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

Wake up, Eragon. He stirred and groaned.

I need your help. Something is wrong! Eragon tried to ignore the voice and return to sleep.

Arise!

Go away, he grumbled.

Eragon! A bellow rang in the cave. He bolted upright, fumbling for his bow. Daemon was awake and crouched over Brom with Saphira, trying to keep the man still as he was thrashing on the cave floor. His face was contorted in a grimace; his fists were clenched.

"Help me hold him down!" Daemon shouted once he saw Eragon was awake. The Rider rushed over, fearing the worst as Murtagh awakened from the noise.

Daemon and Eragon held Brom down until his convulsions ceased. Then they carefully returned him to the ledge.

Eragon touched Brom's forehead. The skin was so hot that the heat could be felt an inch away. "Get me water and a cloth," he said worriedly. Murtagh brought them, and Eragon gently bathed Brom's face, trying to cool him down. With the cave quiet again, he noticed the sun shining outside. "How long were we asleep?" He asked Daemon.

"A while." Daemon said, looking at Brom worriedly. "Saphira had been watching over Brom before he started thrashing. She tried waking you up first, but you didn't stir so she woke me up. Then she tried you again."

Eragon stretched, wincing as his ribs twinged painfully. A hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Brom's eyes snapped opened and fixed a glassy stare on Eragon. "You!" he gasped. "Bring me the wineskin!"

"Brom?" exclaimed Eragon, pleased to hear him talk. "You shouldn't drink wine; it'll only make you worse."

"Bring it, boy—just bring it..." sighed Brom. His hand slipped off Eragon's shoulder.

"I'll be right back—hold on." Eragon dashed to the saddlebags and rummaged through them frantically. "I can't find it!" he cried, looking around desperately.

"Here, take mine," said Murtagh, holding out a leather skin.

Eragon grabbed it and returned to Brom. "I have the wine," he said, kneeling. Murtagh retreated to the cave's mouth so they could have privacy.

Brom's next words were faint and indistinct. "Good . . ." He moved his arm weakly. "Now . . . wash my right hand with it."

"What—" Eragon started to ask.

"No questions! I haven't time." Mystified, Eragon unstoppered the wineskin and poured the liquid onto Brom's palm. He rubbed it into the old man's skin, spreading it around the fingers and over the back of the hand. "More," croaked Brom. Eragon splashed wine onto his hand again. He scrubbed vigorously as a brown dye floated off Brom's palm, then stopped, his mouth agape with amazement while Daemon's eyes widened. There on Brom's palm was the gedwëy ignasia.

"You're a Rider?" Daemon asked incredulously.

A painful smile flickered on Brom's face. "Once upon a time that was true... but no more. When I was young... younger than you are now, I was chosen . . . chosen by the Riders to join their ranks. While they trained me, I became friends with another apprentice... Morzan, before he was a Forsworn." Eragon gasped—that had been over a hundred years ago. "But then he betrayed us to Galbatorix... and in the fighting at Dorú Areaba—Vroengard's city—my young dragon was killed. Her name... was Saphira."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" asked Eragon softly.

Brom laughed. "Because . . . there was no need to." He stopped. His breathing was labored; his hands were clenched. "I am old, my friends . . . so old. Though my dragon was killed, my life has been longer than most. You don't know what it is to reach my age, look back, and realize that you don't remember much of it; then to look forward and know that many years still lie ahead of you. . . . After all this time I still grieve for my Saphira... and hate Galbatorix for what he tore from me." His feverish eyes drilled into Eragon as he said fiercely, "Don't let that happen to you. Don't! Guard Saphira with your life, for without her it's hardly worth living."

"You shouldn't talk like this. Nothing's going to happen to her," said Eragon, worried.

Brom turned his head to the side. "Perhaps I am rambling." His gaze passed blindly over Murtagh, then he focused on Eragon. Brom's voice grew stronger. "Eragon! I cannot last much longer. This... this is a grievous wound; it saps my strength. I have not the energy to fight it. . . . Before I go, will you take my blessing?"

