Eragon and the others had rested for a few days before even thinking of continuing their quest to making the now hollowed out Utgard habitable. At the moment the hallow mountain was just nothing but a cone shaped bubble underneath layers of rock, something that wouldn't exactly befit a place where humans lived under, though at the moment there were only technically five residents at the moment, for the Eldunarí did not count as living beings.

Eragon noticed how quiet Ronan had been since they had arrived, he often found the young teen sitting near the top of Utgard and staring out to the north with a homesick look. Eragon hoped Ronan had enough common sense to not leave the safety of the mountain to return to his home to just visit. They had to be cautious, they were still in the Empire and who knows if Galbatorix had sent troops farther up north in preparation to counter the Elven army that was flooding the north.

"Have you seen Arya?" The Rider asked his student who was propped against Bjartkoü's thick thigh, Ronan looked up from a scroll concerning the details of the surrounding creatures that made the Spine their home and looked at his mentor with confusion.

"I thought she was with you." Ronan asked confused.

"No, I haven't been able to find her since we awoke and after I told her…" Eragon trailed off hesitantly as he slid down the wall and sat in front of both Rider and dragon with a troubled look.

Ronan looked at him with understanding. "You just have to give her time, Eragon." The young Rider told his mentor and tutor with a surprising amount of knowledge and patience. "You did just plant a big explosion spell on her, don't blame her. I went through it, you went through it, she's reacting the same as we did."

Eragon rubbed a hand through his dark locks in thought. He sighed again wearily, "I think she's ignoring me." The young rebel confessed.

"No, she can't be. She's ignoring me too, so obviously she's just upset, not at us but at the source." Ronan said as he idly trailed a finger across one of Bjartkoü's stark white scales. "You told her about the Eldunarí, 'course she wants to be alone."

"We need to talk about it, keeping your thoughts and emotions bottled up was never a good idea of mine." Eragon said as he stood up with determination and decided that if he couldn't find Arya with his tracking skills, he'd just use magic.

He found her quite easily, she was outside of the hollowed out part of Utgard but she still remained on the mountain. Her vibrant green aura was easily to find in the darkness of the world, but it unnerved him when he realized where the elven princess was, along with what appeared to be several Eldunarí.

"She's at Ristvak'baen," Eragon said wearily as he rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to stave off the impending migraine that was surely to come. "Out of all the places, she has to be at Ristvak'baen."

"Well there aren't exactly any other places besides Ristvak'baen," Ronan pointed out, "Technically speaking we're in a giant bubble under thick layers of rock and metal. We haven't even started to build anything, its just walls and a floor."

"Not helping, Ronan." Eragon grunted to his student and fellow Rider as he strode out of the empty space that Ronan and Bjartkoü had decided to sleep in. The former champion of the Varden quickly headed in the direction of the main tunnel that led to the very summit of the mountain that made up their home.

He found her easily enough. While her pale skin nearly blended in with the fresh snowfall, her dark locks of hair stood out as well as her emerald eyes. Arya didn't acknowledge his approach, even though both could hear the sounds of crushed snow underneath his thick boots and the movement of rubble as he came closer.

She was leaning against a wall that looked ready to collapse, the floor in front of here as well as parts of the wall had long since corroded due to the harsh elements and now there was a giant hole in the outpost once thought to be unconquerable. Eragon's breathing stopped working slightly as he saw the Anora river gleaming before him with Palanacar valley gleaming a brilliant gold as autumn set in the countryside. Eragon looked down at the elven princess who looked so out of place in such a ruined building that it took him a second to realize that she was cradling Uznov's Eldunarí with such tenderness that it was like she was holding her firstborn child for the first time.

"You're ignoring me," Eragon said after a couple moments of silence. Arya didn't respond to his statement and instead opted to look north with a look in her eyes that made Eragon realize how old she really was, she was near one hundred give or take a year or so.

Eragon sat beside her, his legs were free of the ground as he too sat at the very edge of the hole, the only thing that would break his fall would be the very edge of the mountainside easily several hundred feet downwards. But his gut told him that the rock was secure and wouldn't give way under his weight, so he sat down besides the elf with no hesitation.

