Author's Note: When I was writing Eragon Redux, I did some checking on the Internet about the book the movie was (supposedly) based on. It seemed silly to wait for the second movie to come out to write a second story, especially when I realized I'd been driving around with the plushie version of Thorn for years. (It was a gift! I didn't know!) And even more especially when I decided to ignore every single thing I'd read about book two. So. This is what I say happens after what I say happened in the movie. I have gleefully adopted the movie's disregard for linear time and ability to ignore pesky questions like "But where could that bow and arrow possibly have come from?" Also, in my story, Eragon's not allowed to bless any babies.

ERAGON

Leaving the Varden

The thing about the Varden was that they were practical. Sure, they were honored to have a dragonrider among them, and it had been good to have him around during the battle with Durza. But it had really been Eragon's fault that the Varden had to fight at all, and they were going to be pretty busy in the foreseeable future with the whole "moving to a new secret stone city" plan, so…

"You're asking us to leave," he said flatly. He put a hand on Sapphira's neck, aware that she was projecting not happy clearly enough for anyone to see.

The man in front of them -- Eragon thought he was a Steward of something -- shifted uncomfortably. "No," he said. "Of course not." He shot a nervous look at Sapphira. "Any dragonrider and their dragon are of course always welcome with the Varden."

Of course. That prickly Varden Code of Honor wouldn't let them be anything less than courteous to a dragon and her rider. But the code was a relic from a time when riders as inexperienced as Eragon would have been safely tucked away in training, not out on the run and basically being a giant target wherever they went.

*Hey!* He could feel Sapphira's indignation coloring his thoughts orange.

*Sorry,* he thought back at her.

*Not everything is about you,* she reminded him gently. *It is not just us the Varden are encouraging to be on their way.*

He heard a quiet scuff on the floor behind him. Murtagh tended to stick to the shadows when the Varden were around -- he called it "being unobtrusive." Eragon called it "lurking," but thought it was understandable. The Varden had thrown Murtagh in jail within moments of his arrival, and studiously ignored him whenever possible since then. Still, he was clearly paying attention.

"Just the dragon and their rider?" he asked. He was pretty sure he knew what Sapphira was talking about, but he was supposed to be learning to be less impulsive, and it was safe to prod for details with the Varden. It wouldn't hurt to see if he could get more information.

Now the Steward looked even more uncomfortable. "Ah -- no," he said. He looked down. "Any friend of the dragons is a friend of the Varden," he said, as if quoting. "That is our way. The Varden merely wish to offer you and your …companions … the option of travelling elsewhere, for continued training, should you so choose."

Right. And if that "training" in the nebulous "elsewhere" just happened to take the three of them far away from the Varden and their secret cities, well, that was just a coincidence.

Planning

"We are not going to the elves." Murtagh crossed his arms and frowned.

He sighed. They'd already had this conversation -- several times. The elves had been the Varden's suggestion. Other than that, he didn't see anything wrong with it. "Why not?" he asked, not even expecting a logical answer anymore.

"You don't know anything about them," Murtagh said.

"I didn't know anything about the Varden, either," he retorted. "Or you." He thought for a minute. "Or Brom."

"Besides," he added, "I know Arya."

Murtagh snorted. "Arya was unconscious most of the time," he said. "And she also almost got you killed."

"That was an accident," Eragon insisted. He tried not to sigh again. "Look, just tell me why you don't want us to go. I went after Arya because of a dream --if you say you have a bad feeling about it, you have a bad feeling. But I think I should know. What if we get separated, and I have to decide again? Is this a general 'always avoid the elves' issue, or a specific 'now's not a good time' issue?"

Murtagh was looking at him strangely. "A dream?" he asked.

He could feel his face turning red. "It seemed important," he said uncomfortably.

"And Brom agreed?" Murtagh asked. He sounded incredulous.

"No," he said. "Not exactly." There was a pause, and he tried to direct the conversation back to less painful ground. "The elves?" he prompted.

Murtagh looked away. "I've … heard things, about the elves. That they believe everyone has a destiny, and it's all predetermined -- no matter what you do you can't get off the path that's laid out for you." Their eyes met briefly, and just for a second, he thought he could see fear. "I can't go there," Murtagh said. "I won't."

It came to him in a flash of insight, the kind he wished he got a lot more often. Murtagh, son of Morzan, born and raised in the strongholds of the king -- he had a path, all right, and he was bushwhacking his way through the forest like crazy to get off of it.

"Okay," he said. "No elves."

*No elves?*

Sapphira arrived in a rush of wind, and they scrambled out of the way of her (still somewhat awkward) landing. He thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She huffed a breath in Murtagh's direction, then butted her nose against Eragon's chest. *I got supplies. He was right; they really like me.*

Travelling

He was bored. All morning, he'd been listening to Sapphira broadcast *happyeasyflying* thoughts in his head. She was soaring somewhere high above them, trying not to make their progress too obvious to potential observers. He'd had a few awkward moments trying to look through her eyes -- which invariably led to him tripping over his own feet. Now when she sent a burst of excitement through their link, he just sent back a *pleasedhappyforyouenjoy* sort of feeling and kept his eyes on the ground in front of him. At least one of them was enjoying themselves.

"Do you even know where we're going?" he asked. Murtagh ignored him, giving no indication he'd heard a single word.

It had been slow going so far. They were headed deeper into the mountains, and the forest was full of dense underbrush. He was beginning to wonder if they were travelling in circles. "I'm sure we passed this tree before," he said. He didn't consider himself to be an expert tracker, but he was pretty clear on the basics, and as far as he could tell they weren't following any kind of path. At all.

