Answers to reviews:

d8rkforcen1ght7: While George may have been a powerful Sith Lord and is basically a Grey Force-user, he hasn't learned that ability. I mean, Force healing was never a thing until Disney pulled it out of their asses. if it was a thing, Anakin could've learned it and saved his mother, hell he could've learned it to save his wife after going through his mother's death.

Jctherebel: thanks.

OechsnerC: Well, Brom's death did lead to character development for Eragon...

Wake up, Eragon. He stirred and groaned.

I need your help. Something is wrong! Eragon tried to ignore the voice and return to sleep.

Arise!

Go away, he grumbled.

Eragon! A bellow rang in the cave. He bolted upright, fumbling for his bow. Saphira was crouched over Brom, who had rolled off the ledge and was thrashing on the cave floor. His face was contorted in a grimace; his fists were clenched. Eragon rushed over, fearing the worst. He alerted George and Murtagh and together they restrained him. Eragon's side burned sharply as the old man spasmed. Together they restrained Brom until his convulsions ceased. Then they carefully returned him to the ledge.

Eragon touched Brom's forehead. The skin was so hot that the heat could be felt an inch away. "Get me water and a cloth," he said worriedly. Murtagh brought them, and Eragon gently bathed Brom's face, trying to cool him down. With the cave quiet again, he noticed the sun shining outside. How long did we sleep? he asked Saphira.

A good while. I've been watching Brom for most of that time. He was fine until a minute ago when he started thrashing. I woke you once he fell to the floor.

He stretched, wincing as his ribs twinged painfully. A hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Brom's eyes snapped opened and fixed a glassy stare on Eragon. "You!" he gasped. "Bring me the wineskin!"

"Brom?" exclaimed Eragon, pleased to hear him talk. "You shouldn't drink wine; it'll only make you worse."

"Bring it, boy—just bring it . . . ," sighed Brom. His hand slipped off Eragon's shoulder.

"I'll be right back—hold on." Eragon dashed to the saddlebags and rummaged through them frantically. "I can't find it!" he cried, looking around desperately.

"Here, take mine," said Murtagh, holding out a leather skin.

Eragon grabbed it and returned to Brom. "I have the wine," he said, kneeling. Murtagh retreated to the cave's mouth so George, Eragon, Brom, and Saphira could have privacy.

Brom's next words were faint and indistinct. "Good..." He moved his arm weakly. "Now . . . wash my right hand with it."

"What—" Eragon started to ask.

No questions! I haven't time." Mystified, Eragon unstoppered the wineskin and poured the liquid onto Brom's palm. He rubbed it into the old man's skin, spreading it around the fingers and over the back of the hand. "More," croaked Brom. Eragon splashed wine onto his hand again. He scrubbed vigorously as a brown dye floated off Brom's palm, then stopped, his mouth agape with amazement. There on Brom's palm was the gedwëy ignasia.

"You're a Rider?" he asked incredulously.

A painful smile flickered on Brom's face. "Once upon a time that was true . . . but no more. When I was young . . . younger than you are now, I was chosen . . . chosen by the Riders to join their ranks. While they trained me, I became friends with another apprentice . . . Morzan, before he was a Forsworn." Eragon gasped—that had been over a hundred years ago. "But then he betrayed us to Galbatorix . . . and in the fighting at Dorú Areaba—Vroengard's city—my young dragon was killed. Her name . . . was Saphira."

Why didn't you tell us this before?" asked Eragon softly.

Brom laughed. "Because... there was no need to." He stopped. His breathing was labored; his hands were clenched. "l am old, my friends... so old. Though my dragon was killed, my life has been longer than most. You don't know what it is to reach my age, look back, and realize that you don't remember much of it; then to look forward and know that many years still lie ahead of you. . . . After all this time I still grieve for my Saphira . . . and hate Galbatorix for what he tore from me." His feverish eyes drilled into Eragon as he said fiercely, "Don't let that happen to you. Don't! Guard Saphira with your life, for without her it's hardly worth living."

