Alright, so I've decided on something that not a lot of people may like... I'm only going to focus on one story until I have it completed or with tons of chapters, depending on how many there are. The reason for this is because I have a job that is taking up most of my time, which is Mon-Fri, & in the morning to half 3 in the evening. I only have the weekends off to try and do some Fanfiction stuff, but I also have other things to do and want to do like play my Playstation or Xbox, and I can't get the time for that due to writing.

So I've went and made enough chapters that this should recieve a daily update until next weekend, where I will then work on the next batch of chapters for this story. Once this is completed, I will move onto the next story, which I will announce at the end of the last chapter of this story.

Again, I apologize but that's just the way it is.

Answers to reviews:

Guest: Indeed.

headreviewer mk2: That would be hilarious.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Inheritance Cycle or The Elder Scrolls.

I knew I should've followed Eragon! Daemon through as he barged into his home and strode with purpose towards a section of the wooden floorboards with a barely noticeable gap at the end of one of them, perfect for two fingers to reach in. The Dragonborn crouched to a knee and put two of his fingers through the hole, then proceeded to lift, revealing a secret door that led to beneath the floorboards. However, there was only one object revealed under the floor; a chest.

Daemon stared at the box, sighing to himself. Two days ago, after he had left Eragon when they parted ways to go to their respective homes, he had emerged from his home to chop some wood for a fire only to see smoke rising in the direction of Eragon's farm. Worry and concern filling him, Daemon ran with almost inhuman speed to get there, soon coming to a stop when he found Brom hunched over an unconscious Eragon while there was tracks of a unknown creature in the ground.

Not waiting for answers or bothering to question why his friend was in this state as all he was concerned about was Eragon's safety, Daemon grabbed the unconscious Eragon and draped him over his right shoulder before helping Brom carry the injured Garrow back to Carvahall.

They took Garrow to Horst's house so he can be treated, while Daemon took Eragon to Gertrude's house seeing as she was the village's healer. Offering his help, he was nonetheless turned away by Gertrude, stating that he had already done his part. Once he left Gertrude's house, his mind conflicted with questions, he knew only one man could answer them and set out to find him.

Brom.

That had been an interesting conversation in and out of itself.

The old man explained, after Daemon rudely barged in and demanded an explanation, that Eragon had become something he wouldn't have expected; a Dragon Rider, done so by touching a dragon hatchling which Daemon privately concluded to himself came from the blue stone Eragon had. It had not been a stone... but an egg.

Brom told Daemon of the mark on Eragon's palm that confirmed he was a Dragon Rider, known as the Gedwëy ignasia, then told him about the two strangers that destroyed the farm and what they were after, and what now needed to be done to protect Eragon, his young dragon, and themselves.

In the two days that followed, tragedy struck as Garrow passed on from his injuries. Knowing Eragon will most likely want to hunt down the strangers responsible for the destruction of his home and the death of his uncle, something anyone would do if their family had been killed, Daemon vowed that he will not let Eragon go at this alone. He would need help.

Which is why Daemon had come back to his home... to dig up his past from a life that he had thought was over when he came to these lands.

Picking the chest up, Daemon set it down before opening it, revealing several contents. His Nightingale armour, a Daedric dagger, and his sword which was made to be as strong as even the likes of Elven, Daedric and Ebony metals. The sword had a black guard with a dragon head pommel at the top. Along the blade were a series of words in the Dovahzul, the language of the dragons, the words being 'Dovah do Dinok' which means 'Dragon of Death'. It had been a blade he had forged not long before his final battle with Alduin, strong enough to damage a dragon's hide and go up against the strongest armours in the world.

Upon pulling the sword halfway out, he stared at the smooth, silver, reflective blade, staring at his own reflection before he sheathed the sword.

(AN: For better description, think of Zar'roc from the Eragon movie but the blade is silver like any other sword, and the ruby is replaced by a dragon head and the blade also has the language of the dragons going down it.)

"Never thought I'd be living this life again... the life of adventure." Daemon snorted quietly to himself before he grabbed his Nightingale outfit, as well as the Daedric dagger, then put them on his bed before shutting the chest. Grabbing a pack, Daemon proceeded to place his Nightingale armour inside, along with extra clothes, water skins, coin purse and a bedroll. He sheathed his Daedric dagger on his belt, which he then tied his sheathed sword to as well.

Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Daemon cast one last look at the house that had been his home for the past five years. Soon, he left the small building and closed the door, leaving the inside in darkness.

