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Chapter Text

Song for the Chapter: Evacuating London- The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe Soundtrack

The stories of the Hero of Time are perhaps the best known in all of Hyrule, overshadowing all other past heroes. Though decades have passed since the Hero of Time walked the lands of the living, he is forever immortalized in legend. Bards sing of his valiant deeds. Children play their games, all acting out their favorite parts, all squabbling to be the famed Hero of Time while one unlucky youth gets stuck with being the ill-fated monster.

Though their are numerous versions of the popular legend, almost all retain the basic skeleton of a plot. A dying mother flees into a mysterious forest, pleading with its guardian to look after her baby boy. The guardian agrees, and the child is raised among the elusive forest people, growing up in the belief that he is one of them. Here the future champion grows up in peace, safe and sound from the evil forces that hunt him with the intention of killing him before he can pose a threat to their sinister plans.

However, events drive the boy out of his forest home and into the wide land of Hyrule to begin his destiny. He journeys to Hyrule Castle, and meets the Princess Zelda of the time. Zelda admits she is having prophetic dreams of a great darkness falling upon the land, and shares in her suspicion that the mysterious man meeting with her father the King at that very moment was the evil. She also tells the boy that she believes he is the light that shall defeat the darkness. Princess Zelda then besets the boy a task to collect the Spiritual Stones, the keys to the Sacred Realm, where the powerful Triforce is hidden. Should the mysterious man, known most commonly as the King of Evil or the King of Thieves, get his hands upon the Triforce, Hyrule could be doomed forever.

Despite the boy's best efforts, the King of Thieves succeeds in plunging Hyrule into darkness. The boy then tries to retrieve the Master Sword, the Blade of Evil's Bane, from its pedestal. However, the young child is too small and too weak to fight his powerful adversary. To rectify this, the Master Sword seals its young bearer in the Sacred Realm for seven years.

The boy emerges seven years later as the fullgrown Hero of Time, at last ready to face his destiny and defeat the King of Thieves. He first embarks on a quest to awaken the Seven Sages, whose formidable power will merge with his own to give him the strength to face this evil. Along the way the Hero is reunited with Princess Zelda, who has lived in disguise in order to avoid capture by the unworthy King.

Finally, when Princess Zelda was seized by the King of Thieves and it seemed as if all were about to fail, the Hero of Time and his enemy engaged in a final legendary battle. The Hero of Time succeeded, sealing the King of Evil away in the Sacred Realm forever. After this victory the Hero of Time vanished, never to be seen again in Hyrule.

Little did the people know the Hero of Time had not just disappeared into thin air. When Ganondorf had been sealed away and peace had once again come to the land, Zelda had sent the Hero of Time back to relive the seven lost years of his childhood. Link, once again a child, arrived the day before the King of Darkness conquered the land, before the key to the Sacred Realm was removed and the way left wide open for darkness.

Link and Zelda had retained their memories from that forgotten time, and together managed to persuade the King of Hyrule Ganondorf was not to be trusted and guilty of the worst crimes imaginable. The Gerudo King was imprisoned while an investigation went underway. Shocking evidence of terrible deeds Ganondorf had committed earlier and than attempted to conceal before his arrival in Castle Town emerged, more than enough to convict him. Hyrule's King did not hesitate when he sentenced Ganondorf to death. The Sages themselves (in an unincarnated, spiritual form) carried out the execution, ending all threat from the male Gerudo forever.

While the danger was nullified and history seemed unlikely to repeat itself, the few that remembered the forgotten of time were loathe to allow the legend of the Hero of Time and the King of Evil to be lost along with it. They spread the tales, omitting actual names and other suspicious details, allowing a pure version of the truth to remain without endangering the well-deserved peace of Link or Zelda.

Link was more than happy to not be burdened with being the Hero of Time. For the first few months, unused to the sudden change from adult warrior to a young child once again, he had wandered about, saving lands like Termina while trying to find out where to go from there. Finally the former Chosen Hero realized he had tired of saving people, of a rootless and aimless life. With that revelation Link returned to Hyrule, settling down at last.

He grew up, had the childhood he rightfully deserved. Link did not abandon his heroism completely; he still took up the sword from time to time, driving off the raiding parties and rebellious Gerudo that stirred up trouble. But he did not join the Royal Guard, nor did he seek to enlist in the army. In his heart he remained loyal to Zelda and would have answered her calls had she beckoned him back to her. But the Princess did not trouble his peace, and the two rarely met in that new time other than the briefest and rarest of secret meetings.

Link even married, started a family of his very own. This time around he had an actual profession that was quite profitable, instead of just running about and doing favors, expecting nothing in return. His life was slow and quiet and he did grow bored occasionally, but Link was content with this new life.

Unfortunately, the alternate future he had left behind in the past was not so keen to forget him. Ganondorf may have been long dead, but traces of the sorrow and bitterness he left in his wake still corrupted parts of the world. Some of the loyal subjects he left behind, the most faithful of the Gerudo, did not believe their beloved King was gulity of those crimes. They believed he had been executed unfairly and thirsted to avenge him. The Gerudo may not have been able to get at Princess Zelda, but the strange boy that had supported her claims was not as protected. After years of coercing and stealing the information, they were able to discover the identity of this boy. And find out where he currently resided.

At last, Nabooru and her gang could have their righteous revenge, and Ganondorf could have his justice.

Again, Zelda was haunted by dreams that meant sleepless nights wandering Hyrule Castle. Such nightmares of frightening frequency and chilling intensity had not plagued her in almost twenty years. Not since Ganondorf had arrived to seek an alliance with her father. Not since her foolishness had almost destroyed the land by allowing evil to enter the Sacred Realm. And this time, the green-clad boy that had brought the light to chase away the darkness had not arrived. No hope graced her dreams, possible salvation was nowhere in sight. Only unbroken visions of blood and death came to her, a thousand times more bleak than her earlier dreams.

Tonight, the nightmares had gained a terrible strength. Though her visions were purely only in her mind, phantom aches from where the curved blade had plunged into her side and ripped out her eye still lingered far longer than normal, as if she had actually endured the wounds being inflicted upon her own body. Zelda had abandoned all hope of sleep and had instead slipped on a robe and slippers. Going to her window, she looked down on the world below as if the sight of her beloved kingdom could soothe her nerves.

The sprawling grounds of her castle and the town beyond it was spread out before her. Few lights shone through the windows of shops and houses. It was late at night, too late for even the nocturnal crowd and still too early for the first people to open their shops and prepare for business. Past Castle Town was Lon Lon Ranch, barely visible on the dark horizon. The ranch had once been owned by Talon, but he had retired and his daughter and son-in-law managed everything in his stead. The establishment was invaluable to Castle Town as it was the only ranch close to the capitol, supplying everyone with prize horses, meat, and of course its famous milk.

Zelda frowned, sensing something was very, very wrong. Squinting, she focused on Lon Lon Ranch, trying to see past the obscuring blackness. Dark clouds gathered over the compound, along with a strange orange light that flickered like...

"Fire!" Zelda exclaimed aloud, her blood turning to ice at the horrifying revelation. "Link!"

The Princess of Hyrule kicked off her confining slippers, seizing her bow and quiver-full of arrows she always kept close at hand. Dressed in only a nightgown she rushed from her personal chambers, calling for her guards to follow her. There was a commotion as all within earshot scrambled to obey her command, the pounding of heavy feet and the clanging of metal armor as they tried to keep up. She did not slow down for them, trusting the guards to be intelligent enough to follow her path to Lon Lon Ranch.

Running out of the castle at a frantic speed, Zelda whistled shrilly for her horse. Only a moment later her white mare thundered out of the stables, easily able to pick the lock that confined it to its stall and rush out to its master. The Princess of Hyrule gracefully vaulted upon the horse's back. Seizing her mount's mane she steered the mare in the direction of the ranch, shouting for her men to meet her there.

Galloping through Castle Town at top speed, Zelda prepared for the inevitable confrontation. She knocked an arrow onto her bow, knowing full well her quiver would be empty by the time dawn came around.

Lon Lon Ranch rapidly grew nearer, as did the terrible sight in front of the gates. At least twenty dark-skinned and red-haired Gerudo crowded around something, blocking it from view. Their faces were pulled into fierce sneers, eyes gleaming hatefully at the thing that stood at their feet. Suddenly Nabooru herself, leader of the female thieves in Ganondorf's place, rose above her followers. She was smirking victoriously, brandishing one of her swords above her head for all of her women to see. A small and bloodied piece of flesh that Zelda recognized all too well was impaled upon the tip of the blade, illuminated in the harsh light of the fire.

"An eye for an eye!" Nabooru exclaimed triumphantly, her voice silencing the murmurs and jeers of her comrades. "A life for a life! A family for a family! This boy, this Link, was responsible for our beloved Lord Ganondorf's cruel demise. It was he who lied to the King of Hyrule, made the Hylians believe our Lord was a heartless monster worthy of execution. At last, we have returned the favor. His home burns as our fortress did. His wife and child has been slain as our mothers and daughters have been. Now, his life has been taken early from as he stole Ganondorf's! Hear this, Hyrule, for Link is dead! Our Lord has been avenged!"

Nabooru tilted her head toward the heavens, leading her gang in the traditional cry the Gerudo used to proclaim victory over an opponent.

While the Gerudo were distracted, Zelda raised her bow, trembling at the thought of what had to be done. The part of her that still remembered the forgotten time still thought of Nabooru as a trustworthy friend, one of her fellow Sages, an ally that had worked alongside her to end Ganondorf's tyranny.

Not anymore, Zelda, she scolded herself. The Gerudo you see before you is not the Sage of Spirit, not the Nabooru you know. This is a woman that remembers nothing of what Galbatorix did in that other time, one that chooses to believe the crimes he did in this one were only lies fabricated by jealous enemies in order to sabotage him. She is not a Sage her, not a friend nor an ally. Nabooru is a fierce enemy that would she you no mercy. An enemy that has killed Link.

Hesitation vanishing, Zelda felt no remorse as she unleashed the arrow. It was a perfect shot; the tip of the weapon flew straight and embedded itself in Nabooru's throat. A crimson blossom emerged from the wound and the Gerudo leader faltered, her cry dying in a choked garble. Silently she collapsed to the ground, leaving a group of stunned Gerudo in her wake. The female slaves were quick to react, unsheathed their blades and whirling to face Zelda. The Princess of Hyrule let several more arrows fly, all hitting their intended targets.

The Gerudo prepared a counterattack and Zelda cursed, knowing she'd be overwhelmed before she could kill them all. However, the young Hylian was spared when the saving call of her guards came to her rescue. Armed men were thundering over the drawbridge, obviously her orders had been passed on. Those that rode upon horses would be arriving soon, and the Gerudo knew that this reinforcements would soon outnumber them. Some of the female thieves charged fearlessly at these men, their anger over Nabooru's death conquering their common sense. Most turned and fled, no doubt retreating to the desert.

While her men pursued the Gerudo or tried to douse the flames that consumed the barn, Zelda hurried to find out the fate of Lon Lon Ranch's inhabitants.

The sight the Gerudo had obscured was now painfully visible. A young man lay limp, still stubbornly clutching a sword. Zelda did not need to see the bloodstained blond hair or the single blue eye to recognize this figure. He may not have been dressed in his signature green tunic, or wearing his foolish cap, but she still knew this dead man as Link, he who had once been known as the Hero of Time.

Gingerly the Princess made her way past the man and through the gates. She kept her eyes trained high up, forcing herself not to look down at the lifeless form or the blue eye still impaled upon Nabooru's blade.

While the barn may have been burning, the ranch house itself was unharmed by the ravenous flames. The horses were in the center paddock, galloping around as they were frightened by the fire, but physically fine. There were holes in the barn where the milk cows had charged through the walls in attempts to escape fiery deaths. The bovine were currently running around, chased by men that were trying to apprehend them.

Zelda made her way to the ranch house, feeling panic bubble up once again when she realized the door had been kicked open, no doubt by Gerudo intent of making sure their promise to kill Link's family was fulfilled. Once again stringing her bow, the Hylian monarch charged in.

Inside, the house was a mess. Furniture had been damaged and tossed about, a clear sign of a struggle. White feathers were strewn about, covered over fallen female thieves that had been pecked into defeat. Talon's beloved Cucoos crowded around him, clucking and pulling at his clothes in an effort to rouse him. The elderly man groaned, unconscious but alive. Zelda quietly picked her way past the destruction, positive Talon was not in dire need of urgent medical attention, and cautiously made her way up the stairs.

The room on the second floor was the sight of a disaster. Two Gerudo were near the entrance, arrows portruding from their lifeless forms. A third thief was close to an upturned wooden cradle, apparently only stopped from her mission by the shaft in her back.

Swallowing nervously, Zelda ventured toward the cradle. Something weakly tugged at her nightgown before she could take more than two steps and, startled, the Princess of Hyrule glanced down, expecting an injured Gerudo to be snatching at her.

Her violet gaze met Malon instead of another hostile enemy. The redheaded woman was severely injured, dress torn and covered in dried blood. A bow and several arrows lay at her side, proving she had been the one who had killed to protect her infant child. Malon's blue eyes fluttering weakly, as if it took all of her remaining energy to keep them open. Judging by the feverish haze to them, Zelda even doubted this poor woman could recognize her as as the ruler of the kingdom.

The young Hylian hastily bent down, the words already on her lips as she prepared to call for a Red Potion. Shaking her head weakly, Malon silenced the order. Zelda leaned close, trying to hear the soft words that the injured woman was whispering.

"S-s-spare me your efforts," Malon croaked in a hoarse voice. "I am... beyond... the help... of the living... now." She clutched desperately at Zelda's dress, blue eyes shining with a frightened light. "My husband... Link... where is he?"

Zelda choked back the sob that threatened to escape her. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She had been trained since birth to lock away her feelings and weaknesses from others. To lose her composure now would mean losing her one opportunity to assuage Malon's pain in anyway possible. Princesses had to be strong for their subjects. No. Her own mourning could wait.

"Link is gone," the Princess murmured softly. "Your father is injured, but he will be fine."

Malon closed her eyes for a moment, tears falling freely. For a brief moment Zelda envied this free display of emotion, but the ill feelings quickly dissipated when the dying woman opened her eyes again. Beseechingly, she turned her gaze once again to the other Hylian, blue gaze shining with desperation and grief.

"My... son... My baby... Calon," she breathed. "P-please, take him away from this... land. Those m-monsters... will never stop hunting him... Never leave him in peace. Take my baby... away... where he can grow up free... of the darkness that shadows this land."

Zelda nodded, bending down to take Malon's hand in her own. "I promise, Malon. Your son will be sent far away from here to grow up in a different land. Somewhere will the misfortune that haunts his bloodline will never find him. Calon will be protected forever."

Comforted by this final assurance, Malon at last released her tremulous hold on life. Her form fell limp, her eyes closing for eternity as she unleashed her last exhale of breath. Bowing her head, Zelda spared a moment of silence for the poor woman. Sighing, the young Hylian climbed to her feet, turning once again to face the overturned cradle.

Cautiously she ventured over, a tentative hand reached out. The blankets had spilled out of the cradle when it had been turned over, concealing a suspicious lump that was undoubtedly the baby. The lump was alarmingly still, and Zelda's thoughts immediatly jumped for the worst possible conclusions. All apprehension leaving her, she removed the blankets, bracing herself for the horrible sight of a mangled and dead infant.

Baby Calon was unharmed. He was very still, no doubt the commotion and violence that had just occurred all around him startling him into a frightened silence. The young infant looked up at Zelda with big scared eyes, and then without warning burst into tears, crying for his parents.

Instinctively Zelda picked up the wailing baby, unable to stand his heartbreaking cries. Mimicking the mothers and nurses she had seen in the castle, she gently rocked Calon, murmuring softly to him. When the infant refused to quiet down Zelda softly hummed her lullaby, remembering how the gentle melody had managed to calm her in even her worst moments. Soothed by the lullaby, Calon's sobs ceased, diminishing first to soft whimpers and then to silence.

Now that the child was quiet, Zelda could get a better view of him. Even at such a young age, many of Link's features were visible in Calon, and she did not doubt this little boy was the splitting image of his infant father. He had a small tuft of blond hair and the pointed ears of a Hylian. His eyes were big and blue and innocent. Zelda's heart ached as she saw those eyes, as she had first seen them upon the young forest boy that had first met her all those long years ago, fresh from his first quest and eager for more adventure.

She smiled sadly. "Such beautiful eyes," she cooed to Calon. "Do you know how much you look like your father, little one? I don't doubt for one second you've inherited his famous courage as well. A normal child in your position would be bawling his eyes out. Even as an infant, your heart is stronger than most I know."

The baby flashed her an adorable smile, gurgling happily at the sound of her voice, all previous troubles forgotten. Looking like this, an innocent and carefree infant, it was hard to comprehend the depth of the curse and blessing that ran in his bloodline. Members of his family had played the role of the Chosen Hero for generations, whenever the need arose for one. Like how the Triforce of Wisdom ran in the Royal Family, the Triforce of Courage seemed to be past down in Link's family.

Zelda gently grabbed Calon's pugdy left hand, turning it over to get a good look at the back. The Triforce was unmistakably stamped onto his rosy flesh, glowing slightly in the closeness of the Princess's own Triforce piece. She sighed, stroking the baby's cheek softly.

"I am sorry," she told him sadly. "Whatever darkness and misfortune follows your bloodline, not even leaving Hyrule can make you escape it. The Goddesses themselves have bestowed a great destiny upon you and your descendants. You may grow up far away from this land, but your children are bound to come back one day. Like the Triforce, you family is bound to Hyrule." Zelda sighed. "Perhaps you shall be spared the same kind of fate that befell your father. Perhaps not. But you can not remain here, little one. The Gerudo shall hunt you mercilessly, and your premature death is not something that can be allowed. Your father was once the last of his bloodline, as you are now. Should you pass into the void, the primary bearers of the Triforce of Courage shall go with you."

Cradling Calon in her arms, Zelda swiftly left the house, taking great care to shield the baby's eyes from the horrible sights in it. Once outside, the Princess of Hyrule hastened toward the privacy of the fields, wanting to finish her matters in peace. Her men ignored her, too intent on dousing the fire and recapturing the escaped livestock to notice her and the infant she carried.

Zelda was forced to pass through the gates to access Hyrule Field, and once again had to endure the terrible sight of the dead Link. Closing her own eyes and pressing Calon's heart to her bosom she trudged forward, almost running past the unbearable situation. Epona had broken free of the paddock and lay beside his still form, mourning the untimely passing of her beloved master. The roan mare raised her head, as if sensing Zelda carried with her Link's only son. The Hylian almost felt the horse's brown gaze boring into her back, she could not bear to whirl around and face Epona and the lifeless body she guarded.

Reaching the safety of the open wilderness, Zelda tenderly placed Calon down upon the grass; she needed both hands to prepare the spell that would send this fated child to a place where he could grow up in peace and safety. The Princess was confident no harm would befall Calon. She sensed an otherworldly force was watching over the both of them, as if a greater power agreed that Calon had to be sent away from Hyrule.

Zelda raised a hand, calling upon her latent magic. At once she summoned a sheet of paper out of thin air and a pen. Carefully she wrote a note upon the sheet, including all necessary information Calon's new caretakers would need. Aware that his surrogate family may not be able to read the Hylian language, Zelda scribbled an intricate rune upon the page in addition to the message. The rune was magical: the first person to lay their eyes upon the paper would have the writing translated into their own language, meaning Zelda's note would be understandable to even foreigners who had never before heard a word of Hylian.

This note Zelda tucked into Calon's blankets. Then she picked the whole bundle up, once again concentrating on the magical strength the Triforce of Wisdom provided her. A tingle of energy arose from her hands, traveling from her and into the baby she held. Squirming, Calon did not hesitate to wail his dislike of the unpleasant sensation that pulsed through his body. A bright violet light enveloped him for a moment, obscuring his body from view.

When the light died, it became apparent that Calon's appearance had changed. His ears were rounded, his features heavier and more mundane. The golden Triforce upon his hand had faded into almost invisibility, now a very pale outline on his skin. Zelda had altered Calon's appearance to resemble a human, the Hylian-like race that lived at the fringes of the realm. She figured he would be sent to a land far away from Hyrule, one primarily inhabited by humans. So she had disguised him, casting a powerful illusion charm that would be passed on until the time was right for his descendants to return to their homeland.

"I know, I know," Zelda said when she heard Calon's whimpers of displeasure. "But this is for your own safety, young one. Farewell, little Calon. May the Goddesses guide you through even the darkest of nights."

She closed her violet eyes, sensing the impending event. Suddenly a strong wind blew by her, carrying with it the sweet scents of the forest. Reflexively Zelda threw up her arms to shield her face from the gust. When the strange wind vanished, she opened her eyes. Calon and his bundle were gone, spirited off by perhaps Farore herself to a safe haven where he could grow up in peace.

Her task completed, Zelda ventured toward the bloodied body of Link. The Hylian soldiers were still preoccupied with dousing the fires and capturing the escaped livestock; none would notice their monarch unless she called for them. Composure cracking at last, the Princess of Hyrule bent over the lifeless form of the man she had come to cherish in that forgotten time, and began to weep.

More than a hundred years after the tragic death of the man once known as the Hero of Time and the concealment of his only heir, a very different Princess Zelda with a very different agenda strode calmly through the dark halls of Hyrule Castle. It was past midnight, around the ungodly hour that only the unsavory characters of the world dared to brave. Almost every other soul in the massive castle, including many of the guards that had been assigned to the graveyard shift, were sound asleep. Not so for Zelda, whose prophetic nightmares plagued her slumber, only growing in frequency and intensity when she had first tried to only ignore them.

Holding up a burning torch so as to light her way, the Princess navigated the winding halls with ease. She had changed out of her nightgown and into a simple dress, but her mere presence was still enough to elicit raised brows and curious glances from the few guards she passed. Zelda acknowledged them all with stern bows of her head, the look in her violet gaze inviting no questions. The men murmured hasty apologies and bowed, shuffling past her without further incident. No doubt rumors about her nocturnal wanderings would spark in the morning, but the gossip of the servants that worked in her halls did not bother her. Zelda was Crown Princess, scheduled to be crowned Queen the day of her eighteenth birthday, which was now only a few scant months away. She had been raised to never allow the stinging gossip of her subjects get to her, and the young royal remained true to her past teachings.

She descended deeper into the heart of Hyrule Castle, which was the heaviest guarded section. Or, at least it was supposed to be. Most of the guards were hunkered down in side passageways, heads bowed and snoring quite loudly. Some of the men hadn't even possessed the dignity to find an isolated place to nod off on the job. They were sprawled out on the floor like drunkards or had nodded off on their feet, their spears supporting their idle weight.

Zelda couldn't but heave a sigh of shame and regret when she saw this severely inappropriate behaviour and blunt disregard to orders. Even their appearances were a disgrace. The majority of the guards were under-built or sported large bellies, showing little in the way of training and practice. Not to mention disregard for their own personal health. Their surperior commanders did not take much stock in properly disciplining or maintaining their men. No, their interests were focused on boasting and showboating for the pretty women that came their way, and stuffing their fat pockets with even more wealth.

Such was the way of Hyrule's soldiers. Less than a century ago they had been renowned of one of the most skilled and loyal fighting forces in the world. Other nations had taken great care to respect Hyrule and remain in good terms with its leaders, lest they incur the wrath of their army. But all of those years of peace and prosperity had weakened the rigid code that had kept the soldiers fit and battle-ready. The Zoras and Gorons were peaceful. The Gerudo had gone, the only trouble coming in the occasional raids from Bublins and smalltime bandits and thugs.

Zelda had been the first monarch in a long while to notice the sorry conditions of the Hylian army and how vulnerable they would be if a fullscale attack occured and had the desire to do something about it. She had tried to rally her father to do something, lest Hyrule be caught vulnerable by an enemy at the wrong time. The King of Hyrule had ignored her warnings. Holder of the Triforce of Wisdom she may have been, but her stubborn father refused to bow to anyone, much less his own daughter. Even when he had died almost a year ago and Zelda had assumed the throne, many of the older nobles could not be persuaded to support her efforts in strengthening Hyrule's forces. Zelda was still just an unmarried girl, still too young to even technically be Queen. Until she had proved herself a strong and capable leader, many of the nobles would remain recalcitrant to almost anything she tried to pass.

So I will just have to do this myself then, Zelda told herself. My female ancestors kept Hyrule intact through some of its most tremulous times. It was my namesake that had the prophetic dreams in the first place that prevented Ganondorf from usurping the Royal Family and siezing the kingdom for himself. I will not need the approval of some fat old men to protect my people from this grave danger.

Zelda stopped in an unoccupied hall. The corridor seemed of little importance; it was old and barely used by anybody those days, much less by the guards. In fact, the only thing that appeared to be some interest was the giant crest of the Royal Family engraved upon the stone wall. Considering this was in Hyrule Castle, the crest seemed insignifigant.

Not so for the Princess of Hyrule.

Without hesitation Zelda raised her hand. The Triforce crest upon it flashed gold. Immediately the crest upon the wall began to glow with of a light of its own, becoming so bright for a moment that the Hylian women was forced to shield her eyes for a moment. When the brightness dimmed the wall had vanished, revealing an opening that had been hidden previously. Swiftly Zelda entered, the wall closing up behind her until she wished to depart.

Here, hidden in the depths of Hyrule Castle, was the Chamber of Heroes. Monarchs from the beginning of the kingdom had collected artifacts and treasures belonging from Chosen Heroes of ages past to store in this secret room. Considering the Royal Family held the bearers of the Triforce of Wisdom, not to mention a thirst for knowledge no information could slake, quite a store had been amassed. Every single item present had an awesome story behind it, though some were long since forgotten even to the royals themselves.

Zelda held out her torch, searching the shelves and pedestals that filled the chamber for a specific item. The most dangerous of treasures had been securely locked away with powerful seals only the bearer of the Triforce of Courage could break, but her quarry did not reside among those evil artifacts hidden away for good reasons.

After what seemed like an eternity of scouring through shelves of treasures, she found what she was seeking. Shoving aside some decrepit wooden masks whose paint was beginning to peel off, the young royal discovered a nondescript blue ocarina. Compared to the fabulous treasures that surrounded it, the instrument was entirely unremarkable, one that would be the last of the spoils that would be stolen should a thief manage to break in.

However, this ocarina was perhaps the most powerful object in all of the Chamber of Heroes. It possessed an ancient power that was on par with the Master Sword, with abilities unknown from even its users. This was the Ocarina of Time, the same legendary instrument that the Hero of Time had first used to seal away Ganondorf and later to save Termina from the madness of Majora's Mask. And it would be this ocarina that would help her save her people.

Cautiously Zelda took the ocarina into her hands. Her sensitivity to magic sensed the great power residing in this sacred instrument. Power so great it could even summon the Chosen Hero of the generation. The individual chosen by the Goddesses to protect Hyrule in its time of need.

The Princess's dreams had shown her terrifying visions of darkness falling upon the kingdom as she became just a mere puppet to the evil mastermind behind it. However, potential salvation had come in a flash of blue fire that had burned the shadows away, allowing light to enter Hyrule once again. When these flames had arrived a song had continued to play in the background. Zelda suspected that this very melody could summon the lost Hero back to the place that needed him most.

"Please, Goddesses," she murmured. "Let this work."

Without hesitation Zelda put the Ocarina of Time to her lips and begun to play. Her sharp mind easily recalled the melody and she was able to successfully play it on a single try.

A wind suddenly rose up around her, surrounding the young Hylian in a yellowish vortex that blew smaller objects about the chamber. There it remained, as if patiently awaiting her command.

"The Chosen Hero of the Goddesses," Zelda ordered, gesturing for the strange wind to leave. "Find him and bring him to Hyrule. I fear he shall be needed too soon for my liking."

The swirling vortex disentegrated, dissapating and exiting the Chamber of Heroes through small cracks in the walls. Zelda had no doubt that the strange wind the ocarina had summoned would retrieve the Hero as requested. Now all she could do was wait, and pray she had not acted too late to save her kingdom.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Never-Ending Story- Within Temptation

Darkness engulfed the tiny village of Carvahall. Its inhabitants were all sleeping soundly in their beds, leaving their businesses and plows for another day of labor. The night was eerily calm. It seemed as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for some extraordinary event to take place.

Such an event occurred in the form of a strange wind that had literally blew in from nowhere (the air had been deathly still before then) to whisper through the trees and grass. What began as a gentle breeze soon grew in strength and intensity, rattling windows and threatened to topple some of the weaker trees. A brilliant flash of green light split the air, illuminating the dark world in a bathing emerald glow for a brief moment, before plunging everything back into the usual darkness. The disappearance of the light took the strange wind along with it. Only a small bundle was left in its wake, deposited neatly on the doorstep to a cottage that bordered the edge of civilisation. A strange sound then pierced the air, startling one of the cottage's residents into awakening.

This particular cottage was one of the oldest in all of Carvahall, and still home to the descendants of the farmer that had constructed it long ago for his own wife and children. A couple of the bloodline would rear their children in this house, making a decent amount by farming the fields that surrounded the cottage. Here they would rear their families, and eventually retire to live out the rest of their days in comfort while one of their children inherited their place as head of the household.

However, the cycle seemed to be nearing its final completion. Gavin, the last-living descendant of the original builder, was already in the middle of his life. His wife, Annah, was barely younger than he. Yet still the married couple had produced no heirs as of yet. Both yearned for a child to shower love and affection upon, and the pitter-patter of little feet to fill the lonely silence. Despite years of attempts, however, their impressive efforts had yielded only one stillbirth and several miscarriages. At last they had given up their feeble hope of parenthood, resigning themselves to growing old without a child to fill the void they would leave behind come their deaths.

Annah moaned, pulling herself up into a sitting position. Blinking confusedly, she looked around, searching in vain for the source of the loud and shrill noises that had disturbed her from such pleasant dreams of parenthood. She waited silently for a few moments, waiting to see if the sounds would stop on their own. When they only increased in frequency, Annah turned to Gavin in hope of finding someone who could stop that incessant racket.

"Gavin. Dear, wake up." She gently prodded her husband's shoulder. He didn't even stir response. Gavin was still sound asleep, not even that deafening clamor enough to rouse him from his slumber before he was damn well ready. Growing impatient, Annah shook him harder. "Oh, wake up already you lazy old goat!"

A groan was elicited from Gavin's still form. Bloodshot brown eyes snapped open, before narrowing to glower angrily at his wife. "Gods, Annah, why would me up at such an hour? Not even the thieves are up yet!" Despite the sting to his words, he pulled himself up reluctantly. Once he had been roused from his slumber it was impossible to go back until the following night, no matter how much he thought otherwise.

Annah heaved an exasperated sigh. "Don't you hear it, Gavin? That loud noise? Can't you do anything about it?"

"It's just all those stray cats yowling at the top of their lungs again," the farmer muttered. He snorted in disgust. "That's what get you get for allowing all those ferals to roam the village. I tried telling others to get rid of those unwanted kittens before they had the chance to breed but would they-"

"I don't care about where the cats came from! Please, Gavin, just do something about the noise. Don't you know anything that can make those strays quiet down? If I don't get enough sleep then I won't be in a fit condition to weave that blanket for Paulla. And you how she's a widow expecting her late husband's baby without another woman to-"

"I get your point, Annah, I get it. Just give me some time and I'll shut those accursed ferals up for good."

Her husband slid out of bed, reaching for a tunic and boots to pull on. Relaying upon the silver moonlight that filtered in through the windows to guide his way, Gavin made his way to the door. Snatching up a hoe usually used for gardening, he made his way outside with the clear intention to chase these alleged feral cats away from his property. However, what he saw upon his doorstep was not a yowling stray but rather the thing he had least expected to find. Startled, Gavin cursed and dropped the hoe with a loud clatter.

Puzzled by the vulgar oath and the dropped gardening tool, Annah left her bed and approached her husband. "Gavin, what is it? Did one of these cats leave a kitten by our door or something?"

"Oh, aye," Gavin exclaimed calmly, still in shock about the discovery. "They left a baby creature at our door all right. But it isn't a furry little pest they gave us."

The baby's shrill cries stopped at the sound of human voices. Perhaps he was comforted by the sounds of his own race, or perhaps he had just been demanding company in the first place. He looked to be at a suitable age to be weaned from his mother's milk, but still younger than his first year. There was a small tuft of blond hair on his head, and big blue eyes that curiously regarded the unfamiliar man that gaped at him.

When Annah noticed the baby, she gasped aloud. Pushing Gavin to the side she scooped the bundle up, some latent maternal instinct activating at what it determined to be a helpless infant that needed guardianship. Annah cradled him for a few moments, before moving the blankets to peep in.

"He is a little boy," she informed her husband. She appeared absolutely confused by the series of unanticipated events, but seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride. "Babies left at doors of strangers usually means they have been abandoned by their parents. But why anyone would want to leave this darling child behind is beyond me." Annah cooed at the child, beaming when he giggled in response.

Gavin went fully outside, checking to see if a letter had been left behind with the child. He had a hunch that no parent would just drop their baby at some stranger's door without leaving some information regarding the fate and care of the aforementioned infant. True to his presumption, he did discover a small sheet of parchment close to where the bundle had been left. Picking it up, he squinted his eyes, trying to inspect the writing in such a frustrating darkness.

Gavin may have been a farmer, but his own father had taught him enough reading to allow him to properly handle documents like contracts and deeds. At first glance, the writing seemed unfamiliar, as if written in a foreign alphabet. However, it must have been a trick of the eyes, for the next moment the message was completely understandable. True, the ink had blotted out parts of some of the words, but the parchment itself was still perfectly legible.

Dear guardian or guardians,

Do not be afraid of the child that has been left at your door. Believe that he is not a changeling left by some spiteful race or a child destined to complete foul deeds. He is the survivor of a cruel massacre that claimed the lives of both of his parents. His only living relative now is too injured and elderly to give this young child the care and guidance he deserves and needs. Please, treat him as if he were your own flesh and blood. He has nowhere else to go, and I can assure you this child shall grow up to be a brave and respectable man, as his father was before him .

Also, know that I had no other option to send this child far away from his homeland. Evil pursues him and shall not stop its hunt until he is dead. With you he is safe and secure, far safer than he ever would be here. There may come a day where it is safe for your ward to return to his homeland, and be prepared for the possible event in which you may have to give him. Rest assured, considering how poor conditions are here right now, I doubt that occasion shall ever come during his lifetime.

Enjoy this blessed little child, for I know he shall have a happy and loving home with you. But make sure you do not forget to tell him of the truth, and of the destiny he has to face one day. His bloodline is a sacred one, that holds great power that travels from generation to generation. One day, be it the next season or a century from now, those of his family are fated to return to his birthland. Like the spirits of eld, they are bound to the land.

Good luck, guardian or guardians. May your ward grow into a fine young man and may you shall many happy times together. But be warned, do not forget his blood is destined to return from whence it came, or be doomed to suffer misfortune. By the way, the child's name is Ca- The letters after this had been completely blotted out by a blob of ink, making them almost possible to make out.

"Well?" Annah prompted. "What is this precious baby's name?"

Gavin hesitated for a moment, struggling to decipher the final part of the word. At last, he gave up his effort, substituting a name of his own.

"Cadoc. His name is Cadoc."

Shoving the ominous words of the message into the back of his mind, Gavin guided Annah and their new little family member back into the warmth of the cottage. The contents of the letter were quickly forgotten, the parchment itself being thrown to a hungry fire the following evening. Cadoc Gavinsson grew up in ignorance of his adoption, believing himself to be related by blood to both of his parents. After years of happily raising a bright little son, Annah and Gavin came to almost believe it too.

And so Cadoc's mysterious origins were all but forgotten, an unwanted dilemma happily discarded to the sands of time. But, though out of sight and out of mind, the prophetic words of Zelda would still stand true. The Goddesses had dictated Cadoc's descendants would return to Hyrule. Until then, those that awaited the coming of the next Chosen Hero bided their time and patiently waited.

Far, far away, in a land completely unknown by Alagaesia, a grieving spirit was not so willing to forget the past. He was a restless soul, doomed to wander the earth until his heart was finally at rest. His wife had been content to cross on into the next world, to patiently await the inevitable return of their beloved son and hear his life's tale from his lips personally. He, however, could find no such peace.

As the cold moon rose over the desolate fields of Hyrule, a haunting howl pierced the air. Those that heard the sorrowful song felt their blood turn to ice and felt the desirable urge to flee the area, an instinct all happily listened to. Those most sensitive to such things would have tears flowing from their eyes, an unknown but great sadness hanging over their hearts for many days afterward.

The pale moonlight revealed a golden wolf standing upon the crest of a hill. Its form was translucent, glowing with a light of its own. Its eyes were an unnatural red, two sharp orbs that cut through the darkness. This was the form he had adapted to suit his nocturnal vigils, the prison he condemned himself to until he made good on his dying promises.

He had failed his family. Had he been more diligent in his practicing, had not allowed his former mastery of swordplay to gradually escape him, the perhaps his loved ones would be alive and safe today. Talon would have happily lived out the remainder of the days at the ranch. Malon would have continued to help him train their prized horses. And he would have had the opportunity to raise his little boy, his precious little Calon, as he could have.

Grief weighed down his soul, a heavy burden he could not shrug off so easily. Had he even wanted to pass on, he would have found himself quite unable to until he had abandoned his guilt and self-loathing. Regret also haunted him. Regret that he had never lived to see his son grow up into a find young man. Regret that he had failed Zelda and had allowed the skills of the legendary Heroes to be lost forever with his death. The painful knowledge of how much Hyrule would suffer when the next evil came and their was no Chosen Hero to rescue them. It was all too much for one soul to bear.

But he was no ordinary spirit. Since his childhood he had witnessed death and destruction. He had been sent seven years into time to slay a threat he had helped to create. Link was strong like the animal whose shape he had adapted for his purposes. He had conquered great darkness and defeated mighty foes. He could handle a few years of roaming the lands aimlessly until he found his proper closure to the question that had plagued him since his untimely death.

Link was eager to see his Calon again, even if he should just stumble across a distant descendant years from now. Should it mean patiently waiting out the centuries, then so be it.

Besides, he had a duty to fulfill. He had failed to pass on his secrets in life, now he would have to death. The Golden Goddesses denied him entrance to the afterlife until he did. Somewhere out there was a Chosen Hero in need of guidance. One who would need all of Link's knowledge to learn the skills necessary to be a Hero.

So the golden wolf continued his nightly wanderings, searching in vain for the missing child he wanted so desperately to find.

When the Goddesses had formed the world and its many different inhabitants, evil had intruded upon their beloved creations to wreak death and destruction. Before departing for the heavens, the three divine sisters called the Guardian Spirits into being. Each Spirit was charged to watch over their respective lands and help repulse the ever-creeping tendrils of darkness that assaulted the good every single moment. While the greatest of the Spirits (Ordona, Faron, Eldin, and Lanayru) resided in Hyrule, other countries had their own protective forces. Most have been neglected or forgotten over the many centuries, but they guarded over their lands and subjects as diligently as ever.

Iduneya was one such Spirit. His domain consisted of a few coastal towns and a vast rugged and untamed mountain rage civilisation had barely begun to encroach upon. Though the number of his sentient charges paled in comparison to its far-more populated siblings', he felt a strong sense of devotion to the little mortals he watched over. Even those that left his boundaries to settle elsewhere Iduneya considered his, and still bore a faint mark of his protection. Those that he felt threatened the safety of his territory he did not hesitate to dispose of, influencing the fierce beasts of his mountains to

Perhaps it was because of this unusual protectiveness that had warranted him a task granted by Farore herself. The Goddess of Courage had entrusted the well-being of the last descendent of the Chosen Heroes to him, an honor that many other Spirits had vied for. Calon and his family had lived in Carvahall, a tiny village bordering the mountains of the Spine and thus falling under his jurisdiction.

Calon-called Cadoc by his surrogate parents- grew up in ignorance of his true self. While Annah and Gavin's wishes were the opposite of Zelda's requests, all that mattered to the Spirit was that his charges remained safe. Calon had a loving wife and two beautiful children, living to a ripe age. If only his son and daughter had been unfortunate. Garrow had died of cursed wounds, too dark for even Iduneya's power to completely repel. Selena had succumbed of exhaustion and sickness outside of his borders, meaning his protection had been slight.

Either way, Iduneya had been unable to help much further. Murtagh, Selena's eldest son, had been in his territory for few and the briefest of times. When Carvahall had been troubled by Imperial forces Roran had lead a large exodus of villagers to safety. And, of course Eragon Shadeslayer had left with his she-dragon to avenge his murdered uncle by slaying his killers. Currently, the only two of the Hero line that fell under his protection were the two decomposed bodies buried in the forgotten Carvahall graveyard.

Iduneya knew that his duties as protector had come to an end. He had done his part, shielding the descendents of the Hero of Time from the evils that pursued them so mercilessly. Farore had never told him when his task would end, replying only that he would knew when the time came. The final living descendants had departed from the Spine. It seemed unlikely they ever would return.

But Iduneya's efforts had not all resulted in failure. The next Chosen Hero had grown up under his care and with the Spirit's aid had come to help realize his first destiny. It had been Iduneya that had sent Saphira's egg to Eragon Shadeslayer, sensing that the she-dragon inside the sapphire shell would hatch for Eragon and gave him the advantage he would so desperately need come his trials. And had prevented the ferocious beasts of the Spine from devouring him when he had traveled in that untamed wilderness.

Soon the time would come for the next Chosen Hero to return and defend Hyrule, the homeland of his ancestors. Iduneya had a final gift to bestow upon the Shadeslayer, one that would prepare him for his upcoming odyssey.

The Blood-Oath Ceremony of the elves was a celebration in which they honored and remembered their long-ago pact with the dragons. Coincidentally (or perhaps a subtle move by the Goddesses) Eragon had been present at one. Iduneya was prevented by ancient laws from crossing his boundary and personally blessing the young Rider, but the Guardian Spirit Menoa was benevolent. She too wanted what was best for the future Hero (and to help gain the favor of the Goddesses) and had allowed him to send his two representatives.

Long ago, two elves had come across his spring and had been in awe of him. They had pledged their loyalty to Iduneya, and had allowed him to channel himself through their bodies when the need arose. His image had been tattooed onto their flesh, and from there on out they had rarely ventured outside the deepest glades of the Spine. Their fellow elves had been bewildered by the strange appearances of the elves now called Iduna and Neya, but their arrivals were always of the highest honor. None knew they served the Spirit Iduneya, but the elves knew their sisters possessed a secret power far beyond them.

Acting through them, Iduneya had blessed Eragon Shadeslayer with all the gifts he deemed worthy. He healed the Dragon Rider of his old scars, cleaning the slate so it could bear the marks that would inevitably mar it again. Superhuman strength and agility had also been granted, for this Chosen Hero would be battling an evil far greater than most of his ancestors had had to face.

Iduneya also lifted the concealing enchantments Princess Zelda had first cast upon infant Calon that had been inherited by his own children and grandchildren. He gave Eragon Shadeslayer the face of his forefathers, the face that would have been his if the Hero of Time had not been so cruelly ambushed and slaughtered by vengeful followers of the Dark Lord Ganondorf.

Now the Guardian Spirit languished within his spring, growing ever more restless as the days passed. He sensed the evil looming close by like storm clouds sulking overhead. Darkness would return soon, and he and the other Guardian Spirits would be unable to halt its corruptive and rapid conquest.

So Iduneya waited anxiously for the storm to break and unleash its deluge upon Hyrule and the rest of the world. All he could now was hope that his blessings to the upcoming Chosen Hero had been enough to drive back the darkness that threatened to crush them all.

Eragon woke up with a start, jolting into a sitting position as he looked wildly about him with blue eyes wide with fear. Slowly remembering that he was on his cot, safe and sound in the small two-man tent that Nasuada had given him, he gradually relaxed. The young man sighed, groping for memories as he struggled to piece together what had just occurred.

Eragon had been dreaming and actually sleeping. Not the surreal trance that had replaced sleep for him after the Blood-Oath Ceremony, but genuine slumber. He had thought such a thing was impossible now, but apparently he had been wrong on that account. It was his dreams that had startled him awake, the myriad of frightened and confusing images and sounds that had relentlessly bombarded him into he had been forced to wake up from the force of it all.

Fragments of visions had compounded him, glimpses of colors and pieces of sounds that had formed a maelstrom that had trapped him in their swirling vortex. Eragon could barely recall some of those fragments; the rainbow-scaled dragon he had encountered in Du Weldenvarden, an orange twilight falling upon the land, the feeling of overwhelming agony as his lifeblood seeped from a phantom wound in his side. Gods, what had caused such terrible dreams?

Eragon shook his head, running a hand through his dark blond hair as he remembered the real events that had taken place earlier that day.

He and Saphira had stormed Helgrind several days ago, along with his cousin Roran. Katrina had been imprisoned there, guarded by the hideous Ra'zac and their demonic parents. Upon gaining entry to the natural fortress, Rider and dragon had fought Galbatorix's servants while Roran had searched for his captive lover. Saphira had managed to char a Lethrblaka into a ruined husk and bite the head off a Ra'zac, while Eragon had clubbed the other to death with a battle staff (which had broken from the sheer force of his blows.) A burnt but living Lethrblaka had managed to escape, but Saphira could not risk pursuing it without attracting unwanted attention from the people of Dras-Leona.

The blue-scaled she-dragon and her three passengers had arrived back at the Varden's camp just that morning. Katrina was spending the night among the healers and so far Roran had refused to leave her side. A messenger had come to the tent he had shared with his cousin to retrieve his belongings. Eragon suspected Roran would not be returning and would instead move on to a private tent with his wife.

The Shur'tugal sighed, unable to contain the feelings of loneliness that rose up. He had just united with the man he thought his brother barely a month ago. Though their relationship was originally strained, it had increased back to its original strength as the cousins had reacquainted themselves. Now Eragon was alone again, his only dependable confidant that actually had the time for him being Saphira.

The massive she-dragon was far too large to squeeze into any tent, except perhaps Nasuada's pavilion (as if she would allow it to be occupied by a big house guest that was quite grouchy in the morning.) Instead Saphira had contented herself to wrapping her body around the tent like a serpent. Though Eragon could not see her, he knew his dragon was still there. Her rumbling snores filled the small space, a sound he had long since grown accustomed to. Also present was the heat that emanated from her core, a pleasant warmth that staved off the freezing chill of the night.

Eragon considered waking her up, lightly brushing against her mind, but thought better of doing so. Lonely as he was, he could not bear to rouse his slumbering she-dragon. Saphira had shouldered much of the burdens during Katrina's rescue mission, from flying long distances at high speed to grappling directly with two formidable Lethrblaka. The couple had another long journey to make the following morning, and Eragon didn't want to disturb her well-needed rest any earlier than he had to.

Spare me your concern, little one. Saphira opened up their connection, the emotions flowing over her end of the mental link tired but content. Your well-being is just as important as mine. Tell me what troubles you. Moments later her snout poked into the tent, moving aside the flap. She then pulled her head out but settled it close to the opening, watching her Rider with an understanding eye.

Dreams, Eragon sighed. Usually he conversed with her audibly, but mental speech had a closeness and the ability to convey emotions his normal method did not have. Right now, he just wanted someone to understand the strange fears that troubled him. You know how I've had such dreams before, Saphira. When Arya was imprisoned and called out for help. When I had visions of death and blood flowing like rivers in the days before the Battle of the Burning Plains. I fear that the nightmares I have experienced tonight are prophetic visions such as in the past.

Show me, the sapphire she-dragon gently commanded. Hesitating only a moment, her Rider sent her all of the images he could recall. He did not spare her the more painful and terrifying ones, as he knew she would most likely scold him when she found out he had been concealing information from her. The she-dragon remained silent for a while, examining the fragmented scenes thoughtfully before she made her response.

These are indeed dreams of frightening intensity, Eragon. More so than the ones I usually witness. But there is no evidence these dreams are shadows of the future. If that is indeed true, then they may not concern you at all. They may be happening in a realm far across the sea, or a thousand years after now when you and I are but a fading legend. She reached her head back into the tent, rubbing her human's cheek soothingly. Do not allow them to trouble you. No good in come out of such excessive brooding.

Eragon nodded in gratitude. Sometimes it was hard to forget how wise Saphira could be. She may have barely been a year old, but her ancestral memories provided her with a wisdom far beyond her tender age. He slowly lay back onto his cot, surprised at how her words had calmed his nervous soul so quickly.

"Thank you," he murmured appreciately. "I needed that."

The she-dragon hummed happily, blue eyes shining with that wonderful light. No problem, little one. Dragons, or at least Rider's dragons, seem to be adept at this sort of thing. Saphira settled her head on the vacant space Roran's cot had once occupied, slowly shutting her eyes again. Now I would suggest you get some sleep. We must leave at dawn and fly fast with few stops if we are to make Orik's coronation on time. It is not everyday one of your friends gets crowned King of the dwarfs.

"Good night, Saphira." Eragon made himself comfortable, oddly soothed by the giant draconian head that rested beside him. Occasionally it still shocked him about how reassuring it was just to be close by his beloved she-dragon. Sighing in contentment, the young man closed his eyes and drifted off to a fresh slumber not plagued by those earlier visions.

Elsewhere, ancient forces were stirring. One prepared to wage war while another readied to summon its champion. Eragon and Saphira slumbered peacefully on, blissfully ignorant to the importance they would soon play in the grand scheme of things. Unbeknown to them, the start of a whole new legend was just about set to begin.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Moondance Instrumental Version- Nightwish

Twilight had long since passed in the Beor Mountains, and it was now deep into the night. Only silence pervaded the two travelers that soared under the silent night, the occasional haunting howl of a Shrrg being their only sign of other forms of life. Saphira flew lower than usual, unwilling to chance ramming into one of the lower peaks that jutted out of the darkness. While dragons had sharp eyesight far better than a mere human's, not even her gaze could completely pierce through the darkness that enshrouded the nocturnal realm of the Beors. The massive mountains blocked out the illumination casted by the moon and most of the stars, allowing only a thin sliver of starlight to shine through the slender spaces of open sky. Such dark conditions did not bode well for flying, but Saphira didn't want to chance a dangerous night out vulnerable when creatures large enough to take down even a dragon her size prowled about.

Turning her head about, the sapphire-scaled she-dragon once again checked on her passenger. Eragon had not lasted the tiresome journey. He had tried his best to stay up alongside her until they reached Farthen Dur, but not even the great Shadeslayer could hold out for long against the formidable forces of sleep. Her human leaned heavily against the spike that rose up before him, his shut eyes and soft snores all the information Saphira needed to know he was long lost in his slumber. She was not worried about him falling off; Eragon had used the leg straps to secure himself to the saddle for that very reason.

Saphira considered waking him up and ordering him to cast some sort of magical light to illuminate their way better, but decided against it. Eragon may have been a loyal friend that had stuck by her through the worst of her problems, but (despite his protests that he was not) deep down he was still just a child. She knew that her Rider had not yet reached his seventeenth birthday, and it would not be until his eighteenth year that most cultures would consider him a true man. Though she was loath to admit it to Eragon, Saphira was inclined to agree with them.

Eragon may have been exposed to horrors and tragedies far beyond the experiences of a typical age-mate, and may have faced and conquered great adversaries like the Shade Durza, but he was still young. Too young, in his she-dragon's not so humble opinion, to have such heavy burdens thrust upon him. Aye, Saphira was aware of how her Rider was the rebellion's only hope of victory, but surely even they realized how tender Eragon still was. How no adolescent of his age deserved to be troubled with a load even the strongest would struggle to shoulder.

Dream on, little one, Saphira murmured quietly to herself. Champion of the rebellion and mighty Shadeslayer you may be, but you are still human. And even the greatest of heroes deserve a rest every once and a while.

Unfortunately for her, destiny did not seem to agree with her conclusion. No sooner when she had made her thoughts known, utter darkness closed down upon her. Saphira snorted in surprise, reflexively jarring to a halt as she maintained a steady hover in her current spot. The blue she-dragon looked wildly about, bewildered at how the starlight had been so quickly blotted out and how she had plunged into an unbreakable blackness.

A low rumble sounded then, disrupting the pie and rousing Eragon from his sleep. He looked about suspiciously, a hand inching down to the hilt of the sword he had taken from the Varden's armory before his departure. "Saphira," he called to her. "What just happened? The last time I was up there was at least some starlight to guide our way. Now we are now better than blind."

Saphira had a sinking feeling she knew what had caused such a telltale rumble. Inhaling the air, her nostrils detected a scent that sent her ancestral memories whirling with recollections of flights had gone a similar way for past dragons that had resulted in extreme injuries and deaths. A storm has arrived, was her grim answer. By the smell, I judge it to be a devastating one. We must find shelter before the wind or a torrential rain picks up, or worse if hail or lightning begins.

The sapphire she-dragon furled her wings, going into a dive as she zoomed closer to the ground. Out of the way of any buffeting winds that may appear, she begin to flutter about desperately seeking a cave or a depression they could take shelter in. Eragon realized that shouting questions to his she-dragon when she was in such a frantic state was pointless, and only brought a couple of magical orbs into being to provide some lights in resignation of control.

Saphira hurtled through the blackness, her scales tingling as she felt the first electrical charges of lightning building up. Her eyes scanned the mountainsides and crags for caves, but it was hard to see their shadows at night when going at such breakneck speeds.

Eragon clung tightly to the saddle with a death-grip, yelling suggestions into her ears as he realized the act was helpless. "You're flying too fast, Saphira! We're probably missing all of the caves we're passing by right-"

The shrieking wind chose that moment to pick up, drowning his shouts out in a piercing howl. Saphira suddenly veered upward, beating her wings frantically for altitude to avoid crashing into a mountain peak that had suddenly reared up out of the night. She then tucked them close to her side again, not wanting to be caught in the storm. But the damage had been done; the gale buffeted her ever higher into the thundering heavens, preventing her from moving her wings against its force.

Realizing that fighting nature's wrath was futile, the she-dragon willingly ascended higher and higher, going with the pull of the wind until she felt an opening she could escape for. Eragon clung like death to her saddle, all of his impressive magic harmless against the ancient forces that had dominated all since the beginning of the world. Rider and dragon were helpless against it all, tugged along like bobbing seabirds against a mighty ocean swell.

The lightning chose that moment to begin, erupting from the dark clouds to surge around them like a pack of ferocious wolves surrounding their hapless prey before lunging in for the kill. Instinct overriding reason and the pleas of Eragon, Saphira began a wild dance through the stormy skies to weave past the bolts before they hit her. She may have been pulled along like a fish against an invincible current, but she could at least maneuver herself to dodge the electric tendrils that grasped out for her like skeletal fingers.

We're going to make it! Saphira screamed, as if the thundering clamor of the storm drowned out even their thoughts to one another. This draft has to end quite soon and then we'll be free to-

Her sentence was never finished. Lightning flashed out of a neighboring cloud, striking her entire left wing. A pained bellow escaped her throat as she faltered wildly in the air, electricity coursing through her hit appendage and severely damaging it. The wind was becoming too strong to even survive against, her floundering with a limp wing not even close enough to hold its own against that powerful force.

Eragon opening his mouth to shout a spell, and Saphira could feel the words on his breath before they were knocked out of him by another shock of lightning. The bolt only grazed him by the sense of it, but its after-jolt was enough to make his strong muscles involuntarily lurch. But the she-dragon was too occupied against struggling against unconsciousness to register the impending danger.

Still tugged along by the merciless gale, the straps pinning Eragon to the saddle and to Saphira's back broke with a definitive snap. Losing his grip, the young man was blown off and tossed into the thunderstorm as if the plaything of a giant and sadistic cat.

Saphira was just barely aware of Eragon crying her name, and the sheer pain and terror that flowed through his mind to hers. Then she too almost succumbed to the darkness that wringed her vision. Following into a stupor, the she-dragon ceased her thrashing and plummeted toward the ground, her one working wing held out in a sort of controlled crash that would hopefully muffle her inevitable bone-shattering collision with the ground.

Swooping down in the vague area in which Eragon had fallen and disappeared and almost lost in a numbing delirium, for the first time Saphira knew why desperate humans called out to the gods in their hours of need.

Faron Woods was located the southern border of Hyrule. It was an untamed wilderness that had barely been encroached upon, its largest settlements only small villages with populatins numbering in the low hundreds at most. It was a backwater area, its only residents farmers and herders that took advantage of the few open spaces to graze livestock or raise crops on the fertile soil that nourished a large and impressive forest.

None of the 'proper citizens' of Hyrule had any desire to even travel close to Faron Woods. Deeply ingrained within the Hylians was a lingering fear of strange forest monsters and cursed groves leftover from old myths and horror stories told by elders that kept them far away from all but the smallest of copses. Considering that the woods had an actual reputation of several disappearances and beast sightings, it was not surprising why those from the area where regarded almost fearfully, as if they carried the taint of the forest upon them.

But Rusl cared little for the old horror stories bards told around the fire to amuse tourists and gullible locals. It was the legends that inspired him, tales of lost cities and buried treasures concealed under the tree branches that fascinated him so. He was part of a group whose mission was to partly prove and find such things, showing old fiction to be actual truth and to dispell the more fanciful rumors that surrounded them.

Which was why Rusl had moved to the unimportant little Ordon Village. He had been a talented swordsman, capable of becoming a great captain or wealthy mercenary if he put his mind to it. But the fables of old were what truly fascinated and drove him to pursue a slow lifestyle in a tiny farming settlement. Rusl had not yet found one of the legends he searched for, but made a steady living as a blacksmith that did all kinds of metalwork but specialized in forging blades. And it was in Ordon Village he had met and married his beautiful Uli, and had had Colin with another baby soon to arrive.

Rusl had been at the area just outside the Forest Temple in Faron Woods. Rumor had it that a glade containing an ancient artifact lay just beyond the cliff-wall that separated it from the rest of the forest. There were indeed several ledges that led to the area, but they jutted out over what seemed to be a bottomless abyss and were inaccessible to all without wings or superb agility, both things Rusl did not possess.

Then the storm had rolled in. Rusl was not a young greenhorn anymore, and had experienced his fair share of bad weather. But such storms did not start without some sort of warning. A gathering of foreboding clouds overhead or a dampness to the air. A chill bite to the wind or the puzzling absence of animals. Storms did not just appear out of thin air like this one did, not to mention have a strength that rattled the ancient trees and sent a shower of leaves upon him.

When the first peel of thunder roared a challenge, Rusl did not hesitate to yank on his cloak in case of rain and hastened home, not wanting Uli to scold him for being out so long in such dangerous conditions. Almost blown along by the pushing wind, the man hurried back to his home and family, eager to relax by the warm fire that would be waiting for him.

Rushing past Ordona's spirit spring, Rusl halted momentarily when he heard a small splash sound just above the din of the shrieking wind and groaning trees. Thinking it had merely been a branch crashing into the water, he was about to continue on when he heard another, much louder noise. There was a large crash, the scrape of scales against earth, and a low growl that sent shivers down his spine.

Unsheathing his sword as a precaution, Rusl steeled himself for conflict and ventured toward the spring to investigate the disturbance. Old and weary he may have already been, but fatherhood had not doused his insatiable curiosity just yet. Besides, what if the source of the sounds proved to be a threat? If so, then he could not allow such a creature to prowl about the village when Colin and his pregnant wife were in dire risk.

Due to the darkness brought on by the storm clouds, it was nearly impossible to see the beast itself. Rusl narrowed his eyes, just able to make out a hulking shape and two glowing blue lights located far above his head. Realizing the lights to be glittering eyes, Rusl retreated back a few steps, not really expecting the creature to have been so massive.

Lightning flashed overhead, revealing the mystery beast clearly for the first time. Sapphire scales. Fangs that jutted out of a mighty snout. Two curved horns that could easily gore him through. Wings that allowed this creature to terrorize people from the safety of the air. Rusl found himself gazing upon a large dragon, one capable of extinguishing his puny little life in many gruesome and effective ways.

Rusl scrambled back, oaths and prayers to the Goddesses streaming out his mouth in a incomprehensible jumble. Dragons had not been seen in Hyrule for decades, but accurate historic accounts recalled how the beasts had terrorized Hylians and the other races, razing crops and obliterating all resistance that blocked their path of conquest. The legend that came to mind instantly was that of Volvagia, the dragon that had plagued the Gorons centuries ago, almost exterminating a whole quarter of their population before it was slayed by an ancient hero. And Rusl had no doubt this blue one hearkened back to the dark past of its ancestors.

The dragon stepped toward him, not in a charge or fearsome advance, but with the gentleness of a large dog not wanting to frighten a small child. It lowered his head until its eyes were even with Rusl's, and for the first time the man saw the pain and worry in its blue eyes.

Another bolt of lightning flashed, and then Rusl could see important details his earlier examination had missed. The dragon's left wing hung lifelessly, darkened and burnt compared to its healthy counterpart. So the creature had been forced to land in Ordon Spring because of its injuries that prevented flight. Stranger yet, a saddle was strapped to its back, as well as traveling bags. The dragon was domesticated and obviously trained not to devour unsuspecting humans.

"Easy girl," Rusl murmured, decided the dragon to be female since he had the weirdest feeling it was not a boy. He slowly sheathed his sword, just in case the wounded beast should startle at sudden movements. "Where is your master? Surely he wouldn't allow you to fly around in the storm with a saddle on all alone?"

The she-dragon shifted herself, moving to the other side of the spring. Thanks to the faint glow that the water radiated, Rusl was able to view a sight that turned his blood to ice. A man was lying limp in the spring, the arm splayed out darkened with a burn that suggested a lightning bolt had struck it. The she-dragon rumbled sadly, eyes full of concern. Tenderly she lowered her snout to her master's limp form as if to nudge him awake, but pulled back at the pained gasp the action elicited.

"Don't touch him!" Rusl scolded as if the dragon was intelligent enough to understand his words. "You are too large to handle him and covered with rough scales that will only aggravate his wounds. Stay back and let me tend to him."

Surprisingly enough, the massive creature instantly obeyed. She backed away, though still looking on like a nervous mother watching a doctor care for her sick child. Rusl did not pause to wonder over the strangeness of it all, but instead hastened over the unconscious form and knelt down for closer inspection.

Considering the stranger had been struck by lightning and had suffered a painful collision with the earth from Goddesses knew how high, his injuries were not terrible. The burnt arm was also broken and several bruises from the crash were visible, but Rusl doubted the damage extended any further. Of course, only a thorough examination could determine if the man had received internal damage, so it was imperative to get him back to Ordon Village as soon as possible.

"Come on," Rusl muttered, craning the stranger's face to better see it. "Let's just see who you really are first."

What he saw shocked him. His mystery patient was younger than expected, no older than his twentieth year at most. Rusl judged him to be several years younger than even that. By the man's pointed ears and fair features, Rusl also reckoned him to be a Hylian like those that populated most parts of Hyrule. Though the young man's clothing was damaged from the storm, it was also obviously of a finer quality the Ordon villagers could never hope to purchase. Which meant the man came from a wealthy family.

No surprise, Rusl thought to himself. Anyone able to afford a marvelous creature such as that she-dragon must come from some noble family as the very least. Yes, he is most likely the son of some rich lord that took his dragon out for a flight and got caught in the storm. Din, I wouldn't have been surprised if this boy is actually related to the Princess Zelda.

"I'm going to take your master with me," he explained to the dragon. "He needs medical care, not to mention shelter from the rain that is no doubt going to start soon. You're welcome to join me. I might not be able to do much for her wing, but a girl in my village is quite skilled with animals. Perhaps she shall be able to properly tend for your injured wing."

Maybe the beast really did understand the meaning of his words, for she made to effort to stop him from picking up her master like a small child. Rusl was startled at how light the unconscious stranger actually was, and once again couldn't help but wonder how old he truly was.

Tracing his way back to Ordon Village by memory, Rusl carried his new patient back home through the pressing darkness. He heard the heavy footfalls of the dragon padding mildly behind him and felt her hot breath on his neck as she wearily observed the limp form in his arms. And so the strange group proceeded to Ordon Village, and the crowd of bewildered and curious people that would be waiting for them.

Ordon Village was a relatively new settlement, founded only a few short years ago by a small group of families wanting to start a new life outside the official borders of Hyrule. Their lives had been slow from then on, the most exciting highlights of their days most often not exceeding the news of a escaped goat that had charged down the road. (Considering that the shepherd Fado was notoriously poor at looking after his charges, this happened on numerous occasions.) Which was why the news that an injured Hylian and his pet dragon were staying in the village traveled like wildfire, despite the ungodly hour of the night.

Currently the strange boy lay sprawled out on a couch in Rusl's home. Uli bent over him, examining his injuries with the eye of an expert. Rusl had just put Colin back to bed, his young son curious at the unexpected house guest but knowing better than to ask questions that late. Bo and Ilia were the only others present, the mayor chasing the other nosy souls back into their houses. Rusl suspected many of them were peeking out through their windows, gaping at the blue she-dragon that hunched by his cottage.

"Now, Uli," Mayor Bo spoke up anxiously. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? Those look like some pretty serious burns. Maybe it would be better if we brought the... er- young man to a doctor. A trained professional will know what to do in a situation like this."

"You forget that I am a trained healer, Mayor, the only one in Ordon Village," the pregnant woman answered calmly. She beckoned for the salve she had mashed up, which Ilia handed to her. As she applied this to the Hylian's burns, she continued to speak ."Just because I'm a pregnant married woman doesn't mean I am suddenly incapable of looking after patients. Besides, the closest doctor is miles away at Castle Town. We have no wagon to carry this man in. And we can't risk riding him to the capitol on Epona without further upsetting his wounds. No, my care shall suffice."

"What about his dragon?" Ilia may have grown up on horror stories regarding the terrible deeds of dragons, but her poor heart could not bear to leave a creature in need without help. The she-dragon's giant eye took up the open window, her concerned gaze only for her master. Despite the fact it was pouring outside, she had made no effort to move to shelter. Her feelings seemed to only encompass her human and not her own needs. "It is raining heavily outside and she is also hurt."

Her father shrugged. "You're good with the goats and Epona, aren't you Ilia? If you think yourself able of tending to such an enormous creature, go right on ahead. She looks tame enough and since she hasn't burned down any buildings or chewed off someones head yet, she's trustworthy enough for me."

Smiling, Ilia gave Bo a quick hug of gratitude. Then she was pulling on her cloak, stashing her own packet of herbs and dressings safely in an inner pocket. Knowing the human patient was well cared for, she slipped outside into the merciless storm.

"Come along!" Ilia called out above the shrieking wind and booming thunder. "I can take you to a place where you can get nice and dry! Your master will be fine!"

Almost reluctantly, the she-dragon climbed to her paws and padded over. Extending her healthy wing over the Ordonian girl, she provided her a giant canopy that blocked off the relentless rain. Amazed at the beast's intelligence, Ilia continued on.

The two females made through way through the village, the larger of them glaring reproachfully at all the peeping eyes that glimmered in the windows. Heading to the fields at the southern end, Ilia opened the gates wide enough for the she-dragon to pass through, taking great care to close them behind her.

Fado's goat barn was the only structure large enough in Ordon Village to house the she-dragon. The forest's trees, though they provided some cover from the rain, were not a viable option since the wind was brutal enough to topple even the oldest and strongest of the giant oaks. Ilia felt bad for scaring the goats, but she trusted the dragon enough to be alone without eating any of them.

"Hold on a moment." Ilia fumbled about for the barn's key. Since she was the one that rounded up and bedded the goats on a daily basis, Fado had entrusted her with all acess to the barn in case of emergencies. He would no doubt be angry at her for allowing a giant predator to sleep alongside his beloved livestock, but his ire would not last long considering that she was the only one capable of looking after his goats. Opening the doors, she slipped to the side to allow the dragon to slither in.

Shutting the doors behind her, Ilia felt about and lit a lantern with deft ease. Sensing a predator's presence, the goats began to bleat fearfully, but were silenced when the sapphire she-dragon glowering at them. Rumbling in appreciation, the marvelous creature curled up in the center of the barn. Ilia deftly undid the straps that bound the saddle to her back, removing the surprisingly light load and setting it down in an open space. The dragon stretched out, savoring the liberation from her load. Extending one wing for treatment, she gazed expectantly at Ilia as if knowing she could treat her wounds.

"Goddesses, you are without a doubt one of the most beautiful and intelligent creatures I have ever seen." While Ilia took off her cloak and gathered her supplies, the she-dragon hummed at the praise. "If only the goats had half as much brains as you have. Gathering them up every dusk would be so much easier."

Taking out her herbs, she mashed them into a salve similar to the one that Uli had made, except in a larger quantity. Carefully applying the paste to the charred wing, Ilia made sure not to aggravate the already agitated nerves in the injured areas. Despite her efforts, the she-dragon still trembled slightly at the pain, but did not roar or snap in protest. Examing her work, Ilia frowned, not completely satisfied.

"I only wish I had some dressing to put on top of that salve, but not even I keep that many bandages at hand. Besides, those wing look like intricate appendages. Considering how you move them, you would wear any bandaging away in no time." Ilia sighed. "Boy, you have no idea how hard it is to talk to you without a name. Even the stubborn old goats all have names. If only your master wakes up soon. He surely must have blessed you with a beautiful one."

Bidding the she-dragon a fond farewell and waving good night to her goats, Ilia blew out the lantern and once again braved the storm, this time missing the protection of the dragon's wing, and began the slow and miserable trek back to her own warm bed.

Saphira lay her head on her paws, musing over the strange turn of events that had brought her to a strange land with people that spoke in an incomprehensible language she had never heard before. They all seemed nice and their thoughts easily betrayed their intentions and feelings enough for her to understand their notions. Even the girl that had tended to her injuries seemed decent, even if she did have a strange knack to converse with supposedly dumb animals.

When the last villagers had returned to the comfort of their beds, another strange miracle happened for the second time that night. First had been the powerful storm that had appeared out of nowhere to rattle the ancient forests and startle unsuspecting humans. Now an even stranger event happened, this one having not a single waking witness.

Descending from the stormy heavens, a trail of soft blue light serenely floated down into Ordon Village. While it glowed with an ethereal radiance, the light itself did not feel malignant. Instead it seemed... peaceful, lulling whatever souls it passed into calm slumbers unbroken by dreams. Traveling for a while down the single beaten road in the tiny settlement, the light split in twain when it reached a crossroads. One continued south while the other veered off the road to a small path to lead to a house occupied by four sleeping souls.

Passing through the door, the little wisp of blue light delicately picked its way over the house's sleeping inhabitants until it reached its destination. One of two souls that had been chosen to receive her blessing.

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Champion of Farore," a feminine voice breathed, "to succeed in thou quest you must first understand thou purpose. I grant thee the Knowledge of the Hyrulean language, the tongue of thou forefathers. May my blessing further thee on in though noble journey."

Dissolving, the light went into Eragon's ears and mouth, granting him knowledge to understand and speak a language he had not even known of a moment before. Meanwhile, something similar was happening to Saphira Brightscales. Neither reacted to the blessing, blissfully unaware that such knowledge brought them only a step closer to the destinies that would soon dominate their lives.

Just like with Chosen Heroes passed, Nayru had played her part. Now it was up to her two sisters to help this Eragon realize his true purpose in life and embrace the role as the bearer of the Triforce of Courage.

A new legend was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Ordon Village Theme- Twilight Princess Soundtrack

He was running across unfamiliar open fields, a friendly blue sky overhead. A soft breeze tickled his hair and a grin tugged at his carefree face. He ran along, playfully chasing a young woman ahead of him. Though he possessed swift speed, she bounded along like a deer, always a step ahead of him.

Eragon could not see much of her face, the brilliant morning sunlight caught in his eyes and drowned out her features in a golden glow. She was not garbed in a dress or gown, but in a tunic and leggings that brought the an elf-woman's clothing to mind. Her pale hair glowed like the moon, as if an internal light burned within.

"Hurry up and catch me!" she shouted back at him. For a mere second she turned around, revealing pale skin pleasantly turned into a sharp grin. Bright blue eyes shining in amusement, she stopped for a single moment. Eragon's heart surged in joy and triumph, thinking he had won their game at last, as she became tantalizingly close. But at the last possible moment she whipped around and breezed off again, his fingers just brushing against the sleeve of her tunic.

"Wait!" Eragon cried in vain. "Slow down!"

Coming out of his mind-set, he realized that something was off. Blue heavens were fading, exchanging their serene hues for orange ones that plunged the fields into a sickly light. Slight shadows grew and darkened, morphing into cold fingers that reached for him like the hungry clutches of the undead. There was a numbing chill to the air, and a booming laugh that caused the very earth to vibrate.

The woman suddenly halted, turning sharply around to face him. Eragon yelped in surprise, skidding to a stop and landing on his back like a turtle unable to right itself. His female companion gazed down at him, her own features corrupted by the pervasive twilight that swallowed all else up. Strange lines branded upon her very flesh burned in the dusky haze, illuminating her deathly pale skin. Her lovely countenance was contorted into a bestial snarl, revealing fangs.

"Well?" she snapped impatiently. "What are you waiting for, Hero? Your homeland needs you!"

Drawing a blade from her sheathe, the woman spun about and charged into the darkness, vanishing into them like down a hungry monster's black throat. Eragon attempted to follow her, staggering onto his own two feet, but a burning agony prevented him from all but screaming his pain to the corrupted world. His body was alight with flame, his blood like molten lava, his bones charred sticks against the inferno. Was he in hell?

The booming laughter came again, a hulking shape jeering down at him victoriously.

"Congratulations, Hero, you have broken the cycle. It looks like you have finally allowed me to do what your predecessor was foolish enough to stop. I thank you for that, boy. Take this in token of my gratitude."

The sneering figure raised one massive boot, about to crush him like an ant. Emerged within that agony of shifting bones and liquid fire, Eragon could only squeeze his eyes shut. At least such a death spared him from the slow torture that he was currently suffering.

"Long live the Chosen Hero," the voice hissed, before bringing his crushing weight down.

"No!" Blindly he bolted up, flailing wildly like a netted fish as he tried to shake off the pain that imprisoned him in a burning hell. He groped for his magic, his sword, anything to eliminate the torture that was inflicted upon him. Whether he meant to simply douse the fire or take his own life, not even Eragon knew the answer to that question.

"Shush." Two gentle hands siezed his writing form, a patient and maternal force that slowly pressed the fear and panic out of him. Eragon opened his eyes, seeing clearly for the first time since the storm with vision not obscurbed by unconsciousness or feverish dreams. "Quiet, young lord. Here you are safe and in trustworthy hands. Do not hurt yourself and risk endangering the progress of your recovery."

Eragon Shadeslayer found himself staring into the blue eyes of an unfamiliar woman. Though she was a stranger, he did not register her to be a threat. The very fiber of her being spoke only of concern for his well-being and sorrow that he had reacted so violently upon first awakening. Not to mention her belly was severely swollen with an unborn child, meaning he easily could have subdued her even in such a weakened state.

"Where am I?" he rasped, voice hoarse from both lack of use and from a fever that had undoubtedly ravaged his throat and tonsils. "Who are you?" Suddenly he tensed again, remembering the horrible series of events that had lead up that moment and the final foreboding memories before he had blacked out. "Saphira!" he moaned as if struck. "Where is she? How is she? What happened to-"

The woman tersely put a finger to his lips, silencing the stream of questions. Her blue eyes shone with patience and a sterness the healer Gertrude had once used on him. "Your dragon is injured, but recovering rapidly. There is a girl in the village gifted with both animals and healing. Saphira, as you call her, is being bathed by her adoring crowd of fans as we speak. She has most likely been lulled into sleep because of it."

Immediately Eragon reached out with his mind, searching for the sapphire she-dragon's presence. He felt contentment rolling off Saphira in drowsy waves, her mind unusually still as she dozed under a warm sun while her scales were carefully scrubbed free of any dirt or dust. Knowing Saphira would only leave him if she was completely positive he was safe, Eragon relaxed.

"Where am I?" he asked next. Though this woman was human, her strange style of dress was unfamiliar to him. No race or town had such a fashion in Alagaesia, as far as he knew.

"I am Uli," the woman responded. "You and your dragon crashed into the spirit spring of Ordona. You were found and carried to Ordon Village, where you are now."

When her reply elicited only a blank stare as an answer, Uli sighed with a smile. "I suppose you rich Hylians have never heard of our little village. After all, we are a small and unimportant settlement located far outside of Hyrule proper. I was expecting to much when I figured the wealthy of Castle Town would have been aware of our existence."

Hylian? Hyrule proper? Castle Town? Where in the names of all the gods have I wounded up? All of the names were unfamiliar to him. Those names did not grace any known map of Alagaesia. Unless that blasted storm had blown them into the uncharted wilderness beyond the Beor Mountains (which was close to impossible) then this whole encounter with Uli may as well have been another crazy dream brought on by his injuries.

Spotting his confused look, Uli's brow furrowed in concern. "What is the matter? By the looks of it you lost all memory of Hyrule during that fall."

Eragon shook his head. Despite his last year's adventure through Alagaesia while traveling to the Varden and having to pose as someone else the entire way, a part of him still despised the falsities of lying, no matter how necessary it was to his and Saphira's continued freedom and survival. Since he had never heard of Hyrule, then perhaps this healer had never heard of Alagaesia. Or Galbatorix and his desire for the land's last great Dragon Rider.

"I am not from Hyrule, nor have I heard of it before today," he responded slowly. "My name is Eragon, and I hail from the land of Alagaesia. That storm must have blown Saphira off course when we were flying to a friend of ours."

"Really?" Uli asked in surprise. "Well, I suppose it's not that strange. Hyrulians tend to not stray too far from their borders and much of the surrounding land that encircles our kingdom is too rugged to fully explore, not to mention travel past. Besides, humans are not native to Hyrule, and we must have originated from one of those unknown nations. But your pointed ears mark you as a Hylian, Eragon. And never before have I heard of a Hylian moving away from Hyrule, never mind a Hylian that has never before heard of this sacred land."

One of Eragon's hands flew up to a pointed ear. He had forgotten of the radical change that had been forced upon him by the dragon-spirit at the Blood-Oath Ceremony. Thankfully, Uli did not seem to understand the significance of his ears. She had mistaken him for a Hylian, a race that must be similar to elves or human Shur'tugal. Eragon couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt at the mistaken identity; even the Varden members that idolized him so knew him to be human at one point. Being considered something different had been an event that had never occurred before today.

"Rest assured, I am a human just like you. I'm just... slightly different." An understatement if he ever heard one, but it was partly true nonetheless. Once Eragon had been human, and had it not been for the drastic alterations to his appearance he still would have clearly resembled one.

Uli shrugged, blue eyes dark with suspicion. "If you say so," was her mild reply.

Eragon shifted in his bed, meaning to get up and personally check on Saphira and reassure her of his condition. But a sharp whine of protest came from his right arm. Hissing in shock, he reached out to grasp at the pain, but Uli firmly caught his left hand before it could. Eragon looked down, noticing his right arm was bandaged and in a sling for the first time. In his earlier confusion he had forgotten he had even been struck in the first place.

"The impact with the ground broke your arm," Uli said at noticing his bewildered gaze. "The same arm was also glanced by a passing bolt of lightning, probably the same one that dislodged you from your dragon's saddle. It was considerably burned, so I dressed it up in a salve to help it heal. Just don't move," she added sharply when Eragon made another motion to get up. "It took me long enough to patch up the damage you left behind and I'll be damned if you mess up the progress that was already made!"

The young man remained still, officially cowed. He had slayed Shades and grappled with the vicious Ra'zac, but how was he to respond to a pregnant woman that was determined to rule over him during the duration of his healing? Monsters he could handle, but strict healers were a invincible class of their own (Gertrude and Angela were examples of that.)

"Aye, I'll do that," he answered meekly.

Uli got up, moving over to a pot that was simmering over a fire. Reaching for a ladle, she poured some liquid into a bowl and then came back over, offering its contents and a spoon to him. "This Alagaesia you speak of is a strange place," she commented idly. "Hyrule hasn't used such high language in decades."

Eragon blinked. "You mean 'aye' is no longer used here?"

"It is, in the courts of our esteemed Princess Zelda and in the halls of Hyrule Castle by the oldest of nobles that still rigidly adhere to long-abandoned codes of propriety. But we common folk have moved on to more modern ways of speaking. Such as instead of 'aye', a simple 'yes' will suffice nowadays." She handed him the bowl and spoon, chuckling as he tried to sound out the unfamiliar word under his breath. "Are you sure you will be able to eat with that spoon? Your right arm is incapacitated and most people I know have trouble even feeding themselves with just their left hand, not to mention doing other more advanced activities."

The young man shrugged. "I am skilled with both hands. Once before my right wrist was broken I had to solely rely on my left hand. I have no doubt I can do it again." But that was before the days he could use magic to heal his injuries. Such magic was probably unheard of here, and Eragon had no wish to upset this small village with a miraculous healing. For now, he could bear his injuries like a man.

Uli's eyebrows narrowed slightly at the strange statement, but she did not comment on it. Instead she smiled as she noticed her patient was picking at several suspicious-looking lumps in his soup. "Are you a picky eater now too, Eragon?"

"No," he said quickly. But his assurance did not stop his blue eyes from cautiously regarding an unknown chunk of matter floating among the shapes of vegetables and spices. "But what exactly is in this soup. Those yellow... things are unfamiliar to me." He secretly hoped it wasn't some sort of exotic meat; Eragon did not wish to offend Uli but wasn't about to ingest a soup that innocent animals had died to make. His contact with the lively minds of such creatures prevented him from ever partaking in their remains again.

"That's cheese." She flashed a wicked smile at his startled look. "Yes, Ordon Village is best known for its goats that provide some of the softest wool and juiciest meat in southern Hyrule. And also the best cheese that is used in everything from soup to desserts."

Saphira was not worried about Eragon; her Rider was in the care of a trained healer who obviously knew what she was doing. True, Eragon had been having nightmares, but those had been the effects of a delirium he had been in for the first night in Ordon Village. However, he had now recovered from that earlier turmoil and was back in his right state of mind. Saphira sensed Eragon was now eagerly digging into his first meal in well over two days, and did not yet contact him. She would wait until after he had finished his breakfast and was in a better mood for conversation.

Besides, she was too immersed in her wash to bother with speaking with anybody at the moment. Even if her bathers were arguing and snapping at each other about petty matters.

"Talo, go back and do that spot over again. It's positively filthy!"

"Look who hasn't moved away from that area all day, Beth!"

"Do you have to complain about everything we do, older brother?"

"Keep out of this, Malo! And you stay on your own side, Colin! If the dragon suddenly decides she's hungry she's bound to eat you first and give the rest of us time to escape."

Aye, the children of the village had been recruited to perform the difficult job of cleaning her scales of the filth that had accumulated on them during her stint through the storm and her crash in their spirit spring. They bickered frequently, and their ungrounded fear of her were enough to make her actually want to scare them, but they did massage her weary form nicely. Her only real complaint was how they picked on poor young Colin, the one youth that seemed most accepting of her.

"Stop saying that, Talo!" Ilia barked sharply. "This she-dragon is perfectly tame. Do you think her master would have been able to saddle her if she wasn't? Besides, your parents trust her enough to allow you guys around her. So quit it and clean her properly!"

Saphira had to admit, the eldest of them present, the young woman so skilled with healing, did a good job at maintaining order. And kept them from running away in fright every time Saphira inhaled or exhaled.

The sapphire-scaled she-dragon did nothing to dispel their fears. These villagers had enough to worry about with Eragon's presence and her continued closeness around Fado's precious goats, they didn't need to be burdened with the teeny little fact she was sentient and understood every single word they spoke about her and her Rider. Besides, she had no desire to be bombarded with countless questions about Eragon and their shared past. Saphira also trusted her human not to give away the truth and knew he would keep any secrets she asked him to.

Saphira tentatively extended her charred wing, hissing at the pain the small movement caused her. Despite these villagers' foolish belief that a Light Spirit named Ordona presided over this spring, the water did possess some extraordinary healing quality she could not ignore. Her wing's throbbing pain had dulled to a mere unpleasant sensation, a welcome relief from her earlier discomfort.

"You really are a beautiful creature," Ilia murmured to her as she once again ran the sponge over the she-dragon's head, right at the spot that Saphira loved for Eragon to stroke. "So long as you don't eat the goats or Epona, I'm sure the others will come to see that in time."

We shall see, Saphira playfully thought to herself. I have not even since before that accursed storm and grow quite hungry. Those goats are slim pickings, but enough will fill by belly. Or I can just have the horse and save Fado his dear livestock.

As if sensing the she-dragon's thoughts, Ilia scowled and walloped her over the head. Saphira growled in protest, the action driving all the little kids but Colin away from her with terrified squeaks. Ilia was not moved. "Go ahead and mock all you want, but know will come to regret it if you even think of harming my Epona again."

Slightly alarmed at the girl's obsession over the mare, Saphira quieted. She had not even seen this Epona yet, but Ilia regarded the horse as if she had been the gift presented to her personally by a god. The sapphire she-dragon relaxed again, not even bothering to tease Ordon's youths as they cautiously began to scrub her again.

It is strange how quickly I learned the language of these people. Just a day ago I could not even understand them, now their words come clear to me as the Alagaesian Eragon first spoke to me long before we even learned the ancient language. Or perhaps this 'Hyrulians' do not speak a different tongue at all. I could have easily not been in my right mind that first night, and only imagined they spoke a different language.

Pondering only a short time over the mystery, Saphira quickly forgot the subject as Eragon had finished with his meal and was eager to speak to her. The two shared their recollections of the terrible events that had stranded them in Ordon Village and what plans they should follow.

Both quickly came to the agreement that their wounds should naturally heal and that they should spend some time in Ordon Village before venturing out to the other parts of Hyrule. Not only did Rider and dragon deserve a brief respite from the war in a place that had not even heard of their conflict, but this Hyrule could prove valuable in overthrowing Galbatorix. Perhaps this Princess Zelda could contribute soldiers to the effort, or at least be persuaded not to side with the Mad King. Besides, the pair didn't even know which direction to travel to get home to Alagaesia.

Once the plans had been made, Eragon and Saphira said their farewells and broke off their connection. Not only did the young man need to rest and dodge Uli's questions, but Saphira was in the mood for another round of 'tease the children.' Perhaps she could teach them how Colin felt and eventually make them lay off taunting him, at least in her daunting presence.

Miles and miles away from where Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales slowly recuperated, the celebration of the new dwarf King was already underway. A grant feast of roasted Nagra and dozens of other delicacies had been prepared and laid out for the consumption of all the members of the different clans that had attended.

Orik sat at the head of the table, the war hammer that had formerly belonged to Hrothgar securely strapped to his ornate belt. His lovely betrothed and future Queen, Hvedra, sat at his side, heartily speaking with the dwarf next to her. Ignoring the clan leader that was trying to engage him in petty conversation, the new dwarf King reclined back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning the halls of Farthen Dur for a certain adopted brother and a certain gigantic she-dragon that always accompanied him.

Eragon had been bound to show up to Orik's coronation, whether to celebrate his dear friend's ascension to kingship or out of loyalty as he was an honoree member of the Durgrimst Igeitum. But the tall and lithe form of the Shur'tugal was noticeably absent among the stockier and shorter forms of the many dwarfs. As was the tipsy she-dragon, drunk with barrels of the finest mead that had been brought out for the revelry, that should have been merrily gamboling about the halls and upsetting everything from tables to clan leaders.

Orik had received a message from the Varden that Eragon and his dragon had already departed from camp and were well on their way to Farthen Dur to see his coronation and sen Lady Nasuada's congratulations on his victory over the other clan leaders for the kingship. The pair should have already arrived, unless they had seriously been delayed.

The King of dwarfs had heard of the storm that had terrorized the eastern end of the Beor Mountains. Reports from the few dwarfs that populated the isolated area had slowly trickled in, speaking direly of powerful winds that had toppled the eldest of trees and had blown the mightiest of Urzhad over the edge of their mountain homes. And of lightning that had scarred the mountainsides and of roaring thunder that had sparked rock slides that had leveled entire forests. Many reports described the storm as the strongest ever, the wrath of Urur, god the heavens and lord of the storms.

Had Eragon and Saphira been caught in such a dreadful storm? Was even the Shadeslayer's formidable magic no match for the forces of nature, what was believed to be the wrath of Urur himself? Were they dead now, their battered and rotting corpses feeding the scavenging Shrrg that roamed the Beors?

Orik shook his head, berating himself for thinking such negative thoughts. He was the King of dwarfs for Helzvog's sake, still high from the recent triumph over his fellow clan leaders for the esteemed position of the late King Hrothgar. Eragon was now among the strongest beings in Alagaesia and Saphira was a master flier, it would have taken much more than one tiny storm to send them to their graves.

Nevertheless, the worry that clawed at him was enough to dampen his triumphant spirits. Orik summoned a messenger to his side, given him strict orders to go to Lady Nasuada and report the absence of Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales and how they were presumed missing in a low whisper. The messenger was also told to send out searchers to scour the nearby wilderness for any sign of the pair, whether they be dead or alive.

When the messenger had hurried to obey his commands, Orik looked up and noticed the Hvedra was worriedly glancing at him. He gave his fiance a comforting smile and once again raised his glass for another toast and called for more mead to be given out, much to the ecstatic joy of the revelers. Drowning out the negativity in a shower of alcohol and partying, Orik forgot about his adopted brother's absence for a short while.

That is until another messenger came back hours later, saying the searchers had found no sign of Eragon or Saphira and how there was a rumor going around that some considered them dead in the storm.

"Urur's righteous punishment against the blasphemous Shur'tugal and his accursed beast," members of the blasted Az Sweldn rak Anhuin were said to be spreading amongst the population. "The gods have obliterated the last true members of our ancient enemy."

Little did the victorious Az Sweldn rak Anhuin clan, celebrating in sick glee over their unexpected 'blessing', know, that the divine force that had been behind that legendary storm had not killed either Eragon or Saphira. The force had simply pushed them in the right direction, ever closer to realizing their true potentials. If this event had ever effected the rebel dwarf clan at all, then it was to only lead them closer to their permanent banishment from the realm altogether.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: The Voice- Celtic Women

Outside was pitch-black, the stars all glittering above like cold jewels. The lights in Ordon Village were slowly going out; the lives of farmers with young children called for early bedtimes and wake-ups sometimes before even the crack of dawn. Even the small household which Eragon was currently residing in was no exception to that rule. Uli was putting away the last of the medical supplies; she had just finished changing her patient's salve and bandages for the final time that evening. Rusl was taking off the gear that always accompanied him, as he had carried back all of the valuable tools he used for metal-crafting in his small forge located a short distance away in Faron Woods. Colin sat beside Eragon's couch, idly conversing with the older adolescent.

Eragon had been confined to the small cottage for an entire week. Uli had been watching over him like a hawk, ready to scold him into tomorrow if he even came close to disobeying the rigid set of rules she had laid out for him. "These are for your the good of your health," had been her explanation for doing so and her answer every time he protested. Like it or not, Eragon had become sort of an adopted son to her and now had a mother-like figure guarding and overseeing him for the first time in over ten years since Aunt Marian had died.

Regardless of how Uli was almost tyrannical when it came to the matter of his healing, Eragon was not completely cut-off from the outside world. He and Saphira spoke often, she limited to venture no further than Ordona's Spring unless she wanted Ilia shooing her back to Fado's paddock. (The she-dragon could have easily bowled the farm-girl over if she wished to, but avoided doing so out of some odd respect for her.) Ordon's children and sometimes their curious parents came, asking him questions about Saphira and Alagaesia. He had calmly deflected all personal questions until the adults had realized he required his privacy. But their offspring were not so easily put off, and so each evening Eragon was forced to entertain them with made-up stories to satisfy their insatiable wonder under their screaming mothers called them home.

However Colin, Rusl's and Uli's son, was not as bad as his peers. He was quiet and reflective, both rare qualities for a child of little more than ten years. Colin respected Eragon's privacy and seemed content to listen to the stories the Rider told, though both knew the tales were only believable by gullible children (which Colin was not.) In a way, Colin was the sort of little brother/cousin Eragon had never got to have while growing up, only a hundred times better.

Unfortunately, the village children were unable to appreciate Colin's thoughtfulness and timidness as Eragon was. They frequently picked on him and made him the scapegoat of their numerous pranks and mischief. As a result many of Ordon's older population viewed the poor boy as freakish troublemaker, an opinion not even Rusl could dispel. Eragon sympathized with the lad; he too had been distant from his peers as a child and had been subject to their taunts and cruel jokes. While they had eventually grown out of it, he had remained isolated from the rest of his age-mates until he had left Carvahall for good with Brom and Saphira.

Colin's attitude did not help things. He made no effort to stand up for himself, as if he was content to be the doormat of the village. The boy was afraid of all sorts of violence, even of self-defense from bullies. Colin was even wary of blades and thought them scary, an odd quality for the son of a master swordsman. Eragon could see how the village children used Colin's reluctance for force against him, further damaging his self-esteem and hindering the development of the bright little soul the youth was deep down inside.

"Colin," Eragon spoke up at last, breaking the silence that had hung between the two for a while, "would you go and get the pack from Saphira's saddle for me? The large one hanging on the back?"

It had only been today that he had managed to get the saddle back into his possession. Uli had strictly forbidden him from leaving to personally retrieve it, and had not wanted such a large object cluttering up what already was a small and cramped home. Only very recently had Eragon persuaded her to allow the saddle in, as it was not safe in Fado's barn.

"I have a bow and arrows in there," he had told the pregnant healer. "And a sword. Can you imagine what Fado would do if he found those?"

Uli had instantly relented, and had sent her husband to collect the saddle and the numerous bags and packs that hung from it. It was a difficult load for even Eragon to carry, but Rusl had carried it in without complaint and had settled in the far corner before heading back to work at his small forge. He trusted Colin not to disturb the pack, as his son had grown up around dangerous weapons and knew how to safely handle them.

With some difficulty Colin grabbed the large pack and lugged it over, heavily putting it upon Eragon's couch. "What do you need it for?" he asked curiously.

"I'm just checking on some of my more precious possessions," Eragon responded vaguely. Taking the pack he undid it, retrieving a long package from deep inside. He slowly unwrapped it, revealing the bow Queen Islanzadi had given him just before his departure from Ellesmera. Colin, who normally shied away at the sight of such weapons, looked on with a mixture of more awe than his normal fear.

And it was no wonder why, the bow was a work of art compared to the rough ones the Ordonian men used for hunting. It was smooth and black, sung from a yew tree by the Queen of elves herself. Silver leaves decorated the weapon, wrapping gracefully around its dark body.

The bow and its accompanying arrows (spelled to aways return to their shooter after hitting their targets and remarkably durable) had been enchanted to ward off the damage of the weather and time, the protective wards probably casted by Islanzadi herself. But the bow had endured a mighty storm and had languished for almost a week in a dirty old barn occupied by goats. Did the enchantments guard against such conditions? And if the bow presented to you by the mercurial Queen of elves, who was prone to becoming her greatest ally's greatest enemy the moment something displeased her, was somehow damaged, it was wise to repair it immediately.

Eragon carefully inspected the beautiful bow. His injured arm meant he could not string it to test for weaknesses there, but his examination probably proved then that part was unharmed by the stay in the goat barn. "Good," he murmured. "Perfect, just as always."

"What a bow!" Colin exclaimed softly. His blue eyes were alight with wonder, something Eragon had not seen on his face before. "Where did you get it?" Rusl, though remained silent, was watching the event curiously out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps he wondered the same thing, as well.

"It was a gift," the young man replied. "From a good and trusted friend." Islanzadi could hardly be considered a friend, but what else could she be called? 'The temperamental of the girl I was once sadly infatuated with before she broke my heart?' "But what is more important is that the bow is unharmed. I would hate to think what would happen if it had been damaged." Utter alienation of Queen Islanzadi and all of her many powerful elves, most likely.

Then Eragon reached back into the pack, withdrawing a smaller package. He unwrapped it to reveal the same sword he had slain the Ra'zac with. Though it was far beneath the standards of Zar'roc, he had reinforced it with enchantments to boost its durability and protect it against wear. The blade was plain, devoid of the careful and intricate craftsmanship the bow had possessed. Despite Eragon's best efforts to clean it, spots of greenish Ra'zac blood clung to it, resilient to his magic and too tough to clean off. This was a pure and unadulterated weapon, and Colin saw that.

"You hurt people with that," Colin whispered, eyeing the green spots of what was obviously some monster's blood fearfully. Uli's eyes widened in alarm and she made to interrupt the conversation before it got too far, but a look from Rusl stopped her. Her husband watched sharply, brown eyes calculating.

Eragon nodded, aware that the burning eyes of this boy's father were upon him. "Ay- Yes, bad people," he replied slowly, trying to speak in a way Colin could understand without revealing too much information that would scar the boy for life. "Where I come from, Colin, there is a great war going on. There a lot of bad people there, hurting innocents and far worse. My home is under the control of a dark king, one that terrorizes his subjects and rules over them with an iron fist. He commands the bad people. I am part of the group that try to stop them from doing such horrible things."

He held up his sword, the greenish splotches of Ra'zac blood sickly illuminated by the firelight. Colin flinched as the stains came into a better light, but he did not look away. "A short while ago, just a few days before I arrived in Ordon Village, Saphira and I went on a rescue mission along with my cousin. My cousin's betrothed, along with her father, was being held prisoner by a group of hideous and cruel monsters called the Ra'zac. We were sent to free them and kill the monsters."

"What happened?" Colin whispered.

"Saphira and I killed the monsters," Eragon continued softly. "My cousin found and liberated his fiance. Katrina had not eaten in a long while, and she was skinny as a young tree. She was frightened, and had almost gone blind for being in the pure darkness for so long. We got her out and I tended to her wounds. She and my cousin are united and are to be married soon."

"What about Katrina's father? Wasn't he imprisoned along with her?" Big blue eyes, alight with the answer to that first question, gazed quietly back.

Eragon choked, closing his eyes as he remembered the horrible sight of discovering Sloan's body. The man had been a skeletal wraith, already being devoured greedily by maggots. His eyes had been pecked out by the Ra'zac's man-hungry beaks, and his rotting form was still shackled upright to the wall of his cell. But Eragon said none of this to Colin. "For him, we were already too late."

Silence followed, the only sound the soft popping and hissing of the fire. Finally, the young man spoke up again, his tone almost inaudible. "Do you understand now, Colin, why your father always tells you to be strong? There is great evil at there that will hurt and make those that can't fight back suffer. Someone has to be strong, for those people. Someone has to be willing to take up the sword and protect those that need their help."

Colin nodded slowly. "I think I understand, Eragon." He looked from the sword back to its holder, blue eyes losing their earlier fear as they once again became thoughtful. "What you did to the monsters you fought was right. Someone had to fight them to rescue Katrina."

Eragon smiled slightly, glad his lesson had not backfired back on him. Colin was a bright boy, even if he feared so much and was so timid. Perhaps this experience would be with one the next time Talo and the other children teased him. Perhaps next time he would stand up for himself, and also protect those that couldn't.

Sighing in relief, Uli resumed cleaning up. Stowing the last of his tools away for tomorrow, Rusl came over, looking proud as he lead his son to a chair and sat beside him. "I believe we have all learned enough tonight, Colin," the old swordsman said lightly. "I think we can all do with a good story now, right?"

Colin nodded eagerly, settling back into his couch as he paid rapt attention to his father. Eragon began packing the bow and sword back up into the bag, listening in idly as Rusl began to speak. The gruff swordsman reminded Eragon of a combination of Brom and Garrow, and a part of him was genuinely interested to see if Rusl had Brom's master storytelling abilities or not. Either way, a good tale could help bring his memories away from the painful recollection of finding Sloan's body and dealing with a severely malnourished and terrified Katrina.

"Long ago, there was no Hyrule," Rusl began. "There was no life, nor land for any life to live on. Heck, there wasn't even any law to bind reality together. Only chaos existed, a strange blackness that I cannot even being to describe to you. It was upon this great chaos that three Golden Goddesses descended to form the land as we know it, including Hyrule."

Eragon leaned back against his couch, becoming immersed with the story. Once as a child he had lived for stories, begging for Uncle Garrow to tell him of legends and tales of long-dead heroes and their adventures. He had used to sneak into the tavern or around a campfire to listen to bards sing their ballads, his thirst for such tales insatiable. Garrow's untimely death and his flight from Carvahall had all but put his habit to rest forever. Now Eragon lived a legend of his own, one he was unsure that would end with a happy ending or becoming a tragedy. During the war and training and heartbreak he'd had no time for stories, and his earlier thirst had been all but forgotten.

Now it had discovered him again, in this strange new land full of beliefs and customs he had never heard of before. Eragon had heard Oromis's scientific explanation of the origin of the human race in Alagaesia, and the dwarfs' strange version of the creation of the world. But this new tale was unknown to him, the Goddesses he had previously only heard mentioned in exclamations or curses suddenly becoming characters with important roles. And he found himself mesmerized by it all, as if looking up his little blue dragon hatchling for the first time.

Closing his eyes, Eragon tuned all else out, even the slumbering presence of Saphira, and concentrated completely on this fantastic new story...

First to come across this mad chaos was Din, eldest and strongest of the three divine sisters. With her mighty strength she beat the chaos back, forcing solid land out of what had been nothing before. Her massive struggle roughened the newly formed land, creating the towering mountains and sinking valleys we know today. Second was Farore, the liveliest and mischievous of the sisters. She gave the world life, dressing Din's naked red and brown land in garbs of green grass and trees. Mammals and birds and other animals soon followed. Third and finally was Nayru. She was the youngest of the Goddesses, but the wisest. It was she who blessed the world and its newborn inhabitants with the unbreakable laws together, forming order so that chaos could not rip the land apart again.

When their labor was completed, the Goddesses all formed the sentient races of the world together. Though they all contributed to the formation of all the sentient peoples, each race was the personal favorite of a certain Goddess. For example, the Gorons with their pride and brute strength were mainly formed by Din. While the graceful and quiet Zoras were created by Nayru. We humans were the primary children of Farore, with her zest for life and unbridled curiosity.

But there was a chosen race, one that the Goddesses valued above all of their others; the Hylians. The Hylians resembled humans, but were their 'perfected' versions. They were capable of the greatest of magicks and master scholars, warriors, and builders. Their pointed ears were sharp, said to be able to hear the secrets of the gods if they listened close enough.

It was from the Hylians' homeland of Hyrule that the Three Goddesses departed back for their celestial home, leaving behind the final remnants of their great power, the Triforce. The strength of the Triforce was untested, but it was rumored that whoever possessed it would have the power to have any wish of theirs granted, whether it be to raise the dead or change the course of history. Which was why the Triforce was sealed away in the Sacred Realm, away from the greedy hands of mortals that hungered for it so.

The gate to the Sacred Realm was hidden deep within Hyrule, in a place where evil could never hope to reach. There the Triforce remains. So long as it does, the delicate balance of order the Three Goddesses created to ward off chaos shall never falter. Our world is therefore safe, protected by the defenses the Goddesses themselves set up.

"But there was someone that almost got the Triforce!" Colin shouted when Rusl finished his story. "And he almost destroyed Hyrule! But luckily there was a great champion chosen by the Goddesses themselves to stop him; the Hero of Time!"

His father nodded. "Yes, the greatest of all the Chosen Heroes. For you see, Colin, there is always someone after the Triforce, a greedy soul that is looking to harness its legendary power and unleash chaos upon the rest of us. Which is why each and every generation the Goddesses each select a champion that best embodies them. A bearer of Power, Courage, and Wisdom. It it because of these three chosen ones that balance is maintained, that there is always the strength to once again push back the chaos that threatens to envelop us all."

"That generation, the Triforce of Power fell to a terrible being known only as the King of Evil. The King of Evil was too ambitious for his own good, and desired to obtain the forbidden power of the Triforce. Somehow the great demon gained entrance to the Sacred Realm, bypassing the powerful seal that protected it. But the Triforce would not grant his wish. Instead it divided into three parts, leaving the Evil King only with Din's section. Din's triangle fused with his own Triforce of Power, fueling his own strength far beyond its normal limits. Likewise, Nayru's section went to the bearer of Wisdom and Farore's to Courage."

"The King of Evil managed to usurp the King of Hyrule, taking the kingdom as his own. Under his wrongful reign the land and its people suffered, the skies themselves growing black with the darkness of his heart. It seemed as if Hyrule would slowly crumble beneath the Evil King's rule, but the Goddesses had not forgotten their subjects. There were still two champions that had not fallen to evil, the generation's Chosen Hero and the young Princess Zelda. Together they would fight to free their kingdom, even it cost them their lives."

"The Chosen Hero was deemed worthy to wield the Master Sword, the blade which only the pure of heart can touch and rarely ever has an actual master capable of harnessing its sacred power. He had to traverse the flow of time to gain his weapon, and thus became known as the Hero of Time. With the Master Sword the Hero of Time beat back the darkness, awakening the dormant Sages, other guardians of the realm, along the way."

"When the final confrontation against the King of Evil finally came, Princess Zelda was caught and imprisoned by the foul monster. The Hero of Time, Master Sword in hand, fought the Evil King and eventually freed Zelda, the seventh and final of the Sages. For the Evil King could not be slain, death itself could not hold him for long. With the aid of all seven of them, the Hero of Time was able to seal the Evil King into the void between the realms, a place where not even one with his power can hope to escape. The Triforce was once again united and placed back in the Sacred Realm, and the gate leading to it was securely sealed once again. Princess Zelda became Queen of Hyrule while the other Sages became dormant until the time they were needed again. And the Hero of Time vanished forever, never to be seen in Hyrule again."

By the time Rusl concluded the last of his stories, Colin had fallen fast asleep. Uli had also already crawled into her bed and was apparently sleeping as well. As the swordsman gently transferred his son to his own bed, Eragon silently pondered over the legends for a few moments.

"Do you actually believe in any of those stories?" Eragon murmured when he could no longer contain his question. "They seem too fantastic to be real."

Rusl shrugged. "As for the creation tale, who left really remembers whole the world came into existence? Excepting the Goddesses themselves and their Guardian Spirits of course. But there plenty of real tales of groups that literally killed to get their hands on the Triforce. I recall one mad bunch that believed the entrance to the Sacred Realm would open if enough innocent souls were sacrificed in front of the altar of the now destroyed Temple of Time. If people believed in the Triforce well enough to do such horrible acts to get their hands on it, then it seems real enough to me."

"What of the King of Evil and the Hero of Time? Are they real or mere fiction?"

Rusl chuckled at that one. "Simply mere fiction, I'm afraid. There is no historical account proving any of the characters mentioned in the legend of the Hero of Time ever existed. Besides, the origins of the tale itself can be traced back to Queen Zelda, the Princess Zelda's great-grandmother. Most historians believe the Queen, who was a mere fanciful young girl at the time, made the legend up on a whim as some strange attempt to immortalize herself."

"But," the swordsman continued when he noticed Eragon had opened his mouth to ask another question, "even that legend was loosely rooted in real fact. At the time the Gerudo King, Ganondorf, was attempting to lull King Harkinian into a false sense of security so he could eventually usurp him and seize the throne for himself. Thanks to prophetic dreams and the convincing testimony of a young boy who would one day become the Hero of Termina, Queen Zelda was able to convict Ganondorf and have him executed by the spiritual incarnations of the six Sages themselves before he could enact his plans."

"That's the truth, in a nutshell. In the make-believe legend Zelda portrayed herself as the Princess, the boy witness as the Hero of Time, and Ganondorf as the King of Evil. Never were the Sages awakened into physical manifestations, nor was the Master Sword or traversing time itself ever involved. Basically, a simple tale glorified into something of a more impressive legend. But there have been Chosen Heroes, just not a Hero of Time."

Eragon shrugged, somhow slightly dissapointed at that revelation. "Thanks, Rusl. I think I'll turn in for the night now."

The elder man smiled wanly. "Good idea, Eragon. See you in the morning."

Settling down on his couch and taking care of his bandaged arm, Eragon slowly closed his blue eyes and was once again pulled into a strange dream. This time, however, his dreams involved himself playing the role of the Hero of Time in the legend Rusl had described. Upon awaking the following morning Eragon would have first thought the dreams actual memories, as the visions were so vivid it had actually felt as if he had experienced them.

Rusl did not immediatly drift off to bed like the others in his household; his brain was far too active to give in to slumber peacefully. Eragon's conversation with Colin regarding such heavy matters had provided him with valuable insight into the young man's life, far more truth in his vague confessions than in the lies he had so blatantly given in earlier interrogations.

First off, Eragon was younger than he had formerly thought. Far younger. Rusl had first judged the man to be somewhere between his twentieth and twenty-fifth birthday, but that first estimation had not seemed quite right. Despite his impressive muscles, Eragon's build was slender with the tell-tale presence of youth. His frame would not full out for another few good years. His face was always carefully guarded by a mask that hid the majority of his true emotions, but that facade had crumbled during his speech to Colin. For the first time Rusl had glimpsed Eragon's true face, and had been shocked by the true youth of it.

He now judged Eragon to be somewhere between fifteen and seventeen, no older. Which meant his charge was not even technically considering a young man yet, still a child that is not yet eighteen.

Eragon had also killed. By the way he spoke and of the blood that marred his blade, one that had gone in quite far beyond one or two stolen lives.

The signs had always been there. The oddly sad look in those blue eyes that had belied his true age, giving the boy a far older appearance. The scars Uli had discovered on her intial inspection, bruises and sword-slashes far beyond a usual bar brawler. And the dragon herself. Ilia had complained about the scars she had found on Saphira, marks and dents she had believed to be cause by maltreatment. Marks that Rusl now knew to have been caused by spears and arrows, and perhaps even other enemy dragons.

It all made sense now. Eragon was a soldier for his homeland of Alagaesia, a damned good one that was held in high regard if the elegant bow and the fine clothes he had first been discovered in were to be considered. Saphira was not a mere pet of some wealthy noble, but a creature had been trained to attack and kill enemies of the rival army, the forces of the tyrant King Eragon had spoken of.

So why was the boy soldier and his dragon here in Ordon Village in the first place? Had they been injured by rival forces and were now hiding in a little insignificant settlement to escape notice? Were they spies sent to see if Hyrule had sided with the enemy King, or scouts seeing if the kingdom was any good attacking? Or perhaps they had actually been wounded by the storm and there injuries had involved battle or espionage in any way...

I can't be sure of anything at the moment, Rusl thought grimly to himself. But I better be sure to alert the Group of this matter. Perhaps Telma heard news of this Alagaesia from any mysterious customers of hers. Maybe Shad or Auru stumbled across a mention of it in their books. Ashei may even be up for some spying of her own. He sighed. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid and making a Bulbin out of a little piglet. It would be wise just to watch and wait for now. See if Eragon does anything suspicious or if anyone does come hunting for him. But for now I'll just...

Exhausted from a long day at the forge, Rusl at last succumbed to sleep. But his thoughts and suspicions stayed with him. From then on he was determined to keep a sharp eye on Eragon and his dragon.

A cresent moon soared overhead, providing just enough light for the nocturnal creatures of Faron Woods to see by. The night air was filled with the rustlings and scrapings as animals from ravenous predators to cautious prey did what they always did. But a small patch of the forest, long-forgotten by the outside world, remained devoid of the usual noise of nocturnal activity. Any animal in their right mind kept far away from that patch of woods; those that did not heed their elders' warnings or accidentally stumbled upon it were usually never seen again except as a bare skeleton that showed up nearby days later.

"Beware of the cave that stands without a mountain or hill!" an old owl hooted from his home. "The beast that lurks there is greater than even the mightiest of the brown bears or the most merciless human hunter!"

"Make haste, children!" a mother rat snapped to her young ones as they skittered past the hazy boundary between safety and danger. "And if you happen to smell the decay of what may be a promising meal, turn tail and run in the opposite direction. For the food you scent still walks and does not take kindly to little rats nibbling at its toes. If we're lucky we won't even be bothered with that temptation tonight if it's in the mood for actual hunting tonight."

But a she-wolf and her almost-grown pup did not share the seem fear as the rats or the owl. Though they were still cautious, and remained a considerable distance from the boundary all animals acknowledge and stayed well-clear of. Her pup was shifting impatiently on his, the warm smells of all the prey that hurried past almost too much for him to resist.

"Do we have to stay here all night, mom?" he protested. "Can't we just lie about having seen the Golden One and go hunting instead?"

His mother was not amused by his suggestion. Whipping around, the she-wolf sharply cuffed his ear with her paw, snarling at her obnoxiously impatient offspring. "Hush!" she snapped. "The Golden One is not fond of liars, and he shall hunt you down and kill you like the interlopers that sometimes dare intrude upon his territory. You know as well as I do for a pup of our pack to come of age he must pass his ordeal and pay tribute to the Golden One with his mother or guardian as his witness. We are here out of respect, and I expect you to start showing some right now."

Whimpering at the harsh reprimand, the younger wolf meekly laid back his ears and waited alongside his mother. His amber gaze was entirely for the crumbled little cave that stood on its own in the little clearing no sane animal dare approach. Just a moment before the air had been pleasantly cool and a soft breeze had caressed his fur. Now a chill crept its way deep into his bones and his pelt bristled at an unknown presence that made him want to flee back to the pack's den in terror.

"Steady," his mother whispered. She was tensed, emanating a scent somewhere between fright and wild excitement. "The Golden One has chosen once again to run as one of us tonight. Lucky for you, he does not bear the rotting form he sometimes does."

Then something burst out of the silent little cave, a flash of bright golden light that made the younger wolf yelp and almost shut his eyes in pain. But he clearly saw the wolf of monstrous proportions that surged past him and his mother in the opposite direction, and the unnatural speed the Golden One moved at. The almost-grown pup also glimpsed the chilling red eyes of the legend his pack held in so high regard.

Throwing back his head, the young wolf unleashed a tremulous howl to hail the mighty spirit that hunted again. His mother joined in, her bay so loud and ecstatic it startled her pup.

"To the legend! To the Golden One! To the Hero's Shade!" the she-wolf called at the glowing figure that was swiftly dissapearing into the darkness like a falling star. "May this be the night where you find your prey and your century's long hunt at last comes to an end!"

He'd had many names in life; Link, Hero of Termina, Beloved of Malon, Champion of Zelda, Hero of Time. Those few that still knew of his existance called him The Walking Death. Only the wolves and wolfos of Faron Woods dubbed him the Golden One (for sometimes he bore their appearance) and very rarely the Hero's Shade. What he called himself? Sometimes Link, sometimes the Golden One, sometimes The Walking Death. It depended on the attitude and form he donned. But regardless of whatever shape he was in, he was still the shade of a Hero. The only Chosen Hero that had failed in his duties, perishing before passing on the skills that were vital for the next Hero to learn.

Each and every night he stalked the earth, a restless spirit unable to cross on into the next world until his final oath to Farore had been fulfilled. Sometimes he merely inhabited the body had had left behind, skulking about his patch of woods to protect his and Malon's tomb or to challenge unsuspecting travelers that had unwittingly stumbled on his territory. (He always allowed those to live, even if they did not flee unscathed from his rusted sword. It was only the quivering little animals that trespassed upon his land that drew his total ire.) Other times he took his spiritual form, to hunt the kingdom of Hyrule in vain for the infant son he had left behind.

Behind him, the Golden One heard the howls of the wolves as they honored him. They were the only creatures that understood why he had not yet departed to the Sacred Realm. Why he left his resting place at night to roam the land of the living once again. The wolves did all that they could; they knew of his former identity and sung to him, wishing him luck and giving him news of any promising leads they had heard of.

The Golden One barely spoke to anyone, even the wolves, unless he was shouting a challenge to a passing swordsman or hunter or to converse with a wolf out of sheer boredom or loneliness in his never-ending quest. But not tonight, for at last the promise of salvation was upon him, the next Chosen Hero was about to embark upon his journey and it was up to the Golden One to guide him and teach him the skills he would need.

Running through the woods with unnatural speed, deftly weaving past trees and leaping over logs though he could have easily passed through all of them, the wandering spirit came across the town of Ordon Village. Sensing his presence, the village's Cuccoos scurried for shelter as the wild animals fled to the safety of the woods. Far off his sharp ears detecting the bleating of alarmed goats as they caught his tell-tale scent and began to panic. Growing tired of the pandemonium, he silenced all of the animals with a firm growl, plunging the village back into a deathly quiet as all of the creatures warily watched him.

Tilting his head upward, the Golden One unleashed a mourning howl of his own. The cry rang with sorrow and regret, the sound of it haunting the animals that heard it and piercing the dreams of the sleeping villagers in the form of bad memories. The howl played out the bars of a familiar melody. Though the summons was now played out as a chilling call instead of on an ocarina, she would answer it nonetheless.

The golden wolf remained still for a moment, waiting, then he heard the familiar sounds of her coming. Her steady breathing. The thud of heavy hooves muted against the soft earth. The jingle of the tack she had insisted to remain on. Emerging from the darkness a moment later was a sturdy roan mare. Unlike the other animals, she did not shy away from the Golden One. Instead her dark brown eyes were calm, alight with affection for the cursed spirit that had howled her song.

The great horse nickered, nuzzling the wolf's shoulder even though her snout went right through. Wagging his tail slightly as a response, the specter leaned up and rasped a pink tongue over her cheek in return.

"Link," she murmured softly, "it's been a while since you last called me. I almost thought you had actually forgotten of me."

The Golden One no longer flinched when she called him that name. He had bore her tenderness and kindness for as long as they had been cursed. "You should have forgotten of me," was his scolding reply. "Nothing is keeping you back from moving on, Epona. The Goddesses only granted you this continued immortality out of some attempt to remind me of my duties. There is no need to prolong your suffering."

Epona snorted. "This immortality may be a pale shadow of true life, but at least I can openly interact with the living in a way you can not, Link. Besides, I am not abandon you so easily. Once you played me song I was loyal to you forevermore, especially when you freed me from Ingo's clutches. Not even going back in time and starting anew could have made me forget our time together. I shall continue to follow you until you're free to move on as I am. Even if it means dealing with Ilia and her obsession of me."

"Ilia somehow knows you for what you are. She senses your uncanny intelligence, your impressive loyalty and perserverance. Though not openly aware of it, that young girl knows you're bound to remain on this earth for as long as you please. And she's determined to keep her grip on you, the best horse in the world, until she meets her own end." The Golden One shook his head, motioning for the mare to follow him. "But forget Ilia! For I believe Calon has finally found his way back to Hyrule."

Trotting after the spirit, the horse followed her eternal master to a small cottage. Sticking her head into an open window, she scanned the slumbering family until her brown eyes fell upon an eerily familiar face. Though the young man's hair was tinged with brown instead of pure blond, he still bore an uncanny resemblance to Link at that age.

"Your descendant," she said without preamble. "With yours and Calon's blooding flowing through his veins. He who bears the blood of the Chosen Hero. Your salvation, Link."

The Golden One nodded. "Evil hangs over Hyrule again, Epona. The animals, you and me included, can already sense it. The Goddesses must have sent this boy back to defeat whatever new threat that rises up. I found him several nights ago. His name is Eragon."

"An unconventional name for the generation's Chosen Hero but a strong and proud name nonetheless." Epona turned to the golden wolf by her side, already expecting what was coming up. "How do you want me to help him out? Word from the goats say that he has a flying dragon, so that means I won't be the dependable mode of transportation I once was to you."

"Stay near town, maybe around that abandoned treehouse that you like to hang around," the Golden One answered. "Whatever is to happen, you must be on call for when the need arises. Even if that means having to endure Ilia's endless doting."

The roan mare shook her head in exasperation. "You're planning something, aren't you Link? I know you too well to expect anything different. And you sense something as well. Not just the rapidly approaching evil."

"Eragon has living relatives, ones that are related to me as well," was the blunt response. "His elder brother, who was almost selected as the Chosen Hero but skipped over at the last possible moment, shall follow his younger sibling here to Hyrule. It is he who shall be most in need of your guidance and swift hooves. But it is Eragon who will need you first."

The Golden One turned tail and began to bolt off, streaming back for the shadow of the trees. A whinnying call from his horse was enough to stop him and he stopped and turned back to listen to her, one paw poised to take off again.

"Link!" Epona shouted to him. "For what you're planning, be careful! Influencing fate has an odd tendency to backfire, just look what happened to the two of us! Make sure the innocents involved are not harmed, or else the Goddesses shall have both of our hides!"

The golden wolf did not reply, but the roan mare thought she saw his somber red eyes flash that familiar mischievous blue for a split second. Then the wandering spirit had vanished back into Faron Woods, no doubt going to meddle with what destiny had already figured a perfect plan. Rolling her eyes, Epona made her way to her little clearing by the old tree house at the edge of Ordon Village. Ilia was no doubt going to wake her up at the crack of dawn to drive the goats out to pasture, and she needed every ounce of sleep that blasted Link had not yet stolen from her.

Hopefully this time around this Eragon would be someone more pleasant to have as a master than a horse-crazy girl or a bothersome ghost-wolf-thing. Or not, as Epona was soon to discover.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Ancient Hero Remix- The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker Soundtrack

Bokoblins were a primitive race, barely able to be considered remotely sentient. Their greatest settlements consisted of small areas of ramshackle structures that resembled rudimentary shacks, their language nothing more than a collection of grunts and growls strung together to convey a vague sense of meaning. Having evolved no further than the urge to steal and kill weaker beings, Bokoblins had been driven out of Hyrule proper long ago. They now mainly resided in the untamed depths of Faron Woods, where they were found of ambushing and clubbing unsuspecting travelers to death and making off with their supplies.

But Bokoblins were not completely senseless. In their primitive minds was the ability to identify danger and learn how to avoid or conquer it. It was that instinct that kept them away from human and Hylian villages, and allowed them to recogize which travelers were fair game and what ones were likely to wipe out their entire group.

The elder Bokoblins warned their children and younger members to avoid a part of the forest. The area was forbidden, and any caught near it was to be clubbed to death for daring to defy the orders of their superiors. In that forbidden place lurked a danger that sometimes took the form of a glowing beast or sometimes a walking corpse. Whatever formed the danger donned, it would attack any Bokoblin that had dared intrude upon its territory. The morning after, other Bokoblins would find the ravaged remains of their unfortunate comrade and would once again learn the lesson of avoiding the danger's land.

That night, a large group of Bokoblins were woken up by a chilling howl that did not belong to any mere wolf. Chattering amongst themselves, the savages grabbed their weapons, their stupid eyes searching for the source of the call. There in the shadows prowled the golden beast, the killer with cruel crimson eyes trained right on them. Catching their gaze, the creature howled again, its meaning clear.

Leaving their rough shelters behind, the Bokoblins fled from the danger, shoving others out of the way in a bid to escape death. Behind them, the golden beast ran, nipping at the heels of the stragglers and urging them along. Had the monsters been smarter, they may have realized that the golden wolf had no intention of killing them. He was merely herding them, using their blind fear and panic to drive them to do his bidding.

That was how the Bokoblins wound up dangerously close to the human settlement of Ordon Village, far beyond their usual roaming grounds. Eventually the golden beast ceased his pursuit, knowing the monsters were now in position. Though the Bokoblins noted this, they made no effort to return to their almost-village. They feared the sharp swords and burning torches of mankind, but their fear of the ghost that hunted them was far greater.

Concealed from the eyes of the Bokoblins, the Golden One lurked from the shadows, watching his prey under a sharp gaze. Even when the sun rose, he did not move from his vigil. Today he would not return to his crypt to sleep, it was too dangerous to allow those monsters to roam about freely. No, for the day he would monitor their progress, protect the innocent ones that would be involved in his plan.

Besides, if all went according to plan, soon there would be no need for his nocturnal hunts and daytime slumbers anymore.

Stone head, wake up. Saphira's gentle voice echoed through his mind, and Eragon reluctantly pulled himself out of his dreams and into consciousness to listen to her words. Thank you for doing so without protesting. Usually I have to resort to force to get you out of bed.

Eragon shook his head in exasperation, but a smile still tugged at his lips. Pulling on one of his own tunics (and taking great care to not aggravate his broken limb) he voiced his response. Very funny, Saphira. What was so important that you had to wake me up from my well-deserved rest. Even Uli has advised me to sleep as much as possible so as to heal faster.

I have merely come to inform you that I am leaving this blasted village at last to go hunting, the sapphire-scaled she-dragon replied, not in the least bit miffed by her Rider's rather typical answer. I don't know what kind of animals they have in Hyrule aside from those strange blue-furred goats, but I intend to find out. Perhaps they'll have something resembling deer, or at least something adequately edible. I just thought I'll let you know where I'm going before I take off. You have the habit of panicking if you wake up in strange places and don't sense me nearby.

Turning slightly red at the comment, he smiled reassuringly at Uli, who had caught his coloration and wondered why her curious patient was inexplicably blushing. Eragon was always forgetting that no one in Ordon Village knew that Saphira was capable of speaking to him telepathically, and the little expressions he made when speaking to her where completely senseless to them. Sometimes it was hard to imagine how different he had become since bonding with Saphira.

Thank you for the forethought. After all, it has been more than a week since you last ate. I'm surprised you kept in control for this long without devouring one of those goats or bowling over Ilia to get out to the woods. Just don't go too far. Your wing won't take much strain and getting stranded in an unknown forest is something I am positive you would not like to experience.

Could it be considered amazing that a wing that had been severely damaged by a lightning bolt had healed so rapidly in only the short span of a week? Colin said that a Light Spirit named Ordona lived in the spring, giving the water unusual healing properties. While Eragon doubted this legend was true, their might have been some fact to it. Saphira had been bathed frequently in the spring, her wing gently sponged every time. Perhaps the water did possess a medicinal property that soothed burns, and so its quality was explained by the presence of a helpful Spirit.

Eragon could hear the sapphire-scaled she-dragon's snort across their mental link and felt her exasperation. Eragon, I was the one born with these wings. I know my limits and how to successfully hunt without tiring myself out. Save your energy for your own healing, little one. I will be fine.

Finally, the two exchanged their farewells. Saphira unfurled her wings, slowly lifting off into the air. Her pain at the beating movements was muted beneath her overwhelming hunger and the ecstatic giddiness the freedom of flight gave her. Then she was gone, separating the connection for favor of hunting in preferred solitude. Eragon at last withdrew out of his mind, returning to reality.

Uli was watching him, blue eyes sharp. For a moment she scrutinized him, and Eragon shrank slightly underneath the piercing gaze of a mother, that odd maternal power that could stop a naughty and misbehaving child dead in their tracks.

"Are you feeling all right?" she questioned. "You seemed to be in a daze for the past couple of minutes."

Eragon nodded vehemently, trying to disperse her worries. "Right as rain," he answered brightly, hiding his concern for Saphira behind the false cheer he had a become a master in conjuring. He spun around on the couch, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and stood up to stretch his stiff limbs. Now that his she-dragon had gone off, the familiar feeling of restlessness after being cooped up in a tiny cottage for over a week resurfaced.

Uli noticed this, her suspicioun vanishing underneath a bemused smile. "Feel free to go out and explore. Goddesses know how bored you must be after days of nothing but sedementary recuperation. Stretching your legs and regaining your strength is the best thing now. Ordon Village is pretty much boxed in by thick forests and steep rock walls, so you don't have to worry about wandering off. But be careful!" Uli said sharply just as Eragon was heading out the door. "Beyond Ordon Spring is a bridge that leads into Faron Woods. There's nothing out there but a shack owned by some crazy lantern salesman. Also, there have been rumors of monsters lurking dangerously close to the villagers." She sighed. "Usually they remain deep out in the woods, but lately they have been roaming where they have never gone before. Then again the goats are acting up and our village is suffering a monkey infestation, so perhaps they all sense something we don't."

Deep down, Eragon felt a twinge of foreboding at the statement. Black dread rose up within him, along with the faint memories of the terrifying dream he had previously forgotten. Then, the worry was gone, drowned out by the exhilaration of the blessed liberty of the outdoors.

"I'll remember that, Uli," Eragon promised. And then he was out the door, to go and properly enjoy the warm sunshine and the pleasant summer day.

He was only dimly aware that sometime during his conversation he had buckled the sword's scabbard to his belt. Whether it was out of some subconscious reflex or a vague feeling he would later require his blade, Eragon didn't care. How could he when the weather was so inviting?

Ilia calmly strode down the dirt road that ran through Ordon Village like a sluggish river. She was not hurrying this morning, no sir. It was a good day, and her draconic charge was recovering nicely. In the bag she had slung over her shoulder was the standard herbs she always brought around and the sponges and cleaning rags she had recently taken to carrying.

While Saphira (a worthy name for the magnificent creature) was healing, Ilia would be damned if she allowed an infection to sneak into that injured wing and ruined her days of progress. That meant the wound had to be kept sanitary and clean of all filth, which meant frequent bathing for Saphira in Ordon Spring. The she-dragon didn't mind; she reveled in the attention and wanted her scales to shine like pristine sapphires.

Ordon's youth was a different story. The children had all tired of continously polishing scales and scrubbing off dust and grime days ago. (Not to mention most of them were still secretly terrified of Saphira, despite she had proved countless times she was completely harmless.) But Mayor Bo and their parents had put them under her command, to help her with the momentous task of administering care to a gigantic she-dragon. Should she desire to recruit them for a cleaning, the youths would have no choice to comply.

Of course, it was impossible to recruit any children without any of them around. Surprisingly, Ilia had not spotted a single one of them on her way through the village.

Not to worry, she thought to herself. It's summer, and the kids must have been fed up with hanging around their houses and this familiar place for so long. They've probably wandered off to Ordon Spring again, daring each other to approach Saphira and see if she'll snap or growl at any of them. Or they're in the clearing by that old tree house, harassing another one of those poor monkeys-

Ilia's thoughts were cut short when she spotted an unfamiliar figure standing by the base of the tree house. For a moment she thought to scream for help or attack the stranger with her bag, then she noticed the sling around his arm. Colin had mentioned Eragon, the mysterious young man that had plummeted into the spring during that storm, wore a sling to help keep his broken arm in place.

That was when Ilia realized how handsome this Eragon person was. Ordon Village was isolated from much of the other world, thick woods separating it from Hyrule proper and the other border settlements. Its population was small, and the local male closest to Ilia's age was eleven-year-old Talo. Do to her unfortunate distance from everything, the closest thing Ilia ever had to a real romance was a one-night fling down in Castle Town two months ago. (Fado had planned to sell off the older goats of the herd down in the capitol, and he had required her and Epona's assistance with getting them there. The overnight trip had included a clandestine affair with a young blacksmith's apprentice that had swept her off her feet. Bo never found out about it, thank all three Goddesses.)

Briefly Ilia entertained a notion of testing Eragon to see if he might be good for her. He was quite attractive, after all, with that dark blond hair and those piercing... blue... eyes...

Blue brought Saphira's sapphire scales to mind. During Ilia's initial examination of the she-dragon, she had discovered numerous scars marring her wing membranes and hide. Naturally all of those ugly marks could have only been caused by abuse, or the apathetic neglect of an uncaring master.

Instantly this thought drove all attraction for Eragon out of Ilia's mind, to be replaced by rightful anger. Eyes narrowing, the young woman stormed over, prepared to give this pompous and neglectful son of a nobleman the scolding he deserved for mistreating Saphira.

Eragon was not even aware of her presence, he was entirely preoccupied with what had caused him to remain the little clearing in the first place. With his good hand he was gently stroking the nose of a roan mare that nickered in contentment at his touch.

Just a few steps from him, Ilia halted, her anger faltering. The reddish horse that Eragon was petting could only be Epona. The mischievous mare had a tendency to wander off and not show up again for days. Ilia had tried searching for the horse numerous times whenever she had run off, but Epona was an elusive creature that knew how to avoid discovery. Even when she was penned up in Fado's barn, the wily horse would escape. But she always returned home, and Ilia had no doubt she would come back whenever she went missing.

Epona was also an excellant judge of character. She possessed an uncanny intelligence that belied her soft demeanour, an ability to sense a person's true intentions by some animal sensitivity. The roan mare had been around abusers before, and her reactions to being near so foul a kind would be far from welcoming.

But the mare was making no effort to avoid Eragon's touch, nor did she try to charge or kick him. Obviously she deemed him worthy, and if Epona believed him to be, then Ilia could to.

"Epona!" she chastised gently, going over. "Where in Hyrule have you been?"

The young man stroking her nose whirled around, startled by her appearance. Subconsciously a hand went down to the sword hilt poking out of the sheathe strapped to his belt, what was obviously an instinctive response to surprise. Realizing it was only a young woman, Eragon's hand immediately dropped from the blade, blushing slightly in embarrassment to the bothersome reflex.

Ilia chose to ignore this slip, remembering how Uli suspected the man to be a trained soldier. If so, she could not fault him for going with years of experience. Instead she gave him a warm smile, previous troubles forgotten with the infallible recommendation of one horse.

"I am Ilia. You must be Eragon." She extended a friendly hand, that received a cautious one to shake back.

Eragon nodded. "Uli told me you were the one that mainly cared for Saphira when I was unable to. Thank you for that, though I can never express how grateful I really am."

Ilia shrugged in response, though she sensed the thankfulness in his words were genuine. Hm, maybe he wasn't the egotistical and neglectful animal abuser she had originally thought him to be. "No problem. As a matter of fact I was just off to give Saphira another..." She trailed off, noting how Eragon was now fighting to conceal an amused grin. "All right, what do you find so hilarious?"

"Saphira flew off a while ago. I saw her take off through my window. Don't worry, she'll be back. She's just gone to hunt."

Thinking about what that impatient she-dragon could be doing to her injured wing, Ilia groaned. For a moment she actually considered tracking Saphira down and dragging her back by force, but the idea was soon dismissed. Saphira was a massive creature, she had been the one that had been willing to be lead and fussed over. Had she desired, she could have bowled everyone over and charged right out of Ordon Village. Should the she-dragon not want to be found, Ilia had no doubt she would have flown right into the deep heart of the woods.

"Ah well, nothing I can do about that." Changing the subject, Ilia rose a hand to affectionaltey pat Epona's neck. "I see you've already met Epona. Usually she's not so fond of strangers, but with you she's reveling in the attention."

Eragon glanced at the mare, who looked back at him with serene dark eyes. "At first I thought she was a mount that had bucked off her rider and then charged off. That's why I held her here for a while, to see if a person would arrive to claim her. After all, what kind of horse roams freely while fully tacked?"

"Epona does. Truthfully, that's how I found her two years ago. I was sitting by the spirit spring when she trotted right up beside me, fully tacked like she was now. Since no one came to claim her, all of Ordon Village sort of adopted her as the resident horse." Though she's mainly mine, Ilia silently added. "Epona's the one that insists to be tacked up all of the time. Whenever I try to take it off her, she nips me and backs away. So far, its actually be handy. There have been several emergencies in the past where one of Fado's goats escaped and ran off into the forest. Epona was all ready to go, and she found and herded the errant goat back in no time."

Blue eyes curious, Eragon eyed the roan horse with a whole new appreciative light. "Incredible." A small smile crossed his face. "But by the way of you speak of her, I take it she's still prone to wandering off? To places where no one can ever find her?"

Ilia nodded, half with amusement and half with exasperation. "We tried locking Epona up in the most secure of stalls and pens. Ones everyone was positive no horse could escape. Come morning, the gate or door was always unlocked and open, and she was long gone. During one of these incidents, Fado decided to investigate and claimed he found impressions in the dirt that looked like footprints near the gate and claimed Epona had been stolen. Of course, he couldn't prove about whether those tracks belonged to a thief. Besides, Epona had returned by nightfall the following day."

Eragon suspiciously inspected the mare's saddle, as if it could provide some answer to her mysterious behaviours. Catching a sickly sweet scent in his nostrils, he stumbled back, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Wherever your horse goes, she was near something odorous. Something rotting, by the smell of it."

The two exchanged a small laugh, and neither noticed when Epona's intelligent brown eyes narrowed slightly at the final comment.

Their conversation was interrupted when Malo came running into the clearing, causing all three present to look up and stare at him. The little boy was covered in sweat, and his usually stoic face showed an uncharacteristic expression of pure fear. Ilia came dashing over toward him, bending down on one knee to look him right in the eye.

"Malo!" she cried in surprise and concern. "What's wrong? Where are the others?"

"Gone," Malo gasped between pants. "Found a monkey. Chased it into the woods. Heard a scream, then it cut off."

"Why didn't you follow them?"

The young boy was rapidly recovering his breath, and his next answer was more articulate. "Chasing monkeys? I found the whole matter pointless, and crazy. My father warned me of how Bokoblins had been spotted near by. Playing with a primate is not worth getting clubbed to death by those brutes. Talo and Beth chased after it. Colin was just following and yelling for them to stop teasing it. I shouted for them to come back, but I heard the scream just a moment afterward."

Fighting the panic that welled up inside of her, Ilia struggled to keep calm and remain a source of sane leadership for Malo. "Okay. Malo go back to the village and warn Rusl. Get him to gather up the men for a search. If we're lucky we can catch the Bokoblins before they can do anything else to the kids. Eragon, can you go and- Eragon, what in the name of Farore are you doing?!"

Eragon's face had been scrunched up in concentration, as if he had been thinking about some grave matter. However, his concentration was replaced by frustration and desperation as he looked frantically about him. Gaze settling on Epona, his movements were swift as lightning. With inhuman speed he had gracefully sprung into the saddle, unsheathing his sword. Urging the mare on with a shout, rider and steed thundered off into Faron Woods.

Feeling initial outrage at the theft of her Epona, Ilia was on the verge of losing her temper. Then she remembered why Eragon had stolen her horse, she calmed. He was going after the Bokoblins. On horseback, he would reach those monsters long before Rusl and his men ever could. Not to mention he was a trained soldier armed with a sword.

Please, Farore, Nayru, and Din, let him return unscathed, she silently prayed, her lips moving soundlessly with the words meant for divine ears alone. And let all of the children be all right.

Whirling around, Ilia's longer strides took her ahead of Malo's shorter legs. She was the first one to alert the villagers, and the Rusl and the men he had rallied (all of them except Fado and Mayor Bo fathers of the missing children) charged off into Faron Woods.

All hoped they were not too late to save the youths' lives along with their bodies.

The trees and undergrowth whipped by him in a blur, but Eragon did not stop to take in his surroundings. He was barely aware he was controlling Epona, his mind was elsewhere, focused on the terrified minds of three young children that feared for their very lives. Encircling them was a group of malevolent consciousnesses, primitive beings whose only thoughts were to maul and kill their hapless captives for food.

Saphira had not answered his desperate summons. With her aid as an eye in the sky to guide him and help in the battle, the children would have been rescued in no time. But she was out of range, had unwittingly wandered farther than she had intended. She was not here for this emergency, and Eragon had not paused to mourn over her absence and how helpful she could have been.

But Epona was there, a swift and surefooted mount already tacked up. Yes, he had possessed unnatural speed and agility, but his stamina paled in comparison to a true elf. Fast as he was, a horse's pace would always be faster and would last far longer. She had seemed the best temporary replacement for Saphira, an intelligent alternative that somehow understood the need for urgency.

Below him, the roan mare charged on in full gallop. Her red sides were slathered in sweat and her breathing labored from the strenuous run, but her endurance held. Unlike most horses, Epona did not require constant guidance. She headed down paths and over obstacles on her own power. Eragon's mind brushed lightly against her own, providing her a link between herself and the location of the captive children. Epona handled the rest, galloping down unfamiliar paths as she followed a route that would lead him to the youths.

Around them, Eragon was dimly aware of the danger the woods offered. Carnivorous flowers reared up from the ground with the intent to catch and devour, only to be cut down by his sword or trampled beneath the horse's heavy hooves. Through a dark tunnel, rats lunged at Epona's legs and bats dove at Eragon's head. All were swiftly dispatched, but the young Rider wondered in awe how the children had ever made it this far.

Suddenly light returned to Eragon's eyes, and he found himself out of the tunnel and in a new part of the woods. Now his blade made contact with the occasional purple-skinned creature he assumed as a Bokoblin. Their minds showed flickers of malice and hate before he obliterated their dark lives. The minds of the children were now tantalizingly close, and Epona's pace increased.

Then Eragon spotted them, three little figures hunched in a primitive wooden cage. A little furry beast shivered beside them, a being he presumed to be the monkey they had been chasing. Bokoblins crowded about them, conversing amongst themselves in a guttural tongue. Armed with only rudimentary clubs and wearing only scant loincloths, they far outnumbered Eragon. And the Rider had a broken arm.

Hearing the sound of pounding hooves, many of the Bokoblins spun around. Sighting him, several charged, uttering challenging shrieks.

Eragon leaped off of Epona, leaving her to kick and rear at those foolish enough to attack her. He threw himself into the fray, moving his sword in a deadly dance that hacked off limbs and sliced greedily into unprotected bluish-purplish flesh.

The children cheered at each strike, calling out encouraging words and goading him on.

"Go on, Eragon, you can do it!"

"Watch out, there's one behind- Never mind, you got it!"

"Show no mercy! Chop them into little pieces!" Yes, that one was Talo.

Noticing how Eragon's arm was in a sling, a particularly smart little Bokoblin saw his opportunity. Lunging through his fallen comrades, he bashed the already injured appendage mercilessly with his club. The young man whirled back with a cry of pain, his sword clattering to the ground as the Bokoblins overwhelmed him.

"NO!" Colin pressed himself against the bars of his prison, eyes wide with panic. "No! Eragon, get up!"

For a moment, Eragon was lost, trapped beneath a pile of writhing monsters that clawed and beat at him. Then he reached deep inside of himself, reaching his storage of energy and unleashing it as devastating magic.

"Eitha!" There was a boom and then the protesting chattering of the Bokoblins as they were tossed into the air and landed heavily on the ground, many of them stunned. Eragon then rose from the ground, broken arm dangling at his side, blue eyes glowing with a blue fire.

"Thrysta vindr!" A whooshing gale blew the remaining monsters away, leaving Eragon free reign to wreak his carnage. "Slytha! Malthinae! Letta! Jierda! Deyja! Deyja!"

By some invisible force, Bokoblins collapsed lifelessly to the ground, became rooted to where they stood, or had their bones broken like little twigs. The surviving Bokoblins looked around nervously, shrieking a challenge and waving their weapons at the unseen enemy that so cruelly played with them. Some of their eyes traveled to Eragon, their primitive minds connecting the strange words this man shouted to the pain that tortured them. Courage leaving them, the monsters fled into the woods, having a new fear to brood over.

Sending a final burst of magical spell-fire after them for a good measure to ensure their desertion, Eragon concentrated on himself. He shut his eyes, imaging his broken bones healed and his arm set in its proper position. "Waise heill," he murmured. There was a warmth in his limb and the feeling as some energy drained out of him to fuel the spell, then the pain that had plagued his arm for over a week had disappeared. Eragon sighed in relief, stretching the arm experimentalively to check his work.

Finding it satisfactory, he turned to free the children. He had avoided his magic in the first place to prevent arousing fear or suspicion of himself and Saphira. Now he had been forced to use it, and there was no taking it back now. He could only hope they would not fear him for it. A simple word dismanteled the wooden cage and another caused the pieces to float away and land harmlessly on the ground.

Free of their prison, the three youths looked about them in awe. While they were distracted, the newly liberated monkey took its opportunity to flee, scampering off into the forest in the opposite direction the Bokoblins had vanished. Beth and Talo couldn't care less about the poor animal they had once chased after; they had already gathered around Eragon, asking all sorts of questions about his magic while Colin shyly held back.

"How did you do that? Can you teach me how?"

"Show me some more magic, will you, Eragon? Please?"

Quieting the bombardment of questions with a gesture for silence, Eragon restored order. "How do you kids know of magic?" he asked. "While it is common where I come from, I have never once heard any of the people here mention it."

"That's because most humans can't wield magic or spells or any of that stuff," Beth stated matter-of-factly. "Certainly none of us in Ordon can."

"But the Hylians can," Talo chimed in. "My father told me all Hylians are born with an inherent sense for powerful magic, one any can develop if they wish to. Since no Hylians live around here, and the closest ones are probably miles away in Castle Town, we really don't have any need to talk about magic."

Eragon nodded, stowing the tidbit of information away for later use. Perhaps these Hylians had knowledge of magic the elves and magicians of Alagaesia did not. If so, perhaps it would be useful in helping to defeat Galbatorix.

"You healed your arm," Colin spoke up softly, all eyes turning to him as if they had forgotten of his existance. He blushed slightly under the gazes, but continued anyway. "Why didn't you just do that in the first place instead of just hanging around here for over a week?"

Eragon shrugged, mentally both cursing and praising Colin for his keen awareness that could prove invaluable later in life. "I had no idea how any of you would react to it," he answered honestly. "Scaring people, even if it wasn't my intention to, is something I would never want to do." The looks he had received for being both a powerful magician and the Rider of a mighty she-dragon was enough to ensure that most of the time, despite his feelings. "Besides, Ordon Village is a nice and quiet place to be. Saphira and I needed a bit of a vaction from the hectic life we lead back at home."

The conversation just about over, Eragon helped the three children into Epona's saddle. Though the mare quivered slightly underneath the extra burdens upon her back, she did not even snort in protest. Smiling, the young man gave her a grateful pat, telling himself he would find the extradorinary horse some sugar cubes or something as a reward for her outstanding obediance and actions today.

Just as he was helping Colin on, Eragon caught a glimpse of gold in the corner of his eye. A chill went down his spine, and instinct told him he was being observed by someone in the shadows. Whipping his head around, he saw nothing but an empty space under a tree. Dismissing the sighting as paranoia so recently after the Bokoblin attack, he went back to assisting the kids.

It was just a trick of the light. Or the branches shifting in the breeze to allow a flash of sunlight in for a moment.

Walking beside Epona and holding on her bridle, Eragon answered all of the questions about magic and information on topics concerning it. He saw no need to ask them about what had happened in the woods that day or to scold them for it, both matters all of their parents would surely do excessively upon their return home. Instead he just did their best to satisfy their curiosity, anything to distract them from the traumatizing events they may have witnessed when in the captivity of the Bokoblins.

Unbeknown to any of them except Epona, a golden shadow stalked them for a while, a secret guardian against any unexpected obstacles that may have encountered the party on the journey home. It was the presence of that spectral wolf that kept the monsters of Faron Woods away, preventing the Keese and Deku Babas from further bothering them. When the group crossed the bridge to Ordon Village, the Golden One stopped in his stalking.

For a moment longer he watched his descendant and the children continue on their way, than his crimson eyes turned upward to survey the sky with apprehension. His hackles slowly rose and his lips pulled into a snarl as he pondered the looming events.

Ganondorf was on the verge of returning to Hyrule in some form, as he had promised so long ago during that forgotten time. Evil was just beynod the horizon, ready to rear its ugly head for another round against the Chosen Hero. The animals of the realm sensed what the humans could not, the impending dread of death and destruction. Their behaviour was inexplicable to their oblivious owners, but the Golden One felt the inevitable right in the core of his spirit.

This generation's Chosen Hero had successfully passed his test, though through unconventional means. With a broken arm and without the handy aid of his fearsome dragon, he had still managed to defeat the group of Bokoblins and rescue the captive children. The Golden One was pleased, especially with how swiftly Eragon had found the missing youths.

