Eragon had expected dying to be quicker. The process dragged on for a long time. It was a curious feeling. Behind him were dozens and dozens of flawless, fist-sized diamonds filled to bursting with energy, over a hundred Eldunari, his own store of energy, and Saphira's unyielding will to protect him from Galbatorix's spell. On the other side was the most energy ever collected in one place in the history of Alagaesia, bearing down on him with all the certainty of an absolute spell.

The world was silent. The rain had stopped. Wind, motion, even breathing faded away. All Eragon could feel was the clash of titans raging on either side. Waves upon waves of energy crashed together, annihilating each other over such a simple command.

Deyja. Die.

Galbatorix seemed content to wait, certain in his superior strength. Eventually Eragon's stores and Eldunari would be spent. Then, his spell would go through.

The seconds dragged on, each moment longer than the last. A horrible tension gnawed at him. What moment would it be, when Umaroth and his ken finally let up? Would they abandon him at the precipice of exhaustion to save themselves? Or would they deliberately drain themselves to a defiant death, rejecting Galbatorix in their final instants? Was death coming to him now? In a second? A minute? Would he even know it when it happened?

Would it hurt?

The tide of power raging around him seemed to lurch.

This cannot go on any longer, Umaroth said. He sounded strained to the breaking point. Cast a lethal spell, boy. We will die bringing him with us.

Eragon racked his brain for something to cast right back, some spell so devastating and absolute that even Galbatorix's wards would fail to fight off all the energy he could deliver in the last instant of his life. He remembered what Oromis said.

All matter is energy. If melted, it unleashes a flood few can resist.

He consulted with Saphira, assembled the phrase in his mind, even prepared to voice it, when a thought occurred to him. He fumbled against himself, reaching into his pocket. Every movement felt like pushing through a raging river. Every angle of his limbs sent massive vortices of invisible energy spewing this way and that.

"Defiant in your final moments," Galbatorix smiled. He had abandoned pretenses. His aquiline nose pointed to brows drawn in sadistic glee at his position of absolute power. He stood with his hands crossed over Vrangr's pommel, as if imagining his pose immortalized in a grand statue or legendary painting. The moment he destroyed the last gasp of the Rider order. The instant he became the unquestioned eternal king of Alagaesia.

Eragon's fingers closed around the object he sought. He slipped it out with a flick of his finger, careful to keep it hidden from Galbatorix's vision without appearing to hide anything at all. He shifted it to be hidden beneath the hunting knife he drew out, clasped the two objects together, and lurched to orient the tip of the knife at the King.

"I curse you, Galbatorix," he bit out, weighting every syllable like a dramatic defiance. "To always Avada Kedav-"

The King's eyes bulged. He hurled himself to the side. Eragon tracked his form with the tip of his knife, and the tip of the wand concealed beneath it. "-ra."

Eragon had seen Harry use the killing curse enough to know what to expect. He had even practiced it once in Ellesmera. What he had not accounted for was unfathomable levels of energy to be surging around him at the moment he cast.

The little wooden stick slurped up all the energy from both sides of the clash, a hurricane draining through a pinhole in an instant.

Eragon's vision went green.

The flash seared into his retinas, brighter than the noonday sun directly in his eyes. There was a great whoosh, like a thunder of dragons beating their wings

When his vision cleared, Galbatorix was gone. Eragon stood shakily. "Did we do it? Is he…dead?"

He left no remains, Saphira noted. The death curse does not do that. Eragon looked up into the sky. The blast of green had smeared against an invisible current high up, like it had been caught in a river of air. As he watched, the hole it had punched in the clouds widened. The inclement weather faded away.

"But no one's ever cast it like that."

There came a crack from behind him. It was louder than Harry's apparition usually was. "I think we got him, Harry." Eragon turned tiredly to face the triumphant, avaricious gaze of a nightmare. For it was not Harry's face that greeted him.

Galbatorix snatched his wand away. Eragon tightened his grip instinctually, but the King was inhumanly strong. "Letta!" he barked.

And like that, Eragon was truly trapped.

Galbatorix's magic sealed his limbs in iron. He could struggle with all his might and never move an inch. Eragon glared at the King.

"You may make an unruly servant," Galbatorix panted, licking blood from his upper lip. Eragon hadn't noticed his nose was bleeding. Frustration spurred him to struggle anew, but the effort was pointless. Thousands of dragons were keeping him still, when one adolescent one would have been perfectly adequate to imprison him for eternity. "But a servant you shall be." The King's heavy brows met in furious focus. "Ganga," he dismissed. Eragon was suddenly separated from all his Eldunari. Umaroth, Valdr, his dull awareness of Du Vrangr Gata and Harry, even Saphira. For a single heartbeat, he was truly alone.

Then the King attacked.

A mental attack pierced his defenses. Honed to utter perfection by a century of nothing but practice breaking the minds of dragons, Galbatorix's attack seemed to be made of sharpness itself. In an instant, he had pierced Eragon's shields and was flying through memories. Eragon knew too many secrets to risk discovery. Panic rose in his throat. Furiously, he guided Galbatorix to less damaging, yet still critical information. The composition of the Varden's forces, their allies, how Harry was feeding everyone, all that and more he offered up, threw to Galbatorix in an effort to mask the single secret he absolutely had to keep.

In an effort to stall, Eragon struck back. He had not honed his skills in mental warfare much. He was rusty, and it showed. Galbatorix flicked away his clumsy stabs like a person might fend off a yipping dog. But he did devote some attention to resisting his attacks.

"Submit," Galbatorix gritted, bearing down yet harder. Eragon was on his knees, his attention fully on stalemating the mental battle for one more instant.

"Submit," he whispered again. Madness gleamed in his black eyes.

"Submit!" Galbatorix bellowed.

"Never," Eragon panted. Moving his lips to form the act of defiance felt like bending steel. "We shall- never-" he choked out a cry of agony. The blade of mental energy lanced through his mind, piercing his skull, lodging in the wrinkled bits of his brain and twisting savagely. If he had the energy to move his limbs, he would have clutched his head.

Galbatorix's features were so close he nearly touched him.

Eragon's mind raced If Galbatorix was going to brute force him, he would make it as expensive as possible. He forced himself to focus on the short, vague instructions Harry had given, which he had never used in practice.

He fixed the lakeside city in his mind's eye. He could see it clearly, the bend in the river before the great forest.

He steeled himself. He was determined. He would execute with every fiber of his being, allowing the desire and purpose to fill his mind.

Galbatorix's spell forbade him from physically twisting, but it could not stop him from accessing his magic. Plunging himself into the flood of energy in his mind, Eragon let it enshroud him, directing it to be elsewhere.

Eragon winked out of existence and emerged nearly a thousand miles northeast.

The furthest Eragon had ever tried to cast a spell was on the way to Farthen Dur, so long ago. He had attempted to gather fog over the Urgals from atop Saphira, who was perhaps a thousand feet up at the highest. It had instantly exhausted him for a modicum of the effort actually required to complete the task. Since then, distance had always been a consideration in his spellcasting, an instinct at the edge of his mind that helped him estimate the cost of his magic.

He could not even fathom what it would take to hold a spell across all of Alagaesia. The instant he emerged from apparition, a stabbing pain lanced through his thigh. He had splinched himself. Eragon put it out of his mind and immediately threw every bit of energy he had into breaking the binding spell. The spell dropped almost immediately.

With a great bang, Galbatorix emerged from thin air after him. Fury was etched in his features. "You will not try that again," he barked, but Eragon was gone before he finished speaking. Back to the plateau at the Burning Plains. He knew that teleporting with the Ancient Language was almost as costly. Arya in her prime could barely manage an egg. If the King brought all his Eldunari, as he surely would, then the cost of transport would go from exorbitant to outright painful.

Eragon! Saphira chided, flooding their connection with concern for his well-being. He had lost another chunk on the way back. The first bit was left on the plateau, a strip of bloody meat that wound around his right thigh. Galbatorix had cast no spell this time.

"He is going to be back any second," Eragon warned. He had a sense for how long he had, how long it took to rush out the entire, lengthy incantation, without daring to miss so much as a syllable. Brisingr had been left on the ground. He scooped it up and held it ready. He remembered what had happened earlier in the fight. He forced his breathing to slow, forced himself into a state of absolute focus on waiting, waiting-

There! Galbatorix blasted into existence a few paces to the right. Eragon lunged instantly. "Thrysta!" he cried out, pouring fuel into the spell. It forced Brisingr's hilt on. Like a glittering blue arrow, the starforged sword crossed the distance in an instant, thrumming lowly in the air, piercing Galbatorix's wards with the power of Rhunon's imbued enchantments and Harry's own contributions to the weapon. The iridescent blade sank to the hilt, penetrating all the way through Galbatorix's chest. It stabbed neatly in the center of center mass. It was a beautiful shot.

It was too good a shot. The vertical blade struck below the sternum, below the heart, and between the lungs. If Eragon had to guess, it severed the Great Artery and the Great Vein, as well as the diaphragm. If allowed, Eragon knew the King could heal that wound. He leapt after the man, grasping for Brisingr's hilt so he could carve further wounds, inflict more damage, but Galbatorix managed to choke out a single word, even with his wounded diaphragm.

"Malthinae." Bind. Blood spilled from the King's lips.

Eragon felt himself frozen in a way he had not been before. He could not move his limbs again, but this was even more extreme. He could not force his eyes to move, could not force his lungs to draw breath, could hardly feel his heart beat. All went silent.

Galbatorix gasped and wheezed as a deep purple crept up his neck, internal bleeding from his heart pumping his blood through his intercostal tissue, spreading beneath his skin as it all escaped his blood vessels and began to pool everywhere it could. His own heart was bleeding him dry, all without spilling much more blood than a cut at his wounds, still plugged by Brisingr. He choked out words in the Ancient Language, vocalizing barely audibly while gurgling on blood welling from his mouth. It spilled over his teeth and dribbled from the corner of his lips. Eragon prayed.

The spell was Sulemani's cardiothoracic restoration, a three-hundred-and-twelve word incantation that would fix all ailments of the heart and lung which were not rooted in disease. Eragon counted the painstakingly memorized words in his head alongside Galbatorix, watching his vitality fade, estimating if he would expire before finishing.

He was already halfway through. The sheer force of will the King was exerting was aweing. Even as his muscles laxed and his breathing slowed to nearly a halt, his lips kept moving. The words became barely audible and Eragon's eyes were not poised to read lips. For a long minute, he waited.

The spell will give out when he dies, Eragon thought. In another minute, I will know either way.

The seconds dragged on.

Eragon's heart plunged. The King began breathing levelly again. He murmured in a stronger voice, speaking to himself words of healing and restoration. His form moved in Eragon's peripheral vision, standing on his feet.

"That was the closest anyone has ever gotten," Galbatorix said conversationally. His manic energy was suddenly vacant. "By a long ways. Vrael nearly had me. I'm sure you'll have been told. The elves like to tout just how close one of theirs was to getting me. It makes them feel less useless, I suppose. Like his glory was their glory, even though he lost, and they had nothing to do with how close he got. But you made that near victory look like a pathetic, half-hearted attempt to assassinate me with a strand of wet wool."

"Vrael split me from my Eldunari and dueled me with his blade. I admit, he was a greater swordsman than I. You probably are, too. I disdain the practice of banging metal together, not when a much greater tool is available to me. He had me on my back, his sword at my throat, but he hesitated." Galbatorix reached out and grabbed Eragon's chin. His spell seemed to allow the King to physically reposition him. He pushed his chin back and forced Eragon to look him in the eyes.

"Perhaps it was my reputation that nearly killed me. You did not hesitate at all. And you were clever." Galbatorix smiled. "I apologize for nearly killing you. In one of my moods, you see? Your rash oaths will prove problematic, but not a deal-breaker, I think. I'm very close to discovering something great, Eragon. Something that will enable me to finally leash the wild abuses magic has enabled across Alagaesia. You see, that is my first grand goal I have set for myself. The Riders used to police the magic users, but in some ways they were worse than no checks at all. Who watches the watchers, indeed. I've been puzzling over it for so long now, but something is missing. Nevertheless, I shall overcome that obstacle in time. Until then, you will have to make due with some unpleasant accommodation."

He turned Eragon's chin this way and that, like the slavers at the auction in Dras Leona, examining the merchandise.

