It was a long, drowsy day. The air was cool and a gentle breeze rustled the many trees of the vast forest.
Or it would have been peaceful, if Error wasn't stuck with two deities dwelling in skeletons.

He sighed yet again as Curiosity spoke as a foggy, navy blue, pale yellow and white creature perched on Sci's shoulder. Said skeleton was still struggling to accept his situation, though he was at least capable of arguing in a civilized manner.

However, Seraphim very much wasn't a fan of Karma. The young god kept getting in spats as Karma maintained an air of indifference, considering his presence to be a business relationship when Seraphim AND his human Souls fervently disagreed.

There was a smell of cut and burnt grass in that direction, caused by the young god's anger at the ever emotionally constipated deity.

There was only a single major incident with Sci and Curiosity, and that was when the scientist went off on a tangent and ended up bringing out chemicals he mysteriously kept on his person for the sole purpose of causing an explosion.
Worse, Curiosity was delighted.

And worse, Error got involved because he absolutely was not interested. He wanted nothing to do with it. Not at all. He didn't smile at the green explosion and the smell of copper afterwards.

It was probably early afternoon when the unexpected earthquake hit them.
It wasn't big, only a low rumble that shook the trees, but everyone immediately knew something deeper was happening when all the pines began leaning in the same direction, a cold wind starting up.

He felt a sense of dread seeing the unmistakable threat of the forest, hopping atop a Blaster and zooming in the direction the trees were angling towards.

. • ° ° • .

They knew immediately that something was wrong before the trees even so much as shifted. A deep sense of Wyrda had crashed over as they were trying to relax, urging the pair to stand, demanding they follow it to the place that the Fate of this world had begun to take action.

The pair found themselves in the vast clearing around the Menoa in time to witness the great tree awaken, roots lashing out and binding around the last true Dragon and Rider left of this world.

Finally, the voice of the forest, of the once she-elf Linnëa, spoke.
Who dares to disturb my peace? Who dares to bite me and burn me? Name yourselves, so I will know who it is I have killed.

𝔒𝔩𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱, 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔡. Nightmare spoke up before Eragon could say a word, tendrils snaking along agitated roots that coiled and upturned the soil, scattering rodents and various other creatures as they exposed the dark earth.
They hurt me. Came the simple response.

𝔄 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔬, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔲𝔫𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔰 𝔣𝔢𝔴 𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔟𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰. Nightmare continued, before Dream then spoke.
𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓼𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮. 𝓦𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓡𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓲𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.. 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓐𝓵𝓪𝓰𝓪ë𝓼𝓲𝓪.

What matters the events of the world beyond my forest? They have no reach here. They bit me and burned me. I do not forgive so easily.

𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔡𝔬, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩. 𝔊𝔞𝔩𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔵 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔦𝔡𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔞𝔷𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰. He grimaced, then the two joined some of their extraneous limbs together as they stepped closer.

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼. 𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭. Dream looked down, briefly stricken by an unbidden flashback to a time long lost in the aching eons.

You are not afraid? Came the puzzled reply.
𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓾𝓼. Dream explained softly, retreating into himself in invitation for examination.
The great pine eventually agreed, following after and noticing in bewilderment that they were now two, a pair of brothers, side by side, halves of the same ethereal tree.

They presented memories of the Burning Plains, wincing as she noted the strange oath of Hate that still gave them shivers of fear before she moved on to the attack of laughing men that would not die.

She lingered on the extreme, incomprehensible violence displayed by the gods, particularly disturbed by unhinged enemy and even Murtagh, who was but a Rider with impossible strength that was merely a fraction of Galbatorix's true power.
The great pine shuddered, needles raining from her boughs before she retreated.

How is all of this madness going to convince me to not seek vengeance for this attack? So meaningless and foolhardy, to bite and to burn for what reason? She finally questioned, still angry, though touched with fear.

𝔄𝔰𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔚𝔢 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔢 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔡𝔢𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔲𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔡𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢, 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔴. Nightmare told her, leading to Menoa to interrogate the human and dragon.
Why?

