Realisation

Oromis yawned widely and rubbed his eyes tiredly, peering at Eragon who, in contrast, was wide awake and – to Oromis at least – appeared to be bouncing off the walls. "Alright … tell me again; what, exactly, did they say?"

Eragon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The instant he had woken from his dream – if it could be called a dream – he had hurtled himself out of bed and run to his master's door, forcing the elf out of bed to listen to what he had just experienced. Saphira and Fírnen were listening through the open window. He had already recounted the dream at least three or four times now and was beginning to grow impatient. Arya needed his help.

Curbing his agitation, Eragon once again explained his dream. "I was in Nasuada's pavilion – the one she used in the war – and Islanzadí and my father were there … well Brom turned up a bit after me, but that's not important and –"

"Did Islanzadí say anything before your father turned up?" Oromis interrupted.

Eragon closed his eyes. What the queen had said before his father showed up wasn't important – couldn't his master trust his judgement on that? "Nothing … she just told me I finally looked the part of a Rider."

Oromis rolled his eyes, snorted lightly and gestured for Eragon to resume his tale.

"Brom just told me that I needed to find this book and said Murtagh had taken Arya. Islanzadí just kept repeating that she didn't know where they'd taken her …" he trailed off, thinking about how the dream had ended.

"And …?" Oromis prompted shrewdly.

Eragon shrugged, frowning, "It was strange … she said 'finally, how long have you been denying this truth?' or something like that …" he shrugged. "I couldn't get what truth I'm meant to have denied out of her though."

Oromis rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. "What about before that? Was that when you had your outburst about not needing her to tell you what Murtagh would be putting Arya through?" Eragon shrugged again and nodded. "Give me the gist of your rant."

Eragon thought about it, "Just about how I hate the fact that I have to put the world first … you know …"

"About not letting your heart rule your head? Hmm …"

You did use the word love when referring to how you feel about her, Saphira chimed in.

I did?

"Did he now …" Oromis's eyes gained a gleam and he seemed to be fighting the urge to smirk.

"I don't know what I said," Eragon muttered in his defence.

Oromis waved that aside for the moment. "That's by the by … you need to find that book your father told you about while I try and think of all the likely places Murtagh would've taken your istalrí."

That jolted something in Eragon's memory. "Oh, they confirmed that Arya is my istalrí by the way … not that that's really important or anything … probably be better if she wasn't …"

Oromis gave him a long stare that quite plainly told Eragon to get lost; the old elf didn't appreciate before dawn wake-up calls, which Eragon though highly hypocritical since Oromis was very apt at giving such brutal wake-ups to others … namely himself. Closing the door behind him, he walked down the corridor towards the chamber his cousin had insisted he use (a highly spacious room with a vaulted ceiling and large full length windows that Saphira could stick her head through) where he grabbed some fresh clothes and departed for the baths.

After he had washed, Eragon went looking for Horst.

Being the sentimental blacksmith he was, Horst had, with the help of the inhabitants, drawn a map of the original Carvahall which had detailed labels of where buildings had been and the roads, streets, surrounding farms and the landscape as it had been before Eragon stumbled upon Saphira's egg. It was for that reason that Eragon hurried down the stone steps at the front of Roran's hall buckling Brisingr round his waist in search of the blacksmith as the sun peeked over the horizon.

If Horst wanted to stay hidden, the pounding of a hammer on anvil gave him away. Eragon rounded a corner between two tall houses and found himself approaching the top of the very hill Horst had first built his house upon. The smithy was a low open-aired structure with a roof across the street from the newly – or not newly built – house, a large open fire smoked in the centre of the workshop and Horst's eldest son, Albriech, was pounding upon a long thin rod of steel upon a solid anvil. The echoing of the hammer as its resonance sang from the metal echoed three streets back and was how Eragon had been able to locate the place. He waited until Albriech had paused before stepping forwards into view.

