Chapter Nineteen: Allegiance

Murtagh tried not to let his exasperation show as he stalked away from Tronjheim following his meeting with the Council of Elders. It hadn't even been a day since Ajihad's death and already the Varden's higher-ups were making political power moves. Thorn shared his annoyance and outright rebelled at the idea of swearing fealty to them.

I am a dragon! I will not shackle myself to a group of self-important politicians, Thorn growled, his voice deep in Murtagh's mind. The ruby dragon shook his neck as though trying to flick off some bothersome insect and hissed, making a few of the people around them back up nervously. Do not even consider this, Murtagh. We should ask Brom to find another way.

I agree, Murtagh nodded silently, lifting a hand to rub the dragon's large front leg in an attempt to ground them and soothe frayed tempers. I agree. It's true the Varden need leadership right now, but neither we nor Eragon or Saphira are experienced enough to lead. Nasuada is the right choice, but…

They seek to make her into a puppet, Thorn cocked his head back towards Tronjheim as if to stare at the Council of Elders, sneering with bared fangs. Cloaks and daggers and false-honeyed words, bah! As if I would give such pitiful beings the time of day, let alone my loyalty.

Murtagh smirked a bit at that. Thorn wasn't as prideful as Saphira, but he was still a dragon and had a proud streak a hundred leagues high. He couldn't imagine his partner giving himself over to people who sought only power in the Varden. His amusement didn't last long, however—they had to focus. What should we do?

I suggest speaking with Brom, obviously, Thorn replied, snorting. He paused in thought for a moment. And Nasuada, as well. Ajihad thought highly of her and I doubt she is a woman of a weak spine.

No, she certainly is not that, Murtagh agreed. Nasuada had, after all, snuck back into Farthen Dur against her father's wishes to fight and kill Urgals. No, she was not of a weak spine at all. Politically, however, he didn't know much about her, but Murtagh could only hope Ajihad had taught her all he knew.

Where is Brom? Murtagh wondered to his partner.

Elsewhere, dealing with the Varden's magicians, the dragon replied with some distaste. They are inexperienced and without leadership, especially with the Twins having disappeared during the Urgal attack on Ajihad's group.

I see. Perhaps we should seek out Nasuada, then?

Now? Thorn queried, surprised. She has just lost her father. Would she wish to see us?

If nothing else, we can offer her our condolences, Murtagh told him. And it would help her regain strength to know we are on her side.

Are we?

I hope so.

Thorn hummed in agreement. So did he. To Nasuada, then.

It didn't take them long to find Nasuada, though without knowing where she lived, Thorn had to seek out her mind to locate her. He greeted her gently and asked if she was up to seeing them, to which she agreed.

Upon meeting with them, however, Nasuada brought Brom along with her. Murtagh was briefly annoyed that he and Thorn wouldn't the able to speak with the young woman in peace, but realized that he was actually glad Brom was keeping her company—he was probably going to fill in the void Ajihad left behind him and advise her. No doubt he was aware that the Council of Elders intended to make her into a puppet and intended to keep that from happening.

In a way, it was probably for the best that they speak with Brom now, as well. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, though Murtagh still wished to speak with Nasuada…

Thorn nudged his mind in a way that promised vengeance for Murtagh's teasing before regarding Saphira. He shot the dragon a mild glare, to which Thorn grinned toothily back.

He wasn't going to be hearing the end of this for a while.

Nasuada dipped her head to Murtagh and Thorn in greeting, which they returned. She looked up at them and it was clear from the expression on her face that she was tired and still grieving for her father, but there was steel in her eyes. "Murtagh, Thorn. I hope the day finds you well."

"As well as can be expected given the circumstances," Murtagh told her. He hesitated a moment. "I…I'm sorry about your father, my lady. If we'd been faster—"

"Stop," she cut him off with a shake of her head. "I do not blame you. My father died a valiant death and you two ensured his killers suffered the consequences. Hurting though we may be, we cannot let his death destroy the Varden—it would dishonor him above all else."

He felt a surge of admiration for Nasuada for her sheer strength given the situation. Garrow's death had brought to Murtagh such a well of fury and despair that he'd been incapable of functioning properly. He had no doubt she was suffering, but she was handling it much better than he ever had.

Well, perhaps on the outside. Murtagh didn't know her well enough to be able to say if she was in turmoil on the inside.

Brom watched the interaction for a moment before interrupting things. "We should meet in the Dragonhold. There are a few things that must be discussed now."

Murtagh shot the man a quizzical look, but complied. "Thorn can carry us."