Murtagh, who'd been leading the way -- silently -- for hours, finally stopped and looked back at him. "I wasn't exactly going in a straight line last time I did this," he said, which made no sense at all. "It's not as easy as it looks." Eragon bit back the comment he wanted to make -- that if Murtagh thought he was making it look easy, he was vastly mistaken.

*Sapphira,* he sent. *Can you tell where we're going?* He sensed her attention focusing downwards.

*Not really. I've never been here before. Did you know you're not going in a straight line?*

*I'm not sure we're going anywhere at all,* he thought sourly. Up ahead, Murtagh was doing the same thing he'd been doing all morning -- squinting around the forest, resting his hand on a nearby tree, and then heading off in a random direction.

He felt a sudden rush of *surprisestartlementsuspicion* from Sapphira. *He's -- he shouldn't be able to do that,* Sapphira exclaimed in his head.

*What?* He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes to focus on Sapphira. *What's he doing?* Silence. *Sapphira?*

MURTAGH

Tracking

What was he doing? All but kidnapping the dragon and her rider, leading them deeper into the mountains just as the year was sliding into winter? It was insane. It was a terrible plan. He should have let Eragon be bundled off to the elves -- at least they would have kept him safe. Then he could be heading for his bolt hole alone, like he'd planned. Instead, he'd found himself actually feeling bad for the land's newest dragonrider. Prophecies and destinies were all well and good -- as long as they had nothing to do with you. And even the greatest prophets were wrong sometimes. He hoped.

"Hey." Eragon's voice was unusually quiet as it broke into his thoughts. "Sapphira says you're 'energy tracking.' What's that?"

He almost laughed, because it seemed like the best of a bad set of options. He'd wondered how long it would take the dragon to notice what he was doing. How long would it be before he had no secrets left at all?

"Did she mention that I was doing it badly?"

"She seems pretty impressed you're doing it at all," Eragon told him. He reminded himself that he'd chosen this path -- chosen to throw in his lot with both dragon and rider, and tossed his plan to sit out the coming conflict in hidden solitude out the window. He was in the middle of it now, and if he could help by passing on what little knowledge he had, he might as well. He leaned against the closest sturdy tree and closed his eyes, trying to remember how the concept had been explained to him, and editing out all the unnecessary parts.

"Energy tracking is… following a trail you left for yourself. Everyone has a personal energy that's unique to them. You can leave bits of it behind on purpose, and then come back later and see where you were."

He felt himself scowling as he added, "Theoretically, only you can see your energy. I might have known they were lying about that too."

"I can't see anything," Eragon said. "Sapphira says she can't either, if that's what you meant. She says you 'feel different' when you're checking it, or something."

He let himself slide down until he was sitting on the ground. "Huh," he said. He waited for the inevitable questions. How was he possibly able to do something like that? Wasn't energy tracking like magic, and only for those in the special 'dragonriders only' club? What were all the details of his mysterious past?

He heard Eragon sit down next to him and opened his eyes. Eragon was staring idly up at the branches of the tree.

"Aren't you going to ask anything else?" he finally said.

Eragon looked at him and frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No," he said quickly.

Eragon shrugged. "Okay. You want to stop here for the day?"

Arrival

It took four days to reach the camp. They pushed hard the last day, arriving at dusk. Depending on how much stock you put in the weather predictions of dragons, rain was on the way before the night was over, and he'd much rather it arrived when there was a roof over his head.

"Whoa," Eragon said, stepping out of the trees. "That's not what I was expecting."

"That" was a small but solidly built cabin tucked tidily in between the trees on the far edge of the clearing. Not too far from the cabin was a cave -- not unusual in this section of the mountains, and easily big enough for a dragon.

"It was a hunting camp." He was sure he'd explained this before.

"Was?" Apparently Eragon hadn't been listening the last time. Or had only been half-listening -- he seemed to have trouble splitting his focus between his dragon and… well, everything else.

"The owner was conscripted years ago," he explained again. He hesitated before adding, "He was a good man." Murtagh had met him only once, by accident, when the hunter's group was moving through the barracks. It had taken him years to realize the man's rambling story about tracking a boar could hold the key to his freedom.

He thought Eragon might have been staring at him, but he kept his gaze determinedly on the cabin. It was getting darker quickly. There was a mutter too quiet for him to make out, but Eragon didn't ask any questions.

"I'll check the cabin," he said quickly. "Make sure nothing's moved in while I was gone. We'll be safe here for the time being." He'd started to walk away when Eragon's voice stopped him.

"Murtagh -- thank you," Eragon said. Then he grinned. "Sapphira says thank you too. She wants to know if she can have a fire in the cave."

He shrugged, focusing on the last statement. It felt awkward to be thanked by anyone, especially when he was still having doubts about whether he really wanted them there. His uncertainty turned to irritation in his words. He wasn't their keeper. "If she wants. You know how to make a fire, Dragonrider. Go practice."

Still, Eragon persisted. "Won't that be kind of obvious?"

"More obvious than a dragon?" Eragon didn't say anything, and he sighed, turning around to make eye contact. "I promised you a safe place -- this is safe. If anyone finds us here, it won't be because of a little smoke."

First Night

"I'm freezing."

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he jerked awake at Eragon's muttered words. It was cold. And dark -- the fire they'd lit in the evening had burned down to embers. He heard Eragon moving around.

