Chapter 56 - The Weight of Redemption

Locating the general vicinity where Thorn was hiding was an easier task than Eragon had anticipated. Saphira and Fírnen, fueled by the great power of the Eldunarí, did not need to pause to rest even once they made it to the shores of the mainland from Vroengard. Their flight was mainly eastward, and thus they could utilize some of the more common air streams to speed them along.

It did not take them long before they approached the mountains of The Spine, a place both familiar and strange to Eragon. The tall trees and looming mountains shaped his youth, yet now they were foreign to him in the years since he last visited.

Eragon did not have long to ponder the strangeness of his childhood home, as the dragons poured an endless stream of memories into his mind; a cascade of experiences, thousands of years of knowledge distilled down to a steady stream of information that overwhelmed even Saphira. He could scarcely tell how Arya or Fírnen faired, as only by centering his thoughts inward was Eragon able to maintain some sense of self, the onslaught of memories too much for his mind to handle. Most of the memories were lost to him, gone as quickly as they came, yet Umaroth insisted they continue.

The minds of the elder Eldunarí were as strange to him as they had always been, their minds incomprehensible between their great leaps in logic.

Only as they neared Carvahall did the dragons finally cease their flow of memories. Be on guard, Umaroth cautioned. Shades are as devious and crafty as any other foe; each successive battle you prevailed in has only bolstered its knowledge of you. Now is the time to focus on our surroundings.

As Saphira crested a mountain and angled herself into the valley, Eragon got his first view of Carvahall in centuries; there was, as the few surviving villagers attested, nothing left of his old home. Every building was now a blackened shell of its former self, some little more than ash on a blackened earth. The farms –the livelihood of many of the villagers– had been razed to the ground—years of backbreaking work gone in an instant.

Even the wolves common in the area avoided the village, for not even the livestock survived.

Saphira instinctually angled toward the northeast, where a lone farmhouse once stood far separated from the village. Roran's family had taken over after his mother passed, the farm passing through the generations until Garrow finally took ownership.

Eragon shifted lightly in her saddle, his armor creaking. Arya, likewise, was clad in her fine silver armor atop Fírnen behind him, the green dragon following Saphira's swift flight.

Ahead loomed a massive dragon, one that would have towered over any of the buildings had they survived. Glaedr's golden scales nearly blinded Eragon in their brilliance, appearing briefly to him as though the sun itself had alighted on the earth. The beating of Saphira's and Fírnen's wings alerted the ancient dragon to their presence, who turned to face them and let out a mighty bellow in greeting.

Saphira and Fírnen answered in kind, their pure delight at being reunited consequentially sending every critter in the vicinity scattering. Next to Glaedr stood Eragon's former teacher, as well as a figure that had Eragon tensing briefly for a moment.

Murtagh.

Shaking his head, Eragon waited as Saphira descended, her wings flaring heavily as she alighted softly on the dirt beside Glaedr. Quick as an elf Eragon unstrapped his legs and leaped to the ground, his knees absorbing the blow as he glanced around him. Next to them, Arya did the same, her sword arm unconsciously moving towards Támerlein before she seemed to remember herself.

Oromis was quick to meet them, striding forward to meet them swiftly. He was clad in the finest of elven armor, the golden armor nearly perfectly identical to Glaedr's scales. At his side was the faithful Naegling, the golden scabbard hanging low on Oromis's waist. The elf appeared fresh and as powerful as the last day Eragon had seen him, having been fully restored during the Agaetí Blödhren.

Murtagh remained behind next to Glaedr, and Eragon took a quick moment to study his half-brother; Murtagh wore fine elven armor, and belatedly Eragon realized that it bore a striking resemblance to some of the armor he had seen Rhunön make the last time he was in Ellesméra.

As Eragon neared, Oromis surprised him by bowing and beginning the elven greeting, the elf's eyes shining brightly.

Eragon responded in kind quickly, as he could nearly feel Oromis's desire clear in the air. Glaedr had, of course, restored Oromis's memories of the Vault of Souls, as well as the Eldunarí housed within. From what Eragon understood, the elf had nearly been overwhelmed to learn the truth.

Glaedr had already informed him that Murtagh knew as well, though he was not told how receptive his half-brother had been to hear that some dragons had survived, even in their Eldunarí forms.

Murtagh would have every reason to be angered by the dragons hiding themselves away, even if some part of him understood their reasoning.

Oromis cleared his throat, uncharacteristically eager in a way that Eragon had never seen on the elf. With a silent understanding, Eragon lowered the protective barrier he had weaved around the four of them as well as the Eldunarí –a measure that Umaroth had insisted upon once Eragon had disclosed his means of hiding himself.

A whispering swirl of voices rose in the air, their minds brushing against Oromis's and Murtagh's eagerly. Oromis stumbled and fell to his knees, brushing away Eragon's attempt to steady him. Tears began to fall on the ancient Rider's face, and a deep humming emerged from Glaedr, his joy apparent for all to hear. Behind Oromis, Murtagh was cradling his head, his face a mixture of emotions.

Leaving Oromis's side, Eragon moved towards his brother, his steps cautious near the red Rider. Arya lingered behind with the others, but he was able to sense her intense gaze as she followed his movements.

Murtagh raised his head, a fierce glare on his features. "Did you know?" he growled. "Did you know that they stood by and watched as Thorn and I suffered?" The swell of minds surrounding them receded at Murtagh's words, clearly wishing to give the two Riders some semblance of privacy.

Eragon shook his head slowly. He reached out a hand to his half-brother's shoulder, surprised when Murtagh did not forcibly tear himself away. Eragon gripped Murtagh's shoulder tightly, "No, brother, I did not know of their existence."

The Red Rider was silent momentarily, before taking a deep breath and calming his countenance. "No," Murtagh murmured, "I suppose you would not have known." Murtagh surprised Eragon when he straightened his shoulders and turned to face Eragon solemnly. "Forgive me, I did not mean to accuse you."

Shocked, Eragon blinked several times before he realized he had not yet responded to his half-brother. "Er– It's quite alright." Oromis had recovered somewhat and stood in quiet conversation with Arya. Eragon caught Arya's gaze briefly. "Come," Eragon continued, unsure what to make of Murtagh's uncharacteristic apology, "let us rejoin the others."

Eragon moved back towards the others, casting a bewildered glance at Saphira.

That was odd, he stated.

Saphira snorted, do not forget that Murtagh has recently undergone an enormous change to break the chains of the Oathbreaker.

True.