"…. Have you spoken to him?" Eragon gestured to Uznov's stormy grey Eldunarí that was currently pulsing softly with energy as the dead dragon and former Elder took the energy from the sun and made it his own.

"Yes," Arya's answer was short and to the point, but Eragon could hear the waver in her honeyed tone ever so slightly. He watched as her arms wrapped around the large Eldunarí with such strength had it not been an Eldunarí it could have been crushed by her amazing physical strength.

"Arya, tell me what's wrong," Eragon pleaded as he abandoned all his subtlety that he had in his hybrid body and instead looked at the love of his immortal life with such concern that it seemed to break Arya out of whatever stupor she had been in.

"The dragons live on, Eragon." Arya told the young Rider as she at the Eldunarí with such wonder and awe it was like she was looking at a miracle: a blessing, but also a curse. "But as slaves to the Mad King." Arya's tone turned so sour that Eragon winced at that blunt yet accurate statement. "I've felt their minds, I've seen some of the memories they are willing to part with, I've seen what they've gone through. The feeling of one's mind being broken into over and over during the course of a century was one they endured until they… shattered." Arya continued on as Eragon listened with a heavy heart knowing how right she was.

"They're not completely sane, are they?" Arya asked softly as she looked at the peacefully pulsing Eldunarí with such heartbroken eyes it ached Eragon's already scarred heart. "The Eldunarí? They can't be, its simply impossible. Not even the mind of a dragon can withstand the cunning of Galbatorix as he ripped their minds apart with but a few spoken words, like a disease he spread his insanity to them. How they are capable of being somewhat sane at certain times is nothing short of amazing, but they aren't completely healed are they?"

"No." Eragon's mouth felt as parched as the Hadarac as he spoke the truth to the elven princess. "No they aren't healed, and I doubt they ever will be. The loss of their Riders and the plague of Galbatorix in their minds were too much even for the mightiest beings in Alagaesia. Though they have improved somewhat since I've found them, they still live in a world of pain and sorrow, a world where I cannot help them…. I wish I could, but I am not their Rider."

"Then what keeps them from turning back into what they were before?" Arya asked.

"Hope." Eragon said simply as he looked at her. "Hope is what keeps them somewhat sane, what keeps them stabile. After everything that has happened in the past hundred years…. Hope is all they have left."

"Hope doesn't save everything, Eragon." Arya looked at him with those ageless eyes of vibrant green that seemed to pierce into his very soul. "Hope is both a blessing and curse to those who have it in their hearts. Hope breeds confidence but also arrogance. Hope breeds security but also fear. It is a double-edged sword that must be wielded for a certain person. If you were to lose hope, fear and despair would set in faster than death and what was once a goal will be just a faded dream that never comes true."

"You know a lot of things, don't you Arya?"

Had Arya been anyone but Arya, she may have scoffed at that. Instead she merely said, "It comes with age. I've lived more than two human lifetimes, Eragon and if the war goes well than I may live for another couple human lifetimes. But I've seen things that few have seen, even among my kin. I've seen death, nearly experienced it, felt it, and I've dealt it those who deserved it or didn't deserve it. Few of my kin prior to them joining the war have even split blood in nigh a hundred years, and those my age have never known how close death always is. Being a race of immortal beings does that to you, as well as the fact that we don't kill animals for our needs of survival. Death is but an illusion to some of my kin."

"Are you glad to know better than your elven brothers and sisters?" Eragon asked hesitantly, knowing that Arya (even amongst her own kind and race) was an outsider of sorts.

"I… don't know." Arya admitted as she looked at the horizon with a look in her eyes that showed she was obviously thinking hard on the question. "Aside from those who were born before the Fall, none of my brothers or sisters of my age have seen death. We elves, we thrive on life. We are immortals whose life can only be snipped by steel, magic, or poison, and few things can best an elf on a bad day. We use our magic to grow life out of nothing; we are surrounded by life. Death doesn't haunt our forest like it does your Spine."

