Chapter 55 - Unveiling the Past

The dark passage loomed before them, a gaping black absence in the middle of the beautiful sunny glade. Eragon took a step forward, his grip on Brisingr's pommel tightening. As his foot crossed the threshold of the door Eragon felt himself tense briefly, only for the sensation to pass as nothing seemed to occur.

He shared a perfunctory glance with Arya.

She gave him a subtle nod, her gaze moving back towards the tunnel. Behind him, Eragon could hear the dragons shifting lightly, their bodies tense against the slight breeze.

He cast his mind out into the depths slowly as he moved. Arya's mind briefly brushed against his own as she did the same, the momentary contact warming Eragon. Soft, hushed words fell from his lips, the weight of the ancient language familiar on his tongue.

Both his questing mind and the numerous spells found nothing noteworthy ahead. Together the two riders moved forward, Arya's soft steps matching his. Through his bond with Saphira, he could feel her having to duck her massive head as she stepped through the doorway. Thankfully the width of the passage was wide enough for her that Eragon could walk abreast next to her comfortably.

Behind her trailed Fírnen.

The moment the tip of Fírnen's tail crossed the threshold a grating sound echoed from the open doorway behind them, the large twin stones reversing their trek.

Eragon cursed. Neither he nor Arya were close enough to stop the massive doors as they closed, and the tunnel offered little room for Fírnen or Saphira to turn about. Without any resistance the stone sealed itself closed, plunging the group into perfect darkness. From within the depths of his mind, Glaedr howled briefly, the painful cry piercing.

"Naina hvitr," Arya intoned. A white light emerged over her shoulder, its bright glow pushing back the surrounding darkness. Without a word, they moved past the dragons and inspected the now smooth stone.

Are you alright, Glaedr-elda? Saphira asked, her tone worried.

Several moments passed before the golden dragon answered, his voice gaining strength with each word. The doors, Glaedr answered, his voice rumbling in Eragon's mind. The moment they shut I was cut off from my body.

"What?" Eragon blinked, standing from the door and gazing at Saphira. From beside him, he heard Arya do the same,

Is your… Fírnen began but was cut off by the elder dragon.

My body still lives, Glaedr quickly interceded. But the connection is… strained. Even my connection to Oromis feels thin, as though we were leagues apart. I can still feel myself. We are fortunate that I was resting when we entered. If this were to have happened when I was in flight, the results could have been disastrous for Murtagh and Oromis.

"How is such a thing possible?" Arya breathed. Her brows furrowed as her green eyes found Eragon's.

Eragon shook his head, his gaze shifting back towards the stone doors. "It should not be," he stated, "and yet it is. Perhaps the runes. " Pushing aside the thoughts rising in his mind, Eragon shook his head and turned his attention instead towards the stone. "There's no break in the stone and no obvious means of opening them again without brute force." Turning his eyes back down the tunnel, Eragon motioned with one hand while the other gripped Brisingr tightly. "We have but one choice, it seems."

Aye, Glaedr agreed. Do not worry about me, younglings. Whatever this magic, it feels… familiar.

"Then let us proceed," Arya stated. She altered her spell, the white light moving overhead, its illuminance spearing into the dark tunnel. Eragon agreed with her, and together the two of them moved past the dragons and down the length of the tunnel.

It took him some time to notice it, but the tunnel slanted slightly downward; it made sense, even to Eragon's limited knowledge of tunneling. The passageway wouldn't have been able to continue straight on the surface for very long, given its location. The walls of the tunnel were smooth where they met the floor, indicating to Eragon that magic had been used to carve this path.

The tunnel continued unbending, its walls unnervingly blank. Not even the dwarven tunnels were so conspicuously blank; often, the dwarves included coded runes depicting the tunnel's direction and heading, allowing weary travelers the ability to navigate even unfamiliar areas. Eragon himself knew a few basic ones.

Here, there was nothing.

They continued onward, the two riders locked in step. Eventually, Eragon's paranoia faded slightly, though his grip never loosened on his sword. Arya remained likewise alert beside him. He was glad, as he always was since they'd met, to have her by his side.

Saphira snorted deep within his mind, her amusement evident.

Down they went, the darkness of the tunnel receding as the thin edges of Arya's light bobbed alongside them. Their trek went on long enough that Eragon estimated them to have passed under the foothills behind the Rock of Kuthian. The only noise was the echoing steps of the dragons behind them, the sound bouncing off the smooth walls and disappearing into the endless black.

Steadily the temperature began to rise, and with it a soft glow; orange light faintly illuminated ahead, and if it weren't for his enhanced vision he would have been hard-pressed to see it. Arya made a soft trilling noise in her throat, so low that only their group would have been able to hear it.

Eragon nodded his head softly.

By unspoken agreement Arya cut the flow of energy to her light, plunging them once more into darkness. The glow was at first soft enough that it barely lit the tunnel ahead of them, growing steadily brighter the further they went. The heat grew alongside it until it was nearly sweltering; too much so for this depth level, Eragon hazard to guess.

The faint smell of brimstone assaulted his senses next, causing Eragon to blink away the tears that began to form.

It was hard to make out at first, but soon enough Eragon could begin to see a rough archway beginning to take shape in the distance. The arch was as black as the darkness behind them, sculpted glyphs that stirred long distant memories. They were too tightly packed to make out individually, but something about them made Eragon slow as they approached.

Arya glanced at him questioningly.

Eragon shook his head slowly. It was not long before they reached the archway, a flat, gray floor extending out beyond it. Carefully Eragon crossed the boundary between the arch, Arya close beside him.

Together they took in the strange sight before them. They stood on one side of a large circular chamber with a pit in the center. The illuminating orange glow that emanated from the pit's depths was the source of the light, as well as the heat, judging by the heat distortions in the air. Around the edge of the room were two concentric tiered rings, numerous dark objects resting spread out on them. Something about them poked at the edges of Eragon's mind, but his attention was quickly stolen away by the metal man with the head of a dragon.