"Where is that boy?" Brom huffed impatiently as he paced in front of the patiently waiting Daemon who was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the old man pace with an amused look. The two were currently waiting for Eragon to arrive, having watched him sneak out of Horst's home and steal from the butcher's. Now they were waiting for him to come across them at the trees.

"Be patient old man." Daemon said, rolling his eyes before he notice movement and looked over. "He's here."

Eragon slid to a stop next to the trees looking for the hides, the front of his shirt bulging with the pilfered meat. It was then the two hidden figures revealed themselves.

"Going somewhere?" Brom growled.

Eragon whirled around to face them. "Give me those!" He grabbed the hides from Brom, and backed away from them.

"Running off before Garrow is even buried?" The accusation was sharp.

"It's none of your business!" Eragon barked, temper flashing. "Why did you follow me?"

"Easy, both of you." Daemon said, stepping in with his hands raised at both of them in a placating gesture before he looked at Eragon. "We were waiting for you, Eragon. We know what's going on."

Eragon's face darkened. "What are you talking about?"

Brom pointed to the meat he had stole from the butcher. " Hopefully you have enough to feed your dragon."

Eragon froze. "What are you talking about?"

Brom crossed his arms. "Don't fool with me. I know where that mark on your hand, the gedwëy ignasia, the shining palm, comes from: you have touched a dragon hatchling. I know why you came to me with those questions, and I know that once more the Riders live."

Eragon dropped the leather and meat. It's finally happened... I have to get away! I can't run faster than him with my injured legs, but if... Saphira! he called.

For a few agonizing seconds she did not answer, but then, Yes.

We've been discovered! I need you! He sent her a picture of where he was, and she took off immediately. Now he just had to stall Daemon and Brom. "How did you find out?" he asked in a hollow voice.

Brom stared into the distance and moved his lips soundlessly as if he were talking to someone else. Daemon watched him for a moment, frowning slightly, before he looked at Eragon. "For me, it started with your distant behaviour and I heard no other mention of the blue stone you found. Then, the strangers that we saw interrogating Sloan. They were looking for you. After I found you unconscious and brought you back to Carvahall, I asked Brom to tell me what was going on."

"Demanded is more the word I'd use." Brom muttered under his breath before speaking to Eragon. "There were clues and hints everywhere; I had only to pay attention. Anyone with the right knowledge could have done the same. Tell me, how is your dragon?"

"She," said Eragon, "is fine. We weren't at the farm when the strangers came."

"Ah, your legs. You were flying?"

Daemon raised his eyebrows and looked at Eragon, noticing the injury on Eragon's legs... as if the skin had rubbed against something hard. Most likely his dragon's scales.

How did Brom figure that out? What if the strangers coerced them into doing this? Maybe they want them to discover where I'm going so they can ambush us. And where is Saphira? He reached out with his mind and found her circling far overhead. Come!

No, I will watch for a time.

Why!

Because of the slaughter at Dorú Areaba.

What?

Brom leaned against a tree with a slight smile. "I have talked with her, and she has agreed to stay above us until we settle our differences. As you can see, you really don't have any choice but to answer our questions. Now tell me, where are you going?"

Bewildered, Eragon put a hand to his temple. How could Brom speak to Saphira? The back of his head throbbed and ideas whirled through his mind, but he kept reaching the same conclusion: he had to tell them something. He said, "I was going to find a safe place to stay while I heal."

"And after that?"

The question could not be ignored. The throbbing in his head grew worse. It was impossible to think; nothing seemed clear anymore. All he wanted to do was tell someone about the events of the past few months. It tore at him that his secret had caused Garrow's death. He gave up and said tremulously, "I was going to hunt down the strangers and kill them."

Had a feeling you would, my friend. Daemon thought with a quiet, knowing exhale.

"A mighty task for one so young," Brom said in a normal tone, as if Eragon had proposed the most obvious and suitable thing to do. "Certainly a worthy endeavor and one you are fit to carry out, yet it strikes me that help would not be unwelcome." He reached behind a bush and pulled out a large pack. His tone became gruff. "Anyway, I'm not going to stay behind while some stripling gets to run around with a dragon."

"He means, we won't stay behind." Daemon said, shooting Brom a look for not including him. Eragon gave him a look, one that was a mix of apprehension and worry that his best friend was willing to follow him into Hell... and also joy and happiness that Daemon was willing to have his back. "We both know I won't stay here, Eragon. You helped me out when I arrived here five years ago and you've been a good friend, as well as your family. It's time I returned the favour."