"Do you think that mindset will set back the elven army?" Eragon asked curiously, seeing as the elves had finally left their monstrous forest and had descended upon the northern Empire with the fury of a thousand dragons. "If few even know of death itself, what would battles do to them?"

"I do not know, Eragon. Elves are good at adapting, its how we've survived so long." Arya said. "But lets not talk about my brethren, but return to the subject of the Eldunarí." Arya turned to look at Eragon with such seriousness in her vibrant jade eyes that Eragon nearly lost his breath. "If you were to kill Galbatorix and usher in an era of peace that has been sorely missed by all races, what then? What happens to the Eldunarí? Those that cannot be saved, those whose minds are shattered into thousands of shards with no hope of healing?"

"I'd destroy them." Eragon said softly, Arya looked at him with a small amount of shock in her eyes so he continued on. "I'm not Galbatorix, Arya." The rebel Rider said stubbornly, "Despite what Orrin and others think, I'm not some mad man with false visions of grandeur, I'm not a murderer. I'm a killer," Eragon admitted with no small amount of pain at the truthful statement. "But I only kill for what's right, I fight for those who cannot fight back. Is it odd that I use war as a means to peace? That with each drop of blood spilt from a man's body will slowly turn the tide of whichever side closer to victory? Is that what peace is, Arya? A brief respite from war? I wouldn't know; I'm still new to all of this." Eragon admitted with a small chuckle at the thought, "I had only been fighting with the Varden for what, a year, before I fled? You know I'm not good with public speaking, so I don't have an excuse for fighting. All I have is hope. The hope for a better tomorrow."

"A good goal; a noble goal," Arya murmured so softly that Eragon wouldn't have been able to hear it over the screeching wind that blew against the ruins of Edoc'sil with feverant fervor.

Eragon shrugged off the slight amount of praise with a small smile, but he never stopped looking into Arya's green eyes. They were like guarded pieces of cool jade, but he could see that deep in those icy green eyes there was a hint of warmth as she looked back into Eragon's own warm brown eyes. He didn't notice his hand holding Arya's until she shifted ever so slightly, but to his great joy she didn't pull away like she would have done back when they were in Ellesméra but instead held his hand without complaint with a small smile teasing its way to her elegant facial features.

"I know that you are more experienced in practically everything life has to offer," Eragon said slowly as he looked down at the rugged yet beautiful scenery that was stretched out before them. "But I do know a few things about hope and how it can affect a man. If it were not for hope, the heart would break."

"A wise motto, but an even wiser meaning," Arya said softly.

"It's the truth," Eragon stated with that stubborn look in his eyes that Arya knew only the man before her could ever hope to have. "Where would we be if not for hope?" He asked but the soft unspoken words picked at Arya's thoughts, as though some invisible specter was whispering in her pointed ears. Where would you be without hope?

She'd be dead. That much she knew, or she'd wish she were dead and had long passed into the Void.

When she had been captured by the most ruthless of creatures that dwelled the land, a monster whose very name sent shivers down a man's spine as much if not more than the Ra'zac, she had nothing. The shade Durza had taken everything from her. Her companions, her lover, and her duty. Those three things were all that mattered to the then younger but rebellious elven princess.

Glenwing, Liduen, Fäolin. They had been the only three that had even been close to her closed off heart, Fäolin more than the others. When they had died, slain before her very eyes in the matter of mere seconds, bright happy lights filled with life snuffed out by an all consuming darkness, it had nearly destroyed her. And the while the knowledge that Saphira's egg was out of the hands of Durza and thus the King, it dwindled at the prospect of living under the hospitality (or lack thereof) of a merciless shade and the whims of the Mad King.

Hope was all she had in that dark cell, as she sat on the thin padded leather sheet that acted as her bed. It was all she could hold in her shattered heart as she was tortured day by day, night by night, only to be healed and have the cycle repeat all over again.

