Chapter Twenty Seven – The Allures of Du Weldenvarden

Eragon observed the trees before him with a cautious eye, scrutinising the non-belligerent forest as both threat and refuge. It had been almost two weeks since the rescue of Carvahall, and he was growing restless. Due to the pendant Hrothgar had given him, nobody in the Varden could scry his position, so it fell unto him to make the connection in order to report current progress. He did that every evening, usually conversing with Harry or Brom, depending on who was available.

He missed Saphira terribly. It felt as though a part of him was absent, a hole in his heart that could not be filled but by her presence, which was unavailable. He spoke with her as often as possible, but scrying wasn't the same as a real connection, so it couldn't even content him now. She felt much the same and promptly told him so, causing him to apologise but also cite the need for protecting those he felt attached to, as family. His argument swayed her over when he pointed out she also fell into that distinction, and how he would give his life to protect her, so what was the difference?

"This place makes me feel more than a mite uneasy," Roran said, at his side.

Eragon blinked, taking account of the slimy and foreign matter upon the ancient tree trunks, as well as the unfriendly, piercing gaze of the forest's mind. Harry told him the section of Du Weldenvarden they were walking through was vastly different, courtesy of the elven presence. But this... it was something Eragon had never seen before, not even in the coldest depths of the Spine, nor the darkest tunnels of the Beor Mountains. The forest felt alive, perturbed by their presence, and he wished to leave as soon as possible.

"You're not alone," Eragon said. "I can hardly wait to put this place behind us, but finding a path is more difficult than I thought it would be. It seems like one wrong turn will have you lost for an eternity."

Roran shivered, "I've felt nothing warm about this place, cousin. I hope we didn't make a mistake in coming here."

"There is no other refuge," Eragon shook his head, "not unless you wish to join Galbatorix."

"Of course not."

"Then we're stuck with the woods for the time being."

The cousins were scouting ahead for the rest of the townspeople, a task both had come accustomed to in recent days. They had the keenest eyesight, the wariest minds and the most careful footing. Two people had already been killed from falls since their entry into the forest, so it was decreed that no one would move until the path was deemed safe. If it were not, they would divert.

It slows our progress to a great degree, but I'd rather we got there in one piece than not at all, Eragon thought. He narrowed his eyes to focus them upon the undergrowth nearby. There was little by way of sunlight beneath the canopies, making navigation all the more difficult. He dared not use magic, for the trees might see it as a threat and he was positive that would end very badly for them all.

"Ah, boys," Horst panted, striding up beside them. His normally-toned body was weather-beaten and he looked exhausted, as did they all. "Have we found a way?"

Eragon pointed. "I think there's a dirt track between a pair of oaks over there, but it's obscured by those ferns. I'd rather check it out before walking in. We all saw what happened to Harding."

Horst shivered. "Very well. But it might be best if we waited until the morning; some of the older ones are getting tired, and Elain..."

"I understand," Eragon nodded, noting the blacksmith looked relieved. He couldn't fault the man his cautions – this was a desolate place and none of the townspeople felt particularly safe. When you considered Elain's pregnancy... well, it made the nerves all the worse.

"What about the guides Harry promised?" Horst asked, as the trio made their way back to camp. "Will it be long before they get here?"

"I can't say for certain," Eragon said, "because even he doesn't know. They made contact with the elves several days ago and that would give them a head start, but I could only guess at where they are."

"It wouldn't do for them to take much longer," Roran grimaced. "Our stores of food aren't very enticing."

That was true. Supplies were always going to be a problem, even when some of the trees bore fruit for them to pick and there was sporadic game to hunt. It simply wasn't enough for feeding every single person, and the food they had brought with them was running dangerously low in stock. Several sheep had wandered off, never to be seen again, and Eragon was forced to use magic and draw water from tree sap when they went a day or two without stumbling across a stream. The continuous drain and physical toll of their trek meant he hadn't fully recovered from the skirmish back in the village, despite the time elapsed.

If anything his resolve was stronger, but his reserves weaker.

"Morn spotted a few deer about an hour ago, but they bounded away before we could fire so much as an arrow," Horst told them.

"That's no good," Eragon frowned. "We can't tarry for the sake of a deer or two. We need to keep moving. There need to be several hunters armed at all times when we're moving, in case it happens again."