Oromis and Arya turned at their approach. The older elf's eyes were still gleaming, but Oromis regained some of his usual calm composure. Oromis nodded at Eragon and the Eldunarí that accompanied him, "As much as I would enjoy ruminating on our shared past, we should shelve our discussion until a later time, should we survive our next task. From what I've gathered, as well as Umaroth's–" Oromis paused for a moment, something indescribable hitching in his voice– "own information, Thorn should not be far."

Aye, Umaroth stated. From what we've gathered from the land, Thorn resides in a nearby valley, wherein a fierce battle once raged during the age of King Palancar.

Eragon and Murtagh shared a glance.

"Aye," Eragon stated.

"We know the place," Murtagh finished.

Oromis nodded, gazing at the three Riders before him. As Oromis began to speak, Eragon could sense Glaedr pulling Saphira and Fírnen into a separate conversation, "It has been a long time since we've had a sufficient number of Riders to be called a cohort. Though we may not have wished for our place in this life, we have all accepted our fate, and are willing to lay our lives on the line in service of something greater. As one of the last Elders, I can proudly say that you three–" Oromis gestured to Eragon, Arya, and Murtagh in turn– "are the finest our Order has ever seen. Even without Thorn's presence, Murtagh, you are formidable in your own right, and your recent growth has reminded me that humanity has much to offer Alagaësia. Arya, you have shown your devotion to your people admirably, and I can think of no better elf to remind our people of what we've lost, and what we stand to gain.

"Eragon, Vrael would be proud of the leader you have become. You act with wisdom and strength, and you know how to strike with kindness as well as the sword." Oromis turned his head towards the midday sun, his silver hair briefly taking on a yellow hew.

"Oromis-elda," Arya murmured, her spoken words mirroring Eragon's feelings.

Oromis smiled, the kind expression on his face reminding Eragon of the many times his former Ebrithil would look upon him in the same way. "Do not despair, Arya. After the Agaetí Blödhren, I find myself with a hunger for life that I have not known since my youth. I will not, as the famous human poet Lorvik Greyhame once said, 'fade quietly into the endless darkness that awaits us all'. Now come, let us proceed with the reason we came here in the first place; to finally free Thorn from his torment."

Oromis did not wait for a reply, gracefully striding to Glaedr's saddle bags and removing a long object wrapped carefully in soft leather. The leather was tightly bound, with two thin protruding points near one end bearing the resemblance of a crossguard.

Oromis held the wrapped sword with one hand and traced the other along the sealed edge, murmuring in the Ancient Language. The leather unraveled from the edges, the ruby embedded in the hilt catching Eragon's eye first, before When the leather was finally unbound, Oromis carefully extracted the sword, the red wine scabbard the same shade of red as Thorn's scales. The sword, from what Eragon could tell, was a near match for Murtagh's old sword, Kvastren.

Kvastren, or Seeker, had been nearly identical to Zar'roc, Morzan's sword, though the blade had been a softer red. This sword had a longer hilt than Zar'roc but appeared to be of the same length and width, though the glyph reminiscent of an eye carved into the scabbard was far different than the pointed glyph of misery.

What became of Murtagh's old sword, Kvastren, Eragon knew not. Perhaps Galbatorix stripped it from him after he had been captured, but Eragon never had the chance to find out for himself.

With the sword revealed, Oromis held it out to Murtagh, waiting for the Red Rider to grasp it. "Queen Islanzadí required that we withhold your new sword from you until we were far from Du Weldenvardens boundary. A precaution I believed unnecessary, but it would not do well to displease the Queen so close to the battle." As Murtagh gripped the sword tightly, Oromis held tight to the blade, forcing Murtagh to glance up at the wizened elf with hints of a scowl on his half-brother's face.

"You forged this sword, Ithring –freedom– with Rhunön's help to break away from your father's legacy of death and destruction and to symbolize the changes you made to free yourself of Galbatorix's chains. Though this sword is not your old one, and Thorn has yet to approve it, no Rider should be forced to wield their sword against their dragon." Murtagh's face paled slightly at Oromis's words, his gaze flickering to Eragon briefly before resettling on the older elf. "In that vein, should the worst occur today, the rest of us here are prepared to do what we must."

"I will not let it come to that," Murtagh declared.

You may not have a choice, Glaedr stated, nudging Murtagh with the tip of his large snout and causing the Red Rider to stumble. But your half-brother has a plan.

Oromis relinquished Ithring to Murtagh, with a nod. Murtagh slid the Brightsteel scabbard into place on his waist, an almost relieved expression appearing on his face as he adjusted the blade's position. Done, Murtagh turned to Eragon expectantly, his left hand tightly gripping to Ithring's hilt.

Eragon cleared his throat, his hands grasping his belt as he spoke. "Aye, I have some semblance of a plan. We have, with some help, found a spell that may allow us to separate the spirits from Thorn's body."

Murtagh blinked, surprised. A tinge of hope tinted his half-brother's next words, "You've discovered the means of unmaking a Shade?"

Not exactly, Umaroth explained. A Shade is a being comprised of many spirits inhabiting a host, yes, but it is in combination with a mortal mind. Right now, the spirits residing in Thorn have yet to complete this process, as Thorn wisely fled into his Eldunarí. Normally this would not have mattered, as the spirits would have merely followed Thorn into his heart-of-hearts, but we were able to intervene before they could.

Glaedr must not have informed Murtagh of the dragon's aid, as Murtagh's eyes widened. "You helped Thorn?"

Aye, Umaroth answered. We were unable to stop the crude ritual, for we were too late in realizing what was occurring, but we were able to protect Thorn as best we could. Would we have known beforehand what was to occur we would have acted sooner and more directly, even with the risk of exposing our presence.

"I–" Murtagh started, before shaking his head. "Thank you."

What was done to Thorn, and you, was a violation of the natural order of the world. We would be remiss for not attempting to restore the balance. Now, Eragon, please continue.

Eragon nodded but waited for Murtagh to meet his gaze before he continued. "This spell was devised by Tenga, a knowledgable individual I initially met outside of Alagaësia." Eragon briefly described his history with Tenga, as well as his research into the matter of Shades and spirits. "It was only days ago that Tenga finished the spell, and even the Eldunarya admit that they believe it should work."

I must stress that it possibly could work, Umaroth reinforced. The wording of the spell is sound, but we have no guarantee as to how the magic will interact with either Thorn's or the spirits.

"I would take a madman's half-witted gamble than be left with no other opportunity," Murtagh stated.

"Thorn is your bonded pair," Oromis calmly observed. "If anyone here should have a say in whether we continue, it should be you."

Murtagh turned away and gazed towards the village past the three large dragons. "Thorn would never forgive me, nor would I never be able to forgive myself if we did not try."