"Eragon!" Albriech placed his hammer down before dodging round the anvil to embrace Eragon in a warm hug. "I heard you'd come home – bit different to what it was, eh?" he grinned, gesturing at the city.

"Just a little bit," Eragon smiled, "although I think I can still manage to find my way to the bakery and the tavern just fine though; I don't think they've moved … mind you, neither have you for that matter."

Albriech shrugged. "There was always a good view from this hill … and no one disputed Father when he announced he'd be rebuilding our house where it always had been."

"It's hard to argue with your father," Eragon agreed. "It's actually your father I've come to see."

Albriech frowned then and glanced at the newly risen sun. "It's early Eragon – can't you wait and come back in an hour or two?"

"Why? We both know your father has risen before dawn every day of his life and will continue to do so until he's long past the grave."

Albriech shrugged and relented, pointing Eragon across the street to the house and muttering something about inconsiderate visitors. Ignoring Albriech, Eragon knocked firmly upon the door and waited; a minute later the front door was swung open wide and a girl with brown hair and large brown eyes frowned at him.

"Hope," Eragon said. "Naturally … I need to speak with your father."

The girl frowned some more. "Who are you?" she asked. Eragon raised an eyebrow, silently telling the girl she ought to know that already; Hope narrowed her eyes as she took in his elf-like features (including the new scar on the side of his head that had cut the tip off his right ear) and the sapphire blue sword at his waist. "You're him, aren't you?"

"If by 'him' you mean Brom's son then yes. I am."

"I meant Eragon Shadeslayer." Hope frowned.

Eragon rolled his eyes; "I need to speak with you Horst!" he called loudly over Hope's shoulder. "And I do not have time to tarry at the door debating who I am with your daughter!" For he had sensed both Horst and Elain lingering out of sight from the open door, not that they knew that since there was no way they could feel his thoughts brushing their consciousness'.

Horst appeared behind his daughter and stared Eragon in the eye. He felt a pang of guilt; it was early and most had only just sat themselves down for breakfast, but he needed to find the book his father mentioned, because the quicker he found the book the sooner he could find Arya. Every moment he wasted waiting for courtesy to allow him to intrude upon his neighbours meant that it was a moment longer Murtagh held Arya.

"What do you want?" Horst asked bluntly. "Why are you here?"

"Arya."

The blacksmith snorted slightly. "Still no word from her?"

Eragon shook his head.

Horst's annoyed expression lessened as he regarded Eragon with a shrewd look. Eragon tried to hold that gaze but failed; his emotions were bubbling beneath the surface and overwhelming his good sense, something Horst perhaps detected for he beckoned Eragon inside without another word. Hope was told to fetch some water from the well ("But the elves installed those water valves last month!") and Eragon directed to a chair at his kitchen table. Elain busied herself with something over the fire while Horst slipped into a seat opposite Eragon, who had let his head fall into his hands.

Before he knew it, he was recounting everything that had happened since his fateful dream at the start of summer almost six months ago now. For a weighty tale it didn't take him long to recount. By the time he had finished, Hope and Albriech both had joined them in the kitchen and Elain had set breakfast upon the table.

In some sense, Horst and Elain had been Eragon's second parents growing up; he had Garrow of course, but Garrow had always favoured Roran over Eragon without realising it perhaps, for no simpler reason than Roran was his own and Eragon wasn't. Horst and Elain however had treated Eragon – and Roran – no differently than their own sons. Sitting at their table somehow managed to wrangle out of Eragon how he had felt and been coping with the sudden influx of events that had been thrust upon him. More importantly, however, it allowed him to voice out the small issues regarding the evolving relationship between himself and Arya.

Something Islanzadí said to him suddenly made sense.

Elain chuckled slightly as Eragon drew to a close, roughly sketching out what had happened between emerging from his dream and arriving on their doorstep. "You are remarkably like your cousin," she said by way of explanation. "Not knowing what it is in front of you until it is gone. He sat at this table – where you now sit – when the Raz'ac took Katrina from him. And I'll say to you what I said to him;" Elain fixed him with a stern glare. "You had better deliver on every promise you make her or I'll have you turned away and remembered as an oath-breaker until the end of your days."