Once they were all gathered at the Dragonhold, Nasuada took a moment to look around, smiling just the slightest. "It's been some time since I was up here. There was never any reason for me to come here, but I once ran up the stairs to this place when I was a girl. It made me curious, but by the end of the climb, I was so tired I think I just fell asleep. My father was rather panicked when I came back down."

Thorn settled down in his usual resting spot and cocked his head at her with some intrigue. Murtagh found it somewhat amusing because his interest was mostly due to the color of her skin. Until recently, the only humans he'd been around were Eragon, Murtagh, and Brom, who were all tanned from travel, but still pale-skinned, nonetheless. None of them possessed the dark tone Nasuada's skin shone with.

While Thorn continued his casual inspection, Brom took a seat at the edge of one of the beds and crossed his arms. "You two just came from a meeting with the Council of Elders, did you not?"

Murtagh couldn't hide his scowl. "Yes."

"And?" Brom raised an eyebrow. "What did you think of what they said?"

"They clearly want to make Nasuada into a puppet," Murtagh muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets. He leaned back against Thorn's huge front leg. "Their grab for power isn't hard to see."

It was as obvious as a drunken dragon, Thorn added with a light sneer.

Nasuada cracked a smile. "I'm glad to hear you weren't fooled by their manipulations. The Council of Elders would no doubt like to control the Varden through a puppet, but they'll find I'm not so easy to handle. What else did they tell you?"

Murtagh's scowl deepened. "They want Thorn and I to swear fealty to the Varden in order to 'devote ourselves to the cause of the people'."

Brom scowled in turn. "I had a feeling they'd try something like that. What did you say?"

We told them we would remain allies to the Varden, Thorn said, his lip curling at even that admission. But we did not give them anything specific. I will not be chained to them like a dog on a leash!

"They'll try to keep you attached to the Varden," Brom said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll work around that issue, but you'll have to establish some kind of connection of loyalty to gain their trust. In the meantime, we have more…pressing issues."

Murtagh did not like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

The old man glanced at Nasuada, who sighed. "King Orrin hasn't sent any word or supplies to us since we sent him news of the attack."

"King Orrin being…?"

"He's the ruler of Surda," Brom filled Murtagh in, his tone becoming grim. "And he's been a massive supporter of the Varden. Without Surda, we would never have lasted this long."

His sense of trepidation grew as he connected the dots and realized how bad it would be for Orrin to suddenly not be in league with the Varden. "And why hasn't he responded?"

Nasuada swallowed tightly. "It would appear Morzan's…absence in the Battle for Farthen Dur was because he had an alternative goal in mind. Galbatorix sent him to capture Orrin and occupy Surda."

It felt like he'd been sleeping for a very long time. Eragon could not remember exactly when he'd fallen asleep, but somehow it felt as though his deep slumber had been necessary. He wished to wake many times throughout his hibernation, but his body denied him the right to do so. Subconscious instincts told him it would not be wise—and something else. A presence and mind he knew intimately, yet was distant all at once. Saphira? Yes, it was her.

When he finally was granted permission to rejoin the waking world, it felt as though a great fog was lifted from his mind.

Welcome back, little one.

Saphira's croon in his mind sent to him her feelings of joy and overwhelming relief. Eragon blinked his eyes open blearily, squinting against the fading sunlight pouring into the room and onto his face. He grumbled something unintelligible and was grateful when Saphira shifted her massive bulk to block the light. He wasn't sure how big the room had to be for her to be in here, but he certainly wouldn't complain.

He tried to speak, but winced. His throat was terribly dry. How long had it been since he'd had a drink?

I will call the healers, Saphira told him gently. Rest, my love. You have only just recovered.

I feel as though I've rested enough to last an age, Eragon replied, shaking his head slowly. Where are we?

Ellesmera. It's been six days since you fell into your trance. You almost didn't make it.

Her voice quivered at the end and Eragon sent over a wave of reassurance through their bond. She lowered her head to pressed her snout into his hair, to which he leaned against her.

I'm alright, he promised. What of Arya and Firnen?

They are here. Firnen only got here four days after us, but he is well. He and Arya are staying elsewhere at the moment.

Eragon sighed. What happened to me?

A knock on the open door had him jerking away from his dragon partner and glancing sharply at the intruder, who had somehow snuck up on him to announced his presence. Saphira reassured him with a soft rumble as he studied the newcomer with an intense stare.

Peace, little one. He means you no harm.

The individual was clearly a male elf, with long, silver hair and peaceful gray eyes. He bore simple white robes and at the belt on his waist was a sword of bright golden-bronze. Though Eragon knew little of elves besides what he understood of Arya and Brom's teachings, he could see that the elf was old, and the way he carried himself gracefully belied the agility he no doubt still possessed. And yet, his eyes, despite being calm and welcoming, were weary and tired.

