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ArtoriasTheRock: Miraak is pretty powerful in his own right. He IS the First Dragonborn. I couldn't think of anything to threaten Alagaësia and give Daemon a challenge other than Miraak returning to dominate.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.

"So, Shouts are a form of power?" Eragon asked Daemon the following morning as he, Daemon and Brom ate breakfast.

"Aye." Daemon nodded. "I've learned and mastered many, found all in Skyrim by going through catacombs and tombs. Shouts, or the Thu'um as i's called in the Dragon language, is an ancient form of magic used by the dragons of Skyrim. Shouts use the vocalization of specific "words of power" to create powerful magical effects, usually for offensive purposes. Each Shout is made up of three words. However, one or two words of a given Shout may be used, but the effect is correspondingly less powerful compared to the full force of the whole shout. Dragons are able to master and use their Thu'um at will, as this sacred language is their natural language, inborn into their souls from the moment of their creation. Mortals are only able to learn and use the Thu'um through a long process of meditation and the practice of the words, though there are a few rare exceptions such as the Dragonborn."

"How many Dragonborns have there been?" Eragon asked curiously.

Daemon shrugged. "Too many. Evene an Emperor of my land became one."

"Who was the first?" Brom asked.

As soon as he asked that, the very air got cold and dark as Daemon's face darkened. "The very reason I'm in this land in the first place. His name is Miraak."

As soon as the first Dragonborn's name was mentioned, it felt like all good had withered away, even nearby animals scattered at the mention of the name. The horses shifted nervously, even Shadowmere and he didn't fear anything, even a dragon, but Miraak... Miraak was a whole different story.

"And who is he?" Brom asked, noticing the expression on Daemon's face.

"Much of what is known has been lost through the ages. He was Dragonborn, yet he served the dragons. A priest in their order, highly esteemed and very powerful. Then he turned against them, becoming something they feared." Rahgol said before scoffing. "You think Galbatorix is a tyrant? Miraak would make him look like a child in comparison. During the period of time when dragons ruled over mortals, Miraak served as a dragon priest on the island of Solstheim. He came into possession of a Black Book which in turn led him to servitude under Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate, who taught him a means to great power: a dragon shout capable of bending dragons to his will. With this forbidden knowledge in his possession, Miraak turned on his dragon masters, using it, and his power as Dragonborn, to devour their souls to become ever more powerful. During the Dragon War, the ancient Nord heroes Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, and Felldir the Old had pleaded for Miraak to use his power as Dragonborn to assist them in defeating Alduin. However, Miraak refused to do so and instead attempted his own rebellion against the dragons. Because of his betrayal, the dragons razed his temple on Solstheim."

"Was he that much of a threat?" Eragon asked with a horror-filled tone.

Daemon nodded. "He was. Miraak was someone the dragons of Skyrim hated far more that they hated any other. Many thought Miraak was dead, but he wasn't. I would know because I met the bastard and killed him... but I was informed that there are signs of his return in this land. A dragon that's a friend of mine told me he could sense Miraak's power in this land, and so that's why I'm here. To find any clue of him and end him for good."

Silence filled the air and Daemon quickly changed the subject, telling Eragon better history about Skyrim when Saphira approached, causing Cadoc to shy away but Shadowmere merely snorted. Somehow, Saphira and Shadowmere were able to communicate with each other, probably because Shadowmere was unlike any other horse, and it was clear Saphira tolerated the demon horse more than Cadoc.

Saphira eyed Cadoc with something close to disgust and said, There's nowhere to hide on the plains, so I'm not going to bother trying to stay out of sight. I'll just fly above you from now on. She nudged Eragon gently, flicked her eyes toward Daemon briefly before taking to the sky. Eragon thought he felt a curious sensation from her for an instant, but quickly dismissed it as curiosity on Daemon's history lesson.

