The crowd around them roared, causing Error to flinch slightly in his knitting. Fresh whined softly at the turbulent noise, curling up in his nest of a blanket, grabbing the finished portion of cloth Error had been working on to wrap around his skull.

The only reason there was a crowd at all was because of the wedding that had taken place recently. When they had arrived, it had not even been an hour since it's conclusion, the children leading them to Bregan Hold a mile off the valley floor.

The fortress itself was hewn entirely out of a red granite, seated on the side of Thardûr mountain, situated for a view of miles in every direction that wasn't a mountain.

The main structure itself- the hold- was five stories tall and tipped with a bell tower tipped in a giant teardrop shaped flameless glass lantern the dwarves called Az Sindriznarrvel, the Gem of Sindri, saved to be lit in times of emergency.

Around this prize tower and accompanying structure was the rest of the hold, places for servants and soldiers to live, as well as stables, forges, a church for the god Morgothal, the lord of fire and patron of smiths, so of course he'd be worshipped- this was the house of smiths, Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.
Below this and the hold's walls were farms, dotting the mountainside amid the tremendous trees.

After they had arrived via shouting children, Orik had found them and greeted them most enthusiastically, treating Eragon like his own brother before Error eagerly showed him the small Fresh hiding in the blanket. The dwarf had been quite baffled as he explained, then smiled at the little one.

The newly ascended clan chief then took Eragon to wash and be changed, the human returning in a dark purple robe and gold circlet, forcing a light snort from Error as he thought of Nightmare.

The skeleton had remained as he was, following the two as Orik took them to his proud wife, Hvedra. She had an apple shaped face and glittering eyes, long hair trailing behind her as they embraced.

The woman was kind, asking Eragon to regard her as kin and to offer protection if he ever came to them for sanctuary. The question of why they chose to marry so soon came and went, answered by the dwarves' fear of time and Galbatorix killing them all.

And that led to where they were now, celebratory games in full effect as swordsmen contested in the field. One dwarf tripped and fell to the other's blade, healers rushing over as the crowd cheered the victor, Eragon digging into bread and mutton before addressing the dwarven woman.
"Will you be accompanying us to Farthen Dûr, Hvedra?"

Fresh struggled to stand in Error's lap and look over as she smiled and shook her head.
"I cannot. I must stay here and tend to the affairs of the Ingeitum while Orik is gone, so he does not return to find our warriors starving and all our gold spent."

Orik chuckled as he held out his tankard for a nearby servant to refill.
"Hvedra does not boast. She is not only my wife, she is the… Ach, you have no word for it. She is the grimstcarvlorss of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. Grimstcarvlorss means… the keeper of the house. The arranger of the house. It is her duty to ensure that the families of our clan pay their agreed-upon tithes to Bregan Hold, that our herds are driven to their proper fields at the proper times, that our stocks of feed and grain do not fall too low, that the women of the Ingeitum weave enough fabric, that our warriors are well equipped, that our smiths always have ore to smelt into iron, and in short, that our clan is well managed and will prosper and thrive. There is a saying among our people: a good grimstcarvlorss can make a clan-"
"And a bad grimstcarvlorss will destroy a clan." Hvedra finished.

Orik smiled at her, taking one of her hands in his. "And Hvedra is the best of grimstcarvlorssn. It is not an inherited role. You must prove you are worthy of the post if you are to hold it. It is rare for the wife of the grimstborith to be grimstcarvlorss as well. I am most fortunate in that regard."
The two rubbed noses happily.

Eragon looked away, Error smiling faintly at the two as Fresh sank back into his bundle with an odd noise.
Then the clan chief leaned back to down some more mead, speaking again when finished.

"There have been many famous grimstcarvlorssn in our history. It is often said that the only thing we clan leaders are good for is declaring war on each other and that the grimstcarvlorssn prefer we spend our time squabbling among ourselves so we do not have the time to interfere in the workings of the clan."