"I already passed that on," Horst nodded.

"Good. How are the children?"

"Nervous, but we all are," Horst admitted. "The parents aren't letting them out of their sight and we're being careful to watch them at night, but I doubt they'll try to sneak off to play in this place."

They reached the makeshift camp. Roran clapped them both on the shoulders and left to find Katrina, who he was keeping as close to him as possible. Horst motioned for Eragon to sit with him around the fire. Several others were there, including his sons, Morn and Loring. Eragon had remembered the leather they stole from the latter before leaving for the first time, and had apologised several days ago on all their behalves. It had been an invaluable gift, he told the tanner, and vowed to repay him for the cost. Loring had merely waved a hand and said he owed the young Rider his life, which was a much more endearing debt than any amount of leather stolen.

"Be straight with us, Eragon," Horst began, and he braced himself for whatever this was about. "When we reach the elves, assuming we do, what will become of us? We know you have duties as a Rider, but many of us would be uncomfortable in the service of another race."

Eragon nodded. He had been expecting this conversation. "I wouldn't call it servitude, Horst. You would be allies in the war against Galbatorix and given the tools to do what you're best at, be it tanning, smithing or whatever the case may be. If that idea doesn't appeal to you, there is always the option of joining the Varden."

"And the Varden plan on doing the same," Horst said.

"Fighting Galbatorix?"

"Yes, but I meant feeding off the elves."

"I see. In a way, you are right. But they won't be 'feeding' off of them, not by a long shot. The Varden are a proud people and would sooner take care of themselves. What you'll see is two allies giving aid to one another and pooling their resources to fight a common enemy. That's how it was with the dwarves. The elves have promised the Varden land to rebuild, and in exchange the Varden will give them assistance in defending their borders from the Empire.

"I'm sure this is a daunting prospect for all of you, but I really don't know how to soften the blow," Eragon admitted. "This is war. Surda has been annihilated and the Urgals are in on the act as well. Once Galbatorix marches against the elves nowhere will be safe, not even these woods. He cannot be allowed to win. And he won't."

There was a hushed silence, but for the crackling of the fire. Several pairs of eyes drank his words, but otherwise looked resigned to their fate. Eragon couldn't help but feel annoyed. The world needed to wake up and realise what was happening. It was past time the common people made a stand, whether it be against the Empire or the corruption of the royal court. But fear stifled all efforts to liberate the oppressed, since raw power was political power and the king held that in abundance. Harry had told him about Murtagh. They now had three Riders, yet the king still held the overwhelming advantage.

In all honesty, that irritated him.

"What can we do to help?" Loring asked in his quiet voice. "We're just a group of peasants from a sacked town, with no experience in warfare or in politics."

"You can be the voice of all those who scream for justice," Eragon said. "Gods know the world is counting on we few. What better way to tip the scales in our favour than to swell our numbers? With more allies we might yet succeed. Trust me, you'll all do a world of good. And if you feel you aren't then pick up a sword, march onto the battlefield and kill every imperial in sight. That'll certainly help us when we need it most."

"Every day now. Every day. The Sun may set and the moon rise. It might change its shape, might not appear before being reborn in the stars above. The rain may blister all in sight, thunder crashing in the silence. Or there may be no wind at all, but an uneasy calm filled with icy breath. It matters not. Every. Single. Day."

"I feel you're exaggerating," Harry said. "It's been fewer than two weeks. Surely my company isn't that boring."

Saleera sneered at her captor. She sat in a dank cell, looking haggled and feeling rotten. No one had mistreated her, but the humiliation of being left in such a place was unbearable. Harry had no sympathy for her plight. She deserved much worse.

"Every day!" she screamed, jumping to her feet. She made to run at the wooden bars, but the chains around her ankles and wrists prevented any exerting movements. She growled as they refused to budge and promptly tried to rip them off the walls.

"You can try that forever, but it's never going to work," Harry said, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "They're held there with magic and your powers are blocked by our wards."

Saleera paused and looked to the ground. Then she started chuckling and blew a lock of hair from her face. Harry's eyebrows moved further up his face as his amusement grew.

"Yes, laugh it up," she said furiously, staring right at him. "When I get out of here you'll be the first one I kill."

"You already made that promise to poor Nyos yesterday."

"Tell him he will suffer a thousand times for that ungodly torture."

