Dear readers,

I sincerely apologize for the late update, and I am enthused greatly by your eagerness! But I have to say updates will be slow for the next month; I find myself overloaded with too many things to do, I am only barely managing to update my stories.

A certain guest reviewer has seen fit to goad me into updating.

-REVIEW-

I Cycle Superfan

I've been reading and enjoying your fan-fiction but could you please update because it would be a disappointment if you quit mid-way through. It bothers me when people are uncommitted to a story that they start. I appreciate your literature but quit jumping around (I'm referring to you starting Kaleidoscope of Magic while intending to continue Birth of the Forest). Complete one story before beginning another. I should also say that if someone's a fan they are less likely to maintain interest if you don't update according to a set schedule (in your case around once or twice a month). I've been extremely patient(note a lot more requested updates before this) but it looks like I was right when I first posted this review. You bit off more than you could chew by starting that Harry Potter story. You like to GIVE UP on your less popular work I can see that by the way you abandoned your Merlin story Spiral. Will you hang this tale out to dry as well?

-REVIEW-

Let me tell you here and now, ICycleSuperfan, that I am highly pleased by your interest. But needling me about my commitment and methods will certainly NOT contribute to my update speed. Just make an effort to understand that I am not your personal storyteller. I refuse to churn out random content just to please you. Others have requested updates, yes, but they did so without goading me.

There is a difference between flaming/goading and requesting.

I would have PM'd you, but you use a guest account. So please, do not assume things about people like you have above. Who the heck are you to decide if I have bitten off more than I can chew? Who the heck are you to decide that I am uncommitted to my story just because I do not cater to your flighty whims?

Sigh. My apologies for the rant. Please enjoy the chapter, all of you. I look forward to your reviews.

CHAPTER 22

Awaken, Lightbringer. The time to rest is over.

Awaken, Valdr Shur'tugal.

You must rise, Eragon-elda.

RISE!

Eragon's eyes opened in a flash at the promptings of the Eldunari, and he breathed heavily as he took his first conscious breath once more. The early morning's light filtered gently through the filmed roof and exposed windows of his bower, and a single shaft of the light fell upon him and the bed he lay upon as if in benediction. He became aware of a second heartbeat upon his, and looked down to see Varda's cheek nestled against his heart. He hugged her small form to himself, aware of how much pain she must have undergone after his choice to save Ismira.

There are people for whom the world revolves around you, Eragon, came Saphira's deeply sorrowful voice with no preamble or joy at his awakening. There are people who are closer to you than family. You have no right to play with us like this. Play with ME like this!

Eragon's heart constricted at her words. Saphira…

Have I not been a good companion to you all these years? I have put you above everything I ever desired. I have never hidden anything from you of my own volition. But you saw fit to hurt yourself again, uncaring of what I would feel. Uncaring of what misery Yaela underwent, what pain Sahloknir accepted. I will not even mention what Laetri and Arya did! You have never struck me as a selfishly masochistic person, Eragon, but that is what you are, she berated him harshly. I refuse to share my mind with a Rider who chooses to dishonor me so.

Saphira, please forgive me. There was no choice, he said with a single tear leaking out of his eye even as Saphira walled her mind off from him so completely that he could not feel her anymore. Saphira, do not leave again!, he pleaded with his mind as he saw his Dragon flying high in the skies of Ellesmera, heading deep into the forests of Du Weldenvarden. Varda stirred slightly in his arms, but even the sight of his beloved apprentice could not soothe Eragon's pain as he shed tears helplessly. He could feel Sahloknir also cut himself off from him as well, and it hurt him to the quick. He no longer felt the old feeling of overwhelming loss…this was the pain of separation.

You must let her be, Shur'tugal. She and young Sahloknir need time to find themselves again. We will watch over both, fear not, Umaroth assured him. He raised his hand to his face, feeling tears flow down his cheeks. All his vaunted strength of mind was for nothing when Saphira left him.

And then she came. Laetri's beautiful mind enveloped his in a deep embrace of the very soul, soothing his hurt as only she could. I will never let you go again, her voice whispered in his mind as their minds flowed together to join once more. He clung to her presence as if she were his salvation, closing his eyes as their souls joined together in an embrace no physical act of intimacy could duplicate. If it were not for Arya's intervention, I would have lost you forever.

He disappeared with a flash of Indigo light that lit up his bower, taking Varda with him as he traveled to where he felt Laetri's consciousness. "Ebrithil, you are awake?" Varda whispered as they appeared in the Crags of Tel'naeir. "I am fine, Varda", he told her softly as she hugged his legs tightly. She looked up at him with large eyes, and he picked her up as he used to when she was scarce more than a babe.

"You told me you would not die for two thousand years", Varda wept as she buried her face in his chest. "You promised me."

