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

Eragon stared with his eyes wide in shock and disbelief, his mind trying to process what was happening right now. A dragon... was lying where had been. The dragon was sleeping, like it had been there all along. It had silver scales but there was a bit of blue to the colouring as well. The dragon's wing membranes, which were slightly folded in, were more blue than silver and it had various horns and spikes that were bone white.

Eragon's inspection of the dragon came to a grinding halt as Saphira instinctively pounced on the dragon that frightened her Rider.

Daemon was groaning as he started to wake up and opened his eyes when he suddenly felt something big tackle him and pin him down much to his confusion and he turned his head to see Saphira snarling down at him much to his surprise and confusion.

Who are you? What are you doing here?

Daemon went to yell at the her when he looked at his arm, or more specifically his leg, and his eyes widened upon seeing it was scaley like a dragon's and he looked himself over as best as he could with the dragoness pinning him. He was a dragon... he was a dragon! How in the name of Oblivion did this happen?! Seeing he couldn't talk like this, he used his mind instead.

Saphira it's me!

Saphira gasped, her menacing growl disappearing instantly. One mental voice and two vocal ones all blurted the same question,

"Daemon!"

Yes! Daemon replied and Saphira got off him, allowing him to stand, though a bit wobbly as he tried to get used to this new change and body. He looked himself over, spreading his wings briefly and looking at them in total awe, wonder and confusion before he looked at the others. How... Will someone tell me how in Oblivion I'm a dragon?!

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Brom coughed and said, "We could ask you the same question!" Eragon could do nothing but stare at what had become of his friend, his mind at a loss for words. "What do you remember?"

Daemon's draconic features scrunched up as he tried to recollect. Yazuac... fighting the Urgals... and then the next thing I know I'm being pinned by Saphira and I'm a dragon. His eyes darted from Eragon to Brom to Saphira and back again. Would anyone like to tell me how this has happened?

Brom stroked his chin. "From what you told us, being Dragonborn gave you the blood and soul of a dragon, but the body of a man while the dragon lies dormant. It's possible that when your cut made contact with Saphira's during the storm, her blood mixed with your own and awakened your dragon side, turning you into one."

I... see. Daemon gave himself a look over, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he's now a dragon.

Saphira leaned towards him and asked softly. Daemon, are you alright?

Daemon looked at her. I... I don't know, Saphira. All my life I've been human, yet I've been called the Dragon stuck within a mortal body.

We'll get through this. Saphira said and nudged his cheek gently to his surprise. Besides being a dragon's not all bad. there has to be a part of you that doesn't mind this change.

Daemon blinked several times at her words and she... was right. There was a part of him, the dragon part that had awakened, was excited at this change, to be free, to finally have freedom from being trapped within the mortal body after so long. the Dragonborn who has become a dragon.

After a moment of silence, Eragon turned to Brom. "So what do we do now?"

Brom walked over to where their stuff was. "I don't see any reason for us to stick around here. Despite this... unexpected change with Daemon, it doesn't change the fact we still have a mission and that's to find the Ra'zac."

As Eragon and Brom started to pack up, Saphira nudged Daemon, gaining his attention and he looked at her as she walked off in another direction but stopped to look back at him. Aren't you coming?

For what? He asked, following her after getting a hold of his footing much to her amusement.

You are not adjusted to being a dragon, so I am going to teach you. She said before looking at his wings. We'll start with your wings first.

Daemon's eyes widened as a pit formed in his stomach. Oh bugger...

Saphira, I don't think I can do this! Daemon said, edging away from the cliff that dropped away to the valley far below.

Coward, Saphira chortled, halting Daemon's retreat from the edge with her graceful form. It's easy, just jump off, instincts will do the rest. If all else fails, at least what's left will make a nice set of dragon scale boots. Such a pretty color.

She nipped at his tail, causing him to jump forward away from the persistent dragoness. He wheeled around to face her. Saphira, stop it!

You'll be fine, trust me. Her paws inched slowly toward his backside. Ready?

