Dear readers!

Your positive responses, as always, are greatly appreciated. I read each and every review and though I cannot find time to reply to all of you, know that I find your thoughts and suggestions extremely encouraging. Thank you for your support!

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Karldin.

CHAPTER 14

"You need to relax, Roran" said Eragon smilingly as Roran held on to the saddle tightly. Saphira and Sahloknir were producing the draconic versions of laughter, and Laetri was looking at him with a delighted face. Of all the Elves he knew, she was the most light hearted one.

"Eragon, that was not funny" snarled Roran as he determinedly looked down and flinched violently. They were several thousand feet high in the air, the earth looking like a map of sorts. They were even higher up than most eagles could hope to fly…only his spell kept them from freezing to death.

"Roran-vor, you have to admit it" laughed Laetri with her blue eyes twinkling. "What Eragon did was funny. I knew he would fetch you from Farthen Dur with that spell, but the expression on your face as you saw how high you were…" she doubled up with laughter. Roran stared at her with amazement as the sound of pure elven laughter soothed him and lifted his spirits more than ever.

Eragon exchanged another glance with Laetri, and they both laughed delightedly at the infuriated expression on Roran's face. Roran grumbled: "Fine", with a disgruntled expression. Then a wicked look came on to his face as he looked at Sahloknir and his Rider flying alongside Saphira and themselves.

"You know, Laetri svit-kona" he said gleefully, his lined face seeming to regain its youth as he smiled, "you have spent a hundred years with Eragon, hmm?"

"I have" said Laetri. "We have learnt and seen much together in these years haven't we, Eragon-elda?" she asked nostalgically. Eragon nodded solemnly at this statement…he and Laetri had experienced far too much for their life until now, so much so that his Riders often told him he looked several centuries older than his age.

"Then" cut in Roran, shooting smug glances at Eragon, "you will not mind knowing how a thirteen year old Eragon made a girl faint with his…ah, earnest love?" he asked delicately, looking at Eragon's outraged face with satisfaction.

Laetri's large blue eyes widened with joy as she turned her attention upon Roran. "Tell me please. I have often longed to hear the youthful exploits of our glorious leader" she said innocently, and looked at Eragon. "I might just relate your early heroics to the Riders, Eragon-elda. Think of how your reputation will-"

"Oh, you will, hmm?" questioned Eragon and disappeared in a flash of Indigo light causing Roran to shout out in surprise. A flash of light on Sahloknir's saddle caused him to look at Eragon appearing behind Laetri, and whispering in her ear for a few moments. The silver-haired elf looked at Eragon for a moment and spoke.

"We have an agreement" she said mock-seriously. Eragon nodded mock-seriously as well, and they sealed their deal with a handshake.

Well, Roran. Tell us please. Tell us how Eragon embarrassed himself in front of a snotty little girl, said Sahloknir, causing Saphira to growl playfully at him. As the floating clouds were lit up by gentle shafts of light and the whole sky seemed afire, and they just drifted forwards peacefully on the two Dragons.

Eragon had never heard Laetri laugh this much in all their years together and he realized that he liked the sound. No…not just like, he loved the sound just as much as he loved Arya's laugh. Roran was retelling the story with an exuberance Eragon had always associated with him, and at last he could see traces of a much younger Roran Stronghammer.

"…and then, Garrow made him apologize for stealing her dolls. Then Eragon the chivalrous decided that he had done wrong to the lovely maid, and decided to add a token of his apology. Gave he the candy of Gertrude to Saleria and earned for himself a kiss on the cheek…"

Eragon blushed faintly and Laetri could not help but notice the action. His childhood held great power over him still for they represented his true self better than any name in the ancient language ever could. Slowly he felt Laetri hold his hand, and heard her velvet voice in his mind.

Are you blushing, Eragon-elda?, she asked playfully but to no avail, as Eragon maintained a dignified silence. Little one, tell her the truth. You were blushing like an innocent village girl! Exclaimed Saphira happily, and Eragon felt the undertones of her emotions. Roran continued his tale oblivious to their conversation, now waving his hands animatedly to emphasize his story.

"…and then he went poetic in further apology, and told her that her 'hair shone like the strands of heaven's light, and her eyes were gateways to the blessed lands', and she blinked at him for a moment. And…and then…" guffawed Roran, "she fainted on him! Magda thought he had killed her daughter or something!"

"Really?" snorted Laetri with bubbling laughter, squeezing his hand involuntarily. Eragon gave Roran a silent glare as Sahloknir's amused voice sounded in their minds: Ebrithil, where did you even hear those lines?

Their merriment stopped abruptly as they felt a vast tide of sadness from Eragon's mind, even Roran felt it. Brom told me, he said softly as he remembered times of his childhood he had thought were long faded from his memory. He told me that was what Irnstad Shadeslayer said to the elf Naina as they stood victorious at the devastated site of Luthivira.