"I will not die so easily, my dear. Have I ever broken a promise I made to you?", he asked soothingly as he walked briskly towards Oromis' hut, feeling her shake her head against him. His mind was flooded once more with closeness and affection, and he saw Laetri standing in front of the door to his old master's hut. He slowly set Varda down. "Go in to the hut", he said but she looked at him with doubtful eyes as if she knew he was distracting her.

"Go on, Varda. I promise I will join you very shortly. I just need to speak with Laetri", he said gently as Laetri watched them both with a serene look. Varda nodded and began walking towards the Glade behind the hut where he had learnt meditation as a sixteen year old stripling. He could feel several presences in the hut, but he did not try to decipher their identities.

He and Laetri only stared into each other's eyes, needing no words or magic to communicate, for they belonged with each other just as surely as the sunlight belonged with the sun. He walked slowly to her, and she blinked once. Then her arms went unhesitatingly around his neck, and he hugged her fiercely to himself. The beat of her heart against his reassured him like nothing else could, easing away his fear and apprehension at Saphira's departure.

"Saphira is afraid for you", she murmured as she listened to the beat of his heart with a content expression. "For a moment you were forcibly taken away from her. She suffered like a Riderless Dragon did and even she cannot stand against that loss for long", she said softly to him. Then she looked up at his eyes even as his arms encircled her. "Sahloknir left me before Saphira left you. Their anger at us is not trivial, Eragon-elda."

"Why did Sahloknir leave you?" asked Eragon in a shocked tone. Laetri and Sahloknir had an extremely deep connection with each other…he could not imagine the gold Dragon leaving Laetri for anything. It disturbed him as surely as Saphira's actions did. Laetri lowered her eyes, turning her face away from his. He could feel the unapologetic resolve in her mind combining with sadness at Sahloknir's departure.

"He left me because I…vowed to follow you to the Void if you could not be saved", she whispered in the ancient language.

In all his years on this earth, during all his tribulations and trials, in his hundred years of seeing and performing deeds not even Elves could imagine…he had not been touched so deeply by words. Her quiet declaration tore through all his barriers and burned deeply into his now-whole being. She was everything to him now, and she gasped lightly against him as his affection filled her mind like a blazing fire. He slowly caressed her silvery tresses that flowed down to her waist. He had to put what he felt for her into words, inadequate though they may be. So he spoke in the Ancient Tongue, using the strongest words he knew to express his feelings.

"Iet Almarea Melessë", he said leaning forward and kissing her brow reverently. Laetri's blue eyes shone at his reply and she laid her head beneath his chin with contentment, her heavenly form melded perfectly against his.. But only in the meld of their minds could he pour all the infinite affection and regard he held for her, but words felt needed at this point.

My Blessed Love. That is what he had called her.

A slight gasp sounded behind him, and Laetri gently disengaged herself from his embrace. Eragon turned slowly to see Arya standing behind him. She wore a simple tunic and hose as she used to during their earlier days, but the clothing only accentuated her beautiful profile against the background of the Glade of Lilies he had created for her.

He tightened his grip around Laetri's hand, not understanding the feelings that were rising in him like a tide. He did not understand why he wanted to keep staring at Arya; he did not know why he could suddenly appreciate her beauty. He had no idea why he could feel her mind against his, pulsing alongside the meld of his and Laetri's consciousnesses like a second heart.

You are completely healed. She has given you a great gift indeed, a treasure greater than all the diamonds on this earth. She saved you with her soul; just like we healed each other one hundred years ago, and you healed Ismira yesterday. You are bonded with her as well, My Blessed Love, Laetri's voice echoed in his mind, and he could see her eyes dancing with delight and mischief as he blushed deeply with no trace of his usual composed dignity. No one had ever called him that in his century and more of life.

It made me happy when you called me that, Eragon-elda. But I wanted to be the first elf to call you by so intimate a title…and I do not intend to forget your response either. Sahloknir and Saphira will return, of course. I find myself looking forward to their reactions to the memory of the mighty Lightbringer blushing like an innocent human, she said playfully to him. Eragon sighed; Laetri had an inscrutable sense of humor that had never failed to evoke a strong reaction out of him. He stared at Arya who had seated herself at the edge of the Crags of Tel'naeir, watching the morning wind flutter through the vast field of flowers he had created for her.

I will leave you two to talk. Come back soon to me after, Eragon-elda. The war has begun in earnest, and the races are converging on Ellesmera for a conference of the likes of which has not occurred since Galbatorix. They will look to us to guide them at this time she said solemnly, and Eragon could not help but notice the slight emphasis she put on the word 'talk'. Her hand drifted away from his, and he watched as she seemed to glide away from him and into the hut like a forest spirit. He sighed and walked to Arya's side, sitting himself down silently beside her. They uttered no word for several moments, only watching the light of the rising sun steal over the flower glade and over the far-reaching forests of Ellesmera.