"You'll see. One day, Eragon. One day you shall be thrilled to serve me – well, perhaps not thrilled, but nevertheless you shall see the good you can do in service to me- is that…what is that?"

Galbatorix cocked his head. Eragon strained to hear whatever it was the King was listening for.

It was a far off sound, low, and rolling. Like…thunder.

If Eragon was allowed even the freedom to make facial expressions, he would have grinned. It would have been a malevolent, gleeful smile, one which one made when one knew that an enemy of theirs was suddenly in deep, deep trouble.

Galbatorix turned towards the source of the thunder. If he were Harry, he would have likened the sound immediately to that of a jetliner, cruising low overhead. Eragon wished he could see what the King was looking at. But he had a pretty good guess. He couldn't think of anything else that would make his jaw drop like that.

For the first time in their fight, Galbatorix showed real fear.

"Impossible," he growled. He threw a clawed grip at Eragon. "Kausta." His spell dragged Eragon up to face the horizon. "You knew."

Eragon would have bared his teeth if he could. The horizon glittered with a sight unseen in Alagaesia for a century: a hundred dragons flying in unison. The very sky throbbed with their wingbeats, reverberating across the burning plains. The Varden and Empire alike slowed their fighting to gawk.

"Where," Galbatorix demanded. His mental probe smashed into Eragon's mind. Eragon continued to use his strategy, offering up anything at all that Galbatorix wanted, any piece of information without complaint, all but the one thing he really needed to hide. Galbatorix stabbed at shadows. Each time Eragon slipped away, the lines on Galbatorix's face tensed. He was running out of time.

"You will tell me," Galbatorix commanded. "Now or later, it does not matter." The King's gimlet eye fell upon Eragon. "Your cousin shall suffer for your reticence." He gazed out at the oncoming storm.

"This is an unexpected boon." He said it more to himself than Eragon, as if he were trying to convince himself most. "I had expected to have to take a more active hand in quelling this rebellion, ever since the wizard stole my new dog from his kennel. It must run in Morzan's blood."

The King picked Vrangr back up, tapping the tip on the side of his boot. "The tools I shall use to subjugate the elves deliver themselves into my hands. How delightful." Eragon had trouble focusing on exactly what Galbatorix was doing. He hefted the pair of objects in his hands. Vrangr, and Eragon's wand.

He sheathed Vrangr. "Stay right there, won't you?" Galbatorix smiled humorlessly. He walked to the edge of the plateau and stepped off. "Fluga."

Eragon saw his cloaked shape race into the air. A moment later, he came back into focus, approaching the massive golden shape that drew closer to the battle lines. A gleaming silver figure shone in the sun that peeked through the clearing sky. Galbatorix's voice boomed over the Burning Plains.

"Oromis! Glaedr! I had thought the both of you dead in the Fall! Where have you been this past century? Cowering in De Weldenvarden, no doubt. And the rest of you! I recognize that hue on you, Aupho. Last I saw, you were in my treasury. How have you been restored?"

Glaedr roared. He was joined by his brethren, a sonic blast of rage that washed out Galbatorix's voice momentarily. When it ceased, Oromis shouted something lost to the wind. His voice was magnified as well, but only so far as to let Galbatorix hear him. The elvish rider was not putting on a show, not like the Black King.

There was a moment of silence. The thunderous wingbeats skipped a beat. Galbatorix spoke again. "The wizard's tricks will not save you, Oromis. My kingdom has no room for cowards in it. You should have died on Vroengard with your fellows, elf. I send you to them now. Glaedr, I look forward to seeing you in my service."

The outrage at Galbatorix's threats cut through the mental fog of helplessness Eragon felt. He had to escape, had to warn Oromis that Galbatorix had a wand.

Eragon strained and strained, but nothing gave way. He could not even engage his muscles to physically fight the binding. It was as if his body itself refused to answer his commands.

The seconds dragged on. Even with elvish eyesight, Eragon could not focus on the fight well enough to track what was happening. He saw Galbatorix's figure flitting around, dodging Glaedr as he swiped, shot fire, and bit at the King. It was a game of cat and mouse. They toyed with each other, flying loops and arcs. The dozens of other dragons occasionally dove to harry Galbatorix, but they could not truly intervene without getting in Glaedr's way.

The toying lasted until Glaedr stuttered in the sky. In the half-second the pause lasted, Eragon recognized that flash of green, the unmistakable hue. His heart plunged.

Glaedr began to plummet through the sky.

Eragon's skin turned cold and clammy. It seemed impossible. Glaedr was indomitable, unbreakable, immovable. He couldn't just be…dead.

Saphira made a keening noise deep in her throat.

A surge of power arose in her all at once, greater than he had ever seen, even in the previous moment as hundreds of Eldunari fought over him.

Eragon fell to the ground. His limbs did not respond immediately. Eragon felt his nose break against the stone as his face smacked into the surface. He forced his body upright. Saphira's mental presence came slamming into him, colored with grief.

He cannot be dead. He isn't. I don't believe it.

Eragon did not respond except with emotions. It was too overwhelming to risk speaking, lest his composure shatter altogether.

"We have to help Oromis," he said shakily. He scooped up Brisingr and sheathed it. The Eldunari quietly lent their power. He repeated Galbatorix. "Fluga."

Not-quite-weightlessness stole over him as he took to the sky. Enough gravity remained to keep him oriented as he surged through the air. The power it took would have left him gasping for air within a minute, but for the Eldunari it was nothing. He kept a hand over Brisingr's pommel at his side.

"Did you think a handful of baby dragons were going to stop me?" Galbatorix taunted. "It seems everyone has forgotten just how I got my throne." Since Glaedr had fallen, the airspace around the King's form was clear enough for the other dragons to attack. Aupho in particular was vicious. Eragon reminded himself that nearly all of the dragons present had had their riders killed by Galbatorix, and spent the last century waiting in darkness to be tortured into subjugation.

Their attacks were vicious, and their size made them quick and nimble. Galbatorix kept immobilizing them, but they broke free after a second or two. Oromis's gleaming form rose into the air after the King. Eragon kept quiet, approaching from behind. As he neared, he drew Brisingr and poised it in front of himself. Saphira circled far overhead like a vulture, waiting for an opening to pounce. Dragons were simply too big to dodge killing curses.

Eragon's heart soared when he spotted another pair of figures lift off the ground to join him. Arya's long, braided hair and Harry's unruly mop climbed higher, accompanied by a little flaming bird that glared like a white sun.

Harry did not fly unsupported, instead straddling a broomstick of all things. Firnen had flown out half a mile before climbing to circle with Saphira, waiting. Harry rode the broomstick like he was born to it, twirling and jinking left and right. Of everyone in the sky, he seemed to best understand how humans moved through the air. He herded the King back with Zippy, making darting passes and hairpin reversals to harry the king.

A pun? At a time like this? Saphira chastised. Eragon ducked his head.

Eragon streamlined himself against the air, presenting little more than his head and shoulders to the oncoming wind. He muttered under his breath. "Brisingr." With a muted whump, the blade came alive. Blue fire streamed behind it like a banner, licking harmlessly over Eragon's wards. Nearly there, Galbatorix's form grew rapidly in his vision.

"Who-" Galbatorix half turned his shoulders to look when Eragon swung with all his might.

Brisingr smashed against the King's wards, flashing a brilliant blue at the point of impact. He felt the jolt of the impact numb his entire arm. Eragon ducked away the instant after impact.

"You- Malthinae."

"Releashio," Oromis countered calmly. "Avada Kedavra." The Rider's killing curse sped past as Galbatorix jinked out of its path.

"Deyja," Galbatorix spat. Harry slashed his wand wordlessly, unwilling to inadvertently teach him any new spells. A shimmering barrier like a bubble formed in front of Oromis. Nothing seemed to happen.

"Avada Kedavra," Arya said, diving from above. Galbatorix threw himself backwards midair. Eragon came for another pass.

The dragons mostly backed off to let them fight. They circled above and below.

Harry flicked his wand silently, sending a barrage of multicolored jets of light at the King. None of them were the three killers Eragon knew, but Galbatorix treated each one like it was, unwilling to find out exactly what they actually did.

The four of them harassed Galbatorix through the sky. Oromos drew Naegling with his other hand and joined Eragon in making physical passes as well as firing off his killing curses. Arya held still except to dodge retaliatory curses, sending accurate green spellfire down at the King. Harry, the best suited in the sky, opted for volume and battered at the King's wards, causing a myriad of effects to glance off the invisible dome of protection a foot from his flesh.

Galbatorix struck back with killing curses of his own. Every time he bound someone with the Ancient Language, someone else was quick to free them with releashio. He was reluctant to send killing curses at Eragon, and refused altogether to direct them at Harry, but Arya and Oromis were fair game. Despite the King's speed, Eragon felt a mounting sense of triumph. They were wearing down his attention. Galbatorix stopped trying to dodge Harry's spells unless he voiced them. He spent more of his time directing precise shots with his stolen wand, but the tool was obviously unfamiliar to him, and his aim was not as deadly as Harry's. At some point, Harry dropped all pretenses and began pounding his wards.

"Bombarda. Bombarda. Bombarda. Bombarda." Each incantation marked a thunderclap as Galbatorix's wards took the brunt of the explosions. A new noise joined the cacophony, a purple flash, followed by a brief moment of wonky gravity. Galbatorix cried out as the elvish snipers clustered closer on their carpets, firing purple tips into him. Eragon backed up and stood still on thin air so his wards would not interfere.

From every direction, the King was being battered down. He had no idea how long the Eldunari could last under such a concentrated barrage. He consulted with the Eldunari. I need a spell that's cheap to cast but costly to block and scales well.

Light, Umaroth commanded. In his eyes.

"Garjzla," Eragon commanded, focusing the spell narrowly to emanate from an inch away from the King's pupils, and to work directionally as a ray so that none else would be blinded. He took the Eldunari's offered power and burned it, pouring it into the spell. The King growled in frustration, finally bellowing a command.

"Nidr!"

Gravity seemed to quadruple around Eragon, a leaden fist forcing him down from the sky. He glanced up only so long to confirm everyone was experiencing the grounding. The earth approached too quickly. At the last moment, Eragon stopped himself and slammed into the burning peat. A dozen paces to his left, Eragon's heart twinged at the sight of the great golden corpse.

Around him, his allies were shaking off the King's spell. Oromis gave Galbatorix no time at all to rest. He was flying across the smoldering earth, wand in hand. Grounding everyone did the King no favors, either. In the air, he had another axis to dodge with. On the ground, Oromis and Arya were able to send every spell at chest level.

Eragon could not find Harry, though. He spotted his broomstick laying discarded atop the peat, but the wizard was nowhere to be found. He readied Brisingr and advanced, keeping the King an arm's length away so he was not at risk of being struck by friendly fire. He brandished the sword close enough to threaten, without really intending to kill.

Galbatorix pointed at Oromis. "Malthinae Avada Kedavra!" he cried, all in sequence. The binding spell struck first and stopped the old Rider from dodging in the crucial moment.

"Kausta," Arya barked. Oromis's form was dragged out of the way. Eragon felt fear seize his heart. Oromis released himself, seemingly unbothered by how close he'd come to death. Everyone present in the fight had elvish reflexes, which made the killing curse seem slow and easy to dodge.

Galbatorix leveled his wand at Arya. Eragon knew what was coming. He made to strike the King when, all of his own accord, the evil rider tripped.

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry's voice said, casting off his Cloak.

Galbatorix froze, his arms and legs snapping together like a toy doll. Harry's wandtip was pressed directly against the skin of his neck.

"Expelliarmus," Harry added, as an afterthought. Eragon's wand flipped out of Galbatorix's petrified fist. "I believe this is yours," Harry said, handing it over. Eragon accepted the wooden instrument.

"Now who wants to do the honors?"

Oromis and Arya slowed their frenetic movements, approaching the King's form warily. The dragons circling overhead dove, landing heavily in a circle around them. Saphira and Firnen landed last, each standing behind their rider, looking at the immobilized man in the dirt.

Eragon looked to Oromis. Should he not get the privilege? He had been harmed most of all, he had lost all he'd known at the hands of this man.

But the elf shook his head, gesturing at Eragon.

Eragon drew Brisingr once more. It felt right to do it with the sword. He guessed at the way the King's wards might be constructed, and let the tip of Rhunon's final sword slowly approach Galbatorix's neck.