"You cannot threaten me," Eragon whispered. "You have no right – no tie to her whatsoever – to threaten me like so."

Elain sniffed. "Your Ridership has gone to your head."

Eragon stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair over and caused Albriech, Horst and Hope to flinch. Apparently Elain had been expecting it.

"I have kept every oath I have ever made – and seen those consequences through to the bitter end. Do you think my word worth so little?"

Calm down won't you? Roran won't be able to invite us back if you blow up half the city because you can't keep a lid on your emotions. Saphira told him gently. She wants something from you – once you work out what that is then you can look at the metal-smith's map.

Eragon worked his jaw and glared at Elain. She looked him back coolly and he could now see in her eyes that Saphira was right. For whatever strange reason, Elain was testing him – though he couldn't fathom why … he kicked the fallen chair out of the way and stalked out of the kitchen. Seeking solitude in the sitting room at the front of the house, Eragon stared at his distorted reflection in the window panes. It was a few moments before he saw it was Brom looking back at him – or was it just the alteration by the woven glass that leant his own features to twist into a semblance of the old man?

Sometimes it is harder to admit to something you have spent your time denying than fight an army of a thousand foes. Courage lies not in realising truth to yourself, but in speaking it aloud for all to hear, especially those that have known longer, perhaps, than you yourself have truly known.

He knew not where the words came from, but Eragon knew in his heart that they belonged to his father. A warmth settled over his agitation and he took a deep breath as he closed his eyes; Brom was right … screw that – Blödhgarm was right. And he had been running from it from the moment he had realised the full implications of what might become of it. Anyone else would not notice Elain standing in the doorway behind him – but Eragon's awareness was always taking in on a subliminal level what was happening in his surroundings. Opening his eyes, Eragon looked at Elain's reflection in the window pane; oddly hers was not a gruesome distortion like Eragon's was.

"Well?" she asked. "How am I to know you will deliver upon everything you have promised and not go running for the unknown as soon as adventure and excitement dissipates again?"

"Because I love her," Eragon murmured. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he spoke – as if he had stepped from the shadows into sunlight for the first time. And he knew that when people upon the street saw him, elf, human, dwarf and Urgal alike, would see only a man of honesty and truth. For in hiding that from even himself had he been hiding a part of himself from the world and thus concealing himself in a shroud of shadows that he had not had about him during the war. That was why the likes of Fiolr and other diplomats had immediately lay the blame upon him when reports of renegade Dragon Riders moving north began to circulate. Because he had gone from honesty to deception when he left for the east almost seventeen years ago.

Finally. Saphira said dryly. Now you do realise how much of a foolish fool you have been?

A foolish fool? Eragon asked. So I am doubly a fool then?

Saphira snorted. Yes. A fool who is by far more foolish than any other ordinary fool. Eragon could feel her humming in her throat though she was back at the compound. Oh little one … we'll find her. I promise – to you and to Fírnen; we will find her.

Eragon looked out through the window as the sun climbed above the treetops; a respectable time to be out and calling upon neighbours. I know. And he did; in his heart he knew they'd find her because that was, ultimately, Murtagh's design … what troubled him was the state in which they would find her.

To admit to something you have spent your time denying … where had that memory come from – for Eragon was certain that Brom had, at some point, spoken them to him. Shaking away the thought, he turned to find Elain watching him from the doorway; a small smile on her face.

"Although your cousin wasn't near as blind as you when it came to recognising what he felt and what he wanted."

Eragon shrugged, not willing to point out that even Roran would've had doubts if Katrina turned him away as bluntly as Arya had done to Eragon. Instead he apologised to Elain for disturbing them so early in the day and asked if he could see the map of Carvahall village Horst had constructed. Elain beckoned him to follow her and led him to a new room that hadn't been there in the original house; a respectable study where Horst was busy leaning over a round table where a sheet of parchment was rolled flat. Books and candle sticks held the four corners down.