It would be overstepping my bounds to speak for Thorn, Saphira told Murtagh, but I know that if Eragon and I were in the same situation, I would want Eragon to do what is necessary, even if it means my life would become forfeit. Not a single bonded dragon would believe otherwise.

There was a chorus of voices agreeing with Saphira, the murmur of Eldunarí reinforcing her words.

Murtagh held up a hand to forestall the Eldunarí, their remarks falling silent. The Red Rider took a breath and squared his shoulders, a determined tilt to his voice as he turned back to face the others. "If that is how it is to be, then let us get on with it."

"Aye," Eragon agreed, giving his half-brother a short nod before continuing. "For the spell to work, we must be able to touch Thorn, and as such we need to subdue him. Doing so will not be an easy task, as we know, but I think I have an idea that may work."

Eragon's idea was simple; Murtagh, along with Thorn's Eldunarí, would be used to lure the Shade, with Murtagh riding one of the dragons. Then, Glaedr, as the largest and strongest, would ambush the dragon alongside the other dragon, forcing Thorn to the ground and leaving an opening for Eragon to get close.

Eragon would intone the spell to remove the spirits, with half of the Eldunarí aiding him, while the other half would turn their attention towards Murtagh.

If we time it right, Umaroth explained, we believe we can banish the spirits and restore Thorn's connection with his body in one fell swoop. The half of us that will be aiding you, Murtagh, are some of the oldest and wisest Eldunarí we have among us. If any among us can claim to know the mind best, it will be them.

But be warned, Glaedr commented, there is a chance that were we to fail, Thorn's mind could potentially be destroyed in the process.

All of them paled at the thought.

The only issue, it seemed, was which dragon Murtagh would ride. Saphira argued that it should be Fírnen since she was larger than him and it would make Glaedr's task of grappling with Thorn easier. But Fírnen argued that it should be her to ferry Murtagh.

You are a far swifter flyer than me, Fírnen insisted, lowering his head at her and snorting lightly. As you've stated in the past, and as I have seen, Thorn is too much of a match for me to handle. You would be able to keep him at bay and grant us the best opportunity to strike.

Eragon was nearly as stunned as Saphira was by the green dragon's well-reasoned argument. He could even feel Saphira reexamining the younger dragon with a critical eye, her emotions vacillating between wonderment and something deeper that was nearly indescribable.

A hunter knows when to put pride aside to best catch their prey unaware, Glaedr praised. If we are agreed, then Fírnen and I shall be the ones to strike. Eragon, you may wish to ride with either myself or Fírnen, as we should keep Saphira as unhindered as possible.

He shared a glance with Arya, who nodded her head in turn to his unspoken question. "Very well," Eragon acquiesced. He was reluctant to part with Saphira during such a dangerous task as this, but he could understand the other's reasoning.

Then let us make ready, Saphira grumbled, her reluctance to be separated mirroring Eragon's. Arya and Oromis each set out to their respective partners, checking and securing the various straps on their saddles in preparation.

Umaroth instructed Eragon on separating the individual Eldunarí that would help Murtagh, which would be hidden in a similar fold in reality as the one behind Eragon. It took some doing, but when Eragon was done he sent the newly warped pinhole behind Murtagh while he pulled a familiar red Eldunarí from the one behind him.

Murtagh's eyes fixed intently on Thorn's Eldunarí, the low, dull glow in the ruby gem making Eragon shiver. He felt nothing as his hands touched the cool surface of the stone-like Eldunarí, which would have worried Eragon immensely were it not for Umaroth's earlier explanation of their aid.

Carefully, Eragon handed the large Eldunarí to his half-brother, who took it eagerly and cradled it close to his chest. Murtagh removed one of his gloves and pressed his hand tightly to Thorn's Eldunarí.

Murtagh's face fell momentarily, and Eragon shared a painful glance with Saphira. His half-brother recovered quickly, giving Eragon a passing nod and striding over to Saphira with sure steps.

The sapphire dragon swung her head over to face Murtagh, her hot breath billowing Murtagh's hair away from his face. She sniffed at him and the Eldunarí briefly before locking eyes with the Red Rider, a silent conversation taking place between the two of them.

Saphira must have granted him permission, as Murtagh nodded his head and quickly made his way up Saphira's flank. He was swift in climbing onehanded, his movements far more graceful than any human.

Though Murtagh was still a human, three centuries spent bonded to Thorn affected Murtagh. Without Galbatorix's enchantments or the aid of the Eldunarí Murtagh was no match for Eragon's speed or strength, but there was not a human alive that could face Murtagh hand for hand. His half-brother would have even given some elves some trouble, as Murtagh's skill with a blade and his knowledge of magic had been fully honed under his Rider training.

Eragon shared one last long with Saphira. Be careful, he cautioned her, pressing his head against her snout.

Saphira hummed at him, before gently pushing him back and snorting lightly. Smoke from her nostrils enveloped Eragon, making him cough. You as well, little one. Go, before I change my mind.

Running his hand along her scales as he passed her, Eragon made his way over to Fírnen and Arya. Glaedr and Oromis did not seem offended that he had chosen to ride with his mate, as the large golden dragon launched himself upwards and began to beat his wings strongly. Eragon watched for a moment as Glaedr passed overhead before turning to face Fírnen. Arya glanced down at him from the saddle and offered him a small smile, one that Eragon did not hesitate to return.

Reaching his mind out to the verdant dragon, Eragon wordlessly asked permission to join them. Fírnen swiftly agreed the eagerness to join Glaedr apparent in his young mind. Eragon quickly bound his way up Fírnen's side, settling in behind Arya and wrapping his arm around her waist. Arya's saddle did not have the numerous modifications his own did, and as such Eragon would only be able to bind his legs to the saddle. His arms he would have to keep around Arya, locked tightly in case Fírnen needed to maneuver suddenly and abruptly.

Eragon gave Arya a quick nod when she turned around in the saddle, and with an unspoken thought Fírnen launched himself into the air. Behind them Saphira did the same, and Eragon could not help his nerves as she winged her way away from them.

Linking his mind to the Eldunarí, as well as Glaedr and Oromis, Eragon drew on their combined power and fashioned spells of concealment about them. Unlike the usual invisibility spell, which would have involved him being unable to see Fírnen or Arya, this spell instead centered on both Fírnen and Glaedr and expanded some distance past them in all directions. A work of one of the older Eldunarí, this variation of the normal invisibility spell allowed those within its sphere to retain their sight of each other, all the while concealing their presence. Once he was certain the spell had taken effect, Eragon also cast his mind concealment spell on their group.