"Murtagh?" Eragon's voice was louder this time. "Are you awake?" He didn't say anything, but Eragon kept talking anyway. "It's freezing in here. I'm going out to Sapphira."

Lucky -- dragons radiated heat. Sometimes a bit problematic in the summer, but a blessing in the cold season. Murtagh grunted an acknowledgement and pulled the blanket over his head. A minute later he realized he still hadn't heard Eragon leave the cabin. He rolled over and squinted towards the door.

"Well?" Eragon asked. "Are you coming?"

He meant to say "no." He liked Sapphira -- sometimes he felt more comfortable around her than Eragon. But he could clearly remember the rules that had been drilled into him as a child. Never get between a dragon and its rider. Never approach a dragon without its rider's explicit invitation. Look, don't touch.

The thought came to him -- not for the first time -- that Eragon had no idea how to be a dragonrider. And Sapphira, for whatever reason, wasn't telling him. "Fine," he said finally.

The shadow he thought was Eragon bounced up and down a little. "Great! If we get Sapphira to move over, the ground should even be warm!"

We?

ERAGON

Communicating

"I think we should talk." He felt confident saying the words, in a way he hadn't on the trail. They'd arrived; there was no need or reason to keep moving. Plus, Sapphira was effectively blocking the entrance to the cave. It was as good a time as any to talk about what came next.

Murtagh, of course, didn't seem to feel the same way. "I'm not much of a talker," he said. When Eragon glanced in his direction, he was looking at the wall.

*Sapphira?

*He hasn't had anyone to talk to*, Sapphira reasoned. *Keep trying.*

"And I'm not much of a planner," Eragon said. "So far I've talked, and you've planned. Let's switch."

"What do you want to talk about?" Murtagh was still staring at the wall.

What he wanted to ask was "What's your plan?" But he didn't think that would get him much of a response, with Murtagh still pretending he was having the whole conversation with the side of the cave.

Instead, he took a deep breath. "Your original plan was to wait things out on your own, right? Make sure whoever the newest dragonrider was made it safely to someone who could get them started, then come out here and wait for things to shake out. Whoever came out on top, you could build a place for yourself with them after it was all over."

Murtagh had finally looked away from the wall, and was staring at him with what looked like shock. He shrugged again, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "Just because I don't know anything about dragons, doesn't mean I don't know anything about anything," he said. "It makes sense. Except now you're stuck with us, and I don't really understand why, but we should probably figure out what to do next."

*That was certainly a novel approach.*

*I was going for honesty,* he sent back.

"Supplies," Murtagh said finally. "We should lay in supplies. Then training, probably. I've picked up some along the way, and a lot of it should be instinctive. You just need practice."

"Okay." He smiled, even though Murtagh was back to conversing with the wall. He wondered if it was a good sign or a bad one that even such a tiny step forward seemed a brilliant victory. "Supplies first."

The Egg

Sapphira was planning something. She'd excused herself from morning training, and he could feel the faint buzzing in his head that meant she was focusing hard on something other than him.

"She's ignoring me," he told Murtagh. He was pretty sure that despite his best efforts, it sounded like he was sulking.

Murtagh gave him a look that he was finally starting to recognize. It was a look that said "I know something you don't know, but I'm not sure whether I should tell you."

He sighed. "You might as well just tell me."

"Did you ever meet any dragonriders?" Murtagh asked. "Before?"

Eragon raised his eyebrows. What did that have to do with anything? "In Carvahall?" he asked. "No."

"Right," Murtagh said. "You and Sapphira… you're not…" There was a long pause, until Murtagh finally ended with, "typical."

He considered this, while he was waiting to see if Murtagh was going to say anything else. There were three dragons and riders that he was fairly confident Murtagh had met. The king, who was crazy, Morzan, who'd killed a lot of other dragonriders, and Brom, who'd killed Morzan. He wasn't seeing a problem with being atypical in a crowd like that.

Patience paid off, and Murtagh kept talking. "You ask for her opinion. And she tells you what to do. You touch her all the time." He broke off, probably seeing Eragon's uncomprehending expression. "The other riders were a lot more… in charge."

"So you're saying their dragons didn't ignore them?" Was he supposed to demand that Sapphira pay attention to him? That didn't make any sense -- she was busy, and it wasn't like he needed to know what she was doing. He was just curious.

"No, their dragons ignored them all the time, except when they were specifically required not to. I'm saying they didn't notice their dragons ignoring them. They weren't partners; there was the rider, and the dragon."

Now he was wondering how Murtagh knew that. "And the dragons allowed that?" he asked.

"Nobody asked them," Murtagh said.

All of a sudden, smug satisfaction exploded into his mind. *Got it,*Sapphira told him. *If Arya can steal an egg, I can steal an egg. Come see!*

He looked towards the cave. He couldn't see anything, but Sapphira let him look through her eyes. Sure enough, there was a dragon's egg resting innocently on the stone floor. He shook his head to bring his vision back to his own eyes and looked at Murtagh. "Maybe someone should have," he said.

Unexpected Consequences

His head hurt. He thought maybe someone was trying to get his attention, but his vision kept blurring, and he couldn't hear anything except the buzzing in his ears. He blinked and squinted. Where was he?

His thoughts kept fracturing, but he remembered being in the forest. Roran was gone, and there was -- *Sapphira?*

There was no response. He couldn't feel anything. A wash of panic made the pain behind his eyes explode. Suddenly he felt a hand on his forehead.