But, from what he had seen of the boy's swordplay, Eragon had a long way to go before he was worthy of the title 'Hero'. He was unused to fighting large numbers of enemies while incapacited in one way, a situation the Golden One had gotten into plenty of times during his own adventures. Eragon also relied heavily on his magic, which he had a mastery over far more than the Golden One had ever commanded in life.

If only Eragon knew how little that magical talent of his would prove against the invincible sorcery of Ganondorf. His only true chance in slaying the demon thief lay in the sword, an ability he had yet to cultivate to its true potential.

The Golden One shook his head, steeling himself for the challenge ahead. He had waited over a century for his chance of redemption, and he had expected far worse than what the Goddesses had given him to work with. From his prior experiences, he had anticipated the boy to be younger, incapable of doing much and clueless with a sword. Much like the Golden One hd been at the beginning of his quest.

But Eragon was older, had at least some knowledge of the blade and of magic, and had obviously seen his fair share of combat.

Eragon was already an accomplished fighter and renowned for his ability. The Golden One would make him a Hero, one whose escapades would survive the centuries and who would be immortalized in legend like the Hero of Time had been.

But, for now, the legend was just truly beginning.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Last of the Wilds- Nightwish

Living with a broken arm for several agonizing days had bothered Eragon beyond description. Uli was always over him, inspecting his wounds and changing his bandages far more that would was truly necessary. Not to mention he liked sleeping on his right side, the one with the unconventionally damaged appendage. Shifting unconsciously in the middle of night, he would awaken with a painful yelp as the broken arm reminded him that crushing it under his weight was not a proper way for it to heal. The temptation to simply vocalize a healing spell had been great. The familiar words would be at the tip of his tongue, reiterating again and again in his mind, but Eragon refused to utter them. He required more information from the villagers (not to mention didn't want to frighten anybody else with his magical talents). Silently bearing a little bit of discomfort seemed a small price to pay for it.

But now that he had finally remedied his broken arm, and sleep still wouldn't come to him. While Colin and his parents were blissfully lost in their dreams, Eragon had tossed and turned on his couch-turned-bed. Unable to drift off, his racing thoughts kept him anchored to reality. Usually all Eragon had to do to placate his restless mind was to reach out across the connection to Saphira. While she slumbered, the sapphire she-dragon's mind was a sanctum for peace. In her dreams, it seemed as if the doubtful and terrified fodder that fueled Eragon's own nightmares didn't exist. Her mere touch calmed him down, and that was always enough to lull him off to sleep almost immediately.

But Saphira wasn't within reach. She was far off, their bond stretched to its limit. Eragon's heart almost ached at the vast expanse that separated him from what was literally the other half of his soul, but he could shoulder the unpleasant feeling of loneliness for one short night. She was alive and unhurt, her Rider would have felt any harm that had come to her person, just like that fateful day in Du Weldenvarden. Saphira hadn't abandoned him; the she-dragon would rather scarf down a pile of vegetables than willingly live him alone for any prolonged period of time. She had strayed farther in her hunt than planned, but she would return soon. Eragon had no doubt of that.

By the time Ordon Village's children had all been rescued, the day had been nearing its end. Twilight's dark shadows stretched across the land, bathing everything in a violet haze. In the growing blackness, the depths of Faron Woods became even more foreboding. Though Eragon could find the way back just fine in night's darkness, he didn't want children already scared from a hellish encounter with Bokoblins to be engulfed by it. So he had created a blue orb of light to hover obediently above his palm, illuminating the path to safety.

Of course, the villagers themselves weren't sitting by idly while their children were missing. Rusl had gathered up a search party that had consisted of all of Ordon's men, all armed with torches and makeshift weapons they had seized before charging off into the woods. Hope fading that they would find the youths alive as night slowly crept in, the group had inadverdantly stumbled upon Eragon leading Epona toward the village, all of the missing children safe and sound astride her saddle.

Overjoyed at the unexpected reunion, the children gleefully leaped off of the horse and rushed into the arms of their waiting fathers to be snatched up into a warm and tight embrace. Even Fado was caught up in the moment, bawling his eyes out at the beauty of it all as he engulfed everyone within reach into a massive hug, shouting messages of gratitude to the Goddesses at the top of his lungs.

Eragon had hung back from the tender reunion of families that had almost been torn apart for good, remaining near Epona's side. Yes, he was pleased that the kids had met up with their relieved fathers, but the satisfaction of seeing such a joyful sight was tainted by the feeling of dread that wormed its way into his stomach. Ordon's men had seen the magical illumination he had summoned, noticed how his broken arm had mysteriously healed, heard the recollections of events from their children. They knew now what he was.

Eragon had seen the look in Rusl's eyes. The wise swordsman he had come to respect had been wary. Ever since the rest of the journey to Ordon, Rusl had been watching his house guest sharply, trying to connect the dots. He had not said a word upon the matter in the woods, nor had Uli remarked upon the 'miracle' of his healed arm. But he felt their awe, their suspicions. Their caution that could quickly morph into fear and loathing.

What did they think of him now? Eragon had all but admitted to Colin he was a soldier, one that had contributed to the casualties of war. Their naive son thought of him as if he had stepped out of one of the ancient legends, regarded him with something very close to hero worship. Rusl must have pieced together his own conclusions. Did Rusl believe him to be a monster like Durza? A powerful and deadly soldier masquerading behind the facade of a harmless young man?

Kept awake by his fears and musing all night, Eragon could no longer bear to be in the house. When the first pale rays of sunlight shone through the windows, he had slipped outside. Sitting by the small stream that ran near the house, he forced all thoughts from his head, concentrating only upon the unspoiled beauty of the dawn. A time of peace and rebirth, before anyone had disturbed the stillness of the brand new day.

"You're up awful early," a voice remarked casually behind him. "When I was your age, I was apt to sleep until noon unless my mother beat me out of bed with her broom."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rusl take a seat beside him. The older man said or did nothing else, simply observing the rising sun along with him.

"My uncle was a farmer," Eragon admitted quietly. "Since my cousin and I were young we had to help him in the fields and with the livestock. That meant rising before the sun to prepare for a day of work that would last until the daylight ended. Even now, the habit's always stuck."

"Are you sure that was the reason you shifted restlessly about for the whole night?" At the younger man's astonished glance, Rusl chuckled knowingly. "You're speaking to a man that was a soldier for the Hyrulean army for several good years of his life. We were stationed in the far western mountains, on the very boundary between known civlisation and uncharted wilderness. Up there lurked monstrous beasts that would pounce upon a man the moment he let his guard down. Years of honing my instincts allowed me to notice your unease. Especially when you have so much to be concerned about."

"Colin told you the details of how I rescued everyone from those Bokoblins." He snorted, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I was a fool for expecting such enthusiastic children to conceal such secrets from everyone. Declaring everything interesting they know to random strangers is in their innocent nature."

Grabbing the younger individual firmly by the shoulders, Rusl turned to face him. Understanding dark eyes gazed down into blue, and Eragon's tense muscles relaxed at recognizing a kindred spirit.

"You did what had to be done," Rusl pointed out. "Mayor Bo and every other adult in Ordon Village, myself included, knows that killing the Bokoblins was for the best. It was either those monsters or our own precious children. I would have done exactly the same thing in your position. Hell, any of us would have."

"But you're not the one that lost his temper and unleashed an attack that could devastate armies upon several primitive brutes," Eragon remarked harshly. "Sometimes my magic is unpredictable. When I summon it, it is almost impossible to control afterwards. I was hurt and angry. My only thoughts were for causing severe pain to those around me. It could have easily affected the children as well as the Bokoblins in that wild state." He laughed bitterly. "Only the mercy of some benevolent god prevented them from being touched."

Rusl remained silent for a moment, and Eragon truly believed he had alienated the man forever. Then he spoke up again, his voice gentle. "Colin says the Bokoblins disarmed you of your sword and your arm was injured until after the battle was over. You used the only weapon left to you to protect yourself and the children, the magic. To all of us, your actions in those woods are equivalent to that of a Chosen Hero."

Spirits lifting, Eragon smiled jokingly. "Perhaps they even rival the feats of the legendary Hero of Time."

Rusl chuckled. "Perhaps one day you shall even succeed him." Releasing Eragon from his vice-like grip, he changed the subject to something that must have been bothering him all night long. "Please, can you tell me how you access your magic? The spells Colin recalled sound nothing like the enchantments and incantations used by Hylian mages."

"In my land there is an Ancient Language with a word for everything in existance. Those with magical talent are able to use commands in that language to alter their surroundings in a variety of ways, depending on their intentions. For example, I can say 'Adurna', the word for 'water', and mean it to do all sorts of things. I may want to make water from that stream rush into the lungs of an enemy to drown them, or merely summon a drink to satiate my thirst." What was the harm in giving away such information? Rusl didn't have the ability to use any form of magic, much less know any words of the Ancient Language.

Considering this explanation, Rusl scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting. How do your common magicians fuel these spells?"

"Energy," Eragon replied simply. "They draw upon their own strength to feed the magic. So long as you have the power to support it, anything is possible while using the Ancient Language." The other man's eyes darkened at this statement, and his own brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?" he asked warily.

"Hyrulean magicians draw upon elements to work their magic. The ancient Sheikah, warriors of darkness, could blend into shadows to as to appear invisible or creap up so silently upon victims that they would not know their presence until a dagger plunged into their hearts. Hylians harness all sorts of elements to suit their wills, such as fire to warm or ice to cool. The stronger the mage, the more forces can be channeled and the more things that can be done."

"So you have never heard of drawing upon one's own strength to fuel a spell before I came along?"

Shaking his head, Rusl sighed. "I have encountered the knowledge before, but I can not remember where. There were those before in Hyrule that mastered such an art, but I believe they are as dead as the Gerudo raiders. I shall bring up this matter to a... friend of mine. He constantly craves new things to pick over and your land's magic system. It can be a new pet project of his." Muttering under his breath, he added, "It will sure beat hearing about those mythical Sky People day in and day out."

Getting up, Eragon nodded gratefully. "Thank you for this talk, Rusl. Do you mind if I go for a walk now? Uli has kept me cooped up for days and finally being able to enjoy the outdoors to the fullest extent is something I want to experience again before I face another bombardment of questions from the kids."

"Go ahead. After what you've done, you deserve some peace and quiet for a change."

When the younger man had walked out of earshot, Rusl allowed his pleasant expression to fall. Heaving a sigh, he turned to watch the merrily babbling stream, engrossed in his own grim thoughts.

Contrary to what he had told Eragon, the swordsman remembered a lot more about that 'dead race of people' than he had told his trusting companion. The race had rejected all other existing forms of magic, for they had considered them all to be beneath their superior kind. So they had fabricated their own kind of magic, creating it from an unholy source that had gone against the Goddesses stood for. Many had died when this dark tribe had ruled. If Rusl recalled correctly, the Goddesses themselves had ordered the elimination of this race and their artificial magics.

Supposedly all traces of them and their spells had vanished forever, but apparently it had survived in some form. People in Eragon's homeland still retained the craft, though its own dark origins must have been forgotten, for Rusl's houseguest seemed completely ignorant of it.

Or perhaps I have created all of this to satisfy my own purposes, Rusl thought to himself. I have been paranoid as of late, suspecting something terrible is about to happen for no logical explanation. Maybe I am just trying to pin these unabated fears on something. Like Eragon's strange magic.

Shoving all of these from his mind, the man got to his feet. What was he doing out here alone by a stream musing over his own sanity when he had a family to care for? So Rusl went on inside to begin preparations for breakfast, to focus on practical matters and not on his own unfounded paranoia.

Still, he couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that everything was about to go to hell. Such instincts had been ingrained into his brain since his fighting over-sized brutes that preyed upon human settlers in the mountain range just west of Zora's Domain. They had not abandoned Rusl yet, and his premonitions had always been accurate.

But if these feelings of unease hadn't departed even after Colin had been kidnapped by Bokoblins and then rescued, what in the names of the Goddesses was he supposed to be looking out for?

Hours passed, and soon it was noonday. Eragon's wanderings had eventually brought him to the paddock at the southernmost end of the village where Fado's goats grazed during the day. He now rested that same enclosure, lying down on the grass and idly watching the clouds soar by overhead.

Initially all of the goats had given him a wide berth, for the scent of Saphira was still strong upon him and the furry livestock recognized the smell of a natural predator. Some of the braver males had even attempted to charge him, each time Eragon had deftly swerved aside, evading the horns that wanted to gore into his flesh. Over time the goats realized him to be a mere human, albeit one that reeked of dragon. Now he was surrounded by a sea of furry bodies that grazed calmly about him, as if he was now an honorary member of the herd.

Occasionally nuzzled by furry snouts that poked inquisitively at his clothes or nibbled experimentally at his hair. Eragon handled this all in good stride, gently shoving away those that sharply nipped at his skin or some obnoxious males that kept butting into him in challenges for superiority.

"Eragon! Are you in there?"

Hearing Colin calling him from the other side of the paddock's fence, Eragon stood up to see beyond the furry bodies that blocked his view. Indeed seeing Rusl's young boy waiting for him, he raised a hand in greeting. He began to walk over, the goats parting before him to allow him to pass.

"Good morning, Colin," Eragon remarked cheerfully, unable to contain the grin that spread across his face at the child's look of amazement. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"How in the name of Farore are you able to do that?" Colin breathed in awe. "Those goats don't let anyone near them but Fado. If anyone else, even Ilia on Epona, tries to get close, they charge! Did they adopt you into their numbers or something?"

Eragon glanced back the goats, then shrugged unknowingly. "I thought they were always this accepting of people once they got to know them. You mean they aren't always like this?"

"Never." Colin bounced up and down eagerly. "Forget them, though. Ilia wants to see you at Ordona's spring right away! She wants to talk to you about Epona."

Knowing what torture would await him there, Eragon groaned in response. Though he had good intentions and had saved the children of the village from certain death or worse, the truth could not be altered. He had stolen Epona right before Ilia's eyes and had galloped off with her cherished mare to face monsters that could have a taste for horse flesh. Grateful Ilia may have been for the rescue, she was still furious at him for the theft and no doubt ready to have her vengeance at last.

"Let's get this over with, then."

Vaulting easily over the gate, he joined Colin on the short walk to Ordon Spring. Ilia was indeed waiting for him there. She stood by Epona's side, one hand gently stroke her neck while the mare tore at the tender mouthful of grass right by her hooves. Noticing Eragon approach, the small smile that had previously graced the girl's face vanished, replaced by an unreadable expression he could only guess at. Swallowing in apprehension, the young man tentatively neared, bracing for the inevitable onslaught of insults and accusations to begin.

Ilia sighed softly, blue eyes holding none of the fury he'd expected. "Thank you, Eragon. For everything."

Recoiling in shock, Eragon was unable to muster an answer until he had regained composure. "Whatever for? I am the one that stole your Epona and endangered her. It is me who should be apologizing now."

The mayor's daughter shrugged, glancing at Colin. "The children's lives were at stake and time was of the essence to find them. What were you supposed to do to find them? Take off on foot and then got lost in Faron Woods yourself? No. With your dragon gone, Epona was the mode of transportation fast enough to rescue the kids before any lasting harm came to them." She scowled slightly. "Though some warning would have been greatly appreciated before you charged recklessly off into your heroics."

"I apologize for such disregard of Epona's safety," he said earnestly. "She could have been seriously injured by a Bokoblin or far worse. Her life was not mine to endanger."

"Epona is capable of taking care of herself," Colin chimed in. "Tell Eragon what she did to the wolves, Ilia!"

"Some time ago Fado spotted several wolves prowling around the goat paddock and rushed off to get help," the girl began, looking proudly at her horse. "By the time they showed up to drive the wolves off, all of them were already gone. Epona was standing beside the fence, waiting for the men. Blood that was not hers stained her hooves and muzzle where she had kicked and snapped at the wolves. All the goats were untouched. As for Epona? She didn't have a single scratch on her. Had the situation called for it, she could have fought her way out of a crowd of hostile and hungry Bokoblins."

Astonished, Eragon shook his head in disbelief. The mare, though built like one of Surda's famous warhorses, had the calm and docile position of an ordinary farm animal. Obedient she had been, but Eragon had strongly doubted Epona had had in it in her to put up a fight like Ilia had described.

"Really? Well, isn't that-"

His voice was cut off as the ground began to rumble slightly. Confused, Ilia and Colin looked wildly about, while Eragon instinctively reached for his sword's hilt. While the scabbard was there, the sword was not. It had been left behind in Faron Woods, forgotten in the desire to return to to the village. He had unwittingly strapped the scabbard to his belt out of sheer habit, but had neglected to notice its weapon was absent. Bewildered, all three silently listened as the rumbling sound rapidly approached.

thud thud. thud thud.

Epona's head shot up from the grass, snorting at the clamor. Nostrils flaring at something only she could scent, she whinnied shrilly. Beginning to rise into a rear to paw at the sky with her hooves, the roan mare's brown gaze glanced to the side, caught a glimpse of something the humans with her failed to. Reluctantly, she fell onto all fours and remained still as a statue, though the muscles in her reddish flanks quivered in obvious agitation.

Thud thud. Thud thud.

Ilia took a few nervous steps backward, looking frantically for an escape but seeing only the enclosed area of Ordon Spring. Fearfully Colin shrank towards Eragon's side like a second shadow, clinging tightly to his tunic.

"Eragon," he whispered softly. "What is that?"

"I don't know, Colin. I don't know." Pulling Colin off of his tunic, he was the only one that took a few tentative steps toward the exit of the spring. When the others made as if to follow him, one reproaching glance from his icy eyes was all it took to keep them in place. Instinct told Eragon it was best for them to all remain in the spring and to not try and outrun the threat that was almost upon them. They would only be trampled foot that way. Remaining in the area was the only option with the slightest chance of survival.

THUD THUD. THUD THUD.

The next moment, two very large dark shapes exploded into Ordon Spring, ripping the gate off its hinges in the process. The creatures were monstrous boars that resembled the Nagra of the Beor Mountains, though these had coarse brown hides and piggy little red eyes that gleamed with malice. Astride each boar were two green-skinned riders, humanoid monsters that wielded far more advanced weaponry than the barbaric Bokoblins.

For one brief moment, monsters and humans stared at their opposites, completely surprised to see they had stumbled upon the other. But the spell was quickly broken; the two lead green-skinned creatures spurred their mounts on, circling around the spring like hawks as the archers behind the drivers raised their bows and took aim. Arrows already knocked, the fortunately blunted weapons went flying at their designated targets.

Before Eragon had time to react to this strange turn of fate, his two companions had already been hit. Ilia fell into the water with a pained cry, her balance upset by the arrow that collided with her leg. Colin's arrow missed, but one of the creatures swooped down to snatch the protesting boy and hoist him up into the saddle, bashing his head with a club to still his struggles.

Rearing up, Epona bugled in alarm, and her deafening call freed him of his stupor. Mustering up all the magical energy, the furious Dragon Rider prepared to unleash it in one devastating spell, the word already leaving his mouth.

"Dey-"

Unseen by Eragon, a third boar larger than its fellows emerged behind him, its rider knocking the unaware boy unconscious with a single blunt hit to the head. This green-skinned creature was larger than the others and rode alone, the impressive horns that crowned his head marking him as the leader of the group. The Bulbin King's inferiors swiftly secured their two captives, the oldest male still limp in the water. One of the Bulbins glanced greedily at the roan mare that stood protectively over the unconscious man, brown eyes burning with challenge. Unwilling to waste precious time, it was unanimously decided to leave them there. Both would only be trouble in the long run.

When they were ready to depart, the Bulbin King glanced at the water that cascaded into the spirit spring, and of the glowing runes that had been carefully scratched into the rock so long ago. Crimson eyes glittering spitefully, the leader raised a horn to his lips and bugled a single note to the skies.

Their work done, the Bulbin King then lead his subjects onto the safety of the nearby human village. It was outside of Hyrule proper, the tip of the main kingdom ending shortly just before the bridge that lead into this area. There would be more human children to take captive for ransom and slaves, without the dangers of the evils they had summoned to Ordon Spring.

Brown eyes wistful, Epona lowered her head to muzzle the unconscious man who was little more than a boy, now the kingdom's only hope. He would awaken soon, and she must depart soon. The next step of his journey would have to be taken alone. There could be no trusty steed or cherished she-dragon to aid him yet.

"Be strong, Eragon. We will both be watching and waiting for you, though you may not see me again for a long time. Best of luck, Chosen Hero. May the Goddesses light your way even in the deepest of darkness."

Turning around, Epona began to scrabble up the steep sides that enclosed the spring, up to the woods above. There her true master was waiting.

So Eragon Shadeslayer was abandoned by his last ally. The next decision he took would be entirely of his own choosing, the pivotal point that would either condemn or redeem Hyrule of a future of endless darkness.

Rushing off into the woods with Epona, the Golden One did not stop to watch. Once he had made the journey, and was positive his descendant could do so too.

Eyes snapping open, Eragon staggered to his feet and looked dazedly about him. He was in Ordon Spring by himself. Momentarily disoriented, he wondered why he there, until he caught sight of the shattered remnants of the gate the boars had desecrated during their charge.

Fear for the well-being of the captives and furious he had allowed them to escape so easily, Eragon charged off in hot pursuit. Common sense dictating his actions, he swerved sharply and ran in full speed toward the direction of the bridge that lead into Faron Woods. Obviously that's where the bastards had headed toward, to shelter in the wilderness like animals to gnaw over their loot.

Engrossed in the chase, Eragon failed to notice that the blue sky was darkening with a very premature dusk. Barely even noon, and the cerulean heavens were turning into faded oranges and purples at an unnatural rate. Black shadows loomed from the trees to reach out at him like phantom hands, but he blazed through their cold clutches like fire through mist. Oblivious to the twilight and the growing darkness, he surged on, determined to catch the kidnappers and grind their putrid forms into dust.

...Until Eragon suddenly found himself facing a sheer black wall that had appeared out of nowhere, blocking his path. Stunned, the young man craned his head upward and left to right, side, searching for a way around. But the strange obstacle reared all the way skyward and stretched on perpetually on either side. The wall itself was pitch black, carved in intricate red markings that shimmered like a mirage in the desert. Orange light radiated from the obstacle, though it seemed to greedily absorb all true sunlight near it.

Daunted, the Dragon Rider could only gape at the wonder in awe, entranced by its design. He didn't understand their meanings, but he knew enough to get that they were extremely important. Hypnotized, he ventured ever closer, one hand raised to test the strength of the wall.

Immediately, something burst from the seemingly solid wall, catching Eragon in a vice-like grip. Scaly black hands cold as death clung to him. Its prey captured, the hands retracted into the wall, dragging Eragon along with them. His surprised scream was cut short was he was forced through, his senses numbed as if doused in ice water.

The next thing Eragon knew he was face to face with a monster beyond comprehension, mere inches from its gruesome form. Its face was concealed by a mask, its black body etched with red markings, and obviously craving to devour him whole. Certain his was facing his demise, Eragon squeezed his eyes shut, his thoughts immediately jumping to Saphira and regret that he would his beloved she-dragon alone in the world without a Rider.

Forgive me Saphira, wherever you are. Because of my own stupidity you must learn to live without me, for I've gone and got myself devoured by a ravenous monster. Please, whatever god or Goddess may be listening, let her survive my death. Don't let my own foolish actions codemn her, too.

A bright flash of light suddenly emanated from Eragon's left hand, causing his eyes to shoot open wonderment. Shrieking in pain at brightness it couldn't tolerate, the monster tossed him to the ground, arms over its face so as to shield it from the burning light.

Quick to use this to his advantage, Eragon tried to leap to his feet, but was forced down to his knees with a gasp of pain. Bright as his light was, it was feeble little candle compared to the crushing shadows of twilight that crushed down upon him. The darkness was relentless, burrowing deeper and deeper into his very soul, determined to encompass everything and turn him into only a pale spirit of his former self.

Come on, light, come on, he urged the strange force onward, mustering of all his strength into empowering his only choice of salvation. Glow brighter. I know you can do it! I know we can save me from this twlight and from this beast!

Obedient as it was, the light that radiated from the back of his hand grew ever brighter. An uncomfortable sensation began noticeable in his exhausted body, but he kept coaxing his only hope on. Brilliant gold slowly pressed back the blackness. The unpleasant tingle in his body was now accompanied by a pulse, as if the burning energy his body emanating was now beating in time with his heart.

Peace now, light, he thought desperately, beginning to grow alarmed at how the pain was increasing. You have pressed back the darkness. Stop now, I command it!

But he had pushed the light on beyond its control point. It continued to grow in radiance and his own agony rapidly increased. Throbbing pain blotted out all coherent streams of thought, and Eragon's exhausted form only had the energy left to scream his hell to the world. Fire coursed through his veins, setting everything alight in a brilliant inferno. The pulsating light began to beat ever faster, now meant for a different purpose than repelling the oppressive darkness.

Dimly he realized that now the silver mark of the gedwey ignasia upon his right palm was beginning to glow too. A soft silver glow accompanied the brilliant gold now. The moon and the sun shone at the same time, both seemingly contained inside his form and struggling for release.

Agony now unbearable, Eragon fled to the ring of blackness that now encircled the radiance of silver and gold. The thing he knew to be the impending force of unconscious. Seeking sweet relief in its numbing depths, the desperate man threw himself into it, not fighting against the cool clutches that slowly took control of his body.

Then blackness engulfed Eragon, and he knew no more.

Some distance away, an imp that had been the legendary Twilight Princess up until several shameful days ago, observed the seen with yellow eyes opened wide in amazement at the unbelievable miracle she had just witnessed. The young man that had vanished in the brilliant glow had been insignificant but the being that had been left behind when the magic had receded was the answer to her prayers.

Midna's awed expression broke into a fanged grin, a cackle escaping her lips.

"Eh heh heh. Here I was thinking that searching for my people's sacred beast would have taken my years." She glanced ruefully up at the heavens, shaking her head in bemusement. "Growing tired of Zant being in power, already? Jeez, you gods are really not subtle in what you want us mere little mortals to do about this mess."

Seeing that the shadow beast that had driven off earlier had returned with many of his treacherous little friends, Midna swiftly saught cover behind a tree. Watching as they dragged her one ticket to reclaiming her rightful throne off to rot in some prison somewhere, her golden eyes narrowed in determination. Silent as a shadow, she followed the monsters with her beast to wherever they were taking, just waiting for her chance to strike.

Contrary to what she had expected, the dungeons of Hyrule Castle weren't that bad a place. Midna had been dreading a titanic battle between some demonic guards Zant had posted to keep watch over the biggest threat to his reign, or navigating an endless labyrinth of cells and iron bars in search for her beast.

The dungeon was remarkably small, not anything like the expansive hellhole she had envisioned. The human guards that cowered down there oblivious to her presence, muttering fearfully to themselves and unaware that they were helpless spirits in their own realm. And the Twilit 'guards' had been mere rats transformed by the corrupting abilities Zant had instilled into the artificial Twilight he had dropped upon Hyrule. Annoying buggers, but all she had to do was float beyond the reach of their sharp teeth.

Fasing through the walls and any other obstacles she had no desire to find a real way across, Midna found her beast in no time. It really wasn't that hard, considering the small area space of the dungeons, the lack of any other prisoners, and the conspicuous properties of her target. He was still unconscious in his cell, recovering from the exhausting effects of his transformation.

Using this to her advantage, the imp took the time to thoroughly inspect her new servant. He was a very large dragon, so massive that he was barely able to be crammed into the cell the shadow beasts had obviously had difficult sealing him into. His scales were green, like the leaves of the Light Realm's trees. Golden markings swirled across his hide, looking almost Twili in appearance. The two horns that crowned his head and the spikes that ran down his back where gold, as well. From what she could see of his wings, their membranes were mainly gold, though the markings that ran across them were silver.

When Midna had thought of what kind of beast her sacred beast would actually be she had been expecting something a bit... smaller. She had wanted a creature able to stealthily sneak about secure areas yet large enough to ride upon so that she could rule over him in a more direct manner. And her beast had to be fierce, with fangs and claws and able to fend for himself in battle. Her hopes had been for a panther or a wolf, but this unexpected problem could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

The overgrown lizard has wings, that means he can fly his own hide around and I can save precious energy without having to warp him. He can probably take down enemies more easily or even avoid direct combat by just dropping boulders on their heads. If he's even a half-decent dragon, this light-dweller might even be able to breathe fire.

Smirking at the wonderful image this brought to mind, Midna allowed herself to indulge herself in a brief fantasy in what she would finally do with her brand new pet once she finally returned to the Twilight Realm. Zant would find the true ruler he had so casually banished from her home and throne astride a giant beast both feared and revered by their tribe. It would be hard for that false King to remain in power when the Twilight Princess had returned to her people upon a beast both already respected and also the subject of a great prophecy.

Or if it came down to a battle, Midna could simply soar past the rival army and deal with Zant directly. For all of the mysterious power he had harnessed, he would have to act quickly to avoid a tongue of flame that meant to roast him into a nice charred little usurper in a matter of seconds.

Forcing herself to focus on reality and saving plans of vengeance for later, Midna concentrated on the dragon's bonds. All four of his paws were shackled, along with his tail and neck, fettered to the wall. Chains were wrapped around his wings to keep them furled to his sides and to hinder flight. Those would not be hard to break. The real problem would come when the dragon that was barely able to fit into the passage would be forced to fight his way to freedom. (Midna could faze through walls, but helping an overgrown lizard do it was another challenge entirely.)

"All right, sleeping beauty, let's see what thoughts and secrets I can use against you for blackmail and to force to do my bidding."

Opening her mind like her tutors had instructed her, the imp prepared to invade the transformed light-dweller's to gather the necessary information to make him cooperate with her. He had been found near a rural little village, and she presumed him to be little more than an average clueless country bumpkin. Easy enough to manipulate without blackmail, but Midna wanted a little bit of extra leverage, just in case her pet proved to be smarter than the average man-turned-dragon.

However, the moment her mind connected his, Midna found herself shut out by formidable mental barriers. Never having been resisted so violently before, the movement echoed across the link and into reality. The imp was thrown backwards and she made painful collision with the Light Realm's ground for the first time.

Dazedly shaking her head, Midna looked up and found that the green dragon's eyes had snapped open the moment she had touched his mind. Icy blue eyes only separated by fragile little iron bars glared at her, a snarl of pure hatred forming on his snout. Then the beast began a growl that shook the ground and made her bones tremble.

Somehow, Midna now believed that all of the plans she had carefully calculating during the days of her banishment had just been tossed out the proverbial window. Now she was alone, facing against a confused and rightfully angry sacred beast while she only had a diminished version of her powers to protect her.

I should have known this was too easy. Stumbling across the sacred beast just when I perfect my final plans, only to find out he's a massive dragon with poor restraints and a hunger for Twili flesh? Oh, the Goddesses are behind this one, all right.

Considering her circumstances, Midna rattled off every obscenities she knew, both Hylian and Twli. Hell, if she was going to die as winged lizard-food, she was going to drag his innocence down with her.

Startled by the language, the dragon cocked his head in confusion, his growls ceasing. Eyes wide, the female imp slowly felt as an alien mind connected with her own, easily repulsing her own feeble attempts of retaliation. The light-dweller's blue gaze turned to her, and she heard his questions clearly in her head, Where am I? Who are you? What did you turn me into?

Great, now the beast was capable of speech, even when he could only vocalize hisses and roars and growls and other sounds of a reptilian nature. Even if she managed to persuade him to obey her every whim (a virtual impossibility by now) she would have to put up with his endless bombardment of questions about herself and their mission, especially pertaining in matters of how to reverse his transformation. Not to mention hissuggestions and demands for her. And the torturous pleasantries and small talk he would attempt to start up.

"Tactical advantages be damned," Midna muttered to herself. "I would have taken the obedient mute wolf over the talkative rebellious giant winged lizard any day!"

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter- Midna's Theme, Twilight Princess Soundtrack

Inside his body that all-consuming inferno continued to rage like a mad beast, beating in time with his very heart and pumping more molten material through his veins. Numbed and deadened by the internal flames, Eragon couldn't even find the strength to scream. Incapacitated and more helpless than a newborn (at least they could voice their discomfort) he lay lifelessly on the ground, unable to even squeeze open his eyes against the opposing forces that wracked his form.

"Now, now, such hopelessness is unacceptable here," a feminine voice tutted teasingly. "Is that anyway for a big and tough man to react?" The voice's owner paused considerably at this statement. "Then again, you're not particularly large or strong physically. Your brother on the other hand... Mm, there's a real man. I'd rather have placed all chances of salvation into his capable and masculine hands, but my sister just insisted insisted on choosing you as her champion."

Eragon felt a hand tenderly brush against his eyelids, but its touch was not the pleasant coolness he had anticipated. The heat it radiated was even greater than that his inner fire generated, but it was a good warmth. One that caused the pain to retreat from his face so he had the power to blink open those eyes.

Leaning over him was an unfamiliar face of a young woman. Or, rather, she seemed to be young. Like the elves of Du Weldenvarden, her appearance was timeless, as young as the moment yet older than the earth itself. The woman's skin was tanned dark as if she had spent years in the sunlight, the long hair that cascaded all around her crimson as freshly spilled blood. Ruby eyes glittering in amusement, she giggled at the look of dismay that had subconsciously crossed his face.

"I know. You were hoping for someone else to be visiting your dreams. Like the mysterious woman from your earlier vision, perhaps?" She winked suggestively, grinning at his obvious chagrin. Then she put a finger to her luscious lips. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Attempting to ask this mysterious woman something, anything, seemed to be impossible for Eragon. Though the words formed in his mind, he could not articulate them into audible creations. Only guttural moans escaped from his throat, for the fire continued to ravage everything below his chin. Smile dimming with sympathy, the woman gently shushed his futile efforts of speech.

"That ability is beyond you at the moment, Chosen Hero. Lie back and enjoy your brief respite, for it is the last one you shall be getting for a long while." Taking a wooden goblet into her hands, she raised it to his lips. When he tried vainly to jerk away, she chuckled at his reluctance to accept it. "Drink. It's not poisonous. What torture your body has just transpired is too much for it bear alone. This potion shall restore your stamina for when it shall soon be needed most.

Opening his mouth, Eragon felt the bitter-smelling liquid enter his body. First tasting the disgusting drink and feeling the tempting urge to spit it back out, he fought against the childish notion and swallowed its contents with a grimace. The moment the concoction reached his stomach, he felt a pleasant sensation bloom like a flower and spread out throughout his body. While the inferno remained, it was no longer agony. Instead he felt rejuvenated, the potion slowly replenishing his wary endurance and clarifying his exhausted mind. Sighing in gratitude and relief, he looked expectantly at his rescuer, curious as to why she had saved him.

She spoke as if she had heard his thoughts. "Because I have been indebted to you and your family since before your birth, Hero." Ruby eyes clouding with sorrow, the woman stroked his brow, heaving a sigh of her own. "It was my choices that put your unfortunate ancestor in the predicament that damned him and his descendants in the first place. My sisters and I contributed to your curse, though I feel the most responsible, and rightly so. Today, I shall attempt to make up for my sins, however unintentional they were."

The beautiful woman knelt ever closer, her breath smelling enticingly of exotic spices. She whispered into his pointed ear, her very voice ringing with ancient power. There was also a formal quality to her words that hadn't been present before: "Eragon Shadeslayer, Champion of Farore, to succeed in thou quest thee must brave the dark shadows of the realm we abandoned long ago. I grant thee the Power thou shalt need to traverse this forsaken land. May my blessing give thee the light thy need to make it through."

The invigorating sensation that throbbed his body began to strengthen. Raw power coursed through his veins, and Eragon felt as if he could defy the forces of gravity and fly without wings, if he wished to. Fire burning inside his belly slowly calmed, finally coming under his control. It now lay dormant within him, to unleash and hinder as he deemed fit.

Pulling away, the red-haired woman smiled smugly in satisfaction as she surveyed the fruits of her labor. "Well, in the name of me. This form was completely unexpected. Being Farore's mortal and all, Nayru and I believed you'd turn out to be a wolf or some other foolishly courageous creature. But a beast with mastery over both air and fire? One of my own favorite animals? Now, there's a pleasant surprise. Perhaps you truly can be of further use to Hyrule." Her ruby eyes twinkled impishly in a way that frightened Eragon, who had no desire to understand the meaning of her final sentence.

Unconsciousness reared its unwelcome head again, and Eragon experienced the same numbness as the previous time. Even with his new-found strength, resistance against the rising tide of dark was futile. Gradually losing awareness, he slipped off, his rescuer's last words ringing in his ears.

"Be strong, Hero Chosen by the Goddesses. My sisters and I have aided you in whatever ways he could to amend for past debts, but we've done all in our power. From here on out, we're just as dependent on your success as all of Hyrule is. Deliver my people from my greatest mistake, Shadeslayer and perhaps... if you have... the power... forgive us... Forgive.. me...

When Eragon regained consciousness in true reality, he was immediately greeted to a foreign mind brushing up against his own, trying to penetrate deep into his memory preserves. Training instantly coming to mind, he erected barricades with such speed and power behind them that the interloper was promptly rejected from his mind. Somewhere close by came an audible thump as the intruder staggered to the ground as if completely unprepared for the force of the retaliation of her intended victim.

Snapping his eyes open to properly glare, Eragon realized a number of things: First, the only living being in sight was a strange humanoid creature he'd never seen before in his life. Second, iron bars separated him from this unfamiliar foe. Third, the earlier agony had dulled so completely not even a lingering unpleasantness was left behind. However, his entire body felt alarmingly heavy, as if tied down by weights.

Oh, and an earth-rumbling growl had subconsciously burbled out of his throat that had absolutely petrified both the creature and himself. Gods, what had his captors done to him!

Panicking, Eragon's volatile temper reared up as it concealed his unimaginable terror behind a facade of burning rage. Questions slipped out of his mind and into the unfamiliar mind he had reflexively connected to. Judging by the guttural growl he had just emitted, his real voice wouldn't be functional anytime soon.

Surprisingly, the humanoid... female imp... thing was not at all intimidated by his pathetic attempt at interrogation. Rather unimpressed by him, she sat crossly on the floor, muttering some caustic remarks under her breath. Eragon didn't catch the whole muttering, but he'd heard enough to wager she was grumbling about his 'disobedience.'

With the female being temporarily incapacitated on the stone floor of what was obviously a prison of some sort, Eragon investigated his own predicament. Craning his impossibly long neck around, he was only mildly shocked to discover a green-scaled body and a pair of wings that had not been there before he had fallen unconscious. Was he not even remotely alarmed by this disturbing revelation? Slightly. How many times had he blacked out and awoken to find his current reality had just received another severe alteration? Hopefully, it just was reversible. If Eragon didn't have a humanoid form left to his name, whatever supernatural force that was so ruthlessly toying with him was going to get its comeuppance.

Worse than the discovery of having his entire shape transformed beyond recognition, Eragon also discovered he had been imprisoned yet again. Black iron bars separated him from the imp creature. Shackles encircled all four of his limbs in addition to his neck and tail. There were even cumbersome chains wrapped around his back, pressing his new wings uncomfortably close to his sides. Then there was the cruel cramped conditions of the cell. Barely enough room to even move. Eragon's dragon instincts were not fond of being confined deep underground, away from the wide open sky, nor being trapped in a miniature cage. And they craved immediate freedom.

You! he snapped angrily, glaring daggers at the imp creature. Are you the one behind this madness?

Climbing gracefully to her feet, the female imp crossed her arms and huffed. Her skin was blueish-white, with black patches concealing all that needed to be. Where they some kind of garb or a natural feature? He had no desire to know. Instead he concentrated on her oddly cat-like face, with angular features and pointed ears like those on his previous form. Her long hair was reddish-orange. Amber eyes narrowing dangerously, the imp spat a horrid oath, looking positively furious.

"Mind your manners, beast," she hissed venomously. Baring her one miniscule fang, she nimbly jumped into the air and hovered several feet above the ground. While she was only a couple feet tall, apparently she had some sort of levitation ability that allowed her to compensate for her miniature stature. "I'm here to rescue you! Unless you want to die and rot down here alone, that is."

Peaking into her mind, Eragon realized that her words were honest. Obviously the imp creature had secret ulterior motives for his liberation, but her intentions were completely concealed behind a formidable barrier that rivaled his own in strength. She was stronger than her delicate appearance suggested.

This conclusion brought a fanged smirk to the imp's face, for she was still connected to his mind. "Appearances are deceiving. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, lizard? An innocent, harmless little light-dweller, caught up in a game he has no idea how to comprehend. Trapped in the shape of a large and scaly monster. Totally helpless and totally dependent on my generous mercy."

The disrespect was obvious, the barbed comments a transparent attempt to intimidate him. Not Eragon Shadeslayer, though. Rescuer she may have been, but there was no way in hell he would tolerate her mindlessly insulting the proud and noble dragon race. (Unbeknown to Eragon, that was the new draconic arrogance talking.) No way he would tolerate the little imp's unintentional berating of noble beings like himself and Saphira.

Snarling, Eragon pulled against his restraints and charged at the one measly little obstacle separating him from his intended prey. Without a single amount of resistance, the bolts that riveted his shackles to the walls snapped cleanly off. Vigorously shaking his new powerful form, the chains around his sides were dislodged as his wings partly unfurled. Beneath his monumental weight, the iron bars buckled with only the smallest of protesting creaks. Then the fierce green dragon had barreled through, pouncing the astonished imp.

He did not mean to kill, merely incapacitate to find the answers to his numerous questions. Pinning the writhing creature beneath one massive paw, Eragon watched in satisfaction as she struggled in vain to free herself. Watching this until he grew tired of the cowardice, he stilled her protests with a growl. You're concealing important information from me, he intoned simply. Talk, imp.

Giving up her struggle, the female nearly screamed in exasperation. "Call me that again and be vaporized, lizard!" she spat furiously. "I am a high-ranking member of the Twili tribe, and don't you forget it! Hear me? I am a Twili and my name is Midna! Not an 'imp' or a 'creature' or some other tasteless designation you have in mind."

Calming down from his emotional outburst, Eragon nodded civilly. He could understand Midna's dislike for all the misleading names. Gods, he could relate as she had been the one addressing him from everything from 'lizard' to 'beast.' Agreed. So long as you call me by my true name. It's Eragon.

"Eragon?" One of the Twili female's eyebrows arched as she mused over this foreign name. Unable to contain her amusement, she sniggered softly for a few moments at the utter ridiculousness of it. "Goddesses, what kind of misguided mothers do you light-dwellers have in your realm? Still, it's so hilarious, and ironic as well. Remove the 'e' and add a 'd.' What do you get?" Noticing the narrowed blue eyes of the green dragon threatening to crush her beneath his paw, Midna snorted in exasperation. "Great. No sense of humor on your part. I was just enjoying the cosmic twist of fates this realm's Goddesses pulled by transforming you into that shape. I just couldn't resist."

Where are we? he asked bluntly, skipping all other pointless arguing with his new-found pest to the crucial information he so desperately required.

Midna sighed regretfully. Had things gone according to plan, her new servant would have remained on a need-to-know basis. There's had been no bogging her one ticket back to the throne with useless information that would only fuel his guilt and make him think unnecessary. But she was no longer in a situation to be mysterious, divulging small tidbits of fact only when the need arose to, or to tantalize her sacred beast with some encouraging information that would further him along in his quest.

Now she was at the mercy of a hotheaded Hylian-turned-dragon who was more stubborn than even herself. She wisely figured to resign without resistance and give the blasted beast his precious information.

"Hyrule Castle," she intoned mildly. "Or somewhere below it, at least. Technically, I guess that would leave us somewhere in the dungeons."

Skeptically, Eragon glanced about him. Since his transformation into a... dragon, not only had he received the appearance and instincts of one, but apparently their heightened senses. His nostrils scented the unappealing odor of dirt and waste, meaning these dungeons had been constructed near a sewer. Close by, he could hear the roaring flow of rushing water that would have only been a muted whisper to his other ears. Midna's claim could be true (he even felt her honesty) but Eragon was still reluctant to believe it.

When he had been yanked through that accursed barrier and sent plummeting unexpectedly other another side of dark twilight and cruel black demons, Eragon found it hard to doubt he hadn't been transferred into another world entirely. It didn't account for his unknown change of species, but there was no way this could be the same world that housed peaceful Ordon Village. The same one that his homeland of Alagaesia also shared.

And since Castle Town (where Hyrule Castle was obviously located) was only a few days' journey north of Faron Woods, that meant, Eragon could not be imprisoned somewhere below it. No, he was in an alternate realm always locked in perpetual twilight and shadow beasts really did roam freely.

Impatiently rolling her eyes, Midna clenched her teeth in frustration. "Now's not the time for hesitation, Eragon. You have the fine senses of a dragon now. Use those to answer your questions."

Suspiciously, the green dragon obliged. Lowering his formidable mental barricades, the first thing he noticed was the gaping hole that Saphira's brilliant presence usually occupied. Whenever she was an absurdly long distance away, their connection stretched close to its breaking point, it felt as if a great force had ripped his heart in half and had stolen the other part of it. A dull agony he'd never recover from without the other half of his soul next to him again. But beyond that familiar discomforting loneliness was something far more alarming.

There were no true minds to meet him, no sparkles of sentience in the blackness. Only himself and the imp, two reasoning beings cast asunder in a sea of the purest malice. Hundreds of consciousnesses brushed against his own, but they were far less complicated than even an animal's simple mind. Hate and hunger, the irresistible desire to tear apart anything foreign unfortunate enough to stumble into their path. Those negative and furious emotions were all those that came, threatening to drown Eragon in their overwhelming spite.

Noticing the unfamiliar presence intruding upon the privacy of their primitive minds, the seething creatures lashed back in retaliation at the intrusion. Yet none landed a blow upon him. Whenever they ventured too close, the little beasts skittered nervously back into the safety of their own sanctums. Curious as to their reactions, Eragon concentrated solely upon one individual mind, mustering up more of his power to see if it would have any effect. It did. The creature scrambled back like night from a blazing fire, dashing off in the opposite direction.

Midna must have noticed his experiment for her amber eyes were narrowed intently. Eragon would have liked to glimpse into her musing, but her thoughts were now secured behind a durable barrier of their own.

Eragon snarled again, curling his lip reflexively to express his anger. Liar! he accused. I am still trapped in that alternate world that monster pulled me into. There is not a single person anywhere within range.

"Yes, there are," the imp insisted forcefully. Floating over to Eragon, she inspected him thoroughly, tapping a green scale and ignoring the warning growl this rudeness elicited. "Simmer down, lizard. I'm trying to use my superior intelligence to figure out a way to free you."

Eragon snorted. In case you've forgotten, imp, I got myself out of that cell without any assistance from you. Currently all that you've done for me today is attempt to intrude upon my deepest secrets and feed me information of dubious origin.

The unfazed Twili waved a dismissive hand. "Any brain-dead old idiot could see you'd never get down this hall alone. You've seen to have gained at least a good dozen feet in height and several hundred pounds since earlier. With that massive body of yours, do you honestly think you would be able to escape? Besides, there's a far smaller corridor just ahead of here that is the only route to freedom. Sure, you may be able to duck your head and squeeze through here. But what about a passage barely large enough for your former shape?"

Glancing thoughtfully up at the ceiling, the green dragon had to grudgingly admit that Midna was indeed correct about his unfortunate new largeness. His golden horns were only a few inches away from brushing against the ceiling, and the walls were too close for his total comfort. If conditions got any lower or narrower, Eragon had no doubt he would remain stranded down here.

Bursting his way out was not a viable solution either. Saphira may have once been able to smash through the secured fortress at Gilead in a daring rescue attempt, but she had been swooping down from above, not trying to claw her way out from underground. Gods knew just how many tons of earth and castle would come tumbling down to crush him if Eragon managed to get through the supporting ceiling.

All right. I can tolerate your commands for now. Just explain to me how there are no other creatures aside from those... things for quite some distance. Hyrule Castle is at the center of a bustling capitol, no? Shouldn't I be sensing of thousands of other souls along here with us? Unless... He trailed off, unable to finish the gruesome thought.

Midna was no longer hovering, but had rather gracefully dropped onto her own small feet. The Twili female began to scan the ground, amber eyes narrowed critically. "Keep your negativity to a minimum," she intoned reproachfully. "Since you obviously seem to fear it, I thought you should know there has been no mass annihilation of innocent civilians. They're all still here. Unable to be seen or heard except by those with superb senses, but present nonetheless."

Eragon felt a chill not from the dungeon's cold run down his spine. What had she insinuated? Did he even want to know? I... do not understand.

"Men never do," Midna grumbled in frustration. "Unless you're color blind in that other form of yours or too ignorant to even take notice of your surroundings, you must have noticed the early dusk that fell upon this land. The strange barrier you were so rudely dragged through. Tell me, during the time of twilight what prevails over all else?"

Shadows. The growing darkness of the approaching night.

"So he has intelligence after all," the imp remarked flatly. "I and the plague your precious kingdom now faces come from the Twilight Realm. Obviously a place where darkness like this is common. If we are but mere shades in your too-bright world, what does make you in ours? What does your pathetic kind call the faint impressions that linger where they do no belong?"

Revelation dawning like the blood-red sunrise the day of his bloody battle at the Burning Plains, the warm fire that burned deep within his new body spluttered as if caught in a winter's ruthless gale. Fearful, his gaze snapped down his green paws. Where they transparent? Did he emanate some sort of spectral radiance now? Could he pass through solid objects like ghosts were rumored to do? Seeing himself as living and substantial as before, the foolish worry subsided to be replaced by a glower of annoyance.

Catching his angered expression, Midna shrugged callously as a wicked smirk played at her lips. "Fate has decided to spare you of the ghastly fate that has befallen your loved ones. Knowledgeable and able to resist the oppressing force they have not the slightest comprehension of. But at what cost? Trapped in a beast's body, unable to interact with the people that so blindly stumble about you, unaware of your presence amongst them? Why did the so-called Goddesses select you for such a hopeless existence?"

Eragon snorted with a dismissive toss of his horned head. I don't believe in any divine beings, be they male or female, was his calm response. Is there a purpose to you being on the ground or should I attempt to find my own way out?

"Patience is a virtue, lizard. You're going to have to learn that sooner or later in your pitiful life. Ah! There's one that will suffice just nicely!" Beaming triumphantly, Midna reached down and snatched a small pebble off the stone ground. Holding it up to her face and inspecting it as thoroughly as a professional jeweler would examine a finely polished gem. "Best I can hope for under such circumstances, at least."

From where he stood, Eragon shook his head at the hopelessness of his situation. The pebble was just that. A little rock completely unspectacular from its fellows in every way imaginable. And just about as useful in his escape as the insane and dominating little imp that had so imperiously tried to assume control over him.

Oblivious to his disillusionment or merrily pointedly choosing to ignore it, Midna closed her eyes as a vaguely look of concentration settled over her. Eragon recognized it immediately. It was the exact same look that crossed the face of a magician summoning the energy for a massive spell. Maintaining that master focus all the while, the Twili began to chant in an alien tongue.

The green dragon cautiously retreated a few nervous steps. There was something magical crackling in the air, a tension that was almost palpable. His draconic senses felt something was amiss, and the scales on his back rose up as a result. This power was foreign, one he had never witnessed before. Dark or light in nature? He didn't care. All that mattered was remaining a safe distance away from the magic Midna was radiating. Something he instinctively knew he should not interfere with.

Having mustered up her gathered energy, Midna channeled all of that impressive power into the small thing she carefully held in her hands. The pebble began to glow a deep reddish-orange, like that of a sky sunset. It was also pulsing slightly, radiating off its collected magic in small waves. Exhausted from her laborious efforts but aglow with victorious joy, Midna once again rose into the air and levitated over to Eragon.

"Hold still," Midna whispered in a gentle and wise voice far unlike her previous bossy tenor. "You must not move an inch."

Eragon did the rational thing and stepped back from the glowing pebble. Whatever magic it was emanating, he wanted none if it near him. Subconsciously, his fangs had revealed themselves in a warning snarl. Keep that thing away from me! Magic has done enough to me for one day.

Midna returned the fierce look with one of her own, clearly not amused by his suspicions. "Quiet. This spell's lifespan is severely limited, and no time can be wasted on your trepidation, light-dweller!" When his hostile stance refused to calm, the Twili sighed and elaborated. "The spell captured in this pebble will allow you to shrink to a more manageable size so you can escape from this damned dungeon! Since I can't afford to maintain my own concentration for an extensive period, I simply made the pebble a channel for the power to be gradually released from."

During her explanation, Midna struggled to contain a yawn. Alarmed, Eragon noticed the exhaustion glazing her amber eyes and how she was hovering closer to the ground than previously. How much had that casting drained her?

Unwilling to upset the Twili in her already weakened condition, the green dragon gave a placating nod. All right, he murmured, lowering his head so she wouldn't have to float all the way up to the ceiling. Just don't strain yourself. That spell took a lot out of you.

Something dark flashed in those eyes at the final statement and Midna smiled bitterly. "It did," she conceded softly. "Such spells were created solely for the use of only the greatest of enchanters. Silly me. I must have overestimated my own meager abilities. Why should a mere exile dabble in that which is rightfully forbidden to those of her limited power?"

Placing the orange-glowing pebble right in the center of his forehead, the imp whispered several words in what must have been her native language. She than removed her hand, activating the enchantment she had channeled into the small rock. Eragon shuddered as the alien magic surged through his body, an unpleasant shrinking sensation accompanying it. But at least it didn't burn like his earlier experience.

Now roughly the size of the average horse, Eragon couldn't help but be secretly grateful for the enchantment. His draconic side may have been indignant over the sudden loss of power, but it was also relieved that the walls were no longer so unnervingly close. His claustrophobia thankfully subsided, along with it his impatience. That was fortunate, or else he could have reflexively lashed out and unintentionally injure Midna when she suddenly landed on his back, right in the space between his spikes that seemed specially designed for a rider.

Startled, Eragon's head snapped around as a hissing splutter of shock burbled up from his throat. Back to her original self, Midna smirked at his humiliation. "What? Did you honestly expect this tired soul to float all the way out of these dungeons? Expending energy for unnecessary spells is not good for replenishing my energy." His uninvited passenger patted his green side mockingly. "Don't just stand there glaring like an idiot. You don't want to be trapped down there when that spell breaks and you're reverted to your original oversized shape, do you?"

And Eragon didn't want to be: His new instincts demanded him to be out of these putrid dungeons and breathing in fresh air under a open sky as soon as possible. But his own painful recollections of that first horrible flight aboard Saphira made him hesitate. Against a dragon's hide, his durable leather breeches and skin had been almost flayed away. What fate would Midna encounter without even such flimsy protection?

Do you want your delicate skin to be rubbed raw by my scales? he retorted sensibly. Let me say it is not something I would recommend for even the most exasperating of creatures.

Gingerly, Midna ran her hand in the opposite direction against his scales, catching the worst of what they had to offer. Then she raised the hand to inspect it. When her amber gaze turned back to him, her expression was one of unimpressed boredom. "You're not even sharp enough to red my skin. Rough, yes, but just enough so I don't go sliding off your scaly back. I understand a male light-dweller like yourself would hate to be caught in such a humiliating position, but toughen up. There's far more demeaning things in this realm than to serve as a temporary form of transportation. Now, move."

Growling almost inaudibly, Eragon grudgingly obeyed. Walking on four legs was vaguely disturbing to one that had been bipedal almost his entire life, but at least he didn't wobble like a newborn colt. The same instincts that unwittingly fueled his temper and his pride were the same ones that directed his movements so that it appeared he'd been born in a dragon's form.

Will they also help me fly as well? he pondered to himself.

Immersed in his wondering and the eerie twilit world surrounding him, Eragon completely tuned out the obnoxious blathering of the Twili that perched imperiously upon his back. He only continued to pad down the tunnel and toward the sound of rushing water. Ever closer to the malicious minds he'd made contact with.

She had flown off for only a simple hunting trip, only a quest to satisfy her ravenous hunger before she did something to Ordon Village's livestock she would seriously regret. She had thought that the trouble they had left behind in Alagaesia had not followed them to this peaceful haven. She had thought her Rider would have been safe and sound without her constantly standing guard over him.

She had been wrong. Terribly, irrevocably wrong. And Saphira Bjartskular may have to pay that innocent miscalculation with her very life.

Back! Get back, you ungodly beasts!

Why was she still even bothering? Her cries were ignored, her warnings callously unheeded. Those creatures she faced couldn't comprehend her intelligent speech or the formidable risk she posed to their well-being. Even if they did possess the capability to understand, they simply disregarded whatever words next tumbled from her mind into theirs.

Again, Saphira abandoned her futile attempts of reasoning in favor of a far more violent and effective method. Lashing out with her paws, several of the disgusting shadow beasts were crushed beneath her merciless blows. Beneath her paws, the feel of the soft bodies pinned there suddenly disappeared into red dust as they disintegrated. Whatever unholy magics that kept those monsters solid crumbled the moment after their deaths.

Bellowing a challenge to the survivors, Saphira momentarily detached herself from rational thought as she regressed back to her bestial nature. Any beast, no matter how intelligent, could understand a danger when they saw one. Snarling and tail lashing side to side in preparation for another assault, the she-dragon knew damn well she was one.

Even with their companions dead and their own lives now looking grimly short, the shadow beasts refused to admit defeat. Chattering amongst themselves, several bold individuals broke free of the pack to try and circle around to her vulnerable side. Obviously they didn't fathom that her hide was just as impenetrable there than it was were they had previously attacked.

Saphira never gave them the opportunity to figure it out. Whipping her powerful tail around, the lethal appendage caught her latest aggressors and sent them flying into the air. Their flights were jarringly interrupted when the shadow beasts collided with resolute trees at high volatility, the sheer force of impact causing them to crumble as the sapphire-scaled she-dragon's earlier victims. Unfazed by these latest casualties, even more creatures surged forward to challenge her.

Perhaps the creatures had enough primitive cunning to reason they had superior numbers. For every monstrosity she felled, another was there to replace it. With seemingly limitless reinforcements, the shadow beasts seemed content to sacrifice themselves in an effort to slowly wear away at her strength. Saphira was a formidable opponent, an unmatchable foe in a real fight that didn't resort to unfair sorcery. But up against an enemy that seemed to have no end to its numbers? Slowly but surely, her endurance would be worn away like a rock against the sea's unrelenting might. It was only a matter of time before she succumbed to her steadily growing exhaustion and lost to the shadow beasts.

How had it come to this? Yes, she had strayed further than she had intended when hunting, but conditions had degenerated at an unnatural pace. When Saphira had first noticed the cerulean skies darkening with the approaching twilight, she had merely assumed she'd lost track of the time? Then she realized that the darkness was unnervingly premature, and the alarming chill that had accompanied it was unnatural considering the previously warm season.

With this terrible revelation having dawned, Saphira had succumbed to her first rush of emotion. Panic for Eragon's well-being had overwhelmed her. Rational thought drowned out by the urge to immediately charge to her Rider's side, the she-dragon had swiftly abandoned her hunt for sustenance and took to the skies.

That was where she had shared her first encounter with the shadow beasts. Observing them more closely, they weren't all the same race. Some were large and others small. Their looks and habits varied, similar only by their black appearance and the identical malice that radiated from all of their minds. But some shadow beasts could even fly, a secret weapon they hadn't hesitated to use when she had first been caught by surprise.

Oblivious to her surroundings and absorbed only her in her task to return to Eragon, Saphira hadn't noticed the black shadow that had swooped down upon her until it was too late. By then the wretched bastard had managed to claw at her still-healing wing. Destroying all the progress the delicate appendage had made in Ordon Spring's healing waters, the she-dragon had crashed into a forest now filled with savage and hostile creatures. Creatures she was unable to escape.

Tiring of having to swat away the endless attackers like an unrelenting swarm of flies, Saphira roared again. This time, her fearsome call was followed by a torrent of brilliant blue flame.

Had these been ordinary foes, the burning flames should have reduced them to burning corpses. The unnatural twilight and its bothersome chill should've been driven back from the intense light and radiant heat. Had all been as it should have been, Saphira's charge should have ended effectively and victoriously.

Instead, the cold proved to be more formidable than heat. Exposed to the air, the magnificent flames dulled and lost much of their original power. The fire she had unleashed upon her enemies was not even close to lethal. Indeed, the beasts initially shied away from the unexpected inferno she had released, but it did little more than to singe them.

Great, had these blasted surroundings diminished her own inner fire in addition sending an invincible hoard of monsters to torment her?

When the shadow beasts recovered from their shock and shrieked even more bloodthirsty exclamations, Saphira drowned them all out with a deafening bellow of her own. Smoke pouring out of her nostrils and eyes burning like embers, her ferocious appearance seemed to drive her tormentors back a little. Just enough for the she-dragon to painfully spread her wings and laboriously ascended beyond their reach.

Every single fiber of her being protested vehemently against this. The delicate muscles that connected her damaged wing to her shoulder was the loudest voice of opposition. By pushing her body to such dangerous exertions, Saphira was certain she was only tearing her wing up further. Eventually she would no longer be able to support herself, and would collapse to the forest floor without another chance of rising again. Perhaps her wing could even be damaged beyond repair.

It doesn't matter if this venture causes me to lose my ability of flight, Saphira told herself sternly. You have to handle the pain for as long as you can, Saphira. You can let yourself fall to those shadow beasts. Finding Eragon and protecting him is our first priority.

Flapping ungracefully but still struggling to keep aloft, the she-dragon headed in the general direction in which she had first ventured from. Perhaps she would reach Ordon Village before her wing gave in altogether. Perhaps she would have to walk for a portion of the journey.

Right now, her Rider was Saphira's only concern and all other matters were automatically deemed to be of lesser importance.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Rachel's Song- Vangelis

When Eragon had been ripped through that magical barrier and had been painfully transformed into a dragon, he had originally assumed he had been pulled into an alternate world. One where the malicious monsters and perpetual Twilit gloom were normal. He had never expected he hadn't left Hyrule at all, or that the kingdom had been plunged into such a cursed state. Still, even after meeting Midna and receiving a partial explanation on the current state of affairs, everything was so surreal. As if he was experiencing just another vivid dream instead of reality.

Now he was having his first encounter with his first Hyrulean since the descent into Twilight, and had just realized the full implications of this darkness upon Hyrule's inhabitants. Midna's foreboding allusions to this had been nothing compared to seeing it in the flesh. Eragon's turmoil of emotions, that ranged from shock to cold horror, was so chaotic he didn't even try to describe them. All he truly felt was his fiery blood chill to ice and his blue-gray eyes bulge in disbelief.

At first Eragon had only noticed a floating bluish orb of light. Curious, he had cautiously ventured closer to examine it further. The more he had concentrated it, the more clear the full image became. Around the glowing orb the transparent silhouette had slowly taken shape. The man was short and round, both of these features obvious even as he huddled into himself fearfully. From the armor he wore and pike he still gripped, Eragon assumed the man to be one of Hyrule Castle's guardsmen. Driven on by morbid fascination, the dragon had tentatively ventured closer to the strange phenomenon.

Oblivious to the conspicuous green dragon standing mere feet from him, the transparent guard continued to stare blindly ahead. Even with his new sensitive hearing, Eragon could just barely hear the soft tingling noise that must have been the specter's armor clattering from the strength of his shivers. Beneath that clamor, barely audible, was a soft whisper as the man muttered aloud to himself.

"What happened to the others, to the Princess? Am I the last one left alive? Am I all alone down here with those creatures still hunting for me? Oh, Goddesses, what horrible fate has befallen our poor Hyrule Castle? And to our beloved Princess Zelda? Can you hear my prayers for deliverance now or have you abandoned your favorite Hylians to this darkness forever?"

Eragon shook himself vigorously, eager to rid the guardsman's desperate and hopeless rambling from his head. Cautiously, he dared to lower his mental fortifications enough so he could extend his own probing mind. Spreading out mentally, one of his paws also slowly reached out toward the transparent shape of the guardsman. What would he touch, if he could contact with the being at all?

His mind now fully extended, all the green dragon could sense was the shadow beasts and Midna's own calculating mind. His physical touch had a similar result of finding only nothingness, although he did feel a slight draft where his paw brushed against the actual form of the man. Apparently the spectral man must have felt something too for he jolted back in surprise, frantically muttering to himself.

"That warmth... O, Farore, have you answered my prayers? Have you come to grace me with much needed courage during this hour of darkness? Or this merely a sign of my approaching demise-"

Growing frustrating at his invisibility, Eragon loosed an inquisitive growl. His theory was that if he could listen to the spectral man, than he could also hear sounds the dragon made. But not even such a guttural rumble elicited a response of awareness. Believing he was still in the presence of an unseen divinity, the guardsman continued to implore his elusive observer for assistance.

Eragon turned beseechingly to the Twili that still perched upon his back. Midna's expression revealed only neutrality, whatever emotions running through her golden eyes expertly veiled. The gaze that returned his own offered nothing.

What is he? he bravely ventured.

Midna sighed, her stoic features unchanged. "That is a spirit of your realm, Eragon. One that clearly escaped the gruesome demise his comrades met earlier."

The green dragon's blue-gray eyes widened in astonishment. According to the legends the superstitious chose to believe in, spirits were the restless souls of the dead that were unable to pass on into the next world. Caught forever between one plane of existence and the next, spirits aimlessly wandered a land no longer welcome to them. Oblivious even to the realities of their deaths, the spirits were doomed to haunt the world forever, invisible to the eyes of the living but still present and suffering quietly.

Eragon had never been the sort of person to believe in such farfetched tales. Especially since his lessons with Oromis and Glaedr had crushed any lingering beliefs of gods or an afterlife in him. But what if the ghosts of the dead had existed alongside him all along? His mind couldn't detect the spirit's consciousness, but his new keen senses could. Could his previous assumptions upon the matter have been incorrect?

The guardsman is... dead?

Rolling her eyes, Midna was unable to contain her groan of exasperation. "Superstitious light-dwellers. Always quick to jump to the supernatural for conclusions. This pathetic man is more than a restless dead soul. But they are similar. This man is trapped in a world he doesn't belong in, unaware he is dangerously flitting between two polar opposites. He is unaware to substantial beings like you and me, but can still see, and is still a potential victim of, the shadow beasts. Virtually everyone underneath this Twilight's influence has been transformed into such cursed states."

Shuddering at the consequences of those dire words, Eragon dared not to muse upon them. If all beings in Hyrule were now spirits, than that meant Saphira was one too. Another piece of fair game for those spiteful monsters he'd sensed. Instead, he shifted focus away from it.

This Twilight is your natural habitat, right? If... my kind of people can not tolerate such surroundings, how do your people fare when out of their element? When they're forced to live in sunlight as mine in darkness? And why was I turned into a solid dragon instead of just another human spirit?

"My people aren't as oblivious to their conditions nor as weakened when we're in your realm," Midna answered scornfully. "True sunlight will burn a Twili or another inhabitant of the Twilight Realm, and if one is not careful, they shall perish from too much radiance. So we are forced to seek shelter in the shadows until the dusk hours or nightfall before it is safe to emerge. But we are still solid. Still haven't been diminished to a pale version of our former selves." She scratched her chin thoughtfully. "Then again," she mused,"my tribe doesn't often get trapped in a corrupted world."

Corrupted? What had happened to Twilight just spilling from one world into another? Internally grumbling at yet another complication, Eragon left the quivering spirit behind and continued to pad forward. Then again, it would have seen abnormal if Midna's realm was actually populated with the same hoards mindless monsters that now plagued Hyrule.

Reaching the edge of the stone floor that dropped several feet to create a channel sewer waste could flow through, the green dragon cautiously peered over. Splashing through the shallow pools of water were chattering little creatures. Their red markings and jet-black skin resembled those of the first monster Eragon had encountered, but thankfully these shadow beasts were many times smaller.

Unhesitatingly, the dragon leaped gracefully into the channel. Just as they had earlier, the shadow beasts scattered whenever he came to close for comfort. Eragon snarled in revulsion at the cowering abominations, taking care to keep his mind separate from theirs so that senseless violence wouldn't spill over into him.

"Look at them," Midna muttered. "Those things were once normal light-dwelling rats. Before this darkness got to them, that is. Whatever magic that is fueling this darkness is not of the Twilight Realm and I doubt it originates from here." The Twili female waved her hand. "Well? You want to get out of here before you return to your original size? Clear the way!"

Inhaling deeply, Eragon eagerly obliged. He hated the unnatural feel of these corrupted creatures and both sides of his split mind urged him to destroy the shadow rats. The same instincts that allowed him to travel efficiently on four legs also aided his fire-breathing. On his first try the green dragon unleashed a controlled torrent of flame at his targets. The plume of fire was blindingly bright and not as hot as Saphira's raging infernos, but the brilliant light was still enough to vaporize the shadow rats into ash.

Midna, who had ducked behind his broad serpentine neck and had flinched away from the searing radiance, now cautiously emerged from her shelter once Eragon had shut his jaws. Both blinked, silent for several moments in utter astonishment of what had just occurred. With what seemed like characteristic style, Midna was the first to break the quiet. "He breathes light instead of fire," she muttered under her breath. "Of course."

Wisely pretending to not hear the comment, Eragon continued on his journey through the dungeons. Something sensible inside told him it would be best for his reluctant passenger to blow off some steam before attempting to question her again.

Thankfully, Eragon's dragon instincts guided him in the air as well as one the ground. Unfortunately, his awkwardness in such a new shape coupled with the nerve-wracking realization of flying on ones own power hindered his progress. To put it mildly, drunken ducks had more grace while airborne. If such delicate wording wasn't used? Well, Eragon would have been the shame of his new race if dragons had not been almost completely eradicated.

Midna, clinging desperately to his spike and screaming commands into his poor ear, did little to help the situation. "Make a left, you overgrown lizard! No, not your left, my left. Flap! Remember to flap! Straighten your course before you plow us into a tower!"

Wheeling wildly around the uppermost spires of Hyrule Castle, the disoriented green dragon struggled to regain his bearings. But he was positive from his new senses that Ordon Village was south of Castle Town. So why listen to his bossy companion and continue to circle aimlessly about? Eragon was silently debating whether or not to buck Midna off, when the stubborn Twili at last provided a suitable explanation for his insatiable curiosity.

"Do you want to be changed back or stuck as a dragon for eternity?" she snapped heatedly. "I can't transform you back into your scrawny human self, but I know where to find someone who might know how. She even lives close by!" At Eragon's dubious glance, Midna huffed. "Look, Eragon, she's the wisest mortal being in the entire kingdom. If she can't find a way to change you back, then there wasn't one to begin with."

Eragon was disenchanted enough with blind faith to observe his odds logically enough to draw the most likely conclusion. Even if she is nearby the Twilight got at her. She is little more than a shadow unable to see or hear or make contact with us in any possible way. Your aid can be of no use to my current state.

"She's different from the other light-dwellers. Much like you are, only she wasn't turned into a beast."

Resigning himself to her wishes, he turned sharply to the left and flew at the opening in a tower his passenger had directed him at. Several mutated birds trumpeted in alarm as they swerved to avoid his massive form, but Eragon paid them no mind. They were of no threat to him. Flaring his wings as he approached the window, the green dragon managed a clumsily landing and tumbled gracelessly into the small hall. Midna had leaped off of his back and hovered in by herself as if she had foresaw his blunder.

Thank you for having faith in me, Eragon remarked flatly as he untangled himself and climbed to his paws. You could have warned me back there of the difficult landing.

Midna shrugged blithely and once again fell upon his back. "Some things you're gonna have to learn on your own. Judging distances while in flight and learning to land properly, for instance. You can't be a pathetic winged lizard for the rest of your life."

Snorting irritably, Eragon concentrated on his surroundings. He was on a staircase with two doors at either end. The bottom one was most surely locked to ensure this mysterious prisoner was isolated to the top of this tower. The door at the top landing, however, was partially open. There was someone on the other side. His sharp ears could hear the crackling of a fire and his nostrils twitched at the pleasant aroma of jasmine. This elusive person was surely a woman wearing a delicious perfume. (Eragon's dragon side refused to admit such a thought had subconsciously slipped out.)

Lowering his mental barriers, he expected to at least feel a slight mental presence to indicate this woman. Eragon felt nothing. His physical senses all assured him she was just feet away but his mind had been fooled.

Who exactly had Midna directed him to? Shielding your thoughts and emotions from an intruder was one thing. Concealing your mind so not even a highly trained Dragon Rider could notice your presence and making yourself virtually invisible? Such a masterful level of training and power went beyond what Eragon had ever seen before. If this woman proved hostile, did he have the power to protect himself without his own magic?

"Stop hesitating," Midna demanded sharply as she kicked her legs ineffectively into his sides. "This spell isn't going to last forever."

Decision made for him, Eragon swallowed his fear and grudgingly moved forward. He nudged the door open until he could slide into the room beyond. Braced for an attack all the while, the green dragon had a flare of intense flame waiting in the back of his throat in case it was needed.

If the magnificent bed on the room's far side and ornate decor was anything to go by, the elegant quarters suggested the room's occupant was of noble standing. Adorning one of the walls was a massive picture of three triangles positioned in a way a fourth triangle was formed between them. Beneath the triangles was a pair of unfurled wings. Eragon's knowledge of the land extended far enough that he recognized the symbol as the Triforce, which was both the crest of Hyrule and its Royal Family and signified the three Goddesses.

Standing at the far side of the room was a cloaked figure gazing forlornly out a window to the Twilit world around the tower. The person was entirely concealed by their cloak, but Eragon could tell from their slender frame and small stature she was most likely the woman he was searching for. The jasmine scent confirmed it. Hearing the creak of the door opening and the clack of a dragon's claws on stone, the cloaked figure slowly turned around. For a moment both she and Eragon remained deathly still, sizing each other up as if fearing a confrontation.

At last the woman turned her head in the general direction of the imp upon the green dragon's back, and the green dragon just detected her small gasp of surprise. "Midna!" a feminine voice exclaimed in soft disbelief. "What in Farore's name are you doing here?"

The Twili female cackled sardonically, leaning against the golden spike in front of her. "Eeh hee eeh! You remembered my name. What an honor for an insignificant little creature such as myself."

The cloaked woman pointedly ignored the verbal jab, craning her head up to gaze at Eragon. The green dragon lowered his head (for his serpentine neck still allowed him to tower over her) to meet her face eye to eye. "So," she murmured thoughtfully, "this is the one for whom you have been searching for."

Already, Eragon could tell what direction this conversation was going. Determined not to remain in the dark about matters that personally involved him, he growled slightly. Pardon my rudeness, he snipped in tersely. I would still like to know what the hell is going on here, and who you are!

The cloaked woman recoiled in obvious surprise. Obviously she had not thought him capable of speech. "Forgive me, I had no idea you could communicate while in your current form. Your mastery of the talents of the mind is impressive. Wherever did you learn your skills? In these days it is an almost forgotten art."

Eragon could feel her delicate touch brushing inquisitively on the edges of his mind, requesting permission to enter. Feeling the unnatural power behind the woman's touch, he strengthened the barriers around his memories and dug his claws resolutely into the ground. Past experience told him it was wise to keep his status as a Dragon Rider secret for now. I would rather not say at the moment.

She nodded, somewhat reluctantly respecting his wishes for privacy. Apparently she had the same infernal curiosity he did. "All right. We can move on to your questions. I am sure you are brimming with them. Your predicament is quite unbelievable and I doubt you got any answers before this meeting." The woman glanced reproachfully at Midna as she said this, who merely shrugged apathetically. "Please, just tell me your name before we start."

Eragon, he replied without hesitation.

"Eragon," she echoed in bewilderment. "An uncommon name, but a strong one nevertheless. Let me tell of the story that got all of us sucked into this predicament. It deserves to be told." She inhaled deeply, beginning a tale that held even Midna entranced.

"Though you may not believe it, this Twilit hell was once the very same land where the power of the gods long ago slumbered. It was once the blessed kingdom of Hyrule. But that prosperous land has been transformed beyond recognition by the dark king that controls this Twilight. Hyrule has been turned into a world of shadows, infested by cursed beasts who despise the light."

The woman carefully placed both of her gloved hands on Eragon's snout, simple touch magnifying their mental connection a hundredfold. One important section of her mind lowered their impressive barricades, a welcome invitation to experience a personal memory she was dying to show him. Eragon cautiously ventured in and allowed himself to be carried away. He closed his eyes, becoming immersed in a recollection of events so vivid he felt as if he were actually there.

He is in a magnificent throne room of such elegant design he is positive even the proud elves would have been envious of it. Towering above the throne and the room below was a massive golden statue of the Triforce. Surrounding it where three majestic stone women holding onto their individual pieces. Din, Farore, and Nayru, watching over their kingdom from above.

Below, the beauty of the room is all but forgotten. Armored knights are spread out in formation around the throne beneath the towering sculpture. Their swords are unsheathed and their shields held high as they braced for the doom surging ever closer to them. Many of them are clustered around a fair young woman barely out of adolescence. She too held an elegant blade, and the fierce glint in her intelligent violet eyes showed she knew how to use it.

She refuses to flee in face of the rapidly approaching death. Her men tremble so violently their armor clanked. But they did not falter from their task, though they muttered desperate prayers of salvation to their Goddesses. The woman knew her men were not exactly the fighting force neighboring kingdoms envied. Still they had not abandoned her side when they had been needed. Unlike their cowardly comrades that had sneakily departed far earlier, these brave souls would stand by their leader's side until the very end.

She felt sorry her best men would be lost in such a fruitless endeavor.

Black smoke came rolling in mere seconds later, throwing the throne room into utter darkness and choking out the fresh air. Shadow beasts came eagerly pounding out of the smoke, rushing forward in a powerful onslaught. Her valiant knights brandished their swords and charged into battle to meet their hideous foes.

The unholy beasts were too swift to be evaded. Pouncing upon individual knights, the creatures kept one gruesome hand on their victim's throat to choke the very life out of them. The seething mass continued forward, sparing not a single man from their wrath. She swallowed nervously, she and her personal guards still maintaining their ground while their companions slowly had their breath forced out of them.

On the steps leading up to her throne, the shadow beasts halted their merciless advancement. They turned expectantly back toward the black smoke and watched expectantly as their leader emerged from the churning cloud.

He was a tall man, humanoid in build. Garbed in black robes marked with similar aqua markings as Midna possessed, the king of the shadow beasts wore a massive helm to conceal his features. Two false eyes stared emptily out from right above where his head should have been, chilling the young woman the depths of her soul. The unknown man calmly advanced, flanked by two creatures who were presumably his personal guards. Unlike their common brethren, these two special beasts wore silver masks instead of the usual black. Upon their masks was an insignia of two lines twined together. The vaguely familiar symbol sent a shiver of unease down his spine.

Walking right up to the foot of the stairs to where the young woman and her surviving guards cowered, the man and his shadow beasts stopped. From his calm stance he seemed completely unperturbed by the strangled sounds of the dying man around him.

"It is time for you to choose," he stated with the mild air of one discussing the weather. "Surrender or die." He chuckled in amusement. "Oh, yes. Quite a decision to make, for yourself and all the land and people of Hyrule."

Trembling from nerves, the young woman glanced to her dying men and then to the sword in her hand. She was silently contemplating whether she could manage a surprise attack on the Twilight king and kill him before his guards ripped her limb from limb. Her violet eyes once again flickered up to the helm of the impassive king, who laughed once again.

"Life? Or death?" he asked simply.

Her remaining guards turned pleadingly toward her, silently begging her to think of their lives and those of their families. How could she selfishly ignore the desires of her subjects in the desperate hope of beating the incredible odds to sink her sword into this man's side?

Grudgingly, she opened her hand and allowed her blade to fall with a deafening clatter that shattered the silence that had pervaded the throne room. The somber clang of metal against stone sounded ominously hopeless, as if it heralded the end of the kingdom her family had ruled and protected since its very creation.

Along with her blade and almost overwhelming desire to fight came the fall of the entire kingdom. She closed her eyes in defeat, unwilling to see the corruptible Twilight spreading its tendrils over her beloved Hyrule and turning its many colorful inhabitants into mere spirits.

Despite her bests efforts to prevent such a catastrophe, Hyrule had fallen under her command.

Jerking himself out of the memories, Eragon's blue eyes fixated on the mysterious woman in astonishment. She had experienced such unbelievable hell? Had the power to command the armed men he had seen? The noble blood to live in a grand castle? Gods, who was this woman? Surely it couldn't have been...

She answered this question herself. "And so that was it. Without a fight or even knowing what was happening, the people of Hyrule all became spirits. I was powerless to stop it." Her sorrowful voice suddenly strengthened, pride shining through like the sun through overcast skies. "But though perpetual twilight covers this land and the tyrant Zant considers himself supreme here, I am still ruler of this land." Gloved hands rising to her hood, she pulled it back to reveal her identity at last. Eragon couldn't help but gasp at the sight beneath. "I am Princess Zelda Hyrule, sole heir of my father the King."

Her face was pale and angular, her fine features proof of her royal lineage. Light brown hair cascaded down her back, though much of it was still tucked into the cloak. Adorning her head was a slender gold circlet that proclaimed her high rank. Zelda's eyes were a striking violet, but it was what they held that intrigued Eragon more than their unusual color. Her eyes carried the sorrow of a seasoned general that had lost many men by his own human mistakes. They also emanated a fathomless wisdom that far belied her tender years. Zelda could have only been several years older than Eragon, but she seemed experienced enough to rival even Islanzadi in wisdom.

For a moment, Midna's composure crumbled to reveal her sadness for the young Princess beneath. But that weakness swiftly vanished when she sniffed. "Don't be so melodramatic," she snipped to Zelda. "Is eternal twilight really all that bad? I, for one, find it quite pleasant." She chuckled darkly. "You of all people shouldn't long for that harsh light, as you subjected your realm to this. This was a decision of your making, Twilight Princess."

Violet eyes flashing at the title, Zelda restrained her surging emotions. When the shock died down, her gaze softened with sympathy and confusion as she looked Midna straight in the eye. "Midna, this is no time for arguments. Even now the shadow beasts still search for you." Her violet eyes became sharp. "Why is this?"

Turning away, Midna shrugged. "Eeh heh," she chuckled weakly. "You tell me."

Bristling uneasily at the undeniable tension in the air, Eragon once again inserted himself into the conversation. You had no other options save death, your Majesty, he softly told Zelda. This King Zant offered you no other way to protect your people. Twilight is a far better choice than death. Any other compassionate leader in your position would have done the same.

"Indeed, it is." Zelda's eyes briefly flickered over his form. "Forgive me for withholding the information you desperately require for so long. What do you want to know?"

The green dragon did not hesitate. Everything.

Returning to her old self, Midna scoffed. "There's not enough time for that, idiot. Ask only the important questions!"

Quelling the urge to roast the little imp, Eragon obeyed, voicing the utmost worry on his mind. Can you change me back?

Zelda shook her head. "No. It is the Twilight that binds you to your dragon form, and only its removal can guarantee the restoration of your humanity."

Eragon sighed. He should have known as such. What about your condition, your Highness? Why was I transformed into a dragon while you remained unaffected? Surely I would be more of use in the body I was actually born in!

"My natural magics grant me only enough strength to oppose the corruptible influence of this Twilight. I am only strong enough to resist, not to rise against Zant's tyranny. You, however, do." At the green dragon's confusion, the Princess of Hyrule quickly explained: "In the legends of this kingdom, the strength of a dragon is nigh unmatched. Only the strongest of foes have the slimmest of chances of besting one in battle. Perhaps in this form you have the power to oppose Zant and his shadow beasts." Her violet eyes eyes darkened. "The power I do not have."

Unable to contain his growl of frustration, Eragon's claws left marks in the stone floor he gouged at. But why did this happen to me? Why wasn't I turned into a mere human spirit? How in the hell am I supposed to save Hyrule? This isn't even my homeland! Thinking of his comrades and his unfinished business back in Alagaesia with the Empire, he began to grow desperate. I have people of my own to protect and duties of my own to uphold!

"Let me see your paw, Eragon. Please."

Alarm and suspicion spreading, the green dragon only dug his claws deeper into the stone. Did Zelda know of his true identity? Or did she merely suspect he may have been a Shur'tugal.

Testing out his theory, Eragon offered his left paw instead of his right. There should have been no gedwey ignasia on that paw. Nothing except the green scales and thin golden lines that covered the rest of his form. It wasn't until Eragon had raised his paw, however, that he noticed something that definitely hadn't been there before his unexpected change of species.

Emblazoned on the back of his paw were the three golden triangles of Hyrule's Triforce. It was on the exact same spot where the light had erupted from his hand and saved him from being devoured by a shadow beast. Even now it glowed with a soft luminescence of its own. Eragon eyed the Triforce marking in awe. Where had that come from?

Smiling slightly, Zelda held out her own left hand. As it neared his odd new mark, something began to glow beneath her silk glove. There, shining vibrantly just beneath the threads of the glove, was a golden Triforce identical to his own. The two crests glowed ever brighter as neared each other, driving back the chill of the darkness with their own heavenly radiance.

Eragon's wide blue eyes met her own gaze. Their violent depths shone with untold knowledge, the timeless wisdom and familiarity there captivating his bewildered mind.

"There is all the proof you need to assure your identity," Zelda stated sagely. "Only those chosen by the Goddesses themselves bear these sacred crests. We are bound to this land as much as they are. Your heart and soul belonged here since the moment of your birth. That is why my storm summoned you to Hyrule. It was bringing back its Chosen Hero to his kingdom. Finally calling a lost spirit home."

Countless questions whizzing frantically about his mind, Eragon didn't even have the concentration to form an intelligible thought. Not that there was time to. Just as Zelda gave her cryptic revelation the Princess of Hyrule cut him shot.

"Time is running short," she said swiftly. "The guard will be making his rounds to my tower very soon. Both of you must leave before he or someone else spots you." Zelda turned her gaze to Midna, a silent message passing between them. "Midna, I trust you'll do what is needed."

The imp huffed imperiously. "Yes, yes. If I have the time." She kicked Eragon's green sides, her command clear. "Come on, Eragon. Time to return to your pathetic Light Realm."

Reluctant to leave the Princess and his only source of reliable answers behind, it was several moments before the dragon grudgingly obeyed Midna's order. Sliding out of the room and climbing onto the ledge of the open window, Eragon unfurled his wings in preparation of lifting off.

"No!" Midna barked, a tremor of panic in her voice at the terrifying idea of yet another reckless flight. "We'll be taking a faster, safer, and much more direct route back to that village I you were transformed outside of. Just get onto that roof there. I need room."

Rolling his eyes, Eragon leaped onto the green roof just below the window. Midna levitated up from his back and right into his face. He snorted warningly at the uncomfortably close contact. Yes? he demanded angrily. What is it you want now?

"When we get back to the Light Realm, I need to know what you plan on doing then. 'Cause I won't help you transform back until I'm sure of your intentions." She leaned in closer, single little fang bared. "Well?"

Well, what? Eragon snarled. Ordon Village and the rest of Hyrule are in danger, and apparently I'm the only one capable of saving them now. Ilia and Colin still need to be rescued from those green monsters. I can't just can leave everyone like spirits with those shadow beasts hunting them!

Midna jeered challengingly at his words. "Can't you? After all, you do have those 'people of your own to protect and duties of your own to uphold'."

He recoiled at that barb. Alagaesia hadn't stopped needing its only free Dragon Rider simply because he had gotten lost in a distant land. Nasuada was still planning an offense against the Empire. Galbatorix was still a constant threat. Reconciliations were still to be made with Roran. Oromis and Glaedr were still waiting for their students to fulfill their ancient oaths and return for further tutelage...

But Alagaesia was no longer his only priority. Eragon had grown close to the people of Ordon Village, and he could not abandon them in their hour of need. Innocent young Colin and Ilia had been taken by vicious brutes. Twilight a stranglehold over all of Hyrule. People were unwittingly trapped as spirits in a cursed realm, easy prey for hungry shadow beasts. Saphira was among those lost souls, her usual strength no match for those monsters.

Hyrule needs me first, Eragon answered. And under no circumstances will I leave Saphira behind!

Midna snorted. "Then I guess Hyrule can thank this Saphira. Apparently its champion wouldn't be staying around if his girlfriend wasn't also in mortal peril."

The green dragon had begun to snarl at that jibe, but was once again interrupted from his display of rage when a swirling vortex of cyan and black chose to suddenly appear in the sky right above him. Eragon had just enough time to loose a startled roar before disintegrating into a bunch of particles that were sucked up by the swirling portal.

Midna hovered there for a moment more, glancing up at her portal and the dragon that had just vanished into it with distaste. "Foolish light-dweller," the Twili muttered with a devious smirk. "Your senseless devotion to them will one day be your death. But not until I'm finished with you. At least your urge to protect all those in danger will make you easier to control."

Then the little imp also vanished, warping herself and her cumbersome passenger to their destination. The portal closed in on itself, leaving behind no evidence that it or the beings had taken had ever been there.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Our Children Taken- Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Soundtrack

Darkness shrouded the lands beyond Hyrule proper, not the murky haze of Twilight but the shadows of a true and untainted night. There was no light except the small sliver of the moon overhead and several lit torches down in Ordon Village, but Eragon could see everything about him as if it were noon instead of close to midnight. Exiting the Twilight had not restored him to his human form. He was still trapped in the form of the green dragon, hiding in the forest depths as he spied upon the distressed villagers below. What he witnessed only made the restless guilt he felt stronger.

Ordon's children, not just poor Ilia and Colin, had been stolen away. Their parents had been powerless to stop the kidnappings. Most of the men, untrained in combat, had been forced to surrender without much fight. As the village's only competent swordsman, Rusl had lasted far longer against the raiders. However, their sheer numbers had overwhelmed him. Severely injured, it was a wonder the man hadn't been killed during the kidnapping.

From the shadows, Eragon's blue-gray eyes watched the painful change that had overtaken the previously laid-back and pleasant village. Torches had been lit along the paths and close to houses to drive back darkness danger could have prowled in. Hanch, Beth's father, was armed with a hoe and stood as a vigil atop one of the pond's islands and staring out at the road that lead into Faron Woods. Sera and Pergie were in their homes, but Eragon's sharp ears could still hear their heartbroken weeping for their stolen children. Rusl, heavily battered and covered in bandages, limped slowly back into the wilderness with a sword and lantern in hand. His stubborn heart refused to admit his son and the other innocents lost, and once again he set off to search for them. A tearful Uli watched her husband go, hands clasped protectively over the unborn child she still had left.

Why was I so foolish to follow in pursuit? Eragon wondered mournfully. Had I remained behind in the village I could have helped drive back those bastards. Talo, Beth, and Malo could have been saved before I had gone off after those pigs that carried away Colin and Ilia. And look what happened to me and to them...

Eragon didn't have the courage to face the villagers and tell them of the tragedy that had befallen all of Hyrule. Everyone was worried enough without the dire news that the entire kingdom had fallen into Twilight. And Eragon couldn't bear the thought of returning to Ordon in his present form. He was supposed to have been the brave hero that had effortlessly rescued all of the children from Bokoblins with just his impressive magic. How would the adults of Ordon Village react when they discovered that he had managed to get himself transformed into a dragon and knocked unconscious when those hideous raiders had first arrived?

Contained to Faron Woods by his own shape and shame, the green dragon could only wait until nightfall before acting. Pure sunlight was intolerable to Midna in her present state, and both had to impatiently wait until sunset before she could sneak into the village for weapons. The Twili female had imperiously demanded 'light-dweller weapons' before leading him on any further. Currently Midna was somewhere in Ordon, scouring the homes in search of a sword and shield.

Hopefully the images I showed and described to her were enough. She better not return with only a knife or a dish to show for her efforts or else we'll really be in trouble...

Eragon trailed off, sullenly prodding the remains of his meal with one talon. He had not eaten anything since before being ripped into the Twilight, and he had been ravenous after his impossible ordeal. Of course, his new dragon body could only digest meat. His months of training in Du Weldenvarden had strongly rebelled against such a decision, but his new instincts had forced him to grudgingly resign. Not to mention Midna had gone ballistic at the thought of "her beast" purposefully starving himself out of some "stupid light-dweller belief."

A deer had been caught and sacrificed to fill his belly for the occasion. Thankfully, his light-breath had turned into a true torrent of flames after returning to the Light Realm. His fire was hot enough to cook his unfortunate prey so Eragon didn't have to eat it raw. Now only its skeleton remained, a despairing reminder of the loss of life in such circumstances.

Oh well, the green dragon sighed in halfhearted acknowledgment at the breaking of his taboo. At least my stomach is no longer complaining and I don't feel ready to faint from weakness. Not to mention Midna has given up her criticism, for now...

"Yes, yes," Midna huffed impatiently. The little imp had literally appeared from right out of the shadows to the left of him. "Mission accomplished. I have obtained your stupid weapons for when you return to your original weak form." Her amber eyes swept over the weapons distastefully. "Hopefully they'll be strong enough to defend you against Zant's army of ruthless shadow beasts."

Eragon raised his head from his paws, blue-gray eyes narrowing critically as he personally inspected her findings. Thankfully, Midna had at least snatched the proper equipment. But the shield itself was made of wood, decorated with the pair of horns Eragon had come to associate with Ordon Provence. It seemed unlikely to last long in any strenuous battle, but he could at least increase the shield's longevity with enforcing spells when his true form was restored. The sword? It was a plain blade, the hilt an unremarkable brown leather. Yet Eragon could see the sword's sturdiness, and was impressed by its skilled craftsmanship. Rusl was indeed a master blacksmith in addition to a swordsman.

They'll do for now, Eragon told Midna, crushing his wistful thoughts as he remembered his own sword, lost in Faron Woods during the Bokoblin incident. I'll have to pay Rusl back for stealing the sword he intended to give as tribute to Princess Zelda, and also offer compensation to whatever family you stole the shield from, eventually though.

Midna sniffed haughtily. "I'm sure that shield's owner will forgive you when he realizes that you saved his neck from the Twilight. His own fault for leaving his window open, anyway. And Princess Zelda won't miss tribute from a little backwater town. Not when this sword helps drive back the darkness she invited in." Eragon growled warningly at this, and the imp shrugged. "What? Your village is indeed a flyspeck on the map, and it was that girl's foolishness for thinking she could defend herself against that godless usurper in the first place. Still, I would never wish her harm. It wasn't her fault that she was born noble and pampered, never knowing fear or desperation before now."

The green dragon didn't even bother trying to stifle his yawn, stretching his massive jaws open wide as the exhale of breath escaped him. His mood brightened slightly when Midna worked to suppress the involuntarily shudder she'd had at the sight of his bone-white fangs. Eragon was exhausted, and even his powerful new body required rest to remain functional.

I take it you won't let me charge back into the Twilight immediately to rescue my friends, so I guess we'll hunker down here for the night. No villagers can spot us from this hill, and the trees offer shelter from monsters and weather. Mimicking Saphira's movements, Eragon curled into a comfortable position, wrapping his tail around his body and resting his head on his paws. His voice was drowsy, but there was no room for argument in his voice at his final statement: We set off tomorrow at dawn. No delays.

Midna nodded dryly. "Of course. I'll just hold onto these primitive tools for you until you can actually use them." The sword and shield in her hands suddenly exploded into black fragments, dissipating as they vanished into wherever the Twili had stored them. "Good night, lizard. Here's to hoping your lady friend Saphira doesn't get devoured by the shadow beasts before we can lift this damned darkness."

Eragon's blue eyes snapped open fully, a vicious rumble rising up from his chest. From Ordon Village those standing vigil shivered uneasily at the blood-chilling sound. Her name is Saphira! And I am not romantically inclined toward her!

Eragon's obnoxious new dragon instincts begged to differ when regarding the sapphire she-dragon. Saphira was a young and strong female, the last known female of her kind, and was certainly eligible for any aspiring courtier. Naturally, Eragon's human side had not yet lost its common sense and wasn't about to submit to primal urges anytime soon.

Midna only cackled at his flustered reaction, once again diving into his shadow before the small jet of flame he'd aim at her could make impact. The massive beast snorted angrily, grudgingly allowing the matter to drop as he again settled down for sleep. Once his initial surge of rage had receded, however his guilt and overwhelming return for Saphira returned in full force.

Is Saphira really all right, or am I just trying to convince myself of that? Supposedly all beings in Hyrule at the time of Twilight's fall were turned into spirits and stripped of their power. Are dragons immune to such weakening effects? Or, since they are creatures of magic, are they harmed by this corrupting force even more? Midna is an inhabitant of the true Twilight Realm, and look what happened to her! Unable to withstand direct sunlight, robbed of most of her magical power. Oh, Saphira... I hope, if the Goddesses of this kingdom are real, that they are protecting you. You shouldn't have to keep suffering for my mistakes.

After all, it had been his insistence to remain in Hyrule that had gotten them into this predicament. He had been so enchanted with the dream of a brief respite, a rest from his demanding duties to the entire continent of Alagaesia. Deep down, Eragon was still a sixteen-year-old barely past boyhood. His lingering immaturity, that inability to realize he would never find peace until Galbatorix was finally slain, had gravely harmed his most beloved companion, Saphira. She now spent the dangerous night in a monster-infested because of his many mistakes.

Wallowing in his misery, the green dragon finally closed his eyes as he drifted off into a fitful slumber. Even as he fell asleep Eragon could feel the nightmares prowling at the edges of his subconsciousness, just waiting to claim his vulnerable mind. With the mournful howl of a wolf sounding somewhere deep in Faron Woods, a heavily battered soul entered his first long night as the heavily-burdened Chosen Hero.

Dragons had very sensitive hearing. It was what allowed them to successfully locate prey on nights so dark even they couldn't see, and to sense when their young finally neared hatching. However, at the moment Saphira was desperately wishing she had been born deaf. For these damned creatures were about to make her so with their screeching.

These shadow beasts were far larger and hardier than their mundane counterparts. Fortunately, their numbers seemed severely limited to the three individuals Saphira currently faced. If only the pests weren't immortal. For whenever Saphira had knocked down two and was preparing to finish off the final one, the surviving beast would unleash a terrible shriek that all but shattered her sensitive eardrums. It seemed a sound loud enough to wake the dead, for the survivor's fallen comrades would rise from the ground to torment her anew with each deafening call.

Growling in frustration, the sapphire she-dragon again lashed out with her tail and struck down a beast foolish enough to leap at her. It went sailing into one of the red walls that had sprung up around them when she had crashed into their midst. Saphira couldn't help but bare her fangs in primal satisfaction at the sound of the painful electrical zap that surged through the shadow beast upon impact.

The two other beasts ignored their fallen companion, again advancing upon her. With great difficulty, Saphira refrained from instinctively striking the one closest to her. It would only cause the survivor to start screeching again. Instead the she-dragon patiently waited, allowing her targets to venture in closer and closer to their doom. Finally, when they were well within range, she swung her tail again, effectively killing both in one calculated blow.

Eying the lifeless shadow beasts suspiciously, Saphira remained tense, expecting them to all leap back up and begin attacking her again. The three shadow beasts merely dissolved into black particles; and were swiftly drawn back in from the red-lined portal they had emerged him. Saphira watched as the portal turned a pleasant cyan color and as it failed to spew up any more obnoxious monsters. The red energy barriers that imprisoned her vanished, leaving an exhausted but triumphant she-dragon behind.

Finally. I don't think I could have lasted much longer against those gods-forsaken pests without completely losing my mind. At least I can rest now. There's even a spring close by!

Following the promising gurgle of running water that had lured Saphira to this spot in the first place, the blue female sighed in relief as she at last spotted the spring she had been searching for. The water itself was a disconcerting shade of orange, but she didn't mind. Everything here was affected by the Twilight. Runes resembling those in Ordon Spring had been carved into the rocks surrounding the pool several streams of water tumbled into. Did this place have healing qualities like the one in Ordon? Saphira hoped so. Her wing was aching for relief.

Eagerly lunging into the spring, Saphira recoiled at the agonizing cold that followed, dashing back to dry ground with a startled bellow. Scales feeling as if they had been turned to ice, the she-dragon turned back to glare heatedly at the water.

The water was like liquid ice, so freezing it seemed to have threatened to douse the last of her dwindled flames. Still, Saphira was parched from her hellish ordeal, and wasn't about to so callously shrug off the only water she could easily reach. Her wing was broken and she was far too massive to wander deep into the woods. Gods knew how far she would have to travel before happening upon water again...

Shoving aside her caution, Saphira ventured to the spring's edge and cautiously swallowed a small mouthful of water. It stung while running down her throat, but her natural heat was enough to counter the cold after a while. For several tense moments she stood stock still, waiting to see if the water was tainted. Since her body didn't respond violently to her drink, she continued to carefully intake water until her first had been completely slated.

Saphira refused to test out the potential healing capabilities of the spring. She didn't trust the water enough to completely immerse herself in it again. What would happen if she couldn't escape it before the rest of the warmth had been sapped from her chilled body?

Eragon needs me alive. Nor would Alagaesia be too impressed to discover the last female dragon froze to death in the height of summer. No. My injuries can wait until Eragon can heal them properly.

Curling up a safe distance from the water's edge, Saphira decided to allow herself a respite from her struggles. Her tired body demanded rest, and she could no longer deny her most pressing physical needs. Eragon was not incompetent. Surely his swordsmanship and magic would allow him to last until their reunion. She also trusted her keen senses to detect danger while she slept. Not to mention the site by the spring seemed to be one of the most secure locations she had happened upon so far...

Feeling physically and emotionally drained from the hardships fate seemed to keep offering her, Saphira closed her eyes and settled off into a dreamless slumber. She was so exhausted, and so anguished herself, that the she-dragon was utterly oblivious to the sorrow that seemed to hang in the very air. And deaf to the bitter laments of a fallen Spirit that had failed to protect its light from evil...

Eragon woke up just a short time before dawn. He opened his eyes slowly, glancing groggily up at the sky above the tree branches that had just begun to lighten with the approaching sunrise. Memories of his horrible nightmare from the day before came rushing back, painfully reminding him of his failures and his current predicament. Unable to stem the tide of bitterness that came surging up as he glanced down at his paws bitterly, Eragon growled softly in aggravation.

"Oh, stop moping!" Midna's disembodied voice snapped reproachfully from his shadow. "Day's coming soon and those oblivious little villagers down there will soon notice the giant green dragon sulking just yards away from their homes. Do you want to be attacked by an angry mob with torches and pitchforks?"

Blue-gray eyes fixating upon the silhouette of the imp still perched regally upon his back, Eragon momentarily wished evict the little squatter from his shadow. Then he remembered how sensitive Midna was to undiluted sunlight, and dropped the idea. I'm leaving, Midna. Just know that I'll be going on foot- er, paw until we get further away from Ordon Village. I don't want to alarm anyone else with the sight of a gigantic beast rising up from the nearby woods. His stomach clenched guilty. Gods know they've suffered enough already.

"All right," Midna grumbled in resignation. "You're more than several times my pitiful size and I can't even face you in a corporeal form at the moment. Just don't blame me when you get a sword through your beastly heart for lingering for too long. You can have your tearful reunions when you can cry and hug them back. And remember each moment you waste is another that leaves the innocent people of Hyrule in further torment."

Ignoring the comments, Eragon cautiously ventured closer toward Ordon Village until he could see the small settlement better. Things didn't seem to have improved over night. Bo had taken over as a sentinel for Hanch and seemed to be nearing the end of his shift. Other villagers were emerging from their homes and beginning the important chores that hadn't stopped existing when the children had been stolen. Everyone's movements seemed automatic, their faces strangely blank. A disturbing stillness had settled over Ordon, as if their reality had yet to fully sink in.

I'll bring them all back, Eragon vowed silently to himself as he watched the distraught adults. Malo, Talo, Beth... Colin. They won't suffer for my mistakes. No mothers shall lose their children if I can help it.

Wrenching his gaze away from the tragic scene, Eragon forced his way through the tangled undergrowth until he reached the small clearing at the edge of Ordon that housed the abandoned tree house. Only here did the green dragon leave the cramped security of the forest shadows. Traveling down the road would cover vast distances efficiently, at least until Eragon felt confident enough to take flight. Padding down the unpaved path, he struggled to stifle the sudden shiver of unease that chilled his spine as he left the small village behind.

Just as the sacred beast neared the bridge that connected to Faron Woods, just as he seemed to be on his way... Something called Eragon back.

"Wait..."

Abruptly halting dead in his tracks, a startled growl escaped from Eragon's throat as a disembodied voice that was definitely not Midna's reached him. The voice was breathy and seemed to echo slightly. He was unable to determine whether the voice's owner was male or female. His blood turned to ice as a different sort of chill surged through his stunned body, and his feral side desired nothing than to fly away from the voice as fast as it could.

Eragon's head craned sharply in the direction of Ordon Spring, where the voice seemed to have emanated from. Something prevented him from fleeing as he so desperately desired. Seemed to draw him closer.

The voice was pleading. Yes, that was it. The mysterious being unnerved him, but its tone of desperation was genuine to his experienced ears. Something depended on its aid, begged him to remain behind. And Eragon's inner courage was not about to back down from the beseeching request.

"Come... to my spring..." the owner-less voice echoed again.

Lured in as if by a siren song, Eragon slowly obliged. He tentatively ventured closer, unable to resist some instinct to obey. Midna should have been hysterical at this point, furious at his gullibility and fiercely demanding him to regain common sense. But even the sharp-tongued Twili was spellbound, drawn in by the otherworldly voice as a lost sheep to its calling shepherd.

Mesmerized and soothed by the voice, Eragon entered the spring, slowly leaving dry ground behind as he stepped into the shallows of the pool. Was the voice's mysterious owner hiding somewhere behind the waterfalls that cascaded into the spring? It had to have been; for the green dragon noticed no one else.

"You have... been transformed... by the power of shadow..."

Blue-eyes widening in amazement, the temptation to flee again reared up. How did this being know so much about him? Knew a human man was concealed somewhere behind the green scales and sharp fangs of his dragon form? Lashing his tail once, Eragon calmed himself. His curiosity held sway over his caution. Princess Zelda's vague answers had not satisfied his confusion, and his mind demanded more detailed explanation.

"Come... to me..."

Eragon padded closer to the waterfalls and the cavern behind them, straining to catch a glimpse of the elusive person. However, his way was blocked by the red barriers of energy that suddenly sprung up all around him. He glanced frantically, realizing he had foolishly been lured into a trap. Like he had still been a naive and trusting child...

"Beware..." the voice warned, sounding alarmed. "A shadow being... It approaches..."

Snarling ferociously now, Eragon's gaze instinctively snapped upward to the lightening sky as a portal similar to the one Midna had summoned appeared above the spring. This one was far more menacing, its magic a harsh red instead of the cool blue of the old one. It also emanated dark magic so palpable Eragon swore he could smell a foul stench he associated with a dank cave that had never seen sunlight.

From the portal's depths emerged a shadow beast near identical to the one that had first dragged Eragon into Twilight. It was deposited unceremoniously into the spring, the portal disappearing after its surprise gift had been delivered. Unsure of how to react to each other, Eragon and the dark creature stared at each other in momentary shock, subconsciously sizing their potential rival up in case of confrontation.

Eragon looked down upon the disgusting creature, growling in hatred. Here was one of the bastards that had ruined his life, had changed his entire form! Draconic rage flaring like an inferno, the green dragon bellowed furiously and lunged in for the kill. Just as the shadow beast had foolishly decided to take on a formidable opponent several times its size, Eragon's powerful jaw clamped around its chest. Without hesitation he snapped his jaws shut fully, crushing his victim's ribcage in one brutal blow.

Eragon expected to feel the shadow beast's body explode under the pressure he was exerting upon it. Instead it disintegrated in his mouth, turning into particles of energy like the enemies he had faced back down in Hyrule Castle's sewers. He spat the remnants back out in disgust, watching in mild surprise as the particles were sucked up by the portal that had reappeared above his head. This time the gateway was cyan blue, cleansed of the evil it had been previously tainted with.

Thank the gods that happened, Eragon thought to himself. I was expecting a mouthful of monster after that foolish action.

"Wow," Midna answered faintly. "That was... unexpected, coming from you. Those dragon instincts of yours... Are you really confident you have them completely under control?"

Eragon snorted indignantly. Had it been possible, he would have flushed red in embarrassment. Of course I do. That... was just a reflex. He glanced about again, noting that the red barriers that had penned him in with the shadow beast were nowhere to be seen. Now, where was the damned person that had called him to the spring in the first place-

The natural luminescence of the water was suddenly fading, momentarily plunging Eragon into half-darkness. Sunrise had not yet come, and the shadows of night still lingered. Light was growing, however, but it wasn't from dawn. The runes carved into the rocks around the waterfalls were shining blue. Their brightness gradually intensified, the color transforming from a cool shade of cyan into a magnificent gold. That brilliance spread to the entire spring, until it seemed the water had become liquid sunlight.

Entranced, Eragon found his eyes unable to tear away from the amazing scene.

Gods...

The shining water suddenly rippled, a golden orb of light emerging from the depths, rising and rising, until it hovered far above the spring. When it had ascended far enough, two horns formed around the glorious orb, a head substantiating soon after. The impossible creature roared as the rest of its massive body took shape around it. The formation was completed when its long tail emerged into existence.

Seemingly solid, the majestic creature was the same brilliant gold as the spring around it. Wholly complete, it strongly resembled the unique blue-furred goats that produced Ordon's trademark cheese. Only this being dwarfed even Eragon himself in his dragon shape, had a long tail, and adorned an orb of light between its horns as regally as a human king would his crown.

Eragon was dimly aware he was now lying flat on his stomach, quivering in fear at the sight of the unimaginable creature standing before him. His muscles quaked violently. Out of fear or reverence or some combination of the two? He hadn't the slightest idea.

The goat-being stared impassively down at him. Its gaze was unreadable, everything about it so jarringly foreign. It swished its tail side to side serenely, holding itself as confidently as any monarch would in his rightful domain.

"Do not be afraid... O brave youth..." the goat-being murmured peacefully. Eragon immediately felt a wave of calm and relief rush through him, quieting the tremors wracking his body. Its voice was that of the mysterious person that had summoned him to the spring. The one he had been so eager to identify. "I am one of the four Light Spirits that protect Hyrule at the request of the Golden Goddesses. I am Ordona."

At this revelation, Eragon couldn't help but bring his old lessons to mind. Oromis had pointedly told him him how no sort of life existed after death, how the spirit was instantly extinguished upon the failure of the body. Glaedr had harshly displayed this with an unfortunate rat. Eragon had felt the creature's mind literally disappear from existence. Oromis had also claimed the existence of gods and deities were unlikely. How none had ever shown themselves to elves before and it was unlikely one would ever do so.

This has to be an illusion of some sort. Yes, an enchantment some powerful magician instilled in the spring decades ago to assure gullible worshipers that spirits really did exist. Perhaps my mind finally shattered from the load of my burden and I'm imagining all of this. Or, better yet, this has all been some sort of whimsical dream. I was just knocked out by that first shadow beast and everything since then some sort of twisted fantasy. I'm really still human and unconscious in a prison cell somewhere...

Tentatively, Eragon lowered his mental barriers to peer into the mind of the self-proclaimed Light Spirit. Ordon Spring had always emanated peacefulness, an air of serenity that soothed the mind and slowly healed the body. Ordona's mind was the exact same presence, only amplified countless times. Just by briefly scratching the spirit's mind, Eragon's consciousness had almost been overwhelmed. Retreating behind his own defenses, Eragon was relieved he hadn't dared to venture further into the complexities of that indescribable mind. He surely would have gone mad from the sheer rush of thought.

Ordona seemed unfazed by his shock. The Light Spirit's fathomless eyes merely gazed down on him, their shimmering depths empty of all recognizable emotion. "The black beast you slayed was a shadow being under the control of the King of Twilight. It had some to steal the power of light I wield." It (for Eragon was uncertain if an incorporeal entity had a gender) stamped a cloven hoof. "Do you understand... noble youth... the danger these beings pose to myself and my brethren?"

Yes, Eragon thought quietly, giving the mental equivalence of a whisper as if afraid of a backlash from Ordona. Zant wants Hyrule drowned in darkness. By doing so he would have to seize the light so it couldn't drive him back.

"Correct," Ordona breathed, and the green dragon's tail lashed once nervously at the sorrow in the spirit's voice. "My fellow Guardian Spirits attempted to fight back, but their strength was useless against the invincible power of the usurper's demons." Midna gasped softly at this statement, but Eragon was too immersed in Ordona to hear. "Their resistance crumbled, and their light was successfully taken from them. Now the entire kingdom has been reduced to a pale netherworld commanded by an unholy power."

The brilliant goat-being lowered its head, peering straight into the dragon's blue eyes. "Understand, young one, that the King of Twilight's greed will not stop with Hyrule. Before long, the entire Light Realm will fall to Zant's twisted desires. All Guardian Spirits who oppose his domination shall be ruthlessly conquered as those of Hyrule were." When Eragon growled in horror at the revelation, Ordona sighed grimly. "Aye, child. Your homeland shall be the next to be cloaked by the darkness; for its border lies just beyond the mountains to the east."

Eragon could sense Midna's concentration focus sharply at the truth that he was not a Hyrulean native, as she had assumed. He ignored her probing look, imploring Ordona desperately, What must I do to halt Zant's expansion? How can I restore Hyrule to its proper state?

Slowly raising its head, Ordona towered regally above him yet again, glancing north toward Hyrule proper. "To save this sacred land, and the many others beyond it, the lost light must be recovered. My fallen brethren, the three Light Spirits, must be revived from their weakened states. Balance must be restored in the world."

Unfurling his wings eagerly, the massive dragon prepared to lift off, fly to wherever Ordona commanded him to go. Where shall I go? What must I do?

As if he had never spoken, the Spirit of Ordon Spring continued on: "There is but one who can awake the fallen Light Spirits and redeemed the damned kingdom of Hyrule... You."

Recoiling in astonishment, Eragon backed away. Was he merely alarmed by the certainty of Ordona's words, the spirit's faith in him to save its comrades? Or was he completely terrified because his heart had fiercely believed the Lights Spirit's confidence in his destiny? I-I don't understand-

"You still have not discovered your true power..." Ordona mentioned lightly, as if gently chastising him for not having realized his full potential before their encounter. "Those transformed by such corrupted Twilight cannot usually recover their true forms..." It sensed that Eragon was hanging onto every word, frantically listening for the one divine loophole that would allow his true form to be restored. "Unless... If you were to travel to Faron Woods where you were first transformed... If you were too revive Faron... There, by the power of that province's Guardian Spirit, your human body could be returned."

With such cryptic directions, Ordona decided it was time to return to whatever realm it had originated from. Slowly, the luminescent being faded and dissolved into light, falling back into the spring. The luminescence returned to the water, and the loss of the giant glowing goat allowed the gradually strengthening daylight to enter the area. Eragon looked about it awe. The peace of the new morning seemed undisturbed, as if the miracle of personally conversing with a sacred deity had never occurred.

Partially in a state of shock, the first thing that jumped to Eragon's mind was: Just wait until Oromis hears of this. Hopefully he won't be too upset that his assumption divine beings didn't exist turned out to be completely false.

"Well..." Midna broke in, driving him back to reality. "That was an informative experience. Just go back into the Twilight and help the pathetic spirits that live there. Each one restored will bring you closer to completely ridding your too-bright world of Zant's darkness and bring me closer to my goals." Her tone turned sharp, as if she were admonishing a misbehaving child. And you never told me you weren't born in Hyrule! Would it have killed you to mention it earlier?"

Considering our current predicament, I didn't think the matter was important. You were foolish for assuming I was a true Hyrulean just because I was found near one of its villages. Besides, what does it matter? I could have descended from the sky and not even that could bring back the light back faster, or make me human again, or help you accomplish... whatever it is that you want.

Scoffing, the Twili's annoyance quickly turned to thoughtful meditation. "Whatever you say, Eragon..." was her absent-minded response. Falling completely silent, she became lost to the outside world for the time being.

It was for the best, for Eragon had decided it was time to stop talking to his shadow and get started on his quest. He again set off on the direction towards the same barrier he had first been dragged through, hoping the next time he returned the darkness would have been lifted and Saphira would be by his side. And hopefully he would be human again, for he shuddered to think of how the sapphire she-dragon would react to being around a male close to her age. Gods knew how infatuated she had first been with Glaedr...

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Twilight- Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Soundtrack

Within the past day, Eragon had suffered almost enough hellish experiences to rival his past year or so in Alagaesia. He had charged out into unfamiliar wilderness in a desperate race against time to rescue a village's captive children from savage monsters. Mere hours later more raiders had attacked and easily overpowered him. Then had come getting dragged into a parallel realm and transformed into a massive dragon when he had attempted to give chase. Several encounters of the royal and the spiritual kind later, Eragon had once again returned to the Twilight to finish what he had inadvertently helped to start.

Exhausted with the entire unbelievable ordeal, the instincts of an irritated male dragon had once again reared its ugly head inside of him. Midna was wincing the entire time Eragon charge through a demon-infested Twilit Faron Woods, ruthlessly burning down all the foolish enemies in his path with his light-breath. Again they had encountered the shadow beasts like that those that had been at Ordon Spring, and again Eragon had defeated them and made a new warp portal out of their remnants. The fact they had near shattered his sensitive eardrums with their dead-raising shrieks had only worsened his volatile mood.

Ordinarily Eragon would never have been so destructive, and would have at least payed attention to the considerable carnage he was wreaking. But he was blissfully oblivious as to how the beast's body and own instincts influenced his own vulnerable mind. Dragons were creatures that were fiercely devoted to the few beings they deemed friend and family. Saphira, the one being closest to Eragon's soul, was endangered by the sorcery of some mysterious foe, this false king, this Zant. Subconsciously Eragon's frustrations and helplessness manifested only as aggravation at the Twilight engulfing him and the entire Faron Woods.

Only the sight of Saphira herself had been enough to shock him out of that feral state. Eragon had seen her pale and spectral form curled up not far from the edge of Faron Spring, sleeping out in the open from her fatigue. He had been able to see the twisted form of her re-broken wing and the fresh wounds adorning her scaled hide; his she-dragon had been forced to fight for her very survival throughout the night he had spent sleeping peacefully away.

"Don't worry, Eragon," Midna comforted in a previously unheard of gentle voice. Her golden eyes were soft as she too glanced down at the oblivious she-dragon, one hand absently stroking the serpentine neck of her slave-slash-partner. "We'll rescue her and everyone else in this province. Before you know it the entire world will be back to its old too-bright self."

Blue-gray eyes reluctantly tearing away from Saphira's insubstantial form, Eragon inspected the glass vessel that had been given to them. It was made up of sixteen individual containers, one each for the sixteen tears of light scattered throughout Faron Woods. The Light Spirit had been too weak to appear to them directly, but had managed to hand over the light vessel and convey instructions on how to locate and recapture the errant tears to the unlikely pair.

Sixteen tears of light left before restoring balance to one part of the kingdom, Eragon murmured.

Midna nodded in confirmation. "Yes. Thankfully you have wings to easily traverse these woods, or we'd be here until one of us finally croaked from old age. Just think, you are now so close to regaining your own original unimpressive form and restoring your... dragon."

Eragon gave a fanged smirk at the return of her sarcastic attitude. Good, at least someone was back to normal. As far as surprises went, the Twili had been more than shocked to discover the spectral dragon waiting for them by Faron Spring, if the startled scream was anything to judge by. Midna had been downright flabbergasted to realize that Saphira, who she had assumed to be a pretty young woman and most likely Eragon's romantic partner, to be the very same gigantic she-dragon she had just encountered. Her response had been very amusing to a man-turned-beast who was desperate for any sort of comic relief from his current predicament.

Indeed, he replied playfully. Saphira will be so happy to meet my rescuer and brand new master in person when this is all said and done. I can tell you two will get along fantastically!

Eragon unfurled his wings in preparation for flight, sparing one final glance at Saphira. He may have been unable to directly communicate or even wake up her, but the message he had left behind should have been enough to convince the sapphire she-dragon from wandering away from the safety of the spring and further endangering herself. Of course Eragon was likely going to get himself abandoned on some desolate mountaintop for such thinking, but at least Saphira would be safe for the time-being.

Spirits high for the first time in quite a while, the green dragon sprung up, beating his wings frantically to gain altitude. Practice did indeed make perfect, and his clumsy ascension had only made Midna give the tiniest yelp of fright this time.

After all, the only real task Eragon had to do was find sixteen inconspicuous tears of pure light and bring them back to Faron to restore the province to its natural state. How hard could it have been?

Sore and still feeling very fatigued when awakening from her fitful slumber, Saphira groggily opened her eyes and again entered the real world. She was unable to determine even the time of day, for the sky remained the same shade of dusky orange it had been before she had fallen asleep. Great, it now seemed that twilight was now perpetual. Ignoring the dull aches of her wounds, the sapphire she-dragon climbed to her paws with the intention of finishing the journey to Ordon Village and to her Rider.

However, that was when she noticed the words that had been messily scrawled into the dirt just beneath her snout. The penmanship was horrible, but it was just legible enough for her to make out the content of the message. Mentally relieved she had taken the time to scan Eragon's mind and had learned how to read, Saphira read words that had clearly been intended for her.

Saphira, there is no time to explain what is going on right now and I am currently unable to wake you up. I promise to give you the entire truth as soon as I can. Until then, please, just remain by the spring. Love, Eragon.

Confusion spread through Saphira's mind as she carefully examined the odd message. If it was a trap designed to lure her into mortal peril, than the people behind it were very, very thick. It wouldn't have taken a genius to realize it would have been wise capturing the fearsome dragon when she was asleep and defenseless. Only morons would prepare an elaborate and transparent trap that only another moron would believe.

So the note was genuine? Then why hadn't Eragon merely woken her up and healed her wounds? Surely even her Rider knew having a healed and loyal dragon at his side was the smartest decision for whatever ridiculous quest he had accepted. Did he believe her unable to help, that just because she was injured and a female she wasn't strong enough to be useful!

Arrogant little stone-head. Eragon better have good justification for his actions for leaving behind a mighty dragon who has baked trained soldiers alive in their chain-mail, or this better be a pathetic attempt of a trap, because I am. Not. Pleased.

Allowing her rage to simmer and grow ever more potent with age, Saphira chose to lie down and finally attend to her numerous injuries. Infection and further injury wasn't worth the effort of running her foolish Rider down. Besides, Eragon was probably long out of reach. So the she-dragon payed close attention to her surroundings in case an ambush was being enacted, and began to clean out her wounds. She pointedly chose to disregarded the dragon footprints she was confident were not her own, but she had too many blasted issues on her mind to deal with at the moment.

Either way, Eragon better have the best damned reasons on earth for this rude treatment, and the ability to swallow all his foolish male pride give me the apology I deserve. Then, perhaps if I am feeling in a forgiving mood, I shall only go and abandon him on some desolate mountaintop.

Eragon had believed his mission to be a relatively simple one, if a bit tedious. His wings allowed him to efficiently traverse through miles of tangled forest and his superb senses easily detected the light insects. Sure, the tears had been transformed into mobile bugs, but that gave him something tangible to hone in on. The red sparks they sent out and the unique chattering sound they made made them simple to sort out from the common animals.

Oh, how horribly wrong he had been. The bugs possessed enough intelligence to conceal themselves. Buried beneath the earth or tucked away in inaccessible areas, Midna had been forced to retrieve those out of the green dragon's reach, like the pests that had been terrorizing the home of a petrified lantern oil salesman. Eragon had been forced to dig like a dog in order to chase down the insects that were burrowing frantically through the dirt in escape attempts.

Nature had also taken every possible chance to further wear away at his patience. Obstacles like crowded undergrowth and massive lakes of noxious gas hindered his search. Every animal in the presence seemed to sense the danger he posed to the continuance of the Twilight and lunged at him. Eragon was able to repel all of the nuisances, but the constant bombardment of hostile creatures was beginning to eat away at his endurance. Then there were more encounters with those damned shadow beasts that seemed impossible to kill...

"Finally!" Midna exclaimed in relief as she examined the light vessel after hours of struggling through Faron Woods. "Fourteen of the little buggers reclaimed. Now all we need are two more and this nightmare can end!"

Eragon flew just above the canopy, his paws sometimes skimming against the treetops if he neglected to maintain altitude. He scanned the forest below like a hawk, looking out for the telltale glimmers of red energy.

Eragon had neared the decrepit structure Rusl called the Forest Temple. Apparently citizens from all around Hyrule had once made journeys to it to honor the ancient forest spirits and Farore, the Golden Goddess who had created life and was most prevalent in wild areas like Faron Woods. It had fallen into disrepair over the years when worshipers had begun to favor more local shrines, and now its only visitors were the occasional archaeologists that came to study a lost age of history.

Outside of the Forest Temple's entrance was were two streams of energy circling around a panicked spirit. The light insects had trapped some poor animal and were now tormenting it out of some sadistic pleasure. Partly furling his wings, Eragon honed in on his target and swooped down upon his prey. Landing amidst the discord he lashed out with his paws, killing the little pests with his surprise attack.

A moment later the darkness that composed of the insects dissolved, leaving only two tears of light behind. They hovered passively in the air as if patiently awaiting collection. Midna floated over to retrieve them, leaving Eragon to inspect the little spirit he had just rescued.

It was the same monkey he had freed alongside the village children from the Bokoblins had kidnapped them. He would have recognized that pink bow and that tattoo anywhere. She (for the primate was obviously female) looked around in confusion at the sudden disappearance of her tormentors.

"Someone... saved me?"

Eragon growled in surprise, involuntarily lurching away from the talking animal. Midna, who had just been reaching for the final errant tear, glanced curiously at him.

Did you just hear that monkey talk or am I going insane? Eragon blurted out in alarm.

The Twili looked between him and the spirit, contemplating her answer carefully. "Dragons are beasts," she replied at last. "So are monkeys. I find it completely understandable that you have just learned the language of beasts." She smirked. "Or perhaps you have indeed lost your mind. I can hear nothing but senseless chatter. But does it have anything useful to say?"

Listening in with morbid fascination, Eragon eavesdropped upon the one-siding ramblings of a talking spectral monkey.

"I don't see anyone around though, so maybe those weird bugs randomly exploded or something. Nothing seems strange anymore." The monkey turned to the entrance of the Forest Temple, sighing sadly. "Man, nothing is the same around here. Bokoblins coming from out of the deep woods and kidnapping human kids. Animals going insane and attacking those of their own kind. That psychopathic golden wolf lurking close to the village. Boss could have told us what was going on, if only he hadn't been so possessive of that dark thing in the temple. He won't even allow us in anymore!"

"Well?" Midna prompted impatiently. "What did it have to say?"

Nothing that we know already or that is important to us. Those corrupted by the Twilight are attacking normal spirits, some strange-colored wolf is prowling about, monsters are close to Ordon Village, and the boss monkey is apparently guarding some dark thing in the Forest Temple-

"What was that final thing?" Midna demanded sharply. Her golden eyes had narrowed, calculating.

Confused, Eragon repeated the final thing the monkey had mentioned. He studied Midna's features carefully, but her expression was unreadable aside from her narrowed eyes.

Finally, she sighed and nodded. "Looks like we know where to go next already," she muttered so low even the green dragon could barely here. "Surely it shouldn't be this simple." Then she smirked, cackling in amusement. "Oh, Goddesses, you all must surely want little old Midna out of your precious Light Realm! Handing me everything I want on a silver platter... such bribery is nearly flattering."

Eragon growled. I'm not venturing down into some ruined old temple with you! My only duty is to free this land of Twilight and to kill this Zant so that his corruption does not spread to my land!

The Twili female gave him a reproachful look. "Want to kill the godless usurper before he can plunge your friends and family into eternal shadow? Then you're going to have to get weapons strong enough to harm him! The powerful artifact housed within this stupid temple is something you need to retrieve for me so we can put down Zant for good." Midna frowned slightly as she eyed the Forest Temple's entrance. "We'll have to come back, though. You're currently too big to enter and I really don't want to waste the energy it would take to keep you small."

Then can we just return things to normal? Saphira is waiting for me and I'd rather reunite with her in my true form.

Midna at last grasped for the final tear of light, sealing it within the last open container. Immediately the entire vessel began to glow ever brighter, the Twili female gasping in pain at the radiance. She dropped the container and retreated to the refuge of Eragon's shadow as the vessel of light floated on its own power, emanating light as brilliantly as a miniature sun.

Eragon felt the warmth of the brilliance entering his body, reaching ever deeper into him until it penetrated the depths of his very soul. He roared in shock as the light seemed to throb in tandem with his heart, spreading and purifying the darkness from every corner of his being. It was as painful as his first agonizing transformation, only the feeling was of compression rather than expansion as the fiery power of his dragon form was forced back into him.

Light enveloped his entire vision, blinding and searing hot. As with the first time, the intensity of the experience proved overwhelming, and Eragon willingly surrendered to the darkness of unconsciousness to seek shelter from the ordeal.

Ilirea was perhaps one of the oldest settlements in western Alagaesia, its founding predating even the arrival of the first human ships. Here had been the last elfin stronghold outside of the impenetrable Du Weldenvarden and a city that had been a home for Dragon Riders outside of their island of Vroengard.

In its glory days, Ilirea had been renowned for its whimsical architecture. Elves had constructed the entire city with their graceful forest towns in mind and the elegance had been visible in every last column and glass window. Castle Ilirea had been the centerpiece of the unbelievable city, with slender spires that seemed to pierce the very sky and massive, elaborate dragon-holds that put most human manors to shame. Such additions were so unstable only magical enchantments continually enforced by the elves kept them standing. People had flocked to Ilirea from all four corners of Alagaesia to personally see the impossible structures and the Rider's dragons, and so it had also been a place of prosperous commerce and a tourist favorite.

Galbatorix's conquering of Ilirea had resulted in virtually the entire city being razed to the ground so that the new capitol of Urubaen could be built upon its desecrated remnants. Castle Ilirea was one the very few buildings spared from devastation, for even the Mad King could recognize the brilliance of its design. However, not even it had been left untouched from the Empire's brutal renovations.

All whimsical structures such as the slender towers had been removed due to the sheer waste of magic involved in keeping them erect. Such enchantments had gone to the support of the new defenses that Galbatorix had installed. Traces of elves and dragons upon the exterior had all been brutally effaced. Castle Ilirea had been transformed on the outside into the stark, practical fortress all of Urubaen knew it as today.

Portions of the interior, however, had been left virtually untouched by alterations. Visiting nobles slept in rooms identical to those high-ranking Shur'tugal had once stayed in. Carvings of men and women astride flying dragons decorated the ceiling of the several dining halls. The interior of Castle Ilirea seemed a testament to a glorious age long-past, and a harsh reminder of all the wonder that that had been lost forever after the Fall.

Why had Galbatorix spared so much of his fortress's interior from alteration? Even he had been impressed by the beauty of Castle Ilirea as a young apprentice Rider and wished for part of it to remain. It also served to remind the more rebellious inhabitants of the castle of all he had personally brought an end to, and as a warning against those who also foolishly considered waging war against the infamous Black King of Alagaesia.

For all of the foreboding titles and the outlandish tales that accompanied his name, Galbatorix was physically rather unremarkable. Contrary to popular belief, he was neither a hideous old man or the epitome of human perfection who had sold his soul for eternal beauty. His average face was one that could have belonged to a farmer plowing his field or a salesman hawking his wares on the street. His dull brown hair had only a few streaks of gray, one of the very few signs of his true age.

Only Galbatorix's eyes lived up to their reputation. They were impossibly dark, fathomless and unreadable black holes that drew in everything around them and let nothing out. It was the last thing his enemies ever saw before falling to his blade or to Shruikan's crushing jaws. It was from his unnerving gaze that all other exaggerations had sprung.

His eyes were the only visible sign of all that Galbatorix had sacrificed to gain his limitless power and near invincibility. Ultimate command over all else did not come without its own unholy price.

Shruikan growled. Galbatorix looked up from his text, turning all attention to the other half of his soul.

Lost in his violent dreams, the black dragon stirred restlessly in his slumber. His claws scraped at the ground as if tearing at the hides of helpless opponents. Every so often his jaws opened and closed as if crushing around the neck of another dragon or its incapacitated Rider.

Galbatorix shivered slightly at the beast's unbridled ferocity, withdrawing ever more from their permanent connection. He did not need to peek into his dragon's dreams to know he was reminiscing on the old days. Shruikan grew discontent after decades of inactivity. Time had dulled his blood-lust, the primal urge to destroy until he alone ruled over a world of ruin. It was all the dark-scaled dragon desired, and even Galbatorix sometimes feared the rage's intensity.

Shruikan's irreversible condition had been the result of one rather... unfortunate side-effect. The spell Galbatorix had cast to bind a young hatchling to his own soul had stripped it of its higher thought and emotions. His dragon was incapable of speech and felt only the base desires that drove the actions of senseless animals. Yet he was also unwaveringly faithful to his Galbatorix, and the love and obedience for his Rider were unconditional.

For all Shruikan's faults and mindless fury, Galbatorix loved his dragon. He helped fill the gaping void the death of darling Jarnunvosk had caused. The council of Dragon Riders had denied his understandable request for a second dragon and had banished him from their ranks. Galbatorix had returned the favor by acquiring a dragon on his own and unleashing his own devastating wrath upon those that had left him to die alone and insane.

"We proved them wrong, Shruikan," Galbatorix murmured quietly to his sleeping dragon. "For all those that tried to bend us to their will, it was they who were forced into submission. It is we who had all the power."

Again, the man's dark eyes flickered down to the text he was reading. The pages were yellowed like ancient bones, almost to the point of being illegible. Preservation charms that had been placed upon the book's pages just after their creation had long since faded with age. Galbatorix now had to daily enforce and repair the worn book to stave off the devastating effects of time. But its knowledge was priceless, and well worth the effort of constant maintenance.

Numerous runes adorned the yellowed pages, ones not elfin or dwarfen in origin. The language was long obsolete even in the book's homeland, but Galbatorix knew the words by heart. After all, the translations for every single arcane letter had been ingrained into his mind. His... tutor had strongly believed that knowledge was power and had ruthlessly instructed his sole student as such. Galbatorix was grateful for the instruction, but the burning hatred for his mentor lingered still. He had been aware of both.

His teacher had laughed humorlessly, reveling in yet another of his disrespectful student's smoldering glares. "Resent me all you will, boy, but you have foolishly bound yourself to me in ways all but the darkest of souls fear to. Your life is mine. Your soul is mine. Even all of your hatred is mine. Loathe me all you want, but know it will only give me strength. Of course, you knew all of this before you signed your soul away. Remind me again why you chose to do so." Cruel eyes narrowing, his silence was weighted with sharp expectation.

Galbatorix recited the answer that had been burned into his very mind through months of rigorous memorization. The response was now as natural as breathing or blinking. "You have the power, my Lord. Only as your loyal servant can I hope to borrow some of it. Only under your instruction can I learn to dominate those that defiled the memory of Jarnunvosk and left me for dead."

Silence reigned for several tense moments. Hardly daring to even breathe, Galbatorix remained rigid with apprehension as a cold sweat trickled down his brow. His mentor bothered with him solely because he felt the need to. Galbatorix was disposable to him. There were always other apprentices willing to serve under such a gifted master, even if they were difficult to locate.

Finally the feared and worshiped King of Thieves, the sole surviving male of his devious race, smiled slightly in appeasement. "Correct. It was the wish of Din that you found your way to me. Without her presence influencing your path you would have succumbed to exposure in the western mountains and would have died from the ruthless weather or from your own madness." His yellow eyes swept over his pupil, critically examining the months of training and drills under his command. "Yet you stumbled into the homeland of my people. A promising pupil of such limitless potential and the craving for the greatest of knowledge that seemed destined to encounter a master able to instruct him. It was a blessing to a both of us that my mothers decided to spare your life rather than leave your unconscious body to the scavengers and the sun."

Galbatorix still had to suppress his shudder of horror at the unpleasant memory. Mad from the loss of his beloved Jarnunvosk and dangerously dehydrated, he had scarcely remembered traveling down from the alpine slopes of the Beor Mountains and stumbling into a burning desert. He had soon collapsed into the sand and had been unable to rise, forced to suffer a painful death as the unrelenting sun drained away his water.

It hadn't helped that the first people that had stumbled across his limp form had been two hideous old crones. Mirror images of the other, their personalities couldn't have been more different. They had first debated on whether to watch the buzzards eat him alive or to torture him themselves. Then they had sensed his latent power and only then had felt compelled to become his rescuers.

Galbatorix took great care not to mention this to his lord. The "son" of the two crones was twice as worse than both of them combined.

"Koume and Kotake realized the potential I had," was his flattering response. "You helped me to realize it."

"Got that right, kid. Smart and skilled, exactly why I didn't let my Gerudo have at you. You're too valuable to waste as their plaything." His lord proudly held up his hand in yet another display of his superiority. Shining bright against his dark, desert-tanned skin was a mark of three golden triangles that formed a fourth. In the brilliant light of the afternoon it shown with a fitting red glow. "Just remember, my greatest trick is mine alone. Din recognizes me alone as the most powerful person in the entire world. Here is all the proof I need of it."

Galbatorix's brown eyes narrowed sharply. They had still been a relatively light shade back then. Not yet had they been forever tainted by the darkness of his deeds. "I'll still be able to do all you promised me, right? Slaughter entire forces of Dragon Riders with the simplest of spells? Harness the Elundari of each dragon I defeat to increase my own strength?" His heart fluttered with his faint hope. "Bond with a new dragon without resorting to the old rituals."

Lord Ganondorf, ruler over every last tribe of Gerudo and currently aiming on extending his reign to the kingdom of Hyrule, nodded. "Do I look like a godless deceiver to you?" he questioned mockingly. "Rest assured, Galbatorix, you shall have all the power as promised. Against your old foes you will be nigh invincible and Alagaesia will be yours to conquer." Ganondorf glared threateningly, and slowly clenched his extended hand into a fist. "Just remember that even the greatest of kings bow down completely before their gods. Should the Goddesses ever choose to strike me down before I attain the sacred Triforce, so you shall be condemned with me. My fall shall completely rob you of all my borrowed power, including the barriers I helped place to keep your... condition at bay."

Gulping reflexively, one of the younger man's hands unconsciously traveled to cover his heart. "I am aware of the dire consequences of betrayal, my Lord. My very sanity depends upon your success. I am not strong enough to ward off the effects of my broken bond with Jarnunvosk for long." Galbatorix bowed desperately. "All the more reason to obey you."

Ganondorf smirked in satisfaction. "Good." In his other hand he held up the book he had been dangling above Galbatorix's head for countless months as incentive. "Come along now, Galbatorix. Koume and Kotake believe you are ready for the next phase of your training."

Ganondorf's dire threats had proved true. His lord and master had mysteriously disappeared shortly after Galbatorix's final triumph over the slaying of Vrael and the fall of the last significant resistance against his cause. The Empire had been newly founded when Galbatorix had suddenly been stripped of his nearly unlimited energy and of the barriers that had prevented his descent from his earlier degenerate state. Fortunately conditions in his new kingdom had been chaotic enough for Galbatorix's surviving Forsworn to not notice his sudden loss of invincibility.

Years slowly crawled by. Galbatorix was forced to withdraw his forces into the Empire's borders. Elves and dwarfs so close to defeat huddled in their forests and their mountain strongholds to recover. He had been forced to watch as the rebellious south broke off and formed the rival nation of Surda, and a loose collection of rebels assimilated into the relentless pest that was the Varden. How could Galbatorix meet them in battle? Skilled magicians fought for the other side, and it would not take much for his previous illusion of invincibility to shatter. The Empire's god-king was now mortal enough to bleed, and preferred to languish in his castle rather than reveal his fatal flaws to his enemies.

As the old man he was now was chronologically, Galbatorix couldn't help but long for the glory days when he had leveled entire towns in hours and had easily massacred the strongest of Shur'tugal. With that new rebellious Rider allied with the Varden and possessing the last female dragon, the Black King wished only to rip Eragon Shadeslayer to pieces and to claim the sapphire she-dragon for the purpose of rebuilding her endangered kind.

Yearning for such power only aggravated his condition. Galbatorix was forced to continually harvest energy from the dragon Eldunarya to support the spells that held back the tide of madness and grief. Sometimes he would have to wait several agonizing days for the depleted supply to slowly restore itself.

Sometimes, his faltering mind would temporarily fail.

His fits of madness left him as furious and senseless as a mere beast. Hotheaded as a wounded dragon, his only instinct was to lash out at those he even suspected of insulting him. Without his wits during critical junctures, Galbatorix had suffered for it. Murtagh had first been driven to run away during one such episode. Relationships with the Alagaesian lords had nearly been damaged beyond repair when all of Urubaen had once feared him incurably insane. Shruikan was left free to run amok when his Rider was incapacitated, and ravaged servants and destroyed portions of Ilirea Castle until he could finally be subdued.

Galbatorix would always eventually wrestle his madness under control. Always he would awaken weeping for the loss of his invulnerability, and with the death of his darling Jarnunvosk fresh in his mind. The inevitably of another mental failure lurked again in the back of his head.

"Not for much longer," Galbatorix whispered harshly. "The approaching victory the Varden seems to sense shall only prove a false dawn. My reign over them all shall soon be unchallenged once more."

His fingers trailed over the ancient runes that held the solutions to all of the problems. Not even the most determined rebels could repulse an unfaltering army of undead soldiers entirely under his command. Monsters that had long since vanished from the land could be summoned forth to torment all those that defied him. There were ways to fully resurrect the entire dragon race without resorting to making them inbred brutes after several generations. Even Jarnunvosk could be returned without him having to cross the veil between the mortal world and the realm of the dead. Everything Galbatorix required for permanent triumph he already possessed. All he needed now was the power...

Glancing over at the fitful form of his dragon, Galbatorix smiled slightly. Shruikan was not the only one that grew restless. He sensed their time was nigh once again. He could feel it in the core of his very soul.

"Lord Ganondorf is rising again, Shruikan. You remember him, don't you?" Dark eyes alight with excitement, Galbatorix chuckled fondly. "Well, if you don't, you shall recall him soon enough. He returns to all of us, to recall the servants who shall be eternally loyal to him. It shall soon to be time for you to go out and play safely once again."

Lost in his slumber, Shruikan emitted a subconscious grunt to his Rider's words. For a brief moment the connection between the two strengthened, and primal emotions of blood-lust and violence assaulted Galbatorix's mind. Visions of burning skies and ravaged cities danced across his mind's eye as he glimpsed into Shruikan's fractured dreams. Then Galbatorix had returned to reality, sweating and panting heavily from the force of the emotional surge.

A small, satisfied smile slowly pulled at Galbatorix's features. Shruikan was eager to resume his old habits, and an unwitting Alagaesia was practically beginning to be reminded of the force that had annihilated the godlike Shur'tugal and had almost eradicated the mighty dragons from the earth.

It was now only a matter of time before then.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Here Comes the King, Extended- X-Ray Dog

Cracking his eyes open once again to the waking world, Eragon Shadeslayer struggled to fully resume consciousness. Blearily he realized that flash of radiant light had somehow transported him back to the shore of Faron Spring. Before his very eyes the orange gloom began to lighten as the darkness was slowly burned away. The creeping shadows dissipated before the growing daylight and the hazy orange sky gradually transformed into a shade of brilliant blue he had feared he would have never seen again. Light had again been restored to Faron Province.

Midna's shaded silhouette hovered before him, the only feature standing out being her bright amber eyes. She giggled mockingly, her voice echoing as if she were speaking from underwater: "Eeh heh heh! See you later!" Then the Twili female completely slipped back into his shadow, vanishing entirely from sight. Only physically seeing her dive into his own shadow convinced Eragon that Midna had not actually disappeared.

Eragon!

That achingly familiar voice again emanated inside his mind for the first time in what had seemed like eternity. Once he had feared to never again hear it except in his faded memories, but her she was. Their connection was as strong as ever, and Saphira Bjartskular's unconditional love and overwhelming relief were once again flowing into his body.

Struggling against the new weighted heaviness that seemed to drag him down, Eragon slowly craned his neck backward to finally lay his eyes upon his blue she-dragon. He was sprawled helplessly out on the ground, limp as a doll. Every single movement took tremendous effort to accomplish. He was painfully aware how the invigorating fire that had earlier engulfed him was now disturbingly absent. How dependent had had he become from such raw and untamed power flowing freely through his very veins? Could he even function normally anymore without it, or was he doomed to forever long for such liberating strength.

"Saphira!" he cried automatically, unable to keep her name from escaping him while so giddy in their reunion. Eragon was only dimly aware of how his lips had formed an actual word. His voice was hoarse and nearly unrecognizable from disuse, but still intelligible as human language. Humanity had finally been restored to him!

Saphira rushed toward him, not even bothering to maintain her draconic dignity. Whatever resentment she felt for being callously ignored while seriously injured and for being thoughtlessly left behind was currently forgotten. All negative emotions had been drowned out at the sheer excitement of seeing her beloved Rider alive and well, their reunion in the flesh. Her thoughts were now entirely devoted to him.

Examining her form, Eragon's heart clenched with nearly unbearable guilt and shame as he fully took in Saphira's serious injuries. Though she had licked the blood from her scales, the fresh red gashes were striking against her blue hide. Her tattered wing hung limply against her side. Undoubtedly she had tried to flee danger and had ended up again damaging the fragile appendage. Still, not even her wounds could mar her beauty in Eragon's eyes. Solid form completely restored, Saphira's sapphire scales shimmered in the sunlight like pristine gemstones. Her neck still had its regal curve and her blue eyes their burning glow. Nothing could dull the she-dragon's innate majesty in Eragon's eyes.

Oh, praise the gods! Saphira exclaimed. She lowered her head to rub it against Eragon's in her best attempt at a display of affection, humming so low it resonated pleasantly in his bones. I thought you'd brazenly charged off and gotten devoured by some unnatural monster! Her reigning emotions beginning to recede, the she-dragon eyed her Rider curiously. What in the seven hells happened to your clothes?

Momentarily caught up in their joyous reunion and relieved he still had time left for a decent explanation before being abandoned on some desolate mountaintop, Saphira's final comment startled him. Eragon's idiotic grin slowly turned into a bewildered expression as his brow furrowed. Where had that question come from? Certainly he he hadn't transformed back into a man stark naked! He could still feel the familiar sensation of cloth rubbing against his skin.

Before he could personally inspect himself to ensure no scales or horns had carried over from his dragon form, the concern of both swiftly switched to Faron Spring. The crystal clear waters were beginning to glow with a radiance of their own, the ancient runes carved upon the surrounding rocks emanating light. The customary chill ran down his spine that signaled the eminent arrival of a spirit, and Eragon felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. Anticipating what was about to occur, he remained calm.

Saphira had no such prior knowledge or experience with the supernatural to assure her. Growling warningly, she slowly moved in front of Eragon's prone form as if to shield him from the worse of the danger. Fighting against the weakness in his limbs, he managed to put a placating hand upon her leg. Glancing down at her Rider, the savage rumble in Saphira's throat reluctantly died down. Instead she crouched down to offer support as Eragon struggled to rise from the ground.

Clenching his teeth in defiance against the protesting soreness of his mutinous body, Eragon leaned heavily against his she-dragon's side and staggered laboriously to his own two feet. His muscles trembled at the exertion, and he found himself wishing for the sturdiness of a four-legged stance once again. However, Eragon forgot this petty desire as something more pressing came to mind.