Hope is what kept her from madness, though it had come close. She could still remember the lone white rose found on her bed from an admiring guard (the only kindness she would receive in Gilead) that had grown into a thorn bush before it grew so large it broke through the strong rock prison and carried her towards the sky, towards the stars. She had thought herself to be back in Du Weldenvarden, leaning on a large tree branch with the sunlight streaming down upon her and the sounds of life surrounding her. The sound of Glenwing's birdcalls, Liduen reciting his beautiful poetry that could make a stone-faced dwarf weep, Fäolin's laughter that sounded like tinkling bells. Before the harsh reality set back in and Arya found herself back in her cell. Her friends were dead; her comrades of nearly twenty years had been torn from her in mere seconds, literally just a blink of an eye to an undying race.

But in those few precious seconds, Arya lost everything.

"I know I'm not Fäolin, Arya." Eragon said softly as he squeezed her hand in comfort when he felt the small yet noticeable shift as Arya tensed at the mention her dead friend and lover's name. "But I do love you…"

"Eragon…"

"Please let me continue, Arya." Eragon pleaded with her, all of his composure that he had gained from all those months spent hiding like an exile leaving him as it always did when he was near Arya. "I love you, you're the light in my dark world. My heart is split in halves, one half belonging to Saphira and the other to you."

"Doesn't your heart belong to you?" Arya asked, still unsure on how to precede the fact that once again Eragon had exclaimed his love to her yet again. But there was something different about this conversation that was different from that conversation in her rooms at the Palace.

Eragon chuckled, but it was a dry and somewhat bitter laugh, "My heart has never belonged to me."

Eragon clenched his hands and held onto Arya's as though it was a lifeline. "Arya, I know that our difference in age is something that concerns you, and while some would agree with you I don't care. I love you and I'm willing to prove it."

"How?" Arya asked as she prepared to pull her hands away from Eragon's grasp.

"By being your friend," Eragon said with such softness in his tone that Arya could scarcely hear him.

Arya blinked at that, a near emotional outburst considering it was Arya, before she spoke almost dumbstruck, "What?"

Eragon's eyes turned downcast for a brief moment, before he looked back at her with those intense brown eyes that seemed to freeze her in place. "I know that right now, you have no romantic feelings for me. You still mourn for Fäolin, and I've hurt you for trying to win your hand back in Ellesméra. I was a stupid fool, I was brash and cocky and I hurt you."

"If you don't wish to love me in a romantic way, than I don't mind. As long as we keep the friendship we hold dear, I am content. I love you, but I don't want to hurt you." Eragon said sincerely, "I would rather be friends with you than to lose you completely."

Arya just stared at him with those ageless eyes, shock burning in those vibrant green eyes. He's changed, Arya realized for the second time since she had found Eragon after losing all contact with him for half a year. He's no longer a boy; he's grown.

"Arya… I know that you loved Fäolin and may never love me as I love you. We could remain friends for centuries and I would be happy with that. I just want one thing, one thing." Eragon looked at her with pleading eyes, like a man laying down his heart and soul for all to see (and in a way he was). "I want a chance."

"I want the chance to win you over, either romantically or just as friends. I know that right now neither of us are ready to be romantically interested in each other, but I want the chance to have you love me like I love you." Eragon pleaded to the elf.

"And what if I can't, Eragon?" Arya questioned, her stoic and cold personality starting to seep into her tinkling tone. "What if I don't, what if I could never love another again. I've lost so many dear to my heart, how do you not know I'm like one of the Eldunarí, that I'm shattered? But with a broken heart rather than a shattered mind?"

"Because you're not, Arya." Eragon rebuked hotly, obviously angered at the mere notion that Arya was emotionally broken. She wasn't, she had just been through so much and had learned that closing off one's emotions was sometimes better than holding onto those emotions.

But Eragon would swear in both his native language and the Ancient Language (a language where one could never lie, mind you) that he would make her feel again. If she loved him or she merely tolerated him, he wouldn't care. He'd do anything for her. He would move the Beor Mountains, he would flood the Hadarac Desert, he would dry the sea to the last drop, and he'd go through the Void and back, if it just got him a small yet genuine smile. He loved her, and love can make a person do the greatest of things if they did it for the one they loved.

