By morning's light, they'd put over ten leagues between them and Gil'ead. Eragon easily kept pace on his own legs with the steeds. Arya had been quiet all night, and the humans weren't feeling very chatty either.

They stopped to eat and water the horses. Eragon shrugged, knowing he could maintain this pace for days without rest. He felt a bit bored, though, and he wanted a physical challenge to spice things up.

"Murtagh, may I borrow Zar'roc?" Eragon asked his older brother.

The young Rider looked up from dozing in Tornac's saddle, and nodded his assent. Eragon took the red-tinged blade and turned to Arya. "Fancy a spar, Arya-svitkona?" Eragon asked in her native tongue, falling back on his habit as Father of Riders of speaking to each species in their first language.

Arya considered him. "Very well. Let us see how thorough your healing was," she mused. She grabbed her own elvish steel and dulled the edges as Eragon did the same with Zar'roc. Getting into their stances, accounting for the fact Arya was left-handed, Eragon decided faint heart never won fair lady and lunged first.

This began a deadly dance as two superhuman creatures that both had decades of relative fighting experience faced off. Eragon spared nothing, knowing she would only perceive it as an insult. The sexism of Men and Dwarves must have grown wearying over the decades for the princess who'd renounced her title. They exchanged blows back and forth, neither landing a decisive blow, until Eragon saw an opening and knocked Arya's blade aside to bring his blade up to her throat.

It was only then that Eragon realized he was sweating buckets. The exchange must have lasted much longer than he thought. Arya too was soaked, and she gulped for air. Her eyes held newfound respect and perhaps even a trace of admiration. She nodded. "You are skilled, Eragon-finiarel."

"As are you, Arya-svitkona."

She tilted her head, a faint look of confusion on her features. "You seem much more skilled than anyone your age should be. And you're already fully transitioned into a Rider, though one unlike any I've heard of. What makes you different?"

Eragon could have easily panicked, but he didn't. If there was one person he could never hide anything from, it was Arya. "If I said, in this language, that I have memories of a future that no longer exists, would you believe me?"

Arya furrowed her brows. "I would believe you were either mad and believed what you were saying, or that your mind indeed possessed knowledge from another time. And I don't believe you to be mad. How many memories?"

"A thousand years, or thereabouts," Eragon answered readily. "I've already won this war. Now I'm forced to fight it again. If it is my Fate to endure everything a second time, I'm determined to take full advantage of my memories of the future past. Among them centuries of swordplay."

Arya nodded, taking this in her stride. "How odd it must be for you, to have such an old mind in such a young body."

Eragon shrugged. "I've adapted. And this new body I received is very suitable for my needs."

"There's food here, if you people still enjoy that sort of thing," Murtagh spoke up from the fire. "I seriously need to learn how to speak the Ancient Language as smooth as that? They make it sound like poetry and I don't even understand half the words."

"Fluency can be achieved in a few short months of intensive effort. Speaking like an Elf can take decades," Brom informed his second student.

Eragon and Arya took spots by the fire, eating the simple stew that, per Arya's dietary preferences, had no meat. When the four of them had finished, they remounted and took off east toward the Hadarac Desert.

The week it took to reach the Ramr River, the unofficial eastern border of the Empire, passed fretfully. Eragon left Murtagh to be trained by Brom wherever their busy schedules allowed, happily spending his time conversing with Arya. He found himself falling for her all over again, not just her beauty but her inner radiance and iron will. Part of him knew this wouldn't be healthy in the long run, holding a torch for a woman who at best only saw him as a friend and a Rider. Saphira was no help, making suggestive or flirty comments to Arya to try and set Eragon up. She found his awkward love for the elvish princess delightfully amusing.

They crossed the Ramr River, an ordeal that involved all but sedating the horses and Saphira ferrying the beasts across. Eragon elected to swim while allowing Arya and Brom to ride Saphira over while Murtagh took Thorn. Eragon funneled the irrational jealousy he felt at his father getting to share a saddle with Arya into his swimming. Eragon actually ended up beating the dragons to the other side.

Once they were out of the Empire proper and on the dry edges of the Hadarac, Arya paused. "We are outside Galbatorix's reach. May I now see the third egg?"

Eragon summoned the green egg from the space-fold. They'd informed Arya about the Eldunari. She took the information stoically and said it was a good thing that the Riders had such a resource to match Galbatorix. She had personally conversed with Umaroth, and seemed humbled by the experience.

Eragon handed the egg to Arya, waiting patiently.