The trio began their steep descent. In many places the trail all but disappeared, leaving them to find their own way down. At times they had to dismount and lead the horses on foot, holding on to trees to keep from falling down the slope. The ground was scattered with loose rocks, which made the footing treacherous. The ordeal left them hot and irritable, despite the cold.

They stopped to rest when they reached the bottom near midday. The Anora River veered to their left and flowed northward. A biting wind scoured the land, whipping them unmercifully. The soil was parched, and dirt flew into their eyes.

The trail split in three once it reached the plains. The first branch turned north, toward Ceunon, one of the greatest northern cities; the second one led straight across the plains; and the last went south. They examined all three for traces of the Ra'zac and eventually found their tracks, heading directly into the grasslands.

"It seems they've gone to Yazuac," said Brom with a perplexed air.

"Where's that?"

"Due east and four days away, if all goes well. It's a small village situated by the Ninor River." He gestured at the Anora, which streamed away from them to the north. "Our only supply of water is here. We'll have to replenish our waterskins before attempting to cross the plains. There isn't another pool or stream between here and Yazuac."

"Three days away, if we can keep a good pace. A small village by the Ninor River." Brom gestured to the flowing Anora nearby. "We should make sure and replenish our water now. There isn't another source between here and Yauzac."

They topped the water skins, let the horses drink their fill, and Saphira came down to fortify herself with several large gulps. Ready, they set out across the plains.

Since there was no shelter, they were forced to camp in the open. Eragon found some scrub brush, a short tough plant that thrived on harsh conditions, and pulled it up. He made a careful pile and tried to light it, but the woody stems only smoked and gave off a pungent smell. Frustrated, he tossed the tinderbox to Brom. "I can't make it burn, especially with this blasted wind. See if you can get it going: otherwise dinner will be cold."

"Step aside." Daemon said and Eragon moved, his eyes widening as a flame appeared in Daemon's hand before he shot a torrent of flames into the middle of the pile, starting up a fire. Daemon easily extinguished the flame and sat back.

"What kind of magic is that?" Eragon asked with awe.

"Skyrim magic." Daemon said with amusement. "Had to go to a college to learn this though and ended up becoming the Arch-Mage after the previous one was killed."

"What kind of magic exists in Skyrim?" Eragon asked.

"There's six skills. Destruction which is fire, ice, sparks, lightning magic. Restoration is basically healing and self-healing. Enchanting is arcane crafting, let's you enchant your weapons and clothing. Illusion which is easy to guess what that means from the name. Conjuration which allows you to conjuror but that takes practise and training. And finally there's Alteration The Alteration skill is raised by using certain kinds of spells that identify themselves as alteration spells. These alteration spells include the ability to don magic armor, detect entities either by illumination of the area or by magically sensing their presence. Looks easy, but trust me when I say there needs to be a great amount of training to become a master."

"Interesting." Brom hummed, stroking his beard as he thought over this.

The sparring was kept short today due to fatigue, but it appeared the Eragon was finally starting to get better. Daemon offered to spar with Eragon and the boy agreed, but was quickly defeated by the experienced Dragonborn who told him that with time, patience and training... Eragon will be equally matching in the art of the sword. Saphira's bulk was a welcome buffer against the wind as the four of them tried to sleep.

The same cold wind greeted them in the morning, sweeping over the dreadful flatness. Because of the harsh wind, everyone had gained chapped lips, irritated eyes and frayed tempers. They let the horses drink sparingly from their supply of water before mounting them. The day was a monotonous trek of endless plodding.

On the third day, they woke well rested. That, coupled with the fact that the wind had stopped, put them in a cheery humor. However, their high spirits were dampened, when they saw the sky ahead of them was dark with thunderheads.

"Oh bugger." Daemon groaned when he saw the clouds.

Brom looked at the clouds and grimaced. "Normally I wouldn't go into a storm like that, but we're in for a battering no matter what we do, so we might as well get some distance covered."