It seemed unbelievable that he was really helpless, this mighty threat, so big it hardly seemed possible that he might be defeated, even just this morning. The King's black eyes darted around in a panic. Eragon's sword tip moved closer. It felt like pushing through jelly. He had no idea what Rhunon had done to enchant the steel, but whatever magic was imbued in it, he didn't think any other item had ever been the focus of so much power before.

A last, desperate mental attack lashed from his prone form. Eragon was not the only one to wince. All around him everyone gritted their teeth and bore the mad yammerings of ten thousand mad dragons stolidly.

The blued brightsteel reached the King's neck.

"Goodbye, Galbatorix," Eragon said. He was surprised to find that he meant it. "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

He pressed down.

The King made a gurgling noise as he died. Eragon had not expected his death to be so…human. Galbatorix should have died in a magical burst of final defiance, a dread curse to scour Alagaesia as an act of vengeance from the void. Instead, his body of flesh and blood squelched to a halt.

Eragon regarded the body with unquantifiable feelings.

You respected him, Saphira noted, bitterly.

No matter how evil he was, he was a great enemy.

He felt her resentment. I feel as though I should eat half of him, or kick him into the peat. He does not deserve my respect. He does not deserve this dignity you grant him.

Eragon stared at the body, reminded himself of all the awful things Galbatorix had done, yet he could not dredge up the hate to do more than leave him there. He does deserve our respect, Eragon found himself thinking. Even if nothing else. And you may choose not to give it to him.

A voice in the Ancient Language sounded in his head. It was even more powerful than Umaroth's, but gentler at once. His words carried no impetus to action, merely observation.

The dead belong to the dead. Reputation is the folly of the living.

Eragon did not know how long he stood over the King's corpse. The sky cleared and sunlight shone upon the bloodstained earth. Still, he did not move. A quiet crack sounded from behind him. He did not react.

Harry reappeared once, twice, half a dozen times. Each time with a passenger. Eragon tore his eyes away. Nasuada,, King Orrin, Orik, Nar Garzhvog, and Elva. They stared just like him, as if the sight before them was not, could not be real.

Harry rendered Galbatorix's corpse one brief moment of agonizing indecision. He glanced at Eragon. Harry put his hand down his collar. Eragon would have sworn his eyes were playing tricks on him. The wizard flickered in place.

"You really did it," Nasuada whispered. "He's actually dead." Harry's face was expressionless. As was Arya's and Elva's. Orik, Garzhvog, and Orrin all openly gaped at the body in the dirt.

Harry glanced at Arya questioningly. She hesitated, then nodded.

"We need to stop the fighting," the wizard said. He took a deep breath, like he was about to reveal a dear secret. He put the tip of his wand to his throat. Eragon noted that it had changed during the fight. It was not the reddish stick he was used to, but a bone-white one, longer and slimmer with little knots in intervals along its length.

"Sonorous," he murmured. "King Galbatorix is dead."

The words echoed over the Burning Plains, rolling for miles across the open field. It was as if the very world itself was speaking through Harry's throat. As far as the sound carried, it was not deafening to Eragon. Harry's voice merely emerged from everywhere at once, appearing in the air, from the sky, and from the burning soil.

"Lay down your weapons. Everyone. Varden and Empire alike. Not one more man need die today. Many of you are bound by oath. With this, I release you."

And Harry spoke a Word.

It thrummed in Eragon's soul, like the toll of a far off bell. As if someone had struck a tuning fork against the universe itself, the world rang with the force of the Word. Across miles and in the ears of hundreds of thousands of people, it rang. The Word's meaning seared itself into Eragon's soul, the immaculate state of truth. It was as profound as staring into the depths of the universe and reading answers etched into the very fabric of being. Eragon knew he would carry that truth with him forever.

And yet before the Word had faded from the air, it was gone. He found himself questioning if anything at all had been said in the first place. Only that profound realization let him know, let him be certain of what Harry had just said.

The implications sank in with everyone else.

"Quietus," Harry muttered. He turned to Eragon. "Anything anyone else want to say?"

Nasuada looked as if she badly wanted to speak up.

"Shit. What do we do now?" Harry sat back in a chair that materialized before his knees had fully bent. He made a dismissive flick with his wand. More chintz armchairs appeared. Eragon cast a curious glance at the chairs. They were not Harry's normal style. He preferred metal folding chairs. The wizard rubbed his armrest mournfully.

Nasuada adapted quickly. She took her seat. Elva's presence was a bit ridiculous on the face of it, a little tiny girl sitting as if among equals with kings and queens. Likewise, Nar Garzhvog seemed too large for his chair, even though Harry had made his larger. "The first step is to contact representatives of all the races with stakes in the next steps. The elves must be informed." Nasuada thrived on the moment. The balance of power in Alagaesia wobbled on the tip of a needle, poised to fall for whoever grabbed it. She looked to Oromis. "Do you speak for them?"

The old Rider shook his head. "Islanzadi took a different path. Their plan was to attack from the north even as the Varden takes the south, and to meet at Uru'baen. I would not dare speak for her."

"The people will want to know who succeeds Galbatorix." Nasuada's eyes flicked over Eragon, Harry, and Orrin. Eragon realized with a shock that she was assessing her challengers for the throne. He shared his realization with Saphira.

Do you want it?

It was a question too big to answer. Eragon had not quite yet managed to fully understand what it meant to be gazing at Galbatorix's corpse. It threatened to engulf him, this question which at once changed every assumption Eragon had ever made about his identity, his future, and Alagaesia itself. Oromis watched him without judgement, but Eragon knew, deep in his own heart, that his teacher would be disappointed if he made that choice.

"We don't have to make that decision now, right?" Harry rubbed his forehead.

Nasuada pursed her lips. "Not this very moment, no. But as soon as possible. Without someone clear to take the lead, the Empire will splinter into fiefdoms led by every despot and lord with some aspiration for power. The longer we wait, the more hats will be thrown in the ring. This will not be a bloodless transfer of power in any case, but we needn't let the Empire collapse first and force us to beat every territory into submission."

Oromis stood. "I apologize, Lady Nasuada. But it ill becomes us to speak of divvying up the Empire as if it were cake when men are still dying over it. I am stranded here, for ill or for better. The fighting has not stopped, and nothing will be resolved today."

Nasuada slowed down as if only then realizing how devastating a loss Oromis had just endured. "I'm sorry about Glaedr," she said. "I know I could never truly understand it, but I think I know better than most, and offer my deepest condolences."

Oromis laced his fingers over Naegling's pommel. "Glaedr is not dead. He is safe and even now, I imagine, hatching once more in Ellesmera. Nevertheless, being a Rider without a dragon forces one to reconsider certain practicalities."

She shook herself. "Very well then. Let us put a true end to this war."

Eragon was not called upon for the rest of the day. It was as if everyone thought he had contributed more than enough for a lifetime by striking the final blow, never mind that everyone had played a part.

Oromis was less physically large without Glaedr by his side, but no less imposing. Where he walked among the battlefield, skirmishing and awkward standoffs fell apart into two awed groups. Eragon did not know how to feel about the news of Glaedr's survival. He had known there was a possibility, but he had not allowed himself to hope. Nor had the devastating loss sat with him for more than fifteen minutes.

You're the largest dragon in the world now, Eragon shared his realization with Saphira.

And the greatest, Saphira said smugly. As if there was ever any contest.

The next day, Eragon was hit all at once with a punishing level of business. From dawn 'till dusk, he wandered the enemy encampments of the Empire, weeding out dissidents, agitators, loyalists, and assassins to disarm and secure. From the ground among the campsites and battle lines, it was clear to him just how harried and disorganized the Empire's forces had been.

Hardly two tents were put together straight, and everyone seemed to be critically low on supplies. If they had waited just a few days, the Empire probably would have starved.

Harry spent almost all of his time with the wounded. Neither he nor Oromis bothered to make any distinction on the allegiance of the patients. Everyone was brought to the same enormous med pavilion where Du Vrangr Gata and Harry drew on seemingly inexhaustible stores of energy to repair torn flesh, ripped ligaments, broken bones, and damaged organs. Plenty died, and plenty had already been killed.

The early estimates put the death toll at 40,000. Hardly five thousand of that had been Varden soldiers. A day after the battle, the twelve elvish spellcasters Islanzadi had sent for Eragon arrived.

The Eldunari Galbatorix had enslaved had been recovered when a gem hidden in a spatial pocket fell into existence after the King's death. Bound to the gem was a much greater version of the same spell, which hid the twelve-odd thousand dragon souls he had enslaved for his power. They were all bound by strictures bound to the gem and to himself.

Aupho volunteered to take the Eldunari and a rider back to Ellesmera to be rebirthed. She offered to Oromis first, but the Rider refused. The next day, there was a violent and unexpected blast next to the elvish Rider. A golden egg emerged from the aether. Oromis smiled and picked it up, even as Glaedr began pecking his way out.

The orange dragon departed with an elf named Blodgarm, who sported dark fur all over his body and drew the gaze of every human woman he passed.

With the Eldunari's departure, the elves, Riders, and dragons of the lot grew much less tense. Orrin and Nasuada were uneasy, but did not voice complaints.

After that first day, the campaign, if it could be called that, was over in hardly a week. Harry enchanted a colossal flying carpet, large enough for a battalion of a thousand men to fly, not quite as fast as a broomstick or one-person carpet, but quite enough to shuttle smaller detachments to the southern Empire cities, where the news of the death of the King had traveled almost instantly. Usually the sight of the thing was enough to prompt the defenders' surrender, after they'd been released from any binding oaths. Well, that, and the fifty or so dragons that accompanied it.

The larger portion of the Varden's force began to shed as it marched to Uru'baen. With nothing pressing left to fight for, clumps of men just…stayed. They set down and did not move on when the Varden passed through Feinster, Bellatona, and Dras Leona. At the latter city, a stiffer intervention was needed to immediately shut down the slave trade and instill a semblance of order in the slum city. The war effort had drained the supplies of most cities, commandeered for the King's colossal army. Harry handed out huge quantities of food and medicinal potions as they passed, enough to feed everyone until things settled out once more, and the men had a chance to return to their farms.

By the time Nasuada had reached Uru'baen, she commanded a force fully half the size of the one assembled at the Burning Plains. And a good portion of that number was men who had fought under the Empire's banner not two weeks ago, looking to return home. The dwarves had almost entirely departed for the Beors after the battle, and most of the Surdans lingered as well.

Eragon had not known what to expect of the capital city. He had seen the fairth Oromis had back at the Crags of Tel'naer, and assuredly Uru'baen was different from that image, but he had been expecting more. Something villainous to match Galbatorix's nature. There was a massive new citadel (a large part in ruin) and an extra huge outer wall, but the rest was pretty similar.

Nobody at the royal court gave Nasuada any trouble. Everyone there knew Galbatorix's power, and had some idea of what it meant that the Varden had defeated him. She got more pushback from cities like Belatona which wanted to be independent. Nobody had decided on a successor yet, nobody had met or discussed options, but just from her act alone, Eragon was pretty confident Nasuada would make a strong bid for the throne. He and perhaps Harry were the only ones who might challenge her.

As he spent time reconciling with his new role in the world post-Galbatorix, Eragon examined his feelings on the prospect. He still wasn't sure what his answer would be, and did not think he would be sure until the question was put to him. Eragon Farmer boy, Carvahall Villager, Shadeslayer, Kingkiller, King of the Empire. It was poetic, but his feelings remained tangled.

Eragon mounted the last of the stairs to the elven watchtower. Everyone was waiting for him. Nar Garzhvog, Lady Nasuada, King Orrin, Oromis, Arya, Queen Islanzadi, Lord Dathedr, Orik and a handful of dwarves, some he recognized, some he did not. Harry lounged on a chintz armchair. Next to him, a scarred and dangerous looking cat sat on a red velvet pillow atop a construction of pipes, boxes, and carpeted baskets. Half of one of his forepaws was missing. Outside, a half-dozen dragons waited. Saphira and Thorn and Firnen were the largest, followed by Aupho, then Glaedr, then the still rather small purple Umaroth.

The air was charged with tension. Eragon took the seat left for him.

"We're here to decide who's going to rule next. Excited?" Harry asked wryly.

"This choice will affect us all," Arya frowned at the wizard. "It is no laughing matter."

Harry sighed. "Fine. I just want this to be lighthearted so there are no hurt feelings later that might turn into rebellion."

