"You will find it difficult to achieve results like a potion would yield. For spells, Balsamum is your best bet."

Harry jotted down notes. "What about the nerves?"

"Much trickier," Mungo said. "Again, a potion would be far superior. I would not trifle with the nervous system if I were not incredibly familiar with it. You are a novice. You would be better served hoping to cross paths with a friendly dragon than potentially damaging yourself further. For the pain, ironically, a potion is the easiest solution. One you do not need dragonsblood for."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The muggles make their pain remedies from the same plant as we do," the healer said. "Your orchideous trick should get you your first flower. They are called opium poppies."

Harry scribbled the name down dubiously. Wasn't that what heroin came from? He thanked Mungo and said goodbye. Once the spirit departed, Harry twisted his ring around, pushing the stone over and over his finger, careful not to rotate the stone itself in its setting.

He tried out balsamum for a while. It was not much use for the pain, but it significantly reduced the scarring over his burns, and turned the pink and red skin back to Harry's pasty white tone. Harry was in the midst of debating if he ought to try to make heroin when someone knocked at the door.

"Just a mo'" Harry called, shrugging his shirt back on. He summoned his crutches and hobbled over to answer the door.

"You look much better," Arya greeted him, glancing at his neck and arms. "How are you?"

Harry was suddenly self-conscious of his infirmity. Arya was radiant, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He hadn't known she still had the clothes he made her around.

The elf glanced down at herself, following his gaze. "Brom and I are using the tents to carry produce down from your workshop. My own clothes were dirty. I have received odd looks. Alagaesia's women's attire does not usually reveal so much of our forms."

"Don't you wear pants normally, anyways?" Harry blushed. He cleaned his room with a hasty swipe of his hand.

Arya inclined her head. "A personal choice that has been remarked upon many times. I wanted to speak with you about the tent, actually. Tarnag cannot survive without the food you're providing, and nobody can fetch it while the tunnel into Farthen Dûr is sealed and the only other entrance is a mile off the ground, set in a sheer cliff face. If you could make more tents, clear out the tunnel, or help relocate the farms like you did to your workshop back in Ellesmera, it would free us to leave earlier."

"Yeah," Harry said quickly. "Er, of course. Let's go."

"You're up for it?" Arya asked.

Harry thought for a moment. He was determined to spend the day with Arya, so he was very motivated to find a solution.

"I'll just apparate," he decided. "Will they watch you fly away?"

Arya shook her head. "Brom and I have kept up pretenses, even if the twins have a great deal of information to betray. Nobody has seen anyone but yourself on a broomstick."

"They don't know how you're getting up there and back?" Harry checked. Arya confirmed. Harry grinned and stretched out his hand. Warily, she clasped it. Harry twisted and pulled them both into the void.

Harry arrived with his crutches misplaced. He put weight on his legs to hold himself up, felt a stab of pain, and fell to the ground, Arya, entangled with him for side-along apparition, fell over him in a heap.

"I apologize," Arya said immediately, but Harry was already blushing, pushing his crutches away and disentangling himself. Arya stood up and made some effort at neatening herself, but the regal illusion she always displayed had broken. Wearing jeans and a rumpled t-shirt, apologizing for tripping over him, Arya seemed much more like a teenager than an eighty year old elf.

Harry noticed that he was staring and pushed himself off the ground. "Sorry."

Someone had tried to neaten up. Harry let his gaze skirt towards the coke oven, close enough to see out of the corner of his eyes that Maria's body had been removed, the ash and grime wiped away, and the ovens and furnaces turned off.

All of his projects had been otherwise left alone. The silos next to the vertical farm were the only place that had really been touched. There were wheelbarrows sitting in front of the silos, a broom propped up against a table where the production records had been before they were stolen, and the imprints of three tents were left in the detritus layer on the stone floor.

"I tried to leave most of this untouched," Arya said, fetching Harry's crutches for him. "Brom and I have been filling the tent you and I lived in, Eragon's, and the one you had put the workshop in back in Ellesmera.

Harry hobbled over to the table and touched the place where the records had been. "They stole whatever wasn't bolted down."

Arya's face fell. "I'm sorry, Harry. We were caught completely by surprise. They were unpleasant, but never gave us any indication they were disloyal."

Hadn't Harry known? Hadn't Harry immediately mistrusted them? Harry thought for a moment that perhaps he should be indignant, or perhaps he ought to say those four bitterly satisfying words. I told you so.