"You should know that Murtagh and Nasuada have arrived with Palencar's wife and child", said Arya eventually, looking straight ahead at the sunlit Crags.

Eragon nodded, now turning his scrutiny on her. "I can feel their presences. I knew he would come for Ismira, though Elva and her son were an unexpected arrival", he said, curiously brushing his mind against the ones inside Oromis' hut. He recognized Murtagh's stern but weary consciousness, and Thorn's. "Also not surprising is Nasuada being alive; Murtagh loved her far too much to let her be taken away so soon."

"That he does", agreed Arya, picking up blades of dry grass from the ground, and began weaving them in a pattern that stirred his memory. "I am no longer Queen of Ellesmera, Eragon. I was able to abdicate thanks to the…events of yesterday", she told him with her eyes not leaving the little boat she was weaving with the grass. Eragon could not help but smile genuinely at the news; he knew Arya treasured freedom greatly, making her decision to walk the path of duty even more sanctified.

"I can sing you an orchard of apples and cherries if you want", he suggested sincerely. Arya chuckled with a slight hint of irony, and the sound did not sit well with Eragon. "Flauga", she said, and the boat took off into the air and passed over the flowery glades of Tel'naeir. She turned and met his gaze, mesmerizing green eyes drawing him in like it used to when he was a boy.

"I do not want orchards of apples and cherries, Eragon", she said, and Eragon remained silent as her hand came up to lie on the side of his face. He could not ever remember Arya touching him this way in all their years. No one had touched him this way except for Laetri. The loss he felt for Arya all these decades had now morphed into the sad longing that had once been his emotion toward her as a young man. His heart beat faster as the Elven princess lay down, laying her head on his lap after a slight hesitation.

"Arya?", he asked in a thick voice, staring at her beautiful face directly below his. Her long raven tresses splayed out beneath her, lending a beauty to her he was beginning to appreciate as he once had. This time, he could feel Arya's mind caress his softly. He could sense the resolve in her being, a gathering of determination that told him she was about to ask something of him. His mouth opened as Arya's consciousness tried to merge with his again, as if reaffirming their new bond.

"Arya, I-"

"Do not thank me, Eragon-elda", she said softly, and Eragon's eyes widened at how she addressed him. It was exactly how Laetri called his name and honorific, a deep and respectful affection she had insisted on using through all their time at Aiedail. "Do not tell me with words. Show me the way you show her every second, with your mind."

Eragon stared at her helplessly even as she lay there with her head in his lap, looking serenely up at him. He had not shared himself that deeply with anyone but Laetri or Saphira in his life. You need her, Eragon-elda, just as surely as we need each other, Laetri's voice said in his mind. Eragon fidgeted reluctantly, not feeling his usual peaceful composure any longer. The matters of the heart were the one thing he was not adept in, his life was a testament to that. His melancholy brooding was broken by the tight grip on his forearm, and he opened his eyes to see Arya's green eyes blazing at him.

"Show me. Not her, Eragon-elda. It should come from you", she told him firmly. Eragon chuckled involuntarily, remembering Arya's volatile and fiery nature. "Very well", he assented, and closed his eyes again as he immersed himself within his own consciousness. Relief rushed through him as he checked Saphira's consciousness, feeling her flying but nothing else. His Dragon was safe.

Laetri's shining presence was intertwined closely with his, holding his soul together like thread patching a torn fabric. But the empty place had always been there within him, a place he had not even known was empty. It was his connection to Arya, forged long ago when they had shared their true names before he left Alagaesia. It was the part of his soul he had lost, the part whose loss had tormented him unbearably for several decades.

Without hesitation, he let himself feel those old feelings and found the confluence of his and Arya's consciousnesses. The floodgates opened on both sides, and their minds were united for the first time in years; It was an embrace that went far beyond that of the body…Eragon could understand her so deeply that he was humbled.

Show me, she demanded gently in his mind, and Eragon knew what she was asking for. Memories more than a century old were recreated at the nexus between their minds, beginning when he found her beaten and tortured at the dungeons at Gil'ead. He remembered everything he felt for her with a rush, showing her his instant infatuation with her form as he had healed her.

He showed her how that infatuation was joined by a fascinated respect as they fought together at Tronjheim, the depth of his appreciation for her as they travelled to Ellesmera. He showed her how his regard and infatuation had grown into an obsession as they deepened their friendship. As the memories progressed rapidly, he showed her how that obsession had grown into a love that had lodged itself forever in his heart until he had torn it out in sacrifice.

But now he remembered, and it filled him like the ecstasy of drawing magic to himself.

I will not show you the pain I felt at our parting, you have seen enough of that, he said as he cut off the flow of memories. Their connection of mind remained as he reached forward a hand, arranging strands of her hair so as to frame her face perfectly. "I am convinced", she whispered, obviously enjoying his hands running through her raven tresses. She suddenly met his gaze.