It was still calm when they reached the storm front. As Eragon looked up in wonder at the mammoth clouds, Daemon's gaze drifted along the grassy plain. A line in the grass caught his eye, but it took several seconds for him to realize what he was looking at.

"Eragon...do you see that?"

As Eragon followed his gaze, and they both recognized it as a massive blast of wind. Along with Brom the prepared for the impact. The gale was almost upon them when Eragon, who's horse was walking beside Shadowmere, gripped Daemon's shoulder with a frightening thought. Daemon stilled, as if the other boys grip had made him think of the same think. Both turning in the saddle they yelled; Daemon with his voice and Eragon with his mind,

"Saphira! Land now!"

Their faces grew pale as they saw her dive toward the ground. "She's not going to make it!" Eragon said with worry for his dragon.

Saphira angled back the way they had come, to gain time. As they watched, the tempest's wrath struck them like a hammer blow. Eragon gasped for breath and clenched the saddle as a frenzied howling filled his ears. Cadoc swayed and dug his hooves into the ground, mane snapping in the air. The wind tore at their clothes with invisible fingers while the air darkened with billowing clouds of dust.

"Come on!" Daemon said to Eragon as he urged Shadowmere on towards Saphira, the black horse not hesitating due to his master's command and whatever form of companionship he had developed with Saphira. Who knew horses and dragons could be friends?

As Cadoc and Shadowmere neared Saphira, their riders jumped off and ran to her. The didn't make it more than a few feet before another strong gust sent them sprawling forward. Daemon grunted in pain when a large stone went flying and slashed his right arm, causing blood to drip down his arm and onto the ground.

Eragon looked over to him in concern, but he waved him off. "I'm fine! get to Saphira now!"

Saphira was only three yards away, but they could get no closer because of her flailing wings. She struggled to fold them against the overpowering gale. Eragon and Daemon rushed at her right wing, intending to hold it down, but the wind caught her and she somersaulted over them. The spines on her back missed his head by inches. Saphira clawed at the ground, trying to stay down.

Suddenly, another gust of wind smacked into them hard, this one sending Daemon flying into Saphira's side and his cut open arm made contact with one of the cuts on one of her front legs, the dragon's blood seeping into Daemon's mixing with it and entering his bloodstream.

Daemon clutched his arm as the wound flared up with an unbelievable amount of pain. He had never felt pain like this before. He distracted himself from the pain to focus on helping Eragon keep Saphira's wings down. The wind battled with them for a second, but with one last surge they overcame it.

Eragon leaned against Saphira, panting. Are you all right? He could feel her trembling.

She took a moment to answer. I... I think so. She sounded shaken. Nothing's broken—I couldn't do anything; the wind wouldn't let me go. I was helpless.

He looked at her, concerned. Don't worry, you're safe now.

She sent a wave of gratitude and love over their link. Thank you, little one. Without you and Daemon I... Daemon! Are you alright? Together she and Eragon both looked to Daemon, standing nearby clutching his right arm. The fresh cut was somehow gone, replaced instead by an angry red welt. Despite the pain, he managed a grin.

"I'll live, you okay?"

Yes she nodded her head slowly. Holding onto each other, the three made their way back to Brom, Saphira keeping her wings down as hard as she can, keeping Eragon and Daemon close to her side as she did so. When they reached Brom, the old man pointed at a dark curtain of rain sweeping toward them in rippling gray sheets.

"Oh, give me a break!" Daemon growled as he bowed his head, gritting his teeth from the harsh storm and the pain in his arm. He reared his head back and shouted to the skies. "LOK VAH KOOR!"

The Shout erupted from his mouth and into the sky and it did the job in clearing the sky of any bad weather. Whatever storm had been here had been dealt with due to the Shout.

As the day passed, once again the sky was revealed, and the setting sun glowed with brilliance. As beams of light tinted the clouds with blazing colors, everything gained a sharp contrast: brightly lit on one side, deeply shadowed on the other. Objects had a unique sense of mass; grass stalks seemed sturdy as marble pillars.

