Chapter Thirty One – Of Elves and Blades

Sirius immediately cut Harry off on the trail as he returned to the Crags of Tel'naeír, looking both worried and annoyed.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded. His godson had a haunted look in his eyes that was rather frightening.

Harry, who had long since learned that blocking out problems and claiming no desire to speak of them was counterproductive, confided in his godfather. He told Sirius everything, including the vision he had of Grimmauld Place and the resulting conversation with his friends. Sirius looked completely gobsmacked.

"What... but I don't... how?" he stuttered, the last word almost shouted.

"Don't ask me," Harry said, shaking his head viciously. "I take it you heard me calling for help and got worried?"

"Heard you?" Sirius snorted. "The whole bloody forest was shaking! And Oromis said there was nothing to worry about? Bloody hell... this is..."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "I told them not to try and follow me."

Sirius laughed hollowly. "This is Hermione Granger we're talking about, the smartest witch I've ever met. Well, on par with Lily, at the very least. Do you honestly think she'll keep her nose out of studying that sodding veil? Not a chance."

"I know," Harry sighed, staring at the ground. "But I can only hope they're not stupid enough to come through it. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it, but... I wanted them to know both of us are safe. Even if we never are going back."

"Are you sure about that, pup?" Sirius asked, watching him carefully.

Harry looked up again, frowning as he did so. "Sirius, it's impossible. We can't disapparate away and unless there's a connecting veil on this end... no, even if there is, it wouldn't make a difference. Angela told me trying to get back will kill me. Maybe it's a one-way doorway."

"Harry, you of all people know divination isn't something to be trusted lightly. It's very dangerous and it doesn't pay to think about the future all the time. You have to live for the here and now, and realise that not everybody's destiny is set in stone," Sirius said.

"I know," Harry said quietly. "But I've made my decision. And think about it, Sirius. What do you have to go back to? No offence, but everyone you care about is either dead or standing right in front of you. You're still a criminal, only now Dumbledore isn't there to help, and from what they said there's another war coming. It's not exactly a Majorcan holiday, you know."

"I know, I know," he replied, sighing heavily. "I was just thinking, if Galbatorix wins and they get it working, we might be able to evacuate people."

"Have you tried escaping?"

"Of course," Sirius huffed. "Spent weeks doing it when I first got here. Apparition, portkeys, sending a Patronus for help... nada."

"You can make portkeys?!" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"...yes? I was an Auror. Training for emergencies and all that. Death Eaters used to throw up anti-Apparition fields for shits and giggles."

"I'll be remembering that for later," Harry said, nodding more to himself than anything.

"Hah, don't bother," Sirius snorted. "Any I attempt to tether to the Wizarding World is destroyed instantly when it hits the ground in this place. I have no idea why. Local areas work fine, though."

"Huh... well, that's a pain in the ass. But it does explain what happened to Voldemort's when I first got here. I went looking for it, but it seemed to vanish."

"Hmm, that makes sense," Sirius said, crossing his arms in thought. "The object might have been cursed like you thought, but if no portkeys to home work then it doesn't really matter. One thing's for sure: that pernickety bastard really covered his bases, didn't he?"

"He was Voldemort," Harry said impatiently. "Of course he did. But you're wrong about something."

"What?"

Harry spread his arms. "Our home is right here, and I'll fight to my dying breath to protect it. My only regret is leaving Teddy Lupin behind, but Andromeda and the Order can do a good job in raising him. Probably a better one than I would have if I'd stayed to help clean up the mess."

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder comfortingly. They walked in silence after that, reaching the cliff-top after a few minutes. It was then Harry realised something – his mind was quiet. Too quiet. With a start, he noticed the connection to Arucane was closed and promptly opened it, paving the way for a flurry of confused and worried images.

"Aru, it's fine! I'm okay!"

"Harry! What happened?"

Rather than explain it, Harry used his memories and emotions to show the dragon what had happened; needless to say, Arucane was not pleased. His aggravation was manifested in its entire terrific glory.

"You bloody fool!" his voice roared. "What were you thinking?!"

"Aru-"

"You could have died! DIED, Harry! How could you do that to me?!"

Harry paused, blinking. "T-to you? What do you mean?"

"You were gone! And then you just came back! I thought I lost you!"

Arucane's voice was cracking, framed by a delicate and throaty whine. With a jolt, Harry realised that the dragon was crying. He was overcome by emotion, a tentative feeling that now spread to Harry, threatening to break him down once again. But the young Rider knew better than to give in to tears when strength was required and instead did for Arucane what had been done for him more than once already; he flashed a reel of film-like images across their connection, showing happiness, love and guilt.

"Don't," Arucane said, still sounding tearful. "I forgive you. Just... don't do that again. Promise me."

Harry briefly thought of how he had also asked for a promise only a short while ago and gave a firm mental nod. "I promise. Besides, I didn't mean it."

Aru chose to ignore this. "I'll hold you to that," he said instead. The next time they met up, Harry gave the dragon a minute-long hug and apologised profusely all the while. Arucane refused to leave his side for three whole days, even while they were sleeping.