Laetri laid her head on his shoulder as Sahloknir and Saphira flew forwards fast as an arrow, her lustrous silver hair caressing his face gently. Slowly he put his arms around her from behind, encircling her waist and hugging her to him tenderly. Naina was the most fortunate of elf-maids, Eragon-elda, to have received a gift such as the one from Irnstad. Just like the gift you gave me, said Laetri with her mind as she turned her face to the bright sky and closed her eyes. Eragon's heart beat slightly faster as he felt Laetri's otherworldly beauty so close to him and her words touched him more than anything else.

As he felt Saphira and Sahloknir pour comfort and reassurance into his mind, and Roran look at him with a look of brotherly support he had wanted for so long, he felt like…shirking duty. Self-mortification overtook him at this traitorous thought, but he could not help himself.

A seed of desire was born in him to simply take his precious ones and retire to Aiedail; it seemed to burn in him like a fire…he wanted them away from the wars, Shades and rebellions. As he beheld the radiantly beautiful elf woman he held in his arms so closely, that longing intensified.

Eragon…what are you thinking? Asked Saphira in an amazed and somewhat scared voice. That snapped him out of his reverie, for his beautiful Saphira was fearless. His eyes softened as he observed Laetri lay herself fully on his chest, and drift into the elven trance smoothly, and his arms tightened about her waist slightly. For once he was thankful of Sahloknir's silence.

It is like I am seeing you all for the first time, Eragon's voice resounded in her mind. You, Laetri, Arya and their Dragons and Orik and of course my Riders and Varda. You were right, Saphira. Alagaesia is doing something to me…call it healing if you will, but something is happening.

What is happening? Asked Saphira's voice, joined by Sahloknir. He brushed Laetri's beautiful silver hair out of her face, amazed by how alike it was to the colour of his own hair. A serene smile seemed to drift across her face, and she dreamt content in his arms, more content than he had ever seen her.

I do not hurt anymore, said Eragon reverently and a full smile lit up his face. When I have you three with me here in Alagaesia, I feel alleviated. Like a great burden lifted off my back.

Even in trance, she supports you. I have never said this before, Eragon, but we have never thanked her for her succour over the years. She has experienced unimaginable pain and even shared Sahloknir to save you!

I owe her everything I am today, Saphira, acknowledged Eragon, murmuring a spell to steady Roran as even he fell asleep. We are as close as two souls can be without being Rider and Dragon, he mused as he held on to Laetri gently but firmly.

Laetri was an elf woman so beautiful and wise that sometimes he wanted to only stare at her, drinking in the beauty she seemed to simply exude. She was several centuries older than Arya, had seen more than her, and yet she managed to dance and sing and find joy in even the darkest of times.

Arya said she wanted to be like me, said Eragon to Saphira wistfully. But I want to be like Laetri, to be able to find joy in what one has instead of lusting for more. She has gone through such terrible pain and darkness, and yet it does not touch her.

Laetri is even more special than me, he said with suspiciously wet eyes. The two dragons remained quiet as they rapidly gained on Ristvak'baen.

Wake me after we are there, Saphira, said Eragon quietly. I feel like resting at last, after five years of infrequent sleep or trance. I feel…lighter.

With magic he steadied himself to go into the trance even as he sat with Laetri snug in his arms. As the comforting darkness swallowed his perception he drifted into the intermediate reality of waking dreams.

Sleep, Eragon…came the soothing voice of Saphira and he was lost to the world, and therefore missed the Rider in his embrace open her bright blue eyes that were rife with a troubled joy.

…

If you would stop your excited scratching of my scales, I could focus on my flight, Firnen said to the small white Dragon that had seated itself between Arya and Varda. Varda seemed to be very reserved as she sat silently on the saddle of the massive green dragon.

They had been flying nonstop towards Ellesmera, and they only had to reach the outpost of Ceris. In Ceris they had a group of magicians who could do an extremely worded version of what Eragon did so effortlessly, and they could reach Ellesmera in the blink of an eye. It was a facility available only to the ones who most needed it, and only in the most urgent of times.

Uh…can I ask a question two-legs-pointy ear queen? Came Belgabad's diffident voice. A small smile adorned Arya's face as she nodded to the white Dragon. Belgabad shot a glance at his Rider who looked at him encouragingly, and said:

Why did Ebrithil leave us with you?

Because, hatchling, replied Firnen firmly as he shot towards the now visible edges of Du Weldenvarden, the places he will visit from now are not suitable for the little ones. Or old ones, for that matter. You are far too young to see some things yet and Eragon would be devastated if something were to happen to you because of his own arrogance.

"Firnen is right", said Arya with a faint hint of apology in her tone. Varda was still a very young girl, and from what she saw looked upon Eragon as a mixture of teacher and father. It had been heartbreaking to see the sadness on her face as they parted at Tarnag, but it was essential.

