In the heart of Aberon, the capital of Surda, an amber-eyed elf was shaking hands with the new arrival.

"Welcome," said Mirofr in the ancient language as his companion took his proffered palm. "What brings you here? Though I must say," he added hastily, "I'm glad that we have once more met up with each other after all these years, Keltra svit-kona "

The silver-haired elf smiled as she withdrew her hand. "Mirofr-vor, I came because I have heard tales… Tales of new Riders who were surfacing – surfacing at last after Galbatorix's evil reign." Her smilesd broadened, then shefrowned suddenly. "What has happened to you since the century we last met, Mirofr? Have you been overly immersing yourself among humans? You talk and act not like one of your own species."

"I suppose one could say that," Mirofr replied slowly. He continued to stare at Keltra, a smile curving his lips. "And you? How have you been faring since you arrived in Ellesméra?"

"Quite well, actually," Keltra replied light-heartedly before pressing two fingers to her lips. "Oh, I'm quite sorry, Mirofr. In our happiness I overlooked the greeting. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Mirofr repeated the gesture. "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

Keltra cocked her head to the side. "Un du evarínya ono varda."

Mirofr nodded, waiting patiently as a look of drifting contemplation suddenly engulfed Keltra's face. The elf appeared to be dazed, lost in a world of her own; as if in a trance, she glided forward, to where two men where chatting eagerly. "Excuse me," she began in the human language, and the men turned wide, excited eyes onto her, "can you tell us where gathers the noble new Riders, Nanette and Milda?"

The men looked quite excited to by talking with an elf. "They're over there, with the dragons," the man on the left filled them in, gesturing to the north, where a crowd of children and two dragons lurked at the elves' line of sight, far-reaching as it was. "But y'can't disturb them yet – they need t'converse among themselves. Y'see, they're goin' t'depart for training in Du Weldenvarden soon."

"Aye, interruptin' them wouldn' be a good idea." The other man's dark eyes observed the two elves with amazement excitement as they stared back up at him. "And, from what we've gathered, they'll soon leave with the other new Riders." A clouded, dreamy look came into his eyes. "Though you'd be better off leavin' them for the moment."

"I understand." With a sweeping bow, Keltra left the men with mouths open and eyes riveted on her figure as she cleverly danced back to Mirofr, who had been trailing her from a distance behind. "May peace live in your heart," she observed with a bow before quickly pivoting on her heel to the younger elf.

Mirofr started to walk away, but Keltra stayed where she was. She appeared to be interested by the eager chatter and observed them for a time, eyes angled thoughtfully, like a cat contemplating a small animal that could perhaps turn out to be its new meal.

"Humans interest me," Keltra said simply, cutting the words from Mirofr's mouth as if she had sensed him about to talk, which – being an elf – she undoubtedly had. "I've never seen a race as queer as theirs in Alagaësia, aside from the dwarves. They are each as different as they desire to be without magically altering themselves in any way – for the most part – as we elves do."

Mirofr nodded. "Aye, a queer race they are, albeit a good one." He smiled, and Keltra finally turned around to face him. "It was a clever decision of me to decide to teach them. I learned their ways and culture."

"As Rider Shadeslayer did when he was in Ellesméra," replied Keltra in dancing tones. "At least, so I discovered from the small glimpses into his life I could glimpse from my home in Tialdarí Hall, among the trees and all things growing, when I lived there." She laughed as clearly as a peal from a brand-new bell. "And to think I shall have to return once more, almost as quickly as I came. What a shame 'tis."

"You've no need to follow them if you wish otherwise," Mirofr replied, crossing his arms as he watched three younger children scampering around them; they seemed to have come from where the dragons congregated with their Riders and the other humans. "I know that, for a fact, I prefer life here in the rest of Alagaësia than in the shaded depths of Du Weldenvarden."

"I understand what you mean," Keltra tossed back with a wise nod. "'Tis like nothing I've ever seen, here in Surda or anywhere else aside from that great forest." She paused, eyes focused on the far horizon, where the sun's rays were falling gently – yet scorchingly – on the backs of a dozen teenagers, some Surdan and some of the Varden, judging by the colours of their skin, discussing beside a small bracken-coloured stream. "The humans, the dwarves who inhabit this great land are of different backgrounds, cultures, and have their own lore – as opposed to us elves – though they all live together, free once more from Galbatorix's reign. And it is considerably larger than Du Weldenvarden; I think I've had enough of forest wildlife for a while."

Mirofr placed an arm about her shoulder. "We're travellers, you and I."

After a pause, Keltra repeated the gesture. The simple word she then uttered brought them together better than any sentence could have as they merely stood there, watching the humans. "Aye."

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"Who was Murtagh?" asked Nanette.

It was sometime later that day, and in favour of all the excitement, Jarsha had abandoned Romena's tale for the day. Instead, they were at Milda's house with the sleeping Alden and Merrick, waiting somewhat impatiently while her parents, Tamir and Edlyn, prepared the evening meal. Both were hungry after their long day and had now left Iganì and Crimson Flame to associate with each other. Previously, Milda and Jarsha had been discussing the topic of a suitable name for his tale when she suddenly changed subject to this one. "I've heard about him – and you mentioned him in your story, Jarsha, but I don't know what he did that was so important."