But as he entertained the idea, Harry came to realize he couldn't honestly say that. He had hated the twins for being arseholes, not traitors. They were mean, they were his enemies in the Varden, but for all he had known, they were like an uglier, more malevolent version of Draco Malfoy, not Voldemort.

He'd hated them for being annoying, and annoyance was not a crime. If Harry reflected honestly, he'd been petty, immature, and churlish in dealing with the twins. The Varden was not an afterschool club, it was a job, and he was not being professional in how he treated the twins. Just because he could get away with it, didn't mean he should have done it.

"Song for your thoughts?" Arya asked.

Harry glanced up. "The twins. I'm realizing that even though my mistrust of them saved us some headaches, I had no good reason to think they were traitors. If I was a more mature person, I would have trusted them a lot more, and we would have been burned a lot more by their betrayal."

Arya nodded. "Perhaps you might have worked more gracefully with them," she said bluntly. "Yet, I think you observed a character flaw in them and read further into it than we did. Perhaps we did not treat their behavior with the alarm it merited."

Harry considered Dumbledore's advice. Learn what he could from his mistake, then move on.

"Will you do what you did in Ellesmera to move all this down to Tarnag?" Arya interrupted his thoughts.

Harry nodded. "Something like that. The Varden doesn't need all of this. We'll do one for them to keep with the food and some looms, the other with the rest for me to bring to Ellesmera and work on."

"You'll conjure them?" Arya supposed.

Harry shook his head. "They've got to be made from real material. Fortunately–" he indicated the looms. "We have access to real cloth."

The looms were spooled with conjured thread for the gambesons, but Shrrg had left enough real stuff laying around to rethread the looms and make proper fabric.

He and Arya talked while they worked, cutting lengths for the tents, scrounging up lengths of aluminum to form into frames, and assembling the final products. Harry was in no shape to be crawling over the floor hooking posts into each other or wrapping cloth up into form. He manned the loom, formed the supports and adjusted them on Arya's feedback, and cut the cloth.

It felt good to be making things again. Especially with Arya. It was something he could throw himself into, a moment he could enjoy that took up enough space in his mind to push the rest of his thoughts to the side.

"Where did the idea of tents come from?" Arya asked. "Simply the biggest portable container?"

Harry shrugged. "Sort of. The undetectable extension charm can be used on more than just that. I hadn't given it much thought, actually. One of my best friends used it on a little cloth handbag and kept about a thousand pounds of books, supplies, and other odds and ends in it while we were running around the countryside."

"But you don't use bags very much," Arya observed. "They would be convenient for keeping what you need on you."

"I have an expanded backpack, and so does Eragon," Harry pointed out. "I made a couple medkits that fold down to matchboxes." He measured and cut the next length of cloth with a charm.

"I guess it's convenient," he realized, running a repair charm down the edge of the weave, mending the cut edges into each other and sealing the fabric on itself. "The limit of the extension charm isn't really the actual size of the interior, it's the size of the opening. Making my backpack big enough to fit my broomstick makes it really hard to reach little things on the bottom without a summoning charm. You can actually walk into a tent, so you can make the inside as big as you want. Although you can only fit whatever fits through the mouth inside. Without magic, I guess."

A billet of aluminum became another set of supports. Arya took both and tested the fit.

"I often think your people have not considered the extent of the capabilities of all their spells," Arya said, knitting her brows as she stuffed two stubborn supports together.

Harry knew that was true. He'd noticed it in himself. Now that he was getting used to engineering and speaking with muggle experts, he'd been learning – or relearning – how muggles solved problems. There were so many ways magic could solve a problem, there was not much pressure to find the best solution, any solution would do. Muggles also did a lot more iteration and refinement than wizards. Harry would have given a lot at that moment to speak with Mr. Weasley about how he enchanted the Ford Anglia.

"I know," he admitted aloud. "I've been thinking about it both ways. I'm the only one who can use magic, so solutions that rely on it rely on my limited time. Using magic to augment technology lets me scale it up much easier. I know a muggle solution doesn't need magic to work, so no matter what, it'll still work without me."

Arya let that stand. They made a couple dozen tents before Harry called it enough. He wondered if she brought the capabilities of his magic up because she was annoyed at putting the tents together when he could have done it with a flick of his wand. Fred and George would say it built character, and cackle at her misfortune while luxuriating in their freedom from the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.

Memories of Fred and George apparating every six feet in Grimmauld Place came to mind. Apparition's convenience could not be overstated. It was almost enough for Harry to start using it openly – almost.