"Eragon-elda will be busy dealing with certain important matters. He is an elf-friend of old, and has entrusted you and Belgabad to us Alfakyn to train. We know many things and the oldest among us still remember the beginnings. You will gain invaluable knowledge in Ellesmera just like Eragon once did", she said quietly. Varda nodded, and Arya could see a gleam of eagerness and curiosity the young Rider was trying to hide.

They were approaching Ceris rapidly and the majestic Beors were fading slowly. Arya however kept a discreet watch on Varda who seemed to be bursting with questions but trying to stop the torrent. She resisted the urge to smile as she was reminded of a young Eragon being the same way.

Finally the young Rider's patience seemed to run out, and she spoke: "Your Majesty, Can I ask a question?" Arya nodded, and Varda pointed at Du Weldenvarden and asked:

"Why do elves like trees so much?"

"It is to do with our very origin" replied Arya, pleased with the query. Not many knew the truth of Elves and their exodus to Alagaesia, even among elves knowledge of that subject was fading. "As you most likely know, we were not originally immortal. The bonding with the Dragons changed us and we were given gifts of grace and power…our affinity to nature has unknown origins, in truth. But we are definitely aware that it was greatly augmented by the bonding."

Varda seemed deep in thought, but this time Belgabad asked a question: If that is so, then how were the elves before the bond with the Dragons?

"An excellent question, young Dragon", praised Arya. Belgabad seemed to preen and Varda shot her dragon a small glare. Arya ignored the byplay and continued with her answer: "Only a few elves like Rhunon, Haindar and Gilderien-elda remember what it was to be mortal. But we were not like humans, this is for certain. We do know that we had a distinct identity as a separate and powerful race."

Varda seemed to be having a glaring contest with Belgabad, and Arya watched amused as the two hatchlings tried to intimidate the other. Varda shook her head fiercely, causing her long golden hair to ripple in the wind as she did so.

"You had best stop fighting for whatever reason", she advised them softly, and Varda looked up at her. "The two of you are the apprentices of one of the most celebrated Riders in our history, and will be held to the highest standards. Elves will come from all over our nation to meet with you, especially since Eragon himself did not stay overlong in Ellesmera. Do you know the Elven courtesies well?"

Varda nodded, her face taking on an innocently puzzled expression. "Ebrithil taught us. But Ebrithil also told me elves were a really silly people that tended to tie themselves up with the same customs that were supposed to help them. You do not seem to be so bad, Queen Arya."

Arya's face had gone rigid for an instant, and then shook her head. Unbidden, laughter bubbled up inside her at Eragon's childish opinions of her race and looked fondly at Varda.

"No, young one, I am not that bad. I do not believe overmuch in such elaborate ritual, but sometimes they tend to be useful. It would be best if you adhered to my words this time instead of your Ebrithil's. I am the Elven Queen, after all."

"Alright" murmured Varda softly and Arya took in the profile of the young Rider as she again began to converse with her white Dragon. If she had not seen Alanna before, Arya would perhaps mistake Varda for an elf-child. Her skin glowed with magic the same as any elven child, and her face was so ethereally lovely that Arya was certain that Eragon had made a mistake when he said Varda was human.

She had been truly touched that Eragon had chosen to have her train Varda when he was away, had been humbled by how much Eragon still seemed to trust her even after all these years.

"Varda will be in great danger with me, Arya. I do not wish to part with her just now, but there is no choice. A field of war and conflict is no place for a young child. I can protect her from physical harm, but she will stop living her childhood if she sees the horrors of the battlefield" he stated regretfully.

He looked up at her calmly, and solemnly took her hand in his.

"I would be grateful" he said, "if you could train her for the time being. There are many things I cannot teach her without being in Ellesmera. Things that are essential for the heritage of the Riders."

Arya had a doubtful look on her face as she regarded the Lead Rider carefully. "I will do it if you ask it of me, Eragon. But what do I know of the raising of young hatchlings and apprentice Riders?"

"Between Yaela and yourself, I think you can keep my young Rider occupied. Show her Tialdari hall's great library first…it will make her happier than you could imagine" said Eragon, looking quite unhappy at the fact that he would not be there to do such a thing.

"I will train her well in your absence, Eragon", promised Arya as she looked him in the eyes. "It means much that you trust me with someone so precious to you."

"Of course I would trust in you" said Eragon as if to think otherwise would be a blasphemy. "You are someone who is precious to me too".

The faintest pink tinged her pale and smooth cheeks as she held Eragon's gaze, feeling comforted by his declaration. It was a beautiful thing to know that someone would stand by her come what may. She had very few friends like that, and most of them had drifted from her…carried away by the unmerciful tides of Elven politics.

Her fellow elves may be her people, but the Riders were indubitably her family. She answered Eragon in a tone that she hoped would convey the depth of her thanks for his unquestioning support and her regard for him.

"You…you are precious to me as well, Eragon."