"Let me help you," Eragon nearly begged the elven princess sitting before him. "I can prove you wrong, if you just give me the chance."

Arya looked at him, looking somewhat startled at his proclamation. For a couple of seconds there was naught but silence, and when Eragon's hopes started to dip ever so slowly she spoke. "You're stubborn, you know that?" Arya gave him a smile that looked a little strained, either from amusement or something else Eragon had no clue. "But it wouldn't be you if you weren't stubborn," Arya conceded.

"It seems to run strong in my family," Eragon offered helpfully.

Arya smiled at that, a true and genuine smile that Eragon loved to see but rarely ever saw. "You're the only one who has access left to my heart, Eragon… Maybe there is a chance of us being together, as you wish it to be."

Eragon's head shot up at that, his intense brown eyes wide in surprise and barely concealed joy at the mere prospect of Arya returning his feelings.

"I want a chance; a chance to be whole again." Arya decided as she looked at the rugged landscape spread out before them, smalls flutters of snow stuck to her raven locks while her eyes seemed far off as though in fond memory. Arya glanced at him and smiled again, something that Eragon was more than happy to follow. "I want to see how this will work, I want to see how this will play out. I accept your offer; I want a chance as much as you do."

Eragon had never felt happier in his life; the only event that could compare to this was Saphira's hatching. He knew that neither of them were emotionally prepared to love one another like he hoped; but Arya didn't reject his offer like she had during their stay in Ellesméra. She knew as well as he how much he had changed, how she had changed; they both changed but it seemed to bring them closer than ever.

Eragon returned his attention back towards the landscape with a smile stretched on his face; Brom would have probably called him a love-struck fool had he been here.

He was, but that didn't mean the old man could haunt him from behind the grave. He may be in love, but he wasn't a fool. Not anymore.

"I found this," Arya said after a couple minutes of silence as she pulled something from underneath Uznov's Eldunarí. Eragon saw a glint of silver before he saw the entire thing. "Where'd you find that?" Eragon asked confused.

A dagger was held in her outstretched palms, its wicked blade curved ever so slightly a couple inches or so above the hilt. The hilt itself was wrapped in what appeared to have once been midnight black leather though some of the pigment had left through use. now there were just small faint smudges of lighter color from where fingers had wrapped themselves around the hilt. In the pommel was a gemstone that was as clear as glass, but even without using magic Eragon could sense the energy burning within the gem.

It was beautiful, Eragon thought to himself as he stared at the dagger as though mesmerized. The color of the metal was the color of beaten silver, but not even the precious metal could even compare to the dagger's shine. If anything it looked like Undbitr and Zar'oc just without the sapphire and crimson tint to its blade. As he looked at the beautiful dagger he noticed the faint yet prominent etchings of what could only be numerous runes etched in the Ancient Language.

Wordlessly Arya handed him the dagger, she gave it to him slowly as though presenting him with a piece of brittle glass set to crumble under the slightest of movement, and Eragon wrapped his tanned fingers around the soft hilt and found out, to his surprise, that the dagger fit him well and felt like Undbitr did just in a smaller form.

He held the blade closer to his eyes, noticing that the shining curved blade reminded the young Rider of the moon's shining crescent before he returned his attention to the runes etched forever in the strange metal.

Eragon frowned slightly as he read the runes, some he knew but some he didn't recognize from Oromis's lessons. A few looked a bit odd, like someone had taken a word and moved a couple of the letters until it looked both different but still recognizable enough to realize its meaning. "These runes… they aren't like those that Oromis-elda taught me."

Arya looked at him with a knowing smile, "That's because those runes are even older than him. Older than my mother and father, they are the Runes of Old. As the elves call them."

Eragon scrunched his brows at that, having never heard that term nor the subject before. "So, this was a former set of runes now modernized?" he asked curiously as he looked at the strange runes with keen interest.

