((Alright, here's the finished version of chapter 5. I'm sorry it took so long. Then end of school and moving was hectic and took controll over most of my life. The good news is, I now have time to write. The bad news is, putting chapters up has become...difficult. So, I will continue to write, but no new chapters will go up for awhile. Please don't forget about the story, it will be updated. Probably started near the end of June, the beginning of july. Thanks again for the reviews and support/encouragement!!))

Chapter 5

Brom awoke slowly and painfully. His teeth chewed grit as he tested his muscles, making sure everything was in place. It was. He began to clench and relax the muscles in his forehead, but stopped when a nausea-inductive pain began to throb in his temples. It was at that moment, that everything from the night before came back to him. The search for the Ra'zac, searching their camp, the fight, and then...nothing.

He sat up slowly. It was late in the day; he had been out cold for at least 10 hours. He felt tired, hurt, and frustrated. He had failed again. Been laying here on my ass while anything could have happened. He got to his feet, he had to find Eragon.

The leaves that littered the ground in the forest were soaked and rotting. They muted his footsteps, but they bothered his allergies as well. Walking lightly and as quickly as he could he headed out of the woods. He was not far from Eragon's farm, maybe only a league or so, and there was still a chance he could get there before the Ra'zac. Maybe his distraction had worked, but then, why had the left him there when they could have so easily killed him?

He found the road where he had left it, and clambered up on to it with a grace most would not have expected of a man of his age. Old he was, and his heart ached at the though of all he had seen and done, but still, he showed no signs of aging, or dying. He began to meander down the road, heading for Eragon's, staggering slightly since the wound in his head was open and bleeding again, and the loss of blood made him horrifically dizzy.

There had been a time once when he didn't think he could live another day. Everything had beaten down on him so hard. The betrayals, the deaths that rested on his hands, all of it. He had made an attempt, once, but of course, he had turned back, somewhat scared of what he had almost done, and there was the nagging little thought in the back of his head that kept him holding on. However, without his dragon and mate, sometimes he found life hardly worth living.

He looked up, for no particular reason, and saw a huge black cloud of smoke rising above the tree-tops. Eragon.

"Eragon!" He yelled hoarsely, though none heard him but the wind. He began a rather hurried, but hobbled run. He mind spun with the bumpy movements, and he knew he'd have one hell of a headache when this was all over. Slowly, the bleeding did stop, and clotted and dried in his hair. He was glad Amani could not see him now, what an awful mess he must look. The road was thinning slightly, though the ruts cuts into it by the wagons and the trades who brought them only grew deeper. Brom tripped several times in his hurry, having trouble keeping his balance. He spent most of the time watching the road, but on occasions, but glanced up ahead of him. He felt the ground tremor, and paused. Could it really be? He shook his head and continued forward, glancing up at more frequent intervals.

He glanced up, and paused to rest when he noticed a moving blur up ahead. It was Eragon! A sudden thought struck his mind, sending him reeling. The Ra'zac could still nearby. Brom took off, running as fast as he could, his breathing haggard and sharp. He yelled, and waved his arms, trying to get the boy's attention, but he appeared to be in a haze, and didn't respond. Finally he reached Eragon, and gripping his shoulders, began to yell at him, warning him of the danger he had so narrowly missed. But Eragon only blinked and blacked out.

Brom stood there for a moment, surveying the situation, and musing about what to do. Eragon had carried, though not far on his own, judging by the tremors that had raced through the earth earlier, his uncle Garrow thus far. Both were in no condition to walk, and Brom knew he couldn't just leave them there, unconscious. There seemed to be only one way out of this situation.

Being careful not to cause further harm to either person, Brom carefully lifted Eragon and placed him slightly on top of his uncle. Then, grabbing hold of the leather, he himself began to pull. It took several minutes, and a hard search for solid ground before he was able to gain any momentum, but the litter was not entirely useless, and at time past, little by little, it became easier for him to pull both Eragon and Garrow along. However, not for the first time, he desperately wished for the comfort and companionship of his dragon.