The months that would follow from now would be particularly perilous, both for her and for Eragon. In truth she was concerned far more for Eragon rather than herself, for it was he who was going directly into a territory where cruel war would rage soon enough. She had been more than tempted to simply accompany Eragon and Laetri to Ristvak'baen and postpone the succession completely.

"Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Varda?" she asked, turning back to her temporary apprentice. Eragon had told her not to teach Varda the sword at any cost; he had emphasized that point thoroughly. Arya did not voice her disagreement as she knew it would be far too presumptuous.

"Is Rhunon-elda really old?"

"Yes" replied Arya. The sun had begun to set slowly, and the vast plain was awash with a reddish orange light. "She forged the swords of every Rider who ever existed, including the one of your master's namesake. She is one of the original elves who came from our homeland, Alalea."

"Alalea" whispered Varda, with a faraway expression. "Heslant the monk says in Domia abr Wyrda that the elves came from Alalea because of their mistakes. He says that in Alalea exists beautiful and terrible things, that it is a realm beyond the comprehension of men."

That is why Eragon told us that even he could not see the end to Varda's potential, came Firnen's voice to Arya. Arya only nodded as she considered Varda's words spoken with the fascination of accomplished historians…the young Rider's mind was subtle and complex, more than even those of certain hot-headed elves of forty that came to mind.

"One day, I will see Alalea too", asserted the young Rider with a distant and fascinated look upon her face. "Just like Ebrithil did!"

Waves of shock ran through Arya, and she kept herself from showing her extreme reaction by the breadth of a hair. Eragon had gone to Alalea? In thousands of years, the elves had been unable to find that mythical land no matter the detailed maps they possessed of its location.

They knew much about their ancient homeland still, but its location had been lost to them. Queen Tarmunora's expedition to find their homeland had been in vain, and she had returned empty handed to Alagaesia.

"Eragon…went to Alalea?" she asked Varda softly, not wanting to alarm her. Varda nodded, her wonder apparent as she spoke:

"Laetri-elda went as well", she said. Arya hid another eruption of pure shock and began to realize that she still knew very little about Eragon. Varda's eyes had clouded over, and Arya saw a tear fall down the young Rider's face.

Young one, what troubles you so? Came Firnen's comforting voice even as Belgabad nudged his Rider with his small white snout. Arya watched her carefully, laying her hand on top of Varda's small pale ones. The young Rider seemed to gather herself in a moment, though Arya could see hints of emotion in her face.

She needed more answers, and would contact Eragon as soon as was feasible. Or perhaps Yaela would consent to explain to her once more.

But Ceris was in their sight, and Firnen swooped low to make a landing in the elven settlement. Arya squeezed Varda's hands reassuringly, projecting a sense of calm and comfort to the Rider. "Young one, I am sure you will. But for now we are near Ceris. You do remember the words of the greeting, do you not?"

"Atra esterni ono thelduin, Arya Drottning" said Varda in a clear voice, touching two fingers to her lips. Arya smiled in acknowledgement, and looked towards Ceris and Du Weldenvarden. Her time as Queen was coming to an end and she would step away from the throne by performing one last service for her people; she would ensure that a worthy monarch succeeded her, thereby freeing her completely of royal obligations.

….

Eragon felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder, and threw off the trance immediately. As his eyes shot open he looked down to see himself holding Laetri by her waist, her back flush against his chest.

"Eragon, we are here" said Laetri quietly, shifting slightly in his embrace. Eragon disengaged slowly as he set his eyes upon the familiar landscape beneath him. He had last seen these endless and vast plains when he, Saphira and Brom had set out on the hunt for the Ra'zac.

A smile flickered on his face as he realized that it was here that he actually first realized the vastness of Alagaesia. Laetri turned in her saddle and addressed him: "You had best return to Saphira's saddle, Eragon. Your cousin seems ready to drop from the saddle in his sleep."

Eragon shot her an affectionate look and disappeared with a flash of indigo light, only to appear behind Roran. The tower of Ristvak'baen was in sight and it was close enough for him to keep an eye on his home village. The Dragons dived sharply and gracefully, and Roran shook himself awake at the unexpected change in altitude.

"What the-" exclaimed Roran as Saphira dived so sharply that she was almost perpendicular to the ground. Eragon was all too used to her antics and remained calm even without the security of a saddle. His sense of balance was fine enough to adjust to even the most chaotic of surfaces, and he saw even Laetri doing the same. Sahloknir was as bad as Saphira when it came to flying, but Eragon was thankful in a way that their tendencies of doing near-death stunts had subsided considerably.

"Saphira, you will kill me!" roared Roran in fright and Saphira's delighted laughter sounded in their minds, joined by Sahloknir's deep merriment. The ground seemed to rush at them dangerously, and at the last moment the two dragons seemed to right themselves and landed on the ground with a graceful thud.

