9

The last day of the Games was as bright and hot as Eragon expected. Walking to the arena had become a task of resistance, with the sun burning his face or the back of his neck.

We should grow trees along the pathway, for the next time. Remind me to discuss it with Blödhgarm, Saphira, please?

Sure, little one. It's a good idea. She was flying high in the sky with Fírnen, preparing to land at the arena, while her Rider walked alongside his honored guests.

Attending the Games for the last time also meant that he would be saying goodbye to his friends, the ones heading west the next day. Remembering the past two weeks felt like trying to retell a too big of a story, a lot had happened in just a fortnight, but it also went by so fast. A memorable chapter of his life indeed.

Of his students, only Renir and Avelina, his sparring partner, managed to qualify for the finals in sword fighting, in the general, elf and human categories. Naturally, Renir was the most skilled fighter Eragon has ever taught and had a promising future ahead, if it was not for his short temper. On the other hand, only a few Riders achieved the same level of success in other competitions, but Eragon was especially anxious to see how would they all go on their performances.

"Archery is the first competition of the day, correct?" Nasuada asked.

They walked together, her arm around his own.

"Yes. After that we will have the Javelin Throw, Wrestling, Jousting and finally Sword fighting. The champions will be awarded at the closing ceremony at the end of the day."

She smiled.

"Busy day ahead!"

He returned the smile.

"Yes, your majesty."

They headed to the grand stand, where they took their usual seats, with Arya by his right side, surprisingly accompanied by the white raven, Blagden. He had been missing during the whole duration of the Games, but that day he sat attentive on the back of his queen's chair.

Saphira placed herself with Fírnen and the other dragons at the opposite end across the field, and Eragon wondered if Thorn and Murtagh would make an appearance at last.

He didn't have to wonder for much longer, however. Thorn thrown himself from his niche's opening high up in the mountain and landed right beside Saphira, where Murtagh jumped out of his back and took a seat on the bleachers. The audience kept quiet for excruciating instants, until Nasuada's bard introduced the first competitors and opened the last day of the Arngor Games.

For everyone's surprise, the archery champion in the general category was to be decided on the last round, when only a human young man and an elf Lady were the ones still running for the title. The Rider qualified for the finals missed two shots by an inch, what was enough to make him fail in keeping up with the boy and the elf. Of the five finalists, they were the only ones to hit the target exactly in the middle with every shot. Both of them had another try, if the draw was confirmed, then they would have to share the title.

First went the elf. She held her impressive elven bow, that Eragon knew from experience to be a powerful weapon. Her bow arm raised and steadied itself on the right position, then the other arm followed, arrow in hand. She pulled the string to its limit and after a brief pause her fingers released the arrow. They all saw as her silver hair danced with the morning breeze that assaulted her arrow at the exact moment it left her bow, changing its intended course. A snarl came out of her noble lips when the target was pierced half an inch to the right from the center, causing the audience to gasp in surprise. The Lady had been betrayed by the wind. A courteous but contained round of applause echoed through the arena.

The human boy took his turn. Eragon noticed his bow wasn't less impressive, even being obviously made by mortal hands. He figured the boy was a young noble, son of some Lord, or maybe someone of great possessions.

"Arya." He called in a quiet tone. She leaned in but didn't turn to him, for her focus was completely on the competition. "Is this the youngest son of Lord Tarrant? I heard the bard say something about the boy being from Ceunon."

"That's him. His brother is the Lord now after Tarrant's death."

Eragon remembered how the elves had joined the fight against Galbatorix. Lord Tarrant started to cut down the trees of the elven forest to build war machines. Of course Queen Islanzadí couldn't look away from such criminal activity.

"Are they a problem for you, his family?"

She shook her head.

"They don't cut our trees anymore." A fierce grin appeared on her face, and he feared the day that Lord would ever consider laying a hand on a single tree of Du Weldenvarden like his father did.

The young aristocrat of Ceunon didn't seem shaken by the expectations and with confidence launched his arrow that hit the target with perfection, making himself the first champion of the Arngor Games. The public stood to their feet and clapped with enthusiasm, even the leaders seemed satisfied with the win.

"Great performance!" Eragon heard Orrin exclaiming from his place on the front row.

Arya moved closer to Eragon to whisper on his ear.