For a while after the event in the forest, Harry found himself moving forward with a purpose. He had long since accepted the need to fight and kill, but now he was a man possessed, driven by desire to kill every bastard that dared to stand against the people he loved. He would stop at nothing to help win the war, a determination that was slowly starting to pay off. He never mentioned the Wizarding World during his training; as far as he was concerned, the matter was solved. He would sooner never speak of it again.

As the days came and went, the trio of Riders underwent an evolution that would forever shape their futures; it turned out Eragon and Murtagh had seen a little of what happened in Harry's mind, but as well as that, the pair of them had reached epiphanies in their own right. Launching a profound and rigorous training session was one step to mastering their destiny, but paying close attention to each other was another. They came to trust one another with a closeness almost equalling their Riders' bonds. And whilst Eragon and Murtagh used this newfound determination to delve into tomes and scrolls pertaining to the Ancient Language, Harry also took the time to learn more about wandless magic as he progressed. Before long, to cast disarming, stunning and summoning charms without even a thought was simplicity. Soon, he added the banishing and repairing charms to that list and, of course, his apparition was as strong as ever before.

The Riders were not the only students progressing rapidly, of course. The dragons each underwent a growth spurt in the following days. Arucane and Thorn were now very close in size, with the emerald dragon edging the measurements, and both were slightly smaller than a stallion. Saphira was now several times larger than any horse, although the three were still dwarfed by Glaedr. And of Oromis and Glaedr, the group learned much. Both were exceedingly patient teachers, certainly more so than Brom, which accounted for something that had been previously absent in their training. Oromis did not scold, but corrected gently and offered areas of improvement with an expert's eye. Glaedr may have been slightly harsher, but he still cared for his kin greatly and taught them much by way of flying and what it meant to be dragon-kind. And since their minds were consistently linked, each Rider and dragon kept up to speed with the others, allowing the group to advance at both a rapid and steady rate.

Oromis had been mightily impressed with Harry's ability to glean knowledge from the forest, but was rather shocked upon learning it would not change his inflection towards eating meat.

"So I've seen inside the minds of a few animals," Harry shrugged. "What of it? I've also spent time within human minds, but that doesn't stop me from killing my enemies. Where's the difference?"

And that was the issue resolved. Murtagh was inclined to feel the same, but Eragon was slightly more sensitive and required convincing from his friends before realising how blinded he was acting. Harry did not begrudge anyone a vegetarian lifestyle – in fact, he did try to follow the elven diet as much as possible, given how healthy it was – but he also didn't think Eragon's mind should be changed because of time spent meditating. It was a slur against who he was.

Very soon after the 'forest incident', the Varden finally reached the elven capital. They spent a few nights there, dining on the rich cuisine that Islanzadí proffered and resting in comfort and relative safety. Eventually, however, it became painfully clear that even the elves could not cater to the every whim of a number bordering several thousand, and so they were forced to leave. Following Arya's plan in Farthen Dur, the queen indeed granted them permission to construct new homes in a deserted area of forest several miles to the northeast of Ellesméra. The process would take months given the required specifications, but for now they at least had a source of food and water from plentiful streams.

Harry resolved to place the Fidelius charm around both it and Ellesméra, but Sirius told him in no uncertain terms that it was infinitely complex magic for one building, let alone an entire city. In short, it might prove impossible, but he wouldn't know until he tried.

"Actually, I would," Sirius said one day. "I spent weeks trying to reinforce the wards here when Oromis first said the king was on the move, but it just wouldn't hold. I don't know if it's an effect of trying to combine the spell with the elven wards, the size of the city or just the nature of the forest itself, but something prevents the charm from sticking."

"So, no Fidelius?"

"No, it works, but it doesn't hold."

"You mean it crumbles?" Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head. "Not exactly. Imagine a glass dome surrounding the city; the glass renders the area invisible to everyone but the residents and people who know it's there. Anyone who doesn't share the secret won't be able to see anything inside that dome. That's what a Fidelius in earnest would do. Badly placed charms will cause the dome to shatter, but that depends on the experience and knowledge of the caster.

"I placed a couple in my time, including helping with your parents' before our wonderful idea to switch Secret Keeper," he said bitterly.

"So you know what you're doing," Harry said, then as an afterthought "…probably."

"Probably. Like I said, I don't know what's causing it, but it isn't me making a mistake. I tried to Fidelius Oromis' house once to see if it worked. He couldn't find it all afternoon and got very upset with me," Sirius grinned.

Harry mirrored the expression. "Oh, the potential for abuse with that charm…"

"Quite. But it proved I can still cast the damned thing! So the issue isn't on my end; something in the surrounding area is interfering with the magic."

"Any theories?"

"One. The city is so large and infused with Ancient magic that wand-work doesn't mesh well with the area. If I'm right, the 'dome' is incomplete."

"And do you know how to complete it?" Harry asked.

"Not a clue. How about you?"

"Nope," Harry sighed. "Has a Fidelius ever been cast on something as large as Ellesméra?"

"Nope," Sirius echoed. "Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, St. Mungo's, the Ministry… they were all layered with unplottable charms and Muggle-repelling wards. Casting a Fidelius on a public location would be damned impossible because of the accessibility required. In fact, it might even be a safeguard that I can't bypass, which explains why I could still hide Oromis' place."

