Chapter Twenty-Six: The Blacksmith

Murtagh couldn't help but grin at the stunned expression on Nasuada's face. Though he hadn't known her long, he'd never seen her look so surprised.

They were currently talking via a scrying mirror in Murtagh's quarters. Brom was present as well to give the young leader of the Varden an understanding of current events, but he and Oromis had agreed it would be best to teach Eragon and Murtagh how to report to their allies by example. This was all very new to them, after all.

"Another egg?" Nasuada breathed. "Truly?"

"Indeed," Murtagh nodded. "It was very well-hidden. It seems the Dragon Riders of old did not go as quietly into the night as Galbatorix was led to believe."

He knew of course there were things he was not allowed to talk about. The Eldunari, as well as Oromis and Glaedr's existence had to be kept a secret. Murtagh wasn't a fan of all the cloak-and-dagger secrecy, but he understood why it was needed.

"Clearly," she shook her head and laughed. "This is wonderful news. I'm glad another dragon has escaped Galbatorix's clutches, but on the other hand we've no idea who it will hatch for and when."

"It's true. It's entirely possible the egg might not hatch in our lifetime, but then again, there's a chance it will," Brom grunted. "Islanzadi and I are already discussing how to go about moving the egg from one city to another as we did with Thorn and Saphira's eggs. It's likely we'll send it to and from the Varden with at least one of our Riders."

Nasuada pursed her lips. "So the plan currently is to parade the egg through Du Weldenvarden first, and then bring it to the Varden?"

"Yes."

"I approve of the plan," she nodded to herself. She studied Murtagh closely and glanced at his teacher. "Brom, might I have a word with Murtagh alone?"

Brom glanced from Nasuada to the young Rider and tilted his head before leaving the room. When the door closed, Murtagh looked at her curiously.

Nasuada studied him for a few moments, and the smile on her face became more…genuine? He wasn't sure how to put it. "You seem lighter. Being in Du Weldenvarden has done you much good."

"I do feel a lot better," he admitted. "My teachers have said they might be able to heal my back. It will take time, but I could regain my full strength."

"I'm relieved to hear it. We were worried for you."

Murtagh pursed his lips. "Nasuada, when last we spoke, I was—"

She held a hand up to stop him. Her expression was understanding and warm. "There is nothing to forgive, Red Rider. You have suffered much, and you are hardly the first person to lose themselves to grief. The important thing is you have decided to continue your duties despite the hardship."

"Still. Thank you for refusing to let me wallow," Murtagh cracked a smirk. "Thorn said you would have made a fierce dragon."

She laughed and the sound pleased him. "Tell him I appreciate the compliment, and that I have several songs to teach him when next you return to the Varden."

"He'll be happy to hear that, I think."

Nasuada's eyes were gleaming with amusement. "Now, how are Eragon and Saphira doing?"

"Eragon is…" Murtagh considered the question for a few moments. "Coping. He took the news of our parentage worse than I did, although he was more angry than miserable. But I think he'll be alright. Like Thorn, Saphira was unwilling to let him go down that road for long."

"To the surprise of no one," she smiled. "Dragons, it seems, are not willing to indulge in self-pity."

"That they are not."

"Regardless, I'm grateful to hear the four of you are doing well. I expect I'll speak with Arya again at a later date, so I'll wait to hear news of her."

"As you wish. Has the Council of Elders been behaving themselves?"

He saw a spark of irritation in her eyes. "They continue to attempt their manipulations, but I shall not falter. Two of the five have already been reminded of their place. Soon, I shall teach the remaining three where I stand, and should they refuse to yield, there will be consequences."

"Good. I know they have their uses, but even so…"

"To lead is to walk hand-in-hand with the gracious and the greedy," Nasuada told him.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Who came up with that phrase?"

"I did."

"I like it."

That seemed to please her. She looked at something outside his field of view and he was pretty sure she barely repressed a sigh. "I must go. I have another meeting that requires my attention."