"You don't know who Murtagh is?" An incredulous, somewhat stupefied look on his face, Jarsha ran a hand through his hair. "You've no recollection of him after all these years of history lessons?"

"I know who he is. I just don't know very much about him," replied Nanette, a tad annoyed. "I mean, I know that he's a good Rider and his dragon is Thorn, but that's about it."

"There's a lot to Murtagh from what we know." Milda bit her lip pensively. "I mean, he wasn't always good, you know. First he was, then he wasn't, then he was again… And he's Shadeslayer's brother and Stronghammer's cousin, after all. But I'll let Jarsha explain it to you. He's better at it, if you ask me."

"Well," began Jarsha thoughtfully, "Murtagh was a Rider; he used to be Rider Eragon's best friend after Roran." He paused to thoughtfully contemplate the ceiling. "What happened after the Battle under Farthen Dûr, is that Galbatorix captured Murtagh. A dragon hatched for him, the red Thorn."

"Why'd he capture him?" Milda butted in. She didn't actually know the answer to that, and her enthusiasm made her seem for once younger than Jarsha. True, she acted younger than she really was, but she was quite mature for her age and, in spite of everything, usually seemed older than him – no thanks to the aura of mystery that surrounded her. This time, though, he seemed the older one.

"Joining into the conversation, are we now, Mild?" Jarsha chuckled. "Well, he captured him because he wanted information. Y'know, of course, because wanted to know more about him – he was a new threat in Alagaësia, right after Shadeslayer and his dragon Brightscales. So, what happened then is that Thorn's egg hatched." Jarsha paused again, still thinking hard. "When Thorn was older, Galbatorix forced the two of them to swear allegiance to him. They did it in the ancient language, so they couldn't lie – they had to do it. Galbatorix also found out their true names and controlled them. So, after Shadeslayer came back from Ellesméra, Murtagh reappeared at the Battle of Burning Plains and Murtagh told him of his past. He killed the dwarf king, Hrtothgar, at that battle. Likewise, afterward Eragon set off with Saphira, Roran and his dragon to fight Galbatorix. After he died, they worked together to undo the oaths that the mad king had forced Murtagh and Thorn to say."

"Sounds confusing." Nanette touched her ear, surprised when she felt a slight point on its tip. "I know everyone has a true name… I wonder what ours are?"

"Apparently, if you know you're true name, the fact that someone can manipulate and control you with it is enough to make you go mad." Jarsha, his face decidedly more pale, traced a curling, curving shape on the woven reed carpet with his bare foot. "Or actually knowing it can make you go insane," he went on, shivering. "And even then, you couldn't really do much with your own; you'd have to know other people's for you to be able to control them."

"That sounds like something I wouldn't want to do," commented Nanette.

"Aye, but, for all its danger, I would…" Her voice trailing off, Milda countered Jarsha's looking down by looking up at the ceiling. "I'd need to go find an elf who would know it, and that'd be interesting to do in Ellesméra." She swung her head to stare them deep in the eyes, hair swirling like a black waterfall; Jarsha blushed and looked away, and the skin under her eyes reddened. "You could come, too."

"I- I'd only be going as a messenger boy." Jarsha continued to avert her gaze. "I wouldn't need to find out my true name, you know."

Nanette, sensing something personal coming on, intervened. "No, Milda, that's probably not such a good idea."

"Well, still, though!" Milda pressed with a gigantic grin, pushing them by the shoulders. Her gray eyes stared deep and hard at them; Jarsha fidgeted, trying to her glare her back down into remission. It didn't work, though. Milda just continued to stare at them, an excited, almost hungry look in her eyes. "Imagine! I mean, if true names are enough to make you go mad or else enough for someone to control you, they must be really exciting-sounding! And, my dear Jar and Nan, if the elves can tell you your true name – leastways, that's what I heard Mirofr say once – then it must be from the ancient language. Imagine!" Her speech over, she abruptly turned away from him and stared hard at the wall behind her, apparently lost in her thoughts.

"Aye, you've a point, Milda." Biting down hard on his tongue so that he wouldn't remark upon her use of the pseudonym, Jarsha cocked his head to the right and stared hard at the brown vest now turned away from them. "But, y'know, Milda," he went on, his voice becoming quicker and more panicked as he spoke, "it's really dangerous! We could go mad just knowing our true names! And if we found out…" – here he heaved a sigh and turned away from her, cupping one hand on his chin as he reached out one hand to touch her on the shoulder, feeling his cheeks reddening – "imagine what would happen if others found out as well."

When Milda turned back to him, the movement was slow, deliberate, precise. Her eyes flickered from his crossed legs to his dismal expression, not knowing what to say. Finally, in a slow, hesitant voice, she said, "I… I really want to do this, Jarsha." Then, to his shocked gaze, she lifted herself onto her heels and stalked out the door.

Jarsha wasn't sure, but from what he could see, Milda's face was dripping with hot, anguished tears.

Nanette stared after her disappearing figure and quickly exited the house. Best to leave the teenagers to themselves – love was a confusing thing, indeed.