In the open area in front of the pit stood a humanoid shape, glowing softly in the orange light. Muscles made entirely of metal gleamed, the detail of the metal seemingly rippling. He wore no clothes other than a segmented loincloth fashioned of the same material as his body. In his left hand was a metal shield. Briefly, Eragon noticed on the far side of the room a throne, one which bore the outline of the metal creature before him.

In his right hand was an iridescent sword that Eragon knew intimately, and one that made him immediately recognize the construct before him.

What in Vrael's name was this construct doing here?

"Barzûl," Eragon whispered, his heart racing in his chest. Arya reacted immediately, her sword barely out of its sheath before Eragon's hands clamped over her own, stilling her movement. She gave him a concerned, frustrated look, but Eragon's attention returned to the dragon-headed metal man. Behind him, Eragon could sense Saphira and Fírnen moving steadily on either side of him and Arya, attempting to flank the strange creature despite the limited room.

The metal man strode forward, his movements fluid despite his heavy steps. Eragon pulled at Arya's hand and removed it from her blade. At the same time he released Brisingr the creature opened its mouth. Before the terrifying metallic screech could leave the creature Eragon shouted, his voice giving the creature pause.

"Cuaroc!" Eragon yelled, twisting his hand over his chest in the elven greeting. He could sense Arya's surprise, though she was wise enough to remain silent during his greeting. "We mean you no harm, old friend."

The metal creature stopped its movements, its mouth closing with a sharp clack. It tilted its head at him curiously, the crimson glow of its eyes brightening in intensity. Then, from nowhere and everywhere, a vast and powerful presence slammed into his mind.

For a brief moment, one that gave even the powerful mind pause, Eragon was able to withstand the relentless attack. That moment, however, passed quickly, for the mind sharpened itself and stabbed through his defenses, seizing control of his thoughts. Some part of Eragon retreated at the assault, but even that part of himself too was constricted in its tight grip.

A cacophony of minds poured into his own, the experience immediately reminding him of the time after the battle in Farthen Dûr. That thought too was washed away in the tide of minds as they swept through him. Every thought he ever had was laid bare before the swarm; memories both recent and long forgotten swelled to the surface of his mind, the numerous presences examining each one of them intently.

At the same time, it bent his body towards its will, moving his limbs in strange poses before raising Brisingr to eye level. The various minds examined the edge of the blade carefully, and from the corner of his eye, Eragon could see Arya mirroring his movements. A brief flash of worry surfaced in Eragon's mind at the dull look in Arya's eyes, before even that emotion too was washed away.

Every facet of Eragon's mind, body, and soul were laid bare for the multitude; his life, from the very first moment he could remember - standing beside his mother at the table, watching as she prepared him a meal of- to the moment that Arya confessed her feelings - Eragon's heart skipped in his chest, a giddy anticipation building inside. He did not say anything when she paused, and he knew then that he would wait forever for her so long as she continued to look at him with that warm expression. "I love you,- all of his thoughts, all of his memories, gone, taken away from him with an ease that would have worried him.

If he could feel anything at all, that is.

Distantly, his bond with Saphira pulsed, her mind as consumed by the swarm as his own.

Only after what felt like an entire century had passed did the chorus of minds slowly stitch his mind back together. When the last fragment of his mind was carefully slotted into place Eragon regained his faculties, his body heavy. He dropped to one knee, his hand reaching out, grasping for Arya beside him. He felt her hand grasp his own tightly, and Eragon glanced over to her, glad to see that she had been likewise released.

Saphira let loose a loud rumble, her fury mounting as her jaws snapped in the air.

Immediately the memories of his previous encounter with such a cacophony of minds reasserted itself, lost as it was before in the swarm. Is this the same presence? Eragon wondered to himself, his mind still reeling in pain. Arya met his gaze, and at once Eragon felt a sense of relief flow through him at the bright gleam in her eyes. Together they stood, pulling each other to their feet, their hands still intertwined.

Whatever this was, this swarm of consciousness, it was far too powerful. Only Galbatorix and his horde of Eldunarí could match the strength laid plain before him. A mind pressed against him once more, and Eragon was quick to throw up a barrier, a dangerous spell ready to fall from his lips.

Peace, Skörungr, a familiar voice pleaded, peace, Saphira Brightscales. Our apologies, Fírnen. Our apologies, Arya, but we had to be certain of your intentions. Welcome to the Vault of Souls. Long have we awaited for one such as you. The mind, so achingly familiar to Eragon that tears began to form unbidden, turned its attention towards Glaedr, Welcome to you as well, cousin. We are glad that you are still alive. Take now your memories, and know that your task is at long last complete!

A bot of energy flashed between Glaedr and the consciousness, and an instant later Glaedr loosed a mental bellow that made Eragon's already throbbing temple scream in agony. When a jumble of emotion swelled within the elder dragon Eragon was quick to cut the dragon's mind off from his own.

Eragon, Saphira whispered into his mind, a strange feeling rising in the center of her chest and radiating out through their bond. Look at the wall. Look…

He turned, and as he did he heard Arya let out a small gasp. Fírnen behind her became like stone, his gaze locked onto whatever it was that caught his rider's attention.

On the circular wall resided dozens upon dozens of alcoves, each containing a familiar glittering orb. Some were large, some were small, but they all pulsed with a soft inner glow. Eragon unconsciously squeezed Arya's hand, the word falling from his lips.

"Eldunarí."

Arya shook her head, and he realized that her gaze was not upon the Eldunarí, but lower.

The dark objects on the tier below were smooth and ovoid, appearing to have been sculpted from different colored stones.

The mere sight of them caused Eragon's heart to skip a beat.