Arya regarded the egg, before a curious light filled her eyes. "What…" she breathed, before the egg split open much as Thorn's had in Murtagh's grip. A green head stuck out, regarding the woman holding his shell with bright curiosity. Arya brought up her palm in a daze, and the dragon pressed his nose to her skin. She shuddered but didn't pass out at the rush of magic that accompanied the forming of the gedwëy ignasia and her bond with her dragon.

Eragon smiled at Arya as she regained her senses as her dragon crawled out of the wreckage of his egg. "Congratulations, Dragon Rider Arya," Eragon said formally.

She turned to him, an accusatory tilt to her eyebrows. "You knew."

"He hatched for you in the future I remember, I saw no reason it wouldn't happen again. Any ideas for names?"

Arya looked down at the dragon curled contently in her arms. "Firnen. His name is Firnen." Arya laughed out loud, a sound Eragon hadn't expected to hear outside the halls of Ellesmera. "Imagine if we'd stolen his egg instead of Saphira's! I'd have been a Rider for decades at this point!"

"Well, at least you're becoming one now and not in the aftermath of the war," Eragon said thoughtfully.

Brom coughed, drawing the two's attention. "Welcome to the club, Arya. I have nothing to teach you that you can't learn from Eragon or back in Ellesmera. Raise your dragon with care, and guard him closely. You'll find that life without him is hardly worth living."

Arya nodded, keeping a protective grip on the freshly-hatched Firnen.

Murtagh, who'd been read into the foreknowledge secret giving how often Arya and Eragon discussed it, gave a small whoop. "That makes Galbatorix: 1, the Varden: 3! And since Eragon and Saphira decided to cheat with magic, they're already fully prepped for combat. And Arya is already an accomplished warrior and magician. That leaves me and Thorn with a lot of catching up to do!"

Brom patted Murtagh on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll have you in good enough shape for the instructor waiting in Ellesmera to handle you. It's really only magic you need to work on, and that will only awaken itself with time. Other than that and Thorn reaching maturity, there's nothing we can do."

Eragon looked up at the sun and the circling forms of Saphira and Thorn. "Break's over. We need to get to Tronjheim fast and warn them about the Urgal invasion. If only I'd stopped to remove that ward from Durza before attacking!"

"No use crying over spilled ink, son. Now let us ride as if lives depended on our speed, because I'm afraid they do." Brom led the charge as they made for the Desert, orienting with the sun to get the right angle to cut through the southwestern quadrant of the massive wasteland.

Eragon showed them all his trick of drawing up reservoir water into a pit when they stopped for the night. The horses quaffed gallons, and Thorn and Saphira weren't much better. Once they'd all quenched their thirst, Eragon took a moment to scry Tronjheim. The city-mountain was still there, and that was good enough for Eragon at the moment.

They rode until long after nightfall, only taking a break so the horses wouldn't collapse from exhaustion. Eragon was laying his sleeping pallet when he felt a gentle probe to his mind. He turned and saw Arya crouched at the edge of camp. Indicating he should follow her, she walked up and over a dune. Shrugging, curious, Eragon followed his secret love.

Or perhaps not so secret. When Arya got him alone, she pierced him with a carefully neutral look. "What were we to each other, in this future that you came from?" She asked in the language it was impossible to directly lie in.

Eragon sighed and braced himself for heartache. "You were the first and only woman I ever loved. At first you saw me as just a child, and the lone free Rider besides. Romance was a distraction Alagaësia couldn't afford. Overtime, you came to see me for the man I became. But by then, it was too late. I'd already made the decision to move the base of the Riders outside the continent. We shared True Names and parted ways. We never even kissed, but I never got over you." Eragon poured his heart out honestly.

Arya seemed to consider his words with infinite patience. "And what now, Eragon-elda? Do you look at me and see the child now, a mere century to your millennium?"

Eragon sighed and put it all out there. "From now until the day I pass into the void, you shall own my heart. Keep it, reject it, break it like a toy. It is yours to do with as you please." Eragon felt the binding truth of the vow deep in his soul.

Arya looked taken aback at the declaration of love, especially made in the Ancient Language. She seemed to consider her next words with great care. "I cannot promise anything, because I do not know you the way you know me. A war is indeed no place for a budding romance. And I very recently lost a… dear friend. But if we're both still breathing when this coming war comes to an end… I will consider giving this a try. I owe you my life already, I shall see if I can give you my heart in exchange for yours."

Eragon hardly dared to believe his luck. It was a chance. Not a guarantee, but still more than he'd ever expected. "Then I shall do my utmost to ensure we both make it to the other side of this coming war."

