The five of them landed on the top of Isidar Mithrim, which proved remarkably resilient to dragon claws and scratching.

Arya turned to regard Eragon and Saphira after exiting the saddle. "What did you two do to that childe?"

Saphira blinked. Eragon showed her the path. I gave her the strength to follow it. The rest is up to her.

Eragon nodded. "Just be grateful I'm so fluent in the Ancient Language. Last time I mangled a conjugation and ended up cursing her. She was forced to know the pain of everyone for a mile around her and felt compelled to save them. It nearly drove her mad. And forced her to grow unnaturally fast. She went from a babe to a five-year-old within a few months."

Arya shuddered. "The danger of a misworded spell. Intent can only make up for meaning so far."

Murtagh stopped admiring the giant hunk of priceless rock that formed the floor of the Rider quarters. "So! How do you want to pass our one free day for the foreseeable future?"

With a grin, Eragon summoned a wineskin he'd tucked in the space-fold. "Drinking games?"

Arya seemed hesitant but Murtagh was all onboard. Eragon sat them all down and explained the rules of the game he had in mind. "It's a guessing game. You guess a fact about one of the other players. If you're right, they drink. If you're wrong, you drink. Sound simple enough?"

The other two nodded, the dragons arranging themselves to watch this fresh entertainment. Eragon settled on Arya. "You killed your first Urgal before you were twenty."

Arya obediently took a swig from the wineskin. Murtagh went next. He seemed to think hard before turning to Eragon. "You learned how sex works by breeding farm animals as a kid."

Blushing profusely, Eragon drank.

Arya turned to Murtagh. "You had an imaginary friend as a child," she stated with confidence.

Murtagh nodded and drank.

They passed an hour like that, until the wineskin was empty. All three were delightfully buzzed and giggling. Murtagh for whatever reason thought it would be a good idea to challenge the heavier, taller Eragon to a wrestling match. Eragon enjoyed the physical struggle of pinning his brother repeatedly. Arya found the whole thing hilarious, if her peals of laughter were anything to go by.

The three ended up sprawled on the floor, looking up at the pale blue sky visible above Farthen Dûr. "What happens after the battle?" Murtagh asked quietly.

Eragon considered both logically and using his foreknowledge. "The three of us head to the Elvish capital of Ellesmera so you two can finish your training as Dragon Riders. I have business there as well. Then we return to the Varden as soon as the war starts. And then we… win a war."

Arya sighed. "I've lived the past twenty years almost identically, ferrying Saphira from the Varden to Du Weldenvarden and back. Now things are going to start happening so fast. Within two years, this could all be over."

Eragon nodded. "And then we rebuild the Dragon Riders with the eggs from the Vault of Souls."

Murtagh sighed. "Describe Ristvak'skul," he asked dreamily.

Eragon spent the hours until dinner painting pictures with words, describing the wonders of the Rider city. When they'd sobered up a little, Saphira and Thorn transported them down to ground level. The whole of Tronjheim seemed to be buzzing with news of Eragon and Saphira's blessing. Eragon heard that Elva was slated to be either the next Queen or a great magician, perhaps even a hero in the coming war. The last was just ridiculous. The war would likely be over while she was still in swaddling clothes. Arya led them by memory to the kitchens and they had a quick dinner before retreating back to the roof of the city-mountain. They all picked their own cave and settled down to sleep, exhausted after the last week they'd had.

Eragon woke when he sensed a human female enter the Rider's quarters. With a quick scan, Eragon realized it was Nasuada. Mentally nudging Murtagh and Arya awake, the three Riders emerged from their cave beds with their dragons.

Nasuada had all her father's strength and was also possessed of a youthful vigor and certain girlish softness. She was striking in a dress and her hair bound in braids. She bore a tray bearing three different meals. "Greetings, honored Riders. I am Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad. I volunteered to bring you breakfast and remind you that you're required at the training grounds at your earliest convenience."

Arya sighed and smiled gently. Firnen really brought out her soft side. "Nasuada, I've known you all your life. Dispense with the formalities."

Nasuada grinned. "You're the one who taught me that courtesy was the highest value."

Eragon knocked Murtagh with his elbow; the boy had not stopped gaping at Nasuada since he'd gotten a good look at her. Recovering himself, Murtagh bowed as low as he would for the Queen. "Pleasure to meet you, Nasuada. I'm Murtagh, Rider of Thorn."