Some, like the Eldunarí above, were large, and many more were small. He had seen a sight like this only once before in his life. Centuries ago, in a different time, in a different place.

"It cannot be," Arya whispered, her voice so soft that Eragon barely heard it above the rushing sound that flooded his ears.

Saphira keened, her emotions stronger than his own, her sorrow and joy filling Eragon to the brim.

It is as you see, younglings, the mind whispered, Your eyes do not deceive you. Here be our heart of hearts, the last free Eldunarí in the land. Here lie the eggs that we have guarded for over a century.

Arya collapsed to her knees beside him, her grip dragging him down with her.

Eragon did not think little of her, for he would have likewise fallen had she not already done so first.

Saphira shivered behind him, the scales along her spine prickling as they lifted their tips from her hide. Fírnen seemed unable to move beside Arya, his head hanging low as though he were exhausted.

This cannot be, Eragon whispered to himself.

"Eggs," Arya whispered, "Fírnen, eggs."

Forgive us, The mind whispered, so achingly familiar. Though it is good to see you both again, after your centuries away.

Eragon blinked, turning his head about as though searching for the mind. No… It can't be.

Saphira was too enraptured by the numerous glittering eggs to recognize the voice, but Eragon began searching each alcove one by one, examining each closely before moving on. When his eyes fell upon a familiar white-colored Eldunarí Eragon froze, the tears that had been building since he first laid on the eggs finally fell free.

Arya met his tearful gaze, her own eyes brimming.

They speak the truth, Eragon, Glaedr stated.

To Arya and Fírnen the mind said, My name is Umaroth. My Rider was the elf Vrael, leader of our Order before Eragon took his place and before our doom. I speak for the others but I do not command them, for while many of us were bonded with Riders, more were not, and our wild brethren acknowledge no authority but their own. Umaroth's voice filled with exasperation, something so achingly familiar that the nostalgic feeling in his core threatened to erupt. It would be too confusing for all of us to speak at once, so my voice will stand for the rest.

Eragon shambled forward, his limbs protesting their movement. Slowly, and without realizing that he was dragging Arya along with him, Eragon made his way over to the white Eldunarí. As he stopped before the white Eldunarí it was all Eragon could do to reach out a shaking hand. He barely had to wait for Umaroth's approval, the dragon subtly indicating his approval the moment Eragon paused.

The second his fingers grazed the glass-like surface of the Eldunarí, the full weight of Umaroth's presence slammed into Eragon. The ancient dragon hummed a joyous tune, and Eragon could only bask in the kindred feeling steadily rising inside of him.

It was him.

Umaroth, Vrael's dragon. Umaroth, the proud, kind, majestic leader that had comforted Eragon centuries ago after his ordeal in Belatona. Saphira and Eragon had looked up to the proud dragon as an example to emulate when they first started their journey as dragon and rider together, and meeting their hero had only cemented the dragon in their minds.

Through his bond with Saphira, he could feel her shock, as well as the endless joy she held at bay. Like him, she could scarcely believe even what her mind and body told her to be true.

Arya turned to Eragon, the soft tears that fell on her face somehow making her even more beautiful to him. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a fierce growl beside her.

Firnen snarled, his lip quivering in his rage. The young green dragon had finally raised his head, his eyes level with Umaroth's heart-of-hearts. How?! Firnen roared, How could you have escaped Galbatorix? Why have you remained hidden like prey, when you could have taken the fight to the oath-breaker?

Not so loud, Umaroth chided. We do not wish to disturb the younglings in their rest.

Then tell us, old one, Fírnen rumbled, and tell us how this came to be.

Umaroth's tone took on a somber tone, You know as well as I that we dragons are no cowards. Why, then, did we secure ourselves away, far from that fateful last day? Do we not, as dragons, lie in wait to catch our prey by surprise? Had we joined the battle for Doru Araeba, we would only have been destroyed. Galbatorix's victory would have been as absolute as he believes he currently is, and our kind would have passed forever from the face of the earth.

"When?" Arya asked her hand that gripped his tightening further. Her green eyes shined even as the tears ceased. "When did you decide to hide yourselves away?"

Once the true extent of Galbatorix's power and ambition became evident, Glaedr answered. Once we realized that he and the traitors with him intended to attack Vroengard, Umaroth, Vrael, Oromis, and I, as well as a few others, decided that it would be best to hide the eggs of our race, as well as a number of the Eldunarí. It was easy to convince the wild dragons; Galbatorix had been hunting them, and they had no defense against his magic. They came here, and they gave charge of their unhatched offspring to Vrael, and those who could lay eggs when otherwise they would have waited, for we knew that the survival of our race was threatened.

Our precautions, then, were well thought of, Umaroth finished.

Eragon's mind raced; the last century of history in Alagaësia, which he only just learned nearly a year ago, was torn asunder. "The complexity of the magic it must have taken to hide yourselves," Eragon shook away the thought. "I assume, then, that Glaedr and Oromis were made to forget?"

A necessary step, Umaroth stated. Those who knew of this place agreed to have their memories removed. We said farewell to our friends and comrades knowing full well that we might never see them again.

Eragon blinked, a sudden realization bubbling to the surface of his mind. "You removed the name of the Rock of Kuthian from everyone's memories like you did with The Forsworn."

Aye. It was not an easy decision to make.

"Then what happened to me under-"

An unfortunate incident, for we did not foresee your return, Umaroth interrupted, How could we have known? Vrael hoped that you escaped Galbatorix's clutches, far away as you and Saphira were, but we never knew your fate. A scant few decades after you left we lost track of you both, your minds hidden from us in a way that we have never seen before. Eragon got the impression the dragon would have given him a cursory sniff if he still had a body. Indeed, we only knew how it was possible the day you cast the spell high above Urû'baen. In the past, Vrael would catch glimpses of your minds, but once Galbatorix began to rise to power our attention turned elsewhere.