"Should we expect him to join us as a Rider anytime soon?"

She was joking, but Eragon had to admit that having someone with the boy's ability among his students would not be a bad idea. The young Lord then proceeded to win in the human category as well, cementing his dominance in Archery.

The rest of the competitions was as exciting as the first one. The urgals were the big attraction when force was required, so they dominated the general categories for both Javelin Throw and Wresting. A bloody and long battle crowned a young Kull as champion of the last one against the urgal Rider who was supposed to graduate next spring. They were both so battered at the end, that the healers had to intervene with magic once the fight was over, to make sure they wouldn't perish before the audience's eyes. A great glory, as Nar Garzhvog stated, to demonstrate such bravery and ferocity, but he regretted the use of magic to keep the participants alive and well, for battle wounds demanded to be felt, even if it meant death. Eragon only agreed with only the first half of it, dreading the sight of a dead competitor on his Arena, especially it being a Rider.

After that, they had a break for lunch. On the way to the dining tent, Angela caught up with Eragon and expressed her desire to stay back while the others returned to Alagaësia.

"Any specific reason why?" Eragon asked her.

"If I were someone else, I would think you were being rude with such question, Shadeslayer."

"But you are not. So?"

"I might have a reason or two. But mostly I found a great need for a herbalist around here, so I thought I should make myself useful."

Eragon didn't seem convinced, and he was not, but whatever her reasons were to stay, Angela was a difficult individual to understand, so he just decided to leave it at that.

"Fine, you can stay."

"And who said I was asking for permission?" With a severe look, she strode ahead with Solembum at her heels and left Eragon behind, with an incredulous look on his face.

Eragon heard a quiet laugh coming from his right side and turned to see Arya's amused expression.

"Having fun?" He said annoyed by her mockery.

"Very. It's a good day, isn't it?"

He was forced to agree with her.

"Aye. Today is a good day. Tomorrow is a different story."

Arya seemed to sympathize with his reluctance and placed a hand on his forearm.

"Saying goodbye is never easy, but leave tomorrow's concerns for tomorrow, and just enjoy today."

Eragon nodded and smiled to her.

"You're right."

Lunch was served with abundance of fresh vegetables and fruits. Ale flowed freely and the spirits were light. Eragon looked around the tent and rejoiced to see his students, Riders and dragons, enjoying each other's company, as well as spending time with the travelers from all races. If his plan of placing the Riders as teachers throughout the entire Alagaësia worked, then they would have to get to know all kinds of people and be comfortable around them. A frustrated sigh came out of his lips though when he saw Renir, the only one of his students to be isolated in the back.

Arya looked at him with puzzled eyes.

"Anything wrong?"

"Renir."

"Oh." She knew what he was referring to.

Before sending the young elf to Eragon's care, Arya alerted him that Renir was a reluctant student, full of anger and indiscipline, atypical of elves. Eragon wanted to know the reason for him to be that way, and she simply stated he had his share of heartbreak in his short life and held the indifferent stance to keep people at a safe distance. For Eragon, it sounded like a vague explanation, for everyone there had experienced some kind of loss along the way to become who they were, and it was not a good reason to be rude and aloof like Renir was.

"I thought he was connecting well with his sparring partner, I thought you had mentioned that a while ago."

"He was, but I guess they had a fight, because she refuses to train with him now, which is making my work with him so much more difficult."

Arya seemed concerned, and Eragon thought she was right to feel this way. Usually their students were excited to be there, learning to be a Rider, sharing the experience with their dragons. But not Renir, he was always excluded from the rest, in the quiet company of his partner, Vance, a light blue male dragon of three years old.

"What are you going to do about it? He's been studying under you for two years now and he still hasn't made peace with his position as a Rider. What Vance thinks about it?"

"Vance answers politely what is asked of him, but keeps quiet about his Rider. He's obedient and very dedicated. He has a talent he shares with Renir, who despite being difficult is still a brilliant fighter and scholar, he just has trouble following orders and respecting his superiors. Well, mostly me... He respects Saphira and the Spellcasters, but me he despises." He took a big gulp of his ale. "I'm working on a new method, that will anger him even further in the beginning, but if it works, I'll have one loyal Rider someday."

Curiosity sparked in Arya's eyes.

"Method?"

