No TW today I think? If anybody disagrees, please don't hesitate to let me know and I will edit accordingly.

Many thanks to my darling spouse Ronnie and my soul sister Ms. Aqua, for their benevolent patience as I bounce ideas off of them. 3


I spent the next years of my life working constantly. Mornings began with a hasty breakfast and then training with Morzan and Gildor while Katana shadowed their dragons. (I often barely escaped these lessons with all my limbs intact.) I spent afternoons with Papa Xanist; gentler but no less strict. We'd break for dinner and then I would face down Galbatorix's door. In those early months, we prioritized lists of vocabulary in the ancient language. Master expected perfection, nothing less. His methods for obtaining it were… extreme. Even my dreams were held hostage by my ebrithalar. Many a night I would struggle against my tutors only to wake up and have to begin the process anew. But, somehow, the structure brought me a sense of peace. It was the happiest I'd been since my arrival, the most productive, and I confess I enjoyed the challenges.

Well… most of them.


The glare of sunlight burned my eyes.

The forsworn kept their living space dark by preference, (half of them were drunk or hungover at any given moment) and the transition into the brightened courtyard was always jarring and painful. My lids shuttered against the pain, and Katana puffed an angry smoke cloud beside me. In just a few weeks she'd already outgrown my shoulder, now traipsing at my side. She was roughly the size of a hunting hound, albeit with a much longer tail and neck. Her wings rustled as they unfolded, shadowing her face against the glare.

"Coward," I remarked flippantly. She snorted in indignation and refolded her wings. She still preferred to speak with fluid thought rather than language, but she was well on her way to understanding my meaning. I caught a rush of, anger-humor-judgment, over our bond as she stalked forward. I reached and caught the underside of her jaw, rubbing along the line of muscle that made her hum deep in her throat. "Oh hush, I'm just jealous. I don't have shade of my own, you see?"

Use your nub-paws! She retorted. I giggled and scritched more enthusiastically so she would not notice my amusement. She preferred to use the most ridiculous explanations of things. I didn't fully understand it, but Master explained it as the way a dragon's thought process differed from our own; they observe in their way and then must translate those observations to our tongue. It was a confusing train to follow, but one full of myriad amusements.

"You two chuckle fucks done cuddling? We're losing daylight!" Gildor stood, sheathed sword over his shoulder, with both hands draped over it. Morzan was fashionably late. (He was perhaps the most infamously slow to rise, as he'd often begin the day with liquor and then rest as it kicked in. It was often said that Morzan was twice as dangerous sober, if only because he was in such a foul mood. Nobody grudged him his beauty-rest in the interim.)

"Yes!" Katana and I both chorused in our own ways. A glittering, burnt-orange shape rose over the trees, turning lazy circles as he waited. Katana crouched down and I beat a retreat. She launched into the sky, snapping her wings down as fast and hard as she dared. She rocketed up before easing into a glide, no more than a speck of midnight in the mid-morning sky.

"Good. Now, warm up and then we'll get started," Gildor's grin was tinged with contagious excitement. He had a love for fighting unmatched by even Morzan. To him, it was an art, a sport, and a meditation as much as a weapon. He leaned his pride and joy, his sunset-tinged blade, Dagi against the courtyard's far wall and joined me for stretching. This was the only part of my lessons I found enjoyable. The past weeks were focused entirely on physical fitness; with not a shred of combat in sight. I was always a pretty active kid, but not to the level of "child-soldier" as they were intent on making me. Just as I finished my last stretch, the door to the house slammed open.

"Good morning, kiddo!" Morzan never, never, had this much energy so early. His wolf smile was almost childish with joy, his normal swagger had a bounce and levity that put me on edge. "We got the green light from Daddy. Today, we're going in for real."

"Yes!" Gildor jumped up, pounding Morzan's back with a fist. "You want to, or shall I?"

"You go get the victim, I'll do the teaching," Morzan said. He gestured for me to follow as he made his way to the center of the field. Dirty white stones marked walking paths through swaths of bare dirt, overgrown in patches by wild grass and weeds. A chipped and moss-coated statue was shoved carelessly against one wall, leaving a central plinth empty. Morzan stepped up to it, not even a strain for his much longer legs, and put his hands on his hips, "You've never fought a day in your life, have you?"

"Unless you count my sister," I shrugged.

"Did you kill her?" I shook my head. "Then I don't. See, we need to turn you into a killer before this war thing goes to hell. That could be any day now, so we don't have long to do it." He looked over my head and beamed. "Good job Gildor! Didn't even have to drag him!"