Umaroth's voice trailed off for a moment before the ancient dragon resumed his explanation. If only Vrael could see the exemplary Rider and dragon that the two of you have become, shining as a reminder of what the Order truly stood for in the hearts of mortals.

Saphira crooned low in her throat, swinging her head around and touching the tip of her nostril to one of the many facets of the large Eldunarí. Umaroth-elda, Saphira whispered, my sympathies for your rider. He was a fierce hunter, and he was a true friend.

Your words warm my heart, Umaroth murmured. Thank you, Saphira. You have protected your Rider well, and have grown mighty in the centuries since.

Saphira hummed, her rumbling echoing loudly in the circular chamber.

There are many here among us who wish to speak with you both, Saphira and Eragon, Umarotm informed. Many of them are old friends who are heartened to be reunited, but I have convinced them to hold back their enthusiasm until our conversation has concluded, lest they overwhelm you once more.

"We look forward to speaking with them," Eragon vowed. Saphira gave her affirmation that she would speak with them as well, and Eragon noticed an almost pleasing tilt to the constant hum of minds that surrounded them.

"How did Galbatorix not notice that you and the eggs were missing?" Arya asked, her free hand trailing lightly over Fírnen's tense form. The green dragon seemed to calm slightly under her ministrations, though Eragon could still sense some agitation in the way Fírnen's claws flexed against the gray stone floor.

He thought we were killed in the battle, Umaroth answered. We are but a small portion of the Eldunarí that once resided on Vroengard. Those who were chosen to be placed within this vault were either too old and too valuable to risk in the fight, or too young and too inexperienced to be of use. That is why I elected to join them. There are many here who are old and wise, but their minds are prone to wandering strange paths. They, much like the unfortunate younglings, in that it is hard to convince them to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments at a time. As for the eggs, no doubt he was enraged by their loss, but he would have had no reason to believe trickery was involved.

Thurviel's sacrifice helped to conceal our fate as well, Glaedr added, his deep voice somber. Many died when Thurviel immolated himself, including many of our own. Thurviel knew not the true reason why we asked this of him, but he agreed nonetheless. His death destroyed the buildings where we normally kept the eggs, and he also rendered the island poisonous to ensure that Galbatorix would not choose to settle here.

Thurviel's dragon had been slain by one of the Forsworn naught a month before, Umaroth continued. Though he refrained from passing into the void, Thurviel no longer wished to live and was glad of the task; by the gift of his life, he secured a future for both our race and the Riders. He was a great and courageous hero, and his name shall someday be sung in every corner of Alagaësia.

The very thought of losing Saphira made Eragon shiver. Would he have done the same as Thurviel and sacrificed himself to give the dragons a chance, slim as though it was?

Yes, Eragon knew, deep in his heart. He would have.

Before the Battle of Doru Araeba, more than a century ago, all of the Eldunarí were placed in a trance so deep as to be akin to death, Glaedr explained. We planned to rouse them after the fighting was over, but those who built this place also cast a spell that would wake them once several moons had passed. As I assume it did.

And after the battle, you waited, Fírnen stated.

And then we waited, Umaroth agreed. But we had not been idle; When we first woke from our trance we began to cast our minds out, slowly at first, but as we realized that Galbatorix and his Forsworn had left the island we gained confidence that we remained undiscovered. Since then, we have pooled our strength, and we have been able to discern many of the events that have transpired in the years since. Through the minds of those who made no effort to defend themselves, we were able to gather our information.

But as the decades crawled past we began to despair that anyone would be able to defeat Galbatorix. Eventually, we, collectively, agreed that waiting too long to act would endanger the younglings in their eggs. Thus we began to exert our strength where we could, subtle at first. A whisper of danger here, a nudge of attention there, wherever we felt we could help those who would still resist Galbatorix. To Eragon, Umaroth stated, It was through your father, thrice, that we were able to arrange the death of one of the Forsworn.

Eragon smiled, "He will be honored to hear that he was of use to you, Umaroth-elda."

And I look forward to speaking with him again, Umaroth stated, before continuing his tale. Even with Brom's unwitting help, we struggled to affect the changes we desired. Galbatorix only had one egg, and events never proceeded as we had hoped to allow us to steal you away, Fírnen. Twenty years ago we had a plan to do such a thing, but it ultimately fell apart in our claws. Indeed, it was most fortuitous that the thief Helfring was still around; he took some convincing, but we helped Brom sway him to our cause. We were overzealous, however, and he eventually noticed us and became frightened. He was the reason he fled that day. Were it not for our actions then perhaps you would have never needed to come to blows with your half-brother, Eragon.

"Murtagh and I have always been at odds with one another," Eragon pointed out, softly shaking his head. "Though perhaps his recent stay in Ellesméra will have changed that."

Glaedr snorted, Your half-brother is still as stubborn as a mule, but he has made great strides. Enough so that he could cast off the shackles of the Oath-breaker.

Umaroth agreed, and Eragon could sense the other Eldunarí growing more interested as they mentioned his brother. Yes, Murtagh's struggles have been known to us. We have watched for over a century as Galbatorix toyed with him and Thorn, torturing them in spirit and mind as much as the flesh. We had once nearly given up on Murtagh, convinced he had fully given himself over to the mad king, but we witnessed his kindness to that young child, Giselle. We knew then, that even after everything he had suffered, that part of Murtagh could still be saved.

Giselle? Eragon questioned himself. He had never heard the name, and Saphira's thoughts told him she had not. He made to question Umaroth on this child when Glaedr subtly nudged his mind away from the matter.

"If you did not know of Eragon's return, and Fírnen's egg failed to be retrieved twenty years ago, what, then, was your plan?" Arya asked, her gaze flickering between Eragon and Umaroth's Eldunarí.

