Once again, I realized with two days to go that an anniversary of this story was approaching…only this time, clearly, I didn't make it. I'm sorry, there was Evita and midterms and a Latin class trip to Rome and Antigone, and OHMYGOD the college process and SAT tutoring. It's a problem when I'm using my college mail as bookmarks, guys.

Has it really been four years? Wow. Well, happy fourth anniversary to Bothering Alagaesia…oh, and welcome to Brisingr! I've read this book exactly once, the first day it was published, and I can't say I'm looking forward to repeating the experience, but at least I don't have to take it seriously this time! Depending, we might actually make it through a serious chunk of this thing. Enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Three: Freud's Wet Dream

"So if someone had a really sick amputation fetish," began Saturnina.

Sensing where this was going and moving immediately to stop it, Hilaria butted in. "—They would find this incredibly arousing, yes, yes, let's not go there please?"

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you."

They were at Helgrind, staking out the mountain. Eragon was doing all that he could to ignore them, while Roran tried his hardest to understand who these girls in strange clothes were and why they were completely unlike every other woman he'd ever met, in the worst ways possible.

The reason Saturnina mentioned amputation fetishes (as if she needed a reason) was the sight before them: what appeared to be a long line of worshippers going from Dras-Leona towards Helgrind, all of whom were missing at least one body part. The leader was not much more than a torso and a head.

"What do they do when they eventually have to behead someone?" wondered Thorn.

"Better question," said Hilaria as the worshippers began to drink their leader's blood, "what do they do if the guy has AIDS or something?"

"I'm pretty sure you can't get AIDS that way."

"What's AIDS?" asked Roran.

Thorn rolled her eyes. "Just remember to use protection when you eventually get married," she said, patting his cheek.

Roran was lying on his back gazing at the sky, dark now that it was nighttime. Saturnina sat cross-legged next to him. "So, Roran. Let's talk about you. How do you feel?"

"What? How do I feel about what?"

Hilaria gestured vaguely. "You know, stuff? Eragon? How do you feel about Eragon? Or, if you're too much of a pansy to rail him out to his face, what do you think about in your spare time?"

The new round of questioning was brought on by the fact that for the last fourteen-ish minutes, Eragon had been staring moodily into space. "So, we're at the night before an action sequence, and Paolini writes him into a contemplative slump?" Hilaria had asked in disgust. She now turned her attentions back to the erstwhile cousin.

"I don't know. People I've killed, mostly." Eragon blinked slowly and came back to his senses as Roran continued to talk about two innocent men he'd killed for getting in his way, and how he'd never dreamed his life would take this course. Standard fish-out-of-habitual-water musings, nothing unusual.

"I've been thinking," said Eragon after a pause.

"Well, that's always a good start," encouraged Saturnina. "Thinking about anyone—I'msorryanything in particular?" Eragon didn't catch the slip.

"I'm not so sure if we could as easily handle the Ra'zac as we thought possible. There's a thousand ways to do something, but you only need one way to counter it, if you can prevent the spell from taking place at all." At this point Saphira decided she would add her two cents.

Over the past century, Galbatorix—

"—may have placed wards around the Ra'zac—"

—that will protect them against—

"—a whole range of spells. I probably won't—"

—be able to kill them with any—

"—of the words of death I was taught, nor any—"

—attacks that we can invent now or then. We may—

"have to rely—"

"Oh, my god, stop!" declared Thorn and Roran at the same time.

"What, so now you think at the same time?" wondered Hilaria. "Join the hive mind, Saturnina!"

"Can't, there's only one egg left, and Paolini sure as hell won't make me the next Rider."

Eragon waved them away. "My point is, there's probably any number of wards around Helgrind that would make it near-impossible to conquer with magic. We may have to rely on force more than I originally planned."

"And this only just now occurred to you?" asked Saturnina. "I mean, god! You only spent months learning about this stuff from the hippies!"

Eragon wasn't quite sure what a hippie was, but he reasoned that it probably wasn't a respectful term. "Don't call them that!"

"This magic is tricky business," said Roran. "Could you make me as strong and fast as you are?" His tone of voice left the listeners in no doubt of Roran's blind admiration of his cousin.

Thorn leaned to whisper into Hilaria's ear as Eragon explained why he couldn't. "I'm getting a very, very bad feeling about this."