The elf waited as Eragon inspected him, content to observe the young Rider in turn. Once Eragon was satisfied that the elf was not a threat, the newcomer glanced at Saphira, who crooned again. Cracking a slight smile, the elf moved to the other side of the room to a table with a pitcher and glass to pour some water. The entire time, Eragon's gaze was locked on him like a hawk.

"It is good to see you awake, Eragon," the elf said, his voice soft, but powerful. Eragon watched him warily. He had no reason to distrust the elves, and frankly he was grateful to them—he knew they must've saved him, but some part of his mind demanded he be wary. The boyish fascination he'd once held for any and all things new was overridden by the instinct to be suspicious of a potential threat.

"Here—drink. Your body requires sustenance," the elf told him, walking over to offer the teenager the glass of water. Eragon eyed the cup suspiciously and accepted, but sniffed it first just to make sure he didn't find anything in it that might drug him. He found nothing out of the ordinary, so decided to risk a sip. Nothing tasted odd—it was cool, crisp water. Eragon's first drink already began to ease the pain in his throat, and before long he was draining the glass dry.

Saphira watched him with fondness.

The elf smiled at him. "Feeling better?"

Eragon nodded as he swallowed another gulp, careful not to let any of the precious liquid spill. The elf folded his hands in front of him. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Oromis of House Thrandurin. On behalf of Queen Islanzadi, I welcome you to Ellesmera."

Eragon slowly responded, still wincing at the soreness of his throat. "Thank you."

Oromis smiled again. "How do you feel?"

The boy paused to take a moment to assess himself. He felt better than he had in a long time. The pressure on his heart seemed to have been completely relieved…

"Well," he allowed cautiously, innate suspicion still ingrained in his instincts. "What happened to me?"

"It was a side-effect of your transformation at Gil'ead," Oromis replied, causing Eragon to stiffen. Had they been in his mind while he was asleep? No, he had thrown up the most powerful mental shields he could manage, even in his weakened state. He would've felt them—

I told them, Eragon, Saphira interrupted his train of thought to soothe her Rider. They needed to know.

"We made sure not to intrude more than was necessary," Oromis added, and Eragon realized Saphira had shared her thoughts with the elf. "Your mind is untouched, Eragon. We will not intrude on your privacy. I know that your imprisonment was difficult, much like my own."

Eragon cocked his head at that, but filed the thought away for later. He was focused on one thing at the moment. "So what was wrong?"

"The transformation that altered your body sparked the creation of a new…shall we say, organ, that formed close to your heart. But your body didn't have the room to keep it from colliding with your heart as it grew. We were forced to remove it."

Eragon's eyebrows shot up and he whipped his head down to stare at his chest, which he realized now was bare, and found himself staring at a small, clean scar directly over his heart.

"It won't bother me again?" Eragon asked hesitantly.

"Not in the way it did previously," Oromis told him, causing Eragon to frown. "But it is still a part of you, in a sense. I will tell you more when your brother joins us to train."

Part of him wanted to demand answers, but he allowed the elf to leave it at that when Saphira gently nudged his mind to reassure him. "Very well."

Oromis smiled again. "You are allowed to leave your bed, but the healers tell me you are to avoid strenuous exercises for another week. That does, unfortunately, include long flights on dragon-back."

He felt a little sour about that, about the idea of being restricted, but it was a necessity for him to heal properly. He would allow it.

"Do you feel well enough to speak with people? Or would you prefer to have the rest of the day to yourself?"

Eragon glanced at Saphira, who merely inclined her head in a way that told him it was his decision. "I'd like to be with Saphira."

"As you wish," Oromis dipped his head. "We will speak again soon, Eragon."

"Thank you," he replied somewhat uncomfortably.

The elf took his leave and Eragon stood up, stretching and wincing at the protest of muscles that had been asleep for far too long. He found a small dresser in a corner of the room and searched through it until he found a simple, black tunic and brown trousers. They were made of an incredibly soft fabric that hugged his frame in a flattering way. Once he'd dressed himself, he grabbed his boots, set Undbitr at his hip, and told Saphira he was ready.

The dragon lady crooned to him as she led her Rider out of the house—which turned out to be a tree—and into what appeared to be a forest; at least, until Eragon realized that many of the trees were, in fact, other houses.

The elves sing to the trees to shape them into their homes, Saphira enlightened him as Eragon took it all in with utter bewilderment. We're at the edge of Ellesmera, currently.

Already he could see elves watching them amongst the trees, like forest spirits. Many of them bore peaceful smiles and looked delighted as they caught sight of Saphira. In fact, most of them were looking exclusively at her, though he spotted a few of them observing Eragon himself.