"Shh. It's all right." Someone was talking to him, and the hand stayed on his head. It helped, a little. "If you can stop looking for her, it will help," the voice said softly. "She's fine."

He tried to focus long enough to figure out who was talking. Where was he? *Sapphira?* He couldn't feel her. Panic --

There was a hand on his forehead. "Shh," someone said. "Try to focus on my hand."

Where was he? His head hurt, but it felt like someone was trying to get his attention. There was a hand on his forehead. It was warm. Exhaustion crept in, and he slept.

MURTAGH

On Guard

The good news was that the weather had turned mild again. The bad news was everything else.

"I want you to know, I think this is a very bad idea," he said in Sapphira's general direction. He had no idea if she was paying any attention. Mostly he was talking to himself. Eragon certainly wasn't listening, although he did seem a little calmer when someone was talking.

"And I wish I didn't know what was going on." Actually, he wasn't sure if that was true, but he'd reached the point of just talking to make noise, without considering what came out. "Can't you see this is hurting him?"

Sapphira's exultation over the egg hadn't lasted long. Eragon hadn't been clear on why, but she was upset, and it had something to do with the egg. She'd gotten tense and snappish, staring at the egg and refusing to let either of them near it, or her. At the same time, Eragon started complaining of headaches, then dizziness, then got steadily worse until he was mostly unconscious, drifting in and out of lucidity in the times that he was actually awake.

Unfortunately, Murtagh thought he could guess why Sapphira was upset, and what was wrong with Eragon. "We shouldn't have let it happen," he said, slipping into a memory. "We should have done something, but we were just kids -- stupid kids, but still kids. I think we all knew better, just not enough to be able to save them."

Eragon shifted, and he moved closer, putting a hand back on Eragon's forehead. He tried not to think about what would happen when night came. Eragon got worse further away from Sapphira, but it was too cold to stay outside all night, and it didn't look like she was planning on letting them into the cave any time soon.

"There were three," he said, trying to distract himself. "That was the rumor, anyway. I only ever saw one at a time. The king had them guarded; I don't know how he got them in the first place. He wanted the next generation of dragonriders to be loyal only to him." Legend said that a dragon would only hatch if its rider was ready -- the king wanted to "encourage" the process, and he'd set Durza the task of figuring out how to do it.

He sighed. "Durza spent a lot of time with the eggs. I don't know what he was doing. None of us did. We were just glad he wasn't paying attention to us. I know you're probably trying to fix whatever he did, and it's bad magic and you don't want it to touch Eragon, but this isn't better. It's not worth this."

He'd seen dragonriders looking exactly like Eragon did at that moment. In the end, when it seemed like the world had gone mad along with the king, and dragons were killing dragons, he'd seen it. A dragon would do anything to try to save its rider. They would even suppress the mental bond between them so the shock of the dragon's death wouldn't instantly cause the rider to follow.

Sapphira wasn't dying, unless he'd badly misjudged the situation -- she was blocking Eragon so he wouldn't be affected by whatever she was doing with the egg. "It doesn't work," he said. "Most of them died anyway, Sapphira. He needs you. He's looking for you, in his head. He'll never stop. None of them ever did. I don't know how Brom made it, and you're right there, which I think is helping a little, but I don't know how long he can hold it together." He stopped himself before he could tell her to hurry. Then he looked at Eragon and reconsidered.

"Hurry."

History

The king's plan to cultivate the next generation of dragon riders extended beyond just the eggs. The eggs themselves were useless until they hatched. The king had tried to hurry along the hatching by making potential riders more "ready."

The three of them had been excited. All children of dragonriders, all orphaned by the war. Sure, the king was crazy, and Durza was the stuff of any kid's nightmares, but -- dragons. The possibility of coming out the other side of the experience with a dragon would probably have been enough to get them to volunteer, even without the king's order. Before the big event, they'd received instruction in dragonrider magic: shielding, fighting, tracking -- it had seemed excessive, until the king's dragon ripped open their magical channels and he'd realized it was nowhere near enough. The eggs, of course, still didn't hatch.

The king quickly forgot about the three potentials. Without a dragon to stabilize their magic, they'd been open to every stray energy that came their way -- distracted, emotional, and probably destined for an early death. Just another three failures, dismissed from the castle, not even important enough to have killed. They'd tried to stick together, but Thom ran off when Angela got sick, and he'd lost track of the other boy while they were searching for a healer.

In Daret, they'd finally found one Angela could stand the presence of. He'd been a dragonless rider -- as a fellow outcast he'd taken them in, and ultimately linked his own mind with Angela's to save her life. She'd still ended up more than a little strange, but she seemed content, and who was he to argue?

Desperation

Sapphira wasn't hurrying. Or she was, and it still wasn't fast enough. Eragon was getting worse. They were losing light quickly, and the temperature was starting to drop. He weighed his options -- he could wait, and hope for the best. It had worked all day, and with a fire, they should be able to make it through the night.

Blankets. They would need the blankets from inside the cabin. He stood up, wincing as his body protested sitting in the same position for so long. Suddenly a full-body shudder ran through Eragon. Murtagh dropped back to the ground and Eragon's eyes opened. "Help," he said, grabbing Murtagh's wrist. "Help me."

Then he was unconscious again. Well. That changed things. They still needed blankets, though, and a fire. It wouldn't do either of them any good to freeze to death.

In as short a time as he could manage, Murtagh was ready. He was only partly sure he knew what he was doing, but he'd seen it done before. Once. Right now he was wishing he'd paid a lot more attention to what that healer had actually done.