We did not have one, Umaroth answered, not after the failure to secure the last egg. Those twenty years we waited were long, and we began to believe that we might have needed to take more drastic steps Then came the day that we first sensed your presence in this land once more; at first, we could scarcely believe what we beheld, though endless whispers of the land made us acknowledge the truth.

One of our kind had returned, Umaroth continued, warmth coloring the dragon's tone. Free of Galbatorix's control, and unbound by injuries of the past. Carrying with her a Rider, strong and just, considered to be among the best of our ranks. The very one my Rider, centuries ago, began to groom to be his replacement."

Eragon blinked, shock rolling through him. "What?" he murmured, his fingers gripping Arya's tighter.

You did not know? Umaroth stated with a curious tilt to his mental voice. Did you think all those missions Vrael sent you on were for his benefit alone? Oromis and Glaedr long held you high in their confidence, and when you underwent your transformation none could deny you your strength. You were to be the first human Leader of our Order.

His strength? Fírnen snorted. A plume of smoke left the dragon's nostrils. Eragon is the finest warrior there is. There has yet to be an opponent he has not been able to best. Who would dare deny him his place?

"You did not know me before my transformation," Eragon uttered. "I was well trained, but I did not have the speed and strength of an elf. To grant me the position of Head of the Order would have been an insult to the core principles of what it means to be a Dragon Rider."

Arya's face tightened at his words, clearly displeased at the thought.

She would have thought the same not too long ago, Saphira privately disclosed to him.

Eragon offered Arya a small smile. Saphira, he chided, that was rude!

Some prejudices are deeply ingrained, even among the 'perfect' elves, despite their claims to the contrary.

Eragon did not reply. He could not refute her words, not entirely.

An insult to some, maybe, Umaroth replied to Eragon's statement, the conversation between Saphira and Eragon having occurred as fast as the speed of thought. Even before your transformation you were a natural-born swordsman and were quickly becoming a paragon of wisdom even among your fellow riders. Vrael himself saw what you would offer the order. Long had he sought for the Order to see past those who underestimated humans. Anurin, the leader of our Order during the time of King Palancar, was among the first to perceive both the value and the potential threat that was posed by humankind. It was only natural, Vrael believed, that a human would one day become our leader. You were to be the proof that a human could achieve such heights.

But, to answer your original question, Arya, no we did not have a plan. Not one that was fully formed, at least. We did seed some possibilities into the land, such as our agreement with the werecats. They, who have long been friends of the dragons, agreed to help us, even at the cost of their memory. To them, we imparted the knowledge of the Rock of Kuthian and the brightsteel beneath the roots of the Menoa Tree.

The young dragon's ire must have cooled, for Fírnen's voice was calm as he asked, Why not bring us here sooner, once you knew of Saphira's and Eragon's survival?

Because of you, Umaroth answered, directing his question to Fírnen. Initially, we debated whether to contact Saphira and Eragon once they emerged from the forest, but when you bonded with Arya, we knew we had to wait. Much of our attention turned to watching over you, even as it became difficult to sense you all once you entered the forest of the elves. You were too young to travel to this place, and not even magic could fully protect you from the taint of this place. And after the Battle of the Burning Plains, what good would it have done, with the Varden still so far from Urû'baen?

"What else have you done for us?" Eragon asked, his free hand rising to run through his hair. How much of what he had accomplished since his return had been truly his?

Besides altering the spell to keep you unaffected, we had no reason to interfere. Umaroth answered. No, you have proven to be quite capable. The fate of our race could not be in better hands. And you as well, Arya. Fírnen's decision in you as a rider was fortuitous. We have long watched your efforts in the Varden these past seventy years and are everything we have hoped for in a new Rider. And you, Fírnen, have proven yourself mighty and will be counted as among the greatest of our race.

Arya released the grip on his hand and twisted it over her chest in the gesture of fealty as she bowed. As one, she and Firnen in union proclaimed, " Thank you, Ebrithil, you honor us with your words."

Eragon sank to one knee beside her, even as Saphira dipped her head. What would you have of us, Umaroth-elda?

Of you? Umaroth recoiled, as though shocked by their statement. We are among those from the past, blind to how our hubris would lead to our downfall. Galbatorix is many things, but not one of us here, no matter how much we wish it, can deny that he was not our responsibility. We grew too lax in our power, too unconcerned with the affairs of those we thought incapable. No, you are the Leader of our Order, Eragon. You will be the ones to lead us into the future.

Stand, Eragon Shadeslayer, stand Saphira Brightscales. Glaedr intoned. And tell us your plan.

There is not one dragon among us, even those born of the wild, who will not heed your call. Umaroth added. A steady pulse of agreement flowed from the buzzing minds surrounding him.

His throat closed up as he stood, his hands falling to his side. Beside him Arya slowly rose as well, her eyes soft as they gazed upon him. Overwhelmed, and at a loss for words, Eragon cleared his throat and asked the first question that came to his mind. "How many of them are you?"

Among us are one hundred and thirty-six, but even that number will not be enough to defeat Galbatorix's horde of Eldunarí. Do not be disheartened. Even with our disadvantage, Galbatorix will not be able to force you to your knees the moment he sees you. We will hold off his Eldunarí long enough for you to do what you must. And have hope; we know many things, many secrets, about war and magic and the workings of the world. We will teach you what we can, and it may be that some piece of our knowledge will allow you to slay the king.

Eragon nodded, forgetting for a moment that the Eldunarí would be unable to see him as his mind raced. This was, Eragon had to admit to himself, well beyond anything he could have imagined. For the first time since he had learned of the fate of the dragons a knot slowly began to dissolve in his chest.

Perhaps now he could finally help Thorn.

