut. She knew them.

Landing, she found herself accosted by men with pokey sticks, she burned them all alive, and asked the children 'Where is the old man?' they cried and screamed and ran, but she did not let them. The boy died when she grabbed him, not being as durable as she thought he simply 'broke' in his grasp. The she only broke partially, grasping a leg that shattered 'Where is the old man?' Evaroa asked again, confused as to why they would not answer.

The girl was sobbing, screaming and crying, but she eventually blubbed out an answer "A dragon came, and burned him alive. You killed my grandpappy, monster!"

Evaroa was confused, for she had not killed the old man, she had, upon further reflection, rather liked him in truth. Indeed she had spent more time with him than she had her present mate, a feisty flower red thing called Ballab.

'Did you see the dragon?' she asked, but the girl would not respond.

She asked others in the village, but all were too scared of her, only one had seen the dragon who had murdered her friend, and he had murmured but one thing before fainting "Red."

Evaroa knew anger in that moment. She returned to her nest and confronted Ballab. He confessed to the murder… and that was the last thing he ever did. Evaroa murdered him then and there, with a passionate anger she did not realise she had felt, or indeed even possessed. She tore him to shreds and burned his corpse, then shattered every egg she had laid with him, and located and murdered the youngling that was only three months old that he had sired, such was her rage. She knew that, once the other dragons learned of her actions, she would be cast out, murdered even for her sins, but she did not care.

She was so very angry.

But at the end of it, once her anger had abated, once some small measure of time was allowed to pass, Evaroa wept.

She wept for the old man, for it was through her interaction with him that he had died, she wept for her mate, for it was true she had been ignoring him in favour of her new friend, she wept for her hatchlings, those who would never be born, those whose lives had been snuffed out before they had the chance to live, and she wept for her child who had been born, who was finding her feet in the world, only to have it all ripped away by an angry, bitter old woman.

Evaroa wept, until her tears turned to diamonds, that scattered across the land, before she flew to the sun, and joined its mighty flame.

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Silence followed, lasting several minutes after the tale's ending, before finally being broken by Glaedr himself.

'That tale comes from before elves and humans arrived in Alagaesia' he told the Rider, causing Eragon's eyebrow to raise.

'So the old man was a dwarf?'

'Indeed.'

It was odd, to think that the old man was a dwarf and not a human. Eragon had just placed the human race on him and assumed he was that. Why would he not after all? But thinking on it harder, humans had been here for so little time, it made sense for him to be not, indeed it was more likely for him to be not.

It did beg the question of how the dragon could talk, when before the elves bonding with the dragons they were apparently lacking in the language department.

'We dragon's treasure gems as much as men, as much as dwarves even, we love gold and gems, silver, diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires. Our own colour of gem is the most beautiful to us though, for we are the most beautiful to us after all' he said this with no small amount of irony, or self mocking 'That legend speaks of the birth of our love of diamonds, and the belief that all diamonds came from Evaroa, which was only debunked through the elves knowledge. And a few still choose to believe the legend.'

'It's a nice story' he admitted. It wasn't really, in fact it was rather horrible, a tragedy born of ignorance and jealousy 'But I don't understand what the point of it was? Don't get attached to shepherds? Anger is dangerous? Don't cry giant fucking stones?'

Glaedr rumbled a laugh 'Stories don't always need purpose or a message, Eragon. Sometimes they can simply be, the enjoyment coming from their occurrence rather than their underlying message.'

'So basically you just wasted both of our time with a story?'

'Yes' Glaedr agreed.

Eragon nodded 'Well, it was a nice story I guess' again, it really wasn't.

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Vanir was always stood there when Eragon arrived, at the edge of the sparring yard, even when he arrived twenty minutes after the end of the hour in which he and Vanir would spar, the elf was stood there waiting for him. Greeted him cordially, and prepared to practise. It was a good show of patience from the young elf. Eragon hated patience, too much waiting around.

He strode past the dark haired elf, drawing his sword, waiting only for Vanir to be in the sparring ring before he attacked.

Vanir was odd, Eragon was torn between liking and disliking him. On the one hand someone who allowed himself to be trodden all over was not worthy of respect, or like, and on the other Vanir was letting Eragon tread on him, so maybe it was ok.