I turned. Another man followed behind Gildor. He was shorter, less muscled and thin as a twig. He had a carved jaw, sandy blonde hair and doe-like, green eyes. He projected an air of superiority that came off as condescending. He started bragging as he stretched his shoulders,"Of course you two would need my help. I am classically trained by a variety of tutors even befor-"

"Thanks very much Ellessar, couldn't do it without you." Morzan said 'sincerely'. "He's going to be your training buddy. Or, dummy, rather," as he spoke, Gildor picked up his follower and carried him, struggling all the way, to a wooden pole shoved into one patch of dirt. "This place isn't exactly equipped with training dummies and I don't feel like making 'em, so Ellessar will have to do."

"What?!" He yelped indignantly. Gildor wound rope around his torso, whistling a merry tune.

"Relax, she can't do much harm yet," Morzan added, picking his teeth disinterestedly.

"YET?" He pouted mightily, putting on a good show of kicking at Gildor. His target inched back and fell over laughing.

"Sir-" I tried to interject, but Morzan waved me off.

"What did I say about that sir shit?"

"Sorry. Mommy," I didn't conceal the heavy sarcasm dripping from the word, but Morzan didn't seem to mind, "how exactly does having him here help?"

"Oh yeah, I didn't get to that part!" He crouched low until he could comfortably sit on his perch, "We don't have time to turn you into a master. Hell, we probably don't even have time to make you a foot soldier. But there is something you can learn fast that will help a lot, in the fighting and after." He leaned in, a conspiratorial glimmer in his mismatched eyes, "We're going to make you a murderer."

I blinked.

He beamed, "It's good, huh? You're too small and scrawny to fight like we do. But you are fast, and sometimes you're even clever. You won't become a duelist in just a few weeks, but you can learn to kill fast and kill easily." He reached down behind him and groped at the ground. He came up with a thick stick about as long as his hand, still wet where one end had been lodged in the earth. "This," he said proudly, "Is going to be the first weapon you use. If you can land a fatal blow with just this, you can kill with damn near anything."

"But, I don't want to kill," The objection finally bubbled out of me. It was such a… jarring prospect. I'd seen what death looked like, heard the horror, and smelled the gore; I wanted as little of that as possible. I was so focused on my thoughts that I didn't register the way Morzan's smile dropped, or the whistle in the air…

Until I was on my back, head throbbing where the stick had struck.

"Then you'll be killed instead, and you won't have to worry about it," Morzan offered the end of the stick. I accepted and he yanked me to my feet. "You don't get a choice in whether or not you want to fight anymore. Survival is all that matters. If you want to live," he paused and meaningfully looked off where the two dragons danced in the sky, "then you have to kill."

His fingers dropped off the stick. I stared down at it. Nothing else matters. I nodded and weighed my weapon in each hand. I could sense some other piece was missing from all this, but the specifics eluded me. Instead, I asked, "Am I actually killing Ellessar?"

"No!" our 'volunteer' training dummy added in a huff.

"If you think you can, go for it," Morzan ignored the disgruntled grumbling, "But then, he's got wards. Oh, and one other thing," Morzan's hand dropped to zar'roc's hilt, drawing his beloved sword out in one smooth motion. Behind me, I heard Gildor copy the action. "We'll be trying to stop you."


Surprisingly enough, Morzan proved to be an incredible teacher. He could convey a point in as few words as possible, had a catching sense of humor, and always knew which mistakes to correct versus punish. Gildor kept him from losing his temper on the few occasions it got out of hand. Eventually, poor Ellessar was even unbound from his pole and allowed to defend himself. It didn't do him much good.

Evasion was my strongest weapon back then. I was small, and I discovered early on that I was faster than Ellessar without really trying and could just about keep pace with Gildor. Morzan was the real danger (he moved with shocking speed for his size) and his blows were absolutely devastating, even barehanded. It was this very combination that allowed me to pass my first lesson. I jammed the stick into the ground after a particularly savage punch from Morzan laid me out on my back. I rolled to my feet, then jumped back. Morzan was so focused on continuing his assault that he didn't catch the hazard until he'd stepped straight on it. He overbalanced his cut directly into my target instead. Gildor managed to block zar'roc from halving Ellessar, but Morzan was grinning like a maniac. "I'll count it," he said, "but next time, you better do your own dirty work."

My "mother" showed encouragement in strange ways… but not nearly as strange as the other parent.