Eragon could see the truth in his words and knew he meant every word. I know I can trust you, Daemon. But it's Brom I'm unsure of. Could he really want to help or is this some kind of trap? Eragon was afraid of what his mysterious enemies could do. But Brom convinced Saphira to trust him, and they've talked through the mind touch. If she isn't worried... He decided to put his suspicions aside for the present. "I don't need help," said Eragon, then grudgingly added, "but you can come."

"Then we had best be going," said Brom. His face blanked for a moment. "I think you'll find that your dragon will listen to you again."

Saphira? asked Eragon.

Yes.

He resisted the urge to question her. Will you meet us at the farm?

Yes. So you reached an agreement?

I guess so. She broke contact and soared away. He glanced at Carvahall and saw people running from house to house. "I think they're looking for me."

Daemon glanced back at the village and nodded. "I think it's time we get moving before they catch up."

Eragon hesitated. "I'd like to leave a message for Roran. It doesn't seem right to run off without telling him why."

"It's been taken care of," assured Brom. "I left a letter for him with Gertrude, explaining a few things. I also cautioned him to be on guard for certain dangers. Is that satisfactory?"

Eragon nodded. He wrapped the leather around the meat and started off. They were careful to stay out of sight until they reached the road, then quickened their pace, eager to distance themselves from Carvahall. Eragon plowed ahead determinedly, his legs burning. The mindless rhythm of walking freed his mind to think. Once we get home, I won't travel any farther with Brom until I get some answers, he told himself firmly. I hope that he can tell me more about the Riders and whom I'm fighting.

As the wreckage of the farm came into view, Brom's eyebrows beetled with anger and Daemon's hands clenched tightly. Eragon was dismayed to see how swiftly nature was reclaiming the farm. Snow and dirt were already piled inside the house, concealing the violence of the strangers' attack. All that remained of the barn was a rapidly eroding rectangle of soot.

Brom's head snapped up and Daemon looked around as the sound of Saphira's wings reached them. She dived from behind them, coming in close to their heads as she wheeled around gracefully and landed in front of them.

"Woah..." Daemon breathed, staring with wide eyes in awe and wonder. He has seen dragons before, both male and female, but never the dragons of these lands and he could plainly see the difference. For one, the dragons of Alagaesia had four legs and longer necks compared to the dragons of Skyrim. Brom stepped forward with a look both solemn and joyous. A tear shone on his cheek as he stood there looking at Saphira, and she at him. Eragon noticed him muttering something under his breath and edged closer to hear.

"So...it starts again. But how and where will it end? I cannot see for my sight is veiled; be this tragedy of farce I am uncertain, for elements of both are here. However my station is unchanged and I..."

Anything else was lost as Saphira proudly approached them. Eragon passed his two dumbfounded companions and greeted her. There was something different between them now, as if they knew each other more intimately, and yet they were still strangers. He rubbed her neck, and his palm tingled as their minds touched. He could feel a strong curiosity emanate from her.

I've never seen humans except you and Garrow, and he was badly injured. She tilted her head quizzically. You really are strange creatures.

You've viewed people through my eyes.

Its not the same... She came closer to Daemon and Brom and lowered her long head so she could inspect them with one brilliant blue eye. She continued to stare at them, sniffing the air around them. Daemon slowly reached out with his hand, and she bowed he head so he could pat her lightly on the nose. She snorted and shook her head slightly, giving him a start.

That tickles. She laughed in his head, and he relaxed again, smiling fully now. She turned to Brom as he did the same, allowing him to touch her lightly on the brow. This time she jerked back, and retreated behind Eragon.

What is it? He asked. She didn't reply.

Daemon turned to him, his wide smile still plastered on his face. "What's her name?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Saphira." A peculiar expression crossed Brom's face as he said this. His knuckles grew white as he gripped his staff tightly. "Of all the names you gave me that day, this is the only one she liked. I think it fits." Eragon added quickly.

"Fit it does." said Brom. There was something in his voice; wonder, fear, envy? It could have been none of them or all, Eragon was unsure. Brom raised his voice, "Greetings, Saphira. We are honored to meet you." He twisted his hand in a strange gesture over his chest and bowed. Daemon doing the same, but with a slight more flourish.

I like them Saphira said quietly

Of course, everyone enjoys flattery. Eragon touched her on the shoulder and then went to his ruined house, Saphira with him. Daemon and Brom followed behind, both of them vibrant and alive.