He didn't like the attention. Not now.

Can we go deeper into the woods?

Oromis warned me not to go too far without another elf, at least until we're more familiar with this place, Saphira replied. This place is swollen with magic and many spells fill the air. It shouldn't cause us much grief to find a spot a short distance away, though.

As long as we get some peace, he accepted without a second thought.

She rumbled with amusement, blowing a puff of smoke from her nostrils that had the elves exclaiming in delight—he could hear them clearly even from this distance—and turned away from the city to lead her Rider away from civilization.

It didn't take them long to find a small pond within a large grove of trees. Many of the trees within Ellesmera, even those on the outskirts, were relatively far apart to provide plenty of space for moving, even for something as large as a dragon. Saphira had more than enough room to maneuver and make herself comfortable as they settled by the water, where Eragon removed his boots and allowed his feet to dip into the cold pool.

He shivered at the sensation, but leaned back into Saphira's chest and warmth as she arced her head over him to take a drink. What have I missed, Saphira?

Not much, she told him. I spent much of my time at your bedside. Oromis and Arya offered to show me around, but I wanted to see Ellesmera with you.

I see. How are Arya and Firnen?

Firnen is well, if still recovering from the flight. He's been quite tired the last few days. Arya is…tense. I do not believe she is particularly thrilled to be here.

She is unhappy to be home?

That is how it appears to me, Saphira corrected him. That is a question you must ask her yourself. And, might I suggest, somewhat more tactfully.

Eragon let a wry smile fall onto his face. As you say.

Saphira nudged him with her head, to which he pressed one hand to her snout and pushed back half-heartedly. Tell me more?

Very well.

They spent a few hours at the pond before Saphira lifted her head suddenly and turned her gaze back to the city. Eragon raised an eyebrow as the dragon lady seemed to ponder some silent question before deigning to answer.

She looked down at him. Arya and Firnen are coming.

Which means I have to get up, Eragon sighed, rising to his feet and flicking the water off before he slipped his boots back on.

It didn't take long for their friends to find them. Arya appeared suddenly from the trees with Firnen striding beside her. The young dragon seemed to be going through another growth spurt—Eragon was pretty sure he'd been smaller the last time he'd seen the green male.

Arya herself seemed more weary, although she managed to smile when she reached them. "You are awake."

"Yes," he said simply.

"I am glad. We were not sure if you would make it."

Firnen stepped forward after greeting Saphira mentally and looked at Eragon closely. You are changed, Eragon. You seem lighter.

"I feel better," he admitted. "How are you faring? That was quite a flight for one so young."

The emerald male puffed his chest out. It was a challenge, but I persevered. In the end, it has only allowed me to grow further.

"I can see that," Eragon's eyes glinted teasingly. "Before long, you shall be as large as a cow. Galbatorix will surely flee from you in terror by then."

Saphira let out a growling laugh as Firnen huffed, but there was no heat in his retort. Arya observed them, quietly amused, before she spoke again. "You are well, then?"

"I feel as though I've slept for a lifetime, and my body is still weary from rest, but I'm well," he replied. "What of you?"

Arya was silent for a few seconds, consider the question before she answered. "I have not been in Ellesmera for a long time. When I left there were some…difficult circumstances. Now I have returned as a Rider and things are somewhat better, and yet…I cannot help but still feel uneasy. Old wounds are not forgotten so quickly."

"I think you'll heal in time," he told her simply. "You're the strongest person I know."

The elf's lips twitched only briefly. "So you say. I…appreciate your faith, Eragon."

He shrugged, feeling the slightest warmth in his cheeks. "It's the truth."

Arya set one hand on her hip then, resting it on the pommel of her sword. "I wish I had arrived for something as simple as a social visit, but unfortunately your awakening means there are people you must meet, and soon. Queen Islanzadi will request your presence soon enough."

Eragon tensed just the slightest. "Yes, I know."

"Though you are still but a learner in the Ancient Language, you must become more fluent if you are to walk amongst my people," she went on. "You cannot speak to the Queen without knowing the correct courtesy of the Alfakyn."

He hummed in agreement. "Brom mentioned it to us before, but he was more focused on ensuring Murtagh and I could fight well."

"I'm aware," she told him dryly. "Which is why now we must fill in the gaps he could not address on the road."

Eragon bobbed his head before sitting back down in tandem with Saphira, both of whom watched Arya expectantly. "Shall we, then?"