"Understood. Is there anything you would like for me to pass on to the others, my lady?"

"Only my happiness in knowing that they are thriving."

"As you wish. Then I will speak to you again at a later date."

"I look forward to it," Nasuada inclined her head. "May fortune smile upon you, Murtagh."

"And you, Lady Nasuada."

She favored him one last smile and he ended the spell. Murtagh felt Thorn immediately press into his mind.

If you enjoy these meetings so much, you may yet thrive in the world of politics, Thorn teased.

I don't think so.

Oh? Then why do you feel so pleased, my brother?

Did Glaedr not give you a task to complete?

I already finished it, the dragon said proudly. Oh, of course he had. Now, your answer?

Thorn.

If you are allowed to tease Eragon as you do, I shall tease you in return. After all, what are brothers for?

Murtagh pinched the bridge of his nose. You are a menace.

And you love me.

You are lucky that I do, the young man agreed, smirking.

He left the room and greeted Brom, who was waiting just outside. The old man lifted an eyebrow at the grin on Murtagh's face. "You didn't make a fool of yourself?"

"Not this time, I think," he admitted. "She seems in good spirits and it sounds like she's bringing the Council of Elders to heel. Beyond that, she was only interested in my and Eragon's wellbeing."

"Good. The sooner Nasuada puts the Elders in their place, the happier I'll be," Brom grunted. "Consider yourself fortunate to have someone like her as leader of the Varden. Ajihad taught her well. It could easily have been someone lesser."

"Someone like Galbatorix, you mean?"

"Gods forbid," the old man scoffed. "I was thinking more along the lines of King Orrin in Surda. I have never met him, but what I've heard tells me he is a ruler who is eccentric and too self-important for my liking. Well, I say that, but with Morzan in control of the country, who knows what's happening to Orrin. If he doesn't learn humility, it wouldn't surprise me if Morzan simply kills him."

They left Murtagh's quarters and found Thorn waiting for them just outside the treehouse. The ruby dragon rumbled a greeting and crouched so Murtagh could climb onto his back. Before they took off, however, Brom called up to him.

"Arya suggested you meet with her and Eragon at his residence. She wished to introduce the both of you to another elf."

"Very well," Murtagh responded. Thorn growled his thanks, then launched himself into the sky. He was still just small enough to fit between the massive trees, which he skimmed between before surging over the canopy.

Who do you think Arya wants us to meet?

I cannot say, Thorn hummed. There are many elves in this place. I simply hope they are not politicians.

I hope so, as well.

Do you? You seem to enjoy the company of at least one politician.

Murtagh cracked a good-natured smirk. Perhaps just the one.

Thorn laughed beneath him.

Arya and Firnen led their four friends to a small hut on the outskirts of Ellesmera, hidden by a closed atrium comprised of a ring of trees. A forge was sheltered within the ring, with an assortment of instruments designed exclusively for the purpose of smithing.

An elf woman was working a nest of molten coals, heating them with bellows. She seemed to be working on a mail corselet with extraordinary skill, displayed easily by the fluidity and deftness of her movements when the time came to add another ring to the steel garment. Eragon remembered well how Horst used to work, but for all his experience, he would have been a clumsy novice in the face of this elf.

Orik was sitting on a stool nearby and watching her work with blatant amazement. He seemed to be star-struck, such that he didn't even notice them approach until Arya spoke.

Arya looked rather amused as she approached the elf and greeted her first, briefly surprising the other Riders. It was clear she respected the elven woman a great deal.

The elf turned to face them, displaying her age. She obviously didn't bother with keeping her appearance youthful like many of her kin. She didn't respond to Arya's greeting and Eragon had to admit, there was something a little too entertaining about that—it seemed rude elves existed, after all.

"Rhunon-elda," Arya murmured. "I've brought my fellow Dragon Riders to you. This is Eragon, Rider of Saphira, and Murtagh, Rider of Thorn."