I followed behind my master as quietly as I could. Every snapping twig betrayed my inexperience. My path especially contrasted with his, each step light and careful to maintain the peace of the forest. Spring had finally broken through the ruthless winter, though a chill still lingered in the air. Katana longed to be free of the cave where all of the forsworn's partners rested, but Siyamak had detected a rider patrol a few miles out. A few humans in the woods could be missed; several dragons darting around the sky and munching their way through flocks of migrating birds could not. So, she sulked in the back of my mind until her presence faded and disappeared entirely. It was eerie, the sudden quiet after weeks of contact. My own head felt echoey; uncanny.

"Stop," Master said, breaking the silence. He stepped over a fallen log and pointed down at it, "Have a seat."

I obeyed despite the dampness that quickly ate through my leggings. My calves burned with the effort of tiptoeing at his heels all afternoon, and I was grateful for the rest. I heard him moving until he was standing just behind me. "Ebrithil?"

For a drawn, tense moment he did not speak. The forest shivered with freshly waking life. The air was clean, sunlight kissed the tips of the boughs around the clearing. And yet,the air was heavy, thick with something… intangible. Goosebumps ran down my arms. I felt that, whatever that "something" could be, it must be awful; too ugly to be seen.

Master broke the spell with a simple shift of his feet. He said, "My purpose for bringing you here is two fold. It was customary, once a rider reached a certain point in their training, that they would meditate. The primary function of this is yet beyond us, but I think its secondary purpose will serve you well." He rested a hand on my shoulder. I didn't particularly like when he touched me, so often it was only the precursor of his delicate temper, but I knew better than to resist. "You must learn to still your mind. Your thoughts flicker about like sparrows in a gale wind. It leaves you vulnerable to attacks from a master mentalist."

"Like you?" I finished the unspoken thought. We had a few, very short lessons on the subject of mental defense. He'd determined I could not learn anything more advanced until my mind was well and truly safe from outside influence. I struggled mightily with this lesson. Quick thinking and memorization came easily, but focus was another thing altogether.

He accepted the compliment with a hum of approval, "Like our enemies, rather." He crouched lower, voice dropping to a whisper, "You will meditate here as long as it takes. And just to be sure," his hand slid down from my shoulder to grasp my wrist, mirroring the hold on the other side. I tried to pull away but he tightened his grip to the edge of pain. He continued speaking as he tied my hands together, "You will be unable to leave until I retrieve you." Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked deeper into the woods.

Hours dragged by.

I took to reciting my lessons, then songs, then poems, then imaginary arguments I'd love to have with the forsworn when I was big enough, then finally to counting needles on the tree in front of me. I lost my place early on in the three hundreds, and by then the sun had long since begun its decline. It was already dark as nigh beyond the clearing. My little pocket of waning light grew dimmer and colder, and I wondered if Master would even bother to come back before nightfall.

My self-pity was interrupted by the sudden, sharp crack of a stick behind me. I jumped, but the chords held me fast. My thorough instructor had hitched them to the log beneath me, and I had no prayer of dragging the whole tree along. I sat, frozen in the following quiet. That aura; that awful creeping presence had returned. I glanced over my shoulder, but I could hardly see anything through the gloom.

Another stick broke off to my left.

I pulled on the bindings. They were only cord, weren't they? And surely, my ebrithil hadn't intended for me to die out here. He said himself that survival was more important than orders, even his orders, so if I was in danger I could escape. But, as much as I strained, the rope wouldn't budge. I thought I could hear breathing mixed in with the breeze, heavy steps closing in from all sides. "Master?" I called, hoping more that my voice would frighten off the strange presence than actually bring asistance.

"No." I shuddered in horror. The vowel was mangled, the voice deep and croaked with age and malice. It laughed, a choking garbled laugh that I was shocked to recognize from the deepest corners of a nightmare. I'd heard a laugh like this… but only once. Only on one awful day. I didn't learn the name of its source until my studies began, but I would never forget the sound.

Urgals.

I redoubled my efforts, pulling and yanking at the chords with all I had. The steps grew closer, and there were more of them now. They closed in behind me, heavy breathing tinged with that awful laughter. I swore as the friction of chord on skin burned, but nothing in all the world could stop me from fighting.

I felt a heavy paw tangle itself in my hair. My very soul rejected the touch, recoiled at the prospect of ending up another bloodied smear… of leaving poor Katana all alone to end up like Torix. I felt strong for the first time in my life, adrenaline coursing through me. I screamed the first word that came to mind, "Thrysta!"

Several things happened in rapid succession. The log shot out from under me, flying backward into the tree line. The chords snapped with a sudden force, as did one of my wrists. I fell forward from the lack of resistance, tumbling face-first to the forest floor. I heard a panicked shout of, "Skolir!" from off to the side of the clearing. Then came the monumental cracking screech as one of the pines toppled from on high.