Daemon finally took his gaze away from the drop, only to find Saphira inches from him. His eyes darting between her, where her paws were, and back to the cliff. His insides froze as he saw the gleam in her eyes.

You wouldn't dare...

Letting out a playful growl, she shoved him off the cliff. Claws scrabbling, wings flailing, he tried to keep his footing, but it was hopeless. He plunged off the cliff with a strangled cry, his body pointing straight down.

SAPHIRA!

Wind whistled past his head as he fell towards the tree-dotted valley. He heard roaring laughter from Saphira, who had gone into a dive next to him, watching his progress.

It might help if you extended your wings, you know, Saphira said sagely, attempting to sound calm and helpful, but just barely managing it. Laughter was hidden behind every syllable that issued from her mind.

Daemon fought to try to make his wings extend but didn't know which muscles to move. Saphira, I DON'T KNOW HOW!

Oh, right, Saphira murmered, We probably should've gone over that first.

Saphiraaaaaaaaaaa! Daemon howled as the ground came ever closer, closer, and closer. He closed his eyes and cringed, waiting for the inevitable impact. Suddenly, the wind roaring past his head changed direction, he heard a loud CRACK that resounded off the cliff wall. He felt a tug on his back, then the wind eased, brushing past his scaled head at a much lower pace. He eased his icy-blue eyes open to see the sky instead of the ground. Clouds flew past his vision.

Daemon looked around to see the forested plain far below him, and Saphira soaring next to him. Broad silver-blue wings shifted with the breeze, catching the wind under their blue membrane, propelling him forward through the bright blue sky.

Hey! I'm flying! I'm really flying!

Yes, I can see that, Saphira chuckled, Didn't I tell you that instinct would handle the rest?

He swooped over and bumped into her, making her flight path wobble, then stabilize. You could have killed me! You couldn't have known that was going to work.

True, but there was no other way to find out, either! she laughed, bumping back into him in retaliation. He wobbled, dropped a few feet, then rose again.

Watch it, you'll make me fall!

He then heard Saphira sigh in his mind. Oh Daemon...if you live in constant fear of the fall, you'll never learn to enjoy the flight she stated wisely. She banked and began to climb towards the clouds. Here, let me show you. Daemon watched her go and flapped his wings harder to follow.

Daemon and Saphira spent an hour or so flying together over the valley, allowing the Dragonborn to get used to flying with his new body. They flew until the sun was past its peak, and slowly began to cross the other half the sky. They even caught a few wild deer for lunch, which, much to his own surprise, Daemon ate without hesitation or complaint. After their meal, the dragons stopped by a stream that branched off the river to refresh themselves.

You...learn fast, Saphira told Daemon wearily, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

It helps to have an excellent teacher, Daemon replied.

Aww, you're sweet, Saphira said, nuzzling her neck against Daemon's. She moved away and craned her neck down to drink from the stream, her mind on how well and quickly Daemon has adapted to being a dragon.

After they had a drink, Daemon looked at her. Should we return to the others?

No, we have one more lesson to do. Saphira said as she crouched low and assumed a stance ready for a fight, causing Daemon's eyes to widen. Ground combat.

Oh bugger. Daemon said just as she came running at him.

"Stenr reisa," Eragon said and gasped as the pebble in his hand wobbled into the air over his faintly glowing palm. He struggled to keep it floating, but the power slipped away and faded back behind the barrier. The pebble dropped to his hand with a soft plop, and his palm returned to normal. He felt a little tired, but grinned from his success.

"Not bad for your first time," said Brom.

"Why does my hand do that? It's like a little lantern."

"No one's sure," Brom admitted. "The Riders always preferred to channel their power through whichever hand bore the gedwëy ignasia. You can use your other palm, but it isn't as easy." He looked at Eragon for a minute. "I'll buy you some gloves at the next town, if it isn't gutted. You hide the mark pretty well on your own, but we don't want anyone to see it by accident. Besides, there may be times when you won't want the glow to alert an enemy."

"Do you have a mark of your own?"