Nodding, Arya glided past him back to camp as if the conversation had never happened. Eragon trudged down to lean against Saphira's side.

"To possibility," Eragon muttered to himself before shifting to his waking slumber.


Eragon and the band of young Riders entered the valley that hid the entrance to Tronjheim like devils were at their heels. And they almost were, if you counted Kull as demons.

It had taken a mere two days of hard riding to cross the bottom of the Hadarac and make it to the foothills of the Beors. Just as they found cause to celebrate, the party saw a line of Urgals far as the eye could see on the horizon. And Saphira was hard to miss from a distance.

What followed was a panicked cycle of hard riding and dozing in the saddle while the others led. They needed to reach the Varden and they had to do it yesterday. They covered leagues like Holcomb, Snowfire, and Tornac had grown wings or the Eldunari had cast some kind of acceleration spell.

There'd been a brief incident when a band of slavers tried to hassle them, but Eragon was a much harder man than the boy who'd let them all escape in another life. He snuffed them with one of the twelve death words and was done with it.

Day and night ceased to have any meaning. time slipping inexorably past. And with every league they covered, the Urgals seemed to come a mile closer. It wasn't a question of if they would be caught. It was a question of whether they'd be within reach of the Varden's soldiers when they were.

Deciding to try and buy them some time, Eragon cast a spell to raise a dense fog in their wake, to try and blind the Kull and Urgals hot on their heels. He left the Eldunari to sustain it and focused on running smoothly over the brambles and undergrowth of the valley's forest.

Saphira and Thorn flew directly overhead, the time for subtlety long past. If he weren't so reluctant to part ways with the steeds, Naruto would have suggested they all load up on the dragons and make for the hidden tunnel entrance by wing rather than foot. But he'd invested months of time into strengthening Holcomb and Snowfire, and Eragon knew Murtagh was just as sentimental over Tornac. They would reach the Varden together or not at all.

Arya clutched Firnen to her breast as she led them, having used this avenue of entrance many times over the years. Murtagh eyed the unscalable mountainsides and the fog behind them. "Guess it's too late to back out, huh?"

"Afraid so," Brom huffed. While greatly restored by Eragon's healing magic, he was still no spring chicken. "Not exactly a proper welcoming present, is it, a horde of Urgals on our heels?"

"We can help the fight once we have the reinforcements, what matters is reaching the door in time," Arya snapped.

They reached a lake with a waterfall. Leading them on the proper side of the lake to the right clifface. Eragon, sticking to ceremony, picked up a rock and banged it on the wall. "A warden of the Riders lacks passage," he shouted.

In an instant, an invisible seam opened and a contingent of Men and Dwarves appeared standing in a tunnel. To Eragon's horror, the Twins were present.

Acting without thinking, Eragon grabbed both the bald men by their necks and held them up against the wall. "What are you traitors still doing alive? Speak truth!" Eragon cast.

A dull look came to the pair's eyes. "Traitors? We are not traitors," one said tonelessly.

"For we cannot betray those we never truly loved." His brother finished.

Deciding he'd live with the consequences, Eragon snapped both their necks like twigs.

The Varden contingent seemed shocked, though one of the dwarfs had a near manic grin. "Oh, it pleased me to witness that. I'll let Ajihad know the tip was genuine, given how strong your reaction was."

Eragon shrugged. "Whatever. So are we being escorted to Tronjheim or shall we spend a few hours spilling Urgal blood?"

The dwarf, who seemed to be the senior officer, shook his head. "Aye, that would be a pleasant way to get to know each other. But I have my orders. The Dragon Riders and Brom are to be brought to Ajihad with haste. Our forces can handle things here."

Eragon nodded and turned to make sure everyone had entered the tunnel. Saphira had to all but crawl, but she fit. Brom saw the dwarf and nodded. "Ah, Orik. Lovely to see you again. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"Three dragons have just entered a tunnel of mine clan to join the Varden's forces. I can think of few circumstances more fortuitous than that," Orik replied. "Follow us on the horses." With that, he turned and had the Varden and dwarf forces fan out as an honor guard. With military discipline, they began to march down the tunnel lit by Erisdar, the heatless lanterns the Elves had gifted to the Dwarves millennia ago.

They walked through most of the night, a runner coming every now and then to collect a progress report and then run back where he came from. They paused to sup on bread and strong beer from a skin, the weary travelers all enjoying the nourishment. The dragons subsited on meat Eragon found buried in the saddlebags. Barely a snack for even Thorn, let alone Saphira.