"I will make him my shadow. He will go wherever I go, do whatever I do and meet whoever I meet."

She seemed confused.

"What good can come from that?"

He looked to his right where she was expecting for his explanation, fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"You can't teach without love. Right now, I don't love teaching him, and he definitely doesn't love learning from me." He took another sip of ale and continued. "Love comes from admiration; admiration comes from respect; and respect comes from knowledge. He doesn't know me. He will never respect me, let alone love me, if he does not know me."

Arya moved her food to her mouth and chewed slowly, allowing him to do the same. When she was ready to speak, she nodded in understanding.

"It makes sense. If he spends time with you, he'll know you, being easier for him to create a bond with you and eventually accept your teachings."

"Exactly."

"He can also come to hate you even more, on the other hand." Arya's tone was so casual that it sounded funny to his ears.

"I suppose that's a risk. But I need to try. I could never live with myself if I abandoned a reluctant Rider to his own luck, without the proper guidance, at risk of him turning against those he was supposed to protect." Without a trace of humor, his speech was full of reference to the tyrant Galbatorix and the Forsworn.

His biggest fear was to teach someone who would eventually use the knowledge received from him to harm others. Eragon would spend hours and hours searching in the dragon's memories, now his memories, the moment where everything went wrong, the moment where the Mad King's teachers had failed him, so he wouldn't make the same mistakes. But apart from a harsh word here, or an indifferent look there, no mistakes were made, yet the biggest evil Alagaësia has ever seen came out directly from the ranks of the Dragon Riders.

"He won't. You will succeed, I'm sure of that." Her certainty expressed in the Ancient Language soothed his heart, even for just a moment.

Feeling like he should show Renir his support in the competition, Eragon excused himself from their table and walked all the way to the back of the tent, where the silver haired elf ate in the company of Vance.

Renir was a young elf, considered a child among his people, being only two years younger than Eragon. He was born and raised in Osilon, and later Eragon found out he had stood in line to touch Saphira's egg every time Arya would bring it to his hometown, its final destination from the Varden. Eragon thought that part of his reluctance toward his teachings was resentment for Saphira choosing Eragon instead of himself, but that was just a theory yet to be proven.

Saphira, do you want to come with me to wish Renir good luck at the finals?

I'll speak to him later. I think this should be your moment alone with him.

Right. He wasn't so sure about his desire to be alone with the angry elf, but she was right, he needed to be the one to wave the white flag.

Eragon approached his students and greeted them, to which they responded accordingly, gaining more respect from Vance than from Renir.

"I only wish to tell you good luck, Renir. You will face mighty opponents at the finals today."

Renir looked with coldness at Eragon, his bright blue eyes piercing his teacher's soul.

"Thank you, Master." He almost spat the last word.

Eragon took a deep breath.

"Look, Renir, I have an assignment for you for when the Games are over and Queen Arya and Fírnen have left. Come look for me the next day of their departure, all right?"

Renir appeared intrigued, but didn't ask for further details.

"All right."

"Good." Eragon felt out of place there, but tried to look confident. "Good luck again. And if there's something I can help you with, don't be afraid to ask."

Again, without displaying anything than coldness, Renir simply thanked. Eragon left his student's sight feeling like a failure.

This method better work, Saphira.

What if it doesn't? Do you have a plan B?

Eragon felt his heart growing heavier with the thought.

No. I'm going for Plan A with everything I've got.

Then if doesn't work it won't be your problem anymore. Let it be.

In theory she was right, but Eragon was sure he would never let it be, for he would always feel responsible for the actions his Riders would take.

Back to the arena, Jousting was as entertaining as the other competitions. Only the best knights of the Broddring Kingdom and Surda competed in the finals, and with each strike of their lances the audience would rise to their feet, clapping enthusiastically. The champion was a surdan Lord, a prestigious member of Orrin's court, which made the monarch very pleased, and Eragon thought he saw a tense exchange of looks between him and Queen Nasuada.

Next and finally, the sword fighting matches started. Every race had its own category, that crowned two Riders as champions, the senior dwarf and a human girl, Renir's former sparring partner, Avelina. Renir fought twice in a row, in the elf category and the general one.