Nasuada nodded politely at the man just a little older than her. "Pleasure to meet you, Murtagh. For what it's worth, you are not your father. So long as you don't become him, I see no reason you can't be accepted with open arms."

Murtagh nodded dumbly, as if she'd sung what she'd said in a voice of golden chimes. Ah, the first stirrings of love were something to behold. Given that he wasn't on the receiving end this time around, Eragon found it endlessly entertaining. "And I'm Eragon, son of Brom."

Nasuada nodded and tilted her head. "If you don't mind my asking, Eragon, you certainly have a… unique appearance. Why is that?"

"I used magic to mold my body to more accurately reflect the five races of Alagaësia. The skin is where I pay tribute to the Urgals," Eragon explained.

Nasuada nodded. "What a splendid idea. Well, I've brought you your breakfast and delivered my message. My duty is complete." Placing the tray on the floor, she curtseyed to the three of them and their dragons, before making for the staircase that led down into the winding innards of Tronjheim.

Eragon rolled his eyes. "She carried a heavy tray up all those steps of her own accord? This is either a move by Ajihad or Nasuada herself," he stated.

"She is getting the right age to start playing at Varden politics," Arya mused, sitting and taking her vegetarian meal and a plate of cubed meat for Firnen.

Murtagh blinked. "Did we meet the same woman?" He asked dazedly.

"Depends. I met Ajihad's daughter. You looked like you'd met the goddess of love and beauty," Eragon said in a teasing tone. What were little siblings for if not annoying their elder siblings?

Murtagh sighed dreamily. "Such carriage, such exotic grace. She was like a queen among swine with us."

Eragon sighed. "You might have a chance, in a political marriage if nothing else. But that comes after we kill Galbatorix. Now eat up. You get to be beaten to a pulp in a duel while I have to show my magic prowess before fighting Arya."

"And I'm sure that's such a burden to your mind," Murtagh fired back in retaliation for the Nasuada teasing.

"That is neither here nor there," Eragon waved off.

Once they were all fed, the dragons served hunks of meat that teams of dwarves brought up shortly after Nasuada departed, they mounted up. Arya guided them down to the training grounds, on the other side of Tronjheim from where they'd entered Farthen Dûr. Saphira shook the ground when she landed, and so did Thorn to a lesser extent. The soldiers of the Varden and dwarves looked up from their drilling for a moment before resuming. Eragon and Arya hopped to the ground without fear of the height while Murtagh dismounted Thorn, who was still roughly the same size as a large horse.

A giant of a man Eragon recognized from his memories approached them, wearing a big stinking oxhide. "Was told to expect you. I'm Fredric, weapons master of the Varden. I'm to see what Murtagh has got."

Murtagh nodded and drew Zar'roc. "Do we just have Eragon dull our blades and go at it? I'm eager to prove my worth."

Fredric shuddered. "Never was comfortable with magic. If you don't have the control to stop a deadly attack before it hits, you shouldn't be waving that sword around to begin with. Now prepare yourself, young pup!" Fredric drew his broadsword that was almost as big as Murtagh himself.

Eragon, Arya, and the dragons watched impassively as Murtagh and Fredric dueled with live steel. Murtagh managed to maintain passable control of his blade even as he fought back a master at his craft as best he could. The duel ended with Murtagh getting a lucky opening and bringing the tip of Zar'roc to rest over Fredric's heart.

Fredric rose a brow and clapped after sheathing his massive blade. "Very good! Whoever trained you knew what he was doing. I've got nothing to teach you. I'll report as much to Ajihad." Turning to the other Dragon Riders, Fredric rubbed his chin. "This, I'll need to see for myself. Unless you can tell me right now, Arya, that he's not in your league."

Arya nodded and drew her sword and began to dull it with magic. Eragon held out a hand for Zar'roc and did the same. The two cleared their own space.

And then they began to dance.

Arya and Eragon had two distinct styles, but both favored efficiency over everything. Neither committed to a big, dramatic stroke to end the battle. Both were patient and waited through dozens of blows for that one opening to seize that could turn the tide of the duel. It was almost like they were having a conversation as their blades crossed again and again.

It ended with Eragon managing to take advantage of his longer reach to disarm Arya and hold the edge of Zar'roc to her throat. They were close enough their breaths mingled, and Eragon almost got drunk on the scent of pine sap. Blinking, Eragon withdrew and became aware of thunderous applause.