Will you ever call me what you called her before she left?, she asked with shining eyes.

Do you want me to?, he replied, feeling whole in a way he never had before. He knew it was over; the sacrifice was erased from his soul forever. Arya turned away from him, as if embarrassed by what she was asking. I will if it makes you happy, he assured her. A sour emotion spiked in Arya's mind and he felt it scorch him.

Are you saying it will make you sad?, she asked him sharply. He stared at her shocked, and she too seemed surprised by her words. They spontaneously burst into laughter, mirth at their situation bubbling up within them simultaneously. It washed away the accumulated tension like a cleansing water and the pure Elven mirth seemed to cleanse the forest in turn.

"Such a thing will never make me sad, Iet A'mael Arya", he said with a smile, happiness filling him up at her happiness. "Words are powerful in our ancient language, and I would not cheapen them by uttering only a facet of the truth. I will never utter falsehood to you concerning these matters", he said, leaning forward and kissing her brow as he had done with Laetri minutes ago.

"May I ask you one last question before we join the others?", she requested, and her anxiousness was apparent in both manner in mind; he nodded. "I feel ashamed to ask this of you so soon…but I refuse to conceal my feelings from you any longer. Do you-", she trailed off hesitating, but continued with her eyes averted from his. "Do you love her more than you do me?"

He could feel Laetri paying close attention to their bond, and knew that this question warranted a careful and true answer. "Perhaps you can see it that way if you want, but that would again be a small aspect of the truth", he said, squeezing her hand. "The boundaries between my consciousness and Laetri's are fading even now; what she feels, I feel…I suspect we will achieve the Oneness within a decade or two", he said, rising with Arya.

"The Oneness? You love her as much as Linnëa loved Du Weldenvarden?", asked Arya in a stricken voice, but Eragon held her gaze firmly.

"Love…is a word that is limited, and cannot be quantified in the manner you are thinking. The ancient language does not have a word to express love; its true nature as an emotion is ever-changing but eternal in its scope. The closest the ancient language comes to what is approximated as 'Love' is affection", said Eragon. "I and Laetri are bound to each other for one hundred and twenty years now, and I hope with all my heart that we will remain bound forever. But you have a part of my soul just like Laetri does, and Saphira. I am yours as much as I am hers."

Arya remained silent, but took his hand as he extended it to her. We are immortal, Arya. We have all the time in the world to know each other. You have seen my mind and what I feel for you, he said as they walked hand in hand towards the hut. I am no longer the boy I left Alagaesia as, Arya, nor are you the grieving elf princess anymore. We have changed. All of us. That means-

We will learn each other again then, Eragon, she told him, and he was captivated by the brilliance of her smile. He had forgotten Arya's loveliness when she smiled like this. Feeling lighthearted and mischievous as he had not in several years, he playfully looped an arm around her waist and drew her tightly to his side. "Let me go, Eragon!", laughed Arya delightedly, and he smiled even wider and tightened his grip. She somehow slipped out of his grasp, and bounded towards the hut with the fluid grace of her people.

Laetri's soul pulsed against his with her fathomless affection, and Arya's being brushed against his sharing their joy as he followed behind the princess, he felt hope bright as the fires of the sun. Has it gone well, Eragon-elda?, came Laetri's polite enquiry, barely hiding the elation that was blazing in their bonds three.

You know it did, Laetri, he said as he leaped high into the air and disappeared with his indigo flash. He flashed into existence right in front of Arya, who stopped in her run away from him, staring at him with wide eyes. He grasped her again around her slender waist, effortlessly transferring her into his arms. He treasured how his feelings for Arya had shifted so easily. Guarded decorum was now replaced by an easy companionship and an intensification of the affection and admiration.

"Should we truly face Murtagh like this, Eragon?", she asked him with amusement, contentedly laying her head against his shoulders as he walked towards the hut with her in his arms. "It seems like a proper way to face my brother. He once called me hermit pining after something I could never get, after we finished the war. Shall we show him how wrong he was, Arya?", he asked almost haughtily as he stood in front of the door to his old Master's dwelling, feeling the familiar and new presences within. He ignored the few fair folk staring at them with scandalized expressions…today he had no inclination to go by their cold customs that were without warmth or expression.

Arya chuckled again, her green eyes sparkling as she answered, "Certainly, Eragon."

…..

Nuada sipped his tea carefully, watching from the windows of the Baron's keep of Carvahall as his army entrenched themselves firmly around the town and in it. It was a veritable sea of tents around the city. Waiting behind him were Ildarien and his three nighthawks, and a grim looking Roran Stronghammer. He turned back to them, and snapped his fingers and wove magic by merely thinking the words. This skill was made mandatory for all Master Riders of Aiedail by Eragon, though they all achieved it to differing extents.