"Didn't you die?" Rhunon's voice was guttural and rasped; another contrast to the majority of her race.

Arya's lips curved up into a smile. "Tales of my demise have been exaggerated. When did you last leave your house?"

"You should know. It was the mid-summer festival you forced me to attend."

"That was three years ago."

"Bah," the elf waved the statement away.

Arya indicated for Eragon and Murtagh to greet the aged elf themselves. Rhunon spared them half a glance, but did a double-take when she set her eyes on the younger of the two brothers.

"What are you?" She asked bluntly.

"Would it suffice to say that I don't actually know?" Eragon answered. When the elf scowled, he shrugged. "I was human originally. I was changed by a spell when I was imprisoned, and now I am as you see."

Her eyes cleared a little. "You're the dragon child Glaedr told me about. Brom's son. I thought he'd been joking."

Eragon scowled at the mention of Brom, but Rhunon didn't seem to care. She looked back at Murtagh and frowned at him thoughtfully. "Hm. Which would make you Morzan's boy."

"He is nothing to me," Murtagh snapped.

"Obviously," she snarked. "If you valued him as a parent for some insane reason, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Arya watched their interaction with a slightly entertained expression. Firnen, Saphira, and Thorn looked equally amused by the aggravated pair of brothers as they faced off with the rude elf.

But as entertaining as it would be, Arya decided to stop things before they got too heated. "Peace. Rhunon, I wanted to introduce the three of you because Eragon and Murtagh have been carrying your works throughout Alagaesia."

Eragon frowned. "Her works?"

"Your Rider's Swords," Arya explained. "Rhunon is the smith who created every blade used by the Dragon Riders of old. Both Undbitr and Zar'roc were made by her hands."

Rhunon's attention snapped to the blades at the belts of the two brothers. Her eyes narrowed. "Let me see them."

Murtagh pursed his lips and did as she asked, unsheathing Zar'roc and holding it out for her to take. Rhunon claimed the blade and flourished it in hand, studying the weapon from pommel to tip with a razor-sharp eye. At one point, she held it parallel to the ground and ran her fingers along the flat of the blade, muttering something under her breath.

"You have done some twisted work, dragonkiller," she said softly, as though chastising the weapon. "But it seems 'Misery' has found itself in better hands of late."

She returned it to Murtagh, who didn't sheathe the blade just yet and simply studied it himself with a troubled expression. While he was thinking, Rhunon claimed Undbitr from Eragon and repeated the process.

"Hmph. As stubborn and unyielding as the Rider I made it for," she said gruffly. "It has slain dragons, as well; the beasts of the Forsworn. A 'Wounding Bite' for all who find themselves against its edge."

She studied Undbitr for a moment more before passing to back to Eragon. "At least Brom's taught you how to manage them properly. It is nearly impossible to damage them at all, but it is possible to mistreat them. It's been nearly a century since I saw the works I made for the Riders in my forge."

"You really made all of them?" Eragon asked.

"Ha! No other being could craft those blades," Orik finally made himself known, gesturing to Rhunon almost reverently. "This is no common forge-worker. She is the greatest smith to exist! She learned her craft from Futhark, the legendary Grimstborith of mine clan, Durgrimst Ingeitum, nigh on three-thousand years ago."

"You flatter me," Rhunon flashed a smirk at the dwarf while the brothers tried to process such a ridiculous age. "But yes, I created every blade used by the Dragon Riders, colored to match their dragon partners. I was there when the pact between elves and dragons was sung into being, when Eragon and Bid'daum brought our races together. When they required a weapon to lead the fledgling Riders, I made the first Rider's Sword; Islingr."

Her expression became a scowl. "Of course, it goes by a different name these days. Galbatorix stole Islingr from Vrael and now it goes by the name Vrangr. From 'Light Bringer' to 'Awry'. He twisted my first contribution to the Riders, as if slaughtering the Order wasn't enough for him."