"Come now, Skilfz Delva." Hvedra spoke to her husband. "You know that is not truth. Or it shall not be truth with us."
"Mmm." The dwarf replied, leaning over again to touch foreheads.

There was a pause in conversation as Fresh suddenly leapt up and latched onto Eragon's arm with surprising dexterity, human flinching before staring curiously as the child scrabbled up to his shoulder and sat there, just a little too small to sit around his neck.
Error blinked, a little tense.

"What are you doing?" Eragon asked Fresh, who blinked and shrugged.
I can't see from there and I got bored, Brah.
The Rider glanced back at Error. "Are you alright with this?"

He shrugged. "He won't fall." He stated casually, despite his silent anxiety. Fresh smiled at him, tail curling under Eragon's shoulder.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, slightly uncomfortable as Error stared unblinkingly at Fresh in case he started to fall- but the worst that happened were a few wobbles and winces on Eragon's part as his sharp claws gripped the human.
Another sword fight contest was completed before Orik turned to them again.
"How would you like to see a forest of stone, Eragon, Error and Fresh?"

"No such thing exists, unless it is carved." Eragon replied easily, doubtful.
Orik was smiling as he shook his head. "It is not carved, and it does exist. So I ask again, would you like to see a forest of stone?"
"If you are not jesting… yes, I would."

"Ah, I am glad you accepted. I do not jest, and I promise you that five days from now you and I shall walk among trees of granite. It is one of the wonders of the Beor Mountains. Everyone who is a guest of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum should have an opportunity to visit it."

He turned to Error, awaiting his response-
"I'll come. I've only seen one stone forest before, I would like to see yours before we leave."
"Ah, thank you, thank you, Error." He nodded eagerly.
"You're welcome. I am only curious as to what kind of stone forest it is, now." Error murmured to himself.
"Petrified or living.."

. • ° . • ° . • °

Error blinked when Fresh woke up that morning, only noticing his child when he'd started gnawing the blanket. He bit back a smile and gave the little one a slice of the pie Alter had baked specifically for the babybones, who giggled and attacked it.

He was quickly horrified as Fresh promptly wrestled with his food, getting it all over himself as he imitated a kitten with a new toy.

"...Are you even eating that?"
Yeah, kinda. Fresh paused, laying down and grinning at Error, tail twitching much like an excited cat.
I'm just havin' fun.
"But your clothes-"
Fresh sat up and started licking it off- which was again, very similar to a cat, yet insectoid with how he dealt with his hands.

Error sighed in resignation, giving up with the little one.
"Why am I surprised." He mumbled, pushing his glasses back up to peer at his intricate weaving.

Eventually Fresh had cleaned himself, clothes remaining only somewhat sticky with the juices of the pie- Alter had called it quiche. Error had no clue what quiche pie was, but he cared about Fresh and his health.

He flinched slightly when he sensed Fresh biting the blanket again.
"You can just tell me if you're still hungry, you know." He muttered while reaching into his inventory.
But I don't want more of dat, I want dis.

He blinked, not knowing how to respond for a few seconds. Then he sighed, taking a string off his face and gesturing with it.
"Would you take this instead? That's a finished blanket."

Fresh regarded it for a moment, then made grabby hands for the thread. Error sighed again, handing it off as he numbed all sensation in the strand and turned back to his work, only to cringe as he felt something he practically never expected to sense again.
His string was dissolving.

He peered back at Fresh, who blinked at him while pulling more of the silk thread into his mouth. What?
Error wanted to say something, then slowly decided there was nothing to say.
This was the child of destruction, formed by Fate and the magic of creation. No adopted and formed demigod like Chaos.
…He wondered if Chaos was okay.

Hey, weren't we supposed to visit a stone forest today, Brah?
Error blinked. "I don't know what time it is." He explained thoughtfully, glancing out the window to the brightened but fogged sky beyond.
Well I think we should look for Orik.
"Mmm. How long do you plan on eating that, then?"
Dunno. It tastes like something dry but I like it.
"... Outstanding."