A scrying projection filled the air like a mirror, and King Palencar shimmered into view. Nuada smiled to himself as Palencar tiredly stayed their formal greetings, and nodded to the King and Barristan who was lounging behind the king in a drunken stupor. The young Rider had a propensity to take himself far too seriously…Nuada knew very well; Barristan had been his apprentice for a time after all.

"How goes the occupation at Yazuac and Daret, your Majesty?", he asked politely in way of opening the discussions.

"It goes well, Nuada. Our borders with the Urgal forces are now in a defensible state. But this is not why I have asked to speak with you three", he said, and Nuada saw him playing with a gilded letter whose make he recognized instantly. "I have received a message from my brother King of the Dwarves. Arya has abdicated from the knotted throne, and Lord Berentain has been recognized regent. You have received the letter, I presume?"

"We did, majesty", he said, exchanging glances with Ildarien and Roran. "Even the Riders would grieve the wasteful death of Lord Fiolr. But Ismira Shur'tugal is apparently freed of the shadow and the hostilities between Knurlan and Alfakyn have ceased for the large part…so even his death was not in vain", he finished sadly. Palencar shook his head incredulously.

"All this the Kingslayer accomplished within the span of days. Defeating two entire armies of Urgals, capturing Ismira, defusing the tension between Elves and Dwarves…you have a mighty leader, Nuada", said Palencar wonderingly. "He even brought mother and father out into the open, and my lost wife and son. You have no idea how much I just want to leave my kingdom and the war to fate and simply leave for Ellesmera", he said with haunted eyes.

Roran snorted, his listless eyes flaring to life suddenly. "Please, Palencar. You have been parted from your son for ten years…I have been parted from my firstborn for a hundred. Murtagh and Lady Nasuada will be there for your family, we need you here! Your kingdom needs you here. Now why have you contacted us this way? Surely not for this", he said harshly.

Far from being outraged, Palencar simply stared at Roran with compassion. Nuada felt the same but he dared not express it. Roran Stronghammer was a prideful man with a great self-respect and dignity, who would not take well to platitudes. Of all the heroes of the war, the hand dealt to him by fate was the cruelest. Elvenkind had sung songs about him as much as about Eragon, in many ways admired him as much as Eragon himself. A great man, thought Nuada as Palencar spoke to Roran without a hint of rancor.

"Point taken, Uncle Roran", he said and Roran's eyes softened at that. Palencar looked decisively at Nuada. "Lord Almen who is currently with King Orik will speak on my behalf at Ellesmera. Stronghammer is right, our task is here. And in this regard, Nuada, I have reached a decision. Your division of the army must break garrison at Carvahall, and launch an offensive into the spine."

"You mean to capitalize on Ebrithil's route of the Urgals", said Ildarien approvingly. "My Nighthawks just returned from their scouting. The Urgals are still afraid of the Kingslayer's return…they will not attack very soon. They fear him, knowing he can appear at any time and slaughter them. Nar Garzhvog shivers in his throne at Ebrithil's mastery of magic, and his people shiver alongside him."

Palencar leaned forward, slapping his rare teak desk with a hand as his eyes shone with certainty. "And therein lays our advantage. They fear the Kingslayer's return, and will take the defensive for now. We must press forward and subdue them before they get the idea of attacking the coastline…we all know Leya was stationed at Teirm with her armies as a trap, not as a real defense. We must penetrate into the Spine!"

"Leya to guard the coastline. Your armies to guard the mainland. We are the spear that pierces forth", mused Nuada, considering deeply. Suddenly he turned to Roran. "Stronghammer, you know the Spine far better than I do. Will you command the armies?"

"Yes", concurred Palencar with satisfaction. "You know the Spine like the back of your hand, Uncle; you knew it well even before the Urgals migrated there in their numbers. With you leading the army, I do not think we can fail!", he said with no small enthusiasm. Roran laughed darkly, looking first at Palencar and then at Nuada with amusement.

"Why not? My grandson will care for Carvahall, and I will not let him attack the Spine in my stead as he is the last of my line. I certainly want to make the Urgals pay for the deaths of my children", he said with a cold anger. Nuada nodded sadly.

"Ildarien and I will be ready for the Shadow and his twelve sorcerers if they interfere", said Nuada with an iron resolve. Ildarien nodded firmly as well, as did his nighthawks. "But I do not think they will. The Urgals are and have always been pawns in the struggles of other races, whether they knew it or not."

"But that is not relevant anymore Nuada", sighed Palencar heavily. "Urgals are an issue that must be resolved irrespective of who controls them. This time we must convince them quite firmly not to break the peace and accords. Show not your kindness, Nuada Shur'tugal and Roran Stronghammer. This peace will only be attained by the iron fist of war, not the soft hand of peace. Break the Urgals into pieces", he told them with a grave sadness upon his features.