"So we're stuck?" Harry asked, crossing his arms in disappointment.

"Not at all!" Sirius said cheerfully, again surprising his godson. "Think about it! What have I just said public areas are laced with?"

"…Muggle-repelling charms and unplotabbles? But how… you don't mean…" Harry's eyes lit up.

"Now he gets it!" Sirius cheered. "There are only two people in this entire country, continent, world (whatever the hell it is) who would be immune to those wards! And they're both standing here discussing them! Eragon, Murtagh and every other spellcaster I've tried to experiment with have been unable to use a wand like you and I could. They can't use wandless magic either."

"I had a theory about that," Harry said, brightening significantly. "I must have-"

"Dual cores?" Sirius interrupted.

Harry stammered. "You've thought about it."

"Of course! I spent a long time here before you did and got bored quite a lot. Ancient magicians can't use wand magic, which means they're technically Muggles! Our wards don't recognise their status as wizards because they're something else entirely, even the Riders. So if we place those charms around Ellesméra and wherever else, every imperial soldier up to and including Galbatorix would be unable to enter."

Harry's face slowly split into a large grin. "Abso-bloody-lutely fantastic. When do we start?"

"You let me worry about that and work on your training," Sirius said, patting him on the back. "I started when the Varden reached the city. Needed to make sure everyone was inside."

"The dwarves aren't," Harry pointed out. He dimly imagined a small – literally – army of bearded men standing outside a glass dome, battering it with their axes and demanding entry. It was funny, but at the same time not at all.

"We'll add them to be allowed entry when they get off their arses," Sirius said. "Exempting people from these wards takes even more work than placing them does. And even there I need to put down the remainder of the ward stones."

"How can you make those?"

"Think about it. You've already told me you, Hermione and Ron took turns casting those very same spells on the run. It's just a matter of transferring the magic via runes."

"Which you can scribe."

"Another part of Auror training," Sirius shrugged. "Death Eaters had dozens of wards around their safehouses and we had to know how to breach them. The first step of taking something apart? Learn how it was made and find the weak points."

"This sounds like a lot of work," Harry pointed out.

"It is," Sirius admitted. "And I can't ask for help because, again, I don't want to risk mixing both magicks to create the wards. It'll take me weeks, longer if it weren't for Oromis feeding me, my absolute badassery and my insane good looks."

"Yeah, but you're in the wrong form."

Sirius laughed. "Touché."

With regards to the alliance, the elves were not altogether happy about the killing of wildlife for human mouths, but relented when Jörmundur promised they would not cause serious damage to the ecosystem. To hold up on this promise he decreed several missives, stating that any species considered 'at risk' was not to be touched, and that fruit and vegetables were to become the norm more than any other foodstuff. Brom inevitably remained with the Riders, leaving the seasoned warrior to command almost exclusively.

All in all, the running of the Varden was in good hands, causing Harry to reassess his opinion of the man and his abilities. And speaking of, he had to admire the job Trianna was doing with Du Vrangr Gata in his absence. Hell, she had spent more time than he had leading the magicians, so it almost felt unfair to call her a second-in-command. She was still reporting trouble with several, particularly Jara and Glind, but nobody made any attempts to usurp authority out of fear Harry would force them to literally shovel shit for weeks to come. Whilst that was a gimmick at first, Harry now preferred to think of it as a metaphor; if the line was crossed, he would obliterate the trespasser. It wasn't amusing. The idea that she could get hurt made him send at least two very real threats with Kreacher, though he needn't have bothered. Trianna apparently intimidated them when angry, something which he smiled at. And it didn't hurt that Angela seemed to be throwing in her much-sought advice every now and again.

The only bad thing for Harry was that he didn't get to see much of Trianna, as the Varden left the city very quickly after arriving. She wanted to stay with him, but both knew duty came before pleasure. Someone had to keep an eye on the magicians and really, she was the only one outside of Angela that he trusted. Nyos could have done the same, but Harry rarely saw the turncoat these days; he was far too busy commanding Brom's old regiment. He struggled to push Kreacher's words to the back of his mind, deciding that the time wasn't right to say anything; both were far too preoccupied as it was. Harry knew any sexual relationship outside of marriage was frowned upon in Alagaësia, but they had spoken of that already, both coming to the stark conclusion that everybody else could mind their own sodding business.

Two others who seemed the polar opposite of one another were Arya and Orik. Whereas the elf was now in her element, seemingly more open and relaxed than ever before, the dwarf was clearly uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many of the fair folk and very few of his own. But at the very least, he had several of his kin there with him, all awaiting word from Hrothgar about whether or not they would be staying permanently. The new Grimstborith spent much of his time avoiding the elves, but still attended every important meeting that was called by the leaders whenever required. Any word from Hrothgar had yet to arrive, much to Harry's impatience.