"Why is that?" Nasuada asked. "Would you like to rule?" Eragon immediately sensed the danger in the air.

"Merlin, no," Harry scoffed. "That sounds unbearable. Herding entitled rich losers for the rest of your life, trying to fill an evil demigod's shoes and heal the continent from a hundred years of the most oppressive regime it's ever seen? No thank you."

Nasuada relaxed a bit. "But I don't like the idea of a king or queen at all," Harry added after. Everyone tensed up.

"No chieftain makes for many small wars," Garzhvog grunted. "Thought humans didn't like that."

Harry sighed. "Let's skip over the formalities. The throne is a tossup between me, Nasuada, Eragon, and Orrin. I don't want it, so I'm out. Eragon's immortal and so probably shouldn't take it, Orrin already has a kingdom and Surda probably won't like being absorbed into the Empire, which is what you'd have to do if you took the throne, so we're pretty confident Nasuada will end up Queen, at least as far as this goes."

Eragon felt a twinge of annoyance that Harry had not even allowed him to be considered.

"For a man who professes not to want hurt feelings, you certainly cause many," Lord Dathedr said dryly. Islanzadi gave the wizard a disapproving look. King Orrin looked indignant.

"I admit I would be unsuited for the throne," Eragon said, shrugging. "I wasn't sure that was going to stop me from at least considering it, but Harry is right. The throne is not right for me. I will not become another Galbatorix."

"Yet you didn't want a monarch at all," Arya observed, looking at Harry. "Presumably you have another system of governance in mind?"

Harry nodded. "In my world, there's like less than a handful of true monarchies left. There are some kings and queens, but they are all ceremonial, and real power lies where it is actually derived from; the people. Basically every country uses some form of democracy where citizens vote for who is going to be in power. This keeps the leaders beholden to the people, and ensures they are always looking out for their best interests."

"The peoples,' you mean," Eragon clarified.

"Yeah." Harry nodded to Nasuada. "As far as individuals go, I'm more willing to hand unchecked power to Nasuada than most, but we don't know that her kids are going to be as suitable as her, if she even has any. Then there's hairy questions of succession, suitability, et cetera, and that's all just a recipe for civil war down the line. I don't want to keep kicking this conflict one or two generations down the road, hoping the most entitled people on the continent will only ever make level headed decisions about who they have sex with, and hoping that any accidental children never get bitter and make bids for the throne. It's better to use a system like democracy, which is adaptive and more closely responds to the desires of the people."

"People do not often know what is best for them," King Orrin interjected. "The tyranny of the masses would drive the Empire into the ground."

Harry rubbed his forehead. "I know, which is why I'm leery on implementation. Education is one of the core pillars of democracy. People have to know what they're voting for. But precedent is very strong, so it'd be pretty stupid to set up a stopgap measure that sucks and be stuck with it forever. Why don't we do something like the elves have, but with shorter terms?"

"I am unfamiliar with the elvish system of governance," Nasuada said. She turned to Queen Islanzadi. "I was given to understand you were the wife of the previous king, and that Arya would succeed you," she asked politely.

Islanzadi shook her regal head. "There are twelve hereditary lords of elvish houses which vote on our monarch. A simple majority can oust me whenever they please, and a unanimous vote is required to select a new one. I was simply the best candidate when King Evandar died." she cast a sad gaze to her daughter. "I imagine they would see my daughter the same way, were I to die."

"Lords and ladies elect the monarch?" Nasuada asked Harry. "If this system is fair at all, we will never have another king or queen. Resentment for me, loyalty to Galbatorix, conflicting desires like Belatona, they shall never allow a unanimous vote."

Harry shrugged. "We have a little wiggle room for skullduggery the first time, since you can say it was you who put the democracy in place. No one's quite sure how George Washington got elected the first President of the United States. You could even be a regent for, say, ten years while we all work frantically to educate the population and set up a system for democracy, find suitable candidates, codify the powers and checks and balances of branches of governemnt, and so on."

"I do not intend to shirk my house's duty on a wild dream," King Orrin said stiffly.

"Then definitely don't try for the Empire's throne," Harry advised. "Democracy spreads. Eventually your people will want their voices heard. They'll see the Empire responding better to the needs of its people and decide they want some of that."

Harry and Nasuada debated for a while, subject to interjections and input from the others. Eragon decided he liked the idea. It needn't be some complicated affair like elvish politics, it could be as simple as everyone in Carvahall deciding that Horst best represented the common desires of the village, and having him be the representative who casted their vote. There would have to be a system in place to balance the larger populations and thus higher relative priorities of cities like Teirm and Uru'baen, as well as ways to make sure even Carvahall's tiny voice got heard, but that was all possible.

The dwarves liked the idea as well. Eragon learned that they had not yet selected a new King after Hrothgar's death. Normally, they would shut themselves away in deliberation for months, sometimes years of secretive negotiations and votes deep in the Beors, but the urgent prospect of weighing in on the next human monarch had brought all thirteen clan leaders to Uru'baen. Some of the dwarves openly loathed Harry, himself, elves, and anything to do with dragons. Some were awed and deeply thankful for his role in killing Galbatorix. All bickered like old housewives.

After several hours talking in circles at the top of the tower, Eragon felt everyone begin to start drawing near to a conclusion. Nasuada would be regent for a time, Orrin would give up his claim in exchange for some of the southern cities and territories where many Surdans had wound up after the Battle of the Burning Plains. And after a period of ten years, the Empire would hold its first democratic election and finish its transition into a government with a system of checks and balances.

The elves, Urgals, Dwarves, dragons, and even werecats seemed okay with that.

Once that had been decided, Oromis had his own concerns to voice.

"Regardless of who governs the Empire, we must remember that the previous state of Alagaesia brought us to this point. Though Galbatorix was an overwhelmingly singular driver of Alagaesia's devolution into conflict, even before the Empire, it was hardly a perfect peace." Oromis always managed to look the most regal out of anyone in the room. Only Islanzadi ever beat him in this.

"Aye," Garzhvog rumbled. He bowed his head. "We are not well liked among the other races. Some of this blame belongs to us. But others- we live in a relatively small section of harsh land, and we are a warlike people. Fighting is in our blood. We want to keep the peace. But it is not always possible, and I cannot speak for all my people. Chieftains trust me to make a good argument, but in the end, their tribes are their own."

"Elves used to live here," Islanzadi added, tapping a finger on the armrest of her chair. "Uru'baen was Ilirea far before humans lived here. We love Du Weldenvarden, but we have not forgotten life under the open sky."

"Nor have we," Orik rumbled.

The werecat licked his paw.

Oromis inclined his head. "So then the question is; is the Empire for humans alone? For humans primarily? Or for everyone who lives there."

That kicked off another round of negotiations, after which another concession was wrung from Nasuada. This one made King Orrin rather happy. The Empire was not for humans alone. All races would have their votes counted equally, and any race could be elected. For the long foreseeable future, humans would dominate elections, but everyone's voices would be heard, and no one could be barred entry on basis of race.

King Orrin seemed pleased to find that his had become the de facto nation of humanity.

"There is a lot of prejudice out there among humans- everyone, really," Harry mused.

"Then it is best to get about fixing it now," Nasuada proclaimed.

"Well said," Queen Islanzadi smiled.

Harry left the tower feeling odd. All the most powerful people in Alagaesia streamed from the base of the tower and split off, back to their homes across the continent. Islanzadi intended to step down from the knotted throne, due to her shame at stopping aid to the Varden over selfish grief. Harry privately agreed it was a stupid thing to do, but did not think it proved her unsuitable, especially now that the conflict was resolved. Arya went with her. Harry offered to apparate them, but Islanzadi and Arya both had refused.

"I have not spoken to my daughter much in nigh eighty years," Islanzadi had said. "I was hasty then in my grief and foolishness, to treat her as I once had. No action can be taken until my people are back in Ellesmera. I intend to use this time to get to know my daughter again."

Harry found Arya the evening before she was to depart. He suspected Eragon was probably doing the same with Niduen, now that his future was finally free of Galbatorix. They had a bit of fun before settling down in bed.

"You want to do this?" Harry asked, rubbing Arya's shoulder. She shuffled beneath the covers.

"No," she admitted. "But I will be glad to have it done. We are mother and daughter. I would mend our relationship before wasting another century in angst over stupid things like duty and honor. And Firnen wants to know her, too."

She rolled on her side to face him. "What will you do while I'm gone?"

Harry thought about it. "I had a few ideas. The extra walls Galbatorix built around Uru'baen are hideous. With the shelf on top, the whole city feels like a stone coffin. I want to see if Nasuada will agree to renovations. The inner wall is plenty, especially now that Alagaesia is at peace. I was thinking tear the wall down and use the stone for something." He grinned mischievously. "Maybe giant statues of us, flanking a grand promenade. The Promenade of Heroes."

Arya pinched him. "What do your cities have that Uru'baen lacks? That is where I would start."

Harry cast his mind back to London. "They had roads for cars, but we don't have cars yet. Trains, though." he mused. "Train tracks could work. I'll consult the dead on how modern steelmaking works. Maybe enchanted engines to get around pollution. They have utilities, too. Running water in pressurized pipes bring clean, drinkable water to every house. Sewage gets rid of wastewater from toilets. If properly treated, that can be made into fertilizer. The water has to be elevated so gravity makes the water pressure. I could build something on top of the shelf. Internet and electricity are not likely to come into play for a while."

Arya rolled on top of him with a lustful stare, propping herself up on her fists above his shoulders. "That, I like better."

And then Harry was too distracted to do much more than agree.

The secret had been out for a while, so Harry finally dropped the last pretenses and started teaching apparition and portkey making to whoever would listen. Eragon's cousin Roran was rescued from beneath the citadel, emerging from confinement in the Hall of Soothsayers to a group of familiar, friendly faces.

All the Carvahallers had joined up to meet him. Roran was physically fine before the day was out, but he was not the same person who'd lived on Garrow's farm. Harry made a hula hoop portkey back to Palancar Valley and offered it to the villagers and Roran. He also offered to tag along and help set the village to rights with magic, but Roran was the first to refuse. Horst and the others simply followed his lead.

"I've had enough of magic," Roran said quietly. "I trust the honest labor of my own back."

Harry knew he would be unhappy to be a villager suddenly volun-told to do a bunch of physical labor when a wizard was offering to solve his most pressing problems, but the Carvahallers presented a united front, so Harry shrugged and sent them on their way.

In other news, Nasuada agreed that the giant wall was overkill during peacetime, and probably during war, too. She had re-renamed the city Ilirea in honor of the elves who actually built it first, and to clear away the cruel pun Galbatorix had rechristened the capital after the Fall. Elder's Downfall had been a mocking title for all who knew English well enough to speak it, and knew the context of the Rider's Fall.

Harry set about disassembling the giant limestone curtain in segments, starting with the enormous main gate. The procedure yielded mountains of magically perfect cut stone blocks, each utterly identical to the last, and quarried from an open pit only a mile east of the city.

Some of the stone went to apartment buildings, among the first to ever be built in Alagaesia. They were copy-pasted to a certain extent, but in high demand due to the housing crunch caused by half the Varden essentially moving in overnight. They were also the very first buildings to feature running, heated water, sewage, and electric lighting. Harry had managed to learn the basics of electricity and lighting from an old handyman willing to teach him.

The trick with asking dead people about relatively recent inventions was not to ask the inventor, who was often still alive at the point where Harry had died, but to ask some old hobbyist who kept up with the news and died still knowing recent innovations like blue LED's, which were devilishly tricky to make without magic, but alchemy made a cinch to mass produce.

It turned out that water towers atop the stone shelf were not the way to go. It was too much height, too much water pressure, and too difficult to pipe down from up top. Instead, Harry used the aguamenti charm to fill individual water towers on the apartment buildings (and the citadel, once it got indoor plumbing, too) and to build a handful of municipal ones that could be hooked up once the plumbers Harry had trained spread their expertise.

The last thing he consulted with Nasuada on building was the very first school in Alagaesia. He had not had to work hard to sell her on the idea. Educated people were more productive and would be better able to participate in the future democracy of the Empire. Widespread literacy would help Ilirea to start building on their understanding of magic, the world, and everything. Harry would admit, he took more than a little inspiration from his alma mater in its construction. The stone turrets and sky bridges were a bittersweet reminder of what he'd left behind. One day, he promised himself. One day, I will go back.