Even if Galbatorix now knew about planes and Harry's ability to be nearly anywhere without warning within a day, which was most of what apparition could do, apparition was still the last ace he had up his sleeve, his get out of jail free card in a situation gone wrong. Alagaesia's magic could stop apparition. Harry wanted Galbatorix not to bother taking the precaution of preventing it so when Harry dearly needed it, it could save his life. That was worth the inconvenience of keeping apparition so tightly secret.

Harry and Arya went through the workshop, picking and choosing how everything ought to be divided up. The Varden definitely needed the vertical farm, and it could benefit from having most of the looms, along with the arc furnaces for making steel. Harry could only really use one himself, and he could make more if some unlikely circumstance arose where one was not enough. (This was a very difficult circumstance to imagine.)

The more advanced machines stayed with Harry. It didn't take many tents to divide everything up. They used most of the remaining ones to move the workers' apartments in.

By the time Harry had finished enchanting everything, he'd got very familiar with the process.

When everything was loaded up and folded down, the workshop was a mostly empty room once more. Arya had Harry mark down everything he noticed missing that the twins might have stolen, to help the Varden know exactly what Galbatorix knew.

Empty and ready to move out, Harry felt a sense of nostalgia for a time less than a month ago when the place was new. When there was no baggage under the halogen-white magic lights hanging on wires from the distant ceiling, nor in the dusty spots and mental shadows of blood on the spotless stone floor.

Everything was packed up. Purely out of sentimental reasons, Harry left the undetectable extension charm on the empty room. Maybe some dwarf would find it one day and the room would find use again in the future.

Arya put the folded tent of tents in her pocket. Harry could see it in the outline of her jeans. Together, they walked down to the runway and stood at the lip of the tarmac, where the ground fell away, a breathtaking view set out around them. Harry leaned on his crutches and felt the chilly mountain breeze on his skull.

"I'm going to miss this place," Harry admitted.

Arya fought a smile. "It's only been a month."

"Yeah," Harry sighed fondly. "But it was a great month. I got to have a brilliant time making stuff, I had friends who were doing the same – and it was all before I really saw what it was all for. You know?"

Arya sat with her legs crossed at the ledge. Harry clambered down awkwardly a couple paces back, folded his crutches, and scooted up next to her.

The chilly breeze rushed over his skin. Harry cast a warming charm over himself, then over Arya.

"Remove it, please."

Confused, Harry ended the spell, shivering at the refreshed blast of high altitude air.

Arya stared fixedly ahead, taking in the vista. "Do you ever feel like magic has taken an opportunity from you? The opportunity to do something the ordinary way."

Harry shrugged.

"I would find it bland," Arya went on. "A life where I never felt too cold or too hot."

"Maybe," Harry supposed, conjuring a great big woolly blanket. He hit the blanket with a warming charm and threw it over the pair of them. Arya allowed the blanket to settle about her shoulders. "But I'd never give it up."

The warm blanket staved off the chill. It was rather pleasant, cool air and a chilly face with a warm blanket and a warm body.

He twisted his ring off his finger. Not that one, a different one. A plain silver band. Harry handed it to Arya. "You know what this does?"

"No." Arya let him place it on the flat palm of her hand. She pinched it between her finger and thumb and held it to her eyes.

"I made it ages ago, when we were first leaving Carvahall," Harry said. "It keeps mosquitoes from biting you. I got bit a couple times while I was building the castle. Since then, I haven't been bit once. I don't miss it much. Go on, you can keep it."

Arya held the ring between the tips of her fingers. "You know the humans have a tradition of giving each other rings–"

"It's not that," Harry assured her hurriedly. "Yeah, er, it's not that. Just a ring. That'll keep mosquitoes off you as long as you wear it."

"You're sure you've never missed out on a mosquito bite?" Arya smiled, slipping it on her middle finger.

"Quite sure," Harry said.

"I suppose I will not, either."

"It's the most lethal animal," Harry pointed out. "At least where I'm from. They spread diseases like malaria. Way more deadly than sharks or bears or dragons."

Arya turned the ring around her finger. "Another sort of armor, then," she smiled.

For a minute, they both appreciated the breathtaking view. The Beors were dramatic and majestic, obstacles towering over the horizon that seemed as if they must have been placed there by gods. Their height above the horizon made the vista look bizarre, as if Harry was looking through the underside of a rock formation, rather than gazing out from a mile over the ground, at a height where nothing should have blocked his view but the ridges of distant mountains.

Arya finally broke the silence. "I am loath to shatter this moment of peace, but we do not have true privacy anywhere in Tarnag."

Harry's mood soured. He did not want to talk about the battle. Harry gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Eragon told me your fighting with magic has improved," Arya said.