"I'll leave you to it." Elain smiled as she closed the door.

Horst looked up at Eragon and studied him for a long moment, as if waiting for Eragon to start kicking off again. Eragon didn't. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the blacksmith broke the silence; "According to your dream, Brom left a book you need in his house?" Eragon nodded. "Which, apparently, is still intact?"

"That's what he said," Eragon strode over to the table and looked down at the carefully drawn detail in Horst's map of Carvahall. The streets and houses all drawn as precisely as memory could recall; but there were gaps – unlabelled buildings that people couldn't quite remember belonged to whom, because some inhabitants had refused to leave with Roran and cross the Spine. "Gedrick had a tannery there," he said, pointing at an unlabelled building.

"Of course he did!" Horst muttered. He faffed about finding a stick of charcoal and carefully added to the map. "I knew he had one somewhere, but not where exactly."

Eragon scanned the map; the butcher's shop … the bakery … the potters' and the masonry out houses were neatly labelled along with the names of the family who lived in the houses … he saw the village square with Morn's tavern and the stables and village hay barn all taking up three of the four sides while the river acted as the boundary for the fourth side of the square. Eragon spotted Jorde's Tree and Helv's Stump and several other local landmarks. The fields all carefully marked out in the lay of the land as well as who owned them … and finally a small building outline with the label 'Brom' and a little asterisk beside it. Searching, Eragon found the additional label: father of Eragon Shadeslayer, Dragon Rider, Founder of the Varden, Elf Friend, Story Teller (and a frequent public nuisance after consuming too much of Morn's fine ale).

"Here it is," Horst rumbled, placing his thumb over the square on the map that represented Brom's house. He said nothing about the additional label he'd given the old man. "Right … so if we just …" he faffed about with several other sheets of paper and parchment cluttered on the desk until he produced a rather transparent roll of paper that he placed over the top of his map. The new and improved Carvahall came into view superimposed over the old village; giving Eragon and Horst a clear look of where the old Carvahall lay in comparison to the city.

"What is this paper?" Eragon asked, touching the second sheaf.

Horst smiled, "The elves make it; the same way as normal paper, but somehow they press it so it is thinner and transparent. They sell ten sheaves – that's half this size – for one arget coin. But they made some this size for me specially; I got three sheaves for the same price."

Eragon nodded transfixed; the elves it seemed had taken little trouble in adapting into the society outside their forest. He made a mental note to congratulate Arya upon her efforts in dragging her kin out of their leafy halls and into the bright sunlight. But then he remembered Arya was currently being held captive by Murtagh and that the whole reason he was here with Horst was so he could find his father's house, locate the stupid book, and hopefully find a way to rescue her without giving Murtagh what he wanted … whatever that was.

"Right …" the blacksmith was saying, "judging by this, your father's house should be in the middle of this gap right here," he pointed on the map to a spot that appeared empty compared to the rest of the city.

"How come no one's built anything there?" Eragon asked.

Horst frowned, "I don't … oh well there's a low hill there – too steep to build upon so it was just left as a place for the children to play."

"Father's house must be in the middle somewhere," Eragon mused. "His wards must've buried it under a mound of earth so the Raz'ac couldn't destroy it."

Horst nodded in agreement, though Eragon knew he didn't quite understand what Eragon meant by 'wards'. "How you're going to get inside is another matter," he glanced at Eragon and grinned, "I've got a shovel you could borrow if you'd like?"

"Funny."

"What's the name of this book you're meant to find?"

"Abr Sundavr un Garjzla." Eragon muttered. "Though I don't see how a book is going to help me … he probably just can't let go of his stupid riddles and unhelpful hints."

"You can't know that until you read the book," Horst pointed out.

Eragon snorted. "Brom probably just wanted me to tidy up after him."

A/N : so here it is; chapter thirty-six. My apologies for taking so long but ... well I have been busy with college work :( But I have not gone away people