Fresh giggled, intensely amused by Error's tired attitude as his mother got up and started putting things away.
"Might as well." He muttered, glasses being released from his face and falling lightly into his hands before he set them in his inventory.

Fresh straightened. Oh, we're going? He asked, sockets wide with eyelights that practically filled them.
"Yes. I could be late for all I know."
We should rely on my sense of time then, Brah.
Error glanced at him unbelievingly. "You? Have a better sense of time than me? You're an infant."
Not a normal one! Fresh whined, string hanging out of his mouth as he pouted, even as his tongue pulled more of the thread in.

Error snorted, picking him up and setting him in the blanket as he folded the cloth around the child.
Whatcha doin'? Fresh asked as he tugged out a bundle to hug as he kept nibbling it. Error didn't reply, just picking up the entire bundle and weaving strings into the fabric so that it was a sort of pack, Fresh inside.
He slid it on and teleported, Fresh peeking out curiously as he gnawed on the edge absently.

Orik was already waiting in the courtyard, chatting amiably with 12 other dwarves with ponies as they went about getting ready to leave. The chief waved at Error jovially as he spotted the glitch, blinking as he noticed the pack he was wearing.

Error approached quietly, smiling at Orik's confusion until the dwarf realized that Fresh was there, waving lazily.
"Ah! I am glad you could both make it, this would have been shameful indeed if you had been unable to join us." The clan chief grinned up at him, breath clouding around his face in the chill air.

The glitch hummed, peering around and spotting the human approaching in this distance, towering above the dwarves.
"I wouldn't want to miss it. It's not often I get to experience something new and peaceful."

Orik glanced at him somewhat curiously, before speaking in a softer tone.
"Aye, but times are changing, eh? The rock changes for all of us."

Az knurl demn lanok. Fresh added mutely. Error shrugged, peering into the mists surrounding them.
"It can be so disorienting at times, how quickly everything has been changing."
"That I can agree with." Orik chuckled, then gasped as he caught sight of Eragon, waving the boy over.

When they were all standing around each other, Orik offered.
"We have donkeys in the stables, if either of you would like to ride."
"No thank you." Error said a bit too quickly, tensing at the idea as Eragon politely declined.
"No, I'll continue on foot, if it's all the same to you."
The dwarf shrugged, letting Error's adverse reaction slide. "As you wish."

About a minute later when they were ready to set out, Hvedra strode down the wide steps from the entrance to the hold, presenting an elegant horn of ivory and gold filigree to her husband. "This was mine father's when he rode with Grimstborith Aldhrim. I give it to you so you may remember me in the days to come." She spoke, before adding more in her home tongue with a low murmur.

Then Orik lifted the horn and blew into it, sending a great bellow through the courtyard, sending two ravens into the sky from the bell tower. The air shook with its intensity.
Fresh ducked into the pack, sensitive to the sound.

Orik finished with his single note, glancing back at his wife in longing. Then he urged his pony forward, starting the journey outside the hold and turning eastward, the rest of the procession following.

The dwarves immediately began to drive the ponies as fast as they could go without injury on an upward sloping trail, though it quickly became apparent that they were still ridiculously slow in comparison to the Rider and God of Destruction, one of which had simply hopped on a Blaster behind the group and hovered after them.

They traveled for three hours, Fresh huddling in the pack as he watched the scenery with wide sockets. The air was sharp and humid, wreathed in mists that hid their surroundings until just a few feet around them in all directions.

They finally reached the end of the worn path before some flattening plateau around them, cut short by the octagonal pillars forming a wall on the right. Orik lifted one hand and spoke.
"Behold, Az Knurldrâthn."

"I see no forest of stone." Eragon stated, confused. Error remained silent, hugging Fresh closer to himself even as the child huffed at the squeezing embrace.

The clan chief climbed down from his steed, giving the reins to a dwarf behind him before speaking.
"Walk with me, if you would, Eragon and Error."

