The following days passed uneventfully. Eragon and Cedric continued their training under Brom, but something was different. For one, the young dragon rider was a lot… moodier than before. It was understandable. The dangers associated with his status were, until now, distant. Certainly, he'd heard the stories about Galbatorix, his evil deeds and dark servants - notably the forsworn - but there was a world of a difference between knowing about some faceless enemy and having them stand in front of you, smelling their rotting breath.

By escaping doom, they'd earned themselves some extra time, but Eragon's fate wasn't one he could escape forever. The reality of his normal life coming to an end hit him like a crowbar to the cranium, and he hadn't recovered yet.

Brom was similarly brooding, saying little about what transpired, nor addressing the uncertain future. What answers he did prove had to be dragged out of him, like pulling teeth.

Cedric was content to let them both be, he just wished they'd do the same for him! Learning how to use a sword was all well and good, but in Alagesia, no credible threat was going to die to a footsoldier holding a sharpened metal stick. He wanted to spend his time more productively, damn it! With the three-to-five hours' training and then Brom watching him like a hawk when they got home, it was nearly impossible to get any magical experiments done.

After wiping the villagers' memories, he felt like a felon out on parole. If this was his reward for saving the village, he almost wished it'd burned instead.

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When Eragon awoke the next day, it was to the sound of shouting.

Blearily throwing off his rough quilt and woolen blanket, he pushed off his straw mattress. Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if he was still asleep. Not only had the sun barely risen, but Roran had left for Therinsford weeks ago. Who could Garrow possibly be arguing with?

After sending Saphira a mental 'good morning', he stood, fumbling around for clothes. When he was decent, he stumbled downstairs from his small attic room to find Brom there, seated at the wooden kitchen table.

The old mage turned to look at him, as did his uncle Garrow. The latter's face was uncharacteristically red, seemingly a mix of anger, frustration and… perhaps a hint of fear.

Suddenly feeling unsettled, Eragon's eyes flitted between them, searching for an explanation.

"Brom, uncle… what's going on? Is something the matter?"

Garrow pressed his lips into a thin line, pinching his nose bridge between thumb and forefinger. He looked like he didn't know what to say, or how to say it.

"Eragon, it seems we woke you. I do apologize, it wasn't my intention. I didn't expect our discussion to become so… heated."

Taking a deep breath, Brom cleared his throat before gesturing at the boy with his unlit pipe.

"When we spoke a few days ago, I understood your difficulties. With Roran gone, well… I suppose you might've felt the farmstead needed you, and were hesitant to mention that offer. So…"

Eragon felt a pit form in his stomach. What the hell was Brom talking about? Surely, it couldn't be that stupid suggestion of his? Absolutely no! His answer was a complete, resounding no! What, did he think it would be easier to-…

However, before his train of thought could finish, he suddenly felt a consciousness pressing against his. It was Saphira.

'…little one, I feel your reluctance. But perhaps this is for the best. Do you believe it feasible for me to keep hiding in the mountains? For now, I am able to feed myself and remain hidden, but dragons do not stop growing. Even if we ignore the oath-breaker's threat, it's only a matter of time until this arrangement is no longer feasible…'

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Eragon wouldn't let her finish. Didn't want her to finish. He had his fill uncomfortable truths, and couldn't stomach any more of them.

'What are you saying? The Spine is as large as a country! You could remain there for as long as you wish. The king dare not send his soldiers after what happened last, and no villagers go there from fear of the elements and Urgals-…"

'Is that what you wish for me? To remain sequestered and in hiding indefinitely? That is no solution, Eragon. Think it over, you know I speak the truth. It cannot last.'

Hearing her retort, he felt his mouth turning dry. Damn Galbatorix! Eragon didn't want this kind of life. What he wanted was this farm, and his family. Why did he have to give it all up? What about Roran, Garrow and the townspeople he'd grown up with? He couldn't separate himself from them any more than he could live without an arm or a leg!

