Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle belongs to Christopher Paolini. Yeah.

A long-ish and quick update? Well, that might be because another tree-wrecking storm is raging outside and I have nothing better to do. But not really.

Chapter 45: Turning Points

Eragon was alone when he woke up. Or at least, he assumed so. He was lying on his bed, eyes trained on the carved ceiling in the tree house he shared with Saphira. He glanced at the window and noted the starry night sky. The elves' revelry could still be clearly heard. The lights of the flameless lanterns glittered in the bright city below.

He felt Saphira's probing thoughts. Concern and excitement were foremost in her dragon's mind. How are you?

I'm fine. Better than fine, as a matter of fact. I haven't felt this great since Tronjheim. How long was I unconscious?

Barely longer than an hour. I wanted to stay with you but they needed the rest of us who were not incapacitated. Even Arya and Vanir became dazed when that creature touched them. You should have seen the elves' faces though. Apparently this has never happened before.

So did any of you dragons cause this?

Not alone, no. That creature you saw, it was the memories of our race. It was given form and substance by elven magic. I think it anointed all of you with the skills we dragons possess, with varying effects depending on how much you need it. That is why you little humans took it the worst, while the two elves were not even knocked unconscious. But we did our best to help the best hope we have of avoiding extinction.

I hope you would mind elaborating.

Of course not. Look in a mirror, and then rest as much as you need. I shall rejoin you at dawn.

Saphira's departure left Eragon feeling empty. Though they were still linked by a thick thread of thought, it felt oddly quiet in his head. He stretched and once again wondered at the sense of well-being that he was experiencing. He thought he forgot the sensation when he received that blow from Durza. With a languid smile, he headed to the wash closet and pulled out his shaving mirror. Under the light of the nearby lantern, he peered at his face and almost dropped the mirror.

He blinked and realized what he was seeing. It was like all of the physical changes that a human Rider would experience over the decades – and which already began since bonding with a dragon – were completed in the hour that he was unconscious. He now gazed at a smooth, angled face with pointed ears peering out of his thick brown hair. Even his skin turned paler than what was even normal in Palancar valley and he seemed to glow with magic like the denizens of Ellesmera. Like what he came to expect since meeting Ash, he still espected the faint traces of his true race on his features. He was truly somewhere in between a human and an elf.

Curious, he reached out , touching the nape of his neck to feel his scar and his fingers met only smooth skin. Alarmed and excited, Eragon pulled off his cloak and tore off his tunic. Twisting in front of his mirror, he marveled at the smooth skin on his back. He felt himself tear up as he realized that his back would never hurt him again. He was a cripple no more.

That was also the time that he noticed that all of the scars and blemishes on his skin were no more. He was totally unmarked, and felt sad. He lost the scar on his wrist that he acquired while sharpening Garrow's scythe because Murtagh forced him to in a bout of laziness. The scar on his left thigh were Roran once nicked him with a hoe was also gone. Even the scars from recent battles were gone, and along with them an unspoken record of his life.

But he was healed and was now what he was meant to be from the start.

Setting the mirror on the bed, Eragon frantically scrambled around to look for the best clothing he had available. Niduen excitedly showered them with fine clothing even more after Aesyr and Vanir became Riders, and it was difficult to choose what to wear. He eventually decided on a green tunic with metallic gold stitching, and a sapphire-studded belt. He chose his smoothed leggings and best cloth boots. He also pulled on an ornate dwarf vambrace.

He descended his tree house and wandered the shadowy Ellesmera. The elves were still engaged in their revelries, savoring the last hours of the Agaeti Blodhren. Luckily none of them recognized him, greeting him as a fellow elf instead and inviting him to join them.

Everything around him fed his senses in a way that he never had before. It was like he was experiencing the world in great clarity that he could never have imagined when he started out in his journey. Every single one of his five senses was greatly enhanced. Was this how Arya saw the world?

The female dragons, even little Diamanda, were by the Menoa Tree, talking to some laughing and dancing elves. Eragon did not reveal himself to the others, but extended his mind to Saphira.