The human strode over to the dwarf quickly, both glancing back at Error. He blinked at them, then slid off his Blaster, the laser skull vanishing in a wave of glitches as he approached, falling in step behind them as the dwarf and human began to walk.

They were soon enveloped by the mist, the fog weighing in on them from all sides, as though to encase them in a bubble. Eragon started holding a hand out in front of him, disoriented by the fog as Orik continued with great familiarity. Error was unaffected, able to function entirely blind.. due to past circumstances. The first two provided more than enough noise to be aware of what was around them.
They finally stopped by a crack in the wall behind them, Orik addressing them both.
"What see you now?"

Eragon squinted into the mist as Error listened to the echoes, intrigued.
"I don't…" The human trailed as a faint breeze gusted by, the fog shifted under its influence. It pulled back, revealing great, stony trunks of trees, grey and covered in lichen as they lay about, many broken with leafless branches yearning for the sky or resting like fallen logs on the forest floor.

Error sighed, recognizing the type of forest he was looking at now while Eragon rested his hand on the cold bark. The boy barely cast a glance backward as he spoke.
"How did these come to be?"

Orik shrugged and replied.
"Some claim that Gûntera must have placed them here when he created Alagaësia out of nothingness. Others claim Helzvog made them, for stone is his favorite element, and would not the god of stone have trees of stone for his garden? And still others say no, that once these trees were like any others, and a great catastrophe eons ago must have buried them in the ground, and that over time, wood became dirt, and dirt became stone."

"Is that possible?" Eragon quested further.
"Only the gods know for certain. Who besides them can hope to understand the whys and wherefores of our world?" Orik replied, glancing curiously at Error before continuing.

"Our ancestors discovered the first of the trees while quarrying granite here, over a thousand years ago. The then grimstborith of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, Hvalmar Lackhand, stopped the mining and, instead, had his masons chisel out the trees from the surrounding stone. When they had excavated nigh on fifty trees, Hvalmar realized that there might be hundreds, or even thousands, of stone trees entombed within the side of Mount Thardûr, and so he ordered his men to abandon the project. This place, however, captured the imagination of our race, and ever since, knurlan from every clan have traveled here and labored to extricate more trees from the grip of the granite. There are even knurlan who have dedicated their lives to the task. It has also become a tradition to send troublesome offspring here to chisel out a tree or two while under the supervision of a master mason."

"That sounds tedious." Eragon commented.
"It gives them time to repent of their ways." Orik smirked lightly before brushing his beard absently. "I spent some months here myself when I was a rambunctious lad of four-and-thirty."
"And did you repent of your ways?"
"Eta. No. It was too… tedious. After all those weeks, I had freed only a single branch from the granite, so I ran away and fell in with a group of Vrenshrrgn-"

"Dwarves from the clan Vrenshrrgn?"
"Yes, knurlan of the clan Vrenshrrgn, War Wolves, Wolves of War, however you might say it in this tongue. I fell in with them, became drunk on ale, and as they were hunting Nagran, decided that I too should kill a boat and bring it to Hrothgar to appease his anger at me. It wasn't the wisest thing I have done. Even our most skilled warriors fear to hunt Nagran, and I was still more boy than man. Once my mind cleared, I cursed myself for a fool, but I had sworn I would, so I had no choice but to fulfill my oath."

In the brief pause, Error leaned against the stone tree behind him as Eragon asked.
"What happened?"
"Oh, I killed a Nagra, with help from the Vrenshrrgn, but the boar gored me in the shoulder and tossed me into the branches of a nearby tree. The Vrenshrrgn had to carry the both of us, the Nagra and me, back to Bregan Hold. The boar pleased Hrothgar, and I… I, despite the ministrations of our best healers, I had to spend the next month resting in bed, which Hrothgar said was punishment enough for defying his orders."