"Torture?" Harry scoffed. "It wasn't torture. You kicked him between the legs and he doused you with a bucket of ice water. You had it coming."

"A thousand times!"

"The woman is deranged," Harry said dispassionately. "Has she been getting enough to eat?"

"I believe Angela has been forcing her to eat," Aru responded mentally. "If she doesn't want to be healthy, it's very much her choice. How long do you want to keep up this charade?"

"Until I get information."

"What information do you think she has? Surely the king wouldn't send her if she knew something important. He would have covered this angle as a precaution."

Harry ignored that and looked at the prisoner carefully. She probably did know nothing, but there was a certain appeal to seeing the type of people the king might recruit. And from that angle, the one word that came to mind was a favourite of Ron's. Mental.

Saleera had tried to attack every guard who brought her food, up until Harry himself took to supervising the activities. And from there she simply resorted to screaming profanities and making idle threats. He was rather impressed that she hadn't damaged her vocal chords just yet. Yes, he had taken a vested interest in the prisoner, simply because she was the closest he had come to understanding Galbatorix since Durza.

"Okay, let's play a game," Harry said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. He looked around until he found a stool, then placed it in front of the cell and sat. She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. "These are the rules: I ask you a question, you answer. Every question you answer truthfully will earn you a prize – you get to ask me something, not related to military information, and I swear I'll be as honest as I can."

That caught her attention. Her gaze snapped to his, and she unfolded her arms, studying his expression warily. "How can I trust you?"

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't," she admitted.

"Yet I'm willing to," Harry nodded. "Play the game."

Half-reluctantly, Saleera sat against the opposite wall, so that they were facing each other. Harry nodded to himself in satisfaction. This was going to be interesting, to say the least. Up until now he had only been observing and talking nonsense to drive her up the wall. Now that she had finally snapped he decided to offer her a carrot instead of a stick, and the offer had been remarkably accepted.

"Okay, I'll go first," Harry said, thinking. He stuck a finger up in affirmation. "How old are you?"

Saleera shifted uncomfortably. "Five and twenty. I choose to ask the same."

"I'm eighteen," Harry said.

"What! How can you be so young?" she exclaimed, causing him to blink in surprise.

Why did it matter so much to her?

"How was I defeated by a... a boy?!"

Oh, that was it.

"Age isn't a reflection of skill," Harry told her calmly. "Experience is, and I have plenty of it. Now, I believe that's a second question, so I'll ask you two in turn. Where do you come from, and why do you fight for Galbatorix?"

"I... I don't know," she stammered.

"You're lying," Harry said sharply.

"I mean it! I don't know where I come from, but I know I grew up among the king's court. One of his noblemen found me on the streets when I was a child and took me in as a servant – no, a slave. He treated me horribly, so I slit his throat one night as he slept. I thought for sure they would execute me, but the king himself intervened. He smiled at me, a frightened girl begging on her knees, and extended a hand...

"From there I moved up in the world, under his protection. I learned there were others in a similar position, other children... but when I heard we were being kept for use as merciless killers, I was one of those who didn't care. He saved me, and I owe him a debt of gratitude."

Saleera had no idea why she was being so honest, but it felt gratifying to tell somebody about her past, even if she did hate the recipient more than anything. For his part, Harry was surprised. She didn't serve the king based out of political leanings or due to a hatred of the Varden... she did it because of a life debt! She felt that he was owed her servitude and promptly delivered upon it, regardless of the duties she had to carry out. To learn that the man had been virtually adopting children for use in that manner... it made him sick to his stomach. And he had no reason to suspect she was lying, even without using magic.

"And you've never looked back since," Harry said quietly, his arms folded and brow creased. "I can understand your reasons and sympathise with your plight, but-"

"Your sympathies be damned," she spat. "No child should ever suffer what I did."

"And you've never wondered what happened to the others, the other children he took under his wing?" Harry asked pointedly.

Saleera paused. "That counts as another question. And I know what happened. Many of them became soldiers in his army, but I was lucky enough to be granted this position."

"Position?"

"Third question," she smirked.

Damn her!

"The position I have is as his most trusted assassin. I was being given over to the Eastern Empire to aid them with another war entirely, but he recalled me when you sacked the capital. If you hadn't done that... we may never have even met."

"Lucky me," Harry quipped.