Where are you headed? Saphira asked curiously.

I do not know, but I wish to get used to these new sensations first, he said.

A tantalizing scent of crushed pine needles told him that Arya was nearby. He found her on the edge of an empty clearing, eyes upon the starry sky. He stayed concealed, watching her with a small grin. Eventually though, he couldn't resist it anymore.

"Arya," he said, revealing himself.

Arya turned to look at him and her eyes widened as if truly seeing him for the first time. "Is that you, Eragon?"

"Well, yes."

"You've… changed." Arya smiled impishly.

Together, they wandered the forest, elven music and laughter wafting all around them. Eragon felt so aware of her presence, and he did his best not to ogle at her. She might find it strange and leave him gaping like a dimwit. But she was so pretty, and his brand new eyes made him appreciate it more.

They reached a narrow stream that was so clear it was nigh invisible in the faint light. Its soft gurgle revealed its existence though. Thick pines formed a small cave with their branches, concealing the two from view and keeping them warm. The place seemed timeless, separate from the events in the rest of the world – or even Ellesmera itself.

Intoxicated by the new sensations he was feeling and the fey magic in the air, Eragon felt bolder. He smiled at Arya, who smiled back. "I would have loved to say something poetic to you, Arya Svit-kona, but I would rather tell you directly that you are beautiful tonight."

Arya turned red and stared at him with unreadable eyes. "Elves are all beautiful, and have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?" she asked cautiously.

"I meant what I said, Arya. Everything has its own beauty, but you are different. I will never look at any woman – human, elf, or dwarf – the same way that I look at you. I will not even see them that way, in fact."

Arya smiled and her lips gently brushed Eragon's cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate that. And would you believe it if I could say that same when it comes to you?"

It was Eragon's turn to redden. "Surely you jest."

"Can it not just mean that the feeling is mutual?" Arya smiled. "As I said before, we must take this all slowly and see where the wind takes us. But I appreciate this. And I am quite… fond of you." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I do not know how to put it all into words."

Eragon smiled. "I am also… fond of you, Arya."

"Of course you are, Eragon. Did you not make it even clearer?"

Standing on the poop deck of the Red Boar, Garrow idly watched the water that the barge was cutting through. He shivered as the cold, salty wind ruffled his thinning hair. He wondered how much of it would be left once he was reunited with his lads.

Clovis was mannin the tiller right behind him. The sailor smiled and pointed toward the coastline, showing a massive silhouette of high, rolling peaks that extended into the ocean. "At the far side of those peaks would be Teirm."

The afternoon sun made looking ahead painful to the eyes, especially when reflecting off the ocean. "Then it would be good if we stop here for now, then?"

"So you don't want to go to the city yet? Have a look around?"

"I don't think we can do that all at once. The villagers, I mean." Garrow scratched his beard. He had to get it trimmed the first chance he got, or he would end up unrecognizable when he finally met up with Brom and the Riders. "Have Torson and Flint run up the barges on that shore, though. I wouldn't mind camping in there tonight."

The sailor made a face. "I was hoping for a hot meal tonight, I was."

Garrow nodded. He understood the man's sentiments well. They already ran out of the fresh food from Narda, and they only had salted everything, homemade sea biscuits, pickled everything, and the occassional fresh meat whenever a villager slaughtered one of their dwindling livestock, or luckily from game that they managed to catch when they camped on land.

Of course, there was general groaning and moaning when it was announced that they were camping for the night. Garrow wondered whether he really was at sea or whether he was in a room full of sick people.

There was work to be done once the barges were beached, of course. Everyone was busy unloading equipment and pitching tents. There was also water to be gathered, enough for everyone. After giving words of encouragements and gracefully declining invitations to dinner, Garrow found himself face to face with Felda, whose husband Byrd was murdered in Carvahall. "Garrow Deftblade," she said with a quick curtsy. "Good evening. May I speak with you a while?"