"No. Only Riders have them," said Brom. "Also, you should know that magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it'll take more energy than if you were closer. So if you see enemies racing after you from a league away, let them approach before using magic. Now, back to work! Try to lift the pebble again."

"Again?" asked Eragon weakly, thinking of the effort it had taken to do it just once.

"Yes! And this time be quicker about it."

They continued with the exercises throughout most of the day. When Eragon finally stopped, he was tired and ill-tempered. In those hours, he had come to hate the pebble and everything about it. He started to throw it away, but Brom said, "Don't. Keep it." Eragon glared at him, then reluctantly tucked the stone into a pocket.

"We're not done yet," warned Brom, "so don't get comfortable."

Dammit. Daemon winced as he licked a scratch across his foreleg. After sparring with each other on the ground, and Saphira winning the first round, Daemon winning the second, but the third coming in at a draw, both dragons decided to take a rest and attend to the scratch marks that was over their bodies. They laid down to rest under a low-hanging broom tree that arced over the river, casting a pleasant shadow in which they rested, licking their wounds.

Lying several feet away, Saphira couldn't help but chuckle to herself every time she saw Daemon wince as he cleaned his wounds. She took the time to look over his body more clearly and perfectly.

He didn't make a bad looking dragon. She might ever go so far to say he was a striking young male; his colors complemented her own nicely, which wasn't surprising really, considering it was her blood that caused this to happen. And she was enjoying the fact that she could finally spend time with another dragon her age, considering she had originally thought herself to be one of the last free dragons.

Daemon grunted as he attempted to bend his neck to get his head around to lick the injury, but could not reach it.

Let me, came Saphira's voice. Daemon felt her moist tongue passing over the wounds, sending fresh waves of pain as her tongue brushed against the soft, exposed flesh. Daemon released a low growl of pain, but did nothing to stop her, for this was a necessary evil if his wounds were to heal faster.

Saphira, why are you helping me when I harmed you? he asked with confusion and a frown on his scaly features.

Because. We came here to fight, and we did. Injuries are simply part of the process, and I went a bit overboard attacking your neck like that. Saphira said, continuing her treatment of the wounds without another word.

After she had finished treating his wounds, she moved away and returned to licking her own injuries.

Shouldn't we get back? Daemon eventually said, breaking the mental silence.

Yes. I can sense that Eragon and Brom are nearing Daret, and it would be wise to be close...should that hatchling of mine decide to get into trouble.

Eragon and Brom rode into Daret, striving to be silent. Brom gripped his sword with his good hand, eyes flashing everywhere. Eragon kept his bow partially drawn as they passed between the silent houses, glancing at each other with apprehension.

Brom stiffened as they entered the center of Daret and found it empty. Wind blew through the desolate town, and dust devils swirled sporadically. Brom wheeled Snowfire about. "Let's get out of here. I don't like the feel of this." He spurred Snowfire into a gallop. Eragon followed him, urging Cadoc onward.

They advanced only a few strides before wagons toppled out from behind the houses and blocked their way. Cadoc snorted and dug in his hooves, sliding to a stop next to Snowfire. A swarthy man hopped over the wagon and planted himself before them, a broadsword slung at his side and a drawn bow in his hands. Eragon swung his own bow up and pointed it at the stranger, who commanded, "Halt! Put your weapons down. You're surrounded by sixty archers. They'll shoot if you move." As if on cue, a row of men stood up on the roofs of the surrounding houses.

"What do you want?" asked Brom calmly.

"Why have you come here?" demanded the man.

"To buy supplies and hear the news. Nothing more. We're on the way to my cousin's house in Dras-Leona."

"You're armed pretty heavily."

"So are you," said Brom. "These are dangerous times."

"True." The man looked at them carefully. "I don't think you mean us ill, but we've had too many encounters with Urgals and bandits for me to trust you only on your word."

"If it doesn't matter what we say, what happens now?" countered Brom. The men on top of the houses had not moved. By their very stillness, Eragon was sure that they were either highly disciplined . . . or frightened for their lives. He hoped it was the latter.