Eragon and Laetri glanced for a moment at a green and sick-looking Roran, and simultaneously dismounted from their dragons, falling to the ground like a pair of white flowers drifting in the air. Roran looked at him with frustration and began his tedious downward climb from Saphira's saddle, causing the massive Sapphire dragon to chuckle involuntarily as he stepped on sensitive spots.

Hurry up, that tickles, growled Saphira to Roran. "You are at least seven times bigger than you were before, you overgrown dragon!" complained Roran as he descended huffing and puffing. "I would rather climb a small mountain than you!"

Fine. If you find a mountain that is as beautiful and graceful in flight as me, please tell me, said Saphira with some asperity. Sahloknir emanated a deep chuckling sound at his counterpart's quip, joined by his Rider and Eragon.

They had landed upon the unreachable peak of Utgard, and Eragon could feel the ancient history of the riders seeped into the very stones of the place. From their vantage point, he could see the plain in all directions for what was a hundred miles probably.

"This place is perfect, Eragon-elda" said Laetri appreciatively. "Carvahall and Therinsford are in perfect sight and as are the major portions of the great plain. I had forgotten how very suitable this place was as an outpost of the Riders."

Roran was staring nostalgically at Carvahall, wiping his eyes discreetly. From what Eragon had heard he had not seen the village for eighty years now, not since he left the village to his sons and daughter. He himself had not seen it since leaving when he was but a clueless sixteen-year old boy who called himself a Rider.

"This way, Eragon-elda and Roran" said Laetri, indicating the steps that took them to the very summit of the legendary peak. "These stairs lead to the tower of Edoc'sil…or perhaps Ristvak'baen as it has been aptly named after the fall", she said sadly.

Tearing his eyes from the unrecognizable Carvahall, which more resembled a city than the rustic village he had left a hundred and twenty years before, he followed Laetri to the stairs that stretched up the mountain and beyond sight only ending at the tower.

Please meet us up there, requested Eragon and the Dragon gladly took to flight. The weather was pleasantly cold at this height and a heavy mist obscured the tower from the view of those on the plains, heightening the sense of mystique associated with the ancient outpost.

Roran had joined him and Laetri as they climbed swiftly towards the tower, Laetri looking lost in the memories of a distant and painful past. Eragon knew what was troubling her, but did not voice it out loud; This place was as much a part of her story as it was a part of the story of the Riders.

"These steps", said Roran suddenly. "They are not crafted through normal means, are they? They seem to be made of a crystal I have not seen in Alagaesia in all my travels", he said with wonder. Laetri nodded solemnly, seeming to come back to the present.

"True indeed. These stairs were crafted by Silvari the enchantress" she said, and her eyes seemed to have a shadow to them as she spoke. "Long ago when she was a just a young apprentice Rider brimming with magic and a talent unbelievable, eager to prove herself to her master."

Roran nodded with surprised eyes as Laetri closed her eyes for a moment and continued climbing. She seemed to draw involuntarily close to Eragon, and their hands seemed to find each other quite naturally.

Roran almost missed a step as he saw Eragon interact with Laetri, speaking to her in a low voice. They seemed to understand each other on a most fundamental level, something he had experienced once in his life. And then it hit him.

Eragon and Laetri resembled himself and his late wife, so much so that he could almost see images of himself and Katrina in them. Despite the pure beauty and dignity of Laetri and the majesty and wisdom of Eragon, he could see the depth of their bond. He may not be a mind-reader, but their actions were so filled with affection and understanding that not even a blind man would miss them. The realization brought a rush of pure pain to his heart as he remembered just what he had lost.

Never again would he see Katrina's lovely smile again, and the fact stabbed his heart like a thousand knives. He would burn Alagaesia and use his soul for tinder if only it meant that he could see her smile again. As his steps faltered with his blackening mood, he felt a mind make contact with his…a mind so vast that it was comparable even to the Menoa tree's consciousness in its immensity.

He could hear hundreds of whispers in its endless depths and dimensions, and started as Eragon's profound voice echoed through his very soul: You will see her again, along with everyone we have ever lost in this life. Do not despair, Roran. We have much left to do in this world before we join with the void. Your daughter is lost to the darkness, and our village is about to be set upon by enemies. We are the ones who will turn the tide of fate once more: Me, Laetri, you, and Arya and our Dragons. You are a legend just like me, and legends are more than just flesh.

We are ideals that never fade from conscious memory.

Compassion and hope flowed from Eragon's mind into his, and his words ignited a hope in his heart that made him feel young once more. As he stood straight and proud like he had done as a commander of the Varden, he felt another mind joining with his. Laetri's mind was ancient and subtle like those of the dragons, running through it were veins of suffering, hope and compassion.

I can feel your suffering, she whispered soothingly in his mind. Most minds are open to me, and the air is heavy with loss. You will find understanding and love again, as great as the one you shared with Katrina long ago. As deep as the bond I and Eragon-elda share; Do not lose hope, Roran Stronghammer.