The whole yard was cheering and whooping at the show the two supernatural fighters had provided. Fredric raved off to the side. Merely removing the magical barrier to the Elvish blade, Eragon handed the red sword back to his brother. The sooner he got to Ellesmera and could forge a new sword from the brightsteel hidden under the Menoa tree, the better for everyone. Eragon was a swordsman, not an archer or pure magic fighter. It felt wrong to go into combat without the weight of a blade at his side.

Brom emerged from the crowd. "Well, I think we can report to Ajihad that you're both competent at swordsmanship. We can test your archery just to be thorough. As for magic, I let him know that you, Eragon, surpassed me while Murtagh has yet to unlock it."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "You look tired, father. Did you get any sleep?"

"No, as it happens. Once I was done sorting out the mess they'd made of my rooms, I tracked down the little magician's club the Varden has, Du Vrangr Gata. I spent the night convincing those idiots that in the absence of the Twins, I'm the clear successor. We disagreed… long into the night."

Eragon sighed. "Let me guess, a sorceress named Trianna gave you the most trouble."

"Yes, as it happens. Entitled twat, but she's the most powerful of the lot so we need her. Once she realized she wasn't going to argue her way to the leadership position, she put on her bedroom eyes." Brom harrumphed. "Now, really, what kind of man does she take me for?"

"Probably the usual empty-headed stock that think with what's between their legs instead of between their ears she's used to," Eragon joked.

Orik emerged from the crowd. "Mine Uncle requests an audience with you, Eragon Argetlam."

Eragon blinked. "King Hrothgar? Just me or is Saphira invited too?"

Orik hesitated, eyeing the giant sapphire lizard dubiously. "He was not clear."

"Saphira, come. We have an audience with a king," Eragon instructed. "I'll test my archery later. You guys hang out here, I'll come back right after." With that, Eragon gestured Orik to lead him and Saphira.

As they walked through the tunnels beneath Tronjheim, Eragon asked "Any tips for not souring your uncle's opinion of Dragon Riders any further than Galbatorix already managed?"

Orik considered it as his stout legs ate up the distance. "Keep your sentences short and to the point. He can't stand all the verbal finery inherent to political talk. Speak to him man to man, and you should do fine. And I highly recommend Saphira not break anything."

Then they were at the doors to the Dwarf Throne Room. The king's guard slammed their pollocks on the ground, and the door opened silently on perfectly-oiled hinges.

Eragon and Saphira entered the heart of Dwarvish power in Alagaësia. Lining the path to the throne were two rows of thrones, most of them filled with a shockingly life-like semblance of a Dwarvish king of past. Saphira dutifully watched her step and tail.

Eragon and Saphira soon reached the throne, on which sat Hrothgar. Wearing the mixed finery and armor of a dwarf royal, the ancient warhammer Volund laid across his lap, the dwarf seemed ancient even by the standards of his race. Still, he carried himself with quiet dignity and the strength of one half his apparent age.

"I am told you speak mine language," Hrothgar said gruffly.

Eragon bowed respectfully and nodded. "As can Saphira. She's as much part of this conversation as you or me."

"Is that so?" Hrothgar turned to consider Saphira. "Tell me, Saphira, what do you think of mine hospitality to your Rider since he arrived?"

Saphira answered a bit stiffly but fluently directly into Hrothgar's mind. "Both you and Ajihad have been the kindest hosts we've ever enjoyed the care of. I am most grateful both for myself and on behalf of the aid given my Rider."

Hrothgar chuckled. "To think my kind consider you to be naught but dumb animals. Here is a dragon taken the time to learn Dwarvish. This is truly an age of miracles."

Hrothgar turned to regard Eragon. "Do you know why I requested to see you, not Morzanson or the elf?"

Eragon shook his head no.

"Because based on all accounts I've received from my agents, you're the one who carried the leadership of the new Riders. Why is that, and not Arya or even the old man Brom?"

Eragon considered his options and settled on blind honesty. "There was a magical accident involving time. I either woke up a thousand years in the past or woke up with a thousand years of memories from the future. In either case, Arya and my father defer to my authority because, whatever my technical age, I am still the Father of Riders."

Hrothgar rose a brow. "Interesting… Assuming you aren't mad. Tell me, did Galbatorix die in this potential future?"

"Yes. And with all the preparation we've done, killing him in this time should prove almost easy," Eragon said solemnly.

Hrothgar broke out laughing. "Easy, he says. I like you, Eragon Timeless. We need that kind of guts. Hot red blood, that's what will win this war, not scribbles of ink on treaties and war movements. You are dismissed. Give mine regards to my nephew."