The energy required for the spells normally would have exhausted Eragon within minutes but the Eldunarí easily bore the burden in his stead. Umaroth also had Eragon alter the spell for invisibility surrounding Fírnen and Glaedr slightly, allowing them to remain visible to each other despite the bending light.

It was confusing at first, especially when Umaroth mentioned light bending at a right angle, but he could not deny its effects.

Fírnen and Glaedr flapped their wings hard against the air, continuing their climb. Below them, Saphira remained a few dozen feet above the treetops, her flight slow and steady as she glided. Murtagh was strapped firmly onto her back, the red Eldunarí held securely in his gasp.

Seeing someone else –especially his half-brother, so eerily similar in stature to him– in Saphira's saddle was a disquieting experience for Eragon, but he quickly pushed the thoughts aside. Murtagh glanced upwards then, his gaze sweeping across the sky around Eragon's position. Though Murtagh could not see or sense them, his half-brother offered them a nod and initiated their plan.

Murtagh lowered the shielding spell around Thorn's Eldunarí, and almost immediately a horrendous screech filled the air and forced Eragon to shield his ears.

The trap was set.

The screech had originated leagues away, the best Eragon could tell, over the mountains to the east of Carvahall and closer to the Bay of Fundor than they originally anticipated. Wordlessly the dragons adjusted their positions; Saphira moved closer to the center of the valley Carvahall resided in, while Glaedr and Fírnen climbed higher into the air and angled themselves to the west of Saphira. Their positioning, Eragon noted, would move them away from Thorn's likely path, concealing their presence from the Shade and allowing them to strike unimpeded.

Saphira had traveled nearly halfway to the neighboring town of Therinsford before Thorn finally crested the mountain range to the east. The Shade announced himself with another screech that was most unbefitting of a dragon, and Eragon got his first look at Thorn since he had seen the creature last in Du Fells Nángoröth.

Thorn had plunged hundreds of feet down to the earth after colliding with the side of a mountain in one of the many valleys surrounding the ancient home of the dragons. Were it not for the spirits inside the uncompleted Shade, Eragon was sure that a fall from that height would have been fatal for a dragon of Thorn's size.

Still, though Eragon could not discern any lingering wounds, Thorn did not look as he once had. His scales, once a vibrant red the color of wine, now were dull red tipped in black that lacked all of its former luster. The strange purple markings that had been seared into Thorn's scales still glowed, even in the bright midday sun, but they seemed almost unstable to Eragon; the light that emitted from the markings strobed oddly, and even the hue of purple seemed to fluctuate wildly.

Umaroth, who remained with Eragon's half the Eldunarya, hissed in displeasure at the sight of Thorn. We were right to choose now to act, Umaroth stated. The spirits have grown highly unstable. Without Thorn's mind to bond with, the Shade has not been able to fully form. If we do not succeed here today, I do not think Thorn nor the spirits will last much longer as they are.

How have they been able to last this long? Eragon asked. Even fully-formed Shades are unstable and eventually destroy themselves. That Thorn lasted this long is–

A miracle? Umaroth snorted. Though Vrael had been notably tolerant in the past about Riders continuing to hold to their religious beliefs, dragons were usually too vain to believe in a higher power. The dragon seemed to shake himself from his train of thought. In any case, I cannot say for certain.

Any further conversation fell away as Thorn suddenly tucked his wings in tight and dove straight for Saphira. She did not waste a moment a single moment, her wings flapping hard as she forcibly increased her speed.

Hold, Glaedr commanded them, even as the two dragons kept pace with Saphira.

Eragon tightened his grip worriedly around Arya's waist. She spared him a small glance, sharing in his worry before she turned back to observe the chase below them. Saphira was swift, even starting from a slow glide, but Thorn had the advantage of gravity on his side. The red dragon was quickly gaining on her as he dove, and Eragon was initially unsure of why Glaedr was having them wait until he spotted the clearing in the forest far ahead.

It was, from what Eragon quickly observed, a fitting spot for an ambush; the clearing was large enough to fit the dragons, and it was far enough from the city of Therinsford that no one should disturb them.

It was clear that Saphira was steering Thorn towards the clearing, even as the Shade roared out fury as he closed in. When the red dragon was within at least a hundred feet he flared his wings, his sharp claws angled toward Saphira and Murtagh.

Panic bubbled to the surface as the distance between Thorn and Saphira narrowed, but he knew better than to doubt her abilities.

He was proven correct when a few scant seconds before Thorn would have torn into her exposed back Saphira immediately twisted in the air, her body corkscrewing up and around Thorn. It was a tight maneuver, the tip of her tail inches away from Thorn's snapping teeth as she went. Thorn overshot Saphira and brushed against the top of the trees, a frustrated blast of violent-tinted red flames escaped his maw. Thorn was too far for the flames to cause any real harm, and Saphira quickly used the advantage to straighten her flight and continue towards the clearing.

Murtagh seemed rather green, even strapped tightly into her saddle as he was. Eragon did not envy his half-brother in this instance; he had many times been subjected to maneuvers such as this during their free time.

Thorn quickly recovered from his near miss, his wings beating hard against the air in his effort to catch up to Saphira.

We go now! Glaedr ordered. Keep silent as we strike, and let us end this once and for all!

Eragon was not sure what Glaedr used to determine the appropriate time to strike, but he trusted the judgment older golden dragon. Glaedr also, Eragon belatedly noticed, had maneuvered himself opposite Fírnen, so that when they both struck Thorn would be trapped in the middle.

Immediately Fírnen dove, his wings tucked in close to his body. Normally, due to Glaedr's size, the golden dragon would have eventually outpaced Fírnen simply due to gravities influence; however, Glaedr's experience allowed him to trim his speed and match Fírnen's movements perfectly. Each passing second the red dragon grew in size as they neared.

Brace yourself! Fírnen warned as they neared the unsuspecting Thorn.

Eragon tightened his grip around Arya's waist until he was sure it was nearly unbearable. He also tucked his head against the side of her own so that the two of them would not bash their heads together. Fírnen both, in a simultaneous movement, flared their wings out and angled their claws towards the Shade, mirroring nearly exactly the maneuver Thorn attempted to utilize against Saphira. He knew, as Glaedr had told them earlier, that the golden dragon had to be the first to make contact with Thorn, as the golden dragon's sheer size would better allow him to absorb the blow of Fírnen colliding with Thorn and Glaedr. If it was Fírnen who would first collide, Glaedr warned, the green dragon would be thrown clear of the fight the moment Glaedr struck the red dragon.

Eragon did not have enough time to determine if the dragons had timed their strike perfectly. Moments before the impact he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his body not to tense.