They reached a change in the tunnel, where things started to get much more ornate. Eragon turned to Orik, who'd kept up a helpfully distracting line of conversation the whole walk. "Our Father and Tronjheim are ahead of us, yes?" Eragon asked in flawless Dwarvish.

Otik jumped. "You speak Dwarf?"

"I speak every language in Alagaësia," Eragon said honestly, not mentioning he'd also dabbled in some of the tongues from other continents.

"Impressive. Yes, Our Father and the city-mountain lie before us. If possible, could you mount your dragon, and have the boy do the same with his? Arya can't really ride her dragon yet. And do your best to look… inspiring." Otik instructed in the language of the people of stone.

Eragon shrugged and hopped into Saphira's saddle, his head almost brushing the ceiling. "Murtagh, switch from Tornac to Thorn. And try to think heroic thoughts, you're the new symbol of a free Alagaësia now."

Murtagh shrugged. "Warriors, magicians, celebrities, eh? The multifaceted life of a Dragon Rider." Nonetheless, he transferred from his steed to his dragon. Arya, sensing the point of what was coming, arranged Firnen on her shoulders, where he gleamed like a jeweled scarf. Brom willingly shuffled to the back of the party, keeping a hold of the reins for the horses.

Then they passed a few jeweled columns and statues and they entered the hollow mountain.

As with everything involving the Dwarves, the sense of scale had to be appreciated. The far side of the massive crater they found themselves in was a good ten miles away. In the center, a tower that looked small only in comparison to its surroundings jutted proudly into the air, looking like a half-melted candle of marble. And at the gates to the inside of the tower, the entire civilian population of the Varden seemed to have assembled. Men, women, children, all stared up at them.

Then Saphira let out a jubilant, rallying roar. The whole of Farthen Dûr seemed to echo with the sound. When ears stopped ringing, the applause started.

Eragon led his brother and sister-in-arms down the path to Tronjheim. He made sure to wave and smile to the crowd. He was sure his unusual appearance caused more than a few pause, but on Saphira's back he could be forgiven for looking odd. He was Eragon, Rider of Saphira, and he was a hero to these desperate people.

Their honor guard led them into Tronjheim, and they entered the central chamber. High above them, Isidar Mithrim, the Star Sapphire and the single largest gemstone in all of Dwarf culture, twinkled with a rosy light. Orik led the Riders down a side tunnel, Saphira again straining to fit, until they reached a door. With a swift knock and a heard "Enter,", Orik led them inside.

Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, Brom, and the dragons found themselves in a handsomely appointed two-story study. Seated behind an oaken desk was a man with the ebony skin of the Wandering Tribes. He carried an undeniable air of authority.

"Welcome to the newcomers. And to those I've already met, welcome back. I'm sure you all have quite the tale to tell. But allow me to introduce myself. I am Ajihad, sworn leader of the Varden."

Eragon bowed. "Eragon Bromson. No, my mother was not an Urgal."

Murtagh set his shoulders. "A son does not choose his father. I am Murtagh, son of Morzan, and I guarantee I hated him as much as you did."

Arya touched two fingers to her lips. "Ajihad. A pleasure to meet you again."

Brom shouldered his way past the dragons. "Ajihad, good to see you. Two questions: where's my ring and why were those blasted twins waiting for us at the entrance?"

Ajihad chuckled and reached into a drawer, pulling out Aren and holding it out for Brom to reclaim. "As straight to the point as always. Very well. I took your tip very seriously, and covertly launched an investigation. It turned up damning scraps but nothing conclusive. Then it occured to me that if you or your son were to see the Twins still alive, you just might… solve the problem your own way."

Otik chuckled while Eragon scratched his cheek. "I had them confess before snapping their necks. Orik can witness that."

Orik nodded. "It's true. They confessed just before the end."

"Then you have my thanks, Eragon, for solving a very thorny problem. The Twins had insinuated themselves deeply into the Varden's inner workings. Having them condemned would have been a political nightmare. Luckily, as a Rider, you have a certain amount of… leniency with the common folk. I'm not saying you can get away with murder, we can't afford another Galbatorix, but you can act with some small amount of impunity. That goes for all three of you."

"Now," Ajihad said, clapping. "I would very much like to hear the train of circumstances that led to three Dragon Riders before me. Please, spare no details."

Eragon mentally coordinated with his friends and then launched into a condensed tale of their adventures since Saphira had hatched. He kept the foreknowledge and Word a secret, but revealed the secret of the Eldunari and the power advantage they provided.