Arya was a different matter. She was overjoyed at being home, saying as much to the Riders whenever they spoke. She carried herself gracefully; garbed in the finest elvish embroidery they had ever seen, with free-flowing hair and the smile to break an empire. Eragon confided in Harry and Murtagh that he was in love with her one night, when the three were spending time relaxing after mastering the latest level of the Rimgar. The dance may have been made to calm, but it was exhausting.

"Just be careful," Harry warned, leaning back on the couch Sirius had conjured earlier. There was a fire burning nearby, much the same way he had set the dragonhold in Tronjheim.

"Of course I will," Eragon frowned. Despite aching muscles from the day's exercises, the trio felt cool and relaxed, finally getting a true grip upon the meditations that seemed to be frequent in a Rider's training. They were also much sturdier and stronger, mentally as well as physically. Oromis had not been wrong in saying their studies would be both rewarding and dangerous.

"If it helps, we've known you loved her since we first saw the two of you together," Murtagh added. Idly, he rubbed the top of Thorn's head, which was lying next to the sofa. Arucane was positioned much the same, except his head was rested across Harry's knees. Both were sound asleep.

"You mean you've known since before I did?" Eragon scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It's not difficult to spot someone blindly in love," Harry smirked, thinking of Ron and Hermione. "Of course, that's not what I meant; be careful in telling her your feelings."

"You told Trianna," he pointed out.

"Aye, I did," Harry nodded. "But Trianna isn't the princess of another race who clearly has to keep her emotions in check."

"What, you think Arya is forced to do that?" Murtagh asked, narrowing his eyes. "That's barbaric."

Harry held his hands up as he adapted a more comfortable sitting position. "You won't hear any arguments from me. Oromis had a long talk with me when he heard about Trianna, you know. Said it might be 'difficult' in the future."

His friends nodded, but said nothing. They knew what he meant and didn't want to upset him by adding kindling to the fire. Harry understood that Trianna was mortal. They both did. But that was something to think about at a later time, because quite frankly, he loved her too much and didn't want to lose the comfort anytime soon. Hell, he still found it too difficult to deal with his own immortality to even think about something like that. He admittedly woke up during the nights, a cold sweat covering his chest and face, as he dreamed of loved ones dying while he lingered on. It was the worst sort of nightmare, as something he had known since childhood was that everybody died, starting with his parents. Voldemort tried to stop the effects of time and had even succeeded until Harry thwarted him, but now he would live forever in his stead?

What a bad joke that was.

Instead, Eragon treaded different waters. "But why shouldn't she be allowed to make the decision for herself?"

"She cares for you," Harry said, prodding the fire with a stick to move the embers a little. "She might wear a blank expression at times, but I can see right through it. I don't know if it's true love or not, but there's definitely something there. The problem is whether she's permitted to show it."

"But, why not?" Eragon asked with a confused laugh.

"For one, she's an elven princess," Harry said. "As much as I wouldn't accept them, her laws may be different from our own. Or, more likely, she might feel any romantic interest will hamper your efforts to defeat Galbatorix and cloud your judgement."

"What a pile of horseshit," Murtagh scoffed, causing Harry to raise an eyebrow at his abruptness. "Oh, come on! Isn't it obvious? Trianna has already proved that accusation false, and I have no problems with admitting I'd love to find a partner myself. If anything, love gives us something to fight for and makes us stronger. It doesn't slow us down, but achieves exactly the opposite. I believe what I'm saying is, if she does love him – which is a big 'if' – but chooses to ignore him, it could cause more harm than good."

Eragon listened to all this with a frown upon his face. Saphira, who was lying on the ledge nearby, looked around when he finished speaking. It was clear she didn't approve of his efforts to give Eragon false hope and promptly told them so.

"It's not false hope," Harry interrupted. "Saphira, Murtagh's right. Without love life isn't worth living. It's the most powerful force in the world and," as much as I want to forget Dumbledore, "it's something we hold above our enemy. There's nothing I hate more than seeing two people who love each other decide not to be together because of bullshit reasons like politics, religion or family estrangements."

"You must forgive me, little one, but perhaps she ignores him because she simply does not love him in the way you are suggesting?" Saphira said, rather huffily.

"It's possible, and I accept it as possible," Eragon said firmly. He had been thinking about Arya more than ever of late. She looked so beautiful, and had such a wonderful, caring personality, that he couldn't help his emotions. He knew she might never love him; after all, what was he but a poor farm-boy become Dragon Rider by pure chance? But that didn't stop his heart from beating a million miles per hour when they spoke, or even when they were in close proximity.

She spent time in the evenings guiding them around Ellesméra, showing off the wonderful sights and hauntingly beautiful magic of the elves. Their ability to sing to the forest sent shivers down his spine, and their culture was wondrous to be a visionary to. The elven children they had met spurred something in him. He thought it sad to hear such a glorious race come crashing down around his ears.

"Then what do you plan to do?" Harry asked casually.

Here, Eragon hesitated. Words were one thing, actions quite another. Was he supposed to tell her or wait until the war ended? Would they even be alive come that time?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Harry continued, smirking.

"What?"

"Old expression," he waved. "Let us help you."

"Harry..." Saphira said warningly.

"I don't mean I'm about to set up a blind date under candlelight," Harry placated. "I just think I should act as a mediator. Oh, for God's sake... did I really just say 'mediator'? You'd think this was a damned lawsuit..."