"Very funny. Where are the three magicians you ordered to watch me, and why... why did you let me live? And don't say 'information," she added, when he went to open his mouth. He closed it again. "I want to know why you wanted me to live, because my life should be worthless in your eyes."

"Very well," Harry said, "the magicians are hidden, and that's all you have to know. You don't think I'd let you see their faces, do you? No chance. And I let you live because I would never kill an unarmed prisoner, weakened and helpless."

"Hah, a fine jape, but a poor one in mind," she said with acid. "At least you didn't spare me because I'm a woman."

"I've known women stronger than men and vice versa," Harry said. "The other way around," he explained, as she looked confused by the Latin expression. "We're all human. But yes, the idea of women not being allowed to fight is nonsense. A friend of mine certainly proved that during the battle, and several have done so before her. In my home we all fight as one."

She looked at him curiously. He felt uneasy, those dim eyes staring him down, but showed none of it. "You're really going to volunteer information about your home?"

"That's your third question. Yes, I am, because I think we both know I come from a faraway land as it is. Besides which, I don't think you'll escape from here," Harry said, yawning to emphasise his point. She ground her teeth in frustration. The woman was like a ticking time bomb – one moment she was perfectly reasonable, but without warning she would snap and curse him.

"Since our score is tied again, I'll ask you one question to be fair," Harry said. "What was your overall purpose here?"

"To steal the dragon eggs, kill or capture you and the commanders if possible, and retreat undetected."

Harry widened his eyes. "Wow. You did a bang-up job, by all accounts."

"Don't mock me!"

"You mock yourself," Harry said, "by calling yourself his most trusted servant. To him you're nothing, just another worm to crush underfoot. Only I've been the one to stomp you, not your feeble bastard of a mas-"

Saleera stood and tried to charge the bars, but the chains stopped her. Practically crying out in frustration, she turned and promptly tried to rip them off the wall with her bare hands. Harry eyed her with more pity than dislike.

"Look at me."

She didn't seem to hear him.

"I said LOOK AT ME!" Harry roared, causing her to jump in non-expectance.

She turned to him again, and he could see tears reflected in her eyes. She had been reduced to this on his orders, he knew. He felt a rush of sympathy, but promptly pushed it away. She deserved it, to be sure. That didn't mean he was happy about it being necessary.

"You can be free of him," Harry promised, "if you try to change who you are. That's the magic that beautifies the soul. Change your name, your true name, and you'll never have to listen to him again! You say you accept who you are? Bollocks! You only accept what you're forced to! He made you this way, and you had no choice in the matter! I bet he even planted these homicidal desires in your mind! That's why you struggle to control yourself!"

"I don't need you," she growled, eyes narrowing. "I don't need anyone but the man I love."

"Love?" Harry scoffed. He knew what the issue was now. "Is that what he made you think? That if you did his bidding you would win his favour? I wouldn't bet you a single crown that's your own heart speaking. Maybe your problem is the emotional part of you, something he exploited when you were younger."

"Okay, then let me ask you my question!" she said breathlessly, anger bristling again. "If you're so great with love, why don't you come in here and prove it?"

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Eh, I'm sorry?"

"Come on, if you have the mettle! I want you," she practically hissed, gleaming now.

Harry almost choked. It was a good thing Trianna wasn't there, otherwise they might not have a prisoner anymore. To his shock, she didn't stop there. She started to remove her tunic, a terribly inviting smirk upon her face...

"Stop!" Harry demanded, jumping to his feet.

"Ah ha," she simpered, smiling wickedly. "I see we've finally found your weak point... maybe I need to remember this for when you return tomorrow..."

Harry swallowed with nerves and practically bolted from the room as she ran her tongue along her upper lip, attempting to entice him. He shut the door and ordered it locked after removing the magic that silenced the interior. The guards didn't comment on his haggard expression, but it was noted. Once he slipped out of notice, Harry leaned against a large pavilion, hidden from view. He breathed deeply. What was the matter with him? Was he in shock?

I want you... her voice said inside his mind. Harry shuddered and tried to force it away, but the words seemed to shift before his very eyes. You want me...

"No!" he exclaimed. He would never do something like that! He loved Trianna, and this woman was a prisoner! A murderer! What the hell was wrong with him? With her?! He kept this from Arucane, not wanting him to see the internal turmoil and stretch a nerve. But as he walked away, desperate for some fresh air, a small seed of doubt began to lay its roots within.

