Du Fyrn Eom Ethgri Moio Wyrda.


The War to Invoke Changed Fate.


In hindsight, Eragon thought as he fell uncomfortably, the knowledge of my true name carries more weight than I could have, and honestly should have, guessed at.

His cause for discomfort dwelt primarily in the fact that he was tumbling through the kind of natural and primordial magic the likes of which Oromis-ebrithil had forewarned him to be wary of. The fact that such was the true nature beneath the Rock of Kuthian of which almost no one among Du Weldenvarden, Farthen Dûr, or the human alliances amassed within the Varden itself could recall any details of could hardly be blamed upon Eragon for being drawn into upon speaking his name as Solembum once foretold.

His connection to Saphira remained as tenaciously in place and though her alarm and discomfort spread across their mental link the strongest, he was in part relieved to know nothing more perilously wrong had occurred yet, even if he couldn't convey his own thoughts in turn.

In fact, all I seem capable of feeling is... feeling itself. Base emotion, I think. Eragon concluded after another few minutes of free fall and several attempts to gather or say more to her to no avail. He turned his attention toward the depths about himself in an attempt to foresee what might await him in the coming moments and put aside the unease that was building up.

He couldn't see an end to the long chasm of seemingly raw, multitoned energy radiating around his form, but he was sinking through it at a slow enough rate that at most he might sprain an ankle once he hit the bottom.

If it has one. The thought came unbidden to his mind and he grimaced unhappily, discarding the notion as folly. All things have an end to them that come of the earth... even the oceans rest upon a floor at some point.

His resolve on the matter began to wane as the minutes trickled by with seemingly no improvement to his situation. He risked to speak his name again and found his voice silent and unwieldy now that he was encased within the pit of magic, and his unease grew to a brief few moments of panic.

Eragon closed his eyes tightly and forced his breathing to slow and relax as Arya had once taught him when he had been suffering similarly so long ago, and when next he opened them after another long minute his heart beat was calm and steady once again.

Saphira's duress crept over their link again and he thought he heard her faint, proud roar from somewhere overhead. It was at that point as the noise echoed toward and around him that something in the energy changed.

He felt it firstly with his mind. An ancient and transcendent presence stirred from the depths about and before Eragon, and than he could feel the air soar past him more quickly and hear it whistle through his hair and ears as his vertical velocity intensified many fold.

Did Saphira's magic awaken this, as she did in Farthen Dûr and for Father's tomb? He questioned before the end came into his vision- a solid flare of blinding white that soared up from below and all around him, and than he knew no more for a time.

His back was laid open as a magnificent and multiple toned Dragon hovered before him, and its echoing tones began to stir before softening into silence once more, and then in a flash of white light that only they two could see the Dragon inclined its snout and spoke aloud within his mind.

"You have put our original gift to well use, Namesake of our First Union. Now we see what you desire transcends that gift... but not our skill. May you find solace in this, our second gift to avenge our race."

And then the Dragon engulfed him whole as body, his mind, and spirit, were cast back further once more.

Into a circlet of wild and Rider Dragon's did he appear once more, this time at the base of a terrible spell of such strength that it would yet have rent the names and identities from the Wyrdfell beasts. Instead the power they had driven into it, that was but a syllable away from being completed, was rendered muted and undone as the energy of it was sapped to accept the young Rider across the bounds of time.

It nearly consumed them, still. He landed heavily, his breath coming in rasps, as he rolled once and again to the foot of the nearest such beast. If they were surprised by his appearance among them, many did not show it for the fatigue that seeped into their bones, but a dozen at least cried out with a roar of dismay and fury at being denied their intended results.

Eragon could hardly notice them in turn. His body screamed at him in protest for the course of energy that had ignited every nerve, had pulsed throughout his veins like living flame, and had very nearly consumed his ability to even think.

It was not a feeling he had suffered even under the intensity of his wound from Durza, and that was something he had thought could never be surpassed even if he lived a thousand years as a Rider.

One of the more able bodied of the Dragon's flipped him over onto his back and stifled the urge to burn the intruder to a smelted pool of iron on the stone below, seeing the pointed ears and both rough set yet angular features of his face and the mighty contusions of every muscle clenched taut beneath the skin.

A short and battering run through his mind assuaged the fierce creature of his frustrations, though the scorched silver mark upon the inside of one hand to confirm what little he could uncover helped to allay them as well.

Our goal has been undone. This älfr is Argetlam. Shur`tugal. His voice pierced the minds of the surrounding Dragon's to explain. This lofty position did not prevent him from being turned over and passed back into the center where he was raked by dozens of embittered stares, and many a gnashed tooth lit from behind by flames threatened to roast him regardless.

We have naught the power to work such again; our revenge is stolen. For this älfr. For a long moment their anger rose, then the one speaking hooked a claw beneath the worn armor and lifted Eragon to eye level though he was yet still consumed by his mind-numbing agony. He has come for a reason, a reason we do not know but must accept as deemed worthy by magic itself to interfere at this point. I will take Argetlam to the älf home; we must otherwise now hide until our strength returns.

At that almost every other Dragon present roared again in protest, but they quelled beneath his own vehement snarl conveyed through by voice and thought. Do you wish our race to be erased from the world? We have no choice but to regress and take shelter now as we have been betrayed and our lands well known by the traitors! Flee, I command, and live to deny them their glory in our deaths!

Several still felt rebellious enough to swipe at Eragon, though the Dragon holding him drew him away in time and snapped harshly at the offending paws. Begone by the time I return! They will hunt us now as never before! He ordered, and with a thud of air being slammed downward the Dragon's glorious golden wings began to take flight, the once and future ebrithil Glaedr.