Disclaimer: I do not own The Inheritance Cycle. I only own the OC Michael Draven/Ancalagon.

With Gil'ead nothing but ruins and its occupants ashes or still burning, the group moved as far as they could until Ancalagon was certain they were far enough away that they wouldn't be tracked or even pursued. He was almost certain the destruction of Gil'ead would warrant Galbatorix's attention and bring the King himself.

As much as his actions troubled him and left him feeling numb, Ancalagon tried to brush it off for now. He was mainly focusing on Brom, who was still alive… albeit barely.

"Eragon…" Brom's voice weakly broke the silence the camp had been in, with only the sound of the campfire crackling being present.

"Brom?" Eragon moved from checking on Arya and went straight to Brom's side. At the old man's voice, Murtagh piped up, as did Saphira, who had been glancing worriedly at Ancalagon who laid a little further away from them than he usually did. However, upon hearing Brom's voice, the black dragon lifted his head and moved closer.

"Before I… pass… there's something you should know." Brom said, grimacing in pain as his wound flared when he tried to shift slightly, but mostly due to the blood loss. "Grab the wineskin and… pour it… onto my hand."

Although confused at Brom's request, Eragon reluctantly did so. He unstopped 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 and eyes widened with shock.

There on Brom's palm was the gedwëy ignasia.

"You're a Rider?" Eragon gasped in shock, as Murtagh's eyes widened. Saphira shifted, already knowing as did Ancalagon.

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?" Eragon asked 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.

"It-It won't if… Ancalagon… also has his say." Brom said with a weak chuckle as he looked softly at the silver dragon, who allowed a couple of tears to fall down his cheeks.

"Please… let me help you. We need you. I need you." Eragon said with tears streaming down his face.

"No…" Brom shook his head slowly. "My time is over, Eragon. It's up to you now. But don't despair. You have Murtagh… Saphira… and Ancalagon with you. Look after each other, all of you."

"We will." Murtagh nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Brom nodded, his eyes passing onto the dragons. "And you two… take good care of each other."

We will, old one. Saphira said, her voice shaky, on the verge of shedding tears. Ancalagon put a wing over her and she buried her face into his shoulder which caused a small smile to form on Brom's face.

I will protect them, Brom. Ancalagon said firmly and strongly, even going so far as to repeat his words in the ancient language. As long as I live and breathe, they will not be harmed by anyone, not even the King.

"That's… all I can ask of you…" Brom said with a weak nod. "And now, for the greatest adventure of all..."

Weeping, Eragon held his hand, comforting him as best he could. As the long hours passed, a gray pallor crept over Brom, and his eyes slowly dimmed. His hands grew icy; the air around him took on an evil humor. Powerless to help, they could only watch as the wound took its toll along with the amount of blood loss.

The evening hours were young and the shadows long when Brom suddenly stiffened. Eragon called his name and cried for help, but they could do nothing. As a barren silence dampened the air, Brom locked his eyes with Eragon's. Then contentment spread across the old man's face, and a whisper of breath escaped his lips. And so it was that Brom the storyteller died.

With shaky fingers, Eragon closed Brom's eyes and unleashed the tears. Murtagh placed a hand on his shoulder tightly, trying to fight his own tears. Saphira didn't bother to restrain her own as she felt her own sadness, as well as her Rider's, and buried her face into Ancalagon's shoulder. The black-scaled male simply held her, even as a couple more tears fell.

I won't fail you, Brom. Ancalagon whispered, hoping the old man would hear from the afterlife. Sniffling, Ancalagon spoke up to them all. We should bury him.

Everyone fully agreed with that.

After burying Brom, and making sure his grave would be left undiscovered and untouched thanks to Saphira encasing him within a gemstone vault so the ravages of time did not decay the body, the group moved on, knowing they had to get to the Varden.

