The Agaetí Blödhren was tomorrow, and the whole forest seemed to be holding its breath.
Furnöst padded beside me, his shoulder now level with the shorter trees, every step making the ground shiver slightly. Annabeth walked on Shorai's other flank, one hand resting on scales that could probably stop siege boulders. Ahead of us, Arya led the way, Eragon trying (and failing) to match her stride without staring at her every two seconds. Saphira's tail flicked in amusement every time he kept trying to compliment her.
I slipped a hand into my pocket, fingers closing around the vial of water floating above a pedastool, only in its smaller form right now. Annabeth carried her tree riddle gift in her arms like a baby. Our dragons? Of course, they didn't reveal their plans much to Annabeth, and my annoyance.
"You know," I said, loud enough for both Furnöst and Shorai to hear, "I told you two mine and Annabeth. It's only fair you show us yours."
Secrets are more fun, Shorai sang teasingly.
Furnöst rumbled, sounding slightly sarcastic, We're practicing your 'Persassyness.' How are we doing?
"Terribly," Annabeth and I answered at the same time. We arrived in the clearing with about a hundred elves, nearing the center of the clearing, surrounding a huge tree, along with more elves following.
The Menoa Tree (Arya had provided us with the necessary information) rose like the mother of all trees, roots thick as houses, trunk wider than all four of our dragons combined, branches covering the entire clearing. The space beneath it was so vast that even four full-grown dragons seemed small. Floating lanterns drifted between the leaves like slow-motion fireflies, and the ground glowed soft silver, pulsing gently with the heartbeat of the forest.
Furnöst lowered his massive head, voice hushed in my mind. This place remembers.
Shorai's tail curled protectively around Annabeth. Every dragon who ever flew sings here.
Eragon glanced back, eyes wide. Arya just gave the smallest nod, as if the tree itself had welcomed us.
The first shock was the elves themselves. Some had turned themselves half-animal for the night—antlers curling from silver hair, hawk wings folded against backs, paws instead of hands. They moved like the forest had decided to wear people.
Then an ancient elf stepped forward and began a song that felt like it had a thousand verses. Beautiful, sure, but my ADHD brain had me ready to start moving after 5 minutes, much to Annabeth's annoyance. I spent the rest counting how many times Eragon glanced at Arya (twenty) and how many times Arya glanced at Eragon(one).
Finally, the time to present our gifts began. Eragon told a story—silver words weaving his whole life into the air like a movie made of light. It was good, maybe a little bit too boring, but the elves ate it up.
Annabeth unrolled her riddle tree plant next to the Menoa Tree's many roots. The runes shimmered, one riddle dissolving into the next the instant it was solved. Elves crowded around it like kids with a new video game, laughing and arguing in delighted voices.
Furnöst went next. He laid a cloak at the roots—soft white deer hide, runes glowing sea-green. "Indestructible," he rumbled proudly. I ran my fingers over it, and the memories hit like a knife: Nemean lion pelt, celestial bronze arrows, Bianca's broken statue in the junkyard snow. My throat closed. I couldn't save her. Annabeth, seeing my distraught face, hugged me closer, easing the pain. The guilt was old, but it still burned. Furnöst lowered his great head and nudged me gently. You honor her by living, little one. I swallowed hard and managed a nod, attempting to clear my mind.
Shorai surprised everyone. She opened her mind and sang a few poems —ancient-sounding, fierce, tender—each stanza appearing in the air as glowing gray script before drifting into the tree itself. After everyone else presented their gifts, ranging from armor to a new invention or song, the dragons took to the sky, preparing another gift.
Glaedr rose first, gold(or orange, koleking ;) against the stars. Saphira followed, sapphire blue scales glinting. Furnöst and Shorai launched together—sea-blue and storm-gray—four sets of wings beating in perfect time. They circled the Menoa Tree in a tightening spiral, then breathed.
Four columns of flame—gold, sapphire, sea-blue, silver-gray—twisted into one living helix of colored fire that climbed so high it lit the clouds. The clearing turned from night to day. I heard Annabeth's sharp intake of breath beside me, her surprise matching mine as I felt her fingers lace through mine.
The elves began to sing. Thousands of voices, rising and falling in the ancient language, renewing the Pact. We added our voices—me, Annabeth, Eragon—Eragon was a slight bit clumsy with the language, but he managed. The sound became a living thing, wrapping around us, through us.
Then the tree answered.
A wave of raw magic slammed into my chest like a lightning bolt(sadly, I know the feeling). Light exploded behind my eyes—all the colors of the rainbow creating a vortex towards me. I felt Annabeth's hand ripped from mine, heard her gasp my name, and the last thing I felt was the air wooshing past me as I fell, hoping Annabeth was okay.
A/N: I just found out that if you hit option+shift+K(on MacBook), you get: Did anyone know this?
I jolted awake in our pine-woven bedroom, the fluffy mattress threatening to lull me back to sleep, heart hammering. Annabeth was curled beside me, breathing slowly, face peaceful. Relief crashed over me so hard I almost laughed. I slipped out of bed, found Oromis's note—short, calm, "Come when you wake"—and figured if the elves weren't freaking out, we were probably fine. I showered fast, woke Annabeth with a gentle kiss to her forehead, and we were airborne on Furnöst and Shorai within minutes.
The dragons kept nudging us mentally the whole flight.
You are unhurt? Furnöst demanded for the tenth time.
We're good, buddy, I sent back, grinning as his wingtip brushed Shorai's in relief.
"What about now? Are you still okay?" Shorai asked Annabeth.
"Yes, Shorai, we're exactly the same as we were the last time you guys asked," Annabeth replied, half laughing, half exasperated.
We all laughed at that as Furnöst and Shorai started to descend.
Oromis's house already held Eragon, Saphira, Glaedr, and the old elf himself. We landed, dismounted, and Oromis wasted no time.
"The Menoa Tree," he began, voice like wind through leaves, "the force that represents the dragons, and the collected will of every elf present answered the renewal of the Pact with a tide of raw magic none could foresee. It poured into the three of you—aiding you all in your fight against Galbatorix."
Eragon spoke up then, saying, "My scars—Durza's wound, every cut or scrape—they're all gone."
"How come our scars are still here?" Annabeth asked, not unkindly, just curious, mirroring my thoughts.
Oromis faced Annabeth and me. "For that, I have no answers, yet the magic reshaped all of you, including you, Eragon, regardless. Speed, stamina, sight, and hearing—all heightened to elven measure. Thy minds are quicker, your years lengthened. And yes—" he gestured—"the ears."
I reached up and felt slight points. Annabeth's were the same. I started laughing at her incredulous face until she sent me her death glare, instantly shutting me up.
"Longevity too," Oromis added softly. "Thou wilt walk this world centuries, unless thou fall in battle or poison."
We left training canceled—"Absorb what has changed," he said—and the dragons flew off to hunt, giving us the house and peace, to ourselves for the first time in a while
Snow started falling outside, soft and silent. I pulled Annabeth onto the couch, wrapped us in one of Furnöst's new cloaks, and opened the Greek copy of the Odyssey I'd brought from home. The fire crackled merrily in the ornately wrought fireplace as Annabeth held me closer. I read aloud—slow, low, letting the ancient words wrap around us like a second blanket. She rested her head on my chest, fingers tracing the new pointed curve of my ear, smile matching mine through this happy day.
By the time Odysseus reached Ithaca, snow coated the windows, and the fire burned low. Annabeth's breathing evened out against my heartbeat. I closed the book, pulled her closer, and let sleep take me—no nightmares, no prophecies, just the quiet certainty that whatever centuries waited ahead, we'd face them side by side, always and forever.