He reached out, laying his hand back on Eragon's forehead, and closed his eyes. Tentatively, he began to disassemble the walls around his mind. Breathing deeply, he visualized setting the stones carefully aside as he made an opening and reached out towards Eragon. As soon as he was aware of the other's presence, he stopped. According to the healer, you couldn't actually "see" anything when you were in someone else's head, but given a little time, your own mind could translate the perceptions into something visual.

Slowly, he saw Eragon taking shape in front of him, along with… a door? And he realized, Eragon wasn't looking for Sapphira, he'd found her. But she was stuck, or blocking him on purpose, and Eragon was trying to break through to her. Without conscious thought, he found himself dragged along and tossed into the assault on the door. Under their combined efforts, it opened grudgingly, like it was pushing back every time they let up.

It looked like the cave. Sapphira was there, locked in silent and unmoving battle with a shadowy darkness that had to be Durza's magical legacy surrounding the tiniest dragon he'd ever seen. It was impossible to tell if she was winning, but he didn't think the door opening was a good sign, especially since she appeared to be completely unaware of their arrival.

Energy poured out of Eragon and into Sapphira. He wondered where it was all coming from, until a wave of tiredness swept through him, and he realized Eragon was helping himself to all available energy sources. Eragon was a lot more grabby in his head than outside. Still, it's not like he would've said no. A glow began to build, increasing steadily until the shadow thinned and finally dispersed. Sapphira jerked back, projecting shock. Eragon responded with a sort of cranky smugness, and Murtagh tumbled back into himself -- only to wonder if he was still dreaming, when he found himself with a baby dragon asleep in his lap and Eragon laughing next to him.

ERAGON

Morning After

He felt fine. Sort of. As long as he didn't try to move, or think, or do anything except sit quietly and lean on Sapphira, he felt fine. He thought about going back to sleep, but then he'd miss the show.

Next to him, Sapphira shifted minutely, so he could lean his head against her shoulder and still see the clearing. *Better?* Her voice was softer than usual.

*Yes, thanks.* He knew she still felt bad about the whole thing. She'd had no sense of time passing when she was fighting the dark energy -- she'd gone in overconfident and ended up trapped. It could have ended up much worse than just a lingering headache. He'd finally gotten her to stop apologizing, but Sapphira still seemed subdued. She was keeping their connection wide open, and seemed perfectly content to sit with him in the sun, watching Murtagh play.

"Hey!" Murtagh laughed as the small dragon "tagged" him, then took off running in the opposite direction. Baby dragons had a lot of energy. Murtagh gave chase until the dragon got tired of running and turned around again. The two of them went down in a controlled tumble. He saw Murtagh's hand wind up in the dragon's mouth, and winced in sympathy.

Then he winced again when he felt the pricking of dragon teeth in his own hand. Across the clearing, he saw Murtagh shaking his hand before diving back into the game. The pain was gone as quickly as it had come, but he'd definitely felt it. "What was that?" he said. "Sapphira?"

*I'm… not sure.*

Well, that was helpful. *It felt like I was feeling what happened to Murtagh. Is that even possible?*

*Well…*

He wasn't sure if Sapphira was stalling, or just thinking. There was, however, an easy way to test it. He sat up slowly, leaving a hand on her side for balance. Then he shook his head side to side. Just once, but it was enough to make the pain come roaring back.

When he could see again, Murtagh was standing in front of him, with an alarmed-looking dragon right behind him. "Are you all right?" Murtagh asked. "You probably shouldn't do that."

"Did you feel that?" he asked. Then he leaned back against Sapphira to stop the world spinning around him. She flooded his mind with *concernsoothingworryirritation*and he sent *loveworrysorry* back, and just relaxed into the wash of feelings for a minute.

When he remembered Murtagh was probably still standing there, he looked up. "Something's going on," he said.

*It's possible that we're all more… aware of each other, right now* Sapphira chimed in, and he repeated it for Murtagh. *He linked his mind with yours when you came to rescue me.* There was a pause before she added, *This is why I didn't want you to help.* She must have sensed his indignation, because she quickly tacked on, *But I'm glad you did. Both of you.*

"Sapphira says we may be connected because of the mind-thing you did," he told Murtagh. "I don't feel anything now, but I could tell when he bit your hand."

"I could feel your headache, but only for a second -- it's gone now." Murtagh looked worried. "I didn't think the link would last. Is it permanent?"

*Well?*he asked Sapphira.

*It may fade with time.*

Sapphira sounded somewhat doubtful. *Or?*he asked.

*Or it might get stronger.*

Consequences

"Are you left-handed?"

They were eating lunch. Well, he and Murtagh were eating. Sapphira was being used as a climbing toy, and enjoying every minute.

"Hm? No, right." Murtagh looked at him questioningly and held up his right hand. The same one the dragon had been playing with, which is what had started him thinking in the first place. Murtagh's right palm was clear -- no telltale swirl marked in silver. He'd thought that maybe -- if Murtagh were left-handed, maybe it would be on the other hand.

Eragon was 100% confident that Murtagh was meant to be the new dragon's rider. He was much less confident in his own knowledge of dragonrider tradition. Based solely on his own experience, the mark should have appeared when Murtagh first touched the dragon, on the hand that did the touching, but he was trying to assume less, not more. "Can I see your left hand?"

Murtagh seemed to have figured out why he was asking, at least, and he looked amused instead of offended. That was a good sign -- asking probably wasn't considered an insult. He held out both hands for Eragon's inspection. Nothing.