Nuada inclined his head, and dissolved the scrying arrangement. "We give the troops two days of rest and recuperation, and then we must ready to march. Let us then mobilize the army discreetly; we want no spy to prematurely tip the Urgals of our actions", he said, and silently walked out of the room with both Roran and Ildarien following behind him.

….

"Everyone seems inordinately surprised, given what you did for me", remarked Eragon to Arya, whose lips twitched as she too stared at the ones assembled before them. "Hello, Murtagh", he greeted with a smile as he beheld his brother after a century and more. Arya looked up at Murtagh from Eragon's arms, her emerald eyes sparkling. "Hello, Murtagh. Nasuada. A pleasure to see you again after so long", she greeted as Eragon adjusted his grip to hold her more securely.

"Eragon, you….you…", sputtered Murtagh wildly, his jaw dropping to the floor as Laetri's arms encircled his chest from behind as she laid her cheek against his. "It is good to see you after all this time, brother", he said finally, and Eragon smirked as he detected the barest hint of envy in his long-lost brother's eyes. No elf-maid was Laetri's match in beauty but for Dellanir, and Arya had looked alluringly lovely to him from the moment he had laid eyes on her as a boy.

I am not as beautiful as you think, said Laetri and Arya at the same time. I do not think you are beautiful, I know it, responded Eragon as he looked at the two elven Riders who had become so central to his life. Laetri's arms tightened slightly around him as she turned her head slightly and kissed his left cheek. Arya simultaneously rose to kiss his right cheek. This is very inappropriate to do in public, reprimanded Eragon as he blushed furiously. If he was not something, it was worldly.

No it is not. It is no different from our last six decades together; Laetri told him and looked down at Arya. Except you did not have the other princess of my race in your arms, she amended and Arya too flushed self-consciously.

Even Nasuada seemed stunned into silence at the scene. Eragon moved his gaze to the beautiful woman standing next to Nasuada, her violet eyes finding his in a flash of recognition. He glanced at the boy who held her hand, not aged more than ten years. Palencar's son, murmured Laetri from behind him and he shivered at her proximity and her flawless skin as her cheek pressed against his.

"Elva, my dear", he greeted with a hint of sadness. "You have matured into a beautiful and capable woman…Palencar is a lucky man. I see you have been blessed with a powerful son", he observed, her violet and too knowledgeable gaze not fazing him as it did in his youth. Perhaps it was because he had been transformed by magic just as she had and to as drastic a degree. Magic ran through their veins in a manner different to any other race, even elves.

"Eragon", said Elva, smiling that cynical smile he remembered so well. But it was tempered somewhat by her motherhood, he saw. "I see you have found happiness again after so long. Congratulations to you too", she returned as her smile turned more genuine. Arya stood on the ground again, and Eragon now walked hand in hand with both her and Laetri as they all seated themselves on adjacent chairs around a table. "Ah, we have reluctant guests", he said as he pointed his hand to the corner of the room where Oromis used to cook his food.

"Ismira! You should not be up yet!", scolded Murtagh as he managed to tear his eyes away from Eragon and his companions. Ismira stood there sheepishly with Varda as their spell of concealment was dispelled, and the sight of his niece standing with his apprentice's hand in hers sparked another burst of unrestrained happiness in Eragon.

"Ah, leave them be, Murtagh", he said cheerfully. "Seat yourselves please, Ismira and Varda. We have a very great deal to discuss before we take further action. You too, Varda", he said sternly as she discreetly tried to make her way out of the hut. She sighed, and walked over to sit beside Ismira. Eragon found himself longing for Saphira and Sahloknir; the presence of his dragon and Laetri's would complete this gathering of their extended family.

Firnen is with them, said Laetri and Arya together. Relief ran through him at this; Firnen was a wise dragon, and Saphira would only benefit by having her mate with her as she dissipated her turmoil. And Belegroch and Thorn are flying together, Ismira informed him by mind as well. "And where is Belgabad?", he asked Varda.

Flying with Thorn and Belegroch, replied Varda absently as she glanced at Fanuil who was sitting next to her. Eragon watched his apprentice's eyes go distant along with his grand-nephew… they were obviously speaking with their minds. They watched the children speak with their minds with considerable bemusement; even among elves, mastering that talent at so young an age was rare.

"Well then. If the children can do it, so can we", said Eragon with a small laugh. "Let us link our minds together. We have much to share, and to do so with only words will take far too long", he stated. Welcome, Arya, he and Laetri greeted Arya as she slipped into the mind space he had created with Laetri. Two became three as their awarenesses sat together; Eragon knew his struggles had been worth undergoing if only to reach this moment.

If only I knew I would have two Elven princesses as my companions a century ago, he sighed blissfully to their amusement. Murtagh's vast mind joined with theirs, just enough to exchange conversation and memory. Ismira looked at him with trusting eyes, unhesitatingly opening her defences to Eragon and the other three Riders' mind meld; Eragon smiled once more at the clear strength of her consciousness. A lick of the shadow of necromancy remained but he appeared to have driven out much of the damage.