"What?" Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira exclaimed simultaneously.

"Nothing! Look, Eragon... if you need any help, just ask. Okay? And for the love of god, don't go to Sirius. He'll prank one or both of you and I'm not sure how Arya would react to that."

"Is it really that bad?" Murtagh winced.

"Imagine Arya with turnips for ears and Eragon with a carrot for a nose," Harry scoffed. "That's as lenient as he'll ever be."

Eragon winced. "I'll keep that in mind."

Galbatorix paced his throne room impatiently, twirling the Dauthdaert between his hands like a juggler. Vaguely, he tossed the weapon in the air and snatched it with a tight fist when it fell again. He sent for it several weeks ago, and finally, it had arrived from Belatona only yesterday. It was a lethal weapon, single-handedly responsible for the deaths of at least seven dragons during the civil war that he had won. Sadly, the spear, Niernen, was the last of its kind. The other eleven weapons were a substantial loss, but he was at least thankful for Niernen's survival.

"That is... a fascinating weapon, sire," Tarquintus said.

"Go and crawl in the dirt outside, you little pissant," Galbatorix snapped.

Paling, the general bowed and virtually ran for the room, leaving only Galbatorix and a single warrior, dressed in black platemail from head to toe. He was nameless, faceless and all but voiceless in any other company. Simply put, he was the perfect spectator when the king was in such a foul mood as now.

"I have been... unable to breach the elven wards," he admitted, unhappily. The man in black said nothing in reply. "Perhaps when I find the Name it will be easier, but for now I find myself – ourselves – impeded by defences we cannot breach. Sheer power will not work, as I do not know where the wards are located, a side effect of the magic wrought into the forest by the elves. You have regained your strength, I trust?"

The man in black nodded once.

"Then your task is simple – get out there and burn it down. I want nothing left of those woods but ash. Do not let the soldiers wander or they'll be killed. And stick to the central quadrant – the east will be occupied by the Eastern Empire by now. We'll soon have those pointy-eared bastards surrounded," he said, leering.

Another nod, with a wait for either additional instructions or a dismissal. Galbatorix opted for the latter and waved the man away, as he continued to spin the Dauthdaert with a flourish. Years of practice with all sorts of melee weapons had rendered him proficient in just about every form of hand-to-hand combat. It had gotten to the stage where magic and techniques teachable only through spell tomes had become obsolete; spell tomes were a one-use object, but they were not spent if the user already understood the subject matter. For that reason, several had lain hidden in his private quarters, though not anymore...

"Damn it," he growled, tightening his grip. That incident still caused him untold fury. The miserable wretches. "SHRUIKAN!"

The charcoal dragon waited a moment, before opening his cavernous mouth and bellowing so loud it shook the dust from the rafters above. Galbatorix was used to this and did not flinch, but servants and soldiers alike cowered in fear and clapped hands to their ears around the fortress. Galbatorix looked at his servant neutrally.

"Get out there and help! Go! I want that forest incinerated!"

The accompanying roar would haunt generations to come, as the colossal and enslaved beast left to follow his master's will.

Ellesméra was quiet at night, despite the chattering of wildlife; it seemed that elven magic kept the city quiet, even when it had no right to be. Considering the silvery hue of a moon which somehow breached the tree-line, the effect was quite ethereal and soothing.

"Can't sleep?" Sirius asked.

Harry turned his head slightly, though he knew Sirius was coming. His bond with the forest was proving very useful indeed, to the point where Oromis was practically raving about his ability to meditate almost as one with the woods. Looking for signs and feeling the life around you was something, but being able to communicate without words was quite another. He had experience as a Rider, but found it nominally easier than Eragon and Murtagh to relax.

"I feel... peaceful," Harry said softly. His voice had lost much of its roughness from the past few months, he had continued to shave every morning and but for his eye, he almost felt completely renewed.

"Hmm... I'm happy for you, kiddo," Sirius said.

Harry was silent for a moment. Sirius stood beside him, leaning over the wooden railing of a walkway high in the trees. Harry had started coming here frequently, as it gave a wonderful view of Ellesméra without being spoiled by foliage. It gave him time to reflect, but also space to brood.

"It's not... it's not a good type of peace, Sirius. The world's turned upside-down. All that stands between freedom and death is a small group of people, elves and dwarves, but most of those aren't even here. I feel peaceful... but I shouldn't."

There was quiet again. Sirius seemed to be taking the time to consider his words. When he did speak, it was with a calming and relaxed tenacity.

"Before I fell through that veil, my last thought was of how I'd failed you."

"Sirius-"

"Don't. Let me finish. I felt... ashamed. Weak. Hopeless. It wasn't until I scryed you that I learned to be happy again, but even then I spent months and months in agony, worrying about you, Moony, everyone. I thought to myself, 'how can I live like this, knowing that my friends and family are dying without me?' It was the worst feeling in the world; so bad that I didn't care about how I ended up here, only that I could pine for home.

"And when you showed up, fire on your shoulder and fire in your eyes, I knew that my fears were completely unfounded."