"Aye, it is rare to see these. Most have forgotten the Old Runes, but obviously this isn't the case. Not that surprising considering what this weapon, is" Arya stated.

Eragon looked at her confused, not having even the slightest clue on what she was saying. Arya looked at him with a small amount of shock when she saw the blank look in his eyes. "You don't know what this is?" She asked surprised as she gestured towards the deadly looking dagger.

Eragon shook his head, while Arya turned thoughtful. "I know that you're training was cut short due to the Battle of the Burning Plains, but to not know about Blödhren is nothing short of surprising. Oromis-elda never spoke of it?"

"Oromis-elda had so little time to teach me," Eragon defended both himself and his master. "But no; he's never mentioned Blödhren to me. It's the blade correct?"

Arya nodded her head before gesturing for Eragon to hand her the fine blade which he gave her, she tilted the blade ever so slightly that when the blade caught the sunlight it suddenly caught ablaze in a brilliance of light. "Blödhren is one of the most fabled weapons of the Riders, I'm surprised that Galbatorix never took it when he defeated Vrael." She mused slightly as she looked at the blade with no small amount of awe and wonder, as though she was looking at the most wondrous thing in the world.

"This blade belonged to the leader of the Riders. There is speculation that the blade itself was forged by Eragon, your namesake," Arya said whilst surprising Eragon. "It was said that once Eragon first bonded with his dragon and peace reigned, he was in dire need of a weapon. And though he had a sword, he desired something else. He desired a dagger, and it was said he found metal that had come from the stars and his dragon –his name now long forgotten- had melted the strange ore with his strong dragon fire. Your namesake made this very weapon, it is a priceless artifact of both elven and Rider culture." She looked at him with those ancient eyes as her hand tightened around the hilt ever so slightly. "When Eragon fell, a new leader rose and this dagger was passed on to her. And when she died another leader came and the dagger was given to him. For thousands of years the dagger has been passed unto those who hold the mantle of Leader."

She held out the dagger, its metal still alight from the faint sunlight and the runes glowing softly with mystical energy. "Here, it is yours by right." She offered the dagger of past Riders to him, the dagger of his namesake.

"Arya…" Eragon murmured as he looked at the symbol of the Rider's hesitantly, he didn't trying to even attempt to hold the knife again. "I can't, I'm not the Leader of the Riders. To even hold that blade would do nothing but insult the former Riders, if I were to be in their ranks I'd probably have just finished my apprenticeship. Hell I never even finished my apprenticeship."

Arya sighed at that, obviously annoyed even to even make a sound. "Eragon. You are the Leader of the Riders, Ronan and Bjartkoü follow and listen to you and I know they always will."

"Oromis-elda is…"

"No, he isn't." Arya said rather curtly. "He has told me this, he has told you this. Oromis-elda is crippled and old, even by elven standards. He cannot lead a new era of Riders. Mentor them yes, but lead them no." Arya looked at him with such seriousness in them it nearly made Eragon's breath hitch. "You are to lead them, Eragon."

Eragon looked down, finding a large amount of interest in the plummeting drop that was below him. Suddenly he chuckled dryly, "Heh. You know a year ago I was nothing more than a farm boy trying to make a meal from hunting trips and now… I don't even know what I am anymore."

Arya placed her hand on his shoulder, somehow that small amount of contact between them managed to make Eragon's insides squirm and his blood boiled enough to threaten staining his cheeks crimson red. "You are Eragon. You may no longer be what you once were, but you know what you are now. You're a warrior, a Rider, a comrade, a dear friend, a brother, and a teacher. You're a good man, Eragon Shadeslayer. Never forget that." As she spoke those last words she slowly handed Eragon the hilt of Blödhren.

Eragon looked at the ancient blade with precipitation, but seeing the encouraging nod from Arya he slowly wrapped his hand around the hilt and held it to the light. The runes seemed to glow and Eragon felt as though the energy that swirled within the clear gemstone in the pommel seemed to hum in approval.