Everything went dark.

I open my scrunched shut eyes. A pale green werelight lingered over the silhouette of a man. Even though I struggled to see him, his identity could not have been plainer. "Master?" I tried to sit up, but my vision flickered. My entire body ached like I'd been pounded with tiny mallets, and my stomach had long surpassed growling straight into an untamable roar.

Torix braced a hand on my shoulder, "Stay down, thrim. You haven't much strength left." I noticed a thread at the back of my mind connecting the two of us. It was feeding me a steady supply of… light? Or maybe heat would be a better word. Whatever it was, it filtered into my limbs, easing the worst of the pain. "Simply cutting the ropes would have been more effective."

I blinked. "But… I didn't…"

"Of course you did," He made an effort to keep a patient air. "And nearly died in the process, though that is at least partly my own fault."

"The Urgals!" I tried to look past him into the darkness, but the light died only feet from where I lay. "What happened to-"

"Urgals?" the question staggered me. His tone was innocent enough, but his dark eyes glittered with unfettered amusement. "Why would I leave you unguarded where urgals could ambush you?"

"To… teach me?" I was vexed.

He shook his head. "No, not even for that. I learned not to underestimate urgals through painful experience," he slid a hand beneath my back and helped me lean against a tree. "There are no urgals and there never were. 'Urgal' was the the name your mind assigned to your fear." When I blinked up at him, he could no longer restrain his smile. "Shur'tugal were often taught to use magic out of pure frustration. This could be a time consuming process, and I find it offers a lesser view of the subject's potential. I myself uncovered the talent through an argument with another student; an act of primal rage. I theorized that this more intense emotion allowed me to progress more efficiently, with a better grasp of my abilities."

I was starting to understand, and he could see it.

"Fear can be an even more powerful motivator, as you can yourself attest," He gestured behind him. I realized we were no longer in the clearing itself, rather off to the side. The clearing was now filled mostly by a collapsed pine. At the point where the trunk failed, it bent over a very familiar log. My master chuckled and dusted his palms, "Though, I confess, I wasn't quite expecting all that."

"I did this?"

"Out of fear," here the amusement tapered off to a more serious tone, "Solely out of fear. You panicked, in spite of the obvious rationale that I would not allow you to die, and in your attempt to flee you nearly expended all of your strength."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted you to blossom, little flower, not wilt," The kind words were tainted by the mocking tone. "If this had been real, you never could have survived it. Either you would have been too weary to fight, too surrounded to flee, or even if your little stunt had been lethal enough to halt one threat, you would have been crushed to death. The only thing that could have saved you in any scenario was…" he trailed off, waiting for me to finish his thought.

"You?" I asked quietly, embarrassed and still very, very, tired.

"Or Katana," he provided, not unkindly. He lifted me in his arms and turned for home, "Rest all of tomorrow, and after we will begin the real heart of your training."

"Yessir," I mumbled, my exhausted brain eager to obey.


The spell he used this day is a simple one, but all the more dangerous for it. The word for "fear" in the ancient language has a fascinating connotation… Galbatorix could better expound on it than I, but it implies 'belief' and 'pain', the overwhelming certainty that something awful is very near, whatever that means to the subject. The more adept and agile the mind, the greater range of terrors it can conjure at the vaguest suggestion. Imagination becomes the enemy; nightmare becomes reality. A few auditory hallucinations to amp up the drama and the result is… persuasive to say the least.

Galbatorix's methods can best be summarized as, "trial by fire." He will not lift a damn finger to get you out of the blaze until you show the potential to do it yourself. He'll guide, assist, advise… but every painful step must be made on your own. I will neglect to discuss much of my magical training. Many of the things I learned at his hand are better lost to history than preserved here.

I was probably at my happiest during the first few years of training… though, soon, I would have it all put to a harrowing test. In fact, our entire family was about to endure trials that would color the future of Alagaesia for the next century.


Fannon Ancient Language*

Dagi - Sunlight (Name of Gildor's sword)
thrim - Fool. Taken from "Tuatha du Orothrim" or "Tempering the Fool's Wisdom" in canon.

Taken mostly from a pdf of "An Introduction to the Ancient Language" by Sophie Brouwer, Susannah Djikstra, and Emma Konijin. While this is non-canon, at the time of writing it was the most comprehensive guide I could locate. My friends and I have also added our own words and uses over the years. We are decidedly not linguistics, so patience is deeply appreciated.