"Everything will be all right," said Eragon, tears in his eyes. "You don't have to do this."

"It is the way of things... I must. Will you take my blessing?" Eragon bowed his head and nodded, overcome. Brom placed a trembling hand on his brow. "Then I give it to you. May the coming years bring you great happiness." He motioned for Eragon to bend closer. Very quietly, he whispered seven words from the ancient language, then even more softly told him what they meant. "That is all I can give you... Use them only in great need."

His glassy eyes then turned to Daemon, and at the silent request, Daemon leaned forward on one knee. With the little remainder of his strength, Brom gripped Daemon's shoulder and managed to pull him close enough to whisper into his ear.

"Protect them... protect her...Promise me... It's not always... a bad thing... to listen to what your heart desires." He whispered weakly, causing Daemon to stiffen as he knew who he was meaning. Brom's grip remained tight but it was weakening as his strength was fading. "Promise me."

Daemon let out a shaky breath as several tears fell down his face with no restraint, but he gave a subtle nod and whispered in the ancient language.

"I promise."

His hand fell from his shoulder, and Brom blindly turned his eyes to the ceiling. "And now," he murmured, "for the greatest adventure of all..."

Daemon and Eragon could do nothing but be there and watch the old man's life slowly fade from him. Eragon held one hand while Daemon had his on Brom's shoulder, the other on Eragon's. this wasn't the first time Daemon had experienced loss, but Brom had become like a second father to him and it felt like he was losing his father all over again.

Evening came, the long shadows reaching out for them, when Brom suddenly stiffened. Eragon called his name, but nothing could be done. A barren silence dampened the air; Brom locked his gaze on the two and he managed to bring his hand to Eragon's cheek. Contentment spread across the old man's face as his last breath escaped his lips.

Then he was gone.

Crying, Eragon bowed his head while Daemon let out a choked breath while gently closing Brom's eyes, his fingers shaking when doing so. His grip on Eragon's shoulder tightened as he bowed his own head, letting the tears flow freely. Saphira raised her head behind them and roared mournfully to the sky, keening her lamentation.

His eyes red, Daemon looked at Eragon. "We-We should bury him." His best friend nodded.

Murtagh warned that they might be seen, but neither of them cared. Carefully, Daemon and Murtagh lifted Brom's body out of the cave and went to the top with Eragon and Saphira behind them. There was only a stone at the top, so they placed Brom's body on top of it. With a spell from Eragon, the stone rippled. It flowed like water, forming a body-length depression in the hilltop. Molding the sandstone like wet clay, he raised waist-high walls around it.

They laid Brom inside the unfinished sandstone vault with his staff and sword. Stepping back, Eragon again shaped the stone with magic. It joined over Brom's motionless face and flowed upward into a tall faceted spire. As a final tribute, Eragon set runes into the stone:

HERE LIES BROM

Who was a Dragon Rider

And like a father

To us.

May his name live on in glory.

They bowed their heads in respect, mourning their loss. Saphira rubbed her head solemnly against her two young friends and they hugged her back. They stood there, like living statues, until evening.

That night, Eragon dreamed of the imprisoned woman again.

He could tell that something was wrong with her. Her breathing was irregular, and she shook—whether from cold or pain, he did not know. In the semidarkness of the cell, the only thing clearly illuminated was her hand, which hung over the edge of the cot. A dark liquid dripped from the tips of her fingers. Eragon knew it was blood.

When Eragon woke, his eyes were gritty, his body stiff. The cave was empty except for the horses and Daemon, who sat at the cave entrance, staring blankly ahead. The litter was gone; no sign of Brom remained. He walked to the entrance and sat beside Daemon who said nothing but there was no need for words.

So the witch Angela was correct—there was a death in my future, he thought, staring bleakly at the land. The topaz sun brought a desert heat to the early morning.

"Where's Murtagh and Saphira?" Eragon finally broke the silence.