"Of course, King Hrothgar," Eragon agreed. Turning, he and Saphira left the royal chamber.


Eragon jerked awake when he felt a panicked human enter the Rider quarters. Rousing his fellows with mental prods, Eragon leapt to the floor of Isidar Mithrim. "Ajihad wants us immediately?" He asked the panicked youth.

The boy nodded up at Eragon's towering height. Eragon reached into his pouch and flicked the boy a crown. "You've done a good job. Now go do the next one you're supposed to do."

Nodding, the boy silently ran for the entrance back to Tronjheim, technically never having spoken. Eragon turned to Arya and Murtagh, who were sleepily walking over. "The Urgals are coming. We're to join Ajihad for the war planning. Get dressed, bring everything, we might not have a chance to come back up here."

Nodding, both returned to their cave beds to grab their weapons. Eragon merely meditated and checked with the Eldunari to ensure Umaroth and the rest were ready to act at a moment's notice.

Saphira and Thorn bore them down and followed them on foot through the tunnels of the Dwarf capital. They reached the door for Ajihad's study and the guards opened it wide.

Ajihad, Brom, Orik, and a man Eragon recognized as Jörmundur, Ajihad's second-in-command for military affairs, were all clustered around a map detailing the Beors and more importantly the tunnels underneath them in great detail.

The men looked up and nodded. "Good, you're here. Your tip proved spot on, Eragon. Hrothgar's scouts found a half-dead dwarf that claimed to see Urgals moving through the tunnels. If his dying words can be believed, the whole of Galbatorix's Urgal army could be here within 48 hours."

Eragon grit his teeth. "Durza is controlling their war chiefs with black magic. If we can manage to kill the damn Shade, the Urgals should act like they're waking from a trance. They'll dissolve into chaos and retreat rather than keep up a pointless fight."

"The trick is getting the damn thing to sit still long enough for one of us to get a good stab through his black heart," Ajihad frowned. He turned to regard his own sword, which bore a scratch from when he'd come close to ending the Shade himself.

"Arya and I are the fastest, we have the best bet. Now it's just making him take the field rather than waiting for his horde of Urgals to drown us," Eragon mused, biting his lip.

It was Arya who came up with the solution. "Use me as bait. He'll come to recapture me, he won't be able to resist."

Eragon fought his every protective instinct and considered Arya's proposition logically. "That could work. But bait how? Kept safe in a tower or out on the front lines?"

"Front lines. He'll try and ambush me when my back is turned. I got very familiar with how he likes to play with his prey," Arya said, the horrors of her months-long torture nowhere to be seen in her eyes. She had either put it behind her or was majorly repressing.

Jörmundur frowned. "Okay, so we set up a trap around Arya for when Durza comes to take her. But there's still the small matter of thousands of Urgals coming for us as we speak."

Murtagh set his shoulders. "This is what we've trained for. We'll handle however many Urgals it takes, even if we have to slaughter every last one before Durza shows his ugly face. We have three Dragon Riders, that should certainly do well for morale."

"Murtagh has a point. So, how will the actual battle be fought?" Brom posed to the table.

Eragon decided to save time and skip to the plan they'd used in his future. "Collapse certain tunnels to funnel the Urgals to key points. Keep an ear out for anyone digging up underneath Tronjheim. Basically hammer our forces against there's until one side breaks. And it won't be us."

Orik nodded. "Eragon speaks sense. But we'll have to carefully coordinate with mine clan's tunnel experts. Collapse too few and the Urgals could emerge where we don't want. Collapse too many and Tronjheim could fall under its own weight. These tunnels are a maze, I can't believe the Urgals learned to navigate them unassisted."

Eragon sneered. "Those drajl Twins are probably to thank for their ease of movement. They must have fed Durza the information before they passed."

Ajihad frowned. "If killing them sooner could have prevented this…"

"Don't go there, commander," Jörmundur siad, laying a hand on Ajihad's shoulder.

They discussed the exact details and distribution of the war materiel, and the evacuation of the women and children. Eragon was of the opinion that if they knew how to fire a bow they should at least have the right to volunteer, but knew such a 'progressive' idea wouldn't fly with a bunch of human men. He could sympathize with the chip on Arya's shoulder. After the egalitarian attitude of the future and the elves, treating a person as weak and inferior just because they didn't have a set of balls seemed ludicrous.