The five Riders glanced at each other. What happened to your mind, brother?, asked Murtagh warily. The other four Riders' minds revolved like planets around Eragon's consciousness which seemed vast and bright like the sun itself. They reached out to Nasuada who had lowered her defenses, and finally joined with Elva who reached out to their group mind with her own enigmatic awareness.

The Circle is completed, said Eragon with satisfaction, looking in turn at them all. Now we cannot be heard or spied upon. We have many thanks to make and reunions to celebrate, but our personal affairs we can address after this conference. Do we agree on this?, he asked Murtagh and his family, and was returned a bland agreement from them all. Thank you. I know my mind feels strange to all except Laetri, he said, feeling her pale hand and Arya's snug within his own. These matters I will explain later. But we must first address the matter that has in truth brought us together. Murtagh, do you know the identity of the Elven Shade?, he prompted.

I do not, he responded disappointedly. But I have fought him before, and was barely able to escape with my life. His liutenants I can face but not him. He is not an ordinary magician, he said, and Eragon felt him broadcast the memories of his fight to them all. Laetri's hand gripped him tightly as they saw in their mind's eye the shattering battle between Murtagh and the enemy, who was robed and wore a concealing hood all in black. To look into his hood was to see some incorporeal shadow concealing his face.

Bending light to create a void around his face. No this is more like to sucking light in…he has a deep understanding of light, Laetri commented as the memory played itself out in their minds. They were fighting somewhere in the Hardarac desert, the sun shining harshly in the sky and blasting dry the already scorched earth. Eragon closed his eyes, focusing his full attention on the memory he knew would provide clues. Clues to the identity of his shadowy foe.

"Murtagh, son of Morzan", a sibilant whisper seemed to resound from all sides. "You have become quite the obstacle in your hiding. I will end you here and now, and then your Dragon", the robed and hooded figure said, holding out an armored hand. Black fire crackled into existence in his fist, manipulated by its creator to lengthen into a beautiful black long sword of a stunning make. A make that rivaled the efforts of Rhunon.

Murtagh said nothing, only staring a cold stare at his opponent as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword and drawing it forth with a clear steely sound. The golden blade glinted with a deadly shine as its owner held it aloft; The Shadow laughed softly as his attention seemed to divert on to the glinting sword, its golden hue almost seeming white by the glare of the sunlight.

"You possess Naegling, the blade of the Fallen Rider Oromis. So that is why even Styrax seemed wary of you? Yes. I see it, the enormous energy you have bequeathed to the blade, added to what the Mourning Sage already stored in it! That was clever of you, Morzansson, to retrieve Naegling from the ruins of Gil'ead", chuckled the Shadow.

"I could beat Styrax even without the blade", snarled Murtagh, and blurred into action with all the force and experience of a true warrior. The ground reverberated and the wind was whipped into a slow whirl as their blades met with a terrible impact, with such frequency as to merge into one single whine of steel. The air screamed and sparks burst like fireworks as Murtagh and his opponent engaged in combat.

The Shadow met Naegling's every slash with his pitch black blade, and a blue light flashed every time their edges met. Murtagh tried to press the Shadow forward with incredibly forceful slashes, but the enemy seemed to be even more skilled than the Rider. He did not even seem to move, simply standing there with a bowed head and countering the rise and fall of Naegling with only the exact amount of motion necessary.

Murtagh spun his sword as he pivoted, and struck out at the opponent in a horizontal arc of his sword. The Shadow grasped his black sword by its hilt calmly, and held it point down. A storm of sand exploded outwards in a circle, a circular wall of it blasting outwards in a stunning explosion. Murtagh was pressing his slightly glowing golden blade against his enemy's blade which was being held in a serent one-handed grip.

"Naegling's energy", came the all-reaching whisper again. "You are a skilled swordsman, but you depend far too much on stored energy. Galbatorix was a prodigious magician. You have not the profound grasp of magic to unleash your vast stores of power, Morzansson", said the enemy coolly as he pressed Murtagh back effortlessly with that same single-handed grip.

The explosion of sand was settling all around them, obscuring the once clear desert air as it floated down. "Who are you?", whispered Murtagh in a strained voice as he was pushed back one step at a time by the figure.

"Entul-eledhwen", the figure said quietly in reply, the terrible spell floating out of his obscuring black hood like a sentence of death. Murtagh's eyes widened, unable to react to this free use of magic as a column of black fire exploded from the very ground he stood on, melting the sand and reaching towards the very skies with the force of its explosion.

"Ah. The Name of Names", said the Shadow as the world shimmered, and the column of black fire died out as if it did not exist. Murtagh stood staring at his enemy, gasping and unable to believe the force of the spell returned to him. "I wanted to see if you actually did possess it. I never would have revealed myself to you otherwise", the Shadow said and the sword of black flame withered out of existence.