There was another pause, this time longer as they studied Orik's distraught expression.
"You miss him." Eragon concluded softly. The dwarf hesitated, then tucked his chin into his chest and cracked the haft of his axe on the stone beneath him, the sharp report echoing through the trees.
"It has been nigh on two centuries since the last dûrgrimstvren, the last clan war, racked our nation, Eragon. But by Morgothal's black beard, we stand on the brink of another one now."
"Now, of all times?" Eragon gasped. "Is it really that bad?"

He scowled. "It is worse. Tensions between the clans are higher than they have ever been in living memory. Hrothgar's death and Nasuada's invasion of the Empire have served to inflame passions, aggravate old rivalries, and lend strength to those who believe it is folly to cast our lot with the Varden."

"How can they believe that when Galbatorix has already attacked Tronjheim with the Urgals?"
"Because they are convinced it is impossible to defeat Galbatorix, and their argument holds much sway with our people. Can you honestly tell me, Eragon, that if Galbatorix were to confront you and Saphira this very instant, that the two of you could best him?"
"...No."

"I thought not. Those who are opposed to the Varden have blinded themselves to Galbatorix's threat. They say that if we had refused shelter to the Varden, if we had not accepted you, Saphira and the skeletons into fair Tronjheim, then Galbatorix would have had no reason to make war on us. They say that if we just keep to ourselves and remain hidden in our caves and tunnels, we shall have nothing to fear from Galbatorix. They do not realize that Galbatorix's hunger for power is insatiable and that he will not rest until all of Alagaësia lies at his feet."

Orik shook his head then, pinching the blade of his axe in frustration.
"I will not allow our race to cower in tunnels like frightened rabbits until the wolf outside digs his way in and eats us all. We must continue fighting out of hope that somehow we can find a way to kill Galbatorix. And I will not allow our nation to disintegrate into another clan war. With circumstances as they are, another dûrgrimstvren would destroy our civilization and possibly doom the Varden as well."

He finally faced Eragon, jaw set as Error observed silently, ignoring as Fresh retreated into his pack with a yawn.
"For the good of my people, I intend to seek the throne myself. Dûrgrimst Gedthrall, Ledwonnû, and Nagra have already pledged their support to me. However, there are many who stand between me and the crown; it will not be easy to garner enough votes to become king. I need to know, Eragon, Error, will you back me in this?"

Error paused, peering at Eragon as the human hesitated, crossing his arms and turning to pace between the stone trees.
"If I do, my support might turn the other clans against you. Not only will you  be asking your people to ally themselves with the Varden, you will be asking them to accept a Dragon Rider as one of their own, which they have never done before and I doubt they will want to now."

"Aye, it may turn some against me, but it may also gain me the votes of others. Let me be the judge of that. All I wish to know is, will you back me?... Eragon, why do you hesitate?"

The human stared at the ground, studying a twisted root made of rock as he debated his answer.
"You are concerned about the good of your people, and rightly so. But my concerns are broader; they encompass the good of the Varden and the elves and the skeletons and everyone else who opposes Galbatorix. If… if it is not likely you can win the crown, and there is another clan chief who could, and who is not unsympathetic to the Varden-"
"No one would be a more sympathetic grimstborith than I!"

"I'm not questioning your friendship! But if what I said came to pass and my support might ensure that such a clan chief won the throne, for the good of your people and for the good of the rest of Alagaësia, shouldn't I back the dwarf who has the best chance of succeeding?"

Silence passed between them for a frightful moment before Orik spoke up in a low voice.
"You swore a blood-oath on the Knurlnien, Eragon. By every law of our realm, you are a member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, no matter how greatly others may disapprove. What Hrothgar did by adopting you had no precedent in all of our history, and it cannot be undone unless, as grimstborith, I vanish you from our clan. If you turn against me, Eragon, you will shame me in front of our entire race and none will ever trust my leadership again. Moreover, you will prove to your detractors that we cannot trust a Dragon Rider. Clan members do not betray each other to other clans, Eragon. It is not done, not unless you wish to wake up one night with a dagger buried in your heart."