Harry resigned himself to this. "Durza had a ward that stopped my normal spells from working. I was thinking that the most important thing was that my attacks took a lot of energy to stop, even if they didn't actually hit him. Fire, lightning, giant boulders, stuff like that."

"Eragon described a hurricane brought to land," Arya said. She unfolded her legs and sat with her feet over the ledge, dangling in the air.

Harry wanted very much to lean against her shoulder or put his arm around her. For whatever reason, sitting upright unsupported suddenly felt like bearing the weight of the sky alone.

All of that day, he and Arya avoided any topics that were too heavy. It was a pleasant pretense to forget what had happened hardly a week ago, but a pretense it was, and Arya was not one to lie to herself or to Harry to avoid facing the truth.

The battle of Farthen Dûr weighed heavily on his mind. He'd killed thousands of Urgals. He'd been responsible for Fred's…whatever happened to him, and through that, he was ultimately responsible for Tronjheim's collapse.

For all that he'd promised himself he would not kill if he could avoid it, Harry had gone on to drown or crush hundreds upon hundreds. He could have filled his own lake with that many inferi.

In the moment, he had not thought about it. He had to survive, they were threats to be stopped, he couldn't afford to stun every single one of them. Here, under the scattered clouds and pleasant lakeside breeze outside Celbedeil, Harry could still justify it. He had had to do it. He had no other choice.

But that did not stop him from feeling guilty.

Guilty for everyone he'd killed, and guilty that he did not feel very guilty.

Harry felt like he should have been crushed under the weight of it all. Over a thousand lives snuffed out at the end of his wand. He felt more guilty for breaking his self-imposed moral restrictions than he felt instinctually at the killing of other intelligent beings.

Maybe it was that he didn't know any Urgals. He had met one over a year ago, Uvek, but he was pretty sure Uvek was too much of a nomad to have been among the Urgals at Farthen Dûr. Urgals didn't look human, either. They didn't trigger the empathy in him like a terrified human face would. He had been too far away to make out their features. They had simply been figures, swept up in the flood.

It was something Harry should have been held accountable for. Would have been held accountable for, if the Ministry existed in Alagaesia. Someone would have at least held a hearing, right? Had Voldemort killed as many people over his life as Harry had in that one moment?

It was a battle, they were on the other side. Harry knew he was justified in defending himself, his friends, and Tronjheim. It just felt wrong to be celebrated for bald faced slaughter.

Maria's death tormented Harry far more than anything that had happened during the battle.

"It was…" Harry searched carefully for a word. He felt a hand slip into his own and glanced down, surprised. Arya's face betrayed nothing.

Nothing came to mind. No single word could convey what he felt about what he'd done. Harry was not sure it had been necessary, it hadn't been his duty, he hadn't done it for the Varden, he wasn't proud of it, but he wasn't ashamed. "It was something I did that I'd like not to do again," Harry said finally.

Arya squeezed his hand in reassurance, but said nothing more.

They apparated back some time later. Harry had not been certain his room would be empty, so he went in prepared to obliviate any witnesses. They were lucky, and nobody was there.

In fact, Undin's entire manor was unusually empty. Harry crutched after Arya as they headed outside to find out what was going on. A dwarf caught sight of the pair of them, his eyes widening. He beckoned for them to follow him, chattering something in Dwarvish. Harry glanced up to Arya.

"They were searching for us," she translated. "The others are in the courtyard."

Harry hurried up, taking the biggest strides he dared, jolting his armpits with every step.

The courtyard was packed to the gills with dwarves. Harry spotted the handful of humans in the crowd, towering over the sea of shorter people. Brom and Eragon, Nasuada, and a scattering of others from the table that had chosen her to lead the Varden. They stood near the edges of the crowd.

King Hrothgar was standing on a dais at the far side of the courtyard, speaking to the crowd in Dwarvish.

Brom's eyes honed in on the pair of them and sharpened. Arya's gaze went unfocused for a moment. She shook herself out of it and turned back to whisper in his ear. "King Hrothgar is speaking to the dwarves," she translated.

"The resilient spirit of the dwarves and Guntera's grace shall see us through this trial," she began. "Thanks to the Varden, Eragon Shadeslayer, Harry Starbearer, and the valiant fighting of our own dwarves, only seventeen dwarves lost their lives in the invasion, Durza was slain, and the greatest treasures of our race were preserved.

"Our nation is at a crossroads now. A tyrant sent that host upon us, a tyrant drove us out of the fair plains and beautiful shores of Alagaesia. A tyrant who oppresses all races equally, a tyrant who will only be overthrown by the effort of all races, including dwarves."