She seemed irritated and chose to focus on the dragons, squinting at them thoughtfully.

"Vibrant colors. Yes, the swords would have been beautiful indeed—" Rhunon faltered and scowled again, returning to her work without another word.

Eragon blinked, somewhat bewildered. Arya stepped closer to the pair of boys and murmured softly. "After the Fall of the Riders, Rhunon took an oath in the Ancient Language to never again create another instrument of death. Even when she is struck by inspiration, the oath she took will never allow her to forge a weapon of war."

"I'm right here, you know," the elf snapped as she began to heat another steel ring.

"I know," Arya replied calmly, but her voice was amused. Rhunon huffed as the elven Princess faced her again. "Will you be attending the Agaeti Blodhren in the coming months, Rhunon-elda?"

"I've seen plenty of them. Why would I go to another?"

"There will be four dragons and a dragon egg present."

"Ha! I have seen celebrations with many more dragons than that!"

Arya did not seem dissuaded in the least. "Well, I'll come back on the eve of the celebration. It would do you some good to leave your forge, I think."

Rhunon waved her away. "Yes, yes. Now begone with you! I need to focus."

Murtagh glanced at the other Riders. "I'll join you again soon. I'd like to stay a short while longer."

Arya raised an eyebrow. Her gaze flit down to Zar'roc, which had yet to be sheathed, and she nodded tersely before leading Eragon, Saphira, and Firnen away from Rhunon's hut. Thorn sat down and watched the elf work curiously, swaying his head from side to side with the rhythmic pounding of her hammer.

Murtagh waited patiently as Rhunon continued her work. He had to admire the dedication and focus she displayed as she welded each ring of steel to the mail shirt she was constructing one-by-one. Few smiths would bother with such a task, but he imagined that since time was of no concern to her, Rhunon had the luxury of working at whatever pace she so chose.

It took some time—nearly half an hour—before the elf acknowledged them at all, and even then, she did not look up from her work.

"What? What else do you want?"

Murtagh looked down at Zar'roc again and then back to the smith. "Rhunon-elda, I wish to know if it would be possible to change Zar'roc's name."

Her hammer stopped pounding. Rhunon looked at him over her shoulder and regarded him with narrowed eyes. "What for?"

"Because if this sword is to be the only Rider's Blade I will have, I would not wish to fight with 'Misery'. I would find a new name to call it, so it could re-make its bloody history into something better."

"Weapons of war are built to bring forth death, boy," Rhunon said gruffly, welding the ring in with another slam of her hammer. "Regardless of its name, it will draw much blood."

"That may be, but the wielder of the weapon makes it good or evil, do they not?"

"Perhaps," she paused again, sounding more thoughtful. "You wish to erase Morzan's stain on the blade?"

"Is such a thing possible for the crimes Zar'roc has seen?"

"That would depend on your point of view," the elf replied. "But if that is what you believe, why would changing the name matter in the first place?"

"It wouldn't be Morzan's sword anymore if it changed; it would be mine. Murtagh's."

"I suppose it would, in some ways."

Rhunon fell silent, continuing her work as she considered his request. "Understand this, Red Rider; I will not change Zar'roc's name on a whim. Names, as you should know, are important. They have power."

She finished welding another ring and turned to face Murtagh, staring at him with harsh eyes. "If you wish to change Zar'roc's current name, then you will complete a task for me first. You will meditate on the blade, search its history, and identify its True Name. If you can manage that, and find a suitable title for Zar'roc's new identity, then—and only then—will I change it's name."

Murtagh stared at the bloody sword and wondered on the task Rhunon had given him. That would be no small feat; for one, he knew little of True Names and didn't even know where to start in searching for one. It would require time and research to achieve this.

"I will do this, then," he told her.

Rhunon studied Murtagh, gauged his resolve, and grunted. "Then go, Red Rider. You have work to do."

