Chapter 18 is finally up! I am so sorry for the overly long wait! (5 days!) I usually update much faster. But I was having what we writers hate . . . writers block! But I managed it, thank goodness! Now, I hope everyone shall enjoy this chapter because I nearly wrecked my brain thinking on how to write it. And Buddy is right, the part of the Eldunarí shall come up much sooner in my story but besides that I have a question for all of you at the end. (Oh, and to pacify you all, I am trying to write a Brom POV) RR!

Losing must not be a habit of hers, Eragon thought, somewhat amused. After the sparring match, Arya had adamantly refused to look at him in the eye. Eridor had found this amusing, as he had stared at his Rider with bright eyes, and a slight grin. Eragon hoped she would not take the blow to her pride too seriously. He would rather not have her upset with him. He turned away to gaze at the setting sun; night would fall shortly. Then he would be free of all this—this kindness. He felt as if he were being drowned by it. He had certainly not expected such a welcome from his new teacher, after having been received in such a manner by Islanzadí. With his already extensive understanding of magic, strategy, and other things besides, he wondered what knowledge Oromis could offer him.

Placing down his flagon, Oromis turned to stare at the sky. "It is late and you need to rest, for tomorrow shall be the start of your training." They all stood to leave, but Oromis motioned for Eragon to remain seated. "I would like to speak with you privately, Eragon."

That was it; he had been waiting for this moment to come. Arya, who seemed to have forgotten her previous chagrin, gave him a concerned look. Instead of mounting Saphira, she mounted Thorn. Eragon watched as the two dragons took flight, southward to the city of Ellesméra. "A beautiful sight."

He turned to find Oromis staring at him. It was unnerving. "Please, join me in my hut." Without saying a word, he followed his master. He took a seat in one of the chairs, sat beside a great wall of scrolls. Watching as Oromis lowered himself into a seat before him.

Many emotions passed through his mind, none of them rage. He felt no anger towards the elder Rider, not in the least. He had shown nothing but kindness to Eragon; something that most did not do. Only those who were close, and knew him well, showed kindness. Yet, the elf before him knew little of his nature, of his past, but had reached out to him. He was trying to help him. But the only problem with that was accepting help. He did not know how to depend on others, and often found that he would rather not. The only person you could truly depend on was yourself. Or so he had thought for many years.

"I know what you're thinking, Eragon." Whispered Oromis. "This receding nature that you show to kindness, goes deep into your mind and soul. It reveals the tortures you were subjected to."

"You don't understand," Eragon muttered, a pained expression on his face.

"I will admit that I do not, but know that I too had been a captive. I was submitted to tortures, but eventually broke free. Hope and the chance of freedom gave me the strength to do so. But I did not escape unscathed; I am a broken man, Eragon."

He stared at Oromis, truly, for the first time. Was he seeing empathy? "But you are not. You have the strength and health of a young elf. You are not sick and crippled." His mind flashed to Murtagh and his scarred back. "'Nor are you without friends and love." Saphira…and Arya. "Let them help you, let them heal you. Let me help you."

"They cannot." He felt angry as his voice grew bitter and saddened. The loss of control over his emotions angered him. "You cannot."

"You can never be certain, if you don't try." Oromis replied softly. "Even those not close to you, if you allow them, will help you."

"Help me?" said Eragon. "I am not like you. Who would want to help me? The Varden only uses me. The dwarves attacked me, and your people detained me. All I will ever be in your eyes is a traitor undeserving of trust."

"The world has not betrayed you, Eragon," Oromis spoke sadly. "In fact, it is the opposite. You have turned your back on everyone, and have isolated yourself. Reach out, and they will in turn accept your attempts, and reach out to you."

Eragon sat stunned by his words. Everything seemed to have stopped for him. Had he pushed away those who had tried to care for him? Given up on reaching out for help? The more Eragon thought of it, the more everything seemed to have fallen into place. His mother had so desperately wanted to help him, but he had pushed her attempts away. Saphira, his life partner, tried to keep him from drowning in his own sorrow, but it would only work if he grabbed hold of her for support. His servants, Rosalie, Bard, Desdemona and Finny, had all tried so hard, filling his life with laughter and joy, but he had ignored their attempts. You are not alone. Arya. "I don't know how," he miserably admitted.

He was confessing; he was accepting fate, the new direction his path had taken since he had left the Empire. The insecurities he thought he had long thrown away after taking on the identity of Gabranth. "I cannot tell you how Eragon. But I can tell you this, keep your loved ones close, for strength and bonds of family and friends can give even the weakest man power."

That was some advice, Eragon thought warily. But no matter, he would take it to heart. "Is that all you wanted to speak about?" he asked.

"Part of it was, but there are other things that I hope I can discuss with you as well. Concerning the relationship you have with your brother." He tensed, waiting for Oromis to continue. "Murtagh does not bear a strong hostility to you, Eragon. If it's not too personal a question for me to ask, why is it that you detest him so?"

"Detest?" Eragon blinked. Was he giving off the image of hating Murtagh that much? "I don't detest him. Envy would be more accurate."

"Ah, but in time envy can grow into hate."