Harry looked at him, seeing the old Marauder smiling and nodding. "What do you mean?"

Sirius returned the gaze, and Harry saw something reflected in his eyes:

Pride.

"I mean, Harry, that sometimes we have to free ourselves from responsibility and let the world save itself. Of course we should fight for the ones we love. Of course we should never give up. But every now and again, we need to remember that every person is responsible for their own choices. You chose to fight and kill Voldemort, despite losing so much that it would have broken a lesser man. You chose to fight against Galbatorix. And now you've chosen to remain here, despite knowing what's out there," he said, fanning a hand emphatically. "That took great courage."

"Even if I know people are being slaughtered in droves?" Harry muttered, bitter despite the knowledge Sirius was right.

"I'm afraid that would happen either way," Sirius said, patting him on the back gently. "Truth is, we can't save everybody. And we shouldn't have to save anyone who doesn't choose to fight for themselves. Any person who gives up, bows to tyranny and chooses to ignore the problem is the problem."

"What about people who aren't able to fight?"

"You're the champion of the sick, the feeble and the helpless," Sirius said quietly. "Don't think I'm heartless, pup. I'm talking about the people who side with evil when they have a choice."

Harry rubbed at his face as a distraction and fidgeted. "You're talking about Wormtail now."

"There was nothing you could have done," Sirius said firmly. "Wormtail made his bed and then laid in it. And just like he deserved to die, so does any man or woman who embraces evil. Obviously there are people forced to fight without desire, but my point is that you can't stop to think about them. Or the ones they kill. Being here to train is the right choice and it'll save us all. Marching against the king as you are now will only make things worse. You know that."

"In short, destroy evil, pity those without a choice and respect the ones who do, even if it's the wrong one?"

Sirius winced. "You know it isn't as black and white as that. You've killed now, just like I did in the first war. Just like Lupin did. And Snape. Wormtail. Your parents..."

Harry blinked, having not considered that. He gave a short laugh. "Look at us, Sirius. Espousing a life philosophy when I came out here to admire the view. I'm still having trouble accepting that you're still alive, let alone with me."

"I didn't know you batted for that team."

"Oh, ha ha. Can't you be seri- I'm not going to ask that question. I just wish we had... more. We're too few to win like we are."

"You're learning," Sirius grinned. "But always remember, you aren't alone in this."

"I have Eragon and Murtagh."

"Wrong."

Sirius' voice was so forceful that Harry looked at him in shock. How many times had that happened recently? Of course, the biggest shock was that the man wasn't dead.

"You have me, Eragon, Murtagh, Brom, Oromis, Arya, the dragons, the elves, the dwarves and the Varden. And I'm sure there are others you trust too."

"Trianna, Angela, Nyos, Jörmundur, Nasuada, Orik, Solembum and Roran," Harry counted off. "In short."

"Yeah," Sirius snorted. "You're very alone. That's one hell of a supporting cast, pup. And who does Galbatorix have?"

"His colossal dragon and an army of one hundred thousand."

"Wrong again. Those people, including Shruikan, serve Galbatorix like slaves. They don't care about him or love him – they fear him. Like Voldemort, the 'all-powerful' tyrant is a lonely tosser."

Harry laughed at that.

"But you, Harry," Sirius said, causing him to turn again, "you have your friends and your loved ones. People who would die for you, not because they're afraid of you. You're already one up and let's not forget, you aren't the central focus of this war. There are three of you and thousands of us, and that makes all the difference."

"And on the field?" Harry asked, gazing at him up and down. "Dumbledore believed love was more powerful than any emotion, but it won't help out there."

"You know what you need to do. On the field we show him what we're made of," Sirius said, looking into the distance, "even if we're outnumbered more than ten to one. We might even get some to throw down their blades and surrender, or turn on their comrades."

Harry didn't want to think about that. He wanted the advantage, but turning on your brothers-in-arms would be difficult for any soldier to accomplish, no matter the principles involved. Maybe if they all killed a dozen warriors each, they would prevail. Or maybe Galbatorix would bat them all aside with one wave of his pious hand. They would see...

They would all see.

Eragon was awoken by the buzzing timepiece Oromis had given him. The wee hours of morning were streaming through his windows, bathing all in golden light. He stretched and yawned, feeling refreshed after yesterday's exercises. Oromis had taught them how to move objects with magic, at Harry's persistence and Brom's annoyance, but the spell required a lot of energy to cast. He marvelled at how Arya had managed to send Saphira's egg to Brom, especially when she was being hounded by Durza at the time.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, little one," Saphira said through a yawn that emphasised her dagger-like teeth.

After washing and dressing, Eragon hurried to meet Harry. His friend was excited, even giddy. Oromis had finally given him permission to try and ride Arucane, as the young dragon was now larger than any of the horses and aching to emulate Saphira.

But he was to be disappointed.

"What's happening?" Eragon asked. He nimbly descended the spiral staircase fused with the wood of his tree-home, finding Harry and Murtagh waiting for him. The dragons were also there, but not Oromis or Glaedr. Instead, his friends were in the company of a black-haired elf, one who looked a mite impatient.