The elf blinked for a moment, then glanced at Firnen, who had sat down not a moment after the other pair. She seemed to fight off a sigh as she took her place by her dragon, who seemed endlessly amused by the situation. Despite that, another small smile decorated her face at their antics. "Very well. Let us begin with how to properly greet one of my people…"

They spent hours more at the pond, though admittedly with more productivity than before. Eragon enjoyed learning about the elves and their customary greetings, especially since many of them were cultural staples of the Riders back in the old days. Arya was infinitely patient as he steadily made progress on the subject, easily correcting any errors he made until Eragon could make the various gestures and speak the words that matched them. He would need to practice more until they were second-nature to him, but they managed to develop a solid foundation for him to continue the practices.

Towards the end of their last hour, Eragon became aware of a presence on the edge of his mind, one that started to drive him to distraction. Eventually, it probed at him deliberately enough that he stopped in the middle of his practice with Arya and shifted his gaze to the forest floor, frowning deeply.

Arya blinked and inclined her head. "Is something amiss?"

Saphira and Firnen both lifted their heads at the same time, pupils dilating and nostrils flaring. Eragon rose to his feet with his brow furrowed restlessly. "Something is coming."

How perceptive of you, young one, rumbled a deep, masculine voice in his mind.

Arya stiffened and jumped up a moment later as they heard the whoosh of the wind, and then the sky above them darkened with glittering gold as a grand dragon soared over. Saphira roared in alarm, her hackles rising, though Firnen was quieter and retreated closer to Arya, who relaxed at the sight.

"Be at peace," she requested of them as the huge dragon—and wasn't that an understatement, the behemoth was more than thrice Saphira's size—wheeled around the trees above them and slowly came down to land with a titanic thud. "He means you no harm."

Eragon would reserve that particular judgement for himself, he thought as he studied the huge dragon. He briefly faltered as he realized the behemoth was missing the lower half of his front left leg—all that was left was a white stump. Disabled though he might have been, Eragon had little doubt the dragon was more than capable of utterly overwhelming himself and Saphira, perhaps even with their combined strength.

The dragon slowly lowered himself to the ground and Eragon suddenly realized that there was a figure on its back, who jumped down to the forest floor with deft grace. He blinked as he recognized Oromis, the first elf he'd met here.

His eyes flitted back to the dragon, who lifted himself up and then began to walk towards them with a practiced limp. Each footstep shook the ground, belying the immense weight of the creature.

Arya quickly pressed her fingers to her lips as the Rider and dragon approached them. "Oromis-elda. Atra esterna ono thelduin."

Oromis traded the proper response with her and then faced the disbelieving Eragon with a wry smile. "Forgive me; Glaedr insisted on meeting you the moment you woke up. He would not take no for an answer, even though I wished to introduce him to you and Murtagh at the same time."

I have waited quite long enough to meet this one, Glaedr growled, his voice echoing in Eragon's mind. The great dragon stared at him through sharp, but old golden eyes. So you are the dragon-child.

Eragon frowned. "The what?"

Saphira stiffened as Glaedr's massive skull lowered enough to look Eragon in the eye. You have not realized it, and neither has your partner given the circumstances. Your mind is that of a dragon, boy.

"What are you talking about?" Eragon all but demanded, feeling his wariness surge to the forefront of his mind. Instinctive mental barriers rose and had to be forced to fall so he could hear Glaedr speak again.

You are neither man, nor elf, nor any other sentient that has walked these lands, the dragon told him. Your transformation has made you into something different. Something new. Had I not seen you with my own eyes, I would have thought your mind a dragon's. Even your heart is separate from you, now.

Eragon fixated a piercing stare on Oromis, who sighed with reluctance. "It would seem I'll be repeating myself once Murtagh and Thorn join us. Very well."

He reached into his cloak and extracted a small, silken case, which he then presented to Eragon. Normally, the boy would've demanded an explanation, but something about the case—or rather, whatever was inside of it—called to him.

Eragon accepted the case and opened it, his eyes growing round at the sight of a small, ovular sapphire jewel. A jewel that was not a jewel.

His mind resonated with the object and he knew in that moment that, somehow, it was a part of him. It was an odd feeling—for part of himself to be separate, and yet he was whole. It only took him a moment to realize that this jewel was exactly like the one that had changed him in Gil'ead, albeit with a different size and color.

"What is this?" He breathed out, realizing that the truth of his transformation was at his fingertips.

It is your heart of hearts, dragon-child, Glaedr rumbled. It is your Eldunari.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG.

I've been wanting to write this for ages, but writer's block and other projects, plus real-life commitments prevented me from doing so. I'm going to try to work on that. This isn't abandoned, even if it takes me ages to update it. I love this series too much to just drop it. So even if it takes me an age, I'll keep it going!

As always, please review and thanks for reading!