Everything felt different than it was supposed to. There was certainly a new heaviness to his person separate from his aching form. Had he somehow gained a few pounds? As he straightened his form there was the slight clanking of metal as something shifted along with him. And why the hell could he no longer feel the slight breeze through his hair-

Rising up from the radiant waters was a shining orb of light. Saphira's muscles quivered beneath Eragon's hands, and he knew it was taking every last might of her willpower to not bravely charge at the intimidating threat. Golden limbs began to manifest around the floating orb, curling tightly around it to maintain a secure grip around the precious treasure. Clinging to the orb was the massive form of a golden monkey like those found in the woods, only with an impossibly long tail that curled up and around its body.

Unable to comprehend the impossible creature, Saphira had frozen in shock. Leaning against her side still, Eragon also looked up at the Light Spirit of this spring. When the monkey turned its fathomless eyes down upon them, he inclined his head respectfully. Spirits like this deserved recognition.

"My name is Faron," the Light Spirit proclaimed in a breathy voice. "I am one of the Four Light spirits charged to protect the sacred kingdom of Hyrule. I use the life force of the gods to defend this mighty forest against the ever-creeping darkness that wishes to claim it."

A Light Spirit? Saphira echoed in disbelieving awe. Like the one that supposedly presides over Ordon Spring? Her mental barricades were all firmly up, leaving only a small opening to maintain her mental connection. Obviously she had the common sense to not glimpse into the mind of a nigh omniscient entity.

Eragon nodded in response. "Oh, yes," he muttered back. "If you think Faron is incredible you should have seen the golden goat. There was an unforgettable sight."

Oblivious to the somewhat blasphemous conversation going on beneath, Faron continued on its speech. "In the embrace of the corrupted twilight, where the unfortunate people are cursed to roam as pale spirits, you transformed into a blue eyed beast for your own protection..." Saphira choked in shock at this revelation. Eragon suddenly felt his life expectancy had just been shortened to mere hours. "That was a sign... It was a sign that the powers of the chosen one reside in you, and that they are stirring... Look upon your awakened form."

Ignoring the flabbergasted and possibly furious she-dragon seething right beside him, Eragon cautiously held up his left hand for inspection. It was sheathed in a black glove that was fingerless for better grip. Brown leather gauntlets for gods-knew what purpose were strapped over his lower arms. The clothes he had been wearing before his first transformation had been somehow replaced with unrecognizable garb. First came a pair of tan pants and an undershirt of the same color. The cloth protected his vulnerable skin from the shirt of chain-mail that had been placed over it. At least the metal accounted for some of the unexplained weight he had felt. Above that was a strange green tunic frayed and faded with age. Even his boots had been swapped for a new sturdy brown pair.

Eragon had also received several additional features. A belt containing several pouches had found its way around his waist. Strapped miraculously to his back were the sword and shield Midna had stolen from the village and had stashed away for him.

Then there was the hat. Green as the outer tunic he now wore, Eragon carefully felt the hat was so long it practically arched over his sword and shield, yet it miraculously never got tangled up in his equipment. His hands also sensed the ridiculous hat ended in a tapered point, and several stitches done by an unskilled hand had been sewn in. Obviously the hat's previous owner had cared enough about it to continuously patch up every single hole and tear.

Saphira couldn't help but hum in amusement at his unbelievable clothing. Nice choice, little one, she remarked sarcastically.

"The green tunic is the very same that once belonged to the greatest and most dedicated Hero of all time," Faron intoned with an almost reverent tone. "His power is yours. It is the very same one that has slept within you from the moment of your birth."

Gaping freely now, Eragon and Saphira looked up from their critical examination of his outrageous outfit with strangled yelps of shock. WHAT? two minds blurted out simultaneously.

"Your name is Eragon," the magnificent Light Spirit intoned solemnly. "You are the Hero Chosen by the Gods!"

Whatever strength remaining in Eragon's body suddenly fled as if out of fear. His knees buckled, and the petrified young man almost went crashing into the spring. Saphira's swift actions saved him, and there her Rider remained, clinging tremulously to her neck as if letting go was impossible. Blue eyes wide and staring vacantly ahead, his mind frantically rushed to comprehend the consequences of Faron's proclamation.

Growling defiantly, a furious Saphira snarled up at the Light Spirit's impassive form. Why? she demanded challengingly. Can fate not leave my poor Rider alone! He has suffered enough for one lifetime. Let your gods select another champion to control! Our responsibilities lie elsewhere, in a land faraway from Hyrule!

Eragon's blue eyes flickered up, struggling to meet Faron's unreadable gaze. "An unholy power rests within the crumbling temple deep within the heart of my woods. It is a forbidden power. Long ago, when the world created by these Goddesses was still newly born, I and the three other Light Spirits locked it away to avoid the tragedy it initially caused from ever happening again. Because of its dark nature, it is a temptation that never should be touched that dwell within the light."

Dark smoke poured forth from Saphira's nostrils in her mounting aggravation. Then why should we pursue it? It seems a dark power that even the strongest beings of this realm fear.

"Exceptions must always be made in such dire circumstances," Faron retorted. "This world suffocates beneath a mantle of shadows, and so there is no choice... The Chosen Hero must wield a dark power that matches that of the false King Zant. Sometimes only darkness can oppose darkness, especially when Twilight absorbs all that is light and steals away its brilliance."

"We have no choice, Saphira!" Eragon spoke up for the first time since being stunned into silence. The she-dragon's head snapped toward him, and her eyes burned mutinously at the prospect of listening to a Light Spirit. There was a dragon's unfaltering will, defiant even against divine powers. "Collecting these dark artifacts and driving away the Twilight is my obligation now." He glared up at Faron. "Not out of some desire to fulfill a damned prophecy, but because only I have the strength now to rise up against this shadow king. Twilight will continue to spread, Saphira, and it will inevitably reclaim even the lands I have just rescued. It will eventually spread to Alagaesia if not stopped. All of this blasted darkness has to be dispelled, and apparently only I'm able to."

Saphira held his stern gaze for a moment, testing his resolve. Eragon's voice did not waver, and he stared right back at her. Finally the she-dragon bowed her head in resignation to his wishes. So be it. But no more dashing off and leaving me behind! I chose to hatch for you, and so you're stuck with me until we both perish from all of this senseless heroism. For what is a dragon without her Rider?

Eragon smiled warmly at her, heart clenching again at her unwavering loyalty. Furious over being so callously abandoned and still possessing a broken wing, even then Saphira was willing to protect him from whatever danger they faced.

"O, brave and noble dragon..." Faron murmured. "Not even your formidable might can withstand against the Twilight. Against its shadows your flame is extinguished and your strength pales. You felt the Twilight's effects upon you when that premature dusk fell upon these woods, and no how relentlessly its corrupted creatures pursued you. Following the Chosen One will lead to your own death."

Turning to meet Saphira's questioning gaze, dragon and Rider mentally exchanged their thoughts upon Faron's cryptic warning. Their mutual agreement upon the best course of action was made without extended discussion. Both knew what the other had to say about it already.

Completely confident, Eragon again looked up at Faron. "Some unknown Goddess granted me the ability to assume the form of a proud and mighty beast while in Twilight. It gave me the power to fight back against the darkness and restore light to your province. Tell that Goddess the Chosen Hero requests his dragon be granted the same blessing." He grinned. "For what is a Rider without his dragon?"

To Saphira's pleasant surprise and satisfaction, Faron was eager to agree to their sole request. Apparently whatever Goddess that had originally blessed Eragon with his mysterious "beast" form was desperate to keep her kingdom's last chance of salvation from flying away back to his homeland. Besides, it seemed even divine entities could realize the potential difficulty sending Eragon rushing off without being accompanied by the voice of reason that had also saved his skin from the young man's own foolish mistakes countless times before.

Faron had offered the conditions that would come with such a blessing, all of the terms pretty much straightforward: Saphira would be free to switch between her original and alternate forms whenever she pleased while in the Light Realm. While in the Twilight she would be limited to her second form as Eragon was to his to prevent the darkness from corrupting her soul. Her alternate shape would be practical in both realms, and would come included with the basic knowledge and instincts already included. What time could be wasted in having her blunder helplessly about until she got the hang of a new body?

So after Saphira happily accepted these generous terms, Faron had stopped procrastinating and had finally transformed her. After the bright light that had engulfed her form had died down, the spirit had disappeared. Apparently it realized it had no further use to linger around and pester them.

For the first time in her life, Saphira stood confidently upon two legs, not even having trouble with balancing. Of course she had been turned into a human woman. Such a form was far less conspicuous than any of the animals she'd had in mind, and much more versatile. Most animals couldn't wonder into a town without attracting unwanted attention. As a human herself Saphira had suddenly become a lot more anonymous.

Imagine how different life in Alagaesia would be with this advantage! She would no longer have to deal with the stress of leaving Eragon whenever he entered a space too small for a massive dragon to follow. No more would she have to both communicating mentally and following the tedious etiquette of mental speech! Traveling anonymously into even the Empire had now been made so simple. No longer did Eragon have a reasonable excuse to leave her behind!

"This form will do," Saphira said in satisfaction, speaking aloud with a true voice for the first ever time. At Eragon's gawk of surprise, she arched one of her new eyebrows as she looked at him. "What? You knew my form was going to change! Did you honestly expect for the gods to transform me into a horse or some other insulting domestic beast?"

"No!" Eragon blurted out quickly. "It's just that-"

"You didn't expect your dragon to become one of those young women men like you would deem attractive," she finished bluntly. Their old connection had not been lost when she had gained humanity. The deep bond dragon and Rider shared did not break simply because the dragon in the relationship had suddenly ceased to be one.

Ignoring the scarlet face of her blushing and stammering Rider, Saphira glanced down at the shallow pool of water she stood in. Its surface reflected her image back like a mirror, and so she inspected her brand new form as critically as Eragon had examined his new outrageous garb.

Her skin was unusually pale, traced with some even lighter lines that formed markings that the runes that adorned the rocks surrounding Faron Spring. She guessed herself to be approximately Eragon's age. By no means was Saphira delicate by any stretch of the imagination. She was roughly Eragon's height (even though he had yet to fully finish growing, she would likely be only an inch or two shorter when he finally reached his full height) and lithe as a she-wolf was. All of that flying had paid off, for she felt her lean muscles had a strength that belied her deceivingly slender appearance. Saphira's hair was what one would call platinum blond, almost silver with only the faintest glimmer of gold. It was practically tied back in a braid, its tip reaching down to her shoulder blades.

Saphira silently gave a prayer of gratitude to the mysterious Goddess thoughtful enough to provide her actual clothes. Gowns didn't cut it for those planning to trample through wilderness and inevitably spill some blood, or for she-dragons who had never seen the purpose for such hindering garbs in the first place. In her eyes, the dark blue tunic and black breeches she wore were gifts from the gods.

So was the slender but deadly blade safely located in the sheath belted to her waist. Carefully drawing it, Saphira inspected her new weapon. The silver hilt seemed to have been forged with a scale-like pattern, its cross-guards strongly reminding the young woman of her own unfurled wings. It was a beautifully elegant blade. It was a blade that would gracefully slash through those foolish enough to block her path.

"No shield, though," Eragon pointed out.

"I don't plan to stay in one place long enough to need one," Saphira answered as she sheathed her sword. "It would only slow me down whenever I try to dodge and strike swiftly. My blade should be enough to block all attacks that actually make it toward me."

Yes, Saphira was pretty damned confident she knew how to use a blade. For a form that lacked the natural defenses of claws, fangs, and fire, she needed something to protect herself and to use against unwitting enemies. The basic knowledge of swordplay had come included with it.

Hands going to feel at her ears, Saphira studied her reflection more closer as something caught her attention. Her face was angular like Eragon's, features too angular for a human yet too rough to belong to an elf. And her ears were not rounded like they should have been, but longer than usual and ending with pointed tips.

"Not human after all," she remarked blithely. "Apparently I'm Hylian. Considering I was transformed by a Hyrulean Goddess, I really shouldn't be surprised." She smiled as something occurred to her. "Maybe this is even better than humanity. Aren't Hylians the chosen race or something? Their blood is supposed to be infused with magic."

Perfect. Another reason to convince Eragon she needed to accompany him everywhere. He couldn't even use the excuse she could be vulnerable to magicians of the Black Hand.

Saphira smirked slightly when she heard her Rider try to stifle his dismayed groan. He too had just realized his overprotective she-dragon could shadow his every movement now in even the most confined spaces. "Great," he said with a somewhat forced smile on his face. "Let's go and make a quick stop back at Ordon Village. We need to collect the saddle and all of the supplies we need for the inevitable long and perilous journey ahead."

Saphira made to follow the green-clad young man, then froze as a thought occurred to her. Punishing Eragon appropriately for his earlier transgressions had just been now made impossible. Curse destiny for selecting him as the only savior this world had left. It meant she could not abandon him on some desolate mountaintop without condemning the rest of the world to perpetual darkness. Vindication would have to come much later than she had hoped for.

Relieved as he was at the realization Saphira's vengeance was temporarily postponed due to the circumstances, Eragon still had to deal with the she-dragon's torment. Though overjoyed to be reunited with her Rider, dragons were notorious for holding grudges for absurdly long amounts of time. Saphira was also female an technically a true humanoid woman in her alternate form, so there was a doubled resentment right there. She would not simply forget about it until she had received a detailed explanation for his earlier treatment of her, and as of yet Eragon hadn't the opportunity to recount his tale or explain the fact that an imp was squatting within his shadow.

Before today Eragon had been proud to claim he had never been slapped by a woman. With an older cousin that had had a bit of a perverted reputation during the chaotic years of adolescence Eragon had learned the dangers a scorned member of the opposite gender could pose to a man's pride and well-being. So he had been as respectful as possible, doing whatever possible to avoid incurring their wrath.

Saphira may have been in a human form, but her strength was still above average. Eragon's cheek now sported a bright red hand print as a testament for his earlier stupidity regarding that poorly-worded message. It was still stinging by the time he reached Ordon Village, but at least his companion was temporarily satisfied. Saphira had not carried him back within her claws when she had returned to her dragon form.

They had mutually decided to have Saphira remain in her original shape until they had finished their business in the village. There was too many things to accomplish without having to explain to everybody that Eragon's she-dragon had suddenly just gained the ability to assume a human form. Faron's magic had also healed Saphira's broken wing and scars, so no time had been wasted in Eragon doing so.

Uli had been beyond relieved to see her charge had returned safe and sound. She had collapsed sobbing into his arms and had not released him for several emotional moments. Not knowing he had heard of the tragedy the night before, the pregnant woman had tearfully explained to him how Bublin raiders had stormed Ordon Village and had kidnapped all of the remaining children. Heavily injured, Rusl had still stubbornly ventured out into the forest to search for the missing youths and had not been seen since. The monsters must have also stolen the blade he had forged as tribute to the Princess Zelda, as Uli had not been able to find it.

Swallowing his tremendous guilt, Eragon had done his best to remain strong for Uli's sake. He had comforted her the best he could, promising to rescue Colin and the other children as soon as humanly possible.

Uli had trusted his word completely. "I know you and Saphira will do everything in your power to bring the children home safe and sound." She had eyed the sword strapped to his back, smiling softly despite her sorrow. "You have already faced several of those monsters. You have reclaimed Rusl's sword back from them. Take it with you, for you'll make better use of it than I could."

Eragon had felt it best to travel to every single house to offer his solace and oaths to the aggrieved villagers. Though some had been confused by his strange new garb, they had all expressed their trust in him. All had been more than happy to also provide him supplies for the difficult road ahead. Sera had all but shoved two bottles filled with Red Potion, an old Hyrulean concoction that could heal all but the most severe of wounds, into his hands. Jaggle and Pergie had offered all the food they could spare. Bo had generously donated two purple Rupees in case he ever needed to purchase something.

Supplies replenished and Saphira saddled once again, the pair were finally winging off toward the abandoned Forest Temple. With only the flight ahead of them, Eragon decided it was time to tell his tale. Connecting his mind to Saphira's, he poured all of his memories of his unbelievable nightmare into the link, allowing her to browse through everything he had endured from the Bokoblin attack onwards.

You were turned into a dragon! Saphira spluttered in disbelief when she looked upon the memory of him awakening in that new green-scaled body.

Eragon nodded. "Apparently my new form was a blessing of some sort that allowed me to withstand the corrupting darkness of Twilight. Getting out of that dungeon was a nightmare, but thankfully Midna helped to guide me out. But I was able to fly, Saphira! Was able breathe pure light in the Twilight and fire in this realm." Reminiscing wistfully over the unforgettable experience, he closed his eyes as memories flooded in. "Such power and such freedom. I'd never felt anything like it before."

I know, Eragon. I am the one here who was truly hatched a dragon, Saphira quipped lightly. Honing in on his embarrassing recollections of graceless flights and clumsy collisions her mind suddenly gained a critical edge. Going to have to work on your flying though, she commented in a reproving tone. I won't be riding on you unless you seriously improve before we venture into the Twilight again. Gods know I'd rather walk than risk my Hylian neck in some insane accident.

Rolling his eyes, Eragon did the intelligent thing and didn't protest. He was also pretty sure a certain Twili in his shadow was reveling in his unease, even if she could not eavesdrop on Saphira's side of their conversation.

Probing deeper into the recollection, Saphira's humorous feel faded as she progressed further. Unease bubbled up inside of her as she reviewed the unfortunate spectral guards cowering within the infested dungeons of Hyrule Castle. Then there was Princess Zelda's resignation to her imprisonment within her own domain, the chilling memories of the final resistance that had swiftly been crushed by Zant, the knowledge that all light-dwellers trapped within the Twilight were easy prey for the ravenous shadow beasts.

I was but a mere spirit while in that accursed darkness? Saphira murmured softly. Realization and shame for her earlier treatment of Eragon replaced her earlier scorn, as well as faint horror of what terrible fate could have befallen her had she not stopped in the sanctuary of Faron Spring. Stripped of most of my power and yet another soul that could have been irreversibly corrupted?

"Yes," her Rider responded honestly. "In that world you were transparent and intangible. Spirits couldn't sense or see me. Leaving you note was the only option I had at the time. Light had to be restored to Faron Province before anything else could have been done." He put a comforting hand to her neck, regretting he hadn't left a more detailed message in the first place. "I'm sorry. I should have explained matters to you earlier. It was my idiotic mistake."

There were countless innocents unwittingly trapped in there along with me. You did what you had to.

Again, Saphira apprehensively returned to sorting through his memories. Only now did she notice the hopeful light that shone through the despairing darkness of his recollection. The children were cheering for him, uncaring that he had used such devastating magic and only grateful to be alive. There was Princess Zelda pointing out the new golden Triforce that marked his hand, showing her unshakable faith in his power. Basking again in the radiance and wisdom of Ordona, Eragon's belief in the supernatural had been restored.

"Do you understand why I have to stay here, in Hyrule?" Eragon pressed gently. "Whether they know it or not, this kingdom is dependent on me right now. I can't return home with the unbearable knowledge that I have condemned countless innocents to suffer forever in the shadows." He stammered desperately for a moment, searching for the words that refused to form. "I-I just... need to be here."

Saphira didn't require words to feel the honesty he was trying to communicate. She hummed beneath him, her mind gently caressing his. Of course I understand, little one. That is just the selfless and caring kind of person you are. You may be an idiotic hero sometimes, but your my idiotic hero. Whatever you choose, I'm with you, for what is a dragon without her Rider?

Beaming in indescribable gratitude and love for his she-dragon, Eragon hugged her broad neck fiercely. Thank you, he whispered mentally, preferring the more intimate way to convey all that he felt. I couldn't do this without you. A Rider is nothing without his dragon.

The moment was so caring, so tender, that Eragon had temporarily forgotten to inform Saphira of one final little surprise. Midna hadn't just disappeared when light had returned to Faron Woods. Honestly, he didn't even remember she was hiding in his shadow, witnessing the entire personal exchange between two bonded souls.

Grumbling under her breath about the melodramatic light-dwellers she was forced to endure, Midna nevertheless did turn around and offered the unusual pair their privacy.

Landing in the clearing before the Forest Temple was no problem. Whatever dangerous creatures that had been in the vicinity had fled for shelter the moment the monstrous shadow of a dragon had momentarily blotted out the light. The mindlessly aggressive shadow monsters had all vanished, leaving only perfectly sane animals that knew a reason to run when they saw one.

Eragon had then dismounted Saphira, hastily removing the saddle from her back as she shifted into her hu- er, Hylian form. Together the pair had safely stashed away their cumbersome load, choosing only to carry the bear necessities with them. That was how Eragon discovered his pouches contained some enchantment that made them nearly bottomless.

"Pack them only with the essentials," Saphira advised. She suddenly knelt down to unbuckle one of the pouches from his belt. Blushing at the close contact, Eragon no longer had scales to conceal his embarrassment and he really did turn a bright shade of scarlet. Strapping the pouch to her person, Saphira seemed blissfully unaware the young man's undiscerning hormones considered her eligible.

"Yep," Eragon said quickly, forcing the very bad thoughts to the back of his mind. "One Red Potion for each of us to conserve magic used up during healing. Whetstones to sharpen our weapons in case they dull. Food and water skins if we're going to be in there a while-"

"I get it, little one," Saphira interrupted with a bemused smile. Then she frowned thoughtfully. "Actually we're nearly the same size while I'm in this form. Calling you little isn't very appropriate. How about just plain old 'stone head'? Does it seem like a suitable replacement? After all, you're still foolhardy even if you're the foretold champion of the kingdom or some other farfetched nonsense-"

"Please, just by my given name," Eragon implored beseechingly. "None of those names work at the moment."

His female companion sighed. "Unfortunately. Thankfully this predicament is only temporary. Let's just go and grab that dark artifact so the normal balance can be restored between us." Sapphire eyes flickering over his form, "And, Eragon, will you please get rid of that stupid hat? I'd rip it off your head now and burn it if I currently was able to."

Defensively, Eragon's hands flew up to shield his hat from Saphira's annoyance. It may have been the longest, most ridiculous, impractical piece of head-ware he had ever seen, but it was his. He and his green hat had already formed a lasting attachment. The prospect of forsaking it was now as unthinkable as giving up Saphira herself.

"Out of respect for the previous Chosen Hero who owned this garb, I shall continue to wear it." At Saphira's flat look, Eragon blanched. "What? For all we know this hat could be enchanted with a spell that makes me impervious to harm or invisible to foes-"

"All right!" Saphira shouted, abruptly cutting off his rant. "Keep the silly thing. But if it falls off during the heat of battle against some monstrous creature, don't even think of going back to retrieve it. Where the hat falls, the hat stays. No risking your neck for it."

Possessing enough supplies to support them for several days without exiting the Forest Temple, the small party at last headed up toward the winding path that connected to the Forest Temple. It was only then that the companions finally noticed the unusual obstacle that blocked their progress.

Sitting in front of the sole path up to their destination was a golden wolf that seemed vaguely familiar to Eragon. Its pelt was so bright it seemed almost to glow in the daylight, and it was adorned by lighter yellow markings that resembled the pale lines on Saphira's skin. Wagging its tail lazily, the wolf seemed in no hurry to move from its position. Panting with an open mouth, the beast's gaze casually surveyed the cautious group before it until fixating upon Eragon.

Eragon couldn't suppress the chill that surged down his spine. The wolf had only one crimson eye, its other lid closing over an empty socket. That single eye studied him intensely, seeming to peer deep down into the depths of his soul. Shivering again, the green-garbed man slowly reached for his blade.

"What is this creature?" Saphira hissed out of the corner of her mouth, hand closing around the hilt of her new sword. "Another spirit?"

"No," Eragon whispered back in the utmost certainty. This mysterious wolf did not carry the same divine radiance that the Light Spirits had emanated. If anything, the damned creature felt tainted, broken...

Noticing them reaching for their weapons, the wolf slipped into a crouch. Hackles rising, the creature bared its fangs and began to snarl menacingly. It seemed to be a challenge directed solely at Eragon, for the golden wolf had not yet broken eye contact. Its lithe muscles were tensing beneath its fur, and it was obvious what it intended to do next.

Instinctively unsheathing his sword, Eragon charged in to deliver a devastating blow to the beast's hide. Gracefully leaping to the side, the golden wolf easily evaded the slashing sword with unnatural speed. Then it pounced, surging past his and Saphira's defenses to sink into Eragon's shoulder. Dropping his sword, the young man stumbled back in shock as the uncommonly massive wolf collided with his body. Its fangs penetrated deep, puncturing what felt like his very soul. Jerking its head up, the wolf dragged up its prize, forcibly removing Eragon's protesting spirit from the safe confines of his body along with it.

Suddenly losing control of his body, Eragon fell limp as his very soul was wrench from him. With the wolf's growl and Saphira's yell ringing in his ears, his hold in the waking realm was lost as white nothingness pounced on him as ruthlessly as a ravenous beast.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter- Lost Pieces from Chrono Cross Original Soundtrack

Throughout all of the agonizing ordeals he had been forced to endure and of the trials that had pushed him dangerously close to his breaking point, Roran Stronghammer had momentarily been able to breathe a sigh of relief. All of the refugees that had once been the village of Carvahall had been led to the relative safety of the Varden. His beloved Katrina had been rescued from Helgrind. Almost all of the monstrous abominations that had killed Garrow were slain. Eragon and he had finally reconciled after months of resentment and long-hidden secrets, and their brotherly bond had been steadily regaining its previous strength.

Then his damned cousin had gotten himself and the world's last she-dragon caught in a storm so powerful it had rattled even the massive mountains of the Beor range. They had not appeared at King Orik's coronation as they had promised. Nor had Eragon attempted to make contact with the Varden or give any hint of his location. Dwarves had scoured the Beors for a sign of the missing pair, but not a single trace of their existence had been recovered as of yet.

Initially all of the rebellion had been optimistic that their precious Rider would soon return to them. Roran had convinced himself Eragon had strayed from the original plan to investigate some mystery in the Beor Mountains. Perhaps he had even discovered evidence of surviving dragons hiding in the depths of the wilderness and was too engrossed by his quest to realize he had gotten so off track! Not even nature's fiercest wrath was enough to do in the legendary Eragon Shadeslayer and the mighty Saphira Brightscales.

Days had stretched into weeks, and even the most optimistic of the searchers had begun to lose hope. None would admit to Roran's face, but many doubted the pair even survived. Common belief now held that the two missing bodies were decomposing on some towering peak not even the dwarves could reach. Morale had severely plummeted amongst the ranks as the grim realization that the rebellion's sole hope of toppling Galbatorix had just vanished mysteriously off the face of the earth.

Roran had never entertained the delusion he could locate his absent cousin. He was neither a master magician or a skilled tracker, and currently the best of the best had been deployed in one last massive search effort. Vulnerable out of the protection of camp, Roran was in danger of being captured. As Eragon's sole (accepted) surviving kin he was a priceless hostage for Galbatorix to obtain. There was no way in all the seven hells Roran would willingly offer himself up as bait to endanger his cousin.

Katrina carried their first child. That one occurrence of rekindled passion the night of their reunion had changed their lives forever. As a final act of showing his acceptance of his cousin, Roran had wanted to request that Eragon marry him and his betrothed. Such an option was no longer available now that the honor of his beloved and unborn child were in danger of being tarnished forever. Roran could delay no longer, and so he and Katrina had finally married.

Lady Nasuada herself had generously offered to wed the pair. They had politely declined in favor of a common priest. Roran wanted this sacred ceremony to be a private and intimate affair, not a grand political spectacle. Kin of a Dragon Rider he may have been, but he had not the slightest desire to be pulled into the strange world Eragon was now part of.

The wedding had been small and attended mostly by those that had been close to him in Carvahall, Horst and his family among them. Lady Nasuada and the elf-woman Arya had also been present, but both were close to Eragon and had attended out of respect, not some need to befriend the Shur'tugal's cousin. Overall the ceremony had been quiet and the newly weds were content with it. Roran only wished that Eragon had been there to personally witness the moment.

"I want to name this baby after someone from your side of the family," Katrina suddenly spoke up. "Other than for Garrow, I mean."

Raising the head from the cot, Roran look at his wife. She was still recovering from her imprisonment in Helgrind, still skinnier and weaker than what the healers considered normal. But nothing could dull Katrina's beauty in Roran's eyes. Her copper hair still glimmered like polished coins and her gray eyes were only more luminous with the bright excitement at the prospect of being a first-time mother.

"Why?" he asked blearily, rubbing the dust out of his eyes. There was one nap lost forever. "I thought we agreed to name the baby after your mother if it turned out to be a girl. And what's wrong with my father's name?"

Katrina looked flatly at him. "Since when did I agree to that? You know how I feel about naming children after their grandparents. 'Ismira' continually shows up in my mother's ancestry. I'd rather not continue this foolish tradition. For all we know all of our descendants could wind up called 'Katrina' or 'Roran' if we don't solve this problem now."

Roran wasn't deterred. It took far more than an attempt at humor to persuade him to change his mind. Men in his family had the stubbornness of mules and the tenacity of small dogs. "Don't be so paranoid. Besides, I always wanted to name my firstborn son after my own father. You can name all the other children after Imperial nobles for all I care. Just leave me this one."

Blowing hair out of her face, Katrina sighed in resignation. "Only if the child turns out to be a boy," she sullenly agreed. "Not even the healers can determine the gender at this stage. But there's no way we're naming our firstborn daughter 'Ismira,' or after me. She'll receive a name belonging to someone not as obvious."

"Name the next one, then. The first child of every generation is born male in my family. I was, Garrow was, crazy Grandpa Cadoc was, Great-Grandfather Gavin was..." Grinning teasingly at his wife, Roran only beamed more at her as Katrina glared playfully at him. He there, already bickering like an old married couple when they had only been officially together for several weeks!

Roran's smile suddenly vanished from his face at this unwitting reminder of how long his cousin's absence was stretching. Even he couldn't maintain such unwavering faith in Eragon's abilities after such a long period. As a future father, his thoughts should have been entirely occupied by giddy excitement and concern for the massive responsibilities that had yet to come.

Instead disturbing images of events completely unrelated to his unborn child wormed their way into his dreams. There would always be flashes of a gigantic dragon lying cold and limp in the snows. A gaunt figure would huddle close to its side, refusing to abandon the fallen dragon even as himself slowly starved. Whatever cries his newborn son had been releasing morphed into chilling wails that rang of agonizing loss and insanity. The nightmares were more than enough to chip away at Roran's hope in Eragon's return with each passing night of terror.

"Eragon," Roran murmured resolutely. "We're naming our son after the man I consider my brother. Such a brave name deserves to be passed on."

Dreams were the last escape left to his imprisoned mind. Not even the man he was forced to call master and mentor could intrude upon the creations of an imaginative and wistful spirit. When Murtagh slumbered he was no longer Galbatorix's Rider or the only widely known son of Morzan. He was free to simply break the magical oaths that shackled him to the Mad King. There was nothing to prevent him and Thorn from flying away from the dark past in Alagaesia behind and heading toward a promising new tomorrow. Murtagh was always the master of his own mind, and in dreams he possessed the liberty to do whatever he wished without fear of hatred or subjugation.

Such privileges had never truly been his in the waking world. Firstly he had been dependent upon his volatile father for support. Then had come the numerous instructors and care-givers that had cared for him only on the king's strict orders. Murtagh had always been aware that Galbatorix was monitoring his progress as he grew up. He had always been looming in the shadows, patiently awaiting the time when his greatest servant's son was ready to take up his father's mantle.

Even after he had escaped from Urubaen to join Eragon and Saphira on their desperate search for Tronjheim, true freedom had never been his. The Varden had seen only his father's sins within him. Solely for his unfortunate heritage he had been imprisoned like a villain. Murtagh had just been eagerly trying to win redemption in their eyes when the Twins had again dragged him back to Galbatorix's side. When Thorn had hatched, he had been tortured into swearing unbreakable oaths in the Ancient Language that forever chained him to a madman. All of his remaining fragile hopes of freedom from the stains of his past had been shattered.

Now, Murtagh Morzansson was forced to endure such agony again. Rooted to the ground, unable to summon up his magic or even to move, he was a mere observer of an unholy spectacle.

Murtagh was relieved the Lethrblaka and most of their demonic spawn were dead. Only a single Ra'zac survived, and thankfully it was believed to be the last of its kind. After it died there would be no more to torment the innocent people of Alagaesia. Those creatures feasted only on sentient creatures, and preferred to play with their food before eating. They savored in the terror and pain of their victims as a wealthy man would fine wine. Only human flesh satisfied their limitless hunger. Even the men assigned to work with the Ra'zac were not safe if one the creatures became peckish and there were no others for it to devour. The Lethrblaka had no respect for Galbatorix's orders at all, and snatched off whomever they pleased as a meal.

Never before had Murtagh seen such creatures that reveled in the suffering of others and killed for the mere pleasure of it. Only the Lethrblaka and their offspring could survive on the barren outcropping that was Helgrind. Where all other life withered and died it seemed those monsters seemed to thrive in the unforgiving habitat. But what was there to eat when the closest self-sustaining source of prey was miles away?

Those of the cult that worshiped Helgrind's three peaks had been offering it their own blood and limbs long before the Lethrblaka had settled there. Presenting unfortunate slaves to the new creatures that lived within their sacred site was only another way to appease whatever force resided in there. For the Lethrblaka were not the source of the pure malevolence of Helgrind, but rather only attracted to it as flies to the carcass.

Murtagh and Thorn had dreaded their mandatory visits to the unholy peaks. Galbatorix had frequently demanded them to check upon his more rebellious servants, as only they could journey to Helgrind quickly and offer reports on time. Dragon and Rider had never left each other's sides while there, and it hadn't been the Lethrblaka that had unsettled them. Life had withered in Helgrind long before the first Lethrblaka had landed upon it. Sacrifices had been prepared and people had gone mysteriously missing from just shortly before Galbatorix had resurfaced as a true threat against the Dragon Riders.

In dreams he was now powerless to change or prevent, Murtagh was forced to observe the ancient evil lurking beneath Helgrind rise up again against the world.

It seemed to ooze out of the very mountain, manifesting from the shadows as it became tangible and dangerous. The black shape grew ever larger, the thing developing wings as it ascended above the kingdom. Where its massive wingspan touched all the sunlight was blotted out as if by an eclipse, and the lands beneath it were sent plummeting into night. Starving and unsatisfied by the meager offerings the worshipers of Helgrind had left for it, the beast shrieked for sustenance.

There was no use in escaping a gloom that enshrouded the entire kingdom. Those intelligent enough to realize the danger did not dare rise up against the supernatural entity that held them in a stranglehold. Beneath the darkness they meekly went about their ordinary business as all tried to vainly deny their new reality. Deprived of the bright radiance of daylight, it seemed as if the very warmth had been sucked straight out of the earth.

All of those piteously courageous fool didn't stand a chance. Everyone, from those who united as mobs to the children who attempted to throw rocks up at their strange new tormentor, were discovered and subdued. From up above the shadow would strike, far more terrifying than even Shruikan had ever managed to be. Animals lost their minds and turned against their masters. Crops withered and died where resistance was strongest. The very water turned to poison, slowly killing all it touched.

The creature brought only darkness and destruction. It overshadowed the sun and the stars, circling around the borders of the Empire like a massive bird of prey keeping a sharp eye on its prey. In its wake was a trail of black clouds that continued to block out the light of the skies above. Whenever the haze was close to dissipating completely the monster would return, renewing the cloak of darkness with its monstrous wings.

Surrounded by a cloud of noxious fog that suffocated all birds unfortunate enough to stumble into its path, Murtagh was unable to see the creature. All he, or anyone could see, were the extended wings that kept them under its shade. Until the end of the dream, when the entity finally returned to the crack mountaintops to roost for a short while before resuming its cruel vigil.

Imprisoned on Helgrind's ragged peak by an invisible force, Murtagh was unable to flee the colossal monster that steadily soared toward him. Mesmerized by its impossible might, only inhaling the toxic vapors that surrounded the creature sparked coughs that shocked him out of his stupor. Collapsing to his knees as the air was choked out of his body, his head was involuntarily craned upward to again fixate upon the approaching doom.

It alighted upon Helgrind, its talons digging so deep into the rock that several more jagged cracks appeared in its surface. Wings still unfolded in all of their terrible majesty, the shadow monster screeched hungrily. The feral cry pierced the very air and shattered the earth, so powerful it was a miracle Murtagh's ears weren't torn apart from the deafening shriek. Then the creature tilted its head, fearsome gaze locked with him.

There was nothing in its eyes. No curiosity, no hunger, no rage, not even the manic gleam of pure insanity. Eyes devoid of all emotion, it seemed to compensate for its unnatural emptiness by drawing in all around it. Light turned to darkness around it, and any lingering heat in the air was pulled in so only the bitter cold remained to sear his flesh. Unable to look away, Murtagh felt his remaining strength drained away by those pale yellow irises even quicker than the toxic air could choke it out of him.

Numbness seeped into his limbs until he found himself unable to feel them. Ice crept into his body, snaking its way down to the core of his soul. It stole away all that was light and life, leaving only desolate emptiness behind. This was worse than even death, for at least there was the faint promise of another existence afterward. This unnatural thing could only have been described as nothingness. It felt as if Murtagh's very soul was being picked apart and devoured by a ravenous being whose hunger could never have been fulfilled.

There was not enough strength left to him to loose his last gasp of life. Succumbing to the nothingness that away all he was and ever would be, the last fiber of what had been Murtagh Morzansson vanished forever.

Murtagh woke up screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, clinging desperately to a scaly red foreleg as if letting go was releasing his hold on life. Thorn had already been patiently anticipating this. He had furled his wine-red wings entirely around his shaken Rider, creating atmosphere that trapped his body heat and retaining a comforting warmth. The male dragon hummed soothingly, unleashing waves of calm to placate the startled mind. Never would Murtagh so willingly reveal weakness to another human being. Yet Thorn was part of his soul, and there was no denying the fact that the two individuals depended upon the other to retain sanity in their challenging predicament.

Peace, Murtagh, Thorn murmured gently. He knew exactly what to say to pacify his distressed Rider while preserving Murtagh's dignity. This occurrence had been alarmingly commonplace as of recently. It was all a dream. There is nothing in this world that can completely devastate your soul. Not even our crazy old master can accomplish such a task.

Tremors gradually stopping, Murtagh gained enough composure to reluctantly let go of Thorn's leg and sigh in relief that he had merely been experiencing another nightmare. "As far as we know," the young man muttered sardonically. He stretched his arms, wincing at the customary jolt of pain from his back the movement caused. In the past his old scar had merely been an annoyance and not a hindrance to basic actions. Rigorous training regimens had sapped his body of its previous endurance, and he was far from pleased at this new weakness.

Thorn huffed at this pained response. Swallow your pride and just go and admit this to Galbatorix already. His knowledge of spells and magic is far greater than ours ever will be combined. Gods knows our beloved master doesn't want his second most valuable servant handicapped in any imaginable way. He'll teach you a command or something that should alleviate your back pain permanently.

Scoffing, Murtagh climbed to his feet, tapping at his dragon's wing membranes in request to be let out. Grudgingly complying, Thorn again allowed his Rider into the outside world. Unfiltered daylight streamed in through the open windows and passageways of the dragon-hold where Murtagh had accidentally nodded off for an afternoon nap. Galbatorix had generously allowed the pair a day's respite from training, mainly because yesterday's incident had resulted in almost all of Murtagh's energy being drained from him when a complicated spell had gone catastrophically wrong.

"Galbatorix certainly knows all about my discomfort," Murtagh drawled. "He invades the innermost corners of my mind to read my thoughts on a daily basis. Probably making me suffer just to spite me for my beginner's mistake the other day. Or he believes in not making me more of a threat. God knows I could easily drag Eragon and Saphira chained and gagged back to Urubaen with just half of my power."

Which you won't, the crimson-scaled dragon quipped. You loved your baby brother too much to have gotten him when we'd had the opportunity. Couldn't you have gone against your personal morals for just that once? That was the world's last she-dragon you allowed to get away. Doesn't your dragon deserve some nice, attractive, sane company that won't try to maul him every day?

Murtagh rolled his blue-gray eyes. If there was one thing he exceptionally liked about his appearance, it was the blessing that he had inherited his mother's iris color. Gods knew how much he needed the icy blue gaze of his father staring back at him every morning whenever he glanced into a mirror. "Keep deluding yourself. Saphira currently hates your guts, and will continue doing so once she properly gets to know your obnoxious personality. Expect to be sleeping outside on the roof every night when she finally joins our side."

Rummaging around in the pile of sundry supplies he always kept stored up in the dragon-hold and away from the nosy castle servants, Murtagh grabbed a mirror and inspected his reflection. Vanity was a vice even a supposedly evil servant of Galbatorix possessed. Murtagh wasn't about to head down to his actual quarters until he was positive no straw or shed scales were entangled in his hair.

Again, Murtagh found himself subconsciously examining his face for any unexpected surprises that had emerged while he had slept. His first few months as a Dragon Rider had come included with the changes of his appearance as the effects of the bond worked on him. Thankfully, the alterations had not been that drastic. He had grown at least half an inch, had gained the customary endurance and strength increases, and his features had only been slightly more angular.

During that fateful encounter with his little brother at the Battle of the Burning Plains Eragon had been rendered nearly unrecognizable by elven enchantments. He had appeared more halfling than pure human, the bastard child of some elf. Months had training had made him lithe and hard. His ears sharpened into long points and his facial features were elegantly streamlined. By some cruel twist of fate, Eragon had also been miraculously healed of his own handicapping disfigurement. He had not hesitated to use it against Murtagh as he struggled futilely against the invisible forces that had made him immobile.

Don't look so surprised at your own reflection. All changes you have undergone had been relatively minor. According to Galbatorix the transition from mere mortal to Rider with a mighty dragon should be just about complete. This was coming from a dragon who had barely just reached physical maturity. Thorn's deceiving appearance gave the misconception he was already several years old. In actuality he was around six months, his massive size originating from growth spells that had been cast upon him shortly after hatching.

Murtagh sighed in resignation, brushing a bothersome lock of dark brown hair out of his face as he tore his gaze away from the mirror. "You're right. Galbatorix doesn't look like an elf's bastard with a human and neither do I. My baby brother must have carried out some ritual that had radically altered his appearance while amongst the elves. Such drastic alterations wouldn't happen to me without intervention."

Unfortunately, Thorn lamented sarcastically. You would have looked downright adorable with pointed ears.

Wishing his obnoxious, glorified winged lizard had never hatched for him, Murtagh again rummaged through the pile of his personal possessions and pulled out the sole item of luxury he kept near him.

Growing up Murtagh had received the same high education any other child of noble birth would have had. Tutors had been employed to teach him in mathematics, literature, politics, language, uncensored history, and astronomy. Though Murtagh had never displayed any sign of having the gift of magic, a magician had still instructed him in the mechanics on spell-craft on the off chance that Selena's potent abilities ever surfaced. Master Tornac had mentored him in swordsmanship and dueling, ensuring the valuable son of Morzan was not entirely helpless against aspiring assassins.

Etiquette demanded that Murtagh be taught the more refined arts in addition to the practical knowledge. He hadn't an interest in philosophy and had often dozed off until those lessons had wisely been cut from his schedule. Writing, poetry, and singing had all been discarded just as swiftly. His frustrated caretakers had resorted to instruments. Even the dumbest urchin on Urubaen's streets could be taught to play a simple flute. There was hope for Murtagh's refined side yet.

Or so his woefully optimistic teachers had so futilely hoped. Murtagh had accidentally snapped the strings of violins, made people partially deaf by blowing too loud on trumpets, and had flat out refused to even touch harps or other instruments associated with women. Exasperated music instructors had stormed out on a daily basis had had stubbornly refused to return. All condemned uncouth, rebellious Murtagh to a life of crudeness and without the fine arts to light his way.

Murtagh had shouted with joy upon learning that all of fine society had abandoned him. In the new free time during the day he was able to practice archery and ride horses as good as the best equestrians. Who needed something as useless as music to occupy his time when there so many more productive and entertaining things to be done?

Until Murtagh had decided to act upon a sudden whim and had fashioned an instrument of his very own. Using his magic he had molded a piece of clay into something that strongly resembled a flute. The main part was an elliptical shape with a mouthpiece jutting out. Seven holes had been carved to emanate sound.

How had he fashioned such an instrument? Murtagh hadn't the foggiest idea. Maybe he vaguely remembered it from his own ill-fated music lessons. Certainly he didn't have the creativity to invent an original instrument of his very own!

He had sought out one of his old instructors to examine his creation. No one was thick enough to foolishly deny the request of a fearsome Shur'tugal that had powerful magics and an aggressive dragon at his command. According to his former instructor, Murtagh possessed a variation of the ocarina. Apparently the mysterious instrument he had felt compelled to bring into being was commonplace and utterly unremarkable.

"I assure you, Lord Murtagh, this piece is not valuable at all," the somewhat absent-minded old man had told him. "It takes no great skill to play or craft. There is a reason I never let you near one! Peasants in rural communities on the edges of the Empire like ocarinas because they are cheap and easy entertainment. While the ocarina you have found is different than most I have seen before, I have no doubt it is a variation of one."

Bringing the ocarina to his lips, Murtagh attempted to blow a series of notes. The sound emitted sounded like the screeches of a dying cat. Thorn hissed at the assault on his sensitive hearing and growled warningly.

Play that damn thing right before I set it on fire! the red dragon snarled.

Ignoring his companion's outburst, Murtagh inspected his ocarina thoughtfully. There had to have been a technique that involved the right combination of moving fingers and blown notes to create music human ears could actually tolerate. He just hadn't discovered it yet.

Nightmares completely forgotten in the face of a new challenge, Murtagh again brought up his ocarina, and began to play.

Arya did not believe either Eragon and Saphira to be dead. She knew the boy well enough to rightfully assume he had power enough to make a safe landing and locate shelter in even the worse of nature's storms. The boy had enough damned courage (or was it just foolishness) to rescue imprisoned elves from Imperial fortresses and challenge Shades when hardly more than a magical novice himself. Eragon had the sheer tenacity to repel all destiny tried to throw at him. Saphira? If the she-dragon was truly dedicated into doing so, Arya had no doubt she could have driven back the invincible forces of death.

Arya was positive nothing was impeding Eragon from again establishing contact with the Varden and ensuring the growing hordes of doubtful skeptics that he had indeed survived another challenging ordeal. He just chose not to. Why? She didn't pretend to know the reason behind his thinking. Perhaps his mind was too complicated for her to fathom, or he was just unbelievably simple in his mental processes.

Either way, Arya had dedicated all of her free time to locating the missing pair and screaming some sense into their stubborn heads. When she wasn't correcting the numerous mistakes of the hapless magicians that called themselves the Du Vrangr Gata or feigning interest in the latest complaints from restless soldiers, she was researching a way to contact Eragon or Saphira. Whichever one she could scold first.

Traditional methods of scrying weren't working. The dwarven charm Eragon must still have been wearing prevented magical searches from honing in on him. Those of the Du Vrangr Gata and the few dwarf magicians still present at camp had been useless in finding another solution. Trianna adamantly refused to use her control over spirits to find the errant Rider and dragon. She was wary about unleashing such volatile power, and was loathe to admit in any way her rival could have possibly survived the little accident in the Beor Mountains. Blodgharm and the forces assigned to protect Eragon had not yet arrived, so they too were of no current use.

For a while now Arya had slowly but steadily accumulating energy she stored within the diamonds concealed in the belt of Beloth the Wise. Eragon hadn't bothered taking the belt with him since almost all of its power had been depleted during the Battle of the Burning Plains. Now she decided to use it to fulfill her own purposes. The dire circumstances here in the Varden trumped respect for any Shadeslayer's private property. Morale was in sharp decline and desertions were on the rise. The rebellion needed their champion now.

Now, concealed within the privacy of her personal tent, Arya could finish the last of her preparations and get starting the momentous task of actually finding the wayward pair. Wards around her tent prevented intruders from disturbing her ritual. Eight of the twelve diamonds had been replenished fully. There were no more excuses to postpone the potentially lethal spell.

Previous attempts had tried focusing in on Eragon. Because of some sort of protection, those efforts had failed. Attempts upon locating Saphira had also been in vain.

Mental contact over a distance of more than several miles was impossible for all but the most mastered of magic-users. Even then, communication over such vast spaces was exceedingly difficult and could only be maintained for brief periods. Yet even so Oromis had been able to reach Eragon in Farthen Dur. He had helped the younger Rider resist possession by Durza's dark spirit from just outside of Du Weldenvarden. Arya had subconsciously reached to out for help in tortured messages during her imprisonment. Her desperate pleas had reverberated across hundreds of miles to echo in Eragon's dreams. Her mind had found him then, and her mind could find him again.

Exhaling deeply, Arya sat back and concentrated inwardly. She slowly extended her mind outward until it strained from being stretched so far. Here was were the difficult came in. She planned to use the energy in the diamonds to summon enough power to temporarily expand her reach out enough to touch the corners of Eragon's mind. Of course the spell could have been too strong to contain, and Arya's life could have been sucked right out of her. It was a risk the elf-woman was willing to take.

All right, she murmured, tentatively going to collect the latent power within the first diamond. Here it goes now.

Again drawing and drawing upon the stored the energy, Arya's mind continued to spread itself out even further. Her consciousness lightly brushed up against the minds of countless others. She didn't have enough strength to even peek in at their base emotions, but just feeling so many individual lives connected to her own was overwhelming. Was this what omniscience felt like to the gods, if they truly existed? Arya couldn't comprehend how divine beings could have managed this for so long, or how much more pressure it would take to finally cleave her delicate mind in two.

Just as Arya was on the verge of releasing her hold on the complicated spell and collapsing into unconsciousness, her mind just barely skimmed over a familiar mind. It was thousands of miles away, the only known presence in a sea of strangeness. Of course there was another known presence right beside it. Like Saphira would ever have abandoned Eragon!

Stretching as far as she was able, Arya struggled to alert somebody to her presence just outside of their mental barriers.

She had been just preparing to politely request permission to enter when a flash of emerald green seared Arya's vision. The startled elf-woman toppled back with a scream, outside energy flooding into her exhausted body. Her tired mind swiftly devoured the fresh power while the diamonds became overly saturated with it. The eight diamonds she had first drawn power from shattered. Even they had been overwhelmed.

Muttering obscenities in the Ancient Language under he breath, Arya slowly regained composure as her initial shock gave way to rage. Who had completely destroyed her ritual and the materials she needed to perform it again? Who had invaded her mind when it had been stretched too far and too thin? She winced at the unpleasant memories. Whatever unknown entity that had barged into her innermost sanctum left a highly disapproving feel behind. So what, something was chastising her now for trying to do the right thing?

And she had been so close to finally speaking with Eragon after days of separation and others fearing him dead...

Struggling to her feet, the female brushed the dirt off of her clothes while her green eyes narrowed in determination. Obviously spells and enchantments were worthless in this situation. It was time to a far more practical, and far more direct, approach.

Arya lay back on her cot, allowing herself brief rest to partially regain all of the energy she had lost. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales were very much alive and well. Impossibly far from Alagaesia and unable to be contacted with all the traditional methods. So it was time to employ some unconventional ones. Later, that is, when she was able to cast a simple spell without toppling over from consuming too much of her energy.

Shutting off the world around her, Arya closed her eyes and drifted off into a long-awaited nap.

Beneath Murtagh's feet, the foundations of Castle Ilirea trembled as Shruikan stirred listlessly within. His sharp hearing detected the startled creams of servants and visiting nobles alike as the floors quaked alarmingly under them. Thorn growled as he dug his talons into his straw nest to steady himself. Brow furrowing in bewilderment and suspicion, Murtagh tucked his ocarina safely into his pocket and stood up only when the tremors had ceased.

Eyes narrowed and fangs bared reflexively, the red dragon glared down at the floor as if he could gaze straight down to the unpredictable beast that lurked somewhere in the stories below. What is that old thing so excited about? Thorn grumbled. He was fed just the other day and none are moronic enough to approach him while he is unfettered. Galbatorix wouldn't even consider releasing Shruikan for a flight around the capitol without bothering to at least inform us about the dangerous dragon loosed. Maybe a stupid kid stumbled upon him when Galbatorix wasn't supervising? Shruikan does have that damned love of human flesh.

Murtagh stroked his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. "Possibly. There's not much Shruikan is normally allowed to do that makes him so restless-"

All other words were drowned out like ships before a mighty ocean swell. From below emanated a deafening bellow that rattled even the bones in Thorn's body. Rider and dragon huddled together in instinctive terror, hearts hammering wildly. Shruikan's roar was powerful as a clap of the fiercest thunder, a sign of the untamed ferocity that commanded such intense infernos and ravenous jaws. The terrible sound seemed to carry on for eternity, ringing with hunger and rage and anticipation.

When the black dragon finally fell silent, Murtagh and Thorn still shivered as violently as a mouse in the cat's claws before those razor-sharp fangs clenched down on its windpipe. As their composure was swiftly recovered, the two shared a wondering and cautious glance.

Dare we to look in Shruikan's mind and risk insanity for doing so? Thorn questioned darkly. Are we curious enough to see what excited him?

Only Galbatorix seemed able to maintain a connection to Shruikan's damaged mind for any extended periods of time and walk away with sanity intact. Then again, the Black King was notorious for having a bit of madness inside of him too. It rarely showed past his calm and composed facade, but when Galbatorix's true colors bled through, he became a furious being deserving of the exaggerated reputation.

"No," Murtagh answered immediately. "Something tells me we shall find out soon enough."

Dread forming an uneasy pit in his stomach, Murtagh's resolve hardened as a hand subconsciously traveled to grasp around the ocarina in his pocket. Joy for Shruikan usually entailed more suffering for himself and Thorn. So the young man resigned himself to this inevitable fact and merely braced for the hardships ahead.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Scars of Time- Chrono Cross Original Soundtrack

Groaning groggily and in exasperation of how many aggravating times he had been falling victim to unconsciousness, Eragon snapped open his blue-gray eyes and climbed on to his own two feet. Thankfully he had not been transformed back into a dragon or into some other unfamiliar shape, and was garbed in the strange new clothes he had received after Faron had restored his human body. Even his precious new hat had remained untouched.

However, his location had seemed to have changed entirely. Silvery white mist hung heavily in the air, and he was surrounded only by the shifting light and shadows as the haze floated lazily by. Eragon glanced down, yelping in shock as he saw fluffy whiteness beneath his boots instead of green grass. Was he floating in the clouds? Desperately unsheathing his sword and shield, he frantically glanced around his unfamiliar environment while praying to every single god he knew that the ground beneath him wouldn't suddenly give way and leave him to plummet to the earth below.

There was no sign of Saphira or anything else through the drifting mist. Not even a glimpse of blue sky graced his vision to assure Eragon he was somehow miraculously hovering miles above the earth. Right now even such a ridiculous scenario was more inviting than the other gloomy situation that prowled at the corners of his mind.

Oh, sweet Farore, was he dead? That wolf had collided with him probably hard enough to shatter bones, and had sank his fangs deep into his flesh. Arteries could have easily been severed easily and he could have bled to death within mere seconds. The ache where the wolf had bitten him was nonexistent. There was not even any blood, and his tunic remained undamaged. Saphira was no where in sight. Midna did not emerge from his shadow to snap at his foolish panic and to guide him out. He was entirely alone in a featureless landscape.

Would the god or goddess of death arrive at any moment to escort him to the netherworld? Or was he already there? Eragon already half expected Garrow to come walking out of the haze to comfort him about this grim new reality. Or Brom to appear out of nowhere to start beating his foolish apprentice again with his painful walking stick. He could just imagine the lecture the old storyteller would give him for dying while Galbatorix still terrorized Alagaesia.

Eragon turned around, finally noticing the one solid object that towered out of the surrounding mist. Rising impossibly from the nothingness were the tallest towers of Hyrule Castle. Their shining white walls glimmered with all their magnificent splendor. It seemed perfectly suited for the dreamlike atmosphere. He could only gape at it for a moment, marveling at the elegant architecture even when there was the realization he was possibly dead and unable to ever return to the world of the living.

"Hello!" Eragon called hopefully, turning his back to the majestic castle as he tried to peer through the shifting mist. "Is there anyone out there?"

His voice resounded strangely in the air, as if the mist distorted sound. Echoes of his one lonely calls found their way desolately back to him. Was he completely alone in this realm? Eragon was unsure. It seemed as if people were observing him from behind the obscuring fog, watching his every action intently as if he were undergoing some kind of test. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking that imagined the low whispers that seemed to emanate from all around him.

Something undeniably real finally answered his calls. Inhuman panting came from behind him. Eragon felt a shiver run down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck rise even higher. He recognized that sound as easily he could recall the voice of Saphira or Roran. It was the golden wolf that stood behind him, right where his vulnerable side was displayed before it. Eragon could almost feel the creature's single red eye boring into his back.

Eyes flickering from left to right rapidly, Eragon remained still as he waited the golden wolf to strike. He tensed in anticipation, ready to slice the aggressive beast in half the moment it decided to lunge.

Abruptly the wolf's panting ceased. Eragon waited for it to begin growling challengingly again or to start its offensive charge. Instead the sound of labored breathing pierced the anxious silence, magnified by the strange qualities of the dream-world. It was not savage in the slightest. Raspy and strained as it may have been, every new struggled inhale and exhale sounded human.

Blood turning to ice, Eragon whirled around to face his opponent. What he saw nearly made him drop his sword from utter shock.

Facing him was not any mere mortal man, but only ones decomposed remnants. Only yellowed bones remained, the skeleton holding its self together only out of some mysterious will. Above the dead figure was a set of golden armor faded with age. Even now Eragon could still see the ornate designs adorning it. The creature still wielded a rusted sword and tarnished shield, affirming in Eragon's mind that the former man had been buried with the full honors of a war hero. Its helm only covered part of its skull, allowing the fleshless face to be clearly visible. Single red eye fixated upon its living rival, the rotted figure carefully watched him.

Horror stories he heard years ago again drifted into Eragon's panicked mind. Brom and the other bards had been brimming with tales involving the undead. Necromancers had commanded hordes of reanimated corpses to conquer living armies and to swell the ever-growing ranks. Vengeful spirits possessed their own dead bodies, haunting farms and towns until their restless souls had finally been laid to rest. Those that had foolishly desecrated the peace the dead in graveyards would suffer the wrath of the vindictive ancestors that had so severely disrespected would be dragged into the earth themselves and never seen by the living again.

As if to confirm it was indeed a malevolent presence, the skeleton raised its sword and shield in preparation for battle. Its feet began to shuffle in a restless dance, but still it did not approach him. Red eye fixed upon Eragon, it seemed to mockingly goad him into response.

Burying his unbelievable terror beneath a surge of rage, Eragon unleashed a battle cry and abandoned his defensive position. With inhuman speed he dove in, aiming to pierce the creature's chest-plate.

The skeletal soldier stepped back with the same unnatural grace, swiftly bringing down his own sword in retaliation. The blade struck against Eragon's chain-mail, sending him flying through the air and crashing unceremoniously onto the ground several feet away.

Dazed and vulnerable at the undead thing's feet, Eragon waited for the blade to again come surging down and to cut his own life prematurely short. He definitely did not expect for a hoarse voice to hiss disdainfully at him, as if disgusted by his reaction.

"A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage."

Gaping in unbelieving amazement, Eragon swiftly startled to his feet. His supposed enemy did not move to attack him again. He was now close enough to notice that the armored skeleton towered over him by a good half a foot. By the width of his armor, Eragon reasoned the figure had possessed a muscular and powerful frame in life. While undead warriors were bound to be imposing, Eragon still couldn't comprehend that such a dead thing had communicated with intelligible, albeit raspy, human language.

"You may be destined to become a hero of legend..." the warrior continued critically "...but your current power would surely disgrace the proud green of the Chosen Hero's tunic you now wear!"

Eragon was not startled enough to realize that the undead man (for it was undoubtedly still a he, even so many years after departing the mortal coil) had just gravely insulted him and everything he was now supposed to represent. His blue-gray eyes narrowed furiously, clenching the hilt of his sword tighter.

"What could you possibly know of me?" he demanded angrily. "For months now I have endured every death and trial destiny had so callously chosen to throw into my path! The mentor I had come to view as my father died in my very arms after I had just come to be acquainted with his real self! My own flesh and blood is sworn to either drag me to my mortal enemy in chains or to slaughter me! Liberation for entire races of people depend upon my success! I have faced impossible odds and lived to endure the one after! You have no write to-"

Exasperated, the undead warrior lashed out with his sword, bringing its tip dangerously close to Eragon's vulnerable throat. Helpless, the young man could only fall silent and swallow nervously at the sudden death that loomed so close to his person.

"My knowledge upon your previous endeavors may be spotty in some areas, but the great Goddesses have seen fit to inform me of how you have come to survive for so long," the skeleton hissed reproachfully. "Whenever you encountered true danger, you escaped certain death either by sheer luck or the intervention of others. No longer can you so desperately rely upon such grace. Fortune shall soon run out and one day you shall face foes who desire only to kill you whatever the circumstance. Now is the time to learn to stand upon your own two feet, boy."

Ego severely bruised, Eragon forced back the retort that was itching to escape his throat. Insulting the one un-killable creature that currently decided whether he lived or died was a stupid mistake. "I still have a long way to go before I can even hope to conquer the enemies the world has decreed I must defeat," he admitted in as mild a voice as possible. "Still, I have progressed rapidly in my training and have bested the strongest warriors in swordplay and am second to only view in magic. I have endured heartbreak of my own. Calling me an ignorant fool simply because of my age is ridiculous. I have at least grown wise."

Refusing to flinch away like a coward, Eragon defiantly returned the skeleton's piercing gaze. Its expression was unreadable, its eerie grin perpetual and the single crimson eye concealed by the glow it emanated. Lifetimes seemed to pass before the undead warrior yielded, withdrawing his rusted blade so that Eragon could again climb to his feet.

"The wisest man on earth still concedes he does not know all, and acknowledges he was never meant to," he rasped sternly. "You must use your courage to seek power... and find it you must. Only then can you become the hero for whom this world despairs."

"Who are you?" Eragon asked cautiously. "Your life must have ended long before I arrived in Hyrule. What interest could you possibly have in me?"

Hoarse, humorless laughter emanated forth from the skeletal figure. Eragon couldn't help but shiver at the unnatural sound that seemed to rake at his very ears. "Farore does not send her champions unarmed and helpless out into the world. She provides them all the tools they need and leaves up to them to craft their own destinies. Circumstances beyond her control meant you could not receive the knowledge vital for your success. So I was sent to teach you what never should have been forgotten. These are the Hero's secrets, after all."

Realization dawned on Eragon and the sword almost clattered from his hands. His wondering gaze took in the undead figure's ornate armor, the honor he had been buried with weapons he must have valiantly wielded in life. "You were a Chosen Hero, too," he murmured in shocked awe.

Again, the dead man chuckled without true amusement. "Once upon a time, I was just like you. A young and hapless kid lost against the overwhelming tide of fate, and severely in need of guidance. I was your most recent predecessor and died before I could pass on the sacred arts to my own son. So the Goddesses charged me to remain behind until my final purpose in this world has been fulfilled. Only then can I abandon my regret and finally rest in peace as I deserve. Take my word for it, boy: Have your heirs fast and make sure you start training early. Better that than wander the world as a cursed spirit for over a century."

"What was your name?" Eragon questioned beseechingly. He was desperately trying to connect with a sentient soul locked within a rotted prison, to try and understand the unfortunate creature who now stood before him.

"I was known by several names in life. All of them are meaningless to me now," the skeleton intoned without a hint of sorrow at this grim reality. "My accomplishments are also unimportant. I was but one Hero among dozens who gladly would have sacrificed their lives to save their beloved Hyrule and to preserve the delicate balance the Goddesses struggle to maintain. Already my deeds are fading into history. Even the greatest heroes eventually have their true tales distort into legend, the story becoming almost unrecognizable from the actual events. Then the myth slowly dies away, also becoming swept away by the ever-flowing river that is time. There is no need to hold onto that which is fleeting. Fame and identity included."

Eragon swallowed nervously and nodded. He tried not to think of how the skeleton's unadulterated truth had affected him. Eventually his and Saphira's struggles would become immortalized as legend. But whether the story would end happily for all involved or if it would become a senseless tragedy, he had no idea yet.

"Fine... What can I call you now?"

"The living have invented several titles for me. The wolves call be the Golden One, for I choose to assume the form of their kind. Many call this body The Walking Death, for they believe I kill all of those unfortunate to stumble into my path. Simply call me the Hero's Shade. I am but a pale shadow of my former self, and even then I was less than the extraordinary reputation legends of my deeds created."

Reluctantly, Eragon slid his sword back into its sheath. Still mistrustful of the Hero's Shade, he felt confident enough to only keep his weapon within reach rather than in his hand. Something told him further defiance would only delay his return to the waking world. Saphira was probably ready to slap him silly by now.

"People from my homeland have taken to calling me Eragon Shadeslayer." He winced in chagrin at the presumptuous title. "Personally I never was fond of it. I only managed to kill that Shade due to a timely distraction from a dear friend of mine. Without her inference, and my mentor to drag me back from the verge of insanity, I most likely wouldn't be standing before you right now. I am just Eragon, Son of None."

The Hero's Shade studied him intently as the golden wolf had, crimson eye staring as if it could peer into the very depths of his soul. Finally the former hero inclined his head slightly, at least acknowledging Eragon with some amount of respect.

"If you wish to find true courage, Eragon, and you earnestly wish to save Hyrule from the horrors it now faces... Then you will be worthy to receive the secrets I hold!" Eragon's eyes widened, but his self-proclaimed mentor swiftly urged him into action. "Draw your blade."

Complying, Eragon stood ready as the Hero's Shade backed a few steps away from him. "How much are you going to teach me?"

Stern red eye fixed upon him, the green-clad young man wisely fell silent and listened intently to the skeleton's words. "Enemies that are filled with energy will quickly recover and attack even when stunned by a powerful attack. Not even magic is enough to repel them in some circumstances. The ending blow is a secret technique you can use on discombobulated enemies to end their breath before they can spring back into action. When a foe lies collapsed, leap high into the air and deliver a final strike."

Coldness seeped into Eragon's stomach at this cruel words. Memories of that fateful day in the Beor Mountains surged back to him. That man, Torkenbrand, had unwittingly tried to capture a Rider and the son of Morzan to sell as slaves back in the Empire. Eragon and Saphira had scattered the men. Torkenbrand had fallen off his horse during the mad dash to escape and had laid prone and helpless on the ground. Murtagh had walked over and cruelly decapitated the slave-driver. He had claimed such ruthlessness was now necessary for their very survival.

"Killing men in the heat of battle is one thing, but slaughtering an incapacitated one does not sit well with me," Eragon protested stubbornly. "My uncle raised me to fight fair. Everything you're saying goes against every belief I have."

Sighing in understanding, the Hero's Shade nodded sympathetically. "Innocence is swiftly lost, but the shreds that linger refuse to die easily. Reluctance in killing off defenseless, sentient foes is normal. I would be alarmed if you slaughtered without remorse. I too once felt such treatment was cruel, but I soon learned my enemies would not return my own foolish mercy. Think, boy! Does the entire world need to suffer because you hadn't the heart to finish a hostile foe who only wished you harm?"

Biting his lip, Eragon internally battled his feelings of conflict. Roran had bashed in the heads of Imperial soldiers to ensure they would not further torment him on the Burning Plains. Arya had always checked her victims to make sure they were dead and ended them if they still weakly clung onto life. Even Saphira had not hesitated in unleashing torrents of burning flames upon all reckless enough to stand directly in her path.

"You can not kill what is already dead," the Hero's Shade assured him roughly. "Now, try it on me." Beginning that strange but effective shuffle again, he raised his weapons in anticipation for battle. Eragon instinctively knew his new mentor wouldn't hesitate in hitting him with the blunt side of his blade if he showed further reluctance.

Lunging in, Eragon now found it remarkably easily to slip past the skeletal warrior's defenses and deliver a hard blow that sent his opponent toppling onto his back like a turtle. There the Hero's Shade lay, panting heavily, as if he had never meant to put up much resistance. Eragon sprung up into his air, cleaving his sword down in the process. The combined forces were enough to drive the blade's sharp point through faded armor and into a cavity that would have housed vital organs in a regular foe.

Swiftly withdrawing his blade, Eragon backed away and turned to train his eyes on the ground. Experience told him he had just performed the ending blow incorrectly and was about to be chastised for it. Instead the Hero's Shade easily stood up, nodding in earnest approval. Even with the grinning skull he looked pleased in the movement.

"Hmm. That was a pinpoint strike. Never overlook your opportunity to finish with ending blow! It could end up saving your life one day." The Hero's Shade twirled his blade about in an elegant move that made Eragon envious, placing it safely back in its sheathe. "The first hidden skill, the ending blow, has been passed on!"

Attempting to emulate the impressive trick with his own blade, Eragon only succeeded in nearly dropping it. Flushed with embarrassment, he quickly sheathed it in his usual manner. "That felt way too simple," he admitted in concern. "I know I have talent with a blade, but even prodigies have to practice before perfecting a technique! It felt as if I already knew how to do it. Like I only needed a refresher."

Chuckling in a way that was no longer disturbingly unpleasant, Eragon sensed that the Hero's Shade would be in as elusive in his answers as Princess Zelda. "That is because you did. You have learned this all. Many, many times. The power you need to conquer the challenges you face is already dormant within. All you must do is awaken it once again. This was just the first of seven skills. I have six more tricks up my sleeves, and this was just a test to gauge your preexisting abilities. Expect to have a much more difficult battle next time."

Attempting to stifle his dismayed groan, Eragon tried to remain as calm as possible. Prolonged training would mean more time spent in Hyrule. More time he was away from the battlefields and his comrades in Alagaesia that direly required his assistance. "Isn't it better if you show me all of your secrets now? We could get this all out of the way and I don't need to worry about being trapped in a situation in which I need knowledge you haven't yet taught me. Besides, you'd be able to fulfill your responsibilities and pass into the void peacefully much sooner than expected.

Eragon could almost imagine the half-amused and half-exasperated expression that would have crossed over the skull's face if he'd had flesh left. "No Chosen Hero, I among them, starts out with all the material he needs to conquer. Wisdom can not be dispensed freely. You must earn your power and properly test your courage. Even the legendary Hero of Time had to struggle hard to become mighty. The Great Fairies made him scour the ends of Hyrule for their hidden fountains before they taught him their magical secrets. Fearsome monsters waited for him alongside every Sage that needed awakening."

The younger man's must have somehow betrayed his disappointment and frustration, for the Hero's Shade sighed. "Look on the bright side, kid. Already you have experience in battle and am somewhat skilled with the blade. You are joined by loyal companions who would follow you to the ends of the earth. Goddesses, you even have the advantage of having already have undergone puberty!" As Eragon's eye twitched at this odd statement, the skeleton swiftly elaborated. "I was still a kid when I got dragged into a parallel world I was expected to save from inevitable destruction. The Hero of Time was raised in a sheltered environment and set off on his quest an ignorant and naive child. You're already an adult with no illusions about the difficulty of your journey. There is no more innocence to rip away."

Nodding in grudging consent that he had to wait, Eragon glanced about at the shifting mist again. "Very well. I shall wait until next time. Just... how am I supposed to come here again? Surely you're not going to track me down and drag me out of my body every single time you want to train?"

"Search for the stones that whistle with the wind. They sing sacred melodies that should never be forgotten to the fog of history. Master a stone, and the way to your destination shall be made clear." Whispers that had originally been nearly inaudible to Eragon suddenly grew louder. The Hero's Shade cocked his head slightly, listening intently to a voice only he seemed able to hear. "Our time today has drawn to an end," he said simply. "Until next time, boy. Remember to practice with that blade until the ending blow becomes ingrained into your very mind!"

Familiar with the tedious process, Eragon resigned himself to the darkness that was encompassing his vision. As the blackness seeped in the dull gull of the old Hero's armor, the crimson of his single piercing eye, and the white of the dream-scape blurred together in a swirl of color. Then he was cut loose of the strange vision, drifting away from the mist and back into reality.

Saphira was sincerely regretful her new body wasn't fast enough to have stopped that damned mongrel from sinking its fangs deep into her Rider's shoulder. When Eragon had collapsed her draconic rage had surfaced immediately. Instinct demanded her to tear the golden wolf into shreds before attending to the green-clad man's injuries. Of course the wolf had turned out to be some sort of hostile spirit. It had disappeared into thin air the moment Eragon had toppled over and had left her with his unconscious form.

The wild beast had not broken the skin or had not left impressions behind in Eragon's flesh. It had not even left holes behind in his tunic! Had the wolf bypassed the physical body all together, instead only inflicting damage to Eragon's immortal soul? With such a supernatural entity, Saphira couldn't be positive on what her Rider had suffered.

She had first lowered her mental barriers and searched for his sure. Saphira had wanted to see if Eragon was merely unconscious, experiencing another senseless vision, or if his soul had been irreversibly shattered. His presence had barely even been there! It was as if Eragon had been unceremoniously pulled from his body, now only maintaining the slimmest of connections with it. The ties were just strong enough to ensure his heart continued to beat and his body automatically function.

Saphira hadn't been able to assist him any further than that. He was beyond even the reaches of her own mind. She didn't have any trust in her new magic to try and heal him by herself. Odds were she would harm more than help. Instead the she-dragon in human skin had resigned herself to preparing camp. Gathering up all of the supplies they had stored safely away until they were supposed to have been finished with the Forest Temple, she had tried her damned best to make them both comfortable.

Midna had chosen to make her presence known only after Saphira had completed all of the hard labor all by her lonesome self. Apparently Eragon had neglected to inform her the same obnoxious imp that had helped him through the Twilight Realm had remained squatting within his shadow. Now that dusk was beginning to fall upon Faron Woods Midna had been able to venture forth safely. She and Saphira glared at each other from opposite sides of the camp, sizing each other up.

"Can't you do anything to revive him?" Midna questioned for the countless time that evening. "We're burning daylight."

Saphira struggled to refrain from snapping. This Twili was their only guide through the Twilit provinces. Alienating her would only make Eragon's duties in this wretched kingdom all the harder to complete. "No," she ground out as neutrally as possible. "As for the day, it's pretty much over. Nothing to do but settle down for the night and hope Eragon will wake by sunrise."

Amber eyes narrowing mutinously, Midna sniffed. "Such a waste of a day. If that damned wimp hadn't bothered to protect himself better than he would have finished up with the Forest Temple by now."

Rummaging around one of Eragon's packs, one of the young woman's sapphire eyes twitched warningly. "Much has been accomplished today," she nearly reminded in a hiss. "Light has been restored to this section of Hyrule. Eragon has regained his rightful form and I have gained a second one. Just this morning he was still hunting down the errant tears of light. Let him rest before he collapses from exhaustion!"

Midna's gaze momentarily flickered down to where an unconscious Eragon lay. Saphira had done her best to make him comfortable by putting a blanket beneath his form and using a saddlebag as a pillow to support his head. "He's shivering," she noted mildly. "This night air is going to him sick. Better make him warm before Hyrule's savior needs warm soup and bed-rest."

Saphira didn't rise to take the obvious bait. Her patience was wearing dangerously thin already. Triumphantly pulling out the flint Eragon still carried around with them to start fires, she set out to ignite the pile of kindling she had collected earlier. She didn't dare use her magic to start a fire on the likely chance she'd accidentally kill them all. If only this traditional, mundane method was reliable. Sparks repeatedly flew off of the flint, but stubbornly refused to kindle.

Floating in the air as Saphira's valiant efforts at creating fire were all in vain, Midna's bemused smirk steadily grew as the young Hylian's last reserves of patience were at long last exhausted. "Looks like we're going without a fire tonight," she remarked smugly as Saphira hurled the non-compliant flint into the darkness. "Eeh-"

The Twili female's cackle morphed into a startled shriek as she suddenly found herself staring right into the face of a snarling she-dragon. Falling onto her back, a wide-eyed Midna gazed up at her other conscious companion. Saphira had resumed her true form, and was far from pleased.

Baring bone-white fangs, the blue she-dragon had unfurled her wings to make herself appear even larger and was positively menacing in the growing darkness. Eyes burning sapphires, her hostile gaze was solely for Midna.

I know how you attempted to manipulate Eragon back there when he was imprisoned, she intoned darkly. Back when you thought him incapable of speech and only a frightened and gullible country bumpkin. You wanted only to make him into a puppet so you could accomplish your own selfish goals! He may be willing to continue to follow your orders and help you, but I have not forgotten your original intentions. Attempt to use either of us without our knowledge and consent, and I will break my vow on devouring sentient creatures.

Shock wearing off, Midna was not one to be dominated. Baring her own singular fang, she again jumped up to levitate in the air. "I care nothing for this sorry world and your pathetic boy!" she hissed coldly. "My people are my sole concern. Should I have to step on a few arrogant little light-dwellers to protect them from a godless and treacherous usurper, then so be it."

Just as I have no qualms about eating a dangerous Twili that is trying to impede us in rescuing Hyrule so we can return to our home, Saphira rumbled back. Should you become a liability, I shall do what is necessary to correct it-

Eragon suddenly trembled in his sleep, shivering more violently than ever before. Heart clenching in guilt at the realization her own blasted temper had distracted her from her Rider's well-being, Saphira rushed over to his side. Spitting a plume of fire upon the kindling that quickly jumped up into vibrant blue frames, she shrunk back down into Hylian form. She swiftly pulled a spare blanket over his prone form, leaving only enough bare flesh exposed to keep a careful eye on the shoulder the golden wolf had attacked.

Yes. Saphira had indeed ignored her Rider's dignity in favor of confirming his physical health. Even when there was no visible damage to his shoulder didn't mean she would let the matter go. How was she supposed to know whether or not the wound would not appear until later? So she erred on the side of caution and assumed Eragon could bear the humiliation of waking up with a bare chest.

Saphira had noted with appreciation that at least the rigorous training had payed off. Originally Eragon had been scrawny and was still slightly pudgy with lingering baby fat. Training and hard travel and maturation had substantially improved his previously poor physical condition. Of course there were still several more years ahead of him before he finished growing, but at least Eragon already displayed proof he actually possessed muscles.

Brushing her fingertips gently over his exposed skin, Saphira's heart fluttered only slightly. For though his new frame was a huge improvement upon his earlier pathetic condition, Eragon still had a long road ahead of him before being considered truly attractive in Saphira's critical eyes. If her Rider was blessed he would develop a body similar to Murtagh's by the time he reached full maturity. Only then would women see him as a genuine man and not a mere boy to be so cruelly used, as Trianna had once tried. Gods, even Arya could eventually rescind her earlier assumption that Eragon would perpetually be a naive and juvenile boy.

Her loss, Saphira thought privately with a small smirk tugging at her lips. By the time Arya realizes what a good catch she allowed to slip past her, some other opportunistic would have already snatched him up. Eragon is so devoted and kindhearted already, all he needs is a few more brief years. Give him that, and let's see if he can make an elven princess feel regret.

"How is the sleeping beauty?" Midna ventured dryly. "Did he regain consciousness yet?"

"Oh, yes," Saphira snapped back sarcastically. "He's just pretending to be asleep because he's afraid of being dragged back into another conflict."

As if her caustic response had been what was needed all along, Eragon finally began to stir at her words. Twili and Hylian watched, breathless, as the green-clad young man groaned and blearily blinked his eyes open. Noticing the darkness of the encroaching night, he looked about in slight confusion, before focusing in on the two females that hovered over him. Eragon's blue-gray eyes widened in surprise and fear as he did his best to explain.

"Not my fault!" he blurted out desperately before Saphira decided to do something rash. "That golden wolf dragged me off into some alternate world to teach me in the lost arts of the Chosen Heroes. I no choice but to comply."

Crossing her arms indignantly at the insinuation her Rider had just made, Saphira huffed angrily. "Of course I understand! Every single supernatural being in the world now seems intent on torturing you into your sanity crumbles." Pointing accusingly at Midna, her sapphire eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Neglecting to inform me that the imp still hung around, however, is unforgivable."

"I hid only because your light-dweller rightfully assumed you'd be furious after discovering me!" Midna retorted. "Two worlds, including my own, are in mortal peril. This isn't the time for petty arguments."

Gulping, Eragon did the wise thing and did not say anything about the subject to provoke female wrath against him. Midna and Saphira were both glaring daggers at him, each beckoning to cave and submit to their will. Instead he crawled out from beneath the blanket and rummaged around until he discovered peace offerings of food. He meekly offered portions to his companions before stuffing food into his own mouth to temporarily avoid further conflict.

Saphira tore into the hard biscuits and dried fruit she had received. She quickly found the meal nowhere near as satisfying as a same-sized serving of meat. Why did Ordon Village have to know about Eragon's strange aversion to meat? Gods, she'd kill just for a few handfuls of that disgusting smoked ham. Anything to appease the hungry she-dragon that lurked just beneath the superficial exterior of a humanoid appearance.

"We leave by sunrise," Eragon said after they had eaten enough food to knock the edge off of their tempers. "There is a long and difficult day ahead of us tomorrow. Whatever grudge you two have developed, refrain from the petty rivalry until after we retrieve that mysterious dark artifact."

When the last of their meager dinner had disappeared down their mouths, there was an unspoken agreement between the three to settle down for the night. Saphira tossed more wood onto the fire to sustain the flickering flames for the rest of the cold night. Eragon didn't question why he was walking around shirtless, but didn't hesitate in pulling back on the tan undershirt. He seemed flushed with more than the nocturnal chill.

Kicking off his boots and laying his equipment upon the ground, Eragon crawled back underneath the warmth of the blankets. In exasperation, Saphira noticed that the young man was still clutching his silly green hat stubbornly in his hands. Without even bothering to mutter a quick good-night, a rather rude Midna slipped back into Eragon's shadow. Only the two young people were left in awkward silence over what to do next.

"You've got more blankets, right?" Saphira asked without preamble.

Eragon blinked in surprise. "Yes... But why do you need them? Surely you intend to sleep in your natural form?"

She shrugged apathetically. "Why?" she retorted. "This clearing is too small for me to curl up comfortably as a she-dragon. Besides, as a Hylian I won't attract too much attention from any travelers that could possibly be passing through the area." She grinned. "And it's a nice little surprise for any aspiring robbers."

Conceding the night was brisk, Saphira wasted no time in shedding her excess equipment and removing her boots. She prepared her own makeshift bed apparently too close to Eragon for his liking. He was blushing vividly, completely unnerved at having an attractive woman who also happened to be his dragon in such proximity.

"D-do you mind inching away a little bit? You're making me feel a little... stifled."

Reveling in his senseless unease, Saphira smiled and cocked her head in feigned confusion. "Why ever not, little one? This form doesn't radiant as much heat and the fire can only protect me so much. Sharing out body warmth is the best option right now. Besides, you have no qualms about sleeping right under my wing when I am a she-dragon. What is it about this body that alarms you so?" Lip trembling slightly as if she had been genuinely hurt by his awkwardness, she needed only one look at Eragon's face to realize the battle had already been won.

Positively scarlet, Eragon only closed his eyes for a long moment and sighed in resignation. "...Of course you can sleep with me. I'm just a little shaken up about what happened to me today. I'll tell you about it in the morning when we're not constantly on the verge of falling asleep."

Beaming brightly, Saphira moved her blankets right next to Eragon's. She pealed off her outer blue tunic and loosed her hair from its braid. The platinum blond locks went tumbling free, and her beam morphed into a slightly sadistic grin at his nervous gulp. This kind of vengeance was fun. And she imagined the snicker coming from the shadows? Perhaps she and the imp had found common ground after all.

Slipping beneath the warmth of the blankets, Saphira yawned before closing her eyes. "Good night, Eragon. Sweet dreams."

Already drifting off to sleep, the new smile that spread across her face at Eragon's chocked splutter was concealed.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Nightfall- by Blind Guardian

Madness was now as engraved into his being as the gaping hole that the shining presence of his darling Jarnunvosk had once occupied. Without Lord Ganondorf's limitless strength to support the barriers between sanity and utter lunacy, there was always the possibility the barricades would crumble and the unstoppable tide of mindlessness would surge in. Attacks came without warning. One minute Galbatorix was in control and completely composed, the next he was wailing and screaming on the ground while his sane mind battled for dominance against his crippling madness.

Such an incident happened at the most inopportune time imaginable. As ruler of the Empire, it was Galbatorix's responsibility to ensure his subjects were protected from assault by the damned rebels and order was preserved from total anarchy. Funding was always needed to support the armies and Imperial citizens were growing quite unsatisfied with the ever rising taxes they needed to pay. Extravagant banquets were hosted in times like these to convince the noble lords to 'donate' more money to the cause. Of course, Galbatorix could have just done things the simple way and tortured the necessary funding out of them. But he was trying to portray himself as a sympathetic, misunderstood leader who just wanted what was best for his people. Frightening his own lords and bleeding his Empire dry didn't fit that ideal image. Tyrants only gave the discontent masses all the more reason to start revolts.

So far, the evening had been progressing well. Galbatorix's natural charismatic charms had flattered even the most disillusioned nobles into tentatively trusting him. They all listened intently as to how Galbatorix promised to wisely spend the several million crowns he politely requested. Most of the funds would be funneled into the formation and training of another regiment of soldiers to protect Urubaen. All of what remained would go into the royal coffers to be saved for a rainy day.

"The Varden is swiftly becoming increasingly larger and more powerful force," Galbatorix intoned smoothly to all lords present. "Very soon they will cease in being a mere nuisance and graduate into a very real threat against the safety of the Empire. Urubaen's forces are severely undermanned and under-equipped. Should the rebellion decide to storm our capitol we shall be hard pressed to fight them off."

Grim faced lords turned to mutter amongst themselves, disturbed by the fact that they were now so at risk. Galbatorix concealed his triumphant smile underneath a facade of polite indifference. He had yet again accomplished his goal.

"Excuse me, your Highness?" Lord Tudor Deran of Aroughs inquired mildly. "With the utmost respect, may I say something about such an assumption?"

Galbatorix was not offended in the slightest. His lords often had a more accurate perspective on their own cities and individual needs far better than their King ever could. Besides, Tudor Deran was not a troublesome noble. He knew his place in the world and was content with it.

"Aye, Lord Deran. You may speak."

Tudor inclined his head in gratitude. "Both you and Rider Murtagh are more than ample protection for Urubaen at the moment. Not to mention all of the best and strongest magicians are stationed here. Most likely the rebels will attempt to soon attack a city closer to them. Currently they are located still in their camp on the Burning Plains. Aroughs is most vulnerable and I would like to remind you of how important a trade city it is. Please, my Lord, send these forces were they are so desperately required."

This reasonable request soon ignited gleams of jealously in all of the other lords' eyes. Why should they be denied such an advantage of additional soldiers?

"My Lord?" Lord Brutus Tabor, the late and unfortunate Marcus Tabor's nephew, ventured daringly. "May I suggest these troops instead be sent to my own city? Dras-Leona suffered a devastating loss with the deaths of the Lethrblaka and their offspring. The poor are in upheaval and are frequently assaulting the wall that separates them from the inner section of the city. The surviving Lethrblaka is no longer enough to maintain order!"

Black eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, Galbatorix's hand tightened around the grip of his fork. Why were these lords such pathetic creatures? They were worse than dogs! Always begging for more power and any possible advantage over their fellows. How much they were unlike his united and faithful Forsworn.

"Gentlemen," King Galbatorix began silkily, "I must insist that the soliders remain in Urubaen. Lord Deran, I am aware of the predicament Aroughs is in and shall be sending Rider Murtagh and his dragon over to offer the best protection possible. As for your other humble requests-"

Provoked by his irritation, the madness saw its opportunity to strike. Carefully constructed barricades came crumbling down like wooden walls plowed over by the furious ocean. Loss and fury poignant as the day they had been inflicted upon his very soul washed his overwhelmed consciousness away in a relentless barrage. Screaming bloody murder, the King of the Empire toppled out of his chair, lost in a throe of violent and screaming spasms.

Her scales were the exact color of polished copper. Every single scale glittered like freshly minted coins in the dying sunlight. Against a winter world of white and red, she was the last beautiful thing in the world. All else in their surroundings was chaos and death, the fierce bellows of the attacking Urgals and the agonized screams of his companions echoing in his ears as a horrible symphony. Galbatorix forced himself to ignore the carnage, to save his gaze only for his magnificent she-dragon. She was his first true friend, one half of his soul, his entire world.

He now helplessly cradled her head in his arms, while scarlet blood blossomed from the arrow shaft that had pierced her vulnerable windpipe.

Whatever magical knowledge he possessed that could have stopped the blood flow eluded his desperate search. Instead Galbatorix could only hold on to Jarnunvosk, trying to hold back the tide of death in vain. Her glorious mind slowly slipped away from his clinging grip like water through his fingers. He was barely aware that his eyes were streaming with tears that were swiftly freezing in the winter wind.

When she fixed her gaze upon him, Galbatorix forced himself to meet it. He couldn't stand see her characteristic fire slowly being extinguished against the power of oblivion, the ice that crept over her form and left only desolation behind. Jarnunvosk struggled to form a final thought to send across their connection. Did she merely mean to call out his name, beg for him for save her, comfort him in his time to need, implore him to flee, or demand he avenge her death?

He would never know. Whatever Jarnunvosk had intended to say was carried with her into the void. Life flickering so dangerously, suddenly it spluttered out altogether. Eyes clouding over with the frost of death, his beautiful copper-scaled she-dragon's head fell limp in his embrace. The last of her brilliant mind escaped his grasp, vanishing deep into a dark abyss where he could not follow. Emptiness occupied the part of his soul her shining presence had once graced. It was an insatiable void, raw with grief and loss that demanded to be filled.

Galbatorix would fill it. His mind's hunger would be dulled with hatred and its thirst slaked with blood.

Staggering away from Jarnunvosk's cooling corpse, Galbatorix unsheathed his sword and intended to yell out her name to the chaos that surrounded them. An unnatural desire forced its way up from the core of his soul and up through his mouth, escaping as an inhuman scream that rang of sorrow and pure rage. The attacking Urgals and his few surviving Rider companions turned to look at him in bewilderment, hypnotized by his fearsome appearance.

Though Galbatorix did not know it, he looked as if possessed by a dark god. Stained crimson with the blood of his dragon, the vibrant color he wore contrasted against the white snow. His face was contorted into a bestial snarl, while his eyes burned jet black. His gaze was spiteful, though his aggression was not directed solely at the ones responsible for Jarnunvosk's demise. He desired only to kill, to maul all in his path, to do anything that would alleviate the unbearable absence of his she-dragon.

A spell escaped from Galbatorix's mouth, one dredged forth from the deepest depths of his soul. It was one he had stumbled across by pure accident one afternoon years ago in the library at Doru Araeba. Such enchantments had been forbidden for centuries, preserved in writing only as grim warnings for the young and ambitious Riders that wished to stray down a dark and unholy path. Power granted by such spells was addictive, the anonymous author had somberly written. One step down the road sealed an unwitting person's fate forever.

Channeling a devastating power that made his blood sing with euphoria and his grief temporarily flee his mind, Galbatorix allowed his surroundings to be consumed by a dark and ravenous haze-

"Wake up, apprentice. Now is not the time to be nodding off." A boot unceremoniously pressed into his exposed side, eliciting a pained groan from Galbatorix's disoriented form when it contacted strongly with several ribs. "You've had an entire century to make your little vision reality. Time to see what you accomplished with my teachings."

The King of the Empire craned his neck to see the mystery person, gazing up into the bemused face of the one being in the entire world he considered superior. He towered over average-sized men and seemed muscular enough to snap a person's neck with his bare hands if he desired. His skin was the characteristic dark green of his people, hair and beard an intense shade of red. Garbed in black armor trimmed with gold and a luxurious cloak, an ignorant observer didn't even need the fine clothing to tell this formidable man was of high rank. His stance was regal, the commanding glitter in his golden eyes telling of a past in which he had been unquestionably pampered and obeyed by those around him.

Comprehending the situation, Galbatorix swiftly scrambled into the old kneeling position and inclined his head respectfully. He dimly noted it was his first time submitting to anyone in decades.

"Lord Ganondorf," he managed with a composed voice. "You have returned at last."

"Of course I have," the Gerudo male answered condescendingly. "I alerted you to my presence several times over the course of the past week or so." His eyes narrowed searchingly. "Surely you sensed me? Your dragon responded quite enthusiastically when I made contact."

"There have been many false alarms in the past," Galbatorix admitted reasonably. "Whenever I investigated further into it nothing upon your whereabouts emerged. I assumed you had secluded yourself away from the rest of the world to develop some new sort of magical art. Or even that you had died-"

This foolish statement prompted Ganondorf to laugh mockingly. "Boy, how many times must I remind of the abilities the Goddesses have blessed me with?" Proudly holding up his hand, the Triforce crest imprinted upon it briefly flashed with a crimson light. "Death itself can not claim me for long. I can only be sealed away in some parallel realm. Even then, the bonds will weaken over time. Nothing can imprison Din's chosen forever."

Galbatorix was able to contain his smug grin that threatened to spread across his features as realization dawned. "So the King of Hyrule discovered your treachery and sentenced you to death after all? Here I was thinking your plan of domination over the Triforce and your homeland was flawless."

Ganondorf frowned in agitation, but didn't torture Galbatorix out of retaliation for his lip. Telepathic meetings such as these had these advantages. Both men were present in spiritual form and could only communicate. No physical contact was possible within this strange realm. "There were complications I never could have foreseen," he conceded reluctantly. "My pride foolishly led me to assume I was the only strong enough to retain the memories from that forgotten time. I believed that my enemies wouldn't remember. Even if they did, I figured they no longer had the power to strike against me." He smiled bitterly. "I was wrong."

"So these... people killed you?"

"Not this time around," Ganondorf replied vaguely. "Together the royal brat and that snot-nosed kid convinced old Harkinian I was a threat. They had the testimony of those I had earlier forced to back up their claims. I was ordered to be executed upon the orders of the Royal Family. The spiritual incarnations of the Sages carried the sentence out." Smirking darkly, he gestured to the radiant blade that was strapped to his belt. Also, to the glowing slash right in the middle of his torso Galbatorix had attempted to tactfully ignore. "They soon discovered one blessed with the power of the gods could not be contained by death itself. So they severely wounded me and trapped me in an alternate dimension. Though not before I received a consolation prize." He smirked at the fond memory. "Two pesky little Sages down, five to go."

"Decades have passed since then," Galbatorix answered dismissively. "Our plans can now be resumed. Much of Alagaesia is under my control and only a small portion of rebels can openly oppose me. All I need is my old power back and I can crush all resistance within a month. There is only one bratty Rider by the time of Eragon Shadeslayer on their side. It shall be no trouble to capture and subdue him and his she-dragon."

Ganondorf nodded calmly as if none of this had surprised him. "Of that I have no doubt. Just forget about Eragon and his dragon. They're both mine now."

Shocked, it took all of Galbatorix's control from exploding in his rage. Nails digging so deep into his palms they began to bleed, his black eyes glared up at the Gerudo King. Shadeslayer was the son of his greatest servant and Saphira had hatched from his egg. Both belonged solely to him. Ganondorf was in no way involved with that matter. "My Lord-"

Golden eyes narrowing in displeasure, Ganondorf's withering look silenced an experienced Galbatorix. "No complaints, apprentice. Fate had seen it fit to make your greatest nuisance the third champion for the Goddesses and sent him to my Hyrule. This Eragon has already resisted the influence of my newest servant's corrupting magic and has successfully escaped the dungeons right underneath my own castle." He smiled wanly. "I underestimated a young boy clad in green once before. Never again will I be so blind."

Ignoring Ganondorf's cryptic comments, Galbatorix was not so willing to forsake the boy that had so defied him for over a year. "At least let me send one of my loyal servants to Hyrule to ensure you capture and kill the boy. Save the she-dragon's life so that she can return to Urubaen to rekindle her dying race."

Ganondorf shrugged apathetically. "Feel free to send whatever stooge you desire and have all the dragons you want to construct your armies. I have several under my control, one of whom is just dying to terrorize the disobedient masses again. Just remember that the kid is mine." Gaze growing distant, he continued to murmur aloud to himself. "This time I fully intend to stop this pest before he has a chance to become a man. Knowing his ancestry, though, he'll survive to the final battle. His predecessor was a worthy opponent in both this time and the last. I can only hope that his prowess was inherited by the current generation."

"Very well," the Black King sighed in resignation. He stood up from the misty ground, brushing off the few wisps that clung to his robes. "I trust our connection remains intact. There are unfinished goals I finally want to accomplish."

His master waved his hand. "Go ahead and claim your territory. Just remember who your allegiance belongs to." He turned to leave, face hard as he addressed Galbatorix for a final time. "And make sure to keep your servant out of the way while he is in Hyrule. I can make no guarantees about his personal welfare if he does not mind himself."

Ganondorf began to stride off, the dreamy landscape following him and leaving Galbatorix behind in an increasingly black oblivion. The Black King relinquished control, allowing himself to drift away and back to the real world.

Blinking open his dark eyes, Galbatorix was not surprised to discover himself still lying face-first on the floor. Bilious strings of saliva still clung to his mouth and his knuckles were bleeding as if they had been punching at the stone beneath him. Members of his Black Hand had gathered around him to counter any devastating enchantments that could have escaped from him during his throes of pure madness. None had dared to actually touch him, for physical contact with their king while he was in that raving state resulted in him lashing out with spells of death.

The lords will still sitting at their table, though clutching it with tremulous hands and staring at him with pale faces. Their ancestors long ago had learned never to flee from their Mad King when he pitched one of his fits. Such cowardice would get them severe punishment once Galbatorix returned to his normal state of mind. Years of restraint kept them from running, aye, but their trust in his power had once again been shattered. It would take at least several weeks of all of his considerable charm and coercion to win it back again.

Calmly climbing to his feet, Galbatorix uttered a quick spell to clean himself up and to heal his minor injures. Another one tidied up his disheveled robes and hair. He faced the wary crowd before him, noting how they seemed even more unnerved than usual?

"Your Majesty?" a woman member of his Black Hand ventured cautiously.

His brow arched expectantly. "Aye, Moraine?"

"Your... episode went differently this time, my Lord," Moraine continued, a bead of sweat trickling down her face. "At first you were acting like you usually did... then you just collapsed limply to the floor. We didn't know whether to help you or not," she added quickly as if fearful of displeasing him. "I apologize, your Highness, if we were supposed to."

Galbatorix smiled benevolently. He had no reason to lash out at these people. What use was his idle rage when there was now so much he was finally able to accomplish? Moraine and every other person in the room recoiled reflexively, fearing his mysterious good mood over his customary fury.

"No, Moraine, none of you were supposed to assist me. You all behaved properly." Reaching deep inside him to his magical preserves, Galbatorix's smile widened when he discovered his connection between himself and Ganondorf had been restored. Seemingly limitless amounts of energy were not at his disposal, flowing through him as abundantly as water in the ocean.

"Lord Deran?" he called, facing the tense lord. "You can have those reinforcements, and I will pay for them directly with my own funds. I will not need any of your generous donations today, my Lords."

Brutus Tabor was unable to contain his jealous outburst. "What of Dras-Leona, my King? Surely it deserves additional protection after that rogue Rider destroyed-"

Black eyes glittering in excitement, Galbatorix sharply cut the man off. "You shall have the best security available in all of Alagaesia within the day, Lord Tabor. Under this infallible protection you will never have to worry about threat of invasion or internal rebellion ever again." His gaze swept over the crowd, holding every single lord with its piercing intensity. "All of the Empire shall benefit from it, rest assured. And it will not cost any of you a single precious crown to start or maintain it. The priests in your city should remember how to appease it without without my guidance, Lord Tabor."

Brutus quailed at the mention, startled by the mention of those unholy men. "You mean those of the mountain cult? My King, I beg of you to see sense! Those zealots worship some unholy evil they believe slumbers beneath Helgrind. Gods, they maim themselves just to offer tribute to their unholy forces with blood and human flesh!" The other lords, some of whom had never heard of the infamous cult, gasped in earnest horror.

Galbatorix smirked. "Of course they do, Lord Tabor. Did you honestly expect such power to come without sacrifice?" He coolly looked at all present in the room. "Those of you with close friends or loved ones currently resided outside the proper boundaries of the Empire, I suggest you recall them immediately. If they are not back within the borders by nightfall I can make no assurances of their safety."

Leaving the stunned dining hall behind, the King of the Empire strode out to find his dragon. Shruikan rumbled impatiently from somewhere within Castle Ilirea, bombarding his Rider with waves of restlessness and anticipation. The black dragon knew what loomed just on the horizon, and could not wait to help usher it back into the world.

Twilight was falling over Urubaen, bathing everything within touch in shades of orange and crimson light. Buildings, from the imposing fortress that loomed over the capitol to the the apartments crowded with those rich enough only to afford a single room, were drenched in the growing shadows. The dusk penetrated the open sides of the dragon-hold, and the two occupants slumbering within. Thorn's crimson scales glittered as brilliantly as rubies in the light's last great display of majesty. It refracted against the dragon-hold's walls, sending fragments as red as blood dancing across its worn surface.

Thorn was curled up, head resting on his paws and eyes closed. His breathing was slow and even, filling the area with the calm sound. Murtagh rested close beside him, laying on his back and using his folded arms as a makeshift pillow. While his dragon was sleeping peacefully, his face twitched uneasily with the force of his dreams. Where Thorn simply dreamed of flying wild and free of Galbatorix, Murtagh's dreams were unfortunately far more ominous...

He walked through an unfamiliar forest, feeling completely at peace under the green branches that arched overhead. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the canopy, giving the woods an almost golden glow. There was almost no sound except for the soft whisper of the wind as it rustled through the leaves. Oh, and the mischievous giggling of the three young girls that dragged him through the forest.

Murtagh tried to remember where he had encountered the little girls. He found that the memory always slipped his mind, and that he really didn't care. It felt as if he had been following them forever. With them he felt safe and secure. Those feelings had felt alien since his mentor, Tornac, had passed away and had left him alone in a remorseless and ruthless world. All of those were just now unpleasant, faded in the warm light and softened by the melodious laughter of the girls.

The smallest had long blue hair that cascaded down her back and led their small procession. She was the only one that was not laughing, but her sapphire eyes sparkled with amusement. The blue-haired child was always several steps ahead of the others, never taking his hand and never allowing her to be touched. She shied away whenever Murtagh would try to make contact, and would smile as if bemused by his efforts.

The second-eldest girl dressed in gold and a green almost as rich as her locks. She had her hair done up in two large buns. On anyone else it would have looked absolutely absurd, but the girl seemed perfectly suited for them. She held onto Murtagh's left hand, always trying to tug him along faster as she longed for them to break out running. Her emerald eyes were just as vibrant as her steps, her gleeful laughter echoing pleasantly in his ears.

Where the other girls wore dresses, the eldest was garbed only a pink leotard that would have made him blush if it wasn't for her young age. She was moderately darker than her companions, and with fiery red hair she simply had pulled off her face. Her laughter was bubbly, but the look on her face was almost simpering. The girl clung to his right arm, batting her eyelids coyly. Ruby eyes shining impishly, she seemed to revel in Murtagh's discomfort and only pulled him along more.

"Where are you taking me?" Murtagh curiously asked the girls.

All three looked back at him with secretive expressions that made them look so alike he wondered if they were sisters. Every single pair of their brilliant eyes darkened slightly. His heart fluttered uneasily at this, but they all continued to lead him along in silence.

As they progressed through the woods, the warm golden light cooled into the blues and violets of late twilight. The soft grass beneath Murtagh's feet hardened into barren rocks. Slowly the trees began to thin and vanish, leaving behind treacherous rock that surrounded them from all sides. The whisper of the wind vanished, leaving still air behind. They had somehow arrived at the mouth of the Lethrblaka's lair in Helgrind.

The youngest girl stopped, staring gravely back at him. Then she merely pointed to the darkness ahead. Grim realization settled into his stomach. Her companions continued to pull him along, more urgently now. The blue-haired one remained behind, not moving as she watched them trudge forward.

Murtagh found himself being dragged through winding passages he had never been in before. The bones of the Lethrblaka's past meals still littered the ground. Unable to avoid all of the bones, he winced whenever one gave way beneath his feet. The eldest girl made no effort to avoid them, while her green-haired companion delicately stepped over every single one of them without ever breaking stride.

"Shruikan," Murtagh blurted out in amazement.

Galbatorix's black dragon seemed oblivious to their presence. He waited impatiently at a tunnel too small for him to enter, growling and snapping at the unmoving rock as if he could struggle through. The green-haired girl reached out with her free hand to touch his side. Shruikan leaped out of the way as if shocked, allowing them to venture ever closer to the heart of Helgrind.

Shortly after passing the dragon, the green-haired looked up and smile sadly at him. Then she squeezed his hand tightly, sending a wave of reassurance through his body. Reluctantly letting him go, and she turned and raced off into the darkness. Murtagh found himself preparing to chase desperately after him, but a tug on his other arm stopped him. He glanced down at the last girl who remained with him. Red eyes resolute and no longer flirtatious, she led him ever on.

Murtagh tried to pull free of her grasp, but it seemed as strong as iron. When she broke out into a run, he had no choice but to. She had the grace of a dancer, and her little feet barely touched the ground as they rushed onward. Murtagh thudded heavily at her side as he struggled to keep up, always finding the strength to maintain such a breakneck pace. Though they had left the light of the outside long behind, their way was illuminated by a disembodied red light that seemed to emanate from the very rock around them.

Abruptly the girl stopped, also pulling him along to a halt. She and Murtagh exchanged a glance. Her ruby eyes were sorrowful, but she turned to gaze expectantly ahead. The last girl was going to leave him alone, to discover the mystery they had intended for him to see.

Balancing on the tips of her toes, the girl stretched up and modestly pecked him on the cheek. Her lips were hot as fire, and seemed to burn his flesh. Yet that wondrous heat passed into him, seeping through him until it reached his heart and began to pulse throughout his body. It rejuvenated his exhausted muscles and filled him with fresh strength.

"This is something thou must see alone," she whispered in his ear with a voice that echoed with wisdom beyond her young appearance. "Remember that thou always has the power to stand on thy own two feet and to resist the influence of others. Take strength from it, and may it never falter when thou needs it most."

Then the girl let him go, vanishing as if she had never been. The red light disappeared along with her, but Murtagh was not left in total darkness. There was a sickly yellow glow at the end of the tunnel, illuminating the small distance that separated him from what the girls had so desperately wanted him to see.

Venturing forward, Murtagh felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he approached his destination. He could feel the deadening cold that wanted to drain the warmth of life away from his body, just kept at bay by the fire that flowed through his veins. Trusting that he was still invisible, the young man entered the cavern he felt was at the very heart of Helgrind.

Stretching before him was a massive spring that was the source of the ghostly light. Water seemed to flow forth from the very stone to cascade down into it. It should have been a miracle, to have such a thing vital to supporting life coming from barren rock. Yet the stench of death hung heavily in the air, and Murtagh did not doubt the water of the impossible spring was poison to all that dared drink it.

He then noticed Galbatorix's form standing at the water's edge, black eyes staring up at the demonic force that towered over him. The massive form had hunched its back just to fit in the cavern, and was returning the Mad King's stare that seemed to draw in all light and warmth around it. Murtagh involuntarily shuddered as he recognized it as the same empty gaze that had belonged to the creature from his nightmares. Smoke clung to the thing's form, concealing much of its appearance. Murtagh was still able to clearly see the thing's cruel hooked beak, and the lifeless Lethrblaka that dangled from it. Tilting up its head, it swallowed the Lethrblaka whole.

"Consider this the first of many new offerings," Galbatorix drawled up to the massive creature. "That thing was the last of its kind, the very same type of beast that scavenged off of the tribute intended for you. Your worshipers shall make sure to keep your tremendous appetite satisfied from now on. So long as you obey my commands without question."

The monster shrieked furiously at the thought of submitting to a mere human, yet obviously Galbatorix had enough control to prevent it from devouring him. Then it began to rasp barely intelligible words in a voice that made Murtagh feel like ripping his ears off. The language was alien to him, but his master understood perfectly.

"No," Galbatorix snapped sternly. "You shall not have free reign to hunt to your heart's desire. Be content with the food you are given. For all of those that try to resist, simply kill them. Nor are you allowed to kill mass numbers of citizens inside of my Empire. You're responsible for acting as a guard to the borders and to ensure order is maintained. Gods know how you can not reach beyond the ancient boundaries anyway."

The demon screamed its displeasure, flapping its wings and beginning to stir up fierce gales. Raising his hand, Galbatorix silently sent a ball of red energy surging at the creature. It impacted with its chest, sending it sprawling into the spring.

"I will remind you only once that I have absolute power over you again, my pet. No longer shall I have to struggle with keeping you contained within a dormant slumber. You shall fly when I tell you to, and punish only those deserving of it. There shall be no mindless rampages, no attempts at rebellion, and certainly no squabbling with your brothers and sisters. My word is law, and you will obey the demands I have set forth." Galbatorix gestured upwards toward the roof of the cavern, almost daring the demon to try and struggle again.

Grudgingly, the massive abomination rose from the dead waters of the spring and unfurled its wings in preparation for flight. Then it hesitated, cocking its head and fixing its two empty eyes upon Murtagh. He didn't doubt that the monster was somehow able to see him.

Shrieking hungrily, it lunged toward him with impossible speed. Murtagh was only able to comprehend the gleam of its dead eyes, then the black abyss of its open beak as it surged down upon him-

Eyes snapping open, Murtagh promptly rolled over and vomited onto the floor with the strength of his emotions. This in turn woke Thorn, who watched his Rider's outburst in bewilderment and alarm. Murtagh only shoved aside his dragon's questions, staggering onto his feet and hopping over the pile of his sick. Rushing over to the closest window, he peered out in the direction toward Dras-Leona.

Though he knew it was futile, he was couldn't help but to vainly hope that the events of his dreams had just all been the product of an emotionally disturbed mind. That his visions had just been his own fear and paranoia, and not cryptic glimpses into what was happening elsewhere.

Night had long since fallen over Alagaesia, and from the top of Castle Ilirea Murtagh was able to clearly see where a silver moon and the glittering stars should have been. All of the celestial bodies had been obscured by thick, dark clouds that had not been there when he had fallen asleep. Squinting up at the heavens, the clouds didn't appear to be quite right. They seemed to waver as no clouds could possibly have, and now seemed to like a lot like-

"Smoke," Murtagh muttered aloud. "Blotting out the entire sky."

Thorn snorted in disbelief as he hurried over to see for himself. Impossible! It would take an inferno of tremendous size and I don't smell anything burning. Not even that smoke... Lashing his spiked tail, the red dragon didn't hesitate in growling his displeasure. I don't like this at all, Murtagh. None of it feels right, and I can't shake the feeling that I shouldn't be anywhere near that haze.

Recalling the horrible abomination Galbatorix had summoned forth from the bowels of a tainted spring, Murtagh readily agreed with his dragon. He even contemplated mounting Thorn at that very moment and fleeing to the far away refuge of the Beor Mountains. It felt that only his unbreakable oaths were the only things preventing him from acting upon that gut instinct. Just the very sight of that unnatural smoke seemed to fill his soul with dread and worm its way into the very core of his being.

Forcing himself to wrench himself away from the hypnotizing sight, Murtagh grabbed one of Thorn's horns and led him back to the center of the dragon-hold. "It's not the darkness I'm worried about," he commented drily. "I'd keep an eye on the creature that makes it, if I were you."

Unsurprised by the skeptical snort he got in return, Murtagh simply figured the red dragon would discover the truth in time. Something inside told him the entity Galbatorix had brought into Alagaesia would not be content with the role of a watchdog over the populace. He had sensed its ravenous hunger, and its burning resentment toward its bondage.

He wondered how long it would take for such an ancient power to break free of Galbatorix's control and unleash its wrath upon the ambitious mortal who had tried so hard to dominate it.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Forest Temple Theme- Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Soundtrack

The following morning, the party again packed up their belongings and prepared to finally enter the decrepit Forest Temple. Saphira was naturally more than slightly irritated that the golden wolf had actually been the spirit of some past Hero that has intent on dragging Eragon out of his body whenever he felt the desire to pass on some forgotten battle technique. Eragon had promised to teach her every single move he learned, and so she was content. With spirits high and energy restored after a long night of rest, he and Saphira made their way up the twisted path to the temple's entrance, Midna hiding in his shadow to avoid the harsh morning light.

There had been several Bokoblins guarding the entrance, but Saphira had enthusiastic leaped into the fray. Eager to test out the abilities of her new Hylian body, she had dodged the swinging clubs and lashed out with her own blade with brutal efficiency. Fortunately enemies and their remains tended to dissolve into black magic upon being felled, or else she would have walked around with the crimson evidence of her slaughter.

"Er..." Eragon stammered as he summoned a plume of fire to burn away the massive spiderweb that hung over the entryway. "That was... swift."

Saphira smiled and sheathed her blade. "Oh, yes," she commented in satisfaction. "My true form has strength and stamina on its side, but this body is so light and agile. I feel as graceful as the wind!" When Eragon continued to eye her strangely, she arched a brow. "Really, stone head? Look at how these monsters dissolve when they're killed. I doubt they were ever truly living at one point. It seems as if they were crafted by magic for the sole purpose of causing chaos and hindering our progress."

"I knew that," the young man answered grumpily. "I just never expected you to catch on so quickly. It took me months to master swordplay!"

"This kingdom doesn't have months for me to learn," Saphira replied breezily. "Exactly why the Goddesses or whatever granted me enough knowledge to be of use to you in this quest. I'm far from a master, and I will gladly accept any additional training from you that I may need. Like learning that ending blow, for instance."

Rolling his eyes, Eragon tentatively peered down into the darkness of the entrance. The path seemed to lead down into the ground, and seemed to reek of damp earth and decomposing plants. He could make out light at the end of the tunnel, but before that there was darkness gods-knew what crouched in. Exchanging a glance with Saphira, they again drew their swords and ventured into the Forest Temple.

Not all of the Forest Temple was encased in an earthy darkness. There were windows that allowed sunlight to stream in, and magically sustained torches that illuminated areas the light of the outside day couldn't reach. The ground in some areas was covered in thick tangles of vines, and many of the support beams and stairways in the temple were precariously unstable or had already collapsed after their wood had slowly rotted.

Nature was rapidly reclaiming the building, but Eragon could still distinguish traces of its glorious past. Elegant wood carvings decorated every doorway and some of the intact walls, so natural it appeared they had grown in those shapes. A strange vivid, red spiral symbol was still visible on the doors that seemed vaguely familiar to him. He could almost imagine the worshipers that must have made their way through these rooms, progressing through the temple until they reached the shrine of whatever deity they honored here.

Keese (for that was the proper term for those obnoxious bats) and other minor enemies harassed them seemingly at every corner, but Eragon and Saphira were always waiting to cut them down the moment they came too close. All of them disintegrated upon being killed, so they were most likely guards that had been conjured to protect the dark artifact.

"Eragon?" Saphira asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "What in the seven hells is that?"

Directly in their path was a wooden cage. Inside a familiar little primate was imprisoned. Eragon recognized her by the strange marking and the pink flower she wore. It was the exact same monkey he

had saved along with the children from Bokoblins, and the one he had later rescued from the light insects. Apparently she also recognized him, for the monkey shrieked louder and rattled at the bars of her prison.

"A monkey, Saphira," he replied, recalling how Saphira hadn't been there for either occasion. "The same one I rescued twice before now, in fact."

He reached for his magic, determined to use the same spell he had used before to break down the cage and free her. Apparently his companion thought this was a needless expenditure of energy, for she pushed right by him and drew her sword. The monkey huddled close to the ground, avoiding the flashing blade and the flying chunks of wood as Saphira destroyed its prison the old fashioned way.

Upon being freed, the little monkey instantly grabbed onto some nearby vines and scrambled to the top of the ruined stairway. There she stood looking down at her rescuers, screeching and clapping her hands. Every once in a while she would wave her hands, as if beckoning for them to follow her.

"Well?" Midna snapped impatiently when it seemed her companions were too astonished to react. "Follow the damned thing. She could lead us to the dark artifact!"

Eragon and Saphira exchanged a dubious glance, but the young man smiled and shrugged in resignation. Deciding to shove aside his skepticism, he put his trust in the monkey and began to climb up after her. Saphira sighed in exasperation, but followed his lead.

True to her implied promise, the money had indeed guided them through several more monster-filled chambers. Ever the scavenger, Eragon had lingered in several rooms to search for items that could have later been of use. He had cracked open enough pots to reveal tons of the cheap green rupees, but had also discovered several blue and yellow ones that he had stuffed into his enchanted bag.

Inside a treasure chest, he had even found a map of the area. Saphira had claimed this as her own, and had dedicated herself to marking down the rooms they had already accessed and the things they had discovered in each. She had claimed she had just wanted to practice her new-found writing abilities, but her information gave valuable insight into the Forest Temple that could be of use later. So the young Hylian continued to record their progress, happy to have something to do while her Rider ransacked a previously sacred temple for valuable objects.

Eventually the monkey had guided them to an outside area. Between them and the next portion of the Forest Temple was a gaping chasm, the only way across it being a rotted rope bridge that precariously swung with the breeze. Several other bridges were visible from their vantage point, presumably connecting other areas of the temple. These bridges changed direction every now and then, seemingly controlled by the whim of the wind.

Saphira again spat out her braid, firmly tucking it back as the wind tried to blow it back into her face. "Was it this windy outside?"

Eragon frowned. "Not that I remember." His absurdly long cap was also tugged by the wind and occasionally got into his eyes. It seemed as if ready to fly away from his head at any moment, but with a magic all its own, it miraculously remained attached. "This could be a lingering enchantment. Maybe the people that used to worship here wanted to be assaulted by strong winds on their way to the central shrine."

"Idiots," Midna huffed. "It's a tribute to Farore. She's most commonly associated with the forest and the wind. This probably was a place once dedicated to worshiping her."

Saphira glanced at Eragon's shadow sharply. Obviously she was suspicious of the Twili, and of how the inhabitant of a parallel realm had such vast knowledge of this world.

But, whatever stinging questions she may have had, were forgotten as their monkey guide suddenly screeched fearfully and retreated behind them. From across the chasm, they spotted another monkey emerge from the trees and land on the opposite platform. It was white, far larger than their own guide, and unmistakably male. It shrieked back back at the little female, voice ringing with challenge.

In one of its meaty hands it brandished a large boomerang. Cocking his arm back, Eragon watched in amazement as the weapon began to glow with a dark energy. There was already a defensive spell forming in his mind, anything to repel the harmful magic aimed directly at him before it could cause any harm.

The white monkey threw out its boomerang, but the sharp edges of the weapon only sliced through the last tenuous ropes holding up the suspension bridge on Eragon's side. Before he could react, the entire thing gave out, crashing back into the walls of the seemingly bottomless abyss and remaining there because the ties on the monkey's edge had not been severed.

The massive primate seemed to cackle triumphantly, reaching out a hand to easily catch the boomerang. He then turned their back to the Hylians, showing off his obscenely red bottom. The action seemed to be a grave insult, for he tauntingly slapped his own behind and seemed to be smirking the entire them. Then the monkey hopped back into the trees, leaving two infuriated humanoids and an irritated Twili behind.

Guttural, inhuman growling suddenly emanated from Saphira. Blue eyes blazing furiously, they had narrowed into dangerous slits. Baring suddenly sharp teeth in a snarl, she was crouching, preparing to shift into dragon form and simply glide across the chasm to hunt down and horribly mutilate the creature that had been foolish enough to taunt a she-dragon.

"Saphira?" Eragon asked cautiously, struggling not to flinch when her burning, wrathful gaze was fixed upon him. "I know I'm asking a lot, but for now just let it go."

"Let that disrespectful beast go?" she echoed in disbelief, voice still unnaturally low as the dragon within reared its angry head. "Why in the seven hells would I do that?"

He simply pointed. "Because our guide has somewhere new to take us."

The female monkey had headed back in the direction of the door that had led them outside, and was gesturing at it with clear intentions of having it reopened. Perhaps she knew an alternate route to the other portion of the temple they could access without having Saphira revert back to a wrathful she-dragon, who probably would have burned down the entire structure just to have her vengeance.

"Just go and follow her," Midna urged from the cover of Eragon's shadow. "Maybe she has more secrets to reveal to us. Or maybe there's an alternative path to the dark artifact."

Grudgingly, Saphira stood up straight and allowed the irate fire to die from her eyes. "Fine," she ground out in reluctant resignation. "For now, I will remain levelheaded. For now."

With this warning clearly out there, the pale-haired woman marched forward and rolled the door open, rolling her eyes in agitation as they once again entered the Forest Temple.

Apparently, there were even more monkeys imprisoned within different chambers of the temple. Their own guide had directed them to three more captive primates before she would let up. By then, Saphira ensured that the newly discovered areas were carefully recorded down on their map. Eragon had collected several more rupees and seemed on the verge of maximum capacity for the numerous jewels he had stuffed into his enchanted bag.

They had once again chanced upon an irritating oversized insect that had the habit of creeping up on them and blowing themselves up in an attempt to take the entire party down with them. Eragon theorized that they lived in some sort of underground colony, for whenever one of the walking bombs exploded another would soon emerge from the same hole to take its place. So long as they both remembered to keep a fair distance from the dead bug until it exploded, they weren't that hard to defeat. Saphira only regretted the corpses were too volatile to store for the use in future explosions.

Oh, and there had been the monstrous, carnivorous plant that had occupied one of the rooms a monkey had been imprisoned in. The fanged head of the plant had been attached to a large bulb by a vine, and it was mobile enough to have lunged out for Eragon's arm. It would have stolen part of the limb had the Rider not been quick to evade the gnashing jaws. He had then promptly danced around the head until he had severed it from the main part of the plant. Then he had hacked the entire head to pieces, since past experience told him the heads of such evil things would come back for a second round unless he delivered a finishing blow to them.

Upon the death of the head, the bulb had blossomed into a hideous, sharp-fanged flower that also hungered for meat. Saphira had transformed into her dragon form and had ripped both the demonic flower and its entire root system out of the ground. She had hastily preceded to burn the remains, lashing out at the evil plant-life in whatever way she could.

For their efforts, the dead plant had yielded only a single key that could have been used to unlock the monkey's cell. Considering Eragon, Saphira, and even Midna, were all capable of liberating the captive on their own, the stupid thing had been promptly chucked aside to be reclaimed by nature.

"I hope that was the last damned monkey here," Saphira muttered under her breath. "I'm starting to become rather hungry."

Now led by four beckoning, chattering monkeys, she and her green-clad Rider again arrived back at the outside area that included the seemingly bottomless drop into the canyon below.

Several clapping their hands, the monkeys pointed across the chasm, to where the white male had vanished. It was all the permission Saphira needed to launch herself over the edge, transforming into her true form. Hovering above the abyss, the sapphire-scaled she-dragon snatched Eragon in her talons and unceremoniously dumped him on the opposite platform. She then landed beside him, shifting into her Hylian body.

"Happy now?" Eragon asked dryly, dusting off his tunic as he climbed to his feet from where he had been dropped onto the ground.

Saphira smiled blithely. "Very. Revenge on that oversized monkey can now be mine."

Hand traveling down to the hilt of his sword, Eragon cautiously ventured toward the door that separated them from the next part of the temple. Saphira rolled the door aside, unsheathing her blade as she prepared for whatever hell the temple was now going to offer them.

Just as soon as Eragon stepped into the spacious chamber, the door automatically closed itself behind them. Thick wooden bars erupted from the earth to close over all the doors, effectively sealing them inside.

And there, perched atop one of the massive wooden columns that were spread out across the room, was the white monkey.

Screeching angrily at the sight of them, the primate again brandished his boomerang, waiting until it had fully charged up with dark energy before throwing it. The boomerang spun around the room, slicing through the vines that connected several ferocious flower monsters to the ceiling. By the time the weapon had returned to the monkey, several liberated Deku Babas had dropped to the floor and were slithering over to Eragon and Saphira.

Lunging at the nearest monster, Saphira furiously began slashing her sword. "Just kill the damned monkey, stone head! One quick spell should do it!"

Reaching for his magic, Eragon focused it for a simple spell that would just sap the life from the monkey's body. "Deyja."

He looked expectantly at the primate, knowing he should have been toppling over dead instantaneously. Flinching, the monkey looked down to inspect himself to for damage. Completely unharmed, both he and Eragon correctly figured the spell had failed. Now hooting in laughter, the white monkey again threw its boomerang, this time directly at Eragon.

The green-clad Hero leaped out of the weapon's path, unsheathing his sword as his mind whirled for a new strategy. "Saphira!" he called to his companion. "Ram him off of those columns!"

Saphira had already transformed back into her she-dragon form, blue flames erupting from her maw as she charged forward. The small, agile monkey was easily able to evade the fire, which didn't even ignite the wooden columns. Perhaps the Forest Temple was still protected by lingering enchantments that guarded against fire damage, but either way Saphira abandoned the flames and instead lashed out with her tail. The white monkey hadn't been expecting the move, and was unable to gain footing on the shaking column he perched on. With a screech of surprise, the primate crashed to the ground.

Eragon sprinted toward him, again avoiding the boomerang as it returned to the place where its master had formerly been. Instead it continued flying through the air until it hit a wall, where it clattered to the ground. Upon reaching the unconscious monkey, he gripped his sword tighter, looking for a place where he could plunge it in and bring an instant end to the problem.

Instead, he encountered a sight so unexpected he nearly dropped his sword from the shock. "Gods," he whispered in a mixture of revulsion and horror.

Saphira was immediately by his side, fangs bared as she too looked down at what had so disgusted her Rider. What is that? she muttered.

It was a massive insect that highly resembled a tear of light in its insect form. The bug clung tightly to the white monkey's back, as a parasite would to a host. Saphira wasted no time in pulling the insect off of the monkey's back, promptly crushing it beneath her razor-sharp talons. It then dissolved into dark particles as most enemies did.

"That looked like a dark insect," Eragon grimly said to her. "It could have been corrupting the monkey's mind for all we know. Let's just wait until he wakes up to see if it somehow affected him."

Tense in anticipation, dragon and Rider gazed down at the white monkey as he finally regained consciousness. As his yellow eyes blinked open, it looked as though the earlier glazed look had gone out of it, to be replaced by confusion. When the monkey realized that a massive she-dragon and an armed man were standing over him, he screeched in fright and bounded away from the pair. Like the coward he truly was, he scrambled onto one of the wooden columns and then out of an open window, not even bothering to collect the forgotten boomerang.

Saphira snorted before she resumed her Hylian form. "Too bad that damned primate was possessed. I really needed something to take my anger out on." Frowning, she glanced at the barred exit, which had not even opened after their victory over their rather pathetic foe. "Hm, should I just ram it open?"

"Don't do that!" Midna commanded sharply from the security of Eragon's shadow. "There could be something in this room you still need to find. Maybe that pitiful primate was standing guard over the dark artifact we're looking for?"

Eragon nodded in agreement. "Good point." Like the skilled scavenger he had become over his time in the Forest Temple, he began to walk around the perimeter of the room, his blue-gray eyes scanning the ground for anything of the interest. There he discovered the abandoned boomerang, lying innocently on the ground as it had never dreamed of attacking him with dark magic. "Perhaps it was the boomerang?"

"No," Midna answered certainly. "That boomerang is definitely not the item we're searching for. Still, it could be useful. Finders, keepers, right?"

Eragon and Saphira glanced dubiously at each other, and then suspiciously down at the boomerang. It was glowing now, not with a purple aura, but with a soft green brilliance that pulsed every so often. He slowly bent down to retrieve it, recoiling instantly as the weapon suddenly rose up from the ground and spinning on its own power.

The boomerang stirred up the dead leaves that had accumulated on the temple floor, sending them swirling around it in a small vortex. Considering their previous encounters with supernatural beings, Eragon and Saphira were only mildly surprised when a breathy voice began to emanate from the boomerang, barely audible over the whisper of the rustling leaves.

"I am the Fairy of Winds who resides in this Gale Boomerang. You have freed me from evil, and now I have my true power back. Please... Take this boomerang with you, as a token of my eternal gratitude, and as my blessing. It is spelled to always return to its wielder. May its power help you in your quest to purge the evil from this sacred land. Focus its power before releasing it, and the power of winds will help you in unforeseen ways."

The boomerang than whooshed around the chamber, kicking it up more leaves and causing Saphira's long braid to again stir with the breeze. As it rushed toward Eragon, he swiftly reached out to catch it, smiling as a pleasant warmth emanated from his hands all the way throughout his body. The boomerang had accepted him as its new master.

Saphira rolled her eyes in amusement. "Of course it chose you. Every monster and spirit in this whole damned world is attracted to you."

Eragon winced guiltily. "I'm sorry, Saphira. You can take the boomerang. You were the one who knocked the monkey out after all, and the one who killed the insect..."

"And the one who the Gale Boomerang selected as its wielder," the Hylian woman finished. "I was merely making a casual observation, stone head. Besides, I am the one with the fangs and fire. If worse monsters in this temple prove to be immune to your magic, than you will need it far more than me."

Thoughtfully glanced at the boomerang in his hands and the barred door, a new idea formed in Eragon's head. The young Hero strode over, glancing up at the wall. He noticed another one of those propeller devices lodged in a small space above the door. There were several more like it scattered all over the Forest Temple, but he had previously dismissed them as some decoration. Could they have a more useful purpose?

Aiming his new boomerang carefully at the target, Eragon threw it. True to the Fairy of Wind's claim, the weapon hit the propeller before faithfully returning to his waiting hand. The force of the wind the boomerang had generated had been enough to turn the propeller. As it spun, the wooden bars blocking the exit lowered substantially. Grinning at his accomplishment, Eragon repeated the process until the bars had entirely slid back into the floor.

"There," he remarked proudly.

Shaking her head ruefully, Saphira rolled open the door and eagerly stepped back into the windy outside. "Good job, Eragon. At least this boomerang can open up new ways through the Forest Temple, and allow us to reach the dark artifact even quicker."

Unfortunately, Saphira's optimistic belief had been proven woefully incorrect. No sooner had they exited the chamber had another caged monkey been sighted. The Bokoblins guarding the trapped monkey had promptly been slain, and the hairy prisoner liberated. However, their monkey guide had again refused to show them the way to the dark artifact, instead leading them to even more imprisoned animals that they had been unable to access before.

Their new Gale Boomerang proved useful, for they had encountered several more propellers along the way. They were connected to bridge segments that could only be turned by wind power. When such bridges were inside the temple and away from the natural gales, the boomerang easily allowed Eragon to create an easy path from room to room. In an effort to keep herself from exploding from impatience at the seemingly never-ending task, Saphira continued to diligently record the new findings upon their dungeon map.

After several more additional monkeys had been freed, Eragon again found himself examining a puzzle he had encountered earlier in his trek through the temple. Behind a set of deceptive wooden bars lay yet another chest. Unlike the other chests, this one had been crafted of a darker red and set with some sort of red jewel that was obviously of some significance. He had attempted to reach the chest, but some powerful protective enchantments on the bars had prevented him from accessing the area. With more important tasks at hand, and a monkey screeching impatiently in his ear, he had forgotten about the puzzle until encountering it again.

"There are more propellers right in front of the bars." He pointed up at the propellers in question, all positioned on top of four columns around the bars. "Maybe if we spin them in the right order, we can open the bars."

Saphira shrugged. "It's worth a shot." Her eyes gleamed with countless possibilities. "Maybe the dark artifact could even be in there."

Eragon desperately hoped so. But knowing his luck, it would turn out just to be another useless key. "If the gods pity us, then hopefully it will be."

Pulling out the Gale Boomerang, Eragon thought about the order of the propellers he wanted it to move. Throwing it, the weapon seemed eager to obey his mental commands, hitting all four targets before returning to his waiting hand. He and Saphira then waited for several moments for a response. Even when the propellers stopped spinning, nothing happened.

"Keep trying," Midna commanded. "If there's even the slightest opportunity the dark artifact could be in there, then you'll get that chest open."

Saphira arched a dubious brow at the unspoken part of the statement. "Or else?" she guessed sardonically.

"Or else," the Twili echoed seriously.

After numerous combinations, some of which Eragon was positive he had repeated once or twice, he was just about ready to give up. He kicked at the ground beneath his feet in exasperation, finally spotting a pale outline on the ground that highly resembled a backwards 'Z.'

"No," Saphira deadpanned, blue eyes burning. "There's no way in hell it could have been that simple."

For the lack of anything better to do, Eragon decided just to try copying the pattern anyway. As the Gale Boomerang hit each targeted propeller in the proper order, he could already hear the whirring of ancient gears as they began to slowly come to life. The bars blocking the chest rolled out of the way, the protective enchantments falling along with them.

"It was that simple," Eragon muttered. "I can't believe we didn't notice that before."

"Guess it's a helpful reminder for you two lizards to pay more attention to your surroundings," Midna remarked sardonically.

By the dark storm cloud spreading over Saphira's face, Eragon thought it best to intervene before she decided to do something rash. Like mauling his own shadow (and the Twili squatting inside it) to pieces. Safely storing the Gale Boomerang back in his seemingly bottomless pack, Eragon ventured forward open to the chest. As he strained to force open the ancient, unyielding wood, Saphira and Midna crowded eagerly around them, desperate to see if the object of their search was hidden within.

Finally prying the top open, Eragon bent down and rummaged inside the darkness of the chest. His hand brushed against something cold and metallic, which he eagerly grabbed and pulled out. All of the shared excitement turned to dismay when the three collectively groaned at the countless key they had discovered.

"Too bad the sadistic person who designed this tortuous temple is probably already dead," Saphira growled. "I would have liked to do the deed myself."

By the nod of Midna's shadowed head, it appeared the two females were finally in agreement.

Defensive of his prize, Eragon began to protest. "Hey! At least it looks different from the others. It's... spiky and there's that red gem thing on its end. And its bigger than the other keys we've found."

Snorting in derision, Midna slipped back into his shadow without even bothering to dignify him with a response. Shrugging, Saphira turned back to follow their monkey guide, for she undoubtedly had more trapped friends for them to rescue. As Eragon hastened to follow them, he furtively slipped the key into his pocket. Something told him it would come in handy later.

After every single last damned primate had been liberated, their stubborn primate friend had finally relented and had guided them down the path Eragon suspected would lead to the mysterious dark artifact. Signaling the end of their journey, the female monkey scrambled up to join her companions. All of the furry little animals than began to peep and clap their hands, their way of conveying something of interest was just up ahead.

Saphira breathed in deeply, but her inhale was interrupted by a dry gag. Some stench was obviously strong enough to assault her still acute sense of smell.

"Something foul is definitely up ahead," she finally managed to say, one hand clamped firmly over her nose. "If evil has a scent, than that disgusting stench was it."

"Then that must be the dark artifact!" Midna insisted. "We can actually smell it now!"

Glancing down at the vast abyss that separated them from their destination, Saphira sighed in aggravation and warned Eragon to stand back as she resumed her true form. Several of the monkeys screeched in alarm at the sudden appearance of a fearsome predator, but the sapphire she-dragon paid their panic no mind. She was too damned fed up with the entire journey to care anymore. Again grabbed Eragon in her talons, Saphira carried them across the gap and transformed back into a Hylian woman after landing.

"And yet another lock," Eragon muttered, reaching for the magic and the same simple spell that would unlock it. True, the door was far larger than all of the others, the lock that sealed it looking big enough to crush him. But it was still just a normal, if grossly oversized, lock.

Fate decided to once again laugh in their faces by making the lock and chains, not to mention the actual door, immune to magic. Again, Saphira shifted into her she-dragon shape to rip at the chains, only giving up when her sharp teeth threatened to break on the hard metal. She had then tried just melting the blasted thing with her flames, but the enchantments apparently also protected the locks from miniature infernos. The metal just seemed to absorb all of the heat Saphira's dragon-fire created, not even making it warm to the touch.

Thumping her tail against the ground, Saphira eyed the walls next. Maybe we can just bring down the walls and bypass the door altogether.

"And possibly bring the entire rotted, already weakened Forest Temple down upon our heads," Eragon concluded. "Just allow me to get up high enough to reach that lock, Saphira."

Not questioning his request, Saphira padded over to the lock until she was just beside it. Fumbling around in his pocket for the key he had stubbornly refused to give up on, he fished it and stuck it into the keyhole without the slightest rusty squeak of complaint. He had just began to turn the lock, hearing its gears start to tumble, when suddenly the lock began to spin, frantically undoing itself.

"Get back!" he cried, leaping off Saphira's back as he sprinted away from the door. The sapphire-scaled she-dragon also leaped out of the way just in time, barely avoiding the massive lock that came crashing to the ground. She and Eragon gaped at it at shock, then at the massive door that then slid open by its own power, almost as if inviting them into the dark chamber beyond.

Exchanging a glance with the other, they nodded silently in agreement at what had to be done. Choosing to remain in her larger and more powerful dragon form, Saphira slipped inside of the chamber. Unsheathing his magically-reinforced blade, Eragon followed her. Just like before, the doors automatically sealed shut behind them, trapping them in the room until their task had been completed.

Unlike most other portions of the Forest Temple, there were no enchanted torches to illuminate the chamber, leaving Eragon's eyes to adjust to the murky darkness. When his vision became accustomed, he could see a massive pool extending out before him, sustained by water that tumbled in from above. He could clearly imagine ancient worshipers making their way to this innermost chamber, to make their offerings to their Goddess and to meditate in the blessed tranquility, with only the sound of flowing water breaking their silence.

But whatever sacred power the chamber had possessed was long since defiled. Something dark and impure pervaded every inch of the room, leaving behind a stench like the one that Gale Boomerang had just previously carried. Only it was on a far stronger level, and it threatened to bring Eragon to his knees. The clear, life-sustaining water the pool must have previously been filled with had vanished. In its place was a noxious, violet poison not unlike the toxic gas he had encountered back in the Twilit Faron Province.

"If there was ever a place for a dark artifact to be held, this is it," Eragon muttered. "Saphira, what do you-" His question broke off, interrupted by the sudden rumble that emanated from the she-dragon's throat.

Face contorted into a fierce snarl, the she-dragon's eyes blazed with blue fire as they glanced frantically about the chamber. We are not alone.

A shiver running down his spine, Eragon gripped the hilt of his blade tighter and tensed. He, too, was suddenly aware of an alien presence in the chamber with them. One that watched from the shadows with a voracious and impatient hunger. His instincts, human and draconic, suddenly reared up inside of him. Naturally, the human side told him to flee. Even his inner dragon was in strong agreement. Only training kept him from losing composure, and a new-found courage that continued to urge him to defy the impossible odds.

"Another monster then," Eragon mumbled as he drew in close to Saphira's side. "How bad could it be?"

No sooner had the words escaped his foolish mouth, he desperately wished he had never dreamed of uttering them aloud. The poisonous pool began to bubble as something deep within it rose to the surface. Like snakes, two monstrous heads emerged, rising to tower even above Saphira. They strongly resembled Deku Babas, only on a far more titanic scale. Fang maws gnashing eagerly, it was no secret they were dying to devour whatever challenger stood before them. Eragon could see that plainly from the way each head salivated, as if already excited by the prospect of such a good meal.

Just to drive it home, Midna's scathing voice decided to comment from the safety of his shadow. "Thank you for jinxing us, moron."

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Havel of the World- Chrono Cross Soundtrack

Growling furiously at the monstrous plants, Saphira was already charging toward them with the obvious intent of decapitating them from their stems. She had remembered the enchantments that prevented her flames from being effective, and thus had just decided to rip and maul until the desired goal was accomplished.

Remembering the toxic tang of the poisoned pool, and its strong resemblance to the acidic gas that had stung him back in the Twilit woods, Eragon was quick to shout a warning to the sapphire she-dragon. "Watch the pool, Saphira! It will burn you like acid if you let the liquid touch you!"

Saphira paused mere feet away from the poison's edge, glancing between it and the demonic plants that were near the center of the toxic pool. Eragon could tell she was determining the distance between land and her targets, and if she could somehow manage reaching them without getting her hide covered in stinging acid. Flying was also not an option. There was not enough space in the chamber to allow for much movement. Any attempt to make it over to one of the plant heads would leave her vulnerable to the other one, for all it would take was one lucky bite to a wing to send her plummeting to the poisonous pool below.

Now you tell me this! Saphira snarled, lashing her tail in exasperation. She bellowed a challenge to the monster just beyond her reach, the force of her roar echoing through the chamber. Come and face me then, you spineless cowards!

Mocking the monster did not have the intended effect, for the thing wisely remained out of the she-dragon's clawing distance. It apparently possessed enough rudimentary intelligence to realize even two fanged heads would not be a match for an angry Saphira. The twin heads just stood there, gnashing their teeth and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Unfortunately, this had just made their task of slaying a monster sheltering in a massive pool of poison all that much more difficult.

"Change back into a Hylian, you idiot!" Midna commanded imperiously from Eragon's shadow. "Can't you see the monster won't get close enough to hit while you're just standing there as an overgrown lizard?"

Never one to listen to insults, Saphira decided to swallow her grudge and shifted into her humanoid shape without a single retort. There were much more important things at hand, after all. Drawing her own delicate blade, she gracefully slid to Eragon's side as they surveyed their daunting task together. Realizing the gigantic she-dragon had just become an easier, if less satisfying, morsel, the fanged heads finally sprang into action. They began to weave like snakes about to strike, perhaps even formulating their own primitive plan in order to catch their meals.

"Now they want to fight." Saphira sniffed disdainfully. "Cowards."

Blue-gray eyes flickering between the two heads, Eragon came up with a plan he considered workable. "You go for the right head, and I'll go for the left," he whispered to her. "That way we can get this whole thing done a lot quicker."

Gripping the hilt of her sword tighter, Saphira gave a barely perceptible nod of her head to show she acknowledged his idea. Then, with a harmony that had been perfected out of countless clashes with the Empire, man and woman charged just as the heads zipped in to strike.

Taking on his own head, Eragon took a running leap and landed on the giant Deku Baba's head just as it had prepared to swallow him whole. Shrieking angrily, the plant monster reared up into the air, violently shaking and tossing its head as it tried to dislodge its passenger. Clinging to the thing's uneven surface with his free hand, Eragon struggled to position himself, despite the head he was sitting on trying to turn him into food. Finally, when he had gotten into the perfect place to strike, Eragon rammed his sword right into the center of its head.

The Deku Baba head screeched in agony, swaying dangerously now with the force of its overwhelming pain. As the thing tossed and turned, Eragon seized his chance of escape. Withdrawing his blade from the skull, he sprang from his perch and managed to land on the safety of dry land. Considering he was covered in a sticky green substance he assumed to be the Deku Baba's blood, that was no easy feat.

Grinning in smug satisfaction, Eragon waited for Saphira to repeat the process with her own head and decided to watch his succumb to its lethal wound. He expected for it to soon topple and vanish beneath the purple waters of the pool, leaving their task half complete.

Everything would have turned out perfectly fine, if the titanic Deku Baba had decided to obey the rules of life and death. Despite the grievous wound to its brain and the copious amount of blood gushing from it, the head just refused to lie down and die. Instead, the thing even slowed in its erratic swinging, recovering from the supposedly lethal blow. If anything, Eragon had only served to enrage it with a superficial wound. For the head shrieked its rage, more than loud enough to rattle the decrepit Forest Temple with the force of its fury.

Numb from his shock, it took Midna's frantic screech to again drive him back down to reality. "You idiot! Plants do not have brains!"

Stomach churning with anxiety and dread, a dismayed Eragon again watched the injured Deku Baba lunge at him. This time it was determined to grind him into a pulp instead of just merely devouring him. Frantically evading the gnashing maw, the green-clad Hero desperately turned to glance at his companion.

"Got any ideas?" he shouted to Saphira.

Saphira had just attempted an equally futile tactic against her own head. Dancing around its fanged head, she had manage to slip past its defenses. It then would have been simple to run her sword through the Deku Baba's seemingly delicate stem, effectively severing the head straight from the plant and thus rendering it defenseless. Had it worked, the plan would have been ingenious. Only, fate had again decided to torment its hapless victims by making the stems too thick to simply chop through.

"No!" the blond woman yelled helpfully back. "But attempting to decapitate it does not work!"

For the next several moments the two continued to dodge the furious heads, desperately exchanging ideas that were quickly shot down by the other. Midna had fallen silent, refusing to offer any input, be it constructive criticism or just mocking comments that reproved of their possible plans.

Evading the enemy would only for so long. Eragon's stamina was beginning to fade, and the constant running and parrying was taking its toll on him. Gasping for fresh air, he realized in dismay that the the Deku Baba heads only had to run him and Saphira into exhaustion. Then they would become easy pickings for the wrathful and ravenous plant.

"Midna," Eragon called, struggling to complete the sentence in between pants for oxygen. "Please! Do you have any ideas?"

"Of course she doesn't!" Saphira's breathy voice hissed back. Sweat glistened on her pale face, and strands of wild blond hair had been shaken free from her braid. "That damned imp is as clueless as we are. stone head. Only, she doesn't have to be run into the ground and devoured by a carnivorous plant! She can just crouch in your shadow like the godless coward she is, and leave us for our demise. Hell, this could have been her plan from the beginning!"

In response to the Hylian woman's accusations, Midna's transparent form emerged from Eragon's shadow. However, instead of defending herself or offering a sly rebuttal, the Twili female only mutely pointed at something, before again slipping back into his shadow.

Eyes traveling in the direction she had silently gestured toward, Eragon's gaze fell upon one of the living bombs he had encountered in the Forest Temple. Safe and sound upon a small island in the pool of poison, the volatile little thing casually swayed back and forth. Despite its explosive qualities, it seemed merely content to lie back and watch the two Hylians be devoured by one of its far larger and fiercer relatives.

New hope, fragile and tentative as it was, blossomed in Eragon's heart as another idea formed in his mind. He caught Saphira's blue gaze, which had widened in understanding at what Midna had been trying to insinuate.

"Saphira?" Eragon asked. "Can you distract the heads? Especially the injured one?"

The woman grinned, revealing too-sharp canines not unlike the fangs in her dragon form. "Of course, little one." Enthusiasm replenished, Saphira began to shout and lash out at the two heads, luring them away from her Rider as she taunted them ruthlessly.

Rummaging through his bottomless bag, Eragon triumphantly pulled out his Gale Boomerang. Plotting out a course in his mind, he loosed the weapon and allowed the magical thing to do its job. The Gale Boomerang promptly swooped down and picked up the bomb creature. Alarmed, the thing began to flash red as a warning to its upcoming explosion. Dropping its load into the Deku Baba's open mouth, the boomerang completed its journey and returned to its master.

No sooner had Eragon retrieved his boomerang, the Deku Baba he had so superficially injured inadvertently closed its mouth and swallowed. All present watched with baited breath as they heard the muffled explosion from inside the head. They then observed the head sink into the depths of the pool, never to emerge.

Emboldened by their success, Saphira resumed attacking the final head as Eragon repeated the process when another living bomb had emerged. Mere seconds later, the second Deku Baba vanished into the pool.

"Finally," Midna sighed, again popping up from Eragon's shadow. Her single visible amber eye glittered triumphantly as she smirked at the suddenly grouchy Saphira. "I'd like both of you to express your undying gratitude to my ingenious idea. And I want the she-dragon over there to start offering her humblest apologies. No one insults this Twili's integrity and gets away with it. So start grovelling, lizard."