As the despair was burnt away from him, a new mind entered their astral conference. This time, Roran knew it to be a Dragon. It was ancient and experienced beyond belief and held the authority and power of the greatest of leaders.

Eragon, what your nest-mate feels is not his own sorrow, not is still weeping for the death of my Rider Vrael. The mountain is saturated with Vrael's death presence. As the leader, it is your responsibility to return it to its former light and glory.

Roran saw Eragon glance once at Laetri, pausing in their climb. Something seemed to pass between them and their grip around each other's hand tightened ever so slightly.

As you wish, Umaroth-elda.

A wind seemed to gather up around the two Riders, whipping their long silver hair into disarray.

Brace yourself, Roran. My Rider and Laetri are cleansing the grief from this place, came Saphira's warning voice even as Eragon and Laetri raised their free hands towards the cloudy sky, looking deep into each other's eyes. Then they began to sing, and he found tears coming to his eyes at the song.

Lyric strains of the ancient language permeated the mournful summit of Utgard Mountain, and Roran found himself closing his eyes in an attempt to remember as much as he could of the song. It felt like hope itself distilled into something he could grasp, and he heard reverently as Eragon and Laetri sang together of renewal and light, of the destruction of darkness and of new brightness.

Saphira and Sahloknir began to hum in concordance with the song, and the air vibrated slightly at their powerful voices. The clouds above the towering mountain churned for a moment and opened up, letting a huge column of crystal clear light bathe the entirety of Utgard.

Roran fell to his knees as he observed life itself return to the desolate mountain. Withered trees began to grow, and a cover of the most beautiful green moss seemed to cover the entire mountain. Everywhere he saw, he found entire forests being born, their trees yielding golden leaves and standing tall. And they were all bathed in Eragon's healing light…Roran noticed Eragon's sword glinting in its sheath, and the glyph that declared it to be Brisingr morph into something else for a second. His hands shook as he read the changed glyph with a single glance:

Islingr.

As Eragon turned Ristvak'baen and the mountain it stood upon into a paradise unlike even Du Weldenvarden, Roran knelt dumbfounded. The light turned every living thing it touched into one of striking beauty, and Roran felt fortunate to be here for this event. As the last of the trees bloomed into maturity and the Mountain covered completely by soothing green meadows, he was convinced: Something profound had happened here today, a beginning of a new epoch in Alagaesia.

The song of magic and power stopped, and Roran's eyes grew alarmed as Laetri swayed on the spot for a moment and steadied herself. Eragon did not even hesitate as he gathered the gloriously beautiful elf in his arms, holding her securely to him.

The spell we cast was something beyond ordinary magic. She is a trifle tired, his voice resonated in all their minds. Laetri lay content in his arms as they all surveyed the mountain that stretched down below them to thousands of feet…it had become a place of heaven itself. Everywhere they saw, it was floored with velvety green meadows and shone with a canopy of golden-leaved trees.

Its previous gloom was long gone, and Roran felt a new purpose as he joined Eragon rapidly, along with a deep and resonating pride in his cousin. Eragon had truly become the person he was meant to be, and he could feel the crushing pride of Saphira and Sahloknir bombard them all.

Against the awe-inspiring sight of the blue sky and the high peak of Utgard, Roran could fully appreciate the true majesty and power Eragon embodied. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that Eragon would turn into…into this mythical Rider. Laetri seemed to think the same as she looked at the Lead Rider with bright blue eyes full of pride and adoration.

"We sung that spell beautifully, Eragon. You have learnt well…" she said in her melodious voice. Eragon only shifted her in his arms, holding her more securely than ever. Umaroth's joyful voice roared through their consciousnesses like a storm:

The blessing of Telperion?...Eragon, Laetri, you have done well. I will still dream of Vrael's presence, said Umaroth and the ancient sorrow seemed to consume them for a second, but I must let go of him. The dead are to have the peace they did not get in life. I am proud of you, Eragon. You have come far indeed.

Hundreds of voices seemed to echo Umaroth the White's sentiments as Eragon made to climb the final steps to the tower of Vrael, Laetri contently resting her head on his chest as she lay in his arms. Roran knew them to be the voices of Eldunari, and their benedictions washed over him.

…..

"Soldiers!" came Palencar's resounding voice as he stood upon his battlements, looking imperially at the ranks upon ranks of steel-armored men who had assembled outside the walls of Illirea. The city shook as the soldiers brought their lances down simultaneously with an earth-shaking thud.

Many of the citizens had gathered behind the open gates and upon the vast battlements as their King commanded the fifth detachment of the royal army of Illirea. Palencar too was armored in the purest of silver armor, seeming to shine in the light of the setting sun.

"It has been eighty years since the battle of Ithro-Zhada, where we first commanded the armies…and a hundred years since the fall of Galbatorix. But now our kingdom is threatened once more" he said in a dark voice, and such was the passion in his voice that the six thousand soldiers of the detachment held their swords in fury.

