I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so excited to wait for something as I was when I was waiting for the Agaetí Blödhren. The excitement I had once felt waiting for the trader's to come to Carvahall was nothing compared to this. Then again, we'd also needed the traders to come out of a necessity. This was an ancient celebration that I would probably never get to witness again.

A week before the ceremony, Oromis told Briam and I, "You should both think about what you can bring to the Blood-Oath Celebration. Unless your creations require magic to make or to function, I suggest that you avoid using gramarye. No one will respect your work if it's the product of a spell and not your own hands. I also suggest that you each make your own piece. That too is the custom, though I'm not sure that you actually can, Briam."

I felt Briam's resentment and stifled a laugh. He'd try his hardest now to find something he could make and bring to the ceremony.

Well, just imagine if he had said, "Though I'm not sure that you actually can, Arianna, being pregnant and everything."

First of all, being pregnant doesn't make you handicapped, and second of all, Oromis would never say that. Thirdly, you can't breathe fire yet, so what are you going to do?

I'll think of something, he growled.

Neneel dropped us off, and I waved goodbye. Briam followed me into the tree, and I wondered why he just didn't fly up to the top.

Because I won't be able to use the stairs soon, and I want to use the stairs for as long as I can.

What a strange dragon I'd been paired with. Then a thought hit me.

I can ride you soon!

Yes, he said hesitantly, if not a bit frighteningly.

Oh relax, you'll be fine.

You might make me fall.

By this time we were on flat ground, and I whirled around to glare at him.

Are you insinuating that I'm fat? Because if you are, I'll-

Briam laughed...and laughed...and laughed some more. He lithely avoided the swat that I sent his way, and carried on laughing.

Then I realized that I should be working on my piece of work to bring to the Blood-oath Celebration. I remembered vaguely what Oromis had told Saphira, Briam, and I when Eragon and Glaedr were out flying and we got to watch him paint scrolls.

"Now, you all possess one quality that no one else does," Oromis told us. Your identity. Your history, deeds, and situation. Use those to shape your creation and you will produce something unique. Whatever you make, base it upon that which is most important to you. Only then will it have depth and meaning, and only then will it resonate with others."

Thinking in this way, I tried to figure out what was important to me. It didn't take much thought. Before I lost my train of thought, I hurried into my room and pulled out a piece of paper, and inkwell, and a quill. I then set about writing my composition.

While I wrote, I noticed that Briam was up to something, but he put up barriers that prevented me from seeing what he was doing. I'd find out soon enough. When I was finished, I reached under my bed and fished out Vanilor.

Hello, youngling.

Good afternoon, Vanilor. Would you care to hear my piece for the Blood-oath Celebration?

I felt his emotions skyrocket at the mention of the Blood-oath Celebration. I also began to see memories from a past one that he had attended. When he noticed I was getting glimpses, he blocked off that part of his mind and told me to carry on with what I was doing.

You'll find out soon enough the events of the Blood-oath Ceremony.

When I was finished, I felt satisfaction from him.

You have grown, Arianna Selenasdaughter.

I smiled widely, talked more with Vanilor, and then placed him back in his safe spot before falling asleep.

­­­­­­­­­­­­On the eve of the Agaetí Blödhren, Briam and I accompanied Eragon, Saphira, Orik, and Arya (much to my displeasure). Eragon had made me hold still while he recited nine words in the ancient language that were designed to keep our wits about us. I had a gut feeling Eragon was going to do something stupid, but I didn't say anything to him.

I'd had a strange dream the night before, but, for the first time in my life, I couldn't remember what it had been about. It was as if it was blocked from me, which didn't make any sense, because I wasn't blocking anything, and I didn't see how anyone else could be doing it, because my mind was blocked off from them. I pushed the thought aside as we approached the Menoa tree, where a large host of elves, black and silver hair gleaming in the lamplight, were gathered.

Islanzadí stood upon a raised root at the base of the trunk. Blagden roosted on the queen's left shoulder, while Maud lurked behind her. I saw Glaedr – he wasn't hard to find – and in spotting him I found Oromis, who was garbed in red and black. I caught his eye and smiled. He returned the gesture, then turned his gaze back to the queen.

Arya left, then returned with an elf I'd never seen before. Apparently Eragon and Saphira had though, because they greeted her by name. I gathered that she was Rhunön, the blacksmith. I was awestruck when she greeted Orik in dwarvish, to his obvious delight.

I hadn't dared to bring Vanilor, for fear that Eragon's nine words wouldn't protect me from going mad, and that I wouldn't be able to look out for him. If anything happened to him, I'd never forgive myself.

