AN/: Sorry for the wait. On to the chapter. I don't own IC. If only I did. The books would be much shorter and of worse quality than how they are now.

Jaeden was back home in their sitting room, his dragon snoozing in his lap. He would have left it outside, all it did was remind him of the fact that he walked a different path from them, but the dragon simply butted it's head against the door until it was opened. Ariata was crying, as was his mother, but they were smiling. His father, a tall man that was as to Jaeden as a tree is to a sapling, was beaming but was on the edge of tears. Jaeden himself was tearing up himself, but held himself together.

For the life of him, Jaeden couldn't recall what they said, but that was irrelevant. What he could remember was at the end of his hour, his father ran upstairs, and came back with a small box. He gave it to Jaeden who opened it. Inside was a small gold colored gemstone. Jaeden asked after what it was. His father smiled and told him the tale of how the golden sword fell from the sky. The stone had fallen out of the sword due to force of impact. He had kept it as a sign of the wonders of the world. Jaeden pocketed it and rushed to embrace his whole family.

He relinquished them only after the elves outside called out to Jaeden. Then he bid his family goodbye. He walked to the walls of the city with a crowd of silent people following him.

Some time later, Jaeden never could remember how long had passed, he sat on a small white horse and Slinthri was telling him four words to command the horse. How they trained the horses to respond to commands was beyond him.

"And why do they keep pretending that the beasts are intelligent. They're dumb and simple animals. Damn Elves won't explain anything either. Like why they never use a saddle or bit. I'm no horseman, but I believe they are necessary. Or why they look like they're barely adults and yet reminisce about the old riders. They treat me like a child of a king. Politely, but yet haughtily." Jaeden thought in frustration.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself under his breath. Slinthri blinked twice in surprise.

"Please don't speak that way to Hester. He bears your weight. He does not need to bear your curses." The elf said.
"How in the name of Angvard did he hear that?" Jaeden thought. The rest of his day he spent riding the horse. They were quick, Jaeden remarked in his mind. Even his dragon flying overhead had a difficult time keeping up. By the time the broke for the night in a small clump of elms, they were past the Jiet River by a few leagues. The elves offered to help set Jaeden up his tent, but he refused, despite having no knowledge as to how to set up the tent. He just hated their incessant coddling. He eventually just draped the the cloth across over a tree branch and slept beneath that with his dragon in his bedroll. It was the worst sleep he had gotten ever. But he dreamt of a name for his dragon. Varme. He sent an impression of the name to his dragon and it was met with acceptance.

What struck him as strange was that the elves used no tent for themselves, but rather sat at the campfire for the night. And when he asked them if they had slept they replied with confusing answers about "Waking Dreams". This, combined with his low amount of sleep, but him in a sour mood. But what happened the next day made him forget all about it.

Sorry this took so obscenely long to upload. Thanks for reading Fredo747 and maybe one other person that reads this. Be back with another chapter later. Khoda Hafez, my friends. (Points for naming that language)

Doodl on, friends.