Murtagh sheathed Zar'roc, gave Orik a nod, and left the forge with Thorn.

Later in the day, Eragon found himself at the Crags with Opheila's Eldunari and the egg of her daughter cradled in his arms.

He murmured softly in the Ancient Language and made a small fire, sitting close to it to keep the egg warm. Though the hatchling within was dormant, he felt the baby's dreamlike state easing and growing more peaceful for the increase in temperature.

Oromis had been teaching him and Murtagh how to care for the egg. Arya had spent decades keeping Saphira and Thorn's eggs comfortable during her travels, and they would need to do the same when the egg was eventually ferried from one place to another. More than that, it was simply an important skill to learn as Dragon Riders.

Eragon caressed the shell of shiny, dark brown, and pondered.

Opheila, who had spent the time since her retrieval recovering her energy reserves, brushed his mind with a tendril of thought. What dwells on you, young one?

I was just thinking, he began. When your daughter hatches, Saphira won't be the only female dragon anymore. It's good, but…the dragons are still at such a risk. Even with two females and two males…is it even possible for the population to come back from that state? Will they be healthy? When a herd's numbers grow thin, the risk of inbreeding becomes high, and the offspring can be…

It is a major concern, Opheila admitted. One we will have to consider going forward. Dragons still exist on the brink of extinction, it is true. It may be that even with four young dragons, bringing back the population might only be possible for another generation or two. Glaedr and I have both thought on it, and I don't believe either of us have yet found a foolproof solution, but there are a few options. Let the two of us concern ourselves with that. You must focus on the task at hand—even if we had more eggs available, no dragon population will be safe until the Mad King is dealt with.

Yes, Opheila-ebrithil, he replied.

He looked out over the Crags to watch the dragons in flight. Glaedr was teaching his three students the basics of taking on an enemy larger than they were. It wasn't actual combat yet, but they were learning the maneuvers and strategies needed to fight dragons as big as Glaedr—or bigger. And they would desperately need those skills.

They would be fighting very large dragons eventually, Eragon knew. Just from the tracks he'd seen around Carvahall's ruin, he knew Morzan's dragon was as large as Glaedr. He could only imagine how big Shruikan was by now.

He watched as Firnen led Glaedr on a practice chase, while Saphira and Thorn tried to harass the larger male from the sides. Their rudimentary teamwork showed promise, but it was clear with how Glaedr quickly turned away from Firnen to swat the smaller dragons aside that they needed a lot of practice.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew his attention away from the dragons. Garzhvog sat down beside him and began to set up his cooking supplies over the fire. He had a number of mushrooms and wild herbs gathered on the side for what was probably going to be a stew.

Eragon looked away as the Kull got to work, but paused when he sensed the hatchling within the egg shift a little. Dormant though she was, he thought she felt a little excited.

He glanced at Garzhvog curiously. "How would you like to touch a dragon's egg?"

The Kull looked at him in surprise, then glanced at the egg. His eyes shifted to the Eldunari of the mother, but she didn't respond, so he nodded slightly. With great care, Garzhvog set two of his huge, thick fingers on the shell. Eragon sensed the dragon within twitch and press closer to the Kull's touch. He certainly had her attention.

Eragon couldn't help but smile. "She likes you."

Garzhvog lifted an eyebrow. "You can tell?"

"She's fully developed in the egg. Just dormant. She won't hatch until she senses her Rider, but she seems to be interested in you," Eragon murmured. "I wonder, if Urgals were a part of the pact with the Riders, would she hatch for you?"

"There is no way of knowing," the Kull replied, pulling away from the egg so he could start cooking. "It is best not to dwell on things that cannot be. It will poison your mind and stray your thoughts from the present."

"I know," the boy said.

But I do wonder, Eragon thought to himself. He felt the baby dragon grow dormant again and hummed an old song his aunt had sung to him when he was a little boy.