The first one he won easily against a warrior from Ellesméra, member of Arya's guard. When Renir dealt the last blow to the elf's chest, Arya clenched her fists on her lap, probably wondering how a youngling such Renir could defeat an experienced warrior like her guardsman. Eragon knew how. His student's talent was unprecedented, the only flaws in his game being his arrogance and recklessness, to what Eragon could easily relate.

All the blades used in the Games were dull, but a strong blow could still hurt badly, and that was almost what happened to the Renir's adversary. His armor was deeply dented on the chest, making it hard for the elf to breathe. For a tense minute after the match was over, the healers tried to rid him from the metal that constricted his lungs and watched as his face was turning red. When they finally succeeded, the audience relaxed and applauded both competitors for a great fight.

Without much time to rest, Renir positioned himself to fight again in the general category, this time his opponent was Avelina. Eragon felt his stomach turning upside down and feared that at least one of them would get out of the arena immensely hurt. He stood up and moved to the front on the grand stand, making sure he didn't block anyone's view, and grabbed the parapet.

Relax, little one. They will be fine.

I don't know, Saphira. I think they are really mad at each other.

Enough to cause harm on one another?

I hope not. I really hope not, because if there are two mightier fighters than them, I wouldn't know.

Be vigilant then. You might need to intervene.

And that was exactly what Eragon had to do.

With incredible agility, Renir and Avelina traded blows that failed to hit its targets. Renir's sword missed Avelina's rib cage for a tenth of an inch once, to which she retaliated with a strike to the knee, diverted by the edge of his shield. Each hit to their shields would make a loud bang that echoed throughout the arena, where the audience was too impressed to say a word. After all that mortal dance around each other, it still wasn't clear who held the advantage.

It wasn't until Renir was able to mark Avelina's right shoulder that the fight started to turn out favorable to the elf. After that, it seemed that the girl lost all her power and capability to defend herself, for he hit her several times in a row, to the point where she would only raise her beaten shield and let Renir's sword punish it.

"It's enough. Call it off, come on." Eragon pleaded under his breath, too low for the judge to hear.

Renir didn't seem to mind that his fellow Rider was under such aggression and continued to strike her, his anger pouring out with each impact of his sword on her shield, her helmet and armor. Losing all the strength she had to resist his assault, Avelina let her shield fly away after a particular powerful blow and raised her sword to stop an attack to her face. Their blades crossed between them for only a few seconds before Renir pushed her backwards with his foot, making her fall on her back, her sword thrown to the side.

"Come on, call it off, it's enough!" Eragon's voice resounded across the field, the only sound to be heard besides Renir's boots marching toward where Avelina was found on her back. She looked pale and had a big pair of wide brown eyes, afraid of what was coming next. She was too shocked to move.

The judge ignored Eragon's words and followed the rules of the competition, that stated that a match would be finished only if one of the fighters was unconscious or severely hurt; in a clear state of submission, like a blade pressed to the throat; or if one gave up the fight, by doing it verbally or by crossing both arms in front of one's face. Avelina didn't do neither of those, so Renir kept on advancing, ready to throw the final blow to her head. When he was close enough and his hand had made almost the whole way down to strike her face, Eragon raised his own hand, and from it a wave of blue energy emanated, sweeping the field around the two Riders and throwing Renir several feet back, away from a very scared Avelina.

"I said enough!" Eragon's voice came out almost in a roar, his dissatisfaction was evident in his tone. It wasn't too loud, but it was enough to make all heads turn in his direction. "I said enough!" He repeated and jumped down from the grand stand, at least ten feet high, and strode to pick up Avelina from the ground.

He grabbed her by the armpits and stood her up.

"Are you all right?"

She only nodded and let herself be led by Eragon to the medical tent. When they were almost out of the field, Eragon turned around and noticed the audience was still observing him.

"Well, go on! I believe you have a new champion." He said to the judge in charge of the match.

The man seemed to wake up from a trance and walked to the middle of the field, where he announced Renir as the new champion of the Arngor Games.

Dealing with Renir's temper was hard. He felt drained. All he wanted to do was to go to his room and climb on his bed and let his dreams take him away from there. So, after making sure Avelina was all right and the attention had been into the celebrating the champions, Eragon ran to his chambers to find some peace. When he opened his door, however, he was surprised with something on top of his dresser, next to his sword, Brisingr. It was a fairth. He got closer and realized it was a perfect image of his family, Roran, Katrina and Ismira, gathered on the front porch of a farm house, the house from his childhood, rebuilt almost exactly as the way he remembered. The sunset colors on their figures made it so beautiful, that nostalgia hit him like a dragon's tail to the face. He felt tears coming to his eyes as he picked it up to look at it closely.