They came across a small village near the edge of the desert at noon the next day, having traveled the rest of the night and most of the morning. Both Eragon and Murtagh entered it while the dragons hid outside at a distance to glean the rumors and gossip that was passing through as well as getting more skins of water. When they met back up, both of their expressions were worried but neither spoke up until the village was well outside of their sight.

"Some traders from Gil'ead were there." Eragon said, unknowingly making Ancalagon feel some measure of relief that someone survived his… massacre. "They spoke of a silver demon who ravaged and massacred the city, bringing down fire from the skies as if... it was a god."

"The whole Empire is talking about the destruction of Gil'ead." Murtagh added. "I daresay it'll reach the King."

No doubt. Ancalagon agreed, though he was worried about that piece of information. Galbatorix would pay heavy attention to such talk. He shook his head, putting the thought aside and looked at the two. Did you get what you needed?

Eragon shook his head. "Not as much as we wanted, water this far out is expensive, so is food."

Ancalagon grunted and laid down on his belly next to Saphira, who kept glancing worriedly at him. She had seen a change within the silver dragon, and she knew it had something to do with what happened at Gil'ead combined with the loss of Brom. She wanted to talk to him about it, but felt that he may not want to be reminded of what he did.

It didn't help that underneath all her worry for what he had become that night… there lay a shiver of arousal at his display of strength and power.

Male dragons were known to show off their strength to impress a female that they want as a mate, and Ancalagon had done just that when he destroyed Gil'ead; accessing power he seemed unaware of. And when Ancalagon destroyed Gil'ead, Saphira couldn't help but feel aroused at the display of his strength, feeling her heart skip several beats, but her worry and concern for him had been stronger that night.

After some time discussing their plans, and also checking on Arya, Ancalagon told them to sleep for tomorrow they would be pushing themselves hard to cross the desert and making for the mountains.

But not everyone was going to endure a peaceful sleep.

Ancalagon stood in the ruins of what was once Gil'ead, with nothing but darkness and fire surrounding him. Not even the night sky, nor the moon could be seen, just darkness. Then, from the darkness, came the corpses of men, women and children.

What is…? Ancalagon stepped back in partial fear, then turned away only to find himself surrounded in a circle by the corpses. Most of them were burned, revealing a skeleton underneath. Some looked as if they had been ripped apart or impaled. It soon hit Ancalagon.

These were the victims of Gil'ead… his victims.

No… please… Ancalagon begged softly as he looked at each and every single one. Seeing their soulless, black eyes staring into his with no compassion.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

"We were innocent!"

"Heartless!"

I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean… Ancalagon roared as the corpses jumped at him, managing to take him down, and he felt them start stabbing into his body, continuing to hurl their insults at him. And even as Ancalagon begged and pleaded for something to stop this… he knew he deserved it. He was the one responsible for their fate after all.

"You don't belong here."

"Fake!"

"Pretender!"

Then, the nightmare shifted and Ancalagon found himself standing before a pile of bodies consisting of men, elves, dwarves and even…

S-Saphira…? Ancalagon choked in horror as he saw the still and partially burnt remains of the sapphire-blue dragoness, embraced by the upper half of a green dragon.

And atop of the pile… was himself, leering down at him with savage delight.

Know yourself, Michael. Know what you will become! Give into your desires and make this world yours!

No! No! I'm sorry! I-I I didn't want this! I didn't mean to destroy Gil'ead! I-I just… Ancalagon couldn't muster the words to defend himself, to excuse what he did, and he collapsed onto his belly, crying as the dead continued to shout their insults at him. The silver dragon from atop the pile watched with delight, holding the skull of Saphira in his paw before he crushed it, making Ancalagon instantly flinch.

Ancalagon snapped awake with a growl and looked around frantically, only calming down when he saw he was where he had been, with the others. Saphira was beside him, his wing draped over her back, Eragon was sleeping against her side. They were all safe.

They were all safe.

Ancalagon slowly laid back down, but the image of what he saw would haunt him for the rest of the night, and the fear that what he saw...

...was his future.

And that's it for this chapter.