Hello again, faithful reviewers! Sorry it took so long to update - I've had so much going on lately and everything's been really hectic. This chapter isn't as pleasing as the other two, but I'm so out of it... Once again, I do not own the Inheritance Trilogy, and if I did, I would be rich, which I am not, sadly.

"I am called Vlad," the man with the stormy gray eyes said. He was a charismatic, suave looking man with auburn colored hair, a couple of years Silde's senior, perhaps.

Silde shifted in her seat slightly, contemplating on the situation at hand. Was she rescued only to be riled again and this time by her savior? The kindness in the man's eyes told her no.

"My name is Silde," she replied tentatively, as Vlad took the seat beside her.

He clasped his hands together and ordered a mug of hard cider before he turned to talk with her. "Now, Miss Silde, what is a young woman like you, with your fine clothes and features, doing in a travelers' rest?"

The loud thud of the barmaid settling down Vlad's beverage was not even heard by Silde as she pondered what she was to say to the man. He seemed trustworthy, but she had to keep on her guard in the case that he was devious and subtly sly. She was still musing moments later, when Vlad furrowed his eyebrows in interest and humor.

"Miss Silde, I did not intend to ask a difficult question of you. Very well, it shall be left unanswered."

His words startled Silde a bit, but she smiled. "On the contrary, Vlad, I am but a simple merchant's daughter, sent out to promote her father's sales." She was pleased with her answer, but she knew the intelligent man before her would not mistake it for the truth. But he did not comment or show any notion of disbelief.

"A merchant's daughter," he repeated. "And have you anywhere to stay for the night?"

Silde looked at him crossly, with her eyebrows furrowed. Vlad immediately waved his hands in front of his face in innocence.

"Miss Silde, I have a wife and… three children! Please do not think that I am trying to seduce you in any way - my wife would be very glad to have feminine company, is all. I've heard too, that the inn is full in occupancy."

Silde pondered his offer, tracing a stain on the table with her pointer finger. She had no money, she realized, and she could not obtain a room even if she could pay for it. She had spent the last of her coins on the two inns before and for Éryuin's care. It would be nice to be in a family environment, she decided.

"Then I shall except, if you would be so kind," she said cautiously as Vlad drained his mug of cider.

The path was a swirling vortex of darkness for a long time. Duvir ran as fast as he could, never really gaining any distance, but he didn't want to stop. He couldn't. He couldn't control his rapidly beating heart and his feet, which moved as if of their own accord. His lungs were about to burst and he could feel his thighs turn to jelly. It was horrible. He lost something, he knew. What is it, he thought. His knees buckled and he fell forward, falling through the black whirlpool. He felt a strong breeze rush past him, as if he were falling from the sky. The pounding of hooves reached his ears as he fell bodily onto hard ground. He felt his body crush against the earth, his bones puncturing every soft, fleshy part of his body as if they were daggers. The break in his arm was worse than it was before Eragon had tended to it. Duvir was still alive when he cried no tears. The sound of nearing horses was all that Duvir heard, even through his pain.

Men in the black and blue livery from Galbatorix's palace rode atop frothing horses - stallions and geldings. Duvir shivered and held up his broken wrist to cover his eyes and to try to protect himself from the oncoming men-at-arms. The man at the front swung out his sword from a plain leather sheath, blood lust in his bright yellow eyes. Just as the hilt of the man's sword was about to slam upon his head, Duvir found himself in different surroundings.

A pale, lithe young woman fretted over a small-boned Elven mare, using a currycomb to brush her mane until it shone smooth. The woman held an apple behind her back and fed it to her horse-companion after finishing with the grooming and circling her arm around so the horse could nibble it. She laughed, worry lines unfolding themselves and evening her features into a radiant smile. Her face blurred. Duvir felt his head hit something hard and it became black again.

Duvir opened his eyes reluctantly as the sun shone in full force, trying not to remember his terrifyingly real dream. He mind was abuzz with thoughts he couldn't place. His head hurt so much. He realized that he couldn't remember anything from before he met Eragon. "Who am I?" he whispered aloud.

Everyone else had awoken already, and he could tell that it was almost midday. He stretched while lying, and looked over to where Bid'Daum should have been. He wasn't there. Only the threadbare tunic showed any sign that the baby dragon had been there. The youth began to worry as he quickly rose and dusted himself off - not that it helped much, seen as how Duvir looked and smelled as if he hadn't had a decent bath in at least three months.

Duvir looked around and saw no one. Orik and Roran had probably gone off hunting, Duvir figured, and Arya and Eragon were perhaps training together. He figured that Saphira was somehow mentoring young Bid'Daum - maybe showing him how to catch prey so when the time was right the youngling could manage feeding himself. Duvir scowled slightly and decided to explore around the camp area. He severely hoped for a stream of sorts so he could at least dunk his head in the water and wash away the lice the made his head itch. He noticed, as he made his way along a dirt trail, that his black hair had grown long and decided to cut it, even if he wasn't able to find a stream.