"Is this what you had in mind?" Arya's soft voice coming from the open door made him turn fast.

Eragon's eyes didn't know which image they should focus on, the beautiful fairth in his hands or the woman of his dreams standing at his door.

He nodded and wiped away a silent tear that fell from his right eye.

"But I didn't win the bet."

Arya smiled and leaned on against the doorframe crossing her arms on her chest.

"Consider it a thank you gift."

Eragon walked closer to her until he was an arm's length away from her.

"For what?"

She shrugged.

"For everything." Eragon didn't quite understand what he had done to deserve her gratitude, so he just frowned in confusion. "For your hospitality. For being who you are. A good teacher, a good friend, our leader. I made this last night and put it in here this morning after you left, without knowing what would happen today, with Renir and Avelina." His confusion grew even more. She smiled again. "You realize you used wordless magic to avoid your student from getting hurt, right? You risked your life to protect her."

"Oh, that. Right." He cleared his throat and looked down to his family. "Yes, I know. It was nothing. I've been stopping fights since day one, I'm already used to it."

"It was impressive nonetheless. And dangerous." Her expression became serious. "Do you do that a lot?"

"Yes. I told you."

"No, not the fights, the wordless magic."

Eragon hesitated. How much should he tell her?

Everything. Tell her everything. She already knows your true name.

Saphira! I'm sorry, I ran upstairs without even telling you.

Don't worry, little one. I understand. Now, tell her.

What if she reprehends me?

Saphira seemed to laugh at his childish thought.

I don't think there's much she can do. You are her superior, after all.

Right.

I'll be at the dining tent. Meet me when you're done.

Of course. See you later.

Eragon stared at Arya and saw her expecting, but patient eyes looking back at him.

"I've been practicing this kind of magic for a decade now. Since the Eldunarí showed me the vision of Murtagh fighting a group of magicians who performed wordless magic."

Arya straightened her posture end stepped forward to look deeper in his eyes.

"You are telling me that you are proficient in the use of magic without the Ancient Language?"

"Aye. I am."

She took a while to process the information, her brows formed a "v" as Eragon watched the thoughts running wild behind her emerald orbs.

"What exactly can you do?"

"Let's just say that defeating Galbatorix now would be a lot easier than it was."

"How much easier?"

"With the Eldunarí? A lot."

"And without them?"

He paused to think about it.

"I think... I wouldn't go into battle without such vast quantity of energy. But let's just say that a I did. I could easily draw the energy necessary from the different forms of life around us. It wouldn't distract me like it did before, although I'm not sure how much energy they would provide me with."

She seemed tempted to look around for the life he mentioned, and it made him chuckle.

He could see with his mind's eye the little creatures crawling on the walls of the mountain like they were bright stars in the sky if he paid attention. It didn't even have to be a very concentrated attention, like when he did when he was learning how to perceive all the beings around him. It was more like a background noise that he turned off for the majority of the time, for he thought too much information could be stressful. After all, one of the joys of life, he figured, was to be surprised, just like when she spoke behind his back minutes earlier without him sensing her, and it made the hair on the back of his head stand up as she were speaking in his ear. For moments like that, he thought magic could only get in the way.

"What else?" She whispered.

"What you want me to do? Ask, and we shall see if I can."

"Close the door." And a second later, the door was slammed shut with a loud bang. His eyes never left hers and no sound came from his mouth.

"That was too easy. Can't you think of something more challenging?"

"How do I know you're not using words inside your head?"

"You seem distressed, Arya. I'm sure that if you tried to do the same, you would easily achieve the same level proficiency than me, if not higher."

"It's just... You shouldn't be messing with this kind of magic. It's dangerous. If your mind strays away even for just a bit, you can kill yourself."

Eragon didn't even ask for her permission and intruded her mind like it was the house of an old friend. Sensing his touch on her thoughts, Arya didn't resist his intrusion and allowed the contact. She gasped, however, and he thought he had hurt her.

I'm sorry, did I hurt you? Eragon spoke inside their minds.