Once Eragon salvaged what he could from the remains of his home, he led them to a small clearing in the woods that suited them just fine. As they settled down, Saphira landed beside them and folded her wings, careful to avoid the thorns. She curled up beside Eragon and Daemon, snapping twigs with her hard scales, and rested her head on the ground. Her unreadable eyes followed them closely, straying to Daemon an she watched him very closely which Eragon noticed.

What is it? He asked her.

I don' t know. A connection of sorts...I feel as if I know him, which is strange considering I've never met him before. She shook her head, as if unsure of what she was saying. Eragon pondered this; he could feel her unease and yet he could also feel a note of recognition, then he realized what it was.

You do know him, in a way. From my memories. You've seen him when you've looked into my mind. You feel a connection because I consider him a very close friend, and that emotion must transfer to you. Eragon patted her neck as she finally looked away from Daemon and at her Rider. He reassured her with his thoughts and said. I trust him Saphira, and you should too. I have known him for a long time. Although I never expected him to volunteer to join me on a crazy scheme like this...I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have at my side. Except you of course.

She nuzzled the side of his head in affection for the comment, then proceeded to lay her head on her paws, her gaze drifting back to Daemon. She studied him for a moment longer. You're right, Eragon. I can sense it in you; of all the people we may meet, he is one that will stay true to us. And we may need all the help we can get. But still... he smells strange.

Eragon frowned. What do you mean?

He doesn't smell completely human.

"So... who exactly are you?" Brom asked, looking directly at Daemon who paused while in the midst of getting a fire going. Brom's question also cut in to Eragon about to inquire what Saphira meant. "You arrive here five years ago, all mysterious and vague of where you're from except that you come from far across the sea."

"I did not like, I am from across the sea." Daemon said, looking at Brom. "I'm from another land far from here, one that will take two weeks to reach by boat. Tell me, have you ever heard of Tamriel?"

Brom's eyes widened briefly before he regained his composure. "Yes. I assume that's where you're from?"

Daemon nodded. "From Skyrim, yes. It is a land filled with people and beasts of all kinds, even dragons."

"There are dragons there?" Eragon asked with shock, Saphira also sharing this feeling at the knowledge that she was not alone.

Daemon nodded. "Yes... though I wouldn't count on them being friendly like Saphira here. The dragons of Skyrim have long been wild since the beginning of their time. They'd hunt, though some would kill for sport."

"That's..." Eragon wasn't sure what to say, and he could tell Saphira was uncomfortable at this topic now.

"You must understand, Eragon, the dragons of Skyrim are much different compared to the dragons in these lands. They are wild, untamed, and without mercy. They once enslaved mankind and ruled them under the leadership of Alduin the World-Eater... until I killed him." Daemon sighed.

"You what?" Brom narrowed his eyes at him.

Daemon inhaled then exhaled. "I'm a being that was born with a gift, given by Akatosh the one who created the dragons of my land. This gift was being born with the blood and soul of a dragon, but the body of a mortal. Through this, I was able to understand the language of the dragons and wield their power, the Thu'um. However, there was a title for what I was called. for I am the last of a line of beings called... the Dragonborn. What I am about to tell you may not sit well with the three of you, but it's the truth and it is also something I don't do anymore."

"Which is?" Eragon asked.

"As Dragonborn, I am capable of slaying dragons... and absorbing their souls and power." Daemon said, sighing as he heard a growl come from Saphira at this reveal and saw her eyeing him with caution and even fear. "But I am not that person anymore. I stopped and gave them a choice; leave and simply hunt like natural predators... but attack any innocents or settlements then I would take their lives. Believe me, I did not like what I had to do since I am essentially a dragon myself... just in blood and soul."

He felt a presence in his mind and frowned before a voice, a female voice, spoke within his head. Show me your memories. I want to know if you are telling the truth... Dragonslayer. He looked at Saphira and saw her narrowing her eyes at him. He nodded and closed his eyes, allowing his mental barriers to fall enough so that she could poke around his memories.

WHile she was doing that, Brom still had questions. "What brought you here then?"

Daemon looked at him. "I was banished from my home after being accused for a crime I did not commit. I was sentenced to die but two dragon friends of mine, Odahviing and Paarthurnax, saved me and I went into exile afterwards, taking a boat from Skyrim and I ended up here two weeks later... where I have been for five years."