"Murtagh went out to catch us some breakfast and Saphira followed, to keep an eye on him." Daemon responded.

Eragon nodded and the two remained like that, silently staring out ahead. They were still in that exact position when Murtagh climbed up to the cave, carrying a pair of rabbits. Without a word he seated himself by them.

"How are you?" he asked them

"Very ill." Eragon responded while Daemon was quiet, but his silence was enough of an answer.

Murtagh considered him thoughtfully. "Will you recover?" Eragon shrugged. After a few minutes of reflection, Murtagh said, "I dislike asking this at such a time, but I must know... Is your Brom the Brom? The one who helped steal a dragon egg from the King, chased it across the Empire, and killed Morzan in a duel? I heard you say his name, and I read the inscription you put on his grave, but I must know for certain, Was that he?"

"It was," said Eragon softly. A troubled expression settled on Murtagh's face. "How do you know all that? You talk about things that are secret to most, and you were trailing the Ra'zac right when we needed help. Are you one of the Varden?"

Murtagh's eyes became inscrutable orbs. "I'm running away, like you two." There was restrained sorrow in his words. "I do not belong to either the Varden or the Empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself. As for my rescuing you, I will admit that I've heard whispered tales of a new Rider and reasoned that by following the Ra'zac I might discover if they were true."

"I thought you wanted to kill the Ra'zac," said Eragon.

Murtagh smiled grimly. "I do, but if I had, I never would have met you."

But Brom would still be alive... I wish he were here. He would know whether to trust Murtagh. Eragon remembered how Brom had sensed Trevor's intentions in Daret and wondered if he could do the same with Murtagh. He reached for Murtagh's consciousness, but his probe abruptly ran into an iron-hard wall, which he tried to circumvent. Murtagh's entire mind was fortified. How did he learn to do that? Brom said that few people, if any, could keep others out of their mind without training. So who is Murtagh to have this ability?

Mentally connecting with Daemon, he shared these concerns with the Dragonborn who finally looked away from staring out and briefly glanced at Murtagh, assessing him. Daemon had experience in trusting the wrong people and trusting the right people, so Eragon hoped that he'd know if Murtagh could be trusted. Finally, after almost a minute of silence, the Dragonborn looked at him.

We can trust him.

That was all Eragon needed and he nodded.

"What are you going to do now?" Murtagh asked.

"I'm not sure." And I don't want to think about it either. He rolled up his blankets and tied them to Cadoc's saddlebags. His ribs hurt. Murtagh went to prepare the rabbits. As Eragon shifted things in his bags, he uncovered Zar'roc. The red sheath glinted brightly. He took out the sword . . . weighed it in his hands.

He had never carried Zar'roc nor used it in combat—except when he and Brom had sparred—because he had not wanted people to see it. That concerned Eragon no more. The Ra'zac had seemed surprised and frightened by the sword; that was more than enough reason for him to wear it. With a shudder he pulled off his bow and belted on Zar'roc. From this moment on, I'll live by the sword. Let the whole world see what I am. I have no fear. I am a Rider now, fully and completely.

He sorted through Brom's bags but found only clothes, a few odd items, and a small pouch of coins. Eragon took the map of Alagaësia and put the bags away, then crouched by the fire. Murtagh's eyes narrowed as he looked up from the rabbit he was skinning. "That sword. May I see it?" he asked, wiping his hands.

Eragon hesitated, reluctant to relinquish the weapon for even a moment, then nodded. Murtagh examined the symbol on the blade intently. His face darkened. "Where did you get this?"

"Brom gave it to me. Why?"

Murtagh shoved the sword back and crossed his arms angrily. He was breathing hard. "That sword," he said with emotion, "was once as well known as its owner. The last Rider to carry it was Morzan—a brutal, savage man. I thought you were a foe of the Empire, yet here I find you bearing one of the Forsworn's bloody swords!"