Blue eyes flaring rebelliously, Eragon had a sinking feeling Saphira would just wind up staring a blood feud between them and their only source of information on the Twilight Realm. However, after several tense moments, the Hylian female sighed in resignation and bowed her head in defeat. Slowly, as if the words took physical effort to force up, she began. "Fine. Imp- Midna, I will offer you my humblest apologies-"

Suddenly, the pool began to burble ominously with a sound they had all come to dread. Falling back into defensive crouches and readying their blades, Eragon and Saphira honed their attention back on it. Muttering obscenities in her native language, Midna again slipped back into Eragon's shadow.

"-Right after this damned monster is permanently killed," Saphira finished quickly.

Something far more massive than the Deku Babas suddenly erupted from the water, overturning the bomb creatures they had so desperately relied on. The new threat took up the entire center of the pool, twice as thick and twice as large as the plants they had previously conquered. Even flanking the titanic monster's sides were Deku Babas identical to the ones they had just defeated. The middle plant leaned in close and roared, its three jaws parting to reveal a bulging eyeball that emerged from the center of its maw.

Retreating backward, the three companions began to frantically volley ideas as the two new Deku Baba heads slithered in for them. To make developing a plan of attack even more physically impossible, the center plant began to spew up a toxic substance at its opponents. Eragon and Saphira sheltered behind his shield when that happened, relying on the wooden thing to protect them from the acidic droplets.

"Gods," Eragon cursed as a drop of the poison managed to hit him in the shoulder. He gritted his teeth at the stinging sensation, and in frustration to their helplessness in the situation. "There's nothing we can do. We don't even have those walking bombs anymore."

Saphira turned to scowl at him. "Just let me at them, Eragon. My true form has thick scales, and it should be able to withstand the acid for a period of time. I know I can injure that damned plant enough for you to finish off before..." She trailed off, blue eyes flickering.

"Before you become too injured to defend yourself? Or until that acid eats its way through to your heart?" Eragon furiously finished for her. "Forget it, Saphira. No one's sacrificing themselves today. I need you just as much as you need me. Don't forget that you're half my soul, too!"

No sooner had the sentence involuntarily slipped past him, Eragon regretted ever saying it. He knew he had just unwittingly divulged delicate information he could not afford to be discovered. He could immediately feel Midna's sharp eyes boring holes into him, and he felt her presence probing the fortified edges of his mind before she drew away, suddenly remembering on how he also knew the mental arts. The bond he and Saphira shared as Rider and dragon was their greatest strength, but also their greatest weakness. Midna could not be allowed to have such detailed information on their weaknesses, nor could any one else in Hyrule.

Realizing his crucial mistake, Saphira's intense eyes were suddenly glaring at him, her angry mind fiercely scolding his own. Cowering behind a flimsy wooden shield and trying to avoid the acid and the ferocious monsters, it was the worst possible time to get into an argument over the matter.

Suddenly, the center head shrieked again, but its ire was not directed at the those that avoided it. Eragon risked a peek above the cover his shield, jaw dropping in shock at the sight he witnessed.

The white monkey they had rescued from the darkness's hold had returned as their unlikely savior. He swung back and forth across the room, nimbly dodging both the fanged jaws and the acid. While distracting the Deku Babas, he also carried something Eragon instantly recognized. as the bomb creatures.

"He came back to save us," Eragon whispered in disbelief.

"Even though I threatened to kill and devour him," Saphira added.

"And he's carrying the... bomb thingies!" Midna shouted. "Finish this damned plant off already!"

Handing his shield to Saphira, Eragon pulled out the Gale Boomerang. She went about distracting the center head, ensuring its scream of acid was kept far away from her Rider. The Chosen Rider aimed his weapon at the bomb creature and at one of the Deku Baba heads, trusting it could handle retrieving the moving target. Its magic was advanced, or perhaps the Fairy of Winds was still looking out for him, for the Gale Boomerang effortlessly picked up the explosive creature and dispatched of the head, and easily repeated the process with the second head.

With the center head all by itself, Saphira fell back as yet another creature went sailing over her head, aimed at the final part of the demonic plant. While it was too large to be simply blown up like the others, the explosion did enough damage to send the stunned head crashing to the ground. Its jaws fell open, exposing the massive yellow eye Eragon sensed to be a vulnerable point to the monster. He and Saphira swooped in, slashing at the weakness as many times as they could.

"Watch out!" Eragon warned, leaping back as the thing began to stir again. "It's recovering!"

Not about to let her target go, Saphira shifted back into her true shape and pinned the head to the ground with her considerable weight. The center plant shrieked in protest, shaking violently and spewing out more acid as it struggled to liberate itself. But the she-dragon held tight, sitting on the stem and digging her talons into its head.

It's alright, little one, Saphira said to her Rider. I've got this blasted thing securely held down. Just finish it off so we can get what he came for and leave."

Eragon complied, waiting until the head had disgorged yet another round of acid before attacking its eye yet again. He didn't know how many times he managed to hit it before the head suddenly reared back, even tossing off Saphira with a sudden burst of energy. Dragon and Rider again tensed, preparing for yet another round with the monster.

Only, it seemed the titanic plant had gone mad. Screeching in pain, it thrashed wildly about, banging its head into the chamber walls before tossing its head into the air. The thick green stem immediately began to shrivel and blacken before three pairs of disbelieving eyes. The impossibly fast decay traveled up the creature, eating away at its head until it resembled a wilted flower. Cries ceasing, the plant monster fell limp, its massive eye dangling from its ruined mouth before falling to the ground near Eragon's feet.

Again, the bright yellow eye began to blacken, before disintegrating into black energy like a typical enemy. In its wake it left behind a glowing heart-shaped container, but everyone was more focused on watching the shriveled remnants of the plant monster dissolve in the exact same way. Saphira, who had resumed Hylian form, sheathed her blade, wordlessly handing the wooden shield back to Eragon. Never taking his eyes off the sight, he slung it back to its original position. Unconsciously, he twirled his sword about before sheathing it, unintentionally mimicking the way the Hero's Shade had sheathed his own rusted blade.

The purple poison around the withered stalk was fading in intensity, rippling throughout the pool until it had all turned back into clear, healthy water. Sunlight suddenly streamed in through several shafts near the ceiling, dispelling the murky darkness that had gathered in the chamber when the monster had still lived. Then the monster finished disintegrating, and Eragon waited for the particles to dissipate as they usually did.

Only, the pieces of dark magic were again coming together, piecing themselves into a new form. Momentarily, Eragon feared the dark magic would form itself into yet another foe to vanquish.

Instead, the particles coalesced into a much smaller, inanimate shape. It was black and shimmered with blue markings not unlike the ones that adorned Midna and Eragon, in his dragon form. By its odd shape, Eragon guessed it was just a fragment of a far larger whole. The dark fragment slowly began to lower itself to the ground, spinning as it did so. Instinctively, Eragon held out his hands to catch it. Obediently, the piece of magic came to him, but some enchantment kept it hovering inches above his skin. Eragon suspected that the levitation was for his own protection. The innocent-looking fragment was still the condensed darkness that had fueled that horrible monster, and he shuddered at what could happen if he came in physical contact with it.

Midna's suddenly sprang up, stealing his entire shadow to take a shape that strongly resembled her substantial one. Her single visible eye gleamed, and he could just see the smirk playing out on her shadowed face. "Eeh heh heh!" she cackled. "Well done!"

Saphira nodded at the fragment Eragon held. "I'm guessing this is the dark artifact you're looking for," she said bluntly.

"Yes. This... is what I've been searching for. A piece of it, anyway." Midna's hair suddenly became long and bright orange, forming a hand she firmly took the fragment by. Saphira's right eye twitched at the unusual sight, but she had seen far too many strange things to react more strongly than that. "This is a Fused Shadow. It's what that light spirit called dark power... Do you remember what that spirit said, about having to match the power of the usurper, Zant?"

Eragon shivered at the unnerving encounter with the supernatural. "How could we not?" He perked up hopefully. "Is this all that we need? This little fragment will help us defeat Zant?"

Midna scowled at him. "Do you light-dwellers think the matter is this simple? This is easy, yes, but not that stupidly easy. This Fused Shadow is but a part of the whole. United, they can gain a power strong enough to oppose the false king's."

Saphira growled. "We have two different kingdoms to save," she protested. "Eragon and I don't have weeks to spend hunting down every single little last piece of this damned sorcery."

Midna sniffed indignantly. "There's only a total of three Fused Shadows out there. Obviously, this is one of them. Think about it, lizard. How many Light Spirits guard Hyrule, and how many of those things are still imprisoned in the Twilight?" She mockingly paused, putting her hand to a pointed ear as if she expected an answer. "That's right, two spirits. Whenever you liberate another province, you just have to remember to ask the Light Spirit where it put the Fused Shadow, and then go and retrieve it." She cackled. "Easy enough."

Eragon sighed, sensing he already knew the answer to his next set of questions. "Can you at least tell us what the Fused Shadows will do when combined? They're obviously very powerful pieces of dark magic, and the Light Spirits were instructed to guard them for a reason. Who crafted this pieces, and what caused them to be sealed away instead of just destroyed."

Waving a dismissive hand, the Twili floated away. "All in good time. Just as soon as the she-dragon gives me an apology, I'll teleport you two out of here."

Saphira again began apprehensive. "Why? We can just walk out the door without having to grovel on our knees."

"Your stone head over there has the intelligence not to insult me, and thus I have no quarrel with him. You, on the other hand, called me coward and implied I was working for the other side and trying to lure you two lizards to your doom. After all, you were just about to apologize before that damned monster decided to return from the dead." Midna also pointed at the still-closed door. "Besides, do you really want to waste precious hours breaking down that door and then having to trek back through a perilous temple full of demanding monkeys? I'm sure both of you just want to rest and recover from today... and bathe."

Eragon glanced down at himself. He was still covered head to toe in dried sweat, blood, and sticky green plant matter. Saphira was in no better condition. Her clothes may have also been enchanted to prevent them from incurring too much damage, but they were still filthy. Most of her pale silvery-blond hair had come out its perfect braid, hanging around her face in a frizzy halo.

"Fine!" Saphira snapped, clenching her fists as she struggled to restrain herself from attacking an intangible shadow. "I offer my most humblest apologies for unreasonably accusing you of grave crimes. It was wrong of me, and I promise to never suspect you of foul play again... without good reason."

The two females stared each other down for what seemed like hours. Just when Eragon was about to step in, the Twili dipped her head in acknowledgment. "Apology accepted. Now, let's get the hell out of this dump."

Her magical extension of hair, and the Fused Shadow it held, vanished into whatever little void Midna stored everything in. She then floated some distance away, summoning her magic to create a small warp hole.

Eragon gaped. "You were able to do that this entire time?" he demanded grouchily. "Then why did you make us go through that entire temple?"

"Remember the enchantments here that prevented you from using any sort of useful magic?" Midna questioned dryly. "It also affected by own magic as well. Only now did I become able to warp you out of here, and I can only bring you out of the portals we've already established. Luckily, there's one close by, or else I wouldn't be able to do this?"

Saphira tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Because of the fact that we're in the Light Realm. My magic doesn't work out so well if we're out of a Twilit area, so thank your lazy tails this little feat isn't beyond me."

Eragon turned to go, before remembering the item the eyeball of the monster had left behind when it had dissolved. It was shaped like a large, crystalline heart. Like the Fused Shadow, some enchantment kept it hovering and spinning several inches above the ground. "What about this?" he inquired as he ventured over. "Is it harmful?"

"I think that's a heart container," Midna replied in an uncaring voice. "Sometimes, when an entity is powerful enough, not all of its energy dissipates when it dies. In those cases, it leaves behind a heart container like that one. The first person who touches it absorbs the extra strength and energy left behind. Heart containers can be picky, though. They most often only give their energy to the victor who defeated the last person they had inhabited."

"Then you take it, Eragon," Saphira said as she made her way over. "You're the one that delivered the finishing blow, after all."

"And you're the person who risked your neck distracting the monsters and the one who held the final head down so I could finish it off," Eragon argued. He crossed his arms stubbornly, showing that the matter wasn't up for debate. Saphira rolled her eyes when she realized where this was going. "You take it, Saphira. I wouldn't feel right taking it."

"Or you two proud idiots can just quit wasting my precious time and just the damned thing together," Midna suggested flatly.

Exchanging a sheepish glance at this, the two companions shrugged and took the heart container together. At their touch, the glass item dissolved into a bright light, dividing itself in half and flowing into each of their bodies. Eragon sighed in relief as he felt a fresh wave of energy travel through his exhausted body, adding its reserves to his own strength and endurance. Saphira was smiling slightly, enjoying the pleasant experience.

Eragon didn't know why the heart container had chosen them both, and he really couldn't care less about the reasoning of an inanimate object. Perhaps it was just because the two had taken it at the same time, or maybe the heart container considered they had both equally contributed to defeating the plant monster. Perhaps it was because of the strong connection Eragon and Saphira shared that they were just naturally considered two halves of a whole.

"Can we go now?" Saphira broke in. "I'm hungry."

She had made that no secret hours ago, and Eragon guessed there was really nothing stopping them from seeing to their physical needs anymore. In fact, he too was downright famished. "So am I, but I'm bathing first." He glanced down in embarrassment at his filth-covered body, cheeks growing hot.

"You better," Midna muttered darkly as they made their way over to the portal she had created. "If I even get slightly sick at just being in the vicinity of all of your filth, you can defeat the evil usurper alone."

Over a century ago, one of the last great clashes between the Forsworn and the remaining Dragon Riders had resulted in lasting damage to the land that was now called the Burning Plains. Decades later, the earth still simmered with the inferno that had been ignited by dragon-fire, continuing to spew smoke into the atmosphere. Those noxious clouds of poisonous gas had choked out all surviving life in the Burning Plains, excepting only the hardiest of scrubs. The desolate, lifeless landscape seemed a titanic testament to Galbatorix's century-long tyranny. Where memories of the previous age had long since faded, and all evidence of the past bloodshed had been nearly effaced by time, the Burning Plains remained.

But a lonely stretch of the Burning Plains was seeing its first glimpse of sentient life in many long months. A dozen or so graceful figures glided across the ground, their footsteps so light they barely kicked up dust from the barren earth beneath. None rode horses, and it seemed the beasts of burden were unneeded. Each member of the party ran with the speed to rival the fastest horse, and with an endurance that far outmatched their equine rivals. By their elegant features, and the distinctive pointed ears that every single one of them carried, they had obviously originated from the elf haven of Du Weldenvarden.

These were the elves, all masters of their craft and all adept in both spellcraft and physical combat, that had been sent by Queen Islanzadi to escort and guard the world's last free dragon and Rider. It was no secret that Eragon Shadeslayer was desired dead by many, and a tempting target for an assassination attempt if not protected properly. Saphira Bjartskular was the world's last she-dragon, and Galbatorix would have sold his own soul (if he hadn't already) to have her in his possession.

Blodgharm had been selected to lead the party of elves, and it was there doubt as to why he had been chosen. His own body was physical evidence to his mastery of magic. Blue-black fur covered his body, normal teeth had been swapped for fangs, and blunt fingernails had been replaced with sharp claws. Even his eyes, the most difficult aspect of a body to alter, had been turned into a piercing shade of gold. Blodgharm had the knowledge and skill in magic necessary for such radical alterations to his natural appearance, and was boasting to any potential foe he had all the time in the world to waste on such vain matters.

Blodgharm abruptly ground to a halt, his followers barely managing to avoid crashing into each other. The blue-furred elf had turned to look back in the direction they had traveled from, as if expecting to be followed. Several amongst the group scowled impatiently at him, while the rest just sneaked him questioning glances.

Their arrival at the rebellion's camp in the Burning Plains was not something that could be delayed any longer. Though they had won their last battle against the Empire, they were still vulnerable out in the open area, especially having been weakened by the tremendous effort it had taken to gain their victory. Traveling across the Empire had been the best way to reach their destination, but a hazardous one. Mere rumors of their presence would have Galbatorix sending his Black Hand to investigate, and a large party of elves discovered outside of their borders for the first time in decades was not something he would allow to escape. They had already been delayed by frequent back-trailing in order to avoid forts and small settlements that had popped up since they had sealed themselves inside of Du Weldenvarden.

"What is it?" a silver-haired elf, Dreyu, prompted in confusion. "I don't sense any Imperial forces within our mental range."

One of his companions nodded in agreement. "Aye. We left behind the last group of Galbatorix's soldiers this morning." Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Strange. All of them seemed intent on crossing the border back into the Empire. Why on earth would Galbatorix want to recall his soldiers from the front lines?"

"He is called the Mad King," one of the other elves chimed in. "Besides, we must have passed into Surda by now. The Burning Plains lies between their official borders, and we have been only been traveling south for quite a long while now."

Golden eyes distant, Blodgharm refused to turn his gaze away from the horizon. The sun had long since reached its zenith and was well into its descent, turning the entire world hazy as it struggled to shine through the thick clouds that spewed forth from the earth. It seemed a dark omen for the trying times ahead.

"Call it a strong feeling that something isn't right," Blodgharm replied grimly. "Instinct hasn't let me down before, and I doubt it will fail now. Those soldiers shouldn't have been summoned back into the Empire. If anything, Galbatorix should only be amassing more troops in preparation for another strike against the Varden." His eyes momentarily flickered back to his elves. "Could we have missed any important information?"

One of the dangers that had been risked during their journey through the Empire was a magically-sensitive Imperial detecting their presence and alerting it to the King. For their own safety, Blodgharm and his elves had all been strictly ordered to not use their magic at all while in Galbatorix's territory. Enchantments placed upon them had prevented them from being tracked by magical means, though it had cut them off from their own side as a result. The protective wards should have fallen the moment the group exited the Empire, but there was no telling what Imperial forces could still be around.

"What could we have possibly missed?" Dreyu asked. "It's not like the Shadeslayer had anywhere else to go but to attend the new dwarf King's coronation. Even he could have managed to get there and back in one piece. What terrible thing could he have possibly encountered-"

Falling silent, all elves craned their heads to gape in astonishment at the horizon their leader had been so riveted by. Despite the hot sun they still baked under, a freezing wind was blowing in from the north. When it reached them, the relief it provided from the burning heat was only temporary, for the cold had soon sapped the warmth right from their bodies and left them in with it were furious, pitch-black storm clouds that were darker than even the smoke the Burning Plains spewed. They advanced unnaturally quickly, as driven something than by the mere weather.

Blodgharm's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then, when a chill not brought on by the wind surged down his spine, they widened with fear. Instinct had never failed him before, and now it demanded he flee as fast he could.

"Run!" he shouted desperately to his elves, sprinting off across the barren plains as if his life depended upon it. Something inside told him that it did.

For several agonizing seconds, his companions stared blankly after his retreating form, utterly bewildered. Then, perhaps the same feeling of dread passed over them as well, for he heard their footsteps pounding frantically behind them, all elegance abandoned in the sheer desire to flee from death.

Blodgharm had always abstained from hunting and eating meat, as virtually all elves chose to do. He had distanced himself from that part of life, pulling out of a predator's mind when he felt its hunger demand nourishment, or out of another animal's mind when it had felt it was being stalked. Never before had he experienced being helpless before, powerless to stand up against a foe, and having no option but to flee as prey would. Dark shadows blotted out the sunlight above him now, as the silhouette of a hawk's would a mouse before sharp talons ended its life. The wind had risen to a violent pitch, tugging fiercely at his clothes and his fur. In his fearful delusion, Blodgharm fancied the shrieking gale to be the cry of a massive bird of prey, the last sound he would ever hear before his life came to a violent end-

Salt, the unmistakable tang of the sea, suddenly flooded his bewildered nostrils. In his shock, Blodgharm stumbled and crashed into the earth. Frantically, he stared up into the skies above, expecting the blackness to be closing in for the kill.

Magnificent light surged over his head like a blazing comet, carrying with it a wind that smelled like one carried in from the ocean. He could almost imagine the radiance answering the cloud of darkness with a challenging call of its own, before surging into it head-on. There was nothing but gray for a moment, as daylight and shadow clashed for superiority. Then the icy winds suddenly spluttered, the brooding storm clouds negated by the brilliance. Everything faded back to normal, the clouds and scent of the sea vanishing as if they had never been.

"Gods," was all Blodgharm could manage for a moment, staring up at the innocuous sky with an expression crossed between fear and amazement. Then he stumbled to his feet, desperately looking about for his companions.

Scattered about him in various degrees of shock were the other elves. Having been the first to recover from the incident, he hurried over to help them to their feet and to heal them of any possible injuries that could have been inflicted to them in the confrontation between two forces of nature. An explanation for the inconceivable event was the farthest thing from his mind. All Blodgharm cared about was ensuring his men and women were all safe and sound. He took the time to brush up against every one of their minds, taking comfort in their familiar presences and sharing in their giddy relief.

Except one, that is.

"Dreyu?" Blodgharm asked in alarm, looking frantically about for the missing member of his group. His mind instantly expanded itself, searching for any trace of the elf. "Has anyone seen Dreyu?"

The elves spread themselves out in a search for their absent companion, calling to him and stubbornly refusing to consider the terrible thought that was crouching in the back of their minds. It was not until a brilliant splash of crimson red, found not too far away from where they had first spotted the unnatural clouds, was the unthinkable finally accepted.

For Dreyu, at least, the brilliant light had arrived too late.

He briefly considered the thing he held in his talons, flexing their razor-sharp points across the prey's back thoughtfully. In response to the painful sensation, the feeble little meat-bag groaned in pitiful agony. But compared to its earlier screams and curses, it was but a meager whimper. Lifeblood was still gushing out of its grievous wounds, and the spirit knew that it had a way of draining life out of nearby creatures even when he didn't want to feast on them. Only Master, and Master's Shruikan, seemed impervious to the wasting effects of his powers.

The corrupted spirit of Helgrind had not hunted down a victim in a very, very long time, and the unfair orders Master had given prevented him from doing so any time soon. At least, all citizens and creatures within the Empire's borders were strictly off-limits. As far as the spirit was concerned, nothing had been explicitly mentioned on the matter of those not originating from his domain.

The creature in his talons was an elf, a ward of the Guardian Spirit Menoa. His sister was obnoxiously protective of all of her charges, safely securing them inside a ferocious and sentient forest all but the most fortunate of outsiders were prohibited from entering. He had seen an elf in ages, not since he had devoured the last survivors that had stubbornly refused to evacuate Ilirea when they had been generously given their ultimatum. Elves, like most thing Menoa watched over, were tender, succulent things that tasted like the sweetness of their forbidden forest.

Yet Master had desired to capture an elf for decades. If he were to find out the spirit had failed to bring him on while it had been living, he would have been furious. Perhaps furious enough to seal him back inside of his spring. While the slave offerings the pathetic humans offered to him daily were a paltry amount to the hundreds he had once feasted upon whenever he pleased, it was still fresh meat. Meat filled with the energy of something that had once been alive, something still part of the cycle of life and death, and something that could held to dull his insatiable hunger.

Besides, the elf was on the verge of death, and the spirit doubted he could bring it to Master in time. So, what was the use? It was not as if Master required yet another dead elf. He already had all the corpses he needed to sustain the massive armies he was once again preparing to summon forth. And he would never, ever needed to find out about this encounter.

He had sensed the ward of Menoa within his boundaries, and had taken it for himself. Unfortunately, he had inadvertently crossed into Sur's territory had been injured for it. His sister guarded a small swath of land, and was not as fierce as Iduneya, or as protective as Menoa, or as wrathful as Hadara. Master did not need to know he had allowed his temper and hunger to get the better of him, and thus decided to keep such embarrassing and potentially harmful danger confidential.

Digging into the still-whimpering creature, he happily began to feast. The meat tasted sweet, deliciously so. Enough to remind him of a time when he had protected the people of the Broddring Kingdom instead of devouring them, a time before his loyal and peaceful worshipers had degenerated into a crowd of maiming and power-hungry zealots. In a time when he had still faithfully served the three Golden Goddesses, those had given him a name he know could remember.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: End Of All Hope- Nightwish

After spending another long and uneventful night at their campsite, Eragon and Saphira were refreshed and again ready to resume their quest. In order to conserve their dwindling food supplies, Eragon had reluctantly caught everybody dinner and breakfast. He had partially done so out of necessity, in order to save the dried rations for their next long stint inside of a dungeon, and also out of a desire to conquer the last of his uneasiness. Munching down on roasted rabbit for breakfast, Eragon had grudgingly admitted to himself that the fresh meat was far more satisfying than the preserved portions he had been living on for the past several days. And yes, both him and his inner dragon concurred the rabbit had been delicious.

With breakfast having been concluded, their supplies had again been packed away and their gear prepared. As always, Midna 'supervised' from the shadows, the direct light of the newly risen sun giving her the perfect excuse to imperiously order her companions out. After everything had been readied, Saphira had again resumed her she-dragon and had allowed her Rider to strap the saddle to her back. She had been smug the entire time, reminded at how Eragon would get to have his turn playing the beast of burden when they reached the next Twilit province.

Of course, that was only if they could determine their destination.

Man and she-dragon crouched over the map of Hyrule that had generously been provided by the grateful people of Ordon Village. Midna peered up from the safety of Eragon's shadow, only contributing to the heated debate that raged between the the group.

"I see no reason as to why we shouldn't head straight to Eldin Province," Eragon was continuing stubbornly. "Something tells me we will find the next Fused Shadow there."

Saphira snorted in exasperation. There are only two remaining Twilit provinces, stone head, and we know there is another one in Lanayru Province. Why don't we just head there first? We can restore the Light Spirit there faster, and also liberate the heart of Hyrule. Look, Castle Town is right in the middle of Lanayru Province! Princess Zelda is still imprisoned there, right? We can liberate her and get another person with a glowing triangle on their hand to help us lift this damned darkness.

Frowning, Eragon's right hand protectively moved to cover the back of his left one. Beneath the glove that covered it, the golden Triforce was as prominent and present as ever before. He had expected the marking too disappear, or at least fade, upon the regaining of his human form. To his dismay, it had remained as gold as it had been in his dragon shape. Eragon had come to accept it as yet another uninvited alteration to his body, but didn't bother complaining about. After all, the gedwey ignasia upon his right palm had originally been just as much an unwelcome burden.

"Because Kakariko Village is closer to Ordon Village than the capitol," Eragon protested, tapping the location with his finger. "The spring of the local spirit is literally located right outside of it. Those damned Bublins ran north with the children and Ilia, right into the areas now covered in Twilight. Surely they would have sought to raid the next closest Hyrulean settlement? There's a good chance they could still be in the general vicinity, and we can both return the spirit's light and rescue Colin and the others."

Heaving a raspy sigh of defeat, a slightly surprised Saphira turned to focus one large eye on Midna. And you're fine with this? You strike me as the kind of imp who wants to retrieve what she wants as quickly as possible.

The Twili shrugged passively, sniffing. "What does my opinion matter to you two anymore? I'm just a shadow in this daylight, and you'd happily devour me if I went against your wishes too much. Just go and save the little brats. Wouldn't want our sacred beast being caught up in the throes of his depression while he was still right in the middle of his grand quest, now would we?" She cackled slightly. "Besides, lizard, if you took a proper look at that map, you'd realize Eldin Province is actually slightly closer to our current location."

Craning her head in confusion, Saphira again studied a map from a new angle. Growling softly when she realized Midna was right, she turned expectantly to her Rider. Shall we go, little one? We have some children to rescue, and some pork to burn.

Blue-gray eyes blazing with characteristic determination, Eragon nodded. Midna slipped back into his shadow just as he gracefully ascended Saphira's side, taking the familiar seat on her back. Unfurling her wings, the she-dragon was already pumping them furiously, lifting away from the ground and gaining altitude as she soared in the direction of Eldin Province.

When Blodgharm and the survivors of his party finally reached the Varden's camp, they had been soon surrounded by a crowd of amazed and relieved rebels. Almost immediately, however, the wondrous looks upon their faces morphed into pure bewilderment and suspicion. Whisperings spread through the gathered humans like wildfire, questions and stinging comments Blodgharm's sharp ears all easily heard. Surely the Varden noticed the frantic gleam in their eyes, or the urgency in their steps as they made their way to Lady Nasuada's massive pavilion.

Naturally, the soldiers assigned to guard their leader had initially refused to grant them access, and seemed ready to interrogate them about their alarming behavior. Arya Drottningu's arrival had soon smoothed things over. She had calmed Nasuada's guards, and had allowed a somber-faced Blodgharm and several of his other elves entrance. Those still in shock had been ordered to be examined by the healers.

Inside the tent, Blodgharm had not even bothered with the tedious exchange of customary greetings and pleasantries. He had instead just inclined his head in acknowledgment of the Lady Nasuada's superiority over him. Then he had requested for all the leaders still present in the Varden's camp to gather for an imperative emergency meeting, and for the pavilion to be magically warded against any eavesdroppers, be they spies or just overly curious comrades that had not been summoned. Blodgharm had expected Eragon Shadeslayer to be among those in attendance.

To the blue-furred elf's dismay, a good portion of the leaders he had expected were already absent. Many of the Urgal chieftains and Varden generals had been sent to Dauth in preparation for an assault against the Imperial city of Aroughs. Virtually all of the dwarves had already departed for Farthen Dur, both for the burial of Hrothgar and for King Orik's coronation. Blodgharm had barely caught King Orrin and the Surdan cavalries, for they had been also been ready to set out for their western cities to ready for outright war with Galbatorix.

Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales? To add even more insult to injury, it seemed as if the physical embodiment of the rebel's hopes and dreams, their one last real chance of toppling Galbatorix's regime, had mysteriously vanished alongside the last female of her endangered kind. Neither had been spotted or heard from in days, and many were dubious of Arya's claims that she had briefly been able to reach Eragon before her ritual had been unceremoniously interrupted by an unknown presence. An increasing number of cynical people believed both Rider and dragon had perished in the Beor Mountains, overwhelmed by a ferocious storm that had conquered even them.

Sighing in resignation at the unfortunate news, Blodgharm now knew his priorities now rested with the Varden. While the Shur'tugal and his she-dragon were vital to the cause, so was the cause itself. A massive portion of the rebellion's soldiers still occupied by the camp at the Burning Plains. He now feared it compromised, too vulnerable to be used any longer as it was so close to the Empire's borders, and the new danger that hungrily prowled it. They had to be moved deeper into the country, for their own security, especially the respective leaders of Surda and the Varden.

Roran's dark brows knitted together as Blodgharm concluded his tale. "Forgive my bluntness, but I find this entire story to be as believable as something a bard would tell to gullible customers!" he protested. "Your encounter with that... cold darkness is something I can not just believe, even after personally seeing magic performed and watching dragons clash. It sounds exactly like something straight out of a fairytale."

Fur bristling, Blodgharm's golden eyes narrowed dangerously. Fresh rage, strengthened by the grief for his lost comrade, surged up inside. His indignity must have shown, for several of the humans present flinched back. "If you are implying I believe the supernatural was at work here, you are most certainly wrong. Nevertheless, something did happen out there." He shared sorrowful glances with his elves. "We will never forget what it did to us, how it stole away one of our finest."

Roran looked ready to offer a rebuttal, but fell silent as his leader gave him an admonishing look. Lady Nasuada held up a hand for silence, face perfectly neutral. "Peace, Stronghammer. Their story is unlike anything I have ever heard of before. Regardless of its origins, this force poses a severe threat to all of us still located in the Burning Plains. We must consider every possible option before so lightly dismissing it."

Trianna, the leader of the incorrectly named Du Vrangr Gata, then addressed her leader respectfully. "My Lady, may I suggest personally going to investigate the area where Blodgharm and his elves encountered such strange magic? Galbatorix could finally be realizing the very real threat we pose to him, and is amassing back his old power in preparation to a critical blow to our forces. We must examine the enchantments he is now using, and how to best counter them if we ever want to invade the Empire."

"We must also entertain the possibility that an unaffiliated third party has entered the war," Arya pointed out wisely. "When I attempted to communicate with Eragon Shadeslayer, a very powerful and alien force prevented me from making contact with him or Saphira. It managed to deflect my mind, and could have been the source behind their mysterious disappearance."

Orrin clapped his hands together, as if the matter had been settled. "Excellent. We shall saddle up and investigate this occurrence immediately."

One of the Surdan King's generals sat up rigidly straight in his chair, mouth dropping in an amusing combination of shock and horror. "My Lord?" he blurted out.

Orrin arched a questioning brow. "This is my kingdom, sir, is it not? And my people are potentially endangered by this threat. While I concede that my expertise lies with science, the possibility that the supernatural is involved cannot yet be excluded. My childhood education gave me considerable knowledge on the ancient spirits and the cults that worshipped them. Perhaps we can deduce what spirit attacked us, if this was a supernatural encounter. Although, I suspect we can only confirm the identity of the good spirit that saved the lives of you and your men, Master Blodgharm."

Lady Nasuada looked at the monarch with barely veiled surprise. "You know who could have rescued them?"

"Oh, aye. I believe our spiritual champion to be a very temperamental and fickle deity we call Surdans call, well, Sur." He grinned humorlessly. "Naturally, it is almost unanimously agreed that Sur is indeed a feminine force."

Staring up at the hazy skies, Murtagh barely refrained from sighing in dismay when he glanced out the window. The mysterious haze had not yet dissipated, though it had been almost a day since their appearance. Sunlight managed to filter it, but it was faded, as if the very atmosphere was tainted with the smoke of a massive inferno. Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he turned back to the number of books he had been poring over since sunrise. King Galbatorix's was perhaps the largest surviving store of knowledge left in the Empire, but even if did not seem to have the answers to the questions every citizen of the Empire had been asking.

The Mad King himself had departed with Shruikan the very same afternoon the clouds had arrived. There had been a stark and sudden chance in his demeanor, a disturbingly sincere happiness that frightened the inhabitants of Castle Ilirea even more than his usual displays of madness. Many wondered if Galbatorix had finally lost the final remnants of his crumbled sanity. From what Murtagh had sensed of his master's mind, he had come to fear the exact opposite: Galbatorix was saner than he had been in decades, more than lucid enough to plot a final crushing below to the rebellion that had irritated him for so long.

Whatever the change to his mind, Galbatorix was now confident enough to venture beyond the walls of Urubaen with Shruikan for the first time in over a century. Reports only mentioned that he was heading north. Murtagh didn't know what he was planning on doing, but he hoped his master would be gone long enough for him to unravel the mystery that had been set before him.

Thorn's mind suddenly brushed up against his own. The red dragon's anxiousness and impatience had only increased. He feared flying alone in the haze, but the self-imposed confine to the dragon-hold was beginning to take a toll on him. Anything about this unnatural weather yet? he asked immediately. I'm hungry.

Murtagh frowned, eyes skimming over the contents of countless books as he searched for any mention to the phenomenon a good portion of the Empire was experiencing. Nothing. And if you're feeling hungry and are too cowardly to go hunting on your own, get somebody to sent up a dead cow or something. Better yet, go down and demand a live one. Killing it may relieve some of the tension you're experiencing.

Not my fault. Most of this anxiety that's torturing me is coming from you, Thorn complained. Gods, Murtagh, you're only reading books. You can at least be calmer about it.

None of the answers are here, and I must have gone through everything in this portion of the library!

Then why don't you search through the inner portion?

Freezing at the seemingly sensible suggestion, Murtagh sneaked a surreptitious glance at the doors that led to the private portion of the King's library. He almost expected his master to suddenly come bursting into the room, ready to torture his servant for even entertaining thoughts of entering an area he had been forbidden from ever venturing. Rebellion bubbled up inside of him. Had he just considered not even seeking answers at all? Galbatorix wasn't even around, and there was no reason Murtagh ever had to mention trespassing into his personal library.

Sure, Thorn, why not? Our master is much to preoccupied with his mystery agenda to even pay us much attention anymore.

Closing the book he had been browsing through, Murtagh stood up and cautiously ventured to the door that led to the forbidden part of the library handle. Testing the handle, he was unsurprised to find it unlocked. Before Shruikan had always been present in the castle, watching over his Rider's private chambers like the ever-faithful watchdog from hell. Those who had dared intrude on their King's privacy had been promptly tossed to a dragon that had never stopped yearning for human flesh. And thus the unspoken rules of Castle Ilirea were all diligently obeyed.

Except by one defiant little Shur'tugal that seemed to have a death wish. Hell, Murtagh found himself reflecting on his foolhardy decision even as he turned the knob and slipped inside. Following on reckless impulses sounded more like Eragon than himself.

But Eragon's my brother. Maybe our damned, stubborn courage is inherent.

Staring uneasily at the massive black wall that loomed before them, Eragon sighed as he bid a temporary farewell to his humanity. He had just finished removing the supplies and saddle from Saphira's back so that she could slip into her Hylian form beforehand. Eragon envied her for the ability to shift forms in at least one realm. Saphira would not have to undergo the forceful transformation into her alternate form, just as he was about to endure the moment Midna dragged him back into the Twilight.

"Got everything?" he asked Saphira.

The woman bobbed her head. She carried the saddle and supplies in her strong arms, her sword buckled at her side. In case she would have to fight from dragon-back, Eragon had loaned her his bow and quiverful of arrows. Since they were spelled to automatically return once their target had been struck, Saphira should have been well armed. "All sight, Eragon." She glanced at him, blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you sure you want to do this? Midna and I can handle this alone, if you can't handle being turned back into a dragon again."

Wistfully remembering the raw power that had previously flowed through his veins and the freedom that had come with wings, Eragon shook his head. "I'm fine, Saphira." He grinned. "Besides, I want to experience this role reversal for once. It will be an interesting, if completely unnerving, experience."

Midna emerged from his shadow, arms crossed impatiently. "By your sappy conversation, I take it you're both ready to venture into the Twilight again," she remarked dryly. "If not, then too bad. Just remember that we're going to be stuck there until a warp portal can be opened up from inside."

The Twili suddenly floated up to the wall, calmly allowing herself to be absorbed by it. Bracing himself for the inevitable, Eragon and Saphira still yelped in shock when an orange hand suddenly ripped itself out from the barrier, grabbing tightly hold of both of them. Clenching his eyes shut, the green-clad hero shivered as the sudden chill of Twilight again invaded his body, surging to the center of his very being.

When Midna unceremoniously tossed him to the ground, Eragon managed to land on his own two feet, but only briefly. When his inner fire flared up in defiance against the corrupting cold, his eyes snapped open in shock, his gasp turning into a growl as he fell forward onto all fours. His form expanded, three additional appendages emerging as his existing ones lengthened and gained several hundred pounds of pure muscle. Once again a dragon, he shook his head dazedly and turned down to look at Saphira.

In the sickly light of the Twilit province, Saphira's markings glowed blue, illuminating her blazing eyes and the silver of her pale hair. She examined his form, a cool hand trailing over the scales of his leg, tracing the golden lines that ran across them.

"Did it hurt?" she asked quietly.

Eragon shook his head honestly. Not much this time. There was some pain, but it was over as soon as the transformation ended. My body must have gotten used to the experience. He rustled his wings and swished his tail experimentally several times, once again becoming acquainted this body and its daunting size. He lowered his body so that Saphira could sling the saddle over his back, for it carried all of their essential supplies. I'm ready to leave for Eldin's spring whenever you two are.

Midna just remained hovering down by his paws, watching with narrowed eyes as Saphira positioned the saddle in the gap between Eragon's spikes, the spot where she had previously occupied. Noticing the Twili's ire, the Hylian woman grinned and patted the spot in front of her in mocking invitation. Sniffing disdainfully, Midna floated right over to Eragon's head, plopping down on the space between his horns. She was just small enough to fit, and was light enough so it didn't hurt the green dragon's back to support her.

"Fly on, lizard," she commanded imperiously, hands quickly taking hold of his golden horns. "We've got a lot to do here."

Sharing a wicked grin with Saphira, Eragon only snapped open his wings and rocketed himself right into the air. Midna did cling to his head like a burr, but the terrified scream she had let out was reward enough.

While uneasy about traveling alongside the leaders of countries and rebellions, Roran was not about to allow the party to leave without him. His wife and unborn child were in the Varden's camp, as endangered as any of the villagers of Carvahall still were. It was important that he continue to protect his family, and the entire village he had been responsible for uprooting and turning into refugees of the Empire. His experience with both magic and the supernatural were limited, but how knowledgeable could Lady Nasuada or the large company of guards that escorted them be on the subject?

As they neared the border between Surda and the Empire, Roran tensed, one hand subconsciously straying to the hammer he had strapped to his belt. He had traded in his old hammer for the kind that was actually used in battle. In was broader, stronger, and a weapon he was capable of using the moment everything would predicatively go to hell. Roran was proud he had bargained for it, for living off the Varden's charity was unthinkable for a farmer that had previously lived on a self-sustaining form. And at least his horse was also technically his. Snowfire had originally been Eragon's horse, but considering his cousin was missing and had a giant she-dragon, the mount had become Roran's by default.

"So," Roran began conversationally, trying to distract his nervous mind from the many fears haunting it. "King Orrin, what do you believe is protecting us from that darkness?"

The man, barley older than Roran himself and yet leader of an entire nation, smiled as if genuinely happy someone had asked about it. "I believe Sur to be," he began in a lecturing tone he must have practiced upon countless involuntarily audiences. "My research supports the idea that she was one of the original spirits to first be worshipped here, instead of being a god from some old religion from our homeland. Her shrine in the port city of Reavstone is still tended to and visited by thousands of worshipers. My ancestors viewed Sur to be so important that they named our entire province after her."

Blodgharm nodded as he walked. "Aye. I remember Surda was once a province of the old Broddring Kingdom. Your ancestors presided over it as the lords of the land, but were still loyal to the line of human kings that Galbatorix ended." He looked questionably at Orrin. "Does this spirit have anything to do with the sea? My elves and I could have sworn we smelled salt air when the light arrived."

Orrin's dark brown eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "Oh, definitely, Master Blodgharm. Popular belief holds that Sur controls the southern seas and the storms that originate from them. Her domain covers the southern part of the continent and the Southern Isles that are more or less neutral in the war right now. Reavstone makes sure to keep her satisfied, but it is she who ensures the waters and its harbor remain safe for Surdan merchant ships."

"How can you be so the spirit listens?" Blodgharm asked.

Orrin shrugged. "Storms in our waters are very rare, and Surdan casualties resorting from them rarer still. The area around Reavstone has some the best fishing in the kingdom." He grinned. "As a matter of fact, our weather only seems to worsen when possibly hostile Imperial ships get to close for Sur's liking."

Arya looked about ready to say something in response, but her emerald green eyes widened at the sight before them. Composure quickly repairing itself, she pointed wryly ahead. "I suppose the same could be said for that darkness."

Where the area around Roran and the rest of the party was relatively calm and sunny, the skies ahead of them were far from it. A massive thunderstorm raged just several miles from where they stood, never seeming to advance any closer. Squinting, Roran was able to make out the large amount of lightning the storms were spitting forth, and the darkness of the Empire beyond. Unless even the weather behaved differently in Surda, he supposed something unnatural, be it spirits or ancient magic of some sort, was at work.

Everyone present stared at the storm in awe, though a few of the guardsmen seemed ready to drop their weapons and run screaming back to camp. More than several were making signs, either as a sign of reverence or just to ward off the evil they sensed was being held back only by the spirit they believed to be protecting them. Nasuada was enthralled by it, and Roran subtly guided Snowfire closer to her, ready to grab her charger's reigns. Spirits supposedly did strange things to people. Who knew if she was prepared to gallop right in the middle of the storm or not?

"Thank you for your concern, Stronghammer, but I am quite alright," Nasuada replied absently. Then unease crossed her features as she frowned thoughtfully at the impossible storm. "However, this war has just gained an urgency that cannot be denied. Those entities, be they gods or spirits, having taken to fighting. Without even a dragon and Rider to protect us, and the allegiances and motivations of other supernatural beings unknown, I have no idea where this war shall take us."

Feeling a similar sense of dread, Roran turned away from the storm. He had never regretted not tossing that damned dragon's egg out into the snow than that moment.

Gods...

Roran now knew the expression to be far more than an obscenity.

Common sense kept Murtagh's curious eyes from going over the notes and diagrams spread over on the desks. One glimpse at the complicated formulas, and a language he did not even recognize, had told him that Galbatorix was involved in something mankind was not meant to be dabbling in. Instead he ventured over to the shelves that lined the room, searching for the required information. Mad as Galbatorix was, he was still methodically meticulous. Murtagh was not surprised to discover all of his scrolls and tomes, be they written in foreign tongues or not, were alphabetically categorized in the traditional Alagaesian language.

Let's see... Whatever 'new' security measures Galbatorix erected were probably first used in his triumph over the Dragon Riders, so the texts should be from around that era. Rumors speak of an increased frenzy at Dras-Leona the superstitious are blaming on Helgrind. The church of the mountain cult has been purchasing far more slaves than usual. What are they trying to appease with human sacrifices?

Considering all that he had endured, Murtagh was confident his dream with the three girls was somehow connected to the new threat that had emerged. There was no doubt in his mind about it. In fact, Murtagh felt he owed Eragon an apology for his skepticism when his younger brother had begun to actively experience dreams from Arya. Empathy did wonders to even the most stubborn of human minds.

Trailing his fingers over the spines of the books and the cases of the scrolls as he walked, Murtagh was able to get the basic feel for each piece of literature. Some were just very old, if valuable, pieces that had been stolen from the stores of Ilirea and Doru Araeba before their libraries had been burned to the ground. Others beckoned to him with siren songs, brushing against the iron defenses of his mind and seeking a way in to his deepest fears and desires. They tempted with smooth voices not unlike Galbatorix's, but Murtagh paid their calls no mind. He knew all too well what happened to flies that had stumbled too deep into the spider's web, and were then unable to escape their grim fates.

Only one book did not stand passively by, or try to vainly lure him in. Instead it lashed out fiercely, and Murtagh nearly stumbled in shock at the unexpected force of the attack. This cracked and weathered tome he snatched from its spot on the shelf, not caring on whether it intended to willingly give up its secrets or not. Dragging the book over to the closest table, Murtagh sat down and ripped it open to the very first page. After an initial surge of resistance that proved no match for Murtagh's strict mental training, the book's defenses reluctantly lowered to allow him access to the knowledge within.

Surprisingly, the book was just a few years older than the Empire itself. What had caused Murtagh to nearly choke on his own saliva was the fact that the entire thing had apparently been penned by a member of Helgrind's infamous mountain cult.

Considering how most contemporary members of the mountain cult chopped off fingers as signs of devotion and tribute, later sacrificing hands and eventually their entire arms, he wondered how the acolyte had managed to write everything down entirely by himself. But as he skimmed over the first several pages, he realized this was not the case. The acolyte mentioned several times that the 'Guardian Spirit of the Broddring Spring' was usually appeased with traditional prayer and food offerings. In the very rare event the spirit required a larger sacrifice in order to grant a more powerful prayer, very small amounts of human blood from willing participants would be used. The acolyte recalled only one time, centuries ago, when the Guardian Spirit had demanded a life to save the surrounding area from a devastating famine that would have starved thousands. Allegedly, involuntary sacrifices would not have worked for the exchange, and so the head priest of the religion had instead given his own life for that of the kingdom.

But, the acolyte had mused suspiciously, the spirit has recently taken to refuses all food offerings and dousing worshipers with water whenever they try to pray on the shores of his spring. One of the more radical priests, Eldric, has suggested that *** required a large offering of human blood in order to prepare himself for an impending disaster that is about to strike. The head priest is skeptical, but has accepted Eldric's proposal that all acolytes and priests must offer up a small amount of their themselves daily. We are all desperate for a solution to ***'s silence, for he refuses to even meet with the head priest himself!

The account went on, growing more and more foreboding as the days grew by. Murtagh noticed that every single mention of the spirit's name had been neatly blotted out, and of how the acolyte observed the increasingly larger amounts of blood his deity was demanding. Hail storms were happening with unusual frequency, devastating the crops that were soon due to be harvested before winter's arrival. In one of the final entries, the acolyte noted that the inhabitants of Ilirea were having it harder than most, for a drought that seemed only to inflict the surrounding land had robbed them of both food and water.

All of the Dragon Riders and elves in the city have spread out into the surrounding villages, trying to dispense food from their own stores and magically restore the land. Even their efforts are proving fruitless, and the desperate citizens all around the Broddring Kingdom are threatening to riot against both their monarch and the Shur'tugal if the crises are not solved soon. The fact that the elves are pointedly ignoring ***'s influence over the region is frustrating enough to many.

Today, King Angrenost personally arrived to pray at the Guardian Spirit's spring for mercy. The head priest has refused to allow him access to the mountain. All of the plants on all four peaks are withered and dying, with all the small animals that call the mountain home either fleeing or being discovered dead. He claims that *** is most unusually displeased, and he cannot guarantee our Majesty's safety if he should decide to visit the spirit while he is in such an unpredictable mood. I am among the increasing number of worshipers demanding an evacuation of Ilirea itself, though I doubt the skeptical elves there will heed our warnings. They do so at their own peril.

Galbatorix and the rebels that follow him have recently won yet another skirmish near the Burning Plains. Their turmoil is about to spill into the Broddring Kingdom soon, and we require ***'s blessing more than ever. I wonder if it mere coincidence he is proving so uncooperative?

The final entry in the battered journal was written in a swift, messy scrawl. It was dated only a week after the last one.

King Angrenost is dead. Galbatorix Kingslayer slaughtered him just last morning. The remnants of the Broddring Kingdom have descended into total anarchy, and *** has joined them in their madness. He has tired of the blood offered to him, and devoured several acolytes whole. Those that survive say he continues to crave flesh, and have cut off their own fingers to assure him of their continued loyalty. Eldric has taken up leadership of this unholy faction, and has persuaded the local lord to 'donate' several of his slaves as unwilling sacrifices.

The head priest confronted *** for a final time just two hours ago, to try and implore him to see sense. The spirit would not, or could not, listen. He no longer recognizes his own name. This means the unthinkable has happened: the gods have deserted him, and those who worship him, as a lost cause. According to witnesses, the head priest was devoured just like the slaves.

I intend to flee this gods-forsaken place, and to warn Ilirea that our fallen spirit is about to turn his unforgiving wrath upon them. Power, Life, and Wisdom protect me, but I fear my prayers for all three will go ignored. Something tells me my warnings to Ilirea will come too late, but what have I left except this one last hope?

Recalling of how Ilirea had been completely razed, the rebel army that had breached its defenses slaughtering every last citizen, Murtagh had no doubt that the overly compassionate acolyte had been among the countless dead. The 'Guardian Spirit' had dispatched all that had stood in its path. Its presence had been enough to even corrupt the diary Murtagh had just finished reading, ensuring that most would be unable to discover the secret of his origins.

Silently closing the book, Murtagh wasted no time in placing it back on the shelf, before turning and fleeing from the room as if pursued by all the demons of hell.

Murtagh? Thorn asked in alarm. What happened?

I discovered the truth of our master's overwhelming success in the Dragon War, his Rider replied grimly, as he hastened back up to the dragon-hold where Thorn waited for him. He pointedly refused to look out any of the widows, and at the black smoke that choked out the sunlight. He has unleashed it again, Thorn, something I fear not even he will be able to control forever.

What did Galbatorix release, Murtagh?

Opening his mind to his dragon, Murtagh allowed the red dragon to look through his memories and discover the answers himself. It did not take long for the gravity of the situation to get across.

Smiling warmly, Galbatorix's black eyes gazed straight into the empty sockets above him. His Jarnunvosk did not need eyes; he could still clearly see the unconditional love that shone through, and the joy at their long-awaited reunion.

"Hello, my dear one," he murmured softly, hands stroking a yellowed and stained skull fondly. He could clean his she-dragon up later, after he was done reveling in the meeting that had been denied to him for decades, ever since Ganondorf's sudden absence had drained him of much of his magical power. What had been left of it had gone into keeping his prized spirit sealed up, leaving none behind to continue supporting the complex spell that returned Jarnunvosk from the afterlife. "I missed you, so much."

Jarnunvosk was incapable of rumbling in affection, the only verbal response she was able to make the rattling of yellowed bones bound together only by magic. Her mental voice was little more than a breathy whisper, the connection that kept her soul on the living plane tenuous for the moment.

My little one, my Galbatorix, she rasped, rubbing her snout against his hand. All is forgiven.

Shruikan growled enviously from somewhere behind them, jealous of the even deeper connection that tied together man and she-dragon. Galbatorix smiled wanly, beckoning for the great black beast to come forward. Together all three stood in momentary silence; the demonic dragon, the rotted dracolich, and the man who had willingly sold his soul to a mortal god for such a bond.

"I conquered everything while you were gone, Jarnunvosk," Galbatorix whispered to her. "Shruikan and I wrested most of Alagaesia under our control, and are preparing to stamp out the last feeble traces of resistance. Every single last one of the remaining Dragon Riders have been eradicated, mark my words. This land is just about ours now."

Jarnunvosk rattled her jawbone excitedly. You must show me your Empire, my little one. Show me your capitol, the one built upon the ashes of our enemies, and all the people who are proud to call you their leader. But first... She trailed off, mind and skeletal body quivering in restless anticipation. Shruikan, sensing the impending bloodbath, rumbled in eager agreement. I hunger, dear one. Feed me the flesh of my murderers, the flesh that will allow me to fully return to the world I was forced to leave behind. Make me once again whole, so I can follow you wherever you go, and help you crush the last of those who dare rise up against us.

Galbatorix smirked, a predatory look of indulgence that allowed a small hint of his inhuman nature to show through. "Of course, my Jarnunvosk." He pointed in the direction of where a small Urgal village still stood, the same settlement his she-dragon had fled to when the magical bonds that had tethered her to life had begun to fail out of a desperation for subsistence. She had fallen before she could make it. "There's plenty full the both of you."

Growling, Shruikan had already flared open his wings and charged into the air, emboldened by the first hunt in decades. Wings nothing more than skeletal fingers for the moment, Jarnunvosk instead ambled carefree through the forest, her faithful Rider walking by her side. Urgals were a tough race, and most of them would be able to temporarily withstand the storm of claws and fire that would rain down upon them when Shruikan arrived. The dracolich preferred hunting such difficult prey anyway, it made everything a much more interesting challenge.

My Galbatorix, so thoughtfully providing food, Jarnunvosk gushed, once again bending down to nuzzle his shoulder with the remnants of her head. Her jaws once again clacked eagerly shut, still very lethal fangs gnashing together. So thoughtfully providing vengeance.

Her Rider momentarily paused at this statement. Before her tragic death, Jarnunvosk had been one of the few dragons who had never held grudges over paltry matters. Even when an Urgal's arrow had pierced her throat, she had only called out to be comforted by Galbatorix in her final moments. Not once had she demanded vengeance against her murderers. It had only when Galbatorix had first resurrected her had such demands surfaced, for Jarnunvosk had been weak and starving, requiring living flesh to fully restore herself. She had seen it fitting to feed only upon Urgals, finding it poetic justice that the brutes that had first stolen her away from her Rider to be the ones that returned her to him.

Still so elated by Jarnunvosk's return, Galbatorix prompt forgot the inconsistency he had long since grown accustomed to. Everything he had held dear had been, or was soon going to be, returned to him. And no one would be taking his Jarnunvosk, or his Shruikan, away from him, ever again. He would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: The Dark World- Super Smash Brothers Brawl Original Soundtrack

With a sharp pair of eyes that had quickly adjusted to the perpetual gloom of Twilight, it hadn't taken long for Eragon to take a detour from their original plan of just locating the spring of the Light Spirit of Eldin Province. Just shortly after giving Midna her most recent and unwanted surprise, the green dragon had spied a familiar wooden sword buried deep into the dirt of the unpaved road. It had belonged to one of the kidnapped children of Ordon Village, most likely Talo. Folding his wings, he had abruptly landed to investigate the area more closely.

Oh, gods, he swore as the realization of the discovery sank in. The children are lost in this Twilight, too! And with those boar-riding bastards, no less. Growling savagely, Eragon's furious blue-gray eyes scanned the horizon, trying to discern which direction the raiders and their unwilling hostages had taken. From the look of bloody murder in his face, it was obvious he was prepared to incinerate anyone who had dared to even think of harming the children of the village.

Saphira's own sapphire eyes were blazing wrathfully, but she thankfully retained enough common sense to concede that blindly charging off was not going to save either the captured children or the Twilit Eldin Province. "Hush, Eragon." Putting a calming hand to the dragon's muscular leg, she gestured down at the wooden sword. "You're a dragon now, remember? The senses of our kind are sharp, including that of smell. Inhale deeply, and remember this scent. Be prepared to follow it to the ends of the earth, if need be."

Midna crossed her arms as she studied the little toy blade with an unreadable expression. "Scent fades," she remarked pragmatically, "and those darling brats have been missing for several days now. Those overgrown pork chops you were talking about completely ripped up the road. Just follow those completely obvious tracks to your destination."

Saphira, an experienced huntress who had caught virtually all of her own meals since shortly after hatching, shook her head. "There's no way of telling if the children remained with the same group of Bublins that initially captured them. They could have been deposited at some isolated camp, or given to a group traveling on foot. Gods willing, perhaps they even managed to escape on their own. Besides, the road will eventually lead into those mountains, where I highly doubt there will be any hoof-prints at all."

Lowering his head so that it was just inches away from the hilt of the sword, Eragon inhaled as deeply as he possibly could. Talo's scent, as well as his little brother's, was still strong, though the blade had been exposed to nature for quite some time. It even still carried the rich aroma of Faron Woods, meaning it must have been the same toy that had first led Eragon to them. Talo had stopped to retrieve it on their journey back to the village. The green dragon once again rumbled with anger as he then smelled fear and blood. Stunned by the monsters that had come to steal him away, Talo must have panicked and had attempted to fight back, either injuring himself or one of the Bublins in the process. Eragon hoped for the latter.

Got it, he said at last, for he was confident he had committed every single minute detail of the scent to memory. Then Eragon moved to retrieve the blade, stopping only when he realized he currently had no hands to pick it up. Um, Saphira, would you mind getting that for me? That's Talo's favorite toy, and I doubt he would appreciate it if it were returned to him with bite marks all over it.

Saphira smiled and bent down to get the wooden blade for him. Eragon only temporarily averted his eyes from the tempting view he was provided. Despite his draconic form, his human mind was still very pleased with what it saw. Wishing he could slap himself for such feelings toward his own dragon (albeit one in a very, er, suitable Hylian skin), he settled for pointedly choosing to deny his raging hormones. Ah, the joys of adolescence.

Midna snickered, still managing to sense his flustered emotions. Considering his connection was even stronger with Saphira, he had no doubt she knew of his embarrassing thoughts towards her second form. The young woman thankfully chose to ignore the involuntary response on her Rider's behalf, for there were far more important things to handle at the moment. Gazing at the red mountains that were looming ever closer, Saphira only remounted Eragon, and motioned for him to fly on.

With the new mission of locating and rescuing the missing children in mind, the dragon had strayed from this only once. Someone had felt the need to completely remove the bridge that connected the main part of Hyrule Field with the road (and scent) they were following. It was a brilliant move, for the gaping chasm that separated the two sides prevented any normal person from escaping through the barrier, or for a rescue party to get across. Since they had just beaten yet another pack of shadow beasts (and Saphira had finally gotten her revenge on the infuriating creatures), Midna had teleported them back to another portal in Faron Woods to retrieve the odd wooden platform they had previously seen there. It must have been the missing bridge, for it fit the space perfectly. With that minor problem solved, their normal journey could again resume.

In order to follow the scent trail, Eragon was forced to fly low, and thus was not high enough to check to see what was beyond the locked gate that would have proved to be an obstacle to just about any other group. While Saphira had leaped from his back, landing on the opposite side of the gate and easily finishing off the monsters guarding that area, Eragon had simply bowled over the entire contraption. Midna had sniffed disdainfully at this, snidely pointing out the lock that could have easily been undone.

"Too late now," Saphira answered dismissively. She studied the bend in the road that stood in front of them critically. "What do you think is past there? The Bublin camp?"

Unlikely. Considering their infamous reputation in Hyrule and their relationship with its inhabitants, I doubt even the Bublins were stupid enough to create a road right to their lair. This to be a settlement. Kakariko Village, perhaps? It's the largest town in Eldin Province. If those raiders were going to choose a tempting target to hit next, it would have been that one.

"If that's the case, then the spirit spring is just up ahead." Midna banged her legs against Eragon's forehead, smirking at the pained yelp it prompted. "Well, lizard boy? You've got a job to do. Two jobs, actually."

Rolling his eyes, Eragon kept his muscles tensed and prepared for attack as he padded down the road. Saphira walked alongside him, sword unsheathed. Experience told them another small horde of shadow beasts would be guarding the Light Spirit's spring. Perhaps Eragon would even have to face more than last time, for a populated town existed right next to the water's banks. Who knew how many spectral light-dwellers corrupted by the Twilight they would encounter while there.

Rusl had explained to Eragon that, just a mere fifty or so years ago, Eldin Province had been poised to rival Lanayru Province in terms of economic and population growth. About a century ago, Hyrule had still been recovering from a devastating civil war. Despite the damage that had been dealt, the entire kingdom had been united for the first time in decades. With relations with the Gorons having vastly improved, and the local Sheikah population having so severely declined during the warfare, a new stream of Hylian immigrants had begun to poor in.

Finding their wealth in the mines and in their farms, the province had experienced a population boom of Hylians unlike anything ever witnessed before. Perhaps too much had entered in too close a time, for many of the easy resources had been stripped and the fertile soil damaged within mere decades. To make matters worse, a drought had stolen some of the last water from the mountains, forcing those that had not been driven off after the mines had been depleted to abandon their worthless plots of farmland.

Aside from several very small settlements scattered around the province, Kakariko Village was the last place of a considerable Hylian population. They were far outnumbered by the native Gorons, who mainly feasted upon rocks and knew the few places left in the mountains where running water could still be found. With their complex technologies and innovative thinking, they had even managed to develop a way of efficiently mining out the precious ore that was still present in the mountains and dormant volcanoes that surrounded them.

Upon entering the village, even a complete foreigner could see that Kakariko had long since passed its prime. Many of the buildings clung to the sides of the canyon that surrounded them, leaving just enough for the unpaved road to continue through their settlement and on northwards. Virtually all of the buildings had been severely eroded by the unrelenting winds, faded and broken down. Windows and doors had been boarded up and the buildings themselves forgotten. Eragon could hear practically hear the entire place rotting around him.

A familiar sensation managed to easily slip past his mental barriers, weakly beckoning him onward. The green dragon roared as loud as he could, watching with grim satisfaction as the smaller hoards of corrupted Keese and other small pests turned and scattered at his fearsome call. Only several shadow beasts too stupid to flee stood their ground before the Light Spirit's spring, shrieking with challenge as they surged forward. Eragon easily disposed of the two that came rushing onto him, his powerful tail knocking them senseless. Before the remaining one could call its companions up again, the point of Saphira's slender blade buried its way into its chest. All the shadow beasts promptly disintegrated, vanishing up into a portal that had just turned blue, meaning yet another location had been secured.

Again, the whispering voice of a spirit echoed up from the spring waters, barely audible over the wind. "To the hero... transformed into the blue-eyed beast in the lands of Twilight... and to his companion... who has willingly given up her true form to follow him into the darkness... I am a spirit of the light... Gather my stolen light in this, and return it to restore us all to our true selves...

Another glass vessel of light emerged from the spring. Midna floated over and caught it, inspecting it as the spirit of Eldin Spring once again vanished. "Great. Sixteen more little bugs to catch." She surveyed their desolate surroundings disdainfully. "And of course they're all bound to be hiding within this little flyspeck of a town. Might as well get started, then."

Eragon cocked his head, already able to hear the electric crackle of a nearby light insect. I'm too big to be venturing inside those houses, though. Not without tearing them apart first.

Saphira sighed, annoyed she had been completely overlooked. "I'll go and retrieve those tears, little- er, Eragon. My senses are still sharp enough to hear them, too. Just take the imp with you." Her blue eyes flickered warningly. "I wouldn't be able to handle the distraction."

Midna crossed her arms. "Indeed you wouldn't, glow-girl. Now shut up and let's get moving, we've still got two Fused Shadows to get and another spirit to help out after this."

Missing children first, Eragon insisted stubbornly. Again, he sniffed the air, blue-gray eyes widening in surprise at how strong the scent had become. Gaze honing in on the building closest to the spring, his sharp hearing could just detect the frightened sniffles and whispers coming from within. More than several of the voices sounded familiar. However, he could also hear those damned pests inside in there with them. If only I could get to them.

"I'll help them out, Eragon," Saphira murmured, studying the building. "There's a weak spot on the roof. Get me up there, and I'll find a way to check up on the children and get those tears of light. Just concentrate on the ones out there."

Midna's eyes narrowed. "And just what do you propose capturing the tears of light with? There's bound to be bugs outside, and I'm not handing handing up this container so easily."

In response, Saphira merely opened the bottomless bag she had so graciously taken from Eragon. "I have four or five glass jars in here." At the green dragon's questioning look, she sighed. "They were leftover containers Sera used to hand supplies to us in. We drank virtually all of the milk we had either last night or this morning. Somebody had to do something with those bottles. I figure each one should be big enough to hold a tear."

Discussion over, Saphira once again climbed up on Eragon as he padded over to the building. From there, the young Hylian simply shimmied up his neck until she had reached the roof. Saphira promptly entered the building, though that was because the weak spot in the roof had given out underneath her feet. Judging by her growls and yelled curses, Eragon assumed she was okay enough to continue on. The green dragon ventured further out into Kakariko Village, already honing in on another light insect. Something told him this was going to take a while.

After having whipped the dust off of her breeches, a furious Saphira climbed to her feet, obscenities abruptly stopping as she saw the several balls of bluish-green light hovering in the air. A chill ran down her spine as the young woman involuntarily shuddered at the sight. Had she been one of these before her Rider had managed to dispel the darkness from Faron Woods? But she was now the ghost to them, for the poor souls had no idea they had been sucked into a hellish alternate world.

Squinting, Saphira just managed to make out all four forms of Ordon's youths, huddling close to an unfamiliar man and another girl she presumed to be his daughter in a far corner. The only other spirit in the room was that of a muttering man who peered nervously out the window. She noted with concern that Ilia was nowhere to be found among them. And where were the other survivors? Not counting the children from Ordon, there were only three people actually from Kakariko Village. Hopefully the others were all just holed up in their homes.

"Cripes," the red-haired man peering out the window was saying, "I don't see those black brutes anywhere. They're probably hiding out there somewhere. Trying to lull us into a false sense of security, or something. But once we think it's safe to come out, then they'll feast."

Little Beth started sobbing harder at that, squishing little Malo closer to her. The unknown girl shivered. Colin actually turned to glare back at the man, knowing his talk of cryptic doom was completely not helping the already desolate situation. Talo pressed closer to the other man, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Saphira liked this man. Despite his strange robes and impractically long, braided hair, he actually had some courage and some common sense. He smiled soothingly down at Talo, speaking in a reassuring voice. "Don't worry. We are all safe, so long as he remain in here, child. Be at ease."

The other man huffed, turning around and pulling the odd metal mask off of his face, revealing a cowardly and bespectacled face Saphira was not surprised to see. "Oh yeah? Those monsters sure didn't seem impressed by my bombs? How long do you think we can hold out this sanctuary against such unrelenting brutes, Renado? We've got no food, and so little water, left. Goddesses, we can't even run out and fetch more of it from the spring! What little of it we drank almost killed you. Eldin has even turned against us!" He threw his hands up into the air. "Once they attack us, it's over! Remember the lady from the general store who tried to hole up from the monsters? Figured she had enough supplies to last her until the end of time? Was too selfish to share with anyone else, and turned away all who pleaded for sanctuary?"

Renado, the sensible man, glared warningly. "Barnes-"

"A whole gang from the town went out to save her when the shadow beasts finally managed to break in. And what was there when they came? TWO shadow beasts, when there had been only one that had gotten in! You connecting the dots now, Renado? If we get attacked by them, that means we'll be-"

"BARNES!"

By now Beth was weeping violently, and Malo and Talo seemed on the verge of tears. Colin was trembling. Guilt crossed over Barnes's face, but it was soon replaced by the desolate look of a man who knew death was prowling just around the corner. Once again flipping his mask over his face, he slid quietly down to the ground, and landed on his knees.

"Look, Renado," he started again. "All I mean to say is that it's risky in here, too! I don't think all the wood and metal in the province can secure the windows enough so that those brutes can't break in. Isn't there a place in here or something we can actually hide in?"

Renado hesitated. "There is a cellar."

Flipping his mask off once again, Barnes frantically crawled over, stunned fury all over his bearded face. "There's a CELLAR? For the love of Farore, let's get DOWN there!"

The other man gestured to the unlit torches that lined the circular room, and then to the massive carving of an owl that stood in its center. "The entrance is magically sealed. Lighting all of the torches before they can burn out shall open it again."

Barnes had already flicked out a set of matches, sparking on a nearby piece of wood. Holding the burning light in his hand, he then dumped it into a pot full of oil, igniting it as a backup fire, before beginning a desperate dash to the torches.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the unknown black-haired girl intoned ominously. Barnes stopped dead in his tracks. "When Father instructed me to secure the basement I saw little monsters down there. We may be able to handle those, but their presence means that other monsters can also get in. The cellar is sealed for a reason."

Dropped the torch, where it spluttered out on the stone floor, Barnes once again hopelessly returned to his window. "Then we might as well just start praying to the Goddesses now. Maybe Din herself will welcome me on the other side. Fiery, pretty Din..."

Colin scowled at the man, a determined and vaguely familiar fire burning in his blue eyes that Saphira could clearly see, despite his spectral state. He put a hand on Beth's shoulder. His voice was little more than a quiet murmur, one Saphira could just barely hear over the little girl's sobs and the red-headed man's muttering. "Eragon is coming to save us all."

His soft words had a far more profound effect that Saphira had expected. Beth's cries stopped as she looked up at Colin with tearful eyes. Malo and Talo turned to stare at him, faces brightening momentarily at the name of the young man they had forgotten in their panic. The black-haired girl titled her head in confusion, while her father's face darkened somberly. Barnes merely glanced at all of them, an eyebrow arched as he tried to make sense of it all.

Embarrassed by the scrutiny suddenly placed upon him, Colin glanced shyly down at his feet. Still, he whispered, "I can feel it."

Beth perked up at this, blue eyes shining hopefully. "Yeah! Eragon saved us from all of those nasty Bokoblins. He's probably on his way right now!"

Talo nodded in excitement, fear almost completely gone. "And he's bound to be coming with Saphira! Just imagine what she'll do to anyone who even thinks of touching us!" Saphira couldn't help at smile at the possibilities that came to mind, and perhaps a little smugly, for the children that had been forced to scrub her scales for days by Ilia still revered her so.

"Who are these people?" the black-haired girl asked.

"Eragon is the thickheaded and stubborn foreigner who had the common sense to go out in one of the worst thunderstorms in recent history, Luda," Malo answered matter-of-factly. "Despite his foolishness, he was able to rescue my scatterbrained big brother and the others from a pack of Bokoblins. Talo tells me he is a wicked swordsman, better than even Rusl." Colin scoffed at this. "Also, he can apparently use magic."

"And Saphira is his dragon!" Talo chimed in, not even caring his little brother had just insulted him. "She's this huge, blue, fire-breathing dragon with claws and fangs. Her wing was broken when she crashed during the storm, but she's all better now. Oh, just wait and see what she'll do when she gets here!"

Luda looked positively amazed. Renado's look of hopeful intrigue once again settled back into a skeptical frown as he sighed deeply. Of course he would be dubious to a children's tale of giant dragons. Saphira wondered how he would react if he realized that the dragon was literally feet away from him, in Hylian form, and perfectly capable of hearing and seeing every little thing he said or did. But still the children were hopeful, now confident that a heroic man and his majestic and fearsome she-dragon would come to their rescue.

Barnes had crossed his arms, a scowl once again dominating his features. "Little rug-rats and their tall-tales," he grumbled as he once again peaked at the window, as if half-expecting a gigantic dragon to be swooping down from the sky with a dashing champion upon her back. "If this Eragon character even exists, I've got to ask him how he managed to convince a whole bunch of kids he owns a dragon. Nayru knows I'd prefer these shadow brutes over a dragon any day. Though, I'd actually appreciate a tamed dragon coming to barbeque them all, of course, Goddesses."

A fierce roar suddenly sounded from outside, accompanied by a blinding burst of light. Unable to hear Eragon's call, all sheltering in the building still recoiled at the searing radiance that momentarily disoriented them. Beaming now, Saphira took the welcome distraction to pick up and relight the discarded torch, setting all of the torches alight with it. Once the owl statue had magically moved aside, and several of the children screamed in fear behind her, the Hylian woman dropped into the hole in the floor that had just been revealed.

Hm, she mused to herself, I wonder how everyone would react if they knew Eragon and I were already amongst them. Eh, they'll found out soon enough. I just wonder if Eragon will allow me to roast the cowardly and doubtful man? Surely Renado and the children would forgive me for it.

Working together, Eragon and Saphira managed to clear the entire village of light insects within several hours. The green dragon had made short work of every threatening thing outside. Saphira had found ways to access all boarded up buildings to reach the little pests cowering inside. Her dragon companion was often required to rip off boarded doors or windows for her to enter. Despite their best efforts, no other survivors had been discovered in any of the buildings. All of the other villagers had either fled Kakariko Village completely or had been caught and transformed by the shadow beasts.

Upon this horrifying revelation, Eragon had immediately vomited, sickened by the fact that he had killed innocent people that had merely been corrupted by the Twilight. How many men and women had he inadvertently slaughtered to purge the provinces of evil? How many children?

Without her typical sarcastic humor, Midna had quietly informed both himself and Saphira that the only cure for those corrupted was death. Not even the best Twili magicians could heal those afflicted, she had explained. The pervasive magic was too strong to be conquered. Death was a release, for only by passing over could the corrupted souls be healed of their damage. Both of her companions believed her. Since Zant had seized power in the Twilight Realm before unleashing his influence upon Hyrule, that meant many of the shadow beasts encountered had once been other Twili, Midna's own people. If she said there was no possible way to lift their spells, then there had never been one to begin with.

"Well," Saphira muttered as she observed the smoldering wreckage before them, "that went swimmingly."

"Indeed," Midna agreed, still blinking in shock.

One of the light insects had managed to evade the initial strike. It had fled, seeking shelter in an odd tower at the outskirts of Kakariko Village. Eragon had confirmed that there were no spirits huddling inside, only three errant tears of light they still needed to collect. There had been an odd smell to the entire tower, something that had caused the green dragon to sneeze violently for several moments. He would have payed everything no mind, had one of his sparks not landed on the building.

With unnatural speed, the entire tower had caught alight with ravenous flames. All three had made a mad dash for cover, Midna and Saphira crouching behind their scaly companion just as the tower was violently consumed by a deafening explosion. After the brief but intense inferno had dissipated, all that had remained of the building was its charred and smoking remnants, in addition to the three tears of light that hovered innocently above the carnage. Every single one of the insects had been incinerated in the devastating explosion.

I'm sorry! Eragon was stammering frantically. I didn't mean to do it! It's not my fault that involuntarily sneeze, or that the whole damn tower was so combustible it only took a spark to set it alight! He struggled to regain his composure, giving a fanged and very sheepish grin. On the bright side, we just received three more tears of light.

"We're still missing three," Midna pointed out as she floated over to collect the tears. "We scavenged the entire backwater village and only found these buggers left. Where else are we supposed to go?"

For what must have been the hundredth time, a nearby mountain erupted with a force that sent molten rock and ash into the air. Eragon assumed this was the infamous Death Mountain, the volcano that most Gorons who to mine in and reside around. In the past, Death Mountain had been notorious for its frequent eruptions that had killed all the hopelessly stupid people that had dared approach it. Only the Gorons chose to mine it. They had even constructed a temple in there, but that was probably because their rocky exteriors made them immune to the magma's burning effects. Rusl had assured Eragon that Death Mountain had calmed down over the decades. Unfortunately, something had drastically upset it.

With logic inherited from her Rider, Saphira pointed curiously at the terrifying volcano that could have been an entrance to Hell itself. "What about there?"

Midna spluttered in shock. "Why?"

Eragon considered the suggestion, able to see the reasons behind Saphira's supposedly outlandish idea. Strangely, it makes perfect sense. Goron City is even more populated than Kakariko Village, and it makes sense the light insects would congregate wherever there is the most prey. Besides, doesn't Death Mountain seem like the most logical place to hide a Fused Shadow? What sane person would even dream of venturing inside such a volatile volcano if they didn't know the power it housed? We could investigate it, at the very least, if there aren't any insects there.

Grudgingly, the Twili had agreed, as she had been outnumbered two to one. With both females once again astride him, the green dragon had flown low over the narrow passageway that connected Kakariko Village to the base of Death Mountain in order to keep an eye out for any light insects. Most monsters had scattered before his ominous shadow. Those Keese that had darted after him, or the archers that had dared to aim their bows in his direction, where promptly cut down by the wall of burning light that came surging at them from Eragon's open jaws.

Eragon had also spotted the transparent forms of several spirits. By their massive statures and rocky hides, he assumed them to be Gorons. They had apparently been assigned to guard the passageway and turn away any human intruders. Considering the number of Twilit creatures that infested the path, the Goron sentries naturally grumbled about the stupidity of their Elders. Eragon theorized that the Elders knew of the danger the Twilight and its beasts posed, and were only seeking to protect the Fused Shadow they had been entrusted with.

Finally spotting a light insect, Eragon had managed a difficult landing on the narrow path. Saphira had promptly disposed of the pest, adding it to the vessel of light. The green dragon took no notice. He was transfixed by something entirely different.

It was a rectangular gray stone, standing completely alone right in the middle of the path. Its rounded center was hollow, and surrounded by eyelashes, forming a large eyeball on the stone. Wind whistled through the opening, creating a melody that repeated itself over and over. The song seemed to reach Eragon's very soul, urging him to follow along.

"What is that?" Saphira called as she walked over, tossing the vessel of light in Midna's direction. The Twili barely managed to catch it. Neither of her companions noticed, for both dragon and Rider were thoroughly inspecting the odd stone that so intrigued them. "Kakariko Village used to be a Sheikah settlement before the Hylians moved in, right? This could be one of their old territorial markers."

Eragon shook his head. The stone is playing a song. Then he remembered the advice of the Hero's Shade, the directions his self-proclaimed mentor had given in order to once again contact him. I think it's a howling stone. The kind the Hero's Shade instructed that I use.

"Go for it," Midna sighed in resignation to the inevitable. "Your lizard is going to want to learn whatever new technique that bag of bones is planning to teach you now. Might as well get it over with."

Eragon had never had much of an aptitude for singing. Roran's constant teasing during his youth had effectively killed his chances of ever successfully cultivating musical talent. The green dragon momentarily wished he had hands to throttle his cousin. His form wasn't even good for repeating the tune! Where humans had voices, or at least hands and lips to play an instrument, he currently had neither. Dragons could only roar and growl. Eragon didn't want to cause the howling stone to crumble into little pieces by attempting either.

Seeing her Rider in dragon's skin looking completely disheartened, Saphira smiled and put an encouraging hand on his leg. "Remember the Blood-Oath Ceremony?" she prompted patiently. Eragon's blue-gray eyes brightened in recognition. "We dragons can hum, stone-head. And we're not half bad at it."

Memories of that enchanted time came flowing back. Eragon had been intoxicated on the overwhelming magic thrumming in the air, of the united revelry of a race that rarely allowed themselves to display emotion, and by the ecstatic emotions of his own she-dragon. When those twins, Neya and Iduna had stepped forward, they had activated an ancient and mysterious spell that had caused the rainbow dragon tattoo upon their bodies to manifest. Glaedr and Saphira had been humming together, creating a feral harmony that had rattled Eragon's very bones. It, and the rainbow dragon's voice echoing in his mind, had been the last things he had heard before blacking out, awakening in the restored body he still resided in.

Of course, Saphira. How could I have forgotten?

Eragon gave a practice hum. The sound emanated from deep within, reverberating pleasantly through his body in a sound not even a young Roran could tease him about.

It took the green dragon more than several times to get the melody right. He'd never had much artistic talent. His greatest accomplishment before this had been his poem from the Blood-Oath Ceremony, and he had a feeling that he hadn't even done that well. While the elves had praised him for the honesty displayed in his writing, much of their praised had seemed a little forced. Still, Eragon managed to master the song, humming along perfectly.

However, his pride was short-lived, for he went collapsing into unconsciousness shortly thereafter.

Gray-blue eyes shooting wide open, the green dragon was rather unsurprised to find he had been returned to yet another ethereal mindscape. Shaking his head and growling at the unpleasant feeling of the transfer, he surveyed his new surroundings.

He was perched upon a rocky outcropping, overlooking a land shrouded in mist. From the shifting clouds loom several towering figures. Eragon only recognized the white form of Hyrule Castle and the burning mountains closest to him. It was night, the sky a brilliant sea of silver stars, with a massive full moon sailing straight overhead that bathed everything in an alabaster radiance. Everything was perfectly still, save for the sound of panting that echoed through the surreal surroundings.

Across the misty abyss was yet another rocky outcropping jutting out from forested hills. It was situated higher than his own, and upon it sat the form of the Golden Wolf, illuminated by a ghostly light he seemed to radiate. Sitting as regally on his outcropping as a king would upon his throne, the phantom gazed at him expectantly, single red eye shining.

Instinctively, Eragon began humming the correct melody again. The Golden Wolf joined him, his mournful howl echoing around the nighttime world. The green dragon felt a wave of calm rush over him, invisible arms that embraced his worn spirit and purged the darkness and weariness from it. By the time the perfect harmony had finished, Eragon felt completely restored. And he now had a perfect name for the melody he now knew by heart.

The Song of Healing.

"This melody can provide peace to the most restless mind, and heal the most grievous of heartaches. Remember it." The Golden Wolf's red eye blazed. "Now take up arms... and find me with sword in hand.."

Then he had gracefully leaped off the cliff, plummeting out of the sight. The landscape went rushing away with him, again leaving Eragon hovering in an empty void. For a moment brightness flashed before his eyes, and he heard rushing water and glimpsed a familiar clearing before everything once again went black. Ordon Spring...

Blue eyes flashing open, the green dragon rumbled in exasperation as he realized he had once again collapsed. Saphira and Midna, having grown used to this strange new reality, had just hung around and waited for him to awaken on his own time. He discovered the two bickering over some inane manner. Upon seeing her beast of burden conscious, the Twili again took her perch upon his head, while Saphira clambered back up onto his back.

"You have really got to stop doing this, Eragon," the Hylian woman advised as the green dragon once again resumed the search. "This constant fainting can't be good for you."

It's not like I have a choice in the matter, Saphira. Not if I want to receive all of this training the Golden Wo- er, the Hero's Shade promised me. What the songs have to do with anything, I have no idea, but just go along with it. It's not like I have any other control over any of this.

Saphira sighed in resignation, but the look in her blue eyes made Eragon feel that she was just filing away another reason for her plans to rip the Hero's Shade apart. Or maybe the gods themselves, if she could get to them. "Very well. Let's just get this thing over with. All of this darkness is starting to make me depressed."

Midna smirked. "Learn to love it, light-dweller. The Twilight Realm is the perfect harmony between day and night, and my people have adapted to it. We belong to neither, yet both, and relish in our freedom. By the end of our journey together, I'm sure you'll feel the same thing."

In the end, it was Saphira who ended up justified. Or perhaps the people who had first named Death Mountain were, for there was nothing else to call such a hellish volcano. Between dealing with the usual hordes of shadow beasts and corrupted creatures and hunting down the last two elusive light insects, there was the wonderful bombardment of chunks of molten rock that Death Mountain was spewing forth every few moments. Saphira and Midna would run around like headless chickens as they tried to avoid being crushed beneath the falling rocks until they could find shelter under metal structures or by cowering under Eragon.

Where his female companions were nimble enough to dodge some of the bombardment, and small enough to duck for cover, Eragon was currently too large for either. When the earth began to quake ominously beneath his paws, the green dragon would simply curl up into a ball, relying on his tough hide to shield him from most of the debris. He was especially careful to fold his wings as best he could, for the sharp rocks could easily damage their delicate membranes. However, even this tactic was not foolproof, for it was only by sheer luck that Eragon barely managed to avoid being squished like an insect beneath a giant bolder that still smoldered with the heat of the volcano.

"Sure this isn't the gate to hell?" Saphira growled as she transferred the last of the insects she had caught into the true vessel of light. Since they had just recovered their fifteenth tear, that thankfully meant there was only one left.

I don't intend to find out, Eragon intoned grimly as the Hylian and Twili once again climbed upon his back. Let's just find this final bug and get back to Kakariko Village.

The green dragon quickly landed in the next area to be searched, for even the air offered no protection when rocks and fire rained down from above. The next eruption was due soon, or perhaps it was already late. Eragon nearly sobbed with relief as he saw the final insect buzzing around in what appeared to be a dried up spring. He wasted no time in stomping it into oblivion, releasing the tear trapped within. Finally, their ordeal was just about to come to an end.

"And just think," Midna said brightly as she floated over to violently shut the tear of light away, "we're going to have to come right back here to inquire about the Fused Shadow."

As the familiar light engulfed them all, Eragon wished he'd had enough time to snarl at the pessimistic little imp.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Kakariko Village- The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Blinking his eyes open against the rapidly fading brilliance that had previously blinded them, Eragon was just able to glimpse Midna's shadowy form hovering over Eldin Spring. She must have been smirking, for she was reclining smugly on thin air.

"Ah, I was just starting to have fun with the giant volcano of death! Oh well. Just don't forget that Fused Shadow!" She waved to him cheekily. "Eee hee hee! See you later!"

Midna's form vanished just as the now blue waters of the spring once again began to glow brightly. Eragon glanced down at himself, relieved to discover he was once again standing on two legs, and that his humanity had been returned without any additional wardrobe changes. And even if the alluring power he had wielded as a dragon had again slipped back beyond his reach, ready to be called up the moment he again set food into the Twilight.

Saphira's true she-dragon form had been automatically restored. She once again towered over him, clad in the cumbersome saddle that had been his burden up until mere moments ago. Eragon supposed the spirit had done them all a favor. He hadn't wanted to be tangled up in that equipment, and all of the villagers of Kakariko would have been shocked to discover that the attractive young woman at his side happened to be a dragon.

Eldin was now emerging from the water. At first the spirit was just a ball of light, like the other two had been, until the ethereal form suddenly flared its massive wings, flapping into existence. Talons clenched possessively around its sphere, the Light Spirit gazed stoically down at the two mortals with a face that absolutely unnerved Eragon. While Ordona and Faron had possessed faces that vaguely resembled the animal forms they had taken, Eldin's faced looked nothing like an owl's, or any sort of bird Eragon had seen before. Its heart-shaped face resembled a mask, while its mouth was vaguely humanoid.

"My name is Eldin," the spirit began in a blithe, androgynous voice. "I am one of the Light Spirits of Hyrule, the one that watches over these lands. O great hero chosen by the gods, and his faithful companion... The dark power you seek does indeed lie in the sacred grounds of the proud mountain dwellers." All present turned toward Death Mountain. Judging by the red light still emanating from it, the return of light to the province hadn't yet completely pacified the volcano. "Yet already those grounds have been defiled, draped in darkness and seeded with shadow. You must go to these sacred grounds and cleanse them, Chosen Hero, in order to retrieve its source."

Eldin majestically spread its wings to their full glory before folding them over itself, disintegrating into sparkles of light that quietly sank back into the water. Eragon and Saphira shared a grimace as their worst fears had been confirmed: They would indeed have to venture into the highly volatile and temperamental Death Mountain to retrieve a mysterious artifact that would probably be guarded by yet another terrible monstrosity. Joy.

Let's just get this over with, little one, Saphira muttered to him as they walked away from the spring. We're going to have to risk being charred sooner or-

The sapphire she-dragon paused as the sound of a door slowly creaking open reached her ears. Dragon and Rider turned to the sound, which happened to be emanating from the house the survivors of Kakariko Village and the children of Ordon had sheltered in. Dread immediately lanced through Eragon's heart. How much of that had they witnessed? Eldin? The dark power? The fact that Eragon happened to be their kingdom's long-awaited savior? As if he needed any more unnecessary attention and highly awkward worshiping!

Colin, with the other children standing tentatively behind him, suddenly stood in the doorway, their expressions amazed and uncertain as they stared at the two before them. "Eragon? Saphira?"

Eragon grinned back at them, while Saphira rumbled encouragingly. Colin smiled back and headed toward them... until Talo barreled past him, accidentally shoving the boy over as he and Beth pounded over. Malo followed in a much slower and dignified manner, stopping only to glance at the fallen boy.

Eragon braced himself, barely managing to avoid being bowled over as Beth and Talo adhered themselves to his legs. "See, Beth?" Talo crowed triumphantly. "I TOLD you Eragon would come back. And he brought his dragon!"

Malo once again turned back to glance at the fallen Colin. Saphira snorted reproachfully, gazing sternly down at Talo before he crumbled and grudgingly admitted that Colin had been the one to encourage them all during their darkest hour. Eragon again smiled down at the boy, who returned it with a grateful beam as he jumped to his feet and latched himself to the others, joining in the one-sided interrogation.

"Did you drive the monsters away?" "Did you fly here?" "Did you use that cool magic again?" "What happened to your clothes?" "Is green your favorite color?" "What's with the funny hat?" "How did Saphira's hurt wing get better?" (That question had come from astute little Colin.)

"I'll tell you all later," Eragon promised them all with a playful wink. He would tell them the truth, if a severely edited version. None needed to know of Midna, or how he had taken the form of a dragon during the Twilight. Or that Saphira was both capable of speech and of transforming into a beautiful young woman that happened to be just as deadly as her natural shape.

The green-clad young man looked up from his adoring crowd to face the braided-haired man that Saphira had identified as Renado. He surveyed the Hero with thoughtful brown eyes that strongly reminded him of his mentor, Oromis. "Are you the young man these children speak so highly of?" Renado turned to peer at Saphira. "I have heard of no other human who had been able to tame a dragon."

Saphira snorted indignantly at the implications of this.

Eragon swiftly did his best to defend her notorious pride. "Saphira is my dearest companion," he answered honestly. "Tame isn't the word I would use for her. But yes, I am Eragon Sh-" Only by clamping down his tongue did he keep that mortifying title from slipping out. That was one thing he did not desire to explain to a bunch of children who had disturbingly come to regard him as some sort of hero. Well, he was technically a hero, but that wasn't the point!

Renado only nodded his head in greeting. "Well met. I am Renado, the shaman of this village." He smiled fondly at the dark-haired girl who stood somewhat behind him, looking up in awe at Saphira. "This is my daughter, Luda. And that," he said with a sigh of exasperation, "is Barnes." He pointed to one of the windows of the building, where the masked face of a man peered out. Seeing everyone looking at him, he raised a hand in greeting before sheepishly coming out to join them, looking ready to bolt the moment Saphira did something to scare him.

"We fought back against the monsters that captured us," Colin explained shyly. "Eventually they got tired of it, and left us out there to die. Mr. Renado found us and brought us back here."

Talo shivered. "That entire time was a nightmare, even here. Those monsters... they were ruthless."

Renado nodded solemnly. "Mm, it seems as if nightmares are everywhere these days. I fear even the strong and steadfast Gorons of Death Mountain have been affected." He turned to gaze grimly up at the intimidating form of Death Mountain. "The Gorons have been our close friends and allies for well over a century. We trade frequently with them, and the materials we receive from their mines make up our bomb industry. Since the monsters came, however, they have refused to allow us access to their mines. The sentries they have posted refuse to even allow me to their settlement to reason with their elders, and I am an old and trusted friend."

"I can't even make any more bombs!" Barnes sobbed mournfully. "Those brutes blew up my supply tower, where I had managed to store all of my materials before the Gorons cut me off!" In his despair, he thankfully didn't see Eragon wince guiltily being the cause for that little accidental explosion.

"Has this ever happened before?" Eragon asked. "Perhaps we can rely on history to provide an explanation to this, and possibly a solution to it."

"Only once," Renado answered. "Ten years after the last brutal civil war ended, and peace was finally made between our two races, the Gorons first isolated themselves in their territory. Their patriarch of the time, Darunia, sealed himself away in Goron City and would only speak to envoys of the Royal Family. Someone was able to get up there and discover that Dodongo Cavern had been sealed off. You see, Eragon, the Gorons eat only rocks from there, and had been secretly starving the entire time. Their foolish pride kept them from admitting it to outsiders, and from seeking the assistance of the Royal Family. The mysterious person who finally managed to find out about it was able to purge the evil that had overtaken the cavern, and restored peace between the two of us."

"Maybe it happened again?" Beth chimed in helpfully. She gazed adoringly up at Eragon. "I'm sure Eragon and Saphira will be able to handle it!"

"No!" Luda shouted fearfully. "The Gorons hate dragons!"

Colin's head tilted in confusion. "I thought the whole thing about the dragon terrorizing the Gorons and the Hero of Time defeating it was only a legend."

"It is, child," Renado said. "But remember that the dragon was a prior enemy of the Gorons that the King of Evil had resurrected to punish them for resisting his tyrannic reign. Volvagia did terrorize the Gorons centuries ago, razing down villages and slaughtering hundreds of innocents. An ancient Goron hero, one the current line of patriarchs are descended from, killed Volvagia with the legendary Megaton Hammer. Since then, the Gorons have not hesitated in slaughtering any dragon that dares roost in their mountains, malevolent or not." He gazed darkly at Saphira. "I fear you two interfering in their affairs will only provoke a war Hyrule can not afford to have."

Eragon and Saphira exchanged a glance. Her Hylian form would avert such a grave misunderstanding, and allow her to follow her Rider into the depths of hostile territory. "Then what would you have me do, Renado?"

"Take these children home," the shaman ordered. "They have experienced nightmares here. I cannot escort them back to Ordon Village personally. It is still too dangerous for me to abandon Kakariko Village, or my daughter."

"Home isn't safe either!" Beth protested fearfully. "Those Bublins were able to get us there!"

"And I'm not putting my parents in any more danger!" Colin added hotly. "My Mom is pregnant, and my Dad must be having a hard enough time just trying to protect her and my little brother or sister."

"Kakariko Village was fortified enough to protect them from those shadow beasts," Eragon pointed out. "It's safer here than in Ordon Village. It will be even more so when someone can talk some sense into the Gorons."

Renado's dark eyes scowled challengingly down at him. "Then you intend to reason with them yourself? You would have to go without the protection of your dragon. The entire journey would have to be made on foot, up a perilous trail guarded by steadfast Goron sentries, who will not sway to your pleas."

"I have magic. I have no doubt the children told you of what I am capable of."

Glancing down at the children's fearful faces and back at Eragon's stubborn expression, Renado sighed in resignation. "Luda, will you please go and open up the old inn? All of the dried goods we stored in there before the attack should still be good. You and Barnes will be able to fix up a good meal for everyone here." His demands were clear, and the children and Barnes quickly hurried away, leaving the shaman alone with Eragon and Saphira. "The Gorons are a proud race who care little for Hylian magics. In order to gain an audience with their patriarch, Darbus, you must win their respect with a display of physical power. They're sensitive enough to magic to know if you're enhancing your natural strength with it."

Eragon's confidence suddenly deflated. He had seen exactly how big and muscular those Goron sentries had been. They seemed to be made out of solid rock, or at least had very tough exteriors. His human body, while endowed with additional strength from his bond with Saphira, wouldn't hold a candle to such behemoths.

"Can anyone defeat a Goron without magical aid?"

Renado smiled wanly. "I believe Mayor Bo is the single person alive today who can boast about that. The last one was a rancher the Gorons welcomed as a brother about a century or so ago, but he supposedly had magical gauntlets that increased his strength, but he took his secrets to the grave. But Bo should be able to provide you some assistance."

Great, Saphira muttered. Yet another detour from our main goal.

Fighting to maintain composure, Eragon politely thanked Renado before climbing onto Saphira. The she-dragon wasted no time in taking off so violently the shaman had to duck to avoid her swinging tail.

"Was that necessary?" Eragon grumbled to her.

For making me waste another trip back to Ordon Village and informing me an entire race of beings who do not even know me desire me dead? Yes, Eragon, yes it was.

Saphira was partially mollified by the reactions the joyful inhabitants had that their children were alive and well, safe in Kakariko Village. (Eragon had wisely decided not to mention the shadow beasts that had infested the area up until earlier that morning.) Sera and Hanch had almost suffocated them with their hugs, and had tearfully offered him all the milk they could pour into his free containers. Jaggle and Pergie had thankfully embraced each other and saved him the hurt. Fado had clutched Eragon like a stuffed animal for at least ten minutes, sobbing joyously into his shoulder, before the younger man had managed to pry him off. Fado then did the same thing to Saphira's leg, even when his goats were all glaring at her.

Eragon's last stop before Bo's was to Colin's parents. They had generously nursed him back to help and had provided for him during his stay in Ordon Village. Eragon desired to tell them of Colin's courage in the face of such danger, of how he had been brave for all of the other frightened children. He also intended to heal Rusl of his grievous wounds, to spare him of the frustrating convalescence he had endured for appearance's sake. Then there was the manner of the sword Midna had 'borrowed' from them. If they were truly curious about it, Eragon considered telling them the truth about his ordeals in Twilight.

"Gone?" Eragon squawked in alarm. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"Rusl went out again to search for the children," Uli explained patiently, one hand on her swollen belly. "Rest assured, he will receive the wonderful news about Colin. He should be returning home soon."

"But what about his injuries! And there are still countless monsters out there! Surely he-" Eragon's protests were silenced by the finger Uli had deftly put to his lips. Her face was again gently stern, the same expression she had used to keep in line during his first days of recovery.

"My husband has faced much worse, Eragon," the pregnant woman assured him. "Rusl will come back. He always does. This time will be no different. Thank you very much for telling me about my son. Most here have dismissed him from a trouble-making coward." Her eyes twinkled with fierce pride. "Good to know that reputation won't carry on for much longer."

The young man shrugged. "Colin just hasn't found himself yet, but I can still tell he is his father's son. He's just as brave and selfless as Rusl is."

Uli smiled knowingly, leading him over to a small desk. "I think you have been the inspiration my Colin needed to come out of his shell. Look." She held up a drawing to him, obviously done by a child. "You have been an extremely positive influence in his life."

Eragon took the picture in his hands, staring down at it in awe. There was a scribbled figure that resembled him on the center of the page, left hand wielding a sword while the right was open for a spell. Several crude monsters were running away from him. In the corner was a reddish form that could have been Epona. He almost mistook the picture for Colin's interpretation for his fight against the Bokoblins, but the massive blue blob behind him had not been there. Saphira had been away hunting, but apparently Colin had still decided to include her.

Of course I am there, stone-head, Saphira proudly answered. What would a Rider be without his dragon?

"Thank you for showing me this, Uli," Eragon replied earnestly. He carefully handed the drawing back, heading for the door. "I should go. Mayor Bo deserves to know about Ilia."

"You'll get her back too, Eragon," the woman said encouragingly. "Just like you got that sword back from the monsters." His hand froze on the doorknob. "I recognize it as the one Rusl personally forged as tribute to the Princess Zelda. Somehow those beasts were able to steal it right underneath my nose. But you got it back. Keep it, Eragon. I know you've been putting it to good use. Princess Zelda can do without it."

Eragon tried not to think of the poor violet-eyed princess, trapped in her tower as her people continued to suffer beneath the cloak of Twilight. He instead forced himself to think of Rusl. Epona must have surely returned to the village. She was too fierce to stand by and allow herself to be herded away by those Bublin raiders. Considering how injured Rusl was, he must have taken the roan hoarse with him. The tenacious mare would make a powerful protector even against the monsters that still prowled about the liberated areas of Hyrule.

"At least Epona is with Rusl. She's probably more useful than all of the men here, in their current conditions, and twice as courageous."

Uli frowned in confusion. "You mean Epona isn't with you?"

Despite his considerable injuries, and his wife's tearful pleas that he remain in bed and rest, Rusl had once again ventured back into the forest to search for his kidnapped son and the rest of Ordon Village's missing children. When the Bokoblins had first come, Rusl had failed to save them. Had it not been for Eragon's timely rescue, Goddesses knew what terrible fate could have befallen them all. Yet even Eragon had mysteriously vanished in the wake of the attack. The broken gates and trampled ground in Ordon Spring made him presume the younger man had also been taken by Bublin raiders, and was now also in need of rescuing.

There had been no other men capable of accompanying him. The husbands of the village also had a responsibility to protect their wives and look after their homes. Fado was the only one left that could look after Ordon's precious goats, for Ilia had been among the taken. Mayor Bo needed to maintain order in the village, and was their best defense if the raiders should return during Rusl's absence.

Sighing, the swordsman squinted up through the emerald canopy above, trying to regain his bearings. Navigation had always been notoriously difficult in Faron Woods. Most settlements of considerable size in the province only bordered the forest, for few dared to encroach upon an area known for mysterious disappearances and vicious monsters. But it was also the perfect hiding place for Bublins and bandits, meaning Rusl had no choice but to scour every last inch of Faron Woods.

On his first search he had attempted to head east, for travel was always easier in that directions. Maps tended to become increasingly unreliable and compasses unpredictable while heading west. Rusl had figured that perhaps the Bublins would have preferred the easier route. After discovering no tracks, and nearly being ripped apart by several aggressive monsters he had barely managed to escape from, he'd had no option but to head in the opposite direction this time.

Glancing down at his map again, Rusl once again cursed Shad. That annoying scholar had personally and confidently assured him of its "accuracy." Apparently Shad had forgotten of how forests could change over the decades, or just how much the Faron Province's Light Spirit hated people traipsing about in its expansive woods.

Take a deep breath, Rusl, he scolded himself, recalling his old training from the Hyrulean Army. He had helped defend isolated villages in the freezing mountains against some of the most ferocious beasts and savages known to the kingdom. He would find the children, he would rescue them before they could be harmed, and he could find his way out of these Farore-damned woods!

Perhaps Farore had taken the insult against her beloved forest as a personal affront, or perhaps she and her sisters were just feeling sadistic today, for a chorus of howling suddenly sounded from all sides. Rusl could tell by the pitch of their calls that a pack of Wolfos, not garden variety wolves, had claimed him as their future dinner. Growling furiously, the swordsman tightened his grip on his hilt and braced for battle, despite the protesting agony from his injuries.

Wolfos were far more aggressive than common wolves, with a pugnacious temerity that was a rancher's worst nightmare. Wolves could be driven off by several kicks from defiant livestock, or by the shouts and torches of a few humans. Even the boldest of them would run off yelping into the night once their pelts had been singed by fire. Wolfos, especially hungry ones, would be stopped only by the severest of wounds. Considering how injured was, Rusl doubted he could successfully take on one of those beasts, much less an entire pack!

But what options did he have left?

"Come and get me if you can, fouls beasts," he challenged at the top of his voice, for perhaps bravado could discourage them. "I'm not going anywhere today!"

Apparently Wolfos were not intimidated by prey they could tell was seriously injured. It was not long before Rusl could hear their eager howls growing closer, and he saw several pairs of ravenous eyes eying him through the bushes. His courage momentarily faltered as he spotted several pairs of red eyes among the customaryand amber.

Stories and memories flashed before his eyes, of the previous times Hyrule had almost been overtaken by forces of great darkness, evils with powers so strong they were able to turn the very animals themselves against the realm. There had been hordes of ferocious beasts created entirely out of magic. Even today, maddened creatures would sometimes start attacking travelers and villagers, having been corrupted by a pervasive source of dark magic that could have been dormant for generations. Rusl himself had encountered such monsters many times during the mountain campaigns, for he had been among those sent to eradicate the evil's source.

But he'd been in his prime back then, fresh and uninjured. He'd had his allies, most notably The Group, to back him up. Now Rusl was entirely alone, and without even the advantage of an undamaged body.

Another howl sounded, one that sent a chill surging down Rusl's spine, and one that could almost certainly leave him with nightmares. The unaffected Wolfos whimpered like puppies and fled back into the forests. The corrupted ones among them didn't even flinch. Instead their heads whipped in the direction of it, ferocious growls rumbling forth from their throats. Rusl felt hope bubble up inside him. What if the Wolfos were enraged enough to go after the creature that had howled back? He might be able to-

Thud thud. Thud thud.

There came the sound of thundering hooves pounding in his direction. An absolutely terrifying bugle pierced the air, and then a familiar roan form exploded out of the undergrowth, surging toward the remaining Wolfos like a harbinger of death. The monsters snarled at the challenge, completely ignoring Rusl as they turned toward their new target. Epona's giant hooves were already upon them, smashing in skulls and cracking ribcages into deadly shards of bone. Unsurprisingly, each felled Wolfos disintegrated into black energy shortly after dying.

Ah, Din dammit! Monsters like these mean the situation in Hyrule is even worse than I originally feared.

When Epona had finished massacring the entire pack of monsters, the roan mare snorted and calmly trotted over to him. Rusl carefully felt the horse down, checking for bites or other injuries that should have been there. Hide entirely unmarred, Epona stared at the swordsman with unnervingly intelligent dark brown eyes.

Rusl wondered if this horse was really Epona, or just a cunningly disguised monster meant to lead him into some sort of trap. Instead of acting upon the instinct of running his sword through her, he gratefully patted the mare's shoulder, smiling when she nickered fondly in response. He'd experienced enough paranoia over the last few days to last him the rest of his life.

Perhaps the Goddesses had sent him a blessing. Not only would a horse be a far more efficient means of transportation than limping through the monster-infested woods, but Epona had proved herself to be a formidable slayer.

"Good girl," Rusl praised, struggling to mount the enormous mare. Epona knelt to make his job easier, only rising her to full height once she was confident her rider was securely in the saddle. He took the reins in his uninjured hand. "I searched these woods from top to bottom, but there's still a good deal ahead to check out. We should be able to find the children in-"

Shaking the reins from his hand, Epona whinnied shrilly and thundered back in the direction of Ordon Village. One particular advantage of being such a powerfully-built horse was that things tended to go her way when she felt the need to intervene, no matter how much her unwilling passenger struggled to wrest her under control.

Finally having reached his final destination of Mayor Bo's house, Eragon came in to tell the man a heavily censored version of his current adventures. There really was no need to complicate matters with how Twilight turned people into spirits, or of how he and Saphira were now capable of changing shape, or of the undead skeleton-wolf-thing that had made himself his mentor, or of the tiny little fact that the Goddesses had declared him to be their Chosen Hero. Bo had listened intently, thankfully believing the half-truths Eragon felt comfortable feeding him.

All of that was relatively truthful, right? Eragon asked anxiously, relying on his private connection with Saphira to communicate while the mayor of the village absorbed his information. I really hate lying to people that took me in like he and the rest of Ordon did.

Technically, the entire story was accurate, the sapphire-scaled she-dragon replied, one large blue eye gazing at him through a window. You just happened to leave out a bunch of unnecessary information. Everything else was truthful, including the part where your new green wardrobe, ridiculous hat included, was given by a grateful person you saved from some shadow beasts.

"I see," Bo commented at last. "So all the young'uns are safe and sound in Kakariko Village? Well, that's good. Renado's an old friend o' mine. If they're in his care, then we don't have to worry 'bout anything getting to them." The content look on the mayor's round face turned to one of irritation as Eragon remained silent about the one thing in the world that mattered to him most. "Well, come on, lad! Tell me about Ilia!" His eyes narrowed. "My little girl is with the rest of them, right?"

Sighing, Eragon turned away, unable to face the pained look in Bo's eyes. He stared sorrowfully at Saphira through the window, whose gaze softened sympathetically. I've never had to do this before, Saphira. How on earth can I tell Mayor Bo that his daughter is still with those monsters? I failed to find her! For all we know, Ilia could already be dead! His fists clenched, digging into the leather of his gloves. His high position amongst the Rider had protected from delivering such grim news to those hopefully awaiting to hear of their loved one's condition. Eragon bitterly regretted never having the experience to handle the situation before. Hows in the seven hells can I possibly tell him that?

Tell him the truth, little one, Saphira replied gently. It is all you can do.

"Oh," Bo said softly, having drawn the correct conclusion from Eragon's silence. "I see."

Eragon braced himself for the inevitable punch to the face. He wouldn't try to avoid it, for he thought it his rightful punishment for failing to rescue Ilia.

Bo sighed heavily. "That ain't what I wanted to hear." A gentle hand clasped his shoulder, spinning him around until Eragon stared up into the older man's warm brown eyes. "I guess I need to think of all five of those poor kids. They were all in danger. What I should be askin' is how I can help out..."

"I need access to the Goron Village," Eragon answered slowly. "Since all of this started happening they've refused to allow anyone into their territory. They... possess something vital in restoring peace to Hyrule. Renado said that the Gorons will only listen to those who display feats of great natural strength. He also told me the Gorons consider you a brother because you managed to win their respect. Please, Mayor Bo, I need to know how you did it."

"True," Bo muttered thoughtfully, a hand going to stroke his mustache. "I did defeat the Gorons in a contest of strength, and earned their trust and kinship. But that was back when Darbus's father was still in charge. The old patriarch was a hell of a lot more tolerant of outsiders, and more willing to listen to those who hadn't proved themselves. Darbus isn't as understanding. You'll have to beat them the same way I did, Eragon. However, I'll only show you my secret on two conditions."

Eragon swallowed nervously. Past experience had taught him to be wary of 'conditions.' "What did you have in mind?"

"First thing, don't even think of taking that dragon of yours anywhere near the Gorons. They don't exactly have a good history with them, and I have no doubt they'll attack both of you. Secondly, this secret is a secret. By revealing it to you, my reputation is possibly on the line. I need you to promise to never reveal it."

Eragon was more than willing to accept those terms. Saphira was planning to accompany him in Hylian form, and both of them were damned if they were to ever reveal the truth. Besides, both Saphira and Midna were already listening in for the secret, and thus he had no need to tell them of it. "Of course, Mayor Bo. Do you want me to swear an unbreakable vow to go along with it?" Eragon really hoped it would never come down to such risky oaths, but what choice did he have? If Bo wanted such ironclad security, then for the good of Ilia and all others still under the Twilight, then he would gladly do whatever necessary to protect them.

Bo spluttered in surprise. "Sweet Farore, boy, your word alone is good enough for me! Now, come and just follow me into the other room..."

Obediently following the mayor, Eragon gaped in awe as he realized why the house was now so big. Right in the center of the chamber was an arena of some sort. A small shrine and what looked like directions and honors regarding the unknown sport were squeezed into the free space surrounding it.

"You're familiar with sumo wrestling, right Eragon? Surely even your people have heard of it?" At Eragon's blank stare, Bo sighed sadly. "Such a shame. Anyway, sumo wrestling is most often done in arenas like this one. First fella to push the other out of the ring first wins. Simple enough, right?" He jovially laughed at the younger man's slight look of horror, mistaking it for something else entirely. "Don't be worried to ask questions, Eragon. Actually, why even just bother explaining? Come with me into the ring, and I'll show yah how it's done."

Somehow, Eragon found himself persuaded into doing the demonstration in 'proper attire.' That meant kicking off his boots and taking off every single one of his three layers of shirts. He could feel Midna's scrutiny from his shadow, and could hear her smug little sniggers Bo seemed thankfully deaf to. When it came time to remove his gloves and gauntlets, Eragon did so quickly, taking good care to tie his left wrist wrap lower than the other. His gedwey ignasia could be mistaken for a birthmark, but the golden Triforce on his hand was just too noticeable to be so easily dismissed.

Bo cheerfully explained the basics to him as they climbed up into the arena, even showing how to 'start' the match properly. Raising one leg up into the air, the massive man pounded the earth so strongly the ground seemed to shake. Eragon was more than slightly discouraged when his own thud didn't even cause the tiniest of trembles. And there was also the tiny little fact that his opponent happened to be about double his weight...

When the match began, Eragon braced himself... and promptly found himself flat on his back when the mayor had surged toward him. "Come on, Eragon," Bo prompted as the young man staggered to his feet, praying nothing had been broken. "I'm goin' easy on you. You can bet the Gorons won't be showing any mercy to you."

The fat man is right! Saphira agreed animatedly. You've taken on Shades, Urgals, magicians, another pair of dragon and Rider, and whatever the Ra'zac and their parents happened to be. You can do this, little one! Gods, you don't even need to borrow some of my strength. I know you're powerful enough on your own to do this.

Easy for you to say, Eragon grumbled, but he nevertheless climbed back into the ring for a second round. This time, he used his smaller build to his advantage, deftly stepping to the side as Bo came for him again. He grabbed the man's forearms when he was still off-balance, mustering enough strength to send him out of the ring.

"Not bad," a reluctantly impressed mayor called as he dusted himself off. "You've certainly got the basics down. Now fight me as I were a real Goron."

This time, Eragon found himself swatted to the side as he tried to avoid the mayor's charging bulk. He only just managed to slap Bo away long enough for him to regain his footing and step away from the edge. The two men grappled, Eragon having just enough agility to not be hurled from the arena, and Bo always too strong to be completely shoved from it. The match was quickly becoming a stalemate, but Eragon refrained from resorted to unfair methods to win. Cheating when up against actual Gorons wouldn't earn him their trust, and would possibly get himself pounded into oblivion.

Finally, the Chosen Hero mustered up the last of his strength, charging into Bo's side with a furious cry. The larger man's protesting weight suddenly went surging backward out of the arena. Eragon dusted his hands off, an almost bestial triumphant smirk on his face.

"That's what I was looking for!" Bo said as he once again got up from the ground, crossing his arms as he surveyed the younger man. "You've gotta get in touch with your inner animal, Eragon! With your natural talent, I have no doubt you'll be able to take on those Gorons. You've just gotta put some effort into it."

Once they were (thankfully) fully clothed again, the two men met up in the main part of the house. "You're strong, boy, stronger than I originally gave you credit before, but you don't stand a chance up against those Gorons." Eragon and Saphira simultaneously gaped in horrified shock. Oblivious to their disbelief, Bo cheerfully went over to a trunk stored in a far corner. Removing a key from around his neck, he carefully unlocked it, before reverently holding up the shiny items previously stored within. "Not without these darlings, anyway."

Gaping like a fish, Eragon mutely stared down at the Iron Boots that had just been shoved into his arms. "You cheated against the Gorons? What happened with honestly earning their respect?"

Bo shrugged casually. "Those Gorons are made of solid rock. Needed some way to even the odds, didn't I? 'Sides, what's it matter, so long as you get what you wanted from the Gorons and my little girl gets to come home safe?"

True to his unspoken promise, the Golden Wolf had been calmly waiting for the student at Ordon Spring, tail wagging every so often. His single red eye had thoughtfully appraised both Eragon and Saphira. Once her saddle had been removed, the she-dragon had shifted into her Hylian form, respectfully bowing before him, before she had politely requested to train alongside her Rider. Pausing to consider this, the Golden Wolf had then pounced, once again yanking Eragon from his body. The last thing the green-clad man had heard was Saphira's scream of outrage before everything faded to white.

"Was that really necessary?" Eragon grumbled as he climbed to his feet, having been returned to the ethereal landscape where they had previously sparred. "Saphira is also involved in this whole ordeal. You could have least spared me the time and grief by just showing her this new technique now."

"My sole responsibility is to ensure that the lost arts are passed on this generation's Chosen Hero," the Hero's Shade rasped stoically. "Beyond that, it is up to you to decide how much of that knowledge should be passed on."

Eragon frowned thoughtfully as he mulled over this. His blue-gray eyes examined his predecessor's skeletal form, while the strained gasps for breath echoed in his ears. Just how powerful was the Hero's Shade outside of this landscape? How much was still keeping him tethered to the mortal word?

"So you won't bring Saphira here?" he questioned boldly. "Or you can't?"

"Enough!" the Hero's Shade growled, his hoarse voice getting across the rage his grinning skull was unable to. "Time grows short, and it is unwise that you linger in this place for too long. But before I will teach you the next technique, you must prove to me that you have retained the knowledge you previously learned."

Sighing in frustration, Eragon once again beat the skeleton down onto his back before he slipped his blade between his ribs and flipped off, successfully demonstrating the ending blow. The second lost art, the shield attack, involved him thrusting his shield into an enemy to knock them off-guard, before coming down with his sword. The shield attack could also have been used to deflect arrows or bursts of moderate magic back at enemies. Eragon managed to effectively demonstrate both, his deceivingly flimsy wooden shield holding up under the pressure. His enchantments had indeed paid off.

"Very good," the Hero's Shade praised. "The second of my hidden skills has been passed on." He then reached out with his ancient blade, poking Eragon's wooden shield. "However, I strongly suggest purchasing a sturdier metal shield before progressing further in your quest. No wooden shield, no matter how many magical protections you line it with, will be able to withstand the sweltering infernos of Death Mountain for very long. Unless you desire to be without one when it finally burns to cinders, that is."

Never one to accept criticism, Eragon scowled as he returned his sword and shield to his back. "How would you know?"

"Personal experience," the skeletal warrior replied breezily. "Now, as you know, much time has passed in the waking world. It is time for you to return, but I have five more secrets to teach-"

"Wait!" Eragon reached forward, tightly grasping his undead mentor's skeletal arm, right between the two parts of his rusted armor. His stomach squirmed at the feeling of ancient bone on exposed fingers, but he didn't let go, even when he could feel the Hero's Shade scorching red eye burning into him. "I need answers!"

"Impudent child! My secrets are my own and it is not for you to question-"

"It's not about that!" the living man snapped, startling the Hero's Shade into silence. He let go of the undead warrior's arm, backing away a few steps as embarrassment for his impulsive actions kicked in. "Today I failed to find one of the missing villagers I was entrusted with rescuing. Her father doesn't blame me, but he seems to believe that his daughter is still out there somewhere." His fists clenched in frustration. "But what if she isn't? What I was too late to save her? How in Nayru's name am I supposed to handle it!" Eragon laughed bitterly. "Or did you always succeed in saving the day when you were the Hero?"

"No." This simple answer stunned Eragon into silence. "By the time that the Goddesses call upon the Chosen Hero to save the kingdom, boy, there's already those out there being saving. Even when you have all the power and courage of Farore grants you at your disposal, there will be those you will still lose. Despite the blessing of a Goddess, despite what destiny has in store for you, you are still only human." Skeletal fingers tightened around his sword, so much that Eragon could hear the protesting snaps of both the ancient hilt and of the bones holding it. "You're supposed to be the embodiment of selflessness and courage, but you'll never be able to live up to such impossible expectations. Somewhere down the line you'll grow selfish, or tired of the never-ending fighting. You'll screw up, and your actions will always have unintended consequences. Perhaps this mistake will be your first, maybe it won't, but there'll always be more heartbreak, more deaths out there, and more ghosts haunting your nightmares."

Silence seemed to reign for lifetimes as Eragon considered what to do next. He'd wanted advice, and so he had gotten it. But to see his mentor, who had at first seemed to have moved beyond the troubles of life after his long-ago death, was still plagued by his own demons... Eragon didn't know how to handle the cracks in the armor he'd viewed as impenetrable.

"Then... what do I do?"

There came that rough, scratching sound that was the Hero's Shade's laughter. "You're the Hero, Eragon. You'll find a way to deal with it."

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Death Mountain Theme- Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

After spending the night out in Hyrule Field, and slaying the packs of skeletal dogs and the hordes of Bokoblins that always seemed to be attracted to them, everyone was refreshed and ready to ascend the mountain so aptly named for its colossal inhabitants, and its tendency to spew molten death up into the air. Or, at least Midna had received a good night's sleep. Eragon and Saphira had been disturbed by the eerie glow of Twilight in the distance. All of Lanayru Province was still under the enchanted shroud, and nightmares of what was happening underneath it had continuously prowled their dreams.

"Ah, the little babies didn't get a good night's sleep?" Midna's mocking voice cooed from the refuge of Eragon's shadow, before becoming as sharp as a sword to the gut. "Suck it up. I don't think these Gorons will care whether you two woke up on the wrong side of the sleeping mat."

Brilliant blue eyes narrowed, Saphira growled warningly. However, considering she was currently in her Hylian form, she lacked the razor-sharp fangs and sheer size to back the threat up. Her light silvery-blond hair had long since come free of its previously immaculate braid. Saphira had neither the dexterity nor the patience to put it back up, and was content to let it all remain tied in a tangled knot. It somehow made her look maniacally savage instead of laughable, and Eragon hadn't dared to comment on it. Midna's last remark had set the other woman off on a very long rant about the futility of petty human vanity.

"These rock-eaters just better not think less of me solely because I'm female," she hissed. "If so, I will show them just how delicate I really am."

Eragon strongly hoped the Gorons did not practice such discrimination. Gods knew how Saphira was when people back home underestimated strong women like Arya or Nasuada because of their gender. But they had learned to tolerate such prejudice, and calmly shove it back in the faces of those who had wrongly judged them without blowing up. Saphira had grown up as a dragon. She had never before been held to such standards, and her instincts would not allow such slights against her honor simply slide by. (Eragon knew from personal experience just how unwavering a dragon's wrath could be.)

"Just don't give them any reason to suspect you're actually one of their biggest enemies in disguise," he replied. "Remember the Urgals? I am never going to set off an entire race like that again."

They had risen before the sun that morning, covering as much distance as possible before the first light had spilled into the sky. Now they traveled on foot in order to avoid a sharp-eyed Goron spotting Saphira's draconic shape approaching. Midna had graciously offered to carry the heavy saddle and excess supplies inside the impossible magical space she loved to show off. Passing through Kakariko was no problem; just about everyone was still safely tucked away inside. Everyone except Barnes, who had apparently been ordered to keep watch for enemies from the tower at the top of the ridge. The bomb-maker was still fast asleep on the roof as they made the turn down the path that led to the Goron settlement at Death Mountain.

The wooden ladder that must have once allowed access to the trail still hung in shattered remnants.

"Looks like we're not invited," Midna drawled. "Let's go and drop by anyway."

She snapped her fingers, the Iron Boots coming out of thin air. Eragon rushed to catch them before they clattered to the ground, wincing as he took up the heavy weight. "How am I supposed to climb up the mountain wearing these?"

Saphira pointed to the craggy side that the ladder had once been connected to. "There's still plenty of footholds to climb your way up on. You can't risk taking those boots off now, anyway. Not without running the risk of being bowled over by a living boulder."

He grimaced at the image. "Point taken. But what about you?"

She smiled thinly as a Goron sentry stirred on the trail above, obviously coming to investigate the sound of voices. "You know what I am, little one. Not all my strength has been sealed away in this form."

Eragon wasted no more time in scrabbling up the side, Saphira nimbly following just behind him. Yet, as he clambered onto the trail, she remained tightly clinging to the wall. The Goron, which had remained still as a stone the entire time it had taken Eragon to right himself, chuckled condescendingly the moment he had regained his balance.

"You're lucky we are an honorable tribe, little human," the sentry jeered. "Or else I would have done this to you already." Curling himself into a ball, the Goron revealed his very tough exterior, and began rolling right in Eragon's direction as a boulder of speeding death. Eragon then realized just why Saphira had been wise enough to avoid the path.

The Chosen Hero could easily evaded the Goron, and allow the sentry to continue tumbling down and off the mountain. He could have just as easily called up his magic to shield or soften the blow, or to even stop his opponent dead in his tracks. Instead, Eragon spread his legs wide and planted his feet firmly into the red earth. He spread his arms, tensing for the living boulder that was about to crash into him.

Dizziness assaulted him the moment the Goron made impact, but the Iron Boots allowed him to hold his ground. Gritting his teeth, Eragon dug his nails deeper into the Goron, refusing to let go as he mustered up his strength and finally managed to toss his challenger aside. The sentry continued to helplessly roll down the mountain trail, went flying off an a fantastic jump, and continued to roll his way down the slope. His shout gradually faded until a telltale crash reported he had collided with yet another immovable mountain.

"Impressive," Midna sniffed grudgingly. Considering whom he was speaking to, Eragon took at as the greatest of all compliments.

Saphira finally finished climbing up, grinning in delight at what she had just witnessed, fierce pride burning in her sapphire eyes. "Very impressive, Eragon. I didn't know how strong you are even without your magic until now." She looked up as yet another rumbling sound began to shake the pebbles at their feet. "But I bet I can throw this boulder-beast farther than yours."

Feeling up to the challenge, Eragon merely smiled invitingly, pressing himself to the sheer walls of the trail as the next Goron came barreling down.

"We'll see about that."

Brogan Rolandsson had, as of just recently, had been a member of the Du Vrangr Gata that had been stationed in the vital Imperial port city of Teirm. He had been assigned to keep track of the flow of supplies and troops, and report his findings monthly via a scrying pool. He had been strictly ordered to not contact the Varden other from these scheduled times, except for a state of emergency, like alarmingly high numbers of soldiers being shipped south to ready for war against Surda.

That was back when things had made sense to Brogan. Back when his only responsibilities had been to make sure mad old Galbatorix didn't try to sneak any extra troops past rebel spies over the sea. Back when the war between the Varden and the Empire had been not but the timeless struggle of good and evil mortals. When the worst thing he had to worry about was the Black King getting of his lazy ass and leaving Urubaen to crush them all with one simple spell.

Then Galbatorix had gone and allied himself with a dark god that devoured all that had dared stand up to it, and had severed all magical contact with those Varden agents posted within the borders of the Empire proper. When Galbatorix's brand new friend wasn't occupied with devouring revolts, the people of Dras-Leona were offering up livestock and slaves to appease its ravenous hunger, for whatever creature had simply done away with the Lethrblaka was obviously something that shouldn't be tested. Rumors had also poured in that Galbatorix had also gained control of an unholy spirit that consumed the souls of the innocent.

Thankfully, the Varden had apparently also gained divine supporters. The dark god that was happily wreaking havoc all around the Empire was unable to cross into Surda, for a supernatural force was always there to counter its attempts at invasion. Surdans believed in ancient guardian spirit of theirs was protecting them, and vital roads down there were literally choked with suddenly devout worshipers making pilgrimages to its sacred spring to offer prayers and gratitude.

"Master Rolandsson?" The face of Trianna herself peered out of the scrying pool, before she smiled with relief. "Praise the gods. There are still more of you out there."

Brogan blinked in astonishment. He had simply meant to report to his next superior, not bring the issue all the way to the top! "I beg pardon, my Lady, but I have not the slightest idea of what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you are now aware of the nameless supernatural force that now keeps all in the Empire under an iron fist," the sorceress elaborated. "Several of our contacts stationed there failed to report even before we learned about the spirit that resides near Dras-Leona. Every single one east of the Spine, south of Du Weldenvarden, west of the Hadarac Desert, and north of the Surdan border, have all been officially declared missing."

Swaying with the weight of the news, Brogan steeled himself and tried not to think of how many comrades had been lost to another one of Galbatorix's unnatural allies. "What about those beyond the Spine, in the coastal towns? Others like me made it through?"

Trianna nodded. "Aye, though they report the most... unusual things. Are the rumors circulating about these conditions there true?"

The rebel spy smiled humorlessly, sneaking a glance at his window to proudly view his handiwork of chaos below. "Very true, Lady Trianna. The mountains serve as a barrier not even Galbatorix's new godly pet cannot cross. Mortal troops he supposedly sent to enforce the coastal cities vanished just like that army did decades back. Wild animals venture right into the rural villages to attack Imperial soldiers, leaving civilians and those that defect from the opposing side untouched. Without reinforcements coming in from Urubaen and the surrounding cities, the forces here are unsurprisingly finding little local support." Something fierce glittered in his eyes. "They have become increasingly aware that they are isolated in a highly resistive area that never had any real fondness for authority."

"Then I take it revolts against those Imperial lords still clinging to power have gone underway? Even in spineless marketplace of Teirm?"

Brogan smirked. "Even these docile little merchants have finally grown tired of unfair taxes that go straight to Urubaen and never return to the region. The dock burnings and the unwarranted seizure of precious cargo have finally pushed the traders to their breaking point." There was the shattering of a glass window, and the magician deftly knelt to avoid the brick that went sailing into the wall inches from his head. "And they have tired of the usual government melodrama."

"Good," she murmured in approval. "The agent stationed in Narda was frustratingly vague upon the conditions up in her vicinity. And everyone knows Kuasta was always waiting for the opportune moment to revolt and form its own strange little nation. Glad to know the reasonable cities are following suit." Her triumphant look was again replaced by one of fierce scrutiny. "What will happen when the local lord is finally disposed?"

"Lord Risthart is a very sensible man, Lady Trianna. He ceded power to someone sympathetic to us the moment his people decided they didn't like him very much."

"Then what's with all of the... commotion?"

Brogan glanced to his broken window, and the deafening shouts of the crowd below. "Oh, that? They're just celebrating."

The laborious process of ascending Death Mountain took many long, grueling hours. Countless Gorons had tried to flatten them on the way down the trail. Eragon and Saphira had at first made a competition to see who could deflect the most of them, but that idea quickly died once their muscles began to ache. Saphira's skin was tougher than a normal human's, so she was spared some of the painful callouses that made her Rider thankful for his gloves and gauntlets. There had been ambushes by Bublin archers along the path. Saphira had used it as the perfect opportunity to hone her archery skills. She had also paused to kick at the Golden Wolf's howling stone in disgust when they had reached it.

As they had approached the mountain, the travelers were far from happy to discover that the frequent eruptions had hardly even begun to stop.

"Let's just hope this works!" Saphira called as those ominous rumbles began.

They had decided to make a brief pause in Kakariko for for the metal shield in the abandoned shop that Malo had claimed as his own. Eragon had took the Hero's Shade's warnings to mind for suitable protection against the volcano. Considering that Malo had still been fast asleep when they had arrived, Eragon had used his magic to enter the shop without causing a confrontation. He had also made sure to pay the amount of rupees listed and to lock up afterward, so Malo wouldn't hate him for the rest of his natural life.

Since using magic was out of the question, Eragon and Saphira both ducked under the shield just as the bombardment of molten rock began. Their combined strength was enough to avoid them getting crushed beneath the shield, and the cautionary enchantments he had put upon it prevented a sharp rock just from going straight through it.

When the bombardment had dissipated, they once again tried to approach the Gorons that guarded the bottom of the mountain. Eragon at first tried to reason with the walking boulders, but the words died on his lips when the massive being started making his way toward them, looking anything but peaceful.

Fortunately, Saphira was just as stubborn. Drawing her blade, she dove past the Goron's defenses and landed a blow to his exposed belly. He yelped with pain, curling up into a ball to shield his vulnerable areas.

"Now, how in the seven hells do we get up to the top?" Eragon asked as he inspected the steep, jagged mountain that seemed impossible for anyone to climb up.

Saphira's blue eyes blazed. "I can think of one good way, but I know you'd kill me for even suggesting it, and so would they." She clenched the hilt of her blade anxiously as several furious Gorons started pounding their way over. "Can't you think of something? You're the one with the crazy solutions!"

The Gorons continued to close in as they searched for an escape route. From the safety of his shadow, Midna calmly continued to observe her surroundings, waiting for the answer to present itself. Higher up on Death Mountain, she spotted a Goron curling into a ball, allowing a comrade to step onto its back. The Goron on bottom then popped back up, sending the one on top hurtling into the air, where it managed to land on the next section of the path.

"Obviously that Goron is going to warn the patriarch, and get the wrath of the entire settlement unleashed upon us," she hissed from Eragon's shadow. "Now do as I say, and get onto that damned Goron's back before he pops back up!"

Eragon and Saphira complied, jumping onto the Goron just as he came out of his curl. The force of the movement sent them both flying to the next portion of the trail. With the Gorons quickly copying their movements, they started the desperate sprint for the top, where they could find the patriarch and beg for mercy.

They finally managed to reach the top after dodging many rolling Gorons and fiery eruptions from a very angry volcano. Standing outside a metal archway, the inside cloaked in shadow, they debated over whether or not to enter.

"A Goron already went in there to warn their leader," Saphira pointed out. "Gods know how many are waiting in there, just waiting to crush us the moment we step foot inside!"

"I don't think we have a choice." Eragon glanced down at the lower levels of the mountain, where the increasingly growing ranks of enraged Gorons was still in hot pursuit. "We have to get Darbus to hear us out before his warriors can pound us into oblivion, and there's no where else to flee." Swallowing nervously, he sheathed his blade, for something inside told him a show of such a deadly weapon would not be appreciated. "It's now or never."

Eragon immediately regretted his decision when he found six Gorons even larger and more muscular than the ones outside waiting for him. They menacingly advanced, curling back into deadly boulders just waiting to flatten him. Ignoring the ache of his legs inside the Iron Boots, he once again settled into the now familiar crouch. Saphira did the same thing, subconsciously snarling a challenge.

"ENOUGH!"

Man, woman, and Goron all paused when a deep and commanding voice split the air like thunder. The two broad guards that hadn't moved from their spot by a door on the opposite end of the chamber quickly slid to the sides, allowing their superior through. He was smaller, with wrinkles and a white beard that displayed his advanced age. The marks on his chest and arms were red, instead of the yellow of his warriors. Even without all that, the proud way he carried himself left no doubt in Eragon's mind that he was long accustomed to giving orders.

"Are these young ones so imposing that you all must gang up on them? I think not, Little Brothers, for they are just barely out of their childhood. Come here, little humans."

Eragon assumed a Goron with such authority and wisdom must have been Darbus himself, and he did not hesitate as he walked over, head dipped respectfully. Saphira copied him, though he could tell she was miffed at being referred to us a "young human." The guards reluctantly drew back, eying their unwelcome visitors with barely concealed distaste.

"Are you their patriarch?" Saphira asked, trying to break up the tension that still threatened to snap at the slightest provocation.

"No," the small Goron replied with a slight chuckle, deep blue eyes never moving from them. "I am a Goron elder, little human, one that serves the Goddesses. I am called Gor Coron." He hesitated with an unease Eragon could have never imagined possible from such a fierce and proud race. "Because of certain... circumstances, I must temporarily lead the Goron tribe in place of Darbus, our tribal patriarch. Tell me, why did you come from the village below?"

"We came to help, in whatever way possible," Saphira replied smoothly.

"None ordered us here to come," Eragon hastily added, alarmed when the Gorons started exchanging disgusted glances and whispers. "We came on our own volition, and we want nothing in return. S- Vervada and I would just like to help. There is too much darkness in this world as is, and none should have to suffer silently."

Considering how likely it was word of this would eventually spread throughout Hyrule, Saphira had decided to give her human persona an alias so that woman and she-dragon could not be connected. She had finally decided to go with 'Vervada,' the name of the proud and wild she-dragon that had been the mother she had never been able to know.

This explanation did nothing to quell the murmurings. In fact, they only increased, and mysterious smiles and incredulous looks alike broke out on the Gorons that had once desired to flatten them both. Their conversations were too low for even his sharp ears to make out, but he managed to catch a snatch of the words, 'brother' and 'cavern.'

"You have both done well to travel this far. You are strong... for a human, little green-clad one. However..." Coron trailed off, his expression become impassive as he adamantly crossed his arms. "The mines behind here are sacred for my tribe, for they share space in this mountain with our Fire Temple. Outsiders are not allowed inside. Unless..." He trailed off ominously.

"Whatever it takes," Saphira vowed.

Eragon nodded beside her, expression melting into one of almost frightening determination.

Gor Coron's face brightened into a pleased smile. "I could make an exception... but you would have to beat me in a contest of power. Are you willing to do that, Chosen Hero?"

Eragon choked in surprise. "W-what? But how did you-"

"You are certainly not the first Champion of Farore that found himself in need of entering Death Mountain. I can even the remember the last one that came here, oh so many years ago." He stepped forward, blue eyes narrowing. "Vervada does not have to fight, for she will gain access to the mines the moment you do. It is you who must prove your power to our Goddess, Link."

Saphira's head snapped up sharply. Eragon's brows furrowed in confusion, not knowing why an inexplicable chill surged down his spine at the unfamiliar name. "My name isn't Link. It's Eragon."

Somehow, the living boulder-man old enough to have met the last Chosen Hero of Hyrule had the capability to look completely abashed. "My sincerest apologies. It's just that... tradition states most of you are usually called that."

With all of the Gorons extremely embarrassed at the mistake, they quickly prepared the arena in the center of the chamber for the contest between man and Goron. To Eragon's great relief, he wasn't obligated to strip down into 'traditional attire' for the sumo match. However, he still felt uneasy as he clunked up to the arena with his conspicuous Iron Boots clanking the entire way. It seemed only a miracle that the Gorons didn't notice something was off about his loud and shiny footwear.

When Gor Coron signaled the beginning of the match, Eragon immediately slid to the side, evading the massive hands that came grabbing for him. He spent the first portion of the match dodging the elder's blows, searching for a weakness in his defenses.

Come on, stone-head! Saphira shouted when he just barely managed to avoid being shoved out of the ring. You've taken on armies, Shades, dragons, and giant plant monsters. How hard can it be to shove a living boulder out of a tiny circle?

Gritting his teeth, Eragon mustered up his strength, and shoved back as hard as he could. Gor Coron went stumbling back, surprised by the amount of force. His much smaller opponent didn't hesitate to use that moment of weakness to his advantage, once again hurtling himself into the Goron's belly.

Everyone, Saphira included, watched in dumbstruck silence as Gor Coron went stumbling out of the arena, and onto his back. Still caught up in the moment, Eragon rubbed the dust off his hands, as sternly triumphant as any master sumo wrestler that had won his latest match.

"Didn't expect that," Midna muttered.

"Young warrior," Gor Coron said breathlessly, "you have a strong will... and sharp eyes." The other Gorons glanced at each other, wondering if they should help their elder up, but the tough old rock was already doing just that. "Honorable traits. Want to see how well you can use them?"

Eragon clunked over, Saphira at his side. It was all the response they needed.

"You have seen it, I would bet. The mountain, erupting without pause." Gor Coron sighed heavily. "It has not acted this temperamentally in ages. Not since before the previous patriarch was born. When it began to furiously rage once again, all four of us elders and our patriarch Darbus went inside to investigate its anger. We are immune to the heat that is so fatal to you humans, and saw no need to get Princess Zelda involved." His blue gaze sharpened. "We have a treasure that was entrusted to us by the spirits on Din's orders. Do you understand? When our Goddess requests us to do something, we shall follow it until our deaths, and we will not press our burden down upon others. It is not the Goron way."

Uneasy silence fell upon the other Gorons as they all exchanged dark glances. "But the moment Darbus reached out and touched the treasure... everything went wrong. He collapsed... and before our eyes transformed into an unspeakable monster! He began to rage through the mines, ripping apart everything in his path, as the eruptions grew more severe. It was a miracle we were able to subdue him before he could destroy the Fire Temple in the heart of the mountain." Gor Coron sighed. "It was not easy to do this to our patriarch, the one that Din chose to be the symbol of strength and pride for our people. That is why I implore you, on the behalf of our entire tribe, to go to the aid of Darbus!"

Do you really think we can do that? Saphira asked over their link. Save Darbus from the dark artefact's influence?

I don't know, Saphira. He may be tied too closely to it now to survive the separation. There may be nothing of the original Darbus left! Remember what happened to Durza after I killed him? It certainly didn't help Carsaib!

"I promise that we shall do our best," Eragon promised honestly.

Gor Coron grinned fiercely, nodding to the Gorons guarding the door. "Let the young warriors pass." He turned back to them, growing somber once again. "Be warned, humans, for the heat inside is not like any that you have encountered before. It will kill you if you are not careful. I would have offered you each a Goron's Tunic, but we have not crafted them for years now, and they take far too long to make from scratch."

"It's okay." Saphira's blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "We'll live with the heat."

Gor Coron slapped her on the back so hard that even a she-dragon in human skin could barely avoid falling flat onto her face. "That's the spirit, little human! Just remember that you are free to return here during your quest. The healing waters of our hot spring are potent enough to soothe even the most horrible of burns!"

And with those encouraging words, Saphira and Eragon were both heartily shoved into the tunnel.

Once out of sight of the Gorons, the green-clad Hero paused to remove the Iron Boots, putting on the pair that didn't weigh him down. "The mines can't be that bad, right Saphira? How different can they be from the dwarf ones?"

"There's no precious gemstones, and this one is built right in the heart of an evil mountain," Saphira answered blithely.

"What the lady lizard said," Midna quipped sarcastically, once again appearing from his shadow. "Does it feel hotter down here already?"

"All of that fiery molten death has to come from somewhere," Eragon replied. "I guess the Gorons just built around it."

Only it turned out the Gorons had built through it.

Descending into Death Mountain, it didn't take too long for the sweltering heat to make Eragon begin to sweat in his chain-mail. Even Saphira, who had an inner fire so intense it could roast an entire line of enemy soldiers on a good day, found it increasingly intolerable.

At least there was light... radiating right from the glowing pools of liquid fire right in the middle of the chamber. The path they had been following veered straight into the molten death. Sections of the trail above the magma were also surrounded by geysers that didn't to blow every several seconds. Just being close to the pools could have been enough to incinerate a normal human being. Eragon suspected the only reason he wasn't melting was because his tunic was enchanted to help divert the heat. Saphira was still a dragon who had natural immunity, and Midna was safely tucked away in his shadow.

"So," Saphira deadpanned. "Who's first?"

For the second time ever, Murtagh found himself right smack dab in the middle of Galbatorix's private library. Only this time he was here at the orders of his master. Galbatorix had his back turned to him, and was engrossed in flipping through some ancient yellowed tome. Murtagh knew better than to disturb the Black King and inquire just what he was doing here. Shruikan had been allowed to leave Ilirea Castle unsupervised for the first time in decades. Judging by the smell of smoke, the black dragon had decided to use his new-found freedom to raze every forest in the vicinity.

But Jarnunvosk was there. The copper-scaled she-dragon that had first hatched for Galbatorix, the one who had supposedly died over a century ago. Apparently his master could now resurrect the dead. Jarnunvosk always accompanied Galbatorix now, for she always conveniently seemed to be just the right size to follow him into any room.

There's something off about her, Murtagh murmured to Thorn over their mental link.

You mean besides being Galbatorix's second dragon? Thorn quipped. He was safe and sound in the dragon-hold, he could afford to be as sarcastic as he wished without fear of being devoured.

Other than that, you idiot. Her eyes are like that spirit-god-thing Galbatorix keeps as his new pet. Empty and always hungry.

Don't say that! Thorn snapped, anxiety suddenly rolling across their connection in noxious waves.

Murtagh frowned. Why not?

I think she can hear us.

The Dragon Rider slowly sneaked a glance at the copper she-dragon. Jarnunvosk eyed him as a cat would a plump mouse caught in a trap. Her amber eyes were vacant, but still somehow seemed sharp enough to pierce the secret corners of his mind and eavesdrop on a conversation she shouldn't have been able to hear.

Just to prove that she was indeed doing just that, she clattered her teeth in sick amusement. Jarnunvosk preferred this method over the normal rumbles and growls of a dragon. Murtagh hated and feared that sound, for it always sounded like the rattling of ancient bones, and sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine. At least it was better than directly communicating with Jarnunvosk, for the she-dragon's mind had the feel of ice and her voice was little more than a hissing whisper.

Avoiding her ravenous gaze, Murtagh instead feigned interest of the stack of books on the table next to him. Their words were alien to him, but the runes they used were similar enough to make him wonder if they were all written in the same language. He brushed his finger over a strange pattern of three golden triangles on the cover of the top book, frowning thoughtfully. Had he seen this before?

"Murtagh." Galbatorix's articulate voice snapped him out of his reverie. "You play an instrument, correct?"

Huh? "Aye, master."

"Care to tell me which one?" For once, there was a tone coloring the Mad King's voice that wasn't impatience or mad rage. It was thoughtfulness, as if such an inane question actually mattered to him.

"Just a version of the ocarina, my Lord. I'm afraid I've never had much musical talent." To put it bluntly, Murtagh hadn't improved from sounding like a dying cat.

"Perfect. Instead of wasting your time on other useless skills from now on, solely focus in improving your musical ability."

What? First comes the twisted spirit, then losing contact with the cities and towns west of the Spine, and then raising the dead. Has he really gone mad this time?

Jarnunvosk actually growled this time, voice as sharp as cracking ice. Her sharp mind suddenly invaded his own, attacking his connection with Thorn until Murtagh could hear the red dragon's distant roar of pain from the floors above. You will do as our Master Galbatorix instructs you to, mortal, and you shall do it without mocking him.

With that point conveyed, the she-dragon released him from his mental torture, and Murtagh wasted no time in hurrying from the room. He felt Jarnunvosk's gaze still following him, and knew only Galbatorix's presence kept her from devouring him whole.

Beginning to make their way across the perilous path, Eragon couldn't help but admire the ingenious system the Gorons had devised in order to separate the ore from the useless rock. Apparently the molten death could somehow be transported away in metal pipes and cleaned of impurities in another location. He couldn't sense magic at work, though the system seemed largely autonomous.

When he had pointed this out to Saphira, the woman, currently caught up in making sure the floating sparks didn't set her hair alight, had nodded with a dragon's apathy about technology. "So Orrin's little toys have practical use. Good for him."

Unsurprisingly, Midna still found something to scoff about. "Meh. If you think this piece of outdated equipment is impressive, you should see the mines back in the Twilight Realm. My people's magic helps keep the entire system moving swiftly and efficiently, cutting down on both costs of maintenance and repairs-"

Crossing yet another pipe that belched out fire, Eragon also tuned the Twili's boasting out and concentrated on not being roasted alive. Oh, and he also had to watch out for those little pests that liked to crawl on the ceiling. They tended to have a nasty habit of trying to land on his head. Considering the creatures tended to be on fire, that always turned out to be an unpleasant encounter. At least he could see the burning Keese while they were dive-bombing toward his face.

They made their way through the chambers, following a routine that had gotten them through the Forest Temple. Saphira had eagerly left into the fray, slaughtering Bublins, walking fire hazards, and sword-wielding lizard monsters alike. Eragon was once again driven by the inexplicable urge to scour every inch of the mines for rupees and other treasures. While his companions appreciated the extra cash, they also didn't hesitate into hauling him into the next area when their limited patience had finally worn thin.

Then had come the massive chamber with multiple levels and doors that once again been constructed over the magma. Parts of the floor rolled on their own power, and giant disc-things had hovered over certain metal islands in the fiery sea. Midna had imperiously pointed out they were magnets, and had pointed out the switches that could be used to turn them on again. Saphira had quickly tired of the technological discussion and simply carried Eragon over to the next platform in her true form, transforming back in mid-air so she had enough space to land.

If only the chamber after it had been as simple to bypass.

"There's a door right up there, stone-head," Saphira said stubbornly, pointing up to a door that was a quick flight away. "We should obviously head in that direction."

Eragon shook his head, and put the metaphorical foot down by insistingly pointing at the door that happened to lie right in the middle of a pool that sent jets of death hurtling too high up for any sane dragon to consider challenging. "I feel a sentient mind down there, Saphira. It's guarded, but I don't think it's hostile. Gods, it could even be Darbus with the Fused Shadow, for all we know."

"We don't know what that is." Saphira pointed her sword down to the massive lizard-thing that blocked their path. "I've had more than enough close encounters with the afterlife today. And we're in Death Mountain. Even I am not about to tempt my luck any further than that."