"What are you working on?" Eragon asked Harry. The wizard was floating on nothing, not even a broom, contemplating a giant stack of limestone blocks. Ilirea looked like a completely different city without the giant walls. The stone shelf was still probably uncomfortable to claustrophobic people, but Nasuada had put her foot down when Harry suggested cutting it away for more 'natural lighting.'

Outside of the inner walls, Ilirea actually had a pleasant view. From the roofs of the new apartment buildings, Eragon and Saphira could see well out into the city's breadbasket, fields of farmland that had exploded in productivity since Harry introduced magical fertilizer and growth-accelerant totems, in an effort to meet the new and heightened demand Ilirea's heightened population demanded.

Harry rubbed his chin. Eragon reached for the store of energy in his sword and cast the flight spell to join him. "Feels like there should be a memorial to all this," the wizard said. "What about…"

He flicked his wand. The blocks melted upwards into a new shape. They had only half begun to take form before Eragon said "No."

Harry snickered. Eragon felt uncomfortable beneath the three-hundred-foot-tall gaze of himself, cast in stone, petrified in a heroic pose. "Why not? The people love you, Eragon. We could do a whole bunch of 'em. For Nasuada, Arya, Garzhvog, Saphira, Hrothgar or Orik. Everybody likes a bit of art."

"Not of me, and definitely not that large," Eragon said. Harry waved his wand again. The stone melted back into its stack of blocks.

"Any ideas?"

Eragon paused to consider. He could not think of anything that felt right. It had to be something that represented everyone. It couldn't just be a statue. It had to honor the fact that the races of Alagaesia unified for this one effort. The only thing he could think of was…

"A dragon egg," he said. "In the midst of hatching. For a transition into a new era without Galbatorix."

Harry gave him an appreciative look. "You're pretty good at this." He waved his wand again. The stone took on a familiar shape. A million facets formed the egg first from limestone. Another flick and color spread across the stone, turning it to many-hued crystal. A final flick, and the top of the great egg transformed. A baby dragon was now perched on the edge of the crystalline shell, its delicate wings arched, translucent yolk still clinging to its wing membranes.

The wizard landed beneath the thirty-foot monolith and walked up to him. "Having trouble figuring out what to do with yourself now that he's gone?"

He did not need to specify who. Galbatorix's absence was everywhere. The common folk cared less, they just appreciated the vastly lightened taxes, but everyone who was anyone had had their lives changed by his absence.

"You had your Voldemort, didn't you?" Eragon asked. "How did you deal with it? It feels like I've completed my purpose."

Harry walked around the perimeter of the Egg with him, turning the soil into a paved square, raising the entire statue on a pedestal, and creating a water fountain out of the lower levels. He added rings of planter beds and conjured up flowers, then put up stone benches. "I never really dealt with that question myself," Harry admitted. "That's why I ended up here. But if I had to give you advice-"

"Please do," Eragon said dryly. Harry laughed.

"Well then, I'd say this: until today, your life has been defined by the expectations of others. Now that you've fulfilled the purpose they gave you, it's up to you to choose the next one. I decided to become a disrespectful and reckless wizard. I used to resent being forced into the identity people gave me: to kill Voldemort. But now that I've had time to myself to examine my own identity, my own wants and needs, I've discovered that I enjoy being a hero. The adventure, the danger, discovering new solutions to life-or-death problems, I still want it." Harry set up fresh water plumbing for the fountain with a few deft flicks.

" I don't know that I'll stop here, either." He said that a bit quieter. "We'll see. I can see myself getting bored, without a problem to chase down."

"So, what?" Eragon asked. "You're planning on leaving? Not just Alagaesia, I mean. Going back to your home?"

Harry sat on the stone bench. Eragon took a seat next to him. He enjoyed the brand new park he had made in the five minutes they'd been chatting.

"Not for a while," the wizard promised. "And I wouldn't go without telling you. I'm just not content with sitting around, puttering the years away like some normal person."

No, Eragon agreed he could not envision that for Harry.

"So what should I do?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Find out what you enjoy doing. Not because someone asks you to, or because it does good in the world, or even because you're good at it. That's my advice. Spend every day you can, trying something new."

They let the conversation lapse for a few minutes. People from Ilirea started approaching the park, curious and with a bit of wonderment. Harry smiled. Eragon wondered if that made him happy, too. Making things for others. Seeing his work be enjoyed by many. They gaped up at the multicolored crystal egg, eyeing the giant baby dragon with something like awe.

"How's Niduen?" Harry asked.

"Good," Eragon answered a little too quickly.

Harry grinned and ribbed him with an elbow. "Good for you, Eragon."

"It's not like that," the Rider protested. "She just- we clicked, you know? She likes Saphira, Saphira likes her, she challenges me- I don't know. I enjoy spending time with her."

Harry nodded. "Good."

"What about Arya?" Eragon asked. Harry sighed, blowing air through his lips and sending his messy bangs floating.

"She has been incommunicado. Hedwig brought me a letter. Basically, 'Don't come to Ellesmera, wait for further news.' Oh, and 'Don't worry.' So who knows?"

"You miss her," Eragon guessed.

Harry slouched a bit. "A bit, yeah. We haven't really been apart much."

Eragon examined his feelings on that. A year ago, he would have been bitterly jealous. Arya was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. Except someone who wanted him back. He felt like she might have reciprocated if Harry hadn't been there.

But, he was also older and more mature now. He could recognize some of Arya's discomfort with him and his efforts to feel out if advances would be welcome. Eragon wasn't just younger than her, he was young, period. He had been in a position of enormous influence and responsibility, and Arya knew she could not afford to damage their relationship trying to stave off an unwanted romance.

Was it shallow of him? To profess his undying love to her (mentally, to himself) when she was just the first elf he'd seen, the first inhumanly beautiful woman he'd ever beheld. Did that make him even more shallow for immediately taking to the first elf-maid who showed interest in him? Eragon banished those unworthy thoughts. Niduen was good for him without even considering her beauty. Though he would not deny it had probably factored into his desires.

He voiced a thought that had been troubling him for a while. "Do you still remember Angela's prophecy?" he asked.

Harry glowered at the stone pavers at his feet. "Which bit has you worried?"

Eragon sighed. "That I shall leave Alagaesia and never return."

Harry laid out flat on the bench, lacing his fingers together over his chest, holding his wand to his sternum like some ancient mummy.

"Despite taking Divination for three years, I'm no authority on the subject. But I'll tell you this much; the prophecy that set Voldemort and I against each other came true only because we both 'consented' to it. Voldemort saw his failure to kill me as an unacceptable weakness and relentlessly pursued my death. I hated him for killing my parents and being the root of basically all the suffering in my life, and so I was willing to kill him." He shrugged. "I helped kill five sevenths of him, and gave everyone I loved a very strong protection against him with my 'death.' So in a way, I chose the prophecy, too."

Eragon rubbed his chin. Stubble was growing around the jawline, too short to be seen yet. He hadn't magically shaved this morning. "So I need not choose to be bound by Angela's prediction?"

Harry shrugged. "There will probably be a cost to it, but it won't be some magically binding thing. It just means that Angela made an uncannily accurate prediction based on the most likely outcome. Probably because other options had consequences you wouldn't like to contemplate. I could have abandoned the fight against Voldemort long ago. I could have fled to some other country, changed my name, and lived out my life in hiding. But the price of that would have been knowing that Voldemort was destroying my home, doing evil, and I could have stopped it. What will happen if you stay in Alagaesia? Why would you even leave?"

Eragon rubbed his forehead. He wasn't sure, either. If the Eldunari from Vroengard had stayed Eldunari and stayed with him, that was a much more compelling reason to leave. He'd be too powerful, like Harry. He'd be able to alter the world on his whims, and no one would contest him for doing so. Harry at least got some pushback. Eragon was worried Nasuada would not exercise her cunning when he asked her for something, and grant it out of hand for his role in killing Galbatorix.

But that concern was moot. Almost every single Eldunari had opted to bathe in the Well of Rebirth. There were thousands of little dragons across Alagaesia now, heavy with the souls of old beings recently liberated from a century of torment.

Perhaps his influence as a figurehead remained the same. Eragon understood the power of a few ill-placed words. Elva still disliked him, despite his best attempts to mend their relationship.

But perhaps it was subtler than even that. Eragon was coming to realize that there was almost nothing left in Alagaesia for him. Where would he live? Certainly not Ilirea, where he could not show his face without drawing worshipful gazes and begging folk desperate for him to solve their problems. Nor could he go back to Carvahall. Eragon knew that in the depths of his bones. He would not be satisfied with living the simple life he had as a child.

Nor was he sure he'd be welcome. Eragon had not forgotten that indirectly, the villagers could lay Carvahall's destruction at his feet. Choosing to keep Saphira's egg started everything. Roran…he didn't even know what to say to Roran. His cousin was a different person to the one he knew, and he was not sure the change was for the better. No, Eragon could not go back. He would not put the villagers in that situation, unsure if they could refuse him, but being stuck with his presence nonetheless.

Maybe that was the point Harry was making. Angela could well have prophesied back then that he would become a Rider. Eragon might have laughed at her, but when the egg arrived in front of him, the choice to leave it was no choice at all.

"It's not like the East is some hideous wasteland," Harry offered. "Well, at least not once you get past the hideous wasteland."

Eragon kicked the decision ahead to his future self to deal with. "What are you planning to do?"

Harry yawned and stretched. "Stick around until Arya sends news, bother Nasuada as long as she'll let me, see how modernized I can get Ilirea to be without propping the whole city up on magic crutches, stuff like that."

"And then after?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Find Angela," Harry decided. "Set up a real city on the east coast, make some portal system or run maglev tracks all the way across to Alagaesia. Build a college for learning, both magic and science. Start a space program."

"Space program?" Eragon asked.

Harry stuck an arm out straight at the sky. "Haven't you ever wanted to walk on the moon?"

Eragon snorted. "You jest. Even with magic-"

"Oh no," Harry shook his head. "Magic hasn't done it yet. Not even back home that I know of. The first man to walk on the moon was Neil Armstrong. And he got there without a drop of magic. Just billions of dollars and tens of thousands of brilliant minds."

Eragon gaped at the sky. It seemed…impossible. Not just in the normal sense that the rules didn't allow it, but rather he struggled to actually fit the idea into his brain. Even if Oromis had taught him different, to him the night sky had never been anything but a light show facade over the inky black. The moon was not visible at the moment.

"How?" Eragon wondered. "Do you just fly and fly until you reach it?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not an expert – yet – but it's more and less complicated than that. The ground is a giant sphere, and the moon is another giant sphere orbiting it. Imagine a ball running on a circular track around another ball. To get to the moon, you have to go as fast as the moon is moving relative to the ground, which works out to be tens of thousands of miles an hour. So you have to fly so high there is no more air to leech speed from your craft via drag, then go even faster. You have to perfectly match your timing and speed to get into lunar orbit, and then you have to land, get out, take some pictures, do some bragging, and then do everything again in reverse."

Eragon whistled. "You have big dreams."

Harry grinned. "It's not a long term goal if it's too easy."

"And then after that?" Eragon asked.

Harry shrugged. "Go home, probably. There's so much about magic I'm just winging, hoping I'm right. I want to learn it all the right way this time. Pay attention in school, ask questions, get more involved in the community, stuff like that."

"You'll leave everyone?" Eragon asked. Maybe Angela's prophecy would come true for him, too.

Harry tilted his head. "I have a decent idea how to get back myself. I'm just not sure if I can bring people with, or how they would do it themselves. Worth trying to figure out, I suppose. I'd have to make sure it worked for dragons, too. If I have any hope of convincing Arya to come with."

Eragon nodded. He couldn't imagine leaving Saphira behind.

The both of them fell silent again. A family of three walked up to the Egg, their child's head tilted back in wonderment as rainbow light played through the crystal. The little one noticed Eragon and recognized his marked palm, her eyes going huge. Eragon winked and put a finger to his lips. Wide-eyed, she nodded solemnly.

Maybe his future wasn't so dull.

"I wanted your input, Harry." Nasuada took to the role of regent like a duck to water. Harry had been specific about not having things like crowns, thrones, honorifics, and other symbols meant to set her apart from the people. Being a PM or President was a job, and they were just normal people. Downing Street had no divine mandate.