"I know." Eragon admitted. "Even though it's not true; I've spent most of my life, nearly all of it, thinking that my mother had loved Murtagh enough to hide him away in Carvahall, and not me. Over sixteen years, I grew envious, and maybe I even hate him. But I have come to respect him since." Despite his foolish behavior, and persistent questions. "Emotions are not set in stone and if I get to know him better, perhaps it will come to change."

"Then will you give me your word that you will at least act civil in his company?"

"On my honor as a Rider."

"Good." He nodded and continued, this time with a sort of caution. "When we met, you did not appear surprised to learn that Glaedr and I were alive."

"I'm not," he said. "Galbatorix had always suspected there were one or more Riders hiding away Du Weldenvarden, a place beyond his reach. And he was right."

"I expected as much," said Oromis with a nod. "I would also ask of you how Galbatorix has seemingly increased his strength since the fall of the Riders. However, such a discussion must wait until you trust both I and Islanzadí enough to speak of it. Trust must beget trust, so I am sure we will not have long to wait."

"I agree."

"Then we both may look forward to such a time." He glanced outside the window to find that the sun had gone. The orange sky that had been splashed with spots of red, like a wildfire, had turned a pitch black. "I hope you will come to enjoy your stay here in Ellesméra."

He nodded. "The sunset here is the same as it was in Urû'baen, yet it is different, more beautiful." The smile Oromis gave him made him uneasy, but he tried his best to settle the feeling, though it refused to be beaten easily.

"That it is, but before you leave Eragon, there is one thing I would like to ask you. What is your interest in Arya?"

He froze. Interest in Arya? What had made him ask such a thing? Arya was his friend . . . but he was not sure she even thought of him as a friend. Maybe as a Rider, or an ally, but it was not something he had given much thought to, nor did he think she had either. Still slightly confused, he tried to answer Oromis. "I have no interest in Arya besides friendship." But even as the words left his lips, it felt wrong.

"I see. And Eragon, when you reach Ellesméra; Queen Islanzadí and I have come to an agreement to give you Vrael's tree. It is your inheritance, as the senior of the new Riders that have graced our forest."

Vrael's tree? He frowned; Islanzadí must have had a hard time agreeing with Oromis, she had given him a position of authority beyond Arya and Murtagh as Riders. To be given the tree of the leader of the Riders, he was nearly at a loss for words. "What can I say, master? Your decision honors me, thank you," he finally said, humbled. "But where will I find it?"

"Glaedr has shown Saphira its location. Go and rest, you've deserved it after your long journey, and encounter with my people." He nodded, and left the hut to find Saphira crouched on the ground waiting for him. Glaedr was curled up next to the hut, giving the impression that he was sleeping.

He was right, Saphira said as she flew towards Ellesméra. He grunted in response, knowing it was so. Oh, don't go acting like a brute now! We just all want to help, but you are always pushing us away.

I do not need help, or at least, I have not before, Eragon replied. I have led my life without the need of any help. It is an odd concept, relying on someone else.

It is called trust, little one, something that you are going to have to learn to see in others from now on, Saphira said. And I'll be there to help you, Eragon.

He rubbed the scales on her neck with appreciation. What do you think of Glaedr and Oromis?

Wise beyond measure, came her answer. And kind as well.

Yes, they are at that. Eragon thought, as he watched Saphira head straight to a tall thick tree. It appeared they were going to collide with the bark, but instead of hitting wood, they entered a large teardrop hole, and descended into a room. It was lavish. A bed sat in the center, and a dais not far off, where Saphira would sleep. A spiral staircase, which was sung from the wood of the tree, led to a study. Without thinking, he fell down onto the mattress, thankful for its comfort.

His back was unused to the soft feeling. Immediately, his muscles began to burn from having slept on a straight or hardened ground for some time. Saphira, who had curled up on her dais, surrounded his mind with her own, trying to block out his discomfort. It worked, for he found himself waking to birds trilling from outside his open teardrop window.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face, shaking sleep from his weary mind. The next course of action was a bath. Exploring the tree he was grateful to find a small room with what looked like a bath with taps, though how the elves created such a contraption, he would never know. To be rid of the grime and dirt made him feel immensely pleased, and he was able to rid himself of the growing stubble on his chin and cheeks.

Entering his bed chambers again, he was surprised to find a pair of clean clothes waiting for him. An elf must have delivered it before he woke. The tunic and breeches were made of the finest linen, and the boots were made of leather that would not wear away due to use. As he began lacing up his boots, a knock sounded on his screen door.

Who would want to visit him? "Enter." Arya walked in and in her hands were his blades.

"Good morning, Eragon, Saphira." He nodded at Arya while Saphira nudged her, having woken up when he was bathing. He returned to lacing up his boots. The sound of footsteps echoed in his ears as she walked towards the table to set the swords down upon it. "You look well rested today."

"I slept rather well," he agreed, as he stood. He glanced at his swords on the table, taking hold of one; he slid it halfway out of its sheath, studying the blade to see if it had been tampered with. Satisfied, he slid it back in.

"It was tested by one of our most experienced blacksmiths. She was rather impressed that both blades are alike in every way. Usually when something is forged by humans, there is a difference, whether it is big or small." He nodded. Strapping the sheath onto his belt.