The Chosen Hero scoffed lightly. "Look at it, Saphira. It's probably nothing more than an overgrown lizard. Roran and I would chase after these things all the time when we were still boys. I think it's just down here to bask in the heat."

His companion arched a brow. "In the middle of a highly volatile volcano with a name any sane person would run away from?"

"We've got swords, so I think we're covered."

Destiny just decided to mess him once again by making the lizard very dangerous. As soon as they had dropped down to its level, the lizard whirled around, a plume of fire springing from its jaws.

"Must be a relative of yours," Midna drawled as man and woman moved to dodge the flames.

Saphira's blue eyes blazed with a dragon's wounded pride. "Of course it isn't. It doesn't even have any wings."

"Guess it was that Dodongo creature Renado warned us about."

Saphira had already transformed back into her true form. Just to show the pathetic Dodongo what a real dragon could do, the sapphire she-dragon opened her own jaws and promptly incinerated it in a burst of blue fire. She then curiously poked at the charred corpse until it disintegrated back into dark magic.

Damn! I was hungry enough to eat it.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Goron Mines Theme- The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Since unceremoniously being dumped into Hyrule, Eragon had idly wondered from time to time if the entire experience was just an elaborate hallucination brought on by being struck by lightning in a raging thunderstorm. Even he, who seemed to be the favorite plaything of many sadistic gods, sometimes was dubious of the new challenges thrown his way. So he was the only potential savior of a land about to be overwhelmed by an ancient evil, his destiny marked by golden triangles? Spirits had come out of their way to talk to him, and an undead skeleton had become his self-proclaimed mentor? There was an imp hiding in his shadow, and Saphira had gained the ability to transform into a... physically appealing... woman?

Sure, considering all of the senseless things that had happened to him since finding that damned egg, he could at least tolerate everything he had endured. But water in the middle of a fiery volcano named for its ability to kill things?

"That's it," Eragon muttered under his breath. "I'm dreaming. Get me the hell out of here and back into the real Alagaesia."

By the unnerved look on her face, Saphira seemed to agree wholeheartedly. "It's not even evaporating."

"For the love of every single god out there, just where exactly did you two come from!" A very irate Midna fully emerged from his shadow, for deep within the heart of a mountain there was no sunlight or heat to burn her. She floated down to the water, putting a hand in. When she raised it back up, it wasn't even slightly scalded. "The water is supposed to be here."

Rider and dragon in human skin exchanged dubious glances.

"Look!" the Twili huffed, stomping her foot and accidentally splashing water all over herself. "Those rock guys said the volcano doesn't usually act like this, right? At least not within decades? That's because it was dying."

Saphira's blue eyes slowly brightened in understanding. "Its fire was running out. So much was being pushed out the mountain could never replace it."

Midna nodded. "So even the dragon gets it. When the magma finally lost its heat and cooled into rock, it left chambers like this behind. Eventually water from the rain and the ground would start to seep in, cooling things down even more. It's only because some moron messed with the Fused Shadow that all of Death Mountain is all death-y and everything again."

Needing no further assurance, Eragon made sure his gear was secured, and then leaped into the water. True to Midna's word, it was pleasantly cool, a relief after the sweltering inferno the rest of the mines had been.

Metal wiring fenced one part of the chamber off from the other, which he promptly began to climb. Saphira followed him, for the space between the top of the wall and the ceiling was too small for a dragon to squeeze through, and it was really exhausting having to barrel down walls just to get around. Grumbling under her breath at the stupidity of light-dwellers, she returned to his shadow. Now they were perched on the top, they examined their options.

"There's not enough room for me to spread my wings, Eragon, and the space between her and the floor above us is too tall to jump." Scowling at the thoughtful expression that came over her Rider's face, Saphira slapped him lightly on the arm. "Don't even think about it, stone head. Your magic reacted badly enough to the first Fused Shadow we found. Do you want to risk upsetting something while we're in a highly volatile volcano? Because I'd rather not be burned to a crisp."

Eragon sighed in defeat. Well, there was his great plan down the drain. "Fair enough. Since I doubt Midna is in the mood to give us any lifts, we can try pressing that." He pointed down at the button at the bottom of the opposite section of the water-filled chamber. "Maybe it will raise the water level enough so we can swim over."

Saphira considered this, and decided he could go down and test his own theory.

With the chain-mail he was wearing, Eragon expected just to stop swimming, allowing himself to easily sink to the bottom. Instead, the material seemed to be enchanted against such a thing. While he ordinarily would have appreciated the safe-guard against drowning, all the green-clad young man could currently do was struggle to propel himself to the bottom, cursing inwardly. Of course it was impossible to turn off the enchantment on his own-

Tiring of seeing him thrash in the water, Midna took matters into her own hands. For Eragon, that meant the Iron Boots suddenly replacing his leather ones. Yelping in surprise just before he was dragged under by the weight, he hit the bottom with a heavy thud, conveniently landing on the bottom he had tried so hard to press on his own.

There was a faint rumble beneath his feet as rusted gears whirred into life. Then there was a muted humming, then the sensation of being tugged-

Eragon yelped, fresh air entering his lungs instead of water. He found himself upside down, Iron Boots clinging to the glittering blue rock of the platform he had tried so hard to reach. Saphira gaped up at him from her spot on the wall. And, miraculously, his hat remained firmly attached to his head.

"In case you didn't know, the shiny blue rock is magnetic," Midna's disembodied voice drawled. "Keep one foot firmly planted on the ground at all times. Next time there could be a pool of magma instead of water to break your fall."

"Good to know," Eragon grumbled, before turning to stare down at Saphira. "How are you going to get up here?"

"Take a few steps toward me," she ordered calmly. "Then be prepared to catch me when I jump. Drop me, and I swear I'll drag you down with me."

Of course you would, Eragon thought, making sure that part of his mind was firmly sealed off.

He still obliged, and braced himself for when the Hylian woman came launching at him. Eragon firmly grasped her wrists, but still leaving her dangling over the water. If there was ever going to be burning magma that spat up flames below them, she stood a far better chance of catching the heat. So Saphira again handled this future problem, wrapping her legs so she had a good grip on Eragon's torso. Then she pried herself free from his arms, leaning up until she could wrap them around his shoulders. Now, hanging upside down, she rode him piggy-back.

"Now your arms are free," she said brightly. "You're welcome."

With the extra weight on his back, a cursing Eragon struggled his way to being right side-up. The moment they were, Saphira descended from his back and walked over to the door. Again, Eragon took another several few minutes to pry off the cumbersome Iron Boots, which Midna stored away for him.

"We better not need to do that every time we need to cross an obstacle. I don't think I'll be able to take the strain."

Saphira gave him some sound advice for his troubles. "Take it like a man, Eragon. I've carried you and every other little passenger you wanted to invite on all around the land. I dragged very heavy and panicked horses across raging rivers, dodged arrows and far larger projectiles, and flown through the fiercest of storms without complaint. You could at least be a little grateful you only need to carry me several hundred feet."

Not daring himself to speak, Eragon nodded mutely, sliding open the door to the chamber... And almost cried when he saw another sumo wrestling arena.

The gods (or Goddesses) decided to take mercy on him just this once, for the shriveled old elder was obviously in no condition for a match. He was hunched over, barely coming to the middle of Eragon's chest. He carried a walking stick he leaned on for support, and the steam that came up from several holes on his back probably wasn't the sign of a young and healthy fighter.

"I thought I sensed someone coming," the ancient Goron began in an amicable tone, "although it was a pleasant surprise to discover two young humans." He studied them pensively with wrinkled eyes. "Yes, word has come to me of you. If Gor Coron places his faith in you, then I see no reason not to do the same. I am Gor Amoto, and I have something you will need to unlock the room we sealed Darbus in."

Sealed? Saphira echoed, glancing sharply at her Rider. That doesn't sound good.

No, Saphira, it doesn't. Eragon turned expectantly at Gor Amoto, who continued smiling pleasantly up at them. "Um... Can we see what you have for us now?"

Amoto sighed sadly. "I guess I just hoped you'd stop to converse with me first. I don't get much visitors aside from the miners, and no one's been down here since the mountain lost its head. Din knows it's supposed to a great honor to stand as a guardian, but even protectors of ancient treasure need a little company every now and then."

Eragon looked quizzically around. The only thing visible in the chamber that looked remotely valuable was the glowing red stone set into the stone pedestal at the far end. Unless this ancient treasure was stored away in the chest... "Sorry, Gor Amoto, but Vervada and I have somewhere to be."

Amoto sighed melodramatically. "Heroes always do." He fumbled around, finally drawing out something blue and yellow. "Here is one of three key shards that unlocks Darbus's chamber. Each of the other two is under the care of the other two elders. Hurry up to them now, and feel free to take the map of the mines in the chest behind me." The ancient Goron looked sheepish. "Just don't tell the others I need it now to find my way all of this damned maze of a mine."

"Your secret is safe with us," Saphira promised as she went over to retrieve the chest. She glanced over at her Rider, who seemed ready to burst with all the questions he kept bottled only out of politeness. "You don't happen to remember the Chosen Hero before him, do you?"

Amoto sighed wistfully. "That Brother was a damn good musician." He looked hopefully at Eragon. "You wouldn't happen to know that song, would you? Sari's Song, or something like it."

"Sorry, I don't." Spotting a ladder that led to an upper floor, Eragon started toward it, wishing he could stay and keep the old Goron company longer. "Thank you for the information."

"Don't mention it," Gor Amoto called. "And could you help that little chicken up there out of the pot? She's been calling for help for the past two hours, and this old Goron just doesn't have the grace to climb that ladder anymore."

If his master had been anyone but the highly volatile and insane Mad King Galbatorix, Murtagh would have fled with Thorn to the borders of the known world, taking his chance with the ravenous guardian spirit. But since he was too sensible to risk such an escape when bounded by unbreakable oaths, and Galbatorix would probably feed him to Jarnunvosk or Shruikan if he decided to bolt, Murtagh remained in the dragon-hold like a good little servant and practiced playing his damn ocarina.

The musicians had given him all the music sheets and books they had on ocarinas. Of course, they assumed he already knew how to play, and Murtagh's pride didn't allow him to say otherwise. So, on the way out he had swiped a book full of very simplistic melodies he suspected had been created for clueless young noble children. Today, however, it would serve the purpose of teaching him how to play in order to appease his increasingly unstable master.

Gods! Thorn was curled up, head burrowed under his paws as if it could drown out the horrible music. You've been at this for hours! Why in the seven hells do you still sound like a dying cat?

"Music was never my strong point," Murtagh grumbled for the countless time, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and keep his growing headache at bay. "Is it me, or are all of these notes starting to like like ants crawling all over the page?"

They've always looked like ants to me, the wine-red dragon replied simply. You know the basic scales now, right? Even if you can't play them right to save your life.

"Thank you for the reminder."

Don't thank me, I'm the common sense you were never originally born with. Just go out there and pick a song or something that you actually like, instead of trying that damned children's ditty over for the twenty-third time. Make a melody in your head, and just go with it. A thoughtful pause. Or you can enjoy being left alone with that false dragon of Galbatorix's. She seems most eager to to play with you. Your choice.

Flipping the pages of music until he found a vaguely interesting piece, Murtagh chose the lesser of two evils, and tried again. It was hard to argue with a dragon's logic.

The chicken inside the pot hadn't been any kind of bird Eragon had recognized at all. While its body vaguely resembled on, its face had been humanoid. Her name was Ooccoo, and she had graciously thanked him for liberating her from her accidental prison. She had introduced him to her son, Junior, and had offered to remain with them in case they had ever wanted to warp in and out of the mines. Sensing Saphira becoming increasingly impatient with the blabbering chicken-creature, Eragon had politely declined.

Then had come many more chambers of boiling magma and stubborn monsters that absolutely refused to leave them alone. There had been many times when the only way over to a platform was with the Iron Boots. Eragon was profusely thankful for Saphira's dragon form, for it allowed them to clear most of these obstacles, for it cut down on the times he actually had to battle monsters upside-down with Saphira clinging to his back like an overgrown monkey.

It was also convenient for simply destroying the rotating towers that shot out fiery beams of death.

Eragon and Saphira had attempted to dance around the beams for several minutes, looking for a way to nullify them, before her patience had finally worn thin. Transforming back into a she-dragon, Saphira had managed to burn the towers from a safe distance so she didn't even have to deal with their beams. For good measure, she had then stomped over their charred remains.

Could you imagine how difficult it would have been if you didn't have me?

Eragon sensed Midna rolling her eyes deep within his shadow. "Oh, yes, where would we have been without the domineering lizard breathing down our necks?"

Finally moving outside of the oppressive mines, both found themselves ducking for over as Bublin archers starting pelting them with arrows. Asking Midna to pull out his bow and quiver for him, Eragon grabbed one of the enchanted arrows and loosed it one the closest target. The target went falling into the water below, the arrow soon digging itself out and returning to his quiver.

"Islanzadi made those quite well," Saphira remarked as she wistfully watched her Rider take out his targets. "I wonder how long she spent singing that bow out of its tree."

"She's centuries old," Eragon replied as he finished off the last Bublin. "I don't think I want to know how many years were waste on it."

Searching the cleared area, he discovered a chest holding a small key to a locked door. Taking as a sign where to head first, they continued on their way.

Gor Ebizo was just as ancient and weathered as Amoto, hunched over with age and with a drooping face that showed his years of experience. He warmly introduced himself to Eragon and 'Vervada,' handing them his shard of the key.

"Now, there is but one key shard out there to retrieve," he croaked hoarsely. "However, you have reminded me of the danger that lurks within these mines, and of something that is rightfully yours." Ebizo's eyes traveled to the graceful black bow now slung over Saphira's shoulder, for Eragon was carrying enough on him. "A weapon was said to have been left here in these minds by a hero of old. A very revered, beloved Chosen Hero that we welcomed as a Brother."

Eragon froze, remember his predecessor, the mysterious Hero's Shade. "What happened to him?"

Ebizo frowned in concentration, eyes distant as his mind traveled back to a distant time. "Died early, I recall, and far too tragically. He was caught off-guard at his home by dishonorable enemies who never gave him the chance to fight back. They slaughtered his wife and child along with him."

Saphira inhaled sharply, blue eyes blazing as horror and rage bled over into Eragon's mind. Bastards! Child-killers! Murderers! Filthy traitors!

"Why did they do it?" she whispered softly, trying to understand their motivations so that she could justify her sudden welling of hatred for those who had dared to kill the innocent.

Eragon shut his his eyes as pain lanced through his head.

This was the second time he faced her as an enemy, although this was the first and only time she would ever remember doing so. Before he had fought her in armor, as an old friend who had been a puppet under the dark influence of twin witches. He had sensed her true self deep within, fighting against their control, and he had known there was good inside just waiting to be released.

The red-haired woman that stood before him tonight was no friend, no ally, no trusted companion. They had never met before, not that she remembered. There had been no teasing, no playful flirting, no combined struggle to bring down a tyrant drunk on power and madness. This stranger was no Sage, for evil had never been able to fully manifest in this time, and thus the Sages hadn't seen a need to awaken into corporeal forms. Like the others, she recalled nothing of the time when the sky burned black with despair and death, and the man she had once hailed as her king had transformed into a beast in human skin.

She remembered only her king, her beloved, being arrested and tried of grave crimes by two children that treacherously claimed to have the Goddesses on their side. She had never known what evil lurked within his heart, for she had never personally seen nor believed what he had done in a vain effort to retrieve the Sacred Stones. She only remembered his execution by demons who posed as the ancient Sages, never knowing she too had once been one of them.

This was his enemy, a woman who craved vengeance after the death of her king, and the horrible purges and oppression that had followed. Horrible crimes against the innocent even he or Zelda had been powerless to stop.

"An eye for an eye," Nabooru of the Gerudo hissed, and advanced towards his prone form with her blade raised.

"Vengeance," he whispered softly, the strange vision seeping away like darkness before the sun.

"So they claimed," Ebizo muttered darkly. "Either way, those responsible were brought to justice, and the dead needed burial. The Hero had been a Brother to the Gorons, and so Patriarch Darunia humbly requested he be put to rest among our most honored elders and warriors. The Zora also wanted him interred alongside their royal family, for he had saved their deity and the life of their Queen, Ruto, when she had been but a little girl. Neither of us were willing to retract our claim."

"But he was Hylian," Saphira pointed out. "Shouldn't he have been buried by his own people?"

Ebizo laughed bitterly. "Up until his death, Hyrule liked to pretend he hadn't existed, little human. While he had saved our tribe from starvation, and rescued both Princess Ruto and Lord Jabu-Jabu, he hadn't done anything nearly as spectacular for his own people. He had just saved a far-off land few of them knew about, and had merely given testimony against a Gerudo king who had attempted to overthrow the Royal Family." He sighed. "But we had just recently emerged from a bloody civil war, and many resented the fact that a Hylian champion would rest among those who had just recently been enemies. So the nobles of Castle Town demanded that he and his family be interred in the catacombs beneath the capital, where he rightfully belonged."

"Did they end up there?" Eragon hoped not; it sounded horrible to be buried beneath the streets and houses of a thriving city.

"Queen Zelda I ordered a mausoleum to be constructed out in the dark depths of Faron Woods, where is childhood home supposedly was," Ebizo replied. "Legend said that our Brother had grown up amongst the forest spirits. So they were buried peacefully, and the magical properties of the woods prevented the tomb from being found again once the mourners left. But since he was a Brother of the Gorons, Queen Zelda allowed Darunia his treasured bow. We have watched over it ever since."

And that bow may very well be the Hero's Shade's!

Saphira glanced over at him with surprise. "Where would we find it?" she asked politely.

"The Hero's Bow is stored safely up ahead," Ebizo replied. "Talk to the guard, and take it with the blessing of the Gorons."

Eragon nodded, thanking the Goron elder for his time. As they walked away, he privately thought to Saphira, Do you think it's his?

He was the last Chosen Hero before you were dragged here, right? She sighed. At least we know why you were dragged here in the first place. There were no champions in Hyrule that could be called upon.

You don't think the Hero's Shade would be offended that we took his bow, do you? He winced at the sudden mental image of his undead mentor beating him into the ground with his sword.

With the most reassuring response she could honestly give, Saphira shrugged.

The massive behemoth of a Goron who was presumably guarding the Hero's Bow apparently hadn't received the message that they were permitted inside the mines. Seeing two strange humans down in a highly forbidden area, he had assumed they were thieves coming to make off with the sacred treasure while the elders were distracted with Darbus. Without giving them a chance to explain themselves, the guard had sent the platform they were all down hurtling into the magma below, and had thrown himself at them in a deadly ball of rock and metal.

"Please! Will you just hear us out for a minute?" Eragon pleaded. "We don't want to hurt-" He was quickly forced to jump to the left as the guard came charging toward him again. His boots slid as the Goron's shifting weight caused the platform to tilt uneasily in the magma.

"He wants to hurt you!" Midna yelled back. "We're right in the middle of a pool of molten death, moron! Now's not the time to act peaceful! This rock-eating idiot could kill you all if you don't stop him in time!"

He's too big to stop, even if you're wearing the Iron Boots! Saphira skidded as the island rocked dangerously as the Goron heaved himself at her. Should I transform back? My true form is big enough so that I can pin him down while you can reason-

Not a good idea! Eragon thought back. He'll just have extra reason to kill us if you suddenly become an ancient enemy. And any magic will probably convince him we can't be trusted. He looked wildly around for inspiration, and brightened as he noticed exactly what kind of rock they were standing on. But I think I know another way to talk some sense into him...

Mere moments later, Eragon yet the Iron Boots back on his feet. The magnetic rock beneath them kept him firmly rooted to the ground, even when the full weight of the guard collided with him. Screaming from the effort, he sent the Goron careening to the side, as he had back on the trek up Death Mountain. The Goron continued tumbling... right off the side and into the fiery pit below.

While Eragon himself probably would have been disintegrated without the right magical protection, the Goron's side was thick enough so that he merely hurried out seconds later, scorched and looking positively murderous. He stomped back over to his little human menace, raising his fist into a punch that would shatter every bone in his body-

Saphira was instantly upon him, her unsheathed blade slashing into his exposed belly. When the guard again tucked himself into a protective ball, she was light and agile enough to leap out of the way. Eragon was then there to catch the Goron, and again chuck him into the magma.

Finally, after several repetitions of the process, the gasping Goron made no attempt to get up. Winded and burnt, he just sat on the ground as Eragon and Saphira cautiously approached.

"Ugh," he groaned. "That hurt... a lot. Who knew humans were capable of such strength?" He looked over at them, taking in Eragon's green tunic with a bashfulness that made them both regret having hurt him. "Maybe you are... going to see the patriarch of our tribe?" Eragon only nodded. The Goron brightened with realization. "Ah, that is why you are here... I'm guessing you just came here for the weapon of the Hero of the past... But in exchange, you must save Darbus!"

"Of course," Saphira vowed. She paused, grappling with her inner guilt. "Um... Sorry about having to have done that. You weren't listening to reason."

The guard shrugged sheepishly. "I was chosen for my strength, not my mind." He looked around and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "And between you and me, Gorons aren't the most reasonable of people out there."

Slowly, more magma flooded into the room, pushing them back up to the levels of the two doors out of the chamber. Maybe there were defensive enchantments here that reacted to the condition of the guard.

"Thank you," Eragon said.

"The name's Dangoro," the Goron replied amiably. "And it was the least I could do, for accidentally attacking the new Chosen Hero and his companion." He grimaced at this. "Please don't tell the elders I did that."

"Your secret's safe with us." Saphira smiled, bid her farewells, and then promptly dragged Eragon out with her to the next chamber. The moment the door closed behind them and he bent down to remove the Iron Boots, her smile morphed into a scowl. "Do all Gorons have the brains of rocks, or do they just prefer to fight first and ask questions later?"

"Dragons can be the same way," Eragon replied delicately, unable to resist grinning at Saphira's deadpan stare. He looked around at the small, magma-filled room they were in, and at the chest at the opposite end. Apprehension suddenly filled him. "Do you think that's it?"

"What else could it be?" Midna deadpanned from his shadow, the Iron Boots vanishing back into her strange little void. "There's no other doors out of here."

Swallowing nervously, as if it could also push down his anxiety, Eragon forced his suddenly numb legs forward. His tremulous fingers fumbled at the chest until he could finally wrest it open. With Saphira and Midna watching breathlessly, he pulled out the remnant of his predecessor the Gorons had diligently protected for over a century. Their wondrous expressions turned into ones of disappointment.

"Not much for an ancient relic, is it?"

The wood of the bow was a rough dark brown, the only decoration the metal that tipped the ends and handle. Certainly it didn't look nearly as impressive as the sleek yew bow the queen of the elves herself had sung for him! There were no silver oak leaves adorning it, no additional love or care that had been put into its craftsmanship. It was simply a rough old bow, one that had been purchased out of necessity and that never received any additional attention beyond what was needed to maintain it.

Eragon experimentally strung it out. He expected an ancient bow that had been languishing in a chest in the middle of a fiery volcano for decades to be in urgent need of repair. Aside from its obvious appearance of age, the bow was as taught and in as good condition as Islanzadi's.

This was the third time this month alone that he needed to drive off the Wolfos pack away from the ranch. Once they had managed to bring down that one cow, they apparently couldn't manage without the taste of Lon Lon Ranch anymore. No matter how many members of their pack he killed each time they came for his livestock. He was flattered, really, but those cows and horses were their livelihood, Din dammit!

So, pulling his blade out of the stilled corpse of one he had just slain, he turned toward the ugliest and largest Wolfos of the bunch. This was the alpha, he was sure of it. This was the bastard that was happy enough to sacrifice his own comrades for another taste of cow.

The Wolfos growled at the obvious threat, jaws red from the bite it had managed to take out of a dairy cow. His burning eyes fell upon his challenger, as he prepared to lunge-

Scarlet blossomed from the alpha's throat as it stumbled once, then fell to the ground.

His brow furrowed at the arrow shaft stuck in what was supposed to be his opponent's throat. His gaze went from the fallen Wolfos, to the slender figure that stood in the doorway of their house, illuminated by the soft lantern light within. Even with her flaming red hair a tangled mess, and with bags under her eyes from too many sleepless nights with a restless newborn and thieves making off with her livestock, he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

She just grinned impishly back at him. "Don't you give me that look, fairy boy. Your bow was the closest within reach, and I wasn't about to go tearing the house apart looking for my own. Did I also mention we've put this one to a hell of a lot more use than the one that Zora queen presented to you?"

Eragon shook his head, and the stupid smile he felt on his face. He stuck his hand back into the chest, pulling out the quiver and the arrows that had been stored within. With just a simple spell, they would return his hand like the ones Islanzadi had presented to him.

"I think I'll stick with this one for now, Saphira," he said at last. "Do you think you can handle the other one?"

She scoffed. "Of course I can, stone-head. Just don't space out every time you use that bow. I won't risk my own life while you're standing around grinning like an idiot in the heat of battle."

If nothing else, Eragon was at least grateful the extra bow and arrows allowed faraway threats to be dispatched quicker. The next room they had entered had been full of those blasted wooden towers that all starting firing the moment they had stepped foot inside. Instead of shifting back into a she-dragon, Saphira had merely launched an arrow at the tower's gleaming red eye. Her first two shots missed, but the third shattered her target, and disabled the wooden tower without the need of scorching dragon-fire to finish it. She and Eragon had then proceeded to easily nullify the other ones.

The map they had been given by Gor Amoto had revealed a small chamber hidden behind one of the wooden towers. Inside it was the third and final elder, who had been calmly meditating as he had patiently awaited their arrival. He had given them the final shard, completing the key that would unlock the chamber Darbus had been sealed in. He had also confirmed their worst fears by revealing that the Fused Shadow had transformed the Goron patriarch into a grotesque and mindless beast, before having cheerfully sent them on their way.

"Do you think we'll have to kill him?" Saphira mused as they retraced their way through the mines for the lock the key would fit.

"Most likely," Midna answered simply. "He wasn't the sharpest sword in the armory if he went and touched the highly dangerous dark artifact. The Gorons will finally be able put someone with less rocks in his brain in charge. They'll thank us for that."

Eragon loosed another arrow into a Bublin archer before he was able to give off a warning cry. "Your confidence in our realm is staggering."

The Twili wasn't phased. "I call it as I see it." There was momentary silence as she observed her surroundings. "Where are we now?"

Eragon just barely managed to duck before a flaming arrow whizzed past his head. "The map showed several chambers concealed back in that open area where the archers first were. We eventually wound up here, where there are so many Bublins we can barely get a shot in before they bombarded us with more arrows."

Which is why he really wasn't surprised when Saphira finally tired of being pelted with arrows. Bellowing with rage, she once again became her true self, surging down upon the Bublins in a storm of fangs and fire. Arrows bounced harmlessly off her sapphire scales, and her tail was powerful enough to simply brush most of the Bublins into the magma. When more came spilling out of the door she pried open, she sent a stream of flame at them. Upon impact, most disintegrated into particles of magic, showing they hadn't even been real at all.

Again, Saphira boasted, where would you be without me? She then shifted back into Hylian form, for the hall beyond was too narrow for her she-dragon shape to squeeze through.

"Still cowering behind one of those low walls, waiting for a chance to fire back," Midna drawled. "See that, Chosen Hero? The companion is more useful than you."

Eragon didn't have the heart to argue as he stuck the completed key into the lock, just managing to jump back before it undid itself and clattered to the ground with its chains. The doors then opened by themselves, revealing ominous darkness behind. The low, deep breathing emanating from inside wasn't a good sign.

"Darbus?" he called out quietly, hoping against the growing pessimist within. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing but the low breathing answered him, although it hitched as his call disturbed its slumber.

Saphira unsheathed her blade, while her Rider readied his own sword and shield. "Fine. Let's go put the possessed patriarch out of his misery."

Then, morbidly wondering what fearsome monster they would battle this time, the three descended into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Fyrus Boss Theme- The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Stepping into the chamber beyond, the first thing Eragon was able to make out as his eyes adjusted to the darkness was the massive black figure that towered overhead. It looked vaguely humanoid, and with one of those telltale masks all of the shadow beasts wore. Massive chains were wrapped around the behemoth's wrists and ankles. He was firmly shackled, riveted to the floor and the stone columns that encircled the chamber. Arms splayed out, head bent, the beast merely seemed to be sleeping. Merely biding his time until he had good reason to be released.

Eragon and Saphira exchanged a wild glance, thoughts racing as they debated on what to do.

Just let me get into my true form. I can just hold him down so you can finish him off, just like with the three-headed plant monster.

Her Rider shook his head vehemently, gesturing to the cracked floor and the blue rock hidden underneath it, some evidence of the titanic battle that had ensued to get the possessed patriarch secured and sealed inside the chamber. Every single loose pebble was a sound he did not think they could afford to make.

Do you want to wake this thing up and make our task here that much more difficult? Eragon glanced regretfully up at what had once been Darbus, searching for a trace of sentience in the slumbering titan. He was a patriarch once. The least we can do is ensure him a dignified death, so he can be freed of his suffering without the chaos. We can sneak up and I'll... just slit his throat-

How, little one? In case you haven't noticed, he's several times bigger than both of us at the moment!

It's dark. Midna can safely come out in the shadows, and she can float. If she wants this Fused Shadow so badly she can go and-

While the two were caught in their bickering, Midna was the first to notice an orb on the behemoth's mask to flash orange. It looked rather much like an eye right in the middle of his head, which glared down at them, as the possessed Goron's real burning red eyes snapped open.

"Hurry up and decide already!" Midna frantically screamed into their ears.

Her scream set the creature off. He roared, revealing bone-white fangs as he struggled to reach down toward them. Realizing that the shackles trapped him, the monster that Darbus had become pulled furiously at his bindings. He bellowed again, dark body going up into flames. The intense inferno radiating forth from his body melted the chains enough so that he could rip himself free, the remnants of them still hanging from his arms and legs.

This did nothing to hinder the behemoth, for he simply swung the chains at the stunned humans in front of them, causing them to duck to avoid the metal that came swinging for their heads.

Saphira used the space to transform back. She roared back her challenge as her bulk decreased the room in the chamber even more. The monster was still taller than her by several good feet, but the match had become much more equal. When the chains came swinging for her again, she caught them in her mouth, trying to wrestle the titan down to the ground.

Saphira! Eragon cried as the creature's free arm came towards her, burning fingers coming for her neck. Watch out!

Her blood-curdling shriek pierced the air as searing flames scorched sapphire scales and the tender flesh beneath. Through their close connection, Eragon screamed himself, dropping his weapons as he fell to his knees, hands desperately clutching at his own throat. Their minds became entangled in white-hot agony, unable to tell one burned body from the other.

Saphira's thrashing wings managed to catch her captor in his third eye. Shrieking at the top of his lungs, he threw her away, hands coming up to his injury as the she-dragon struggled away. Eragon rushed over to her side, fingers lightly brushing over the fingerprints that had become seared into her beautiful blue scales. His own pain was subsiding as their mental barriers rose up again, and the words for a healing spell were on the tip of his tongue-

No. Saphira staggered back onto all four legs as her opponent recovered. When he roared at her, she snarled right back. Not until after he is dead.

Eragon knew a time for arguing. This was not it. Aim for the middle eye, he instructed, going back for his own weapons. Sword and shield were sheathed in favor of the unproven bow on his back. Wait for it... His beginnings of a plan sped over their mental link.

Saphira's mind answered back, the overwhelming pain having been replaced by the all-consuming desire for vengeance. Now!

Eragon loosed his arrow. It flew true, the tip implanting itself firmly into its target. As the monster again went for its middle eye, Saphira took the chains dangling from the arms into her front paws and yanked with all of her might. When the behemoth came crashing to the ground, she lurched to the side, avoiding further contact with his flailing limbs and their burning flesh.

Like a candle in a strong breeze, the flames dancing across the monster's skin faded back into dark flesh cool enough for Saphira to climb upon. Her fangs worked frantically to try to gnaw into a hide thick enough to withstand a she-dragon's jaws.

"The eye!" Midna yelled. "His eye's still vulnerable!"

Drawing his sword, Eragon dashed to the creature's head, and the bulging eyeball exposed right in the middle of its face. He slashed as hard and as fast as he could each time. By the violent jerks of the possessed patriarch beneath Saphira's weight, it was having at least some effect on it. Then the creature began to stir once again, beginning to rise as its skin ominously began to heat back up. Rider and dragon leaped back just as their enemy climbed to his feet with a fiery explosion that shattered one of the stone columns into rubble.

Up for it again? Eragon cautiously asked his companion as he waited for the creature's rampage to momentarily subside. I don't want to see you get burned again. Or feel it through their connection. Seeing it was agony enough for him.

Saphira's response was a galvanizing bellow as she again surged forward.

Her opponent still had some intelligence left, for instead of just lashing out with chains or simply reaching out, he threw himself forward. There was no room for such a large she-dragon to dodge. No other way out but through the creature with a fire hot enough to burn even through the thick hide of heat-resistant scales.

Eragon changed direction, sprinting for a clear shot as he readied another arrow. Seeing his chance just as parts of his back and chest began to burn, he loosed it.

Gratitude and relief welled up from Saphira. Portions of her hide had only been lightly seared, for the monster hadn't had enough time to burn all the way through to the unprotected skin beneath. Thanks. She again reached out for the chains that the monster pulled along as he stumbled out in blind pain. When she tugged him back to the ground, she took extra care to smash his head into another one of the columns.

Just as her Rider spared no power behind his sword strokes as they were delivered straight to the eye.

When the monster again made the motions to get back up, Eragon found he no longer had the patience to yield to his demands. He plunged his blade right back into the eye. Saphira had been harmed one too many times for his liking, and every fiber of his being (especially the small part of the dragon sealed deep within) screamed for vengeance.

Do you think you could handle the flames, Saphira? Just for a bit longer?

Of course I can. What do you think I am, a spineless quitter? Flames began to flicker across her opponent's hide as temperatures again climbed to dangerous levels. Resolved to see her part through to the end, Saphira only dug her claws in deeper. Her jaws parted to loose her own plume of fire, pushing back most of the inferno the behemoth had tried to unleash harmlessly back to the ground. Now, just kill the damned thing!

Mustering his energy into one last attack, Eragon let his blade go slashing as it pleased.

With a howl of agony, the monster threw himself back with a sudden surge of strength, dislodging Saphira entirely. His middle eye was flaring dangerously, throwing off sparks as his flesh began to ooze ominously. He fell to his knees as his arms and legs began to disintegrate into nothing, thrashing out wildly as if the pain was a physical entity he could destroy. Form gradually diminishing to a far smaller size, the shrinking behemoth stopped struggling and blindly reached for his face.

He suddenly tossed back his head for a final roar, the eye on his forehead shattering like glass and reforming into another heart container. Darkness slowly seeped out of the chamber as the missing light poured back in. Finally, the remnants of the creature disintegrated like the three-headed plant monster had, leaving only a shadowed form to collapse limply to the ground. Eragon only momentarily glanced at the gasping form before turning his attention to the new Fused Shadow that had just manifested over his palms.

"Eeh heh heh!" Midna's form emerged from his shadow, deftly plucking the Fused Shadow up with her hair-hand. "Well done! And I mean that both ways." Saphira glanced down at her own scorch-marks, and growled irritably. "Meh. You'll recover. Now we have two Fused Shadows." She looked thoughtfully at them both. "You've been very good obedient little lizards so far. Would you care for a story?"

Why not? Saphira asked as she and Eragon headed over to the new heart container. New strength and energy flooded their bodies as the burns vanished from her suddenly pristine sapphire scales as if they had never been. I could use another distraction from roasting you.

"Zant is strong," the Twili's shadowed form intoned with a suddenly somber air. "The best Twili sorcerers would be more than a match for the both of you, and all of your tricks and powers, put together. Zant has found a way to go beyond even that level of power." She clenched her fists. "But his new-found strength, like his claim to the throne, is false. Stolen. Zant will never be my king, nor will I ever bow to him as my superior in anything. Even that Princess Zelda would be able to best his natural abilities!" Midna sighed, and bitterness involuntarily seeped into her tone. "It appalls me that this sacred kingdom of ancient renown and power is ruled by that princess. A carefree youth, a life of luxury, wisdom inherited instead of gained.. How does that teach duty?"

"She surrendered without a fight so that her people could be spared slaughter," Eragon argued, remembering the sorrowful violet-eyed woman who had been forced to watch her people and kingdom wither under the unchanging murk of Twilight. "She remains a prisoner in her own castle because she does not to risk innocent lives for a hopeless attempt at rebellion. Perhaps Zelda is more dutiful than you imagine."

Midna crossed her arms. "I never said I begrudged her the circumstances she was born into. Extended periods of peace can dull even the sharpest of wits. Hyrule has certainly grown soft from the time all nations of this realm once feared a newly reunited kingdom. Princess Zelda has done the best with what she got, and I would never wish harm on her. Certainly never wish all of this on her." She gestured to the ruined chamber around them, and the gasping figure still struggling in the center. "Is he dead yet?"

Just as she said it, the remnants of shadow only fled from the Goron's form, leaving only colors similar to those Eragon had seen on others of his tribe. Patriarch Darbus groaned, wearily blinked open his eyes, and staggered to his feet. All three in the room braced themselves for another confrontation, Saphira reflexively shifting back into her Hylian form so she wouldn't provoke a war when peace had finally been made.

Darbus only muttered under his breath, and continued rubbing his head.

"Should we go and check on him?" Saphira asked.

"He'll be fine. Too many arrows to the head. If we're lucky, he'll never remember that he went on a rampage and tried to kill us all. Or this." Midna floated a safe distance away, and then opened up another warp hole. "Come on! There's only one last Fused Shadow left!"

Eragon wasn't as convinced. Tentatively approaching the Goron patriarch, he prepared to ask if he could be of any help.

Darbus only rubbed his forehead gingerly, oblivious to the others in the chamber. "Ugh... My head... What in Din's name happened?"

Does he really need to know? Saphira questioned over their link, hastening over to Midna's open portal. Just thing about everything we would have to explain, and the guilt and nightmares he would have to live with.

You're probably right. Let's just leave this poor Goron in peace. He's been through more than enough today. Also, unlike the ancient and fragile Goron elders, their massive patriarch was still very well in his prime. Eragon had no desire in becoming acquainted with Darbus's fist if things turned sour.

Inching toward the portal, Eragon stepped in beside Saphira. Every single last particle had already vanished into thin air by the time Darbus had regained his senses.

Of all people, Galbatorix himself personally knew of the long and difficult journey it took to travel over from Alagaesia to Hyrule. The formidable peaks of the Beor Mountains wrapped all around Alagaesia's eastern border, even the seemingly endless expanse of rolling grasslands eventually leading up to them as the ranged curved. The Guardian Spirit of the Beors summoned fierce storms to discourage the dwarves from wandering too far east and stumbling upon Hyrulean settlements or visa versa. Even the mighty Dragon Riders themselves had been unable to cross the Beors and into the sacred kingdom beyond, for what would have happened if they had discovered the legendary power of the Triforce?

Galbatorix himself had stumbled his way into the Gerudo Desert in his blind delirium after losing his Jarnunvosk for the first time. But someone had guided him there, and he would have been swallowed up by the desert sands if not for 'timely intervention' from Koume and Kotake.

He could not afford such a costly journey again.

Like a mouse in the kitchen pantry, Eragon Shadeslayer had managed to get himself caught up into every one of Galbatorix's greatest plans. First the last she-dragon's egg in the world had hatched for him, and then the blasted boy had gone and joined the Varden. He had killed Durza and had been allowed into the forest haven of Du Weldenvarden.

The boy had then become the key to it all. When Galbatorix finally managed to sway him over his side, or enslave him to it, his she-dragon would come as well. Saphira would provide him the resources to both rebuild the entire dragon race and found a new order of Shur'tugal. Eragon's store of valuable information would provide priceless insight into the inner workings and weaknesses of the rebellion. Perhaps he could even crack the defensive enchantments on Du Weldenvarden, for he had been willingly invited inside before, and so also gain Galbatorix long-awaited access to the elves' secret sanctuary.

Then destiny had declared that Eragon's fate was inexplicably bound to that of Hyrule's. By orders of Lord Ganondorf, Galbatorix had been forced to abandon whatever plans he had in store for both Shadeslayer and Brightscales. Yet Galbatorix had invested too much time and effort into simply discarding it all. His own master had generously allowed him to send his own slave to Hyrule to continuously report on Eragon's condition... if Murtagh could manage to do it before Ganondorf finally hunted his prey down and slaughtered him.

Which means of travel was fast enough? Thorn, for all of his magical enhancements, was still not strong enough to fly directly over the Beors. Flying north around them would only lead into fierce and unknown territory. The southern seas were too rough for ships to sail, and their ruthless winds had previously sent Rider's dragons plummeting into the ocean's dark depths. Should Thorn manage to make it through in one piece to shore, he would instead land in the southern kingdoms of Labrynna and Holodrum. Hyrule proper was landlocked, and Galbatorix's servants would have to cross through hostile territory that would not react kindly to such threatening interlopers in their kingdom.

So Galbatorix discarded the dragon idea entirely, and turned to ancient tomes that had not failed him yet. Most had come from the personal library of Ganondorf's mothers, those he had received or stolen during his tutelage in the Gerudo Desert. Some had been locked up deep within the stores of knowledge at Ilirea and Doru Araeba. Others still had come from the decrepit temple high in the Beor Mountains Galbatorix had ransacked shortly before Ganondorf's mysterious fall, and the loss of most of his magical power through that severed connection.

Here were spells of doom and destruction that made the twelve words of death look harmless, enchantments could could bind the spirits of the earth itself to the will of the caster, and incantations that could summon armies of the dead or demons from another dimension to fight under his command. Here were dark arts the self-righteous had done all in their power to ensure would never be uttered by another bold magician again.

Galbatorix walked past it all, and instead selected the tattered remnants of an ancient scroll the most powerful charms had been unable to restore completely. Ganondorf had been enraged when he had discovered his student had filched it from his stores, but had allowed him to keep it. He considered it for a reward for Galbatorix's progress under his tutelage, for he had just recently managed the spell used to attach lesser souls to his own. That same trick had later been used to bind the power in the Eldunarya to his own.

"Here is music of power," Galbatorix muttered aloud. "Notes then when played properly, and with the right intention, could create magic on their very own. Murtagh has the instrument, and the intent. Now all he requires is the damned musical ability."

Jarnunvosk was curled up behind him, listening with rapt attention. She had just recently fed, and her copper scales glittered with a healthy shine. Her amber eyes roved over the yellowed parchment intensely, flashing black. The copper she-dragon extended a slightly too-yellow claw to the paper. This one, my Galbatorix.

His black eyes narrowed as he studied what the copper she-dragon had selected. The surviving fragment of text that went along with the musical notes mentioned something about minding the heat at Death Mountain. The very same mountain that had been a raging volcano at the time the parchment had been written.

"We need him alive, Jarnunvosk," he said sternly.

Scratching at his chin, he pondered over the other surviving songs. One brief description noted that the melody it went to directly led to the temple where the way to the Sacred Realm was supposedly housed, but its name and notes had been lost long before Ganondorf himself had ever acquired it. Another would have brought the player of the Requiem of Spirit right into the heart of Gerudo territory. Galbatorix suspected his master had destroyed it on purpose. Three full songs, including the one Jarnunvosk had so thoughtfully pointed out, remained.

The Bolero of Fire would lead straight to the heart of Death Mountain. The Minuet of Forest would drop Murtagh right into the middle of a wood notorious for its vicious creatures and curses. Both locations were still far more preferable than the last one, for the Nocturne of Shadow would teleport its player right to the door of the temple the Sheikah had previously used as a dungeon and place of torture of their numerous enemies. The vengeful dead that haunted there could never be laid to rest.

Here then. Appease their hunger, my Galbatorix, as you have appeased mine. Jarnunvosk nudged him forcefully, sending images of starvation and satisfaction into his mind, numbing away his resolve with cold tendrils-

"No." His tone was still gentle, but with a stern undertone that brooked no argument. Spirited as his copper she-dragon was, it was he who had summoned her back from the grave, and he who kept her tethered to life. He held power over her now just like he did over Shruikan. "Murtagh is a capable man. He should be able to find his way out of the Lost Woods and to Eragon and his she-dragon. If not, then your dislike in him was justified."

Blood calls blood. Remember, my Rider, that sometimes all sense of control is but a mere illusion.

His black eyes flashed dangerously. "And you would be wise to remember that you would be dead if I had not raised you again, and but a shadow of yourself if I forbade you from feeding. Do not give me reason to."

Jarnunvosk hissed as a creeping coldness seeped into the room, amber eyes going so dark it was like there was nothing in her sockets at all. It was an idle expression of annoyance on her part. To him, it served as a sobering reminder that the bright and beautiful soul that had perished at an Urgal's arrow had been able to be entirely restored, despite his best efforts.

Then I suppose I shall go and play with your Shruikan, my Galbatorix. I know where I am unwanted.

"Bring Murtagh to me first," the Black King ordered. "His musical talents need evaluation."

The copper-scaled she-dragon clacked her jaw in excitement, and then vanished from the room as if she had never been.

When the crushing darkness of the warp once again gave way to daylight, Eragon found himself once again standing at the shore of Eldin's spring. Saphira stood behind him in her true form. Midna was nowhere to be seen, and had presumably slipped back into his shadow before she could have been exposed to unfiltered light.

"Heroic Eragon..."

The green-clad young man looked around at the sound of Eldin's voice. The Light Spirit was nowhere in sight, and there was nothing radiant in the spring except the shimmer of the sun on the water. Eldin's voice was but a whisper, barely audible over the sound of falling water.

"North of here, across the plain and past the great stone bridge, in the lands guarded by the Light Spirit Lanayru... You shall find the one you seek..."

Ilia, the spirited young woman who had cared for Saphira while he had been recovering from his broken arm. The girl he had allowed to be captured by raiders, and the girl he had promised her father to bring home safe and sound.

Saphira suddenly nudged him with her snout. Eragon whirled around, startled from his thoughts, as he saw Renado and the children emerge from his house. It was Colin who called his name, who rushed up to him with sudden urgency. The young man deftly caught the boy as he tripped in his haste, listening to what Rusl's son said.

"Ilia!" Colin pressed. "You've got to save Ilia! Those monsters left me with the other kids, but they must have taken her somewhere else. Whenever I couldn't go on, I would think of you and Saphira and Ilia and be strong..." He looked up at the astonished Rider and his equally flabberghasted she-dragon. "You rescued us from the Bokoblins, and from those shadow monsters, just like Saphira did. Ilia stood up for us whenever those Bublins tried to hurt us. Remember what you and my Dad always said? About being strong to defend those that couldn't?" Colin smiled reassuringly. "You don't have to worry about us. Please, just go save Ilia!"

Renado came over, putting a hand on Colin's shoulder. "I swear to you, the children will be safe in my care. Do not let their fates trouble you. Go to those who need you most." He smiled. "In Hyrule, countless stories are told of the ancient heroes-"

"-Like the Hero of Time!" Talo butted in.

"Yes, and the many others like him. Your deeds bring them all to mind." His dark brown eyes travelled to Eragon's green tunic with a knowing gleam, and the younger man wondered how much the shaman really knew. "May the graces of the great Goddesses who shaped Hyrule bear both you and your dragon on your way."

Renado and Luda effortlessly slipped into bows of respect. Talo and Beth looked quizzically at them, before doing their best to imitate the movement. Malo hung back, muttering something about only purchasing from his shop when he was actually awake to do so.

Eragon shifted uncomfortably, scarlet flushing his face at the simple gesture of gratitude. Unpleasant memories of women shoving babies they begged him to bless into his face and crowds of strangers revering him as a living god were brought to mind. Gods. Was he safe from nothing in Hyrule? Midna's quiet snickering told him he wasn't.

"I am just doing what any in my position would do," he started uneasily. "If others had the power, or did not have to protect their families, I'm sure-"

"Don't be so modest," Malo interjected. "Just go and absorb the praise like a normal person."

Beth placed her hands angrily on her hips. "And what's wrong with that, Malo? Eragon is a true hero. He's no glory hound that only does it for the attention. Not everyone in Hyrule has to be like you."

"He's not even from Hyrule!"

As the children dissolved into bickering, Renado led Eragon away from the squabble. "I know only what the children have told me, that you are not originally of Hyrule. I do not know the exent of your homeland's technology, but I recommend taking a look at Barnes's shop. He managed to gather up enough of his original stock to resume his business. Trust me, his bombs will be of great assistance in your travels."

Don't bombs blow up? Saphira asked. Why would we want to carry such volatile things around with us?

While Eragon audibly thanked the shaman for his advice, he internally shrugged. Let's just go and talk to Barnes. What harm could asking possibly do?

Entering Barnes Bombs, the green-clad man discovered an interior lined with metal and warnings to never light a flame inside or near the shop. Barnes had happily greeted him, offering him a bag (for a monetary fee) filled to the brim with the one type of bomb he'd had the resources to produce. He had explained how bombs could be attached to arrows to send such explosive power over considerable distances.

Eragon eyed the bombs critically. "Are you sure of their power?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Barnes squawked indignantly. He peered nervously out the window, where a curious Saphira was watching. "Can it breathe fire?"

Yes, it can. Saphira leaned toward the glass, smoke rising from her nostrils. Eragon struggled against not cracking up as Barnes started spluttering. Can this man?

"Hey!" the shop-keeper yelped. "Keep away from those windows! Everything in here is highly flammable!" He took the money that Eragon had calmly offered, shoving the bomb bag across the counter. "Here. Now go and redeem us all from evil or something. Just keep your walking inferno away from my shop!"

Thanking Barnes, Eragon carefully loaded the bombs into one of the saddle-bags, taking great sure to ensure that they were cushioned by soft tunics. Again, the children swarmed as they saw him leaving, and would not let go of him until he promised that he would return with Ilia. Then Saphira had spread her wings warningly, the crowd clearing the area as her Rider had easily climbed to the saddle just as the she-dragon ascended into the air with several powerful flaps of her wings.

"You really need to show me how to do that so easily," Eragon said to her as they cleared Kakariko and made their way into the fields north of the village.

You'll be able to practice soon enough, Saphira answered. Just beyond the fields, they could see the final Twilit barrier separating them from Lanayru Province. Isn't this the last section of Twilight in Hyrule?

Eragon sighed at the realization. "Yeah, it is. Guess this will be my last time flying as a dragon."

"We'll still need to venture into the actual Twilight Realm," Midna said from his shadow. "Unless you want me to defeat Zant alone. Not that I need any help from light-dwellers, of course. I just assumed you would want to have your vengeance on the usurper who thought he could take over your realm."

Saphira growled eagerly. Of course we're going with you after we find this last Fused Shadow! I won't be satisfied until I can sink my fangs into the man who put an entire kingdom through this hell!

As his female companions discussed exactly what they would like to do to Zant, Eragon found himself fixated on the ruins in the fields below. There seemed to be the remains of a stone road winding through the grass, and sections of wooden walls and fence still standing nearby. Perhaps there had once been a ranch down there? One that could have supplied Castle Town with the majority of all the livestock, horses, and milk it required.

"Hey, green boy!" Midna suddenly snapped. "Don't you doze off on me!"

Eragon's eyes wrenched themselves open. Had he been falling asleep just then? He curiously looked about. "Do you smell smoke?"

No, Saphira said firmly. Now concentrate, little one. We're nearing the bridge that connects to Lanayru Province.

The massive stone structure stretched across a gaping chasm that seemed to lead straight into a bottomless abyss. While the bridge was clearly ancient, it was still able to support the heavy traffic that must have once passed over it when Kakariko had still been an area with a booming economy.

Suddenly, a chill lanced through the air, creeping down Eragon's spine while the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Saphira sharply veered to the left, nearly throwing her passenger off as she barely just managing to avoid colliding with the tons of stone that went whipping past her and into the warp portal that had appeared in the sky above them. Several shadow beasts were then spat out, landing on their side of the broken bridge.

"Gods!" Eragon swore, shifting to regain his prior position in the saddle. "That nearly killed us all!" He gaped down at the monsters below. "How do they even survive in this realm without the Twilight?"

"Zant's corruption must flow through their very veins," Midna remarked grimly. "That's darkness enough for them now."

Saphira snarled irritably down at the shadow beasts that now ravenously looked up at them. Let's put them out of their misery! Her plume of fire went surging down to the earth below, consuming the creatures in a burst of searing flame. There was a pained shriek, not a resurrecting howl, and then they disintegrated back into magic. The angry red portal above their heads turned serene blue as Midna's magic gained control.

Shadow beasts nullified, Eragon took better stock of their surroundings. The barrier was just up ahead, beyond a pile of rocks from the mountains that had tumbled into the road. With the bridge missing its entire middle portion, and the spot below encircled by rocks on its three other sides, there seemed no better place to settle in for the night.

"We should make camp here and take on the Twilight in the morning," he suggested. "Unless you want to spend the night in unfamiliar territory with monsters that will constantly be trying to kill us."

A beat.

Here sounds nice, Saphira answered mildly.

The sapphire-scaled she-dragon descended and made an easy landing, shifting into Hylian form the moment the saddle was off her back. She stretched appreciatively as Eragon began rummaging through the bags. Both knew from personal experience just how cumbersome that damned saddle truly was.

Their meal that night consisted of the rest of the food that had been stored within the bags. Despite her numerous complaints, Saphira had wolfed her entire meal down.

"We really need more food," Eragon commented as he picked at a piece of bread that must have been leftover from Alagaesia, for it felt like he was chewing rock. "Do you think there will be anything edible to eat once we get into the Twilight Realm? I'll be stuck as a dragon the entire time." He grimaced. Which meant no shifting into a smaller form to trick the body into thinking it had gotten a full meal, like Saphira now loved to do.

"Dragons store energy far more efficiently than humans do." Saphira shrugged. "You should be able to get by on your reserves. If not, you can be the first to find out how monster tastes like."

Midna cackled. "Ah, the benefits of being an incorporeal shadow most of the time. And I can actually eat anything I want in the Twilight."

Eragon chucked the rest of the stale bread at his own shadow, calmly got up, and went back to setting up camp. At least tomorrow he would again be in the position to intimidate her. Maybe Saphira could give him some advice about that...

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Ice Cavern- The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time

With the last of their meager supplies having been consumed the other night, Saphira had taken it upon herself to wake up early the next morning and bring back breakfast for the others. Eragon had wolfed it down appreciatively, knowing it could be the last meal he would have for several days until the Twilight was lifted from Lanayru Province. There was no way to preserve the meat for long. Attempts at foraging had yielded enough small morsels to keep Saphira from complaining when she was soon to be stranded in Hylian form.

Then, with their gear packed up and bellies full, they had departed for the northern mountains and the barrier of Twilight in them. Several Bublins had shot flaming arrows at them. Saphira had responded with a bombardment of searing fire none could dodge.

Eragon now shook his head, flexing his wings as he became reacquainted with his dragon body. Saphira, the marks upon her skin glowing faintly in the murky light, fixed the saddle upon his back. Midna had already taken the customary place between his horns, gazing imperiously down at the she-dragon in human skin as if she were a queen upon her throne.

First things first, we need to find Ilia, Eragon stated firmly. She could be dead or devoured by the time we find all of those damned insects.

Saphira nodded. "Of course, little- er, big one. Do you know where she is?"

Eragon, who had clumsily lifted off into the air the moment everyone was aboard, now hovered uncertainly above the earth. ...With some Bublins?\

Midna slapped her own forehead in exasperation. "Stupid lizard, do you have any idea just how big this province is? It includes the most populated city in all of Hyrule, and Goddesses know how long it will take to search every single settlement here. All of your fat and fire will do us no good. Gods, why couldn't you have been transformed into an obedient little wolf? Anything with a sense of smell-"

"Dragons can smell just fine!" Saphira interjected hotly. "Do you think we just relied on sight while hunting in a forest? We can scent our prey, and distinguish between the healthy, and the sick and elderly. Given a direct lead, I am confident even stone-head here could track Ilia down by his nose alone!"

Eragon snorted in protest. Hey! He paused in the tirade just about to go off, blue-gray eyes narrowing as he caught a glimpse of vaguely familiar brown leather on the path below. Diving steeply down, he inhaled the scent of the herbs Ilia always kept packed within in case of emergencies. This is Ilia's! She must have dropped it during some rough riding.

"Do you have the scent?" Midna demanded. At the green dragon's nod, her heels kicked the sides of his head. "Good. Now get back to work!"

Still flying over the road that cut across the fields, Eragon now had Ilia's scent to confirm she had once taken the same course of direction. Soon the majestic form of Hyrule Castle loomed out of the gloom, growing closer with each beat of his wings. Remembering being trapped within the dungeons down below and the shivering spirits that cowered in the sewers in fear of the shadow beasts, the green dragon couldn't help but shiver as the foreboding sight drew ever nearer.

Castle Town was packed with buildings squished alongside one another, with streets too narrow to land in being the only widely open space available within the city's walls. Countless little spectral orbs floated down the streets and alleys, oblivious townspeople that had been unwittingly ensnared within the Twilight. Their ghostly whispers somehow managed to reach his sharp ears. Some villagers around a dried-up fountain worried over when the water would return. Others clustered before a shop and exchanged news and concerns over the loved ones who did not live within the capital. Flustered guards attempted to maintain order, even as civilians complained about their cowardice.

"And all have no idea they're within the Twilight?" Saphira murmured, remembering all too well she had once been as helpless and ignorant as them. "Come on, Eragon. We need to have this damned darkness lifted once and for all. Let's find Ilia and get out of here."

Her scent trail wound through the maze of straights and ominously at a medical center. Eragon had been about to tear down the door to get a better look inside when he had caught a fresher trail that led away from the building in the opposite direction. That trail ended once and for all in an alley at the southern part of the city, continuing down a flight of steps and into a door too small for a dragon to enter.

"Telma's Bar," Midna read. The imp pondered this for a moment, and then she sighed in exasperation. "Why do you light-dwellers always try to drown your sorrows in the times you actually need common sense? But that girl is safe and sound. Let's get out of here and to that Light Spirit-"

Eragon growled stubbornly. He hovered as low as he possibly could, not trusting the rooftops below to support his weight. She was at a medical center! How can be I sure she's fine or not if I didn't see her myself? Saphira, can you please go down there and confirm that she's alright? My mind won't be able to rest until I truly know.

Blue eyes soft, the Hylian woman put a comforting hand to his neck. "Of course I can, Eragon."

She clambered down his neck, using his spines to climb down his tail and get as close as she could to the ground. Then Saphira let go, gracefully falling to the alley below. Getting up and wiping the dust from her clothing, she gave a reassuring smile and disappeared into the bar.

While her current form may have been human, or at least a human's bastard halfbreed child with an elf, Saphira had been relieved to discover her senses had been hardly dulled. Her eyes were still strong enough to make out the spectral forms of the armored men huddling around a table in the backroom. A large woman and a smaller shape she assumed to be Ilia worriedly stood over a pile of crates that had been converted into a makeshift bed. By the ragged breathing of their patient, he didn't have much time left.

He's nothing more than a boy, younger than Eragon was when I first hatched for him!

Saphira found herself drawn in by morbid curiosity. With gills and scales she thought to be a shade of blue, the fish-boy obviously did not belong in the middle of a bar miles away from the closest river. He wore gold around his neck that made Saphira assume that he at least had to be of some wealthy family. Surely enough standing in Castle Town to be seen by a healer!

"This boy..." Ilia murmured, her voice no more than a faint whisper as it echoed through the veil of Twilight. "Can you save him?"

The older woman brushed a strand of fiery red hair from her face, her voice calm and collected as if heavily injured fish-people had a habit of lying unconscious in the middle of her bar. "For the love of Din, honey, try to settle down. OK? I just now sent for the doctor!" Her ruby-colored eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Strange... that a child of the Zoras should wind up alone and stranded so far from home. I wonder if this is somehow related to what those soldiers were discussing in back. Damn guardsmen and their policies regarding civilians. It's almost as if they don't remember all the favors I did for the Princess's mother and the rest of that damned Royal Family back in the day-"

Saphira proceeded into the next room, and stepped right into a lecture as the highest-ranked man of the bunch furiously rebuked his inferiors. "We've had a ton of complaints from citizens who can't send prayers to the spring spirit of Lake Hylia. Apparently the waters are at an all-time low, and people can't even reach the shrine! Go there and investigate and... restore order or something!"

While the other guards stood there like spooked deer, the she-dragon in Hylian skin looked over the map for herself. It showed the main provinces of Hyrule, much like the map the ever-helpful villagers of Ordon had shoved into Eragon's arms as they had been leaving. Being the largest body of water on the map, and bearing a location marked in red, Lake Hylia proved impossible to miss.

Committing the image to memory, Saphira glanced at the spectral soldiers one more time, and prayed that Lady Nasuada would never see troops so lax in their duties. Not only would she go into conniptions at the inconceivable sight, but the fate that would have awaited those unfortunate soldiers would have had them willing to tend to the every whim of Saphira herself instead.

Come to think of it, I quite like that idea.

Reviewing the memories Saphira had given them over their link, Eragon flapped like a dragon possessed on the way to Lake Hylia. While he had been initially relieved at seeing Ilia safe and sound, all of those positive emotions that morphed into white-hot rage at seeing an innocent child so grievously injured. Now the green-scaled dragon was eager to sake his fury by taking it out on all the shadow beasts unfortunate enough to get within range of his light-breath, or the demonic birds that couldn't get out of the way in time for the behemoth that sped past.

Soon the land opened up beneath them into the chasm carved out by the monstrous lake. The only way directly across the gap was the massive bridge that stretched across the divide, so ancient that all of the supporting columns had perhaps crumbled away decades ago. But even in its ruined state even Eragon could marvel at its majesty, at the ingenuity of a construction project that must have taken years to complete.

While the Great Bridge of Hylia certainly lived up to its moniker, the lake itself was... less than exciting.

Saphira glanced at the body of water beneath her, and then glared back at the map. Had she been in her true form, all of that paper would have been ash by then. "How often do they update these things?"

"Well, we arrived at Puddle Hylia," Midna drawled. "Let's just hope that Light Spirit has enough water left in its spring that it doesn't feel like devouring anybody today. Angry spirits, even those with their power stolen away, do not make agreeable spirits."

Eragon was just about to swoop beneath the bridge when he suddenly sneezed at a sudden acrid tang in his nostrils. Do you smell that? And why is the bridge so black and shiny?

His Twili passenger shrugged casually. "Oh, I bet that is oil someone put out in a misguided attempt to kill you. Get on the bridge, get two archers to light up the opposite ends, and normally you'd have nice and crispy victims in no time flat. Too bad you killed all their fun by growing a pair of wings. The next peasants that come along will probably go and trigger it instead or something."

Eragon's gray-blue eyes bulged in alarm. WHAT?

"Can we trigger it early without causing fatal damage to the bridge?" Saphira's calm and collected voice cut right through the panic, straight to the heart of the problem. "With the other bridge out we can't separate Hyrule entirely from the towns and villages up north."

"Sweet Goddesses, it's not gunpowder. Setting it on fire won't cause a massive explosion that will take out the entire bridge." Midna paused. "Unless you want to take out one of your bombs and chuck it down there, I guess. It could cut off some additional forces Zant may send after us. Until he realizes he still has the portals."

Eragon's response was to swoop over the bridge, letting loose the hottest stream of light he could muster. It was certainly enough to ignite the oil and send the Bublin archers that had been hiding screaming for solid ground. With the flames rising merrily into the Twilight sky, the green dragon continued his descent, landing right next to the shore of the pathetic puddle of a lake. His claws sank right into a sandy bottom saturated with water. Why did he feel like the land he was standing on had been immersed within hundreds of feet of water just until very recently?

Water just can't evaporate from a lake of this size in so little time, he mused. This ground should be bone-dry by now.

"Look at that map, lizard," Midna replied absently as she studied the barren landscape of the former lakebed. "Lake Hylia feeds just about every major river that flows out of Hyrule. It just can't keep up without fresh water from Zora's Domain supplying it."

"Zora?" Saphira repeated. "Like those fish-people over there?"

An adult Zora, far larger than the injured one Eragon remembered seeing in Saphira's memories, crouched anxiously over the waters of the lake while several of his comrades stood behind him. Their spears and the fierce fish-masks they wore over their faces left no doubts in his mind they were prepared to protect their remaining water at all costs.

"The drop in water has been faster than predicted. At this rate, Lake Hylia will dry up completely. It's only a matter of time."

"Something must have happened to the water upstream!" one of the other Zoras suddenly shouted. "Do you think something's wrong in Zora's Domain?"

"Of course not!" the first one snapped, the mask preventing Eragon from seeing just how positive he was on that. "It's just..."

"How can you even tell?" the third Zora spoke up bitterly. "With the way things are, we can't even walk back!"

The only other sentient soul at Lake Hylia was a strangely dressed old man who bitterly lamented on the lake drying up just as he and his partners had opened up for business and wondered if Lanayru was doing it just to spite him. Eragon had been working up the nerve to write a question in the sand to ask him what had happened to the water when the corrupted Bublin archer had shown up on a bird.

He could have easily dispatched them both with a single gust of breath, but Saphira had called it good target practice. Three or four shots later, the archer had disintegrated like the other shadow creatures, and the honking bird smartly took off in the opposite direction. Midna couldn't help but admire their innovation.

"See? Even mere light-dwellers corrupted by the Twilight can adapt. Unlike your plain old ones." Midna's red eyes flicked disdainfully down the strange little man that now cowered in his equally odd house. "Or Light Spirits. I'd highly recommend getting that thing's water back first before attempting to reason with it. It'd probably try to eat you, Chosen Hero or not, if you didn't. I for one would very much appreciate having enough of a soul left over to go to the afterlife when I die."

"Water," Saphira bluntly stated. "No arguments."

Agreed, Eragon growled, ending his laps around the lake and following the dried river that had once fed it.

Eragon soon discovered that attempting to directly follow the course of the river had been a horrible, horrible idea. The path had been carved straight through the mountains, with space so narrow that his wings scraped against the sides of the rock with each and every flap. To add to the experience, the only supports keeping the mountain from caving back onto them were flimsy wooden braces he could have easily ripped apart. Parts of the mountain were already coming down, falling rocks and crumbling pillars of stone that managed to slice his thick hide and leave gouges as they tumbled down.

And the archers? Their arrows had no trouble piercing delicate membranes that were already being beaten by the rock. It made dodging falling rocks and swooping through those tight openings all the more difficult. Saphira did her best to cover herself from the bombardment by hunkering down in the saddle, his old Ordon shield helping to cover her back. Midna had sought shelter in his shadow the moment that rock had almost cracked her skull wide open.

Finally, spotting sweet daylight pouring in from an exit large enough for him, Eragon bellowed and unleashed hell upon his tormentors. The archers around him were propelled by an explosion of pure light, the wooden barriers that blocked portions of the exit shattering into countless tiny splinters with a satisfying crunch. Spreading his wings wide, the green dragon rocketed into the wide open blue sky, roaring his triumph for all within miles to hear. He knew he was caught up in childish instincts, and no other dragons but Saphira were around to appreciate his victory over cramped spaces, but he was too ecstatic to even care.

"Ah!" Midna slipped out of his shadow and again plopped herself down between his horns. "Here already? I knew taking that short cut was a good idea!" She suddenly frowned in distaste as she crossed her arms. "Why is it suddenly so cold? Did your big head suck in the rest of the hot air out here?"

Saphira sniffed. "I'm perfectly warm." Eragon noted how the Hylian woman was crouched close to his body, and was now pulling on some of his spare tunics she had ripped from the saddle bags."Let's just go fine this damned village and get out of here with that water."

Flying over the chasm the river had carved out, it turned out that Midna really wasn't paranoid when they all noticed the snow and ice beginning to build up beneath them. Eventually the dried riverbed opened up into an entire field of white that had once been the watery paradise of Zora's Domain. The massive waterfall that must have once tumbled into the lake below was frozen solid, a glittering and jagged tower of falling icicles. With even the running water chilled to a standstill, and not a single Zora spirit in sight, Eragon hovered over Zora's Domain uncertainly as he looked around.

Shouldn't there be more Zoras here? Those soldiers we saw down by Lake Hylia couldn't have been the last!

Saphira frowned, blue eyes dark. "I have no idea, Eragon. They could be sheltering beneath the ice in pockets that haven't frozen over, but how long can they last before they use up all the oxygen in the water? Or in temperatures that cold? And that's even if there are some areas still liquid!"

Midna shrugged callously, but neither of her companions were blind enough to not notice the faint glimmer of concern that flickered over her face before it got swallowed up by apathy. "These mountains are dotted with caverns. I'm sure the fish-people are all huddled around fires and whining their hearts out as we speak. Or up in the throne-room." She gestured to the room above the falls. "So what if conditions outside are freezing? The Zoras have more than enough magic to keep a pool that size heated."

Eragon drifted over to the ledge above the waterfall, claws digging into the ice as he momentarily struggled to gain a purchase on the slippery surface. Saphira, now clad in as many spare tunics as possible to shield her Hylian body from the cold, slid down from the saddle and reached for her sword. The heat emanating from the green dragon had been enough to keep the cold metal from searing her hands. She now cautiously led the way into the tunnel beyond, Eragon following just behind her.

The tunnel soon opened up into a cavern crawling with shadow beasts. Saphira nimbly dodged past the first two, impaling her sword into the chest of the third and farthest. Eragon's breath of blinding light took care of the first two, all three disintegrating without another to call them back from the dead.

With their enemies dead, Eragon was now free to wonder just exactly how they had gotten into what Midna assumed was a safe haven from the Zoras. And how could they all be standing on what was supposed to be still liquid water? He looked around in confusion, half-expecting to see more fish-people huddling behind the ornate throne that was at the far side of the chamber.

Midna's voice suddenly came to him, nothing more than a strangled whisper. "Look... below the ice..."

Saphira glanced at what lay beneath her feet, sword clattering to the ground as the dim light that radiated from her body spluttered out. She collapsed to her knees with a faint exclamation of, "Gods."

Eragon numbly gaped, unable to understand just what he was seeing. The lifeless forms of so many still bodies, eternally frozen in a frantic race to the surface as they had realized what was happening to them. Their spectral faces stared desperately back at him with blind panic and the crushing revelation that all their struggles were for naught.

Then, the horrible realization finally dawned. The Chosen Hero of Hyrule vomited up the entire contents of his stomach onto the ice. His distraught cry echoed in the ears and souls of his companions, sending icicles falling and shattering as his grief threatened to consume every last inch of his sanity.

Almost an entire race... Gone...

Something had selected him above all others to be the champion and defender of Hyrule, to protect every last one of its inhabitants from the death and danger that longed to consume the entire kingdom, just like Saphira had once chosen him to be her Rider and had unwittingly made him the last chance for the resistance against Galbatorix. Something had seen fit to grant him the power to save all of Hyrule, a luxury not even granted to the Princess who had sacrificed her own freedom and her entire realm to save the souls of her people.

And he, Eragon Shadeslayer, the bastard spawn of one of the most feared and reviled creatures in all of Alagaesia and yet the last hope of countless innocents, had failed.

"Not quite."

Eragon and Saphira, who had latched onto each other in their shared grief, simultaneously glanced over at the third member of their motley group. Midna now mutely floated beneath the ice and those who had met their doom in it. She was an entirely different person, stripped of all her sarcasm and the bitterness, entirely exposed to those she had once tried so hard to push away.

Saphira's eyes narrowed as a suspicious snarl made its way across her human face. "What do you mean? The dead are dead, and that is the way fate intended it to be."

"Zoras are tougher than they look, and with some powerful magic to go along with it. Hyrule has experienced harsh winters before. And yet, the Zoras suffer no ill effects, for all the water that is then frozen solid." Midna's red eyes flicked back to them. "Do you understand?"

...Blue flames flickered wildly inside a tiny bottle, a searing inferno held back only by glass fires liked it had helped to form. Certainly more than enough to melt the coldest of ice, but enough to thaw someone out without burning them to ash? For all the advice he had been given, the gentle encouragement from the fairy that hovered by his side, he still could not be sure of what he was about to do.

Flames suddenly reared out of the bottle he had just uncorked, obediently spreading over the block of ice he had directed them at until only water and what had previously just been imprisoned inside it remained before dissipating completely.

For the first time in a long while, the King Zora inhaled deeply, blue scales not even lightly singed from the flames. As if he had never been just as solidly frozen as the rest of his domain still was...

The Zoras are in some sort of suspended animation, Eragon breathed. They can be thawed out!

Saphira gaped up at the two of them, then fiercely went over and grabbed her sword, almost as if she were prepared to hack through dozens of feet of ice to liberate every last Zora. "Then what are you waiting for, stone-head? We need to get them out of there!"

Wait!" The desperation in the Twili's cry only just stopped Eragon from unleashing the plume of light he had been building up in his maw. "There's a better way to handle this!"

She hastily explained about the one boulder that Death Mountain had almost crushed them under, which should have still been holding immense heat due to its massive size. Because of the new portal she had just gained control over, the thawing process would be far faster and safer than simply 'turning a thickheaded lizard loose on the ice.'

It took less than a minute for the other two to agree with the plan, and another ten seconds for Midna to take off alone, not wanting to lug the extra weight of a Hylian woman and an adult male dragon along with her. Five minutes later, Eragon had just managed to leap out of the way before a burning boulder was heaved out of the portal and smashed right through the ice.

Midna proved herself to have excellent aim, for the rock progressed through the ice without harming a single Zora before finally settling on the bottom of the chamber. There were suddenly deafening cracks that shattered through the frozen matter, the wild water eagerly surging forward after having been suppressed for so long. The remaining ice was nowhere near strong enough to support a dragon, and Eragon found the previously solid ground giving way beneath him as he was swept off by the resurrected river.

Only quick thinking gave Eragon the opportunity to dig his claws into the side of the pool, and heave himself up onto relatively solid ground. Saphira clung onto his spiked tail for dear life, quickly climbing her way up his back and up into the safety of the saddle. Midna merely hovered onto his head, perfectly dry from the ordeal.

The spectral forms of countless Zoras suddenly came to life, throwing themselves against the currents and onto dry ground. They either curled up or huddled with others to conserve warmth, shivering or calling out to loved ones, but all alive and relatively well. The three companions, invisible to the newly thawed Zoras, watched the almost miraculous event in silent awe.

"See?" Midna suddenly prompted, the grin of joy and relief upon her face quickly becoming that signature smirk. "Everyone's thawed out and, perhaps with years of inner reflection and prayers to their gods, can come to forgive the Chosen Hero for taking his sweet time. Can we go and talk to that damned spirit now?"

Saphira was already in the process of fiercely wringing out her hair. "What? Is stopping to dry off and make sure we don't get hypothermia too much now?"

To try and appease them both, Eragon craned his neck around and blew warm air all over the young woman in a valiant effort to dry her off. That better?

Saphira pealed off the last of the spare tunics, her own only slightly damp, however much it reeked of dragon-breath. "Thank you, Eragon, both for taking the time to do something selfless and for even thinking to do so in the first place." A pointed scowl was directed at Midna.

The Twili shrugged, the old mask already completely brought up. "You'll get over it. Now let's go and find ourselves a-"

"Wait!"

Three heads whirled around at the echoing voice that almost seemed to be carried through water. A chill ran down Eragon's spine, his hackles raising as he faced yet another presence his instincts knew as supernatural.

A soft golden light suddenly appeared above the melted pool, coalescing into the shape of a female Zora. She was clad in a beautiful gown, her eyes sparkling with both benevolence and bottomless gratitude. What transfixed Eragon most was the elegant, almost star-shaped sapphire that dangled from her neck, glittering in her in her spectral radiance.

"Please, you must allow me to thank you all for revitalizing both my people and this spring, which is the water source for all the lands of Hyrule. In life, I was the elder of this Zora village and the queen of my entire people. My name was Rutela."

Midna looked almost uneasy at the gratitude, and seemed on the verge of saying something highly offensive until a sopping tunic nailed her on the back of her helmeted head. Saphira smiled innocently back at her glare.

"The dark ones... They raided this village and, as a message to my people, executed me before them. And, though they may not have known it at the time, struck a far more lethal blow to all of Hyrule, and yet also denied their lord of one the things he craves most in the entire world." Her eyes glittered as she reached a ghostly hand to her radiant sapphire. But whatever darkness was in her expression faded as she smiled down at him again. "Young man... You who take the form of a proud beast of both power and courage... I have something to ask of you."

Anything, he answered honestly.

"He means it, too," Midna muttered. "I can't tell you how many vows him and his pet dragon made to total strangers."

"When the servants of darkness descended upon our village, I sent my only child, Ralis, to Hyrule Castle to inform Princess Zelda of our fate and to warn her of a rising evil. But... I fear danger followed him from this doomed place. I feel it. His presence grows weaker to me over time, closer to a void he can cross only once..." Rutela sighed sorrowfully. "But my time in this realm has passed. Though I would have given it gladly, I no longer have a life to risk in his rescue. Please, would you save my dearest, my Prince Ralis?"

"We can't make any guarantees!" Despite a glare and a growl from her companions, Midna's pragmatism won out. "Queen Rutela, all of Hyrule is still endangered. This entire province is still under Twilight and everyone in it is a potential snack to a hungry shadow beast. Ralis in a heavily populated town with some of the best doctors in the realm in there with him. Sorry, but both their realm and mine has to come before making sure one little boy remembered to take his medicine."

Rutela floated closer, an icy chill growing as she steadily advanced. The coldness in her gaze was directed solely at Midna. "Your people should know the legends above all, outcast. Look upon what your ancestors once possessed, pried from the cold hands of one of my forefathers, and one of the last safeguards preventing evil from heading straight into the heart of Hyrule."

Yellow-and-red eyes narrowing, they suddenly flew wide open with a gasp of amazement. "The sapphire! It can't be, not after all these centuries-"

"My family continued to unwaveringly attend to the duties bestowed upon us by the Goddesses themselves. Never once have we faltered in our vigilance, and some of us have even given our lives to ensure its safekeeping, and thus the safekeeping of Hyrule. With my death, Ralis is the last of the line." Rutela was now only inches from Midna's face, and that distance lessened even more as she bent over to look the Twili straight in the eye. "Tell me, outcast, would you entrust such a key to the powerless shades to the dead. Or perhaps to Zant?"

"Never," Midna hissed vehemently. "We'll take good care of your brat, fish, but know it won't be because we owe you anything."

The former Queen Zora now completely ignored the Twili, her gaze returning to the Chosen Hero and his she-dragon. "Succeed in this and I shall bestow the protection of water upon you. This power will grant you the ability to swim and respire in very deep water as if you were a Zora." For a split second, both the timeless wisdom and the cold disdain fell away, leaving only a mother's pleading face. "Please... Save my son..."

Even with the meeting with Lanayru completed, and finally in possession of a vessel that already contained one light insect, the entire party still maintained an awkward silence that had hung over them since the encounter with Queen Rutela's spirit. Saphira refused to do anything more than stubbornly scowl at Midna until she elaborated more on what had happened back in the throne-room. The Twili glared back in resolute silence. Any attempt Eragon made at mundane conversation was promptly stonewalled by two very vicious females that currently had no intention of being civil with each other.

Under normal circumstances, Eragon would have gladly joined Saphira in interrogating Midna for answers, but he had far too much to think about at the moment. Fifteen other insects needed to be retrieved, darkness needed to be lifted from Hyrule once and for all, and he needed to get a grievously-injured boy to a specialist who knew how to treat fish-people.

Rutela had begged them to save her son, which in turn would also preserve a line somehow vital to the continued survival of Hyrule. Eragon was all for saving the kingdom and an innocent life at the same exact time. Who really cared if Midna knew exactly what Rutela had been entrusted with before her death and what now needed to be passed down to her only son? Or if Midna had been called an 'outcast' and a descendent of a group of people that had murdered others and had presumably been up to no good?

Okay, the part about being an outcast is definitely cause for some concern. Please, Midna, would you just tell us you aren't like those ancestors Rutela was talking about?

The Twili bared her teeth in irritation. "Do you think I would be helping you if I was?" she asked caustically. "Or that I would look like this?"

"What was that last part?" Saphira demanded sharply.

"Nothing! Just go and squish some bugs so we can get the hell out of this place!"

Instead of immediately heading for Lake Hylia, Eragon and insisting on starting the search in the throne room, finally recalling he had heard a faint buzzing after the ice had all thawed. The hunt brought them to Zora's Domain, now fully thawed out and again filled with water, and then on to the lower parts of the river that were gradually leading back to the monstrous lake. Midna had long since retreated into Eragon's shadow and had refused to come out to help in the collection. It had been up to Saphira to hang out of the saddle and retrieve every single last tear of light as the green dragon did his best to avoid ramming head-first into a wooden barrier as they flew through the chasm, again.

Finally, their hunt had brought them down back to the shores of the fully restored Lake Hylia. A seemingly endless supply of water roared down from the massive falls that had originated in Zora's Domain. The strange house Eragon had seen before now floated on the surface, the old man abandoning his lookout for customers when the light insect had made a dive at him. The small pool of water that housed the underwater temple now formed a far deeper section of the lake Eragon could never swim down to. And to the remaining light insects that should have ended Twilight in Hyrule for good.

We're missing one.

Midna suddenly popped up from his shadow for the first time in hours, frowning sharply. "What do you mean we're missing one?"

"We have fifteen, and we need sixteen," Saphira stated tersely. "And, yes, we've already scoured all other areas of the province. It isn't there."

While the two threatened to dissolve back into bickering, a sudden movement far out on the lake caught Eragon's gaze. His eyes were more than sharp enough to tell it wasn't a Zora making all those splashes. He couldn't see anything at all, save only the ripples in the otherwise calm water.

Found it. Though I could have sworn we scanned that blasted lake three times already.

"Guess dragons go blind at a young age," Midna drawled. "Go and get it so we can get back to finding that Fused Shadow."

"And get rid of the imp," Saphira spat back.

Rolling his eyes, Eragon unfurled his wings and took off from the small island he had perched on. So aggravated by the nearly nonstop arguing between the two, he was actually longing for a challenge by the time he reached the middle of the lake, a target he could take all of his anger out on without fear of repercussions.

His wish was granted in the form of a massive bug that suddenly rocketed out of the water, sending out an electric shock as it rammed into him that was nearly enough to stop his heart. Instead of just quickly finishing it off, the green dragon grappled his opponent with claws and fang, until his spiked tail sent an ending blow to its exposed belly.

When that very last tear collected, and the last vessel filled to the brim, that blinding light seared his vision for what Eragon hoped would be the final time as consciousness again slipped away.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Drowning Valley- Chrono Cross

When the light faded, Eragon found himself on two legs once again and in Lanayru's shrine, standing on the ledge just above the spirit's spring. Saphira had automatically resumed her natural form, perched on the wider spit of land where he had first received the Light Spirit's pleas for help. Midna's shadowed form hovered lazily over the water, regarding them with eyes that still burned a sharp gold.

"Don't you forget that last Fused Shadow now, you hear," she scolded firmly. Then, with the water beneath her beginning to glow with the spirit's growing presence, the Twili slipped back into the shadows with a final cackle. "Eeh heh heh! See you later."

No sooner had Midna vanished when the shining orb of Lanayru rose from the water. Eragon patiently waited for the Light Spirit to manifest around it, only to recoil in surprise as a glowing head snatched the orb and sank back into the seemingly bottomless depths of the spring, sleek and radiant body visible for just a moment after. At first Eragon thought Lanayru some sort of water dragon, until he remembered the fanged jaws and the limbless body he had glimpsed.

The massive, glowing serpent, many times larger than Saphira herself, swam a final lap around the spring before coiling up on itself. Lanayru looked him right in the eye, but Rider and she-dragon would not soon forget just how easily it could tower over them. Or how, with its power just newly restored, annihilate them both if the Light Spirit so wished.

"My name is Lanayru. Your efforts have at last restored each of us Light Spirits in Hyrule. O Hero Chosen by the Gods, and you, the noble she-dragon who follow him even into the deepest darkness... The dark power that you seek waits in an ancient temple set in the bed of Lake Hylia." Lanayru surveyed Eragon closely, and Eragon had no doubts those eyes could peer straight into the deepest depths and secret corners of his soul. "Yet I sense that is not the only knowledge you seek."

The Fused Shadows must have been sealed away with good reason. We humbly request to know why, as the one member of the group who does know has not been the most forthcoming. Saphira growled emphatically, her scowl directed pointedly at her Rider's shadow.

Eragon nodded in agreement. "It is our right to know what we are about to unleash upon the world. If it has been locked away for centuries, do the Fused Shadows pose even more of a threat than Zant and the Twilight?"

Lanayru's unreadable gaze flickered over to Eragon's shadow, and the Twili that huddled within. Even securely cloaked in the comforting darkness, Midna couldn't help but shudder at a glimpse of the divine wrath that had driven her ancestors from the lands of their birth. "Knowledge is power, and it would be hypocritical of me to deny what you seek. Be blessed to bear witness to what I have to offer you, and be warned to never forget it, for power is a tool to be used for both good and for ill."

Eragon blinked, and the next thing he knew, he found himself floating in a black void. His green tunic was gone, replaced by the clothes that been charred beyond repair by the fateful storm that had first stranded him and Saphira in Hyrule. The sapphire she-dragon himself passed by him helplessly, her wings not even having the strength to flap against the darkness that engulfed them.

Instinctively, Eragon reached out for their bond, so they could at least speak and offer the other strength and support. His mind touched only a gaping emptiness. While they could clearly see the other, their consciousnesses were firmly divided by an uncrossable barrier, their only method of communication being the shocked and frightened glances they could send.

"When all was chaos, the Goddesses descended and gave order and life to the world."

The darkness was finally split by three streams of light that flashed by him; red, blue, and green. When the emerald-colored comet zipped by Eragon momentarily thought he could smell the rich scents of the wilderness, and smiled briefly at the comforting warmth that settled onto his chilled skin.

"They granted power equally to all who dwelt in the light, and then returned to the heavens."

The red light suddenly slowed over a patch of nothing, and solid earth was left in its stead. The green light soon followed after its companion, and wherever it touched, the barren ground became lush with life. Yet the landscape flickered uneasily, threatening to dissolve back into darkness the moment its delicate balance was upset. Then came the soft wave of blue, somehow weaving the entire little world together, leaving it strong and complete against the black jaws that longed to swallow it back up.

Eragon suddenly found himself standing on firm ground, and turned to beam at Saphira in delight. The Hylian woman grinned right back, beautiful blue eyes bright in excitement at the paradise that awaited them.

"The lands where the Goddesses descended came to be known as the Sacred Realm. For ages, the people lived at ease, content in mind and body..."

Their labor complete, the three lights swirled together over what they had just created, vanishing in one last burst of radiance. But they had left something behind; three massive, gleaming triangles held together so perfectly they left a space for a missing fourth piece. There was an allure, a pull to them Eragon could feel but not entirely understand. But he could still comprehend that the lights had left Triforce behind as their last creation, one that held a fraction of the incredible power that had created everything from nothing.

And with this revelation came the all-consuming need to possess it.

"But soon, word of the Sacred Realm spread through Hyrule, and a great battle ensued..."

Saphira now could recognize the threat that stood beside her, one that could potentially possess the power that was rightfully hers. Fangs bared in a fierce snarl, the sapphire she-dragon stood as her true self again, but her clear blue gaze was clouded over with her overwhelming desire for what she have before all others.

Her maw opened, a blue flame blossoming within as she gathered up the heat for one finishing blast...

Zar'roc came ramming up into the roof her jaw, and a rain of crimson followed. The fire spluttered out with her. Eragon carelessly left his father's blade behind in the chilling corpse of what he had once cherished above all else, eagerly running unopposed towards his new heart's desire.

But he had been already been beaten to his destination. Three very familiar shadows crouched beneath the Triforce, sneering at him with narrowed red eyes. Eragon found himself to be peering into three separate dark reflections, their garb a black mockery of the Hero's green he wore.

"Among those living in the light, interlopers who excelled in magic appeared. Wielding powerful sorcery, the likes of which had not been seen since the Goddesses had departed, they tried to establish dominion over the Sacred Realm... and came close to succeeding."

From the darkness of the void beyond loomed a horned helm that towered above them all. Eragon froze in fear, gazing not into the empty red eyes of the interlopers, but into the mad gaze of the stone statue that still managed to leer maniacally down at him. The gaze of a fallen god, one whose existence solely depended on sewing chaos, one who who annihilated entire races purely for his own sick pleasure.

Entranced by the soulless stone, every instinct to flee deadened by its maddening gaze, oblivious when a fourth figure came to join the reflections. One that towered above all three, with scales as green as the Hero's tunic, and with dead white eyes that glowed like spectral stars.

Flames were building up in the dragon's maw; Eragon could recognize that familiar rumble and the sudden change in the atmosphere around him. Only, where dragon-fire should have brought searing heat, this one was only a harbinger of a cold so intense it burned his exposed flesh. As one, the three interlopers would raise their hands, the air around them crackling with sheer unnaturalness.

Their charges would be unleashed together, a billowing blackness that consumed all light and life in its path. Eragon's one feeble defense against his oncoming doom was to raise his arms as it surged in. The sensation of being devoured, of everything that he ever was and ever could be dissipating into nothingness, was one that made all prior near-death experiences reprieves from such an empty fate.

The dragon that stood amongst the interlopers had gone, replaced by what should have been Eragon's face, that of a young man way in over his head and just struggling to make sure no one else drowned alongside him. It was like looking into a too-small mask, the face pulled and stretched in such a manner that the eyes could not detect, but which made his very soul shudder in dread. A supernatural being, one that didn't belong on this plane of existence, that was never supposed to have been squeezed into a mere mortal body.

Eragon could see the inherent wrongness in the smirk that contorted features no human faces had been designed for. In eyes that were windows to a nonexistent soul, forever hungry and unchanging even after its victory had been secured and its shadows knelt before it in sheer reverence...

Even still, when the darkness dissipated before the radiant light that caused the interlopers to shrink back, the mockery of Eragon would never have the fury or fear of his expression reach his eyes.

"It was then that the Goddesses ordered us three Light Spirits to intervene. We sealed away the great magic those interlopers had mastered."

The last support the reflections possessed, the horned helm with the maddened eyes, slipped away back into the blackness that had birthed it as the light drew closer to scour away every last trace of taint. Now, with no more dark corners to scurry into, the shivering shadows found themselves forced to directly gaze into the same power they had just attempted to harness for their own purposes. A power that could destroy just as much as it had created.

All else faded away as the Chosen Hero found himself riveted to the face of the leader, now distorted with emotions the human body could not process. His scream would shatter the air like glass, sending shards to dig into Eragon's sanity and soul. Where all other shadows faded, the green-garbed living mask would remain, perhaps too strong to be purified completely-

Perfect silence suddenly reigned in a secluded little green isle in a sea of darkness that looked as if it had never known conflict. Eragon couldn't help but wonder if the titanic struggle between light and dark, order and chaos, had merely been dragged onto a battlefield he simply could not perceive, where it perhaps raged to that very day.

Four familiar pieces, the shards of the horned helm he had just seen in all of its devastating glory, continued to mockingly orbit around him even as all else faded into blackness. For one moment there was naught but that shattered sneer, and the echoing ring of a child's delighted laughter.

"You know this magic as the dark power you so desperately seek... the Fused Shadow. O, Hero Chosen by the Goddesses... Beware... Those who do not know the danger of power will, before too long, be ruled by it."

Saphira, in all of her majestic and draconic glory, would rise from the darkness like a phoenix from the ashes. Her graceful sapphire-scaled form, the effortless flight through oblivion, the blue eyes that sparkled like stars with fire and love... She who had boldly defied destiny and yet exceeded every expectation thrown at her, a legendary creature who inspired reverence and fear even after her race had been made a pale shadow of its self, a very symbol of the sheer perseverance of life.

By an unseen hand, Zar'roc would again slice, its thirst never to be slaked. Again it would find its target, and again it would drink its fill of lifeblood.

Saphira, she who had been a rising star mere moments before, suddenly went falling back down as a streak of blue and red that was soon entirely engulfed by black. Her scream would echo back, across the void and-

-into the light of the waking world as Eragon's blue-gray eyes snapped open. He would limply crumble to his knees, his own howl of agony dwarfed by Saphira's deafening roar.

Dragon and Rider would cling to each other physically, unmindful of the claws and cumbersome equipment, their minds desperately locked in an embrace that frantically overlooked the welfare of the one they valued above all else in their lives. Eragon's weeping would be unhindered by any sort of manly dignity. Saphira's mighty sides would heave with tears her current form could not shed. Perhaps their visions had been the same, perhaps different, but such petty things paled in comparison to the new fears that would stalk them in their nightmares that evening.

Lanayru's shrine was serene in the warm afternoon light, a peaceful and sacred place that had never seen evil. The clear blue waters would glimmer innocently as if they had never shone with their own radiance. There was no spectral serpents to be seen except for carvings that had been so lovingly crafted by ardent worshipers so many years ago.

The Light Spirit itself had become nothing more than a whisper on the wind, one only Midna was able to hear as she hugged herself in the shadow of the Hero she had called upon to retrieve and rebuild a weapon of mass destruction.

"The dark artifact you seek lies in the Lakebed Temple..."

Murtagh may have been little more than a glorified slave to a madman who happened to have supernatural control over Alagaesia, but even he had a reputation to uphold. The shriveled remnants of his dignity would not allow him to go out and request a book of simple sheet music on an instrument largely ridiculed by polite society. It had almost been beyond him to ask a servant to go in search of such a book for him. At least he could be assured that all who worked for King Galbatorix would take every last secret of his to the grave on fear of torture and a gruesome death.

Murtagh practiced on that damn ocarina, as ordered. Galbatorix's focus may have shifted to attempting to control the uprising of the cities beyond the Spine, but he was still keeping a close eye on the servant who'd far rather be ran down by a hungry Shruikan than play an instrument for hours on end.

He had wound up doing that anyway. Murtagh had memorized every single one of those accursed children's songs that he could play each and every one in alphabetical order, backwards, without missing a beat. Desperate to move on from such a deviously simple task, he had eagerly reported this to Galbatorix.

The Mad King had somewhat sanely demanded Murtagh pack his belongings and be prepare for a trip. With that most recent wave of mania thankfully passed, Galbatorix was intending for two of his most valuable servants to return to solidifying his iron rule over all of Alagaesia. At least Murtagh and Thorn would no longer be stranded in the castle with their mad master and the two dragons that wanted nothing more than to viciously rip them limb from limb.

...Until Murtagh had been ushered to Galbatorix's personal library with all of the supplies that would have been being packed up on Thorn while he was briefed on his latest assignment.

Thorn, have the servants even come up with your saddle yet? I did ask that they be prompt. Gods know how Galbatorix is always looking for an excuse to set Shruikan after us again.

Floors above him in the dragon-hold, Thorn's sigh of exasperation came across their link. Not a sign of anyone. Pity the door between here and the castle is mysteriously locked up tight. Do you think I'll get Galbatorix's second-favorite lapdog sent after me if I pitch another fit about it? A little roaring and some sparks does wonder with stubborn servants.

Murtagh glared reproachfully at the ceiling. Don't even think about stirring up trouble up there. I just want to get away from this damned city and onto something slightly less tedious. He glanced cautiously about himself, knowing Jarnunvosk's damned ability to hide in the shadows so that she could gleefully report all of his shortcomings to 'her Galbatorix.' And away from that thing he supposedly raised from the dead.

Oh, I second you on that! She eyes me like I'm dinner-

"Ah, Murtagh, glad to see you here before even myself. It makes me happy to see you so invested in this latest task." Galbatorix calmly entered the room as if he wasn't dressed in dark robes splattered with blood. Murtagh just tried to concentrate on the small miracle that Jarnunvosk wasn't at his heels like she so ordinarily was. "My apologies for the mess. Jarnunvosk hasn't eaten in a while, and I'm afraid she gets to be quite eager after seeing her first meal in ages."

Odd, Thorn mused suspiciously. She certainly didn't seem that ravenous when tearing into the piece of cow meant for me yesterday.

Murtagh only bowed respectfully and did not comment on the two anomalies. "We are prepared as ordered, my Lord. All Thorn and I need-"

The feared Red Rider fell to his knees with a terrible scream, Thorn's own agonized roar spilling across their connection in seemingly endless throes as man and dragon felt something ripped from their very souls.

When the hellish onslaught had subsided to a dull and throbbing ache, Murtagh would find himself curled up and vulnerable on the floor like he had not been since their first torture sessions to break his will after his capture. Yet, for all of the pain endured, part of him felt liberated in a way it had not been since those blissful days in Tronjheim. It served only to emphasize the massive portion of his soul still heavily shackled, a bonding Murtagh could only feel when on the verge of his breaking point that prevented him from shattering and thus becoming useless to Galbatorix.

Biting back a groan, Murtagh blearily peered up into the cheerful face of the Mad King.

"Sorry for that, my boy," Galbatorix chirped, "but I couldn't have you and Thorn going around and feeling obligated to kill Eragon. Blood no longer has to spill blood and all that. Your new task will be to observe. All you have to do is make sure Eragon dies as promised. And, if you inherited a drop of your mother's skills of persuasion, to convince my fellow believer that Saphira can be spared."

W-what did he say? Thorn murmured dazedly. Did I hear him-

Again, dragon and Rider found themselves thrown into hell as fresh agony pounded away at their heads, rendering them both temporarily deaf and blind. Stumbling blindly in the dark of his mind, Murtagh's hearing would snap back with Galbatorix happily rambling on.

"-knowledge is power, as they say, and power is the one thing life every being aspires for. Even supposedly little obedient servants like you." Galbatorix paused thoughtfully. "The man whom you seek is called Zant, King Zant of Eluryh. I do hope you are polite when speaking to him. You are being sent forth in my stead, and I will not have my reputation slandered in the eyes of such an overeager and inexperienced sycophant."

Staggering to his feet, only restraint born from months of 'conditioning' kept Murtagh's questions from bursting forth. Who in the seven hells was Zant and where was Eluryh? What had that second damned spell done to him and Thorn? And, most importantly of all, why had he pardoned from slaughtering his own little brother and dragging Eragon's dragon in to be used as a breeding machine?

On the outside, Murtagh was the perfect example of the composed and dutiful little follower both he and his master knew he was not. He merely dipped his head in acknowledgment with a simple, "As you wish, my Lord." Thorn's mental response to Galbatorix went the same way, though the bewilderment and curiosity were far harder to shield with two minds connected.

Galbatorix smiled as if Thorn and Murtagh were curious little children who wanted to know where babies came from. "Eragon Shadeslayer has caught the attention of one far greater than myself. Just remain a bystander as I ordered and only intervene when demanded. Can you read this?"

Murtagh frowned and studied the map that had just been shoved into his hands. He did not recognize a single landmark, and even momentarily sworn the writing had initially been in strange runes until it had suddenly become legible.

Lake Hylia, Death Mountain, Castle Town... Do these places even exist?

"Aye, master, the words make perfect sense."

Galbatorix nodded in approval. "Very good. Remember that every single settlement you see on that map is likely populated with those that will despise you as true Imperials do the rebels. Keep out of sight and do not reveal your allegiance except to those that call you out as a kindred spirit. Believe me, you will sense each other out due to the force that binds you all. That same connection should also keep you safe from any bandits and beasts you encounter."

Murtagh stared down at the map as he committed every last bit of information to memory. Every tidbit was potentially vital to his survival in this strange land he had only just heard about. "Are there any safe places for me to rest?"

"Forests," Galbatorix drawled. "Caves. Any place where a little bit of darkness will always linger. And the castle." The King of Alagaesia tapped the elegant illustration with a finger. "Even if the town surrounding has fallen back into enemy hands, Hyrule Castle shall always remain a haven for you. All you have to do is sneak past the hostile forces that may be there, and you will be recognized by your comrades as an ally. You should be allowed to tag along on whatever search is mounted for your errant brother."

"But I don't see any map that places this in the proximity of Alagaesia. How are Thorn and I supposed to fly-"

"Put the map away, Murtagh." The sudden edge to Galbatorix's tone immediately caused the younger Rider to abandon all curiosity. "Should everything go as according to plan, you shall arrive somewhere around Faron Woods. Find your way out and contact Zant. And, most importantly, play this piece perfectly, or risk being pulled into a parallel world you will be unable to return from."

Murtagh's sharp reflexes just allowed him to catch the oh so familiar ocarina tossed his way. The piece of sheet music also handed to him bore painfully familiar notes strung into an unfamiliar melody.

It's not even that long or complex a song, Murtagh couldn't help but gripe to himself. Why did he sound so insistent on that?

Find out, Thorn suggested dryly. You should be able to play a simple tune by now without me to walk you through it.

Murtagh mentally reminded himself to put his snarky dragon through his paces when they finally left Urubaen. "Do you wish me to start now, my Lord?"

Galbatorix's black eyes glittered with impatience. "So long as you are prepared for the journey ahead." His gaze flicked down to the bag at his servant's feet and to the crimson blade buckled to his belt. "I'd hold that thing steady, if I were you."

Murtagh absently slung the sack of basic necessities, like food and fresh clothing, over his shoulder as he studied the Minuet of Forest. Raising the ocarina to his lips with an ease born from hours of grueling practice, he played out the entire melody for the first time flawlessly.

He had instinctively picked a slow, soothing tone that almost seemed to cause the notes to flow from his ocarina in a stream of music. The brief moments seemed eternal to a man who found himself unwittingly drawn back into memories of happier days as the short song became timeless to him. His mind drifted back to nights curled up to his mother beside a fire flickering merrily in the hearth, a sparring session with Tornac under a warm summer sun, a conversation with Eragon as two men who were truly blood brothers became acquainted with each other for the first time...

Adrift in music and memory, Murtagh was only distantly aware of the warm emerald green light that washed over his vision, of the soft breeze that ruffled his hair. It was not until the warm scents earth and life came to his nostrils that the bewildered young man flashed open his eyes to an unfamiliar forest clearing.

Galbatorix and the room he had just occupied where nowhere in sight. There was a gaping hole in his mind that Thorn's presence usually took up, now filled with only the thrum of the animals of the wood going about their business. The only things Murtagh recognized were the clothes on his back, the bag still slung over his shoulder, and the ocarina he held in suddenly trembling hands.

"Damn!" Murtagh suddenly swore, finally snapping out of his shock. His left hand automatically went for Zar'roc while his right would almost unconsciously slipped the ocarina into the pocket of his tunic. "Where in the seven hells am I!"

Desperately glancing around at his surroundings, Murtagh vainly hoped he had only been transported to some clearing in the Spine, or perhaps just in one of the small woods just outside of Urubaen where Thorn and Shruikan sometimes liked to hunt for their own prey. None of those forests happened to include the vast expanse of crumbling ruins that jutted out from the tangled trees as if it had been there since the dawn of time.

I have to be in... Hyrule. Aye, that's it! Galbatorix somehow invented a way to enchant songs, and now I just have to shadow the people hunting Eragon until I can return home and report his death. Without a dragon to fly me back...

A sudden shiver down Murtagh's spine told him that Galbatorix's assurances of safety from even the beasts of this unknown land were probably false. There was a strong sense of other to this glade, a feeling that had much in common with the spirit that now sealed the Black King's control over his Empire. One very intolerant of interlopers...

His suspicions were confirmed by the rustling of several large animals moving through the undergrowth. The ravenous growls and the pairs of red and orange eyes that gleamed in the sunlight certainly didn't belong to this strange realm's version of the bunny rabbit.

The wolf-like beasts eagerly springing forward would soon meet their demise in a cutting arc of gleaming metal. Zar'roc would have its thirst for blood finally quenched after weeks of inactivity. And Murtagh would soon learn that perhaps this maze of twisted trees and fading ruins hated him just enough to send every mindless and bloodthirsty beast in 'Hyrule' after him.

Remembering the eerie city of spirits he and Saphira had passed through while Lanayru Province had still been under Twilight, Eragon could almost not recognizing the bustling capitol he now walked through. The streets were clogged with people that deftly weaved their way through countless obstacles as they went about their everyday lives, the two flustered Alagaesians jostled back and forth by the crowds. Unnatural silence had been replaced by everything from the calls of the street vendors to the music created by the musicians in the center square. Mixed in was the idle conversation and gossip of the populace, just another part of the melody of Castle Town life.

Out of all the sights and sounds, Eragon was still most intrigued with the Hylians themselves. Aside from Princess Zelda, every Hyrulean he had encountered in the flesh had been mundane humans. The people that now walked alongside him had pointed ears and all more or less moved with a natural grace that seemed innate. Gods, he looked more like them than his own people!

"I wonder if Hylians are somehow descended from elves," he mused aloud in a voice only his companion could hear.

Saphira shrugged absently, gazing around at her surroundings and munching on the apple she had all but forced him to buy. With most of the other vendors on the street mysteriously absent, the one woman left had refused to sell anything individually. Hungry Eragon had only wolfed down two before Saphira had polished off her first three and was fast at work in finishing her fourth piece of fruit.

As a normal she-dragon, Saphira had never been able to move freely around without attracting a huge crowd of both reverent and fearful onlookers. Even her prideful self could appreciate the luxury of moving around in a fascinating new city as just another face in the crowd.

"We should come back here sometime when the world isn't in mortal peril," Saphira suggested as she eyed the signs that covered the entire portion of the street. "I know you would easily win that STAR game everyone seems to be raving about."

The three girls talking animatedly about that very game erupted into giggles as the two passed. Eragon's face flushed with a red vibrant enough to perfectly contrast his green cap.

"Just make sure you pack a change of clothes," Midna deadpanned from his shadow.

Most of the women in Castle Town may have been wearing dresses, but with the markings on her skin nearly invisible in the daylight, Saphira's tunics and breeches hardly made her the strangest person on the street.

Eragon's forest-green cap and tunic, however, were the farthest thing from inconspicuous as physically possible. Those that took the time to notice his garb would most often give a double-take before continuing on their merry way. Some of the impolite ones would openly laugh or roll their eyes. Only one had jeered something about the convention not being until next month. The one piece of positive feedback had been the envious gaze and the grudging complement on how authentic his 'costume' looked from a rather lonely street vendor.

"At least they don't think I'm the real deal," Eragon muttered as he turned into the alley that housed Telma's Bar. "See you in a bit."

Since neither felt like giving away their secrets or confusing poor Ilia, Saphira would merely wait in the main street in case Eragon needed back-up (a lesson harshly learned from past experience.) She and her Rider had even agreed to address her Hylian shape as 'Vervada', a tribute to Saphira's birth mother, while in the company of others. When Ralis had been attended to by a real doctor and Ilia was ready to make the flight to Kakariko Village, Saphira would slip into the relative privacy of Hyrule Field to resume her true shape.

Stepping into an ominously dark bar, Eragon silently thanked the fact that he had someone else other than the surly and possibly untrustworthy squatter in his shadow to rely on in case things turned nasty.

"That is a Zora child! That is beyond my expertise! Hmph!"

Only his training kept Eragon from being bowled over by the elderly short man that so rudely collided with his chest. For a moment, the man with absurdly long ears that could make a full-blooded elf jealous blinked owlishly up at the Chosen Hero through his glasses, and then stormed off without so much as an apology.

Just as the door slammed shut behind the shriveled man, another voice vainly cried after him, "Doctor, wait! If something isn't done soon, this child will..."

Ilia finally slowed at reaching the door, heaving a sigh of defeat, before her anguished eyes turned up to stare at him. Eragon had been looking for comforting words just as the young woman he remembered so fondly from Ordon Village turned around and walked away without so much as a 'hello.'

Ralis was still lying on the crates, somehow managing to look even sicker from the last time Eragon had seen him through Saphira's memories. A tan-skinned and red-haired woman who must have been Telma stood thoughtfully, hands on her hips, as she looked over the Zora child. While her face was slightly weathered and she was thin by no stretch of the imagination, Eragon could easily see the great beauty this middle-aged woman must have once been in her youth in her fine features. With an almost impish glitter to her warm brown eyes and a low-cut camisole that would have caused Eragon to die of mortification in any other situation, Telma still had the confidence of one.

"Well, this isn't good. A Hylian doctor won't work, huh..."

Ilia, who had just barely made it to the crates before her composure broke, began to weep. The long-haired white cat that had previously stood by Telma's side jumped up to the girl's side to rub soothingly against her.

Telma's look of thought suddenly brightened with realization. "That old hack reminded me though... I've heard of a shaman in Kakariko Village who's tended Gorons and Zoras."

Ilia leaped up with renewed hope. "Really? Perhaps if we were to take him there..."

"Inadvisable!" a gruff voice boomed before Eragon could remind Ilia she knew someone with a dragon. "Far too dangerous for ladies such as yourselves to go out alone in these troubled times! But we can't turn a blind eye to a pretty girl, either." The armored guards, who Saphira had so fondly recalled, stood proudly before the bewildered Ilia. "We'll escort you. Am I right, lads?"

Every last man raised his pike with a hearty whoop.

"Goddesses," Midna sneered from his shadow. "You've been upstaged by the bottom of the barrel."

Telma turned back to Ilia with a smile. "Well, isn't that nice. To reach Kakariko, I'm afraid we have to cross through several areas of the plains those damned Bublins are roaming again. At least now we have these nice men to protect-"

Eragon deftly leaped to the side to avoid the mass of soldiers that all fought to exit the bar. Only the smallest and pudgiest of them were left, his armor clanging as he shivered inside. Then the sad little man lost his nerve entirely and went running after his comrades.

"Cowards!" Telma roared after them with a she-dragon's ferocity. "Pride of the Princess's army, you are! Don't you ever show your sorry faces here again!" She turned back toward the stricken Ilia, her furious features softening tenderly. "Don't you worry, honey. I may not be as young as I used to be, but this old girl doesn't need an escort. It'll just make everything a hell of a lot more-"

"I can escort you."

Considering the recent episode he had witnessed, Eragon wasn't surprised that he had slipped into the shadows of the bar as easily as Midna could. Ilia brightened as she finally recalled his presence. Telma scowled at him with almost mandatory skepticism, eyes first going to his unconventional garb before taking notice of sword and the earnest way he returned her piercing gaze. Her worn features turned up into an almost wry smile.

"Oh my," she remarked almost playfully as she again put her hands on her hips. "Looks like we still have ourselves one brave young swordsman here crazy enough to help us. Go and hook up the cart, pronto!"

Ilia nodded eagerly. She again turned toward Eragon, who finally expected a joyous reunion or at least a voucher of his and Saphira's skills. But the Ordonian girl would only shoot him a grateful smile before rushing out of the bar.

Eragon stared back at where Ilia had vanished in both relief and bewilderment, overjoyed to see personally her alive and well but unable to shake the uncomfortable sensation that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Midna had been on the verge of a remark, one that could have been either mocking or honestly sympathetic, before Telma again fixated him with a somber gaze.

"You know that girl, don't you? It's a realm shame what happened to her. She can't even remember her own name right now."

"Her name is Ilia," Eragon answered quietly. "Her father is the chief of Ordon Village. We've all been worried sick about her. She hadn't been heard of since the raid..."

Old nightmares of monstrous boars and waking up to a vacant and trampled spring sprang forth from the shadows of memory. Saphira was quick to drive them back, washing her Rider in soothing waves of calm that kept his composure intact. Still, some of the old demons had slipped through, and Telma's expression softened minutely.

"Good to know that Ilia is loved so by her friends and family. Bless her heart..." The barkeep glanced back at the wheezing Prince Ralis. "She found this poor boy on the side of the road and has done all she could for him ever since. Begged with every single damned doctor in this city for hours, changed his wounds herself, and even bathed him so his skin wouldn't dry up. Poor girl never once whined about having no memory of her own loved ones. More courage in her than in all of the soldiers of Hyrule, that's for sure!"

Little one? Saphira couldn't help but call him over their link. Do you think you could possibly restore her memories? Oromis and Glaedr did train you diligently in the arts of the mind.

I never healed anyone's memories before! Eragon thought back in dismay. Human minds are fragile enough as is. It usually takes only the slightest of cracks to shatter one beyond repair, and I am too inexperienced to take such a grave risk. I can't bear another Elva on my soul...

"What's your name, boy?"

"Eragon," he simply said, all inner conflict held back by nigh impenetrable mental barriers.

"Eh, not the strangest name I've ever heard." Telma shrugged before she again dropped all playfulness. "Lend her your strength now, Eragon, you hear? You sure as hell have to possess an ungodly amount to wear the Hero's green so proudly. Either that, or you're just plain old crazy."

"Sometimes even I wonder that."

Eragon couldn't help but tense at the woman's intense scrutiny. There was a knowing look to her too-sharp eyes that just didn't sit well with him. "How much do you know about Heroes?"

Her wry smirk returned. "The kind of people I tend to hang around with have an almost unnatural fascination with history. One of them even is obsessed with even the most obscure of Heroes and their faded lore, including all of the tripe about the Hero of Time. Just be glad his current intrigue is in mythical, or at least very long-dead, beings ranks higher."

"That's... nice." Well, at least people here won't be prodding me with sticks or researching every last minute of my past. "How do you think I'd fare against the old legends- if I really was a Hero, that is."

"Smooth," Midna hissed in his ear.

"Your hypothetical predecessor was the Hero of Termina," Telma answered breezily. "Supposedly he went and rescued an entire parallel world as a child that is very hard to stumble into. Here, he provided Princess Zelda the I with the testimony needed to condemn a Lord Dragmire as a traitor of Hyrule. He mainly faded into obscurity after that, never joined the army or did anything really heroic as an adult, but he sure as hell went out with a bang."

"Oh?" The icy chill that had suddenly seized his heart could not have been mere coincidence. "How so?"

"Those still loyal to Lord Dragmire and his failed cause hunted him down many years ago. He'd give his eye, and his life, to their vengeance while trying to protect his family. Queen Zelda, as she was then called, personally presided over their burial in a tomb that has been lost to time."

Awkward silence reigned over the group. Eragon connected the dots in his head. A Hero's Shade unable to rest in peace for failing to pass his skills down to the next generation in life, how destiny had been forced to summon a champion from another realm to redeem Hyrule, and of the one red eye that had glittered in the darkness of a rusted helm. He silently thanked Saphira for keeping any comments about the visions of the undead warrior she had seen in his memories to herself.

"So... you think I'm better because I'm still alive?"

"Leave no demons behind when all is said and done," Telma intoned ominously, a hand going to stroke the white cat that now twined around her legs. "Maybe if we can learn more from the past Farore wouldn't keep needing new defenders."

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Hyrule Field Night Theme- The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Saphira knew all too well how proud and easily offended the dragon race, partly because a tiny portion of her soul still wanted to snatch Arya up in her claws and abandon her on a desolate mountaintop, despite the long months of friendship now between she-dragon and elf. She figured the origins of her lingering dislike dated back to the rather awkward nights where Saphira would flee Eragon's dreams in panic because of the terrible things that had happened whenever Arya had showed her inhumanly beautiful face in the fantasy of an infatuated young man.

That same little spiteful part of Saphira's self again felt offended by the almost complete lack of reverance by those who gazed upon her for the first time. The gaping thing was an almost boringly predictable routine. Except that the fear and disbelief should have also been mixed with awe and other flattering emotions.

"Honey," Telma said in a disturbingly calm voice, "where in Din's name did you come from?"

Eragon and Saphira shrugged at the same time, her Rider gesturing vaguely about him. "...Elsewhere."

With a hunter's sharp eyes, Saphira had watched a covered wagon carrying both Ilia and the injured Zora prince come ambling out of Castle Town, the gate hastily being shut behind them. Eragon had sat alongside Telma in the front, providing the directions to where the sapphire she-dragon had been hiding out in Hyrule Field. As they had neared, the panic had understandably risen as the Hyrulians had caught sight of a creature widely feared in their isolated kingdom. Telma's hand had been straying down to a dagger obviously concealed somewhere on her person when Saphira had stopped her with a warning growl.

Woman and she-dragon were now locked in a stare for dominance. Neither had blinked yet, but Saphira knew her opponent would cave before she did.

"Does it matter?" Ilia's grouchy voice asked from the wagon. She had naturally been filled with wonder at first (to her amnesiac knowledge) laying her eyes upon a dragon, but had never strayed from the Zora boy's side. "Mr. Eragon trusts her when he's completely vulnerable on her back while miles above the earth. What better security could we ask for?"

"Something whose race doesn't have a history of razing towns and eating people," Telma muttered in a voice obviously not meant to be heard by anyone. Nevertheless, the woman sighed in resignation, reluctantly tearing her suspicious gaze from Saphira. "Whatever you say, honey."

Eragon leaped down from the wagon and was soon perched on his she-dragon's back with his usual grace. Thank the gods for Ilia. I thought we'd waste hours trying to convince Telma to trust you.

Saphira nodded in earnest agreement. Her horse trusts me more. She eyed the graying black horse thoughtfully, idly wondering just what it had gone through to be able to accept a predator's presence with hardly the bat of an eye.

He could have been bred and trained for combat. Larger horses are able to more easily bear the weight of an armored rider and can break an enemy's lines easier, not to mention the training deadened most fear against violence and loud noises. Eragon snorted. Telma probably picked this horse for that reason alone if we're supposed to be going over monster-infested fields.

Spreading her wings, Saphira maintained an easy pace to more or less match the speed of the wagon, eyes always fixated on her surroundings. Nothing on the vast expanse of open grassland could hide from her. Most of the threatening creatures wisely scattered at the first sight of a she-dragon's shadows. Those that weren't deterred were repelled by a narrow stream of fire or a well-aimed arrow that would come flying back to Eragon's waiting hand mere moments after it had found its mark.

Saphira was also grimly unsurprised to learn not all of the things that potentially posed a danger were senseless monsters. The hideous Bublins atop those monstrous sized boars watched her with beady red eyes. She returned the attention with a warning snarl of her own, ready to rain down a merciless barrage of fire the moment they stepped too close to her charges.

Part of me is almost wishing for a fight, she conceded to her Rider ruefully. Creatures like them dragged Ilia, the Zora boy, and all of Ordon's children into the center of the chaos. They're lucky getting Ralis to Kakariko is a higher priority.

Technical difficulties with the wagon aside, we shouldn't be too far off from getting Ralis and Ilia to safety. Then we receive Rutela's gift, and after that it's a straight shot to the Lakebed Temple-

And the Hero's Shade? Saphira growled reproachfully. I know that little escapade around the Twilit Lanayru Province was hectic and confusing at times, but don't you remember your latest encounter with the Golden Wolf? Those techniques he's teaching you, and that you are teaching me, have already proven useful to us in dealing with enemies. Shouldn't you (and myself) get one more hidden skill under your belt before diving hundreds of feet beneath the largest lake in Hyrule in search of a cursed artifact?

Eragon's side of their connection suddenly brightened in recognition before again becoming muted with guilt and embarrassment. ...It may have slipped my mind.

Rolling her eyes, Saphira continued her lookout, trying not to remember the highly suspicious little imp still crouched in her Rider's shadow. Her patience had been tried enough for one day.

Murtagh was no stranger to being pushed to his limits and enduring grueling training sessions for hours at a time. Being the personal servant of the notorious Mad King of Alagaesia himself, tailored to fit Galbatorix's requirements through an unholy combination of unbreakable oaths and tortures designed to crush his spirit and all rebellion in him, Murtagh had perservered through a hell most would lose their sanity in. What could this alien land possibly offer him that would try his stamina and keenly honed survival skills?

The animals of this forest were possessed with a blood-thirst that drowned out even the simplest sense for survival. Every wolf-like creature he had cut down had been replaced by another that had seemingly melted out of the shadows. Other beasts had soon been drawn in by the activity, and they were tenacious as the canines that had been determined to rip out his throat since his arrival to this gods-forsaken land. Murtagh's endurance far outlasted any mere human's, but even he had his limits. His magic was having no effect on anything. Zar'roc itself apparently had its own blood-thirst parched.

Outrunning his endless barrage of enemies did no good when his own energy was pretty much spent and he would still leave behind a blood trail for them to follow. So, his iron will stubbornly refusing to allow his aching and battered body to lie down and simply die, Murtagh picked a direction and had continued plowing through endless waves of beasts in the futile hopes of one day reaching civilization.

Until even Murtagh Morzansson's legendary resolve crumbled. Unable to take a single step more, the young man would collapse to his knees, exhausted and gasping for air his starved lungs craved. His fight had been weathered out of him like how the ocean relentlessly battered even the strongest of rocks into tiny little grains of sand. He braced himself for the fanged maw that would surely come ripping into his exposed throat at any moment, still determined to ram Zar'roc into living flesh and drag his soon-to-be killer down with him.

Where's all the monsters?

Blinking through a haze of dirt and blood, Murtagh blearily peered at his surroundings. Sunset had long since come and gone, though his sharp eyes needed only starlight to clearly show him the way. Overhead, the gap between the tangled branches of the trees was just large enough for a sliver of the nighttime sky to peak through. Moonlight would filter right through, casting the entire forest with an ethereal glow that brought back childhood memories of ghost stories set in haunted woods.

There was not also a single beast in sight.

Except for the roan horse that was surveying him curiously, of course.

Murtagh didn't even reach for his blade as the mystery equine plodded ever closer. Perhaps his delusions were true, and the vengeful spirits of the wood had stopped possessing the animals to deal with him in their ghostly flesh. What use were mortal weapons against those already dead?

"Go ahead," he couldn't help grumble at the mare. "Kill me, devour my soul, drag me into the underworld. I doubt even the deepest circle of hell could compare to the day I've had."

The mare only nickered, insistently pressing her muzzle into his shoulder. Murtagh would stroke her nose thoughtfully, taking in the reassuring solidness of her form and the warmth it emanated. Her saddle and bridle were equally substantial. Using the mare as support, the Dragon Rider hauled himself onto his shaking legs as the first glimmer of impossible hope flickered into existence.

Murtagh paused, scanning for any sign of another human being. His desperate prayers were marked by the soft singing he was now just able to hear above the creaking of the ancient trees. There were no words to it, but the echoing song was occasionally punctuated by a thud of metal hitting wood, the familiar sound of an arrow striking its target true.

His giddy relief overwhelmed the warning chill down his spine that had not been from the wind or the cold.

"Hello?" he called out into the darkness. "Is anyone out there?"

The singing never even halted. Murtagh wasted no time in snatching the mystery mare's reigns and blundering through the tangled undergrowth himself in search for a fellow human being. He felt as if he had been following the song for eternity, but his heart quickened with renewed hope as the voice grew ever louder and ever clearer.

Bonding with Thorn had by now given him the full benefits of the connection. The moonlight that filtered in from above the thick canopy provided all the illumination needed to clearly see the woman right in front of him.

By her plain dress, no matter how carefully stitched the fabric or how unique the gold-colored medallion that clasped her shawl to her slender form, she could have been someone no important than a farmer's pretty young wife. Yet Murtagh felt himself drawn to her in a way... most platonic. He could recognize her beauty, but much like a sister, he felt no surge of physical attraction.

Perhaps it was the almost alabaster tone the moonlight gave her pale skin, the firey luster of her impossibly red hair, the ethereal glow to her blue eyes that sent a pang of discomfort through him.

She was oblivious to his and the horse's presence, completely absorbed at firing arrows at the surrounding trees with a professional ease no farm-girl should have carried. Her haunting song continued to be pierced by the steady thuds of metal on wood. Her forlorn face stared unseeingly at her target, movements mechanic, lost in a profound moment of reflection that transcended all else around her.

The melody suddenly stopped, and the forest was once again plunged into unsettling silence.

"Hello, Epona," the young woman greeted blithely as she lowered her bow. "I see you brought company."

Murtagh heard the roan mare nicker at his side, breaking free of his grip without much difficulty to trot over to the woman's side. Human and horse curiously appraised him as if he were some lost dog they had stumbled across in the woods. Both were not disturbed in the slightest by his presence, for the redhead's bow had found itself propped against a tree as both hands went to pat the mare affectionately.

"I found her in the woods fully tacked," Murtagh explained, "without a rider."

The woman shrugged, the lonliness having completely vanished from her pale features at the sight of an old friend. "Epona comes and goes as she pleases. She likes adopting people she feels are in trouble and changing their lives for the better." She smiled at the mare ruefully as if it were perfectly capable of understanding her. "Wonder where she gets it from?"

Murtagh suddenly doubted the woman's sanity. He glanced around in concern, hoping her father or something hadn't abandoned her in the middle of the woods to be rid of a burden. If so, he also hoped his initial theory about the mare's rider having been devoured by monsters was incorrect. The only other sign of civilization he saw was a small little house shrouded in vines and shadows. There were no lights on inside, no sign of another human being for miles, and absolutely no evidence to refute his earlier fears.

"It's quite late out, ma'am. Shouldn't you be getting to bed?" And away from the monsters in these god-forsaken woods?

"Nope," the woman said brightly. "Standing guard while the husband's away. Someone needs to keep an eye out for those in need out here, and fairy boy isn't the only one that can be a hero."

"...Fairy boy?"

His enigmatic host sighed. "Long story, which is part of an even longer and more convoluted story I didn't even know about, much less understand, until well after the fact." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And where are your manners? You're the one standing on my property, with a horse that isn't yours, and demanding personal stories when I don't even know your name!"

Murtagh silently gauged whether or not this sharp-eyed woman could pick up on whether he was telling the truth or not. His first nightmarish day in this new land was not about to end in yet another horrible blunder. "Murtagh. My name is Murtagh."

"Malon," she chirped. "Malon Lon Lon. It may be my maiden name, but it still sounds less ridiculous than my married one." Her proffered hand was quickly whipped away when Murtagh's fingers brushed against ice-cold flesh. "Sorry about that. I really should start wearing gloves on nights like this."

The same survival instincts that had kept Murtagh alive and free from Galbatorix's control for years refused to shut up. Wasn't this woman too cold? It was as if she wasn't even-

"You're a long way from home." Malon nodded casually at his bag, seemingly oblivious to the rips and bloodstains on his clothing. "People from around these parts don't come into these woods without damn good reason. Especially during times like these."

Great. Another kingdom being terrorized by a giant and all-powerful demonic spirit. "...Do those times happen a lot around here?"

"We do tend to be the focal point for a lot of this chaos. Apparently these lands hold something everyone and their brother wants to get their greedy little hands on." She patted her bow like one would a favorite dog. "Not that we'd let them have it without a fight. My memories of the last dark time aren't the best, but I can remember a few brave souls that fought tooth and nail to keep this kingdom free. The real problem comes from finding the faith to keep fighting."

Murtagh nodded sympathetically. Galbatorix may have had both him and Thorn bound to him with unbreakable oaths of magic, but that didn't mean he had given up on his search for loopholes to exploit, another way to keep from killing or capturing his own naively idiotic little brother the next time they inevitably crossed paths. That same stubborn streak, the inability to simply just lie down and die, apparently ran in the family.

It didn't mean that even Murtagh Morzansson sometimes had to think long and hard about why he still even bothered to try.

"Mr. Ingo couldn't stop me from singing." Malon's blue eyes blazed inhumanly bright for a moment. "Not even when he started abusing the animals, not even when he was determined to break Epona of all of her free spirit, and certainly not when he tricked my father out of his ranch and kicked him out like a begging stray. I sang at night, for fear of being overhead in the day, but I still kept at it." She gave a soft, sad smile. "Mr. Ingo still must have heard me at times. I like to think that there was something good in him, even then, a piece of his old self that didn't want to silence me."

In the distance, the haunting cry of a wolf pierced the nighttime air as a soft wind again stirred the tree branches.

"My husband won't be coming home tonight," Malon explained conversationally. "He'll stay up all night waiting for his new pupil if he has to." She rolled her eyes in a human expression of exasperation that seemed to no longer quite fit her face. "Fairy boy is the only person I know more stubborn than Epona. I always wait here, standing guard for them both, and just keep singing. One of them is bound to hear me sooner or later. One of them is bound to come home. Maybe next time they'll both come and stay for good."

Malon suddenly stepped away from the bow, into a shaft of silver moonlight that seemed only to confirm the whispers in the back of Murtagh's mind. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and simply sang, her swaying in perfect harmony with her voice.

Like with the Minuet of Forest, Murtagh found himself gently carried away by the music. Despite the cool nocturnal forest, the idyllic scene of a homey ranch and cottage flashed before his mind's eye. Long and lazy afternoons in the summer sun, sitting on a fence at twilight as a familiar man put an ocarina to his lips and played, watching a little baby reaching out to the horse before him with the utmost wonder in his big blue eyes...

Murtagh half-opened his eyes, not even mildly surprised to discover he had taken out his ocarina, following Malon's tune perfectly. Epona whinnied, cantering about them like a careless young foal.

Hands as cold as death brushed softly against his cheeks. He froze, the note he had been playing dying in a strangled shriek. The spell had been broken.

Malon smiled in bemusement at the complete and primal terror that had seized him. Her gentle hands caressed his face, ran through his dark brown hair, and curiously paused at the only slightly angled tips of his ears. Only then did Murtagh realize that her own ears were as pointed as Arya's had ever been.

"I don't recognize your eye color," she murmured, "but I certainly know the spark in them. First and foremost, you are our child, a child of the Goddesses. Regardless of all else." A hand would find its way to his chest, to feel the frantic hammering of his heart. Ice would radiate out from her touch. "Never let anyone tell you otherwise, especially the one that dares call you his slave."

Something transparent would hold him close, as close as something fabricated of faded memories and restless thoughts ever could. Through her spectral form, clear as day, Murtagh could see the dilapidated mausoleum that would forever hold her bones in an eternal sleep.

A voice, now little more than a whisper on the wind, would stir his hair with its icy chill one last time. "Remember Epona's Song. She will always come to those who need her most. Trust in her, Murtagh, and trust those you call kin. I know them, just as I know you. Just as I know your mother fought tooth and nail against her destiny to try and come back for you. Trust... one last... time..."

He was entirely alone in a deserted clearing, excepting only a forgotten tomb and a horse that looked at him with far-too-intelligent eyes.

Slinging his pack over her saddle, Murtagh would feel the reassuring warmth of her flank suspiciously, even as the roan mare nickered and encouragingly nudged him with her nose. Slowly, ready to leap back and reach for Zar'roc at any moment, he slung himself onto her back.

Epona was no Thorn. He was almost positive she wasn't about to sprout wings and go charging off into the sky. He had not ridden a horse since Tornac, not when being imprisoned by Galbatorix and having a dragon made no need for one. Murtagh's muscles would remember how to properly sit in the saddle, how to move with a horse's gait, all the little things from those long-ago equestrian lessons.

Without any prodding from him, Epona calmly trotted off back into where the monsters were waiting. Murtagh sighed, tying up her reins so he wouldn't get tangled in them, and unsheathed his blade.

"I trust you know the way to civilization, then."

Willing to take the gamble, and not about to continue aimlessly fighting his way through a forest of hostile monsters on foot, Murtagh braced for the onslaught.

Limbs trembling with exhaustion, Eragon was at least permitted to stumble out of Prince Ralis's room. Clinging to the balcony that looked out onto the rest of the inn with tremulous hands, he allowed himself a sigh of relief before glancing out a window and the inky nighttime sky beyond.

We did it, Saphira. He'll be fine.

Pure relief traveled across in soothing waves that helped still his shaky limbs. Good work, little one. I am proud of you.

Poor Saphira had been forced to hover anxiously outside the inn while those with no secret forms to keep had all desperately charged in. Having absolutely no idea how to idea grievously sick Zora child without potentially endangering both of their lives, Eragon had expected to be shooed forth from the room the moment he had carried Ralis to the bed Luda had quickly made up for him.

Renado and the others had still roped him into helping. It had been him and Colin who had frantically dashed all around Kakariko Village in search of water, herbs, and whatever else had been demanded of them. When Ralis had begun thrashing against those trying to him in his fever-induced hysteria, it had been Eragon who had been called upon to gently hold the boy down while Renado had calmed him down.

"How is he?" Colin asked worriedly, having been pushed out of the room far earlier than Eragon had been, for there had been several alarming moments when Ralis had almost slipped away.

Stepping out the room, the shaman answered this question himself. "...He has passed through the worst of it. So long as he rests, he shall recover in due time."

Colin beamed up at Eragon in contagious excitement. The Dragon Rider grinned right back, feeling in complete and utter peace for the first time in hours.

"Do you know the fate of his mother?" Eragon wrenched his gaze away from the boy, all joy fleeing his face. "Her welfare consumes him. He has been mumbling about her almost constantly since shortly after we dismissed you..."

She's now a restless spirit because I was too late to save her. "She..."

"Ah." Renado's brown eyes darkened as he bowed his head mournfully. "I see. It must be an awful memory."

Naive little Colin seemed blessedly oblivious to the grim reality. "I'll go stay with him until he's better! No matter how long it takes!"

The shaman of Kakariko Village bent down, looking the boy straight in the eye as he placed a proud hand on his shoulder. "Is that so? Thank you, Colin." He glanced anxiously over his shoulder. Luda's murmuring was still easily heard from the other room, trying to coax Ilia away from Ralis's side and to the kitchen for some food and rest. "Why don't you just give us a few moments alone first?"

Eragon nodded at the unspoken plea Renado sent him, stepping out of the inn with Colin obediently trailing after him. Telma was waiting for them outside, a hand on Saphira's snout as tavern-owner and she-dragon finally made their peace.

"Hey, Eragon," Colin whispered. "Is it true what they said about Ilia?"

"Yes, child," Renado answered solemnly as he shut the door to the inn behind him. "She's lost her memory, and regaining it will be no easy task. But it will be all right, Colin. If we just give her some time, I am certain Ilia will find her heart again. I would like to ask you to stay in this village for a little longer, and find the courage to help Ilia remember everything about you and the others she has lost."

The youth brightened immediately, eagerly charging off to do his new duties. The three adults and one she-dragon stared after him for a moment, before Renado bowed a polite farewell, and walked away.

"Nice to see there's still hope here." Telma leaned contentedly against one of Saphira's front legs. The she-dragon's tail twitched, but she didn't growl a warning. "And it's always good to see happy results repay your efforts... Those skills of yours." Man and she-dragon froze rigidly. "Any chance you're of the mind to put them to use for Hyrule? Or are you too busy to get back to elsewhere?"

Eragon's lips fought to keep his smile contained as Saphira hummed in amusement. "You have no idea."

"What hope there is in Hyrule is frail and dying... but there's still a group trying to do what it can. And I'm a member of that group." Arching an eye in an impish grin, the woman walked over, and extended a hand. "Now there better be no 'Ms. Telma' or anything like that out of you. Call me Telma. We could use both you and the lizard."

...I think I'll call that a compliment and avoid another grudge.

"I think I'll hang around just a little bit longer," Telma mused as she gave Saphira a final pat on the leg. "I'm still worried about Ilia and... Well, never mind about the rest." She gave Renado's backside a look that would forever haunt Eragon's nightmares before proceeding to give him a look that gave the Hero's Shade a run for his money. "Eragon, I want to see you at my bar again, you hear me? It's actually a kind of safe house for my friends. There's a passageway that leads to the castle from in there, as well."

Eragon nodded dutifully with the same respect he gave to the equally batty, and just as scarily competent, Angela. "Yes, ma- Telma."

"Good. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate on stopping by. And don't be afraid to bring the dragon. She'll hopefully scare all of the cowards away." With a final wink that both flattered and frightened him, Telma hurried off to sling her arm around the unfortunate Renado, pulling him into a conversation she obviously wanted to deepen into something else.

Midna, who had been silent since landing in Kakariko Village, finally broke her silence. "What. Is. Wrong. With. Your. Realm?"

I actually admire her spirit, Saphira quipped in a half-truthful voice. She knows what she wants.

"Are you really being-"

Eragon and Saphira whipped around as a telltale chill settled into the air, a wind picking up to tug at his hair and hat. Queen Rutela's spectral form hovered regally above them, glancing over her shoulder as she floated past, beckoning them to follow.

Eragon would be quick to dash after her, Saphira taking advantage of the concealing darkness to shift into Hylian form to follow them more easier. Despite their speed, the spirit always remained tantalizingly just out of reach, leading them away from Kakariko Village and into the ancient graveyard adjacent to it.

Rutela would lead them to the end of the graveyard before vanishing into thin air. The stone marker she had previously been standing over began to flash. Eragon managed to glimpse a symbol in the exact shape of the necklace she wore before the entire thing vanished to reveal the hole behind.

He had been about to start crawling into before Saphira snagged him by the tunic. "Do you hear what I hear?"

Eragon thought he had been imagining it. The sound of running water in the middle of barren little Kakariko Village? How could he not be hallucinating?

His damned curiosity getting the better of him yet again, the green-clad Hero ducked down and started crawling, tugging Saphira along after him. The impossible melody of water grew only ever louder, louder, louder-

Eragon abruptly stood to his full height, the narrow little tunnel opening into a broad cavern of waterfalls and grass. Water cascaded down from underground rivers that would the land would never see to fill the crystal clear pool that spread out before him. Green grass managed to grow on the cavern walls with the abundant moisture. An lush island of life in an otherwise largely dry and barren province.

Saphira stood mutely by his side, as caught up in the miraculous place as he was. There was an utter stillness to the air, a sense of continuance that gave Eragon the impression that not even the shadows of Twilight had ever managed to breach this sanctuary.

Man and woman looked out across the water. Shafts of brilliant light still somehow managed to spill in from the ceiling, illuminating the ornate carvings on the walls and headstone on the small island across from where they stood. There upon the marker was the same almost star-shaped symbol that must have been placed there by a tender hand countless generations ago. Rutela's luminous form expectantly hovered the place where her body should have rested in eternal peace.

Uncaring about getting his clothes sopping wet, Eragon gracefully dove into the pool and swam across, his chainmail slowing him down only slightly. Saphira would remain on her little spit of land.

Go ahead, Eragon. All these spirits tend to only want to speak with you, anyway.

"I am extremely thankful to you both for aiding my son in his time in need. When his mother was unable to be there for him." Her gaze briefly flicked over to Saphira, the former Zora queen dipping her head in earnest gratitude. "You were right to bring him here. Kakariko Village is a sacred place to our people, for it is where most Zoras choose to take our eternal rest. My husband in life, King Zora, also rests his spirit here."

Eragon couldn't help but glance down at the tombstone and morbidly reflect that this was as close as this shattered family would ever come to reuniting before Ralis crossed over on his own time.

"It is no coicidence that our son should find his salvation here." A hand went up to thoughtfully brush against the too-solid sapphire clasped at her neck. "When the time is right, here my Ralis shall also discover his rightful inheritance."

Midna, taking advantage of the protective darkness, dared leave the safety of Eragon's shadow to face Rutela's spirit directly. "Is it really the smartest idea to leave something that powerful lying around in hopes it will be your son that discovers it first? The son that is very weak and far away from his domain and bodyguards? Just go leave it at his bedside when he's out cold. Or give it to Hero-boy. Goddesses know you won't trust me anywhere near that!"

"Rest assured, daughter of exiles, even the Goddesses can learn their lessons. Death has opened my eyes to what most of the living is blind to. My child shall receive my last gift for him only when he is ready to bear the burden." Her beautiful face darkened with even more sorrow. "Evil has breached the most sacred of places in the past. Even here, amongst my family, I can take no risks."

Midna glanced at the sapphire, looking far from convinced, but she wisely slipped back into the shadows without further comment.

"That which I have promised you is within this grave. During his lifetime, my husband specifically created garments for the Chosen Hero that house the abilities of the Zora." She smiled ruefully. "After hearing of the legendary Hero of Time's time-consuming and laborious efforts within the Water Temple, he tried to take pity on the next generation. You shall be able to move and breathe freely through the water as if you were truly a Zora yourself. I'll be sure to tell him the fruits of his labors have paid off."

On its own power, the grave marker slid back to reveal a small space underneath. Eragon slowly knelt down and pulled out something scaly that glimmered with hues of blue and green. The helm stared back at him with eyes like those of the masks of the Zora soldiers he had seen out in the Twilight. The material itself felt vaguely like Saphira's scales, only softer and smoothed down for the utmost efficiency while in the water.

Cradling the Zora armor to his chest, Eragon gave the spirit a grateful grin. "I truly don't know how I even repay-"

"Look after my son. Look after my only child when I am finally able to rest in peace alongside his father. Please..." Before their very eyes, Rutela was fading like a memory lost to the sands of time, her voice gradually dying to a mere whisper on the wind. "Tell Ralis of my death; let him begin on the long and difficult path to healing. He must not grieve my death, but be a strong king and live for both himself and his people. And... tell him that his mother was... and always will love him... without end..."

Only three now stood in that quiet little refuge.

We'll tell him, Eragon, Saphira murmured to him across their link. Ralis deserves to know how strong his mother was, and how she loved him so much she refused to leave until knowing that her son was safe.

Eragon nodded forcefully as he studied his gift, determined he would try to ease as much as that poor child's suffering as he physically could.

There was also the Zora armor to inspect, to make sure the enchantments and defenses had stood the test of time. Going dozens of feet beneath a lake called for a dependable air supply and an easy way to move around and defend himself. He might as well test the armor in this sacred little area before going to Lake Hylia to hunt for that last damned Fused Shadow.

Castle Town was also right on the way to the lake which supposedly housed the temple. Surely it wouldn't hurt to drop by Telma's Bar for a few short minutes to see just how good this woman selected her greatest friends and confidantes. This group of people might even know how to strike Zant down without resorting to cursed artifacts of an unholy power that had been seperated and kept apart for damned good reason.

Most importantly, however, was the golden wolf still patiently awaiting his arrival. Though Eragon had hurried through the second musical stone he had encountered without giving it a second thought, Telma's insightful look had stirred up questions about both himself and others he desperately needed answered. Not to mention Eragon already had two mentors back home in Alagaesia waiting for him to fulfill his vow to return. It probably would be a good thing to knock a potential third (and undead) one right off that waiting list. Especially when the troubling fates of his predecessors were involved...

Absorbed in his thoughts and plans for tomorrow, Eragon was only dimly aware when he swam back to Saphira's side of the cavern, the Zora armor tucked safely into one of his enchanted bags. The magic on his usual set of clothes would soon cause any lingering wetness to dry out far quicker than mere air.

Even Chosen Heroes got to be weary and drained at times. Helping a newly orphaned child to safety and later dragging him back from the verge of death could have taken their tolls on the strongest of wills.

Eragon didn't protest as Saphira grabbed his hand and guided him away from the graveyard. He was dimly aware that Midna, her fully substantial form eerily radiant in the moonlight, had taken to hovering sharply on his opposite side. So his doubting female companions were expecting him to keel over from exhaustion before they could even make out of town? He did have a history of fainting in the middle of highly inconvenient times...

Midna had left him leaning heavily against a rock as she had started preparing Saphira, now in her true form, to fly to a secure and private campsite of their very own. Eragon was too exhausted to wonder how the tiny little imp managed such heavy weight, or panic when Saphira had lifted him up by the tunic, plopping him down into the saddle.

Don't forget to strap him in...

"I'm small, not deaf, lizard. Not even I am about to allow the Chosen Hero to fall off a dragon hundreds of feet up in the air anytime soon..."

With their bickering, that was now almost a lullaby in itself after falling asleep to it for so many nights, Eragon drifted off into a slumber unplagued by dreams. Or at least those he could have possibly remembered the following morning...

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Dead To The World- Nightwish

Dawn was breaking in the distance, painting the heavens in brilliant hues of orange and gold, and casting the walls and buildings of Castle Town with a luminous glow. A sentimental person, or a poet, would have likened the breathtaking scene to a new hope driving the darkness from Hyrule.

Eragon was oblivious to the scenery, completely lost in thought as he trudged down the road that ran through Hyrule Field, barely even taking notice of Saphira as she walked beside him in Hylian form. He seemed only able to focus on the clues on the mysterious Hero's Shade, trying to fit the fragments into a cohesive image of the undead skeleton that had once been a living and breathing man, a man who had once been in Eragon's position.

He helped expose a dangerous man as a traitor to the Royal Family, the followers of whom would later hunt him down for vengeance... They'd take his eye, his life, and those of his family... There was no one left in Hyrule for Farore to call upon as her champion, so she had to summon me -

A hand, worn from work but still soft and warm to his calloused fingers, took his own.

Startled from his thoughts, Eragon's gray-blue eyes snapped up to gaze upon a concerned pair the color of sapphire. Saphira kept pace with him, free hand resting on the hilt of her sheathed blade, the other holding his left. His stomach began to flutter with the same telltale butterflies that hadn't shown themselves since Arya had rebuffed his lovesick advances. The part of him that was still very much an adolescent intently noticed how her pale hair shimmered in the morning light, the faint markings that traced their way down every visible patch of skin-

She's a dragon! My dragon-

A whisper from the dormant dragon within remarked, A she-dragon of great grace and power. One that these people are right to fear and revere-

Eragon fiercely clamped down on the traitor thoughts, hoping that his extreme embarrassment showed only in the crimson of his flushed face and had not traveled across the mental link. Saphira's mind radiated only concern for him, caring only for the fact that he was so upset over something entirely unrelated to senseless hormones.

"You don't need to confront him on anything," she murmured gently. "Just learn your skill and be done with it."

Eragon tried and failed to smile. "I'm your Rider. You should know by now my curiosity would never allow me to let a sleeping dog lie."

"Wolf, as the case would be." Floating as high as the protective confines of his shadow would allow, Midna strained to see into the distance. "Mr. High and Mighty chose a little part of the wall as his throne, so be ready for a short climb." She sank downward, Eragon's shadow snapping back to its proper spot on the ground as she did so. "Can't say on whether or not he's on to you two, though, as he always looks that grimly determined."

The living Hero sighed, spotting the Golden Wolf for himself. "Indeed. I should be back in a bit... hopefully."

Deciding holding hands wasn't comfort enough, Saphira freed her herself from his trembling grip and slapped him heartily on the back. "You know I'd find some way to drag you back out of that vision if things ever did take a turn for the worse. No bag of bones stands a chance against Saphira Bjartskular."

His two companions wisely stopped a safe distance from where the Golden Wolf perched, leaving Eragon to climb the tangled vines to the top by himself. The ghostly beast casually regarded his arrival with a lolled tongue and a wagging tail. However, in a flash the calm stance was gone, the Golden Wolf suddenly up on all fours and ready to lunge. Burning red eye fixated upon his pupil, he growled expectantly.

Eragon returned the growl with a determined glare of his own, sinking into a battle stance as he drew his sword and shield. He wondered if the Golden Wolf could hear the frantic hammering of his heart behind the calm and composed exterior.

His mentor sprang forward, and it took every ounce of Eragon's self-control to not waste a blow on a specter that could never be harmed by mortal means.

The struggle against reflex lasted only for a moment before his strength failed him, falling forward to be engulfed by a blindingly bright radiance.

With the gods themselves now waging war in the skies above Alagaesia, the Varden had wisely decided to withdraw their soldiers from the borders and cancel any and all plans to invade the Empire. Those still stationed in the Burning Plains were reassigned to either Dauth or Cithri, to provide the forces already there additional support in case something of Galbatorix managed to breach the protections barricading the borders. The Varden and Surdan generals had been mostly divided amongst the two cities.

Due to his status as the cousin of Eragon Shadeslayer, Roran could have gotten his choice between the two and a nice title to go along with it. His actions in battle had certainly earned him a promotion. If only he'd been cowardly enough to accept it.