"You say that you only want supplies. Would you agree to stay here while we bring what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?"

"Yes."

"All right," said the man, lowering his bow, though he kept it ready. He waved at one of the archers, who slid to the ground and ran over. "Tell him what you want."

Brom recited a short list and then added, "Also, if you have a spare pair of gloves that would fit my nephew, I'd like to buy those too." The archer nodded and ran off.

"The name's Trevor," said the man standing in front of them. "Normally I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances, I think I'll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?"

"North," said Brom, "but we haven't lived in any place long enough to call it home. Have Urgals forced you to take these measures?"

"Yes," said Trevor, "and worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We receive word from them rarely, but there have been reports that they are also beleaguered."

Brom turned grave. "I wish it wasn't our lot to bring you these tidings. Nearly a fortnight ago we passed through Yazuac and found it pillaged. The villagers had been slaughtered and piled together. We would have tried to give them a decent burial, but two Urgals attacked us."

Shocked, Trevor stepped back and looked down with tears in his eyes. "Alas, this is indeed a dark day. Still, I don't see how two Urgals could have defeated all of Yazuac. The people there were good fighters—some were my friends."

"There were signs that a band of Urgals had ravaged the town," stated Brom. "I think the ones we encountered were deserters."

"How large was the company?"

Brom fiddled with his saddlebags for a minute. "Large enough to wipe out Yazuac, but small enough to go unnoticed in the countryside. No more than a hundred, and no less than fifty. If I'm not mistaken, either number would prove fatal to you." Trevor wearily agreed. "You should consider leaving," Brom continued. "This area has become far too perilous for anyone to live in peace."

"I know, but the people here refuse to consider moving

. This is their home—as well as mine, though I have only been here a couple years—and they place its worth above their own lives." Trevor looked at him seriously. "We have repulsed individual Urgals, and that has given the townspeople a confidence far beyond their abilities. I fear that we will all wake up one morning with our throats slashed."

The archer hurried out of a house with a pile of goods in his arms. He set them next to the horses, and Brom paid him. As the man left, Brom asked, "Why did they choose you to defend Daret?"

Trevor shrugged. "I was in the king's army for some years."

Brom dug through the items, handed Eragon the pair of gloves, and packed the rest of the supplies into their saddlebags. Eragon pulled the gloves on, being careful to keep his palm facing down, and flexed his hands. The leather felt good and strong, though it was scarred from use. "Well," said Brom, "as I promised, we will go now."

Trevor nodded. "When you enter Dras-Leona, would you do us this favor? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of the other towns. If word of this hasn't reached the king by now, it's cause for worry. And if it has, but he has chosen to do nothing, that too is cause for worry."

"We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp," said Brom.

"And yours."

The wagons were pulled out of their way, and they rode from Daret into the trees along the Ninor River. Eragon sent his thoughts to Saphira. We're on our way back. Everything turned out all right. Her only response was simmering anger.

When they reached Saphira, she startled them by thrusting her head at them. The horses backstepped nervously. Saphira looked Eragon over carefully and gave a low hiss. Her eyes were flinty. Eragon threw a concerned look at Brom—he had never seen Saphira this angry—then asked, What's wrong?

You, she growled. You are the problem.

Eragon frowned and got off Cadoc. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Saphira swept his legs out from under him with her tail and pinned him with her talons. "What are you doing?" he yelled, struggling to get up, but she was too strong for him. Brom watched attentively from Snowfire.

Saphira swung her head over Eragon until they were eye to eye. He squirmed under her unwavering glare. You! Every time you leave my sight you get into trouble. You're like a new hatchling, sticking your nose into everything. And what happens when you stick it into something that bites back? How will you survive then? I cannot help you when I'm miles away. I've stayed hidden so that no one would see me, but no longer! Not when it may cost you your life.

I can understand why you're upset, said Eragon, but I'm much older than you and can take care of myself. If anything, you're the one who needs to be protected.