About a fifteen-minutes' walk away from the camp, Duvir found a small pond with clear water. Not a thing disturbed the pristine surface but an occasional autumn leaf that fell and caused calming ripples on the water's surface. He hoped there was sand on the bottom to rub in his hair and rid it of the grit.

He took off his clothes quickly, finding the air a tad chilly. When he waded to the middle, he found that his feet touched the bottom. Sadly, there was no sand, but mud; he scrubbed away quickly, feeling his body stiffen from the cold.

When he was dressed and comfortably damp, with shorter hair (thanks to a small, flat-bladed dagger he kept sheathed and belted around his thin waist), he walked back to the camp and found everyone eating their midday meal.

"Good day, Duvir," Eragon said politely.

Duvir muttered a shy reply as he took his helping of dried rabbit meat from Orik that was left over from the night before.

Once Eragon had finished his healthy meal of an assortment of nuts and the strange bread that Duvir recognized from last night, Eragon beckoned the boy over to him.

"You have yet to tell me your story," he said quietly but firmly.

Duvir shifted his feet, making circles in the dirt with his left foot that was bare. "I… I come from the palace where the rider king lives. I think I was a servant there for several years." He paused, licking his bottom lip in thought and furrowing his eyebrows in distress. He couldn't remember anything, just as it was when he woke up. "I was given the dragon egg by someone... I cannot remember their name or face. I only know that it was dire for me to bring Bid'Daum to you. I cannot remember anything," he said exasperatedly. "It's all a strange haze." He stopped and looked up from his foot in hope that Eragon would not prod him to continue.

Eragon had smiled at his charge's dragon's name; at the same time, he realized that it might have symbolized something - a youngling choosing the name of the first dragon that had a rider…

When Duvir had mentioned his lack of remembrance, Eragon frowned. Has he amnesia? he thought.

"Can you explain the Elven horse, Duvir?" Eragon asked to Duvir's chagrin.

"I don't know how I ever obtained such a beautiful mare. Éryuin is her name."

"How-" Eragon began to ask Duvir how he knew the horse's name but he stopped in order to keep Duvir from distress.

"Her name means Sender, Duvir. That is the first word I shall teach you from the Ancient Language." Eragon knew that Duvir's story had gaps in it, but eventually, he was sure that the boy would tell him the full story when he regained his memory. For now, the story was at least plausible.

"Thank you, Shadeslayer," Duvir murmured in reply.

Vlad's wife was a lovely, plump woman who was around the age of Silde. She was rosy-cheeked with auburn hair and intelligent green eyes. When she first greeted Silde to their "humble" abode which wasn't much more than wood piled together to make a precarious home, Gelda, Vlad's wife, held a baby on her hip and with her free hand, wrestled her arm from a little boy's grip. Behind her, an emerald-eyed girl who looked to be about three years old clung to Gelda's apron strings. Silde smiled sweetly to them.

Vlad had explained to Gelda that Silde was a guest. Gelda's eyes had widened, taking in the finery of the woman's clothes - which were muddied and slightly torn, but still in excellent condition - and the delicacy of her features, but she said not a word in contradiction and instead welcomed her inside.

It was a shoddy living arrangement, but Silde took a liking to the coziness she felt with the small family. The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and looked up at Silde with wide eyes, a shy smile tugging at one corner of her lips. Her brother yanked at Silde's billowy sleeve and offered her a small, semi-stale loaf of bread with a withered piece of jerky. Silde accepted the tyke's offer with a generous smile.

After a few moments' thought and several bites later, Silde pondered how to pay for Éryuin's arrangements at the travelers' inn. Just a night's feed and housing for the Elven horse cost several copper coins. As it was, Silde had given her last few to the stable hand, who assured that Éryuin would be well taken care of. If the inn's owner ever entertained the thought that a beautiful and surely expensive Elven mare had been abandoned, there was no way Silde could ever retrieve Éryuin. The thought tightened her chest; she had learned to love the chestnut horse who had been her only true companion on the road. Éryuin's undying patience slowly taught Silde how to become an excellent rider, and Silde valued her immensely.

"Miss Silde, you look troubled," Gelda observed inquisitively as they took seats. Gelda had poured water into a wooden cup for Silde to drink from.

"I was thinking of my horse, is all." She smiled absently. "Please, just call me Silde."

Vlad perked up at the mention of a stable animal. "A horse? Why, we have a barn, if you need a stall for it." He was careful with his words so he wouldn't offend the obviously higher-born woman who had accepted his offer once before.