The rejuvenated earth smelled fresh, clearing their minds and raising their spirits. Saphira stretched, craning her neck, and roared happily. The horses, save for Shadowmere, skittered away from her, but the humans smiled at her exuberance.

Before the light faded, they stopped for the night in a shallow depression. Too exhausted to spar, they went straight to sleep.

Daemon was the only one awake as he made sure his companions were asleep before he checked on his arm. The cut had closed, but the intense pain he felt upon the wound making contact with one of Saphira's left him baffled. He didn't understand what had happened there. He casted a healing spell on the arm just to make sure it was healed up properly. He felt a headache and nausea suddenly that left him even more confused but merely dismissed it as an effect for colliding with Saphira the way he did.

The next morning, Daemon had wished he hadn't easily dismissed the pain nor the unusual way his cut had healed before he casted a healing spell. The headache was way worse than it had been the previous night, he felt ready to be sick at every moment. Daemon has been through many things that would've left him on death's door yet he overcame that pain, yet this one... this one was different than those times. His skin had also paled that he thought he was becoming a vampire but dismissed that since he hadn't been near another vampire since Serena.

These new developments were not lost on his companions, as all three voiced concerns over his condition. He shrugged it off with a forced smile. "I've been through worse, I'll be fine."

As they saddled up for Yazuac, Shadowmere came up to him and Daemon was able to pull himself onto the saddle with help from Shadowmere. Rahgol leaned on the horse's neck. "Thank you, old friend." Daemon whispered gently as he patted the horse softly, getting a soft snort from the horse in acknowledgement.

Noticing this, Brom called back encouragingly, "We should be at the village by dusk. Perhaps we can get some herbs there."

Saphira spotted the village first at dawn, but it was not until later in the day that the rest of them saw it as a dark bump on the horizon. Yazuac was still very far away; it was only visible because of the plain's uniform flatness. As they rode closer, a dark winding line appeared on either side of the town and disappeared in the distance.

They kept a swift pace in anticipation of the food and drink they would soon enjoy. As they approached the small houses, they could see smoke from a dozen chimneys, but there was no one in the streets. An abnormal silence enveloped the village. By unspoken consent they stopped before the first house.

"Do you hear that?" Daemon suddenly asked.

"Hear what?" Eragon asked. He strained to listen, but was only greeted by a heavy silence.

"Nothing. No dogs barking, no birds, no children running about, nothing. It's too quiet."

Eragon paused. "Someone should have seen us by now."

"Yes."

"Then why hasn't anyone come out?"

Brom squinted at the sun. "Could be afraid."

"Could be," said Eragon. He was quiet for a moment. "And if it's a trap? The Ra'zac might be waiting for us."

"We need provisions and water."

"There's the Ninor."

"Still need provisions."

"True." Eragon looked around. "So we go in?"

Brom flicked his reins. "Yes, but not like fools. This is the main entrance to Yazuac. If there's an ambush, it'll be along here. No one will expect us to arrive from a different direction."

"Around to the side, then?" asked Eragon. Brom nodded and pulled out his sword, resting the bare blade across his saddle. Eragon strung his bow and nocked an arrow. On Shadowmere, Daemon unsheathed his sword. They trotted quietly around to a side street and proceeded down it cautiously. The houses were dark, many with broken windows and doors that hung half-open.

Eragon's palm tingled, but he resisted the urge to scratch it. As they rode into the center of town, he gripped his bow tighter, blanching. "Gods above," he whispered.

A mountain of bodies rose above them, the corpses stiff and grimacing. Their clothes were soaked in blood, and the churned ground was stained with it. Slaughtered men lay over the women they had tried to protect, mothers still clasped their children, and lovers who had tried to shield each other rested in death's cold embrace. Black arrows stuck out of them all. Neither young nor old had been spared. But worst of all was the barbed spear that rose out of the peak of the pile, impaling the white body of a baby.

