Three days had passed since the Agaetí Blödhren, and still Oromis felt weak.

I am old. He thought. Too old now. Somewhere in the back of his mind, evil thoughts reared like dragons, taunting him about the irony of his survival. Only the growl of Glaedr banished them.

Silence your thoughts Oromis. You know why we survived. Destiny has wrought it and in time our task will succeed.

And yet such thoughts do not help me to walk across my hut unaided. Thought Oromis bitterly. So much had the Forsworn taken from him, and yet somehow that was the price of their survival. He and Glaedr had had over a century to come to terms with that and yet some days the struggle was as fresh as the day they'd crash landed in Ellesmera.

Slowly he made his way out of the hut and to the table outside, before collapsing into a chair. In the west, the sun's rays had barely risen over the horizon, and its disk wouldn't be visible to even his elven eyes for another few minutes.

Opening his mind, Oromis felt the forest around him, slowly becoming one with the ants and the trees as they began a new day. However before he could fully immerse himself he felt a disturbance, rippling through the forest coming towards him.

Vanir-vodhr approaches. Thought Glaedr, who had apparently also noticed the intrusion. I assumed he would be busy hitting sticks with the hatchling now.

So did I and yet he is here. Said Oromis, narrowing his eyes.

The hatchlings have a habit of finding destiny in every overturned rock. Let's see what Vanir-vodhr has to say.

It took another fifteen minutes for Vanir to appear out of the pine forest, by which time Oromis had already collected his sword Naegling, as well as various potions in case Eragon needed healing. After performing the customary greeting to both him and Glaedr, Vanir began to speak.

"Oromis-elda," he said. "I'm unsure how to deliver this information, for I do not wish to speak ill of your students."

Oromis raised an eyebrow. In the tone of Vanir's voice he could easily pick apart that the young elf was secretly delighted to deliver this news.

Younglings. Grumbled Glaedr, before closing his eyes again.

"Eragon-vodhr did not appear for our sparring match today, nor has he been seen by anyone since the Agaetí Blödhren. Saphira has also not been seen since she left the Menoa Tree hours before its ending. I understand our celebrations can be taxing on mortal bodies but after three days they are beginning to shirk their duties as Shur'tugal."

Internally Oromis sighed. The boy's similarities to his father never cease. No doubt he's in some form of trouble or another.

Not giving away his thoughts, he simply nodded. "Thank you Vanir-vodhr. Eragon and Saphira have had an intense experience and are no doubt recuperating. Regardless, I shall go and inform them that they, particularly Eragon, are to meet you at the practice field tomorrow at the hour of the red lily."

Vanir bowed, betraying no hint of the smugness that Oromis knew lurked within, and strode back into the forest.

Once he was gone, Oromis turned to Glaedr.

I think we must see to our students.

You think the hatchlings are in trouble?

I don't know but I am certain they aren't the ilk to abandon all responsibilities. Something has happened.

Stretching his mind out, Oromis searched for the lights that corresponded with Eragon and Saphira, and which felt oh so familiar to another set of his pupils. Eventually he found them in the treehouse that had once housed Vrael, oh so long ago.

However, to Oromis' surprise, when he tried to touch Eragon's mind, he found it completely closed off, radiating only distress. If the cause for the singular focus wasn't so concerning, Oromis might have been impressed with the degree to which Eragon had fortified his mind. Focusing on Saphira instead he brushed against her mind.

Saphira, what has happened? Neither you nor Eragon have been seen in days and from him I can sense nothing but distress. Are either of you hurt?

I am fine Ebithiril, save for my concern for Eragon. As for… them… I'm not sure. I don't know how to explain what's happened. They won't let me talk to them.

We will be there shortly.

Closing his mind, Oromis stood up from his chair, gathered his bag and Naegling, and strode to Glaedr. "It seems something has happened to our students."

Well then, Said Glaedr as he yawned, revealing pearly white fangs that were taller than most elves, before standing up and stretching his wings. Shall we fly?

The moment the sun appeared over the tree-lined horizon, Eragon deepened their breathing, willed their heart to quicken, and opened their eyes as he returned to full awareness, hoping yet again they would wake up and everything would be back to normal.

Yet again they were disappointed.

The world was wrong. He was wrong. She was wrong. They were wrong.

They had not been asleep, for they had not slept since their transformation. Once the Agaetí Blödhren had ended, and the veil of magic had been lifted from their mind, Eragon had barely been able to move.

My body is wrong.

They sat curled up on the floor next to their window, trying not to move. Eragon couldn't move because every time they did it was just a reminder that this new form was completely alien, completely opposite to anything they'd ever known.

Eragon had never been the most masculine of men, they'd always been built quite lithely. Roran and Horst had more muscle, and even Murtagh, who could be considered very pretty by any standard, had height. But they had enjoyed being a man, its who they were. Women just seemed… different. It's not who he… they… she? were. This new body was soft in so many places, it curved in all the wrong ones. When Eragon walked her center of gravity was different and she was constantly aware of her chest, with every step she… they… he absolutely just wanted to get rid of them. And Eragon was even shorter now. No doubt it was a respectable height on a woman but Eragon was not a woman. This body was wrong on Eragon and now as far she knew she was stuck in it. They couldn't even scream because their voice was wrong too.

Somewhere in the distance, Eragon heard knocking at the door, though they didn't care to go and open it.

The world was wrong. He was wrong. She was wrong. They were wrong. My body is wrong.

Is this the price for being free of Durza's curse? Eragon wondered. During the celebration it had seemed a perfectly reasonable trade. Now? Eragon would've given nearly anything to go back.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The knocking had turned to banging at the door. Eragon still couldn't bring themselves to get up.

Oh Arya… what have I wrought?

Beyond just Eragon's body now they had to contend with their disastrous courting of Arya. Eragon watched the sunrise and thoughts of Arya filled their mind, as they had every hour since the Agaetí Blödhren three days before. In the clear light of day, they had realized just how much the elves' and dragons' magic had dulled their wits during the Agaetí Blödhren.

I should've realized much sooner something was wrong. Maybe I could've stopped it. At the least I could have not followed her.

The world was wrong. He was wrong. She was wrong. They were wrong. My body is wrong.

Between that and their horror at their new body, Eragon had locked themselves in their room and not spoken to anyone since the celebration, including Saphira. When Saphira had tried to pin them down to get Eragon to talk they'd just retreated to their study where she couldn't reach. They felt bad, but they couldn't bring themselves to talk about their feelings in a coherent way. Eragon felt like a snowdrift on the peaks of Palancar Valley, one wrong nudge and they would just collapse into oblivion, destroying everything in their wake. They could feel Saphira occasionally probing their consciousness trying to get in, but thus far they'd succeeded in keeping them out. It was far safer to just isolate themselves.

The world was wrong. He was wrong. She was wrong. They were—

"Eragon?"