War planning done, they left to rouse the city-mountain and get the armies of Man and Dwarf ready to face a horde of Urgralgra.

Eragon and Arya helped by using magic to collapse key tunnels and speeding up the construction of barricades and spikes aimed at the openings they planned the Urgals to stream out of. Murtagh settled for strapping into the armor Hrothgar and Ajihad had scrounged up for him.

Once Eragon had done everything he could reasonably be expected to do to help, he slid into his own set of armor Orik had given him. He had no idea where the dwarves had found armor scaled for his 7' foot plus frame, but they had. Once he was armored from head to toe, it was time to do the same for Saphira. The dragon armor Hrothgar had found was a bit small for Saphira, but it was better than just her scales against arrows and Urgal arms.

Arya had her own Elvish armor, which she strapped on over her usual leathers. It was decided that Brom would coordinate Du Vrangr Gata from the Rider quarters and keep an eye on the infant Firnen. Though she knew he'd be safe up there, it was clear Arya would prefer her dragon be by her side, even at his current pitiful size.

Then it was just a waiting game. Hurry up and wait, as it were. This was the awkward time when a man could fall asleep standing up in his armor if he weren't careful. Eragon kept himself occupied by reciting memorized poetry to himself or calculating prime numbers. Saphira reiterated lessons in Urgralgra to herself.

Finally, after hours of just stewing, Eragon sensed the first Urgals brush the edge of his senses. "Here they come," he said, a scout soon running out of the tunnel substantiating the news. The hordes of trained men and dwarves readied themselves for an invasion force out of a nightmare.

There was no light but for torches and the fires keeping the pitch hot. So it was shadowy and smokey when the first Urgal emerged from the tunnel and roared a challenge to the Varden.

Eragon got him with his own bow he'd sung from a tree in the Spine after his transformation.

The Urgal ram collapsed from the headshot, only to be swallowed by a teeming contingent of Urgals. At a shouted order, the cauldrons of pitch were upended and set aflame. That kept the Urgals from coming for a few minutes, but fires die down eventually.

Raising his fist as the Urgals drew ever closer to the Varden's infantry, Eragon roared "For Alagaësia!"

"For Alagaësia!" Cheered the battalion of men at the mouth of the tunnel. And then the two sides met and blood began to fly.

Eragon used the words of Death after using the Word to remove their wards. A ring of dead Urgals began to surround him, any ram that he laid eyes on dying with nary a whimper. He longed to fight, even with his bare hands if necessary, but this was more efficient.

Murtagh and Arya were locked in their own conflicts, both handling them as well as could be expected. There was a small explosion and an Urgal corpse went sent smoking away from Murtagh. "So that's how you do magic!" He called out humorously. Them he and Thorn were sucked back into the fray.

Hours passed, the death toll stacking higher and higher. The Men and Dwarves began to wane, exhaustion sapping their power, while the Urgals had endless reinforcements. They had the numbers, it was that simple.

Finally, when the night seemed darkest, that's when Eragon sensed a dark presence appear behind him. He whipped around, his eyes tracking what was happening with adrenaline sharpened eyes.

Durza had appeared directly behind Arya. He had his sword out ready to slice her across the back, much as he'd done to Eragon in another life. At the mere thought of Arya having to endure the Obliterator, Eragon wordlessly cast a spell.

The world seemed to slow, or maybe Eragon was just moving faster. Rushing over, Eragon muttered the Word and disenchanted all Durza's wards. Then, acting decisively, Eragon thrust his hand into Durza's chest. Feeling the lump of pumping flesh in his fingers, Eragon ripped the Shade's heart right out.

Time resumed its normal pace, and Eragon almost collapsed as the sheer cost of slowing down time for a few seconds hit him. Then Durza's skin dissolved until it was clear as glass. The spirits possessing him roiled inside the shell before they burst free and were scattered to the four winds.

Arya turned around in time to see Durza's body explode with Eragon directly between her and the blast. Eragon staggered from the force of the explosion and the exhaustion from his wordless spell to slow time.

"You saved me," Arya mused as she held up Eragon.

"I consider this as making us even," Eragon joked with her.

The Urgals had reversed their charge the moment the spirits of Durza had been freed. The Varden and Dwarven army didn't bother to pursue. The Urgals could find their own damn way out of the Beors.

All told, almost a fifth of the Varden and Dwarf forces died in the Battle of Farthen Dûr. Eragon swore he would help with the clean-up right away. Just as soon as he got some sleep…