"That's good, right?" Harry whispered back. Arya shushed him.

"Maybe, but listen." She went back to translating. "I am your King, and I have every intention of standing by the Varden's side as we wage war against Galbatorix for the freedom of all people in Alagaesia. I am your King, today."

Arya paused as King Hrothgar stopped speaking to survey the crowd.

"A vote has been called by the clan chiefs of our nation. The question has been raised, if my decision to house and feed the Varden has brought the Empire to our doorstep – which it has – and if that was worth it. If we should abandon our long-time allies to fight Galbatorix alone, and cower beneath our mountains while history is written without us."

Hrothgar's eyes went to Eragon, then met Harry's. Harry felt the King's wisdom in his gaze.

"Three days from now, your clan chiefs decide if I shall lead you all into battle, or if we will endure the lengthy process of selecting a new King on the eve of a massive, inter-species war. I urge you now to make your voices heard to your clan chiefs, hold them accountable to your will as they will me to theirs.

"We have been dealt a great blow," Arya said gravely, mimicking King Hrothgar's tone. "It is time to decide if the dwarves will hide and lick their wounds, or," she said quietly as the dwarven King's voice rose, "if we will stamp our names across the continent, and topple Galbatorix from his stolen throne!"

The courtyard exploded into cheers. Harry whistled and grinned, shooting off fireworks over the crowd. Everyone craned their heads to watch the colorful conflagration crackling and popping overhead. Arya looked back down to roll her eyes at him in exasperation, fighting a smile. Harry just kept on grinning unrepentantly.

Throughout the crowd, the dwarves were mostly on board with the applause. A section of purple-veiled dwarves remained perfectly still and silent, but then, Harry never expected Az Swelden rak Anhuin to like the Varden. He'd have to ask Orik for the whole story there.

Arya pulled him around the perimeter of the crowd.

"Where are we–" Harry stumbled as a dwarven foot caught the leg of his crutch. Arya steadied him.

"Brom asked us to meet with King Hrothgar after his speech," Arya called over the dull roar of the crowd. "Let's go. He was annoyed."

Given that that seemed like Brom's default state, Harry thought it would be fair to treat that with no more than the usual urgency, but Arya was striding quickly around the crowd.

Harry met with Brom in the conference room. Arya was a step behind him, Eragon was already there, along with two others.

King Hrothgar stood at the end of the table, Orik at his side. He gestured. "Sit, please."

They sat.

"It seems the chances are good I shall keep my crown," Hrothgar said, folding his hands. "I would normally honor you all with feasting and festivity, but it is in poor taste to throw feasts while your people are starving. You will be honored before you leave, but our thanks is meagre out of necessity of the circumstance. I understand you are all leaving for Ellesmera."

King Hrothgar gave everyone the chance to indicate that yes, all four of them would be going to Ellesmera.

"I presume you all have your reasons, yet I must point out that the four of you and Saphira are the four most powerful fighters the coalition has. You are all people of great influence and none of you will be present while Nasuada takes the reins of power over that unruly beast. Nor will you be present to help Nasuada weed out whatever treachery the twins have committed in their long, unsupervised tenure as extremely trusted agents."

The dwarf king laid out a grim picture. Harry did not want to leave Nasuada hanging out to dry. With Mungo's help, he did not expect to need the elves to get back into shape. He wasn't an ambassador introducing a Rider to his people. He wasn't an old student of Oromis's, and he wasn't a dragon or Rider who needed lessons.

He could stay behind.

Harry let himself entertain the notion for a while. He turned the idea over at arm's length, wary of letting the unpleasant thought take hold.

It was probably the right choice for the Varden, Harry concluded.

But that wasn't Harry's only consideration. It was not, Harry realized, the right choice for himself.

"We have our reasons," Harry confirmed after a lengthy pause. Hrothgar tipped his head.

"So be it. I would like to know when you all intend to return, and whether we can continue to rely on your resources to keep our refugees from starving."

The four of them glanced at each other. "Eragon and Saphira will be ready when they are ready," Arya said first. "This sort of training often takes years. Assume they will return when they are desperately needed, and not before."

Hrothgar seemed to be expecting that answer. "And the rest of you?"

"I don't intend to get back into bickering and lying for a living again," Brom grunted. "If I can be useful in Ellesmera, that's where I'll stay, until Eragon and Saphira are ready."

"I will return before long," Arya told Hrothgar, holding his gaze. "Months, likely. Similarly, I will come sooner if needed."