"Oh Gods." Daemon said, taking a deep breath. He had seen far much worse sights in his life, so this was nothing new to him. But it was still a disturbing sight to behold.

A crow dipped out of the sky, like a black shadow, and perched on the spear. It cocked its head and greedily scrutinized the infant's corpse. "Oh no you don't," snarled Eragon as he pulled back the bowstring and released it with a twang. With a puff of feathers, the crow fell over backward, the arrow protruding from its chest. Eragon fit another arrow to the string, but nausea rose from his stomach and he threw up over Cadoc's side.

Brom patted him on the back. When Eragon was done, Brom asked gently, "Do you both want to wait for me outside Yazuac?"

"No... we'll stay," said Eragon shakily, wiping his mouth.

"What did this?" Daemon asked, looking at Brom.

Brom bowed his head. "Those who love the pain and suffering of others. They wear many faces and go by many disguises, but there is only one name for them: evil. There is no understanding it. All we can do is pity and honor the victims."

He dismounted Snowfire and walked around, inspecting the trampled ground carefully. "The Ra'zac passed this way," he said slowly, "but this wasn't their doing. This is Urgal work; the spear is of their make. A company of them came through here, perhaps as many as a hundred. It's odd; I know of only a few instances when they have gathered in such..." He knelt and examined a footprint intently. With a curse he ran back to Snowfire and leapt onto him.

"Ride! There are still Urgals here!"

Eragon jammed his heels into Cadoc, Daemon commanded Shadowmere, the two horses facing after Snowfire They dashed past the houses and were almost to the edge of Yazuac when a giant fist slammed into Eragon's chest and propelled him off his horse. Gasping for breath, Eragon managed to look up, only to see and Urgal with a viscous snarl standing over him. A small, dark blade was in one beefy hand, and a round shield was bound to the other. The doorway sized monster swung his blade toward the paralyzed youth, and Eragon shut his eyes, screamed in his head for Saphira, and braced for the inevitable pain.

The sound of metal clanging against metal rang through the air and Eragon looked up to see Daemon had blocked the Urgal's sword with his own, his dark blue eyes burned with fire. Nearby, Brom was similarly engaged with another Urgal, this one armed with an ax. He cleaved at the beast from Snowfire's back. "Run, you fool" he shouted.

"Get out of here, Eragon!" Daemon shouted as he slashed the Urgal he was fighting across the chest.

Brom was trading fierce blows with his Urgal, and Daemon was hammering away with quick strikes against his. They seemed to have the upper hand, when a loud shriek emanated from Snowfire, followed by triumphant yell from the Urgal Brom was fighting. The old man slumped in his saddle, blood streaming down his arm. At the horse's panicked cry, Daemon instinctively snapped his head toward Brom. A fatal mistake, as his opponent seized his momentary opening and brought the handle of his blade down on his head. Daemon collapsed lifelessly in heap at the monster's feet. Both beasts readied their weapons for the killing blow.

A deafening scream tore out of Eragon as he charged the Urgal, headfirst. The Urgal paused in astonishment, then faced him contemptuously, swinging his ax. Eragon ducked under the two-handed blow and clawed the Urgal's side, leaving bloody furrows. The Urgal's face twisted with rage. He slashed again, but missed as Eragon dived to the side and scrambled down an alley.

Eragon concentrated on leading the Urgals away from Brom. He slipped into a narrow passageway between two houses, saw it was a dead end, and slid to a stop. He tried to back out, but the Urgals had already blocked the entrance. They advanced, cursing him in their gravelly voices. Eragon swung his head from side to side, searching for a way out, but there was none.

As he faced the Urgals, images flashed in his mind: dead villagers piled around the spear and an innocent baby who would never grow to adulthood. At the thought of their fate, a burning, fiery power gathered from every part of his body. It was more than a desire for justice. It was his entire being rebelling against the fact of death—that he would cease to exist. The power grew stronger and stronger until he felt ready to burst from the contained force.