Eragon stared at Zar'roc with shock. He realized that Brom must have taken it from Morzan after they fought in Gil'ead. "Brom never told me where it came from," he said truthfully. "I had no idea it was Morzan's."

"He never told you?" asked Murtagh, a note of disbelief in his voice. Eragon shook his head. "That's strange. I can think of no reason for him to have concealed it."

"Neither can I. But then, he kept many secrets," said Eragon. It felt unsettling to hold the sword of the man who had betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix. This blade probably killed many Riders in its time, he thought with revulsion. And worse, dragons! "Even so, I'm going to carry it. I don't have a sword of my own. Until such time as I get one, I'll use Zar'roc."

"The sword is not responsible for its dark history." Daemon said, breaking his silence. "The one who wields the blade is the one who committed the acts. It always comes down to the wielder to forge a weapon's legend. Morzan is dead, Eragon wields his sword and is now up to you to forge a good legend with the sword to wipe away the dark deeds it's original owner caused."

Eragon looked at the sword, then to Daemon and nodded.

When the meal was ready, they ate slowly. As they scraped out their bowls, Eragon said, "I have to sell my horse."

"Why not Brom's?" asked Murtagh. He seemed to have gotten over his bad temper.

"Snowfire? Because Brom promised to take care of him. Since he... isn't around, I'll do it for him."

Murtagh set his bowl on his lap. "If that's what you want, I'm sure we can find a buyer in some town or village."

"We?" asked Eragon.

Murtagh looked at him sideways in a calculating way. "You won't want to stay here for much longer. If the Ra'zac are nearby, Brom's tomb will be like a beacon for them." Eragon had not thought of that. "And your ribs are going to take time to heal. I know you can defend yourself with magic, and Daemon may be able to wield a sword soon, but another pair of hands could be useful. I'm asking to travel with you, at least for the time being. But I must warn you, the Empire is searching for me. There'll be blood over it eventually."

Eragon laughed weakly and found himself crying because it hurt so much. Once his breath was back, he said, "I don't care if the entire army is searching for you. You're right. we do need help. we would be glad to have you along, though I have to talk to Saphira about it. But I have to warn you, Galbatorix just might send the entire army after us. You won't be any safer with the three of us than if you were on your own."

"I know that," said Murtagh with a quick grin. "But all the same, it won't stop me."

"Good." Eragon smiled with gratitude.

While they spoke, Saphira crawled into the cave. She gave Daemon a warm nuzzle bringing a small smile to face, and greeted Eragon. She was glad to see him, but there was deep sadness in her thoughts and words. She laid her big blue head on the floor and asked, Are you well again?

Not quite.

I miss the old one.

As do I... I never suspected that he was a Rider. Brom! He really was an old man—as old as the Forsworn. Everything he taught me about magic he must have learned from the Riders themselves.

Saphira shifted slightly. I knew what he was the moment he touched me at your farm.

And you didn't tell me or Daemon? Why?

He asked me not to, she said simply.

Eragon decided not to make an issue of it. Saphira never meant to hurt him. Brom kept more than that secret, he told her, then explained about Zar'roc and Murtagh's reaction to it. I understand now why Brom didn't explain Zar'roc's origins when he gave it to me. If he had, I probably would have run away from him at the first opportunity.

You would do well to rid yourself of that sword, she said with distaste. I know it's a peerless weapon, but you would be better off with a normal blade rather than Morzan's butchery tool.

Perhaps. Saphira, where does our path go from here? Murtagh offered to come with us. I don't know his past, but he seems honest enough. Should we go to the Varden now? Only I don't know how to find them. Brom never told us.

He told me, said Saphira.

Eragon grew angry. Why did he trust you, but not me or Daemon, with all this knowledge?

Her scales rustled over the dry rock as she stood above him, eyes profound. After we left Teirm and were attacked by the Urgals, he told Daemon and I many things, some of which we will not speak of unless necessary. He was concerned about his own death and what would happen to you after it. One fact he imparted to us was the name of a man, Dormnad, who lives in Gil'ead. He can help us find the Varden. Brom also wanted you to know that of all the people in Alagaësia, he believed you were the best suited to inherit the Riders' legacy.