He is telling the truth. Saphira said to all as she withdrew from Daemon's mind, her eyes slightly wide from shock. She had seen enough. She had seen the atrocities committed by the dragons of Skyrim, Daemon fighting them to protect innocents. Men, women and children. She had seen him meet with an old, wise dragon named Paarthrunax who became his teacher and taught him this 'Way of the Voice'. She had been shocked that the dragons there could talk like any other person, which the dragons here could not do. In the end, it proved one thing to her; Daemon was telling the truth and he could be trusted.

Eragon looked at Daemon and saw he looked a little uncomfortable from explaining, most likely from doing so in front of a dragon and revealing that he had killed several of her kind before. So, to change the subject, he looked at Brom and eyed him.

"Why do you want to travel with us?"

A cloud of smoke left Brom's lips and spiraled up through the trees until it disappeared. "I have a vested interest in keeping you alive," he said.

"What do you mean?" demanded Eragon.

"To put it bluntly, I'm a storyteller and I happen to think that you will make a fine story. You're the first Rider to exist outside of the king's control for over a hundred years. And your friend there is the first one to come here from Skyrim in over a hundred years. What will happen? Will you perish as a martyr? Will you join the Varden? Or will you kill King Galbatorix? All fascinating questions. And I will be there to see every bit of it, no matter what I have to do."

A knot formed in Eragon's stomach. He could not see himself doing any of those things, least of all becoming a martyr. 'I want my vengeance, but for the rest... I have no ambition.' "That may be, but tell me, how can you talk with Saphira?"

Brom took his time putting more tobacco in his pipe. Once it was relit and firmly in his mouth, he said, "Very well, if it's answers you want, it's answers you'll get, but they may not be to your liking." He got up, brought his pack over to the fire, and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. It was about 5 feet long and, from the way he handled it, rather heavy.

He peeled away the cloth, strip by strip, like a mummy being unswathed. Eragon gazed, transfixed, as a sword was revealed. The gold pommel was teardrop shaped with the sides cut away to reveal a ruby the size of a small egg. The hilt was wrapped in silver wire, burnished until it gleamed like starlight. The sheath was wine red and smooth as glass, adorned solely by a strange black symbol etched into it. Next to the sword was a leather belt with a heavy buckle. The last strip fell away, and Brom passed the weapon to Eragon.

The handle fit Eragon's hand as if it had been made for him. He slowly drew the sword; it slid soundlessly from the sheath. The flat blade was iridescent red and shimmered in the firelight. The keen edges curved gracefully to a sharp point. A duplicate of the black symbol was inscribed on the metal. The balance of the sword was perfect; it felt like an extension of his arm, unlike the rude farm tools he was used to. An air of power lay over it, as if an unstoppable force resided in its core. It had been created for the violent convulsions of battle, to end men's lives, yet it held a terrible beauty.

"This was once a Rider's blade," said Brom gravely. "When a Rider finished his training, the elves would present him with a sword. Their methods of forging have always remained secret. However, their swords are eternally sharp and will never stain. The custom was to have the blade's color match that of the Rider's dragon, but I think we can make an exception in this case. This sword is named Zar'roc. I don't know what it means, probably something personal to the Rider who owned it." He watched Eragon swing the sword.

"Where did you get it?" asked Eragon. He reluctantly slipped the blade back into the sheath and attempted to hand the sword back, but Brom made no move to take it.

"It doesn't matter," said Brom. "I will only say that it took me a series of nasty and dangerous adventures to attain it. Consider it yours. You have more of a claim to it than I do, and before all is done, I think you will need it."

The offer caught Eragon off guard. "It is a princely gift, thank you." Unsure of what else to say, he turned and showed the sword to Daemon, who nodded his head in approval at the fine make of the sword, which rivalled his own. Eragon examined the sword closely, sliding his hand down the sheath. "What is this symbol?" he asked.

"That was the Rider's personal crest." Eragon tried to interrupt, but Brom glared at him until he was quiet. "Now, if you must know, anyone can learn how to speak to a dragon if they have the proper training. And," he raised a finger for emphasis, "it doesn't mean anything if they can. I know more about the dragons and their abilities than almost anyone else alive. On your own it might take years to learn what I can teach you. I'm offering my knowledge as a shortcut. As for how I know so much, I will keep that to myself."

Saphira pulled herself up as he finished speaking and prowled over to Eragon. He pulled out the blade and showed her the sword. It has power, she said, touching the point with her nose. The metal's iridescent color rippled like water as it met her scales. She lifted her head with a satisfied snort, and the sword resumed its normal appearance. Eragon sheathed it, troubled.