Eragon couldn't help but laugh at that, obviously amused that the sword seemed to agree with Arya's words rather than his own.

Than again, Arya usually was the person most usually turned out to be right, now that Eragon thought of it.

Eragon opened his mouth to say something; but before the words could reach his lips, the sounds of footsteps crunching against the snow entered their enhanced hearing and both magicians turned their heads around to see who approached them.

Eragon blinked as he saw the doorway hide itself behind a mass of dark fur the color of night, amber eyes gleaming in the dark and gloomy atmosphere. One of the Shrrg pups, though Eragon could say they were puppies anymore as they were easily nearing the size of a pony, looked at Eragon dead in the eye. Intense brown meeting intelligent amber.

So it appears they've finally gotten here, Eragon thought idly. Seeing as each Shrrg was now the size of a small horse, not to mention there being more than one, there had been no way to transport the Shrrg halfway across the continent. They would have struggled against the levitating spells like any sane being would do, and the amount of energy needed for that would have been exhausting and as Eragon needed ever bit of energy for the making of their home, he had Ronan sniff their scent so they could follow them on foot.

Eragon had to hand it to them; the fact that it only took the large wolves only a month or so to cover such a large distance was nothing short of amazing. The dark-furred Shrrg –Eragon really should name them- padded forward; his body seemed to move with the grace of a predator and despite his rather large size, Eragon knew that he was fast.

The Shrrg suddenly growled at Eragon, the rumbling tone echoing across the destroyed tower, the Shrrg glared down at the surprised Rider who had never been growled at by any of the Shrrg.

Instinctively Eragon reached out his mind towards the giant wolf's, like he had done with Cadoc so long ago in Thiernsford. Back then the horse had been startled but upon the calming touch of his soothing mind, had quickly calmed down. But when Eragon reached out his mind towards the animal, he felt something brush against his own consciousness as softly as a feather.

Eragon furrowed his brows at the soft contact, but it had disappeared as quickly as it came, chalking it up to his imagination Eragon continued on.

Alpha.

The voice rang in his head, deep and guttural but still refined enough for Eragon to understand.

Eragon jerked at that and glanced around the destroyed tower wildly, wondering if someone had stumbled upon their new home. He saw nobody; just himself, Arya, and the dark Shrrg whose amber eyes continued to burn into his own.

Alpha.

The voice spoke again, the deep rumbling that sounded like no human, dwarf, elf, or dragon; but instead its own unique tone. Eragon still saw nothing; but then realization burned into him like Saphira's fiery breath.

Eragon looked deep into the Shrrg's amber eyes; eyes that shone with amusement and intelligence. Eragon felt a chill crawl up his skin. Hesitantly Eragon spoke within the Shrrg's mind.

Hello?

The Shrrg looked at him almost smugly in his amusement; the male Shrrg cocked his head to the side slightly as though in puzzlement. He spoke yet again within his mind.

Alpha.

Ancient Language

Blödhren – Blood Oath

Well hopefully no EragonxArya fans will track me down and try to kill me when I teased them getting together only to put them in the friend zone. I don't know about you put I personally hate it when people put people together literally within a couple minutes of knowing each other (Seen it before) and seeing as its Arya and Eragon, their relationship is something that they ease into. They don't suddenly love each other; though Eragon loves Arya he accepts the fact that she loved Fäolin for over twenty years and with his death finds it hard to show her feelings. They will get together in the story, but it won't be sudden but I won't try to drag it on as I find neither realistic.

Before people go off saying that Eragon wouldn't just pronounce his love to Arya out of the blue; he did it in Ellesméra. I admit the move was rash, but Eragon is still a teenager and we all know teenagers are rather rash (I would know) I wanted to show that while Eragon has matured in this story, there are still parts of him that are reminiscent of Canon Eragon.

As for Blödhren, I know that there was never mention of any relic or so that the Leaders had that was passed down, but I want all of you guys to remember the blade, why? Because even though this is a fanfiction, I can still use symbols if I want to! Blödhren will play a very important part in the future.