He always got back up, no matter how hard Eragon shoved him down. Dutiful, quiet, courteous but not to the point where it got annoying, skilled enough with a blade to entertain him for a while, and Eragon loved the way he would struggle to his feet, that amused him. Eragon nodded, he quite liked Vanir, his former arrogance giving way to this respectful but not entirely happy young man, there was something there that appealed to him.

Speaking of appealing, Vanir wasn't unattractive. Given how effeminate male elves were in general, he supposed feminism was considered more 'beautiful' than masculinity as he hadn't seen many bulky, muscular, hairy fucking elves about, and for some reason those attributes were considered masculine.

Women could be all of those things, and be just as hot as the slender hairless fuckers.

Eragon frowned, what was he thinking about again? Oh right, about how he'd probably fuck Vanir, well he wouldn't, he wasn't about to pursue the elf, that was far too much effort, but he might not say no if it was offered, it would depend on how he felt that day.

The Rider shook his head, that was quite enough of that he decided, and promptly kicked Vanir in the stomach, kicking the elf back to the ground before he could get up properly "Stay down" he told him.

"Yes, Eragon-elda" Vanir said calmly, not looking bothered by the foot on his chest.

With the elf lying on his back, his long black haired splayed on the ground behind him, Eragon considered his face a moment. He was right, he was attractive, so were all elves though, that didn't really distinguish him. Maybe it was because Eragon had been beating on him so much, he now wanted to beat on him, so to speak.

"Is something the matter, Shur'tugal?" Vanir questioned when Eragon was silent for a while.

"Just thinking" Eragon told him, taking his foot of the elves chest, and instead sitting himself down on the more slender man's stomach.

"Thinking what?" Vanir queried as Eragon's finger touched his face, running softly along his jaw, his thumb brushing the elf's lips.

"Thinking…" Eragon punched him in the face "...about what your face would look like covered in blood" he punched again, busting the elf's lip this time, his nose already broken "But I can't be bothered with properly forming my ideas right now, so I'll leave it at that" he ruffled the elf's hair and stood, wandering over to his dragon.

'You have weird thoughts' Saphira told him 'Do you not find finding you own gender attractive to be… freakish?' it was after all, it was 'unnatural', men were built to fuck women and vice versa, men on men and women on women produced nothing, it was pointless, it would not serve their intended purpose of continuing the geneline.

'Not really' Eragon told her, sitting in his saddle and bracing as she leapt into the air, her powerful wings carrying them up into the sky 'Elves don't care either. Their… belief isn't right is it? Commonly held consensus, that'll do. Their commonly held consensus is that, and these are Oromis's precise words, "Who the fuck cares? Does it harm you? No, so leave it. Unless you're one of the last of your race and you have a duty to ensure its continuity it doesn't matter, and that doesn't even require a romantic attachment so… fuck em and leave em."'

'I'm fairly certain those aren't Oromis's words' Saphira said, gliding low, her claws brushing the needles, and ripping apart many branches.

'You say that.'

Saphira shook her head 'My Rider is an odd one' she mused.

'Yeah, well fuck you.'

'Would you like to?' she shot back, engaging in the snark fest for some reason or another. It was too easy to be drawn into this exchange of vaguely insulting words.

Eragon considered it for a moment 'I mean I'm not adverse to the idea' he told her, dragons were hot as fuck, literally and figuratively 'But I feel like it wouldn't be satisfactory to you. I mean I am but a mere human and you're a dragon, with a giant dragon vagina. Be like throwing a sausage down an alleyway.'

A wingbeat passed.

'Fuck you... Tiny dicked human bastard.'

Eragon snorted.

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'What are you thinking about?' she asked him gently. He had been staring at his scroll, at the same word in the scroll, for about five minutes now, but even before then he hadn't been particularly attentive, skipping lines, idly pausing, poking at other scrolls and books. Though Saphira could easily look and see what was inside of him right now, she chose not too. Instead wanting him to tell her.

He gave her a glance, before turning his gaze back to the mess of scrolls and books spread before him on the bed "Thoughts."

She didn't let the sigh that she craved to release out, and instead persevered 'Of?'

"Things."

Once again she held back the urge to sigh, though now the urge to rip his head off was gaining prominence 'Indeed, things. And what such things might you be thinking of my dearest Rider? Of dragons? Or elves? Of women… of Arya?'