"You shouldn't talk like this. Nothing's going to happen to her," said Eragon, worried.

Brom turned his head to the side. "Perhaps I am rambling." His gaze passed blindly over Murtagh, then he focused on Eragon. Brom's voice grew stronger. "Eragon! I cannot last much longer. This . . . this is a grievous wound; it saps my strength. I have not the energy to fight it. . . . Before I go, will you take my blessing?"

"Everything will be all right," said Eragon, tears in his eyes. "You don't have to do this."

"It is the way of things . . . I must. Will you take my blessing?" Eragon bowed his head and nodded, overcome. Brom placed a trembling hand on his brow. "Then I give it to you. May the coming years bring you great happiness." He motioned for Eragon to bend closer. Very quietly, he whispered seven words from the ancient language, then even more softly told him what they meant. "That is all I can give you. . . . Use them only in great need."

Brom turned to George who crouched down to one knee, allowing Brom to grab his shoulder and pull him close so he was whispering in his ear. These next words were for George alone after all.

"Promise me...that you will be good to her...protect her...be what she needs." Brom whispered and George jumped a little, knowing who Brom was talking about but Brom's grip tightened. Cherish her...always...protect them both.

"I promise." George said and repeated the words in the ancient Language, at least what he knew of it so far to promise Brom.

Brom's hand fell from George's shoulder and he turned his gaze to the ceiling. "And now," he murmured, "for the greatest adventure of all..."

Weeping, Eragon held his hand, comforting him as best he could. George stood and closed his eyes. He wasn't the type to weep for the death of other. He had watched many of his fellow Sith perish without shedding a tear for them, but Brom was a dear friend to him and it caused pain inside the former Sith lord's heart.

Eragon's vigil was unwavering and steadfast, unbroken by food or drink. As the long hours passed, a gray pallor crept over Brom, and his eyes slowly dimmed. His hands grew icy; the air around him took on an evil humor. Powerless to help, Eragon could only watch as the Ra'zac's wound took its toll.

The evening hours were young and the shadows long when Brom suddenly stiffened. Eragon called his name and cried for Murtagh's help, but they could do nothing. As a barren silence dampened the air, Brom locked his eyes with Eragon's. Then contentment spread across the old man's face, and a whisper of breath escaped his lips. And so it was that Brom the storyteller died.

With shaking fingers, Eragon closed Brom's eyes and stood. Saphira raised her head behind him and roared mournfully at the sky, keening her lamentation. Once she was done, George spoke. "We should bury him." His two companions nodded, and with Murtagh's help, they took the body to the top of the hill and buried him there.

They laid Brom inside the unfinished sandstone vault with his staff and sword. Stepping back, Eragon again shaped the stone with magic. It joined over Brom's motionless face and flowed upward into a tall faceted spire. As a final tribute, Eragon set runes into the stone:

HERE LIES BROM

Who was a Dragon Rider

And like a father

To us.

May his name live on in glory.

Murtagh left them to mourn. George and Eragon stood there, looking at Brom's tomb with Saphira behind her two boys. She rubbed her head against them and they hugged her snout as they mourned for their friend. They stood like living statues until evening, when light faded from the land.

That night Eragon dreamed of the imprisoned woman again.

He could tell that something was wrong with her. Her breathing was irregular, and she shook—whether from cold or pain, he did not know. In the semi darkness of the cell, the only thing clearly illuminated was her hand, which hung over the edge of the cot. A dark liquid dripped from the tips of her fingers. Eragon knew it was blood.

The next morning they rose, the solemn atmosphere still remained. Murtagh asked if Brom was the storyteller Brom, which Eragon confirmed was indeed him. George rested his back against the wall, listening to Murtagh explain that he was 'running away' from the Empire. George briefly narrowed his eyes at that, sensing something not truthful to the story, but continued listenting.