"You are late, Shadeslayer," said he, with a tone that could cut through steel.

Eragon bristled at his impudence. "I had to bathe and-"

"Well met, dragon," the elf said, utterly ignoring him. He bowed in the elven manner to Saphira, causing Eragon to growl. "I am Vanir of House Haldthin." He turned to address the Riders, voice adopting a frosty tone. "You will follow me to the sparring yard."

He did not wait for them to catch up, but instead hurried off.

"What's his problem?" Eragon asked, once he exchanged greetings with his friends.

"He didn't say a word to us," Murtagh said, "but I gather he doesn't like us."

"Let's make him respect us," Harry said with determination, glowering at the elf's back. "Just remember that elves are much stronger and faster than we are. Be careful."

The sparring field was filled with both male and female elves, as the elven race did not discriminate unfairly. Both sexes were such masters of the blade that the trio of Riders stood in shock, watching as the elves executed moves and poses with such flair that it seemed impossible to replicate. Finally, Vanir came before them, leering as he did so.

"I am here to measure the... lack of your skills," he said. "If you are at least competent, Oromis will provide a trio of elves for you to duel every morning henceforth. Since I will be one of those three, I will take great pleasure in proving just how inferior you are. Try and give me some sport, you weakling children."

"Vanir?" Harry asked.

"What do you want, human?"

"Why are you such a dick?"

Vanir seemed ready to explode with fury. He drew his blade and tossed the sheath aside. Harry's eyes trailed the slender paleness of his sword, before he drew Aiedail and stepped forward.

"I'm going first," he said.

"Not a chance," Murtagh said, drawing his hand-and-a-half sword. He shared a look with Harry. "He's insulted all three of us. You killed the Ra'zac and Eragon killed Durza. Let me fight him."

"You're not fighting to kill."

"Which is a pity, I'm sure."

"As Murtagh said," Eragon began, stepping over to join them, "Vanir has insulted us all. And I'm the oldest Rider here."

"What?" Harry and Murtagh exclaimed as one.

"Well... the youngest, but I've been a Rider for longest."

"Enough of this!" Vanir snapped. He had been growing steadily redder in the face, enraged by Harry's insult and wary of the crowd who watched intently. He pointed his sword at them. "All three of you could fight me together and it would make no difference. Make your choice so I can get this over with."

The friends looked at one another, forming a tight triangle.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Harry asked in a low voice.

"Brom did teach us to fight unfairly," Eragon admitted. "And if we ever have an advantage against the king..."

"Then let's do it," Murtagh said. "Harry, right. Eragon, left. I'm taking the centre."

The three bumped fists simultaneously and nodded. Vanir raised an eyebrow, either in curiosity or boredom. That quickly turned to shock – and outrage – as he was charged by all three simultaneously.

The Riders didn't bother with strategy as such; he was an elf, but still a single opponent against three. Dispatching him quickly – or rather, disarming in this contest – seemed the only true necessity. Murtagh took a swing at his sword-hand just as Eragon nicked his leg with the blunted edge of Zar'roc. Of course, the elf was a superior foe when it came to both speed and strength, so Harry's finishing blow was parried at the last second.

Vanir was furious and promptly showed it by launching a ferocious assault of his own, one in which he seemed determined to hurt more than disarm. In fairness, they had provoked him, an action that Harry knew would surely earn them a scolding from either Brom or Oromis. Probably both. But while Oromis valued fairness and respect, Brom knew that fighting dirty was a good idea if you valued your life. It was because of that logic that they had carried out this plan.

But maybe it wasn't such a good idea to charge in headfirst, he reflected, as Vanir hit Murtagh in the face and kicked him several metres with ease. Murtagh landed in an undignified heap with a grunt, before slowly clambering to his feet once again. He rejoined the fray with wariness. Vanir smirked as he saw the three of them circling slowly.

"Pathetic," he spat. "There are three of you and you still cannot beat me. Galbatorix will eat you alive, if he doesn't give you to Shruikan first. Weaklings and cowards, I call you. Clearly your dragons chose wrong."

Harry had been shaking his head in wry amusement at Vanir's insults, drawing smirks from his friends. They knew he was stronger than any human and wouldn't be baited so easily. But bringing the dragons into it? That was a step too far. Several, in fact.

Harry didn't even cast a spell. He reared up, found the power stored within him – which core, he could not say – and pushed with all his weight behind it. Pushed it straight at the elf who dared to insult Arucane. Even the dragons themselves, who had been watching nearby with fury, reacted with surprise when Vanir was launched through the air more than thirty feet, almost as if a runaway Firebolt hovering slightly was beneath him. He collided headfirst with a large oak tree on the edge of the sparring field and cracked the wood, which effectively knocked him unconscious.

Harry blinked in surprise, before taking into account the astounded looks of the elves around him. He knew it was possible to cast spells in the Ancient Language non-verbally, after being thoroughly lectured by Oromis on the dangers of doing so, but what the hell was that? He hadn't even cast a spell! It had been the combined force of rage and his magical prowess, not his words or thoughts.

"You thought 'push'," Arucane corrected. "Try something else."