"Me too," Harry cleared his throat.

A guilty pang prompted him to open his mouth. Harry stopped himself, then, at Hrothgar's expectant look, went on.

"And, er…when I get back," Harry added awkwardly, "I'd be willing to help the dwarves rebuild Tronjheim."

"From the elves, or from the war?" Orik spoke up.

Harry thought for a moment. "If there's time, why not both?"

"Your aid would be better accepted if you accepted the helmet," Orik said meaningfully.

King Hrothgar's gaze lingered for a moment. "Thank you, Orik. If we do not speak again before your departure, may the gods be with you all."

Harry kept busy for the last couple days. He did not speak much with Eragon except in passing. The Rider was more than content to consider himself packed and leave at a moment's notice.

Harry wasn't sure if he envied him or if he enjoyed the last minute scramble to get everything done. They weren't flying; Saphira was too big to fit in a plane, both physically and egotistically. That meant this was a proper journey that would take a while.

Scrambling around (only on one crutch now, thanks to Mungo) and hurrying to find his staff and set up systems to protect the vertical farm and the food silos, entrusting the tents and their contents to the right people to keep them safe and make the most use out of them for the Varden, Harry felt like he was caught in the midst of the crunch time in late April, hurrying through the packed shops and streets of Diagon Alley in time to catch the Hogwarts Express come September first.

Before he left, he spoke with Nasuada one last time. He went to visit her in the room Undin had given her to use as an office. He waited at the doorway for the guards to announce him, limping in after long, awkward seconds waiting outside.

Her office was filled with paperwork, and she had an audience, a couple of men sitting across from her. She ushered them out.

"I will see to it that Hagen understands you are authorized to allocate a portion of steel and smiths to arrowheads. You will have to be patient. Thank you."

The man she was speaking to looked like he wanted to argue, but Nasuada gave him a 'don't try me' look that sent him out of her office without complaint.

"Harry," she greeted. One of the guards shut the door behind him. "Exactly who I wanted to see. I'm surprised you sought me out."

Harry cast about the room for something that would suit his needs. His eyes settled on a heron painted into the green wallpaper, nestled in the cattails around a painted lake. He pointed at it.

The heron awoke, stretching its painted wings. It turned to look at Nasuada, then peeled itself out of the wallpaper, a creature of paint and canvas.

Nasuada watched with eyes as wide as saucers. "What– how?"

Harry took a bit of pleasure in amazing her. "What were you going to ask about?"

She took a moment to scrape together her thoughts. "I was going to ask if you were willing to stay in contact while you are with the elves. I understand Eragon cannot be distracted during training, but it would be useful to have an open line of communication with you and with the elves." Nasuada reached under her desk and with drew a mailbox.

Harry's eyes bulged. "NO!" His wand was in his hand before he knew it. "Put it down!" The canvas and paint heron flapped in startlement, adding to the chaos with papers flying everywhere.

Nasuada dropped it as if burned. The door to her study banged open as guards rushed in, swords leveled at Harry. Nasuada waved them away. "We're alright. I hope." She looked to Harry. The guards gave strange looks to the heron, but retreated to the hallway.

"The twins stole my desk," Harry warned her. It took Nasuada a second to put the pieces together. She paled visibly, even through her dark complexion. She and Harry both now regarded the little metal box like a live bomb.

"Galbatorix has–"

"The other half, yes," he confirmed. "Keep it far away. Or destroy it." Harry felt a rush of vertigo as he realized the elves were just as endangered as Nasuada was. "I need to get word to the elves. They have the other one."

"I shall have this one under guard far from our campsite," Nasuada promised Harry. "And I am sure you will have a chance to warn the elves when you reach them. What did you first come here to say."

Harry indicated the heron, which had perched on the edge of the desk. "I was just about to offer you a way to stay in contact. Give it a letter and tell it to find me. It might work, it might not. The elves have magic that stops other magic from entering, but the elves were willing to post a scout to wait for the mail I sent through the box. They might be willing to watch for the bird to bring me a letter, if it can find me while I'm under Ellesmera's wards."

Nasuada thanked him and bade him good luck.

"You have cleared up a great many headaches for me," she told him. "For that I am thankful, both myself and on the Varden's behalf. I wish you a speedy recovery."

All too quickly, the date of King Hrothgar's vote approached, and with it their day of departure. Tomorrow Harry would attend a ceremony with Eragon, have a brief and tasteful feast for lunch, and wait for the conclusion of the clan chiefs' vote to see if Hrothgar would keep his crown before heading out to Du Weldenvarden.