Tears welled in Eragon's eyes. This was the highest praise he could have ever received from Brom. A responsibility I will bear honorably.

Good.

We will go to Gil'ead, then, stated Eragon, strength and purpose returning to him. And what of Murtagh? Do you think he should come with us?

We owe him our lives, said Saphira. But even if that weren't so, he has seen both us. We should keep him close so he doesn't furnish the Empire with our location and descriptions, willingly or not.

Eragon agreed with her, then told Saphira about his dream. What I saw disturbed me. I feel that time is running out for her; something dreadful is going to happen soon. She's in mortal danger—I'm sure of it—but I don't know how to find her! She could be anywhere.

What does your heart say? asked Saphira.

My heart died a while back, said Eragon with a hint of black humor. However, I think we should go north to Gil'ead. With any luck, one of the towns or cities along our path is where this woman is being held. I'm afraid that my next dream of her will show a grave. I couldn't stand that.

Why?

I'm not sure, he said, shrugging. It's just that when I see her, I feel as if she's precious and shouldn't be lost... It's very strange. Saphira opened her long mouth and laughed silently, fangs gleaming. What is it? snapped Eragon. She shook her head and quietly padded away, joining Daemon in his silent watch.

Eragon grumbled to himself, then told Murtagh what they had decided. Murtagh said, "If you find this Dormnad and then continue on to the Varden, I will leave you. Encountering the Varden would be as dangerous for me as walking unarmed into Urû'baen with a fanfare of trumpets to announce my arrival."

"We won't have to part anytime soon," said Eragon. "It's a long way to Gil'ead." His voice cracked slightly, and he squinted at the sun to distract himself. "We should leave before the day grows any older."

"Are you strong enough to travel?" asked Murtagh, frowning.

"I have to do something or I'll go crazy," said Eragon brusquely. "Sparring, practicing magic, or sitting around twiddling my thumbs aren't good options right now, so I choose to ride."

They doused the fire, packed, and led the horses out of the cave. Eragon handed Cadoc's and Snowfire's reins to Murtagh, saying, "Go on, we'll be right down." Murtagh began the slow descent from the cave.

Daemon stood and, with Eragon and Saphira, ascended up towards the top of the hill. As they walked, Eragon looked at Daemon. "You've been very silent."

"It's how I mourn. Give me some time and I'll be back to normal." He gave Eragon a small smile of reassurance, which Eragon returned.

Reaching the top, the three of them stood together before Brom's grave and paid their last respects. "I can't believe he's gone . . . forever." The Rider said. As they turned to depart, Saphira snaked out her long neck to touch the tomb with the tip of her nose. Her sides vibrated as a low humming filled the air.

The sandstone around her nose shimmered like gilded dew, turning clear with dancing silver highlights. Eragon and Daemon watched in wonder as tendrils of white diamond twisted over the tomb's surface in a web of priceless filigree. Sparkling shadows were cast on the ground, reflecting splashes of brilliant colors that shifted dazzlingly as the sandstone continued to change. With a satisfied snort, Saphira stepped back and examined her handiwork.

The sculpted sandstone mausoleum of moments before had transformed into a sparkling gemstone vault—under which Brom's untouched face was visible. They gazed with yearning at the old man, who seemed to be only sleeping. "What did you do?" he asked Saphira with awe.

I gave him the only gift I could. Now time will not ravage him. He can rest in peace for eternity.

Thank you. They put a hand on her side, and the three of them left as one.

And that's it for this chapter.

I'm trying to come up with stuff to include into the story from the Elder Scrolls side of things, like the involvement of the Daedric Princes, one of them working with Galbatorix or something, but I'm not coming up with anything concrete yet. the last thing I want is people complaining about how Daemon is doing nothing to change the plot.

Like, not every plot needs changes.