"Urgals" he spat, and most of the citizens spat with him. From his unassuming position behind the king, Nuada saw the royalty and inspiration the monarch engendered. Eragon-elda lead the riders so admirably by showing them the principles of sacrifice and knowledge.

But Palencar's words lit a fire in these men's hearts…he was closely reminded of how Brom had ignited the spark of revolution in the original Varden, of how entire legions flocked to his passionate call.

"You are our nation's soldiers. Great was the valour of your forebears in the battles before, and great will be your valour in the coming battles. You will be sent to the mouth of the Woadark river, and from there you are to Garrison around the city of Teirm."

A single man in heavy armor stepped forth from the ranks of the soldiers, and looked at the king. "Permission to speak, Majesty?" he asked firmly, and Palencar inclined his head in the soldier's direction.

"Speak, general Hadvor."

"Majesty, we have no commander. Are we to simply lead ourselves to this battle?" questioned the general completely seriously. A fierce smile lit Palencar's face as he looked to the orange skies, announcing in a loud voice.

"I will not throw away my soldiers so easily, General!" he proclaimed, and a faint thuds began to make itself known to the gathered army and populace. "The most ancient of all peacekeepers have come forth at this time, fortunately for all of us. After one hundred years of absence from their home, they have returned once more to keep our hard-won peace. And they" he raised his hand to point at a huge brown Dragon descending towards the space between the walls and the army. "They will not let foul beasts spurn our peace. General Hadvor!" he said loudly, watching carefully as his people seemed to be stunned into silence.

Hadvor was a veteran of the battle of the Dark tunnels, which was fought entirely in the darkness of abandoned dwarven underground. But his lined face was set in an expression of pure amazement as the majestic dragon landed forcefully, sending a small storm of dust into the ranks of the soldiers. As the dust cleared, an elf woman in armor jumped from the saddle of the dragon directly and fell to the ground on light feet.

Whispers began to float through the massed citizenry of Illirea as they well and truly saw a Rider for the first time in a century. Palencar was smiling grimly as Ragnar roared in his deep voice, shooting a huge column of fire into the sky.

The soldiers looked stunned, and Palencar found he was impressed that none of them had made a hostile move without his command. A sense of pride overtook him as he appreciated their iron discipline, as they stood firm even in the face of a Rider.

"This is your commander, General Hadvor. This is Leya Shur'tugal" he said, and glanced once at the hooded Nuada, who nodded. "This is Leya Shur'tugal, one of the apprentices of Eragon Kingslayer".

It never failed to amaze Palencar just how much Eragon was idolized by the public, even after so many a year. After a moment of complete silence, whispers began to escalate among the populace like a bumble of a hive of bees. Then suddenly a voice in the crowd shouted:

"ERAGON!"

Nuada smiled as the Illirea was shaken by the collective shouts of its fifteen thousand citizens. As one, they began to roar: "ERAGON! ERAGON!...".

"My master is not here, beloved Alagaesians" cut in Leya's clear voice as she raised her hand, amplifying her voice with magic. Palencar grinned, admiring how she played with words so cleverly. Indeed Eragon was not here in Illirea, but most of them would take it to mean that he was not in Alagaesia.

"He is not here, but he will always watch over us and come to our aid when we are fallen. He has sent us to fulfil our ancient duty. We will let no being break Alagaesia's sacred peace, this we swear by all Riders who ever existed!" her voice rang out with melody and power through the streets of Illirea as Palencar nodded appreciatively. Mad cheers filled the city and he could see even his soldiers were heartened by the prospect of being commanded by a Rider.

They grew silent after a time, when Palencar solemnly lifted his hand for their attention. He turned to Leya, who with her Dragon watched him calmly.

"Leya Shur'tugal" said Palencar in voice that thrummed with royalty. "I, Palencar, High King of the Kingdom of Illirea hereby charge you to guard the western reaches of our Kingdom from the marauding beasts who call themselves Urgals. Do you, as a Rider of Alagaesia, accept my request?"

Leya stood straight and proud, seeming to exude authority as she unsheathed her gleaming sword with a steely ring. "I accept, majesty. No Urgal will breach the western cities under our watch!"

Palencar thought Hadvor would create problems at this sudden relegation of command, but was pleasantly surprised as the General too drew his sword and declared the same in a ringing voice. He watched as silence overtook the plains for a single second, and then it happened.

Six thousand swords were drawn with a deafening ring that chilled the bones and awed every observer on that fateful day. On the twilight-lit plains of Illirea under the orders of their king, the first detachment of soldiers marched towards the spine of the world and Teirm with the Rider Leya.

…..

As the servants poured him and the remaining Riders tea, Palencar allowed himself to descend from the high he had attained as he had sent forth the division to Teirm. That part of the army had been mobilized very quickly, much more so than he had expected.