Another memory surfaced in his mind, of the day he had attempted to help Thorn. A strange barrier had been placed in Thorn's mind, and merely the act of piercing it had caused the dragon agony. Curious at the dragons' knowledge, a question started to form in his mind."You've stated that you know the recent events and that you've been observing the land. Did you know what happened to Thorn?"

Aye, Umaroth growled. Around them, the air stifled as the mind of the Eldunarya began to writhe in fury. We witnessed what those vile creatures did to him. Death was far too sweet of an end to those who would defile a dragon.

"Keres still lives," Eragon stated. "He awaits judgment from a tribunal." Eragon blinked, the sudden thought that they suddenly were able to hold a tribunal making him pause. "Which I realize we can now hold."

Yes, Umaroth hissed, the cacophony of minds emulating his fury. We will judge him before all the members of our race, and we rip apart his mind piece by agonizing piece until all of us are satisfied with our inquisition. Then, Saphira, Fírnen, and cousin Glaedr, will he feel the heat of a dragon's flames.

Eragon shivered as the mental image combined with the raw fury emanated from the Eldunarí. Arya, too, appeared unsettled beside him, her usually stoic expression paling slightly. Even without their bodies, the dragons were fearsome. It had been centuries since he had been around so many dragons that he had forgotten how unsettling it could be.

Suppressing the cold feeling creeping down his spine, Eragon pushed on, "I promised Murtagh that I would help Thorn in any way that I could."

Yes, we are privy to the conversation you held with Nasuada, Umaroth answered. Your assessment of the situation is correct; to leave an unknown variable such as Thorn alone during the upcoming battle may be unwise. From what we have gathered, you wish to save Thorn? We must warn you that such a thing has never been attempted before, and you may not succeed in keeping your promise.

Eragon nodded. "Aye, I'm aware of the odds." Taking a breath, Eragon continued, "What do you know of Tenga?"

What followed was a long and twisting, spiraling conversation. The Eldunarí knew of Tenga from Eragon's memories, and had sensed the strange man's movements throughout Alagaësia, but had mostly left him alone.

Eccentric to a fault, Tenga had slipped beneath even the dragons' purview.

They were surprised to learn of the contents of the spell Tenga devised, as well as the various other knowledge Eragon had collected from him each time he met the sorcerer. Surprisingly, many of the older Eldunarí were particularly interested in both the time-altering spell Eragon learned, as well as the gravity-altering spell. Their ancient minds, vast as any sea Eragon had ever beheld, quickly consumed both the wording of the spell and Eragon's memories of them before descending once more into their dream-like reality.

There they remained, unaffected by the world around them.

Once Eragon had recounted all he knew, of both Thorn and Tenga alike, the Eldunarya withdrew together, their minds hidden even from Saphira.

Some time had passed, long enough for Eragon to grow restless and begin to wander. First, he made his way over to the various eggs and inspected them, under the careful watch of Cuaroc. He removed the glove on his right hand and placed his palm against the surface of a dark yellow egg, his Gedwëy ignasia tingling sharply. The egg was roughly the same size as Saphira's had been long ago, which caused her to snort when he told her so. i

He noticed, however, that Saphira was carefully inspecting each blue egg closely. It took Eragon a moment to realize what her intentions were, though the growing chasm of sadness inside her eventually clued him in.

I have not seen it, Eragon stated.

Saphira sniffed the air, her tongue darting out briefly, nor have I.

Glaedr briefly peeled himself away from the throng of Eldunarya, his voice soft. I'm sorry, Saphira. The others have no memory of your egg having been placed here, nor do we know its fate.

Saphira keened low in her throat, a great sadness the likes of which Eragon had never experienced before washing over her. After a moment she closed off their bond, her desire to be left alone clear. Even Fírnen gave her space, the young dragon moving away to prod at a larger green Eldunarí with the tip of his snout.

Eragon glanced at Arya; she was inspecting a few of the eggs, her lithe fingers trailing softly over a deep brown egg, the color reminding Eragon of freshly tilled earth. After a while Eragon moved over to Cuaroc, greeting the dragon-headed metal man near his current post in the center of the room. Arya cautiously made her way over, inspecting the metal construction with a curious eye.

"You know this creature?" Arya asked, blinking when Cuaroc turned its dragon head towards her and regarded her with burning crimson eyes. Cuaroc reached across his torso with his right hand, undid a hidden latch, and pulled open the front of his chest. Within Cuaroc's chest nestled a purple Eldunarí, nearly the same color as the one in Saphira's saddle bag. Surrounding the Eldunarí were what appeared to be thousands of silver wires, each no thicker than a hair.

"Aye," Eragon stated, as Cuaroc swung his chestplate closed with a loud metallic click. "He is Cuaroc, Hunter of the Nïdhwal and Bane of the Urgals. Silvarí the enchantress fashioned this body for him centuries ago, after he lost his own during a Nïdhwal hunt. A great storm swept up around the island on the day of the hunt, and it is said that Cuaroc managed to catch his prey even as the swells dragged him down into their depths."

"I've never heard the tale," Arya stated.

The metal man clacked his teeth together and stepped to the side, retreating to the glowing pit again. "Ever since his body was fashioned for him, Cuaroc has remained behind and protected the dragon's greatest treasures," Eragon explained. "His presence was generally never spoken of, so I'm unsurprised that you did not know of him."

"Fascinating," Arya murmured.

Umaroth or another of the Eldunarí must have communicated with Cuaroc, for the dragon-headed man put down his sword and shield before moving towards one of the alcoves in the wall. Then, with a slow careful grace, Cuaroc began to remove the Eldunarí off their platform, enclosing them in the silk purse they had been resting in. After ensuring they were secure Cuaroc then gently deposited them in a pile near the glowing orange pit.