"Are you threatening me?" Eragon narrowed his eyes as he regarded the dwarf. Error just slid further away from them, sensing Fresh's discomfort as Orik swore loudly and banged his axe upon the stone again.

"No! I would never lift a hand against you, Eragon! You are my foster brother, you are the only Rider free of Galbatorix's influence, and blast it if I have not become fond of you during our travels together. But even though I would not harm you, that does not mean the rest of the Ingeitum would be so forbearing. I say that not as a threat but as a statement of fact. You must understand this, Eragon. If the clan hears you have given your support to another, I may not be able to restrain them. Even though you are our guest and the rules of hospitality protect you, if you speak out against the Ingeitum, the clan will see you as having betrayed them, and it is not our custom to allow traitors to remain within our midst. Do you understand me, Eragon?"

The human flung his arms out with a shout. "What do you expect of me?! I swore an oath to Nasuada as well, and those were the orders she gave me!"
"But you also pledged yourself to Dûrgrimst Ingeitum!" The dwarf bellowed.

Eragon paused. "Would you have me doom all of Alagaësia just so you can maintain your standing among the clans?"
"Do not insult me!"
"Then don't ask the impossible of me! I will back you if it seems likely you can ascend to the throne, and if not, then I won't. You worry about the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum and your race as a whole, while it is my duty to worry about them and all of Alagaësia as well." He collapsed backward against a stone tree.
"And I cannot afford to offend you or your- I mean, our- clan or the rest of dwarfdom."

Orik stared for a long moment, then his face softened. He shifted in place, addressing Eragon more civilly.
"There is another way, Eragon. It would be more difficult for you, but it would resolve your quandary."
"Oh? What wondrous solution would this be?" The human muttered snarkily.

The dwarf ignored the sarcasm and slid his axe back in place, striding over to grab Eragon by the forearms.
"Trust me to do the right thing, Eragon Shadeslayer. Give me the same loyalty you would if you were indeed born of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. Those under me would never presume to speak out against their own grimstborith in favor of another clan. If a grimstborith strikes the rock wrong, it is his responsibility alone, but that does not mean I am oblivious to your concerns."

He glanced at the ground for a moment, then continued in the same soft tone.
"If I cannot be king, trust me not to be so blinded by the prospect of power that I cannot recognize when my bid has failed. If that should happen- not that I believe it shall- then I will, of my own volition, lend my support to one of the other candidates, for I have no more desire than you to see a grimstborith elected who is hostile to the Varden. And if I should help promote another to the throne, the status and prestige I will place at the service of that clan chief shall, of its very nature, include your own, since you are Ingeitum. Will you trust me, Eragon? Will you accept me as your grimstborith, as the rest of my hall-sworn subjects do?"

Eragon considered this, groaning as he leaned back and stared up at the stone branches above him. There, he stared upwards, face twisted in frustration and fear. After a minute or so, he replied hesitantly.
"I would not be a mindless servant for you to order about. When it came to matters of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, I would defer to you, but in all else, you would have no hold over me."

The dwarf nodded seriously. "I'm not worried about what mission Nasuada might send you on, nor whom you might kill while fighting the Empire. No, what gives me restless nights when I ought to be sleeping sound as Arghen in his cave is imagining you attempting to influence the clanmeet's voting. Your intentions are noble, I know, but noble or not, you are unfamiliar with our politics, no matter how well Nasuada may have schooled you. This is mine area of expertise, Eragon. Let me conduct it in the manner I deem appropriate. It is what Hrothgar groomed me for my entire life."

Eragon was hesitant in his reply, but eventually caved, sighing.
"Very well, I will do as you think best about the succession, Grimstborith Orik."
The dwarf grinned explosively, squeezing the boy's arms before letting go.
"Ah, thank you, Eragon. You don't know what this means to me. It is good of you, very good of you, and I won't forget it, not if I live to be two hundred years old and my beard grows so long, it drags in the dirt."