The time finally came for the celebration to start. I didn't remember much after that, except the couple times that Oromis pulled Eragon and I aside and told us to wait there until we could remember whatever he told us to remember. Oh, and dancing. Lots and lots of dancing. The food was amazing, and the things the elves had made were very memorable also. Arya's was the most memorable, because I'd had to suffer through it. No one would forgive me if I skipped out on it. I liked the queen's poem though.

I believe it was the third day that I presented my piece of work. Eragon and Saphira went before me though, and Eragon's made my heart ache. The elves loved it, and the queen even went so far as to make him repeat it after saying that she was going to put it in the great library in the Tialdarí Hall. Saphira's was next; a large rock that was glossy from being melted and somehow molded into intricate curves that wound about each other, like frozen waves. It was even more beautiful after she blew on it with fire.

Next was my turn. I was feeling very self conscious, and my little baby bump felt giant with so many people looking at it. I began to slowly recite what I had written.

At the small and tender age of eight
The young girl saw such horrors
That she knew what she must do.

When the time finally came
She thought she'd be ready
To leave everything she'd ever known
Behind her; but she wasn't.

In her enemy's hands
She suffered to protect that which she loved
And out of spite, was sent away
To Durza's pain inflicting hands.

I went on and on, recounting everything that had happened between then and now; basically pouring my heart out. It was funny how Eragon and I had a similar poem.

When she was returned to him
He who sought to harm her
She continued to hide her thoughts from him
To protect the one she loved.

After many painful weeks, her chance at escape finally came
And with her came the little dragon egg,
Whom she'd seen in a vision
sitting right beside her.

To Ellesméra she fled
Knowing not what awaited her
With only one thought in mind:
To find that which she loved;
To continue to do her duty.

When I was finished, I hurried to get out of the spotlight.

"It seems that both of our new Rider's are talented in this field," the elf lord, Däthedr said. Islanzadí agreed with him, but to my relief, didn't say anything about putting it in the library. I wouldn't want everyone going to read it.

Briam went next, and I was surprised to see that he had indeed finished something. I found it was hard to describe, but it was a little like what Saphira had wrought, only without fire, because he couldn't breathe it yet. I had difficulty believing he did it with his talons though. Although, as I noticed them – really noticed them – they actually were quite sharp. And it was a small rock...yet the way Saphira looked at it made me think she was probably involved. Who knew, maybe she did the whole thing. At any rate, the elves loved it.

Finally, it was time for the reason we were all gathered together; to reaffirm the oath between the three races.

"Watch you carefully, for this of great importance to your heritage as Riders," Oromis said to us.

Two elf maids entered the center of the space when all the elves were quieted down, and they stood back to back. They were identical in every aspect except their hair: one had tresses as black as a forgotten pool, while the other's hair gleamed like burnished silver wire.

"The caretakers, Iduna and Nëya," whispered Oromis.

From Islanzadí's shoulder, Blagden shrieked, "Wyrda!"

I watched, fascinated, as they began to dance. Tattooed on their bodies was a dragon, and it seemed to come alive as they danced.

Music began to play, and they danced round and round. The dragon appeared to fly in endless circles across their skin. Then the twins added their voices to the music, building upon the pounding beat with their fierce cries, their lyrics verses of a complex spell. I, along with everyone else present, found myself singing along, though I did not know why the words seemed so familiar.

Saphira, Glaedr, and Briam hummed along, a deep pulse so strong it made my skin tingle and the air shimmer. The twins accelerated to an inhuman speed, and a flare of light ran the length of the dragon tattoo, from head to tail, and then the dragon stirred. I couldn't believe my eyes as the dragon separated everything except the tip of its tail from the elves, shooting up towards the moon and perching there to look at all the assembled.

I shivered when it looked at me. It looped down among the elves, brushing them with an insubstantial wing, and stopped before Eragon and I. Eragon raised his right hand, and the dragon touched his gedwëy ignasia. I saw Eragon sway before he began to fall, and trembled as the dragon once again looked at me. As if my hand was a whole separate thing, I raised my right hand as Eragon had.

Our gift so that you may protect what you must.

He bent his neck and, with his snout, touched his nose to the heart of my gedwëy ignasia. I felt a spark jump between us, and my body went rigid as incandescent heat poured through my body, consuming everything in it. My vision flashed red and black, the same colors as Oromis had worn, and the small scar that I'd kept hidden from everyone – the one that I'd received from Shruikan – burned worse than it ever had before, even when I'd received it. I swayed, and hoping that someone would catch me, I succumbed to the darkness.

The last thing I heard was, Protect him.

It's ok if you guys thought that the poem sucked; I'm not much for poetry. Anyway, sorry it was a day late - I wasn't sure what to do with this chapter, and I had to refresh myself with the events that took place during the celebration. That, and I got caught up reading about what Roran was doing in Teirm with Jeod and daydreaming and then I didn't feel like writing much anymore. Hope you guys liked it!