Arya followed Eragon when he moved to inspect the pit, the both of them blinking away tears from the strong heat when they stuck their faces over its edge. Eragon wiped them away with one hand as he inspected the pit; It was a circular shaft that extended down nearly a hundred feet, and then opened to a large cavern filled with a sea of glowing stone, the current slower than any river on the surface.

Something bright, reminding him briefly of a spirit, flittered across the magma, but it vanished before he could inspect it closer.

He made to ask Arya if she had witnessed the movement, but the Eldunarí chose that moment to end their private conversation.

We have reviewed the information you have gathered, as well as the wording of this complex spell, Umaroth stated, pausing briefly. His next words were filled with begrudging respect, Even the wisest among us cannot find fault with the wording of this spell, nor does it conflict with any knowledge of Shades that we possess. Which, the others wish for me to remind you, is more than any other creature can claim. Many of us admittedly refuse to believe it is capable of working, but we have reached a consensus that it may well be worth the try; to lose Thorn would be a blow to not only our race but Alagaësia and all her inhabitants.

"Then you will help us?" Arya asked, having stepped away from the edge of the pit and moved towards the white Eldunarí. Cuaroc had yet to reach Umaroth's alcove, though the metal man's work was nearly complete.

Aye, we will help you, Umaroth stated. We have, after all, already helped Thorn once we sensed what was happening. Though we were too far away to directly stop the magicians, we were able to shield Thorn's mind.

Eragon froze, his memory of his first attempt at contact with Thorn resurfacing. They had encountered strange magic inside Thorn's Eldunarí, one that had caused Eragon immense pain when he attempted to breach its borders.

Another aids Thorn, Glaedr had said.

That was you? Saphira asked, voicing Eragon's thoughts. Our attempts at contacting Thorn inside his Eldunarí were always thwarted by a barrier we could not breach.

Umaroth indicated his agreement, the emotion flaring briefly inside the elder dragon. We had little time to act, and what we did was driven more by desperation than by any coherent plan. Thorn, out of desperation, fled into his Eldunarí the moment he was certain Murtagh was safe. It was then that we were able to block the Shade's attempt at devouring Thorn's mind and soul, sealing him inside his Eldunarí.

He was in immense pain, Glaedr growled. Was there not another way?

The pain was caused by the breaching of the barrier, Umaroth answered, Thorn himself is not experiencing the pain, though it may have seemed that way. The magic we wielded was wild and ancestral; it can, as you know, have unexpected consequences. For that, we apologize.

"If we can get the spell to remove the spirits from Thorn's body," Eragon began, halting the oncoming tirade he could feel building inside of Saphira. "Can you reunite Thorn's Eldunarí with his body?"

The minds of the Eldunarí swelled together momentarily before Umaroth answered. We cannot guarantee our success, as this is not something we've ever encountered before. Nor can we be certain of Thorn's bodily condition after the spirits have been removed.

Umaroth paused again as a few more minds pulsed aggressively, flashes of images and emotions passing between them too quickly for Eragon to make sense of. But, as others have impressed upon me, we are the only ones who could even attempt such a feat, as only we understand the intricacies of the bond between an Eldunarí and the body. We will try.

"Elrun ono," Eragon murmured. Gratitude and a vein of appreciation flowed from Saphira simultaneously, her neck bowing before the white Eldunarí.

But you must be prepared, Glaedr interjected. If we fail to separate the spirits from Thorn's body or fail to reunite the connection, it will fall to you -you four- to do what is necessary. Murtagh, I fear, will not be in a sound state of mind should the worst come to pass.

None of us here would dare ask of him such a thing, Umaroth attested. Not while other options remain.

The conversation flowed from there, with Umaroth advising them on the most recent places they had sensed Thorn's presence. After Eragon and Saphira's last encounter the Shade had flown north, but had to skirt the edges of Du Weldenvarden and was forced to avoid the elven magic that protected the forest. From there Thorn moved eastward then northward again, somehow barely missing the Elven army as they advanced south from Ceunon.

We last sensed traces of the Shade's presence in the mountains of The Spine near your old home, Umaroth explained. Little remains of the town now, especially after your cousin and the villagers fled.

Surprised, Eragon furrowed his brow. "Carvahall? Why Carvahall?"

The thoughts of Shades and Spirits are not easily captured, Glaedr stated. Perhaps some remnant of Thorn led the Shade to a place of his youth, or perhaps the Shade was drawn by the recent tragedies that have befallen Carvahall.

Either way, Umaroth dismissed, as we grow closer the pull of Thorn's Eldunarí will no doubt draw the Shade towards us.

"Then we should be prepared the moment we arrive in The Spine," Arya commented.

Aye, Umaroth agreed.

Cuaroc had finished placing all of the Eldunarí near the pit, having saved Umaroth for last. Once the dragon was safely ensconced in the silk bag, Cuaroc withdrew and picked up his sword and shield, the metal warrior hardly sparing Eragon or the others a glance as he moved towards his ancient throne. When he was seated, Cuaroc drew his sword across his lap and grew still, the only signs of life the flickering embers of his crimson eyes as they watched over the eggs.

At Umaroth's beckoning and Glaedr's agreement, Eragon retrieved the three Eldunarí from Saphira's saddle bag - Thorn's, Glaedr's own, and the unnamed purple hatchlings- and placed them each in their silk pouches alongside the rest. Then, at Glaedr's suggestion, Eragon used one of Tenga's spells, the one he first learned underneath Dras Leona that folded space over onto itself.

Once the last word left his lips the air surrounding the Eldunarí rippled, the space the gems inhabited twisting on itself and disappearing. Even if Eragon somewhat knew how the spell worked, especially after studying Tenga's notebook, the very sight of something still made his mind trip over itself.