Eragon slammed hard into Arya's back, crushing her forward against Fírnen's saddle. He lost his breath as a loud, painful roar escaped Thorn.

Forcing his eyes open, Eragon was able to briefly glimpse a flash of red and golden before his senses told him he was tumbling. His arms tightened around Arya, the three intertwined dragons falling towards the ground below with shocking speed.

A powerful presence slammed into his mind, the cacophony of minds bypassing the concealment spell easily. Arya and Fírnen likewise were assaulted by the spirits, their strength unbelievable despite even their relative instability.

Give us…

…The light!

A swarm of minds came to their rescue almost immediately, the Eldunarí brushing aside the pressure against Eragon's skull with near ease.

We will hold them back! Umaroth snarled, white-hot determination giving an edge to his words. Powerful spirits may be, but they are no match for us!

As the pressure abated, Eragon had but a moment to take stock of their current situation; Thorn was trapped between Glaedr's massive bulk and Fírnen's, the golden dragon's large maw around Thorn's upper neck. It was a fortuitous position, as it allowed Glaedr to constrain the movements of Thorn's head.

One of Thorn's wings was trapped against Glaedr, while Fírnen used his slightly smaller stature to pin the other. Thorn's claws raked against any surface he could find, at first glancing off of the wards surrounding Glaedr before finally finding purchase. Dark red blood flowed steadily from Glaedr's wounds, but the golden dragon refused to release his hold on Thorn.

Though Fírnen was smaller than both Glaedr and Thorn, he was still a dragon. His claws dug into Thorn's flank deeply, all the while keeping Thorn from freeing his wings. Fírnen's maw dug deeply into the meaty part of Thorn's tail.

Though it was Eragon's initial plan, Glaedr orchestrated it as only a dragon born to the sky could, with Thorn pinned completely The group fell towards the earth as one, the wind ripping past Eragon. Only moments had passed since they had sprung their trap, but Eragon knew that their combined mass held a deceptive speed.

Saphira's mind pressed against his own, mutual relief flowing over their bond the moment Eragon opened his mind to her. At once he was made aware of her position relative to them; her maneuver had brought her higher into the sky above Thorn, leaving her to dive after them to keep pace with their fall.

Without words, she relayed to him their distance to the ground, more impressions than images.

Umaroth, whose mind had been connected to Eragon's own, was far quicker in deciphering their meaning than he was. Now, Arya! Umaroth commanded. We have but mere seconds to spare! Arya's main responsibility during this was small but important; she began to cast a spell to slow their moment, the first words of the Ancient Language leaving her lips before a powerful wave of energy rushed outward from Thorn. Eragon braced himself against Arya's back, feeling her muscles bunch in his grasp even as she kept speaking the words of power.

Nothing happened. At least, that's what it initially appeared to Eragon. As their momentum slowed, Eragon's gaze was drawn upwards only to be blinded by the sun.

Or what Eragon thought was the sun. A massive ball of crackling white light steadily grew overhead, each moment swelling in size, even as they fell slowly away from it. Its brilliance washed out the midday sun with worrying ease. For a split moment, he froze in pure shock before his mind immediately tried to desperately come up with a solution.

Fortunately, Eragon was not alone. Astride Glaedr's massive bulk, Eragon could barely make out Oromis's figure as the elf called down to them. "Concentrate on the task at hand!" Oromis bellowed, his words easier to hear as the sound of rushing wind slowly abated. "Leave this to me!"

A few scant months ago, Eragon would have worried over Oromis's health, especially as Eragon had started to see a small decline in the year since he had returned. Now, Eragon could feel almost a sense of anticipation rising; it had been centuries since he had seen his old master's true strength displayed so brazenly. Oromis was named an Elder of the Council for a reason; those who were chosen to sit on the Council were not just considered the wisest among the Riders, but also some of the strongest and fiercest.

Taking heed of Oromis's words, Eragon instead turned his attention to his situation. In front of him, Arya was sweating profusely under the strain of magic, even with the aid of the Eldunarí, her face set. Even if the Eldunarí were providing the raw energy required to hold three dragons suspended in the air and slowly lower them to the ground, the mere act of channeling that much energy at once could be overwhelming.

They were nearing the ground now, the treetops beginning to obscure Eragon's view of the valley. Somehow Glaedr had managed to angle them directly into the clearing, just as Eragon had hoped.

The three dragons squirmed in the air, a mass of muscle and scale that Eragon had no desire to be in the middle of. Thorn's claws raked against Glaedr's form in continuous blows far too fast for any normal dragon, but even Thorn's spirit-enhanced strength failed to force Glaedr to relinquish his grip. Arya's limbs trembled with effort, and Eragon tightened his grip on her waist and pulled her tightly against his chest. The moment the dragons touched the ground Arya released the spell, her body slumping briefly in relief against Eragon.

Their reprieve was not meant to be long-lived, for Thorn immediately bucked against the ground. Even with Glaedr half-sprawled on top of Thorn, the red dragon was somehow able to gain enough leverage that Fírnen ended up being thrown clear of the tangle, a roar of pain escaping the red dragon as Fírnen's claws tore through his flesh.

It was a miracle that Eragon and Arya did not end up crushed. Fírnen corrected himself, stumbling to his feet, and Eragon immediately wanted off this ride. Arya –seemingly having recovered from her ordeal– must have thought the same, as the two of them made quick work of their bindings and leaped down to the soft grass of the clearing.

Fírnen growled loudly and lowered his head, intending to charge back into the fray, but a large blue flash of scales landed and halted his advance. Murtagh, slightly pale and with windswept hair, leaped from her back, clutching Thorn's Eldunarí tightly to his chest with both hands.

Saphira glanced at Eragon, and at his nod, the two dragons rushed towards the other two fighting dragons. Though Thorn had managed to cast off Fírnen, the red dragon was unable to completely dislodge the older Glaedr. Despite his missing limb Glaedr was not to be taken lightly. The golden dragon was still simply larger and more physically powerful.

Still, Thorn protested, limbs flailing with enhanced strength and straining against Glaedr mightily. Saphira and Fírnen swooped in together, both dragons flashing claws and teeth before diving into the mix.

It was a mesh of colors –red, green, gold, and blue– and a near-solid wall of scales that writhed on the grass-covered earth. Giant junks of ground tore out as the dragons attempted to pin Thorn, all the while fine mists of blood sprayed from newly opened wounds. Murtagh kept wincing in pain, his grip tight on the red gem.

Please, Eragon thought to himself. Let this work.