Galbatorix was doing his best to remain calm, but it would eventually become a futile effort. His assassin had failed.

He couldn't believe it. The stupid girl hadn't managed to kill so much as one high-profile leader, at least according to his confidential informants. Not only that, but she had been outsmarted by a mere child! And now she lay in a cell within the Varden's camp, rotting for all he cared.

Galbatorix was not a young man, not by ordinary human standards. And he was now at a stage in life where, because of his inability to trust, he seriously started to consider whether anything, even the most mundane task, could be entrusted to a lesser mind. Did he really have to take care of everything himself? Durza, the Ra'zac, the Urgal army, the twins... and now Saleera. None of them were capable of delivering to him the Riders, it seemed.

And his informants said all word of the red egg had gone quiet, which meant the Varden were keeping it under very close wraps indeed. It was possible only a select few even knew of its existence by this stage, let alone its whereabouts. Galbatorix had been a stone's throw from arming himself and flying Shruikan directly to their location, but faltered when he realised they would have reached the forest by the time he got there. And now he had to wait.

Not that these problems were unsolvable, of course. The greatest minds in history presided themselves on solving complex equations that seemed impossible in the eyes of any other man, and he was such a being. The only issue he could foresee was that, if all three eggs hatched, the Varden would have somewhat greater magical strength in the final conflict, but that mattered little. With the Eldunarí at his side and intelligence in his mind, he would still swamp them with ease.

So his overall plan had not changed. His army was still being recruited, and after their training he would march on the elves, and then the dwarves. And then, when the whole of Alagaësia was firmly under his control, from Illium to Hedarth, he would crush his eastern neighbours and rule the entire continent with a steel grip. It was a bold strategy, to be sure, but his hopes that the elves and Canderins would destroy each other in the confusion were still in play. All he had to do was sit and watch, another reason for his lack of interference. While they engaged in the south-eastern borders of Du Weldenvarden, he would attack from a more central area, effectively bottlenecking the rebel forces. They wouldn't escape his clutches.

It was amusing, really. The Varden were walking into a trap that even they hadn't predicted, and there was no force large enough, save his own, that could possibly rescue them from the carnage to soon unfold. And he would pay to sit and laugh at their demise.

His final reason for having a little patience was the issue currently before him. This required great concentration. He spread a handful of the runes he had crafted across the stone dais, focusing all his power on the incantation.

"Brisingr, vindr, deloi, adurna, waíse néiat un malthinae du vanyalí! Atra eka hórna onr nama!"

Magic poured from him as the words took the power they needed. Flashes of light and sparks of energy began to mask his vision, the life force of the world itself ready for the taking. The runes for fire, wind, earth and water glowed and hummed with an ominous rumble, but suddenly they hushed. A single pigment of glowing white burst into being between the four, directly central. The air had gone from the room, and to hear was not possible. It was a living vacuum, and he gave himself to its embrace as he stretched out his hand.

There was a barrier blocking his touch. Desperately, he attempted to breach this mythical defence, but it proved infeasible. He was soon out of breath and unable to bear continuing the spell, even with the aid of a hundred Eldunarí. And so he allowed it to slip once again, until the white spark of being and matter itself vanished, and his hearing returned. He heard a ringing, and was forced to cover both ears to stop the pain, his wards useless.

When his senses returned to normal, Galbatorix lay on the cold stone floor, holding his temples until the throbbing retreated. He gasped and stood, grateful that he allowed no one to be present during these times. The king looked at the table, finding that the runes had returned to normal and no indication of his attempt to learn the Word remained. Panting from exhaustion, he covered up the surface with a velvet cloth and retreated to his quarters.

Closer. He was getting closer... every time.

The Varden had reached Ílea Fëon two days ago. In that time, the elves had taken them in with resounding hospitality and kindness, helping to patch up their wounded and ensure they were well rested and fed. Jörmundur hoped it was as a show of friendship, but Harry understood their ulterior motives. They wanted to be close with the Riders, and saw that there were at least two somewhere in the convoy. In a stroke of genius, Brom insisted they only be revealed once Ellesméra was reached, so Harry didn't have the trouble of meetings with nobles and other such tedious affairs.