Arya took Eragon to the sparring grounds the next morning.

Until Murtagh's back was properly healed, he would be performing only the motions of a battle so as to avoid straining his body too much. Oromis had suggested he focus his studies on other matters at the moment, such as magic and expanding his knowledge of other cultures, while he was healing. When he was done, he would be sparring with the elves like Eragon.

But for now, Eragon was without his brother. Saphira was training with Glaedr and the other dragons.

Oromis had insisted that Eragon begin fighting elves besides Arya. She was skilled, but he couldn't allow himself to grow too used to dueling the same opponent over and over. He would grow too specialized against her.

Today, they met his new sparring partner—an elf named Vanir. He was young for an elf, younger than Arya by a few decades, with a solemn face and black hair. He brandished a silver blade in his hand, leaf-shaped like Arya's sword.

He greeted Arya with the traditional elven custom, but did not return it when Eragon offered the same to him. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"Well," Vanir lifted his blade at the ready. "Come on, then."

Eragon unsheathed Undbitr and began to pace from side to side, gauging Vanir and deciding on where to strike first. Arya stood a distance away to watch.

He feinted to test the elf's reaction, but Vanir only responded with a slight shift of his eyes. So bluffs wouldn't draw his new opponent in. That suited Eragon just fine.

The boy crouched, leaned forward, and lunged at Vanir, swinging Undbitr in a sideways arc. Vanir parried and Eragon chased him.

It went on like that for several minutes. Eragon attacked, Vanir parried and occasionally made an attack of his own, but for the most part he remained on the defense and kept backing off. His fighting style was annoying, Eragon decided. Did the elf want to irritate him to death?

Finally, Eragon outright stopped playing his game and stepped back. Vanir paused and raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you stop?"

"Oh, I'm waiting on you to actually start fighting," Eragon replied casually, and Vanir's eyes narrowed. He wanted to be annoying? Eragon could do annoying.

The elf seemed to consider him for a few moments before lifting his chin. "And what makes you think I'm not already humoring you?"

"I'm here to spar, not be humored," Eragon snapped. "You're in the wrong place for jokes."

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Vanir scoffed, and at this Eragon barely suppressed a growl. "A half-breed like yourself has no place among us, let alone the Dragon Riders."

Logically, Eragon knew that Vanir couldn't know what he really was, but it still stung. A low rumble began to build in his throat as he stalked towards the elf. "I have no place among you, you say? Then move."

He lunged at his full speed, rushing up into Vanir's space in a split-second. The elf's eyes widened in surprise, and then Eragon slammed Undbitr into Vanir's blade and shoved him back. Without waiting for his opponent to recover, he charged and unleashed an onslaught of steel.

Vanir was good, he'd give him that. The elf parried and ducked and weaved with all the natural grace and speed of his race. But Eragon was just as fast, and he possessed a ferocity to his attacks only a dragon could match.

When Vanir blocked another attack, Eragon's left hand blurred and smashed into his unguarded stomach. The wind was blown out of Vanir's lungs as he recoiled, but even then Eragon did not relent. He blew Vanir's guard wide open, grabbed the elf by the throat, and shoved him to the ground. One of his boots pinned Vanir's sword arm at the wrist as he leaned down and glared.

"Dead."

Vanir's face was red, uncharacteristically angry for an elf. Eragon let him up and stormed a distance away before turning to face his opponent again, only to yelp when Vanir flew at him in a rush of steel and whipping black hair.

"Turn your back on me again, half-breed," Vanir challenged.

Eragon snarled, locked blades with the elf, and began fighting in earnest.

Arya watched the frenzied combat and didn't allow herself to relax even the slightest. Vanir and Eragon were alike in the worst of ways; they were both young, too quick to temper, and she had already seen how easily they aggravated each other. The fight was skilled, but it was a rampage of steel where the slightest mistake could result in a severe injury. As it escalated, she found her hand resting on her sword's grip in case she needed to intervene.