He stood tall and straight, all fear gone. He raised his bow smoothly. The Urgals laughed and lifted their shields. Eragon sighted down the shaft, as he had done hundreds of times, and aligned the arrowhead with his target. The energy inside him burned at an unbearable level. He had to release it, or it would consume him. A word suddenly leapt unbidden to his lips. He shot, yelling, "Brisingr!"

The arrow hissed through the air, glowing with a crackling blue light. It struck the lead Urgal on the forehead, and the air resounded with an explosion. A blue shock wave blasted out of the monster's head, killing the other Urgal instantly. It reached Eragon before he had time to react, and it passed through him without harm, dissipating against the houses.

Eragon stood panting, then looked at his icy palm. The gedwëy ignasia was glowing like white-hot metal, yet even as he watched, it faded back to normal. He clenched his fist, then a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He felt strange and feeble, as if he had not eaten for days. His knees buckled, and he sagged against a wall.

He stayed like that for a few moments, until a modicum of strength returned to his body. He pushed himself up and staggered back to where he had left Daemon and Brom.

He found Daemon first, laying on his back out cold. Eragon looked him over for any injuries but there was none aside from the blow to the head. Putting his hand to Daemon's forehead, he suddenly jerked his hand back as if he had tried touching a burning candle. Daemon's skin was boiling hot to the touch, like it was on fire, sweat was coming down the young man's face. Eragon tried waking him to no avail. The short breaths he took were the only signs of him still being alive.

Resigned to the fact there was nothing he could do at the moment, he laid his friend gently back to the ground, and turned his attention to Brom. Eragon found Snowfire, nostrils flared and ears flat against his head, prancing by the corner of a house, ready to bolt. Brom was still slumped motionless in the saddle. Eragon reached out with his mind and soothed the horse. Once Snowfire relaxed, Eragon went to Brom.

There was a long, blood-soaked cut on the old man's right arm. The wound bled profusely, but it was neither deep nor wide. Still, Eragon knew it had to be bound before Brom lost too much blood. He stroked Snowfire for a moment, then slid Brom out of the saddle. The weight proved too much for him, and Brom dropped heavily to the ground. Eragon was shocked by his own weakness.

A scream of rage filled his head. Saphira dived out of the sky and landed fiercely in front of him, keeping her wings half raised. She hissed angrily, eyes burning. Her tail lashed, and Eragon winced as it snapped overhead. Are you hurt? she asked, rage boiling in her voice.

"No," he assured her as he laid Brom on his back.

She growled and exclaimed, Where are the ones who did this? I will tear them apart!

He wearily pointed in the direction of the alley. "It'll do no good; they're already dead."

You killed them? Saphira sounded surprised.

He nodded. "Somehow." With a few terse words, he told her what had happened while he searched his saddlebags for the rags in which Zar'roc had been wrapped.

Saphira came to his side and comfortingly nuzzled him. You have grown, little one.

Finishing the bandage on the old man's arm, he motioned to his dragon's back. Can you carry him Saphira? I can't lift him, and your saddle will hold him place. She nodded, and using her teeth, picked up the back of Brom's robes and place him on her back.

I'll manage, but I am NOT leaving you alone. Her gaze drifted and found the still body of Daemon laying nearby. Her voice wavered at the sight of the young boy she had grown fond of. What about Daemon?

Eragon looked over his fallen friend again. He's alive, but I can't wake him. Something is wrong Saphira; he looks worse than before and his skin is burning. He thought for a moment. I should be able to take him on Shadowmere's back. Help me, please.

Nodding, Saphira gently picked Daemon up as Shadowmere approached and snorted a few times as he stomped a hoof into the ground, clearly agitated and worried for Daemon. Saphira communed with the horse mentally before she carefully placed Daemon on the horse's saddle.

Brom blinked blearily, putting a hand to his head. He gazed down at Eragon with concern. "Did Saphira get here in time?"