Garrow couldn't say no. Her husband's death hung heavily in his conscience. "Of course. I am always happy to talk to you."

After a quick word of thanks, Felda began to fidget nervously on her black-fringed shawl. "I'm worried about Mandel." That young man was her eldest son, who was learning more about piloting barges from the crewmen. "He has grown too friendly with the sailors on our barge. He's started to play dice with them. Lawless men, Deftblade, you know that. No, not for money, but small things. Important things."

"Did you not ask him to stop yet?"

Felda turned white. "Well… I did. But I am afraid that he does not respect me as much as he did since his father died. You know how young men grow wild and willful."

"Haven't we all?" Garrow murmured. "What would you have me do about it, though? I am not his father, not even distant family."

"You have always been kind with Mandel. Were you not the one who rescued him from a well ten winters ago?" Felda's eyes seemed to gaze sadly at him. "He admires you too. He will hear you out and obey, I am sure."

Garrow stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Very well. I'll try to talk to him. I am not sure how much he will listen though. Out of curiosity, what was already lost by his gambling?"

The woman sighed. "Mostly food, some odds and ends. I am sure that he almost lost my grandmother's bracelet for a rabbit."

"Don't worry. I will do my best to make Mandel see reason."

After a quick word of thanks, Felda left him, heading toward the makeshift tents.

Next he saw Sloan heading for him. The once meaty butcher clearly lost wait during their travels, but he was still quite large and formidable. He looked grumpier than he usually was, which was saying something. That man was rarely anything more than grumpy even after all that Carvahall has been through. "Garrow," he said, sparing no time for honorifics. "I've been hearing talk."

"What now?" Garrow said wearily, motioning for the man to follow. "Come, let us at least eat while we talk. We have a long way ahead."

They reached Garrow's tent, where a meager stew was already boiling over a small campfire. Filling out two bowls, Garrow handed one over to Sloan and they sat crosslegged by the fire. The butcher scowled at the food. Not a big surprise there, he scowled at everything all the time. "Villagers have been murmuring. Some of the young 'uns are being too close to the crewmen. There's been news of gambling and flirting, and that is just the gist."

"I've been told of similar things," Garrow said, careful not to mention Mandel. "We will have to find a way to avoid trouble once we part ways with Clovis."

"Trouble isn't a strong enough word."

Garrow nodded in agreement. The two men finished their meals in peace. Soon, they summoned some of the villagers that were very trustworthy and capable. They had a small gathering in Horst's tent, and everyone watched him with expectant eyes.

"Five of us must leave for Teirm now. We cannot afford to leave well after nightfall, else we will not be able to enter the city. Horst will take my place here while we are away. You must all remember that Clovis must not leave with the barges or do something like damage them. They might be the only way that we can reach Surda."

"If we don't get discovered," muttered Orval.

"Be quiet," Sloan barked. "He isn't done talking."

Garrow waved his hand. "He is perfectly right. If none of us returns by nightfall the day after tomorrow, you must all assume the worst. Take the barges, do anything to reach Surda. Don't stop in Kuasta or anywhere to buy provisions, they might be waiting there to spring a trap. Food must be found by other means."

After a quick word of warning to Clovis, Garrow tried to muster all of his fatherly instincts and headed for Felda's tent. Mandel was idly throwing his hunting knife at a stump and did not even look up to acknowledge the older man's presence. There was an insolent look on his face. He probably did need someone to hammer some sense in his head.

"Lad, you're wasting your time there. Did you know that?"

Mandel stared at him blankly, face turning white. He resembled his mother that way. "Why would you say that, Deftblade?"

"It's of no use in a real fight. You might put out your own eye or stab yourself. Better not do your enemy's job for him eh? You might as well throw rocks, 'specially if you don't know how to judge distances."

Mandel seemed to puff up with pride. "I heard Gunnar talk about some man from Cithri. He could even hit a flying crow with his knife eight times out of ten."