The waiting was excruciating. None of the Riders dared to join the fray, lest a careless claw or tooth gut them. At some point, Oromis had moved off to the side, away from the dragons. Oromis's attention was focused high in the sky, his face tense in concentration and his lips moving quickly.

Following Oromis's gaze, Eragon's eyes locked onto the dazzlingly bright orb.

Despite being physically outmatched on the ground, it was clear that the spirits inside of Thorn still had some energy left. The white orb was growing in size above them, though its approach had halted above the tree line.

Beside him, Arya's fingers grazed the outside of his hand lightly, turning his attention away from the blinding white energy gathering in the sky. She nodded her head over towards Oromis, her intention clear.

Eragon returned her nod, watching for a moment as she rushed over towards Oromis. He felt her mind join with Oromis's and a smattering of other Eldunarí, her voice joining in the chorus of whatever magic Oromis attempted to unleash. He could give it no more thought, knowing that his task ahead was just as difficult.

Moving to stand next to his half-brother Eragon could see that Murtagh's worried gaze was locked onto Thorn's struggling form, his pale –but determined– unwavering.

Ready yourselves, both of you, Umaroth stated firmly. We may only have moments to act, and you must be swift if we are to succeed.

Nodding, the two half-brothers steeled themselves.

The dragons paused in their struggle, and it took Eragon a moment to make sense of the tangle of limbs before him. Barely visible underneath the mountain of green, gold, and blue scales, Thorn was lying on his side atop one of his wings. Glaedr's massive maw was still locked around his neck, a seeming river of blood flowing from the puncture wounds caused by teeth that were nearly the size of Eragon's arm. The claws on Glaedr's remaining forelimb were lodged between the shoulder joint on Thorn's upper wing and the red dragon's body, driven deep into the soft tissue.

There were strands of fiber in that area, Eragon knew, that were attached to the muscles on Thorn's back and were what allowed the wings to move. Pinching that area –as much as one could pinch a dragon– locked the fibers and prevented the wings from moving freely. Fírnen, the smallest of the three, was using his claws and teeth to secure the Thorn's forelimbs. Thorn's clawed paw was grasping at the air inches from Fírnen's scales, though the green dragon was careful to keep a tight hold on Thorn's limbs.

Meanwhile, Saphira used her incredible bulk to help Glaedr hold Thorn's stockier body to the ground, one paw on one of Thorn's hindlimbs and her maw on the other. Her remaining forelimb was planted on Thorn's softer belly below his ribs.

Blood coated each of the dragons, and the amount worried Eragon. Each of the three dragons holding Thorn was bleeding from various wounds they received in the struggle, though Eragon did not feel any great pain reverberating through his bond with Saphira.

Now! Glaedr shouted at the pair, knocking Eragon from his observations. Quickly, while we have him!

At once, Eragon sprinted forward, his mind readying the words to Tenga's spell. He could feel Umaroth and the other Eldunarí with him gathering their energy, readying themselves for the monumental task ahead. As he reached Thorn the red dragon struggled mightly beneath the mountain of dragons piled atop him, but the three were more than enough to hold him still. A brief flash of worry echoed from his bond, but Saphira was wise enough to not distract him. For a brief moment, Eragon felt the spirits inside scream out in fury, their minds pressing against Eragon and causing him to wince before being swept away again by the Eldunarí.

He had forgotten how powerful dragons could be, especially when they pooled their strength.

Recovering, Eragon dashed around Fírnen and alighted next to where Glaedr had Thorn pinned in his mouth, wanting to keep the golden dragon between him and Thorn's sharp teeth. Murtagh was right on his heels, and a glance at his half-brother showed what appeared to be tears streaming down his face.

Taking a breath, Eragon emptied himself of all thoughts and worries save for his task ahead, allowing only the spell Tenga had gifted him room in his mind. He placed his hands against Thorn's scales, nearly wincing in pain at the heat emanating from the dragon. Then, when he was ready, Eragon began to intone the words of the spell, ensuring that he drew solely from the Eldunarí hovering at the edges of his thoughts.

In the back of his mind, Eragon could hear Umaroth speaking lightly to Murtagh. We must wait until the final spirit has left Thorn's body to act, but we cannot afford to wait too long; leaving a body without a mind to control it has considerable risks, too numerous here to explain. Open yourself to us, Murtagh, and allow us entrance into the bond uniting you and Thorn.

Eragon kept the words of the spell flowing from his lips, and Thorn bucked as the spirits reacted. The same horrible screech Thorn had produced before during their battle near the Varden left the red dragon's maw, making Eragon and the others wince in agony. He was only silenced when Glaedr used the stump of his left foreleg to forcibly close the dragon's gaping mouth.

He could feel the spell beginning to take shape, devouring vast amounts of the energy the Eldunarí poured into him. He began to sweat greatly under the strain, his limbs beginning to tremble.

Tenga's spell was long and winding, the words of the Ancient Language twisting over themselves in complicated ways that if Eragon were to think about it, would strain his understanding of the nature of reality. It was a convoluted piece of work, one that the Eldunarí begrudgingly admitted was probably one of the more complex spells to have ever been designed.

It was also created by the most eccentric man Eragon had ever met; the same individual who had maddingly called the Ancient Language a crutch.

For one brief moment, Eragon felt immensely glad that the Eldunarí were here; not only were they powering Eragon's spell, but also whatever Oromis and Arya were doing to counteract the large white orb hanging over their heads. Not only that, they would also lead the charge in reuniting Thorn's mind and body.

These thoughts too Eragon swept aside, honing his mind to focus on his task. Thorn continued to buck underneath his hands, and Eragon had to lean heavily against the red dragon to make sure his hands kept in contact with Thorn.

The moment he finished speaking out loud the words of the spell, Eragon saw that this spell was markedly different than the previous spell he used against Tenga. Instead of the pure white light that had spawned off the tip of Brisingr in his last attempt to free Thorn, this time the spell was concentrated inside of Thorn. Strands of blue light, the same color his magic usually took, started to peek through the cracked layers of Thorn's scales. It quickly spread from his right palm, and after a moment Eragon realized that it was following the same path as the strange twisting purple markings that had been imprinted into Thorn's scales.

It took him a second to realize that the blue light was devouring the purple light, consuming the strange magic and spreading with each passing moment. The spirits inside seemed to recoil in agony, and Thorn shook and wailed beneath his hands.

The energy draw on Eragon felt as though it nearly doubled, his limbs shaking and his vision narrowing. The Eldunarí were quick to respond, more energy flowing between their linked minds. Eragon was unaware of how much time had passed; his entire world was encompassed by the concentration required to maintain the spell, only aware of the growing pain in his limbs and the ever-more energy requirement being demanded of him.