Eragon shook his head. "I'll explain it later. You and Daemon are injured. I bandaged your arm as best I could, but you need a safe place to rest."

"Yes," said Brom, gingerly touching his arm. "Do you know where my sword . . . Ah, I see you found it."

Eragon finished tightening the straps. "Saphira's going to take you and follow me by air."

"Are you sure you want me to ride her?" asked Brom. "I can ride Snowfire."

"Not with that arm. This way, even if you faint, you won't fall off."

Brom nodded. "I'm honored." He wrapped his good arm around Saphira's neck, and she took off in a flurry, springing high into the sky. Eragon backed away, buffeted by the eddies from her wings, and returned to the horses.

He tied Snowfire behind Cadoc, made sure Rahgol was safely secure on Shadowmere, then rode out of Yazuac with Shadowmere following, returning to the trail and following it southward. It led through a rocky area, veered left, and continued along the bank of the Ninor River. Ferns, mosses, and small bushes dotted the side of the path. It was refreshingly cool under the trees, but Eragon did not let the soothing air lull him into a sense of security. He stopped briefly to fill the waterskins and let the horses drink. Saphira circled overhead, keeping a keen eye on him and Daemon.

He conversed with Saphira to check on Brom's condition and to share his thoughts. She was just as puzzled as he was about the magic. Saphira, can you find us a place to stay? I can't see very far down here. While she searched, he continued along the Ninor.

The summons reached him just as the light was fading. Come. Saphira sent him an image of a secluded clearing in the trees by the river. Eragon turned the horses in the new direction and nudged them into a trot. With Saphira's help it was easy to find, but it was so well hidden that he doubted anyone else would notice it.

A small, smokeless fire was already burning when he entered the clearing. Brom sat next to it, tending his arm, which he held at an awkward angle. Saphira was crouched beside him, her body tense.

Brom stood and went over to Shadowmere with Eragon to take Daemon off but Shadowmere, his worry for his master overcoming his judgement, snorted defensively as he backed off until Saphira communed with the horse, telling him they were trying to help. He relaxed but remained tense. Brom and Eragon took Daemon off the horse's back and gently placed him on the ground so Brom can check him over.

After he did so, he cursed. Despite Rahgol saying so, he was definitely not fine. His eyes passed over the slick, pale and burning skin, stopping when they reached the shining welt on his arm. At his inquiry, Eragon shook his head and explained that was where he cut himself in the storm the other night. The old man's eyebrows raised, but nevertheless continued.

"He should have woken by now." Brom muttered as he checked on Daemon's arm before looking at Eragon. "When did this start?"

"During the storm the other night." Eragon explained. "I don't know what happened, I think he collided with Saphira somehow." Saphira gave her agreement with a snort. "Will he be alright?"

Sighing, Brom sat back. "I'm not sure, Eragon. The only thing we can do is make sure he is comfortable, warm and hope he pulls through whatever is ailing him."

Eragon nodded, though he was upset that he couldn't do anything for his friend. He glanced at Daemon's prone form one more time before walking over to Saphira who nuzzled him gently. He felt her emotions through their link, both worried and hopeful.

He's strong, Eragon. He's the Dragonborn, and like a dragon he will overcome what ails him.

I hope so, Saphira. I hope so.

As everyone slept that night, they were unaware of a change going through Daemon's body, one that had awakened a dormant side of him.

When Eragon woke up, he tiredly blinked his eyes open and rubbed the sleep out of them before he yawned. Even when he slept, he couldn't get Daemon's condition and the worry for him out of hid mind. He turned his head to where Daemon's prone form was, only to yell in shock and surprise, startling Saphira and Brom into waking up before they followed Eragon's gaze and were just as shocked as him.

For laying where Daemon was... was a dragon.

And that's it for this chapter everyone. So, explanation to how Daemon's a dragon... Saphira's blood awakened the dragon side of him. Remember, he has the blood and soul of a dragon, but Saphira's blood was what was needed for the dragon within to be free rather than dormant.