Brom raised an eyebrow. "That's the sort of thing I'm talking about. Dragons will constantly amaze you. Things... happen around them, mysterious things that are impossible anywhere else. Even though the Riders worked with dragons for centuries, they never completely understood their abilities. Some say that even the dragons don't know the full extent of their own powers. They are linked with this land in a way that lets them overcome great obstacles. What Saphira just did illustrates my earlier point: there is much you don't know."

There was a long pause. "That may be," said Eragon, "but I can learn. And the strangers are the most important thing I need to know about right now. Do you have any idea who they are?"

From there, Brom told them about the strangers, or the Ra'zac as they were called. Brom didn't know if that was the name of their species or what they chose to call themselves, for they were mysterious creatures that did not reveal themselves until after Galbatorix came to power. because of how mysterious they were, not much was known about them, but Brom told them that they did not have a human appearance and resembled more of a bird due to having a beak and big black eyes the size of a fist. They were stronger than a man, capable of using magic, but their only real weakness seems to be sunlight, for they avoid it but it doesn't completely stop them.

As Brom explained how he tried to confront them on his own, bitterness swelled inside Eragon. "Who are you? How come a mere village storyteller happens to have a Rider's sword? How do you know about the Ra'zac?"

Brom tapped his pipe. "I thought I made it clear I wasn't going to talk about that."

"My uncle is dead because of this. Dead!" exclaimed Eragon, slashing a hand through the air. "I've trusted you this far because Saphira respects you, but no more! You're not the person I've known in Carvahall for all of these years."

"Eragon, calm down." Daemon said sternly but Eragon ignored him.

"No! Explain yourself!"

For a long time Brom stared at the smoke swirling between them, deep lines creasing his forehead. When he stirred, it was only to take another puff. Finally he said, "You've probably never thought about it, but most of my life has been spent outside of Palancar Valley. It was only in Carvahall that I took up the mantle of storyteller. I have played many roles to different people—I've a complicated past. It was partly through a desire to escape it that I came here. So no, I'm not the man you think I am."

"Ha!" snorted Eragon. "Then who are you?"

Brom smiled gently. "I am one who is here to help you. Do not scorn those words—they are the truest I've ever spoken. But I'm not going to answer your questions. At this point you don't need to hear my history, nor have you yet earned that right. Yes, I have knowledge Brom the storyteller wouldn't, but I'm more than he. You'll have to learn to live with that fact and the fact that I don't hand out descriptions of my life to anyone who asks!"

Eragon glared at him sullenly. "I'm going to sleep," he said, leaving the fire.

Brom did not seem surprised, but there was sorrow in his eyes. He spread his bedroll next to the fire as Eragon lay beside Saphira. An icy silence soon fell over the camp.

Daemon quietly sighed as he watched Eragon for a time, worry for his friend permeating his mind. He had lost a great deal, and he knew what that feeling was like. The feeling of revenge. He had felt the same when Kodlak died, and showed no mercy to the Silver Hand when he and Farkas slaughtered them. Then there was the betrayal by Astrid and Mercer... He shoom his head. No matter what lies ahead on their path, he would stay by Eragon's side, and Saphira's (If she lets him), no matter what dangers they face.

The dragoness turned her head to look at Daemon. He felt the familiar pressure on his mind as he heard her voice in his head. We must talk.

I suppose we do. Daemon directed his attention to her, frowning as he tried to get used to speaking this way. It was... different for sure.

I confess, I do not know you well enough. And a part of me believes I should kill you for slaying several of my kind... but I understand and have seen from your memories that they were wild and harmed innocents. Despite that, Eragon regards you very highly. I can sense from him that you are as loyal as you claim. But on this I must be sure. Eragon means the world to me, I will do everything in my power to protect him. I need to know that you will do the same.

Daemon thought on her words, and knew what she was truly asking; how loyal would he be to them and how far would he be willing to go to help them. So he answered with nothing but the genuine truth in his words.

I would die to protect him, Saphira, and those he cares about. That includes you. At this, the dragoness blinked in surprise, making Daemon smile a little. Eragon's my best friend, practically like my younger brother, family in all but blood. From what I can understand, you and him are bonded together, that makes you family as well... and I always protect those I consider family.

Saphira regarded him, hearing the truth in his words. Her eyes softened and she nudged him gently. Thank you, Daemon. The same to you.

Daemon nodded at her before he laid down. Goodnight Saphira.

Saphira laid her head down, slowly closing her eyes to allow sleep to take her. Goodnight Daemon...

And that's it for this chapter. Sorry if the explanations of Daemon's past was shit, especially the reactions.