Thankfully, Murtagh had been intelligent after his dragon, Thorn, had hatched. He told only Harry, who immediately passed the message onto Brom. Together, the two found ways to keep the secret as such, only notifying Jörmundur, Arya, Nyos and Angela, as well as the two other dragons and Eragon. For now, no one within the army knew of Thorn's hatching and they were determined it remain that way for as long as possible. If the king got word of the third egg having hatched, he might decide the risk of a premature attack was necessary and that would be disastrous.

For now, Harry was letting Brom do the negotiating with the elves while he helped around the campsite, aiding with the wounded and assigning duties to Du Vrangr Gata, who he was tempted to rename "The Moaning Pain in my Arse."

"What do you want, Jara?" Harry sighed, as the obsessive man walked through his tent flap. To his surprise, the typically well-spoken magician didn't even bother to be courteous and talk his way into a favour. He was furious.

"What is the meaning of this? Do you honestly think I exist to cater to the whims of old fish wives?" he demanded.

Harry pursed his lips and intertwined his fingers, trying to remain calm. "Are they trying to take sexual advantage of you?"

"Wha- no!" he spluttered.

"Do they want you to kill someone for them?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what, I mean, what in the hell, do you have to complain about? Those people are either sick or dying, and you have the nerve to suggest your time is too precious to spend aiding the healers?"

"I should be spending time fighting!"

"Fighting what?" Harry exclaimed with his arms spread, half-tempted to shake the man. "Do you want to fight the trees, or maybe the bloody squirrels?"

"I don't want to be treated like some lowdown servant!"

"Then you'd better watch what you say, because I swear to all that's good and holy my threat about the horse shit is a permanent one."

"Huh. We'll talk about this later," he sneered.

"No, never again," Harry corrected. "Now get out, before I decide to expunge your ability to speak."

The man left with a scoff, leaving Harry alone but sporting the onset of a massive headache. That man just didn't stop with his complaints, rather like his only friend Glind. The pair were the twins in disguise, he swore, except they weren't murderous traitors. That was something, at least. Wasn't it?

To his relief, a soft pair of arms gently arched their way around his neck.

"Do you want me to beat him up for you?" Trianna teased.

Harry smiled. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I was."

He winced. "I'm sorry about that."

"Oh, really? Because... I'm not."

Harry grinned as he took her meaning and allowed her to guide him to the covers, though he was distracted. The trickster Saleera entered his mind once again, but when he felt Trianna's warm embrace he forgot about her entirely, as well as the world itself.

When she had fallen asleep a while later, Harry stayed awake. He stared at her peaceful form for a moment, mindful of her soft breathing, before turning and walking into the moonlight. Du Weldenvarden was a peaceful place here, though Eragon's reports seemed to indicate a different experience there. Harry suspected the elves kept the woods tamed somehow, but even they couldn't patrol its entire depths. That was why Brom had to request scouts find the villagers from Carvahall, and they had been dispatched immediately. He only hoped it didn't take very long.

Yet, it was tranquil in every other manner. An aura of magic hung in the air all around, with shades of green and brown visible in every viable direction. He couldn't name half of the plants, and their 'minds' felt peculiar even compared with other flora he had come into contact with before. In the city, houses made inside the tree trunks were commonplace and screamed as a marvel of elven ingenuity. The elves themselves mirrored this aestheticism with a graceful and delicate countenance, capable of great athletic feats and sporting gentle natures. Harry spoke to several, and found their company warm, if a little overly cheerful.

He had noticed their differences when compared with Arya. The princess had visibly relaxed when she came into contact with her kind, something he mentioned to Eragon in passing. She smiled more often and her body seemed to loosen, as though a multitude of constricting knots had been undone below the surface. He had rarely seen her so happy, and it made a pleasant change. All of the good cheer, from her and the others, had a positive impact on the soldiers and civilians as well. Their morale was bolstered with genuine hope, and they seemed to be enjoying the escapade for the first time. They would only be in the city for a day or two, but in that time several guided trips were planned for the young and old to see the wonders of the forest-folk.

Besides his conversations with the assassin and reaching the city, there was little to speak of. The convoy was making steady progress, with Brom's assurance that they would traverse the woods much quicker than the road before, courtesy of the elves and the forest's magic. Harry wasn't sure how that worked, but he had learned by now not to question magic itself. And on that note...