"Okay," he said, thinking. The marks channelled magic, so it made sense for it to be somewhere obvious, like the hand. If it wasn't on either hand… "Your wrist?" he guessed.

Murtagh smirked, and unlaced the wrist guard on his right wrist. Slipping it off, he once again offered his hand, palm up. The mark was there, on the inside of his wrist. "Right palm is traditional," Murtagh explained. "But obvious. It --"

Murtagh cut off whatever he was about to say, and Eragon pulled his hand back from where he'd been reaching out to touch. "Sorry," he offered. Then he hesitated, not sure how to bring up a topic he wasn't sure he really wanted to talk about. "Can I ask you something?" Murtagh just raised his eyebrows. "Is it possible that Durza... did something, to mine, when we fought?" He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that Murtagh didn't immediately say he was crazy.

"Why do you ask?" Murtagh asked finally.

Eragon held up his own right hand in answer, mark clearly visible. "I can't feel it anymore." Murtagh looked confused, so he added, "I have no feeling in my hand where the mark is."

Murtagh practically leapt off the ground. "What? Why didn't you say anything?"

Obviously, because he thought it might mean something really bad, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Talking about things made them more real; everyone knew that. "Sapphira knows," he said, and Sapphira rumbled agreement from over his shoulder. "It hurt, after the battle." In his own head he added, 'a lot.' "And then it just stopped, and I couldn't feel anything."

Murtagh sat back down, but he still looked angry. Or maybe concerned. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes. "What does Sapphira think?"

"She doesn't know. She says maybe it will go away on its own. It's not spreading at all, and I can still feel my fingers, if those are your next questions." Sapphira asked them every day, so he knew the drill.

"But you're worried you might be being influenced by some kind of dark magic." Murtagh looked at him questioningly.

"Because if I am, she might be too, through the link -- she might not even be able to tell." It was impossible to have a private conversation with the dragons around, but Sapphira was doing an admirable job of pretending to ignore them.

"Or she might be lying to protect you," Murtagh said thoughtfully, and Eragon felt Sapphira turn to glare in their direction. He hadn't even thought of that -- would dragons really do something like that? "Have you been feeling depressed?" Murtagh asked. "Lethargic? Mood swings, rage, hopelessness, paranoia? Urges to kill me in my sleep?"

It would have been funny, except that he sounded so serious about it. "No, nothing like that."

"Are you lying?" Murtagh asked bluntly.

"What? No!"

At some invisible signal, the new dragon broke off from his game of stalking Sapphira's tail and bounded over. He threw himself into Murtagh's lap (drawing a slight wince -- even at that age, dragons were heavy), then stretched his head out towards Eragon.

He looked at Murtagh, not sure what he was supposed to be doing. "Let him look at it," Murtagh said. He offered his hand to the small dragon, who eyed it cautiously for about half a second before opening his jaws and mouthing the hand messily, making happy dragon noises. Murtagh laughed. "I'd say you're clear. If he thinks you're tasty enough to chew on, I'm not worried about dark magic."

Afternoon

They planned to spend the afternoon running through alternatives, but it didn't take that long. Once they'd ruled out magical overuse -- he'd gone days without using any on the trip to the cabin; and magical underuse -- since he'd maxed out his magical energy the day before, with no noticeable change -- there weren't really that may other options. Murtagh suggested the elves might have something to do with it -- which wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility, but the theory was both inexplicable and untestable, and he'd finally suggested the Varden in retaliation. Murtagh said that made no sense at all, and after that they were pretty much out of ideas.

Murtagh just shrugged. "Maybe Sapphira's right, and it will go away on its own."

He sensed a 'but' coming. Murtagh's expression said he was trying to decide whether or not to say something he didn't think Eragon would respond well to. "But?" he prompted finally, when he got tired of waiting.

Murtagh hesitated another second before saying, "You might want to start practicing your sword work left handed."

Eragon breathed a sigh of relief. Was that all? He was terrible with the sword; much better with the bow. The king didn't like anyone armed and dangerous outside of his own army, so he hadn't even picked up a sword until Sapphira came along. Who knew, maybe he'd be better left-handed than right. Honestly, he could hardly be worse. "Okay," he said easily. "Good thinking."

Now Murtagh's expression said he'd clearly missed something important. He pushed back his instinctive "What?" and tried to think. Options, options... All dragonriders were right-handed? Dragonriders gone bad fought left-handed? Murtagh was irritated because he was going to have to start back at the beginning in his sword lessons?

None of those seemed right. Luckily, Murtagh's lack of chattiness came in handy sometimes -- he probably wouldn't say anything until Eragon specifically asked. He dismissed all of his first ideas and kept thinking. Maybe switching the side he carried his sword on would mess up his bow? It shouldn't -- actually, it should make it easier. He had a sudden flash of himself, firing an arrow lit with magical flames. Oh -- maybe that was it. If he could only magic the sword when his right hand was on it, he'd be at a serious disadvantage in a fight.

He looked thoughtfully at his right hand, and then his left. Considered what Murtagh and Sapphira had told him about how magic worked. Closed his eyes. Thought the better of trying to direct magic through his own body without at least asking if it was likely to fry his insides. *Sapphira?*

*It's definitely not 'traditional,'* she said, using Murtagh's words from earlier. *But I can't see that it would be any danger to you, even if it works.*

Which wasn't exactly reassuring, but he'd give it a try. Taking a deep breath, he focused, and then relaxed, and then his left hand was on fire. In the good way, and he opened his eyes to see Murtagh (for once) looking genuinely surprised and impressed.