She snarled and snapped her teeth by his ear. Do you really believe that? she asked. Tomorrow you will ride me—not that pitiful deer-animal you call a horse—or else I will carry you in my claws. Are you a Dragon Rider or not? Don't you care for me?

The question burned in Eragon, and he dropped his gaze. He knew she was right, but he was scared of riding her. Their flights had been the most painful ordeal he had ever endured.

"Well?" demanded Brom.

"She wants me to ride her tomorrow," said Eragon lamely.

Brom considered it with twinkling eyes. "Well, you have the saddle. I suppose that if the two of you stay out of sight, it won't be a problem." Saphira switched her gaze to him, then returned it to Eragon.

"But what if you're attacked or there's an accident? I won't be able to get there in time and—"

Saphira pressed harder on his chest, stopping his words. Exactly my point, little one.

Brom seemed to hide a smile. "It's worth the risk. You need to learn how to ride her anyway. Think about it this way: with you flying ahead and looking at the ground, you'll be able to spot any traps, ambushes, or other unwelcome surprises."

Eragon looked back at Saphira and said, Okay, I'll do it. But let me up.

Give me your word.

Is that really necessary? he demanded. She blinked. Very well. I give you my word that I will fly with you tomorrow. Satisfied?

Very. She got off him and went to lay down beside Daemon, who had helped Brom gather sticks for a fire. As dinner cooked, Eragon and Brom again sparred with mock swords. However, during the fight, Eragon delivered such a powerful blow, that the wooden weapons snapped and shattered into pieces. Brom threw the remains into the fire and indicated Eragon do the same.

"We're done with these; throw yours in as well. You have learned well, but we've gone as far as we can with branches. There is nothing more you can gain from them. It is time for you to use the blade." He removed Zar'roc from Eragon's bag and gave it to him.

"We'll cut each other to ribbons," protested Eragon.

"Not so. Again you forget magic," said Brom. He held up his sword and turned it so that firelight glinted off the edge. He put a finger on either side of the blade and focused intensely, deepening the lines on his forehead. For a moment nothing happened, then he uttered, "Gëuloth du knífr!" and a small red spark jumped between his fingers. As it flickered back and forth, he ran his fingers down the length of the sword. Then he twirled it and did the same thing on the other side. The spark vanished the moment his fingers left the metal.

Brom held his hand out, palm up, and slashed it with the sword. Eragon jumped forward but was too slow to stop him. He was astonished when Brom raised his unharmed hand with a smile. "What did you do?" asked Eragon.

"Feel the edge," said Brom. Eragon touched it and felt an invisible surface under his fingers. The barrier was about a quarter inch wide and very slippery. "Now do the same on Zar'roc," instructed Brom. "Your block will be a bit different than mine, but it should accomplish the same thing."

He told Eragon how to pronounce the words and coached him through the process. It took Eragon a few tries, but he soon had Zar'roc's edge protected. Confident, he took his fighting stance. Before they started, Brom admonished, "These swords won't cut us, but they can still break bones. I would prefer to avoid that, so don't flail around like you normally do. A blow to the neck could prove fatal."

Eragon nodded, then struck without warning. Sparks flew off his blade, and the clash of metal filled their campsite as Brom parried. The sword felt slow and heavy to Eragon after fighting with sticks for so long. Unable to move Zar'roc fast enough, he received a sharp rap on his knee.

They both had large welts when they stopped, Eragon more so than Brom. He marveled that Zar'roc had not been scratched or dented by the vigorous pounding it had received.

Eragon looked over at Daemon who laid beside him. How did your lessons with her go?

Daemon huffed and lifted his wing in response, showing a series of scratches on his side. What do you think?

Eragon just patted the dragon in sympathy...

And that's this chapter done.

By the way, Daemon's dragon form in this story is different than the dragons of Skyrim. He has a longer neck and four legs, basically Smaug but silver, has horns, four legs, and obviously smaller than what Smaug was.

Why do I pick Smaug? Because he's awesome that's why.