He turned back to the tent, where his glasses were lying on the floor next to the bed. He stretched out a hand.

"Accio!"

The spectacles jumped to his hand instantly, causing him to smile with satisfaction. He was certainly improving. The summoning, banishing and disarming spells were all he had mastered in the time since his wand was lost, but that was still remarkable progress. Aru claimed part of it was due to the strengthening of their bond and the effect it had on Harry's mental powers, something which he was happy to agree with.

Silently, he placed them on his face. His vision had improved a fraction since becoming a Rider, but not by much. It would take years before he could see properly without them, so it wasn't worth thinking about for a long time.

Suddenly, Nyos appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"You need to keep it down," he said, "we can hear the two of you from halfway down the formation."

"What?! I, err, I..."

"Just kidding, but thanks for letting me know you were lucky tonight," he grinned, slapping Harry on the back and nearly sending him flying. Then he sobered up immediately. "This place feels unnatural to me, Harry, I won't lie. Holes in the trees for homes?" he shuddered. "Give me a well-crafted house made of timber and stone any day over this."

"You sound as bad as Orik," Harry grumbled, standing up straight again and brushing himself off. The dwarf had been complaining about the lack of rock since they entered the forest.

"Maybe I'm naturally predisposed to not like dark, dank and dirty trees," Nyos shrugged. "In any case, I came to find you. Brom is looking for you."

"Why did he send you as a liaison?"

"He didn't. He wanted Murtagh as well, and I volunteered first."

"You were with Murtagh?" Harry queried. "How is he holding up?"

"Better. The elves have made his scars even less noticeable and his bond with Thorn has helped immeasurably. He's as fit as ever before, in no small part thanks to you."

"Let's not go over this again," Harry groaned, as the pair began walking. "I'm tired and just want to go back to bed. I only stepped out for some fresh air. Even you can't deny there's plenty of that around here."

"True enough," Nyos said, "and I daresay we'll have to get used to the sensations. I fear we'll be here for quite a long time, and can't see Ellesméra being much different to this city."

"Your fears are my hopes," Harry noted with amusement. "But we aren't even in the city. It's about half a league to the west. These are only the outskirts."

"Even the elves have limitations, and I believe catering to a number in the thousands is one of them," came the reply.

"I won't complain," Harry said with a yawn. "Anything beats the Hadarac, if you remember it."

"How could I forget?" the general shuddered.

"With plenty of ale," Harry quipped.

Surprisingly enough, the man did not laugh at his reply. He really seemed to be discomfited by the current situation, and Harry could think of nothing to help him feel better, so he kept quiet until they arrived at their destination. Only Brom and Murtagh were inside.

"Ah, thank you for coming," Brom said.

"Not like you gave me much choice," Harry muttered.

"Deal with it," the old man snapped, motioning for Nyos to close the flap, which he did. Now only several candles illuminated the interior. "You may notice that Jörmundur and Arya are not here. That's because I want this to stay between the four of us."

"Just like old times," Murtagh grinned, though he faltered under Brom's glare. Harry was delighted to see he was indeed looking much better. Only a few patchy marks and thin scabs remained of his once-deadly wounds. "Eh, sorry."

"I asked you all here because I trust you three more than any others," Brom continued, "given that we've travelled together under more taxing circumstances than anyone else in the Varden. You've earned that trust. Saphira is also listening in, though she's already known for a day. Harry, I'm expecting Arucane to hear this through you, and Thorn... well, he's too young to understand as it is. Where is he, Murtagh?"

"With Angela," the third Rider answered. "She seems to enjoy being a nanny to us."

"What's happening?" Harry asked, frowning with his arms crossed. "You're not dying, are you?"

"We're all dying," Brom retorted, before sighing. "I'm sorry, please excuse that. It's just... things might get a little tricky when we reach Ellesméra and I'm rather on-edge. I have many secrets, as you all know, and some will come to light of their own accord. Others I will divulge and more still will surface without my desire. This is one of those ones."

"This has something to do with the elves," Murtagh pointed out.

"Well, not entirely, but in a way it does," Brom said, seeming annoyed with his own wording. He prided himself on clear pieces of information, so the obscurity of his personal secrets was irritating. "One elf knows the truth, the one who will be your teacher, but apart from that there are no others still alive. Because I have wards preventing him from speaking out, I wanted to let you know in case... in case something does happen to me."