The moment we cross the great arch behind you - the Gate of Vergathos- you will begin to forget about Cuaroc and the eggs hidden here. By the time you reach the stone doors at the end of the tunnel, all memories of them will have vanished from your mind. Even we Eldunarí will forget about the eggs; we cannot, under any circumstances, allow Galbatorix to learn of the eggs.

We understand, Saphira stated. A glance at Arya revealed her displeasure at Umaroth's statement. He caught her eye and shared a brief look, the sudden loss palpable in the air.

It is unpleasant, Umaroth added, but if we succeed in killing Galbatorix then the gate will restore our memories.

A truly fascinating spell, Eragon realized. He knew, of course, of conditional spell casting; or the act of using "If this, then that" wording, but this was on a grander scale than Eragon initially realized. The only way this spell could work would be to interact somehow with Galbatorix, in some fashion, that the Black King did not realize; how else would the spell know that he was dead?

The implications of such a thing made Eragon pause for a moment.

Arya and Fírnen were already moving through the gate, so Eragon shook himself from his thoughts and followed through. He glanced back across the chamber as he approached the gate, shivering at the sight of Cuaroc sitting on his ancient throne.

Five other Eldunarí would remain behind with the two hundred and forty-three eggs alongside Cuaroc, where they would remain for an indeterminate amount of time. If they failed to slay Galbatorix it could be centuries before they would be able to emerge, and that thought alone made it difficult to leave.

Stopping at the edge of the archway, Eragon turned fully around and bowed, twisting his hand over his heart as he took one last look at the eggs, Farewell, he whispered.

Farewell, Five whispers answered. Luck be with you.

Eragon took one last glance before placing his hand against Saphira's side. She swung her enormous head around the chamber, her gaze sweeping over the eggs one last time.

Let us go, little one.

Eragon nodded, and together they departed the Vault of Souls.

As Eragon secured the last strap on Saphira's saddlebags, he could not help feeling slightly unsettled. That incessant tug at the edges of his mind told him that he had forgotten something important, but each time he reached for it it slipped away, nothing more than mist between his fingers.

Arya glanced over at him briefly, her gaze questioning. He made to ask if she knew what it was he was forgetting before Umaroth interrupted.

Come, the ancient dragon stated, the day grows long, and there are many leagues between us and our destination.

Eragon and Arya shared a glance before they each moved up into their saddles.

How do you feel, Glaedr? Eragon asked, securing the straps that held down his legs.

Better, Glaedr admitted. The moment I emerged the others lifted the spell constraining me. A necessary precaution, I understand, even if it did worry Oromis and was not particularly pleasant. He is relieved that nothing is amiss, but our time below the earth was not easy on him. I have already shared my memories of the Vault with him. He is… overwhelmed, but eager to be reunited with the others.

Then let us go, Fírnen bellowed, his jaws stretching as a small flame escaped. The young dragon was eager to take flight, his muscles tensing beneath Arya, causing her to scowl. Do not scowl at me, Arya! We spent far too long below the earth. Dragons were meant for the sky, not to hide away in caves!

Umaroth seemed heartened at the green dragon's eagerness, though Eragon could sense a deep longing hidden beneath the immediate surface of the dragon's mind. Indeed, let us be off. There are many here who are eager to take flight.

Saphira let loose a mighty roar, scattering nearly all the fauna in the immediate region. With a sweep of her wings, she launched them into the air, Fírnen close behind. Together they rose from the base of the valley and circled over the remains of Doru Araeba, each pass bringing them higher into the sky. Eragon gazed down longingly at his old home, centuries-old memories stirring within him. As they passed over the residential district Eragon gazed down at his old home he could not help but wonder what life would have been like if the Fall never happened.

Arya must have known the direction of his thoughts, for her mind brushed up against his lightly. The others -Eldunarí included- gave them some modicum of privacy, their minds withdrawing. Eragon basked in the music of Arya's mind, the temptation to fall into its depths strong.

Without speaking they shared their feelings; love, the strongest, flowed effortlessly between them. Yet beneath it lay determination and purpose, intertwined with an undercurrent of loss—for all that could never be, and all that would never be again.

Eragon wanted to linger there, in that place together, at the crossroads of his past and future, but time marched ever forward, dragging him unwillingly along. Once Saphira and Fírnen were high enough to soar over the mountain they turned eastward, leaving behind the remains of Eragon's second home.

Towards his first home they journeyed, where fate awaited with bated breath.

Hi.

So, yeah, he is the chapter, one year late. The previous update has been removed, so I'm not sure what exactly happens to the comments but know that I've read every single one of them, and your support, as always, means a lot to me.

This chapter was heavily influenced by Paolini's work, specifically the two Lacuna chapters in Inheritance, as you can tell, but I hope that the few changes I've made make sense.

Yes, I know Cuaroc was made initially to protect the eggs and Eldunarí, but that never honestly sat right with me. You mean to tell me that a whole war was going on, in which the Elves and even the Riders were losing, and someone decided to fashion a metal body for a dragon?

To me, it makes more sense that Cuaroc was made decades or even centuries before the war, as an experiment by "Silvarí the Enchantress" when Cuaroc lost his original body. Then, once it worked, why not have this dragon-powered man protect the dragon's most precious treasures?

ANYWAY.

Not sure when exactly the next chapter will be ready, but that chapter won't (for obvious reasons) rely so much on canon events. Sometimes that makes it easier, but sometimes having canon to fall back to can help when in a slump.

Ancient Language translations ( Old Norse):

Italics represents the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.

Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One

Du vættr Bani – The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood

Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit.

Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer

Skörungr – leader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.

Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.

Grœnn – green. Verdant. More accurately, the color of the forest.

Grœnnskular – Verdant-scales.

Lengr – For a longer time

Ginnung – space, void

Lengr-Ginnug – Spacetime Tenga's definition of Space and Time as one concept

Istalrí - Flames

Freohr – Death

Blöthr – Stop, halt.