By now, she had gotten the right feel. Dignified, powerful, but still a person like any other. She wore sharp gowns (despite Harry introducing her to suits) and held herself like a busy and important person, but not quite regal. Harry knew he couldn't have pulled it off half as well.

"Is this about the Judicial branch?"

Nasuada shook her head. She had given him almost free reign to renovate the citadel, with instructions to 'wring the Galbatorix out of it.' Harry had aimed for modern and airy, knocking out walls and adding windows and lights wherever possible. Some of the classical architecture, especially the remaining elvish influence, he left alone. So it ended up a mix of modern and classic. It was the only building like it in Alagaesia, which served even better at making it a marvel than ostentatious marble and gold that the dwarves would always beat, anyways.

"No, I wanted to ask you about your world's magicians."

Harry raised a brow. "Ask away. Can I ask why you're curious?"

Nasuada pinched her nose. "Please." She gestured to a seat in her office. "Galbatorix's first goal as a poignant one. The magician problem stares me down and I can think of no solution I can stomach."

Harry frowned. "There's a problem?"

Nasuada gave a helpless laugh. "Of course! Magic distributes its gifts randomly, and all who are granted its power are instantly elevated hopelessly above those without. Alagaesia is rife with stories of its abuse."

Harry had hardly ever heard those stories. "Really?"

She nodded. "You perhaps have not seen it as much; you keep yourself unbelievably busy and are seen as unapproachable. I know Eragon has seen it himself. But I hear it every day, ceaseless reports of bandits, murderers, cheaters, and swindlers who use magic as their tool to make others their victims." Nasuada thumbed through a stack of reports on her desk. She slid one to Harry.

It was a collection of reports from Belatona relaying the abuses of a group of loyalist magicians Carn had slain while in the midst of attempting to summon a Shade in some suicidal attempt to kill as many of Nasuada's supporters as possible.

"That was the worst I have seen yet, but this-" she thumped a phonebook-sized stack of paper down from a drawer. "-is the collection of petty offenses. They need to be reined in. The Riders used to do this, but we have hardly three. Murtagh is still who knows where, Arya is in Ellesmera, and I cannot expect Eragon to do this all on his own. Or even at all, if he wants to go back to learning from Oromis and fill in the gaps in his education he left by rushing."

She slouched in her chair. "Most people forgot what you did for the oath-bound Empire soldiers, Harry. But all the most dangerous people know. Would you be willing to use that word to help me police these people?"

"No," Harry said, almost immediately. He had once considered becoming an Auror out of Hogwarts, something that would let him keep having those adventures he had – for the most part – enjoyed solving. But now he knew that wandering around, waiting for people to break rules so he could catch them, it would be unbearably tedious. Better to just commit to it and actually have those adventures.

"Oh." Nasuada blinked. "Can you explain why?"

Harry nodded. "Sorry. But there's so much I'd rather do than spend my days laying down the law for miscreants or desperate people. Surely people stealing food has gone down since all the growth totems, fertilizer, and stuff, right?"

Nasuada nodded.

"Well, I'd rather keep doing that. I can do more good for Alagaesia by addressing the needs of the people with magic, then by smacking them down for trying to survive in a harsher world."

"That is a very mature perspective," Nasuada said. Harry sensed a but.

"But-?"

"-But it doesn't solve today's problems," she finished. "You told me that crime was usually wizards on wizards or muggles on muggles, because neither side had much the other wanted or knew about. And the elves have their rigid etiquette and enlightened peoples to thank for their civic order. It if was magicians on magicians, I wouldn't have to care so much. I can't stop every heated bar fight with fists and knives, but at least a man may train his body and with arms to have a chance. He is helpless in the face of magic. And the only way I can think to stop this, is to use that Word to bind people to obedience."

Harry's face shut down. He loathed the idea. "No."

Nasuada shrugged and spread her hands. "Do you have a better idea?"

Harry let out a gusty sigh. "When you force someone's compliance, you take away their potential to choose good. Then they aren't choosing anymore. They're slaves by another name. I can't articulate why it's important, but I know that it is. A perfect world where no one can choose wrong would be a nightmare. The Word is too inflexible for that. And it feels like you're taking the wrong philosophical approach to this."

"Oh?" Nasuada asked.

Harry nodded. "Cracking down on magic users specifically feels like dragging everyone down, instead of trying to put everyone else on the same level."

She blinked. "Like teaching everyone magic? I was given to understand most people simply couldn't."

"That was my world's stance, too," Harry agreed. "And I might not have given it much thought, except now we have proof that's not the case."

"What- oh," Nasuada realized, breathing out. "Riders."

"Exactly," Harry snapped his fingers. "The implication is that it isn't determined at birth. It can be changed. I have some theories, maybe it's a piece of draconic magic like the super powerful, mysterious kind dragons sometimes cast that more closely mirrors my own. The elves have always held that dragons have been deeply linked to the magic of Alagaesia, and that when they thrive, we all do. Remember that elves used to be fully mortal like humans before the pact. During the time before Galbatorix, in the golden age of the human and elven Riders, humans were on the cusp of a renaissance of sorts. It's safe to say the pact is not finished with us yet. No intervention may be necessary."

Nasuada went wide-eyed at the implication that she might end up immortal. Harry quirked his lips. "The idea takes a bit of adjusting to, doesn't it? Anyways. I also have another theory. Wands aren't common here. Magic is much tougher to break into for total novices. It's likely that only a small percentage of those capable have even discovered their talent. You might be able to learn it. You learned how to protect your mind, right?"

"Of course," Nasuada said.

Harry gave her a sly look. "Would you like to find out?"

She hesitated. Harry understood the temptation. Trying to legislate for magic was like trying to make laws forbidding certain colors while blind. It was tough to grasp what was possible and how difficult it was without doing it yourself.

Harry plucked his holly wand from soulspace and placed it on the desk. "Give it a wave."

Nasuada picked up the slim length of wood nervously, like it might bite her. She had seen what it could do in Harry's hands.

"Just-" Harry mimicked shaking it midair. "If you've got the talent. Even if it doesn't like you, it'll break something or spit a bit of fire." He watched her bemusedly. Nasuada wielded the wand like it was a live stick of dynamite. She directed it at a corner of the office and gave it a halfhearted wiggle.

It was very faint, but it was there. A tiny clump of dim sparks fell from the tip.

Harry beamed. "Yer a wizard, Nasuada. How does it feel?"

"Like a headache." She sighed and tried to sound irritated, but she was fighting a smile. "It all doesn't solve the problem at hand. I cannot wait decades or centuries for the Rider Pact to put the rest of us on an even field. Our problems are here today."

Harry rubbed his chin. "The problem is unequal access to magic. Would you be willing to meet me again in a few hours? I want to run down a hunch."

Nasuada waved. "By all means. You've already given me a lot to think about."

The wizard burst back into her office a couple hours later, not long before she intended to host another dinner and spend the time cowing Galbatorix's old cronies. He had a ear-to-ear smile on his face.

"They're all wizards," he announced.

"You're going to need to be a bit more specific." Nasuada would privately admit that she enjoyed having Harry around. He was tough to work with – the most direction she could apply was to point out a need and allow him to fulfill it as he saw fit – but he was enthusiastic, capable, and friendly.

Harry cackled. "I got a hundred random humans to wave a wand. Can you guess how many of them got a response?"

Surely not. "More than you expected?" She wagered.

"All of them," Harry repeated. "Every single human got something. I was thorough, too. I checked Surdans, Empire citizens, Varden folk, women, children, old people, a couple of Fadawar's men, every single one could make sparks." He paced back and forth in the doorway. Her guard inside gave Harry an odd look.

"I made this revolutionary discovery an hour ago, and I decided I needed more data, so I kept asking around. Urgals, for example, are all or nothing. Most of them can't get a single spark out, but their shamans get reactions as strong as any wizard. Elves all got strong reactions. Dwarves were the same as Urgals. What inferences would you make based on this?" Harry asked.

Nasuada cast her mind back to their discussion earlier. "The Rider Pact is working its magic on us."

Harry shook his hand in triumphant agreement. "This is new, too. You might remember I asked for people to help me make wands. Plenty of my helpers tested themselves, and it was the same story as the dwarves and Urgals. No magic."

Nasuada tipped her head in acknowledgement. "Then this is happening much faster than expected, correct?"

Harry frowned. "I want to say yes, but now I'm not certain. There's an elf I know in Ellesmera, Rhunon. She was alive to remember what elves were like before Du Fyrn Skulblaka, which implies that it took less than one elven lifespan for their immortality to catch on."

She considered what he was saying. "But we've been part of the pact for centuries. Why only now would we feel the effects so strongly?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe the elves were more deeply involved with dragons after their war and their deliberate choice allowed the magic to work on them quicker than humans, who were just appended after the fact?"

Nasuada accepted that. Harry had more to say, though. "I take it you have drawn conclusions from this discovery?"

Harry was practically bouncing on his feet now. "Yes! This means we don't need to make some evil program to leash all the magicians."

She sighed. Sometimes it was frustrating to deal with Harry when he just didn't get something. "The exact details of how the future will play out and what abilities everybody has are irrelevant," she explained. "What matters is that right now, we have a problem that needs solving. Humans are angry that they are being pushed around by magicians. That is the fact at hand. Now if you have other proposals for solutions, I really would love to hear them."

The wizard nodded. "I know. But that's the point. Unequal access to magic is the problem, but we now know that we don't have to go hunting for some pie in the sky fix. Everyone has the capability. What they need now is education. And that can be fixed." He paused dramatically. "With a school."

Nasuada felt like Harry expected her to have the same reaction as he did. Harry had explained the concept of a school well enough, it just had no meaning to her like it did to him. She'd never attended one. Ajihad taught her what she needed to learn personally. It was that or tutoring.

After that, Nasuada agreed that it sounded promising and gave him her blessing. Privately, she concluded that Harry was not the right fit for overseeing magicians. He was too softhearted. But she did have another candidate in mind. One who was a human, a dragonrider, and pragmatic enough to do the job well.

"I admit, I assumed you would build it here," Nasuada said.

Harry shook his head. "Someone as politically brilliant as you should know why it can't be here. At least not for a couple generations. If the school of magic is in Ilirea, it sends a message that you and your administration 'own' magic. That it's the government's privilege to approve or deny its learning and usage.

Nasuada blinked. "That was not far off from my intention."

Harry scowled. He was beginning to see that this difference of opinions was not going to go away, nor could it be ignored.

"Magic is a part of people. Everyone, apparently."

"-except the Urgals and dwarves."

"-except for them," Harry acknowledged. "It's an insanely useful tool that will come to be the lives and livelihoods of many as it becomes more widespread. Hogwarts was in an entirely different part of the UK than the Ministry. The only consideration magic should have in breaking the law is which laws it was used to break. As far as I know, there were only three spells that were legally off-limits. All the rest of them were legal, even ones that could only kill, unless you actually killed someone with them."

Nasuada rubbed her forehead. "Your vision is appealing, Harry, but it is a terrible idea. You are the only one who can claim to teach a school of magicians. Du Vrangr Gata may attempt to teach a school I sponsor, but they will know almost nothing of your brand of magic, which is arguably more powerful-" she held up a hand "-I know you disagree, but in direct confrontation, yours always trumps ours."

"Can you imagine the problems it will cause?" Nasuada asked. Harry did not think the problems were so insurmountable. Nasuada proved him wrong. "There is no international identity for the Empire, besides one people are eager to cast off. If you set up a school of magic on the east coast, people will flock there for the best education and begin to consider themselves part of your faction. It does not matter that you consider yourself part of mine, this is how it will be perceived. And if they return to Alagaesia and do not sign on to be part of my enforcement arm, Alagaesia will be flooded with magicians who will scoff at any laws I lay down, secure in the knowledge that none of Du Vrangr Gata are a threat to them."

It was with a sinking feeling that Harry realized she was largely correct. He could see it happening exactly as she described.

Nasuada went on sympathetically. "I understand your concerns. It seems as though now that I have become regent, I am eager to gather every bit of power to myself that I can. But try to remember that these robust systems for governance we lay down today will exist in some form in perpetuity. If people considered themselves Empire citizens and identified with that strongly enough to go learn from you and come back, still thinking themselves of the Empire, I would say yes, Harry. Are you amenable to a compromise?"

Harry nodded.

