The dawn light burned through the drowsy fog that clogged her brain. Mellary yawned desperately as she sat up, feeling her muscles groan in protest. She rubbed the blurry out of her eyes, looking around in sleep-driven confusion.

Embrald was curled up in his nest, head tucked away out of sight. She was sitting in the chair at her desk. Her hair had spilled over her shoulder and splashed across the scroll, off-setting the strange blue-colored parchment.

She had fallen asleep over the scrolls again.

It had been weeks since Oromis had handed her the first of the scrolls, and the work was painstakingly slow. The language was so very old, written in a dialect that had faded out of common use long before she had been born. Strange turns of phrases had her rereading blocks of text over and over again, to make sure she hadn't misinterpreted. To top it all off nicely, Nathaleon had written in a flowing, flourished script that was hard to read. Mellary had added two candles to the desk, just to make sure the little added swirls she kept glimpsing weren't just tricks of the light.

His logic was strange, twisted, and utterly fascinating. A stack of notes, interpretations, sat by her hand, along with an empty bottle of ink and a few discarded, trimmed down quills.

Mellary looked at the candles, which had melted into rounded puddles. She remembered the candles having some height left before she drifted off. She must have slept at least a few hours. Probably the longest stretch in weeks.

Her persistant headache had faded during the night. Oromis had had her practicing illusions, slowly building up her tolerance to the strange magic. She was able to create larger and more complex images now, and could sustain a smaller one for longer. She understood why: the rarity of illusions made them a powerful weapon. But that didn't lessen the pain.

Mellary stood, stretching the kinks out of her spine. The dawn was silent, everything still asleep. Soon she would have to report to the training field for another day, but at that moment she could sit in peace.

Aerwyn was waiting for her as Embrald swooped down. Mellary nodded to the elf and unsheathed her swords. She often varied her weapons, sparring with only Eres or Artis. The technical aspects between using one blade or two were different enough that Mellary practiced them regularly. Losing a blade in battle was far too common to do otherwise.

Wanting that practice today, she drew only her left-handed sword. The other she hung off of one of her dragon's neck spikes. Embrald curled up around a tree as always, the sheathed weapon lying against his scales. No one would dare touch it.

"Shall we begin?" Mellary asked, a white spark sliding down the blade. Aerwyn answered by attacking.

The mock battle was rapid and pitched. Since she no longer had a second sword to utilize as a shield, Mellary was forced to be more agile with both her body and her blade. As fast as she was, Aerwyn was just a tiny bit faster.

The elf struck, snakelike. Her sword slipped past Mellary's guard. The tip dug into her shirt just below the hollow of her throat and slid sideways, tracing the pale scar below. Caught between the pressure of the strike and the hard bone beneath it, the tunic ripped open from her neck to the top of her arm.

The loose material flipped down, revealing the skin, and the scars, beneath it.

Aerwyn stepped back and raised her hand to her mouth, horror in her eyes. "Forgive me, Rider, I forgot myself…."

"It is fine," Mellary said, fighting to keep undue tension out of her voice. She raised her free hand, trying to hold the fabric in place and surreptitiously covering the marks at the same time. "Match to you, Aerwyn. That was a killing blow." She summoned her magic, preparing to speak the words to mend the material.

Za'roc flashed between her and Aerwyn, the point burying itself in the dirt. Mellary looked up as Eragon trudged into view, pain in every line of his body. His episodes were coming more and more frequently and, after that last disastrous attempt, Mellary hadn't tried to ease the pain.

Vanir said something in his taunting, sneering tone as the human Rider reached down for his sword. Mellary saw his eyes flash with temper as he whirled and stomped back to Vanir. The pack of young elves that followed Vanir swept around, forming a loose semicircle around the pair. Mellary and Aerwyn found themselves included in the formation.

The thick, cloying tension that clouded the area had Mellary reaching for her other sword, ripped shirt forgotten.

"You should not boast to a better swordsman," Vanir said loftily, "Else he may decide to punish your temerity."

Eragon snapped. Mellary felt magic move as he opened his mouth and barked out a command, the word booming with power.

She felt the bindings slam in to place, locking Vanir where he was.

I don't mind a bit of petty revenge myself, she said softly to Embrald. But that was a mistake.

The clearing filled with magic before he had a chance to reply. It roared from Vanir despite his locked jaw, seeking its target with the lethal focus of a sentient predator.

Mellary reacted without thinking. She reached out with her mind, hissing guiding words under her breath as she seized the spell, turning it away just before it could reach the human Rider.

Next to her, Aerwyn twitched. Vanir's black eyes slid to her, shimmering with outrage.

The effort of the spell hit her like a punch to the gut. Mellary didn't flinch, didn't move, but her breath rushed out of her lungs, leaving her silently gasping. In the single heartbeat it took her to regain control, Vanir launched a second offensive.

The first attempt must have drained him. Mellary felt the diminished spell cut through the air, too fast for her to counter it. It struck home, sending Eragon flying. Mellary ducked out of the way as he sailed through the spot where she had been standing. The movement drew the enraged elf's attention, his gaze locking onto her exposed shoulder. She thought his eyes widened slightly, but they flicked away an instant later, dismissing her in favor or easier prey.

Vanir strode past her to close on Eragon.

Mellary turned away from the conversation, murmuring the words to fix her ripped tunic. She had flaunted her scars enough today.

A burst of anger, foreign anger, distracted her. She glanced over at Embrald, to see a flash of ivory fang in the sunlight.

Saphira wants to know if you would be interested in dealing with that elf, since she isn't here at the moment.

She looked at Eragon and Vanir out of the corner of her eye. The Rider looked pale and depressed as the elf strode off. Whatever Vanir had said during that quiet conversation, it had been enough to enrage Saphira.

As much as it would please me, I can't at the moment, she said, her voice filled with regret.

She looked at Eragon and was about to offer to spar with him when Embrald spoke again.

Saphira comes. Let him be.

Shrugging, she did just that.

Yes, I know it has been a month (I was going summer Nanowrimo), and I know it's a short chapter. I promise a longer chapter by the end of the week, and I mean it this time.