"Was it the magic thing?" he asked. "Because I don't think that's going to be a problem."

MURTAGH

Secrets

The dragon's name was Thorn. He knew it, and he wasn't supposed to know it, and he wasn't sure if he should share that information or not. So far, it looked like Eragon and Sapphira were content to flout whatever rules and traditions they felt like, but there was actually a reason why dragons didn't link with their riders until they'd reached the second stage of their maturity. Try explaining that to a baby dragon with the attention span of a two-year-old, though.

Thorn wasn't big on talking (though he was clearly able), but he was certainly free with the emotion-sharing. He liked Murtagh, and he liked him now, and he was safe, and why should he have to wait? It was hard to argue with that, especially when it was clearly benefiting him too, and it wasn't like they could turn it off now that it was there.

He was watching Thorn creep up on the bushes (or, more likely, some small critter in the bushes -- baby dragons were hungry a lot) when Eragon sat down next to him. It was the first time he'd seen him out of touching distance of Sapphira all day, so he must be feeling better.

"Okay," Eragon said, looking at Thorn. "I couldn't help but notice that I feel really hungry all of a sudden."

He didn't say anything. Being linked to Thorn might have evened out a lot of the jagged edges of his emotions, but that didn't mean he wanted to have a friendly chat about it. Not that they couldn't have a friendly chat about it, he just didn't think it should be too easy.

Beside him, Eragon took a deep breath. Possibly re-evaluating his strategy. "Stop me if I go off track, okay?" he said. "I checked a lot of it with Sapphira beforehand." Another deep breath, and he wondered if Eragon wasn't feeling better at all, but had somehow decided that this conversation was more important. "You're linked with him, earlier than is 'traditional.' By extension, me and Sapphira are also linked with him, which is why I keep getting hungry every time he decides to find a snack. Sapphira seems to think it's a good thing, which probably has to do with the life story you decided to share when I was mostly unconscious."

He noted that Eragon didn't sound angry, just tired. Like he'd been putting up with Murtagh being surly and uncommunicative for a long time, but not quite long enough to give up. "How much did you hear?" he asked, curious.

"Enough to know I was missing something important," Eragon told him. "What are the chances I'll get a repeat someday?"

He didn't answer, thinking it through. Thorn romped over to sit on him, and he distracted himself by rubbing the dragon's stomach. There wasn't really any reason notto tell, he supposed. Finally, he said, "After Brom killed Morzan, the king wanted more dragonriders. He picked three of us that he thought were... what he was looking for. Young and angry, mostly. We were told there were three eggs; trained like we were going to be linked, and given a crash course in rider magic. When the eggs didn't hatch, we were cut loose."

"And now?"

"It's quiet, in my head. Nice." And it was. Quieter than it had been in years, and he'd gotten so used to the noise that he kept trying to pop his ears because it felt so strange.

"Angela?" Eragon said suddenly, twisting around to look at Sapphira.

"What?"

"I don't know; Sapphira just told me to ask about her. Who's Angela?"

"Angela was one of the other candidates. She lives in Daret now -- the fortune teller?" If a dragon large enough to dwarf the small cabin could ever be said to be "creeping," Sapphira was doing it now. She'd been edging closer to Eragon the whole time they'd been talking, and she eased herself behind him like if she went slow enough, he might not notice her approach. The lingering ache in his head must be Eragon's, then, because it disappeared as soon as Sapphira finally got close enough to touch.

"Hmm," Eragon said, closing his eyes. "I remember her. Thanks, Sapphira." There was silence for a moment.

Then Eragon said, "Can I ask his name?"

Thorn rolled over and trilled, and he couldn't stop the smile that broke out. "It's Thorn. His name is Thorn."

Regarding the Future

He woke up feeling relaxed, and instantly felt suspicious. He never woke up feeling relaxed.

Squinting into the darkness of the cave, it looked like everyone else was still sleeping -- sparing a quick touch to Thorn's wing, he made his way outside as quietly as possible. It was cold. He'd almost forgotten about the weather, and he glared at the trees to regain his composure until he heard Eragon waking up. There was muttering, and the sound of Eragon tripping over something, and then a voice that was far too cheery for so early in the day said, "Morning! Sleep well?"

He scowled. "Yes," he said, resisting the urge to kick at the tuft of grass in front of him.

The footsteps behind him stopped. "Okay," Eragon said, sounding wary. "Is everything okay? I thought it was kind of cute."

More like an invasion of privacy, he thought. Out loud, he said, "Cute?"

"You can probably ask him not to, if it bothers you," Eragon said, and just like that, he was confused. Were they talking about the same thing?

"What?" he said.

"What?" Eragon repeated. "Sorry, what were you upset about? I thought it was the shared dreaming."

"That wasn't Sapphira?"

"No, Sapphira dreams in blue. I don't know about you, but last night I was getting everything in pink. Had to be Thorn."

Eragon stepped up to stand next to him and put a hand on his arm. His voice was quiet when he said, "Murtagh -- Sapphira wouldn't do that -- she feels bad enough that you ended up stuck with us, even though she doesn't say it quite that way. She would never go in your head without your permission."

He sighed. There had been a pink tinge to everything. "Yeah, I guess. It was just... unexpected. Do you think he did it on purpose?"

Now Eragon looked startled. "I don't know. I'd guess not. Sapphira didn't do anything like that at his age, but we didn't sleep that close to each other then, either. I figured he was just happy, and projecting. He likes you a lot, you know."