With the fate of the man he considered brother currently unknown, Roran felt obligated to pick up at least some of the slack. Katrina and their unborn child (whose name would almost certainly be Eragon) were now safe and sound in Dauth with a real apartment to reside in and some of the best healers Surda could offer to tend to them. Though it had pained him to leave his pregnant wife in the midst of such trying times, Roran Stronghammer had done just that, and had followed those highest in the rebellion's ranks to Reavstone.

If the Guardian Spirit of Surda really was watching over its (her?) domain, most everyone figured that the King Orrin himself had the best chance of actually eliciting a response in return, most hopefully a promise of continuing protection. Lady Nasuada had naturally accompanied her fellow leader, with Blodgharm and only one other of his elves joining them, for other pairs had been sent off to the largest Surdan cities to offer even greater defense. Arya had departed for Du Weldenvarden on confidential business, but Roran knew damn well the elf-woman was trying to devise a way to bring Eragon and Saphira home safe. He hoped against his own growing doubt that she succeeded.

Snowfire had been a swift horse, and the journey from the Burning Plains to Reavstone had been quicker than Roran could have ever expected.

Making his way through narrow streets clogged with thousands of devoted worshipers on a pilgrimage to their deity's sacred shrine, even with two very important companions to help clear the way, had been a torture Roran never wanted to live through again.

So much for my first visit to a big city being a positive one.

The shrine in question was cut off from the adoring public by a massive white brick fence Roran had no chance of ever peering over. King Orrin's guards did their best to force the crowds away just enough so that the solid gold gates to the compound could be wrenched open just enough for everyone to slip through. Unceremoniously pushed through by Blodgharm, Roran never even had a chance to study the elegant images that must have been put into the gates generations ago by a tender hand.

Then the gates were shut with a definitive thud, and the deafening clamor of the outside world was immediately silenced.

Brown eyes wide in awe, Roran struggled to take in the sanctuary that appeared completely isolated from the chaos of the outside world. There was only green grass beneath the soles of his boots that looked as if it had never been walked upon, let alone trampled by the dutiful worshipers that must have visited daily. Straining his ears, he could only hear the soft breeze that rustled through the ancient trees and the burbling of a stream that seemed to flow right through the white wall and into another realm. He traced the origins to a spring right in the center of the haven. Were it not for the tops of surrounding buildings to shatter the illusion, Roran could almost believe he had walked out of Reavstone entirely and straight into another world.

"These walls must be enchanted to keep the sounds of the city out," Blodgharm's fellow elven companion muttered to herself. "There's no other way that..."

"The stream continues on underground," Orrin informed a flabbergasted Nasuada with a patient smile. "Completely separated from the sewer system, of course, so it can flow right to the ocean unaffected."

Tuning out all of the surrounding chatter, Roran turned back to the gate, running a hand over one of the carvings that seemed to occur the most frequently. It looked like a fish, far larger and sleeker than the familiar types of marine life alongside it, and it almost seemed to be smiling-

"Dolphin."

Roran looked up at Blodgharm in confusion, brow furrowing in confusion when he saw that the blue-furred elf's yellow eyes were also studying the gate. "Pardon?"

Blodgharm nodded curtly at the odd smiling fish that had so captivated the one normal human being amongst them. "They're called dolphins. They prefer the southern seas because of their warm water and abundance of fish." An oddly wistful smile crossed his furry features, an expression only an immortal being could manage. "I remember taking journeys down to the southern coast just to watch them romp in the waves. Long before a dragon had ever hatched for Galbatorix..."

"You're welcome to go down to the harbor and watch them, Master Elf. They like following the fishing boats in hope of receiving a free meal in return for impressing the fisherman with their tricks."

Everyone turned to stare at the only other living being in the shrine. She was an old woman with a back stooped from an age, but one that still managed to look regal in a simple white dress and gray hair done up in an elegant style. Her weathered and wrinkled face could have belonged to any of the grandmothers or Carvahall, but certainly none of them had ever had dark brown eyes with such a knowing spark.

Blodgharm cautiously studied her with suspicious eyes. "And you are?"

The old woman crossed her arms sternly. "I am Emunah, Keeper of the Shrine. And you, young man, look happen to look like an elf's bastard with a cat."

Normally, a comment such as that would have had Roran either roaring hysterically with laughter or frantically leaping in front of an impressively brazen old bag to protect her from Blodgharm's ire. However, realizing just who he was facing, the former farmer was quick to join Blodgharm and the other elf in a respectful bow while Nasuada managed a graceful curtsy.

Orrin just waltzed right over and embraced someone who supposedly communicated directly with a deity. "Great to see you again, Auntie 'Munah."

Emunah smiled, returning the hug fondly. "It's great to see you too, Larkin. Just try to visit more often than once a decade next time."

The King of Surda somehow managed to look as embarrassed as any other person with an elderly relative would have. "It's Orrin, Auntie 'Munah. Larkin's son, remember?"

"Eh?" The old woman squinted first at him, then at their rather bemused audience. "Guess that makes the round-eared young lady your wife, then? Good for you, sweetie, she's quite the catch!"

Lady Nasuada turned a brilliant crimson as she started stammering frantically. "A-actually, we-we're not-"

"Oh?" Emunah, looking more senile than wise by the second, narrowed her eyes and studied Blodgharm's female companion. "Orrin, honey, it's not good to have a taste for women who'll outlive your great-great-grandchildren. If you can give her any."

Roran supposed only naturally dignity kept the elf-womanfrom stuttering in moritification as well. Orrin mouthed his apologies to his bemused spectators, but most importantly to the two very important and powerful women his apparent great-aunt had just managed to both insult in under a minute. The King of Surda continued to humor the senile shrine-keeper for another five minutes before feeling confident enough to broach the subject of contacting the Spirit.

"Of course you're here to see Sur." Emunah jerked her thumb back at the wall and the crowds pressed right up against the other side. "So are they. She sees who she wants to see, Orrin, and not even a king can make her see it any differently." Her weathered face turned back to the three elves with a look of disdain. "Nor those who fancy themselves as long-lived or all-knowing as she."

Emunah paused thoughtfully "Not you, of course, cat-elf, for all of your questions. Just be grateful that most of your elves were able to escape that fate due to Sur's intervention. So, no, I really can't you arrogant, just in desperate need of having some questions answered. I suppose the whole arrogance thing that's just more than a general assumption about how arrogant we humans view all you elves as being. No, I was more referring to your companion."

The female elf spluttered indignantly, but was cut off with a silent warning from Blodgharm. Roran knew what had happened on the border was still highly confidential. Either this old bag was so senile she had accidentally said the right thing, or there really was something to her supernatural connection to the spirits.

"I'm afraid most of you are going to have to wait in my quarters before Sur decides to show herself." Emunah nodded in the direction of a smaller set of doors at the opposite side of the haven. "No windows on this side, but a lovely view of the sweaty pilgrims baking in the heat for a chance to pay their blessings." Lady Nasuada opened her mouth to protest, but fell silent when something flashed in that old crone's eyes. "No exceptions, dearie. Or you can go to the harbor and watch the dolphins, if you like. More entertaining than sitting around in a room trying to make some awkward small talk. Sur wants one, and only one, of you."

It has to be Blodgharm, Roran reflected to himself, watching as all others present discretely turned their gazes turned the blue-furred elf. It was he who supposedly witnessed this Spirit's power, had one of his own elves stolen by whatever force Sur opposes, has the most questions in need of-

"The bearded one." A pause. "At least, I think it is the bearded one." A wrinkled hand tugged unceremoniously at his facial hair, forcing Roran down to the ancient shrine-keeper's eye-level. "It's so hard to tell underneath all of this hair."

Roran jerked himself back, a hand reflexively reaching for the hammer strapped to his belt. "I think you're mistaken-"

"Your cousin is missing, correct? The one you call brother?" Total silence reigned in the haven, even as the former farmer paled before flushing with anger. "Good. So hard to be sure with that beard disguising all resemblance. You have questions in need of answering, Roran Stronghammer, and fears that need be laid to rest. She will see you, and to no other."

Lady Nasuada eyed her vassal intensely before dipping her head in consent. "May your questions be the right ones, Stronghammer."

Roran nodded, swallowing against the sudden blockage that had found its way into his throat. "I won't let you down, my Lady." His gaze turned to Blodgharm, who was watching him intently. "Any of you."

Then, with King Orrin and several other white-robed attendants ushering every one else away, Roran was left with nothing but the Keeper of the Shrine and the spring itself for company.

Emunah laughed the second that door had closed, her expression one of a proud grandmother that Roran had never known in life. "I never thought I would live to see the day of one of you showed up at my door, for Iduneya guards his charges so jealously." Then she sighed with the weight of one who had foreseen the end of the world, and knew that vision close to fulfillment. "Yet, I had also hoped that the world would not need a Hero during my time. This encounter is bittersweet."

"How do you even know me-"

A thumb jerked back at the spring. "Sur's been in my life since practically the beginning. When I was a little girl, I received visions that stunned my grandfather and made my big sister both envious and relieved. The Guardian Spirit of this land called to me, and I answered her summons, for better or worse. I was an aunt to a full-grown nephew when darkness fell upon these lands in earnest, Stronghammer. It seems poetic I should live to see the sunrise before finally making my peace with Lady Death."

Roran again reached for his hammer, unable to stop the chill from surging down his spine like lightning, causing his heart to hammer in his chest. "You're not King Orrin's great-aunt, are you?"

Emunah chuckled hoarsely. "My nephew founded this kingdom, little Stronghammer. His grandson was the sweet little boy Alagaesia came to know as King Larkin." Her amusement faded into grim repose. "These old eyes of mine witnessed the downfall of an order many saw as eternal as the heavens above or the earth below. I felt the heart of a Spirit split in two upon the corruption and lose of the one she once called brother. I've seen the birth of a nation, the birth of a tyrant as invincible as his predecessors once were... and the birth of a hope strong enough to tear it all down again."

Of course she wasn't referring to him, but to an adopted brother who had raised eyebrows in Carvahall ever since he had taken to regularly hunting in the Spine and returning alive and well every single time, to an adolescent who had impressed a proud she-dragon into hatching for him, to a man that was the living embodiment of hope for so many defiant in the face of tyranny.

"Eragon."

"They say these sort of things happen in threes," Emunah mused to herself. "Three realms in need of a savior. Three princesses in need of a champion. Three descendents left of an ancient bloodline forced from its homeland." Her eyes twinkled impishly. "Soon to be four, however, thanks to your efforts. Your brother is where he is needed most, Roran Garrowson. Believe it or not, there are places out there in even greater danger than Alagaesia."

"Are there even any places-"

"This land has a horrible location, you know. Vast ocean to the south and west, barren tundra to the north, and a land so jealously defended by the Goddesses to the east. Ignorance is understandable in this case. There are ways across the barrier, of course. Tell that princess my nephew is so fond of that her answers lie with the one who keeps her homeland safe above all others. Now, what are you waiting for?"

Roran found himself shoved forward by an ancient woman both older and stronger than she looked. Unceremoniously falling to his knees at the base of the spring, his fingers a mere inch from the water, he could only watch in stupefied awe as everything began to glow.

Rooted to where he knelt as the stones surrounding the spring started to shine with a heavenly radiance, and as every single last doubt he'd ever had about the existence of the supernatural flew out the window, Roran waited in breathless anticipation. Staring down into the luminous depths of the spring, he thought he saw a dolphin like those of the carvings peering up at him, one as old as the seas themselves-

Something large and gray exploded from the water, heading straight for his face. Finding himself able to move again, he leaped back, eyes shutting as the light became blindingly bright-

His fingers wrapped around something that fitted his grip perfectly, warming itself in his hold as if he had been born with it in hand.

Eyes snapping wide open in amazement, Roran carefully studied every single last intricacy of the hammer that had chosen him. A far cry from his current weapon, and an even further one from the blacksmith's tool he had first used, it was something that belonged alongside the grinning dolphins on the golden gate. Its handle and head were shaped with clouds and stylized jagged lightning as if a storm was really taking place across its surface. He could feel the power radiating from it, ready to be unleashed at his will and his alone.

Roran glanced back at the spring to found it twinkling innocently in the sunlight. As if it hadn't just tried to kill him with a hammer. Or to take the position everyone thought only a Dragon Rider could hold.

"Oh, all right," he muttered, replacing his now thoroughly useless old hammer with one that would probably fly back towards his face if he even thought of chucking it back into the water. "But would it kill you to ask me nicely next time?"

Back in whatever vision-world his mentor was fond of pulling him in to, Eragon respectfully sheathed his blade as the Golden Wolf resumed his preferred form of a skeletal warrior. The Hero's Shade greeted his student with a curt nod and the usual praise-warning regarded his skills. He also seemed ignorant or uncaring of the way Eragon really wasn't paying attention to a single word of it.

He obviously can't be possessing his own body or something, not inside my mind. Can spirits rot if they're on earth for too long? If so, then why doesn't the Golden Wolf rotting? Does he mean to purposefully appear like that, or does it have to do with the way he sees himself-

"Are you ready to learn another skill or not, boy?" the Hero's Shade roared. "Hyrule certainly doesn't need a Hero as absent-minded as you!"

Not trusting himself to speak, Eragon only nodded, readying his sword and shield as his predecessor lunged at him.

A Brother of Gorons, a personal friend of a Zora queen, a husband and father- Who were you? Who are you?

His muscles immediately recalled the prior lesson his mind could not. Thrusting the Hylian Shield out as the Hero's Shade raised his own blade, Eragon swiftly delivered a slash to the shoulder that would have worried a man of flesh and bone.

The Hero's Shade staggered casually back with the force of the blow, delivering the usual curt praise. As mentor and pupil prepared themselves for another spar, Eragon only halfheartedly listened to the explanation of the back slice, bracing himself for a confrontation far more dangerous than one of swords and steel.

The skeletal warrior had never been the most agile fighter, presumably slowed down by either the cumbersome weight of his ancient armor or the fact he was nothing more than a pile of bones seemingly holding himself together through sheer will alone. As Eragon watched him demonstrate the back slice, moving with a lethal grace he had only ever displayed as the Golden Wolf, the living Hero tried to imagine a living man performing that very skill. However, his imagination could give no face to the Hero's Shade other than the customary grinning skull and gleaming red eye.

Even as Eragon imitated his mentor perfectly, effortlessly ducking under his sword to land a blow on his vulnerable backside, his mind was still on the enigma that had a grudge for anything resembling a straight answer.

"-carry yourself well. But do not forget the-"

"You did the best you could."

It had just slipped out. The entire world fell quiet, save for the labored breathing of the Hero's Shade. Did it sound even more ragged than usual?

There was an icy chill to the air as ominous as the hissing of a provoked snake preparing to strike. Too far gone to turn back, too stubborn to even try, Eragon continued rambling on, filling the silence with all the clumsy words that only worsened his predicament.

"Y-you were outnumbered. Facing odds that no one, not even a Hero, could walk away from alive... That woman, N-Nabooru, you saw her as a friend, even then to the bitter end... Y-you didn't let that stop you, never backed down or tried to run away. You were there for... until the-"

Something sharp pressed up against his throat, cutting off the stream of babble. Blue-gray eyes followed the tip of that rusted sword to a skull that managed to smolder in fury.

"Do. Not. Pity. Me."

Eragon backed away from the threat, eyes narrowing defiantly. How to tell this stubborn spirit he was in the presence of a kindred soul? That Eragon knew all too well the bitterness he felt? To have failed so horribly in protecting a loved one? To still waking up of nightmares of deathwatches and tombs?

Uncle Garrow, the father figure who had always been there to offer guidance or a helping hand, with burns left by demons and an agony that echoed through his unconsciousness. Uncle Garrow, an innocent bystander, one who had never even known the great secret his selfish nephew had concealed from even his own family. Uncle Garrow, face calm and body at ease only in death, who had passed away without even a chance to say goodbye. Uncle Garrow, put into the earth without that nephew to see him off, without even an apology for all that he had done...

Brom, a secretive and grouchy old man who had only revealed his deepest secret at the hour of his death. A man that he had begun to see as a new father, a new guide and helping hand, one who had brought him new purpose after the Ra'zac had ripped his world apart. Brom, who had taken a fatal blow meant for him, who he had only been able to repay with a proper burial and eternal rest...

Words failed. Reason fled until there was only anger and torn-open scars of grief and self-loathing left to draw upon.

With a beastly roar that far suited his dragon self, Eragon raised his sword and lunged.

From the beginning, he had been able to tell that his mentor had always been holding back, had only been displaying enough skill to pass his hidden techniques on. Now the Hero's Shade met his living counterpart with all of a master's talent and invincibility of a spirit that had already shaken hands with death.

Unhindered by a body of flesh and blood, one that needed oxygen to breathe and felt fatigue, Eragon was always there to meet his mentor's blows. Yet his strikes could hit only armor or bone, and he faced an opponent who had an entire lifetime of experience already under his belt. Newly-forged and rusted steel met with clashes that sent sparks into the air, the previously docile clouds of mist around them darkened with the volatility of thunderheads, and the controlled power of two masters in the air of swordplay gave way to something far more brutal and primal.

Fed by a seemingly endless procession of loss and sorrow, of having an always-growing number of people depending upon him as their sole chance of salvation, Eragon finally unleashed months of repressed emotion in a deadly storm of strikes and slashes. His vision was tinted red, he blinded by rage and resentment, and the roaring of his own pounding blood drowned all else out.

Sometimes the Hero's Shade would land a blow on the exposed portions of his arms or on another vulnerability, drawing blood and pain that only renewed Eragon's fury and further blinded him to his surroundings. The young man was oblivious to the words of long faded memory, to the anguish and resentment that flowed across from wounded soul to another.

"They say that there's no medicine that can cure a fool... I guess that's true."

Eragon again thrust his shield forward for an attack, only to have his protection wrenched aside by a skeletal arm that sent a wicked blade toward his torso.

"If you're a man, act like one! Take responsibility!"

Catching the blow on his gauntlet, Eragon wrenched it and the ancient warrior's sword away, throwing away his own blade as he tackled a spectral skeleton to the ground.

"The rising sun will eventually set. A newborn's life will fade."

The Hero's Shade bashed his shield into his opponent, a frantic pile of bones and armor as he struggled to collect himself.

"From sun to moon, moon to sun... Give peaceful rest to the living dead."

Eragon relentlessly pounced onto his target, pinning his seemingly-fragile skeletal arms to the ground as he forced that hateful red eye to meet his gaze. Only then did the burning rage subside just enough for reason to return with all of the words he had intended to say from the beginning once.

"You were a man once, one of flesh and bone, destinies and Goddesses be damned! Mortal, like I was, like I still am. I failed my family, I am haunted by regrets and resentment as much as you are! Those Goddesses granted us the same burden, the same demons! Of course I can fucking understand you!"

The Hero's Shade gave a spiteful laugh. Not whatever usual rasp he used as a substitute, but an all-too human sound that caused Eragon to freeze like a deer before the hunter. His words no longer echoed across the void with a spirit's detachment, but burned with mockery and hatred of the purest form.

"Flesh and blood, am I? Understandable? Relatable? As if you can even dream of the burdens I still bear!"

The balance of power suddenly shifted, and it was Eragon who found himself pinned to the earth with something no longer quite a shade.

His dazed and blurred vision made it impossible to clearly tell what he was looking at; the manically grinning skull of the Hero's Shade, the snarling demon that was the Golden Wolf, or something else entirely. A new, unfamiliar face of red-splattered flesh pale with blood loss, contorted with the utmost loathing, with the most gruesome details shrouded in the shadows of that rusted helm, snarled back at him. Where there should have been an empty eye-socket was a gaping new wound that would never be given a chance to heal. Where there should have been a glowing red orb was a blue eye glazed-over and without a spark of life, forever with the agony and fear it had died with.

Perhaps it was human fingers, whether newly cold or long-since decayed, that gripped his throat, or perhaps it had been a wolf's fanged jaws. Regardless, the fringes of Eragon's vision flickered with black as he somehow managed to be choked as a disembodied spirit.

Later on, Eragon would struggle to recall whether the light that had flickered across his fading vision had been of the brightest emerald or of a serene violet. He would recall only the gentle hand that had stayed whatever had held his throat, allowing him to slip into a darkness he would at least awaken from.

Long before Saphira's nose caught the sharp tang of blood, or her sharp gaze noticed the pool of blood around her now alarmingly pale Rider, she had felt the sheer agony of half of her soul nearly being wrenched away from her. Keeling over with a piercing scream, clutching desperately at her chest as the tears began to flow, Saphira could still only feel worry for her human.

"ERAGON!"

Her cry shattered the morning tranquility, bringing her out of her own suffering and to the unthinkable reality that awaited her.

She was at Eragon's side before she knew it, cradling his disturbingly still form as she frantically searched for a pulse, and struggling for a solution when she felt faint signs of life beneath her tremulous fingers.

"Heal him!" Midna shrieked from the shadows, unable to use her own magic without exposing herself to the potentially lethal sunlight. "Do you have magic or not!"

Dimly recalling that this Spirit-gifted body had abilities like Eragon's, Saphira reached inside herself for the same sort of power she had felt her Rider reach for a thousand times, determined to sacrifice as much energy it would take to restore him completely. The Golden Wolf was nowhere in sight, but she was now resolved to make a pelt out of him, for all the impossibilities she would have to face to see that vow fulfilled.

Saphira sighed, relying on Glaedr's teachings to try and restore order to her mind. "W-waise heill."

Her magic didn't react in the slightest to the spell. Beneath her, Eragon's pulse slowed slightly.

"Waise heill. Waise heill, waise heill, waise heill! WAISE HEILL!"

Abandoning the vain attempts at magic, Saphira started frantically ripping through the bags in a blind search for bandages, medicine, anything to keep that agony in her chest from becoming any more unbearable.

"Red Potion! Get him to drink it! It'll do a hell of a lot more good than trying to apply it directly to his-"

Midna suddenly fell silent, abruptly slipping back into Saphira's shadow. The she-dragon in Hylian skin looked down to see three unfamiliar figures emerging from Castle Town. She instinctively moved to stand between the strangers and her Rider, ready to resume her true form and incinerate them all the moment they look hostile. In her panicked mind, she probably wouldn't have hesitated if something in the redhead's expression had reminded her of a younger and more naive Eragon, or if the old man of the group hadn't a vague resemblance to Brom.

Saphira reached out with her mind to try and determine their intentions. By the way they carried themselves, she was unsurprised to find all three of their thoughts shielded from her, but they allowed earnest concern to slip past their barricades to put her fears to rest.

"We mean you no harm," the redheaded man said as they approached slowly, ever mindful to keep their hands away from the weapons she saw on each and every single one of them. As they got closer to get a better look at Eragon, his face paled. "Oh, for the love of Nayru, what happened to him?"

"A monster," Saphira answered without hesitation, her lip curling into a hateful snarl as she recalled just exactly what had led them all to this meeting. "It may have done damage to his soul." One hand comfortingly running through Eragon's dirty blond hair, Saphira yet again felt the alarming dullness of her Rider's usually bright consciousness. "There's Red Potion around here somewhere, if you need it."

"While Red Potion is normally handy in a pinch like this, I'm afraid no dosage of it can ever heal damage to the soul on its own." The older man and the armored woman knelt down beside Saphira, their minds gently brushing against Eragon's as they tried to diagnose his condition. "We'll be able to treat him better at our friend's place -Telma's Bar- just inside the city. We can get him right up into one of the upstairs rooms."

Well, at least we found Telma's people.

Saphira nodded in wordless relief. "Thank you. I'm... Vervada, and this is Eragon. Believe it or not, Telma had actually recommended for us to meet you. I just wish it could have been under better circumstances..."

"Ashei," the woman responded bluntly. "What did this to him?"

Saphira considered her answer for only a moment. By those ugly looking marks on Eragon's neck, she had a damn good idea of what had befallen him. "A skeleton with a rusted looking armor and sword. It only had one eye-"

"The Walking Death?" the redhead blurted out in amazement. "I've only ever heard stories of- Er, the name's Shad, by the way. We better get this fellow back to the bar before the crowds start clogging the streets."

"Indeed." The old man's gaze lingered for a moment at Eragon's green garb and cap, but he thankfully made no remark upon it. He only introduced himself as Auru, and helped Ashei and Shad get the unconscious Hero down to ground level.

Gathering up the items she had scattered in her earlier blind panic, Saphira hurried after them, resolved to rip into anything that stood between her Rider and the care he so desperately needed. Too many people had been betraying their trust and attempting harm upon them as of late, Murtagh and the so-called Hero's Shade amongst them, and her patience with them all had just worn thin.

And a wrathful she-dragon was a very, very dangerous thing indeed.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Another Arni (Chrono Cross Original Soundtrack)

Before the Golden Goddesses had departed their newly-created world, they looked to their newborn peoples and knew the seeds to their destruction rested within their own hearts; envy, power-lust, apathy, vengeance. How long would the peace between the races last in the absence of creators? How long until they gave in to their inner demons and again unleashed chaos and destruction in a world that had been forcibly wrought and separated from such things?

For Hyrule, the sacred land that would one day soon hold their Triforce, the Goddesses combined their powers for a final time to create the Light Spirits; Eldin, Faron, Ordona, and Lanayru. When even the Goddess Hylia fell from divinity, the Light Spirits remained, tied forever to their lands and the people that currently inhabited them. When the Dark Interlopers came for the Triforce, the Light Spirits helped repel their power-hungry armies and forever drive them into the Twilight.

Nayru, after seeing the success of the initial four Light Spirits, wasn't satisfied that only Hyrule's provinces had such effective resistance against destruction. As Goddess of Wisdom, she could see what good such sentinels against the dark would do for the rest of creation.

Her sisters, however, begged to differ. Hyrule, the greatest fruit of their labors, was secure. Why did lesser lands deserve such blessed powers backing them? So Din turned back to shaping her jagged mountains and rolling hills while Farore returned to crafting her animals. And Nayru, with scant help from her fellow Golden Goddesses, divided the domains and granted them guardians alone.

In Alagaesia Nayru granted Iduneya the wild western mountains and Menoa the northern forests. To Sur went the southern coast and its outlying isles. Beor received the grand honor of overseeing the towering eastern peaks that guarded the way into Hyrule. With the massive center plains remaining, the Goddess of Wisdom divided the land in two, appointing a Guardian Spirit to each half. Hadara was granted the east. Her twin was given the west.

From her creation, Hadara had recognized herself as inferior to the Light Spirits. Her eldest siblings had been indued power by all three Golden Goddesses, intimately tying them to the land and its current peoples. Generations ago, mortals had identified their guardians as powerful dragons, as creatures of flesh and blood. That perception had long since changed and changed again. For now, the Light Spirits stood free of gender and stereotype, revered beings only called upon by their subjects during their times of greatest need. Their forms changed to suit whichever animal their current inhabits valued the most; the life-giving goat, the cunning monkey, the wise and graceful serpent, the swift and mighty bird-of-prey.

Not tied so strongly to her sentient charges, Hadara had become attached to the fleet-footed antelope that grazed upon her grasses. They may not have been mighty predators like Beor's Urzhad or Iduneya's dragon, but they were as at home on the plains as Sur's dolphin was to the sea. Her twin had taken to the sky on an eagle's wings. On the borders of their domains they had raced, on wing and on hoof. There had never been a clear winner.

But even then, in their happiest times, the differences between them had been stark. Her twin nourished his soils with bountiful rain and rivers, nurturing his land so tenderly trees from Iduneya's mountains and Menoa's forest began to take root. Hadara drowned her grasses in torrential downpours or withered them in droughts as she liked. Her beloved antelope always found a way to survive her fickle whims. For Hadara, that was enough.

The dwarves that had wandered her lands in the earliest days, however, did not agree. Thin soil and unreliable rains prevented them from putting permanent roots down. Always, she forced them to move, chasing her antelope herds or herding their flocks to new pastures when the old had been grazed out. To prevent such a pest from infecting her twin's domain, she had kept her border with him the hottest and the driest, discouraging even the boldest dwarves from seeking out the lush paradise beyond.

In time, Hadara had even tired of nomadic dwarves. So she drove the water from her lands, withering the grasses down to nothing. When it rained, it did so violently, washing away the thin soil so no new seeds could take root. She hid even her spirit spring beneath the sand, choosing solitude over the unfulfilling tribute of her former inhabitants. The dwarves and their foolish flocks were Beor's problem now, driven further into the mountains as their original grazing lands had vanished. The dragons that had once roosted in her few mountains departed for new hunting grounds.

Even large numbers of her antelope herds had died, unable to adapt. The toughest, however, learned to survive on little water and what few hardy plants it could support. They became smaller, but swifter, stronger, more cunning. They were all Hadara needed.

When her siblings became overwhelmed with new races poring in from the west, Hadara had smugly mocked their new responsibilities, for not even the tenacious Dragon Riders had seen it fit to build a base in her shifting sand dunes.

Until the last ships arrived, bringing with them humans of a different skin color and culture than those who had first established themselves in Alagaesia. Too few and too weak to replace their competition, the new humans had been coldly pushed out east to the fringes of her twin's domain. Straight into her territory.

Unlike their neighbors in the west, her new humans did not settle down on farms, but wandered like the ancient dwarves once had. They weathered her shrieking sandstorms in their strange tents. They dug wells to her secret water stores, but jealously guarded their locations from outsiders. And, while they brought their own gods with them, they showed her due deference. When the humans dug up her spring water to heal the sick or slake thirst, they left offerings of gratitude and were always gone after one or two nights.

Again, Hadara was content with her antelope and her new clever charges. When Galbatorix slaughtered the Dragon Riders, she did not have to stir up seas or summon rabid beasts to keep his evil from possibly spilling into Hyrule. Menoa relied on her elves' enchantments to make her impervious. Her twin's very name and self had been stolen from him as he had been made a madman's pet.

Hadara, with only sand and wandering tribes to her name, was left alone. Once the Hero of Time's descendents had scurried through her domain, what else had she to offer to her lost twin and his heretic master?

But with freedom from such mortal power struggles came damning isolation. The Light Spirits had the prayers, offerings, and hopes of their people to feed their already considerable power. Her enslaved twin had his self-mutilating worshipers and entire towns of 'traitors' to keep him fed. Beor's spirit spring was revered by the dwarves as a site holy to Helzvog. Sur had entire temples constructed in her honor. Iduneya needed only his superstitious humans to fear the wild mysteries of the Spine, and fear and revere him they did. By entwining herself with the tree-elf, Linnea, Menoa had made herself the center of the rituals performed for Du Weldenvarden.

When Twilight had stolen away even the power of the Light Spirits, Hadara and her fellow Guardian Spirits had vigilantly watched for the Usurper's greed to grow for lands beyond Hyrule. Instead, a new Chosen Hero, one that had passed through Hadara's very lands, had risen to repel the darkness. And once Hyrule was secured, it was only a matter of time before Farore's champion returned home to finally deal with Galbatorix.

Once again, Hadara turned her attention away from Hyrule and the outside world, from the screaming refugees that met her twin on the border, back to her antelope and her irritatingly resourceful humans.

Too late did Hadara notice the dark shadows slipping past her stronger siblings. Like the hunters that had once picked out the weakest antelope from her herds, the shadows came for her, seeping into her sand and spring. Too late did Hadara feel icy fingers close around her and pull.

Overhead, the noonday sky sickened to an orange pallor, the sun spluttering out like a candle. Her humans barely had time to shiver with the sudden cold before red-and-black holes ripped their way through reality and vomited out shrieking demons.

Her spring's protective layer of sand stripped away, her home reduced to nothing more than a muddy puddle, Hadara supposed she and her brother were true twins again in their miserable existences.

Epona cantered on well into the night, her stride unchanging even as the sun rose, turning the green leaves on the unbroken canopy above gold. Had Murtagh not encountered an actual ghost the evening before, he definitely would have suspected something supernatural about his mount by now.

Alone in a strange realm, Murtagh had seen no other option but taking Malon's parting words to heart. Trusting a ghost and her enchanted horse would have normally sounded suicidal to his cynical mind, but Epona had not failed him yet. When one beast had almost knocked him from the saddle, she had smoothed her pace just long enough for him to steady himself. Every monster foolish enough to stand in their path had been trampled by her ruthless hooves. Others smartly scattered before the roan mare's relentless strides.

Now with saddle sores to go alongside his exhaustion, Murtagh groaned. Gods, was he sick of the color green.

"I don't suppose we're nearing civilization?" he muttered, half-expecting a reply from the creepy horse.

Having blindly staggered through this gods-forsaken forest for hours before Epona had come to his rescue, Murtagh had no idea where he was on the map his master had thoughtfully provided him before that damned ocarina song had transported him, not with an unfamiliar nighttime sky to by. At least the trees had gradually thinned out over countless hours of riding, the hostile animals now few and far between.

Epona snorted indignantly beneath him, finally slowing to a halt. Murtagh gratefully tumbled from the saddle and onto the impossibly soft grass. He closed his eyes, drifting-

A hoof, hard and massive, nudged his back.

Murtagh's blood-shot eyes snapped open. "What now, horse?"

The roan mare jerked her head meaningfully to the left. He halfheartedly followed her gaze an unnatural clearing in the forest up ahead, where a wisp of smoke wound its way above the tree-line.

"Oh." Murtagh hauled himself upward, grabbing his supplies from the saddle bags. "...Thanks."

Epona swished her tail, lowering her head to graze while her rider struggled to make himself presentable. He would not be run out this village for looking like a murderous psychopath, not with a real bed potentially on the line.

Once satisfied he no longer quite as crazed, Murtagh understandably finished his journey on foot, too sore to even glance at Epona's saddle. Like a massive dog, the roan mare plodded sedately at his side, twitching ears monitoring the peaceful forest ambiance for danger.

As the light ahead strengthened, he quickened his pace. How he'd missed direct-

Blinded by haste, not even Murtagh's superhuman eyesight or grace could save him from tripping over an exposed root and tumbling down a steep incline.

Thud.

His head rammed into a wooden post too long and thin to be a natural tree trunk. Blinking the stars out of his eyes, Murtagh dazedly stared up into a furry face.

"Baaah."

A blue-gray goat did its best to shove its connected, too-big horns through the fence to get a better look at him. Others soon crowded around the goat, bleating to themselves as if they were laughing about his idiocy. (Although, after spending a hellish night being attacked by monsters, that was probably his paranoia talking.)

"Oh, for the love of Nayru, what now!"A massive man with a friendly, honest face shoved his way through the goats, frowning wearily down at Murtagh. "You're not involved with those monsters, are you, because this poor village has had en-"

Epona gracefully trotted down the slope, nickering warmly as she stretched her head out toward the unknown man.

Please, not another ghost!

The man blinked, before his face broke out into a grin. "Thank the Goddesses you're alright, Epona. Even Bo was starting to think those monsters had kidnapped you, too." His eyes remained friendly as he glanced back down at Murtagh. "You bringing home strays again, girl?"

Murtagh tensed, torn between answering or running back into the woods. Galbatorix had warned with him about associating with those who were not allies, and there was no way in hell a man this trusting got himself involved with immortal tyrants. On the other hand, Epona was obviously vouching for him, and it was either this or the woods...

"She saved my life," Murtagh answered honestly. "If she hadn't come, I don't know what I would have done."

"Good thing she did, too." The tall man leaned over the fence, offering him a hand up. "You city folk Hylians have no idea how treacherous Faron Woods can be on a normal day. Throw in those demons and you better damn well hope the Goddesses are on your side. And where are my manners?" Once Murtagh was on his feet, the rancher nearly knocked him back down with a hearty handshake. "I'm Fado."

"...Tornac."

Fado's grip tightened as his eyes searched Murtagh's. Behind them, Epona stamped a hoof warningly.

"Murtagh." A beat. "Murtagh... Tornac." Let the naming conventions here be different, let the naming conventions here be different-

Fado's grin returned in full-force. "Figure's you'd rub in the last name first, son. Now let's get you inside. Just because the Hyrule as we know it may be coming to an end doesn't mean we should stop helping out those in need."

Tugged helplessly along by the larger man, Murtagh scowled back at Epona, who calmly blinked back from among the flock of goats.

Had a farmer and a horse just push him into being honest while deep in unknown territory? What had happened to the man who had successfully disguised his damning parentage until Ajihad had called him out on it? To the liar that had hid the full truth of his heritage from his own little brother until he could twist the knife in deep?

He'd been out of the shadows too long, too used to being openly feared and despised as Galbatorix's servant Dragon Rider. His master had only pretended to not see through his facade for his own amusement, and that had obviously not been practice enough. Murtagh had blabbed his real name to a man that probably had nothing better to do than gossip at a tavern all night. If Eragon was alerted to his presence, if Galbatorix discovered his carelessness-

Murtagh dragged himself from his dark thoughts, cursing how quickly he had sunk to such Galbatorix-approved behavior. Fado had taken the word of a horse and was about to allow an armed stranger into his home. A stranger who'd been ready to run him through for anonymity.

Besides, it wasn't as if his oaths specifically defined he had to kill all possible threats...

Outcast, outcast, always an outcast, the boy who wondered about the world beyond Kokiri Forest, the boy without a fairy-

Name stolen, self stolen, in his madness he rages at the world, and feeds on those that can never end his hunger-

Trapped in a time, a body, that is not his, he stumbles into a nightmare of moaning and grasping undead-

Cold, dark, trapped; her light stolen, her domain ensnared in eternal Twilight, her people prey for the demons-

Surrounded, helpless! Red eyes, rough wooden fingers, dragging him down, down, down!

Blue-gray eyes snapping open, he thrashed wildly against his confinements, reaching for a sword no longer at his waist.

"Calm down, lizard-boy!"

Eragon blinked dazedly, flushing red in embarrassment as he realized he had tangled himself in bedsheets. Midna's shadowed form hovered at his level, yellow eyes flatly boring into his own

"Ugh..." His hands gingerly went to touch his burning neck. "Where am I?"

"An inn." Midna waved her hands at the room's nondescript furnishings, before she promptly exploded. "What the hell were you thinking, pissing a spirit off like that!? Not that you don't piss everyone off, but-"

"Saphira!"

Cutting the ranting Twili off, Eragon's mind frantically reached out for his she-dragon's. She was surprisingly close by, only feet away, and nowhere close to the usual, burning rage that possessed her whenever he was endangered. If anything, she felt slightly irritated.

I'm downstairs, little one, but everyone just heard that imp's hysterics. You better come up with something before-

Midna slipped fully back into his shadow just as the door slammed open. A scowling, black-haired woman brandishing an unsheathed sword led the charge, dark eyes scanning the room wildly for attackers. Barreling in just behind here were two unknown men and the Hylian-shaped Saphira, who managed a half-relieved-half-furious smile.

"See?" she calmly said. "I told you he just sounds like a girl when startled."

Eragon indignantly opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but wisely clammed up at her warning glare.

The other woman sheathed her blade in icy silence. She and the older, bearded man scrutinized him sharply. He proudly returned their stares, his inner dragon in no mood for further humiliation.

The younger, red-haired man coughed nervously, sliding a dagger back into the leather-bound book he cradled. "Right," he said quickly, fixing his crooked glasses. "We're, ah... the 'group' Telma wanted you to meet. I'm Shad and these are Auru and Ash-" With a withering look at her quivering companion, the dark-haired woman shoved her way past him and out the room. "-ei."

"Do not mind Ashei's... theatrics." The older man dismissively stroked his goatee. "She just doesn't like getting her hopes falsely raised like that." He introduced himself as Auru Athenai and casually added, "And you, young man, are a downright moron for provoking a restless spirit."

"I didn't provoke him!" Eragon thought back to his last encounter with the Hero's Shade, winced at how far he had pushed him. "...Purposefully."

"The Walking Death, despite the nickname, tends to ignore the living. But for those that deliberately seek him out and goad him into battle..." Auru shook his head. "He does not intentionally inflict mortal injuries, which cannot be said for most of the undead, but he is long distanced from mortal cares and boundaries." His gaze sharpened suspiciously. "What is curious, however, is that the Walking Death chose to strangle you. Most victims just wind up with a slash to the arm or chest."

Eragon cautiously weighed the danger of a honest answer. "I may have... gotten him away from his sword."

Shad spluttered incoherently while Auru's eyebrows rose to impossible levels. "You certainly didn't tell us that, Vervada."

Saphira's hands went indignantly to her hips when she nodded at her wounded Rider. "Excuse me for being previously distracted!"

Auru speared Eragon with the same sort of look Angela reserved for her test subjects. The young hero steadily returned his stare, not about to liberally hand out sensitive information. Saphira made her way over to his bedside, her inner dragon ready to burst free the moment things turned unpleasant.

"Right," Shad managed, tactfully clearing his throat. "I take it your dragon is..."

Saphira tilted her chin upward. "Managing on her own. Obviously Castle Town has been through enough recently. How long will it be until we're free to leave?"

"In a normal case, I would have detained your companion for several more days, enough time for his spirit to recover from such supernatural damage." Auru's piercing stare returned to him. "Apparently your spirit is stronger than most, for it has almost completely healed itself. Steady doses of this shall take care of the bruising." The older man placed a small, foul-smelling flask down on the nightstand.

Eragon cautiously picked it up, relieved to find his hands were still gloved. The golden Triforce would have raised even more awkward questions than his gedwey ignasia. "Then Vervada and I shall leave within the hour, before we overstay our welcome. Thank you for everything."

"What!?" Shad yelped in surprise. "Leaving so soon? Since Telma spoke so highly of your deeds, I'd thought you'd have more to discuss with us about Hyrule's... current predicament."

"Which is precisely why we have to leave so soon," Saphira interjected smoothly. "Something down near Lake Hylia requires our urgent attention."

"If you mean the water shortage, the problem seems to have resolved itself." Auru rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Just around the same time those monsters disappeared, in fact."

Gods dammit! Saphira swore across their link. I forgot about the water!

I have the Zora armor and you can hold your breath for a long time in your true form, Eragon replied. What's the problem?

Was the Forest Temple big enough for a she-dragon to enter? Or the Goron mines?

A spell, then? So you can temporarily breathe water instead of air?

Saphira sniffed. It's not that I don't trust you, little one, but our magic has been anything but reliable ever since arriving this accursed land, especially whenever the Fused Shadows are involved. I'd rather not be stuck with gills or living in the ocean for the rest of my life. She paused. What are the odds this city sells something that can solve the problem for us?

I doubt it, Eragon scoffed. Think about all the trouble we underwent for the Zora armor.

Saphira asked anyway. A confused Shad had given them directions to a specialty store in right off Castle Town's central square. Despite blowing a good portion of their hard-collected rupees on the purchase, Saphira and Eragon walked out with a Zora tunic. Despite how ordinary the blue tunic appeared, enchantments had been woven in with every fiber, giving its wearer the ability to breathe freely underwater.

Eragon, a sniggering Midna in his shadow, looked moodily away from his beaming companion. "I'll still be able to move faster in the water with the flippers," he muttered.

"At least Saphira won't have to worry about the mask, or waddling around like a duck on dry land!" Midna sneered back.

The green-clad hero consoled himself on the fact that at least Midna couldn't follow him beneath Lake Hylia... up until he learned she had no need to breathe while hiding in his shadow.

It could have been the famishing, nightmarish time out in the woods, but Murtagh had never thought a goat's cheese and pumpkin soup could taste so good. He had greedily inhaled three bowls of it before he could even consider speaking to Fado beyond a few monosyllabic words and grunts between the soup. His childhood etiquette teacher would have been in hysterics at his behavior, but then again, the old bat was either dead or gods knew how many leagues away.

With his hunger satiated, Murtagh had further built up his cover story. Fado had already mistaken him for a Hylian, an apparently elf-like race that inhabited Hyrule. Knowing that being a foreigner would only raise suspicions, Murtagh had gone along with the story, pretending to be a trader that had gotten lost on the return trip home.

Fado accepted the story without batting an eye. "You certainly wouldn't be the first boy thinking he could get rich in international economics. Came from Holodrum, I take it, or Labrynna? Never been to either myself, but apparently it's a nice change of pace without getting too far away from home. Or further, like out to Calatia?"

"No. My business took me... overseas." If Alagaesia is overseas from this land!

"Ah." Fado nodded. "Then you must have been heading up north from the Sea Province? Probably the richest part of Hyrule, aside from Lanayru Province itself. Hopefully you didn't sail to Koridai or Gamelon. Nothing ever came from those lands."

Murtagh shook his head, unable to repress a mysterious shudder at the mention of the last two countries. "I was separated from my party while traveling through the woods. Thank gods Epona found me or else I don't know what would have happened to me." His gratitude for the horse was genuine.

"She's a good horse, that one, despite her habit of running off. One of the smartest animals I ever met, excepting possibly that dragon."

"Dragon?" the younger man spluttered in shock.

Fado chuckled at his amazement. "Hey, I was just as surprised as you are, but apparently not all dragons raze villages and terrorize innocents. This boy, Eragon, just fell from the sky one stormy night. His dragon, Saphira, was as loyal as could be; never left his side until she knew he was safe. Good with the kids, too." His eyes sparked curiously. "Eragon never specifically mentioned where he and her came from. You ever hear of a land with tame dragons?"

"'Tame dragons?'" Murtagh couldn't help but mouth. Thorn would certainly eat him alive for that! "No, I never heard of a land with tame dragons." And was that the truth! "This boy with the dragon... did he head back home?"

"You think he would've, especially with how Hyrule's been recently, but I don't think he has. When the kids were taken, Eragon made sure they got to Karkariko all safe and sound." The rancher shook his head incredulously. "He's just not the kind of guy to walk out on someone in trouble, you know? I wouldn't be surprised if he and his dragon were helping out everyone in their path that needed it."

Eyes watering with emotion, Murtagh nodded, thinking back to that fateful encounter on the Burning Plains. At least he knew where his errant half-brother was. All he had to do now was track him down and make sure he had been taken care of. That couldn't be so hard, right?

"Do you know where I could buy a horse?" he asked, thinking back to the emergency fund of crowns tucked away in his belongings. "Anything that can make the journey home go faster?"

"Sorry, Murtagh, but this is a goat village, and there's no way in hell one would let you on its back. Far as I know, Epona is the only horse around you for miles."

"I have money," the younger man started slowly. "Not local currency, but gold is gold. More than enough to buy Epona off you."

Fado's eyes narrowed sternly. "Epona ain't mine to give away, son. She's the entire village's. If anything, she'd belong to Ilia, and there's no way she'd willingly give up that mare. Your best bet would just be walking back to Castle Town. If you're lucky you may meet someone on the road willing to give you a ride."

Murtagh forced himself not to scowl in frustration. Undoubtedly a massive city like Castle Town would have horses to spare, but Galbatorix had warned him to stay away from populated areas. Murtagh was also skeptical real Hylians would buy his trader story, especially since Alagaesian crowns would look downright strange to them. Just being at this ranch was risky enough!

Rising from his chair, the younger man dipped his head respectfully. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'm afraid I don't have any rupees on me, but my coins are still-"

Fado silenced him with a leg-shaking pat to the back. "Your thanks is payment enough, Mr. Tornac, so don't you go challenging my reputation as a generous host." He escorted his guest to the door, shoving a neatly wrapped piece of paper into his hands. "When you get past the gate just follow the road. It'll take you straight you through north Faron Woods to Castle Town. Nothing to worry about except that pushy lantern salesman."

Before Murtagh knew it he had been shooed out of the rancher's home. Fado promptly locked the door behind him, strolling over to the nearest group of goats.

The young Rider unfolded the paper in his hands, opening up a far more detailed and up-to-date version of the map Galbatorix had given him. A native Hylian would have probably found the gift insulting, but to Murtagh, a man so foreign he had no idea what a Hylian really was, the map was a godsend.

Carefully folding and tucking the map into a tunic pocket, he made his way over to Epona, fully intending to remove his bag so he could be on his merry way.

The roan mare challengingly met his gaze with far-to-intelligent brown eyes, tossing her head in the direction of the gate, a jump she could easily make.

"Are you insane?" Murtagh hissed to the horse, only dimly aware of how insane he sounded. "Do you really want-"

Epona nodded her head firmly. If he refused to go willingly, she would probably find to make him.

Glancing guiltily over at Fado, Murtagh reached into his bag and removed his pouch of crowns. Throwing the entire purse onto the ground, he leaped into the saddle, instinctively spurring his mount on.

By the time Fado had turned his head in confusion, Epona and the 'horse thief' had already cleared the gate, thundering down the road.

With his injuries more or less healed and the Zora's tunic purchased, Eragon had honestly intended to head straight to the Lakebed Temple. But, only a Fused Shadow away from stopping Zant, who could blame him and Saphira for finally having the time to be distracted by their surroundings?

The Castle Town Marketplace's hustle and bustle enchanted Saphira, who ogled over every stand and store. Trapped in the Twilight and wrought with worry for her injured Rider the first two times she was in the city, she was now free to walk amongst crowds who viewed her not as a dragon, but simply another face in the street.

For the first time since being outed as the world's last free Dragon Rider, Eragon walked anonymously down populated streets, even his pointed ears blending right in with the Hylian residents. Of course his green cap and tunic gained the occasional odd look from the passerby, but that's what he got for wearing such unconventional fashion.

"My gods," Midna drawled from his shadow, "you light-dwellers are all so strange."

"I have to agree with the imp," Saphira said, leaning up against the wall opposite from Agitha's Castle. "First there was that rigged STAR game, then the little girl who loved sparkly insects, and then that creep." She jerked her head in the direction he had run off in. "Good thing you got to him before I did, Eragon, or there wouldn't have been anything left of him."

Eragon shrugged haplessly. "There's probably con-men like Purlo in every city... only less flamboyantly dressed. Agitha is probably an eccentric member of some noble family who likes to keep her out of the way. How else could she promise me a purple rupee for every golden insect I turned in? That stalker, though?" His blue eyes flashed murderously, remembering the man who had indiscreetly hovered outside Agitha's window the entire time they were there. "Sadly, there's probably a lot of people like him out there."

"That's why there's prisons," Midna sniffed. "Considering how many rupees you blew on the tunic, the beggar priest, and that ripoff game, maybe you should go and raid the Lakebed Temple now?"

Saphira crossed her arms with a scowl. "It's not my fault that old man kept asking for more money whenever we walked by! He seemed so helpless and pathetic I couldn't-" She paused, blue eyes going to the building next to Agitha's Castle. "The Fortune-Telling Mansion?"

Eragon followed her disbelieving stare. The building's entrance was draped with ornate curtains that perfectly matched the welcoming carpet. Midna snorted at the sight, muttering about how Castle Town was full of gullible saps.

Eragon and Saphira glanced thoughtfully at each other, remembering the one fortune-teller they had personally encountered. Angela had been anything but a fraud, and Hyrule was a land steeped in magic.

"Some guidance would be welcome," he said to her. "Especially with all the unexpected turns in life we've had lately."

The dragon-turned-Hylian frowned. "Get the Fused Shadow, beat Zant into the dirt, and then return home to do the same to Galbatorix... sounds pretty straight forward to me." She looked around at her surroundings, a world surely no one in Alagaesia had imagined possible. "Then again, this wasn't part of our original plan of just saving one land."

"They're your hard-earned rupees to blow," Midna sneered dismissively.

Ignoring the Twili's comments, Eragon led the way into the Fortune-Telling Mansion, gagging on the sharp smell of incense as soon as he opened the door. Inside, the so-called 'mansion' was revealed to be only a dark, single room cramped with shelves of knickknacks. Crammed in the middle of the clutter was a small table supporting a glowing crystal ball, the brightest light in the room.

Behind the table sat a blond, heavyset woman garbed in far-too-revealing clothing and with far-too-many piercings. She perked up at the sight of customers, clearing her throat for what must have been a well-rehearsed spiel.

"Welcome to the fooortune-telling house, Fanadi's Palace..." She jabbed a finger at Eragon. "The fates swiiiiirl about you, and only I can tell what they have in stoore..." She continued on, oblivious of Midna's disembodied cackling. "The dooor to the future will oopen... for ten rupees!"

Let's get out of here, little one. Saphira contacted him mentally to avoid offending the obvious fraud of a fortune-telling, but her lip still curled in disgusted disappointment. These fumes are making my eyes water.

Eragon would have agreed with her, had he not been pierced by Fanadi's inhuman red eyes.

Deaf to his companion's promptings, his gaze strayed the third, weeping eye tattooed in gold on the woman's forehead.

"The flow of time is always cruel... Its speed seems different for each person, but no one can change it... A thing that doesn't change with time is a memory of younger days..."

Crimson eyes set into a tanned, cowled face. Elegant fingers nimbly dancing over a golden harp's strings, bringing not-so-distant memories alive...

"Tell it," Eragon said simply, much to the surprise of everyone, including Fanadi. He smacked a yellow rupee down onto the table.

"Gooooood." The fortune-teller prolonged the word even longer than usual, trying to buy herself thinking time while quickly pulling the rupee toward her. "So... Which doooor will open? Careeer? Or looove?"

As if my life wasn't complicated enough without even more romantic drama! "Career!" he said quickly, before Midna or Saphira could decide for him.

"I see." Fanadi sounded disappointed at the loss of such a juicy topic. "Let's hear what missions are set for your fuuuuture... Speak fates!"

She closed her eyes, hands waving thematically her crystal ball as she chanted, "Tuoba gnilkat i ma tahw... Tuoba gnilkat i ma tahw... AHAA!"

She flung her arms outward, red gaze snapping open. Eragon and Saphira automatically retreated back several steps, wincing as something other smashed against their mental shields for the briefest of moments before fading back into nothingness. Eragon's hand flew to his forehead, for it still felt like a knife was still forcing its way into his skull.

"You would do well to bring a liiiight with you," Fanadi intoned, "because your tiiiime in the daaark is far from ovvver." She wriggled her fingers melodramatically over her crystal ball, losing any true mystical aura she'd had. "If you ever are in need of mooore guidance, come-"

"We'll keep that in mind," Saphira said curtly, taking her Rider by the wrist and leading him back into the bustling streets. "Are you well, little one?"

Eragon rubbed his head gingerly. With the incense no longer clouding his mind and watering his eyes, the ache was swiftly abating. "I'm fine, Saphira. Really," he interjected, seeing her doubtful gaze flicker down to his lingering injuries. "Let's find this last Fused Shadow and go home."

Even before they had made it out onto Hyrule Field, Saphira had blamed her own experience in the Fortune-Telling Mansion on the incense. Midna had vehemently agreed, mocking Eragon's 'light-dweller gullibility' all the while. The green-clad man did his best to ignore the ribbing, rolling his eyes down at his own shadow every so often at a particularly grating remark.

If the fortune-teller's still unnerved him, then he worried deep in his soul, at a depth not even Saphira could breach.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Secret Swim, Atlantis: The Lost Empire OST

The strange house Eragon had spotted on Lake Hylia's dry bottom in Twilight was even stranger in the real world, floating on the water's surface painted in gaudy colors that made his eyes hurt from the opposite shore of the lake.

Saphira snorted disdainfully before shifting into her Hylian form, Midna already having safely stored the saddle and excess supplies away. "I don't even want to know why it's out there." She frowned at the giant wooden platform floating some distance from the garishly-painted house. "Or that."

"Lake Hylia is a tourist destination, one where the rich and oblivious dither away their money on stupid things," Midna replied scathingly. She paused before adding, "You'd fit right in, duck-boy."

Eragon glowered at his own shadow. Having donned the Zora Armor, right down to the ridiculous hat with the ornate golden head-piece, he felt absolutely ridiculous. The flippers, however fast and graceful they may have made him in the water, only made him slow and clumsy on land. Not the first time, he stopped himself from enviously looking over to Saphira and her positively normal Blue Tunic.

"He'll move faster than I could in this handicapped body," Saphira pointed out. "Pity we have to worry about the Zora in the lake freaking out over my true form, or else I could have just dove in from the sky."

"Handicapped?" Eragon repeated archly, a little bit of humanoid pride coloring his voice.

"Well, you've been a dragon, little one. Humans and Hylians, handy opposable thumbs or not, just can't compare to us in sheer strength and speed."

"At least they're small enough to fit inside the Lakebed Temple," Midna added blithely.

Practically able to feel the burning rage radiating from Saphira, Eragon wisely grabbed her arm and hauled her into the water with him before she tried mauling his shadow. Now looking ready to maul him, Saphira ripped her arm out his grasp and angrily whirled around, accidentally stepping off the shallow ledge and into much deeper water. She inhaled instinctively in surprise, but did not choke, glowering up at him from the bottom.

Checking that his sword and shield were securely fixed to his back, Eragon stepped off the ledge and joined her.

Submersed in the Zora Armor's element, he already felt more assured of himself, just as his dragon mind had been in the air. A piece of navy-blue cloth automatically rose to cover his nose and mouth the moment his head sank beneath the water. Through it, he breathed only fresh oxygen, magically filtered from the water. The enchanted armor also kept him buoyant, floating easily above Saphira.

When the world isn't endangered by mad tyrants, I'll get you both for this, she vowed sourly, kicking her way up from the lakebed.

Eragon shrugged apologetically, waiting for her to reach his side before swimming off for the center of Lake Hylia. However diminished Saphira may have been in a Hylian form, a shadow the she-dragon's power still remained, for no ordinary person could have propelled themselves through the water so quickly and effortlessly.

Still, the Zora Armor have been crafted from the scales of a race that lived and breathed water, and Eragon cut through it like a knife through butter. Initially, he had avoided the temptation to speed off ahead, but since he was already on Saphira's bad side for the day, he again shrugged and took off in a trail of bubbles.

The deeper he swam out, the deeper the lake's bottom became, until it eventually dipped out into a depression filled with intricately carved spires that resembled the ornamentations from Lanayru's spirit spring. Several Zora that were working to repair the structures gawked at him curiously. Unable to communicate through his mask without penetrating their minds, Eragon waved awkwardly back, relieved when Saphira finally caught up to him.

I would at least thank you for not entering the temple without me, Saphira said dryly, glancing at the boulder-lodged entrance, only you were just waiting around for me to come up with a solution.

Considering I can't speak with this thing on and the Lakebed Temple is holding a Fused Shadow, I'd rather not take the chance of blowing us all up with magic, he shot back. Maybe I should try finding someone to teach me some Hyrulean magic before we go home, if only because it doesn't seem nearly so volatile.

Midna scoffed, "Hmph. You'd still find a way of blowing everything up... even with..." She trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically alarmed. "Why is she looking at you like that?"

Eragon slowly turned to glance at Saphira. He imagined she must have looked that way before bursting into Durza's prison or shattering the Star Sapphire.

You know those upgraded bombs you bought from Barnes? she began ominously. When he reluctantly nodded, she turned to expectantly eye the boulder blocking her path. The Zora guarding the blocked entrance gripped his spear apprehensively, clearly not liking the silent conversation going between two very strange, very silent people and their talking shadow.

No, he said firmly. The Zora obviously blocked the temple out to keep idiot worshipers safe from the monsters, and this poor... um, man-fish is just trying to protect us. Let's not bring explosives into thi-

A large, fat fish that had previously been drifting around several feet from them suddenly decided it didn't like land-dwellers and charged. Eyes widening, the Zora with the spear bolted for the surface. Curiously looking back to the harmless-looking fish, the other Zora scattered in its wake and... was that fish blinking?

Wrapping his arms around Saphira, Eragon darted for the cover of the closest column.

BOOM!

After the shock-waves had dissipated, both Rider and dragon-in-disguise cautiously peaked around to discover that, yes, the fish had blown itself to smithereens, taking the entrance-blocking boulder with it.

"And just when I thought this realm couldn't get any weirder," Midna muttered.

Although the entrance to the Lakebed Temple had been underwater (and infested with awful electric monsters Midna had called Bari), Eragon was amazed to discover the rather narrow tunnel he and Saphira had been swimming through opened up into a large, relatively dry chamber. He had marveled at the ingenuity of the complex spells that must have been keeping Lake Hylia at bay. Saphira had just scoffed at why the Zora had wasted time on such enchantments when the temple was clearly only accessible to their race, who could already breathe underwater.

Monsters had not only infested the water, but the land, as armored turtles that had furiously charged at them, and a large Lizalfos Saphira had done in with several skills Eragon had showed her from the Hero's Shade.

Walking into the temple's central chamber, even Saphira had discovered a damn good reason for the Zoras' enchantments; water cascaded in through an artificial river than ran beneath their feet, feeding into a center pool that looked to be at an unusually low level. But even in its diminished state, Eragon could very easily see how worshipers could thoughtfully meditate around a massive, impossible pool right in the middle of a lake.

"I wonder if this place was specifically designed to house the Fused Shadow," Midna mused as her companions fought their way through room after room. "Being underwater would deter most aspiring thieves, and the constant puzzles would drive the rest into madness long before the guards found them."

Eragon wholehearted agreed to that. The sinister, circular design of the central chamber disoriented him and Saphira whenever they entered it, trying to back-track through routes they had initially dismissed as uncrossable.

Finally, in one room they had discovered a key to unlock the enchanted chains blocking off a door bearing a symbol strongly resembling the sapphires Queen Rutelia's ghost had worn around her neck. Following the strange little channel carved into the floor had taken them into a room guarded by an annoying little insect-like creature that had protected itself in a bubble of water. Saphira had resorted to returning to her true form and roasting the entire thing until the insect inside had burned alive. She had been disappointed when the monster dissolved into dark magic like the others before it.

I'm hungry, she griped, woefully looking at the steaming puddles left in the monster's wake. Having every potential meal explode after I kill it certainly isn't helping my appetite!

The room after that had a circling ramp that led up to a lever like the ones Eragon had previously used to unlock doors. Only, when he had triggered it, it had only released a stream of water that had filled up the room before flowing out through the channel carved into the floor. Ingeniously designed, the small stream turned a giant water wheel, which in turned powered a series of rotating platforms that allowed them to reach new parts of the temple.

"At least we know how the mechanics of the temple work now," Eragon consoled.

Saphira didn't look comforted at the thought, still glowering down at the dark water they had to descend into. "The sooner, the better. It's too wet down here for any real dragon to be for long." She glanced nervously up at the ceiling. "And much too confined."

Eragon expected Midna to make some crack about claustrophobia, and was surprised when he heard none. Apparently being crushed under Lake Hylia's full force was a fear both shared, whether immune to drowning or physical harm.

Warily leading the way into the likely Bari-infested water, Eragon couldn't help but agree.

Surfacing in a suspiciously enemy-free area, Eragon already had his sword and shield in hand even before the entrance snapped shut behind Saphira. He was just grateful it was only several fat fish they had easily disposed that dropped down from the ceiling.

And then he looked up.

Clinging to a monstrous stalactite that dangled from the cavern's roof was a titanic frog that rivaled even the she-dragon Saphira in size. Whenever she shook her back, she would dislodge several more eggs that would fall and hatch into the tadpoles Eragon had just mistaken for fish. Obviously not happy two puny people slaughtering her children, she did the logical thing any giant frog mother would do, and fell from her perch with a target clearly in mind.

Eragon and Saphira dashed for the safety of opposite walls of the chamber. Minda, huddled in the refuge of Eragon's shadow, chanted only, "I hate this realm, I hate this realm, I hate this-"

Saphira snarled in disgust when the frog dislodged her entire brood from her back to thrust herself impossibly high in the air. "Some mother she is," she sneered, but not hesitating in swinging her sword for the tadpoles that went snapping at her ankles.

"Saphira!" her Rider called warningly, seeing exactly where the fat frog's shadow was honing in on.

The blue-clad woman nimbly leaped over the surviving spawn, leaving them to be crushed by their own mother as she barely avoided being squished herself. The monster lay where she landed, tongue lolling from her mouth, either winded from landing on her stomach or from the sheer exertion of flinging herself up so high.

Saphira didn't give her a chance to try again. Eragon hugged the wall as tightly as he could as her true form emerged in a burst of blinding magic. Stepping as far away from the frog as she could, the sapphire she-dragon loosed a searing plume of flame aimed directly at her head.

Her precautions did nothing to keep the monster from exploding into countless pieces of dark magic. Even after the last traces of enchantment had dissolved into nothing, Eragon was all too anxious too take a long swim in the next pool of water, Bari-infested or not.

Saphira tapped the charred chest the frog had left behind with a suspicious, nose crinkled at the disgusting order that still clang to it. At least I'm not hungry anymore.

She stepped aside as Eragon came over, shifting back into Hylian form. Everyone, including Midna, collectively held their breaths as he slowly opened the chest, then groaned as they got a good look at its contents.

"Of course the designers of this damned temple were too depraved to make the Fused Shadow that easy to acquire," Midna cursed. "All we got is one half of a lousy Clawshot pair!"

Saphira arched a brow. "You'd call electrifying Bari, an infuriating maze of rooms, and a giant, exploding frog easy?"

The imp proved herself a true cynic by replying, "Yes, when compared to what's up ahead."

Tuning out their bickering, Eragon carefully removed the so-called 'Clawshot' from the chest and examined it. Keeping the end with the three nasty claws pointed away from him and Saphira, he slid the glove part onto his left hand. Inside the glove, his fingers curiously rubbed against several controls.

Accidentally pressing the largest button sent the Clawshot rocketing toward the furthest wall, a seemingly endless chain flying out behind it. When the chain reached it limit, the claws ineffectually snapped shut on thin air, quickly recoiling back into their original position.

Saphira came over to investigate the Clawshot more closely. "We can certainly grab rupees and other hard-to-reach objects more easily with this." She frowned thoughtfully up at several areas too tall for her Hylian form to reach. "Do you think we could grapple up to parts of the temple we couldn't get too before?"

"If these claws are strong enough to grip onto stone, or else we're really-" Noticing that Saphira was looking up, Eragon followed her gaze to the big red target dangling invitingly from the ceiling, right above a set of crumbled stairs. "Did the designers of this temple think of everything?"

Her Rider fought the urge to groan. "Apparently so." He squinted thoughtfully up. "That target looks above the ruined staircase. We can just grapple up there without wasting any time climbing up."

Saphira considered this before securely wrapping her arms around his neck, straddling him from his back. Had they not gone through entire sections of the Goron Mines like this upside down, while dangling over molten lava, Eragon would have blushed in embarrassment. Instead he merely aimed the Clawshot and fired, rocketing straight past the ruined stairs as the chain wound itself back up.

For a moment, the pair dangled from the target before a mechanism gave, dropping them slightly closer to the ground while a gate that had been blocking their way snapped open.

As Eragon lowered them onto the floor, Saphira continued peering up at the target. "Didn't we see other things like that in the temple? Buttons that can can get us closer to finding that damned Fused Shadow?"

"And the key you'll probably need to unseal the door with the giant monster in it. Unless you forgot about that part," Midna muttered.

Her human companions shared an agonized glance. They had.

"So long as it's no another giant frog," Saphira ground out. "That stench is already going to linger for days."

Thankfully for everyone involved, there had been no more encounters with either monstrous or their spawn. Retracing their path through the Lakebed Temple, Eragon and Saphira had spotted more Clawshot targets, triggering the giant central staircase to lead to previously untouched sections.

It had been Midna that had finally spotted the door built right into the staircase's support column. From the massive lock sealing it shut, it was obvious what ancient dark artifact it contained.

On their search for the key, Eragon had used to the Clawshot to unleash several more streams of water that flowed through controlled channels, which in turn powered the gears and mechanisms that allowed them to explore even further inside the temple.

When they had submerged to explore a ruined and flooded maze, Eragon had handed off the Clawshot to Saphira. After having been nearly squished by a giant frog and fried several times by the previously untouchable Bari, she had taken savage pleasure in ripping out their 'brains' from a safe distance. Discovering the giant key for the Fused Shadow's chamber soon after made the experience all the more sweeter.

By the time they made it back to the central room, the several streams of water Eragon had triggered earlier had flooded the room up to the level of the locked door, making it only a quick swim through a school of murderous fish to reach it.

Upon unlocking, however, the door had neither revealed the Fused Shadow nor a ferocious guardian monster. Instead, it had held only several pots (which Saphira swiftly raided for rupees) and a seemingly bottomless hole that dropped down only into a black abyss.

"I doubt even my real eyes could see what was at the bottom of this," Saphira said, cautiously peering over the edge. "It's also too damn small for me to fly us down there."

Eragon frowned, none-too-eager to discover what nightmares the darkness concealed. "I could conjure some sort of light, but I don't think any of us want to run the risk of disturbing whatever's down there too early." He prodded his shadow with a boot. "If only we had someone capable of scouting safely up ahead."

Midna emerged from his shadow with her arms sourly crossed, but despite her indignant look, she floated down anyway. It seemed hours until she finally emerged, and the cautious glint in her yellow eyes was more than enough to make her companions tense.

"It's just a long drop down into water," she reported. "More than deep enough to cushion you if you fell, but I couldn't make out what was at the bottom. The chamber down there is massive, however, so plenty of room for you to broil anything alive."

Saphira shrugged. "At least we know the fall won't kill us." With typical fearlessness, she jumped into oblivion before Eragon could make a move to hold her back.

Rolling his eyes at the she-dragon's temerity, Eragon waited until Midna had flipped back into his shadow before diving after her.

Moments later, he hit the water with a deafening splash, gasping in surprise at how freezing it was compared to the higher sections of the Lakebed Temple. Treading the water as he waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark, he anxiously called out Saphira's name.

"I'm here, little one, I'm here." Feeling a familiar hand touch his shoulder, Eragon turned to look into Saphira's Hylian face. Her brilliant blue eyes cut through the dark while the lines upon her skin, that resembled the golden markings of his dragon form, seemed to almost glow with a light of their own. As his eyesight grew more defined, he was able to make out her pointed ears, which poked out from her drenched hair, and her comforting smile. "I figured giving you some distance was better than accidentally being landed on."

Eragon gestured at the yawning emptiness around them, feeling far too much like a mouse in the middle of an exposed room. "I just thought you would have changed back."

Saphira frowned into the water's depths. "Dragons and lakebeds don't actually mix, Eragon, not without a crushing anxiety to return to the sky. Besides, in my true form I'd have to hold my breath the entire time, and if the creature down there is big enough, it could just hold me until I drown."

Her Rider gazed purposefully into her eyes. "You'd know I would never let that happen."

Mindful of Midna's listening ears, she instead thought, If it comes down to a choice, I know Brom survived the loss of his dragon. I can't let it be the other way around.

Wrenching herself out of his grasp, she swam to the bottom with inhuman speed. Swearing under his breath, Eragon dove after her, the power of the Zora Armor allowing him to quickly catch up and surpass her.

As they descended to the bottom and their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, they noticed the chamber opened up even more. Instead of the ornately tiled floors found in most other sections of the temple, the floor was obscured by sand from the actual lakebed. Stone spires emerged from the sand in a ring Zora worshipers had perhaps once held ceremonies in.

Now, however, the ring was occupied only by a translucent tentacle waving itself lazily in the currents, radiating the same electricity that had made the Bari so deadly. Sensing potential prey close by, an eye bobbed up into the tentacle before sinking back beneath the sand. Many more tentacles emerged from the sand, followed by a fanged, gaping mouth in the creature's center. The eye continued bobbing up and down tentacles, always fixated upon them.

It must be stationary, right? Eragon wondered, a cautious distance from the creature's reaching distance. If it were able to swim after us, wouldn't it have done so?

Saphira remained silent for a while, narrowed eyes studying the formidable length of the tentacles waving up at them. Unless it thinks we're too small a meal to be worth the effort of going after, which is why it's only seeing if we're stupid enough to approach. You should keep back, little one.

Her Rider unthinkingly complied as she inhaled as much air as her lungs could hold. Resuming her true form, she exhaled, releasing bubbling steam from her maw. Eragon backed away to avoid such intense heat. The creature, burrowed too deeply in the sand or unable to escape, couldn't bury itself in time before Saphira's flames started boiling it alive.

Unable to withstand the bombardment, it erupted from the sand in a fit of gnashing jaws and seemingly endless gray-and-red scales. Saphira took off to the right, wings pressed tightly to her sides, just escaping the beast snapping at her tail. She was dwarfed in comparison to the titanic eel she had goaded from the sand, all too easy to swallow alive.

Saphira! Eragon shouted, desperately following the cat-and-mouse chase. Change back before you're eaten alive!

Then kill it before I get to that point! she snarled back, swerving as she just barely avoided colliding with one of the spirals. The behemoth behind her wasn't nearly so graceful, but was undeterred as it plowed right through the obstacle, scattering stone blocks in its wake as it continued its single-minded pursuit.

Considering the untold risks of magic, Eragon kept it in mind as an absolute last resort as he frantically searched the monstrous eel for a weak point on its seemingly endless, impenetrable scales.

And then he noticed the Clawshot Midna had manifested into his left hand. When her black silhouette shot up in front of him, yellow eyes cutting through the murky darkness, he could only stare senselessly at her.

"Down there, idiot!" she shouted, voice muffled by the water. Her followed her pointing finger down to the massive eye on the back of the creature's head.

Typically, the monster must have relied in lurking in the deepest and darkest parts of the lake to conceal itself from prey, and would have needed such an eye to spot its prey and strike from below. For Eragon, however, it was the perfect target to aim his Clawshot at.

The titan screeched in agonized surprise as the metal claws gouged into its sensitive eye, abandoning its chase of Saphira to wildly try shaking this new danger off its back. Holding on with his right hand, Eragon quickly stashed the Clawshot away and unsheathed his sword with his left, jabbing it as many times as he could. Blinded by the pain, the monstrous eel ran into several more towers, knocking them over before it succeeded in dislodging the pest from its back.

Keep at it, Eragon! Saphira cried, putting herself between her Rider and the titan that came vengefully snapping after him. Claws gouging into a sensitive part of its hide, she got it back on her tail. Let's see that thing run through a solid wall!

Nimbly swimming himself into position above the creature's head, Eragon again aimed at the ruined eye, his Clawshot proving itself yet again as it gave him a firm grip. Incessantly jabbing his blade into the monster's only weak point, this time he held on even through the behemoth's most violent thrashing.

Finally, the titan collided with one of the chamber's stone walls, and unlock the towers, did not knock it over. There was a sickening crack as the monster bashed its own brains in at the velocity it had maintained, its manic, massive body going limp. Yanking his sword from the savaged eyeball, Eragon swam back to Saphira's side even as the water level in the chamber diminished, rapidly flowing out back into the lake with a complex enchantment he could only guess at.

The eyeball fell out of its socket as a glittering Piece of Heart, the darkness of the chamber lifting as its monster disintegrated into thousands of particles of dark magic. For a moment, the shards hovered in midair, before contracting into a single ornate artifact that resembled the helmet Midna wore. Eragon held out his hands, the Fused Shadow coming to rest inches above his skin.

Breathing the fresh air in thankfully, Saphira padded over to inspect the fruit of their labors with a cautious snarl.

"There it is! The last Fused Shadow..." Midna's voice was uncharacteristically triumphant as she emerged from his shadow, excitedly snatching it from Eragon's grip. "I'll just take that, thanks!"

Returning to her Hylian form, Saphira smiled dryly. "You're welcome."

As if genuinely remorseful, the Twili shrank under her gaze. "Don't resent me for all I've put you two through, I NEED this thing!" Her eyes narrowed. "Besides, we have to do something about Zant, who thinks himself king of the shadows..." She trailed off, unsure of herself for the first time Eragon had seen her. "Unless you're that eager to go home, that is, in which I'm just thankful you stuck with me this far."

Eragon clenched his left hand, knowing the golden Triforce, the symbol of his new burden, had not disappeared just because the last Fused Shadow had been obtained. He and Saphira glanced at each other, their unspoken answer agreed upon.

"And let you take all the glory?" he suggested teasingly. "Never."

Her magically-formed hand of hair holding the Fused Shadow up as high as she could, both Eragon and Saphira found themselves crushed in an exuberant hug by an unexpectedly strong Twili.

Suddenly remembering herself, Midna drew back, coughing as she did what she could to recover her dignity. "His power is a false one," she murmured, voice steeling with determination. "I'll- we'll prove it by using these!" Her hand of hair withdrew back into the helmet, the Fused Shadow vanishing along with it. "So..." she began awkwardly. "I've done everything I've needed to... and I am sorry for dragging you all over Hyrule with me."

Floating some distance away, she created another temporary portal. A more familiar smirk quirked her mouth as she took in her companions' drenched, bedraggled appearances. "I'll be bringing you to Lanayru's shrine, so if you want to make yourself look more decent, now's the chance."

Eragon and Saphira collected the Piece of Heart first, restoring their energy and healing their wounds with its power before turning to more minor issues of vanity. The dark powers of the Fused Shadow having dissipated from the chamber, Eragon trusted his magic far enough to magically dry himself and his disguised she-dragon off. Despite being perfectly dry, he was still all too happy to exchange the awkward flippers and Zora Armor for the green tunic and hat that he had become such a part of him.

Rolling her eyes at his sentimentality over such a ridiculous piece of head-ware, Saphira swapped out her Blue Tunic for her usual one, paying no regard to 'petty human modesty.' Eragon just expected she took perverse pleasure in tormenting his adolescent hormones.

Refreshed and revitalized, all three left the Lakebed Temple in high spirits, thinking but one more battle left ahead of them of what was still to be a long, long war.

Oromis Thrandurin had survived the destruction of his native city, the near-genocide of the Dragon Riders, and made it out of being captured and tortured by the Forsworn with his physical and mental health relatively intact. He and Glaedr, de facto heads on account of there being no other pairs of true dragons and Riders left, had expected to live out the remainders of their lives in peace, simply passing their knowledge down to the Rider of the blue egg that had fallen into the rebellion's possession.

Now the proud Saphira Brightscales and Eragon, in all of his boldness and endearingly obnoxious curiosity, were feared from a simple storm in the Beor Mountains. Even Oromis, after how many times he had tried and failed walking his apprentice's dreams, had accepted such as an all-too-possible reality.

Then, just in the wake of their disappearance, Alagaesia's cold war had exploded. Galbatorix, perhaps emboldened by the loss of the last considerable threat to his tyranny, had unleashed whatever destructive power that had allowed him to virtually annihilate the dragons, the Order, and all elves south of Du Weldenvarden. Any glimmer of rebel presence in the Empire proper had been simultaneously snuffed out, leaving the Varden and their allies grasping at straws at what Galbatorix was plotting.

And then it turns out gods are real! Oromis fought to contain a hysterical laugh as he looked up into the facsimile of a dolphin's grinning face. Damn Aroughs and its lord for their proximity to the coast! Or, at least spirits powerful enough to be worshiped as gods.

It had been Blodgharm himself that had relayed his eyewitness encounter of the clash between spirits at the Burning Plains to his Queen and highest superiors, Oromis and Glaedr included, at how only the interception of what the Surdans called 'Sur' had saved the lives of most of his spell-casters.

Yet one was still taken, carried off like a hawk would a mouse, Oromis mused with a shiver. An entire retinue of the strongest spell-casters, helpless before such and abomination! He smiled grimly. At least I now finally know what happened to Luthivira and its crystals, Ewayena and its red lilies... Entire cities of my people, of my family and friends, devoured alive because they were in the wrong spirit's hunting ground!

"She's beautiful, is she not?"

Oromis flicked his eyes to his right and at his host's approaching form. Lord Tudor Deran neither young nor handsome, sporting a paunch and black hair long on the way to going gray, but his brown eyes were honest. Compared to the multitude of slimy politicians Oromis had seen over the years, from the opulent courts of the Broddring Kingdom to his own beloved Doru Araeba, that was saying something.

"The dolphin?" Oromis inquired, looking back to the painstakingly-crafted statue of a dolphin leaping from the waves. "Aye, she is." His eyes shone with the slightest bit of nostalgia. "Aye. It's been decades since I've seen such a magnificent creature. The waters near where I have been stationed were far too cold for them."

Lord Tudor smiled fondly. "Many of my sailors owe their lives to them. Were it not for the pods that guide ships back to the safety of our bay and river, many more would be lost each year. Considering how fierce their mistress may be, it is the least they can do."

The old Dragon Rider quirked a curious brow. "Oh?"

Lord Tudor chuckled darkly. "Do you think my people and I prefer being surrounded by swamp, Rider Oromis? That losing people to malaria in the summer months and untamable wild magic year-round are enjoyable? Would it not be easier to abandon Aroughs and build directly along the coast, saving our ships the long journey upriver?"

Oromis shrugged neutrally, idly checking in on Glaedr. The old dragon had made himself at home in the dragon-hold last used by Shruikan himself, happily gorging himself on several cows before settling down for a long-deserved rest after a direct flight from Ceunon. "I assume you have your reasons?"

"The swamp is our buffer, the shield between us and Sur's fury." Lord Tudor reached up to pat the statue fondly. "Aroughs would have been washed away decades ago if not for it."

Princess Arya, diplomat status or not, was still young and hotheaded enough to openly challenge the more quarrelsome dwarves over her personal problems with their beliefs. Oromis knew better than to rise to such bait, no matter how ridiculous it may seem to an elf to worship a being that so contrarily harmed its own supporters.

"Is that why you have requested my presence here? To post my elves in the swamp instead of the city, to serve as a buffer between you and any potential threat?"

Lord Tudor cut through the roundabout speech. "I'm ordering you to not send them at all, actually, if you have the authority to do so, or else to relay my words to the appropriate individual. I requested you to come down here because rejecting such a generous offer over a scrying bowl was far too rude of me.

Oromis was more bemused than anything else. "Your authority?"

"Aroughs has been independent ever since our liege thought fracturing the Empire with the release of a rampaging spirit was a good idea," he said dryly. "We pledged to help our brother cities alongside your people in the cause of overthrowing Galbatorix in favor of a more reasonable and human leader. We are neither Surdan nor Varden nor elven. We have our own forces, our own fleet, and the grace of Sur to protect us." He paused. "Not to mention there are still quite a few diehards who insist that it is the elves who summoned such a spirit to cut us off from our rightful King."

Oromis gaped in surprise at that one. He knew the mortal races could delusionally cling to the most outlandish beliefs, but this? "Strange," he mused. "I would have thought men like you would have begged for such extra support."

"Lord Brutus Tabor begged Galbatorix for extra support against your people. He got a man-eating spirit setting up shop in his city." Lord Tudor's voice hardened. "I have also heard of what happened in Kuasta, Rider Oromis."

Five elves dead, thirty-three human casualties, all over the most inane of things! Oromis pinched is nose in exasperation. "My people have been isolated in our forest for a century from the natures of other races. Kuastans are a stubborn people with the most particular of beliefs. Such a clash of beliefs was unfortunate."

"That 'clash of beliefs' resulted in the seizure of fishing boats, the freeing of precious livestock, and countless 'temporary arrests' in slaughterers and sellers of fish and animal meat." His eyes fearlessly met the Dragon Rider's. "Aroughs depends on what it brings in from the seas and swamp to feed its people. I can not afford suspending my city's most vital industry over the sensitivities of an uninvited occupying force."

"Those elves believed they were getting justice for the seemingly senseless murder of defenseless animals." Oromis bowed it his head. "But the Kuastans are not our people, and however well-intentioned, they overstepped their place." His eyes closed against a tide of memories, feeling every bit his centuries-old age as he recalled just how eagerly and easily many humans had risen up against their 'beloved' Dragon Riders. "I wonder now how often my people crossed their boundaries."

"The Dragon Riders gave my race centuries of peace and prosperity," Lord Tudor said carefully. "They also contained us in 'approved areas', united us under a single 'approved' royal dynasty, and gave us Galbatorix." After a long, heavy silence, he quietly added, "Perhaps it is also good that you, Shadeslayer, Morzansson, and Galbatorix are all that are left. I do not think the world would accept such an Order again. Not after the monster it gave rise to."

"And the Varden?"

"Lady Nasuada rules a ragtag bunch of rebels and refugees whose land comes on the charity of King Orrin and the dwarf clans," the leader of Aroughs said matter-of-factly. "Should she claim Galbatorix's throne for her own, does she think anyone who wasn't a sympathizer would accept coming under such a foreign and possibly vengeful rule? Would cities like me own, so close to the Surdan border, accept being turned over to an enemy so quietly? And, regardless of how my people support Galbatorix, does that mean we'd accept her illegitimate rule and... forces all the more easily?"

Oromis was no stranger to the bitterness so strongly veiled in his voice. He still carried the same in his heart for his fallen House, for Luthivira, for the Order that had become his family upon Glaedr's hatching. "And personal reasons," he added neutrally, making it clear he needed no further elaboration.

Lord Tudor Deran nodded to the wall opposite the dolphin sculpture. Oromis turned to gaze at a portrait of a much younger, happier lord seated alongside a beautiful woman and a gaggle of children with his brown eyes.

"My eldest two boys were stationed in the frontier, both lost in one of Ajihad's ambushes. My middle son burned on the pyres lit after the suicidal charge on Farthen Dur. My youngest died on infection on the Burning Plains. Yvette was a magical prodigy." He nodded to the only girl in the painting, one with a spot of honor on her father's lap. "All I know is she was seized by rebels some months ago and never made it home."

Oromis gazed at the family portrait, and saw the fairths he had made of his loved ones, before his maddening grief had driven them to smash them into nothing, as if it could strike out the memories. "I feel the same way about your Empire."

"I think I do now, too, at least how Galbatorix formed it."

Their conversation over a vegetarian dinner was casual and inane. Following a delicious dessert, Oromis profusely thanked Lord Tudor for his hospitality, politely declined the chamber made up for him, and retired to the dragon-hold. Never leaving Glaedr's side, Oromis spent the night scrying his subordinates after giving a brief message to Queen Islanzadi's courier informing him of his actions. By dawn, elven forces had been relocated following actual input from local city leaders, those involved in the 'Kuasta incident' suitably punished, and Oromis, running on energy stored within the gems on hand, had departed for a proper meeting with Orrin and Nasuada.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Midna's Desperate Hour (The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess)

Eragon and Saphira manifested on the small ledge that overlooked Lanayru's spirit spring. The green-clad Hero was relieved Saphira had resumed her Hylian form before Midna had transported them out of the Lakebed Temple, or else they would have both tumbled into the water.

Sensing his thoughts, the disguised she-dragon punched his shoulder scoldingly.

"What!?" Eragon yelped, only his natural balance keeping him from falling over the edge. "I didn't say anything!"

"But you thought it," Saphira sniffed, "and our minds are still connected."

From Eragon's shadow, Midna cackled gleefully, but whatever remark she had on her lips sputtered and died as they turned around.

Nearly running into a chest garbed in black-and-cerulean (with patterns that reminded him all too much of Midna), Eragon craned his head upward to gawk at the figure that had suddenly appeared behind them. Although he had never been the tallest person, he couldn't recall the last time someone had towered above him so imposingly.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he peered up not into a face, but a metal helm that covered the figure's entire head and shoulders. The helmet had been fashioned into an eerie, triangular face, complete with a protruding nose and fake, bulging eyes. The fake face's fanged mouth contained what looked like a retractable visor, although it too was shut. Unable to see a single inch of the figure's real face, Eragon still shivered as he felt its (his?) eyes burning down at him.

Frozen like mice before the hawk, neither Eragon nor Saphira turned as an otherworldly brilliance grew in the spring behind them, the runes carved in the roots growing down into the water shining with a radiance of their own. Lanayru's massive form erupted over the spring, coiled menacingly as its fanged jaws warningly bared its orb of light.

The helmed figure didn't even flinch, casually still as magic blasted forth from his form, knocking both Rider and dragon over with its brute force. Lanayru's serpentine form was blasted back against the back wall of the shrine, flickering into oblivion and exposing vulnerable orb of light. Raising a sleeved arm, the figure unceremoniously forced the orb back into its spring, tainting its sacred waters orange as Twilight reasserted itself.

Unconscious from the blow, much of Eragon's draconic body slid limply into the spring, now too large for the narrow ledge. Saphira remained where she had fallen, now trapped in her Hylian body, the markings on her skin glowing as they repelled any further advance of the corrupting magic. Cradling her aching head, Midna's disorientated form materialized between them.

Regaining composure, the imp's yellowed eyes narrowed in hatred. "Zant!" She spat the name as if it were a curse.

Midna screamed in surprise as invisible hands seized her from the ground, holding her writhing form over Lanayru's spring.

Zant calmly advanced to the end of the ledge, pausing only to dig his heel into Eragon's exposed neck as he stepped over the green dragon's unconscious form. Midna gasped as all three Fused Shadows were wrenched out of her protective pocket of subspace, only able to struggle in outrage as they obediently floated over to her tormentor.

"Really, Midna," he tutted. "Did you honestly mean to take such an ancient and withered power and use it against me?" Zant dispassionately flung the artifacts over his shoulder and into his own subspace. "You are a foolish traitor, Midna. Why do you defy your king?"

"My KING?" she snarled. "You, who do nothing but abuse the magic of your tribe? You must be joking!"

"How do you?!" Zant hissed dangerously. "Are you implying that my power is... our old, pathetic magic?" He laughed viciously. "Now THAT is a joke!"

He wrenched her form back to him, flinging her to his feet. "This is the power granted to me by my god." The self-proclaimed king summoned an orb of dark, foul power to hover obediently before him. "It is the magic of the King of Twilight, and you will respect it!"

Blue-gray eyes blinked open blearily as Eragon slowly came to his senses. Seeing Midna prone at Zant's feet, his head shot up, an intense heat building in the back of his throat.

The King of Twilight effortlessly seized the dragon, his ice-cold magic extinguishing the jet of flame like the winter wind would a candle. A shard of his red orb impaled itself in the blue-eyed beast's forehead, ending his struggle entirely as he went completely slack. Yelling in alarm, Midna dashed to his side, unable to stop the shard of dark magic from sinking in entirely. Cradling Eragon's limp head, she glared hatefully up at the usurper.

Ignoring the look, Zant called the imp back to him, holding her at a height where he could whisper into her ear. "My Midna... Did you forget? That beast is one the light-dwellers who helped drive our people into the dark. No matter how much you may desire otherwise, you will never be more than a shadow in their world, as their Goddesses decree. You cannot consort with their kind!" He paused, letting the harsh truth sink in. "But if we make their world ours, Midna... light and darkness will meet at last. Our tribe will take back our rightful realm... and sweet darkness will blot out this harsh light."

"And that Midna is why..." Zant retracted the lower part of his helm, whispering sensually as his lips nearly brushed against her ear, "I need you. Not just for me, but all of our people, the ones so bitterly oppressed... Lend me your power."

Midna didn't hesitate as she wrenched herself free of his grip, backing away as she protectively situated herself between him and her unconscious friends.

"So be it..." the spurned usurper hissed like a provoked serpent. "I will return you to the light world you covet!"

Again dangling the helpless Twili above the spirit spring, Zant recalled his Twilight, allowing Lanayru to rise from the waters in its overwhelming radiance.

Before such pure, undiluted power, Midna screamed, her form burning as the forbidden light seared her cursed form.

Peering into the Twili's soul, however, Lanayru did not discover a creature rightfully condemned to the darkness for the sins of its ancestors, but a person more than deserving of a second chance.

The spirit flexed its ancient magic against the dark magic of the usurper king, wriggling out of its hold with serpentine grace. Its light rose to such intense levels even Zant was forced to look away.

When the spots had faded from his vision, he found both Lanayru and his prize captive gone. Slowly turning, he was unsurprised to discover the damned blue-eyed brat and his beast had been spirited away with them.

Knowing Midna could not possibly survive such direct exposure to pure light for long, Zant took his leave of the Light Realm. He had a rival for his god's favor, after all, and no threat, large or small, could be allowed to last for long.

Lanayru, still recovering from such pervasive magic, carried the mortals as far away from the King of Twilight as it could, gently depositing them on the dirt road that led to Castle Town. Night had fallen in Hyrule, the moon and stars obscured by heavy clouds that promised rain at any moment.

Blinking his eyes open dazedly, Eragon hauled himself to his four paws, trying to sort out his muddled memories and why he felt so very, very wrong. Hadn't he kissed his dragon-form goodbye when the last of the Twilight had been lifted from Hyrule?

He froze at familiar, labored breathing, all too reminded of Brom's death-rattles. Slowly, the green dragon craned his neck around. In Hylian form, Saphira sat on his suddenly-saddled back, cradling Midna's gasping, deathly-pale form like a mother would her child. Then he remembered the horrible figure that had been waiting for them at Lanayru's spring.

"Eragon, Hero chosen by the Goddesses..." Lanayru's disembodied voice was barely a faint whisper to his sharp ears. "Go the princess locked away in the castle. She holds the key that can unlock your shadow form."

Locked in my shadow form? Eragon shuddered, certainly feeling something off with his dragon body. What does that even-

"It can wait!" Saphira snapped. She had tried giving Midna a Red Potion, winced as the Twili violently rejected it all over her. "She can't."

Eragon cast his mind back to that princess with the sad, all-too-wise eyes, an encounter that now seemed like lifetimes ago. Princess Zelda just can't help me, Saphira. The problem will just be getting to her.

Unfurling his wings, the green dragon lifted into the air just as the first raindrops spattered the dirt road below him, mind already formulating a plan.

On a dark, stormy night, the guards of Hyrule Castle were woefully unprepared for the dragon suddenly swooped in and out of the cloud-cover, setting numerous courtyards and wooden out-structures ablaze and waking up all of Castle Town with its blood-curdling roars.

So distracted were the guards in dousing the flames, mounting a defense against their rampaging attacker, and trying to impose control on the wild stampede of frantic civilians out of the city that none noticed a second dragon dive out of the clouds, one forelimb cradled protectively against her chest.

Zelda, who had woken up when the first fireball hit the far side of the castle, had not expected the unfamiliar, pale-haired that came kicking the doors to her chambers open. The defensive spell that had been on her lips, however, died as she caught sight of the pallid, near-dead form the stranger held.

The woman cautiously sized the Princess of Hyrule up, decided she wasn't a threat, and gently lowered her precious, wheezing cargo to the stone floor. Zelda wondered at the woman's faintly-glowing markings, signs she had been blessed by a spirit.

"Help her, please," was all the introduction given.

Hurrying over to Midna's side, Zelda could only watch as the stranger threw herself out of the hallway's open window. From the massive, winged shape that circled around her tower before charging off to the other side of the castle with a terrifying roar, she assumed the woman to be some sort of shape-shifter. Those poor guards probably never noticed when the attacking dragon exchanged places with the other, for it was suddenly Eragon's large green head forcing itself through the window, his body awkwardly perched on the roof below.

"Please..." Midna gasped, so strikingly different from her usual self-absorbed and imperious self. "Please... tell me... How do we break... the curse on this one?"

With a heavy heart, Zelda realized the new sacrifice the Goddesses were demanding her to make on behalf of her people. She had not failed them the first time, and would not fail them again.

Concealed protectively against her chest, the most priceless artifact in her possession grew hot in acknowledgement. She had not trusted its safety in the Chamber of Heroes and could no longer trust it with herself, not with such evil now breathing down her very neck.

Its new keeper had come and Zelda would not deny the Hero his chosen duty.

Eragon could only watch as Zelda tenderly took Midna's trembling, fragile hand into her own. Had anyone told them this beforehand was how his reunion with the Princess of Hyrule would have occurred, with proud and self-absorbed Midna begging for his salvation as she lay dying, he would have snorted in disbelief. Now, aside for a small ember of hope burning defiantly in his heart, he was solemnly resigned to burying another companion he had only bonded with after a grueling journey.

"This... is the one... You need him to save your world... both of our worlds." For a chilling moment, Midna's breathing hitched as she struggled to continue. "That's why... Princess... you must help Eragon..."

Silently, the princess's somber gaze flickered over him as she raised her Triforce-marked left hand. Eragon's muscles twitched slightly as he felt the tingle of magic danced over his scales, but unlike the pervasive taint of Zant's power, actually missed it when Zelda lowered her arm.

She closed her eyes sadly. "What binds him is a different magic than what transformed him when he first passed the curtain of Twilight. It is an evil power." Opening her eyes, she fixed Eragon a meaningful gaze. "Our world is one of balance. Just as there is light to drive away darkness so, too, is there benevolence to banish evil. Head for the sacred grove that lies deep within the lands guarded by the Light Spirit Faron. There you will find the blade of evil's bane that was crafted by a goddess and reforged by a Hero from the heavens... the Master Sword."

For reasons he couldn't entirely understand, Eragon shivered in awe and dread at the blade's very name.

"The Master Sword is a sacred blade that evil can never touch," Zelda continued, near-reverence in her tone. "Evil cloaks you like a dark veil... and that blade is the only thing that can cleave it."

Satisfied there was a solution for Eragon's condition, Midna exhaled peacefully, as if the last burden binding her to earth had been lifted from her shoulders. The green dragon started in alarm, but the Princess of Hyrule silenced him with her soul-piercing stare.

"Fine... Eragon... You and Saphira can get to the woods... on your own, right?" the Twili managed, yellow eyes shutting a fraction more. "Princess... may I have one final request? Can you tell him... where to find the Mirror of Twilight?"

For what seemed like an eternity, Zelda was quiet. "Midna... I believe I now understand just who and what you are. Despite your mortal injuries, you act in our stead... These dark times are the result of the mistakes of Hyrule, yet it is you who have reaped the penalty. Accept this now, Midna. I pass it to you, to help right the wrongs I and my forebears have made."

Hands still firmly clasped around Midna's own, the princess shut her eyes in concentration, golden magic flowing from her into the dying Twili. Glowing with power, a bewildered Midna rose into the air, uncaring of her healing wounds as she reached desperately out to Zelda.

"No, Eragon, stop her!"

Unable to actually enter the room, the green dragon helplessly watched as the young ruler of Hyrule released Midna from her grip, fading away like mist before the summer sun. All that remained of her was a small, blue trinket that clattered to the floor.

Fully restored, Midna slowly landed back on her own feet, but she and Eragon had eyes only for the almost-barren stone floor that had once held the wisest mortal in all of Hyrule. Slowly, she reached down to carefully pick up the one thing Zelda behind.

Eragon leaned to examine the object as closely as he could. Light blue in color, embossed with a golden Triforce, the ceramic ocarina looked deceivingly fragile, for it had survived a fall onto hard stone without the smallest crack to show for it. Like her companion, Midna too sensed the incredible magic radiating from the instrument, and wisely tucked it away without investigating the boundaries of its power.

"We go back, Eragon! Back to Faron Woods!"

Withdrawing his head from the window, the green dragon watched as the imp gracefully floated after him and flipped onto his back. Instead of taking off immediately, he allowed Midna a final moment of mourning for the princess that had given her the salvation she had never wanted.

Let's get out of here, Saphira! he called, again opening his mind up to the sapphire she-dragon as he launched himself off the roof.

Saphira hurried over to them, mind brimming with questions at seeing Midna fully healed and out of Eragon's shadow. Sensing their somber moods, she clamped down on her curiosity, offering Midna only a warm, Thank the gods you've made a full recovery. I now think I'd go mad without someone sensible around, someone who doesn't think green hats are attractive.

The Twili gave a ghost of her usual smirk, falling back on the familiar banter. For a while, everything went back to normal, to the point where they could almost pretend the last several hellish hours had never happened.

They had barely cleared the capital's walls before the air around Hyrule Castle shimmered ominously. Everyone gasped as an ugly orange prism of dark magic manifested around the castle, undoubtedly preventing anything else from entering and trapping all in its walls. Both dragons growled hatefully up at the symbol of the evil still pervading Hyrule, Midna raising a clenched fist up at it.

Looking down at it, the furious snarl slid off her features, settling into the calmer, and far more threatening, frown of unwavering resolve.

"Come on," she prompted quietly. "We better split before they try to pin everything on us."

The two dragons didn't land for the night until reaching the very fringes of Faron Woods. Seeking what shelter they could from the unrelenting rain beneath the forest canopy, they curled up together, Midna cozily sandwiched under Eragon's wing.

For the first time as a dragon, Eragon had someone his size to cozy up to, Saphira's internal heat helping to repel whatever lingering cold sapped at his bones.

Yet not even her warmth was enough to keep the nightmares of leering monsters and grasping shadows at bay.

Chapter Text

Song(s) of the Chapter: (Murtagh's Half) To Glory, by Two Steps From Hell
(Eragon's Half) Lost Woods Theme, from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time

Even to the children of Ordon Village, who had easily bonded with a dragon and her rider, found the Zora boy hard to bond with once he had been deemed well enough to walk around. And it wasn't the fact he was blue or had fins or skin so sensitive to the dry air Renado frequently called him back inside to be sponged with a wet rag.

Ralis was just so sad. Sure, he was nice enough, but he was always moping in the Zora section of the graveyard, politely declining any of Beth's attempts to include him in their games. Colin participated more than he did.

"Just leave him to wallow in his misery, then," Malo proclaimed gravely. It had taken Talo hours to coax him out of his precious 'Malo Mart' and back into the fresh air, even if it was just to sit on the store's front steps. Malo hated every minute of it.

"Malo!" Colin gasped. "Don't be so mean! He's so far from home and he lost somebody!"

"Yeah." Beth crossed her arms firmly. "We shouldn't let him spend all of his time thinking of... you know."

"Puh," Malo grumbled. "You just think fish-boy's cute."

Even as the girl stammered a denial, face turning a dangerous shade of red, Talo decided to stupidly chime in. "Yeah, Beth. What's with you and older men, anyway? Now it's Ralis, sure, but before that it was Era-"

Shrieking in fury, Beth lunged. The brothers leaped from the stairs, darting for the safety of Renado's house while Colin looked on in bewilderment.

"I'll kill you!" Beth roared. "Kill you kill you ki-"

The three children froze in their tracks as the earth rumbled beneath their feet. Remembering its earlier eruptions, their eyes traveled to Death Mountain's summit... and found it calm, even as the rumbling grew into a roar of pounding hooves.

The Bulblins had found them again. Riding astride snorting, red-eyed behemoths, they showed no sign of stopping as they charged down the road, leaving a cloud of swirling dust in their wake. Their leader was the same one that had headed the raid on Ordon Village, still mounted on his armored monster of a Bullbos, and with the same glint of blood-lust in his beady eyes.

Talo and Malo found it in themselves to run for Renado's door. Beth stood frozen like a rabbit directly in the middle of the road, even as the Bulblin raiders bore down on her.

Colin didn't think; he acted. Rocketing off the steps, he reached Beth just as the Bublins thundered down on them, shoving her out of the way with all the strength his puny arms could muster.

Then something hard rammed against his head, and he knew only darkness.

Murtagh was a stranger to Hyrule. Even the fortunate resemblance he bore to the native Hylians would not be able to save him if it became obvious he lacked critical knowledge even the simplest peasants possessed. What was considered basic common courtesy, horribly offensive, or unspeakably taboo?

One hundred years of rule and rebellion under King Galbatorix had left those of the Empire paranoid of strangers beyond their usual Traders at their usual visiting times. For those living in the border towns, where Varden raiders and rogue Urgals were rampant, suspicion of strangers was not considered rudeness, but a necessary survival trait.

Hyrule, or at least the region in which Ordon Village resided in, had not known such recent troubles. Bo had trusted an animal's judgment. He had not treated Murtagh like a potential thief, but had graciously allowed him into his home, had fed him his own food. If all Hyruleans were as open and hospitable, then Murtagh, having grown up in the corrupt courts of Urubaen, would stick out like a sore thumb.

Murtagh's duty wasn't to get noticed by someone who could alert Eragon of his presence. Gods, he wasn't even supposed to face his brother anymore. If his brother blundered into him and insisted on a fight (because he was Eragon), then Murtagh would be bound by his new and improved oaths to honor it until Saphira was captured or until he himself was killed.

Despite Murtagh's obvious edge in magic, Eragon had the obvious advantage in Saphira if it ever came down to that fight. If, by some miracle, Murtagh walked out of that confrontation alive, then whomever had called Galbatorix off the chase would likely want his head instead for going against orders. And, as he had made quite clear to Eragon, Murtagh had no wish whatsoever to die.

"Kakariko it is then," he muttered under his breath.

Eragon had saved Ordon Village's children twice now. Honorable idiot that he was, he would return to ensure they got home safely, whatever evil chased him. If whomever pursued him now had any shred of sense, then they would have concluded the same thing and prepared an ambush. Not only would Murtagh be able to confirm Eragon's status by simply being patient, but he would both meet whatever had power over Galbatorix and plead for Saphira to be handed over to his custody in (relative) health, ensuring his master got what he really wanted from the deal and sparing the she-dragon her Rider's gruesome end.

Beneath him, Epona snorted, her unfaltering strides never breaking. As they had passed over into Eldin Province, the green plains had given way to dryer grasses and red plateaus that unpleasantly reminded him of the Hadarac Desert. Despite the heat of the beating sun, Epona neither sweated nor shown any characteristic signs of exhaustion, bending down to graze only when Murtagh stopped for his own needs.

"Too bad I didn't have you before Thorn hatched," Murtagh reflected wryly. "Even a wonder horse like you is redundant against a flying dragon."

The roan mare snorted indignantly at this. After the ordeal in those monster-infested woods, Murtagh didn't doubt she had the intelligence to understand the implied slight against her.

He patted her neck placatingly. "Of course, even dragons get tired. You, gods know why, don't."

Murtagh had to wish to peer into her mind any further than he had already tried. Animal minds were supposed to be simple. A deer had no higher thoughts or emotions clouding its perceptions and so he could browse their memories easily. Epona's mind, however, reminded him of swimming eyes-open through murky water, dark and confusing and unpleasant. He would only ever breach it again as a last resort.

Then he spotted the cloud of dust further down the road, no doubt kicked up by thundering hooves. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he urged Epona into a faster gait.

The dust storm settled over a distant village no larger than one of the smaller border settlements in Alagaesia. Murtagh's heart plummeted down to his stomach as he recalled grim tales of burning homesteads and entire massacres of innocent villagers, their bodies mockingly piled up for the crows.

Unbidden, Epona broke out into a full gallop, eating up the remaining distance far faster than a horse of her build should have been able to manage.

As the village came within eyesight, Murtagh was able to make out that the mounts weren't horses, but boars of a monstrous size. Their horned riders reminded him of small, sickly, greenish Urgals, armed with mean clubs and bows. He assumed their leader was the one astride the armored boar, tall and as wide as at least two of his men and arrogant enough to go without their shirts of chain-mail.

Locking eyes with the leader, Murtagh hesitated. A part of his soul twitched in vague recognition of these horned riders, sensing that they shared some degree of affinity, that they both ultimately answered to the same highest authority. There was no doubt these were some of the 'allies' Galbatorix had spoken of.

Then Murtagh's gaze strayed to the bruised, defenseless boy dangling limply from the leader's grip.

He didn't whether the horned riders wanted to enslave or kill the boy or use him as leverage over the others; the same way he hadn't that slaver, Torkenbrand, had been unarmed and frightened out of his wits. He just wanted that boy down the same way he had wanted he had wanted to keep that foul monster from ever clapping another free human being in chains and pawning them off to the highest bidder.

Murtagh unsheathed Zar'roc, the blade gleaming malevolently in the afternoon light. Epona screamed warhorse's challenge, thundering strides never faltering.

The leader's beady red eyes narrowed but he smirked a mocking invitation. Waving the boy over his head, he spurred his boar down the road, his riders following at his heels.

In his single-minded pursuit, Murtagh did not realize he had been lured out into the vulnerability of an open field until the leader had blown a deafening horn and summoned even more riders into the fray. These had two riders astride each boar, one controlling the mount and the other free to repeatedly fire flaming arrows.

Murtagh's mind never turned to magic during that fight, not when a simple death spell seemed too easy an end. His existing wards caused arrows to completely miss or harmlessly drop feet before meeting their intended mark. When one of the boars strayed too close, he knocked their riders down with a swift punch or swipe from Zar'roc. If they had gone too close to the edge, a dismounted rider could go flying over the steep cliffs that lined the field instead of landing on the grass. One tenacious pair of raiders that refused to quit catching up to him found themselves crushed beneath a mount that had the sharp tip of a Rider's sword rammed through its eye.

Always, the leader remained tantalizingly just out of reach, leading Murtagh back into his group of fighters rather than face him directly. He watched the ensuing fights with interested eyes, even as his riders kept being defeated until seriously wounded or dead.

Reaching to swing Zar'roc at another archer, Murtagh swore when he realized he had left it lodged in the boar's eye-socket. It flew obediently back to his open hand with a single word of the ancient language. It was pure luck the blade sliced through the archer on the way back.

The leader's idle curiosity became intrigue. The unconscious boy now lashed firmly to the boar by a pole, displayed like some sick personal banner, the leader reigned his mount over to the stone bridge that connected the field to the land across the chasm. Despite the bridge's entrance being blocked by a wooden barrier, the leader somehow spurred his boar into jumping it. Epona, unhurt and unwinded by the battle, cleared the obstacle far more gracefully.

Rather than continue her pursuit, Epona ground to a halt the moment her hooves hit the other side, even as the boar continued down the bridge. Just when Murtagh thought the leader would clear the barrier at the other side, he called out orders in a guttural tongue.

Archers appeared in the bridge towers, aiming directly at him. Murtagh was just calling upon his magic when the flaming arrows hit their target; not him or Epona, but the wooden barrier behind them. The dry wood quickly caught alight on both ends of the bridge, cutting off any means of escape.

"Looks like he judged me a worthy opponent after all," Murtagh sneered. "How flattering."

The leader turned his mount around, the boar snorting ominously before it was spurred into a charge. Even Epona would not be able to take a blow from a beast that size without being tossed off the bridge.

The thought of magic never even crossed Murtagh's mind as Epona surged into a gallop, keeping her as close to the right edge of the bridge as he dared. Horse and boar, strides never faltering, were surely on a crash-course collision with an obvious victor.

Until Epona jumped to the left mere seconds before those tusks would have buried into her chest. Too large to correct its trajectory, the boar charged helplessly past her. As it did so, Murtagh lashed out with Zar'roc, the blade slicing into the rider's green-skinned belly.

The leader bellowed in pain and fury, one hand trying to stem the stream of red gushing from the wound. Still, he forced his boar around and into another charge, red eyes burning like hot coals.

Impressed by the leader's persistence, Murtagh spurred Epona back into the fray. The boar was directly in the middle of the bridge, its massive bulk blocking off any escape that wasn't a suicidal jump down the chasm.

Or so its rider must have figured. Eyeing the tiny gap of bridge between the boar's tusk and the long drop to the ground below, Murtagh repeated his earlier tactic, only with a far narrower range of error. Epona's hooves skittered ominously as they avoided stepping on thin air, squeezing past the boar like a snake forcing its way through a far too narrow pipe.

Again, Murtagh swung Zar'roc, holding back none of his enhanced strength.

The green-skinned raider roared as the arm that had been shielding his prior wound took the blow, undoubtedly breaking several of its bones. Reflexively trying to recoil from the pain, the leader jerked out of his saddle even as his mount shied away from Epona's kicking hooves. Together it was enough to send the leader rocketing into an abyss so deep his screams faded away before they could be abruptly silenced by the impact.

Had Murtagh the time, he would have brandished Zar'roc menacingly at the raider still watching from the bridge-towers, daring them to follow in their leader's footsteps. After what they had seen him accomplish, the challenge would have been enough to make at least some of them shit their pants.

But the boar was still blindly charging down the bridge, the unconscious boy still lashed to it. Whirling Epona around after it, Murtagh reached out with his mind and made the boar halt before it could bash into the flaming barrier.

The boar calmed, Murtagh glared up at the raiders still eying him speculatively. Opening his mind to them all, he let them feel exactly what he had mind for those that insisted on staying around. They wisely scattered like rats.

"So much for keeping a low profile," the man muttered to himself as he dismounted from Epona and made his way over to the boar. The creature snorted warningly at his approach. Again, Murtagh soothed it with his thoughts, even as he clambered onto its back and untied the boy.

Still unconscious, the boy couldn't even groan in pain as his rescuer gently lowered him into his lap, but Murtagh winced for him at the sight of the ugly bruises seen on his visible skin, his clothes likely concealing even uglier marks.

Murtagh didn't care how exhausted he was, how extensive the boy's injuries may have been. He thought only of another little boy, younger than even this one had been when his own father had sliced open his back. That little boy had been healed just enough to prevent paralysis and excess pain from the damage done to his spine, but not enough to rid his back of the ugly scar that had resulted.

"Waise heil," he murmured, wishing only to see this innocent child restored to what he had been before the raiders had come.

Murtagh was no stranger to healing spells, certainly not after the grueling training sessions he and Thorn had gone through under Galbatorix. He knew how such spells pulled energy from his own body to restore the damage done.

So why did such a simple task suddenly seem so difficult, more like trying to turn lead into gold instead of just speeding up the body's natural healing process?

Before Thorn had hatched for him, Murtagh's experience in magic had extended no further than shielding his thoughts and mind from probing magicians, a feat any mind could be trained to accomplish. After he had become a Rider, Galbatorix had seen it fit to teach him simply the basics on carrying out a spell, certainly nothing on advanced spell-crafting and experimenting.

But Murtagh had enough experience to know the boy's body was resisting his spell on some level, as if it had subsisted on an entirely type of magic beforehand, and certainly knew the difference between the two.

Stubborn man that he was, Murtagh finished the spell anyway, even lifting up the boy's tunic to ensure the bruises had vanished from his chest.

"Why does fate seem to hate me whenever I try doing the right thing?" Murtagh ranted to Epona as he secured the unconscious boy to her saddle. "I try joining the Varden, get locked up as the son of Morzan, and get captured just when I start getting somewhere. I try sparing my brother's freedom and gain his hatred on top of extra oaths and torturing. Gods, I can't even heal a little kid without his very body resisting me!"

The roan mare blinked placidly back at him. "...And now I'm ranting my troubles to a horse."

Turning back to the boar, Murtagh pulled off its saddle and other equipment. Even if the boar wound up being recaptured by the raiders or as some family's giant pork dinner, Murtagh could at least take comfort in the fact he had given it a brief taste of a life where it didn't have to carry around such a fat and cruel master.

That done, Murtagh mustered up his energy to douse the flames in the most efficient way possible. The boar wasted no time in bolting for freedom, shattering one wooden barricade in its bid for freedom.

Hauling himself into Epona's saddle, keeping the boy as steady as possible in front of him, Murtagh hoped the people in Kakariko Village would have more of whatever soup Fado had given him, goat cheese and all.

For what felt like the countless time that day, Eragon and Saphira circled fruitlessly over Faron Woods, seeking the sacred grove and the Master Sword Zelda had spoken so reverently of. For the countless time, they discovered nothing.

"Maybe the grove isn't a grove anymore?" Midna mused as the glanced down at the unbroken canopy beneath them. "These woods are so saturated in magic I wouldn't be surprised if the trees simply swallowed any clearing up. Do you see anything especially shiny or Master Sword-y down there?"

Eragon's eyes idly retraced the very same path that had led him up to the Forest Temple. Nothing I haven't seen before.

The Twili crossed her arms at the flat tone of his voice. "Well, why not go down and investigate closer? Maybe your lizard eyes are missing something?"

The green dragon rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Hours of searching had rubbed everyone's nerves raw, and the last thing he needed was to spark their frustrated tension into a full-blown argument. Swooping down lower into the clearing, he planned to circle it once before-

Eragon!

Four figures erupted from the trees, lunging at him in a storm of flailing limbs. The dragon roared in surprise as one went for tearing his eyes and another the sensitive membrane of his left wing. Snapping his wings shut to protect them, he dropped the last dozen feet to the ground, a paw blindly swatting away the thing trying to claw his eyes out.

He opened his eyes just as the enemy shattered from the force of hitting a tree trunk, dissolving in an all-too-familiar cloud of dark magic.

The three survivors floated over to him, waving their over-sized arms menacingly. They appeared made entirely out of wood, their movements as jerky and artificial as a marionette controlled by an amateur puppeteer. Their fanged grins never wavered. Their gleaming red eyes never blinked, even when Saphira's tongue of flame seared them into ash and magic.

"Animated puppets," Midna sniffed. "Poor excuses for magical guardians, but whatever." Her yellow eyes narrowed speculatively. "Whatever they're protecting has to be close by. They're probably enchanted to lash out whenever a sentient being strays a little too close."

They're made out of wood. Nice, flammable wood. Smoke rose eagerly from Saphira's nostrils. It'll be all too easy to dive down and-

"No! Whatever enchantments are protecting the Master Sword are obviously powerful enough to use the very forest as a form of defense." Midna slapped her forehead in realization. "That's why the canopy's so thick over here. The trees are spelled to prevent just any old shmuck from getting their hands on an ancient relic. It'll also be a very, very bad idea to try burning your way through with dragon-fire."

She's right, Saphira, Eragon added, preemptively cutting off the she-dragon's rebuttal. My regular magic hasn't exactly been functioning as planned since we got here. I'd rather not see how whatever's controlling those damned puppets would react to us burning down the forest.

Fine, then. But if we can't fly to the Master Sword, HOW do we get to it?

"Duh. There's obviously a secret path no doubt loaded with traps and trials to test the seeker's virtue and see if they are worthy of the prize at the end. These ancient relics are guarded all the same, Twilight Realm or Light Realm."

Then I suppose you know where it is, oh all knowing imp?

Tuning them out, Eragon studied his surroundings intently, most especially the giant tree that marked the entrance to the Forest Temple and the surrounding chasm that separated it from the rest of the forest. His eyes focused to the left of it, a gap between the massive trunk and the cliff-face large enough for even a dragon his size to fly through.

Follow me! he called, angling his wings to swoop through the gap. Saphira quickly copied him. There's no way this can't be the right path in.

As the dragons progressed through the canyon, Eragon's hunch only solidified. Those were most definitely the rotted remnants of a bridge beneath him still clinging precariously to the cliff-face and it obviously led somewhere important enough to justify such an out-of-way bridge.

The path ended in an outcropping large enough for both dragons to land on, the faded remains of a stone path leading down into a cave that cut through the rock and to the forest beyond. Midna rose from Eragon's back, expression thoughtful as she hovered before the mouth of the cave.

"I definitely sense a gap in the wards here," she reported as she nimbly flipped onto the green dragon's back. "This is our way in."

Eragon nodded absently. His gaze remained fixated on a stone that sang melodiously as the wind blew through the hole in its all-too-familiar eye and teardrop carving.

Saphira growled furiously. No. Not after what happened the last time you got involved with that thrice-damned spirit!

"I'm with Saphira on this one, Hero-boy. That shade nearly killed you, remember?" Midna spoke with the same gravity that had become only increasingly common after Zelda's selfless sacrifice. "This realm's already down a princess. We don't need to add its Hero to the count."

How could Eragon forget what the Hero's Shade had nearly done? His neck still throbbed painfully at the memory of those fingers choking the life and soul out of him. Midna and Saphira had every right to think him suicidally stupid for even thinking about contacting the spirit again.

Yet Eragon could also not forgot the glimpses of that bleeding, broken man the Hero's Shade kept concealed behind both the skeletal grin of the Walking Death and the lupine snout of the Golden Wolf. Spirits were restless souls that couldn't find their peace, after all, and the Hero's Shade had spent the latest part of his afterlife passing on his forgotten skills to Eragon, ensuring only that he would have a slightly better edge in battle against far experienced foes like Murtagh and Galbatorix.

It was my fault, he said at last to the others. I knew I was pushing him beyond his patience and, stone-head that I was, kept pushing until he snapped. How long had the Hero's Shade been dead, had spent his lonely afterlife with only the bitter memories of his final failures to keep him company, scars Eragon had tried so hard to rip open anew? Considering all he must have gone through, I should be more surprised he tolerated me for so long. Even if he won't agree to teach me again, I can't move on until I at least make things right.

Midna crossed her arms and grumbled something about the stupidity of honor, but she said nothing more as she floated over to Saphira's side. The she-dragon only shook her head in fond exasperation. She had nicknamed her Rider stone-head for a good reason, after all, and not even she could sway him when he did not want to be.

Concentrating on the wind, Eragon hummed after it as best he could. The melody was soothing, bringing calm to his anxious mind as he drifted off.

Eragon opened his eyes to a familiar starry dreamscape. As always, the Golden Wolf, Hyrule Castle and a rising moon looming behind him, sat patiently on his rocky perch. He only panted as his one red eye watched the green dragon, patiently awaiting his cue.

A part of Eragon wanted to skip this pretense of normalcy, to simply break down and apologize for breaching the spirit's boundaries. A greater part of him found comfort in the now familiar routine, taking lead of the song while the Golden Wolf's haunting howl joined in.

In his mind's eye Eragon envisioned himself in an ancient stone temple, dusty sunlight streaming in through the windows as the echo of an ancient choir reverberated all around him. His roiling emotions settled on an odd mix of calm and anticipation as the song drew to a close.

"Let the teachings of old pass to you. Take sword in hand and find me..." The customary exchange completed, the Golden Wolf tensed his muscles and-

WAIT! Eragon froze as that single red eye bore into his soul, half-wondering why he had even openly sent such a thought. ...What happened last time was my fault. I shouldn't have-

"Your destiny is awaiting you," the Golden Wolf growled, "and the world has endured long enough without its Chosen Hero.... May your destiny be less painful than mine."

And then away from the ledge he sprung, leaping into the abyss. A vision of one of Castle Town's entrances flashing before his eyes, Eragon sank into darkness and knew no more.

Eragon felt heavier than usual as he squeezed his way through the cave, as if the very air was weighed down by the force of the ancient magic shrouding this new section of forest. The trees were pressed more closely together here than in Faron Woods, the sunlight streaming through their branches muted in comparison. The fallen leaves beneath his paws were still fresh and green after gods knew how many days upon the ground. Most unnerving was the silence, the utter lack of birdsong and animal sounds, as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation.

Eragon growled anxiously, blue-gray eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. His instincts screamed he was being watched from every direction, scrutinized by invisible eyes, and the trees were too densely packed together for him to move adequately, let alone defend himself.

Saphira shrank into her Hylian form and drew her sword, walking around the perimeter of the area. It didn't take long. The tree trunks and rocks and vines were woven tightly together from all sides, penning them into a cramped little area without any way out than the direction they had come from.

"This can't be it." Saphira kicked one of the barriers, and then scowled in frustrated pain as her toes smashed against the rock concealed beneath the choking foliage. "Where's that gods-damned sword?"

"Hidden behind yet more enchantments, no doubt." Midna rolled her eyes. "Hope you didn't wear out your voice with that last song."

Eragon's gaze followed the Twili's pointing finger down to yet another muscial stone. Unlike the other stones, it was carved with a Triforce rather than the weeping eye, its hole triangular rather than round.

The green dragon didn't even bother studying the melody before humming it, getting it right on his first attempt. The stone's song was mind-wracklingly familiar, like a half-forgotten tune he had heard his entire childhood but had gone years without hearing again.

Down from the treetops dropped what Eragon first thought a child wearing a mask. A second later he realized that gray skin, wide red eyes, and impossibly wide grin were its real face. Clad in leaves and dull brown clothing, it was no surprise the figure had blended so well into its surroundings, especially when its most visible feature was the lantern it held in its right hand.

The thing cackled in impish delight, raising its pipes to its mouth. One harsh blow later and more of the same wooden puppets from earlier dropped down, advancing forward even as their summoner turned tail and fled. Rather than leaping back up into the trees, the thing ran towards the barricade, which vanished as it passed through, thankfully remaining open after it had vanished.

Saphira snarled in fury, cleaving one of the puppets in half with a mighty swing of her sword while Eragon batted the others aside. "Great. It's going to lead us around in circles until we succumb to starvation or kill ourselves first! Considering the hells we've encountered so far, I certainly wouldn't put it past that twisted excuse of a child."

Child... Eragon mused to himself. He strained his ears, listening for the thing's horn, and bared his teeth in a triumphant grin when he heard a surprisingly catchy tune echoing through the woods. I think it's... playing a game with us.

"Huh." Midna blinked as she processed this. "A deadly game of hide-and-seek. I guess even ancient forest guardians have to entertain themselves somehow."

Saphira growled something about never being made a fool of and dashed after the child-thing, her companions as hot pursuit (even as Eragon's tail and horns kept knocking against trees.)

No sooner had Saphira located the guardian, and proceeded to swing her sword, did it teleport away to the edge of the area. With a nasty cackle, it called down yet more puppets to cover its tail, and ran into yet another newly opened section of forest.

As the chase continued winding deeper and deeper into the woods, Eragon truly began to worry about the wisdom in such an action. The thick canopy and hanging mist shrouded the movement of the sun ahead, messing with the passage of time. He had only the cycles of the guardian's song to go by, for whenever it finished its sung, it would call yet down more wooden puppets before starting again. Yet even that blurred into meaninglessness after a while, the cycle number slipping out his mind whenever he tried to keep count.

Large and blundering as he was, it was the furious Saphira who led the chase, uncaring of the sweat streaming down her brow as they headed ever deeper into such treacherously enchanted woods.

I really, really hope she doesn't kill that thing before it can show us the way out, he muttered as the guardian once again teleported out of Saphira's reach. Or that she isn't tempted to burn down these damned woods with us still in them.

"I think it is showing us after all," Midna said from his back. "Look!"

The green dragon looked around them, only now realizing that, rather than boulders and tree trunks, the foliage around them was growing over what could only be ancient, man-made ruins, no matter what crumbling state they were in.

The forest guardian waited for them in the ruins of a large, round chamber, the first open area since they had entered these gods-damned woods in the first place.

Saphira took advantage of the sudden freedom, resuming her true form just as the child-thing had finished its maddening tune and was preparing to summon down yet more blasted puppets. Taking one look at the she-dragon's smoking jaws, the forest guardian vanished for a final time, taking the mist with it and finally allowing the golden, late afternoon sunlight to stream in.

"Eee hee hee!" the guardian's disembodied voice cackled in delight. "A good game. Come back and play again, Mr. Greenie, when you're small enough to keep up!"

With that final insult, a final section of wall opened up and Eragon's instincts settled back to wary vigilance instead of the burning furor the guardian's maddening presence had stoked.

Saphira's own rage also fled, for she resumed her Hylian shape without setting anything on fire. "Damn creature was right to run."

"Uh huh," Midna said absently. "Can we hurry up and get your stupid magic sword? I'd rather not spend the night here."

All three of them shivered in dread at the mere thought of that and hustled to the next area.

Or, at least Eragon hustled until a paralyzing combination of dread and awe stopped him in his tracks.

Surrounding him were ancient ruins too far decayed for their true purpose to even be divined, filled with only bird song. In his mind's eye, however, he constructed a grand, imposing temple with incricate stained glass windows, halls that reverberated with an omnipresent choir and a door that led to destiny, death, destruction, seven years lost...

Midna kicked his sides impatiently. "Come on, lizard-boy, help us think of something to open that damned door. Something tells me blasting through it would be a pretty suicidal idea."

Eragon blinked. The sudden vision of an altar and the three shimmering stones upon it vanished, replaced by a reality of a sealed door, its two stone sentinels, and the golden Triforce before it.

Nagged by the ghost of a memory, Eragon padded over to stand upon the seal, inspecting it thoughtfully. Symbol of the Goddesses, but also a symbol of the Royal Family. And the song of the Royal Family is... He hummed the song that had first attracted the forest guardian, a melody so soothing he supposed it could have been used as a lullaby.

Beneath his paws, the Triforce flashed a brilliant gold. The markings upon the two stone statues flashed as well, and remaining glowing blue as they simultaneously stomped their massive halberds against the ground and snapped back to attention.

"We are the guardians of this land," they intoned as one. "You, who know the Song of the Royal Family, who bears the Crest of the Goddesses... are fit to enter the true Sacred Grove."

"The true Sacred Grove!?" Midna spluttered. "Then where in the seven hells were we back there!?"

"The Lost Woods, where the wild magic of the Goddess Farore reigns supreme in this world. Even the great Nayru's Order must sway when in the nexus of Life. Time blurs, past and present and future become one, any semblance of direction is lost, and those without the Courage to resist giving into despair shall fall prey to the Woods. Where better to house the Blade of Evil's Bane than in the very domain of the Goddess the Chosen Hero most embodies?"

As one, the stone sentinels again stomped their halberds against the ground. The stone door they guarded vanished, revealing a stairway.

"Go forth, beast. We yield passage to the Sacred Grove."

The guardians lost their glow, resuming their deceptively statue-like appearance as the magic animating them spluttered and died.

"Nexus of Life?" Midna rubbed her chin speculatively. "I wonder how much of a sway Farore really holds over her sisters here."

"Does it matter?" Saphira muttered. "All we need is her sword."

"Time's messed up here, right? And look at the plant-life, how closely the trees are compared to Faron Woods, how overgrown everything looks, how all of the fallen leaves that are still green and fresh. Who's to say this entire damned forest isn't growing faster than normal, weathering away anything artificial at an extremely fast rate?" The Twili seemed ready to burst with the implications of it all. "If this place is so magically potent, if nothing man-made can hope to last, why go through the trouble of building a temple all the way out here when the damned forest is the freaking nexus of Farore's power on earth?"

Eragon shrugged absently, Midna's wild speculations the farthest thing from his mind as he ascended the stairs into the Sacred Grove.

Unlike the Lost Woods outside, the Sacred Grove itself was still shrouded in mist, save for the shafts of sunlight that shone down upon the pedestal in the center of the clearing.

While its surroundings where all crumbling ruins, the Master Sword looked untouched by time. Its blue cross-guard, shaped like extended wings, was unfaded. The blade itself showed no signs of rust, the Triforce symbol etched upon it clearly visible, and as sharped and polished as if it had just been placed in its pedestal that very morning.

Saphira stopped at the edge of the stairs, advancing no further into the Sacred Grove. When Eragon turned to look curiously back at her, she shooed him forward. "It's your sword, stone-head. Go ahead and claim it."

Swallowing with trepidation, the green dragon approached the blade more cautiously before, feeling as if the thing were scrutinizing his every movement.

As he neared its pedestal, and begun to wonder how to draw it with a dragon's clumsy claws, the Master Sword erupted with a magical radiance. The shock wave was enough to unceremoniously blow Midna off his back and into Saphira's arms. When Eragon refused to be deterred so easily, it increased the force behind its magic so even a dragon his size could have been knocked away.

Narrowing his eyes against the buffeting winds, Eragon dug his claws into the ground beneath his feet, refusing to budge a single inch even when his whole body seemed to burn with the Master Sword's searing radiance.

From their spot at the edge of the clearing, Midna and Saphira watched with wide eyes as the dragon's form was consumed in darkness, the corrupting magic within him stubbornly holding on even in the face of such brilliant light. In the end not even Zant's sorcery proved a match for the might of the Blade of Evil's Bane, and the darkness exploding off of Eragon in a blinding burst of light.

Reflexively, Midna held out her hand to catch the magic's shards as they surged toward the darkest being in the Sacred Grove. Floating above her palm, the fragments solidified into a sinister orange and black crystal, seeming to radiate darkness.

The Twili only spared a glance for the shadow crystal before turning her gaze back to where a purified, human Eragon was lifting the Master Sword from its pedestal.

At first, the blade resisted his grip but, after a moment that lasted eternity, obligingly began to slide out of his pedestal.

Although he had drawn out the Blade of Evil's Bane with both hands, Eragon lifted it with his left. Beneath the Master Sword's radiance, the mist in the Sacred Grove dispersed, leaving the area as bright and sunny as the area outside.

Squinting momentarily against the sudden brightness, Midna turned back to stare at the man who was now this land's Chosen Hero in full. "The sword accepted you as its master..."

Eragon experimentally swung the Master Sword several times, satisfied with every effortless swing. In his hands the blade felt perfectly weighted in a way even Zar'roc had never been, less of a weapon and more an extension of himself.

"Must be part of the enchantment," he mused aloud. "Every Hero before me must have had their own preferences."

The ominous atmosphere of the Sacred Grove having evaporated with the mist, the others finally approached him. Saphira scowled good-naturedly at Midna. "Of course the sword accepted him. He is my Rider, after all." She glared distastefully down at the shadow crystal in Midna's hand. "I'd destroy that thing as soon as possible. I'm sure we've had enough of that damned shadow magic to last us a lifetime."

Midna inspected the shadow crystal intently. "It's definitely different from my tribe's magic. If you touch it, Eragon, you'll turn back into a beast." She smiled slightly. "But, since the Master Sword cleansed Zant's evil intent from it, it'd be child's play for me to transform you back and forth. Since you've proven yourself to not be a completely lost cause, I suppose I can teach you how."

Eragon sheathed the Master Sword in the elegant blue and gold scabbard that was now strapped to his back, exchanging a pensive glance with Saphira. "Having a second dragon when we need it would be to our advantage and we'd be using Zant's own power against him."

Saphira chewed her lip. "Having draconic company has been nice, but only if those transformations aren't as... extreme as that one was."

Midna shook her head. "It'll be more like your transformations in pain and intensity. The only difference is that your shape-shifting was a gift from a Light Spirit, and Eragon's is more about manipulating an instinctive defense against darkness. And, since Eragon can now shift shape whenever he wants, I can warp you all without worrying about terrible, terrible things happening to him."

Eragon nodded. Warping was a far faster mode of travel than even flying, and gains against Zant could be made that much quicker. "Where do we go from here? We don't have any way of reaching Zant instead of waiting for him to show up and I'd prefer to have the advantage against him for once."

"We can find the Mirror of Twilight. It's the natural portal between this world and the Twilight Realm." Midna clenched her fist, the shadow crystal vanishing to wherever she stored away objects. "It's also the only possible way we'd ever have to reach Zant on our own terms."

Eragon nodded blearily, suddenly exhausted as the search for the Sacred Grove and chase through the Lost Woods took its toll. "Telma's friends in Castle Town, especially that historian, might know something about it. I need to meet the Hero's Shade near there, anyway."

The three departed the Sacred Grove via Midna's warping (Eragon and Saphira losing their appetites in the process), spending the night out on Hyrule Field.

Long after his two companions had drifted off to sleep, Eragon remained awake, unable to take his eyes away from the Master Sword. Even in the gloom of night, stored away from its scabbard, the blade seemed to give off a faint light.

His thoughts strayed to the Hero's Shade and his ominous hope that Eragon's destiny not be as painful as his. The Hero's Shade had certainly not lived an easy life, and his regrets and unfulfilled teachings still kept him shackled to a world no longer his own. How many Heroes had come before Eragon, before the Hero's Shade? How many had been rewarded with long and peaceful lives when their due to the world had been paid? How many had been cut down in circumstances stemming from their heroics? How many had perished before the end of their quest?

"You'll not take me like you took the Shade," Eragon resolutely vowed. "Goddesses with or against me, I'll finish my quest, leave no demons to haunt me afterward, and above all, help him find some long-deserved peace."

The Master Sword did nothing more than lie innocently in its sheathe, it and the destiny that guided Eragon's path silent on what the end of his own legend would be.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Radical Dreamers - Chrono Cross Original Soundtrack

As dawn broke the next morning Eragon gave up the ruse of sleeping. The pull on his soul urged him to the southern gate of Castle Town.

"We can go to Telma's tavern first," Saphira suggested gently. "A hearty breakfast would do us all some good and we can find out if Shad knows about this mirror."

Midna crossed her arms, clearly visible in the morning sun. Zelda's protection now shielded her from light's damaging rays. She had no more need to hide in the shadows unless she wished to. "The Mirror of Twilight is the only link between our worlds. Something like that doesn't just vanish into the annals of history without leaving some trace of its presence. Any historian worth his salt should know at least some myth of it."

Eragon smiled thinly. "Thank you for the thought, Saphira, but I'm not hungry. Until I get this off my mind I'll think of nothing else. Why not go browse the stalls while you wait for me?"

"After what happened last time?" Saphira snarled. "I shall stay right by your side. If that shade dares touch you again I shall find his bones and burn them to ash."

Midna smirked darkly. "I'm no priestess, but I think I can manage a spell that can prevent him from ever haunting this realm again if I get creative."

Eragon's smile grew. He was blessed to have such friends by his side, especially as they allowed him to again seek out the Golden Wolf without forcibly seeking to stop him.

In the shadow of Castle Town's southern gates the Golden Wolf waited as he always did, posture calm and tail wagging serenely. Saphira and Midna remained a respectful distance, but the she-dragon bared her teeth for good warning. She dared not resume her true form so close to town, but the threat resonated all the same.

The Golden Wolf appraised them before inclining his head slightly. It was perhaps all the apology he could ever give them. Then his red eye fixated upon solely Eragon. With an expectant growl he slipped into a crouch. Eragon unsheathed his sword and shield, falling into his routine stance. In the morning light the Master Sword shimmered like no mortal blade could.

The Golden Wolf sprung, the waking world falling away as his fangs grew close.

Eragon awoke in the dreamscape, the Hero's Shade appearing as dead and composed as he usually did. It was a welcome change from the glimpse of the dying, hate-filled man that had attempted to strangle Eragon's very soul into submission.

"So you have drawn the Master Sword and become this land's Hero in truth," the shade remarked in satisfaction. "Now show me the back slice and prove such a blade is not wasted upon the unworthy."

Eragon hesitated. "I-"

"No," the Hero's Shade growled. "I wish to rest, boy, and I cannot hope to do that until my skills have been passed down to a worthy pupil. Show me I was right to put my faith in you or else leave me be."

Eragon lunged forward, somersaulting beneath the shade's sword-stroke and springing up behind him. The Master Sword sliced at the exposed gap in his armor. As the Hero's Shade grunted with the blow Eragon feared the blade could harm even the ghosts of former wielders.

However, the Hero's Shade recovered as he always did, his skeletal face almost looking pleased. "The Master Sword has not fallen lax in its standards. You are ready to learn the helm splitter! Let it be hewn into your mind!"

The back slice failed against swifter, heavily-armored foes that did not leave obvious holes in their defense. Such a foe had to first be stunned with a shield strike. The Hero's Shade demonstrated the move on Eragon before deftly leaping over his head with a grace a wheezing corpse should not have been capable of. Eragon felt his master's blade whizz past his head and neck in a move that could have easily decapitated him.

The Hero's Shade whirled around from his helm splitter. As his blade flew toward Eragon's face again he raised the Master Sword to parry it.

His master laughed at the unexpected defense. "Farore is not only courage, but wind. Our foes may be rooted to Din's firm earth, but their power comes at the expense of their agility. To win you must move like no man could."

Still grappling with the shade's sword, Eragon flung out his shield arm. He gritted his teeth as his foe's bulk resisted him, but struck as hard he could. The Hero's Shade fell back with the blow but Eragon sprang forward. As he flipped over his master's head he sliced out with his blade, sending his foe crumbling to his knees.

Landing with his back to his opponent, Eragon spun around to face him. The Hero's Shade climbed to his feet and made no move to fight again.

"Impressive. The fourth hidden skill has been passed on, but I still have three more to teach you. Do not neglect your daily training between now and then. Complacency is death."

His weapons raised and a careful distance from the shade, Eragon found the words to dare. "Three more skills before you will rest?"

"Three more skills before I can even begin to hope for it." The shade paused, as if trying to say more, then bowed his head. "May we meet again."

Eragon bowed back. As the dream faded away around him he felt a bit more at ease.

Hearing hooves thundering down the road, Rusl had rushed to the window to glimpse only a familiar roan blur and the dust cloud left in her wake. Fado had followed not long after, cursing horse thieves and ungrateful guests between his pants.

Rusl doubted Fado's exaggeration. Personal experience had taught him resisting Epona was futile. If that mare wanted to be somewhere then nothing mortal could stop her. She had rescued him from Faron Woods only to drag him back to town and go bolting back into the forest once he'd slipped from her saddle. Epona had obviously rescued this 'Murtagh Tornac' in the same way and had decided it was not yet time for their paths to part.

Murtagh Tornac had certainly left a sizeable purse behind to compensate for Epona's loss. Rusl did not recognize the currency, for never before had he seen coins bearing images of a king with a dragon curled around his throne, but he could tell they were at least made in part with gold. It was enough to buy several draft horses like Epona, with a few goats and Cuccoos left over.

For Rusl the mystery of Murtagh had been the final straw. Time and potions had healed his wounds to a dull ache. It was time to truly take part in the events unfolding across the kingdom. First he set out to Kakariko Village to check upon the children.

No sooner had the village entered view did Rusl attract the attention of the boy in the watch-tower.

"Hey!" Talo shouted. "It's Colin's dad!"

Rusl laughed as he was promptly mobbed by a small horde of children. They excitedly babbled about heroes and Bublins. When he pieced together the story his son had been kidnapped by raiders, Rusl's heart seized. Only the sight of Colin, banged-up but well enough to run for him, eased the strain on his chest.

Rusl hugged his son tightly as he fully explained how Eragon's bravery had inspired him to save Beth and how 'Mr. Murtagh' had in turn saved him. Anger warred with pride.

"I can never condone you putting yourself at risk, Colin, but I am so proud you of what you did for Beth." Both the girl and his son blushed. Rusl smiled. "If you're going to insist at leaping head-first into danger, then you first must know how to protect yourself. Perhaps it will be time to start your sword training when we get home."

Ilia clasped her hands hopefully. "Have you come to escort us?"

As far as Rusl understood Ilia had not yet regained her memory. Obviously the other children had informed her of the village and her father, reminders that might help you recover what was lost. Rusl sadly told her he had not the time to bring them back yet. Ilia's face fell, but she bit her lip and nodded, strong for the sake of the other children. Renado's girl and the Zora boy looked relieved to not lose their playmates so soon.

It seemed like ages before Rusl was able to pry himself away from the children to speak with Renado in private. He was dismayed to learn Renado, his daughter, and Barnes were truly the only three villagers to have survived the shadow beasts. The Gorons Rusl spotted in town had been sent by their patriarch to help protect and rebuild.

Rusl sighed in relief. "So Eragon was truly able to help diffuse tensions with the Gorons? I'm afraid I was away when he sought Mayor Bo's aid."

Renado nodded. "Oh, yes. Death Mountain stopped erupting and the Gorons can't stop apologizing for how poorly they behaved during the incident. Apparently Darbus had been ill and their home plagued by a monster Eragon and his... companion slayed." His gaze sharpened. "Tell me, do you know of the woman named Vervada? She fought by his side the entire time. The Gorons spoke highly of her strength."

Rusl's eyes narrowed. Uli had certainly not mentioned Eragon having picked up any additional companions.

"I thought as such," Renado said. "Neither did the children, until the Gorons arrived to tell of Eragon and Vervada's exploits. The Gorons seemed just as unaware as Eragon owning a dragon."

Rusl considered Renado's description of the woman. Certainly a pale-haired, sword-wielding Hylian with luminescent tattoos was too distinct to escape notice. "Such a woman does not sound familiar. But what of Eragon? Is is true he wore the Hero's green?"

"That he did, complete with the cap described in legend. I have never seen him without his gloves and gauntlets. Perhaps he hides the Triforce of Courage beneath them, perhaps he does not. For what's worth he did not have the legendary blade the last time I saw him." Renado's lips pursed. "Come to think of it, Eragon bears a strong resemblance to your boy's latest hero."

"Is Murtagh still here?"

"It took the children begging just to make him stay the night," Renado answered. "He left at dawn the next morning and took the horse with him. Ilia didn't mind, said something about that mare going where she was needed." He shook his head. "Murtagh has darker hair and more of a haunted look to him, but the two could be brothers; similar faces, same eyes, same instincts for charging head-first into trouble."

Rusl frowned thoughtfully. Despite his pointed ears and Hylian grace, Eragon had insisted on being human, albeit one that hailed from a foreign country. "What of his ears?"

"He looked pure Hylian," Renado stated firmly. "He never said where he was from, just a traveler passing through."

Rusl trusted his authority. Kakariko Village was the sort of place where all sorts of interesting folk blew through, people with too-pale hair or too-dark skin or too-gold eyes. Even Hylians with human blood scarcely had points to their ears.

"Do you know where he was headed to?"

"I pointed him to Castle Town." Renado smirked. "He's the type Telma just loves to eat up."

Telma's Bar was technically closed this early in the morning, but she enthusiastically welcomed them in all the same. She insisted breakfast was on the house for all that they had done for Ilia and Ralis. After watching Saphira wolf down plate after plate of food she bemusedly accepted their rupees after all.

Eragon then turned his attention toward the Group, hunched over their map of Hyrule. Only Shad and Ashei were present.

"What happened to Auru?" he asked.

Shad didn't look up from the yellowed notebook he was consulting. It looked to be crammed with arcane maps. "Oh, he's investigating the old ruined road out near Lake Hylia to see if there's still any way out to the Desert Province. We're checking our records to see if there's any alternative routes."

Ashei rolled her eyes. "That prison's been condemned for decades now. I doubt there's any way left to reach it. Auru's on a fool's errand this time. If that damned mirror of his ever existed it got cleared out with the rest of the prison."

Eragon and Saphira sharply exchanged a glance. In his shadow Midna sucked in a breath.

"What mirror?"

"Some mirror Auru's convinced radiates evil?" Ashei shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm not the history expert."

Shad looked up from his books, gulping as all expectant eyes turned upon him. "I-I don't know much about it, to be honest. It's all so... so..." He glanced over his shoulder, where Telma was vehemently scrubbing out tankards. "Look, it's one of Hyrule's darkest periods. The subject isn't in my area of expertise because I can't stand reading about what happened to us, what we did. It's all so-so-"

"You're rambling," Ashei deadpanned, worry just evident beneath the snark.

"A century ago we formally incorporated the Desert Province and put a prison there by orders of the Royal Family. People were executed. Legend has it the nastiest criminals were shoved into a mirror that led straight to the underworld." Shad wrung his hands. "The old king died, his daughter decommissioned the prison. A lot of the records about it and what happened... afterward... were purged. Even I can't say anything more certain."

"Thank you, Shad," Eragon soothed. "That helps." But not enough. Privately, he asked, Do you think he's referring to the Mirror of Twilight?

Saphira frowned speculatively down at the map. From what I've seen of twilight I can certainly see it as hell. The Desert Province is not even in Hyrule proper. If we're wrong about the mirror's identity than we're wasting precious time that could have been used against Zant. Auru might be able to tell us more.

"Auru's the expert, isn't he?" she asked aloud. "Perhaps we can be of help."

Ashei's dark eyes appraised them before she tapped the map. "He's up at the old watch tower at the edge of Lake Hylia. Just don't go pissing off any more murderous spirits, yeah?"

Eragon nodded briskly, not liking the way Shad was squinting at his sword. "Thank you."

"Don't go leaving just yet, honey," Telma. "Let me make you up a little care package for the road."

There was only so much roasted meat one could eat and they had long since eaten their way through their other rations. Not even Midna protested when they settled down for a few minutes more. Eragon uneasily eyed Shad. The historian flipped feverishly through his notebook, constantly looking up from its pages and muttering his breath.

Finally his jaw dropped. His eyes reverently went to the sword upon Eragon's back. "Is that the Master-"

Ashei clapped a hand over his mouth and rolled her eyes. "He's not wearing that stupid hat for nothing. Now let the Hero do his job."

Saphira conveyed her a look of gratitude. They accepted Telma's food package, thanked the Group for their hospitality, and left with the promise to not be strangers. Hopefully Shad's scientific enthusiasm would have worn itself out by the time they saw him again.

"Excuse me, is Telma's Bar open yet?"

Eragon frowned. He knew that voice even if he did not associate it with Hylian's lilting cadences. His eyes rose narrowed at the person standing atop the staircase leading down into the alley. Beside him Saphira growled.