"I will never reveal the name to you", said Murtagh, grounding Naegling with a thud as he rose with blazing eyes. "I will kill myself first. Do you think if I perform Thuviel's sacrifice, you will survive? I will not leave a shred of energy in Naegling, Shadow. I will use it all to turn my very flesh into magic. Can you survive that?", he asked as sweat poured down his face.

"I need no word to use magic, young Rider", returned the Shadow dismissively. "The ancient language was created by those who live; true mages will not be bound by any rules but magic itself. I have learned of you, Murtagh. You are far more useful alive than dead. We shall meet anon."

The flow of memory stopped abruptly, and Murtagh's anger was palpable at being needed to recollect this. Eragon opened his eyes, staring around at those who were seated around him. Varda and Fanuil had snuck out of the hut despite the admonishments against it, but Eragon found himself focusing solely upon what they had just been shown. Necromancer, he said softly, looking at Ismira who did not meet his eyes. Your mentor is no mere dabbler in those arts. And his grasp of magic is at least as deep as mine, he said in a preoccupied tone. That blade he forged out of the darkness, its make was delicate and beautiful like those of the Elves'. This only vindicates my theory that he is in truth an Elf…that he is a shade, however, is an oversimplification.

How so?, asked Murtagh intently.

He is no Shade. He is much more than that…I thought I was the only one, Eragon said in a deeply troubled voice. The only one?, asked Arya with foreboding. Eragon drew forth his sword from his side, all eyes upon the legendary blade as the Kingslayer held it straight in front of him. "Why does your blade have white streaks running through it, Uncle?", asked Ismira hesitantly, forgoing mind speech in her surprise and curiosity. Instantly the air in the hut shimmered as four Riders cast spells to protect from eavesdropping. Ismira's cheeks pinked at her lapse, but Eragon smiled kindly at her.

"No harm done", he said as his blade floated into the air, slowly revolving above the center of the table with every eye upon it. Laetri nodded to him, and she and Arya gripped his hands tightly as his discomfiture and slight fear made itself known to them. He chuckled slightly as he felt Saphira peeking through the wall she had put between them, retreating angrily when he became aware of her. I will give you more detail later if you want it, Arya, but I doubt you will, he told her as his sword shone with a flash of blinding light.

Laetri smiled sadly as gasps sounded around the table, for Brisingr's blue-white blade had turned into a beautiful and familiar blade a pristine white in colour. Blue streaks ran through the blade in a stunningly lovely complement of its old complexion, but it was the glyph across its flat that stunned all except Eragon and Laetri. It said:

Islingr.

"Vrael's blade…I don't understand", muttered Murtagh in confusion that was mirrored by both his wife and daughter in law. Ismira was staring with unabashed awe at the phenomenon, and Arya looked at only him with both eyes and soul. This cannot be, she said flatly. Eragon raised his hand as if beckoning the blade and it spun into his grip as if it was glad to return to where it belonged.

"I merged my sword with Vrael's", he said as the white sword reverted to its natural state as he sheathed it. "It was the only way I could save Brisingr from disintegrating, for not even Rhunon's creations can withstand the battles I fought after I left the ship. Not even the apprentice of Futhark himself can forge a blade strong enough to withstand my magic running through it, not after what they did to me", he said, and they shivered at his gaze that burned cold with none of its previous warmth in them.

"What happened?", asked Nasuada quietly. Eragon tried to find that apathetic composure he often relied on to relate these events, but he could not find it as easily as before. I am healed, he said with a slight hint of bitterness to Laetri who slowly caressed his hands.

"Spirits happened", replied Laetri, looking at Nasuada. "Spirits came and changed took away the ones I treasure more than life itself. I did not teach him sorcery of my own volition, Arya", she said, looking at Arya with a gloomy gaze. "I taught him because it was the only thing that would help him control them. Those abominations", she said in a voice like daggers, a tear slipping through her lashes on to her flawless face. Eragon put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against his side.

"It all begins one hundred and twenty years ago. Galbatorix was not the strongest opponent I have faced, not by far", he told them as his gaze went distant with memories. "He was very powerful, yes, but simply insane and delusional. What I faced during that one year of searching for Sahloknir was mindless. Or perhaps I should say, incomprehensible. It all begins when I found the Spirits after six months of incessant wandering. I knew not where I went, only sniffing out the scent of the trail of my quarry with my own magic."

"I wandered sea and land with the spell I had devised, surviving and driving forward mostly by the power of will. So when they took me during my troubled sleep, I was surprised and helpless. They took me….somewhere", said Eragon as his face tightened. "Somewhere I cannot remember now. I remember them trying to communicate something to me, something I understood only very vaguely. I still remember the nameless fear I felt when they told me what they were going to do."

"They told me they were going to unmake me."