"These swords belonged to a man who saved my life," Eragon explained. The revelation caught Arya off guard. "It was four years ago. When I was traveling to Gil'ead with Saphira, I was ambushed by a group of Urgals. I was about to be killed when he stepped in and he saved my life, but in the end, an Urgal rammed him through with his horn. So I thought that as a way to honor him for saving my life, I would fight with his swords."

He strapped the other one, on the opposite hip. "Though I did somewhat temper them with magic."

He said the last part guiltily. Shaking the thought from his mind, he returned his attentions to Arya. "So, do you sleep in a tree as well?"

"I do, though I cannot say that I'm overly surprised by the fact that you were given Vrael's tree, considering you are the most senior Rider, of the three of us." Arya spoke with a small hint of resentment. He narrowed his eyes at her, a smirk coming to his face. She must envy his position slightly. Being older than him, she may have believed he would not have been appointed Vrael's tree. "What?"

"I'm just thinking." She stared at him but made no comment. Then after a while, he claimed, "You fought excellently yesterday."

As he expected, the corners of her lips twitched downward and her brows slanted somewhat, as if she had remembered something unpleasant. His theory was correct; she was not used to losing. "You fought just as well, though your fighting style…"

"Is a little different?" he finished for her, earning a nod. "You could say that, I suppose. It has always occurred to me that even if you are fighting with a sword, it does not mean that you should solely fight with a sword, you know? A practiced warrior should use their entire body while fighting; and not just the weapon in their hand."

"It's a practice I'm well acquainted with, but not one I have ever encountered in a duel," Arya commented. She glanced outside at the sky. "It is time for us to meet Oromis."

Then what are we waiting for? Mounting Saphira with Arya, they flew towards the crags of Tel'naeír, to find Eridor, Thorn, and Murtagh waiting for them. Beside them were Oromis and Glaedr. "Good morning." Oromis spoke, greeting the three.

"Good morning, Master," Arya and Eragon replied, and they were both somewhat stiff in their greeting. They then greeted Glaedr as well.

"Now the first thing I would like to know is the extent of your knowledge in the ancient language. Arya you need not participate, having been raised with the language. Eragon and Murtagh, I would like to see how much you know. Eragon first."

It was easy as he had used spells for a large part of his life in the Empire. He did not have trouble explaining to Oromis the vowel sounds in the ancient language, or many other grammatical rules. He was able to carry a conversation with his Master for over an hour. Murtagh on the other hand had a much more difficult time. At a certain point in the exchange, Murtagh commented, "I've never needed very many words in my spells; Brom said it was a gift that I could do so much with Brisingr. I think the most I ever said in the ancient language was when I blessed an orphan in Farthen Dûr."

This startled Eragon and Oromis. Murtagh had blessed a child? Arya, on the other hand, didn't seem fazed by the news. "Do you remember how you worded the blessing for this child?" Oromis asked, suddenly alert.

"Aye."

"Recite it for me." Murtagh did and he felt his expression harden, while looks of pure horror engulfed Oromis and Arya at hearing Murtagh's word choices. The fool! "You used skölir! Are you sure it wasn't sköliro?"

Murtagh frowned. "No, skölir. Why shouldn't I have used it? It means shielded. '…and may you be shielded from misfortune.' It was a good blessing."

"That was no blessing, but a curse," Oromis corrected. 'The suffix o forms the past tense of verb endings with r and i. Sköliro means shielded, but skölir means shield. Instead of protecting the orphan from misfortune, she has now become a shield for it, condemning her to be a sacrifice for others, absorbing their misery and suffering so that they might live in peace!"

"It is not so—"

"It is," said Oromis, saddened. Eragon was gratified as Murtagh seemed to shake with shame and guilt.

"I'm not sure if it will undo my mistake, but Thorn had marked the orphan on the brow, just like he had marked my hand."

This seemed to have dumbstruck Oromis. "One who bears the sign of the Riders, and yet is not a Rider. In all my years, I've never met anyone such as the two of you. Your decisions seem to cause an impact beyond what anyone could anticipate."

Eragon found it hard not to slap Murtagh at the moment. Arya, who had seemed tensed by the revelation of information, had grown unusually still, deep in thought. He was boiling with rage. The fool! What did he think he was doing giving a blessing when his vocabulary in the ancient language was limited to the point that he could hardly carry a conversation? And now, he had condemned an innocent child to a horrible fate, causing the orphan to suffer unnecessary pain. And what was worse was the fact that the child resided within the Varden, where battles, assassinations, and pain was a large part of life. Would she be alive before she turned one, he wondered? He took back what he said about Murtagh last night, as the respect he thought he had for his older brother was brutally crushed to pieces. Until he righted his wrong, he could not forgive him. And if he did not, then he would be forced to amend the situation himself.

So, what did you all think? Review time! Anyways, for my question, lemons, who likes them and who don't? I plan on writing a few, but I would like some uptake on it. Opinions are always welcome! But besides that, I shall have the next chapter up shortly, the Brom POV will be right behind that one hopefully. See you in a little while!