Oromis was right; Eragon needed sparring partners besides herself. Against Arya, he was calm and despite the fury of his attacks, he was focused and concentrated at all times. Against Vanir—well, she saw the raw rage of a wild dragon pouring out of him.

He could not lose his temper like that in a fight against Morzan or Galbatorix. It would cost him his life.

Eragon locked his guard against Vanir's again and drove both swords towards the ground. The back of his fist was driven into the elf's face and his foe recoiled, eyes smarting. With a flash of Undbitr, Vanir was disarmed, but as Eragon moved to claim victory, he was thrown back by an unseen force—non-verbal magic of some sort.

The boy hit the ground roughly on his back and Arya knew from the impact that the wind was knocked out of him. But even so, Eragon rolled back to his feet, dragon-eyes blazing as Vanir reclaimed his sword and pointed it at him.

"I do not lose easily, half-breed," the elf jeered.

"Call me a half-breed again and your arm breaks," Eragon threatened. "I didn't ask to be changed."

"I would like to see you try."

"I think not."

The pair of them blinked as Arya stepped between them, looking sternly from one fighter to the other.

"You are both losing yourselves to your anger," she proclaimed. "You are both of you above the squabbles of children. Control yourselves or this ends now."

Eragon's glare was aimed at her, but even as she spoke she saw the inferno in his eyes cooling. He still burned, but the fire was calmer. Manageable. She glanced at Vanir and saw the younger elf consider her words before nodding slowly.

"No more talk," Arya ordered. "Fight. Hone your skills as you are meant to."

She looked from one to the other again, satisfied herself that they were controlled, and backed off.

Eragon breathed deeply and took a few seconds to steady himself. He focused on Vanir and pushed the rage down. She was right—he had to concentrate.

To his credit, Vanir looked more willing to take him seriously; this time without the lip. Eragon's blood was still afire, but he drove in with the lessons he'd honed for the past eight months and engaged the elf once again.

By the end of their spars, Eragon and Vanir's rage and quelled almost entirely. There was even a sense of grudging respect between the pair of them; they certainly hadn't been gentle with one another, and Eragon felt the elf was—dare he say it—as close to an equal as he'd encountered thus far.

When they finished and Vanir left the sparring grounds, Eragon followed Arya out to one of the nearby creeks. There, he crouched by the stream and cupped his hands in the water, splashing his face and getting some of the sweat out of his eyes.

Arya stood close by, but said nothing.

He shook his head and wiped the water from his skin with his sleeve. Eragon caught his breath for a few moments, then closed his eyes with a long exhale. "I'm sorry. I lost my temper again."

"It is clearly something you will need work on," she agreed.

"I know. Forgive me; the start of my spar with Vanir was poor form compared to our duels."

"Vanir is young and brash, just like you," Arya commented. "You may not like it, but the two of you are somewhat similar in temperament."

Eragon laughed weakly. "Am I actually that annoying?"

"No, but you do succeed in causing those around you great concern."

He fell silent and looked down at the water. His keen ears picked up Arya's footsteps as she approached and lightly set a hand on his shoulder. "You know why it worries us, do you not? If you lose yourself in the midst of a fight against an enemy like Morzan or Galbatorix, you will die, Eragon. Saphira would lose you. Murtagh, Thorn, Brom. Firnen and I—we would all lose you. You are not replaceable, do you realize that? You must temper this anger of yours."

The boy glanced back at her and nodded slowly. "I promise I'll get it under control."

"Good," she murmured softly, then removed her hand and stood up. "Come. You need to clean up."

"Definitely," Eragon agreed, grimacing. Hours of fighting had done no favors for his smell.

Arya caught the way his nose scrunched up and found herself hiding a small smile as she turned and led her fellow Rider back to Ellesmera.

A/N: Closer and closer, the Agaeti Blodhren comes~

As ever, please review and thanks for reading!