Saphira pulled back her lips to respond, Error appearing at the edge of the wood beside a dozen or so elves.
Because you would not talk with us, elf-tree, and because Eragon has lost his sword and a werecat told him to look under the Menoa tree for a weapon. We have looked and looked, but we cannot find it on our own.

Wood creaked in semblance of a sigh.
Then your death is in vain, dragon, for there is no weapon under my roots.
ℑ𝔣 𝔴𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔰, 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢? Nightmare couldn't help but question.

The Menoa gave pause, legitimately considering his words before Eragon spoke.
We believe the werecat might have meant brightsteel, the star metal Rhunön uses to forge the blades of the Riders. Without it, she cannot replace my sword.

The earth rumbled as the vast system of roots adjusted, sending another wave of terrified animals to the trees. More elves were arriving from within the wood, halting at the edge of the clearing and staring.
They were afraid, though none showed it.

The werecat knew whereof he spoke; there is a nodule of brightsteel ore buried at the very edge of my roots, but you shall not have it. How will I be assured that you will not bite me and burn me again? How can I trust you will not set afire to my trees? I can-
᭙ꫀ ᥴꪖꪀ.

She paused, glancing through their mind again in brief confusion. She could not fully understand what they were. After a pause, she began to look through Eragon's mind, curious, withholding her anger.

What are you, Rider? I know every creature that lives among this forest, but never have I encountered one like you, who brings with them beings of magic and strength that should not exist in tandem as they do. She finally truly addressed him.

I am neither elf nor human. Eragon answered, Blue striding out of the treeline with an increasingly anxious GB at his side.
I am something in-between. The dragons changed me during the Blood-oath Celebration.

Why did they change you, Rider? She whispered.
So that I could better fight Galbatorix and his empire.
With a great sighing of the wood, she murmured.
I remember I felt a warping in the world during the celebration, but I did not think it was important…. So little seems important now, save the sun and the rain.

Biting his lip, the boy asked. We will heal your root and trunk ourselves if that will satisfy you, but please, may we have the brightsteel?
By now Blue had reached his side and rested a hand on his shoulder.

Menoa spoke.
Will you give me what I want in return, Dragon Rider?
I will. Eragon answered immediately, both Blue and Nightmare facepalming at his lack of questions.

She did not appear to be overly malignant in her chosen price, instead deigning to go still, all the trees around going deathly quiet before the ground softly trembled, a deep rumbling shaking the air as a mass of roots began to shift, ripping off their own bark as they scraped along each other, slowly unearthing a hunk of metal wider than a telephone pole and nearly as long as a dwarf.

The shackles of wood that had previously held both Rider and dragon hostage now retreated.
Here is your metal. Take it and go….
But-
Go… Go…. She whispered, retreating from them all to return to her dormancy. The forest settled and relaxed, as though the peace had never been disturbed.
"But…." Eragon was confused.

With a shrug, Eragon glanced at Blue, only for the other to slowly unlatch his gloved phalanges from his shoulder with an intense stare without a word.

Hesitant and unnerved, Eragon strode over to pick up the ore, Saphira close behind.
You were right. I should not have attacked her. She seemed only vaguely remorseful, seeing the stares of elves, of skeletons, of lights in the trees that did not even have recognizable faces.

Then the Twins pounced, branches and vines clinging tight to her front limbs in a moment.
Saphira snarled at the unexpected attack, Eragon dropping the ore to defend his dragon, only to freeze at the sight of the ones he knew.

"What were you thinking, Saphira?! Do you have any idea of the consequences that could have befallen you had we not been here?" Nightmare demanded, eyelights a glaring ice blue.
"Do you even have a clue of what others will have to do to make sure the elves don't decide to take vengeance for Menoa?" Dream hissed with emerald lights. "She is the Mother of this forest."

Her snarl died, but the anger in her eyes did not.
I did what I had to. We have no time to dawdle when the fate of the world is hanging precariously on our shoulders.