"I think something already has," Harry murmured, his eyes narrow slits by now. "Is this related to what we spoke of outside Yazuac?"

"No, but that will likely be brought up too," Brom sighed. "This has to do with a different part of my past. Back before I killed Morzan I infiltrated his manor in an attempt to gain information on the dragon eggs and avoid suspicion. In doing so I... met someone."

"A woman?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.

Brom nodded, seemingly reluctant. "She was ensorcelled by the man years before, made to serve him and love him in a sick, twisted manner."

Murtagh gasped. "You mean Selena... my mother."

"I do," Brom nodded, eyes shut.

Harry began to suspect... something. "Hold up. You said you met someone... and when I said it was a woman... did the two of you...?"

Murtagh's eyes widened in shock as he looked to Brom for clarification. Brom met his eyes and Murtagh knew the truth. He wasn't upset or angry. He hated Morzan, but... was there a chance...?

"Is Morzan my father?"

"I'm afraid so," Brom said with a touch of sadness, knowing that would be asked. "You were already a small child when I first met your mother."

Murtagh let his disappointment flicker, before suppressing it.

"But... your brother..."

"What brother?" Murtagh demanded, immediately standing upright.

"Well, your half-brother, I should say..."

A gong rang in Harry's mind, shattering his senses and throwing them into the ether. He felt cloudy and lightheaded as Aru spun the pieces of the puzzle in his head, before putting them together masterfully. He could see it now... Brom, lover of Selena, found that the woman had died somehow, then confronted Morzan in rage. Only that could have given him the strength to overcome the traitor, for he had a serious disadvantage with no dragon at his side. And then, after the incident with the eggs...

What would Brom have done? Well, Brom was a good man... he would have left to spend time with what was important to him. And what could be important than returning to the Varden to help ferry the egg between the mountains and the elves? Since he knew about a child now, it only made sense that he did back then as well. And sure enough, Harry found that by comparing the rough ages of the two and remembering the little his friend had said of his mother, the puzzle was complete. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

"D-did Garrow know?" Harry half-croaked.

Brom smiled. "Why am I not surprised you were the first to come to the correct conclusion? And no, he didn't. I maintained my cover all too well."

"Who is Garrow?" Murtagh asked with confusion, echoed by Nyos.

"He was Eragon's uncle, but the Ra'zac tortured and murdered him," Harry explained. "It's why we left Carvahall in the first place."

"I see... wait. Eragon's uncle? What does- no," he whispered, realisation creeping in.

"Yes," Brom nodded.

"No way."

"Yes way."

"No," he repeated, shaking his head.

"Would you stop that! It's true." Brom took a deep breath. "I am Eragon's father, and the two of you are half-brothers."

A:N - At long last I have a finalised chapter plan for this story, after many months of working out the finer details. The current number in my head is fifty, although I reserve the right to add or remove one if any plot alterations call for it. Remember that while I have the main story worked out, there are still little tidbits of information and smaller scenarios that are changing almost constantly in my head. That's what makes it so difficult for me to remember every little detail on occasion.

Secondly, I have some good/bad news. The news is good for me, but bad for my time spent writing. I've managed to find employment recently, so that'll be taking up most of my weekend free time. It's only weekend work, so for now I have the other five days free, but given that I've been busy as it is over the summer, that mightn't be much of a consolation. I'll just have to see how things go. As it stands, I finished this less than 48 hours after starting it, so there are also positive signs.

Edit - I was asked in a PM to possibly include some music for this story, which I think is a fine idea. Here is my take on several pieces (what you see on the left is the scenario in the story, with the song and artist on the right). I'll include one or two per chapter, as I don't want to clog up the word count with this. Here are four to get you started:

Main Theme - Ignite (by Aoi Eir - also the opening theme of the anime 'Sword Art Online II') - I recommend the short version.

Harry and Trianna - Toui Sora He (from the anime 'Yosuga no Sora') - Type in the name and select user Javier Yong's video.

Galbatorix's Machinations - Kira's Theme (from the anime 'Death Note') - Same again, but select alex6995's video.

Battle of Farthen Dur - Protectors of the Earth (by Two Steps from Hell) - This one's easy to find. Does what it says on the tin.