He did know. He could feel it in the back of his head even then, a warm pink glow. He wasn't sure how he felt about Eragonknowing it, but it was impossible to stay irritated with Thorn's distractingly happy dream-thoughts bubbling through their link. "Right," he said. Time to change the subject.

"I've been thinking," he said. "About what we're doing here."

"Okay."

"What do you know about the king?"

Eragon listed things like he was ticking them off of a mental list. "Last of the previous dragonriders, allied with Durza, rumored to be crazy. He controls the army and raises the tithe at least once a year." There was past anger in Eragon's voice, and Murtagh wondered what the story behind it was. He realized, to his surprise, that for all Eragon's talking, he knew almost nothing about what the other's life had been like before they'd met. If Eragon felt like he had a personal vendetta against the king, this was going to be harder.

"What do you want to do about him?" he asked, trying to feel out Eragon's emotions.

Eragon laughed, and Murtagh relaxed slightly. "What do I want to do? I'd like to punch him in the face -- preferably multiple times -- but that doesn't mean it's a good plan. You've met him; what do you think? Is he really crazy?"

Despite the joking tone, it was a serious question, and he thought for a minute before answering. "I'm not sure. Without Durza, maybe not? Or maybe more?"

"What about his dragon?"

The question took him by surprise. He turned to look at Eragon. "What do you mean?"

"Is the dragon crazy? Would it help us if we tried to de-throne the king?"

"'De-throne'?"

"Well, I don't want to kill him." Eragon gave him a questioning look, and he shook his head. He didn't want to kill the king either, him or his dragon. He'd seen enough of that to last a lifetime. "But he's not a good king. On the other hand, there's going to be even more chaos than there is now if there's suddenly no king at all. Unless you --?"

Murtagh shook his head more firmly. He definitely didn't want to step into those shoes. "Me neither," Eragon said. "Okay, so that leaves us... where?"

He felt the background hum in his head blossom into wakefulness -- pure, unadulterated joy at the thought of a new day -- so bright that it took him a few minutes to pull himself back to awareness. "Waiting for Thorn to grow up," he murmured.

Signs and Visions

"Well, obviously." He could practically feel Eragon rolling his eyes next to him, and it shook him out of his reverie. "Spring would be nice too. It's not like we have to go running off to do anything right away."

They both turned around to see Thorn giving a giant yawn, and Sapphira nudging him out of the cave in front of her. "Okay," Eragon said suddenly, probably in response to something Sapphira had told him. "I feel fine; my hand feels exactly the same." He looked at Murtagh. "Sapphira suggested doing the morning check out loud. Your turn."

He wasn't sure what to say. "I feel fine," he said. "Thorn too. He's hungry."

"Really? I can't feel that. Maybe the link is fading." Thorn bounced over, and Murtagh -- sensing his intention -- held both hands up. He didn't want to get gnawed on again as a test.

But when Thorn skidded to a stop in front of him, he found himself reaching out a hand to steady himself against a sudden wave of dizziness. His vision grayed out. From a distance, he could hear Eragon saying something. There was a touch on his shoulder and Sapphira's looming presence in front of him...

And then he could see again, except it was all wrong.

"If there really were three, that means there's one more somewhere." A woman holding an infant was talking, but not to him.

"Nobody's reported seeing anything. I think we have to assume it hasn't hatched, whether the king has it or not." The tall man reminded him of Eragon somehow. He looked worried.

"Nobody's reported seeing your cousin, either," the woman said. "It doesn't mean he's not still out there. The Varden said he was fine when he left."

A second woman burst into the conversation. "One of the scout teams just got back," she said breathlessly. "They say the passage is clear!" She ran off again, surprisingly quiet, maybe out of respect to the baby.

"Sounds like we've found our wintering over spot," the man said dryly.

"His dragon will keep him safe, Roran. We'll ride out the winter in the Sanctuary, and find them in the spring. It will take at least that long to set things into motion."

As quickly as it had started, it was over, and he was back in the clearing. "Whoa," Eragon said. "I felt that."

Murtagh felt his legs start to shake. "I think I need to sit down." It was more like a dignified collapse, but everyone looked shaken, so at least it wasn't just him.

Eragon sat down heavily next to him and put his head on his knees. Thorn crawled on top of both of them, and Sapphira wrapped herself around the outside, her concern practically visible. "What was that?" Murtagh finally asked.

"Vision," Eragon said, his voice muffled by his knees. "Things that are happening in the present time but not here. I've always been asleep before. It's a little more... unnerving when it happens like that." Eragon's head came up, and he blinked. "That was my cousin, Roran. He ran off to find the resistance when he got old enough to be conscripted. I didn't recognize anyone else."

He cleared his throat. Thorn looked up at him adoringly, and he felt warmth echo through the link from all around him. "I did," he said. "The woman with the baby? She's the queen."

Eragon looked shocked. "The king's queen? Is she -- the baby -- I mean, does --?

"I don't know," Murtagh said quickly. "I just know she's the queen." He thought back on the vision. "And it sounded like they knew where the third egg is."

"And like they have a plan," Eragon agreed, leaning back. "Which includes us not being found until spring, which matches ourplan --" If there was more to his sentence, it was cut off by a yawn. Murtagh felt himself yawning as well. Visions took a lot out of you, apparently. Thorn was already asleep again, snoring breathily. He adjusted his legs so Thorn wouldn't roll off, and joined Eragon in leaning against Sapphira. Breakfast could wait a while longer.