Hours could have passed, or even minutes. Eragon was simply unaware of everything save the spell. Never before had he ever used a spell that required so much of his awareness; it felt as if he were trying to tame a storm within a glass sphere–the howling winds and crackling lightning pressing against the fragile boundary, growing in strength with each passing moment.

Only his unwavering concentration on the spell kept the tempest at bay, but the strain on his mind was like gripping a blade that slowly cut deeper with every passing second.

At some point, he had closed his eyes, only opening briefly when he felt a cool hand wipe his sweat-ridden forehead. The small, dainty fingers that retreated clued him into the identity of the hand's owner; Eragon pried open his eyes and gazed tiredly at Arya next to him, her mutual exhaustion nearly matching his own.

From the look on her face, she and Oromis had been successful in dispelling the orb, though Eragon did not have the spare energy or concentration to ask after their endeavor. Instead, his head tipped forward, glad his neck was spared the strain of holding his head up when it fell against an armored shoulder.

Arya whispered something to Eragon, but whatever she said was drowned out by the piercing wail that echoed from Thorn. It was not an audible sound, yet it was both physical and magical all at once; both Eragon and Arya stumbled from the invisible shockwave, and Eragon strained to maintain his focus –and physical contact with Thorn– against the pure pressure of the wail. Arya helped him, her arms intertwining around his torso and holding him steady, the metal of their armor rubbing hard against one another.

The shockwave felt as if the spirits were calling out into the void in their rage and agony. Thorn's body convulsed beneath his hands again, and the three dragons struggled to keep the red dragon pinned.

Wanting to see how much more he had to go –and honestly gauge how long he could keep this up– Eragon turned his head to gaze down the length of Thorn's massive body. What he saw surprised him; nearly all of the purple markings were gone, the strange light replaced by the softer hue of Saphira's scales that tinted Eragon's magic.

Beside him, Murtagh held Thorn's Eldunarí up to the red dragon's chest, the red gem inches away from Thorn's blue-infused red scales. Eragon opened his mouth to call out to his half-brother when Umaroth's familiar timbre beat him to it.

Now! Umaroth called out.

Murtagh pushed the Eldunarí against Thorn's chest and a large pulse of magic blasted outward the moment the gem touched Thorn's scales.

Then, everything went black, and Eragon knew no more.

"Eragon!"

Voices called out to him, but Eragon paid them no head.

Little one! Let go!

Skörungr!

"Let go, Eragon," Vrael said, the elf's kind smile filling Eragon's mind.

"You've done more than enough."

At once Eragon shot awake, his body reacting before his mind fully recognized his surroundings. Fortunately, powerful arms held him down and prevented him from smashing his head against the great blue snout that was hovering over him. Eragon slowly pried open his eyes, his exhaustion nearly making him close them again after it made itself known.

Little one, Saphira murmured, the tiredness clouding her mind matching his. Her snout reached down and touched Eragon lightly in the chest before retreating. Welcome back to the world of the living.

Despite her words, he could feel her relief flowing steadily through their bond. Saphira swung her head away from him, revealing the darkening sky above.

Groaning, Eragon reached up and grasped the familiar arm holding him firmly against the ground, his fingers finding cool metal instead of warm skin. Surprised, Eragon's gaze moved away from the sky and up the armored arm, finding a beautiful, if exasperated, Arya staring down at him.

"I do not think it is healthy, Eragon, the number of times you've passed out," Arya scolded, her hand releasing its grip on his shoulder. She ran her fingers softly over through his hair as she stared down at him firmly.

It took Eragon a moment to recognize her words, and another for him to realize that his head was laying on her extended legs. Arya was sitting on the soft grass with her back to a large green boulder –Fírnen, hopefully– and Eragon was situated perpendicular to her.

"If it–" Eragon began, his voice cracking in his exhausted state. "If it means waking up in your arms like this again, then I am not complaining."

Three rumbling sounds echoed around the clearing, the distinct pitches alerting him to the dragons who found his words humorous. Arya's grip on his hair tightened to nearly painful levels, her ears turning slightly red even as she glared at him. "We are already mates," Arya said, her words low, "You need not offer such flattery."

True, Fírnen rumbled in Eragon's mind, his deep voice filled with mirth. Besides, I'm sure you much prefer the other way he wakes up in your arms.

Eragon croaked out a laugh even as Arya scolded Fírnen, her glare moving mercifully away from Eragon and to her bonded dragon. Tuning them out, Eragon slowly made his way to his feet –with some help from Arya– before turning about to look around the clearing.

Fírnen was lying on the edge of the clearing beside Glaedr, with Saphira caging the two Riders in between them. Turning to Saphira, Eragon felt a distinct sense of relief fill him as he took in her freshly healed presence.

Oromis and Arya healed the worst of it, Saphira told him, their minds melding seamlessly and making Eragon nearly stumble at their combined relief. Of the three of us, Fírnen sustained the most injuries, but they were quickly healed.

Leaving the playfully arguing Arya and Fírnen to themselves, Eragon stumbled the few steps over to Saphira and nearly collapsed on his way. Luckily, Saphira caught him with her snout, pushing him back onto his feet with gentle movements.

"Did we succeed?" Eragon finally asked. It was a question that grated at him since the moment he had awakened. Only the calmness the others displayed had kept Eragon from outright assuming the worst but he needed to see with his own eyes.

Saphira did not answer him. Instead, her massive sapphire eye flickered over his shoulder towards Glaedr's position. Soft footsteps approached behind him, and Eragon turned his head to meet an equally exhausted Oromis. The elder elf had stripped off some of his armor since Eragon had last seen him, his face drawn and tired in a way Eragon had not seen since he had been stricken by his illness.

Eragon attempted to repeat his question to his old master, but Oromis forestalled him with a raised hand. "Come," Oromis beckoned, reaching out a hand and helping to steady Eragon as the two of them stepped passed Saphira's bulk. "It is better if you see."

As they maneuvered slowly around Saphira, Eragon began to make out Thorn's form in the middle of the clearing; the red dragon had not moved from the place in the clearing Arya had lowered them in, but Thorn was now free of the confining presence of the other three dragons. Here, in the glade, Thorn looked worse than Eragon initially thought; it was as though the spirits had taken something vital from the red dragon, leaving behind dull scales and far too lean muscles. The various wounds that must have been inflicted during the dragon's tussle had been healed over, but Eragon could still see a faint echo of the markings left on his scales.

The markings were mercifully sans any eerie purple glow.

The closer they drew, the more Eragon's panic began to rise, growing exponentially more when he saw Murtagh kneeling beside Thorn's massive head, his head cradled in his hands and openly weeping. His heart thundered in his chest, feeling as though he was a man headed to the gallows with each step he took closer.