After glaring furiously at her a few seconds longer, they both released the dragon at once.
"We will talk about this later." The brothers spoke as one, stepping back in opposite directions before vanishing into flashes of light.

Blue stepped up when they were gone, much of his previous intensity having faded as he looked up to the dragon.
"Saphira, you've really done it now."

. • ° ° • .

"Where did you find that?" Rhunön demanded in shock as the human and skeleton strode in with a lump of metal.
The figure of warm light in the corner cackled at the sight, blue eyes glittering.
Eragon explained as Blue stood back in silence.

The old she-elf was running her fingers over the ore with a gleam in her eyes when Eragon finished, speaking quietly.
"You were either very foolish or brave to test the Menoa tree as you did. She is not one to trifle with."
Is there enough for a sword? Saphira questioned.

"Several swords, if past experience is anything to go by." She replied while standing, glancing around until her eyes caught on her forge in the middle of the room, then clapped excitedly.
"Let us to it, then! You need a sword, Shadeslayer? Very well, I shall give you a sword the likes of which has never been seen before in Alagaësia."

"But what of your oath?" The boy asked.
"Think not of it for the time being. When must you all return to the Varden?"
"We should already be gone." Blue muttered morosely, rubbing the back of his skull.

Rhunön hesitated thoughtfully, demeanor shifting to something more serious.
"Then I shall have to hurry that which I do not normally hurry and use magic to craft that which would otherwise require weeks of work by hand. You four shall help me."

Blue raised a hand to object, GB blinking in surprise while Eragon simply nodded, the skeleton dropping his hand.
"We shall not rest tonight, but I promise you, Shadeslayer, you shall have your sword by tomorrow morning."

At that, she picked up the mound and brought it to the table that previously had been the place of a carving project, Eragon stripping his shirt to not ruin it. Blue silently removed his bandana and stashed it away, GB teleporting off to change.

The elf tossed them both protective clothing before guiding them to a low chamber to grab hundreds of bricks and bags of charcoal and bring them back outside to an open forge. By then GB was back, ready to help in a less ungainly form.

Rhunön put them all to work building a pit she refused to use magic to create, which took up a good deal of the afternoon. Then she had them fill it with layers of different materials, sand, gravel, clay, charcoal, ash, strange but nothing anyone considered asking about, just listened when she had them dig channels to wick away moisture.

When the pit was filled with the new materials, they built a trough of bricks and clay, with which the previously unseen fire elemental appeared in the doorway carrying a pair of bellows that the she-elf had them attach to the structure at holes in the bottom, after which they stopped to rest, that same firelady handing out chocolate pastries, grapes and cheese and sourdough bread carved into bowls with a cheesy soup inside.

As they ate, Rhunön put sticks in the trough, only mildly surprised when the woman just strode over and set them fervently ablaze with a touch, settling to adding medium sized oak logs as the others watched.

When they had become just coals, she nodded to them. Eragon reached, but Blue cackled and snatched away the ore and raced to the trough, setting it down with little more than a wince as he brushed the hot coals, GB shoving a layer of charcoal on top.

The human snorted lightly but took to the bellow, Rhunön taking the other side as they began pumping. The skeletons watched with gleaming eyelights, the flames reflecting off the dragon's iridescent scales as she watched from afar, Draco watching beside her. One crouched and intensely gazing into the blaze as the other regarded his mate with twinkling lights.

I could help with this. Saphira suggested. It would take me but a minute to melt the ore.
"Yes," Rhunön agreed as Blue switched out with Eragon, who swung his arms to cool off.
"But if we melt it too quickly, the metal will not combine with the charcoal and become hard and flexible enough for a sword. Save your fire, dragon. We shall need it later."

She then had the bellows pause and GB made to shovel another layer of coal.
After that, everything fell to rhythm, pumping bellows, the occasional addition of coal, time dragging on as they took turns. Rhunön refused to break from the flames more than twice during the entire thing, and stood watching the blaze each time.