Silde's face lit up in a glowing smile. "I-I would be grateful. I owe you much in my debt. I promise that I shall repay you in some way."

Vlad chuckled and nodded. "There's no need for that."

"Then I shall help you in your daily chores? I need something for my idle hands. I will do any task that you need me to perform. I am much more durable than I seem."

Gelda smiled and took Silde's hand in her calloused ones from across the table where she sat. "Of course," she said, interrupting her husband who had opened his mouth to speak. "You may help me cook and watch the children as they do their chores in the morning. You may work until your heart is content. My husband will take you to the travelers' inn in the morning to get your horse. For now, you should rest and eat. You look dreadfully tired."

Silde acquiesced after much protesting and was led to a hammock, in the corner of the large one-room house, to sleep on. She didn't even feel her head hit the netted material - she was asleep so fast.

The next morning, Silde woke to the sound of rain splashing on the roof.

Tap! Tap!

She stretched out in the hammock and yawned as widely as she could without dislocating her jaw bone. After a quick speculation of the room, she found that everyone was awake. Gelda was frying meat and humming to herself over the constant tapping of rain. The little boy and girl were playing a game of "rock, paper, scissors" together. Vlad was not inside; Silde gathered he was taking care of the animals in their barn. She rolled herself out of the hammock and greeted everyone with a "Good morning."

Gelda smiled, taking the cooking pan off of the flames and dishing out the meat and - from what Silde saw - a strange combination of vegetables. The children squealed with delight at sight of the breakfast. Gelda motioned Silde over to the table then tended to the baby, feeding her cow's milk and bouncing to the sides ever so slightly as she held the baby.

Silde couldn't remember anything tasting so delicious. The meat was tender and practically melted in her mouth. The vegetables complemented the meat nicely. All in all, Silde finished her plate in a matter of minutes and kicked back with a contented sigh.

Vlad entered the house just as the children finished their meal. He looked a tad disheveled and was sopping wet, but he had a broad fool's smile on his face.

"Silde," he said between mouthfuls of food and drink, "I should have you know that I went to the inn this morning and obtained your mare. She's a beauty, I must say."

Silde ran out of the home after saying a polite "Excuse me," and getting directions to the family's barn. Vlad had many acres of land from what Silde could see. Once she reached the barn - which was a large, fantastic structure - Silde flung one of the doors open and rushed to the first stall which held Éryuin.

After much petting and hugging, Éryuin whickered and licked Silde's glove-covered hand, demanding a treat. Vlad had generously supplied an feeding bag with a mixture of oats and dried apple bits that Silde held up to Éryuin's mouth. As Éryuin ate to heart's content, Silde combed the mare with a currycomb, each stroke taking pressure off of her mind. When Éryuin and Silde finished their tasks, Silde walked back to the house with a bright smile plastered to her face.

"This is Ciry, my lovely daughter," Vlad explained as he rubbed the head of a russet-curled three-year-old. Ciry held out her arms. Silde tilted her head to the side as Vlad laughed. "She means for you to pick her up. You do know how to hold a child, don't you?"

Silde blushed and tentatively picked up the gray-eyed girl, who amiably hugged the young woman.

"Ilva's my grownup son." Vlad patted the shoulder of the little boy who looked up with proudly defiant green-gray eyes.

"The infant girl is Ahna, whom you won't have to worry about, seen as how Gelda will be taking care of her." He paused, smiling. "Ciry, Ilva, behave for Miss Silde. Da is going to go out to the barn to take care of the animals and till the vegetable patch."

Ciry looked up from Silde's shoulder to her father and asked, "Can I feed the chicks later? Please, Da?"

Vlad laughed heartily, and with a nod left to tend to the everyday chores.

"Are you ready Duvir?" The young boy nodded, holding his branch before him and swaying from side to side. Eragon laughed heartily.

"Shall we run over this again?"

Duvir nodded again, embarrassment clear across his red cheeks.

"You hold your sword like this. You must keep your feet planted firmly on the ground; don't sway to and fro, Duvir." Eragon corrected Duvir with patience, and when the boy was finally ready, they practiced with their play-swords, lunging, parrying, ducking.

Duvir lost the first couple of times, barely used to the feel of the heavy wood in his hands. During their fifth round, the youth got the feel of each block, each thrust. He smiled, sweat drenching his brow, then winced, as Eragon's magically dulled sword pinched into his side.

"Watch from every angle. That's enough for today, Duvir."

"Yes, Ebrithil."

Eragon had taught Duvir a few words from the Ancient Language, something the youth latched onto quickly. He loved the feel of the words as they rolled off of his tongue, round and lilting.

So, far, he loved everything about Eragon, his Ebrithil.

Whoo! Another chapter. Reviews and critique are welcomed with opened arms!

Svelte