Suddenly, he realized Brom and Garrow were staring at him, their expressions a bit strange. He'd been lost in thought, and hadn't heard how their conversation progressed.

"Have you returned to us, boy? It's a lot to consider, certainly."

Brom leaned back in his chair, gazing evenly at him. He looked like he expected Eragon to take things further, to agree with him and convince Garrow.

The young rider's mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't produce a single word. It was all so absurd, so sudden. He just didn't know what to do. He cast a glance at his uncle, wondering how much the old storyteller had told him.

Garrow's face getting redder and redder until he was practically a boiling pot. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet, his small wooden stool clattering to the ground.

"I understand wanting something for yourself, but an apprenticeship in Teirm? That's half-way across the bloody kingdom! And for you of all people to suggest this… I expected you to have more sense, Brom! This is complete madness!"

The old man maintained his composure, his faded blue eyes like a calm ocean.

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be. It's because I have sense that I suggest this. Whether this is a good opportunity or not is irrelevant. What matters is your trust—do I still have it, or not?"

Garrow froze, but then his expression twisted like tasting something bitter. It was a strange sight for Eragon to witness, and made him wonder if there was some hidden past between his uncle and Brom.

The farmer was silent for a moment before jerking his head sharply.

"…no, you don't get to say that right now. Unless you give me a proper reason, I'm not sending the boy with you. That's final."

His resolute refusal provoked both a sense of relief and shame in Eragon. On one hand, it was gladdening to have a strong parental figure looking out for him. On the other, the boy secretly knew he was being selfish. Saphira was right—he was running away from his problems.

He didn't know what Brom had planned for them in Teirm, but any type of forward-thinking might be preferrable to hiding in his shell like a tortoise.

"Uncle…"

With great effort, he forced the words out. Though his tone sounded hesitant, there was a conviction that surprised him, and bespoke of his intent.

Garrow's gaze went to Eragon, his eyes widening. Not out of surprise, but worry.

"I don't know what this is all about, Eragon, but whatever it is, you don't have to overly burden yourself. Stay here, we'll deal with it together."

Eragon felt a burst of warmth in his chest. Gods knew, he and his uncle had plenty of disagreements, but when it counted, he was the most dependable person in the world. But… that affection went both ways. Similar to how Garrow wanted to look out for him, he also wanted to protect him.

And staying here with Saphira, knowing what trouble she might bring—that was hardly being considerate, was it?

Feeling his throat closing up, Eragon shook his head slowly. It was a difficult decision, leaving him on the verge of tears, but he had to do it.

"I have to go with Brom. To Teirm…"

He wanted to explain himself, but had no idea how. With how serious the atmosphere had become, anyone with sense would realize the subject wasn't a simple apprenticeship.

Brom watched quietly from the sidelines as Garrow uncrossed his arms, letting them hang at his sides.

"…I hardly ever speak of her, but Selena… your mother… if she'd stayed, perhaps none of that would've happened. Eragon, don't make the same mistake she did. The world is an ugly, ugly place. Like a starving wolf, it'll swallow you alive in one moment of carelessness."

"I know, uncle. I won't let it. I promise…"

His own throat felt as dry as a desert. Something warm dripped down his cheek, and he realized he was crying.

Abruptly, he grabbed Garrow, pulling him into a hug. His body was far thinner than Eragon remembered.

"…but I have to go. I can't stay here. I don't want anything bad to happen to you or Roran."

There was no sobbing or lip-trembling. It was like a tap had opened somewhere inside him, giving an out to all the complex emotions that'd been building over the past few months.

The middle-aged farmer patted his nephew's shoulder steadily. Eragon couldn't see it, but his own expression was deathly as the grave, devoid of a hint of sadness. His gaze, directed at Brom, was murderous.

The storyteller had the decency to look apologetic, but didn't back down. However, he knew this wasn't the end. Garrow wouldn't just let it slide. In a different time, Brom might've disregarded the threat of a simple farmer, but no more, not after getting to know… her.

He was Selena's brother, after all.

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