It was one piece of good advice the generals had given him: To let the people get used to the concept of war once again, he had to make a spectacle of it and as soon as possible. With Nuada's assent, he had openly declared the involvement of the Riders and had given Leya the right to command the fifth detachment of the army formally.

The room was somber as Palencar looked at Barristan and Nuada. "What did you think?"

"It was well done, your Majesty. It is always best to instill a sense of morale in the minds of the people before any war. I think you are naturally gifted in that regard…truth be told, I felt even my morale rising at your speech" said Nuada with a genuine smile. Palencar grinned…that was what he wanted to hear. He had inherited both his mother's charisma and his father's inhuman determination.

He sipped his tea, and let the silence take them once more. Ildarien was with his own men…the Rider had taken a great liking to the tough and no-nonsense nighthawks, all of them fascinated with magic the same way he was accused of being.

Palencar was later told by him that the Riders on Aiedail preferred the simple frankness of humanity to the convoluted games of the elves. It was a change Palencar could definitely live with.

"The Urgals will not take the bait" said Barristan suddenly. "Leya's division will at most attract a token army from the spine, your majesty. The brunt of their attack will be focused on focused eastwards, I think."

"Aye, that is a good point Barristan" concurred the King amiably. "But do not forget that the port cities are important as well. If they can take Narda or Teirm, they can wage war by sea as well. We cannot leave that possibility unattended. If everything goes well it might be possible to catch them in a vice-formation."

"Eragon-elda will hold Carvahall, Leya will guard Teirm and the coast…and the main army shall launch the real offensive through the entire breadth of the Spine. Has it yet been decided if the main assault is focused or distributed?" questioned Nuada.

"It has been decided" said Palencar grimly, "that we will strike through three methods. Our forces shall split into three bodies, but at least two will remain close enough to aid each other in the time of need. I will personally lead the first division and set up camp near the village of Flam" he said, pointing to the diamond shaped dot near the spine range.

"You, Nuada, have the option of leading the attack via the secret pass at Daret, or circle into the spine through Carvahall" offered the King. Nuada seemed to consider for a moment, and replied.

"I will attack through the Daret pass. It is better to have the Riders distributed evenly through the entire force, Majesty. Carvahall will not really need any more reinforcement" said Nuada. But Barristan's face had settled into a thinking expression, and the Rider pointed to Feinster.

"Instead" said the young Rider quickly, his brown eyes glowing with enthusiasm. "We can split the original Carvahall army into parts, and send a good number of men to Feinster and then into sea. In case the Urgals make it into the sea, we must be ready to counter them."

"Excellent" murmured Palencar, as he stared at the map. "It is also a trick that will provide a mobile reserve army. Well done, Barristan" he congratulated quietly. Barristan smirked, his eyes lighting up at the praise. Nuada shot him a congratulatory look, and turned to Palencar.

"Ildarien and his assassins are ready, Your Majesty. They will be an extremely important component of this war", stated Nuada quietly. "It will be necessary to ensure that their departure will be in the utmost secrecy. And, Eragon-elda will most likely have arrived at Utgard."

Palencar still worried about the Carvahall sector. "I cannot help but worry, Nuada. I am afraid Carvahall will still take the brunt of the Urgal attack. My Generals are once again calling me insane for not routing too much of the army there, and I fear discord in my command structure."

"That will fade in time" assured Nuada gently. "It is as Ildarien said: Eragon-elda is unconquerable. It would take quite a bit more than an Urgal army to challenge the Leader of our Order. Have faith, your majesty; We must make our thrust by having faith in Eragon-elda's capacities."

"What if the Urgal Riders make an appearance?" questioned Palencar intently. Nuada sighed, and replied firmly:

"Majesty, at worst any of the four of us can at least match them. There is no way they can stand against the Kingslayer either…it does not matter how strong they think they are. Against him they will taste nothing but defeat" he said, but continued as Palencar retained his doubtful look.

"Leave Riders to Riders, your majesty. As long as we are here we will deal with our problems. You have Urgals to deal with, alongside several other things." he intoned reassuringly.

At this Palencar nodded. Silence fell as the three sipped their beverages, thinking deeply about the situation. The war was well underway and they had taken the first steps towards their plan. Palencar had taken several gambles in his battles, but this one seemed like one of the most insane. No matter how much the Riders reassured him that Eragon could hold Carvahall, he was not reassured. Perhaps he would issue a few secret orders to Ildarien's soldiers to defend Carvahall with their lives if Eragon could not do so.

His mind told him to trust the Riders' word, but his experience told him to take precautions anyways. It was only prudent to seal away all possibilities of defeat…that was what Jormundur had taught him, and that was the philosophy by which he fought his wars.

A/N:

The imagery of this chapter was inspired by the compositions of Hans Zimmer, most of which never fail to bring tears to my eyes. Music is a great aid to inspired writing, I feel. It helps in ways no amount of academic speculation can, for it is helps you put soul in your imagination.

Thank you again for reading.