Harry set down his crutch and stretched out on his bed, sighing as his body decompressed. He appreciated having a room to himself, but he was very much looking forward to being outside and away from the low ceilings, low doorways, short furniture, and dwarven accommodations in Undin's manor.

He had hardly finished relaxing into his bed when there was a knock on the door.

Harry ruffled his hair quickly and tidied his shirt before calling out. "Come in!"

The door opened. Harry blinked. "Angela?"

Waving, the herbalist gave Harry an expectant look.

"Er, come in, I guess." Harry waved his hand and produced a table and chairs. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I was expecting you," Angela said with mild annoyance. "I thought you'd come and find me, I was very mysterious. Your sort can never resist chasing a mystery. Eragon certainly didn't."

"Oh." Harry scratched his head. "Sorry. I've been really busy."

"So I've heard." Angela took a seat and produced a couple of knitting needles from a bag at her hip that was embroidered with rather violent, bloody imagery of elves and dragons killing each other. It looked like she was making a pink baby bonnet. "You are recovering miraculously well. When I first saw you, I didn't think you'd make it."

Harry shrugged self consciously. "Thanks, by the way."

"Of course," Angela beamed. Her eyes did not move from his. Harry shifted in his seat, waiting for her to say something. When it became apparent that Angela would not move an inch except to knit another row on her bonnet, Harry broke the awkward silence.

"You think I should be curious," Harry tried.

"I know I am," Angela professed. "You, Mr. Evans, have devised a great many world-changing inventions. More than any one person could, methinks." She gave him a meaningful look.

"Yeah." Harry wondered what she was implying. "Yeah, I've had loads of help."

Angela's look turned flat and unimpressed. "I wonder who taught you how to master lightning, the sky, and weaving all at once."

Harry was now wondering how exactly Angela knew about that. The twins already knew so much, there was not much of a point in keeping that particular secret locked down. He also thought Angela was pretty discrete. "You can keep a secret, right?"

Her eyes sparkled. Harry leaned in.

"I'm from a different planet."

Angela scoffed. "Pish posh. Of course you are. And I still contend that you, hardly twenty years old by your own claim, could not possibly know enough to do all that you have done simply through memorization." He was not expecting that.

"Well," Harry yawned, "You can contend all you like. Surprising that you aren't surprised about that other bit."

The herbalist's clicking needles paused for a moment. "You are very different," she said, "and this world is not as unexplored as most might think. There is nowhere else for you to come from."

"Time travel," Harry pointed out.

Angela smiled mysteriously. "Indeed. It would be foolish to rule that out. But if you had traveled back from Alagaesia's future, you would not be so ignorant."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly.

"You really shouldn't take offense, you know. We're all quite ignorant. People use the word as an insult, but you can't expect everyone to know anything. Or anyone. Or anything." Angela tapped her chin. "It's a miracle people know what little they do. You are blessed to know quite a lot about what you know about. Ignorance about something as dull as the Empire is no great failure."

"Do all mysterious old people have to give philosophical advice to sell the disguise?" Harry wondered. Certainly Dumbledore and Brom did it, as well as Oromis and occasionally Arya. "Not that I mind," he hastened to add. "It's just a bit odd."

"Are you calling me old?" Angela gave him a strange look.

"Just a feeling I've got," Harry hedged. "You're not ugly or wrinkled or anything."

"Somehow, I feel like you'll escape that curse too," Angela murmured, eyes narrow. "You're young, and life can be long if age doesn't catch you. Have you given much thought to what you'd do with all that time?"

"If Galbatorix dies and I'm still alive?" Harry asked rhetorically. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table for a moment. He did have a prior commitment, but it could be deferred as long as he wanted.

"I think I'll keep making world-changing inventions. I rather like it, and I think Alagaesia could use some change."

"Aye," Angela said seriously. "It could." She held up her knitting needles and splayed the nascent baby bonnet in front of Harry. It had teal text on the edges, knitted in with the rest of the yarn. The lettering was cramped, so small it was hard to make out the meaning against the yarn.

"Not the big things?" Harry wondered, after reading the inscription.

The herbalist shook her head. Although Harry was coming to believe that herbalist was not nearly enough to describe her. "Those build character. I wouldn't want to rob someone of the chance to grow as a person."

Harry held out his hand. "Do you mind if I–?"

Angela shrugged and placed the needles in his hand along with the bonnet. Harry took her hand before she drew it back. She seemed surprised. He drew the Elder Wand with his other hand and put the tip to the inscription.

"Be safe from the little things that gnaw at your heart."