Garrow laughed quietly. "You know, those other two times could be when you get killed. Throwing away your weapon in battle? Bad, bad idea." Before the lad could object, Garrow waved his hand to silence him. "Enough. Get ready. We'll be meeting on the hill past the stream in just fifteen minutes. I want you to come with us to Teirm."

Excitement was evident on Mandel's face. He scrambled into his tent and began to pack. Turning away, Garrow eventually encountered Felda with her youngest daughter in her arms. She looked weary and scared. "Please, Deftblade. Keep him safe."

The weight of the woman's stare followed Garrow to the hill. Sitting down on a big white boulder, staring at the rushing tide. He wondered whether he did the right thing. Loring, Gertrude, Birgit, and her son Nolfavrell found him deep in thought.

The one time farmer regarded them with eyes that were probably as tired as Felda's. "We must wait for Mandel. He will also be joining."

"That lad?" Loring spat. "Why?"

Birgit crossed her arms. "Did we not agree that no one – absolutely no one! – must accompany us? Especially not Mandel. I've seen the influence of the sailors on him."

"I want to risk it." Garrow bared his teeth. "The lad comes with us, or you are all left behind."

Vanir perched on a massive tree trunk, watching the waning festivities beneath the Menoa Tree. Queen Islanzadi was laughing softly at a joke that Ash made, while Serylda scowled at an elf who was trying to ask how her dragon lost his tail.

Oromis was deep in conversation with Brom – oh, how that human terrified him! – as they stood at the edge of the clearing, fending off curious elves. Diamanda scampered around with the other dragons, try as he might to prevent her from mingling with them. She always scoffed at him and had creative ways of telling him how much he did not know or understand.

Then there was Princess Arya and her brother, Prince Faolin. Arya seemed to glow brighter with so much strength and vitality after their encounter with the spirit of the pact. Vanir felt the same, but that was not the source of his wonder.

The human Riders – abominably weak and helpless as they were – were the ones gifted with strength and power. Why did the dragons choose them instead of simply amplifying what Vanir and Arya already had? Surely if that was done, they could have taken on the Forsworn and even Galbatorix himself. Vanir flicked away a scornful thought from Diamanda.

"You do dare associate yourself with them?" A quiet voice said.

Vanir turned, rage heating up within him as he recognized the elf standing half-concealed by the shadows. "Nidavel?"

"Fool." Nidavel's eyes glinted coldly. "You disgust me."

"But there seems to be so much to learn from them." Vanir shrugged. "I do not like it, but I might find out something important."

"They are humans. Weak humans." Nidavel's gaze flickered to Brom. "The old one seems formidable, but the otehrs are nothing but flimsy fences that shall be struck down by Galbatorix."

"What do you mean?"

"If you wish to know how to become more powerful, maybe you should meet me at the Meadow of Clarity tomorrow at dawn." With that, Nidavel slunk back into the shadows, dark cloak swishing behind him.

There was no other word for it. Nidavel of House Drottning was mad.

"Does something bother you, Vanir-finiarel?" Brom called out, approaching him.

"Nothing… Master." The word still tasted bitter on Vanir's tongue, but he had grown to grudgingly respect the former Rider. "I just wondered whether elves could go mad."

"Most probably." Brom shrugged. His eyes tightened. "You do know that half of the surviving Forsworn are elves themselves, am I right? Enduriel, Kialandi, and Formora – none but the insane would follow a madman."

Low, grassy hills and distant snowcapped mountains of the Spine rimmed the Teirm coastline. The beautiful trees and shrubs around them made quite a scenery, but sadly the muddy ground made every squelchy footstep difficult.

Garrow's party finally reached the outskirts of Teirm, which composed of some farms and massive estates. They did their best not to look nor act suspicious. Following the Teirm-Narda road to the southeast, they did their best to circumnavigate the city on all possible angles. Garrow was very much aware that the same posters as those in Narda were very likely spread across a massive city such as Teirm. It might be a huge trap waiting to be sprung by something lighter than a feather.