Then his heart stopped all at once when Thorn raised his head and peered tiredly at Eragon.

Eragon could not help the tears that spilled passed his eyes, his steps faltering. Oromis's steadying hand was the only thing keeping Eragon on his feet, though the Elder released his firm grip once Murtagh stumbled to his feet.

His half-brother turned to look at Eragon, the two of them freezing in place. Murtagh was the first to break the stalemate, a small and joy-filled smile gracing his brother's face before the two of them rushed in together. Murtagh clasped Eragon's arm tightly in his own. Then, in a moment the two of them would vehemently deny ever happened, the two half-brothers embraced.

The two of them stood together for a long moment before Murtagh retreated, though he kept a steadying arm on Eragon. His half-brother cleared his throat, his eyes dancing between Eragon and Oromis behind him. Eragon took the moment to study Murtagh; the paleness he exuded before was gone, his skin once again regaining a healthy look.

For once, since the first time Eragon had seen him in the year or so he had been back, Murtagh looked happy.

Murtagh made to speak first, but an achingly familiar presence brushed against Eragon's mind, nearly making Eragon lose his balance. Murtagh wisely stepped aside, retreating to stand back next to Thorn.

Skörungr, Thorn stated, his voice achingly weak and yet strong in the way only a dragon could be. The red dragon dipped his head, and Eragon belatedly realized that he had extended out a hand to brush up against his snout. You have my deepest thanks for what you have done for me.

Eragon's fingers brushed against the scales of Thorn's snout, the temperature of the dragon now more reasonably warm than scorching hot. Eragon shuddered in relief, tears clouding his vision.

Thorn hummed beneath his touch, the timbre low. You have done what few others would ever dare. You helped those who should by all rights be considered your enemy. What you have done for Murtagh –and by extension me– I will never forget.

He had no words for the joy filling his heart, and it was all Eragon could do to simply impress his feelings towards the red dragon.

The exchange must have greatly tired Thorn, for the red dragon withdrew his neck and lowered his head to once again rest on the ground. Thorn closed his eyes and ceased his humming, his deep breathing telling Eragon that the dragon was resting. Murtagh gazed at Thorn's prone form for a moment before turning to Eragon.

The two sons of Selena took a second to wipe their eyes of fresh tears, and he felt a chuckle reverberate through his bond with Saphira in the back of his mind. So very alike, the two of you, yet at the same time so different, Saphira remarked.

He barely offered her an acknowledgment of her comment before Murtagh began to speak.

"I–", Murtagh, began, his voice trailing off. His half-brother took a deep breath and ran a hand over his hair, pushing away a long lock of hair from his eyes. "There's–."

Eragon waited patiently.

After a moment Murtagh cleared his throat, meeting Eragon's gaze strongly. "Thank you," Murtagh stated loudly, infusing his words with emotion.

There was so much Eragon wanted to say, but he could see that Murtagh wanted time alone with Thorn. Instead of replying, Eragon nodded and reached out a hand again to Murtagh. Without hesitation his half-brother clasped arms with him, squeezing tightly.

They separated without a word, and Eragon turned back around to face Oromis. The elf had moved a distance away to give them a semblance of privacy, but Eragon could see that he had seen the whole exchange. Oromis said nothing as he helped a tired Eragon back over to the others, only having just noticed that Saphira and repositioned herself in the glade.

Instead of encircling the area, Eragon had woken up, Saphira moved over to the side of Fírnen, the three dragons lying in a row along the edges of the glade against the trees of the forest. Oromis helped Eragon over to where Arya was, his mate having busied herself with preparing their shared accommodations for the evening, located equidistant between Saphira and Fírnen. Oromis released him into the care of Arya with a strong nod and a kind smile, his grip on Eragon's shoulder firm for a moment before the older elf turned towards Glaedr.

The golden dragon merely offered Eragon a brief blink of one large golden eye in acknowledgment.

Saphira and Fírnen were both asleep, drained from the day's activity. Not only had they flown nonstop from Vroengard but had also fought against Thorn, even if the fight had been slightly onesided. Still, even with the energy provided by the Eldunarí, their bodies needed rest.

Much like Eragon's.

Walking slowly, Eragon seated himself down on one of the two bed rolls laid out side by side. Arya followed behind and laid her head against his shoulder. It was at that point that Eragon noticed she had shed her armor, and rather belatedly that he was sans his own as well.

Instead of worrying himself as to the location of his armor, Eragon twined his arm around Arya's torso and rested his head atop her own, breathing in the smell of freshly crushed pine needles.

Exactly what happened earlier did not concern Eragon at the moment. He was sure there was a discussion –or two– due to be had over the events that happened after he blacked out, and even more so on what they were going to do about Thorn and Murtagh. But right now, here in this place, Eragon simply wanted to enjoy the cool breeze washing over his skin, and the warmth of Arya by his side.

Tomorrow they would figure out what the future had in store for Murtagh and Thorn, and then they would fly to war.

Tonight, Eragon would sit with his mate in his arms and revel in the feeling of being alive.

Uhhhh.

That was a chapter... huh? Also, surprisingly not a lot of dialogue, which I guess makes up for the last chapter being mainly dialogue. Hopefully.

I'm glad we finally got to this point in the story, where Eragon can close out this part of his life, and more importantly that we have finished up Murtagh's side story.

Thorn ain't all better, though. Something like this leaves lasting impressions (both physical and mental) so we may see some of that later, but probably not too much.

So. The current plan. Sadly, there are not too many chapters left in this story. Not sure how many exactly, but PROBABLY around 5. Could be more, could be less, but each chapter I do write will probably be the same length. This includes an epilogue I plan to write.

There may be short stories set after the events of The Path Least Chosen, but nothing firm. Probably just a mix of outtakes, but I'm not committing to anything yet.

In any case, I do want to finish this up, so that I can get started on another story floating around my head. It's an AU ExA story I've had floating in my head for a few months, but will not be anywhere close in scope to this. I mean, this story is already just shy of around 450K I think.

That's nuts btw. Do you know how difficult it is to keep everything straight about what's going on in this story!? I have to reread my work (and cringe at any mistakes I find) and try to keep it separated from Paolini's original work. All the while trying to incorporate the original too, cause that's kind of been the whole point of this story. It's not fun. But also it is fun, so yeah.

So, I hope you guys enjoy it, and here's to the next chapter! I told you I wanted to finish this, and I damn well aim to!

It just may take me more than a few months haha.

ALSO. Sorry about the long authors note. :)

Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):

Italics represent 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.