Nasuada drew out a map of the continent and glanced over the labeled cities and geography.

"I am not thrilled to suggest Surda. They already lead in natural philosophy. Nor the elves, who are the undisputed masters of magic in Alagaesia. The dwarves are too insular and remote, and their religion may cause problems." Nasuada mused aloud. "Perhaps a mountain or valley in the Spine?"

Harry considered it, but wasn't thrilled with the idea. The best valley for it was already claimed, and Roran, who already disliked him, would truly come to hate him if he put a school of magic next to his home. If he put it in the mountains, he'd be consigning himself to brutal winters and merely warm summers. Vroengard was likewise unsuitable, triply so for the lingering nuclear fallout and its distance from Alagaesia.

Where else had the Riders considered suitable? The answer came to mind immediately, a mountain oasis pockmarked with craters and glass crusts, where dragons had once thought suitable to keep their Eldunari.

"What about the Hadarac?" he proposed.

Nasuada stopped. She began to mull it over, nodding slowly.

Harry let himself imagine it, a desert paradise. He could use aguamenti to fill some sort of valley with water, seed it with grass and trees, and build out airy temple-like buildings with a sort of open campus concept. Mix in some modernity with solar panels on the crests of sand dunes, flying carpets would be perfectly on-theme.

He did not think he would move into Du Fell Nangoroth, not when living there would mean erasing much of what had happened. It was rather far, too. Almost to the center of the desert. Harry was not opposed to distance, but it would work against Nasuada's goals, especially if whatever city ended up popping up around the school grew large enough to consider itself part of the 'Hadarac nation' instead of an independent center of learning.

"The western edge?" Nasuada checked. Harry nodded. "An excellent solution," she praised. "In the very center of the continent, none of the other races can complain. The Urgals are the only ones who live further, yet they chose to settle on the fringes of the continent."

"I do love a good road," Harry grinned. Nasuada gave him a look of exasperation.

"Then the only consideration to make is how the dwarves and Urgals will react," Nasuada summed. Harry rubbed his chin.

"I have ideas for that, too."

When Harry heard that Orik had been chosen as Hrothgar's successor, he immediately headed out to the Beors to meet with him. It was the best possible outcome for what he had in mind. Hard enough to get Orik to agree to such a crazy idea, Harry knew he'd have had an even harder time convincing a stranger.

The difference in the dwarven territories was immediately apparent when he apparated to Celbedeil. The city of Tarnag, already populous when he last visited, was now overflowing with dwarves who wished to appreciate the newly-safe open air.

Orik was speaking with Gannel when Harry found him, in one of the halls of friezes.

"Harry?" he frowned. "What in Guntera's name are you doing here?"

"I heard you got elected king," Harry grinned.

Orik broke into a smile. "Aye. I did. Right now I am making good on all the promises I needed to make to do it." he gestured to Gannel, who was looking somewhat sour. "Mine coronation is in a month. I would prefer Eragon present for it, but I understand he is busier now than perhaps even I am."

"I'll ask him," Harry promised. "He's only as busy as the people pestering him make him."

"Regent Nasuada included?" Orik guessed, sharing a commiserating look.

"I can apparate him, but I suspect he'll want Saphira along, which means they'll have to fly."

Orik patted his belly. The dwarf was looking good, decked out in fine clothes and fit as well. "If size is the issue, it is a wonder you were able to apparate me after the battle."

Harry explained that it was more about magic, and dragons being both mysterious and extremely magical that made it nigh impossible to drag one through a tiny pinprick in reality.

"But you're looking good," he complimented after. "Slimming down for your coronation?"

Orik beamed. "Nay. Mine wedding. Hvedra has agreed to marry me. Being King doesn't hurt, either."

Harry walked with the dwarf for a while, until the chance to speak privately with him arose and he was able to cast muffliato to run his idea past him.

Orik listened silently and betrayed no thoughts either way until he was finished. Then he spent a long time thinking about it, while his guards looked on patiently.

"Damnit Harry, but if you don't ask difficult questions." Orik rubbed the hilt of his dagger with his fingernails.

"I may lead the shortest reign in history for this," the dwarf king muttered. "But you're right."

"Good luck convincing Gannel," Harry said humorlessly. Orik grunted.

"Don't remind me."

"It'll be a good thing," Harry persuaded. Orik waved him off.

"I know. Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

Harry glanced at the guards, then bent down and whispered something into Orik's ear. His eyes went wide.

"Truly?"

"Everyone I tested," Harry agreed. "And the change is not finished. We may all look forward to a brighter future."

Orik rocked back on his heels. "This sweetens the pot. You say everyone will be welcome there?"

"Anyone who can get a few sparks out," Harry agreed. "I'm interested in how it will look in the future. Once I'm not the only transfiguration expert, hopefully more diverse cultural inputs will keep things interesting. No one's ever seen dwarvish-urgal architecture before."

"Aye," Orik said sourly. "For good reason."

Harry sighed. "We can't keep living with divisions like this. Right now you live comfortably on the opposite side of the continent, an invasion fresh in your memories. If you make an effort to live peacefully alongside them, I think many of those differences will be overcome."

The Urgals were, oddly enough, easier to convince. He hardly had to speak with Garzhvog before the Kull was nodding along with his massive, horned head.

"Just like that?"

Garzhvog made a ruk ruk ruk noise in his chest, his lips pulled into a grin. "Did you think we would turn down the chance to change our race's fortune?" The ram turned back to gaze on his village. "Our people have had their fill of glory, but they will grow hungry again one day. This is a better solution. If the Empire is truly for everyone, not just humans, this works even better for us. Many of our shamans would give a horn for the chance to learn from the mighty wizard."

"Then it's settled?"

Garzhvog turned his head side to side. "Not yet, but soon. I speak only for the Bolveks. But none will say no. Not to this."

Oromis reclined in a poolchair, sunglasses perched on his nose. He looked out of place there on the east coast. Harry always saw him dignified, disciplined, holding himself to an utterly perfect standard. Now that Galbatorix was dead, Harry had finally seen the elf relax. Glaedr was curled up on the top step into the warm water, which came up to his wings on him. His golden scales cast dancing sunlight across the floor of the pool and the ripples on the surface.

"I have no objection," Oromis said. "This time of peace is best used to change. They will all be less receptive the longer we wait, the further from mind the memories grow."

Nor I, Glaedr rumbled. His mental voice had not changed with his physical rebirth. My sensibilities say dwarves are short and obstinate, and Urgals are brutish and simple, yet that is exactly why it must happen. For my instincts to be so wrong is troubling. Sometimes I think it would be better if some of us had passed on, to leave room for the young to usher in the new.

"I would rather everyone learned how to make healthy changes without requiring a continental war to adapt," Harry disagreed.

If wishes were horses, Glaedr said.

"It'll have to happen one day," Harry pointed out. "We'll live long enough to make it happen."

A crack sounded from out front. Harry was not expecting anyone. Arya was still in Ellesmera doing some secretive things. Harry reached out with his mind only so lightly as to confirm the visitor's identity. He smiled.

"I wonder if you two have met."

Angela came through the patio door, setting down a bag and taking in Oromis's presence.

"Osthato Chetowa," she murmured, surprised.

"Maian Myarin." Oromis was just as surprised to see her.

"You know each other?" Harry asked, delighted.

"It is impossible to live so many centuries and not know the Wanderer," Oromis said wryly. "Though how you knew that particular name of mine, I do not know."

Angela waved her hand. "I was in Ellesmera during the King's reign for a time."

"Queen Islanzadi extracted oaths from all who came to see us," Oromis said mildly.

Angela snickered. "She's a few millennia too young to catch me out. I am glad to see you aren't moping around in your hut anymore. What a waste of an elf and a dragon!"

"Now that Galbatorix is dead, will you find yourself sticking less to the shadows?" Oromis wondered, letting the comment slide.

Angela hummed. "I don't intend to ever set down roots, but I may linger longer knowing the Mad Rabbit isn't on my heels. What a pleasant pair of words. Linger longer. Speaking of, have you any grand plans, o' ancient rider?"

Oromis sipped his smoothe and set the glass back down. Harry still could not get used to the elf choosing to enjoy himself.

"It is no longer imperative that I carry the spirit of my order alone. I am willing to choose myself now over others for the first time since the Fall. With Glaedr's size to consider, I intend to take this time to rediscover who we are in this new age."

"Good for you, I say." Angela dropped into another chair. "And what about you, Harry?"

Harry groaned. "Nasuada has roped me into running a school of magic. I was thinking I'd teach one class from start to finish, then reevaluate. If I liked it, I'd stay. Otherwise, I could build a university here for higher learning, and put us onto a space program."

"Why bother with a separate university?" Angela asked.

Harry blinked. "I didn't think you were comfortable living at a school of magic."

"Basing your schedule around a butterfly is sure to drive you mad," Angela advised. "I'm touched, but I should not factor into how you educate the entire continent in magic."

He looked around at the villa he and Arya had built. "So what? Just leave this place here, like the world's most remote vacation home?"

Angela shrugged. "Why not?"

"Bit of a waste, isn't it?"

"Not on vacation," Angela pointed out. Harry's lips twitched.

And so it was that Angela and Oromis became good friends. Elva came to pester him next. Her phoenix Eppie had given her a feather, and she wanted a wand from it. Harry asked around and found that the best wandmaker yet was Fisk, a carpenter who had once lived in Carvahall and chose to stay behind in Ilirea for the time being.

Harry was oddly glad that someone was better than him at it. It felt like Alagaesia had begun to step into the wizarding world's shoes, and that was gratifying. Harry did not want to be the ultimate solution for all things magical. He didn't want to be pestered for everything, and he didn't think he was the best the world could offer. Hopefully people would continue to find their affinities and pursue them beyond Harry's skill as a very talented dabbler.

Nonetheless, now that his time at Ilirea was ending (or at least, he could see the end, and Nasuada was urging him to move towards it as quickly as possible) Harry felt the pressure to do all he could for the capital city before he was gone.

He found the blacksmith's guild in the city and worked with them to introduce the Bessemer process. Chemistry was a very tough sell for them, but they were willing to take his word for the larger implications and use a simplified version of the discipline to work with steel, carbon, and alloying. It took no more than a week for the first forges to produce 'modern steel.' It was of very low quality, but that was still leaps and bounds ahead of what small, handmade batches in bloomeries could produce.

The second revolution in steelmaking happened less than a week after that, when one of the Empire's magicians once sworn to Galbatorix put together a spell to extract oxygen from the air and feed the pure gas into the process. It kicked off a slew of discoveries when people understood the implication that magic could separate out mixtures and solutions with perfect efficiency, for not much more energy than lifting the resultant liquid out of the mix.

Nasuada was happy to begin using the massive glut of the highest quality steel the Empire had ever seen, but remained firm that Harry should depart as quickly as possible. Every day he lingered was another day where people complained about the magician problem. If he left and made it clear any practitioner of magic was free to follow, many of the troublemakers would stop causing problems for her and start bothering him.

Harry was willing to start right away, but there was one thing left to do before he could shift his focus away from the inhabited bits of Alagaesia.

"You're sure about this?" Eragon glanced down at the printed scroll in his hands.

Harry patted him on the back. "Even if I was a Rider and it was my place to do so, you defeated Galbatorix. It's your privilege to stand at the front of the new era."

"I only wish I was more experienced-"

Saphira spoke in both their minds. You have proven yourself a master spellcaster by anyone's metric save Harry's, and you are certainly better at it than he was with a mere two years of experience. Do not let your confidence waver. It is your right to do this.

"Hear hear," Harry agreed, smiling. "This isn't new magic, either. It's been done before. You'll do fine."

Eragon nodded. Just like that, worry fell from his shoulders and he became the peerless warrior who brought Galbatorix to his knees.

He walked out to the root of the Menoa tree. Ellesmera had never seen so many non-elves in its leafy halls. Tialdari Hall was packed to bursting with delegates come to witness a piece of magic that would alter the continent irrevocably.

The elf-maids Iduna and Neya stood at the middle of the circle. A hush fell over the crowd. And then the music began.

Slowly at first, their dance seemed to draw in the heartbeat of the forest itself, the air thumping along with the beating drums, the choir of voices, and the dancing forms of the two elves.