No, I just... Your mind, it seems different than I remember. Vast. Powerful.

He wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not, so he smiled lightly at her.

Yes, that's what I want to show you. Saphira and I, we trained our minds tirelessly for the past years, so we could be the best versions of ourselves. She wanted to be wiser and calmer, worthy of respect. I just wanted to be ready for when the time comes that I need to fight again, even though I hope it never happens. So, my mind is not so easily distracted if I don't allow it to be.

She nodded slightly for him to go on.

We acquired all the memories we could fit inside our heads, but mostly we tried to comprehend the information they contained. To make sense of what we see is a powerful exercise. I for example can spend hours and hours in meditative state without any physical sensation, like I'm free from my physical form. Saphira can expand her consciousness to a great extent, it's possible that she's almost reaching the most eastern point of the Hadarac. We reshape and exercise our minds so often that it had become second nature to us. I must remind you, Arya, that you met us in our formative years, and they are far from finished. We will change constantly, and each time you see us, there will something new to discover about us.

After the explanation he gave her, he allowed her to observe his every thought, without reservations. As to prove that he was indeed performing magic with only the power of his intention, he made the door open and then close slowly again. There was a key in the lock that he turned also very slowly, never looking away from her. He felt her inspect his mind with all the attention she had, even when she insisted in entering places he considered to be the most private corners of his being. The embarrassment of having her so intimately attached to his consciousness never came; on the contrary, he felt at peace, in the company of someone he trusted with more than his life, sharing what he thought no one else would understand better than she would.

Arya closed her eyes as she watched the memories of his practices, when he was alone in the eyrie trying to move some runes on the board, or fighting Blödhgarm on the training area, the elf wielding a sword against Brisingr, apparently floating by itself in the air and attacking its opponent with fury. She also wandered between the images of him and Saphira sitting in complete silence in the Hall of Colors and how straining mentally it was for them to do so.

Eragon was surprised by her curiosity, once he realized she was accessing not only the memories concerning his training but also his day to day life. Unsure if she was willingly walking further inside his mind or being dragged by it, caught in his mental traps, similar to the hypnotic effect an elf's mind had on a mortal one, Eragon held her shoulder with his free hand and shook her lightly, as to wake her up. Her eyes seemed heavy, like she was savoring a good dream, too good to wake up from.

He leaned in toward her and spoke quietly in her ear.

"Arya, come back. You're drifting away."

She didn't respond, what made him very sure she was trapped inside his mind. So, he reached for her melodious consciousness and started to untangle it from all the poison ivy he had set there, locking his memories away from her grasp, and little by little he felt her music fading, leaving behind only the loneliness of his own thoughts.

"Arya." He called again and watched her eyes slowly opening. "Are you all right?"

"What happened?"

He smiled gently as his hand moved from her shoulder to caress her face.

"You were drifting away. I'm sorry, I should've told you about the traps. But I didn't realize you would be interested in my memories so much."

Arya widened her eyes and stepped back until she was leaning against the door, away from his touch.

"No, Eragon! I am the one that should be apologizing to you! I should have never entered your mind like that. I'm so sorry!"

His smile was large this time, as he used an unspoken spell to open the door again, what almost made her lose her balance.

"Come on, let's celebrate and forget about this, all right?"

She shook her head.

"Eragon... I'm sorry."

Seeing that she was truly distressed with the way she acted, he went to the dresser to put the fairth away and closed the distance between them again. Her hands were wrapped by his larger ones as he took them to his chest.

"You didn't enter my mind. I dragged you in, your only sin was not to resist me. If you did I know I would never be able to do so. Once you were there you managed to get caught in one of my defensive traps, again my fault, I should've warned you. Summing up, you have nothing to feel sorry for. And don't say you have."

"But I looked into your memories."

"Anything interesting there?" He knew very well which memory she had lingered on the most, it was the one about the red-haired woman. From all the images and sensations Arya accessed, that one was what puzzled her the most. Eragon thought it was an odd selection of priorities. Or wasn't it?

She narrowed her eyes to him and freed her hands from his grip.

"You know what I saw."

"Well, in my defense, you never asked. Besides, nothing really happened. You know it."

Arya shrugged and turned to leave the room.

"It's none of my concern, anyway."

"Arya!" He called.