Eragon then told George that he can now ride Cadoc while Eragon rides Snowfire, they had agreed to keep George's dragon form a secret from Murtagh, this displeased Saphira who wanted another flight with him but George says eventually they'll have another but not right now. George said he won't give any origins on his Lightsabers to Murtagh, just that he's from a place far away from these lands. Murtagh accepted this.

"So what do we do now?" Murtagh asked during lunch as they considered their next move.

"We?" George asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Murtagh glanced at him. "You won't want to stay here for much longer. If the Ra'zac are nearby, Brom's tomb will be like a beacon for them." Eragon had not thought of that. "And Eragon, your ribs are going to take time to heal. I know you can defend yourself with magic, and you have George, but a second pair of hands could help. I'm asking to travel with you, at least for the time being. But I must warn you, the Empire is searching for me. There'll be blood over it eventually."

Eragon looked at George, who nodded. Eragon turned to Murtagh. " "I don't care if the entire army is searching for you. You're right. We do need help. But we have to warn you, Galbatorix just might send the entire army after us You won't be any safer with Saphira, George, and me than if you were on your own."

"I know that," said Murtagh with a quick grin. "But all the same, it won't stop me."

"Welcome to the group, then." George joked as he placed his attached Lightsabers onto his belt.

Saphira entered the cave, giving George a brief nuzzle, then laid beside Eragon. She laid her big blue head on the floor and asked, Are you well again?

Not quite.

I miss the old one.

As do I... I never suspected that he was a Rider. Brom! He really was an old man—as old as the Forsworn. Everything he taught me about magic he must have learned from the Riders themselves.

Saphira shifted slightly. I knew what he was the moment he touched me at your farm.

And you didn't tell me? Or George? Why?

He asked me not to, she said simply.

Eragon decided not to make an issue of it. Saphira never meant to hurt him. Brom kept more than that secret, he told her, then explained about Zar'roc and Murtagh's reaction to it. I understand now why Brom didn't explain Zar'roc's origins when he gave it to me. If he had, I probably would have run away from him at the first opportunity.

You would do well to rid yourself of that sword, she said with distaste. I know it's a peerless weapon, but you would be better off with a normal blade rather than Morzan's butchery tool.

Perhaps. Saphira, where does our path go from here? Murtagh offered to come with us. I don't know his past, but he seems honest enough. Should we go to the Varden now? Only I don't know how to find them. Brom never told us.

Saphira then told Eragon and George of a contact Brom had in Gil'ead. Eragon decided they will head there then and they told Murtagh who told them he'll leave them once they reach the Varden, when asked why he said it was for personal reasons and he spoke no more of it,causing George and Eragon to glance at each other.

They doused the fire and got the horses ready. George, Eragon, and Saphira went to the top of the hill where Brom's tomb was. They stood together before Brom's grave and paid their last respects. I can't believe he's gone . . . forever. As Eragon turned to depart, Saphira snaked out her long neck to touch the tomb with the tip of her nose. Her sides vibrated as a low humming filled the air.

The sandstone around her nose shimmered like gilded dew, turning clear with dancing silver highlights. George and Eragon watched in wonder as tendrils of white diamond twisted over the tomb's surface in a web of priceless filigree. Sparkling shadows were cast on the ground, reflecting splashes of brilliant colors that shifted dazzlingly as the sandstone continued to change. With a satisfied snort, Saphira stepped back and examined her handiwork.

The sculpted sandstone mausoleum of moments before had transformed into a sparkling gemstone vault—under which Brom's untouched face was visible. Eragon gazed with yearning at the old man, who seemed to be only sleeping. "What did you do?" he asked Saphira with awe.

I gave him the only gift I could. Now time will not ravage him. He can rest in peace for eternity.

Thank you. Eragon put a hand on her side, as did George on her other, and the trio left together...

And that's it for this chapter. I've decided to be nice and give you all a triple update.