Brom sat up in the dragon hold, pouting more or less. His cloak was drawn tight around him to keep out the cold, and he was stripped of all his weaponry to make sitting a bit more feasible. Saphira sat close by him, cleaning her large claws with a combination of her eye teeth and tongue. Brom picked at a few small loose stones and scattered them about aimlessly, chucking a roundish one at his dragon's tail when it passed by. Saphira growled playfully, and made a show of stretching out her front toes and wriggling her claws at him. She smiled a bit, showing off her teeth as well, but Brom only glanced at her and then back at the tiny pebbles.

You should talk to her. Saphira stated. It was simple. And he knew he should, but some things were just too hard to accept.

I have. He lied. Well, not really. He actually had spoken with her, but not since she admitted to who did the deed. But it just doesn't make any sense! I mean, Morzan's my friend, one of the best friends I've ever had. He would never do something like that. Never!

You never know little one. I do not trust him farther than I can throw him.

You must be pretty weak then, Brom remarked dryly. I just don't—it doesn't make sense to me. Maybe she's lying.

Nonsense! Amani would never do such a thing.

Oh of course, rush to her defense. You always do. Might as well let her be your Rider.

Brom!

I'm only stating the truth. He threw a look at Saphira, but turned away at the sight of her piercing blue eyes. Sometimes he felt like she could see right through him.

Our conversations are open. You only need join in.

Whatever. Saphira stopped in her cleaning to look at her Rider. He was weary; you could see it in every outline in his face. The boy just stressed too much.

She could have though. She's had plenty of time to think. Maybe that's why she didn't tell me before.

Brom. She didn't tell you because she knew it would upset you.

But I asked Morzan, and he said—

Pah! Do you really think he'd admit it?

Well...no, I guess not. Saphira withdrew from their contact for a moment, thinking. Her next question quite startled Brom.

Do you love her?

What?!

Do you love her?

Um...well, I dunno...

It's simple Brom. Answer the question.

Yes?

Then trust her. Trust her, trust me, and be happy that you have that. Brom turned away, still unsatisfied with the conversation. Knowing Saphira was right, and hating her for it, he grabbed a handful of the small stones, and sent them out the window, one by one, hoping the use of magic would steady his nerves. It didn't. That left only one thing.

Hey Saphira?

Yes Brom?

Let's go flying.

Brom looked ahead once again, wondering if he would ever reach Carvahall. There seemed to be nothing he could do. Well, nothing he could change. He couldn't drag the contraption any faster, and he couldn't just leave the boy to get help. Worst of all was knowing that it was his fault that he was in this mess to begin with. If only he had gotten to the Ra'zac earlier, or warned Eragon. He had been stupid to think he could hold them off. Saphira would be laughing at him now, if only she knew.

He blinked, hard, and raised a dirt covered hand to wipe the sweat from his face. When he looked up again, his heart began to beat a little faster. He could just see the rooftops of the town. He couldn't be farther than a mile or two now. However, his old age really was beginning to catch up with him, and he knew that he had to rest. Well, rest or continue on without the two people he was so messily dragging. Leaving them might save time in the long run, and he wasn't too far from Carvahall now, so he'd be back with help before anything happened. Looking off the road, he spotted a dense clump of grass. Carefully, he dragged Eragon and his uncle, Garrow, to the grassy lump and was sure to cover them. Satisfied with his work, he stepped back and viewed his 'creation'. Truly enough they looked only to be an extension of the bump in the ground. Well, almost, but it would have to do. Then Brom turned inward with his mind, and scanned the area. He felt no other minds, well, none other than his own and those of animals. With that, he took off, running as fast as his old, tried, and harassed legs would carry him.

It didn't take him long to reach town and finding people concerned and trustworthy enough to help wasn't too hard either. He immediately turned to Horst and Katrina. Horst was able to find a few other men. Brom left them to find the 'doctor' but returned to meet up with the small group before they reached the road. He quickly located the spot where he had left Eragon and the men set about bringing the boy and his uncle to Horst's house.

It was more difficult and taxing than it appeared to Brom, and he didn't really notice how exhausted he was until he made it back to his own warm bed. His head hit the pillow before he had time to realize that his wound was bleeding again, and he fell asleep forcefully and immediately. His sleep was dreamless and restful, he did not wake again until morning.