"Let's celebrate and forget about that, you said it yourself." She tried to sound carefree, but a hint of annoyance came out too.

He made a note to himself, however, to remember that too much honesty can do as much harm as a well told lie. With that in mind, Eragon let out a sigh before following her down the stairs. When they arrived at the feast, they were already in good terms again, although he figured she was still dwelling on the things she had learned about him that day. Without hesitation, he served ale to them both and motivated her to just relax.

They danced and drank. Not only Eragon and Arya, but the monarchs and the Riders. The common people ate and drank among nobility that night. Even Murtagh enjoyed himself, rehearsing an attempt on being social, spending most of his time talking with Nasuada. Angela, for Eragon's surprise, sat by Renir's side again and kept a heated conversation with the young elf. He wondered what they were talking about.

Eragon tried to give a little bit of his time to each one of his friends. He shared a toast with Orik and a long and emotional conversation with Nasuada about their heartbreaks and losses, that he was sure was fueled heavily by the liquor. Nar Garzhvog informed him and Saphira about the changes going on in the urgal society, and how the Games were a vital part of it. He even invited Eragon "Firesword" and Saphira "Flametongue" to attend the next edition in a year in Ilirea, its traditional host city. They politely declined the invitation, but promised that one day they would arrange it to make it happen.

When the last participants were either too drunk to leave or still engaged in an interesting argument and all the rest had left for the night, Eragon sat by his elven comrades like he did in the first night of the Games. They were clearly exhausted from all the work to make the event be a success, so they sat in silence and enjoyed each other's companionship.

Eragon raised his last cup of ale of the night.

"Thank you all. You did it."

Blödhgarm, Yaela, Ästrith and the others mimicked him, and they all emptied their cups.

The next day, Eragon felt his head throbbing with every beat of his heart. He regretted each drop of ale he downed the night before, for it was making him feel even more miserable at his friends' farewell. One by one, they boarded the boats that would follow down the river to the ocean and around the coast until Surda. The boarding took a long time, and the sun was already strong enough to make him squint and curse the brilliant mind that decided to have the Games during summer, the back of his neck was feeling raw from burning under the sun while standing there at the docks for so long.

Should we grow trees around here too? Saphira teased him.

Or a roof. We should grow a roof over the docks.

She laughed at the pun he made, which made her entire body shake by his side.

I'm glad I amuse you. Now, you could move your head to the left just a bit, so I can stand under you shadow.

Oh, I'm the roof you were talking about? Great! She played offended but did what he asked, minimizing his agony.

I'm never drinking ever again. Eragon grumbled to himself.

Saphira snorted.

So you say. Let's see how it goes next time.

After the goodbyes were said and the boats had left, Thorn landed by the river, where Murtagh jumped to the ground and walked to meet his half-brother, before flying to follow Nasuada's boat.

They hugged and wished each other well.

"Listen." Eragon grabbed Murtagh by the shoulders as he spoke. "Remember what we agreed on. You will handle the affairs of Alagaësia the most impartial way possible. When in doubt, don't hesitate to scry me. If you need help you call for Arya, she will come for you. In the spring, the new Riders will fly to meet you in Ilirea, you will give them the egg and wait for them to return with the one that Arya will take to Ellesméra. If they don't hatch right away, you will have to work on a trading system with Arya."

"Yes, I know. You told me all of that already!" He was impatient, like a child receiving his mother's instructions before leaving to play in the streets.

"Fine! But any doubt, really, you scry me, all right?"

"All right! Now let me go."

Murtagh went in for a last hug before jumping back into Thorn's saddle.

"Do I see you next summer for the Games in Ilirea?" He shouted from up there.

Eragon frowned in a painful expression.

"I wouldn't count on it if I were you, brother. Sorry."

Murtagh smiled.

"Farewell, brother, Saphira! In the worst-case scenario, we will see you two in ten years, then."

Eragon just waved, feeling his misery growing roots inside his chest, and watched as a part of his little family took the sunny skies without knowing when they would be reunited again.

At the same time as Saphira came to his side to protect him from the sun with her shadow, Arya's hand wrapped around his own, in a comforting grip. Fírnen moved to Arya's side, and the four of them stood there, surrounding each other with all the love and friendship they had, until there was nothing left to do besides moving on.