"Then, can you teach me to use magic?" Roran asked. "Not now, of course. We don't have time, and I don't expect one can become a magician overnight anyway. But in general, why not? You and I are cousins. We share much of the same blood. And it would be a valuable skill to have."

Eragon shrugged. "I'm not sure how someone who isn't a Rider learns magic."

"I did!" yelled Hilaria triumphantly, reminding everyone of a plot device that all of them, including their author, tended to conveniently forget. "But I don't know how. And I'm not teaching you, it's much more fun to watch you squirm."

Roran and Eragon glared at her; the latter picked up a small rock. "Here, take this and say 'stenr risa.'" Predictably, nothing happened. Roran tried again and, to nobody's surprise, nothing continued to happen. "Well, keep trying," said Eragon. "But if anything does happen, come to me immediately. You could kill yourself or others if you experiment with magic without knowing the rules."

"Just like sex!" declared Saturnina.

"Except not at all!" continued Hilaria.

"You really love her, don't you?" said Eragon quietly. Off to the side, Saturnina glomped Hilaria before realizing he had been talking to his cousin. "How did it happen?"

"I liked her. She liked me. What importance are the details?"

"You courted her, then? Aside from using me to ferry compliments to Katrina, how else did you proceed?" Eragon asked, perhaps too interestedly. Thorn and Hilaria exchanged glances.

Roran hid a small grin. "You ask like one who seeks instruction."

The three girls nodded fervently. Eragon objected loudly and immediately. "I did not! You're imagining—"

"Come now," continued Roran. "I know when you're lying. The elves may have given you a new face, but that hasn't changed. What is it that exists between you and Arya? Be honest. You dote upon he words as if each one were a diamond, and your gaze lingers upon her as if you were starving and she a grand feast arrayed an inch beyond your reach."

"Perceptive and poetic! I like you," announced Saturnina.

Eragon fought bravely to save his face. "Arya is an elf," he muttered, losing.

Roran would not stop. "And very beautiful. Pointed ears and slanted eyes are small flaws when compared with her charms. You look like a cat yourself now."

At what point did Eragon turn into a furry? wondered Thorn.

Saphira decided to skip the small-talk and move straight into gossip. If he fancied her any more, I'd be trying to kiss Arya myself. You should go to sleep. It's late, and we must rise early tomorrow.

Eragon stared at the sky and waited for his face to stop turning red. "I just wish we had a few days to rest before we storm Helgrind. My limbs still ache, and I have more bruises than I can count. Look…" He pulled up his sleeve to expose a long yellowing bruise on his arm.

"Ha!" exclaimed Roran. "You call that tiny mark a bruise? I'll show you a bruise a real man can be proud of." He displayed a wide black stripe across his leg. Hilaria had some small sense of what was happening here, and her face displayed some strange spasm as she simultaneously fought the urges to laugh and vomit.

"Impressive, but I have even better," said Eragon, showing them a large blotch on his rib cage and then two on both his arms.

Now Roran showed a jumble of coin-sized blue spots on his back; Eragon was not impressed. "Those are pinpricks! I have one that puts those to shame," and dropped trou, showing off a veritable rainbow on the inside of his thighs.

It is interesting to note that at this point, Eragon was pantsless, and Roran was quickly ridding himself of his shirt, in their mutual attempts to one-up the other regarding the size of their…injuries. Speculate at your own risk, and that is all we shall say about that. Also be aware that at no point in the narrative does Paolini make explicit reference to either one actually reclothing themselves. Consider that for a moment.

"I can't help but wonder why, oh why this is necessary," Saturnina said in a pained tone of voice. "It is generally agreed, although not universally, that you're very impressive and manly warriors. And when I say not universally I mean that I still think you're kind of a pussy."

"And when she says that she means Eragon will you please put your pants back on," begged Thorn. "Roran, I'm sure you're very attractive, but your manly man bruises aren't helping your case right now."

Roran disagreed. "I'll have you know that comparing injuries is a normal and perfectly respectable way of comparing oneself to your comrades."

Hilaria made a face. "And I'll have you know that it's generally considered rude to go pantsless in front of a lady if you don't plan to sleep with her." Eragon did a double-take, looked at the ground, and immediately put his pants back on.

"He removed both his boots, then stood and dropped his trousers, so that his only garb was his shirt and woolen underpants. "Top that if you can," he said, and pointed to the inside of his thighs." –page 30

What is wrong with this chapter?!?