The teal yarn glowed briefly. He handed the unfinished bonnet back. Angela folded it up and gave him a curious look.

"You touch many lives, Harry. I am glad to see your touch is gentle. Careful that it doesn't change. Everyone thinks they are the hero."

Angela stood. "This is where I give you a quirky line to leave you scratching your head and coming up with questions that will drive you to find me again. I suppose even anti-monotony can become monotonous." She smiled brightly. The expression came out of nowhere, and felt quick for the heaviness of the advice she'd just given. Harry wasn't sure how to respond.

"I'm sure we'll see each other again."

The next morning crawled at glacial pace. Harry woke up early to speak with Mungo, still the only spirit he'd called. Now that the day was here to depart, Harry felt every minute like an hour. King Hrothgar threw a very nice breakfast for them and gave a short speech to a modest gathering in Undin's courtyard.

He honored Harry by granting him a holding in Durgrimst Ingeitum's territory, a house and a parcel of land with household staff to manage it all in his absence. Harry accepted after Orik quietly assured him that it did not commit him to taking the helmet or visiting his holdings any time in the near future.

After that, Harry finished packing while Hrothgar attended the vote to dethrone him. He, Arya, Eragon, Brom, Saphira, and Orik all waited at Undin's stables for the king (hopefully the king) to emerge.

The sun shone through scattered clouds on the azure sky, the temps fair and the breeze gentle. A wonderful day to be outside.

They'd be taking horses on a ship to the far side of the lake, then taking a barge up to the rapids of Az Ragni, whereupon they'd go on horses all the way up to Du Weldenvarden and into Ellesmera.

Harry tapped his foot. It was like waiting for battle to start all over again. He could not imagine the dwarves were stupid enough to remove their own leader on the dawn of a war, in the immediate aftermath of an invasion. From what he'd heard, dwarven elections could take months or even years.

Orik broke into a smile then and pointed. Hrothgar approached flanked by his guards, his head still covered with a crown. Orik bowed and said something in Dwarvish. Hrothgar responded in kind, then turned to them.

"It was seven to six against me," Hrothgar reported. Orik scowled.

"What does that mean?" Eragon asked.

"It takes nine to oust me," the still-King Hrothgar explained. "So it was not close. But it does mean that I would not be elected king again. Mine was not a hotly contested coronation – I won, ironically, nine to four."

"Which two switched sides?" Harry asked.

"Vermund of Az Swelden Rak Anhuin, and Nado of Knurlcarathn," King Hrothgar reported.

"The purple veiled guys voted for you last time?" Harry was surprised.

"They were not Az Swelden Rak Anhuin back then," Hrothgar told Harry. "They were Haris Alshamz before the Forsworn murdered the clan nearly to the last dwarf. I was elected before Galbatorix stole his crown."

It was a bit like realizing Dumbledore had been alive before cars existed and electricity was still a novelty, except in this case, Hrothgar was not just old enough to have been born before Galbatorix was around, he was old enough to have already been old when that happened, old enough to have a successful political career that landed him the top spot.

Harry looked at him a bit differently then. Hrothgar gave him a knowing twinkle and went on.

"Shall I assume you have declined the helmet?" the king asked Harry.

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I can't, especially during the war. If the offer is still open after Galbatorix is gone, I'd be able to give it much more consideration."

King Hrothgar inclined his head. "In truth, the wisest course of action. I suspect it is no surprise to you that the dwarves on your staff report to me. They tell me you are a wonderful person to work with. If in your future endeavors, you need more workers, I suspect most dwarves would be honored to be asked. My gratitude seems meager, but I assure you, Nos Isidar. You have earned endless favors from the dwarves."

"Thanks," Harry said genuinely. "Really. I'm sorry we got Tronjheim wrecked. My offer stands, if, uh, you want any help. I'm glad you kept your crown."

King Hrothgar nodded and moved to Eragon. "We are indebted to you as well," he told the Rider. "I did not extend the same offer I gave Harry because of your position in this war, Shadeslayer, but I am no less grateful. Saphira as well," he turned to address the glittering dragon. "Go with the gods at your back, all of you."

They bid King Hrothgar goodbye and headed down to the docks to meet with the rest of their escort to board. Harry stepped over the gangplank. Within a few minutes, they were casting off to the north.

AN: We will see more Harry/Arya romance going forwards, but certainly they won't be jumping into bed together any time soon. I apologize if people are bothered by slow burn, but it would be insanely out of character for Arya especially to do this. I have one more chapter in the can for next Thursday, then we'll see what happens. I hope you like it ;)