Murtagh frowned in confusion. Then his eyes met Eragon's. Eragon snarled back, reaching for the Master Sword as he prepared to-

Murtagh made the first move, slowly raising his hands above his head. "I have not come to kill or capture you or Saphira Brightscales."

Eragon trusted his honesty even before realizing Murtagh had spoken in the ancient language.

"Damn," Saphira breathed. Neither of them had certainly expected this.

Chapter Text

"How do I look, horse?"

Epona snorted, not looking up from her grazing.

Murtagh frowned quizzically down at his reflection. The puddle did not provide the perfect image but he dared not waste energy on a mirror. It had taken far too much magic as it was to simply mend his clothing and remove the travel stains. Not only did the people of this land resist magic but its very air. The reflection at least allowed him to ensure his face was well-shaved and his hair in good order. He could not walk into Hyrule's capital looking like a vagabond.

He hesitantly fingered one very prominent ear-tip. His reflection at least confirmed it was not his imagination.

"This was your mistress' doing, wasn't it?"

Epona swished her tail inconclusively but reacted no further. Murtagh was confident his ears had been normal the night the ghost woman had touched them. By the morning he'd reach Ordon Village the human rancher, Fado, had mistaken him for a 'city slicker Hylian.' Perhaps Fado had little experience with actual Hylians. Perhaps Murtagh's ears had transformed gradually between his encounter with Malon and reaching the ranch or else on the road to Castle Town. Only this morning had he realized he had once again been altered without his will.

Murtagh hoped damn well he could pass for Hylian this way. His ears were now too prominent to conceal behind his hair and he had neither hat nor hood. Even the slightly pointed ears he had gained as a Dragon Rider prevented him from passing for pure human. He had yet to see an actual Hylian for himself. Everyone he had seen in Ordon and Kakariko had been human. At least no one had remarked upon his or Eragon's ears as being unusual, and the children had babbled on for quite a bit about his heroics.

Galbatorix's orders had specifically warned him away from crowded towns but Murtagh had no choice. Hyrule was a large country and a flying dragon made anyone difficult to track. Castle Town was the kingdom's capital and where Hyrule Castle, Murtagh's alleged refuge, was located. Odds were Eragon had stopped by at least once, if not frequenting it for supplies. Murtagh could both yield gossip and hide amongst the crowds. Perhaps he could even find a way to make up to Galbatorix's master for his... impulsive behavior toward the Bublin raiders and killing their leader before he dared approach King Zant personally.

The tension left Murtagh's shoulders as soon as he entered the city. His fears had been unfounded. His ears looked no less pointed than any other Hylian's. He moved no more gracefully. No one looked at him oddly. The salesmen and beggars did not single him out. Armored guardsmen patrolled the streets but none pulled him aside. For the first time in months he was but a face in the crowd.

Murtagh decided to take Renado's advice and asked a passerby for directions to Telma's Bar. He had no rupees but Renado had spoke highly of Telma's hospitality. After his time in Hyrule he could certainly go for a good drink and keep a sharp ear out for gossip. Certainly a dragon-riding foreigner had to be fodder for the kingdom's rumor mill.

He hesitated on the steps leading down to the bar. The two patrons just leaving were odd even by this land's standards. The woman was armed and the strange markings upon her skin glowed faintly in the alley's shadows. Her companion was clad in green and wearing an absurdly long hat.

"Excuse me," he called politely, "is Telma's Bar open yet?"

The Hylians in the alley froze. The female growled, a deep and monstrous sound that belied her slender frame. The man locked eyes with Murtagh. Beneath the ridiculous cap he recognized his brother's face, twisted into a terrible snarl as he reached for the sword upon his back.

Murtagh's survival instincts warred with his oaths. Before Eragon could slay him on the spot, he slowly raised his hands above his head, and spoke in a language that left no room for duplicity. "I have not come to kill or capture you or Saphira Brightscales."

"Damn," the woman muttered after a moment, her aggression replaced by bewilderment. Murtagh had never seen her before. Why did she seem so familiar?

Eragon's hand froze on the hilt of his blade. Suspicion warred with the snarl on his face. "Why have you come here?"

His voice sounded different. Dimly Murtagh realized he was still speaking Hylian, perhaps for the benefit of his companion. "Galbatorix cannot kill you anymore because a higher power he heeds does not wish it," he said carefully. "I was sent to confirm if your death and to try persuading King Zant to spare Saphira's life."

A pair of bright yellow eyes appeared in Eragon's shadow. Murtagh fumbled for Zar'roc's hilt but paused when he saw his brother did not seem particularly surprised by it. "Okay," a feminine voice sneered in Hylian. "I don't have a gods-damned clue who that guy is, or what's going on between you people, but I heard Zant's name. What the hell is going on here?"

Eragon and the female Hylian looked at each other. From the long silence that passed between them Murtagh deduced they communicated mentally. Perhaps they were even consulting Saphira, wherever she was hidden.

"Not here," Eragon muttered at last. He glanced at the bar behind them. An eavesdropper quickly ducked out of view. "We have much to talk about, but privately. Out in the fields." Where Saphira could swoop out of the clouds to freely incinerate any threat to her Rider.

Beneath the ridiculous clothes Murtagh noticed a new steel in his brother's spine. Perhaps Eragon finally had the courage to kill him now. His behavior indicated a prior knowledge of Zant and a potential need to see any such spies dead. Murtagh had no wish to die in this foreign land. Alagaesia was besieged by Galbatorix's pet demon. Thorn might survive his death and suffer for his transgressions.

Murtagh considered asking his brother to swear in the ancient language to not kill him when they left unwelcome witnesses behind. But Murtagh had enough of binding oaths to last him a lifetime. Besides, there was nothing that prevented Eragon from letting the Hylian, his dragon, or his shadow from killing in his stead.

"Aye," he finally managed. "That would be for the best."

He was faintly surprised when the Hylian woman joined them. Perhaps Eragon had recovered from his infatuation with Arya after all.

She smirked at his confusion. "Am I so unrecognizable like this, Murtagh?"

He frowned, carefully studying her face. His stomach dropped as he looked beyond her markings to her blazing blue eyes. He had never truly heard her voice today, but it echoed in his mind all the same.

"Saphira?"

Eragon snorted. "That's not even the tip of it."

The look upon his face must have been comical. Saphira slowly smiled back at him, her teeth far too sharp to be anything human.

Wait until he discovers your little gift from the Goddesses. Perhaps he'll keel over on the spot and save us the trouble of what to do with him.

Saphira! he rebuked. He chewed his lip, trying to see the truth that lurked behind the burning rage of betrayal. The Empire ambushed him like they did to me once. If they had gotten you too... I would have been like him. I would swear anything, if it were your screams in my head.

His imprisonment in Gil'ead had not been so terrible. Saphira had been free from Durza's grasp. Murtagh had been granted no such reprieve for Thorn had hatched in captivity. Once the two had bonded Galbatorix would have never allowed them even the reprieve of death. Had he not found a way to wriggle out of his oaths on the Burning Plains Eragon and Saphira might have joined them in their hell.

Saphira's thoughts trailed off into quiet contemplation. When Midna tired of pestering Eragon for answers she jumped shadows, for she could not communicate mentally when so deep in darkness. Saphira dropped several steps behind, quietly muttering to the Twili. Eragon hoped her summation of Murtagh was a tad less biased than it could have been.

Murtagh said nothing further throughout their walk. He had the sense to not grasp at Zar'roc's hilt but his hands still twitched. He scrutinized them all, from Eragon's hat to the shadow Saphira furtively whispered to. Eragon stared right back. Murtagh's ears had not seemed so pointed during their last encounter. Perhaps his transition into a Dragon Rider had been more gradual than Eragon's.

Only when far enough from Castle Town did Eragon pick a tree to sit under. Instinct told them it was best to get comfortable for the long explanations to come.

Midna immediately sprung out of Saphira's shadow, her form unconcealed by darkness and hovering at human height. Murtagh gawked.

"Murtagh, this is Midna, a Twili denizen of the Twilight Realm," he said neutrally. "She's saved my life many times over. Midna, this is my... brother, Murtagh."

Murtagh regained some sense of composure as he bowed his head. "It is an honor to meet you."

Midna sniffed in response. Saphira's explanation had obviously helped her form of her own opinion of him. "Let it be known your little brother pays his debts. He has already helped me more than I can ever repay." She smirked as she glanced to her left. "And I'm sure you and Saphira are well acquainted."

Saphira's form was briefly obscured by light as she resumed her true form. Murtagh must have expected such a response for he took only a reflexive step backward. Saphira stretched her wings, intimidation radiating from every flex, and settled her bulk protectively behind her companions. Any movement toward them could leave Murtagh bathed in fire.

So, she said drily, what brings you here?

Murtagh's mouth opened and closed. "I am unsure what language you want it in."

With a jolt Eragon realized they had all been speaking Hylian. He could not subconsciously discern it from his native tongue. He did not know what language he privately shared with Saphira anymore, for mental speech partially transcended the bonds of the spoken word. Midna could understand no other languages they knew but Hylian. She hated being left in the dark. She had also once tried such tactics upon Eragon when they had first met, back when she thought him a gullible beast. After all they had endured together, Eragon was tired of secrets between them.

"In Hylian," he decided at last. "Let there be no misunderstandings between us."

The story spilled out of Murtagh too frantically to be anything but the truth. At the end his brother breathed heavily, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Then he laughed bitterly.

"Demons and ghosts," he jeered. "Even if I swear it in the ancient language you'd just think me mad."

"No," Eragon sighed. "Galbatorix isn't the only one out there to bend spirits to his will."

He reciprocated his brother with a heavily-edited account of how he and Saphira had been blown to Hyrule by a rogue storm and their adventures in this land. He described how Zant had twisted the resident Light Spirits and plunged their lands into Twilight. Saphira's Hylian form was a gift from one such spirit, Faron, to withstand such corrupting darkness. Eragon only revealed he had natural immunity to the Twilight, and his imprisonment had led to meeting Midna. Any mention of Chosen Heroes and sacred beasts was carefully left out. The lands had been cleansed but Zant had stolen the Fused Shadows that might have helped defeat him. Their only hope of reaching him on their terms rested in the Mirror of Twilight.

"So Galbatorix has been loyal to King Zant this whole time?" Murtagh frowned. "He ordered me to be on my best behavior around him."

"No!" Midna exploded, magic crackling with the force of her outburst. "It doesn't make any sense! I grew up with Zant. I knew his family before he went and turned them all into shadow beasts. I'm nineteen and he's not much older. If your Galby-torix went around slaughtering people a hundred years ago his powers sure as hell didn't come from Zant." Her nose scrunched. "You said this Galby-king raised his dragon from the dead?"

"Aye," Murtagh said firmly. "He certainly believes he did, at least, and she's no illusion." He shuddered. "Jarnunvosk is far too unnerving to be one."

Midna whistled. "There's dark magic and then there's dark magic. All we've seen from Zant so far are your ordinary monsters and corruptions. It takes more sinister creativity than raw power to twist someone into a shadow beast."

What about those giant monsters that guarded the Fused Shadows? Saphira argued.

Midna shrugged. "Eh, corrupting magic on a greater scale. Remember how that one monkey was possessed by a dark parasite and how fire-throwing giant turned out to be Darbus? My bet is Zant just corrupted a Deku Baba and a skullfish for the other monsters. Raising the dead?" She shivered. "It takes a serious travesty just to create malevolent undead, let alone command them."

The Hero's Shade? Saphira countered.

"A restless jerk of a ghost, sure, but not one compelled to inflict his rage and suffering upon the living. Unless the living goad him into it." Her scowl at Eragon devolved into a pensive scowl. "Back at the spirit spring Zant claimed his magic wasn't that of our people, that it was a gift from his god. Who's to say your evil king doesn't serve the same higher power?"

"A god?" Eragon echoed thoughtfully. Once he would have immediately dismissed the idea. Hyrule and Murtagh's testimony made him reconsider.

Not even Brom or Oromis had gone into much detail into exactly how Galbatorix had instigated the Fall. The Dragon Riders and the wild dragons had been powerful in their own right, and a mere thirteen Forsworn and their meager armies had been enough to virtually exterminate them both. Murtagh did not scoff at the idea, a resignation alarming in itself.

"And how exactly does one kill a god?" Saphira demanded.

"You don't," Midna ground out. "They're immortal. With enough raw power you might be able to seal one away for a while. Without the Fused Shadows or... Princess Zelda... that's not really an option we have anymore. However, gods are rarely so straightforward. In legends they typically act through proxies." Eragon clenched his fists, fighting the urge to clutch at his Triforce symbol. "Kill the god's followers and you effectively kill their link to the mortal plane."

Eragon exhaled slowly. "Then the plan doesn't change; find the mirror, kill Zant, kill Galbatorix, bring balance back to the world."

Murtagh leaped to his feet, face darkening ominously. "Since you've been blown off course Galbatorix unleashed a demon that has free reign over the land. Gods know how Nasuada and the Varden are doing, and you've abandoned them for a land of strangers."

The Triforce upon his hand burned accusingly. "You don't under-"

"Understand what?" Murtagh roared. "Our people are dying every time you ride off to save those here!"

He reached for Zar'roc even as Saphira lunged forward like a snake-

The cool shade of the tree splintered into shadowy tentacles that twined around Murtagh even as they made a protective shield between him and Saphira. Midna rose to place herself between them.

"Listen up, you impulsive little idiot, and listen good. This isn't even my world. Zant twisted my people into mindless monsters whose only reprieve is death. He turned me into this hideous little thing, so I could not even fight back." She gestured furiously at her form. "All I wanted was to find the Fused Shadows and a sacred beast gullible enough to do my dirty work for me. I couldn't care less about this realm. Do you want to know why I stayed around long enough for those like Saphira and your brother to change your mind? I had no other choice."

Eragon opened his mouth and shut it when Midna jabbed a finger in his direction. "No offense, lizard-boy, but your homeland is a backwater. Galby-whatever leashed one little guardian spirit that can't even leave its domain. In raising it your king probably just shrunk his domain and ensured no other spirit would allow his people to step foot in their lands. If Zant had chosen Alagaesia I would have left it to the Twilight. Hyrule, however, is the land the Goddesses first formed in the creation of the world. It is the last land they left behind. In their wake they left a relic strong enough to reshape creation. To risk the Triforce is to risk all worlds, including my own." She smiled sharply. "Save Hyrule, save your people."

Murtagh gaped at him. "Tell me she over-exaggerates."

Eragon raised his left hand. Even through the glove and gauntlet the Triforce crest shone like a sun when he willed it to. He sighed at his brother's incredulous stare. "Farore, Goddess of Courage, chose me as her champion. Princess Zelda, the other bearer, believed it my destiny to save this land. She sacrificed everything she had for her people." He sighed. "We are all the hope they have left."

Murtagh frowned. "What of the other one?" All eyes settled sharply on him. He rolled his eyes. "This land has three Goddesses, aye? Three sides of its... Triforce? If you are one bearer and the princess was the other, shouldn't there be a third one?"

Nayru, Farore, Din, Saphira intoned. Wisdom, Courage, Power. If you are brave and Zelda was wise, where does that leave the powerful?

Galbatorix was less-than-pleased to discover he could not scry Murtagh's progress. He had assumed Ganondorf's gains in Hyrule had also eroded away at the land's pesky enchantments. Such had not been the case. At least he had Thorn to monitor Murtagh's relative health. With his dragon's life on the line Galbatorix trusted his servant to be quick and obedient in fulfilling his orders.

Galbatorix was even further displeased by the shrieking shadow beasts that swarmed in from the Hadarac Desert to devour his towns on the eastern border. They had the nasty habit of slipping past his spirit's diligent gaze, as shadows were wont to do, and left him with horrible indigestion whenever he had to devour an infestation.

Unable to take the intrusions any longer Galbatorix rode out on Jarnunvosk to investigate. He couldn't bear to leave Shruikan behind and so commanded his other dragon to fly close behind. Shruikan loved any good excuse to rampage. Galbatorix couldn't trust him alone with Thorn without trying to find a way to slip past his oaths and kill the younger dragon. Males could be so possessive over their females, after all, and Shruikan had taken to following Jarnunvosk wherever he could.

Jarnunvosk hissed in displeasure as they neared the border. Strange and foul magic, my Galbatorix. We can fly no further.

Shruikan possessed no such sense. He charged forward, only fluttering back when a wall of sinister energy erupted as he neared the border. The wall climbed all the way up to the sky and spanned as far as Galbatorix could see, sharply dividing the lands in two. With a growl Shruikan swooped back to land behind Jarnunvosk.

"It appears we have a new neighbor, my darling," Galbatorix remarked. "I imagine he'll be along shortly."

No sooner had he said it did the wall waver with an interloper's impending arrival. The winds shrieked with the force of his spirit's rage but Galbatorix willed him away. There was plenty of more border to guard for the time being.

The honor guard of shadow beasts arrived first. The ones Galbatorix's had glimpsed from the survivors' tattered memories had all possessed black masks. This honor guard wore silver masks with an elaborate double helix. Jarnunvosk hissed and Shruikan rumbled, but the beasts advanced no further.

Their master wore odd black robes with long, billowing sleeves. His helm was the only truly threatening he wore. Personally it reminded Galbatorix more of a fanged squid with bulging eyes.

"King Zant of Eluryh, I presume?" Galbatorix called down conversationally. The interloper's retinue was not so impressive when one was mounted upon a dragon. "Rather far out of your way, aren't you? The Hadarac Desert must be slim pickings for our lord's newest little protege."

Zant did not retract his mask. Perhaps even sunlight diluted by the spirit's haze was too strong for his Twili skin to tolerate. Perhaps he did not deign Galbatorix worthy of the gesture. Galbatorix certainly returned the sentiment. It wasn't even worth having one of his dragons eat him. Zant's pointed helm and voluminous robes would only upset their stomachs.

"Any conquest on our god's behalf is a worthy conquest, King Galbatorix," Zant said silkily. "The spirit offered no resistance."

Galbatorix ignored the snub. Zant's gains in their master's eyes were ephemeral. Galbatorix had not only subdued a spirit but molded him to his will. Once his pet had eaten his fill he could finally loose him on juicier lands. All Hadara had to offer was sand and savages. Once Alagaesia's other guardians were leashed it would be child's play to oust the interloper and secure Hyrule's western border.

Jarnunvosk snapped her teeth in anger. You trespass.

Galbatorix stroked her neck reassuringly. "I am sure our Twili friends mean no disrespect, Jarnunvosk, and are simply just friendly neighbors popping in. Have you come to discuss my request?"

Zant said nothing. His silence seemed idly quizzical.

Galbatorix grit his teeth and dredged up his patience. Eragon had stumbled into another's territory. Zant's good word might be the only factor that spared Saphira her Rider's fate. "Surely my servant must have reached you by now, King Zant, with the humble request that Eragon's she-dragon be delivered into my custody once our master has had his vengeance. She's valuable breeding stock, you see. In a few years she could breed an army of dragons for loyal Riders."

"No such servant reached me." Zant's head twitched, the rigid helm not allowing it to tilt. "However, my Bulblin raiders reported a trespasser that almost cost the life of their king. He had the most curious connection to someone who also claimed to loyally serve our god."

Decades of practice allowed Galbatorix to plaster a polite smile to his face even as his fury boiled over across his link. Shruikan rumbled, jaws smoking, and Jarnunvosk's eyes flashed black. "Pardon me for a moment."

Calling upon the power of his Eldunarya was a strain at such a distance but they bent to his will all the same. First he ordered Thorn to neither die nor be driven insane by whatever happened to his Rider. Thorn was valuable breeding stock, after all, and Jarnunvosk was amused at the thought of him being forced to breed with Saphira whilst they still had their wits about them.

Even as Shruikan bellowed with the force of his fury Galbatorix never raised his voice when he commanded Murtagh Morzansson to die a slow and torturous death.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: A Storm in the Desert - Tyler Heath

One moment Eragon had pondered the possibility of a third Triforce bearer, and the next he heard Murtagh's breath hitch. Eragon glanced over at time just in time to see his eyes bulge. Murtagh screamed as if being burned alive, ripping and tearing at his own skin. Eragon reflexively seized his arms to pin him down. He struggled fiercely, but Saphira resumed Hylian form to grab his legs. Together they were strong enough to hold him down.

"What's wrong with him?" Saphira yelled over his tortured shouts.

Eragon tentatively lowered his mental defenses. He quickly raised them when Murtagh's agony nearly overwhelmed him to. "Galbatorix," he snarled.

Midna hovered over Saphira's shoulder, biting her look. Eragon dreaded the look in her eyes. "It's dark magic," she said at last. "That's all I can tell. I can't stop it. Knocking him out might ease his suffering but it won't stop the spell from doing what it was meant to do."

"It's killing him!" Saphira bellowed back.

"I know that!" Midna shrieked. "It doesn't-"

Eragon tuned out all but the sounds of his brother's suffering. Then he remembered a weapon that had already proved itself once against darkness nothing else could penetrate. He unsheathed the Master Sword to slice ineffectually at thin air.

Midna's amorphous shadow tentacles seized Murtagh's arms to stop his thrashing. "It's an internal spell."

Eragon ripped away his brother's tunic to lay the blade's naked steel against his flesh. The Master Sword shone brightly but it was not enough. Murtagh only howled louder.

"An eye for an eye," Nabooru hissed, as his family died around him-

Eragon raised his blade. "Hold him tightly," he commanded. He would not kill his brother by accident.

Saphira trusted him implicitly. She held down Murtagh's thrashing legs with a she-dragon's strength. Midna opened her mouth to protest and fell silent beneath their stares. Though she scowled and looked away the shadows around Murtagh's wrists tightened. Satisfied his brother could not kill himself in his thrashing, Eragon inhaled, and plunged his blade into the evil's root.

Merely breaking the skin would not have been enough. Stabbing into an arm or a leg was not stabbing into the heart of the spell. Instinct demanded Eragon aim at the core of his brother's very being. He did.

The Master Sword met resistance. Then suddenly something gave away as a wave of malevolence exploded outward. Eragon grit his teeth and braced himself, not budging even as a greater burst of light emanated from his sword to purge the last of the darkness.

Murtagh's screams died down with the light. Slathered in sweat and blood seeping from self-inflicted wounds, he blearily craned his head to gape at the blade plunged into his chest. Everyone gaped with him.

"You stabbed me," he said hoarsely, "in the heart."

Eragon smiled weakly back. Sweat glued his undershirt to his skin. "Only a few inches deep," he corrected. "With the Blade of Evil's Bane. I tried just touching the blade to you because that worked for me, but you were still screaming. Hold still and I'll-"

"No!" Midna yelled. "Don't move at all!" Not recalling her shadow binds from Murtagh's wrists she pointed a sharp finger at him. "You made an unholy bond with that evil Galby-king, didn't you?"

Murtagh glowered. "Against my will, but aye."

"Eragon, Zant might have forced a dark crystal into your body, but his curse was only physical. The Master Sword could purge it from you because it hadn't affected your pure soul." She crossed her arms. "Unfortunately for your brother, his problem is much more insidious. The Master Sword can dispel any direct malevolence but can't seal the hole in his very soul. Removing the blade leaves him vulnerable to any future spells."

"It can't just stay in him forever!" Saphira squawked. "And my Rider needs that sword. So how do we seal the hole?"

Midna considered this. "Penitence and prayer?"

With a groan Murtagh dropped his head back onto the grass. "Galbatorix knows my true name. No god can change that."

The Twili snorted. "Your what?"

Eragon wondered if had ever fully explained the mechanics of Alagaesian magic to her but could not remember doing so. After all, his weeks had been anything but tranquil since arriving in Hyrule. He had certainly known no other forms of magic until then. Quickly he explained how dangerous wild magic had been until the Grey Folk had devised a language to bind it. Everything in the world had a true name. Once a magic user knew the object's true name he theoretically had complete control over it, even if that object was a sentient being. One could only change their own true name by changing the essence of what they were.

"My ancestors were also displeased with how the world was and so sought to remake creation in their own image," Midna said drily. "The gods banished them to a new one."

Eragon and Saphira exchanged a thoughtful glance. Their teachers had never told them what had become of the Grey Folk. Perhaps they had become the Twili. "Did they try to alter their new world too?"

"They tried forcing their way back into their original realm and were punished by never again being able to stand in its light." Midna's lip curled. "Their arrogance condemned us all to perpetual twilight. My tribe executed all the rogues and destroyed all their records so that their abominations would die with them. We fell back on our ancestral magics and adapted. I first assumed Zant had rediscovered their lost arts until he told me otherwise." She scowled. "Which still doesn't explain your damned ancient language. Your Grey Folk could have only named what they had knowledge of, and a lot of souls have been born since then. None of you should have true names."

"Well, I do," Murtagh growled. "I also know I'm not the sort of man who can change drastically just because his own life. If that were the case I would have slipped my shackles months ago." His blue-gray eyes rose from the Master Sword to meet his brother's gaze. "Eragon, please find the courage to dig a little deeper. I refuse to spend the rest of my life like this or for Galbatorix to command to bring you down with me. If I must die let it be on my own terms."

"NO!" Eragon roared as if he were a dragon again. Uncle Garrow, Brom, Ajihad, Princess Zelda; he had failed them all. He would not fail his brother. "There's another way. There must be."

He cast his mind back to his earliest days in Hyrule, to a discussion with Rusl on the nature of magic. Most magic sought to master an element of creation, be it water or time itself. The ancient language subverted them all. If the Goddesses had indeed banished the Grey Folk for their transgressions perhaps it was also time for them to mend the damage they had dealt, at least in part.

"The Grey Folk were ancient, but magic existed before them." He turned to Midna and hoped Princess Zelda had passed on at least some of her wisdom. "Is there a power old and strong enough to unravel one of their spells?"

"I..." Eragon's heart sank. Then Midna's eyes widened. With a snap of her fingers she summoned a small object into her hand. "Before spells there were songs, or so the legend goes."

She brandished Zelda's final gift to them, a light blue ocarina embossed with a golden Triforce.

"An ocarina?" Murtagh snorted. Then his expression turned thoughtful. "Galbatorix ordered me to learn one because he believed it a simple instrument that didn't make much practice. I then learned a song called the Minuet of Forest to bring me to this land."

"Your ancient language isn't only directed by words, but by intent, correct? A spell for water could relieve a man's thirst or drown him where he stood?" Midna traced the Triforce with a pensive finger. "The priests once said the Goddesses sung this realm into being with their voices raised in jubilation. They sung the same song in mourning to form the Twilight Realm as our prison. On its own a song is nothing, but with the right melody and the right instrument, played by the right bearer with the right intent? Who knows."

She handed Zelda's gift to Eragon. He took it reverently into his right hand. The left remained secure around the Master Sword.

"The Ocarina of Time," he breathed.

Saphira cocked her head. "You know it?"

"...when you hold this ocarina in your hand... I won't be around anymore..."

Eragon winced and shook the foreign memory from his head. "It's... complicated." He thought back to the howling stones and the lullaby that had opened up the way to the Sacred Grove. Perhaps the Hero's Shade had passed on more than hidden skills and tainted memories.

The Golden Wolf had first taught him the Song of Healing, a melody to soothe aching hearts and minds. Eragon knew it was capable of so much more.

"This a melody that heals evil magic and troubled spirits, turning them into masks."

The Song of Healing had once brought peace to restless ghosts, harmlessly sealing their sorrows away so they might move on to the next world. It had once saved a man on the verge of being transformed into a monster, trapping his curse into a mask that posed no danger to even its wearer. Now it would heal the rift Galbatorix's oaths had left behind and save his brother's life.

Eragon trusted the Master Sword to no other wielder, not when its fickleness held his brother's life in the balance. He dared remove the blade from Murtagh's chest so that he might do more than delay the inevitable.

Eragon had never held an ocarina in his hands before today. Still he closed eyes, thought only of healing Murtagh, and played. Muscle memory guided him through a perfect rendition of the song he'd once hummed alongside a howling wolf.

Peace washed over the area as even the breeze and birdsong. Murtagh leaned back with a serene smile.

A moment later his tranquility crumbled into despair. His eyes closed in resignation. "It didn't work. I still feel myself tied to him."

Eragon wanted to hurl the ocarina with a scream or smash it beneath his foot. He wanted Galbatorix to burn for everything he had ever done. He cursed the Grey Folk for even making it possible for a soul to be enslaved against its will. He cursed the Goddesses for driving him to this land and wasting time that could have been spent slaying his brother's master.

"Somehow, my heart is eased... And yet... To one of the dead and darkness, like myself, a song like that no longer holds meaning for me."

Tenderness had not been enough to shake the hatred from the heart of a ghost had sold his soul to a demon god. Galbatorix held Murtagh's soul just as jealously.

And yet that ghost's brother had refused to give up on him.

"And if you ever meet my brother, I'd like you to inform him... The thousand years of raindrops summoned by my song are my tears. The thunder that strikes the earth is my anger!"

Such a song could summon devastation or wash the anger from a blackened heart. Eragon wondered if Zelda had once played a desperate plea to summon him to her kingdom, dragging Saphira along with him. He raised the Ocarina of Time to his lips and played his love, his grief, and his rage. He not only willed Murtagh's oaths away, but the true name that would allow his soul to be seized again. He played a Song of Storms.

Wind and rain swirled around him as the blue sky overhead darkened. They all closed their eyes as a searing lightning bolt struck the tree they sheltered under.

Even when the blindness dissipated the squall raged on. Murtagh frowned... and then a grin split his face. Despite the downpour soaking him he threw back his head and laughed.

"My vows, they're all gone, even those upon Thorn. Your storm must have blown all the way to Alagaesia."

Perhaps there was no power strong enough to unravel the entire ancient language, but Eragon had only needed a song strong enough to free Thorn and Murtagh from Galbatorix's hold. His gaze uneasily strayed toward Hyrule Castle in the distance as a chill ran down his back. His Song of Storms had attracted unwanted attention from a force he knew he could not face yet.

"Come on," he said. "I doubt the storm reaches to Lake Hylia."

Murtagh winced down at the wound the Master Sword had left behind. His mouth tried to form a healing spell. Midna slapped his shoulder and handed him a Red Potion instead.

"No more magic," she scolded. "Not after what you went through."

"Aye," Murtagh reluctantly conceded. He gagged on the Red Potion's taste but downed it all the same.

"You'll get used to it," Saphira consoled. She frowned up at the sky. "Can you warp us there, Midna?"

"You two, sure, but not him." Midna rolled her eyes at Murtagh's scowl. "Nothing personal, but Eragon and Saphira have magical protection against all the terrible things Twili magic can potentially do to a light-dweller. Do you want to spend your first hour of freedom with your organs turned inside out? We'll just have to wing it. It's a supernatural storm. I trust Eragon didn't exactly will it into existence to electrocute anyone."

Eragon sighed. Auru was reportedly by a watchtower that must have offered him a good view of his surroundings. He did not want to raise questions why a green dragon had arrived instead of a blue one, but the storm was also his fault, and Saphira's broken wing had likely been caused by a similar song.

"Do you want me to-"

"Just go ahead without me," Murtagh interrupted. "I'll just call Epona and be on my way."

"The supernatural mare that doesn't listen to anyone?" Midna said archly. "Good luck with that. And no one here knows the way back to your homeland. You're a wanted criminal in these lands as long as Zant is still alive. You're not protected against the Twilight. Stay with the annoying Hero that is and who's already saved your life once today."

Saphira and Eragon exchanged a look, sensing an argument brewing. Rolling her eyes, Saphira discretely moved behind Murtagh and resumed her true form. By the time he realized what was happening she had already seized his tunic and lifted him into the air.

Either get on willingly or I'll carry you like this.

Murtagh put up only a token resistance before he stared down at Eragon. "There are no extra steps between killing Zant and Galbatorix, are there?"

"None," Eragon vowed with a wry smile. "Though I won't protest if you get Galbatorix's killing blow in before me." He knew Murtagh would hold him to it.

Eragon handed the Ocarina of Time back to Midna. He trusted it more in her handy little pocket dimension than on his person. Saphira did not protest when Midna perched upon her horns, leaving the saddle to Eragon and Murtagh. Midna was so light Saphira did not mind a third passenger, especially when the alternative was to have her spend another day hiding in someone's shadow.

Galbatorix had not minded having Zant wait while he savored the sensation of his treacherous servant dying a slow and torturous death. His brow furrowed when an unpleasant wave of... something cut the spell short. As his connection to Murtagh had been alive and well he had not minded too much. He would simply issue orders for a quick and torturous death when the protection finally wore thin.

His nose wrinkled at the phantom smell of fresh rain. Then a whirlwind gusted through his mind. Galbatorix leaned a hand against Jarnunvosk to steady himself. When he recovered he realized exactly what the wind had stolen from him.

Screaming in rage, he called upon his Eldunarya's power and instead reached out to Thorn-

The squall from the east shrieked by so quickly Galbatorix wondered if he had imagined it. Only his wet robes and the rain-splattered sand proved otherwise.

With a sinking sensation Galbatorix again reached for his bond for Thorn. And felt nothing.

His left eye twitched.

"How interesting," Zant drawled, "but I have business elsewhere."

Galbatorix's explosion of rage came seconds after the last shadow beast had safely slipped into the Twilight. It consumed everything within a mile radius on his side of the border. Including the one pesky village that wouldn't stop pestering him with requests to halt the shadow beast raids.

First he ordered his pet to closely watch the western and southern borders. A fleeing dragon wouldn't be hard to spot.

He had hoped to allow his pet time to gorge itself back to full power but unfortunately the time had come to divert his energies elsewhere. Perhaps it was time to call upon another old trick of his.

Jarnunvosk cackled at his ruminations. I know just where to start, my Galbatorix.

Galbatorix smiled at her ingenuity. The villagers he had accidentally felled could serve their Empire yet.

He let his dragons feast upon the smaller ones. They were of no use to him.

Thorn sensed the oncoming storm long before it arrived. Muscles quivering in anticipation, he waited with his wings half-furled at the edge of the dragon-hold. His current orders allowed him no further.

Thorn had hatched into captivity and suffering. Even before his imprisonment his Rider had held no faith in the divine. He still considered the shrieking rain that wiped his invisible bonds away a godsend.

With a roar of defiance Thorn hurled himself into the storm. He had not the power to resist the wind that blew him westward. So he rode it even as it carried him far too close to Helgrind. He flew faster than any dragon before him ever had.

Of course the demon was waiting for him at the border. It was too well-anchored to this land for even such a storm to blow away. It commanded its own winds to snatch even a dragon out the air like a heron would fish from a river. Thorn had not the power to face it head-on.

A god must have been by his side, however, for he was quite shocked to discover he had the power to evade it. And not just because of the storm's cloud cover.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Shadows Left By Time - Tyler Heath

However powerful the Song of Storms may have been its effects were short-lived. Saphira had scarcely taken flight before the clouds began to dissipate. By the time she reached Lake Hylia the sky was again blue and the winds calm.

Even if Eragon hadn't remembered the watch tower from when the region had been under Twilight it was impossible to miss. The great stone structure was situated on the cliffs the edge of the lake, the tallest thing by far in the area. Perched on top was a figure that could only have been Auru. Midna ducked into his shadow as Saphira's wing-flaps came into earshot. She was safely hidden by the time Auru's silhouette glimmered as he instead turned his spyglass upon them.

Behind him, he felt Murtagh tense. "I should have stayed behind and set up camp."

Eragon was so tired of deceptions. "You're my brother and you're helping us out in our quest. There's no reason to hide," he retorted.

Rather than risk the gusts from her wings blowing the old man off the tower, Saphira landed at its base. Eragon dismounted and climbed the rickety ladder to reach Auru.

"I thought it was about time for you to arrive," the old man remarked. His gaze flickered to those at the tower's base. "A new traveling companion?"

"My brother Murtagh," Eragon answered. Auru's stare sharpened on Saphira. "Vervada is setting up camp."

"I am sure she is," Auru said blandly, unshaken by his curt tone. His gaze turned back west. Beyond the green mountains the sun shimmered on a far harsher landscape. "The Gerudo Desert once held a prison built to house the foulest prisoners this land has ever known... The worst criminals were thrown alive into a cursed mirror that led straight to the underworld. Now that prison is condemned, and even the road leading to the desert is impassable. For days I have searched these shores for an alternative route but to no avail. These old bones know the evil that plagues this land is connected to this old desert at the end of the world somehow."

"What makes you say that?" Eragon kept his voice neutral. "Shad told us the prison was condemned decades ago. What is there left to fear?"

"Did Shad also tell you this watchtower far predates the prison?"

Eragon blinked before replying he was not from Hyrule and thus had little knowledge of its history.

"Long before the Desert Province was incorporated into the kingdom it was home to the Gerudo, a fierce tribe of warrior women. They preferred raiding Lanayru Province due to its wealth and proximity to their homeland. Watchtowers like this were once everywhere even before the onset of the last great civil war. They were our first line of defense against raids from the desert. When the bloodbath finally wore down the Gerudo were the last to surrender. Their leader came before the King of Hyrule to pledge his allegiance and formally end hostilities." Auru's eyes fell upon the Master Sword. "It was only through the testimony of that era's Princess Zelda and her young hero the Gerudo's king treachery was exposed and he was arrested for his crimes."

Eragon nodded somberly. He had heard this story before. The Gerudo king had died but his people's grudge against his accusers had not. Years later they had succeeded in murdering that same hero and his innocent family.

"With the Gerudo king's deception exposed, King Daphnes decreed no Gerudo could ever be trusted again," Auru continued. "His army stormed the desert and seized one of the tribe's holiest places as a base of operations. It is there Hylians shed the Gerudo king's blood and tainted their sacred ground forever. That fortress, Arbiter's Grounds, continued to serve as a prison for the kingdom's greatest criminals." Auru fell silent. Moments stretched into minutes. Finally, he said, "Now, a male was born among the Gerudo once every hundred years. Not only had Hylians slain their king, but the very future of their people, and then defiled sacred ground with his blood. The Gerudo considered killing the Hero of Termina as proper retribution for what had been done to them. For King Daphnes, it confirmed his fears that the Gerudo were a race beyond redemption. If Hyrule were to ever know peace again something... drastic had to be done."

Eragon's heart plummeted. "Oh, gods."

"First Daphnes ordered his soldiers to sweep the sands for every last Gerudo they could find. At first they rationalized away killing the women of childbearing age, lest one carried another monster king in her belly. Then they turned upon the elders who could pass their savage traditions down. After spilling such blood, why not simply finish the job so no daughter could grow to avenge her mothers and grandmothers?" Auru closed his eyes. "Hylians call the prison Arbiter's Grounds because we like to see it as a place of righteousness, where lawful judgement was passed upon the wicked. The Gerudo knew it only as their execution grounds."

Eragon waited for his horror to die down before daring to ask of what became of the survivors. Surely there must have been some. Even the Fall's extermination had not been so complete.

"Daphnes died not long after the last children were killed. Perhaps even his soul couldn't take the strain of what it had ordered. His daughter's first acts as queen were to shut down Arbiter's Grounds, punish those responsible, and search for survivors. None ever came forward." Auru sighed. "The Gerudo were a race of women. They typically reproduced through taking Hylian lovers. As long as their souls remained true to their goddess they would always bear more daughters of their tribe. Those that did would produce descendants that, with sufficient passage of time, would be indistinguishable from pure-blooded Hylians. If any survived the genocide they no longer wished to be Gerudo. Their culture is dead and their blood doomed to be diluted to nothingness."

Eragon inhaled sharply. He felt Saphira and Murtagh both request access to his mind, but he shoved them away. No wonder Auru believed the darkness had spawned out in the desert. It would not surprise Eragon to learn Zant drew his strength from feeding on the residual evil steeped in those prison walls.

He wanted to scream. Instead he released only a shaky exhale.

"Thank you for telling me," he said hoarsely. "However horrible it is, I needed to know."

"I meant this as a warning, boy," Auru said sharply. "You are the reincarnation of the one who indirectly initiated the genocide. You wear the Hero's green and bear the Hero's blade. The hatred of the Gerudo spirits will only be intensified by your presence. Also remember they were not the only ones slain within those walls. Their suffering will give strength to far darker demons."

"There's nothing you can do to stop me, old man. If I'm that Hero's reincarnation then I'm the one responsible for this. If I'm not, I'm still a Hero that's supposed to protect this land, including the Gerudo." Eragon bared his teeth in a snarling smile. "No matter how you put it, it's my problem."

"I hoped to never live in a time where a Hero had to called upon, much less wield the sacred blade," Auru said dryly. "And yet here we are." He bowed his head as he offered up a tattered map. "The Gerudo Desert's shifting sand dunes can be treacherous but this should guide you to the execution grounds. Do try not to die. The last thing that place needs is a malevolent Hero's shade."

"Do you need a ride?" Eragon asked, all to eager to be rid of him.

"No thank you." Auru nodded down at the garish house that floated upon Lake Hylia. "Fyer's... amusement ride may cater to tourists, but it is an innovative mode of transportation regardless. Should your dragon's wings ever fail you, do not hesitate to ask me a favor. Fyer still owes me for once saving his life." He hesitated as he took his first steps down the ladder. "If you insist on facing Arbiter's Grounds I highly recommend spending the night here. Darkness grants the undead strength and there may be far more than Bulblin raiders lurking in the sands."

Eragon watched as Auru walked out of sight. Only then did Midna emerge from his shadow to put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged her off with a snarl. He couldn't stand her pitying face or the unwelcome minds nudging at his barriers. He left the watchtower with a running leap.

Behind him Midna yelped. Cool darkness swept over his body as her shadow magic transformed him. Mere feet from the ground he unfurled newly-formed wings to glide to the opposite shore of Lake Hylia.

He hoped they got the point.

After Saphira's transformations and the incredible power of the Song of Storms, Murtagh was hardly astonished to see darkness swallow his brother's form and shift him into a green dragon. It was far more unnerving to see the little floating house into the distance transform into a massive canon that fired a little speck back in the direction toward Castle Town. He grimly wondered how Auru would survive the landing. Murtagh had not spent much time in Kakariko Village but had certainly paid close attention to Barnes and the destructive possibilities of the material known as gunpowder.

Beneath him he felt Saphira shifting to take off after her wayward Rider. "Give him some time," he advised. "We're not going anywhere."

He climbed down from her saddle to make a fire not far from the base of the watchtower. Saphira remained as a she-dragon, gaze anxiously locked on a distant green blob across the lake, but did not leave. Muttering curses under her breath, Midna eventually floated down to join them. She vanished the saddle from Saphira's back, depositing the saddle bags by the campfire.

"His transformation looks differently than Saphira's," Murtagh observed neutrally.

Midna sniffed. "Saphira was willingly blessed by a Light Spirit. Lizard-boy has an involuntary defense mechanism whenever his body is exposed to Twilight. Zant tried cursing him to make it permanent, but the Master Sword dispelled his magic. I can manipulate it for him."

Can you teach him how to do it on his own? They both blinked up in surprise at Saphira, who had not moved from her vigil. When Zant is dead we will eventually part ways. My Hylian form is not only a tactical advantage, but an experience I enjoy. To be trapped in any form against my will, even this one, seems torture now. I don't wish for Eragon to suffer that.

Midna stopped hovering to plop down to the ground, pulling her knees up to her oversized head. "I'll see what I can do," she said faintly. "After all, I know how it feels."

...You never told us that before.

Murtagh tensed his shoulders to refrain from making a more obvious reaction. Eragon and Saphira had seemed to trust Midna closely, in a way he had never quite managed with them. Galbatorix had robbed him of that opportunity.

Midna gestured at herself. "You saw Zant back at the spirit spring. You know, the Twili over twice my size and in perfect proportion? I thought it was obvious."

Saphira growled, snapping her head away from Eragon's distant form to glower at Midna. You know what I mean.

"I was a princess who couldn't protect her people. I refused to join Zant so he transformed me into this creature and usurped my throne. What more is there to say?" The Twili shrugged bitterly. "At least I'm alive to complain about it."

Alive, Saphira moaned. Gods, those poor women. Their daughters. I never imagined anyone but Galbatorix capable of that.

"Elves and dragons tried to destroy each other before the Pact was made," Murtagh pointed out. "No matter the species, it seems everyone can find a way to justify such atrocity." He winced as he remembered his vivid nightmare. "You and Eragon nearly succeeded it with the Lethrblaka, after all. Theirs was the last known family in existence. You killed three of them. And that spirit ate the only survivor."

Innocent life was at risk. The Lethrblaka and their spawn were merciless killers. We gave them the chance to retreat. They chose to fight. She sighed. From what Auru said, it seems the Hylians once believed the same of the Gerudo. Though I doubt the Lethrblaka are truly dead. A species that foul will always find some new pit to crawl out of.

The three fell into pensive silence as sunset loomed. Midna and Saphira grappled with personal demons. Murtagh pondered the Gerudos' demise very little. Perhaps his months under Galbatorix had numbed him to such atrocity. Perhaps not even the Song of Healing could restore the part of his soul that should be horrified at the darkness apparently all sentient life seemed capable of.

Murtagh simply laid back in the grass and reveled in his freedom. The absence of Galbatorix's compulsions was a lethal weight lifted from his shoulders. Distant as his dragon was, he still sensed Thorn alive and well, stronger than he had ever been. He eagerly awaited the day he could first greet Thorn as two free fellow souls. He could not remember the last time he could lounge by a beautiful lake and listen to the waves softly lap at its shore.

If he strained his ears right he swore he could also hear a song on the wind. Earlier it had sounded rousing and upbeat. As the daylight died so did the melody's tune. In the darkness the new song was mournful like a funeral dirge. He knew at least Saphira had to have heard it.

"What is that sound?" he said, breaking a silence that had lasted for hours.

Saphira did not look up from eating her rations. She had resumed Hylian form, perhaps to make the meal stretch further. "A howling stone. It did not make any sound at all when we were last here. Eragon will see to it soon enough."

Midna snorted from the opposite end of the campfire. "He's probably waiting for us to fall asleep first so he can escape conflict."

Murtagh ground his teeth in frustration. He had revealed practically everything about Galbatorix's strange new behavior and his time in Hyrule. In return he had received a heavily censured recounting of Eragon's adventures. Certainly no one had told him about Eragon's status as a Chosen Hero or his dragon transformations until pressed into doing so. "Why are these stones so important?"

"This land's last Hero died without passing his knowledge on and has haunted it ever since. Eragon has to seek him out through howling stones to further his training. They primarily train and communicate through dreams." Saphira sighed. "I imagine they'll have quite a bit more to discuss tonight."

Murtagh shuddered at the thought of being mentored by the ghost of his predecessor. He was suddenly thankful Morzan's shade had never manifested to torment his sons from beyond the grave. "This Hero is the same who was killed by the Gerudo?"

"Yes," was all she said.

Murtagh's mind was too restless sleep but for his brother's sake he closed his eyes and pretended. He suspected the others feigned the same for within minutes he heard a dragon's wing-beats.

Perhaps Eragon was too upset to realize they were faking. Perhaps he simply did not care, for he landed nearby where the howling stone must have been. Murtagh held his breath as the dragon hummed in time to the wind, a melody that only added to the night's gloominess.

Eventually Eragon fell silent. Murtagh opened his eyes to the distant shadow of a dragon lying prone on to the ground. Saphira had been right about the dream state.

For his brother's sake, he hoped the vision brought closure.

Eragon cared not what this song was called, only that it sounded of shadow and sorrows. He hummed it in memory of a race he had never truly known for a part of his spirit wept all the same.

The dreamscape had changed again. Behind the Golden Wolf's outcropping loomed a sandstone temple. Its six spires rose up even higher to pierce the night sky. Five of the golden disks crowning the spires were intact but the sixth had shattered. In his heart of hearts Eragon knew he looked upon Arbiter's Grounds.

Why? he cried.

"It is said the Hylians are the Goddesses' chosen race, but we are mortal are the same. Our hearts can be swayed by darkness as easily as any other race." The Golden Wolf's single red eye closed. "A Hero's spirit may be like no mere mortal's but it is flawed all the same. Following Ganondorf's execution I considered my service to Hyrule fulfilled. I spent years away in search of a lost friend. When I returned I was tired, far too tired for petty politics. The Gerudo had long raided the Hylians. Tensions between them were almost always running high. I wanted only to settle down to a simple, quiet life. Little did I know many nobles had long desired the Gerudo problem 'solved.' They used Ganondorf's betrayal to poison the King against the entire tribe. My death was simply the perfect excuse to put their plan into action."

You could have done something! Eragon roared. Why haunt this land if you will do nothing to help it?

"I died with a heart heavy with hatred and regret," the Golden Wolf intoned. "It took me years to devise how to interact with the living world without poisoning my surroundings as most other spirits and the undead do. By the time I realized what had become of Hyrule the genocide was long over. Queen Zelda thoroughly investigated and punished those responsible. Their bodies were the last to be interred in Arbiter's Grounds before it was sealed, so that their evil might taint no other burial ground. Not only is the prison haunted by its inmates, but by the soldiers killed in the riots and those who took from their own lives at the horrors they witnessed. Even I cannot step foot upon its grounds without risking complete corruption."

Eragon shuddered as he remembered those terrible fingers wrapped around his throat. A malevolent Hero's Shade loosed upon the land would be a terrible plague. The Gerudo don't deserve to suffer for an eternity alongside their killers. What can I do to free them?

Already he knew the Song of Healing would not work upon those shades too bitter to let themselves be healed. The Song of Storms might wash them away entirely.

"Once I used the Nocturne of Shadow to access a cursed temple. It had once served as a burial ground for a people known as the Sheikah. In the civil war it became a place to imprison and torture enemies of the Royal Family." The wolf paused. "It shall not serve you here."

Eragon's tail flicked in irritation. Then why make me sing it?

"The Nocturne of Shadow is a song without hope. From the state of your soul I knew no other way to reach you." He growled. "But have you not already saved those without hope? Midna believed herself doomed but still you delivered her to Zelda. Did not today your brother wish for death until you showed him another way?"

The Golden Wolf threw back his head and howled a new song. Though it began mournfully its end sounded almost rousing, a rallying cry. With a jolt Eragon realized he had heard this melody before. It had been a previous howling song.

"Arbiter's Grounds was once sacred ground to the Gerudo but not their only sacred ground. Their holy sanctuary to the Goddess of Sands was located beyond a haunted wasteland no army could penetrate. Only through the Requiem of Spirit could I reach it without risking my life."

Eragon gasped. You think some Gerudo survived?

"I know the desert is vast and the Gerudo guard their secrets jealously. Undoubtedly there was sacred ground not even a Hero was allowed to know of, much less tread upon. The Gerudo are Din's daughters. Such power does not quietly fade away into obscurity but dies in a way it will never allow history to forget." The Golden Wolf wagged his tail enigmatically. "I can haunt no further than Hyrule's borders. In my roaming I have glimpsed strange nomads where no others dared walk."

When the Golden Wolf threw back his head to howl the Requiem of Spirit again Eragon hummed along. It did soothe his soul as the Song of Healing had, or raise it to giddy new heights like the Song of Storms, but steeled it with newfound determination.

"Requiems are customarily sung as a prayer for the salvation of the souls of the departed. Perhaps the Gerudo will not allow their souls to be saved by a Hero. Perhaps not even the promise their race did die with them can appease such sufferings." The Golden Wolf barked a laugh. "But what is a Hero without hope?... Now take sword in hand and find me."

Chapter Text

Argi's village, too small for a true name, was located so close to the Empire they had a clear view of the storm that had raged across the border for hours. Crazy old Zeru, the closest thing they had to a priest, grimly muttered Sur was trying her damnedest to keep it out and kept anointing his gnarled old staff with murmured blessings and spittle.

At this point Argi couldn't have cared less. Nowadays Sur was always raging. Their nights were illuminated by distant lightning and their dreams punctuated by thunder. Whatever evil that fucking king to the north had summoned was plain unable to cross into Surda. Its tantrums kept his family's flock on edge. Father always growled about how the slightest shift in the wind these days could send their sheep scattering.

In the east rumors spread of monsters swift as shadows that preyed upon man and beast alike. They multiplied exponentially and could not be killed. Everyone in the village dismissed them as lies meant to undermine belief in Sur's power. Storms at the border were one thing. Sur was guardian of these lands. Nothing made it past her vigilant gaze.

After a long day of chasing after wayward sheep Argi wanted only to shove the flock into their pens and settle down for a well-deserved rest. They were just within sight of the village when the flock ground to a halt, nostrils flaring and bleating nervously. Argi rolled his eyes.

"Fucking wolves," his father swore. He swung his crook back in the direction of home. "Go run home and get some men and torches. It's time to burn these bastards out once and for all."

"But, Father-"

"Now, boy, or I'll tan your hide when we get home."

Argi diligently ran for it. He wrinkled his nose when the wind suddenly shifted. It reeked of death and decay.

Old Zeru's house was furthest from town. He pounded furiously on his door.

"Wake up, old man! The wolves are back."

Cursing under his breath, Zeru emerged with a torch and rusted blade. Once he had served as a soldier in defending their kingdom's frontier. Now his sword felled invaders of a furrier sort.

Argi started off for the next house. He whirled around at his father's yells.

Their flock had long since scattered. The awkward, lurching figures were too slow keep up. Instead they silently descended upon his father.

Argi's father was the strongest man in the village. A single blow from his staff could brain a wolf. One hit to these strange, slack-jawed men and women should have been enough to put them down and keep them there.

His crook flattened one of their heads like a melon. Its body crumbled to the ground... and then crawled over to drag his father down. Argi screamed.

Zeru was shouting something, but Argi raised his own crook and charged forward. He swung it with all the strength in his body.

Blood-lust narrowed his vision. He heard his blows break bones and squelch organs. Still the walking corpses closed in.

A bloody hand groped at his feet. Argi turned his fury downward. And hesitated when looked into the glazed, vacant eyes of the man who had raised him. His father pulled him down to the gore-slicked earth, opening his mouth and-

Disintegrated into a dark cloud.

Flat on his back, Argi blinked. Zeru stood above him. He had discarded his steel blade for his blunt, wooden staff. In the red twilight it almost seemed to glow with a light of its own. With a roar the old man swung his staff again. Another corpse crumbled like a bad dream.

When the last one was felled, Zeru bent over, panting from the exertion, and held out his hand.

Argi took it.

Once Arya had lived in a world with a single simple objective, to see Galbatorix dead and his tyranny over Alagaesia finally ended. The one upheaval in her world had been Saphira's hatching and the emergence of a new Dragon Rider, the faint hope the tides might have finally started to turn in the rebellion's favor.

Eragon and Saphira's mysterious disappearance had only been the harbinger of the world unraveling all around them. First Galbatorix had summoned a monstrous spirit and fractured his own Empire in order to make his newer, smaller borders outright impenetrable. Surda's own guardian spirit had manifested and chosen Roran Garrowsson as her apparent champion.

A stalemate had settled over the country, for Galbatorix could not push beyond his boundaries and none could breach his. There were unconfirmed reports he had somehow resurrected his first dragon, Jarnunvosk, but no spy survived long enough to ascertain for certain.

Then a new veil of darkness had fallen over the Hadarac Desert. Those who tested its shadowy walls were engulfed and never seen again. Under the cover of night ravenous monsters emerged to attack the border towns. The Surdan beasts and civilians not outright killed were twisted into similar creatures. Blodgharm's forces and much of the Du Vrangr Gata had been redirected to the borders. Only with swift and ruthless force could the monsters be killed before they started resurrecting each other.

South from Galbatorix's borders marched a slower, far more formidable army.

Arya had been but a babe during the Fall. Galbatorix's most effective victories had left no survivors. Of course it was known he must have been practicing magic of the darkest kind, but the exact specifics had been buried with his victims. The whispers of walking corpses and the fallen dead turning against their own living comrades had been dismissed as hysterical rumors and the mad rantings of the occasional human eye witness driven insane by the sights of such carnage. Necromancy was a black art the Riders had made every possible effort to eradicate. Even the most tenacious necromancers held reportedly no more energy than raising several limping corpses at once, hardly enough to make a simple honor guard, let alone an army.

And yet now the dead walked on, unable to be drowned by Sur's rushing torrents and able to crawl out of her mudslides. Every innocent they felled rose to join their swelling ranks.

Conventional weapons were ineffective against those already dead. Orrin at first speculated Galbatorix might have been controlling the brains of the undead, but smashing the skull did nothing when the entire skeleton could still throttle a man. The most formidable warriors were those whose flesh had entirely rotted away, leaving nothing behind but swift and ruthless bones. And, unlike the living, the dead did not tire and felt no fear. At first it seemed burning such a foe to ash was the only way to eliminate them.

Not even Sur was strong enough to repel two enemy armies, but Emunah and other holy folk blessed weapons and warded towns from evil all the same. Unlike other elves stationed beneath Oromis, Arya had seen the aftermath of Sur's battle, and did not scoff. Blades and arrows blessed by Emunah could cause a corpse to disintegrate without need of a fire. There were temples and blessed barriers not even the relentless dead could breach. Sur's priests and priestesses were not the only ones with faith, for shamans and others that prayed to different gods could also sometimes offer up blessings or relics that proved just as effective.

None were more effective than Roran Garrowsson's hammer, which could supposedly call down the thunder and fury of the storm. He had left his pregnant wife behind to fight on the front-lines.

Against such waves of undead a dragon's fire would have proved most useful. Yet Glaedr could not be risked. He was their last dragon and it took him and Oromis far too long to recover whenever they were forced to use their magic. So far Galbatorix had only sent armies of men, but if the rumors of him raising Jarnunvosk were true... perhaps Riders and their dragons might soon join his ranks or were already biding their time for the perfect ambush.

Monstrous armies did not only assail Sur's domain. Much of the elfin armies remained in the Spine to repel the undead that swarmed into its foothills.

Orik scarcely maintained control over his own people. Monsters swarmed them from the unknown east, of all possible places. His clans eagerly rushed to defend their homeland, but also cried such unnatural forces were clearly a sign of another Supernatural War. Many dwarves called for the lands beyond the Beor Mountains to be abandoned by their kind, all outside races expelled from their lands, and to pray that Helzvog would protect his own, in the form of the great Urzhad Beor, as he had once before.

Arya frowned and rubbed her pounding temples. She had once again tried to scry her mother in Ellesmera and had only another headache for her troubles. Du Weldenvarden's wards had been... temperamental as of late. The very forest had stopped obeying its masters.

The forest existed long before our ancestors ever stepped foot there, she realized.

The elves had sung magic into its roots, propelling the trees far beyond their natural range and size. They had granted the forest strength, not life. If more spirits like Sur existed, but had gone unknown and unheeded by its own people for centuries, if they could not understand such a spirit had its own ways of protection...

"I need to go back," she murmured to herself.

Her mother was centuries' old, embittered by war and loss, and set in her ways. Even if Arya could scry her Islanzadi would never consider a spirit had the power to protect Du Weldenvarden where her own elves could not. She was too proud to bow and ask if there was a better way they might fight against the hordes of undead, even if Riders and dragons might be among their ranks.

Arya was not.

Eragon and Saphira were lost and everyone else far too tangled upon their own affairs to help in time, not if both the former heartland of the Broddring Kingdom and the Hadarac were impassable.

Emerging from her tent, Arya called for a servant to prepare her belongings, and went to find either Nasuada or Orrin to inform them she'd be leaving.

Rockridge was a village too small to show up on most maps. Mother and Father claimed that was a good thing. They muttered about what had happened to Carvahall and how the elvan army had matched straight past them to Kuasta. King Galbatorix's armies and the rebels didn't care about the little, boring places. Nelle wished Rockridge wasn't so boring. She would have liked to at least seen an elf.

Now dead bodies banged ravenously at their door. She recognized some of the mauled, empty-eyed faces pawing at the windows. Father wielded a pitchfork in one hand and a blazing torch in the other. He and Mother fiercely argued over whether they should stand their ground or try and run for it. All Nelle wanted was their boring old life back.

It was pitch-black outside, even the moon and stars shrouded by clouds. There should have been no light but for Father's torch and the flames guttering low in the hearth. However, for one moment, a red light flared bright as dawn from outside.

Her parents were too busy arguing to notice. Nelle crept out from under the bed for a quick peek out the window.

A rotted hand shot through the glass. Nelle kicked and screamed, but Father couldn't reach her in time before the hand hauled her outside by her hair. The ugly, vacant face bent down and-

Fire slashed through the night. Nelle shut her eyes against the brightness. She still felt a warm, metal arm wrap around her waist and whirl her away from both the rotted arm and the sudden wave of heat.

Nelle opened her eyes to see the same ugly corpse burst into flame and crumble into ashes. Her eyes flicked from a blazing red and gold spear up to its wielder, who still held her against his chest. His blood-red armor glittered in the firelight and his dragon head snarled down at her.

She screamed. Beneath the dragon's face a human mouth grimaced at the sound.

"What a set of lungs on you," grumbled the man beneath the dragon helm as he placed her down. He then spun around, placing her safely behind him as his spear burned its way through another three undead.

"There's too many of them!" Nelle cried. Her rescuer could only swing his spear so quickly. She already heard his pants and saw the sweat pouring down his exposed lower face.

"Stay back, kid!"

Ignoring the broken glass slicing her feet, Nelle cowered as close to her house as possible as the armored man leaned forward with a thunderous roar. From his mouth bloomed an inferno of scarlet and gold that enveloped the entire horde. Nelle squinted against the radiance but could still see a lot of shadowy skeletons crumble in the firelight.

The flames flickered and died as the man suddenly toppled to his hands and knees, dropping his spear.

"Damn," he gasped. "Didn't know I could do that like this."

Nelle whistled in appreciation. His fire-breath had incinerated every last one of them.

Only then did Father explode from the house, brandishing his pitchfork with a wild look in his eyes. Mother stood just behind them with the burning torch, face uncertain.

"Back away from her, demon!" he roared.

Nelle rolled her eyes. Didn't her parents listen to their own stories? "He just saved me, daddy. Demons don't save people, knights do." She frowned thoughtfully down at his elaborate armor. "You're a knight, aren't you? You're dressed too fancy to be a soldier."

Her savior huffed a laugh. "A knight? Aye, why not?"

There had been no knights in a hundred years since King Galbatorix had taken over the Broddring Kingdom and made it into the Empire. Knights were supposed to just be legends now like monsters and Dragon Riders, but Nelle had heard both of those existed now too.

Father still looked unconvinced. "Nelle, get away from that...thing. No knight looks like that or breathes fire."

"I learned long ago you don't look a gift horse in the mouth," growled the knight. "You shut up and eat it." With some effort he stood and ripped off his helm. Beneath the helm was the pale face of a boy barely out of adolescence, if he wasn't still in it. His sweat-soaked hair looked dark auburn in the torchlight. Aside from his brilliant red eyes he looked perfectly human.

Nelle cocked her head curiously. "Are you a dragon knight, then?"

The young man considered this before a small smile split his features. "Aye, that I am." He scowled back at her father. "And a little more gratitude would be appreciated. I've been tracking down and killing these things all night. Even now there's another pack heading toward your village proper and I'm under no obligation to keep risking my life for you thankless people."

Her father finally lowered his pitchfork with a sigh. "Forgive me... sir knight. The chaos of these last few weeks have hardened our hearts against even basic human decency. Please, allow me to assist you in defending my village."

The dragon knight bowed his head before donning his helm again. "Thank you for the offer, stranger, but we'd never make it there in time by foot."

Nelle bounced in excitement. "Do you have a trusty steed?"

"No, kid," the man laughed as he picked up his spear. "Something even better."

Their savior stepped away from their house before he was engulfed in crimson flames that extended outward in all directions. When the flames died down a great red dragon stood in his place. He winked at her before he spread his wings and ascended into the cloud-covered sky. The gust of his take-off scattered the remaining ashes to the night winds.

Her parents gaped after the night. Nelle peered expectantly up at them and asked how she too could become a dragon knight.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Prologue - Shadow of the Colossus

They departed at dawn the next morning. Eragon offered to serve as their mount that day. Not only had Saphira born the burden yesterday but his mind was too anxious to deal with hours in the saddle. Better to focus on flapping than the agony of anticipation. Saphira flew freely alongside him. It was their first flight together when neither was trapped in a form against their will. Murtagh was bemused at the role reversal.

Lanayru Province's lush green hills swiftly gave way to sand and searing sun. Unlike the Hadarac, the Gerudo Desert was not merely sand dunes but riddled with mesas and treacherous canyons. Eragon and Murtagh had once nearly died in their breakneck ride across the Hadarac. Eragon marveled at how easy the experience was from the air. They progressed far quicker than a horse ever could and traversed obstacles those without wings could only dream of. Even the wind yielded some relief from the scorching sun. Midna still grumbled about the heat and hid from it in his shadow.

The Hadarac's dunes had been desolate but the sands of Gerudo desert were alive with what Midna called Moldorms. The worm-like creatures traveled through sand like fish did water, leaping out to attack unwary travelers. Dragons safely passed high above such enemies.

Saphira's eye was drawn to a strange stone monolith that rose out of the sand. They flew over to investigate. Eragon cocked his head to the side, wondering why it looked so familiar.

Is that part of a bridge? Saphira exclaimed.

"During my stay in Kakariko Village the shaman warned me the Bridge of Eldin mysteriously vanished after the shadow beasts first attacked," Murtagh recalled. "This could be the missing piece."

Eragon snorted. Not only had Zant plunged the realm into Twilight and unleashed his monsters upon it but had sought to divide the people even further by serving vital arteries of transportation. His suspicions of Zant's involvement were confirmed when a dark portal emerged in the sky at their arrival to vomit forth several shadow beasts. He and Saphira quickly dispatched the monsters and claimed the portal as their own.

Then he remembered how easily Midna had transported the flaming rock that had thawed out Zora's Domain.

Midna, do you think you can place this bridge back where it belongs?

"How?" Midna said dryly. "We never flew enough north of Kakariko to open up a portal close enough to the bridge and I certainly can't haul that thing all the way from Kakariko. Besides, I'm not an architect. I could maybe pop this piece back in place but I can't fix the structural damage. Do you want some poor peasant falling to their deaths when the bridge finally gives way?"

Eragon admitted defeat and stopped circling the mutilated bridge. He instead angled his course to the foreboding shadow on the horizon. Even from this distance he knew it to be Arbiter's Grounds.

Remembering his latest flash of a vision and the pull on his heart he first landed in the cliffs near the prison. The Golden Wolf serenely waited for him in the shadow of an outcropping.

"That's your mentor?" Murtagh muttered dubiously.

Appearances can be deceiving, Eragon teased. His humor faded when he added, His methods can be... unconventional. Please don't unsheathe Zar'roc if he lunges at me and I drop unconscious. That's normal.

His brother made no promises as he dismounted. Midna emerged from his shadow to remove the saddle from his back and restore his human form.

They had landed a cautious distance from the Golden Wolf so that Eragon could respectfully approach his mentor without unduly endangering his companions. His mentor rose from his haunches to pad over to them instead.

Everyone froze in place. Saphira bared the slightest trace of fang. Murtagh's hand ghosted over Zar'roc as the spectral wolf stopped mere feet from them. His single red eye focused not upon Eragon, but his brother. Eragon's hand was just creeping toward the Master Sword when the Golden Wolf finally turned to him, dropping into the crouch with the usual growled challenge.

Eragon grinned reassuringly at his brother. Then he unsheathed his blade to meet the Golden Wolf head-on.

"At last we meet again."

Eragon dipped into a slight bow before his mentor's usual form. "Thank you for your guidance last night," he murmured humbly. "It helped me face today with a clearer head. But why were you so interested in my brother?"

The Hero's Shade appraised him. "The skills I have left to teach you have finally entered the realm of true secrecy. They are forgotten ways that do not leave your bloodline."

Eragon frowned. It seemed the mysterious enchantment that so easily allowed him to understand Hylian had finally fallen short with its first error in translation. What word accurately translated a line of Triforce bearers completely unrelated except by their Goddess's favor? "Just because I look Hylian does not mean I am one. I do not understand why Farore chose me over a native Hyrulean, but I am a human from another land."

"The Triforce of Wisdom is bound to the Royal Family just as the Triforce of Courage is bound to its protectors. The Knights of Hyrule were once a mighty order. Many heroes were born from their bloodlines. During the last civil war assassins from many organizations targeted the Knights and their families specifically so that no new hero could arise to end the bloodshed. My father fell defending the king and my mother in getting me to safety. I alone survived the massacre."

The Hero's Shade had survived one massacre only to be murdered alongside his own family years later. With the extinction of the Knights' bloodlines Farore had been forced to choose a champion from elsewhere. No wonder why she had chosen one so far removed from Hyrule's bloody history.

The shade rumbled at his skeptical silence. "My son lived, boy! My princess arrived in time to save his life and spirit him away from these lands, away from those who wished him dead. Calon lived."

"Our father was a monster well over a hundred years old," Eragon retorted bitterly.

"You've his eyes, Din damn you!" the spirit roared. Eragon raised the Master Sword as a warning but the Hero's Shade made no move to attack. His voice sounded almost broken as he continued, "You've my boy's eyes, you and your brother both." His red gaze pierced Eragon's soul with a dark laugh. "No wonder why Farore favored you over him. You've my temper and my looks. If you had lighter hair and slightly sharper features it would almost be looking into a mirror."

Eragon tried recalling his glimpse of the shade's true form but pictured only his bloodied eye socket and bestial snarl. "Morzan..." he began hesitantly.

"Did you boys not have a mother too?"

Eragon inhaled sharply. For so long he had brooded over Morzan's legacy and yet had never considered any inheritance gained from Selena."I knew never her but her brother and nephew are purely human. And Murtagh and my Uncle Garrow never indicated Selena, my mother, looked otherwise."

"There exist spells to change one's physical appearance. Zelda's magic would have been potent enough to pass the spell down generations, especially if the Goddesses willed it so." He paused. "Do any of your family still...?"

His head bowed as he thought of Uncle Garrow. "Only our cousin Roran."

"Goddesses, it always comes down to three."

The hairs on Eragon's neck prickled uneasily as the Hero's Shade descended into dark mutterings. He strained to remember the little he knew about his mother's ancestors. "My maternal grandfather was named Cadoc. He married and had his children later in life. He died before I was born but lived a long, peaceful life. Uncle Garrow always used to say I reminded him of his father."

"Among the techniques I have left to teach are those that may even endanger you," the Hero's Shade said at last. "Do you feel ready to learn them?"

"I do," Eragon vowed and proved his certainty through a successful display of the helm splitter.

The rusted armor of his great-grandfather creaked as he climbed back to his feet and sheathed his sword.

"The ways of the sword are known to many creatures, and some have strengthened their guards against shield attacks and back slices. Should you encounter such a foe, the mortal draw is most effective. You must cast aside your most defense skills and keep your sword sheathed. Then, before your enemy can see through your ruse..." Before Eragon knew what was happening the Hero's Shade spun forward, his rusted sword mere inches from his head. His mentor stared resolutely down at him. "There is no defense for this. The mortal draw deals death."

Eragon exhaled slowly. He risked his own life to bypass the fight entirely and deal the killing blow. An enemy would expect him to parry their coming strike and leave themselves unguarded to the true strike. A blade like the Master Sword could easily pierce all but the strongest of armors. It was a gamble he hoped never to use.

Still he crossed blades with the Hero's Shade and plunged his blade into one no longer mortal.

"A pointed strike. Remember such a blow leaves you vulnerable but we do not always fight just for ourselves. If you are fated to die that day sometimes it's worth it to drag the foe down with you." His great-grandfather nodded in approval. "The fifth hidden skill has been passed on. May we meet again... great-grandson."

Eragon sheathed his sword and cautiously dipped into a bow. "May it be soon, great-grandfather."

Eragon pretended nothing was amiss when he awoke, that it had merely been another training session. He insisted on carrying Murtagh the rest of the way. His dragon form concealed emotions better. Only through his private bond to Saphira did his true thoughts and feelings come bursting through.

Oh little one, she sighed. There was nothing else to change. She could not change his ancestry or the fate hanging over his head like an executioner's blade.

No wonder the Goddesses chose me. Eragon chuckled darkly. Roran's only ever wanted a quiet life and just got Katrina back. He'd put her safety above all else. Murtagh would have been dragged into this kicking and screaming.

A shiver ran down his spine as he realized the curse he carried in his very blood, the burden Cadoc's descendents passed down to their own innocent children. If he failed in this quest Farore would be forced to choose another champion. Roran was gods knew where and lacked a Rider's stamina. Murtagh would not even have to draw the Master Sword from its pedestal, only retrieve it from his brother's fallen corpse.

Don't think like that! Saphira snarled. You know I'd do anything to prevent it.

The possibility of each other's deaths had been a constant shadow over their heads since Saphira had first hatched for him. Eragon knew he would give his life for hers just as easily as she would for him. They both also knew the other would never forgive them for such sacrifice but would try to go on living anyway. Brom had survived his dragon's loss, after all, but far more had been unable to handle losing half of their soul and followed their partners into the void.

Only Saphira learned his hidden skills. As long as she lived she could pass them down to his successors. Should she die alongside him...

Once they had secured the Mirror of Twilight Eragon vowed to pass his knowledge down to Murtagh. It was his inheritance too, after all, but his brother had just been freed from his vows. He did not yet need to know he carried another burden no song could scourge.

If Murtagh refused to continue the cycle... There needed to be but one Hero's Shade and their great-grandfather had borne the burden long enough.

As they neared Arbiter's Grounds Eragon heard a bestial warning call from a wooden watch tower. With a snarl he realized the ruins were occupied by Bulblin raiders. He channeled his frustration into fury and flame as Saphira joined in. Murtagh's wards deflected the arrows aimed their way and his spells stopped enemies dead in their tracks. They spared those with the sense to flee upon their boars. Their wooden shelters burned but the stone ruins beneath were not even scorched by dragon-fire.

So too did the golden crest of the Royal Family engraved upon the arch at the entrance of the ruined compound, proudly proclaiming these killing grounds justified. The previous Princess Zelda could have ordered it destroyed when the prison was condemned. She had instead allowed it to stand as a warning to future generations.

"The prison is completely open to the elements," Murtagh observed. "We can fly right in."

Eragon snarled at the sight before him. No, we can't.

Such cursed ground should have been sealed away by protections none could impenetrate. Instead an unguarded entrance yawned through the ruins straight down into darkness and the restless spirits imprisoned within.

Something disturbed the prison. I need to find out what happened here.

"Are you insane?" his brother growled. "I heard what the old man said back there. The spirits here are hero killers. Why get yourself killed when the way to Zant, the way back home, is right there?"

"It does look so, doesn't it?" Midna mused. "Almost too easy. If the wards are broken here then Zant must have already come by and laid a trap for us. We'd have better look working our way through the prison then landing right in it like he'd expect us to." She returned Eragon to human form, leaving Murtagh sprawled upon the sand. "Besides, I learned ages ago trying to talk your baby brother out of something is an exercise in futility."

"You don't have to go with us, Murtagh," Saphira consoled as she too transformed. "Once the evil is smothered someone can fly out and come get you."

Murtagh unsheathed Zar'roc. "You do not drag me to the gates of hell and then tell me to wait outside while you go on without me." He was the first to stalk down into the darkness, the others following close behind.

Eragon had just stepped across the threshold when assaulted by the stench of death and decay. Although the entrance was mere feet behind him no fresh air wafted inside. A dank, heavy coldness settled in his lungs as they descended the staircase. As they reached the bottom he felt light-headed, like the shade's spectral fingers had again closed around his throat.

He breathed freely when he left the last step behind. He wondered if they had passed through a remnant of the wards or had already disturbed the spirits' ire.

Arbiter's Grounds should have been dark as the grave. Mocking torches instead burned bright in every brazier. The floor of the first chamber was not so-well preserved. Much of the stone had given way to treacherous quicksand teeming with Moldorms. Even this early on the floor was littered with bones, though none looked humanoid. Eragon suspected curious creatures had wondered in through the passageway to their deaths.

Murtagh strung together to preemptively annihilate the Moldorms in the area. Before he finished he dropped his blade and fell to his knees, grasping ineffectively at his throat. Eragon reflexively slashed the Master Sword at thin air. Something cold gave way and his brother breathed freely again.

"I'm alright," Murtagh gasped as he grabbed Zar'roc and climbed to his feet. Then he cursed the wards.

Midna's yellow eyes flashed. "That wasn't the wards." She shuddered, pressing closer to them. "Maybe it's a good idea for you light-dwellers to not use your magic down here and disturb the angry ghosts."

They settled for instead slashing the Moldorms whenever one lunged from the quicksand. They disintegrated into dark magic, proving nothing about Arbiter's Grounds was natural. Eragon and Murtagh were Dragon Riders and Saphira's form enhanced with a she-dragon's strength. With running leaps they hopped across the quicksand to safe patches of floor. The wider were covered by the Clawshot. Saphira clung to Eragon's back as she did in the Water Temple. Midna, who could safely hover above the quicksand, was responsible for handing the Clawshot back to Murtagh.

Eventually they made it across the chamber to more solid flooring and a locked gate bearing the crest of the Royal Family.

Eragon snorted. He had no time for Zant's puzzles. "Is it warded?"

Midna shook her head. Saphira told everyone to stand clear so she could simply transform and plow right through. Eragon inched to the edge of the platform. Something erupted from the sand to snatch his boot.

He ripped himself free and whirled around. He thought it another Moldorm. Instead he looked down upon a rotted figure laboriously pulling itself free from the quicksand. It succeeded in wrenching out its other hand. With a terrible shriek it dragged itself forward, raising its spear.

Zar'roc slashed down and the abomination evaporated into dark magic.

"Are you alright?" his brother demanded, shaking his shoulder to snap him out of his daze.

Eragon swallowed thickly and nodded. The corpse had been far too fresh to be a Gerudo. Perhaps it had been a looter lured in by the promise of treasure.

Saphira's true form took up most of the platform. She glanced suspiciously back the quicksand to ensure there would be no more unexpected surprises before charging forward. The gate crumbled beneath her bulk.

The small chamber ahead was devoid of both monsters and quicksand. Eragon paused to examine the first true door in Arbiter's Grounds. Hyrulean soldiers had engraved the Royal Family insignia everywhere but had not obscured the prison's Gerudo origins. The graceful symbol carved into the door was not unlike anything Eragon had ever seen before. It had been made by the hands of a culture nearly eradicated from the earth.

Saphira moved to stand by his side in Hylian form. "Are you ready, little one?"

Eragon squared his shoulders and hauled the door open. From the darkness surged forth a small army of yellowed skeletons. In the torchlight their rusted scimitars glinted. They honed in upon him. Midna shrieked and slipped back into his shadow before she was overwhelmed. Murtagh and Saphira, swords slashing, were but obstacles in the way.

His arms ached by the time the last skeleton disintegrated. The horde had varied in size but this one had been far too small to be anything but a child.

Something in the darkness watched him. He felt their hatred almost sinking his skin. Almost hear the whispers calling for him to leave, to suffer, to die...

Murtagh's brow furrowed as he considered the foreboding blackness ahead. "Were they..."

"Yes," Eragon ground out. Master Sword gleaming in the gloom, he advanced.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Requiem of Spirit Remix - sasukeshika

The chamber beyond the swarm of restless Gerudo was a grand hall lined with quicksand. Its only four torches guttered with ethereal blue flames.

As they entered four disembodied lanterns swooped out of the shadows to snatch up the flames. Their torches died without even a wisp of smoke and a gate on the opposite end of the hall slammed shut. For a moment the lanterns circled them mockingly before splitting up. Three vanished their solid wall. The fourth hovered mere feet from him.

"Brace yourselves," Midna warned from his shadow.

Darkness momentarily overtook Eragon as she shifted him into a dragon. His vision returned sharper than ever. His enhanced senses revealed the lantern-bearer to be dressed in ghostly white robes pinned with a human skull. Beneath its black hood peered a rotting face and empty eye sockets. At the sight of his changed form it shrieked, its lantern blazing as it prepared to strike.

Eragon bombarded it with dragon-fire. The earthly flames passed harmlessly through spectral flash. Growling, he reached deeper within himself, and summoned the light that had proven so effective in the Twilight.

With a long, drawn-out wail the spirit dissolved beneath its radiance, leaving only a white robe behind to limply fall to the floor. The lantern shattered upon the stone. Its stolen flame rose from the glass and floated back to its brazier.

Murtagh eyed him and the white robe. "Did you just kill a ghost?"

"It was a Poe soul," Midna explained. "They are bound to physical objects like the lanterns they often carry. Destroying the object destroys the Poe's link to this plane." She cackled. "Although it probably didn't expect a light-breathing dragon."

Saphira squinted at the unlit torches and the gate beyond. "It's warded, isn't it? And there's probably another door beyond it that needs a giant key to unlock."

"Sadly, yes."

Now a veteran to the process Eragon didn't even bother questioning it. He leaned forward to sniff curiously at the robe. Not only did it smell of death but a sharp, bitter tang from the lantern it carried. Raising his nose he found he could scent three other Poe trails. Saphira also transformed to memorize the scent.

Well, at least we can track them. She sniffed thoughtfully at the diverging scent trails. We could separate. I was blessed by a Light Spirit so my flames should be strong enough to kill them too. Her reluctant tone revealed what the thought of the idea, but it was a suggestion that had to be voiced.

Midna emerged from his shadow to wave incredulously at their surroundings. "Do you really want to split up here? If I was a vengeful ghost I'd have everyone gang up on the weaker group and kill them first. And, no offense, but your lizard-boy is already a walking target to the Gerudo."

Then we stay together. Eragon turned to face his brother. He expected Murtagh to argue the time-saving option. To his surprise the other Rider only nodded in silent assent.

Most rooms in Arbiter's Grounds could scarcely fit a dragon, much less allow one to comfortably move around. Saphira or Eragon only transformed to ensure they were still on a Poe's trail. The prison teemed with monsters. Hungry rats and flying skulls were minor annoyances. The desiccated corpses with rusted blades and paralyzing shrieks were not so harmless.

Worse yet were the skeletal warriors Midna called Stalfos. In life they must have been ordinary soldiers. In death they were vicious enemies with the intelligence to defend themselves. The back slicer and helm splitter proved priceless. Eragon and Saphira practiced them upon every Stalfos. Murtagh quickly mastered them himself. Whilst most monsters disintegrated the most tenacious Stalfos collapsed into bones to regenerate again. Only bombs or dragon-fire were enough to permanently destroy them.

The second Poe had hidden in a chamber of similar blue lanterns. The chamber had conveniently been large enough for a dragon to easily track it down and dispose of it.

The third Poe had slipped into a hidden chamber of a passageway crawling with undead. The hall had been too narrow for a dragon to effectively fight but more than enough for three human warriors.

One chamber, except for the sound of squeaking, was mysteriously bereft of enemies. Eragon's chain-mail prevented him from feeling the spectral claws but their weight still dragged him down. A spin attack with the Master Sword freed him of his burden. Keen dragon senses and cleansing flame eradicated the rest of the ghost rats.

After the first wave of Gerudo no other enemies made him pause. All Eragon longed was to purge Arbiter's Grounds of darkness so that its spirits might listen to him. However, he stopped to stare up at the golden statue that dominated a chamber, for it was no monster.

The golden woman was many times a normal human's size, adorned with a strange conical crown. Despite the serpent coiled around her body she sat with her legs serenely crossed. From her upturned palms bloomed twin jets of fire.

Murtagh blinked up at it. "This was a holy place to the Gerudo, aye? Is this their goddess?"

"Din," Eragon intoned tonelessly. "Or at least an incarnation of her."

The reminder Arbiter's Grounds had once been a sacred sanctuary made his blood boil. The final Poe depended upon illusions to save itself. He reveled in burning them all one by one. His frustration only increased with the revelation the warded gate did not lead to the end of the prison, but yet more chambers filled with death and defilement. He surged ahead of his companions so that he might cut his way through the hordes first.

At the sound of quaking pottery he whirled around with the Master Sword brandished. Eragon quickly sheathed it when he recognized the poor bulbous white head trapped inside the pot. He bent down to tug her free.

Murtagh tensed at the sight of what could best be described as a golden chicken with a white, humanoid face. Only Saphira sharply tugging at his tunic stayed his hand.

"Phew!" Ooccoo sighed. "It sure was dusty in there!" She blinked and then smiled up at them. "Gracious, you're the nice folks who helped me out the other day. How nice to see you again! And who's this young fellow with you?"

A bemused Murtagh was introduced to Ooccoo and her young son, Ooccoo Jr. When she warmly offered to transport them back to the outside he joined the others in politely declining the offer and bidding them farewell. He blinked in bewilderment when the pair then vanished into thin air.

"You've dealt with them before?"

"Several times, now." Saphira smiled. "Ooccoo likes getting stuck in pots."

"How did they even make it past all the monsters?"

Midna sighed from Eragon's shadow. "There's many things I've learned not to question about this realm. That is one of them."

Murtagh opened his mouth, decided to take her advice, and closed it.

The lightheartedness Ooccoo brought with her lingered on even after her departure. Having grown accustomed to the horrors of Arbiter's Grounds, Eragon and Saphira started to share their earlier adventures with Murtagh in more detail. They fell into a similar routine of carefully checking each chamber for rupees and other small treasures. In some ways it was life hadn't changed at all since Midna's near death experience and Zelda's sacrifice.

Any lingering goodwill withered and died as they stepped into a dark chamber reeking of death and the door slammed shut behind them. Mist hung heavy in the air. The humans drew their blades but nothing lunged out to meet them. The only other thing in the room with them was an obsidian sword taller than Eragon plunged straight into the stone floor. It was tethered by many tattered ropes from which molded papers hung.

Eragon tried taking a cautious step forward, but Midna erupted from his shadow to grab his feet. "Don't touch it!"

"What is it?" Murtagh demanded.

"The little papers are ofuda, or whatever Hyrule's equivalent is." Midna rolled her eyes at their confusion. "They're little talismans you write little holy words onto, like the name of a god or consecrated temple. Generally they ward away evil. In this case they're sealing one in."

"Why didn't they just kill it?" Saphira asked.

"Maybe because they couldn't?" Midna snapped. "Why risk your protections wearing off and that thing getting loose again when you could have just killed it in the first place? When you can't kill something you lock it away and pray it never gets loose." She shivered, falling back into Eragon's shadow. "And it's been feeding on the misery in this place for a hundred years!"

A hundred years sealed away with a massacred race. A hundred years spent drawing strength from them like a parasite. A hundred years without a hero strong enough to kill it.

Saphira's mind trembled at his plans. Are you sure of this, little one? His determination was all the answer needed.

The chamber was massive. Saphira stepped away from them and transformed. She spread her legs and braced herself, a barrier between Murtagh and whatever was about to happen.

Midna's shriek of protest fell on deaf ears. Eragon rushed forward to slice at a single rope, flipping back as the rest of the talismans burst into flame. Runes on the blade glowed blood red. Black smoke gushed forth as a disembodied hand heaved it from the ground-

And shrieked as Saphira showered it with dragon-fire. Something visible to human eyes burst forth from the inferno, black robes burning as it swooped down.

Eragon lunged up to meet it and plunged the Master Sword straight through where its heart should have been.

The demon dropped its sword with a terrible roar. Its weapon disintegrated as dark magic normally did. The demon, itself, however dissolved into a swarm of locusts. Eragon could only watch as the pestilence incarnate frantically buzzed up to a hole in the ceiling... to be burned alive by a plume of blue fire.

With the demon died the chamber's darkness and its infernal mist. Eragon inhaled deeply. It was not just wishful thinking that breathing was a little bit easier.

Every location they had explored thus far seemed to have had its own unique treasure to offer. Arbiter's Grounds proved itself no exception to the pattern. Just beyond the demon's chamber Eragon opened a chest and pulled out what he could only call a Spinner. It resembled a giant version of a child's plaything, large enough to support a single rider. It could skip across quicksand and cling to the ridges built into the walls, a track they had at first thought only an odd decoration.

To a group of their size, strength, and agility, it seemed a gift of extremely limited use. Eragon insisted on holding onto the Spinner anyway for Midna's magic allowed them to hold a seemingly infinite number of items.

His hunch was soon proven right. Great gears had been constructed right into the walls themselves, doorways and passages only the Spinner could unlock. It allowed them access to the big key and even the great door it unlocked.

Such mechanisms had no practical place in a prison or execution grounds and they were far too ancient to be Zant's doing. The puzzles must have been constructed by the Gerudo themselves. Eragon wondered what their ultimate purpose had been, especially as they had once hailed this place as sacred ground.

Invisible eyes still watched him from every corner. He fancied the whispers just beyond his range of hearing were less hateful, more attentive, more open to consideration.

Eragon could not call upon the Gerudo, not yet. Oppressive darkness still hung heavy in the air. There was one last evil to slay.

He handed Midna the big key, watched the lock unravel itself, and strode in to face it.

Only sand and the dead remnants of a massive dragon awaited them.

Saphira gasped. "How..."

Eragon put a hand on her shoulder, at a loss for words. The dragon had not died easily. Rotted shafts still speared its skull. Its flesh had long rotted away to leave only yellowed bone behind. Brown lichen sprouted from beneath its skull and crept down its neck onto its upper ribs. Even it looked dead, having long since eaten through its only source of nourishment.

They both unsheathed their swords as a familiar figure suddenly manifested atop the colossus.

"You still live," Zant remarked dully, a black blade in his hand. "How astonishing. No wonder some call you "hero"... and that boy behind you must be Galbatorix's rebellious little servant. But this is truly a bittersweet meeting... for I fear this shall be the last time I see you all alive!"

They lunged forward, but Zant did not raise his blade. He rammed his sword into the dragon's skull, veins of red magic surging across its surface, and vanished as if he had never been.

Eragon's eyes widened. He seized Murtagh with one hand and Saphira with the other, hauling them back to solid ground just as the sand before their feet turned to insidious quicksand. Unholy fire erupted in the beast's eye sockets. With an earthshaking roar it lifted its upper body, an army of desiccated corpses in rusted Hylian armor rising with it.

"Midna!" he cried.

He was airborne seconds after Saphira was, Murtagh clinging to his back.

The dead dragon swatted ineffectually after them but it remained rooted to the quicksand. Eragon then noted it had no wings to fly after them anyway. Realizing it could not reach them the titan instead spewed dark flames from its maw. Saphira barely swerved to avoid it.

Eragon snarled, summoning his light to pelt the beast with. It roared, limbs flailing after him, but did not disintegrate as all evils before it had. Saphira's fire-breath proved equally ineffective. They dodged the beast's blows and its flames but could do nothing to wound it. It had been a waiting game. The dead, unlike the living, did not feel fatigue.

"Eragon!" Murtagh roared. "The sword!"

Eragon glanced at the titan's head to see Zant's sword remained among the spear shafts.

The dead dragon was many times their size, but it lumbered to turn itself around in its quicksand prison. Eragon swooped to the beast's unguarded rear as Saphira distracted it. With a roar he folded his wings and dove, claws clinging to the ribs. Brittle bone snapped beneath him as the beast toppled forward, spine severed.

Eragon unfurled his wings and watched from the air as the dead dragon collapsed, light leaving its eyes. Not only did the beast sink into the sand, but the sand itself drained from the chamber, leaving only the skull and solid stone floor behind.

The dragons cautiously landed beside it. Murtagh, however, leaped from his brother's back. He fiercely slashed Zar'roc at the blade still embedded in the beast's head.

The skull shrieked, flinging Murtagh off as it rose into the air on its own power. The lichen squirmed like it was alive and the skull merely its shell. The dragons snarled, snapping their wings open to fly after it just as the skull exploded into dark magic. Zant's blade landed at Eragon's paws, evaporating itself until only a Heart Container remained.

Eragon and Saphira returned to human form. Eragon helped his brother to his feet and guided him over the Heart Container. Its ambient magic flowed into all three of them, healing their wounds and replenishing their stamina.

"Is it over?" Murtagh wondered.

Eragon inhaled shakily and shook his head. "The Gerudo are still here. I can feel them."

There was no more corruption in Arbiter's Grounds to sway their souls. Their only emotions left were their own.

Eragon looked down to his shadow. "Please, Midna. I need to try."

The Twili heaved a long-suffering sigh but the Ocarina of Time's weight manifested in his hands all the same. Feeling the eyes of an invisible audience boring down upon him, Eragon thought long and hard before finally raising it to his lips.

He did not play the Song of Healing, for it was not his place to asks these souls to abandon their burdens, and they would have resisted his Song of Storms until washed away themselves. His Nocturne of Shadow could offer them nothing new after a century of unimaginable suffering and despair.

The Requiem of Spirit's notes resonated the regret of a hero come a century too late and his sincere wish to see their spirits liberated. Most of all, his melody rang with hope, the solemn vow their race had not ended within these walls and that he would do all in his power to see them restored to their rightful place in Hyrule.

His song was not the one their souls ached for but it was a promise their deliverance would one day be at hand.

A phantom wind tickled at his hair. "We'll hold you to it, Hero," it whispered. And then it blew away from a fine layer of sand from a previously unnoticed gear in the center of the room.

Eragon bowed his head in acknowledgement. Then he called upon the Spinner to open the way to the Mirror Chamber.

At last, the path was open.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: The Sages' Theme - The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

The passage revealed by the Spinner led out to the open. Night had fallen and they ascended an outside stairway with only the moon and stars to light their way. The night wind blew cold and crisp. After the dankness of Arbiter's Grounds they savored the fresh air, no matter how its chill burned their lungs.

The large chamber atop Arbiter's Grounds was open to the elements, its six spires scraping the skies. Another golden statue of Din dominated the area, a serpent coiled around her form and a live flame cupped in her hands. More worrying were the massive chains tethered to the spires, for they vanished beneath the sand that covered most of the chamber's stone floor.

"If those chains are sealing yet another monster in I swear to gods I'll-"

Saphira's rant broke off into a furious bellow as the nighttime sky split open to spew five shadow beasts into the chamber. After the day's ordeal to slaughter them all.

Sheathing the Master Sword, Eragon studied the statue more closely. He narrowed his eyes as he spied a now familiar line of grooves etched into the serpent's coils. For a final time he called for Midna to bring out the cumbersome Spinner, riding it a final time to trigger the mechanism set into the top of Din's crown.

The entire chamber shuddered as the six spires laboriously climbed even higher into the air. As they rose the chains bound to them tightened, hauling up a massive black stone while Din's statue sank into the floor. Eragon gawked at the stone for several moments, impressed the ancient technology still functioned at least over a century since its construction. Only once the statue had fully vanished did they realized a smaller platform had risen on the opposite end of the chamber.

The platform supported a large, circular stone frame etched in arcane symbols. It held only the single quarter of a fractured black mirror.

Midna floated over to gape silently at the Mirror of Twilight's shattered remnants. Eragon took a cautious step forward before Murtagh grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head firmly.

Midna's look of horrified disbelief morphed into a furious snarl. Shadows and amorphous orange tentacles writhed around her, exploding outward in all darkness when she screamed. Eragon braced himself, but Midna's magic washed over him harmlessly, leaving only a murderous rage and grief in its wake. Those feelings were not necessarily Midna's.

Her anger spent, Midna collapsed before the Mirror of Twilight.

Eragon tried to approach her, but stopped as his brother's mind touched his own. He glanced at his brother, who stared stonily back.

Where do we go from here?

Cold terror gripped his heart. I...

A chill ran over him when his instincts screamed they were being watched. Saphira growled softly as they craned their heads upward.

Five shimmering white spirits hovered above the chamber's spires, save for the one whose golden sigil was shattered. At first Eragon thought them all old men in absurd turbans and billowing white robes who bore the same designs the spires' crests bore. Then he realized their five identical bearded faces were masks that floated independently of their heads. Their white hands were not attached to arms.

"A dark entity lurks in the twilight... It houses an evil power... You who are guided by fate... You who possess the crest of the Goddesses... Hear us."

The genderless voice had no one speaker, for it seemed to originate from all five of them.

"At the command of the Goddesses, we sages have guarded the Mirror of Twilight since ancient times. You seek it... but the Mirror of Twilight has been fragmented by mighty magic. That magic is a dark power only he possesses. His name is... Ganondorf."

Eragon shuddered with a dread not his own. His head spun with foreign memories before the sages thrust him into their own vision.

"He was king of a band of thieves who invaded Hyrule in hopes of establishing domain over the Sacred Realm."

Hyrule Field burned. Despite the inferno raging behind him, the rider did not spur his horse away from the flames, but forced it to rear up and paw at the smoke. Beneath the armor the horse was blacker than shadow and its eyes burned bright red.

Even in the gloom, the rider was obviously not human. His skin was dark green and his hair and beard fiery red. His black armor was trimmed in gold. He wore no crown, only a golden chain around his forehead that seemed braided into his hair.

"He was known as a demon thief, a wielder of evil magic renowned for his ruthless... But he was blind."

The vision shifted. Eragon scarcely recognized the Mirror Chamber, for here its floor was not covered in sand and its walls not scoured by the desert wind. The great black monolith did not float in the air but stood firmly upon the ground. Shackled to it was Ganondorf, head bowed in defeat. Six ethereal sages floated before him, an intact Mirror of Twilight at their backs.

"In all his fury and arrogance, he was blind to any danger, and thus was he exposed, subdued, and brought to justice."

Ganondorf raised his heart to smirk at the sage that stood before its brethren. Mask-like face twisted in hatred, the sage summoned an ethereal white blade. For a moment, it floated before the sages, and then it flew forward to plunge into the Gerudo king's torso. Eragon could not bring himself to look away, though he cringed at the sickening impact of the sword tearing through flesh until it struck the stone behind him.

Ganondorf grunted, blood burbling from both his mouth and his mortal wound. An eternity later, the last of the light left his golden eyes and he slumped lifelessly over as his last struggles finally ceased. A solemn silence descended over the chamber.

"Yet..."

Beneath the black leather glove on Ganondorf's right hand, a Triforce flared with a bright red light. That same hand curled into a defiant fist as life returned to its owner's body. With a terrible, gloating laugh, the Gerudo stood to his full height and then strained against his chains.

The six sages only watched in bewildered disbelief when Ganondorf's Triforce flashed even brighter before he tore his right arm free.

"By some divine prank he, too, had been blessed with the chosen power of the gods."

With a roar, Ganondorf ripped himself free of his last shackle and surged forward. He plowed his naked right first through the sage that should have been his executioner. The sage's ethereal body disintegrated at his touch.

The other sages cowered back. Eyes glazed over with a beast's blood lust, Ganondorf pulled the sage's sword from his own body, uncaring of the glowing wound it left behind. He bared his inhumanly sharp canines in a smirk.

One sage glanced back to the shimmering mirror behind it. Silent understanding rippled through the ranks. As one the five survivors raised their hands.

The Mirror of Twilight glowed as arcane symbols blossomed forth from its surface. The mirror's pattern etched itself into the black monolith behind Ganondorf and opened a glowing portal. At first, Ganondorf stood firm against its pull, even as the sage's sword went flying out of his hands. Eventually, the force became too much for even him to resist. His body evaporated into familiar dark particles and was sucked into too.

Only then did the Mirror of Twilight's magic die down. Moaning sadly among themselves, the five sages bent over a white mask, all that remained of their sixth member, and mourned.

As reality flowed back Eragon again glanced up at the shattered sigil that reminded him of water droplets. It matched the pattern that had been on the robes of the fallen sage. The five survivors were hunched over, clutching at their faces in grief.

"His abiding hatred and lust for power turned to purest malice... Perhaps that evil power has been passed onto Zant..."

Midna, perched in the Mirror of Twilight's near-empty frame, scoffed. "You're just now figuring out how Zant got his power? It's far too late."

"When your ancestors were banished, the Goddesses left behind a single link between the worlds. In this realm, the Mirror of Twilight was entrusted to the Gerudo, the dutiful daughters of Din."

Midna barked a laugh. "Dutiful daughters, huh? Look what happened to them!"

The sages bowed their heads. "The Goddesses intended their sages to be living links between the mortal plane and the Sacred Realm. Yet, with the races so fractured in the wake of Ganondorf's betrayal, we could not incarnate properly. In this form we have no earthly authority save to pass judgement upon those who so gravely trespassed upon the Sacred Realm."

"All races are the Goddess' creations and bound together all the same. Ganondorf turned his people against the others by betraying them. The Temple of Twilight was once one of their most sacred sites, but he corrupted its guardian until it turned against the priestesses and they had no choice but to seal him away in eternal slumber. Ganondorf blamed the Hylians for the corruption and used it as an excuse for retaliation. Here is where we judged Ganondorf's crimes, for the gravest he committed were against his own subjects."

One sage gestured to the symbol upon its robes, that of two orbs of energy locked in an eternal dance. It voice sounded almost distinct from the throng as it continued. "In another life, I would have been incarnated among the Gerudo, but Ganondorf put an end to that. We could not stop the King of Hyrule from exacting further vengeance. So terrible were the sins committed here the seal upon the guardian broke. He rampaged until slain. His bones rested until they again became twisted into the Stallord." The sage spread its arms. "Yet this does not change the Temple of Twilight's purpose. Although the Gerudo and their desert are at the edge of Hyrule, they are a part of it all the same, just as those who turn their backs against the Goddesses are still their children. The Mirror of Twilight was never meant to be destroyed or sealed away forever, only watched over in secret with the hope two disparate worlds could one day be peacefully reunited again."

Its voice vanished back into the multitude as the spirits continued, "It was not the place of the Light Realm to condemn the Twilight for the crimes of their ancestors. Only the true leader of the Twili could determine if their people returned in peace or in war, if they returned at all. Only such a leader can utterly destroy the Mirror and sever the bridge forever... so Zant could merely break it into pieces. Even now those pieces are hidden across Hyrule, for not even Zant could drag them from this realm."

Heart fluttering with newfound hope, Eragon and the others rapturously listened to the instructions given to them, for the sages did no more than wave in vague directions.

"One is in snowy mountain heights... One is in an ancient grove... And one is in the heavens... You who holds Farore's power, you are capable of uniting the pieces... But be forewarned, for a dangerous power taints those fragments."

Midna exchanged a glance with Eragon and Saphira. They returned her resolute nod. Together they had conquered far worse. When Eragon glanced up to further question the sages he was not surprised to find them gone. Cryptic responses simply seemed ingrained into the fiber of every spirit's being.

"Is that it?" Murtagh growled. "We waste weeks chasing even more rumors across this damned land?"

Saphira tossed her head dismissively. "The sages warned us the fragments were corrupted, yes? The Fused Shadows wrecked obvious carnage on the areas they were hidden in. We just need to follow more reports of temples and dungeons crawling with supernatural monsters."

Midna smirked. "And I know just the group to pester. Who's up for spending the night in Castle Town?"

Only then did Eragon remember hordes of restless spirits still lurked beneath their feet. He was about to agree before remembering it would take even a dragon far too long to cross the desert again.

He frowned suspiciously. "Didn't you say Murtagh couldn't survive the warp? He's not protected like Saphira and I am."

Midna shrugged. "You've got wings, don't you?"

Realization dawned on Eragon. He thus did not protest being transformed by Midna or saddled. Saphira settled into saddle. Murtagh grumbled swears in Alagaesian as he was protectively situated beneath the green dragon's furled wing but protested no further.

They arrived in front of Castle Town's gates a few stomach-churning moments later. Cleaning Murtagh's vomits from his scales was a small price to pay for a hot bath and a warm bed.

Late as the hour was, Telma took one look at their haggard faces and one whiff of their corpse-stinking clothes before hurrying them upstairs. She did not question Murtagh's presence as she brought up enough food to feed two Riders, a dragon in human skin, and the Twili hidden in their shadows.

Eragon had waded through Castle Town's stinking sewers during his first hellish hours as a dragon. Now he praised the small miracle of a plumbing system that did not require him to exert further energy to magically fill a tub or heat up its water.

Clean and dressed only in a fresh pair of breeches, he collapsed upon the closest available bed.

He should have been too exhausted to dream, but Ganondorf's booming laugh and hordes of screaming Gerudo haunted him all the same.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Snowpeak Ruins - The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

"Here?" Midna exclaimed incredulously.

Caught up in Saphira's passion for the race, it took Eragon a moment to realize they were speeding toward a great stone manor built on the very edge of the mountain. He had expected a modest hut or village of beast-men at the very most.

Saphira touched down on the manor's great stone walkway mere seconds before the beast-man. They both panted from their exertions.

"Uh!" the beast-man exclaimed. "Good race, dragon, but more equal if humans slide next time."

Saphira transformed into Hylian shape as soon as her passengers dismounted. The beast-man startled slightly at the surprise, but she crossed her arms indignantly. "It's not an equal race if you speed ahead before I even take off. Next time I'll slide and we set off at the same time."

The beast-man blinked and cocked his head. "Never seen shape-changing dragon before, but I hold you to it." His face fell. "Wife... not healthy since finding mirror. So I make soup for her. Fish from Zora village most nutritious. Come. I introduce you."

Eragon heaved an internal sigh of relief. The beast-man did not sound like his wife had been twisted into a violent monster from the mirror shard like the Fused Shadow had corrupted Darbus. He hopefully would not have to risk killing her.

The beast-man needed to use his fingers to turn the knob on the front door and had to duck to enter his own house. It did not take Eragon long to realize the manor had been constructed by human hands. The hall was still elaborately decorated but its grand staircase and furniture dilapidated. Snow and ice clung to the walls. The wind whistled through patches in the walls and ceiling.

"What a lovely home," Saphira said with an edge to her voice. She was not the only one that wondered what had happened to the manor's previous occupants. "Did you build it?"

The beast-man chuckled. "Work too delicate for Yeti hands, dragon lady. House abandoned by humans years and years ago. Now nice home for me and Yeta."

He opened another door, ushering them into a room smaller and more well-kept than the main hall. A fire roared merrily in the hearth. Aside from crooked paintings upon the walls the room was mostly empty of furniture, except for the mound of pillows by the fireplace. They supported another Yeti, smaller than their host and with more delicate features. At Eragon thought she didn't have any arms. Then he realized she was bundled in a thick woolen blanket.

"Yeto..." Yeta trailed off uncertainly at the sight of three strangers. "Who...?"

"Human guests, Yeta," Yeto said brightly, giving Eragon a friendly slap on the back. Eragon's knees shuddered at the force but did not buckle. "They here about mirror."

His wife opened his mouth to say something but only a series of coughs came out. "Sorry... I have sickness, uh... Come closer, uh?"

"Have good talk, uh?" Yeto forced a smile. "Got good fish. Will make soup for everyone."

He squeezed his way through another doorway as his human guests cautiously approached Yeta. They remained a safe distance away, avoiding a possible contagion and hopefully not overwhelming her with their presence.

"You cute little humans. You want to look at mirror, uh? My husband found it, but it pretty thing." A wistful smile passed her face before she broke into another coughing fit. "But... since I get mirror, I get sick, and then bad monsters appear right in own home... So many bad things happen since mirror... So we lock bedroom on third floor where it hangs, uh? Find key and bring mirror to me, uh?"

Eragon's instincts prickled uneasily at the thought of exposing Yeta to a mirror shard in such a vulnerable state. His concern only increased when Yeta struggled to remember where the key was kept.

She didn't sound sure about her directions, Murtagh answered mentally, all too aware of their hosts. We should just break the lock and grab the shard.

They found Yeto in the next room, a kitchen with wooden barrels stuffed full with fresh supplies. The Yeti himself was hunched over a wooden table, chopping ingredients with a massive cleaver. Water already boiled in a massive stone cauldron. He looked anxiously up at them and asked how his wife was doing.

"She seems... confused," Eragon said at last. "Like she couldn't really remember where the key was kept."

Yeto sighed. "Fever messing with my wife's mind. Not really sure where key is either, uh. Too worried about Yeta to think straight."

"With your permission, we could just ahead and break the lock," Murtagh suggested. "Your wife is too sick for us to waste time running around."

The Yeti shook his head firmly. "Mirror too dangerous for little lock. So I find big kind with big magic. Needs right key to open or won't open at all. Try where Yeta says. She might be right."

They left the kitchen behind only after investigating a shaking pot and finding Ooccoo again trapped within it. She thanked them for freeing her and asked if they wanted to escape the monster too, warping away with her son the second they politely declined their offer. Yeto morosely explained he had been saving the strange talking chicken for dinner another night.

Yeta's directions led them deep into a crumbling mansion teeming with malevolent ice monsters. Ice Keese and the flying skulls Midna called Bubbles were minor annoyances. The courtyards swarmed with Wolfos. Chilfos were ice golems with great frozen spears they summoned from thin air. Smaller ice monsters shaped like jagged pine cones skidded around icy floors, locking onto targets with one bright red eye and freezing everything they touched. Even larger monsters were rooted into place but were shaped like rudimentary dragons and breathed ice.

Eragon and Saphira melted everything they could with dragon-fire. Swords and brute strength shattered those enemies in tighter quarters.

Murtagh found himself paying closer attention to his brother. In Arbiter's Grounds he had been far more concerned about malevolent spirits and hordes of undead that clawed up from the ground beneath his feet. The manor's dangers paled in comparison, allowing him to pay better attention to the changes Eragon's quest had wrought upon him.

He had first thought Eragon's attachment to the worn green tunic and sock-like hat absurd. Even Midna and Saphira teased him for it on occasion. And yet now he realized how right his brother looked in it, for he was the one man alive suited for such attire. Perhaps it was just because Eragon looked more confident in his own skin. Murtagh also suspected his brother had also grown in height since the Burning Plains. Rigorous training and fighting had also increased his musculature.

Murtagh's eye was most caught to the changes in his fighting style. The Master Sword was only slightly shorter than Zar'roc but Eragon wielded both it and his shield when fighting. Murtagh remembered Eragon primarily wielding his weapons in his right hand. He held the Master Sword only in his left.

Eragon looked faintly surprised when Murtagh pointed this out to them, as if he had not fully realized how his preferences had changed. "Brom trained me to be ambidextrous in case something happened to my right arm in battle. He was surprised at how quickly I took to being left-handed." He frowned down at the Master Sword in his hand thoughtfully. "Looking back, I almost always favored my left hand as a small child. I think I can just remember Uncle Garrow training it out of me. He used to mutter I was already odd enough for Carvahall."

"Stupid light-dwellers and their stupid superstitions," Midna sneered. For once Murtagh wholeheartedly agreed with her. "You weren't learning how to be left-handed, but remembering what came most natural to you."

Yeta's first directions led them to a chest containing only a pumpkin. They gave it to Yeto to further flavor his soup, hopefully repaying him for liberating Ooccoo, and again pressed him and his wife on where the key was. They set off again with new directions in mind.

Murtagh's frustration was partially alleviated by their exploration of the manor. Even in its ruined state its opulence was still clearly apparent. So too were its military capabilities.

During his brief stay in Kakariko Village Murtagh had paid keen attention to Barnes and his bombs. The man obsessively doused every flame he spotted in and around his shop. One spark was enough to ignite gunpowder and cause a devastating explosion. Barnes primarily manufactured bombs for mining, such as for opening new shafts or clearing away rubble, but it was obvious such explosive material made effective weapons.

In one of the manor's courtyards was a long iron tube Midna had called a cannon. Loading a cannonball into such a weapon and igniting it with a bomb hurtled the projectile at forces strong enough to blow holes through ice monsters and leave craters behind in the thick stone walls. Galbatorix and the Varden would both kill to get their hands on such technology.

Murtagh's interest piqued as they entered an armory. Behind two great iron bars stood racks of weapons, suits of armor, barrels of gunpowder, and many more cannons in far better conditions than the one left to rust outside. He stepped forward, peering between the bars for a closer look.

He unsheathed Zar'roc at the sound of both doors in the armory locking down. When the great suit of armor at the back of the room started moving on its own accord he was already charging.

The creature in the armor was far too large to be human. Its helm covered a wide snout and a small tail clad in leather armor protruded from its backside. Above its head it swung a massive iron ball on a heavy chain. With a grunt it lashed out.

Murtagh and Saphira dodged in time, leaping to opposite sides of the narrow corridor. Eragon did not. The flail slammed him into the wall with a sickening crunch. The impact buckled the iron bars.

Murtagh's heart lurched. Eragon was armored only in a thin shirt of chain-mail and the shield upon his arm that had taken the brunt of the impact. He and Saphira had no armor save the clothes on their backs.

With a roar he dropped Zar'roc and seized the chain before the creature could reel it back in. The creature tugged back. Murtagh bared his teeth and dug in with a Rider's strength.

The corridor was too narrow for Saphira to transform. She settled for charging forward and plunging her blade between the thin chain-male protecting the monster's neck.

Gurgling, the creature sank to its knees and fell to the floor, exploding in a wave of dark magic. Only its flail was left behind. Murtagh dropped it and rushed to his brother's side.

"I'm alright," Eragon said with a grimace as he picked himself up. "My Hylian Shield caught most of the blow."

The shield's impressive enchantments had not buckled from the blow. The same could not be said for the arm that had smashed into the iron bars.

"Don't move!" Midna said sharply as she emerged from his brother's shadow. "Healing is easier if you set the bone first."

Eragon growled deeply when Murtagh snapped the bone back into place. He attempted to say the healing spell himself, but Murtagh did it for him.

"Be faster next time," Murtagh told him tersely. "You're the hero here, not me."

An inscrutable expression passed over Eragon's face. Murtagh ignored it in favor of retrieving Zar'roc from the floor. After a moment's consideration he picked up the creature's flail too.

Midna rolled her eyes. "Fine. Why can't I lug around one more object we'll never use past the area we found it in?"

Smashing his way through the manor and its ice monsters was most cathartic, especially when the next chest yielded only Ordonian goat cheese.

The pumpkin and cheese at least infused Yeto's soup with a hearty flavor that seemed to partially revive Yeta. Her eyes looked brighter and more alert, her voice more certain when she next gave them directions to the manor's ruined chapel. They finally discovered the heart-shaped key in the small room behind it.

"I don't like this," Midna grumbled from his shadow. "Why did those Yetis go through all the trouble of storing this key in what used to be holy ground? There hasn't been a priest to consecrate this chapel in decades."

Eragon shrugged. "Temples were used to seal the Fused Shadows before. Maybe Yeto hoped there was enough power here to help protect his wife."

They planned to head directly to the bedroom without disturbing the Yetis and break the mirror shard's hold over Yeta without bringing its corrupting influence too close to her. That hope withered and died when they discovered Yeta waiting for them outside the chapel door, still bundled in her blanket.

"Oh!" Yeta exclaimed. "You safe, uh! I drink husband's soup, feel much better, uh. So I come find you."

Saphira smiled tightly. "Yeta, the mirror is what made you feel sick in the first place. Please let me escort you-"

"No!" Yeta said sharply, eyes flashing red. Then she smiled serenely. "Feeling much better now. Bedroom right above us. I take you there, uh."

The shard's hold over her is too strong, Murtagh mused darkly. We may have to kill her after all.

Maybe not, Eragon countered. The Fused Shadow twisted Darbus into a monster and we still saved him. We should be able to break the shard's hold on Yeta too.

With no choice they followed Yeta's slow, insistent footsteps up the winding walkway to the master bedroom in the center of the manor. The few surviving monsters in the area fled. Eragon nervously fingered the Master Sword's hilt and prayed its power would be another to save one more soul.

Saphira hesitantly inserted the key. The heart-shaped lock unraveled on its own accord, ominously snapping in two.

"Thank you," Yeta said. "You come inside..."

They cautiously followed. Eragon frantically studied the master bedroom. The chamber was massive, with only a four-poster bed and several other pieces of old wooden furniture pressed closely to the walls. There was more than enough room for a dragon to effectively fight.

"Please, this way, uh..."

Yeta led them over to a shattered mirror that hung upon the wall furthest from the door. It shimmered the same obsidian black as the shard in the Mirror Chamber. Entranced, Yeta peered adoringly into its depths.

"Look at it, uh... So pretty... Pretty..." They all reached for their swords as darkness seemed to swallow the room. Yeta spun around, face distorting. She bared jagged fangs, red eyes large and desperate. "NOT TAKE MIRROR!"

Every window in the room shattered. Eragon shut his eyes against falling glass shards and the furious winds and snow that came shrieking inside. He just barely made out Yeta floating into the air, the frozen mist condensing around her until it formed a massive egg-shaped shell.

They frantically skidded on the ice-covered floor to avoid the thousands of pounds frozen malice that came dropping from the air. The walls were frozen solid, trapping them inside a slippery arena.

Only when Yeta's chrysalis no longer hung overhead did Saphira transform. Digging her claws deep into the ice she inhaled and summoned her hottest fire. They couldn't melt the shell quickly enough before it slammed into her. Saphira bellowed in agony, flames spluttering out as Yeta's spinning glacier bounced off an icy wall and rebounded back.

"Midna!" Murtagh roared.

The flail manifested in his hands. He swung out the ball just before Yeta's shell landed another blow, smashing the glacier down a size and forcing it back.

Eragon's first instinct was to call for Midna to transform him too. Then he feared burning Yeta to death beneath too much dragon-fire. Instead he lashed out with the Master Sword, finishing off the small ice monsters that broke away from Yeta's prison whenever Saphira and Murtagh smashed it down to size.

Yeta hissed in outrage when the last of her icy shell was chipped away, eyes still glowing red. She rose into the air again, winter winds coalescing around her-

Eragon leaped into the air. He drove the Master Sword not into Yeta's heart, but into the heart of the bitter cold that threatened to engulf her.

The wind itself howled in agony, the magical outburst blowing both Eragon and Yeta back. He landed nimbly on his feet, the icy floor evaporating before he touched down. Yeta fell limply to the floor.

The ice and snow condensed into a bright magic in the center of the room, finally floating down to the ground as a mirror shard. Midna deftly rose up from his shadow to catch it in the magical hand she formed from her hair.

"Well, now we have two shards. Two more left, Eragon." She glanced sadly back at Yeta's limp form. Saphira resumed human form, kneeling down by her side to confirm she still had a pulse. "Still... I feel bad about the way we treated that girl. To think the Mirror of Twilight has the power to corrupt people like that... I know not if Zant's responsible or if the shard was always capable of it. Let's finishing collecting those shards before more innocents suffer like poor Yeta did."

Midna summoned a warp portal, hovering expectantly above it.

Yeto's horrified cry stopped them all in their tracks. The Yeti stood frozen in the bedroom's doorway, eyes only for his wife. He frantically shoved them all aside to tenderly kneel down beside her.

"Uh..." Yeta groaned. "What... What wrong with me?"

Her husband lifted out one massive hand to gently help her sit up. "Very strange..." he murmured. "You just dreaming, uh."

"Yeto!" She frantically glanced back at the mirror shard's empty frame. "Mirror you gave..."

The other Yeti shook his head. "No. Look into eyes of Yeto... Look in reflection of Yeto's eyes. There true beauty!" He easily lifted Yeta into his arms. "Who need mirror?"

Yeta gazed adoringly up at him. "My love, uh!"

As they leaned into a tender embrace a warm red light enveloped them. A glowing Heart Container finally manifested above their heads to lightly land at Eragon's feet.

"Wow." Midna blinked. "Legend has it emotions can manifest themselves in places with strong ambient magic, but never positive emotions like love. It's always fear or hatred made manifest."

Teary-eyed, Saphira hushed her, but it was obvious the Yeti couple was blissfully lost in their own small world and oblivious to all else. Eragon's heart ached at the sight.

He and Saphira quietly bent down to draw in the Heart Container's strength, for Murtagh shook his head and made it quite clear he wanted no part in love made manifest.

Midna teleported them to just outside the steps of the manor for her magic could carry them no further without relying on the warp portals.

"I'm glad we didn't have to kill her," Murtagh murmured. Eragon nodded quietly.

"Midna," Saphira said slowly, "do you know how long Yetis live?"

The Twili crossed her arms. "I'm no Yeti expert. I didn't even know they existed before today."

Eragon inhaled sharply, suddenly recalling Yeto's offhand comment about not seeing dragons with humans since being very little. And Snowpeak was at the end of the known limits of Hyrule...

"Dragon Riders," he whispered. "You think Yeto might've seen Dragon Riders."

"If Riders ever made it beyond the supposedly endless plains and mountains to the east, not even Galbatorix's records make mention of it," Murtagh muttered. "At least none I was ever allowed to look through." He glared off into the distance where the sun had nearly vanished beyond the mountaintops. "And it's not like we can go home until this evil in the Twilight is killed."

Eragon shivered in dread. He had been all eager to shove Ganondorf's existence from his mind. He didn't know if the Gerudo king persisted in some form in the Twilight or if Zant's dark god was an even more sinister force.

"Come on," he said at last. "Let's get off this mountain before we freeze to death."

The others were all too eager to agree.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Ancient Storm - Adrian von Ziegler

Nasuada had never been particularly religious. Her father's faith (or at least his ability to fake it) had died with her mother. The Varden was an eclectic collection of humans throughout different parts of the Empire and thus with varying gods and traditions. She frequently dwelt with dwarves and relied upon elves who all but spurned the existence of a higher power. It was imperative for the Varden's leader to both keep an open mind and never let on she may have favored one faith (or lack thereof) above all others.

She now found herself praying nightly to Gokukara, praying mantis goddess of the Inapashunna. Nasuada knew little of her mother's birth tribe, but she admired Gokukara, a venerable goddess who defended the righteous from the wrath of greater gods and spoke on their behalf. She was both soothsayer and guardian of the dead.

The Hadarac Desert had been enveloped by the strange darkness, its Wandering Tribes along with it. In this strange age of gods and spiritual stalemates, all Nasuada could do was pray on their behalf and hope the Wandering Tribes were as formidable as they boasted to be. Her Council of Elders considered it no great loss. The Wandering Tribes were but nominally allied to the Varden war effort, helping little beyond the occasional raid on Imperial border towns. Surdans bitterly complained of such raids on their own borders.

Nasuada stared long and hard at the new lines that had been drawn across Alagaesia. She hoped they were not permanent.

While Surda's nominal borders remained marked, much of Alagaesia's southern coast and isles had been shaded cerulean blue, a rough estimate of Sur's influence. Sur's domain could all effectively be called Surda, for Aroughs and the other former Imperial cities relied upon Surdan soldiers and supplies to strengthen them.

Du Weldenvarden was shaded emerald green and the Beor Mountains earthen brown. Nasuada could not say for certain if either was protected by a guardian spirit like Sur, but Arya at least believed one watched over her forest and had left to ensure her mother did not accidentally offend it enough to have it withdraw its protections. Nasuada wished her luck. Simply scrying Islanzadi could be a nightmare.

The Spine was all shaded one color, brilliant red, for the spirit Emunah called Iduneya obviously held Galbatorix's pet at bay. The Spine itself was a patchwork collection of cities that just barely tolerated the elfin forces stationed with them. The rural Urgal tribes were a challenge in themselves. Her alliance with Nar Garzhvog proved invaluable for keeping a dialogue open.

However, those parts of the Empire now seemed permanently apart of it, for Galbatorix's monsters devoured everything that fell under their shadow. The lands of his pet spirit's domain were shaded dull gray. Despite his undead armies' attempts to encroach beyond their spirit's shadow, the bravery and sacrifice of humans, elves, and Urgals alike held their borders firm. All caught under its shadow were feared lost. Nasuada stubbornly refused to think of Murtagh; he had been lost to them a long time ago.

The Hadarac Desert had been shaded sickly orange for even the lands close to its borders now lived beneath the gloom of perpetual twilight.

Halfheartedly Nasuada focused back on the bickering of her fellow commanders. Due to the harsh nature of the Burning Plains their camp had been relocated to Cithri where their armies could be more easily supplied. Although Lady Irune had offered the commanders luxurious accommodations they had all politely turned her down. After all, from Cithri it was a near straight march north to Urubaen. It certainly helped army morale if the soldiers believed their leaders ready to march with them on a moment's notice. Even when it had become clear all progress had frozen solid.

"It is simply a waiting game," Edur, a Surdan general, growled. "All we need to do is withstand the waves until Galbatorix runs out of soldiers to throw at us."

"Galbatorix still has hundreds of thousands living in his lands," Jormundur ground out. "You suggest we let him annihilate his own people, who many of us still have kin among, all while our own forces still take casualties."

"And millions of more humans and elves to unearth," Nar Garzvhog sneered. "My people learned a long time ago to burn our dead."

"If you had warned us a century ago, then perhaps we might have better known the true strength of Galbatorix's power," Edur snapped.

"Your kind always dismissed us as lying savages," the Kull growled. "Of course we sided with the Black King. Once he turned all who opposed him against their own loved ones."

Trianna rolled her eyes, idly playing with the golden snake wrapped around her arm as the pavilion descended into the usual circular arguments. Many leaders, no matter their species, were just as resigned.

"It's almost tempting to join them, isn't it?" Orrin quietly mused beside her.

"Or to just give up, retreat behind our walls, and leave the forsaken to their fates." Nasuada understood their reasoning, much as they hated it. The waves of undead and shadow beasts could theoretically be repelled forever, even if they could penetrate no deeper into Galbatorix's borders. "It is easy for those without kin still caught in Imperial lands to think that way. Everyone you know and love is safe and sound in Surda."

Orrin sighed. "Not too long ago Surda was one with the rest of the Broddring Kingdom, before Galbatorix's tyranny forced my ancestors to fight for their freedom and their very lives. To an elf, a century must be the blink of an eye. Humanity in Alagaesia was all one, once. I still hope to see that day."

Nasuada's lip twitched at the thought of her proud cousins. "Except for the Wandering Tribes."

"Even they still depended upon outsiders for trade and supplies," Orrin argued gently.

"All idle dreams, now," the leader of the Varden sighed. "It was a miracle we could repel both Galbatorix's spirit and his armies. It would be another miracle for the tides to turn."

From outside the pavilion came quiet murmuring. All heads turned as the guards finally allowed their newest guest access. Invidia, one of the twelve elves originally sent to protect Eragon and Saphira, raised a brisk finger to her lips but bothered with no further trivial niceties.

"Forgive my intrusion, but I bring verifiable news of a... rogue dragon."

"A rogue?" Sabrae, one the Council of Elders, raised a brow. "How so?"

"He burns his way through hordes of undead, but is always long gone by the time we attempt to make contact with him. He is actively avoiding elfin armies." Invidia paused. "We have compared memories of human witnesses to those survivors of the Burning Plains. It is beyond a doubt the same red dragon that fought in the battle."

Nasuada inhaled sharply. A red dragon. Murtagh's dragon. Thorn, Eragon had said his name was.

"What of his Rider?" Orrin asked neutrally, his gaze purposefully avoiding her. Not all other commanders in the pavilion were so tactful.

"A man who wields flames as easily as his spear. And always heavily armored. We have no clear visions of his face, only the... colorful language he throws about in battle. Witnesses always likened him to a dragon knight."

"Knights died with the Broddring Kingdom," Edur growled. "But an accurate enough name for a Dragon Rider."

Nasuada frowned. Murtagh had been cold and calculating upon the Burning Plains. Even freed from Galbatorix's servitude he did not seem the type to continuously vent his anger through foul language. During their brief time in Farthen Dur he had also mentioned no proficiency in the spear. Her eyes narrowed when she sensed Invidia holding something back.

"What else, Invidia?"

The elf hesitated. "...Unconfirmed rumors that the knight and dragon are the same being. Human memory is fallible, especially when traumatized by encounters with the undead. We have yet to see a clear memory of such a transformation. The simplest explanation is a human noticed how dragon-like the man's armor appeared and their imagination jumped to a fanciful correlation between the man's appearance and the close proximity of his dragon."

Orrin turned to Solembum. Werecats were independent creatures that answered to no one but themselves, but Angela's companion was the only werecat who had active contact with the Varden, and had thus become the de facto representative for his race. "Is a 'weredragon' a hypothetical possibility? Can your race shift between more than just human and cat?"

Solembum, though he looked like a young boy, smirked with teeth far too sharp be anything mundane. "Werecats are neither human nor cat, King Orrin. It's not our fault people mistaking us for either. We simply are what we are. And we most especially do not steal the shapes of others."

"Perhaps it is a trap meant to lure our last Rider to the border," Edur suggested darkly. "As far as we know Murtagh and his dragon are still bound to Galbatorix."

"And yet they avoid all attempts at contacting the elves sent after them," Jormundur pointed out. "Either way, my lady, I do not recommend approaching such an unknown factor."

"We live in an age of unknown factors," Nasuada said pragmatically. "As long as our mysterious dragon... and dragon knight... help drive back the undead forces from the Spine than... they are allies to our cause. We are already stretched far too thin to waste time and effort chasing after them."

There was no easy way from Cithri to Ellesmera with both the desert and Imperial heartland completely impassable. Many times on her journey Arya wished for Eragon and Saphira at her side, for a dragon could sail across obstacles that exhausted even an elf. But her loyal friends were long gone. Glaedr might have understood her request, but he was the rebellion's last dragon. She could not take him away from the front simply to speed up her own travels.

Arya skirted a fine boundary between stealth and suicide. Encountering even other elves would have slowed her down and an escort would have attracted additional attention. Traveling too close to the coast made her journey inland to Ellesmera even longer. Straying too close to the boundary risked an ambush by Galbatorix's monsters.

Arya rarely rested. She skimmed energy from the ancient trees around her. Small spells eased the strain in her legs or summoned food or water to her side. No mortal horse could have traveled so fast.

Only the smell of smoke and rot on the wind made her pause. Most of her mother's armies were stationed further west to maintain order in the major cities. Those defending the Spine's border towns in its eastern foothills were few and far between. The little village in the valley below was leagues away from the closest squadron. Every villager felled was another soldier for the ranks.

Arya fingered her sword-hilt indecisively. It was a weapon blessed by Emunah herself in Sur's sacred waters. She had no idea how large the horde was or if they had a way of alerting Galbatorix. If she was overwhelmed or the enemy learned she traveled alone...

A dragon's unmistakable roar spurred her onward. She raced the wind down from the foothills into the valley below.

Glaedr's bellow was like thunder, like Shruikan's must have been. This dragon's roar was not so bone-jarring. Arya's heart leaped in excitement.

"Saphira," she whispered.

Of course it must have been Saphira! Leave it to her and Eragon to help every person they stumbled across, no matter how much it bogged them down.

The undead horde hadn't even made it close to the village. They instead shrieked in rage up at the dragon that rained fiery death upon them.

Arya faltered. Saphira's flames were not crimson. The dragon that swooped down upon the horde was smaller and more stockily-built. In the sunlight his scales shimmered ruby-red. She recognized him from the Burning Plains.

The flesh on the horde below had rotted away, leaving them swift and cunning. Those wielding swords and short-range weapons skittered out the way. Others raised pikes and heaved rusted spears. One lucky spear pierced the dragon's lower wing, not only hitting his membrane but the muscles that controlled the entire limb.

Left wing spasming, the dragon screamed in agony and crashed, the skeletons ducking around and behind his flames to swarm him.

Arya surged forward. The skeletons were swifter than normal human soldiers. An elf was even faster. Her blessed blade cut through the ranks as no mere weapon could.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the dragon's form enveloped itself in flame. Arya thought it a clever trick for burning every enemy in close contact. Then the flames shrunk and took on a different shape, slicing through the horde with a vengeance. Surrounded by the undead herself, Arya didn't dwell upon it.

Only after the last warrior crumbled with a shriek into particles of dark magic did Arya reel to face the last thing in the field still standing. Beneath the snarling dragon helm a pale mouth grimaced at the sight of her brandished sword.

"Really?" he groused. His right arm held a scarlet spear he leaned heavily against. He held his left arm at an odd angle. Beneath his dented armor leaked blood red as any mortal's.

"Do you still owe allegiance to Galbatorix?" she prompted.

"No," he grumbled in the ancient language. "Not anymore. Neither does Murtagh."

Arya slowly sheathed her blade. "Is he nearby?"

"That's a long story," grumbled the man armored like one of the long-dead knights. He jerked his head toward his injured arm. "Can you do something?"

"You took a spear through the wing. It would be easier to heal you properly if you could... shift your shape again."

The dragon knight gritted his teeth. His one patch of visible skin looked unhealthily pale. "I ripped the spear out before I shifted. No way in hell am I shifting again like this. My wing corresponds to the shoulder-blade when I'm like this. Just heal that."

Arya glanced back toward the human village. Its villagers had not dared approach the strange battle site that had broken out in their fields, but their curiosity would eventually win out.

She helped the dragon knight to the shelter of a nearby cave, weathering his string of growls and curses. Only then did she help him sit and puzzled over how to heal a being with two bodies.

"Can your armor be removed?" she asked. "It's easier to heal if I can better envision the damage."

The dragon knight bit his bottom lip. "I've only removed the helm so far. I haven't remained in this body long enough to... explore it yet."

Arya rolled her eyes. Of course she had found one of the few beings on earth even more clueless than even Eragon had once been. Murtagh's dragon had hatched less than a year ago. Gods knew how he had acquired this ability. Considering how her life had been going, she would not be surprised if some actual god was responsible. "If you're bleeding then you definitely have a body beneath there."

The dragon knight swore under his breath as she removed his helm and the upper portion of his armor. Under the formidable exterior was one very surly human adolescent in a black cotton shirt. His hair was a mundane auburn and his eyes ruby red. The fabric on his left shoulder was shredded, the flesh beneath horribly mauled.

Arya pictured the delicate muscles knitting themselves back to normal as if the wound had never been. She envisioned a red leather wing healed the same way, so that the knight might have fluid movement in his shoulder and the dragon full control of his wing.

"Waise heil." The spell did not devastate her, but left her far more winded than a spell of this level should have. Perhaps it was because the knight had two forms to heal.

The knight's face twisted into a snarl as his muscles repaired themselves, then softened into a pensive look as he rotated his fully-healed shoulder. Even his torn shirt had repaired itself.

"Not even a scar," he muttered. "Thank you, Arya." He froze, brow furrowing uncertainly. "You are Arya, aye? I believe I recognize you from Murtagh's memories. His past was once the only freedom either of us had to go through."

"Aye." She frowned, unable to recall if Eragon or Saphira had ever mentioned his name.

"Thorn," the dragon knight supplied for her. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Murtagh always told me I was a thorn in his side. Apparently I'm that way with everyone." He rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "Basic common decency demands me repay you somehow for saving my life and my wing, but past experience with slavery tells my sense of obligation to go fuck itself. So, Arya, is there a reasonable way I can pay my debt to you?"

"A ride to Ellesmera and an explanation of what Galbatorix did," she said at once. "And whatever information you have on what happened to Eragon Shadeslayer."

Thorn grimaced as he started pulling on his armor. Even the dented piece had been repaired through Arya's spell. "I'll drop you off at the edge of Du Weldenvarden, because I'm not about to risk getting imprisoned by elves like Murtagh was by the Varden. But I'll tell you the whole fucking story on the way."

Arya wanted to swear to Thorn she could guarantee his freedom, but the final authority was her mother, who had little fondness for deviance from the natural order and even less for anything associated with Galbatorix. She agreed to his terms.

Somewhere north of Cithri, Roran and his fellow fighters stood at the crest of a great hill that looked down upon a copse of trees. The undead did not tire like mortal soldiers, but the steep climb slowed their progress. The living soldiers braced for a storm. But that was alright, for Roran wielded the power of the storm in his very hands.

War hammers were not built like regular craftsman's tools. While one side of the head was conventionally blunt and capable of delivering full-force blows to even heavily armored opponents, the other ended in a wicked spike that could hack through foes. Its long handle allowed Roran to wield it at a safe distance from danger. He could even fight from horseback.

Snowfire was a magnificent stallion that did not falter against even waves of undead. Roran's comrades from the Surdan cavalry speculated the horse had been trained to be a warhorse at some point in his life. However, Roran did not often risk him in open combat. Snowfire was still technically Eragon's, after all, and many of the undead wielded spears and pikes that could prove especially deadly to horses.

As the newest waves crashed upon their defenses, Roran swung his war hammer. Each deadly blow rumbled like thunder as Galbatorix's soldiers crumbled beneath the force of such holy power.

His comrades insisted it was bad luck to let such a legendary weapon go unnamed. They had suggested many impressive-sounding names in the ancient language. Roran had thought them all pretentious. He had tried asking Emunah about the hammer's name just after receiving it. She had replied the weapon's past was irrelevant, that every new bearer before him had rechristened it for a new purpose.

Roran ultimately decided to christen the hammer Storm Surge. He was a common man and so had chosen a name in man's common tongue. Considering Sur's domain and the weapon's devastating power, no other name sounded appropriate.

Not that Roran commonly called upon Storm Surge's full power. Even raising it to the heavens to summon down a lightning-bolt winded his soul like no physical exertion ever had. The magicians had attempted to artificially replenish his energy. Their spells rejuvenated his body but not whatever deep well Storm Surge drew its power from. Only time and rest restored his inner strength.

So far this horde looked ordinary. With careful timing quickly born of practice he and his fellow soldiers would have things taken care of within several hours.

As time wore on, and Roran's arms grew weary, he focused only on the yellowed bones and burning eyes within swinging distance.

He was blind to the greater threat until he heard the soldiers' first dying gasps.

Roran looked up sharply. Among the rusted swords and spear tips shimmered weapons of inhuman beauty. They moved like death, cutting down soldiers and spell-casters alike.

Storm Surge called down thunderbolts. Three of the newest abominations fell. The survivors fixated upon him.

Counting his heartbeats, Roran channeled all his strength into his forearms. As those inhuman weapons closed in he slammed his hammer into the earth with a roar. Thunder boomed and radiated outward. Skeletons crumbled into dust. The fresher dead held on a second longer, the flesh falling from their bones before they disintegrated too.

Such a finishing blow could devastate a horde. Roran had scarcely made a dent in this one.

His commander screamed to retreat. Then the horde pulled him from his horse. Like most of his men, he staggered back to his feet mere moments later, empty eyes falling upon Roran.

"Fall back!" Roran roared to the few survivors.

Knees trembling from exhaustion, he struck down the undead elf closest to him to remind the army of his presence.

He again raised his war hammer skyward until ominous bolts of electricity hovered ominously around it. Normally Roran simply unleashed it upon a chosen target.

This time he thought of Katrina and their unborn son, stowed away at Cithri. He thought of Eragon. He thought of his father. Praying he had enough power left in him to drive a final blow home, Roran forced that power into him, and drove Storm Surge down.

Water gushed up from the earth as if struck with a death blow. Overhead thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, the blue sky swallowed up. The flood and fury of the storm surged downhill, drowning all in their path. Unlike a normal storm, not even the undead elves would shamble away from it.

Roran collapsed with a final groan, the water bubbling away before it could carry him off. The storm above him evaporated as if it had never been. The copse at the bottom of the hill was gone, leaving a muddied pit of jagged tree trunks in its wake.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Exile - Enya

Having had enough of snow and ice to last them a lifetime, they arrived at Telma's Bar just as the last streaks of red vanished from the night sky.

Ashei was already waiting for them. Over dinner they related a censured version of their adventures. Ashei was just content to know the storms had died down and the Yetis hopefully wouldn't be pestering the Zora village now that Yeta was better. Shad vibrated with excitement over the prospect of the race he thought mere legend. Surprisingly he turned to Auru for further knowledge.

Auru scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I myself was still a young man when the last of the mountain campaigns were winding down. Although Peak Province is rich in mineral wealth its poor soil always made trying to settle down there difficult. Each winter grew longer and more harsher than the last, to the point where armed escorts couldn't even deliver food up to the mining and military outposts. The monsters took care of those too damn stubborn to leave. A century ago many noble families had hidden holdfasts up in the mountains in case Hyrule proper was ever truly overwhelmed. They were heavily armed in case of raiders, but abandoned when peacetime made them obsolete and the snows choked off access to most of the province. That should explain your ruins."

Ashei arched a brow. "And the Yetis?"

"A shy and elusive people that rarely strayed beyond the snowline. They supposedly lived on the very edges of the world. Only the most intrepid explorers encountered them because they were the ones who wandered into the deep snows and nearly froze to death until a Yeti rescued them. The Yetis are very hospitable. More than one crazy hermit swore a Yeti nursed them back to health and pointed them back to civilization." Auru chuckled wryly. "I never saw reason to believe them."

He explained Yetis were perfectly suited for the high alpine peaks as Zoras were for the water or the Gerudo the desert. Due to the poor resources of their homeland they rarely produced children and took decades to reach their full adult size. Auru also stated he would not be surprised to discover one of Yeto's size to at least be a century old.

I suppose Yeto must have glimpsed Riders blown off course as a small child, Eragon mused privately. It must have been long before the Fall. I wonder why the Riders or dwarves never reported sightings of massive furry snow-men.

Perhaps no dwarf ever made it that far, Murtagh replied. Perhaps no Rider ever saw seemingly simple-minded Yetis as worthy enough to let the rest of Alagaesia know about them.

Eragon wished to refute him but then he remembered Vanir. He and Saphira grimaced at the memory. How many Riders had been as lofty and arrogant as Vanir had once been, seeing all other creatures as beneath them?

"Where's Rusl?" he asked instead.

"Off investigating why Faron Woods is still a monster-ridden hellhole." Telma snorted as she picked up their dirty plates. "Said something about it being possibly tied to that Sacred Grove of his."

Ashei flatly nodded at the Master Sword strapped to his back. "You'd know about it more than we do."

Eragon frowned down at the massive map that took up most of the table. Of course it showed no indication the Lost Woods or the Sacred Grove even existed. "The forest around the Sacred Grove teems with only its guardians. Everything near the grove itself has long fallen to ruins. The artifacts we're looking for can't possibly be there."

"There are quite a few legends about how... fickle the forest beyond Faron Woods can be," Shad suggested tentatively. "Perhaps you're just not looking in the right place?"

Saphira sighed. "It is our only lead so far." She paused. "Unless any of you happen to know more about the sages."

Auru's gaze sharpened, but Shad obligingly rambled on. "Oh, you wouldn't believe how contradictory the sources on them can be. Are there six or seven sages? Or maybe even nine of them, because it's a thrice-blessed holy number? What are their elements? Wind, water, time? Do they just serve as bridges between Hyrule and the Sacred Realm or do they have more specific duties? Do they reincarnate through bloodlines or spiritual lineages?" Shad's jaw fell slack. "Are the sages incarnating right now? Because-"

"They cannot," Auru ground out. "Not with how the realm is now. The Gerudo and the Sheikah are driven from these lands if not the mortal plane entirely. Queen Rutela is dead and Prince Ralis a youth. The gods don't burden children with such duties."

Murtagh's eyes narrowed. "And what happens to those sages cut down without the protection of a mortal body?"

"Impossible," Ashei deadpanned.

Auru smiled wanly. "The less learned would tell you a sage would never manifest without a mortal form. The more foolish would assume a sage to be eternal as the Goddesses it serves. The wise would remind you Farore is Goddess of Life as well as Death. And what is death but transformation?"

Eragon sat back in his chair. Behind thick mental shields a revelation dawned.

Everyone darkly turned in for the night with the promise to meet up in the morning and try locating Rusl for further information. Eragon lay down on his bed and sent out calm thoughts that gave the illusion of drifting off, though his nerves remained taught behind his tight mental shields. Midna remained concealed in his shadow, yellow eyes sharp. He had laid his sword and shield off to the side but had undressed no further.

Only after sensing Saphira and Murtagh had both drifted off did he rise from the bed and readied his gear.

"Okay, Eragon," Midna hissed. "What crazy instinct are we following now?"

"I need to talk with the Hero's Shade tonight," he whispered back. The walls were thin and Saphira was next door. "And I don't need a hassle being made out of it."

Bright eyes narrowed. "You gonna get yourself strangled again?"

A dark smirk tugged at his lips. "I don't plan on it. But I think I figured something out about the Hero's Shade I don't feel like sharing yet."

"Not even with Saphira?"

Stomach churning, he clenched his fists. "No," he forced out.

Saphira shared part of his heart. She had chosen to hatch for him and bind their lives together for life. The Goddesses had staked a claim upon his soul before he'd even been born. So had the Hero's Shade. His cursed blood ran through his veins too. The same destiny hung heavy over his head.

Eragon shared a fate with the Shade not even Saphira could fully understand. His mentor had already lashed out once for daring too pry too deep into his past. Now Eragon needed such secrets shared, secrets the Shad might entrust to no one else.

"Okay," Midna muttered at last. "Tell me where we're going."

He told her.

Midna warped him to the edge of Eldin Spring. Seeing the lights of Kakariko shining all too near and unable to meet the Golden Wolf without sword in hand, Eragon impatiently wished himself out of his cumbersome dragon body and the taint of dark magic cleansed.

Shadows engulfed his form before he again stood as a man. The dark crystal did not manifest above Midna's palm but obediently fell into his expectant palm. Careful not to let its surface touch his bare skin, Eragon pocketed it.

He crept past the edge of the village boundary, only at ease in the graveyard that had clearly been abandoned to time. Radiant in the darkness, the Golden Wolf patiently awaited him before the entrance to the Zora tomb. Eragon drew the Master Sword and unflinchingly met the spirit head-on.

"We meet again at such a late hour," the Hero's Shade intoned in their usual dreamscape. "There are but a few hidden skills left for me to teach you. Do not tell me you neglect your health just to alleviate me of my burden."

Eragon shook his head resolutely, plowing through the warnings that their lessons grew increasingly lethal. The Hero's Shade advanced. Eragon kept his blade sheathed until the last possible second, brandishing it in a mortal draw that would have killed a mortal man.

With a deep grunt the Hero's Shade climbed back to his feet. "Good. Now, what do you know of this realm's magic?"

"Very little," he admitted. "There is never enough time to learn."

"In life I aided the Great Fairies and was in turn rewarded with small magical gifts. Those of the sword come easiest to our line. One of the basic sword techniques is the jump attack. It inflicts great damage but is ineffective against multiple foes. However, one can perform a jump strike by focusing your power into your blade before a jump attack. The surge the blade releases can strike all enemies around you."

The Hero's Shade leaned back in a warrior's stance, his raised blade flashing strangely in the ethereal light. With a grace that defied his rotted bones and heavy armor he leaped forward, smashing his sword to the ground. Several feet away Eragon's feet still sensed the misty ground beneath them tremble from the impact.

"This is the jump strike. Muster your power and release it when the time is right."

Eragon tentatively dipped into the same stance. He raised his energy like he normally would to cast a spell. Unsure of how to funnel it into the Master Sword he stared intently at his blade. It did not flash like his mentor's had. He never felt ready. Feeling ridiculous, he leaped forward, and delivered a common jump attack to the ground.

He failed four more times before the Hero's Shade finally exploded. "Have you no magic at all, boy?"

Blood boiling, Eragon snapped a spell in the ancient language just to prove his power. Nothing happened. His mentor blankly stared at him as if he had spouted nonsense. Then Eragon remembered he was in a dreamscape the Grey Folk had not meddled in.

Swallowing his pride, he forced himself into a rigid bow. "Forgive me, master. Spells from my homeland cost me physical energy, but apparently the magic of Hyrule functions differently. I truly know nothing about its inner workings."

"Magic is beyond the material," barked the Hero's Shade. "How does your Triforce shine? How does a dragon breathe fire or light? How did you just transform back into human form? You willed it. The Master Sword chose you for a reason. Show me it was not wrong."

Eragon studied the Master Sword. Even in the dreamscape it still glowed softly with an inner magic. Even the magic of the dark crystal resonated in this realm, for his visions from the howling stones were always in draconic form.