But skipping Teirm was out of the question.

Entering Teirm from the south, avoiding possibilities that they came from the north – all the way from Palancar Valley – seemed like a good idea. Bringing the best and most unassuming fighters, and a healer if anything goes awry, was also helpful. They looked little more than just an extended family traveling together. Hopefully Mandel did not burn his plans to cinders.

Darkness was slowly creeping in when they finally reached Teirm's gates, the walled port city glowing in the darkness. Soldiers patrolled onand around the wall. A tall citadel rose in the middle of the city, and at the far side was a brightly-lit lighthouse living up to its name.

Even from the distance, a massive ship resting by one of the stone piers was quite a sight. It was a three-masted piece of work that was at least two times larger than any in Narda. It even had a dozen mounted ballistae for shooting javelins. It was suited both for commerce or war. The captain could easily take his pick.

"That'll hold the entire village," he said, nudging Loring. "We need it."

"If you have any brilliant ideas about acquiring that vessel, you better be quick," Loring said.

Birgit grunted sourly. "Right. We probably would turn to slavery just to get passage. That monster probably costs a fortune."

Hurrying because the gates closed at sunset, a steady stream of people to and from Teirm soon joined them on the road. That much people was unexpected, but it was probably better since they wanted to avoid too much attention.

Addressing Mandel, Garrow said, "Keep your distance behind us. Follow someone else through the gate and pretend to be apart from us. We will wait on the other side. Oh, and if they ask you could tell them that you wish to become a seaman. You know enough about seafaring to pass questioning."

With that plan in place, Garrow began to do his most convicing limp. Just as well that he didn't take Sloan with him. The onetime butcher would have made fun of him. He rehersed the story Loring made up about their presence in Teirm and hoped that it was convincing enough. He made a face. No man with half a brain would probably believe them.

The gate was soon looming above them, glowing orange with the flames of the torches placed on either side. A pair of armed soldiers with the golden twisting flame – Galbatorix's emblem – stitched on their crimson tunics were watching all arrivals with bored looks and barely even glanced at Roran's group.

"We're here… we're really here,"Garrow murmured.

"Keep your words to yourself for now," Loring told him with a roll of his eyes. "But aye, so far so good."

Once Mandel joined them, they began to search for an inexpensive hostel that they could occupy, while Garrow busied himself studying the fortified city that grew higher and higher until they reached the citadel. The patterns of the streets also meant that barriers and soldiers could be placed on any of those.

"We would've done better if our home was built like this," he mused.

Birgit shook her head. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Things would've been easier, yes," Loring said. "But we never had reason to think the way people here did. We were never in danger until those damned sons of yours and that little wench caused trouble."

They eventually stayed in the Green Chestnut, a vile tavern that was at least dirt-cheap. That didn't justify the piss-tasting ale and the flea-infested beds though. Saving their precious coin meant that they went to sleep with growling stomachs and huddled together to avoid purse-filching by other guests.

Just a piece of advertising, if I have fellow FFVI fans here please drop by my FFVI fic and give it a read. Heehee.

Eragon not getting dumped, Vanir's defenses slowly crumbling away, Garrow's adventures... this chapter isn't really as lacking as the previous ones, eh? Anyway, Bloodlines has been going on too long and I hope to wrap it up before we reach more than 60 chapters..

You guys are so amazing with your reactions, suggestions, and encouragements. I seriously love you all and I will consider all of your suggestions (aside from that removing Garrow's chapters bit and Eragon and Murtagh's ice and fire thingie, Saphira will eat anyone who objects again)

We're going to have a flock of dragons fighting another flock of dragons for the upcoming battle though Diamanda and Sardonis are barely big enough to be ridden.

Vanir will wipe the floor with his ass in a few chapters or so. Excuse the language but that'd be fun, eh?

Oh, and I don't really think any of the Riders is the 'strongest.' It's just that they're good at different things and they're all pretty epic. Fire-breathing flying jewel lizard partners, anyone?

Read and review, as always!