When he'd finished, Eragon went for a sip from the waterskin. Ajihad nodded and seemed to consider everything he'd heard for a second. "A truly fantastical tale. And yet it matches all the reports I've gotten over the past few months."

Eragon sighed and decided to drop the bad news. "I'm afraid there's something more recent to focus on. I read the minds of the Urgals following us. Galbatorix uncovered a tunnel entrance on the Western border of the Beors. They're planning to invade from underneath your feet. We may have less than a week before Tronjheim becomes a battleground."

Ajihad cursed and banged a fist on his desk. "Damn, that could have wiped us out with no warning. It's a very good thing you were listening, though I can't imagine they were thinking this in Common."

"I speak Urgal," Eragon said simply.

Ajihad nodded. "A surprisingly useful skill, I'm sure. You've given me a lot to think about. I was going to dismiss you for the day anyway. Consider Orik your tour guide. Simply ask and he'll provide insofar as my authority will allow. Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, you are all of course entitled to the Rider's quarters above Isidar Mithrim. Brom, we've kept your old rooms dusted. Your horses will be stabled with our very best, and of course Saphira, Thorn, and Firnen have as much freedom as you do. Relax for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, we'll have to assess Eragon and Murtagh for skill in magic and combat. Arya's skills are already well-known to us. The sooner I understand what you're capable of, the better I can use you. But that's for tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of the day, relax. You've covered more leagues in a week than some do their whole lives. The work begins tomorrow."

They nodded and bowed, before turning to take their leave, Orik a faithful shadow to them. He escorted them out to the open air outside Tronjheim, where Saphira and Thorn took off for the summit of the city-mountain. Firnen stuck on Arya's shoulder.

"How may I serve you first?" Orik asked.

Hearing a gurgle come from his stomach, Eragon said "A proper meal, to start. Then I feel like a bath. New clothes would be appreciated but not necessary. Then I think we'll go up to the dragon quarters and entertain ourselves up there."

Orik nodded, clapping. "Very well. Let us find the cooks and demand meat and bread from them!"

Eragon kept up a steady stream of dialogue with Orik in his native tongue, leaving Arya and Murtagh to bond for once. They went to the kitchens and were handed bowls of stew and fresh-baked bread with a small jar of honey. Arya picked out the chunks of meat and handed them to Firnen. "Why do you eat meat?" She asked Eragon after he'd finished telling Orik something about growing up on a farm.

Switching mental gears and languages, Eragon replied "I understand the Elvish avoidance of all meat, truly I do. But I enjoy the taste too much. It's the natural cycle, for the predator to eat prey. I choose to exercise my right to eat meat. If you can't agree with that, I ask that you at least respect it."

Arya nodded, a contemplative look in her eye. Once she was sure all the meat was fished out of her stew, she scarfed it down along with her portion of the bread.

After that, Orik led them to a particular tunnel filled with doors. "The bathing pools are inside. Leave your clothes outside and fresh ones will be delivered."

Nodding, Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya all entered their own bath. They spent a good half-hour just luxuriating in the warm salty water, washing away the sweat and grime of the road. They all emerged at around the same time, Arya in gear clearly fetched from her rooms in Tronjheim and the men from whatever stock was available of high quality and in their size. Eragon wore a shirt that was probably sized for a man like Fredric, the Varden's bear of a weapons master. And it was actually a little tight. The Eldunari had really given him a big body.

Orik found them and led them back outdoors. A small crowd was forming at the sight of the Dragon Riders, and without Saphira and Thorn to intimidate, the odds of being accosted were high.

The dragons landed. Eragon jumped into the saddle and leaned forward so Arya could slide in behind him. Before they could take off, an old crone broke through the line and grabbed his ankle.

Eragon recognized her even without a memory spell. Which meant the babe in her arms could only be Elva. His greatest shame.

"They told me to take care of her," the woman hissed. "But I'm old and weak. Bless her, Argetlam. Bless her for luck!"

Eragon reached down and laid the gedwëy ignasia on the baby girl's brow. "May good fortune rule over you, peace live in your heart, and the stars watch over you," he intoned solemnly, not mispronouncing a single word. Feeling the energy of the blessing leave him like a spell, Eragon nodded. "If any words can help her, it's those."

The crone nodded, looking like a great weight had been taken off her. Just as she was about to recover the babe, Saphira turned her head to look down at the girl. Touching her snout to the babe's brow, there was a flash of magic and when Saphira withdrew, the silvery mark of a gedwëy ignasia covered her forehead.

With that, Saphira and Thorn both took off.