Eragon began reciting the long enchantment that marked the binding of two, and later three, races. Dwarves and Urgals were present in great number, watching in wonderment as the dance reached a fever pitch and the tattoo across the pair of elves' bodies pulled away from their skin and took wing. Around them, nearly every dragon alive had assembled to witness the modification being made to their ancient pact.

Eragon approached the final words, essentially a plea for the dragon spirit to approve.

The many-colored spirit glanced over the assembled dwarves and Urgals, its gaze evaluating.

It bobbed its head, then loosed a roar. Everyone present felt it, a surge of power rippling from the center of the circle and racing outwards, speeding to the fringes of the forest and racing across Alagaesia itself.

Testimonials from others afterwards said magicians as far as Surda and the Beors felt something pass through them then. A sense of power, and a change in fortune.

Then it was over.

Eragon had prepared many gems filled with power in anticipation, but he had needed nothing but the strength of his own body and the participation of all the assembled dragons.

He left the root feeling a dizzying sense of renewed power, like the dragons had given him yet another gift. Eragon turned his palm to his eyes to find that his Gedwey Ignasia was even brighter, nearly a blotch of mirror against his skin.

When the parties had begun and he was no longer required to attend, Eragon sought out Harry. He was looking rather wretched.

Eragon did not think he had ever seen the wizard truly drunk, and it was not a good look for the man. His eyes were rimmed red from crying, and his hair had gone from messy to ugly. He was propped against a tree trunk with a bottle held loosely in his hand.

"What has you so?" Eragon asked. Saphira saw through his eyes the unusual sight and paid attention.

Harry raised the bottle and took a drink. "Arya's the queen."

Oh.

That made sense. Sympathy welled in his heart for the wizard. "I see."

"Just a month ago I wouldn't have cared," Harry hiccupped. "I'd just live here until she got bored of it and abdicated."

"Why don't you?" Eragon wondered. He could not imagine Harry happy, pinned down in the forest and subject to all the etiquette the elves demanded. Then again, he had proven willing to simply ignore it when he pleased.

"Nasuada," Harry muttered. "I signed up to teach magic school in the Hadarac for at least seven years, but probably the foreseeable future."

Eragon was once again impressed with the Regent for her perspicacious way of solving problems unexpectedly, and before they were large enough to be visible to everyone. "That is unfortunate."

Harry laughed. It came out more like a sob. "Tell me about it. Moving on from Ginny never felt this bad. Then again, I only considered us together for a few months before Voldemort."

"The two of you are very close," Eragon agreed. "Are you sure you cannot make it work? You can apparate, even if she cannot come to you without leaving Firnen."

Harry took another gulp. "Yeah. 's what I'll do, if she's still okay with having a relationship. I knew elves considered lovers temporary, I guess I just never thought the end would come so quickly."

Did she say she desired an end to it? Saphira asked.

"No," Harry said. "But I can read between the lines. She's going to be busy, I'm going to be busy. Even if we can see each other, it'll probably just be for sex instead of-" he waved the bottle in his hand nebulously. "-you know, a relationship."

Eragon thought maybe he had some clue what Harry was feeling, but nothing as deep as that. He missed Niduen and still intended to see what manner of relationship they could pursue between their duties, but even if it turned out that they couldn't make it work, Eragon knew he would not hurt so much as Harry. He had not had anywhere near as long as the wizard to grow close to her, to open his heart to her and trust her with his most deepest and most vulnerable emotions, or to imagine a future with her.

"What's Islanzadi doing?" Eragon wondered. "If she's not the queen anymore…"

"Who knows," Harry said bitterly. "Off pitying herself for not being perfect when she thought her daughter was killed."

"Excuse me," a woman's voice said. Eragon startled. He had not noticed her approach. She was tall and stately, with voluminous black hair and eyes of dark indigo. She bowed and gave the traditional greeting. Eragon went through the motions. Harry did not bother.

"I could not help overhearing your conversation. My name is Dellanir."

"Like the queen before Evandar?" Eragon asked.

She nodded. "Just so."

Eragon had thought her dead. And that she deigned to introduce herself first meant she thought him of a higher standing. Then again, Eragon had not had to introduce himself to anyone first before they made the elvish greeting.

"King Evandar was an unusual case," Dellanir mused. "Most of us leave the knotted throne of our own accord. Rarely does life allow the level of devotion required for centuries on end. Issues accumulate that you cannot deal with while wearing a crown. Eventually enough of them stack up to make you unsuitable. For myself, the elf lords and ladies found me unsuitable. They did not like my banishing the Riders to Vroengard."

"Didn't like being bossed around on your own turf?" Harry asked humorlessly.

She sniffed. "I did not. There is no way for history to see my actions as anything but petty, but it had to happen. It is impossible to govern with a foreign state occupying your land, holding themselves above your authority, and ignoring your orders. I did not want the humans to join the Rider pact. Now you have added the dwarves and Urgals, too."

"Oh. Well, sorry I suppose," Eragon said awkwardly.

"It was hundreds of years ago," Dellanir dismissed. "And they never truly voted me out. I simply saw the writing on the wall. My son succeeded me while I chose to study magic more deeply than I was able to before." She cast her gaze down at Harry.

"I say this because the post demands everything from you. When Arya can no longer give that service to the elves, she will abdicate as I have, and now as her mother has." Dellanir scoffed and dragged Harry up by the wrist. "An interval of time seems the longest at its beginning. Go and fill your time, and you shall not notice the passing of years until they are over."

Harry disappeared after that. Eragon saw him with Arya afterwards, looking a bit happier. Elva was with him. Eragon had not seen her since before the Battle of the Burning Plains. She caught his gaze and returned it. Eragon looked away from those haunted violet eyes.

But the following morning, Harry was melancholy again. Elva was not with him. Eragon's heart went out to the wizard. Being separated from his lover was hard enough. But his adoptive daughter too? No man should have to bear that.

"I noticed something," Nasuada told Harry. "Am I to take it to mean it is done?"

Harry nodded. "Any race may become Riders. Even werecats, should they find eggs willing to hatch for them. They were not going to include them, but I argued otherwise. Even if none of them ever do, omitting them felt like a pointless snub that tarnished the purity of what we were trying to do."

Nasuada nodded. "Good. I had not given them consideration either, but you prove beneath that veneer of stubbornness, you have enough acumen to rule. Now, begone and set up this school of magic. Every day I hear more reports which I sit upon and do nothing. Before long, people will lose faith in my ability to solve this issue, and then my authority is words in the wind."

Harry humored her and began to do the thing as visibly as possible.

He made announcements, duplicated stacks of flyers and handed them off to interested volunteers to spread the word even further. He apparated to the different cities in the Empire and among the elves and dwarves. He visited Garzhvog's village and asked him to spread the word among the Urgals. He told Maud in Ellesmera, and Solembum on the east coast, spoke with the reborn dragons, and otherwise made it very obvious that he was teaching anyone willing to learn.

Harry left boxes of portkeys at every major city in Alagaesia, hired on criers to oversee them and read the fliers to the illiterate, and waited until a week from then, all the portkeys activated at once.

The hour before he departed, Eragon came to see him once more. He flew in on Saphira, saddled and laden with bags for a long trip.

"Where are you headed?" Harry asked, gesturing at the packs.

Vroengard, Saphira rumbled. Oromis and Gleadr's memories were restored.

Harry frowned. Memories… He palmed his face. "I cannot believe I forgot. The eggs."

"Aye. The eggs." Eragon looked distinctly displeased with him for not mentioning it. "What a thing to forget to mention."

Harry winced. "The implications were lost on me once I restored the Eldunari."

Eragon wasn't happy with that answer. "Unborn eggs do not deserve to be forgotten simply because they are no longer their race's only hope. They are precious in and of themselves."

Harry nodded. "I get it. I've just been busy."

He got the feeling Eragon still wasn't satisfied, but let the subject drop. "You're headed to the Hadarac."

"Yeah. You?"

Eragon finally cracked a smile. "Maybe you really are that absent-minded. Vroengard, Harry. I just told you."

Harry grumbled. "Yeah, but after that? Where do you intend to live?"

Eragon exchanged glances with Saphira. "We thought long on that very question. Where indeed? Vroengard? Poisoned, already inhabited. The Hadarac? You have already claimed it, and the hunting is not good enough to support hundreds of dragons. The Beors belong to the dwarves, and do not need dragons eating their livestock. Ellesmera has the strongest claim on dragons, and so they are the last place we may settle. The Empire is too close to humans, and too fresh in everyone's memories. It seems like Angela was right after all."

"That doesn't mean you can never return," Harry objected. But it was a weak argument. Harry was faced with the same prospect of unending business for the foreseeable future, and he did not have a dragon who could not follow him through apparition.

"You know that I can't."

Harry leaned against the base of the statue tiredly. "So what? Cross the western ocean, looking for Alalea or North America or whatever?"

Eragon cracked a smile. "I was thinking eastward, actually. If you have room."

"It's a lot further than you think," Harry warned. "Better to settle on the Endless Plains. You'll still be east of the Hadarac, but not so far that merely flying back is an adventure of its own."

"We'll keep that in mind," Eragon promised.

"Is this goodbye then?" Harry wondered.

"You can always visit," the Rider offered. Harry nodded. Privately, he did not think he would go often in person. He and Eragon were too similar and too different. At once Harry was the product of the twenty-first century, Eragon that of a subsistence farmer pre-renaissance. Yet they filled the same shoes. That of a hero.

"And you won't fly with us," Harry surmised.

"We have to retrieve the eggs first," Eragon confirmed.

Harry felt a rush of vertigo on flat ground, a feeling he was almost completely unfamiliar with. Quidditch banished the sensation quickly. It had been only two years and change, and yet the young farmer peasant he had met was a completely different person. It was hard to fit all the events that had changed him in mind at once. The last couple years were so busy it made the Triwizard Tournament, Umbridge's reign of terror, and even the Horcrux Hunt seem like spots of fun amongst boring school years.

"We are not the people we used to be," Harry realized.

"No," Eragon agreed. "We are not."

The park beneath the Egg memorial was suddenly crammed full of people of all races, already kitted for living on the road. Eragon departed soon after. Harry gave a speech, laid out the plan and his expectations, then began preparations to depart. He threw a little chewing gum box-sized bag into the air towards the open fields around Ilirea. The packet expanded over and over again midair, ballooning from its initial size into the gigantic, marquee-sized flying carpet. Not quite his largest, but enough to transport the six-hundred-odd expeditioners on board with plenty of room for their bags and space to not feel crowded.

The enormous carpet lifted off to the awed gazes of everyone in the city, as well as everyone atop the carpet. Harry directed them out eastwards.

They made good time beyond the city and crossed the plains as they turned to brushlands and then to sand, headed to the southwest mountain range. Still in the desert proper, but close enough to the fringes to make commuting and trade possible in the future. It was the best site that Harry could come up with. It was a bit farther from the elves than the rest, but made a good middle ground for Surdans, the Empire, the Dwarves, and the Urgals.

The warm wind in his hair and the incredible sights from the sky took his mind off the problems back on the ground. For the foreseeable future, he was headed towards another adventure.

AN: I lied. I intended for this to be the last chapter, but these things have a way of getting away from me. I like that this is a firm enough stopping point to work as the end, but I still have more to say that doesn't really fit within the concept of this chapter. If there is another chapter (no guarantees) then it will explore, in similar summary form to this chapter, how things go in the future. This one did a pretty good job of outlining the next few steps, I think, but I'm still interested in what Alagaesia looks like next year, the decade, next century, all the way up until Harry is ready to depart for home.

I think the expectation for a story is that once the Big Bad dies, it ends, because there's nothing left to say. I don't really like that approach, because often for me the most interesting stuff comes after. What will the cast do, now that they are freed from the plot? How does the world change, now that the evil shadow over it is gone?

So I do want to explore further, what Alagaesia looks like down the line. With centers for education spreading across the land, technology advancing full steam ahead thanks to Harry's relentless pushing and the knowledge he can get from the dead, and the first democracy (at least in theory) starting ten years from now, will Alagaesia start to look a lot like home, or will it take on a different, hybrid sort of form? I'd like to explore that, if my muse stays with me and all my other projects don't demand my attention.

So if there is another chapter, you'll see me then.

But if not, and this really is the end, then I want to thank you all for joining me on this journey, leaving encouraging or constructive comments, and generally enjoying my work. You guys are my motivation to go back into my Google Drive every time and iron out a new chapter or start a new story, and for that I thank you.

– androidrainbow