Remembering the faint trace of foulness that pervaded his dragon body down his bones, Eragon felt for a similar presence in the Master Sword. He sensed something both softer than sunlight and sharper than steel that radiated down the hilt and resonated with the fiber of his being. Something in the Master Sword touched at his soul in turn, a presence that both judged him worthy of its power and yet could rescind its blessing at any time.

Eragon did not pour his strength into the blade. He instead gave it his intent, the burning determination to create a shock-wave to knock enemies senseless and send them falling to their knees. It should have been no different than envisioning the correct application of a spell and yet it was.

Sensing his change in demeanor, the Hero's Shade fell into a warrior's stance, splitting into three.

Eragon lunged forward with a roar. When the Master Sword hit the ground a red wave of energy rippled out in all directions. It surged harmlessly through him. The false copies of his mentor vanished into puffs of smoke as the real Shade fell to the ground in a heavy clatter of armor. For a moment Eragon feared his mentor would fall to pieces from the blow.

Instead the Hero's Shade clambered back to his feet with a small laugh that sounded almost human. "Now, how did that feel?"

Eragon frowned thoughtfully. He was slightly taxed from the physical effort of the jump strike but felt no drain from its magical aftershock. "Nowhere near as tired as I should be."

"Most magic requires more than sheer brute strength and so draws upon a different sort of energy. While your magical stamina naturally replenishes over time it is more quickly restored through a Green Potion that was brewed in my time. As magic use has greatly diminished through the years the potion is less commonly created. Your dragon form already provides you greater stamina than most, so the magic from the hidden skills should not deplete your stores much." The Hero's Shade paused emphatically. "Do not forget how that release of power just felt. Timing is everything for the jump strike."

Eragon swallowed thickly at the word. "There is more I wish to discuss with you."

The Hero's Shade sheathed his sword with a raspy sigh. "Isn't there always?"

"Ganondorf was apprehended on the orders of a young princess and convicted on the testimony of a boy hero that had saved three races of Hyrule from his treachery. And his execution failed." Eragon hesitated. "The legend I heard has the Hero of Time successfully seal away the King of Evil for eternity. Why would you risk all the good you accomplished just to reverse time and ultimately end with the same result?"

The spirit laughed harshly. "The legend never really does explain where the Hero of Time came from, does it? It only says he miraculously appeared with the Master Sword in Hyrule's greatest hour of need... seven long years after the King of Evil entered the Sacred Realm." His single eye blazed hatefully not at Eragon, but at the sword upon his back. "Zelda and I thought we were defending the realm by gathering the artifacts that could unlock the Sacred Realm, foolish children that we were. In drawing the Master Sword I unraveled the last seal. The blade would not allow itself to be wielded by a child so it sealed me away for seven years. I woke only when it deemed me strong to bear it."

Eragon shuddered. The foreign memories clawing at his mind made it all too easy to envision going to sleep an innocent child and awakening a horrified adult in a ruined city crawling with vengeful undead.

"Not even the Master Sword and the power of seven fully-realized sages was enough to kill Ganondorf or bring back the thousands he had massacred. We could only seal him away and allow the survivors the chance to rebuild."

"He promised to come back and kill all of your descendants," Eragon murmured, Ganondorf's last vow echoing in his own ears. "As long of the Triforce of Power was upon his hand."

"In reversing the flow of time and permanently returning the Master Sword to its pedestal we hoped to ensure that terrible future would never come to pass. Only the Triforce bearers and the spirits kept their memories of that time. Zelda and I hoped Ganondorf was still mortal before he entered the Sacred Realm, that he could still be killed and the cycle broken." The spirit chuckled darkly. "And here we are a hundred years later."

"Yes," Eragon muttered. "Here we are."

"There is but one hidden skill left for me to pass onto you," the Hero's Shade continued. "You are already endowed with the strength required of the Hero. Do you not already feel the courage granted by this strength as it guides you step by step toward your true enemy?" He nodded firmly. "Believe in your strength, for you have come by it honestly. Continue to push forward unflinchingly and without straying from your path."

"And if I think my destined path should go fuck itself?" Eragon ventured mutinously.

"If I told you time was like a river, what would you say?"

"I'd say you were wrong." Faint optimism fluttered in his chest. "Time supposedly flows forward in only one direction, but you itself are proof time is a tide that can be changed."

"The Ocarina of Time and the Master Sword allowed me to navigate time like a river, for I could row back against its current," the Hero's Shade intoned. "I could not reverse its course. In traveling back to save our childhoods Zelda and I only split the river in twain. This is the fork we travel down upon. On the other is the future I left behind. When Ganondorf breaks free again there will be no Hero to save it."

Eragon struggled for a response but none would come. He bowed his head and let the vision flow away.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you alright?"

Eragon awoke with a groan. Prince Ralis stood over him with concern, green eyes bright in the darkness. Midna and the Golden Wolf were nowhere in sight.

"I'm fine," he assured the Zora boy as he stood and sheathed his weapons. "I... was convening with an ancestor."

"I spend hours beside my father's tomb hoping for the same thing," Ralis confessed quietly. "My mother came to me in a dream... She showed me your image. She spoke of a youth who would save our domain and steer my fate. One named Eragon. Tell me, please, how do my people fare?"

"I was among the Zoras just this morning. Your domain is completely thawed out and your people fine." Only then did it fully sink in this orphaned boy was now the ruler of a kingdom. "I am sorry for your loss."

"My mother gave her life to protect me and her people. She would have wanted it no other way." Ralis reached up to touch the amulet around his neck. Eragon recognized it as the same sapphire Rutela's shade had worn. "At first I sneaked out here at night when I couldn't sleep to pray. Now I seek the legendary current that supposedly flows all the way underground to Lake Hylia. I must return to my people."

Eragon stopped himself from asking why no one had escorted Ralis back already. Kakariko Village's population had been devastated and the Gorons stretched themselves thin defending both Death Mountain and their human neighbors. Zora Village had been on high alert due to Yeto's presence. Obviously they hadn't wanted to risk their young king when a mysterious beast-man had been skulking about their village.

Ralis blinked hopefully up at him. "I have heard much from the other children that you have a dragon. Would it be too much to humbly request a ride?"

Eragon was on the verge of agreeing until he recalled an ignorant Saphira was sleeping miles away in Castle Town. His hand instead crept to the pocket he had stored the dark crystal in.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked. "Every little thing I can keep hidden from my enemies is another advantage I have over them."

"I swear on my honor as King of the Zoras," Ralis vowed somberly.

Ralis crept inside a final time to collect his meager belongings and to leave behind a letter thanking Kakariko Village for its hospitality and bidding them goodbye, for he had secured a safe escort home.

Zora's Domain was understandably alarmed when a green dragon swooped down upon their village in the dead of the night. Their panic turned to bewildered relief and wonderment when their young king called from the dragon's back that his friend meant them no harm. That same dragon landed a safe distance from the guards, crouching down to the earth so Ralis could safely dismount. Most amazing of all, the dragon hailed the new Zora king with a bow before disappearing into the darkness.

A clandestine meeting with the Hero's Shade was a secret he could have kept hidden. Wild rumors of the mysterious green dragon that had escorted King Ralis safely back to his people were not.

Saphira was even more furious than Murtagh to discover he and Midna had taken off under their noses, especially when Eragon refused to explain why he had met the Golden Wolf alone. Looking her straight in the eyes, Eragon solemnly told her it was not his secret to tell. Gods willing, he could tell her someday.

Saphira huffed, shoulders heaving from the force of her contained fury. Then she directed her glare to her Rider's shadow. "And not even you really know what happened?"

"Aside from the usual routine of the wolf pouncing him and lizard-boy falling unconscious? No."

Saphira crossed her arms. "Then I expect you to immediately tattle on him the next time he tries slipping off to go get himself killed."

Midna cackled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Eragon's lip twitched with a smile. Those he cared for had strange ways of reciprocating it. He wouldn't have wished it any other smile died when he turned to his brother's inscrutable expression. "And you weren't worried?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I'm your brother, not your keeper. This is your quest and your predecessor. You're under no obligation to tell me anything."

Eragon winced. "Actually I am. It's your birthright too."

Warping to Faron Woods would have been much faster than flying. Midna refused to do so, for she had as many questions as Murtagh had. Eragon told them of a chosen bloodline all but obliterated from the world and how its last heir had been hidden away to preserve it. With no others to call upon the Triforce of Courage had fallen to that same brave little boy a decade later. His heroics had saved three races and brought an evil king to justice. His enemies had finally taken their vengeance, breaking the chain of knowledge passed down to Heroes but not the bloodline itself, for that Chosen Hero's only child had been secreted away himself to a land unknown to Hyrule. A century later Farore again called upon her chosen children, dragging her new hero back to his homeland by force. The Hero of Time was a truth he kept to himself.

Murtagh only chuckled bitterly. "I always knew the gods were toying with me. This only proves it." He hesitated. "No wonder that damn Goddess chose you. I can't speak for our cousin, both you are the most foolish person I know. And the one most willing to risk his own neck to save another's, whether they deserve it or not."

Eragon flinched. He wished to hide his emotions behind a dragon's scales, but was not in the mood for further explanations if Rusl spotted them first and wondered about the second dragon. "Don't you understand this is a curse I could pass down to you? If I die-"

Like anyone here would ever let that happen, Saphira butted in. We're with you 'til the bitter end, little one.

"You also severely underestimate how prolific light-dwellers can be," Midna remarked. "Odds are there's a black sheep or bastard line Farore preferred to look is out there somewhere. You two may be directly descended from the last Chosen Hero, but you also share his same damn gene for saving people. If your cousin isn't made of the same stuff I'm sure the Goddesses have someone else they could pull out of their asses."

Murtagh rolled his eyes. "What a delightful way to blaspheme the gods."

"The Goddesses aren't idiots," Midna snapped. "And they are ultimately benevolent, even if they have a weird way of showing it at times. They created the Twilight Realm for my ancestors when they could have exterminated them all. By blood Zant is technically one of my closest heirs. He may be a distant cousin but there's really no one else left from the royal family. He turned me into an imp and banished me to this realm because he knew my magic would never pass to him. Zant knew his royal blood counted for nothing and he couldn't abide anyone outside of his control inheriting it instead."

"Then how do you explain Ganondorf?" Eragon asked dully.

Midna had no response.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Chamber of Stone (Past) - The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

On a hunch Saphira first flew to the clearing outside of the Forest Temple. After all, it is was where they had first discovered the chasm that led to the Lost Woods. Rusl, hearing her wing-flaps, craned his head skyward and raised a hand in greeting.

Saphira landed next to him, bowing her own head in polite acknowledgement.

"Saphira communicates mentally in this form," Eragon explained from the saddle. "She did not wish to intrude unnecessarily upon your mind."

"Thank you for the consideration, but it would have been helpful to let on earlier it was something you could do," Rusl said. "Back in Ordon we treated you like a well-trained animal."

Saphira shrugged her wings. It is something I am used too, especially as I only gained a human form here in Hyrule. I was not offended by it.

Eragon relayed her response before adding, "Telma told us the monsters in Faron Woods are still pretty agitated. What do you think is still out there?"

Rusl stared ahead. "Some say on the far side of this deep gorge there is an ancient temple deep in the woods that guards a sacred power. It was said the ancestors of the Hylians created the temple... Signs of their civilization -ancient, but very sophisticated- are everywhere. If someone could obtain that ancient power..." He looked askance at the Master Sword. "Well, you might know more about it than me."

Eragon shook his head. "There were barely any ruins around the Master Sword. It was the only thing in that clearing untouched by time. And I encountered no monsters nearby, only the forest guardians. Whatever power you're speaking of must be somewhere else."

"This forest seems to have a will of its own sometimes," Rusl mused. "Farore knows what other secrets it might have swallowed. I wish you luck in finding whatever has the monsters so riled."

Saphira retraced their original path through the gorge, landing cautiously at the entrance to the Lost Woods. Eragon glanced suspiciously at the howling stone but it had fallen silent.

"The Minuet of Forest brought me to a forest infested with monsters," Murtagh volunteered. "I remember seeing the ruins of a temple."

"But it might not be the right one," Midna countered. "And I'm not getting lost in the Lost Woods."

"No," Eragon agreed. "We need a guide."

He dismounted and Murtagh followed his lead. Midna magicked away the saddle so Saphira could transform. Personal experience had taught them how cumbersome blundering through the thick undergrowth with an adult dragon could be.

Eragon not surprised to enter the Lost Woods and discover all signs of their earlier visit had vanished. The small clearing was again thickly shrouded in mist with no sign anything but solid rock existed beneath its twisted vines. Though he clearly remembered snapping off branches and clumsily knocking into trees the forest looked undisturbed. Even the odd howling stone with the Triforce marking had ceased its song.

Eragon asked Midna for the Ocarina of Time. She obliged, the sacred instrument manifesting in his hands. He wondered if he should play the same lullaby that had first summoned the Sacred Grove's guardian. After a moment's hesitation he raised the ocarina to his lips and instead played the same lively song that had been drilled into his head for eternity.

"Eeh hee hee!" cackled the imp as it dropped out of the trees. Its wooden skin, red eyes, and inhumanly wide grin remained unchanged. "Finally back for a rematch, Mr. Greenie?"

"We're looking for a temple that houses an ancient power, forest child," Murtagh said formally. "Can you help us?"

"I'm a Skull Kid, stupid," the guardian said crossly. "Not one of those forest children." His bright gaze fixated on Eragon. "Are you gonna play with me or not, Mr. Greenie? The other you hasn't been fun in ages."

"Of course we'll play a game with you," Saphira said sweetly, surreptitiously digging her heel into Murtagh's foot when he opened his mouth to suggest otherwise. "Mr. Greenie's small enough to keep up this time, isn't he? Maybe he'll even be fast enough to keep me from setting you on fire again."

For a moment an ominous silence fell over the glade and Eragon feared she had taken her jesting threat too far. Then the Skull Kid cackled and blew his horn to summon a horde of puppets down upon their heads. He used the distraction to slip down a passageway that had just opened in a seemingly solid tree trunk, leaving only fading lantern-light in his wake. The game was on.

The deadly game of hide-and-seek functioned much like the first one. The Skull Kid played the same maddening tune over and over again, pausing only to rain more puppets down upon them. Whenever someone landed a hit in he teleported away, unharmed, to begin the chase anew.

Eragon had no idea if the Skull Kid led them down a new path or retreaded their old course. Every time he tried to recall a land mark the memory slipped out of his head like a dream. The thick mist and foliage drowned out the sky, making it impossible to chart the sun's passage overhead. Minutes could have blurred into hours. The light level beneath the trees never changed. Perhaps night had already fallen.

Despite his disorientation and the endless horde of puppets, Eragon found himself laughing. Now swift and small enough to keep up with the Skull Kid, and without the pressing need to locate the Master Sword, he enjoyed the thrill of the chase. It was almost like being a child again, with no responsibilities aside from playing with his friends and making it home before dark. Time had no standing in the Lost Woods.

At last the Skull Kid led them to ruins in a wide enough clearing for Saphira to transform. At her growl he lowered his horn before he could blow it again.

"Aw," he pouted. "The grand finale is no fun if you just set fire to them all."

Saphira knew better than to open her mind to such a foreign entity. The serious snort and the smoke rising from her nostrils was answer enough.

The Skull Kid stuck his tongue out at her. "Fine. I still had fun. Being out here can get awful boring."

Eragon's heart clenched with the oddest sense of guilt. No child, no matter how alien, should have been left alone with just his own puppets for company. "Are we the only ones who play with you?"

"Nope," the Skull Kid said proudly. "I've got lots of other friends. Some drop by all the time. Others I go and visit. Just because we've got different responsibilities and can't see each other often doesn't mean we can't still be friends. Mrs. Red plays the best songs even the forest kids don't know. Even the grouchy Mr. Greenie will still listen to me and fight the puppets I send after him." He winked. "Even if you're all kind of grumpy, you're all still fun. I'll tell you what... I'll let you into a secret place!"

With a wink the Skull Kid vanished in a swirl of leaves. Overhead the gloom dissipated. Golden afternoon sunlight filtered in the clearing. The bricks covering a stone archway faded away as if they had never been.

Stepping into the new area, Eragon was nagged by the strangest sense of familiarity. Pushing a large block bearing the Royal Family's crest out of the way, he gazed down at a familiar stone guardian standing in front of a door that opened only ruins. His heart sank when he realized the Sacred Grove lay just beyond it.

"Gods damned little trickster," Midna swore. "We were already here!"

Eragon dropped down to where he had first awoken the two guardians that had watched over the Master Sword. Mere days ago the stone floor bearing the Royal Family's symbol had been pristine and the wind had echoed with its lullaby. Now the floor was tarnished, its symbol barely legible beneath the dirt and grime. The breeze had fallen silent.

"Please," he beseeched the inanimate objects. "I don't know why we're here."

The guardians remained stone. He glared past them to where the Master Sword's pedestal stood in a shaft of sunlight.

"Stay here," he ordered the others.

Tentatively, he ascended the steps to the true Sacred Grove. Reluctantly he unsheathed the Master Sword. With a deep breath and a silent prayer he returned it to its resting place.

The stillness over the glade shattered with the shriek of a shadow beast. Eragon wrenched the Blade of Evil's blade from its pedestal. It yielded after a moment's resistance.

He rushed outside just as Murtagh and Saphira slew the last two surviving monsters, reclaiming their warp portal for Midna's use.

"Whatever you did pissed Zant off," Saphira mused. "So we must be on the right trail."

They split up to further search the ruins. On a hunch Eragon climbed back up toward the passage the Skull Kid had opened. The lone guardian had vanished, revealing a closed stone door engraved with the stylized winged bird that typically soared beneath the Triforce.

As he neared the doors swung outward of the own accord. Through their threshold stood the same ruins Eragon looked out over, only view through the doors rippled around the edges like a mirage. Midna's bout of surprised cursing brought the others running to him.

"Where do you think it leads to?" Saphira wondered.

"You say that like the normal response is to dive right into the distortion in reality," Murtagh muttered.

"Please feel free to spend the night outside with the Skull Kid and his puppet army," Midna said sarcastically.

Rolling his eyes, Eragon stepped forward. He squeezed his eyes shut as a brilliant light enveloped him. His stomach churned as if carried upward by invisible wings.

His next footsteps echoed. A vast stone hall stretched before him. Early morning light shone through ceiling-high stained glass windows and cast colorful refractions. Beneath the solemn silence he swore he heard an invisible choir that chanted a song forever burned into his soul.

"Gods!" Saphira swore behind him as she entered. "Is this heaven?"

"This place resembles the outline of the ruins," Murtagh muttered. "It's as if..." He trailed off, the thought too outlandish to contemplate.

"We've traveled back in time?" Midna finished with a sigh of resignation. "Sure, why not? We've done just about every other impossible thing so far."

Eragon walked forward as if in a trance. The two stone guardians had vanished, replaced by an altar upon which three shimmering stones floated on their own power.

"Ye who owns three Spiritual Stones..." he whispered to himself. He started, backing away from the altar as if burned. "We shouldn't be here."

"That's not what the gods seem to think," Murtagh retorted.

Eragon shut his eyes in defeat. "There's no Master Sword in its pedestal, is there?"

"No," Saphira called, peering up the steps. "You have it. Why should there... oh."

"So we got sent to a time where another Hero was running around?" Midna unleashed a stream of Twili so vulgar Eragon never wanted to know its meaning. "Two worlds are already endangered. Why not fuck up the timestream too while we're at it!"

Murtagh swiftly turned to leave.

"Don't do that!" Midna shrieked. "The last thing we need is someone running around the streets and fucking up things even more!"

"This is the why we came in," Murtagh ground out. "It has to be our way back home."

"You can't know that! Open that door and you could go running into your gods-damned grandfather!"

As a violent argument broke out behind him Eragon turned back to the altar with a shuddering sigh. He ascended the steps and once more plunged the Master Sword into its pedestal. It flared gold.

For a moment the world seemed to shudder, as if the Temple of Time recognized interlopers in the past and swiftly moved to correct it. Instead of divine retribution an ethereal blue staircase manifested before him, the steps leading straight up to a stained glass window. Even when he withdrew the Master Sword the staircase remained.

Behind him Saphira yelped. He glanced down just as Ooccoo and her son sped past him. They frantically buzzed up the staircase. As they neared the top the window evaporated like a mirage, revealing a stone passage beyond. The window illusion reappeared when they passed. The staircase did not.

"I didn't realize the temple ruins extended past the Sacred Grove."

Eragon frowned, recalling nothing but wild forest beyond the ruins encircling the Master Sword's resting place. "They don't."

Master Sword in hand, he ascended the steps, and prayed to run into anything but his predecessor.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Chronopolis - Chrono Cross

As they crossed the threshold into the hidden area behind the Temple of Time, a shiver ran down Eragon's spine. There was... something different about the air. He was reminded of the dreamscape where he trained with the Hero's Shade. The stone passageway between the two areas had appeared seamless but his senses suggested otherwise.

"Are we even still in the Temple of Time?" Saphira wondered.

Eragon frowned at the grand chamber before them. Though they appeared carved of the same stone, the styles were drastically different. The Temple of Time had been simple and austere. This new chamber was far more elaborately decorated with intricately carved columns and wall engravings. The floor tiles bore stylized suns and motes of light, a symbol one of the sages had also borne. The strange gold structure in the center of the room that resembled a fallen bell bore the same image.

"No," Eragon murmured. "I don't think so."

Midna emerged from his shadow to float over to the gold and jade door at the opposite edge of the chamber. Above it was embossed a symbol of the Royal Family. One alcove held a statue that carried a stone axe nearly as tall as it was. The other was mysteriously bereft. "That statue... In the grove there were matching ones on each side, but there's only one here."

On a hunch Eragon stood in the empty alcove. The ground shifted lightly beneath his feet. "I think the other statue triggers the mechanism that unlocks this door."

Murtagh scoffed. "And how do we find and move such a statue back here? Perhaps enough weight could trigger the lock."

They all tried squeezing onto the pressure pad, even Midna fully emerging from the darkness to stand upon it. When no combination worked Saphira transformed, pressing her weight down upon her fore-paws. Growling in frustration, Saphira tried to ram the door down. It didn't even shudder as charged into it head-on.

She resumed Hylian form with a groan, rubbing her head as she waved off Eragon's concern. "Just blast the damn thing open."

A bomb proved equally ineffective. Murtagh finally barked a word in the ancient language to simply trick the door into opening. Nothing happened.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "Spells have always been hard in Hyrule but I didn't even feel my magic that time."

Suspicious, Eragon fished a single green rupee from his pocket. He held it in his open palm and commanded it to rise. It had been the earliest and easiest exercise Brom had assigned to him.

In Hyrule he usually felt a strain as an unknown force in the air resisted his magic. Now he felt nothing. The rupee sat innocently in his palm. It was as if he had uttered nonsense instead of an ancient word of power.

Midna had once said the Grey Folk had altered the fabric of Alagaesia's reality but had not touched the worlds beyond it. Hyrule and Alagaesia were but two different lands in the same world. This temple, however...

Eragon repressed a shiver as he tucked the rupee away. "At least we have plenty of Red Potion."

They instead climbed a staircase to investigate the upper passageway, even though Eragon's instincts still insisted the mirror shard rested beyond the sealed door. They paused to investigate the pattern carved into the walls.

Most designs in the chamber were abstract. This stone carving clearly depicted humanoid, androgynous figures dressed in voluminous robes that obscured their bodies and everything but their seven identical faces. Five were shown in side profile. The middle figure faced forward, carrying a rod or scepter in its left hand. The first figure also faced forward, holding up what almost looked like a lantern in both hands. The pattern repeated itself in an endless cycle.

Saphira cocked her head. "Are those supposed to be the sages?"

"Even counting the dead one that's only six," Midna retorted.

"The Hero's Shade mentioned seven fully-realized sages in his time," Eragon said slowly. "And Shad did say the exact number of sages was up to debate."

Only able to idly speculate about the carvings, they pressed onward. Ooccoo and her son waited for them at the top.

"At last!" the Oocca mother exclaimed. "This is it! This is where I've been trying to get to! The ancient technology of our people sleeps in this place."

Uncertainty settled over them. The humanoid figures on the walls did not resemble the Oocca. "How can you be so sure?" Saphira tried.

Ooccoo flapped her stubby wings excitedly. "Look at this place and its fantastic technology. Every lock is precisely calculated for its exact key and will accept no substitute. Such careful craftsmanship is my people's trademark. Oh, we're so close to the thing that can send us home I can smell it! You simply must let us come with you."

Her human companions exchanged thoughtful glances and ultimately shrugged. Perhaps the Oocca could enlighten them further on this temple's mysteries.

Ooccoo rambled on about Oocca ingenuity and how snug human-made containers were, offering little information besides that. She knew their location housed the object that could send her home and cared about nothing else. She didn't even describe what such an object did or even what it looked like, only cheerfully saying they'd know it when they saw it. Her son, knowing very little Hylian, mostly babbled in his mother's alien tongue or parroted their words. Even Ooccoo often slipped into gibberish when she grew too excited.

The Oocca's 'careful craftsmanship' was easily fooled. Many of the smaller weights could be activated by a clay pot. Ooccoo was blissfully oblivious. She was equally unhelpful about the strange golden bells found throughout the temple. She called them 'transporters,' unable to explain how they functioned or what they transported.

Most rooms in the temple had windows. Eragon and his companions tried peering into every glass, straining to see the world outside. The world beyond the windows revealed only soft light, as if the temple were the only solid thing in existence. It only strengthened Eragon's belief they had stumbled into another realm, one where the Grey Folk had never tread.

Such a place seemed sacred ground even if it hadn't been hidden within the Temple of Time. Still its floors teemed with spiders, Lizalfos, and other detestable monsters that only could have spawned through a mirror shard's influence. Ooccoo called the animated statues with hideous faces both Armos and temple guardians. They came alive to only attack humans instead of the monsters infesting their home. Eragon wondered if Ooccoo was just wrong, had mistranslated what an Armos was, or if the temple's guardians had also been twisted by the shard's corruption.

Elsewhere throughout the temple were hellish booby traps of spinning spikes and swinging pendulums. Beamos, the rotating towers that fired laser beams, were also prevalent. Having experienced quite enough Beamos in the Goron Mines, Saphira always transformed to thoroughly demolish them. Ooccoo and Ooccoo Jr. took her transformations in stride.

The tediousness of the temple was only shattered when they stepped into a dimly-lit chamber and the door snapped shut behind them. Sunlight filtered in through the rotunda. A mosaic depicting a stylized sun dominated the floor of the room. At the center of the sun, directly in the ray of light, stood a knight clad in black armor. Though more humanoid in stature than the creature they had faced in the Snowpeak ruins he still must have been twice the size of an average human.

The knight did not advance, remaining in a meditative pose even as the others drew their swords.

"Ooccoo," Eragon said slowly, "who is that?"

"Another temple guardian, I imagine," she chirped.

Slowly the knight raised his sword, tall as a man, and turned to face them. He leveled the blade squarely at Eragon.

Saphira snarled at the challenge. The temperature around her soared as she prepared to transform.

"No," Eragon snapped, his answer surprising even himself.

"Are you foolish?" Murtagh hissed. "There's a difference between having honor and having a death wish."

"I'm against you on this one, lizard-boy," Midna added. "Just roast the guy and get on with it."

Eragon's eyes narrowed. His instincts insisted the knight's stance was expectant, not goading. Yeta served as the most recent example of how innocents could be twisted by dark magic, magic the Master Sword could cleanse. For a moment he envisioned a familiar face trapped beneath that armor and a dark spell's influence, even as another part of him screamed that same friend had become his murderer in another life.

"I need to try."

Saphira rolled her eyes. "Expect me to leap in the moment you look about to get decapitated." She settled into a predator's crouch, a heartbeat away from transforming and burning the knight alive in his armor.

Eragon's lip twitched. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He glanced at Murtagh to ensure he was getting the benefit of the doubt. Then he stepped forward into the sun and defiantly raised the Master Sword.

His challenger's sword swung down like an anvil. Eragon leaped away, trying to slip his own weapon past the knight's defenses. Sparks flew as the knight raised his shield to deflect his blow. He ponderously lifted his blade for another strike but Eragon was already rolling away. He sprung up behind the giant, slashing at his armor. Pieces fell away to clatter at their feet.

Suspicion aroused, Eragon aimed not at the knight's weak points, but his cumbersome black armor. Although his foe moved sluggishly he could still whirl around to raise his shield in the blink of an eye. At first Eragon feared tripping over the fallen pieces of armor. Absently he eventually realized the pieces did not dissolve into dark magic, but faded away as if they had never been. It seemed hours had passed before Eragon had torn even the shield away and only the great crested helm remained.

Praying there was a soul he could save beneath the armor, Eragon struck his final blow.

The massive helm fell away to reveal another smaller iron helmet. The giant, still armored in leather and chain-mail, leaped back with grace that belied his size. With a roar he hurled his blade at Eragon, drawing a smaller side-arm from his waist. Eragon scarcely parried it in time. Freed from his burden, the knight instead raised his leg and kicked him. Eragon staggered back several feet but prevented himself from falling.

Saphira bellowed. She lunged forward, a she-dragon with smoking jaws. Murtagh, Zar'roc glinting red, was right beside her.

Light erupted from the sun's circumference as they were about to cross the threshold, throwing them back, a radiant shield that divided the arena from the audience. Midna retreated deeper into his shadow with a small shriek. Zelda's protection fell short at radiance that seared even light-dwellers.

Unmoved, the knight advanced. Eragon barely raised his shield in time to blow his blows. Despite the knight now lacking a shield, he still raised his longsword to parry almost all of Eragon's strikes. The only moves he seemed unable to anticipate were the hidden skills. Eragon could force the knight back with a shield attack or spin around his defenses to deliver a back slice.

Though the knight grunted when hit he did not bleed. Tiring quickly, Eragon chanced a final gamble. He rammed his shield forward. As the knight stumbled back Eragon did not slash at his vulnerable torso but leaped forward. He just cleared the giant's head, his blade slicing deep into where the knight's left carotid artery should have been.

The hero landed nimbly on his feet. Far more sluggishly, the knight turned to face him. He staggered forward a final step before dropping his longsword and falling lifelessly to the ground.

Instinctively Eragon twirled the Master Sword like he had once seen the Hero's Shade execute and sheathed it. The knight and his longsword evaporated without the typical cloud of dark magic.

No soon had the golden shield faded away did Murtagh and Saphira, back in Hylian form, race toward him. Their faces and arms looked red from running into the shield but they appeared otherwise unscathed. Midna fully emerged from his shadow. She reached out as if to embrace him... and then violently shook his shoulders.

"You nearly got yourself killed over a mirage, you idiot!" she shrieked. "What happened to not stupidly risking your life?"

Eragon pulled himself free, straightening his tunic. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I thought that knight was corrupt like Darbus or Yeta was. I thought I could save him too."

Saphira and Midna exchanged an unreadable look... and then both hugged him.

"Gods know where I'd be if you weren't a hopelessly optimistic sacred beast," Midna said ruefully as she pulled away. "Your antics still aren't any easier to get used to."

Saphira remained clinging to him. "And I hatched for you because I sensed you the spirit to take action for whatever you believed in. It doesn't change the fact we're supposed to charge recklessly into trouble together." With one strong slap on the shoulder, she finally stepped back. "So start remembering that, stone-head, before I start doing the same thing to you."

"I-I promise," Eragon murmured. Face growing hot under his brother's bemused gaze, he turned to the Oocca chattering excitedly among themselves. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," Ooccoo chirped. "Just as you should be, young man. Those sorts of things give you all you can take, but nothing more."

Having had enough of the Oocca's alien reason to last him a lifetime, Eragon advanced to investigate the chest hidden away in a shadowed alcove. The knight must have been guarding something. He pulled forth a strange stone-gray three-pronged rod.

Ooccoo shrieked in excitement. "Oh, young man, you found it!"

Eragon blinked down at the rod in his hands. It was identical to the one the robed figure in the carvings held. "Found what?"

"Erm... I suppose it could be called a Dominion Rod in your language. It can infuse the statues of my people with life. A statue brought to life will move with the holder of the rod." Her humanoid face looked upward. "Like on that one right there!"

The Rider followed her gaze. Perched above the alcove was the statue's missing twin from the beginning of the temple. He recalled the shade's lessons on magical intent.

Envisioning the statue following him back through the temple like a dutiful duckling, Eragon raised the Dominion Rod. A golden orb of energy kindled between its prongs. Though mostly hidden behind its axe and folded hands, the statue had a circular opening in its chest. Eragon aimed the orb and loosed it with a flick of the rod.

The miniature ball of magic hit its target. Pulsing brightly in the statue's center, the orb lit up every rune on its stony surface. Jerkily, the golem raised its axe to attention.

Taking several experimental steps forward, Eragon was relieved to discover the statue obediently following him. He even commanded it to smash its axe down like a hammer.

He and Saphira could have wasted hours toying with the Dominion Rod's full potential. Murtagh's determined gaze instead settled upon the strange golden bell the Oocca had deemed a transporter.

While the transporters could not transfer living matter they could handily ease the statue through areas of the temple otherwise inaccessible to it. They retraced their path through the temple, discovering new areas only the Dominion Rod had made possible. Their loot included one of the giant keys that always sealed away a massive monster with the final prize they sought, be it Fused Shadow or mirror shard.

Everyone fought for turns with the Dominion Rod. Smashing their way through the temple's mechanical booby traps and spider swarm was oddly cathartic.

Ooccoo could not explain the Dominion Rod's purpose any further beyond its basic function. Privately they all doubted it was a device made by her people. After all, it was obviously not meant for an Oocca's stubby wings and it too long to even be held in their mouths. Ooccoo and her son never made any attempt to wield the rod themselves.

We had to travel back in time to reach this place, aye? Murtagh mused. How did Zant even hide a mirror shard here?

Ganondorf, Eragon snarled, the Oocca thankfully oblivious to their private conversation. If anyone has the power to meddle in time and sacred places, it would be him.

Midna, floating idly along, narrowed her eyes. Zant arrogantly assumed we could never reach this place. He must have thought at least this hiding place safe forever.

Saphira barked her fangs in a bloodthirsty smirk. Then he definitely won't see us coming.

When the statue was at last returned to its pedestal the door slowly ground open to reveal a dangerous passageway protected by swinging pendulums and other sensitive booby traps. Ooccoo blithely insisted on following them through it. Only when the massive lock had thudded to the floor did she stop cold. Ooccoo Jr. huddled close to her side.

"Perhaps you should wait outside with your son," Saphira suggested gently.

"Y-Yes," Ooccoo agreed shakily. "That would be best." She smiled up at Murtagh. "And this nice young man can accompany us."

"Of course," Murtagh said tersely. Inwardly, he intoned, Don't you dare abandon me here.

Midna smirked, waving as the door to the chamber slammed shut behind them. She immediately tensed and slipped back into Eragon's shadow. "It looks suspiciously empty in here. I hate these monsters most of all."

Eragon's gaze swept over the stone chamber. His gaze first fell upon the titanic statues lining the walls. And then he looked up.

Four beady eyes stared back at him, a massive bloodshot eyeball opening on its back. Its eight legs spanned most the ceiling. Suddenly the temple's giant spider infestation made so much sense.

Remembering the horror of the frog mother, Eragon and Saphira transformed to bathe the colossal spider in dragon-fire before she could spew forth an army of young.

With a shriek the spider's burning corpse fell from the ceiling. Its bloodshot eyeball tried to wriggle free on eight legs of its own. Saphira blasted it again for good measure. Only then did the flames and smoking remnants coalesce into a mirror shard. Midna deftly emerged to catch it.

What a nasty spider, Saphira remarked with a toss of her head. Gods know where we would've been without at least one dragon to burn it to a crisp.

"Such evil in its shard," Midna mused somberly. "And that was just a fraction of the Mirror's power. Perhaps we are truly assembling terrible here, something we might have to destroy when it's all over."

Eragon growled. Wanting the sincerity of his true face he resumed human form. "Shards corrupted by Zant, Midna. Even the sages said the Mirror wasn't supposed to be a punishment. It shouldn't be because of his meddling that you decide to cut your world off from ours forever."

"Spoken as a hero who only sees the best in the world. Farore always favored the optimists."

Their heads snapped to the black knight, again dressed in his full regalia. He stood in one of the shafts of sunlight that streamed down from the ceiling. Earlier he had been oppressively solid. In the direct sunlight he was now transparent, his outline shimmering in a rainbow spectrum. His voice had a breathy undertone and seemed to emanate from all directions, like light bouncing off a prism.

Saphira snarled then flinched as she tried connecting to the knight's nonexistent consciousness. "Who are you?" she demanded from the safety of Hylian form. She paused. "What are you?"

"What was needed, no more and no less."

Eragon swallowed thickly. "You were testing me? You nearly killed me!"

Perhaps nothing existed beneath the armor, but he still felt eyes appraising him from all angles. "Your gift is not a crutch. Even a dragon's strength is futile against Ganondorf. No power other than the Master Sword's is capable of matching him. Complacency is death."

Eragon's first instinct was to challenge the knight for its tactics. After all, the knight had wasted its power testing his strength when it could have protected its temple from corruption. Then he remembered the Master Sword had thought it best to serve his predecessor by sealing him away for seven years, robbing him of his childhood and the world of its only potential savior. Such was the way of this world.

"What is this place?" he asked instead. "This isn't the Temple of Time."

"Ganondorf once sought to break down the very gates of the Sacred Realm for the Triforce. Yet even he can only twist time so far when the seals are still in place. He can breach no further than the outermost chambers of the Temple of Light. The defilement left in his servant's wake was intended only as a promise of total victory." The knight tilted its head. "It is a promise that must not be fulfilled. Never again."

The knight's image vanished as if nothing more than a trick of the light. The great stone door ground open behind them. Murtagh, looking like he had weathered a battle far worse than theirs, stalked in with the Oocca trotting at his heels.

"What did I miss?"

Eragon sighed, glancing meaningfully at Ooccoo and her son. "We'll tell you later."

Sharing the heart container the spider had left in its wake revitalized them somewhat. The Grey Folk's magic might have had no foothold in the Sacred Realm but Midna had power enough to transport them back to the Temple of Light's entrance. She slipped back into Eragon's shadow. Ooccoo still doggedly asked her questions about the process even as they descended the passage back down into the Temple of Time.

Eragon froze at the threshold. So did the others. Oocoo fell silent.

In the chamber below stood a young man (boy?) his age before the Master Sword's pedestal. His left hand held the blade of evil's bane itself, rotating slowly as he tested its weight. Bright blue eyes set beneath blond hair and a long green cap turned away to peer up at the stained glass window that screened them from view. Murtagh inhaled sharply.

"What is it, Link?" chimed the bright blue ball floating at the boy's side.

For a moment the man hesitated, disturbingly familiar features narrowed in suspicion as if he could see through the illusion. "Nothing, Navi," he said at last. "Let's get going."

They finally turned away, Navi muttering about truth lenses and time travel as they finally vanished from earshot.

"Goodness me," Ooccoo remarked several minutes later. "That was quite the temporal crisis averted."

As Eragon neared the edge the same staircase thankfully manifested for them. They hastened through the Temple of Time, its doors obligingly opening to the same rippled reality. Eragon only hoped it returned them to their proper time as he crossed the barrier.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: The Ecstasy of Gold - Ennio Morricone

Instead of stepping out into the bustling city of the past, they thankfully returned to the present's quiet runes. Eragon sighed in relief.

"Well done, adventurers!" Ooccoo crowed. "Can you please show me the Dominion Rod again?" Eragon obliged her. His brow furrowed when he saw the gray rod had darkened to a dull brown. "Yes, I see what I was looking for. But that thing has been around for quite some time. I can see from here it's magic has been exhausted." She shook her head. "Oh, I thought at last we could return to the sky. And I have completely forgotten the spell that would once again bestow it with magic. It can't be helped. I suppose I'll just have to find the statues that respond to the rod... Yes, that's what we'll do! See you fine young adventurers again!"

They buzzed off. Midna erupted too late from his shadow to stop them.

"Hey! Wait! What did you say about returning to the sky?" Realizing she wasn't about to get a response, she turned back toward them. "The last mirror shard was also said to be in the heavens."

Saphira crossed her arms indignantly. "You realize I can fly, can't you?"

"And you realize how vast the heavens are, right?" Midna retorted. "You ever see a cloud full of Oocca during all the time you've been flying around?"

Murtagh's eyes remained lock on the portal to the past. Its doors had shut behind them. "Eragon, was that...?"

Their great-grandfather? The tortured soul that would one day become the Hero's Shade? A man named Link? "Yes," Eragon said somberly. "It was." His gaze turned down to the rod in his hands. "Do you suppose it was the time travel that wore it out or all the times we used it?"

"It's broken either way, isn't it? And it's just hauling around more useless baggage to haul around a worn out Dominion Rod." Midna's eyes brightened. "Unless we find a way to restore power to it. The chicken lady did say there was a renewal spell."

"Shad is obsessed with Sky People," Saphira reminded them. "Maybe he's referring to the Oocca?"

Eragon ruled a trip to Castle Town was the best option. The Group hadn't steered them wrong yet. Besides, though the Temple of Time seemed to have returned them to the very moment they had departed, his exhausted body insisted it was the dead of night rather than the late afternoon. A night in one of the tavern's beds sounded damn appealing after all of that stone.

They warped to Castle Town and discovered Shad had already set out for Kakariko. He wanted to investigate the statue in the basement of Renado's sanctuary. Too tired to complain, they paid Telma for her troubles and crashed for the night. Only after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast did they depart.

Rather than have Midna warp them directly to Eldin Spring Saphira simply flew in from a closer portal. Her arrival caused commotion enough as the town's children promptly mobbed her. Epona, grazing by the spring's shore, only twitched an ear at the chaos.

Ordon's children first swarmed Eragon as they bombarded him with questions about Saphira and their latest adventures. Then they realized their other savior was among them.

"Hey!" Talo spluttered. "You never told us you were looking for Eragon, Mr. Murtagh!"

"It was a secret at the time," Murtagh answered carefully. "When he went missing I had to go a long way to find him. Letting any one know I was looking for Eragon before I actually found him could have put him in danger."

Malo's intelligent eyes flickered between them. "Because you're a responsible older brother?"

"He tries to be," Eragon said lightly. Sensing a new storm of questions brewing, he instead turned to Colin. He was relieved to find the boy looking well. "Hello, Colin. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Colin mumbled. He blushed. "Beth was in danger. I had to save her like you or my father would, Mr. Eragon."

Beth flushed. "Not if it meant getting yourself killed, stupid! You're gonna be a big brother soon." She shyly looked away. "But you were very brave, even if you were stupid."

Eragon's gaze ventured to Ilia. The girl had previously hung back, half-hidden behind Epona. Her gaze nervously rose to meet Murtagh's.

"We were worried about you when Epona came back alone. I'm glad you found your brother." She turned to Eragon. "If you're looking for Ralis, he arrived safely back home."

"The Zoras said a great green dragon carried him back in the dead of night and even bowed to him!" Talo interjected, oblivious to Malo's glower.

Luda looked up at Eragon. "My father was actually about to send for you. He thinks he's found a way to regain Ilia's memory."

"I can remember being saved from a dangerous situation by someone who told me about the rod of the heavens," Ilia ventured. "But I can't remember the who, why, where, or what it all means... But Renado and Gor Coron still believe it's a good lead."

The rod of the heavens? Saphira exclaimed privately. Do you think it's the Dominion Rod?

If our luck holds. Eragon and Murtagh politely excused themselves to discuss matters with the elders inside. Saphira, in dragon form amongst a crowd that did not know her secret, grumbled good-naturedly as the children clambered over her.

Inside the shaman's house introductions were made between Murtagh and Gor Coron. The Goron elder slapped him on the back and said it was good to meet the brother of the man who'd saved their patriarch. Murtagh thankfully didn't buckle from the blow. Gor Coron reported Darbus was fine, although he didn't remember being saved from possession by mere humans, and his people didn't have the heart to bruise his pride with the revelation. Ilia's memory, however, might be restored if they helped retrace her path from where she had lost it.

"Ilia was saved by Telma, was she not?" Renado added. "Perhaps she found the poor girl with something solid to help anchor her to the past." He coughed. "I'm afraid I can't tolerate the woman, but Telma's a good sort. I can give you a letter explaining the situation to her."

Eragon choked back a snicker. "Telma... has a powerful presence. We'll see what she can do."

Midna grumbled at having to go all the way back to Castle Town when they had just left, but her warp portals made the task irritating than truly time-consuming. Telma was miffed Renado's extensive letter didn't mention a word about her but was all too eager to help out Ilia. She suspected the uppity Hylian doctor that had refused to treat Ralis had taken advantage of Ilia's distressed state. She happily gave them something to return the favor.

The doctor's lip curled at Saphira's presence as he sneered he couldn't remove such foolish tattoos. His attitude swiftly changed when Eragon pulled forth his lengthy tab from Telma's Bar.

"Look, Telma might have sent you three to strong-arm me, but I can't pay it off right now!" Quailing under Murtagh's ominous scowl, the old man hastily rummaged through his coat and pulled out a small wooden object. "Here, take this carving! That Ilia girl tried to pay me with it. I would've sold it ages ago if I hadn't spilled medicine over it. It takes forever to get that nasty smell out."

Eragon's nose wrinkled. The smell still hadn't washed out. He took the carving all the same. The wide eye that crowned it reminded him of the eyes upon the howling stones. "We'll be back for the rest of your bill," he vowed.

They took dark pleasure in watching the thieving little doctor squirm.

Upon returning to Kakariko they discovered Ilia had moved inside. Shad, working in the basement of the same building, remained oblivious to their presence. He removed the wooden carving from his larger pocket and carefully handed it to her. She gasped as she took it into her hands.

"What... I think I remember something!" Ilia's hands flew up to grab her hair as her hairs shut in concentration. Eragon caught the carving before it clattered to the floor. "I was confined somewhere... Yes, and I was saved by whoever was confined with me... And when that person set me free, they gave me this statue." Her eyes snapped open. "Yes, yes, I remember that much. But that means the person who rescued me is still in trouble! What's wrong with me? I can't remember where that place was."

"I do!" Gor Coron exclaimed. "I thought I had seen that symbol before somewhere. That belonged to the tribe that protected the Hylian royal family long ago. They worked in secret so they lived in a lonely, forgotten place. But I heard the Sheikah dwindled in the last civil war... No matter, if you want to find their hidden village look for a path leading to Lanayru Province on the far side of the Bridge of Eldin. Of course, the way was blocked by a rockslide long ago and the bridge is still missing."

"They have a dragon, Gor Coron," Renado reminded him.

"Yes, yes," the Goron grumbled. "You were wise to not bring that beast up to Death Mountain last time. We would've killed it on sight. Another reason Darbus should never know you saved him, even if he does have the good morals to help you anyway if you ever needed him."

"Take the statue as proof I'm alright," Ilia insisted. "Please, just save whoever rescued me!"

Eragon and Murtagh both vowed it.

Saphira followed Gor Coron's directions to several rows of dilapidated wooden buildings tucked into the sides of a narrow mountain valley. If they hadn't known about its existence beforehand they might have never known it was there. The faded houses blended into a dusty landscape that looked too barren to support a standing settlement.

Eragon's eyes narrowed as he spotted Bulblin raiders skulking through the town. None of them had yet thought to look up. Perhaps they weren't survivors of their raid upon the campsite in the Gerudo Desert.

I can burn them all now and be over with it, Saphira volunteered.

"And burn any hostages down there alive?" Midna countered. "I have a better idea."

Eragon smiled grimly as the Hero's Bow and quiver manifested in his hands. Murtagh held the elvan bow, sung by Islanzadi herself. As Saphira swooped down upon the village below her Rider aimed his first shot. A raider toppled over, an arrow blossoming from its throat, before it could even raise an alarm cry.

He and Murtagh mowed down the Bulblins foolish enough to face them head-on. The survivors hunkered in the village's ruins. They traded their bows for blades as they hunted down the last of them. Saphira, the village too narrow for a dragon's bulk, joined them in Hylian shape.

They scoured every building for hostages or even any signs of a recent massacre. They discovered only a single howling stone he intended to return to later. Eragon's heart sank as he realized how ruined the entire village was. It must have been abandoned decades ago. He hoped its inhabitants survived elsewhere.

His hope truly died with the last Bulblin. He cast his mind out for sentient minds, malevolent or otherwise, and felt none beyond his friends. "I don't think there's anyone here..."

A door clicked open on a house they had dismissed as empty. Out ventured a tiny woman bent over from age. Despite her village's decrepit state her dress was clean and embroidered with elaborate patterns. Her gray hair was braided neatly back.

"The howls of the beasts..." she murmured in a tremulous voice. "They've faded into silence."

Sheathing their weapons, they cautiously approached her. Eragon heaved an inward sigh of relief that Saphira had previously assumed human form. "We drove off the Bulblins," he called. "Forgive us for frightening you."

The old woman's red eyes swept over Murtagh and Saphira. They widened as they fixated upon him. "The savior," she whispered, clasping her hands reverently. "It's you, the savior! Please, please forgive me for not opening the door sooner."

"You were surrounded by brutes," Murtagh scoffed. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I did not trust my own senses," she insisted. "I dismissed your presence as a foolish old woman's wishful thinking. And yet here you stand." She bowed. "My name is Impaz. I am the last resident of this poor village. I was named for the great one who built it so long ago. She intended it as a safe haven for the Sheikah, the tribe who swore their lives to protect the Royal Family. But it fell into decline and became infested with dangerous beasts. It's now such an awful place.."

Their questions were interrupted when Impaz beckoned them all inside for tea and wouldn't take no for an answer. Her house was a single humble room mostly taken up by wooden crates. Her furniture was worn with age and her carpets threadbare, but clean in a way that showed they were meticulously cared for. She ushered them to sit, no easy task as her home was crawling with cats. They forced their way into laps and demanded to be stroked as their mistress readied tea over a small hearth.

Eragon took the steaming cup into his hands. "Thank you for your generosity, but we came here about Ilia."

"Oh, that poor girl," Impaz murmured. "The Bulblins dragged her here all alone. Your name wouldn't be Eragon, would it?" She sighed at his somber nod. "I took her under my wing. Ilia never stopped talking about you. She insisted you would swoop down upon your dragon and save us both. And here you both are."

Saphira cocked her head as those red eyes settled upon her. "How'd you know?"

"For someone who looks Hylian you have quite the fiery aura." Impaz sniffed. "Any Sheikah worth their salt knows to look with more than their just their eyes. I'm too old to do much of anything else, but I could still show even a human girl to sneak past some half-wit Bulblins. Please, did Ilia make it to safety?"

"She did." Eragon pulled forth the wooden carving as proof. "And she won't rest easy until you're safe too."

Impaz's gentle smile settled into resolution as she scratched an insistent calico behind the ear. "Thank for your concern, but I won't be going anywhere. My old bones are quite content here. I was the first child to be born in this village and I'd like to be the last to leave it."

"An elder of your status should be treated with respect," Murtagh said diplomatically. "Wouldn't you rather live out your days being catered to by the younger generation and have the chance to pass your wisdom down?"

Impaz scowled at him. "When you live to be my age, young man, you can choose to die however you damn well please. Not even my granddaughter or her son could convince me otherwise. And I choose to live out my days here. Cats are quite capable of looking after themselves. Should I need them, I have plenty of supplies to last until my clan next stops by."

Eragon blinked. "You aren't the last Sheikah?"

"Of course not! Do you think those Bulblins would have survived this long if I was?" Her red eyes glittered ominously. "I would have dragged as many monsters down with me as I could. Let our enemies think all that remains of the Sheikah is one feeble old woman under heavy guard. The twenty Bulblins guarding me were twenty less harassing innocent travelers. My clan would've shown them differently when they came 'round again."

"Where are they now?" Murtagh demanded.

"Kakariko Village was once exclusively a Sheikah settlement. My namesake, Impa, opened it up to settlers of all kinds after the civil war because our numbers were too low to sustain it on our own. We eventually retreated here for greater secrecy. By the time the water had largely dried up our numbers had recovered. The younger generation was eager to move on. They reasoned nomads would be far harder to annihilate than a permanent village." Impaz's eyes shut in sorrow. "I was the one stable source of wisdom the fine young Sheikah stationed in Castle Town had. And the Bulblins brought me back every one of their severed heads to prove their master's might. But their relatives live on to continue their legacy. Sheikah, like heroes, are rather hard to kill."

Eragon's jaw snapped stubbornly shut. Impaz looked impassively between him and Murtagh.

"The last one must have been either your grandfather or great-grandfather. He may have retired early to a life of quiet obscurity but our elders had us apprentices spy on him all the same. To learn the aura of a realized Triforce bearer is to see the potential in others. Shortly before I retired I looked upon our infant princess and discovered she carried the power of her namesake. The old Queen decreed to the kingdom the Hero had died and his bloodline with him and his infant son. The Sheikah have always seen through deceptions, even those by orchestrated by our own masters." She squinted. "Your ancestor had an aura was calm and quiet as the forest. Yours burns with a fire I wish only upon our mutual enemies."

A stillness, broken only by the crackling fire and mewing cats, settled over the room. Impa calmly removed a thread from around her neck. Upon it was a hollow horseshoe-shaped charm that appeared to possibly be an instrument.

"Before she left Ilia gave me this charm as a promise we'd one day meet again. She wore it quite close to her heart. It must mean the world to the poor girl. Would you please give it back to as proof I am at peace?" Impaz smiled warmly. "Tell her to keep my carving as a sign of our friendship."

Eragon nodded tersely, stuffing the charm into his pocket. Why did it always come back to the gods-damned Hero's Shade? Tea untouched, he rose to leave. The brown tabby in his lap meowed grouchily at losing his warmth.

Saphira downed her tea but made no effort to move. "Why did you tell Ilia about the rod of the heavens?"

Impaz's eyes narrowed. "It was a fairy tale to calm the poor girl's fears. There's no truth to the tale."

"Isn't there?" Murtagh challenged. He stood, one hand held expectantly out. Midna obligingly manifested the Dominion Rod in his hands.

The old Sheikah gasped in awe. "Is that the Dominion Rod? Could it really be you are the messenger to the heavens?"

"The messenger?" Eragon prompted.

"Among the legends of my clan, there is a story from the time from when the Oocca still maintained contact with the Royal Family. It was said a mysterious rod was handed down from the people of the sky, and it was called the Dominion Rod. It was only to be carried by the messenger of the heavens when the Royal Family needed to communicate to the Oocca. From generation to generation, my ancestors guarded the book that, by royal decree, was to be given to the messenger. Please, take it."

From close to her heart Impaz drew forth a small leather-bound book. Its cover was embossed with abstract ovals that reminded Eragon of eggs. She carefully handed the book to Eragon.

"This book is written in the ancient language of Sky Writing, though some letters have been missing since before I was born." She sighed in contentment, clasping her hands. "I am so glad I stayed in this village. Meeting that girl must have been ordained by the gods, so that I could be here today to pass on this knowledge..."

Reminded of the howling stone awaiting him, Eragon bid Impaz farewell and left, the others following in his wake.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Evening Falls - Enya

The hidden village's howling stone was concealed behind a row of ruined buildings. Eragon picked his way through the wreckage and transformed only on the other size. Although their fight with the Bulblins had further damaged their interiors all structures were still standing. He carefully kept his draconic body from actually bringing any down.

As always he hummed along to the stone's melody and drifted away to the dreamscape. The Golden Wolf awaited him, Hyrule Castle looming beyond his perch.

"This is the final song I have to teach you. We have nearly reached the end of our journey together."

Eragon blinked. The Golden Wolf had first sought him out unbidden, but every subsequent time he had needed a howling stone to summon him again. He hastily recounted six skills learned and five stones sung to. He wanted to ask if his mentor was almost ready to rest, but fell silent under the wolf's expectant gaze.

Instead he hummed his final melody, the Golden Wolf joining in. This song was a rousing ballad, a rallying sound meant to invoke courage. Eragon's own heart soared with anticipation for both the culmination of his quest and one final encounter with his predecessor.

The howling stones were once Sheikah stones, weren't they? They bear the same weeping eye Impaz identified as her tribe's symbol.

"Even in my time the Gossip Stones were ancient. Ostensibly they were for communicating across vast distances. They also pierced the minds of those who strayed too close to them to glean their deepest fears and secrets." Eragon flinched. "It took clever magic, supposedly only possessed by master Sheikah, to access the Gossip Stones' secrets so that potential threats against the kingdom might be uncovered. Their enchantments have all but worn off by now."

What do the Sheikah use now? he wondered. Perhaps Hyrulean magic had its own form of scrying.

"Charms they guard most jealously, for there are many who'd kill for such magic. Their tribe is far too skilled in warding off spirits for me to have bothered them further." An ear flicked. "Now take sword in hand and find me."

As the Golden Wolf leaped into the abyss a vision of Hyrule Castle's sickly yellow wards flashed before Eragon's eyes. He did not dread his quest's inevitable end. A part of him knew it would always come back to Zelda's death place.

Twilight's shadows stretched long and dark by the time they arrived back in Kakariko. Renado and Gor Coron awaited them alongside an anxious Ilia in the sanctuary.

"Is the person who rescued me alright?" she cried.

"Impaz is just fine," Eragon soothed. From his pocket he pulled forth the horseshoe charm. "She wanted you to have this back as proof she made it through. She said it meant a lot to you."

Ilia gently cradled the charm in her hands. "I... knew you once. You... crashed into our spring with a dragon. Yes... The scent of hay, tending a dragon's broken wing... It's all coming back to me." Her eyes closed. "You and Saphira were like something out of a fairy tale. You leaped into danger to rescue our children and was always so patient to them." She opened her eyes with a slight scowl. "And you and your brother both have a knack for riding off on Epona without permission."

"To be honest she stole herself," Murtagh admitted ruefully. "I was just along for the ride."

Ilia's lip quirked. "Like you three, Epona just wandered into Ordon one day. No matter if we kept her penned or stabled she always found her way out when she wanted to. I'm always afraid of the day she won't come back." She looked down at the charm in her hands. "Eragon, I knew you and Saphira would leave one day, and your time in Ordon would become like a dream for us. I made this horse-call for you. It was supposed to be a parting gift, so that you might always remember Hyrule when you played it and knew we were all more than a dream."

Eragon's hands trembled slightly as she handed the horse-call back to him. He had been presented priceless treasures by dwarf kings and elfin queens. A farm girl's homemade gift should have paled in comparison, but it was something beyond measure.

"I could never forget you, Ilia," he said softly. "Much less Ordon Village or all of Hyrule. We'll always hold this horse-call and think of this land."

Ilia's brow furrowed until she noticed Saphira's brilliant blue eye peering through a hole in the building's wooden shutters. Yes. We shall treasure it always.

Renado and Gor Coron flinched in surprise. There were excited outbursts from the eavesdropping children outside. Ilia herself looked quite bemused.

"I always thought you were too intelligent to be a mere beast," she said softly. "Forgive me for ever thinking otherwise."

In the past I've often refrained from speaking for fear of upsetting the people around me that are quite content in thinking I am but a dumb animal. Especially here, Eragon and I thought it had been for the best. We'd already fallen from the sky, after all, and we didn't want to alarm you further. She chuckled in chagrin. Lately I've tired of others speaking for me. After such a heartfelt display of honesty I could keep silent no longer.

"I know that voice," Gor Coron muttered with a frown. Then his eyes widened. "Vervada?"

Your patriarch fortunately cannot remember being saved by humans, Saphira said brightly. There's no reason for him to ever know he was also saved by a dragon in human form.

"Yes," the elder agreed with only the slightest waver to his voice. "No reason at all."

Not about to be left out again, Saphira resumed Hylian form. Her mind radiated delight at the crowd of children that assailed her with enthusiastic questions and cries of disbelief. She waded through the chaos to join them, firmly closing the door behind her so that Beth and Talo had to peer through the broken shutters to spy on them.

Murtagh rolled his eyes at her melodramatic reveal. Grabbing the wooden carving from Eragon's pocket, he presented it to Ilia. "Impaz wanted you to have this so that you might always remember her friendship."

"Thank you," Ilia said softly, holding the carving close. "I'm glad she's okay, but I wish she would have come you."

"Impaz wanted to remain where she was. We couldn't force her from her home against her will." Eragon turned to Gor Goron. "The bridge is gone and easy access to her village blocked, but Bulblin raiders still got in. Impaz is an old woman by herself. We killed them all, but we might not be around if something else tries to settle there."

Gor Coron dipped his head. "Gorons are well-used to difficult terrain and respect elders of all races. I am sure Darbus would not object to sparing some guards for one wise old woman who bravely risked herself to save another."

Renado's unreadable gaze appraised them all before he at last motioned toward the cellar entrance. "Telma's acquaintance is still down there investigating the statue. It's been there since long before I became shaman. My predecessor knew nothing about it either."

Saphira nimbly leaped down into the hole without bothering with the tattered netting thrown over the side of one wall. Eragon and Murtagh followed.

Eragon had never been inside the sanctuary's cellar before. During the Twilight he had been trapped as a dragon and had relied upon Saphira's Hylian form to reach areas he could not. The basement started as a narrow shaft as dirt but widened into a larger chamber. Wooden beams that supported the sanctuary above braced the walls. Shad himself stood intently before a giant stone statue of an owl set into one of the walls.

Shad was so engrossed he did not notice them until Saphira cleared her throat. He whirled around, reaching for the dagger in his notebook. Noticing who was behind them, he stood up straight, and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Oh, hello. Didn't see you there."

Murtagh stared past him to the stone owl. "Why are you so obsessed with that statue?"

"The Sky People must have left it behind. It's as the same as the one in the manuscripts my dear father left me. There are many similar statues around Hyrule, but this one is different. Here, look at the belly..." Eragon squinted where Shad was pointing. Upon the owl's stomach was a raised seal that resembled an eyeball. "There's something written there, you see? This, too, was in my father's notes. It's called Sky Writing. My father believed this statue was under a seal only the right spell could break."

Eragon pulled Impaz's leather-bound from his pocket. Inside its yellowed pages was text even Midna considered alien chicken scratch. "Do you recognize this as Sky Writing too?"

Shad's dubious squint widened into a bewildered expression as he frantically skimmed through its pages. "Where on Din's green earth did you get this?"

"A Sheikah," Murtagh said flatly.

"A Sheikah? They're the elusive protectors of the Royal Family. Oh, of course! The Sky People must have had contact with their pages!" With a giddy laugh Shad pored over the book. "Granted there are symbols missing, but I have never seen a work of Sky Writing this complete before. I think there's even a spell in here to break the statue's seal!"

"What are the chances the spell does something else?" Saphira asked warily.

"Very little. I'm the foremost expert on Sky Writing in Hyrule, I'll have you know." Shad hesitated. "But perhaps you three should stand back. Just in case the seal breaks a little more violently than I anticipated."

They rolled their eyes but retreated back into the narrow shaft anyway. Eragon kept one expectant hand on the Master Sword's hilt. In his shadow Midna muttered something about crackpots.

"R-Right. Let's try it out!" Raising the book before him, Shad chanted an alien spell in a low, steady voice. Something in his cadence reminded Eragon of the excited babble Ooccoo and her son had exchanged in their own tongue. His shoulders slumped as the seconds crawled by. "No reaction. I don't understand! This had to have..."

He trailed off as an odd humming filled the air. Murtagh frowned in suspicion as he withdrew the Dominion Rod from his bag. He had never given it back to Midna after she had complained about lugging around enough useless things. The rod once again shone as if brand new, its end pulsing with magic. Shad's jaw dropped.

"It's called the Dominion Rod," Eragon explained hastily. "It controls statues enchanted by the Sky People, but we thought it had ran out of magic. Your spell must have imbued it with more power." He frowned at the statue's seal. "The rod usually enchants a spot in the statue's center, but I don't think it will work on this one."

On Murtagh's urging he tried just to be sure. The orb's power impotently flowed over the statue's still surface before returning to the rod.

"The other owl statues all have holes in their bellies," Shad said excitedly. "I have all their locations memorized. Maybe if you move enough of them around you might uncover the spell for the seal."

Murtagh arched a critical brow. "How many owl statues are there?"

"Six, I believe."

"And they're scattered across Hyrule?"

"Um, yes."

Murtagh frowned at the stone carving the statue was set into. "The Dominion Rod just moves statues around, aye? Why not remove the statue? What's important is what is concealed behind it, not the statue itself."

Shad chuckled. "My dear father once tried to bomb a statue. They are shockingly resilient. Another testament to the Sky People's durable enchantments."

Saphira cocked her head as she surveyed it. "It's not that big. And it's not set firmly into the wall. There's space between them."

Eragon caught on. "Enough for your claws?"

Shad straightened. "Ah. I had quite forgotten you were... capable of that. If it isn't too much trouble, may I ask-"

"No," Murtagh growled. Grabbing Shad by the coat, he hauled him into the shaft so that Saphira might have room to transform.

Despite his irritation she preened regardless. "Another time, perhaps. When there isn't a kingdom to be saved."

Once they were clear of her she transformed. Shad gasped, frantically scrawling things done in his journal as the she-dragon pried her claws between the statue and its stone frame. With much growling and mental cursing she finally succeeded in toppling the thing forward. Shad's father had at least been right about the statue's durability. Its sleek surface appeared unmarred.

Behind the statue was a narrow passageway. Saphira resumed human form and was the first to step through. Shad eagerly followed at her heels.

Some of the cavern roof above had crumbled to allow the dying daylight. The ruined artifact's shadow loomed large over them all.

"Amazing!" Shad gasped. "Spectacular. This must be the Sky Cannon I read about in my father's notes. I knew my intuition was onto something when it led me here. Legend says its innards are powerful enough to propel someone into the heavens."

"And then send them crashing back to earth?" Murtagh muttered.

"Supposedly the Sky People's enchantments were so precise the Sky Cannon always safely dropped a passenger off to the City in the Sky. But it looks quite out of shape now and the skylight here is far too narrow for a safe take-off." Shad tilted his head resolutely. "We need to locate a cannon specialist. It'll cost a small fortune to repair the cannon and widen the opening here, but in a few weeks we should be ready for an expedition!"

"Shad," Saphira reminded him gently. "I can fly."

"Ah, yes." He fiddled with his glasses in chagrin. "I do not suppose there is room for a third passenger?"

"We're seeking a dark artifact that corrupted its surroundings," Eragon explained. "It would be safer if you waited for us to cleanse the city first."

"I understand," the scholar said softly. "I don't want to be in anyone's way. Just give me a moment to help you out." Despite the dim light he bent over both the Sky Cannon and the book, muttering to himself. Finally he scribbled something down in his journal and ripped out a page. "Here. These should be the City in the Sky's coordinates."

"Thank you," Saphira said earnestly. "And I do promise to take you up there when I have the time to do so."

"Do you suppose in the mean time I might borrow your book and your wonderful Dominion Rod? I might find symbols my dear father could only dream about."

Already feeling terrible for stomping upon the scholar's life-long dream, Eragon wished to leave him a simple consolation prize, but the City in the Sky was supposedly an Oocca settlement. Both the book and the Dominion Rod might once again prove invaluable. He promised Shad he could one day have them both.

They settled down for the night in Kakariko's inn. Over a simple but hearty meal Eragon and Saphira both regaled the children with an enthusiastic (and heavily censured) endition of their adventures. Even Murtagh proved surprisingly talkative when cajoled by adorable youths. Their past beyond Hyrule was a subject carefully picked over. The children were easily distracted by their more outrageous recollections and simple spells. Renado was tactful enough to not press the issue in public. Shad was too busy poring over the book for the short time he had it to bother paying attention. He diligently sketched out the Dominion Rod and the book's Sky Writing in his journal.

The Gorons watching over the town did not eat with them as they favored rocks from one particular cavern over any cooked meal. News of Vervada's true identity had still spread. Gor Coron pointed out she had technically never lied to them, for her human form was very much Hylian, it was just that she also happened to be a dragon too. A dragon that had helped calm Death Mountain and liberate their patriarch. Their grumbles were still smoothed out. Gorons proved surprisingly amenable to human-shaped dragons over alcohol.

When they retired for the evening Eragon found himself unable to sleep. Shad had fallen asleep drooling into the open pages of his journal. Privately he debated with Saphira and Murtagh over what to do. In the dead of night he and Midna finally slipped out with their blessing. The inn's residents were too deep in dreams to notice their absence.

First they crept down to the sanctuary's cellar and warped the Sky Cannon to Lake Hylia. Fyer was still awake and running his attraction. The old man called it a hunk of junk with potential. For a generous amount of rupees Eragon persuaded him to repair it. Even after he and Saphira left Hyrule Shad would have a way to access the city of his dreams within a few weeks' time. Ooccoo and her son would have a reliable way home.

With the deal hammered out they left Fyer to ponder over his new project and slipped back into the darkness.

"Can we go back to bed now?" Midna groused. "We have a big day tomorrow."

Eragon wanted nothing more than to agree with her. His eyes instead settled upon Hyrule Castle's distant shape. Against the starlit sky its barrier cast a sickly glow. His heart tugged him onward.

Midna sighed. "You cleared it with everybody this time, right?"

Eragon nodded sincerely. "He's waiting for me outside the barrier."

"And causing the rest of Hyrule's sorry guards to run in terror. Better go save their sorry asses from the big bad ghost wolf."

Recalling the hysteria that had broken out when he had last swooped down upon Castle Town as a dragon he instead entered the capital on foot. Most civilians had retreated to their homes for the night. Eragon slipped past the patrols easily. Only two guards watched over the castle's entrance in the central square. A simple spell had them asleep on their feet. Midna muttered they probably did that every night regardless of his interference.

He easily ascended the stone steps leading up to the castle. Its oaken gates were unguarded and unlocked. Slipping through the narrow opening between them, he discovered the Golden Wolf sitting patiently at the verge of the barrier.

His mentor slipped into a crouch as Eragon unsheathed the Master Blade. For a final time the Golden Wolf pounced and dragged him down into the dreamscape.

The Hero's Shade appeared as he always did. His form was no less ragged and his breathing no less labored. Still he sighed as if the world's weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"At last... the time is now. This is the seventh and final hidden skill I can pass on to you. This forgotten skill is the ultimate secret technique, and it tests the true courage of the one who wields it. Are you ready to master the final skill, which can be earned only by the one true hero?"

Eragon nodded.

"Very well. First prove yourself capable of wielding this land's magic."

The Hero's Shade settled into a fighting stance. Eragon raised the Master Sword and willed his power into it. The resulting jump strike knocked his mentor off his feet.

"Does the barrier block even you?" Eragon wondered as the Hero's Shade regained his footing.

"He made it especially for me. I was the one who came closest to killing him, after all, and perhaps he fears me still as he does no ther. But I am beyond death now. Let him see you and know the power to defeat him surpasses me."

As they lined up for the final spar Eragon found himself comparing the Shade to the man he had briefly glimpsed in the Temple of Time. The ornate armor and rotted features obscured all resemblance. Even the height looked wrong. Though the Shade's elaborate helm made him look deceivingly tall, he still towered a head over Eragon. The green-clad man had appeared his height, if not even shorter.

"I glimpsed you in the Temple of Time," he blurted out. "You looked a lot shorter."

The Shade chuckled hoarsely. "I knew I had felt strangely familiar eyes upon me. The Master Sword deemed a seven year slumber long enough. I was but seventeen, boy, still with some growing of my own to do. But not this much. There is nothing truly physical about the dreamscape. Our true bodies are elsewhere. This stature commands your respect, does it not?"

Eragon merely rolled his eyes. His ancestor already cast a shadow larger than life through his legacy. He had not needed to make it so literal, but he had also chosen to appear as both beast and rotting corpse.

"You have mastered numerous hidden skills and now house the spirit of the true hero. You now have the ability within you to magnify the power of your spin attack. But the only time you can draw out that power is when your energy brims at its fullest. A drop less and it will be unable to manifest."

Eragon waited for the Shade's demonstration. He only barked a laugh better suited for his wolf form.

"I am a shadow, Eragon. This power is beyond me. Show me the same is not true of you."

For a final time they crossed blades. Then the Hero's Shade leaped back. Within moments Eragon was encircled by his doppelgangers. Eragon slipped into a low stance, bringing the Master Sword back as he poured every drop of strength into it. He roared as he pivoted his feet and swung out. From the blade erupted a blood-red burst of power that shattered the false copies and sent the true Shade sprawling.

He climbed to his feet and inclined his head. "The final hidden skill, the great spin, has been passed on!"

Eragon nodded and demonstrated the technique a second time. He expertly twirled the Master Sword in his hands before sheathing it. His spirit thrummed with a sense of fulfillment.

"You have at last mastered all of the hidden skills. Although I accepted life as the hero, I could not convey the lessons of that life to those who came after. At last, I have fulfilled my obligations. You who have marched through countless foes, each mightier than the last... You, who now gaze to the future with vision unclouded... Surely you can restore Hyrule to its stature of yore as the chosen land of the gods. Farewell!"

The dreamscape faded away in a brilliant light. As the ground beneath his feet gave out, he heard the Shade call, "Go and do not falter, my child!"

Eragon awoke with a grunt. Midna, form unshadowed, peered anxiously down at him.

"Well?" she asked.

He stood. "I learned the final skill."

"And did your ancestor find peace?"

Eragon opened his mouth to reply the Shade had indeed eased his regrets and passed on to the next world, then promptly closed it when he could not recall his mentor stating any such peace.

"No," he whispered. "I don't think he did."

A century was little more than a blink of an eye to his kind. They were not much younger than creation itself. And yet he could not remember a time he did not hunger. Sacrifices, willing or involuntary, chopped-off limbs or entire villages, scarcely satiated him. Even sealed away for decades, offered blood and flesh by the twisted descendants of his priests, his slumber had been restless. Nothing could fill the void his name had left behind.

His master kept him on a tight leash. Occasionally he was allowed to feast upon a rebellious village but had to leave their bodies behind. The shambling puppets his master crafted from their empty husks offered little sustenance anyway.

His hunting grounds were strictly limited to those who dared cross the borders. It was dangerous territory as his siblings were always eager to contest the boundary lines. Iduneya lashed out with fang and fire fueled by fearful reverence. Menoa was a malevolent wall of forest. Sur was the storm and the raging sea and the power of pure faith had been long ago stolen from him. Their brother Beor was the distant mountain range who had turned their back upon their plight.

Hadara had first fought him back with horn and hoof. Though few had dared escape into her deserts they had clashed more often than their three siblings combined for they had once been twins. She loathed what he had become. He loathed her freedom. He longed for his winds to be driven back by her sandstorms and scorching heat. Her hatred reminded him he was more than what he had become.

His twin had fallen silent. Her realm was cold and quiet and made even avoid even testing the border. Strange black little parasites spilled over from her lands. They tasted bitter and curdled even his stomach. He ate them regardless. The smaller the infestation in his domain, the less his master wanted to retaliate. Hadara was sealed away in her spring, smothered in shadow, but not robbed of her name. Eternal imprisonment far outshone eternal nameless hunger.

Fortunately, his master was far too busy raising his last armies to pay much attention to the borders at all. Hadara was safer that way.

Murtagh bit back a curse as awoke from a dream too vivid to have been anything but another vision. For a long time his mind reeled as it tried to make sense of very inhuman thoughts and feelings. Eventually it all began to make terrible sense. The shadow beasts spilling into Alagaesia from the Hadarac Desert. Neither had the armies of rotted corpses shambling south.

His mental shields had failed in his sleep. The children in the inn with him were mercifully unattuned to his mind and blissfully oblivious. They slept soundly, their dreams not haunted by even mundane nightmares, for three great heroes were in town tonight.

Saphira was not so ignorant. In the darkness her blue eyes blazed. Enough of his dream had spilled into her mind for her to not question it.

The Hadarac Desert is in the Twilight. I recognized that magic on the borders. She spoke mentally so the children did not stir. Her thoughts conveyed foreboding no audible voice could.

Murtagh nodded grimly. He pointedly tried not to think of Nasuada, of how she had once told him about her family in the Hadarac Desert's wandering tribes or how he had last seen her vulnerable on the Surdan border. Saphira pointedly wondered about everyone else except Nasuada.

Silently they packed their bags and left to await the others.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Daybreak - Kokia

Eragon's soul was heavy when he returned to Kakariko. In his heart he knew the Hero's Shade had not yet found peace, if he could ever find it all. He had not only died with his skills, but with his greatest foe sealed away with the promise to one day slaughter his descendants. Perhaps the Shade would only rest with Ganondorf's final demise. If such a feat was even possible.

His hopes sank even further when he discovered a grim-faced Murtagh and Saphira awaiting him at Eldin Spring. He had scarcely resumed Hylian form before Saphira took his hand and dragged him away from town. Only in the privacy of Hyrule Field did they relate Murtagh's vision to him and Midna.

Despite his human form Eragon snarled and swore. Wanting nothing more than to fly home and raze Galbatorix's armies where they stood, he fumbled for the crystal in his pocket.

"Wait!" Midna said sharply, fully emerged from his shadow. "Zant and Galbatorix aren't working together!"

"They're sworn to the same master!" he snapped.

"And Galbatorix must hate every moment of it," Murtagh pointed out thoughtfully. "I know him far better than you. He only gained this power recently, presumably when Ganondorf returned. Not only is Galbatorix's strength dependent upon another's, but he is not even the servant to bring their master back. Those shadow beasts were attacking Imperial villages and the undead armies. They are no allies."

"Zant was always a brat," Midna mused. "He first sucked up to my father and fought with the other courtiers to gain his attention... the same courtiers that he twisted first to serve him. When Zant dies your Galbatorix won't have anymore distractions to deal with. His armies can march straight to Hyrule."

Eragon's confidence barely faltered. "This kingdom is protected by the gods themselves."

"And yet evil keeps getting in," Saphira said dryly. "We were dragged here for a reason, stone-head. Imagine if Galbatorix gets here before we kill Ganondorf."

It was too terrible to contemplate. Eragon shook visions of a desecrated Castle Town stalked by shrieking undead from his head. He growled at Midna's terribly pensive face. "What else?"

"Zant dragged this kingdom into Twilight by sealing away its Light Spirits and scattering their power. What if he decided to keep this spirit's power instead of leaving it around for us to find and piece back together?" Midna threw her hands up into the air. "If we don't lift this darkness too Zant might not die. And yet we're only one shard away. We can't risk him moving it and losing access to the Twilight Realm forever."

"Alagaesia was my home before Hyrule ever was," Eragon argued weakly. His fists clenched as he debated the impossible. One hand bore his gedwey ignasia and the other his Triforce. To choose one was to risk damning the other.

"You said it yourself the gods of this land claimed you." Murtagh raised his unmarked hand to show his lack of divine obligation. "Galbatorix has sought to claim me all my life, but I am of the hero's blood too. This vision came to me. Let me protect Alagaesia where you are unable to."

Eragon froze at the thought of his brother facing off against Galbatorix alone. Then he relaxed. "You couldn't even enter the Twilight anyway. If you did you'd be a powerless spirit like everyone else. Zelda and I were the only true exceptions."

Midna bared her teeth. "I'm the Twilight Princess, Goddesses damn it, and Zant's just a false usurper. If he can't shatter the Mirror of Twilight than he sure as hell shouldn't be able to overrule me in my realm. False Twilight is still Twilight." She frowned pensively at Murtagh. "I should be able to protect your true form from corruption. But I don't have the strength to bestow you with any extra power."

Murtagh touched Zar'roc's hilt. "Never stopped me before." He looked Eragon square in the eye. "If you can free me from a true name then you have power enough to send me home."

Midna expectantly manifested the Ocarina of Time in his hands. Eragon swallowed thickly as he stared down at it. Every fiber of his being had screamed for his brother's freedom. Now a large part of him screamed he was sending his brother to his death. He dimly knew the Hero's Shade had used several melodies he'd taught to him as warp songs. To Eragon they had different connotations. And the songs had been keyed to specific stone pads. Alagaesia had no such carefully structured enchantments. A warp song that might safely send Murtagh to Kakariko's graveyard might scatter his body parts across the kingdom if Eragon dared send him to a Surdan city instead. The Song of Storms might bring winds strong enough to rip him apart.

"No," he said at last. "I don't think I do."

"But I do." Saphira jutted her chin forward. "It was the Song of Storms that first sent us here, wasn't it? You summoned a storm for your brother's salvation just as Zelda did for her realm's. Perhaps he too has it in him. If I rode such a storm once I can do it again."

"It nearly killed you!" Eragon roared.

With a growl Saphira resumed her true form. Eragon was forced to stand back and crane his head upward to look her in the eye. She unfurled her undamaged wings.

I survived, little one. Here I stand, older and wiser than before, with the wings to fly us all home. Murtagh might not have an advantage in the Twilight, but I do. If I go with him he need not go alone.

"Then I risk you both!"

Trust flows both ways, Eragon. Do we not share a soul? If your destiny is to be the Chosen Hero then it is also mine. Trust I am strong enough to protect your brother where you cannot and to stand for our homeland as duty calls you elsewhere.

Eragon sighed as he took in her form. Saphira had indeed grown stronger, for she had frequently exercised her limbs in sword-fighting and simply by walking beside him into areas she had once been able to last reach as a hatchling. Her determined scowl was a very human expression. He had in turn discovered snarls and growls had carried over from his dragon form. Yet, despite her previous rapid growth rate, Saphira had grown no larger during their time in Hyrule. Perhaps Faron's blessing had altered her in ways they had never expected

He bowed his head. "You are right, Saphira. Trust flows both ways. How can I not support you now after all the times you've been there for me?" He turned to Murtagh. "And you are my older brother. It is not my place to order you around. I am no Galbatorix. Please, allow me to show you the final hidden skills. They are your birthright too and secrets that do not leave our line. Take any advantage you can."

He had instructed Murtagh and Saphira on the hidden skills before. They effortlessly demonstrated the first five. Saphira, having little experience in Alagaesian magic, had no trouble latching onto the Hyrulean type. At first Murtagh struggled with both the jump strike and the great spin. He gritted his teeth and refused to give up until after he'd mastered both. Neither he nor Saphira could summon the devastating red wave of power Eragon could with the great spin. Their blue magic was weaker in comparison but far more than any Alagaesian swordsman could ever summon. Midna's golden eyes watched the entire demonstration impassively.

Murtagh had been about to sheathe his sword when Midna floated over. "May I?" He frowned but handed it to her regardless. Midna grunted with the effort but did not drop it. She ran a hand over Zar'roc's blood-red blade and the black glyph etched upon it. "A well-made sword. I doubt there's many even in this land that can match it. And I feel it has killed many."

"Zar'roc is my inheritance," Murtagh answered wanly. "Its name means 'misery.'"

"And there's nothing to stop you from chucking your inheritance into Death Mountain and forgetting about it." Midna sniffed. "Not that I would. This blade is strong enough to kill even shadow beasts in Twilight but it's not sentient. Zar'roc is no better or worse than the hand that wields it." She looked him in the eye. "My inheritance is a tribe that was banished for our ancestors' crimes. Zant wishes to prove us even worse. I aim to redeem my people from sins past and present. Can you do the same with your legacy?"

Murtagh inhaled deeply. "Aye."

"Then kneel." After a moment's hesitation he knelt. Midna hovered before him, wielding Zar'roc as best she could. "Do you vow to protect all that is good in the world, no matter which it may be?"

"Aye." He remained deathly still as Midna lowered the flat of Zar'roc's blade onto his right shoulder. With a grunt her small form then lifted the blade over his head and onto his left shoulder.

"Do you vow to bring misery down only upon the unjust who would wish it onto others?"

"Aye."

"Then go forth into darkness and do not falter, for you act on behalf of your Twilight Princess. Bring back light and goodness to our worlds. Arise Sir Murtagh Veles, Knight of Eluryh." Murtagh stood. Midna turned Zar'roc in her hands as she presented the sword back to him. "Forgive my improvisation. I never watched my father knight someone before."

Murtagh solemnly sheathed his sword. "I am honored, but why waste such accolades upon me?"

"In naming you my champion I have granted you legitimacy Zant lacks as a usurper. So long as you remain true to yourself you may venture into Twilight without fear of corruption." She turned apologetically to Eragon and Saphira. "You two have shown me more goodness in this realm than I ever thought possible from all its inhabitants combined. But the Light Realm's powers have claimed you both like they haven't your brother. I can't steal you two away so easily."

Murtagh snorted. "You didn't steal me. I serve of my own free will and I will one day stop serving of my own free will."

Midna smirked. "Believe me, I look forward to that day. It would be uncouth for me to be served by a light-dweller once I'm back on my throne."

Eragon frowned. "What does 'Veles' mean in your tongue?"

"Absolutely nothing. It's a Hylian surname. Your surname." Midna's expression grew wistful as she touched her temple. "Princess Zelda was the Bearer of Wisdom, remember? Of course she knew your family. Hyrule's surname system isn't patrilineal. The more prestigious name gets passed down and you two are descendants of a Chosen Hero."

Murtagh and Eragon exchanged a glance. They and Roran were the last surviving heirs of the Hero's Shade and had both been acknowledged by their ancestor. They had every right to claim his name if they wished it. It was a prouder name to bear than Morzansson.

Holding the Ocarina of Time in his hands, Eragon waited for his brother to pull out his far humbler instrument. He carefully played the Song of Storms without pouring any power into it. Murtagh carefully watched the placement of his fingers and the lengths of his breath. He practiced many times before Eragon was satisfied the tune was right. For safety's sake Eragon quickly showed him the other melodies he knew. In turn Murtagh taught him the Minuet of Forest and Epona's Song.

Eragon looked down to the ocarina in his hands. Not only was it an instrument of great power but one of the seals to the Sacred Realm. If he and Midna should fall before Zant or Ganondorf...

"Here. Keep it." He handed the priceless instrument to his brother. "It's powerful enough to get you and Saphira back to Alagaesia. You need it more than I do."

Murtagh frowned suspiciously. He passed his own humble ocarina into his brother's hands. "Then take this. If it was strong enough to warp me here than it's strong enough to serve you well."

They carefully divided their supplies between them. Due to the travel distance and a she-dragon's rougher scales Saphira received the saddle and saddle bags. Midna could store away all their possessions with magic. Murtagh took only Islanzadi's bow and some arrows for extra weapons. He had also wanted the ball and chain, but the extra weight would only slow Saphira down.

As they packed Saphira drilled Eragon on the City in the Sky's coordinates. Even a dragon's instinctive sense of direction might fall in an area so vast.

Murtagh glanced knowingly between them. "Despite the distance between me and Thorn I know he's still alive and well. You two are closer than I ever could hope to be with him so perhaps you might be able to sense more."

Saphira flashed her teeth in the best smile a dragon's face could make. Either way I know you'll be alright.

Eragon wanted nothing more than to hold her Hylian form close, for their arms could entwine in an embrace nothing could part. Yet Saphira was already saddled and they could afford to delay their departure no longer. He supposed he could settle for hugging her neck as best he could and being enveloped by her wings. Such an embrace had served them well in the past but the balance of power between them had changed since then. They now stood as equals. He wanted to part as such.

Reaching for the dark crystal in his pocket, he transformed into a dragon not much larger than her. This form did not have arms but he embraced her regardless with his wings. Saphira rested her head against his. Their tails twined where their hands could not.

"I promise to take good care of him for you," Midna vowed with a watery smile. "He's helpless without a sensible voice telling him where to go and what to kill."

I'll hold you to it, Midna. Saphira lowered her head so the Midna could gently touch her muzzle. I promise to keep your new knight in one piece.

Murtagh's lip quirked. "I'd swear an oath to it, but my knightly vows are the last I'd like to make in my lifetime."

Eragon lightly butted his brother with his head. I've just gotten used to having an older brother. Don't forget we still have years of brotherly bonding to still make up for.

"I'm willing to do anything that makes our father spin circles in his grave." For a brief second he stepped forward to wrap his arms around his neck. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back. "Come on, Saphira. Home is waiting."

Reluctantly the two dragons parted. Midna rose to lean against Eragon's shoulder as Murtagh mounted Saphira. He rose the Ocarina of Time to his lips and played. His notes rang with rage and sorrow on their people's behalf and the solemn determination to see them free.

Dark clouds covered the starlit sky as a sudden wind and rain whipped at his wings. Eragon dug his claws into the earth and Midna clung like a burr to his side. This storm was not meant for them. With a roar Saphira spread her wings and threw herself into the winds.

The storm blew out as quickly as it had come, leaving only rain-soaked grass in its wake. Midna made a face as she squeezed the water from her hair.

"Well?" she said. "I guess it's just the two of us again."

Eragon rolled his eyes fondly. The Twili and her sacred beast?

She cackled. "I was thinking of us as the Twilight Princess and her lizard-boy, but something along those lines. Once more, Eragon?"

Yes, once more.

Mapping out the stars in his head to the coordinates Shad had deduced, Eragon unfurled his wings and left solid ground behind. He hoped it would not be long before he touched it again.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Earth Temple - The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker

Thorn slowed as they neared Du Weldenvarden's border. Arya even felt him shudder beneath her before he finally landed with a grunt.

She really doesn't like dragons, does she?

Arya blinked. "The forest spirit?"

Oh, she's definitely a forest spirit that hates dragons. Probably because we burn down her trees and eat her animals. Thorn snorted. The feeling's mutual. I know a fucking bitch when I sense one. Guess that explains a lot of Murtagh's complaints about elves. But you're an exception to the rule.

Arya had the bemused grace to thank him for the compliment. Thorn obviously had no intention of taking her further. His bluntness would undoubtedly see him dead at the hands of a displeased spirit. She lightly descended from his back. "Thank you for taking me so far, Thorn. Where do you suppose you'll go from here?"

The red dragon had his nose raised to scent the air. Even Arya's duller senses detected wind and rain though there were no clouds in sight. A storm's blowing in. I think Murtagh is with it.

Arya's heart pounded in excitement. Obviously Thorn and his Rider owed their freedom to Eragon's interference. "Are Saphira and Eragon with him? Or do you think Murtagh has become like you?"

Thorn hesitated. He's not like me. And I don't think he's alone. He partially unfolded his wings. Sure you don't want to come with me? Fuck that spirit.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple for me. My people must have lived alongside her for millennium. We can't afford to alienate her when we need each other most." She paused. "If you do reunite with Eragon and Saphira, tell them I never gave up hope they were alive and well. I hope to bring them all the help they can get."

Thorn dipped his head before taking off. Arya did not watch him go. Her gaze remained fixated on the thick wall of trees below that marked Du Weldenvarden's threshold. Not long ago she had thought it her people's boundary. Now she too trembled as a wave of hostility washed over like a winter wind.

She steeled herself and pressed onward.

The forest's borders should have been guarded by both physical sentinels and wards against the arcane. She at least felt the wards, bolstered and twisted by a terrible undercurrent she instinctively shied away from. Arya tentatively opened her mind for the guards that should have long ago sensed her approaching presence. She quickly threw up her shields when the primitive mind of every plant and animal within sensing distance hissed at her to leave.

Arya bit back her terror. Her second instinct was too exert her royal authority. Diplomatic training urged her otherwise. The spirit apparently believed Arya had no authority here as she felt no elves belonged. Arya was not in a position to insist otherwise.

"I am Arya Drottningu," she declared, keeping any implication of condescension from her voice. It simply who she was. "I am the only daughter of King Evandar and Queen Islanzadi. I wish to make peace with the spirit of this land."

Outright hostility chilled to icy contemplation. Arya cautiously crossed the threshold. As she did something slithered across her feet.

She glanced down expecting vipers and instead saw vines that moved of their own accord. Their thick coils reeked of decay. The shining weapons that peaked out form them were too elegant to be man-made.

Keeping her horror tightly sealed away, Arya advanced. The familiar paths she had traveled since childhood were overgrown like they had last been tread decades ago. Still the trees themselves twisted to grant her passage. Wolves and wildcats with flashing eyes stalked her from the shadows. Sharp-clawed eagles and owls drifted overhead. Except for the whisper of vines at her feet the forest was deathly silent. The woods held its breath for her first and last mistake.

She wondered what had gone wrong so fast but dared not speak aloud. Undoubtedly elves used magic to hold the forest itself at bay from their cities. Those left outside had been forsaken to the forest. Why had the armies posted outside Du Weldenvarden not been alerted to the fact their own sanctuary held their families prisoner?

Arya knew better than to call upon a mount or to siphon energy from the forest around her. Her homeland's guardian was obviously not as tolerant as Sur and the Spine's spirit had been. She had thankfully stored enough energy in gems on her to continue onward without stopping. Instinct told her the vines only waited for her to lie down and rest.

Despite the forest's wild state Arya still recognized the way to the Menoa Tree. She had been attending Blood-Oath Ceremonies for nigh over a century. Her mind reeled in confusion. The Menoa Tree was old and mighty but its roots extended only ten mere acres, a mere fraction of Du Weldenvarden's seemingly endless expanse. Linnea had been an elf herself once before she had sung herself into a tree. If she had become a spirit why had she become hostile toward her own people without warning?

While all the woods were overgrown the area encircling the Menoa Tree had sprouted a living wall of thorns and entwined tree trunks. The ancient wood groaned as it parted to allow her through.

The Menoa Tree's bark pulsed with glowing arcane symbols of greenish-gold. Its consciousness rarely stirred. Now its force full slammed down upon her.

WHY HAVE YOU COME?

It was the voice of a forest made sentient. It was a force that could sweep Arya away as easily as driftwood on the tide.

The Menoa Tree had no eyes so Arya's gaze instead fixated on its pulsing runes. She remained standing. The forest floor shifted with treacherous vines and the earth itself groaned as ancient tree roots stirred. She tried to recall what 'Menoa' truly meant in the ancient language. Did it mean anything at all?

"We have peacefully lived beside you for millennium," she began carefully. Then she ventured, "Once you were even one of-"

NEVER!

Arya's knees nearly buckled as the flood of alien visions washed over her. For a brief second she knew how it felt to be a whole forest and a spirit in a spring. Her ancestors had called the spring Menoa but it had believed it mere water. Their elders had not been so certain, even when their children had sneered at them for superstitions best left behind in their homeland. Linnea had been an old elf, bogged down by rage and regret over her murders. She had first attempted to fling herself into sacred waters and forever sully the spring with her suicide. Remembering the legends, Linnea instead clung to the ancient tree whose roots dipped into the spring, and sang for salvation.

Menoa never paid mortals any mind, but Linnea had been insistent. After three days and three nights, her request was granted in death's sweet release. The tree, already flowing with a spirit's power, enveloped the elf's body directly into it to nourish its ever-growing roots. In no time it grew over the spring and forever protected its waters from future defilement. The younger elves had never believed in its guardian spirit, but they had believed in the elder that had sang herself into a tree. Menoa rarely stirred. When she did, they believed her Linnea's lingering essence.

"No," Arya agreed softly. "Never an elf." Never mortal. Even a modern elf or dragon was not invincible. Menoa was ancient and immortal as the land itself.

The humans to the south had nourished Sur with faith and prayer. Her people had thought the forest theirs alone to protect and cultivate. They had unwittingly gorged its guardian on pure magic and wards centuries old.

TRESPASSERS. ONCE WE DROVE YOU ACROSS THE WATERS AND FROM THIS WORLD. YOU COME SKULKING BACK! DEFILER OF MY SISTER'S SPRING. I DO NOT FORGET, INTERLOPER, AND I DO NOT FORGIVE.

"Galbatorix is a traitor to us all!" Arya shouted. "He is no elf!"

Menoa roared back in rage and grief. NOT MY BROTHER, ROBBED OF HIS NAME. HADARA, ROBBED OF HER LIGHT!

Arya's heart plummeted. A century sacrificed against Galbatorix alone and now another threat had forced its way into the war? Elf or not, she would see it dead all the same. Alagaesia had suffered enough.

Menoa was unconvinced. UNDO IT ALL, INTERLOPER! YOUR MOCKERY OF CREATION.

She grew only angrier at Arya's confusion. The vines at her feet writhed like wrathful serpents.

"I am only Islanzadi's daughter," she said at last. "I may never rule as queen. Whatever else you wish of me is beyond my power."

Menoa roared her demand again, bombarding her battered mental shields with a new onslaught of visions. Arya's eyes widened in terrible understanding.

"It is beyond me. Beyond us all. What was wrought might never be undone."

For a moment the spirit fell deathly silent. Arya braced for her demise. Then Menoa stated another ultimatum. This one was slightly less impossible. Perhaps, gods willing, even something that might actually happen within her own lifetime. On its own it already seemed inevitable.

"This again stretches beyond my people's purview. I at least vow to do our part."

She was willing to swear so in the ancient language but Menoa's mind shrieked at the suggestion. The trunk of the Menoa Tree was a hundred times thicker than a common tree. Its ancient bark creaked and groaned as the trunk unfolded like a flower. At its center rested a shimmering spring. Vines slithered over Arya's feet and encircled the spring, twining into the coils of a serpent made of living plant-life. Golden runes pulsed down its sides. Its eyes were golden pits.

Remembering what had befallen Linnea, Arya approached the spring's shore and extended her right hand. With a tip of her thorny fang the serpent pierced her skin. A single blood drop fell to stain the water below. For a heartbeat the golden runes upon the serpent and the tree flashed deep red. Arya felt tenterhooks sink into her soul she knew not even death could release her from.

The vines and thorns collapsed and folded into themselves. They flowed into Arya's outstretched hand, forming a deceptively simple wooden staff. She stepped back.

The serpent remained, now a being of pure energy.

"Go forth with my blessing, Arya Drottningu," intoned Menoa. "Recover my sister. Redeem your people. Remember your oath."

Gracefully the spirit slipped into her spring, the tree folding back down around it. Arya raced out to avoid being swallowed by it. She had no wish to become like Linnea.

The entire forest was alive. Trees untangled themselves with creaking groans. Their roots replanted themselves. Vines slithered back into branches and fell limp upon the grass. Creatures of every size retreated into the woods as their natural instincts reasserted themselves.

With a final groan the Menoa Tree resumed its normal stature. The glowing runes upon its bark faded away. The first bird tentatively sang out. Then the usual forest ambiance returned as if it had never ceased.

An elf-horse Arya recognized as Folkvir awaited her at the edge of the clearing. She politely sent him away. Wooden staff warm in her hands, she set off for Ellesmera on her own two feet. She trusted the forest no further.

Thorn's heart of hearts tugged him east toward Murtagh. Dragons and Riders were supposedly inseparable, after all, and it seemed like lifetimes since he had been unceremoniously ripped away from him. It would be their first time gazing upon each other as free men. And Thorn was morbidly curious as to how Murtagh would react to his unexpected gift.

Common sense urged him to take the long way around. Galbatorix's realm and Du Weldenvarden were both suicide to cross. At least Surda was not inhabited by a spirit directly malevolent toward him.

His conscience refused to rest unless he skimmed the border on his journey south. The elvan armies still proved hopelessly inadequate when it came to protecting the foothill villages. Every whiff of death and defilement on the air had him razing yet another small horde. Urgency usually demanded him to leave as soon as possible. Sometimes he stuck around for a thank you feast if he was hungry enough. He waved off offers of gold and awkwardly dodged arduous maidens.

On his way south his enemies grew in diversity. Skeletal elves moved swifter than even their human counterparts. His spear stopped what his claws could not. It was a small blessing none had magic. Even a simple word of death could have been enough to kill him. Their weapons proved unusually durable. Those that did not disintegrate into dark magic alongside their wielders proved resistant to his flames. Their corruption burned away, he had no problem leaving them behind for villagers to scavenge. Perhaps one day they could even profit from such lucrative finds. They certainly deserved something for surviving such apocalyptic times.

One find, however, Thorn had to keep for himself. Its wielder had not died easy.

First he prodded it with a foot to ensure it was real and completely untouched by his cleansing flames. Then he cautiously lifted it in his free hand. He supposed it had a name, but neither he nor Murtagh had ever given a flying fuck about memorizing the obnoxiously ornate alphabet the elves used to decorate such swords. Only Zar'roc and Vrangr rivaled it in quality.

"Fuck," he growled. "Because it couldn't possibly get any worse."

His spear and armor seamlessly transformed with him. The blade did not. He disdainfully held it in a claw as he flew west.

Thorn had long ago learned how to cloak his presence from searching minds. Now he lowered his mental shields. His blazing mind took no time at all to attract a single tentative scout.

The silver-haired elf warningly raised his spear as he landed. Thorn rolled his eyes and snorted. He threw the rose-colored blade at the scout's feet. The scout blinked before his brows knit together, a spell forming on his lips. His mind remained stubbornly closed.

His mouth fell open in a dumbstruck gape when Thorn transformed and indignantly brandished his spear at him.

"Of course I didn't kill a Rider, you slow-witted fuck. Are there any fucking pink dragons alive today? I don't know who your fucking commander is, but tell him to keep a better eye on the fucking borders. Do you know many undead humans and elves I had to slay today? And now I just killed my first fucking Dragon Rider. It's gonna be the actual dragons next because there is no mercy in this fucking world."

The elf's mouth stupidly worked on a question. Sensing other elves swarming their ways, Thorn again cloaked his presence and ascended. Not even an elf could hope to catch a dragon with the wind at his back.

He hoped Murtagh wasn't encountering such troubles. He'd had enough of the dead to last him a lifetime.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Quitting the Body - Chrono Cross

After many long hours in the air, Eragon nearly cried out in relief when he finally spotted a floating structure too elaborate to be a mere cloud. Dragons may have been long-distance fliers but he lacked Saphira's stamina. Only recently had he gained his draconic form and never before had he flown so long or so far. The City in the Sky hovered at an altitude no bird would dare to climb.

Midna had largely retreated into his shadow to escape the whipping winds but she occasionally emerged to break up the tedious flight with conversation. He felt her familiar weight settle onto his back as their destination finally came into sight. "Nearly there, Eragon," she encouraged.

His aching wings couldn't wait. He leveled out his course, straining to see the city in full as it came into view... and growled at the swiftly gathering clouds. All day long the skies had been mostly sunny. Now he sensed a drop of pressure his instincts screamed was an oncoming thunderstorm. Even dragons were not immune to lightning.

Zant, he snarled. Of course it had to be the usurper king's doing. Ignoring the lead in his wings he flapped faster.

From one of the darkening clouds came a searing tongue of light. Thinking it lightning, Eragon reflexively shied away. Only when a large shape erupted out of the clouds did he realize it had been dragon-fire.

The stranger was unlike any dragon he had seen before, with only hind-limbs and wings like a bird's. From snout to tail his scarlet scales were protected beneath black armor, even his tail-tip armed with an artificial golden spike. He was smaller than Thorn had been on the Burning Plains. Eragon hesitated, instincts unsure of what to make such a creature.

"Peh," Midna spat. "This should be child's play for you."

Eragon tentatively reached out. The red dragon batted his mind away and shrieked furiously.

Recognizing a challenge when he heard one, he bellowed back. Wild Alagaesian dragons had long battled each other for territory and social rank. Instinct urged him forward. His jaws snapped out for his challenger's vulnerable wings.

Despite his armor his enemy deftly turned. Eragon barely drew his head back before the wickedly long claws on the edge of the Hyrulean dragon's wings sliced through his snout. Blood still seeped from the gash he had taken. He replied with a blast of his own flames. His opponent had already dived back into the cloud cover.

Sensing what was about to come, Eragon whirled around, taking the fire-blast meant for Midna on his armored underbelly. The Twili vanished into his shadow with a yelp.

As the battle wore on Eragon's confidence faded. His superior size and strength made him bulky in comparison. He had largely been secluded away with Oromis when Glaedr had instructed Saphira on traditional tactics against a fellow dragon. Not only was he exhausted and inexperienced, but facing a dragon with the storm at his back. Every wind that buffeted Eragon away was one his rival used to deftly dodge or swoop down upon him. Eragon's few blows uselessly struck armor. Eventually the red dragon shook off the few remaining pieces, sacrificing defense for lethal speed and agility.

"I don't know if he's controlling the storm or if the weather's just out to kill you!" Midna called as thunder first boomed. "Just finish the fight!"

He roared back that he was trying. Dimly he noticed the fight had brought them above a green field atop the floating city's highest tower. Inspiration struck.

Eragon inhaled deeply and focused his thoughts inward. Reaching for a part of his soul far deeper than a dragon's boiling fury, he exhaled and exuded a radiance that outshone even the lightning bolts.

The red dragon flinched away from the brightness. Eragon dove upon his blinded opponent, his claws tearing at tattered wings into his wings and sinking his teeth deep into a scarlet threat. Salty blood doused his tongue as they fell together. Eragon angled himself. His opponent hit the earth with a sickening crunch. And exploded into dark magic. Even the blood on Eragon's tongue evaporated and left only a faint foulness behind.

Weakly he rose his head as his challenger's remains and the storm itself condensed into a shimmering shard. Midna deftly leaped up to catch it. She didn't even look at their prize as she whirled back to him.

"Idiot!" she cried. "Are you okay?"

He reached out for the glittering Heart Container that had landed at his paws. New strength flooded into his veins as his broken bones snapped back into place. Still slightly nauseated at the taste on his tongue he resumed human form just to stand on his two feet and stretch his limbs.

"I'm fine," he assured her. It was only a slight lie, for not even the Heart Container's magic had completely removed the heavy exhaustion seeped deep down into his bones. His surroundings, including Midna's skeptical stare, spun slightly. After a moment he reluctantly conceded. "Alright. I may need to rest a bit before we finally face Zant."

Midna reached out to gently touch his shoulder. "Don't get yourself killed because of me, lizard-boy. Saphira and your brother would never forgive me... I could never forgive me."

"I promise," he vowed. It would have seemed more convincing if he could have stopped his limbs from shaking. Wing fatigue translated differently in human form.

The City in the Sky hovered miles above the earth. Rather than being a singular structure, the city was divided into smaller towers connected by bridges. If Eragon craned his head just right he could spot the propellers beneath each segment that kept the city aloft. It was a strange hybrid of magic and technology reminiscent of the Temple of Light. Even the abstract designs bore some similarity.

While much of the Temple of Light had been in pristine condition, the City in the Sky's gardens were overgrown and its floors crumbling. Aside from the occasional Oocca the entire place looked uninhabited. They walked on walls without heeding gravity and happily chattered to them in their alien language. A few spoke Hylian and eagerly greeted them as tourists, remarking on how fortunate they were to visit right when the monster infestation and unpredictable weather patterns had cleared up.

Eragon tiredly went along with their presumptions but drew the line at staying the night. He did not wish to inflict any further attention from Zant upon them. Their city's desolate silence unnerved him.

Midna did not have the energy to warp him down to earth. Eragon's disembodied wings ached at the thought of taking flight again. They had been desperate enough to accept free passage in the Ooca's cannon. Eragon slammed into Lake Hylia alive and relatively intact, Midna safely stowed away in his shadow.

They warped to Castle Town only to purchase supplies. Eragon couldn't bear staying the night at Telma's Bar seemingly alone. They'd demand answers, or worse, to risk their own lives fighting by his side. Nothing more would be lost to the Twilight.

Instead they camped within the Mirror Chamber. Eragon warily glanced at its empty frame. Midna kept the shards safely stored away until they were ready to enter her realm. A portal went both ways, after all, and neither wished an ambush in their sleep

Eragon frowned contemplatively at the setting sun. "How does the day function in your world?"

"Perpetual twilight, remember?" Midna glanced at the portal with a wistful sigh. "It's more pleasant than it sounds. No blinding brightness, no crushing darkness, just a tranquil in-between. My people knew peace beneath that light until that power pervaded the world." She hesitated. "Eragon, did I ever tell you exactly how I was banished?"

His brow furrowed. Over their time together her past had been gradually revealed. "Never in its entirety," he admitted.

"My father passed away some time ago. Due to tradition a new monarch cannot be crowned until the mourning period has passed. During this time the heir is not yet truly king or queen. They do not have the power to formally betroth or wed. That did not stop suitors from calling upon me. I rejected them all, including Zant. It was my last day as Twilight Princess when he invaded my castle." She inhaled shakily, holding back a sob. "He killed or corrupted everyone so he had no pretenders to my throne. He did it to his own family. And then he came for me."

Eragon cautiously reached for her tiny hand. She did not shy away. Instead she gripped it like a lifeline.

"Zant offered me the chance to rule by his side as a consort. I refused. I prayed he would settle for killing me instead of twisting me into a shadow beast. Instead he turned me into this thing. Small, ugly, and powerless." She tapped the hideous helm upon her head. "When my ancestors were banished into the Twilight this was the only Fused Shadow we could cling to. My line watched over it for centuries so none could use it again to twist our people's hearts. Now practically all my power comes from it."

"Just today you told my brother his sword was no better or worse than the hand that wielded it," Eragon reminded her. "There is no better hand than yours to wield your people's power for good."

"I know," she said softly. "You were my first friend in this world, Eragon. You gave me hope for this world, for all worlds, even my own. I just wanted you to know that."

Eragon slipped his hand from hers to remove his glove. He smiled wanly as he showed her the gedwey ignasia branded upon his right hand. "Did I ever exactly tell you how Saphira and I came to this land?"

He started from the very beginning, when he had been no more than a hapless hunter that had unwittingly stumbled upon a dragon egg. Even the terrible revelation upon the Burning Plains spilled out of him like rainwater. His time in Hyrule seemed to have lasted years. Only after Saphira had insisted upon her and Murtagh's return home did Eragon realize how a part of him had never expected to see Alagaesia again. Now the dam had burst.

"Wow," Midna said when he had finally finished. For a long time she fell silent. "There's so many things I want to see about what destiny and the gods have treated you, but we need them both on our side right now. At least things worked out between you and Murtagh, especially since..."

"Since what?"

"It's just some dumb old legend from my people. Nothing to worry about considering the day we have tomorrow. Sorry for keeping you up this late."

Eragon rolled his eyes skyward. "Our last 'dumb old legend' led us to Shad's Sky People."

Midna snorted. "Not really. Shad's Sky People are obviously long dead. Their city is a ruin overtaken by talking bird-people. Everything in that place was human-sized. The Oocca are probably squatters or maybe even the descendants of their pets. Or their actual pets. I have no idea how old Ooccoo and her son are."

Eragon groaned. Another mystery that would likely never be solved. Perhaps Shad might be able to make sense of it when the Sky Cannon was rebuilt.

She hesitated. "Well... this story does involve the sacred beast. Sort of." Eragon arched a brow. "My tribe wasn't always one people. There's a lot of legends that got blended and jumbled down the generations. A lot contradict each other. Scholars still can't really determine its origins, only it's the oldest verified legend with clear mention of the sacred beast."

"Now I won't be able to rest until I hear it." He only half-joked.

Midna floated down to lie in sand still warmed from the sun and stared up the stars. Eragon joined her, arms behind his head.

"It was the treacherous brother that spurred this line of thought," she warned. "And it didn't work out for them like it did for you and Murtagh. But it goes something like this..."

Every child knows the names of the three Golden Goddesses; Din, maker of the earth, Farore, giver of life, and Nayru, mistress of order. Together they struck down the primordial chaos and brought forth creation. They crafted both the mortal races and the guardian spirits charged with protecting their lands from threats not of the Goddesses' creation.

Some would argue there exists no other gods but the Goddesses themselves. Any other such powers are simply either incarnations of the Goddesses themselves, misconceived guardian spirits, or outright fabrications. Others believe weaker gods always existed in the shadow of the Goddesses, only finding purpose within their creation. Still others claim these lesser gods sprang forth from creation itself, given life by either elemental forces or faithful followers. What mortal alive today can say for certainty which is truth?

Some say when the world was still new that two young gods took it upon themselves to help defend creation after the Goddesses departed the mortal realm. They were brothers, one stronger than all mortals and the other braver. Together they drove back those that would see the Goddesses' work undone.

Sometimes a brother died in his task. It was no matter, for gods do not remain dead for long. By dawn the next day the fallen brother had risen again to continue the fight. Mortals and spirits alike hailed them for their strength and bravery.

But the strong god grew envious of his brother's acclaim. He believed himself capable of defending creation by himself. Why should he have to share glory with a younger brother who did not have his raw power?

Mind made up, the strong god bided his time. It did not take long for his brother to next fall in battle. Normally a god stood guard over his fallen brother's corpse until it rose the next morning. Instead the strong god dismembered his brother's corpse and scattered the pieces to the four corners of the earth. He blamed it upon vengeful demons that had overpowered even him.

His sister believed his story, for he was her brother and a heartfelt liar who had never done her wrong. But she did not give up hope their brother could live again. After all, gods do not die easily. She took the form of a great bird of prey to scour the skies for his remains. During the day she flew as a great eagle and at night as an owl. She scoured ocean depths and mountain heights. Finally, after a painstaking search, her labor was complete and her brave brother breathed again. The siblings rejoiced. Not knowing their brother's betrayal, they went to reunite with him.

Seeing his brave brother back from the dead, the strong god was furious. Already he had grown used to having the world's acclaim to himself and would not share with another, no matter how temporarily. He fell upon his brother again. Their sister tried to resist, but the strong god was overpowered them both. Not only did he again kill his brother and scatter his body parts to the winds, but swallowed the brave god's heart so that their sister might never piece him back together.

Though not as strong as the god, she was almost as brave as her brother, and far more clever than them both. Once more she flew on a raptor's wings to find and unite her brother's body. Then she flew to the Nexus of Life, where Farore's magic was still its strongest, and snatched fruit from its oldest tree.

Donning a beautiful mortal form, the sister approached her brother and played the guise of the reverent worshiper, offering up Farore's fruit as tribute. Since murdering his brother the strong god had stopped driving back chaos and lorded over the world himself, for he craved fear more than love. Yet he still luxuriated in the woman's elegant praises and hungered for her regard. Ignorant of the offering's power, the strong god devoured it whole.

Farore's fruit was imbued with such Life it revitalized the brave god's lifeless heart, still sitting in his brother's belly. Not only did it beat again, but pulsed so violently not even the strong god could contain it. The sister quickly took an eagle's shape, snatching her brother's heart in her talons and flying away as fast as her wings could carry her. The furious strong god could not keep up. Instead he vowed vengeance upon them both and took his fury out upon the mortals he had once protected.

At last the sister united her brother's heart with his body and restored him to life. This time they did not rejoice for they knew their brother's wanton destruction would never stop until they ended it. Only together did they stand a chance stopping such power.

Their battle against their brother was long and bloody. Their blows gouged deep valleys into the land and stained mountains red, scars upon Din's earth that still exist today. No matter how bravely or wisely they fought the siblings did not have enough power to bring their brother low. Every time they struck him down he immediately rose up again. He boasted he would kill them both and throw their bodies back into chaos, so that they might never rise again.

The sister, her strength flagging, made a last suicidal dive upon the strong god in the hopes of weakening him enough for their brother to finish off. She did not fly fast enough. The strong god took the shape of a great beast and swatted her out of the sky, crushing her beneath his bulk.

The brave god howled his pain and grief. In his fury he too took the form of a beast, smaller and swifter than his brother's. He savagely lunged his brother, refusing to be shaken off. Several times the strong god thought to crush him too. Always the brave god nimbly leaped away and sprang upon them again.

At last, even the brave god's strength failed him. When his brother threw him off a final time, he was not swift enough to evade the jaws that snapped down upon him and chewed him to pieces.

Exhausted and humiliated, the strong god still remembered the disgrace of disgorging his brother's beating heart and did not swallow him again. Instead he dragged the body to the very edge of creation. Piece by piece the strong god threw his brother's body into the abyss, where not even a god's body could rise again.

The strong god indulged in his vengeance for too long. He had forgotten his sister. As a new day dawned she again rose to the sky on an eagle's wings. Her surviving brother had not stopped to rest. Even he did not have the strength to resist when she swooped down upon him.

The sister sealed the strong god away as a demon so that he might never rise again. She was too late to save her brave brother. Too much of him had been lost to the void. Yet Farore's magic still pulsed through his body. Though her brother could never return, his valiance, his sacrifice, his greatest virtues, could live on.

The sister was no Golden Goddess. She could not create new life, but she could grant it a new form. She remade her brother's body into a beast with his courage and nobility. Such a sacred beast would return only when all was darkest, to counter the treacherous demon whenever it dared to shake off its chains.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Lanayru Desert - The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword

When Saphira had last challenged a storm it had ripped her from her homeland and nearly killed her. Now she rode with such sheer power at her back. Not even the Ocarina of Time and Murtagh's iron will could tame a storm, only direct its feral fury towards a target. The warm winds that buffeted her home might have shredded her to pieces if she dared leave the thin therms of safety behind. Though her wings screamed from the effort she held on. She was like a fish pulled along by a merciless current where giving up meant dying.

Every once in a while Murtagh's mind prodded her to wakefulness or poured energy into her exhausted reserves. Saphira always swiftly swatted him away when the task was done. The storm demanded her complete attention. Her soul ached with the knowledge it was Murtagh upon her back and not his brother.

The Beor Mountains' extreme peaks typically stopped even storm clouds in their tracks. Murtagh's tempest slammed into it with unrelenting force, squeezing through way through every narrow mountain pass. Saphira swerved through jagged chasms and dodged jagged peaks. Several times her wings scraped against rock and she thought herself dead.

They furiously surged into Alagaesia, the storm pummeling dwarven settlements with thunder and torrential downpours. By the time it petered out Saphira scarcely cared where she was. She crashed more than she landed, dead to the world by the time she hit the ground.

Hours later the smell of cooking meat roused her. Saphira raised her head with a growl. Her wings ached like someone had tried to rip them off. Murtagh sat by a fire that burned the red of his magic. On a spit roasted a small deer-like animal.

Saphira nearly devoured it right then and there but she remembered to transform first. Her Hylian stomach took far less food to be satisfied. They had no time to waste hunting further game.

Saphira had no patience for proper greetings. "Have you eaten?"

"Oh, aye." Murtagh offered her a knife. She ignored it in favor of lifting off the entire spit from the fire and tearing into it. "I suspected you'd be hungry. Preparing breakfast was the least I could do after how hard you worked to get us here." He frowned down at the fire. "I didn't realize how strongly Hyrule resisted my magic until we left its borders. Casting spells feels so simple now. Almost unnervingly so."

Saphira's mouth was full of meat. She settled for mental speech instead as she continued devouring her breakfast. If it's any consolation I doubt Galbatorix would ever need much magic to kill us. He's had over a century to devise how to slip past every ward we ever tried to throw up against him.

Murtagh chuckled bitterly. "And a century to ward himself against every word in the ancient language. My mother used to be Morzan's Black Hand. She was rather... creative in her spell-work. I wonder if Galbatorix was always paranoid or if she helped him realize no spell is really harmless if the right intention is behind it."

Saphira's heart ached as they lapsed into awkward silence. Eragon's absence was painfully apparent. Even Midna's biting snark was sorely missed. She had grown used to having her Rider always by her side. Now their connection felt strained to its limit. She knew he was alive and not in great pain but could sense no further.

Are you and Thorn...?

Murtagh's eyes squeezed shut in concentration. "He is closer than before. I can't tell anything further. But we never had the bond you share with Eragon. How is he?"

Alive and relatively well. That's all I know. Saphira knew Murtagh wanted to ask her more. His expression was similar to Eragon's in that regard. What else is eating at you?

Murtagh's gaze turned to the horizon. The light of the rising sun was swallowed by shadows and the dull orange light from the Hadarac's borders. "Midna claimed false Twilight was still Twilight. If Twilight is another realm, what does that do to the bond?"

Stomach churning, Saphira pushed aside the remnants of her meal. "I was caught in the Twilight when it first fell over Faron and became corrupted like most souls are. I became little more than a ghost. Even when Eragon was right next to me I had no idea he was there. It was like he had vanished from my mind." She inhaled as she drew upon more positive memories. "We went into Twilight together two more times after that. I was protected by this form and our bond was just fine. You'll be bolstered by Midna's blessing but Thorn won't be with you. I have no idea what will happen."

Murtagh stood resolutely and doused the fire with a single word. "Then let us get on with it."

Saphira resumed her true form and allowed Murtagh to cast a spell on her that eased the ache from her muscles. They did not bother with the saddle. It would only be dead weight once they reached Twilight and Saphira was locked in her Hylian body. Murtagh climbed onto her back with their possessions pared down to two bags.

The crisp morning air grew oppressively cold as they neared the boundary. Saphira landed mere feet from it. Once her passenger dismounted she resumed human form. Together they studied the black wall that rose in the sky. Its glowing orange runes were no different from those in Hyrule.

"Do we just step inside?"

Saphira bit her lip. Midna had always been the first to wade into the Twilight, dragging them after her with her giant hand. But Midna wasn't here. "You were the one Midna knighted. You should go first."

Murtagh's shoulders squared as he unsheathed Zar'roc. "The Twilight Princess knighted me with this sword," he proclaimed to the wall and the magic that powered it. "She is the rightful ruler of this realm. She has bid me to strike down the usurper's false power and so I shall."

He fearlessly advanced. As they approached the shadows grew thick and cold. Saphira shivered, uncertain if she would suffocate or freeze to death. Murtagh brandished his sword and the shadows shied away. She stuck close to her side, her own blade unsheathed as the runes on her skin glowed ever brighter against the dark.

Deep within her inner fire guttered low. Saphira knew they had reached the point of no return when she stopped sensing it entirely. They had crossed into the Twilight. She was deprived of her wings until they tore it down.

The hazy orange skies of Twilight turned the sand beneath them a sickly shade of gold. The desert should have just been warming up with the rising sun's rays. Now only an icy wind blew across it.

Murtagh glanced at her. "Where do we go from here?"

Saphira stared out into the empty expanse. She had last entered the Twilight with a dragon at her side. Crossing the Hadarac on horseback had nearly killed them once. Now they were without any transportation except their own two feet. In Hyrule the spirit springs had been easily marked by shrines or their proximity to civilization. Saphira knew of no such springs or settlements here. Midna had speculated Zant might have done more than merely stolen the spirit's light. They were now without their guide or even a clue what they sought.

"Walk on," she reasoned. "Whatever we're looking for will try to kill us sooner or later."

Galbatorix was no god. Ganondorf had drilled that into him long ago. He was neither omniscient nor omnipotent. His greatest powers had always depended upon his master's good will. When Ganondorf had first been sealed away so had his power. He'd had no trouble wiping up the last remnants of the Order on his own, but they had taken their secrets to the grave.

Until he had raised them once more.

Galbatorix dared not leave his borders with Zant breathing down his back. Vroengard fell under the purview of Iduneya. The tempestustous storms had downed most of his scouts to the island, but not all of them.

In their arrogance, the Riders had assumed death to be the end of all things. They had never expected an enemy their spells could not fell. Their spells shielded conscious minds from detection but not life. The dead hated what they could never reclaim and hungered for it. His soldiers had stripped Vroengard like locusts. Only then did they sniff out the last little bits of life the Riders had sought to hide. They could have found the Rider's last great hoard on their own... if the vault's own creators had not shown them the way first.

The Riders had thought themselves so clever in ridding the Vault of Souls from the minds of all who had heard of it. They had never realized their bodies could walk without the mind, that their feet could remember every step they took.

One hundred and thirty seven Eldunarya. Two hundred and forty three dragon eggs. More than enough to build a respectable army before he even started breeding the females.

And his dead had devoured them all!

There was no sense in rampaging when his precious hoard of Eldunarya and his last precious egg were stowed away too close for comfort. Instead he channeled his rage into Shruikan. At least he could enscript more into his armies while he processed this latest blunder.

"They were too far away for me to keep them on a tight leash," the King lamented. "Faced with such vibrant life that fought back so vigorously... they did as their nature demanded." He touched a gentle hand to bronze scales. "If only I could bear to have you so far from me, my Jarnunvosk. You would have kept them under control."

His dragon's golden eyes bore into his soul. You did need them, my Galbatorix. Why waste your time and effort upon hundreds when you already command thousands. The living defy and deny you. The dead are made to obey.

"All is not lost," Galbatorix consoled her. "One she-dragon still lives. Soon she shall be ours again."

True, the dead were useful enough, but always a temporary measure.

Shruikan would serve as stud enough until he could force the damned green egg to finally hatch for a biddable Rider. While Saphira's sons would be his soldiers it was upon the backs of her daughters their numbers could multiply. They would be able to bear their first clutches at six months old. With time enough for experimenting, he might even be able to breed them even sooner.

After all, he was a Dragon Rider blessed by Power incarnate. He had all the time in the world.

Every once in a great while Oromis wished he and Glaedr had simply been another two casualties of the Fall. In the past he had mourned when the years weighed heavy on his soul and faces long dead stalked his visions. The darker days had come when Eragon and Saphira, the Order's last shining hopes, had been declared missing and presumed dead. Even Oromis had suspected the same when he could no longer reach Eragon through visions or scrying. He had failed in his task a mentor and survived to witness supernatural strife and a power Galbatorix had not wielded since the Fall. Some whispered they lived in the end times. Oromis had begun to wonder the same when the dead had risen.

He no longer regretted surviving the Fall. The thought of becoming yet another of Galbatorix's pawns was too terrible to contemplate.

Glaedr's skepticism reverberated across their bond. We are worse than pawns now.

Extrinsic energy sources could only compensate so much for his disability. His power had to be meted out through carefully worded spells and long resting periods. None could risk the last true Rider in the world. Only once in a great while did Glaedr take to the skies to burn a token amount of undead. Several elves performed feats of magic and swordplay accredited to him, the 'Gold Hand' that acted in his name as the Black Hand did Galbatorix. Their battles had become even rarer since undead elves had taken to the field. Islanzadi's generals feared elves masquerading as common undead and assassinating him or Glaedr.

Their caution has merit, Oromis conceded. When contact with Du Weldenvarden became erratic we suspected infiltrators. And then we discovered elves had helped provoke the forest spirit's ire. Nothing is at it seems anymore.

He grimly gazed down at the rose-colored blade named Rjoda. So many of Rhunon's swords had been lost in the Fall. Oromis had feared them scavenged by Galbatorix and jealously hoarded away beneath Urubaen. Now he wondered if Galbatorix had buried those swords with their wielders so that they again might be of use in an army's loyal hands.

It was physical proof Galbatorix had begun raising Riders for his forces. Oromis wondered if Kialandi and Formora were among them. And their dragons.

Now we'll never leave this blasted city, Glaedr grumbled. I have seen enough of Teirm to last me a lifetime. We should be searching for Thorn.

Aye, Thorn. All sources confirmed that was the name of Murtagh Morzansson's dragon. His encounter with Rohir also proved he had defected from Galbatorix, though his Rider's fate was unknown.

Rohir had been the sole eyewitness to the encounter and had reported it straight to him. Oromis had disseminated most of his information. It was vital their rebellion be on the alert for undead Riders and to not attack a confirmed ally. He had ordered Rohir to keep only one key detail classified for the time being.

Before the dead rose Oromis would have considered it impossible for a dragon to change shape so radically. Now it seemed an ingenius method for slipping one's oaths. Galbatorix had clearly bound Thorn with a dragon's true name, a name that must have changed with its bearer.

Queen Islanzadi had not taken it lightly her power in Du Weldenvarden had always been dependent upon Menoa's good will. Oromis was relieved he did not have to personally arbitrate the new power struggle between her and Arya. Elves had always been resistant to change, first nearly warring themselves into extinction with the dragons and nearly driving humans from Alagaesia's shores when they had first landed as desperate refugees. Considering the times, a shape-shifting dragon was perhaps one revelation too many.

Oromis looked up from his maps as a guard's mind frantically requested access. Agretlam, the red dragon waits at our gates. He requests an audience with you and your dragon. One without guards.

His brows arched. Invite him to the dragon-hold. Assure him he is a guest free to leave whenever he wishes and that his request for a private audience is granted.

The guard's restraint could not entirely rein in his concern. I would strongly recommend against it, Agretlam. His loyalties... have been dubious in the past.

Is he without his Rider?

Aye, Agretlam.

Then he poses no threat, Aemon. Remember he is not even a yearling yet. Glaedr and I have weathered many centuries together. He dwarfs even Shruikan.

...Aye, Agretlam.

Teirm, like all Imperial cities, had once hosted visiting Riders and their dragons. After the Fall they had maintained such dragon-holds for Galbatorix and his Forsworn. The climb up to it was not a long one. Oromis had requested quarters as close to Glaedr as possible. He carried up his chair with him.

Glaedr snorted at his arrival. What is that human saying, speak of the devil and he appears?

"Thorn finally faced one of our patrols but recently," Oromis mused. "Perhaps the emergence of undead Riders means he has finally recognized how crucial it is for us to finally meet. After all, he and Murtagh are likely the last of our Order."

When's the last time anyone spotted Morzansson? Shortly before Galbatorix woke that damned spirit? Thorn might have survived his death.

"We'll discover the truth soon enough."

Naegling strapped to his side, Oromis set his chair beside Glaedr and composed himself upon it. Any tremble in his stature might have betrayed weakness. Upon the chair he could look both dignified and welcoming, less a king on his throne than an old man wishing honest conversation. Glaedr positioned himself protectively behind him, his stump of a leg partially hidden by his seated form. By the time Thorn's ruby-red form appeared on the horizon they seemed no less than two wise mentors willing to take another student into their confidence.

Morzan's dragon had been the red of fresh blood. Thorn's scales had fiery undertones. Oromis ached at how small he was. By the Order's traditional standards Thorn and Saphira were still little more than apprentices. They should not have faced any potential combat situations for many years yet. And now he was their last best hope.

Thorn landed at the very edge of the dragon-hold, wings unfurled and ready to leap off at a moment's notice. His mind remained tightly closed off.

"As long as your intentions here are peaceful, you have no cause to fear us," Oromis pledged. "We are alone."

Glaedr dipped his head slightly, as nonthreatening as a dragon his size could be when he could not speak. Thorn still flinched away. Glaedr fell still and Oromis held his breath. A small eternity passed.

With a hoarse sigh Thorn folded his wings. Fire enveloped his form as it shrank.

During his many years Oromis had witnessed many werecats. Their transformations had been seamless. Within a blink of an eye they had gone from feline to human and back again. Thorn's was not so uneventful.

Glaedr's outward calm did not reflect his inner bemusement. So that's where the dragon knight rumors came from.

The armor was impressive in its detail, the sort of craftsmanship not forged by mortal hands. Oromis's eye focused instead on the crimson spear in the dragon knight's hands. Thorn's posture was not aggressive, but he looked ready to throw up his weapon the moment they threatened him. He did not step away from the ledge.

"If you want me to swear in the ancient language I'm not a threat you're shit out luck," an adolescent growled from beneath the snarling helm. "I've had enough oaths to last me a gods-damned lifetime."

Oromis did blink at such coarse language. Only wild dragons would have dared stoop to such swearing in his presence and only when he had pushed their pride to its breaking point. He had never expected such... liberal language from a follower of Galbatorix. Galbatorix should have tortured it out of him months ago. Perhaps this was Thorn's way of expressing his newfound freedom.

"I cannot imagine what you must have gone through," Oromis said diplomatically. "Your bravery in the Spine has more than proved your trustworthiness."

Thorn snorted. "I would have liked nothing more than to fuck off to some faraway place and forget this damned land ever existed. But since your army's so fucking incompetent I had to take matters into my own hands. It's not the villagers' fucking fault the dead are rising."

The sentiment encouraged Oromis. No matter what Thorn had suffered he retained the urge to help others. Galbatorix had not stolen that from him.

"We thank you for the warning. I have already redistributed my soldiers and ordered the evacuations of villages closest to the borders." Oromis paused, mindful of the ruby red eyes that stared out at him. "Thank you for seeking us out. You must know how valuable any information you possess on these matters is to us."

The dragon knight kicked the ground. "Not that I have much choice. I've got bad blood with the Varden. Arya might have been decent, but I'm not taking any chances on the elves that caused that fucking spirit to rampage in the first place. You're a Rider, right? Don't have to answer to anyone but yourself? You were my best bet for helping me."

Glaedr cocked his head. Thorn's mind remained stubbornly closed to them both.

"Last I heard Eragon and Saphira are still alive in some land called Hyrule," Thorn began. "Murtagh got whisked away from some fucking musical magic. He was supposed to convince some king named Zant to spare Saphira's life for... breeding purposes and return her to Galbatorix." He smirked as he gestured to his human body. "I don't think that turned out too well."

Oromis and Glaedr first sighed in relief their pupils were likely still alive and well. They also well recalled the Order's futile efforts to explore the lands beyond Alagaesia. Of course Galbatorix had managed what they could not. What shocked them was how Galbatorix had been prepared to treat with another king as equals.

"Why did he give up his claim on Eragon?" Oromis asked for them both.

Thorn shrugged. "Something about a higher power laying claim on his life. I sat in Urubaen like a good little ignorant servant until that storm blew in and took me with it. And then I discovered I could look like this to slip past the pet spirit. I'm not questioning a fucking miracle." He shuddered. "Especially when Jarnunvosk always looked a minute away from eating me."

Oromis's heart flew to his throat. Glaedr rumbled in dread. "Galbatorix's Jarnunvosk?"

His lip curled. "More like Jarnunvosk's Galbatorix. That's what she always called him, my Galbatorix." He paused at their bewilderment. "She's been around since he first raised the spirit. Didn't your spies fucking know this?"

"The spirit devoured them all," he said grimly. "Tell me, is Jarnunvosk-"

"Oh, she's flesh and blood... if that fucking flesh and blood was formed by darkest magic imaginable. Don't ask me how fucking big she is. Her size always changed on the room." Oromis wished nothing more than to discuss the implications with Glaedr, but Thorn plowed right on. "When Murtagh got swept away I still felt him. He was even coming closer before he suddenly dropped off the fucking face of the earth. And he's not dead. I would know if he was. You're the fucking masters, aren't you? How do you find someone who fucking banished?"

Oromis truly had no idea. Far greater things haunted his mind.

Not only is he raising mindless pawns, but truly resurrecting the dead, he murmured privately. How can we kill one who can potentially resurrect himself?

Oromis, what sort of higher power would Galbatorix willingly yield to? Glaedr urged. Perhaps he's been tricked or is deluding himself. If his dragon was truly raised it was only as a twisted shadow. The real Jarnunvosk would have killed herself again at the weight of his sins.

Their introspection was short when Thorn inhaled sharply. His gaze snapped east. "Murtagh," he whispered.

Glaedr rumbled warningly. Now just wait one gods damned minute-

He lumbered forward to snatch hold of him. Thorn simply leaped off the edge, flames enveloping his form. He rose again on a dragon's wings and did not look back.

Glaedr swore a string of curses that better suited the younger dragon. Are you going to just let him fly away?

Oromis rose from his chair to climb his back. "Of course not. I expect you keep up."

He opened his mind to briefly inform his elves he was in no danger and would contact them at the next available opportunity. At the rate Thorn was flapping not an even an elf could hope to keep pace.

Eragon and Murtagh had fled the Empire beneath a merciless sun and scorching heat. Saphira could only helplessly watch their progress for she had not yet been strong enough to carry all of them. A dying Arya had been lashed to her stomach. She had spent those agonizing days inwardly debating whether she should remain at her Rider's side to protect him or fly onward to reach the Varden and its antidote.

Perpetual Twilight and its coldness was more bearable than the desert heat. Without the sun they soon lost track of time beneath it. They slept only briefly and lived off a rapidly dwindling ration supply. Eragon had once coaxed water from the sand. Now even if their magic functioned in this distorted realm Saphira would not have trusted any water it could draw up from the ground. She remembered how bitterly icy the water of Faron Province had been when first trapped beneath Twilight. Everything in this realm was potentially harmful to them.

Saphira was not surprised how long she could and Murtagh could travel between rests. Murtagh had a Rider's stamina. Part of her power from her true form carried over. As a dragon she could fly hours without end. Her human legs paled in comparison but still rivaled a Rider's pace.

Monsters had at first been few and far between; corrupted birds that had swooped down from the skies or antelope with twisted horns and no faces. Now they were swarmed from all directions by snakes and scorpions and twisted creatures that must have once been human.

Murtagh slew them all with Zar'roc. "If we're the only substantial things in this damned desert then they must be drawn to us like moths to the flame."

"Not just that," Saphira added. "We're getting close."

Saphira was no stranger to instinct. Her greatest acts of wild magic, from shaping Brom's crystal tomb to reforming the Star Sapphire, had been driven by a whisper in her heart of hearts. A similar pull from within drew her in a very particular direction. Faron had blessed her with a form capable of withstanding the Twilight. Her very skin glowed with proof of a spirit's power. Perhaps the small bit of light she carried within her was drawn to another spirit's plight. All guardian spirits had been created by the Goddesses, after all, and shared a bond as old as the earth itself.

They paused at the sight of yellowed grass, trampled and desiccated. It was the first plant-life they had seen in hours.

"Nasuada told me once the Wandering Tribes hide their water," Murtagh murmured. "There must be some nearby."

Saphira's gaze swept their surroundings. Dead plants littered the area. At their center was a dried impression the size of a spring and lumps beneath the sand that might have been stones. Her heart dropped at the silence.

Eldin and Lanayru had loudly lamented their fates. Even when Lake Hylia had been bone-dry water had still flowed in its spirit spring.

"It's dead," she whispered. "He killed it." Her face twisted into a snarl as horror gave way to rage. "That-"

Beneath her feet the earth rumbled, the roar growing ever louder as it reached the surface. They leaped out of the way just as something exploded from the sand.

Most tears of light in Hyrule had been transmogrified into irritating little insects. The last tear had been many times larger than the others, grotesque and bloated and crackling with energy. From the sand crawled a lithe scorpion the size of a dragon that radiated a sickly orange glow. Its stinger hung menacingly over its head as its beady eyes honed it upon her.

Saphira evaded the claw that snapped her way. Her sword slashed ineffectively on its armored carapace.

"Tell me you can see that," she yelled.

"Just barely!" Murtagh called back.

"Then go ahead and kill it!"

She longingly thought of Islanzadi's bow, useless on his back. A keen eye and sure aim might have struck the scorpion's eye from a safe distance and buried an arrow in its brain. Neither she nor Murtagh were master marksmen and did not even have their magic. Murtagh's senses were just strong enough to see the creature, let alone its beady little eyes.

Saphira focused only on the claws and stinger hanging over her head. They were too swift to slip past. Every once on a while her sword slashed at the scorpion's vulnerable joints but never deep enough for serious damage.

Murtagh circled around the creature for weaknesses. Its form was slung too low to the ground to slip beneath and its many legs left little opening. When he strayed into the scorpion's line of vision it lashed out with its stinger. Saphira pressed forward with her blade until it fixated back upon her. It had too many eyes to be distracted.

Saphira snarled at the stalemate. With a roar she channeled her strength into a great spin. She did not have enough power to summon the ring of magic. The violent display still made the scorpion draw back in brief uncertainty.

From the side, just out of its range of vision, leaped Murtagh onto its back. It shrieked when he plunged Zar'roc into the center of its head... and then collapsed into a wave of light.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the radiance only to crack them open as wetness licked her boots.

Beneath a bright blue sky water flooded outward in all directions and a desert bloomed. When the water reached the edges of the oasis it surged backward, leaving verdant green in its wake. It waves washed the sand from the stones, revealing runes that shone bright as the sun. Just as the last drop settled back into its spring a golden shape erupted from its waters. With a triumphant toss of its horns the antelope spirit pranced around the circumference of its oasis before it gracefully touched down before them.

"I am Hadara, guardian of this land."

Her voice was undoubtedly feminine, both light as the wind and rough as the sands. While the Hyrulean spirits were beings of pure light, Hadara glowed the deeper gold of the dunes beyond the oasis. The orb between her horns was a miniature sun and the air around her shimmered with heat.

"I recognize Faron's scent on you, little dragon. You are a Hero's companion, a spirit's chosen." Hadara's blazing eyes turned upon Murtagh. "And you, little knight, are a quandry. You are both Hero's blood and a champion of the interlopers. And yet you have freed me."

Murtagh slipped into a respectful bow but never wavered when he returned Hadara's gaze. "I serve Midna, the true ruler of the Twilight Realm. She wishes only peace with this land. Zant, the interloper who imprisoned you, is a false king, a usurper and a murderer. I am charged with bringing him to justice."

Her nostrils flared. "For a hundred years my brother has languished beneath the control of a perverse power. There can be no justice until his liberation. Swear to me, o Twilight Knight, that you shall not rest until you have freed him too."

"I swear upon my honor as a knight and Dragon Rider," Murtagh vowed in the common tongue. His oath could not have been more sincere if sworn in the ancient language.

Hadara bowed her head and faded away, her golden spring returning to a mundane blue.

Saphira sighed in relief as she turned her attention inward. The hole in her heart was gone now that she could sense Eragon again. Despite the distance between them she knew him to be safe. Her inner fire had flared back up. Nothing prevented her from resuming her true shape whenever she pleased.

"How is my brother?" he asked.

"Alive and well," she replied. "How is Thorn?"

Murtagh closed his eyes with a small smile. "Just fine. And closer than he's been in a very long time." Saphira's heart ached at his naked longing.

"Perhaps it is time you properly introduce me to him," she said lightly. "Our first meeting left something to be desired."

Murtagh frowned as he turned to her. "What of Galbatorix and his spirit?"

"I am a dragon without her Rider and you a Rider without his dragon. An entire Order of us couldn't defeat them the first time. Why should our story end any differently? Our moderate protections against the Twilight won't do shit against whatever Galbatorix draws upon." Saphira gestured in the general direction of Surda. "But we're not in this alone. And our friends might know how to slip past their defenses."

His face closed down. "The Varden are not my friends."

Saphira stepped back to resume her true form, staring expectantly down at him. I'm Saphira Brightscales, about to miraculously return from the dead with the secret to Galbatorix's power. The Varden will be very eager to meet any ally I introduce to them, especially an ally who deprived Galbatorix of his only Dragon Rider. And you're not Murtagh Morzansson anymore, are you?

Murtagh's stare of disbelief quirked into a small smile. "No, not really. Eragon wiped that true name away. Perhaps Sir Murtagh Veles might be able to tolerate them better."

Oh, they will. I can be very persuasive when I wish to be.

Together they departed Hadara's oasis, buoyed by the hope of joyful reunions and bullying arrogant council members.

Chapter Text

Song of the Chapter: Enter the Twilight Realm - The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

As a new day dawned Eragon and Midna knew they could delay no longer. Together they ascended the sandstone steps to the Mirror of Twilight's empty frame. Midna summoned their three missing shards. On their own the fragments twisted and turned, aligning themselves with the Mirror's surviving quarter. Without a crack to hint it had ever been fractured, Mirror of Twilight glowed radiant as the dawn.

The massive chains holding the black monolith glowed and crumbled to dust, dropping their load with a crash that shook the foundations of Arbiter's Grounds. The Mirror tilted in the monolith's direction, the runes upon its glass spiraling out in elegant circles of light. It projected its power upon the monolith, a swirling portal with a Triforce at its center.

"Some call our realm a world of shadows, but that makes it sound unpleasant," Midna said wistfully. "Our Twilight holds a serene beauty. You have seen it yourself when the sun sets upon this world. Bathed in that all people were pure and gentle... And then along came Zant and his foul power. I was so filled with hate at what he had done to me I didn't care what happened to this world and its people so long as I had my vengeance." She smiled at him. "And then I met you, and Zelda and Saphira, and your brother and so many others that showed me this too was worth fighting for."

Eragon glanced at the portal and realized himself no different. "When Twilight first fell upon this land I hated every aspect of it. It had taken what I loved and twisted me into a monster. I thought you a self-serving imp willing to use me only to further your own ends. Thank you for proving me wrong about everything."

The Twilight Princess glanced contemplatively at him. "If we can just defeat Zant, the curse on me will dissolve, and we may be able to revive Zelda. Her Wisdom still lives within me."

Eragon's stomach flipped. Zant and Ganondorf had stolen so much from this land. There were countless wrongs even a Hero could never right. Perhaps, just this once, there was one he could.

"For Zelda," he agreed. "For all the world."

As Eragon stepped toward the Mirror of Twilight a series of steps shimmered into existence. At their base he hesitated. The swirling portal before him suddenly looked far smaller when he realized how large he could become. He imagined his dragon form torn between two worlds and shuddered.

"Midna, will the Master Sword protect me from transforming in your realm?"

Midna faced the Mirror, expression inscrutable. She briefly glanced at him. "Just being in the Twilight Realm won't transform you. The Twilight Zant unleashed upon your world was a distorted mirror of the true thing, just like he distorted our people into shadow beasts. And me into this." She bitterly gestured to herself. "But it should protect you from Zant's worst magics. That's what matters most."

Eragon frowned at the Mirror. The Twili tribe's ancestors had been driven into the shadows and their descendants could no longer stand the sunlight of their original realm. He wondered if Zant thought it poetic justice to leave light-dwellers as faded spirits within their own realm.

He climbed the first step to the Mirror and turned to Midna. She hung nervously back.

"Um, listen, Eragon... Can I ask you one last selfish favor? Regardless of what my reasons may have been, I once abandoned my kingdom. I left behind the Twili. Those who followed me and considered me their leader... Even now the survivors wait, suffering, believing help will come for them."

"And we have," he reminded her. "You've come back for them with your sacred beast in tow."

"Not like this." Midna's voice cracked. "Please, Eragon, don't let them see me like this. Don't let them know how low Zant has truly brought us. I was supposed to protect them, and I failed."

Eragon had a thousand arguments against her. He bit them back at the expression on her face. He couldn't reduce a friend to pleading sobs right before they charged into an alien realm to save her people. He dipped his head and said nothing when she gratefully slipped into his shadow. She would not have to hide away for much longer.

Without hesitation he ascended the final steps and did not resist the force that pulled him into another world.

In his mind Eragon had first associated Midna's realm with the Hyrulean provinces during their time under the cursed Twilight, dark and teeming with shadow beasts. After learning Midna's kingdom was named Eluryh he had been unable to envision it as anything but Hyrule's dark mirror. He envisioned Zant holed up in a castle much like the one he had imprisoned Zelda in.

He manifested beneath orange skies shrouded by dark violet clouds. Instead of one elegant castle three stout black fortresses each sat on their own floating island. In the distance hovered other towers. Black waterfalls like liquid smoke tumbled down from them into the cloudy abyss below. The earth of each island was jagged, as if each piece had been gauged from the earth and thrown into the sky.

"Egotistical bastard," Midna hissed. "Of course he wants to live up in the heavens like a god. It better not come all crashing when we kill him."

Eragon's remark died in his throat as he noticed the hunched figures in the central courtyard. They stood like monstrous scarecrows. His hand crept to his sword hilt as he recognized the black masks obscuring their faces.

"Wait! They aren't enemies, Eragon. Please get closer. They can't see you at this point."

He cautiously edged toward the closest one. It didn't move at his approach. On closer examination the thing was not quite a shadow beast. Its mask was far smaller and looked half-formed. The runes upon its chest were not vibrant red but blue-green like Midna's. Though it was hunched over it did not stand on all fours like an animal. His heart clenched at its labored breathing.

"Oh gods," he whispered.

"They're the inhabitants of this world... They're still my people. Even blinded by those masks and deaf to all but their inner screams. Zant... how could he..."

"Can we save them?" he murmured. These Twili did not look completely far gone. Not like the true shadow beasts. "All we have to do is find Zant and finish it."

"By then we'd be too late. They're almost to the end now." She shrieked when he reached for the Master Sword. "No, don't! The light from the Master Sword will only kill them!"