The Rider then chuckled. "Well, I hope it doesn't grow that long. You would trip over it all the time!"
Now they were both laughing.
"Perhaps I would at that. Besides, I rather think Hvedra would cut it short once it reached my knees. She has very definite opinions about the proper length of a beard."

Eragon snorted, the clan chief slapping his arm good-naturedly before turning to lead him back to the others, then freezing as he recalled something. He turned back around, looking for Error- only to find the glitch seated comfortably in a stony branch above them.

Error regarded them both blankly before swinging his legs over the side. "You want me to back you as well? Me, a god who has nothing to do with dwarves?"
"It is only a choice." Orik admitted quietly.

The Destroyer sighed, dropping down to the ground. His height allowed him to simply slide down and let go of the low hanging branch when his feet were only a foot off the ground.
"I don't think it would be wise for me to get involved at all. Many dwarves would likely believe it to be a betrayal of the gods you worship, and it would take more votes from you than it would be likely to give. Though I do support you over the other clans, I cannot involve myself."

"I am not asking you to vote as a grimstborith would. I only as that should the clanmeet turn to you-"
"I understand. But not only would they likely know where my sympathies lie, but I would still say the same thing I tell you: I won't support any clan chief over another. I am not part of your kingdom or your gods. I am only here to ensure the future and put this world back in balance before the entire Multiverse appears…. Before I have to face Ink again." He added softly, glancing to the side.

Orik hesitated, then sighed.
"Error, you should not have to fear that enemy of yours any longer, I should think. His most valuable allies have now turned to your side with the knowledge of the truth. And more, you have the Varden, elves and the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum to stand by your side. Surely one skeleton, stripped of his followers, would prove to be no more a threat to you?"

The glitch was silent for a long moment.
"You don't know him." He finally answered softly.
"With no more AU's to replenish his emotions, he would become something you do not ever want to see."
The dwarf paused.
"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that he can commit mass genocide without a second thought or hesitation just as easily as he could create a replacement. He could give a child a flower one moment, and the next he could kill that same child. He feels nothing." Error explained coldly.

"There is no remorse, no regret, no joy, no pride, he is a shell that operates on nothing but logic and self-interest. And he has more than enough power to accomplish his intent. When he loses the AU's, he loses the only thing that gives him any sort of emotion and empathy. Without any way to get it back, I cannot predict what he can do- because in the past, he never went without them unless he had a specific intention. Ink as a person runs on these false emotions. Without them, he is something best avoided. Any attempts to predict his behavior will fail, because how do you understand something that is exactly like us, except completely lacking such a fundamental part of every single being? Even Fresh had empathy before, something entirely absent in Ink when he is emotionless."

Orik was silent for a minute.
Then he lit up again, a reassuring smile on his face.
"Well, worrying about such a creature in these times is pointless when he is so far from us, is it not? Let us concern ourselves with the more immediate issue at hand, yes?"
Error hesitated, regarding him silently.

"Fine. We'll put it on hold. I only ask that you don't underestimate what Ink is capable of when the time comes."
"We won't." Eragon assured him, sincere.

Error grunted, then turned away. "We should go."
To this, the others agreed, shifting to follow the weary god.
They eventually made their way back to the dwarven guard, Orik hopping back onto his steed as they continued to descend down the side of Mount Thardûr.

They reached the valley floor, crossing over towards the opposite side, whereupon the dwarves found a hidden door within the stone, swinging it open on silent hinges and revealing the darkness therein.

With a sigh, Error was the first to enter, his tear tracks and sockets illuminating the shadows with a blue-red glow that blended into indigo where it overlapped. Fresh stuck his skull out, blinking at the others behind them and the light beyond, even as the doors slid shut, cutting off the sun.

For a brief moment, there was only the faint gleam of Error's face and Fresh's eyelights before the dwarves found their lanterns, the erisdar.

Then the troop began their march down the tunnel, lacking a single curve or irregularity in it's design. The ponies' hooves clacked harshly upon the stone, echoes reverberating down and down until the noises faded into obscurity.

"Well then. It is time to go."