It wasn't a topic she really wanted to broach, Eragon had been rather silent on the subject, not even mentioned her once since the Agaeti Blodhren. She knew he had been hurt by her words, true as some may have been, truer than perhaps even Arya herself knew. She also knew that he felt ashamed at his actions, at the… innocence had he displayed that night. And finally, she knew he did not feel sorry for his words, nor for his anger, nor for his actions.

But he didn't talk to her about it, didn't open up, didn't confess, didn't even seek comfort. Saphria didn't know if he thought about it, but if he did he did so sitting sullenly, as he was now, looking as if he was studying but in reality just staring blankly at pages, his mind adrift.

"I wasn't" he told her.

'You are now?'

He rolled his eyes at her "Now that you've mentioned it, yes, I am. Thanks for that" there was a harshness to his voice she was unaccustomed to, a bitterness to his expressions, his emotions, that was not usually there when he spoke to her.

'I'm… sorry?' she offered, unsure as to if that was the correct thing to offer or not.

"Don't be" it wasn't, if the sudden surge in anger he felt towards himself was any indication "It's not your fault… I'm just a bitter old man."

She laughed 'You're hardly old, my little Rider.'

"Older than you."

'Yes, keep playing that card, see how long your clothes last when my fire need but stray to burn them all.'

A moment passed after this friendly childish exchange that left them both smiling. She looked at him intently while he continued to stare distractedly at a book.

'Eragon… I'm here, you know. If you need me. I know you think you don't. I know you think you'll be just fine on your own, and maybe you will be. But if you ever need to, or want to, or even just think you should talk, then talk to me. I won't judge, I won't criticize, I won't blame. You can trust me Eragon, as I trust you.'

He offered her another smile, tinged with bitterness, but genuine, genuinely grateful to her for all she offered "I know I can, I know you won't and I do…" he sighed softly, and stood, walking over to the hole through which she entered and exited their room "But maybe… maybe those aren't always good things, Saphy. Maybe sometimes we need someone to judge, to criticize, to lay blame where they feel it is due."

'It is not due at your feet.'

"And that right there"he told her with another smile "Is exactly my point. I love you, more than anything, and you love me too. So many we're not the best people to be each other's conscience, to be each other's guide to the ins and outs of life. Don't get me wrong, I know you think I'm fucking stupid a lot of the time, I think the same of you. And I do sometimes think you're actions are incorrect, but I never think your reasoning is wrong, because I understand it too well. I can't challenge it, I can only agree."

'Eragon…'

"Saphira" he responded in kind, stopping her "You've done more than enough for me. Let me handle this, at least, on my own."

'Fine' she told him, after several moments passed 'If you wish to be a big boy and handle your big boy issues I won't stop you. But if I have to burn some bitches at the end of it, it will be entirely your fault you realise.'

He grinned "I realise it keenly."

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He considered the force below him, some hundred thousand men slowly and arduously dragged themselves towards their goal, like a slug pulling itself forwards. It was not swift movement, he could have been there and been back already, but a force this large took time. But soon they would arrive, their objective drawing ever closer, the Varden, the war… Eragon.

'I want to meet him.'

He sent a inquiring thought to the dragon, who glanced back at him momentarily, before returning its gaze to the sky before them.

'The one you were thinking off, the red eyed Rider, Eragon. I want to meet him.'

Half a snarl, half a snort escaped him. He wondered if he was stronger than Eragon now, bearing in mind just what Eragon was. But he was stronger too, looking at his gauntleted hand he pondered the inevitable conflict between them. Who would win? Before he would have been destroyed, Eragon had magic after all, but now he had that too.

A frown touched his face, though his head was covered in his helmet. He dropped his hand to the hilt of his hand and a half sword and gripped it tightly.

Soon enough he'd have his answer.


This is a pretty long chapter, but I couldn't decide where it should finish, so it ended up dragging on, and truthfully the Murtagh bit is just kinda tacked on to give us a decent-ish ending, or at least an ending feeling scene.

We're nearing the end though, of Eldest at least, and therefore of Blood Ties... and I need to use the term 'blood ties' at some point otherwise the title was pointless, damn.

Anyway, see you guys when I see you.

Toodles.