Harry reacted immediately. He desperately clung to the connection he had formed with the reservoir of energy, but found it vastly more difficult to reach than before. Maybe there was an emotional aspect to be considered? This time, however, he used raw determination and frowned heavily, lines creasing his face as he embraced the power within him. He suddenly felt free, as free as the wind itself, the wind that was blowing just nicely all around.

Eragon and Murtagh both watched with fascination, but what happened next would have them both scrambling frantically to try the exact same thing.

Harry thought of the air around him, heard the birdsong and embraced his connection with the majestic creatures of the forest. He felt utterly reckless.

"Fly!" he thought, though Aru heard him.

Harry yelped with surprise as he began to hover off the ground by a matter of inches. Similarly to his attack on Vanir, there was the force of wind beneath him. He knew because he could feel it at his feet. It was not warm or cold, but had the sense of a warm Jacuzzi around his ankles. It had the force and even the sound of a hurricane and the grace of a leaf, treating his weight as though it were featherlight. And so he hovered in the air, arms flailing for support, before he lost control and crumpled to the ground with a loud expletive.

When he jumped to his feet, he saw Murtagh standing with eyes as wide as hell – or some appropriate simile – and Eragon spluttering for words. Finally, the three stared at one another, aware that the elves were equally astounded.

"Oromis," Harry said. "Now."

The other two nodded, barely aware of what they were doing as they left Vanir were he was and departed.

Trianna had gotten used to managing Du Vrangr Gata in the absence of her partner… partner… was that the word? She could only wonder, because it was something she had never considered for herself before meeting Harry. In fact, this being a man's world, Trianna was prepared to swallow her pride and do what was necessary to secure her future, even if it meant seducing one of the Riders. She hated the idea. It was deplorable, considering lowering oneself to that position and she desperately wanted an out.

In Harry she had found one, and so much more. She had been merely a few weeks from the tears and humiliation of her last resort before meeting him, a moment that she now regarded as the best in her short life. So far as she was concerned, through Harry she had a future. And to her initial surprise, the political clout and power struggle no longer bothered her. Now, it was all about being with the man she loved and tackling the follow-ups as one. At first Trianna worried that she had fallen into that dark path, but the happiness she felt with Harry soon assuaged her doubts and fears.

They were together and it had not been a last resort. It was not something she ever wanted to end, even unto death. She knew it surprised him, the quickness of her affection. It seemed like they fell in love almost instantly, but he had more trouble dealing with it than her. Harry had never spoken to her of Ginny, but she could guess there was hardship in his past, perhaps from love or war. Perhaps both.

She knew he loved her and that was all that mattered. The past was the past and the future would be their future together. Whether that would end with them dead, or alive and happy, remained to be seen. For now, her present was working to secure the latter. And that involved a mountain of tedious work and temperamental characters to deal with.

At least Jara and Glind have stopped badgering me. I wonder what's gotten into those two recently…

She was interrupted in her musings by an alarmed shout from outside her tent.

"Lady Trianna! We have an emergency!"

Recognising the voice of her personal guards, she practically ran outside, wondering what on the earth the problem could be. Maybe someone had gotten hurt again and the regular healers couldn't deal with the problem by themselves.

"Who's hurt?" she demanded immediately.

The guard was sweating, pale-faced and trembling slightly. "It's Danan, ma'am… he's dead. You'd better come take a look."

Trianna kept pace with the guard, head spinning. Danan was a young soldier, freshly recruited after their numbers had been depleted by the Urgals some weeks ago. He wasn't a magician, but she knew of him because her own guards constantly complained about his stupid mistakes. And apparently those had now gotten him killed.

She arched an eyebrow when the guard stopped outside the brig. With a shake of his head, he turned to her. "I'm sorry, ma'am… I can't go back in there. It… it's-"

"Just go and tell Jörmundur," she ordered, shaking her head. Clearly he had only told her because she was the closest senior figure to the brig.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, before hastily departing.

The flap had been pulled, back, so she knew what had happened. But crossing the threshold, she nearly blanched. Danan had been stripped from the waist down and she could guess why. A pool of blood lay beneath his castrated form, and the prisoner, Saleera, was gone.

A:N - A sombre reaction to the last chapter, as I expected... the truth is, I've always hated Ginny, but it still hurt me to write that last moment between the two. For me, nothing is more painful than love being damaged or wrenched away. Harry's words about people who are in love not being together for some petty reason are my own. I've seen it happen and I pray it never happens to me.

Also, I replied to YSPMistake (who I thank for the excellent review) in detail, but there's one thing I should say publicly: these characters adapt based on the situations they encounter. Eragon is different. Murtagh is different. Harry is very different. The HP series ends when he is seventeen (forget the stupid epilogue) and that is still the midst of puberty. Now consider everything he goes through. If he didn't turn from who he was into someone slightly different in the canon world I'll laugh Rowling out of the room. In this story the list of what he endures is, quite frankly, disturbing. Of course he's a new man. A cold-blooded killer? No. A leader who has seen too much of war at the age of eighteen? Certainly. War is hell, and that hell is reflected upon the faces of its survivors.

Training Theme - Revenge of the Earth (Michael Maas)