Late evening rolled around, and she finally spoke.
"That should be sufficient. Leave the bellows."
Eragon stepped back and Blue, who had been watching that time, stepped in to help shovel the lustrous coals into a barrel of water. It produced a pungent scent as they went in, Draco sneezing at the smell.

When the incandescent puddle of molten metal was revealed, the elf coated it in fine white ash in an inch thick layer. Then she set her shovel against the side of the forge and sat on the nearby bench.

"What now?" Eragon asked as he sat with her.
"Now we wait." Her gruff voice spoke.
"For what?" The human pestered as Blue pulled out some leftover cheese to share with GB.
Rhunön indicated the late evening sky, sun approaching the horizon.

"It must be dark when we work the metal if we are to correctly judge it's color. Also, the brightsteel needs time to cool so that it will be soft and easy to shape." She explained, then undid the cord holding up her hair, only to redo it more neatly.
"In the meantime, let us talk about your sword. How do you fight, with one hand or two?"

Thinking, Eragon eventually answered.
"It varies. If I have a choice, I prefer to wield a sword with one hand and carry a shield with my other. However, circumstances have not always been favorable to me, and I have often had to fight without a shield. Then I like being able to grip the hilt with both hands, so I can deliver a more powerful stroke. The pommel on Zar'roc was large enough to grasp with my left hand if I had to, but the ridges around the ruby were uncomfortable and they did not afford me a secure hold. It would be nice to have a slightly longer hilt."

"I take it you do not want a true two-handed sword?"
He shook his head. "No, it would be too big for fighting indoors."
"That depends upon the size of the hilt and the blade combined, but in general, you are correct. Would you be amenable to a hand-and-a-half sword instead?"

The boy paused, then gave a smile. "Yes, a hand-and-a-half sword would be perfect, I think."
"And how long would you like the blade?"
"No longer than Zar'roc's."
"Mmh. Do you want a straight blade or a curved blade?"
"Straight."
"Have you any preferences as to the guard?"
"Not especially."

She crossed her arms, chin on her chest as her eyes nearly slid closed. With a twitch, she asked.
"What of the width of the blade? Remember, no matter how narrow it is, the sword shall not break."
"Perhaps it could be a little wider at the guard than Zar'roc was."
"Why?"
Nobody expected the answer.
"I think it might look better."

GB snorted, flailing as he inhaled cheese while Blue had automatically spit out his when Rhunön burst out laughing, the sound harsh and unpleasant.
"But how would that improve the use of the sword?" She asked when GB managed to cough up the cheese with a wheeze.

Eragon leaned away in embarrassment, his silence allowing her to speak and admonish him.
"Never ask me to alter a weapon merely in order to improve its appearance. A weapon is a tool, and if it is beautiful, then it is beautiful because it is useful. A sword that could not fulfill its function would be ugly to my eyes no matter how fair its shape, not even if it were adorned with the finest jewels and the most intricate engraving."

She pursed her lips then, gradually sticking them out in an ugly smooching fashion as she went about thinking.
"..So, a sword equally suited for the unrestrained bloodshed of a battlefield as it is for defending yourself in the narrow tunnels of Farthen Dûr. A sword for all occasions, of middling length, but for the hilt, which shall be longer than average."

"A sword for killing Galbatorix." Eragon proclaimed.
She nodded at that. "And as such, it must be well protected against magic…." She dropped her chin to her collarbone again as she thought.
".. Armor has improved a great deal in the past century, so the tip will need to be narrower than I used to make them, the better to pierce plate and mail and to slip into the gaps between the various pieces. Mmh."

She then reached into a pouch and pulled out knotted twine, measuring Eragon's hands and arms. From there, she grabbed a wrought iron poker from the forge and tossed it at the boy, who easily caught it one-handed.
"Go on now. Up on your feet let me see how you move with a sword."

Stepping out into the open, away from the roof, he started practicing forms. Slowly.
GB snorted, Blue elbowing him in the ribs. Draco proceeded to sit his jaw on his skull, leaving the small skeleton spluttering in surprise at having been snuck up on while GB cackled. Rhunön glanced over, a dead look of impatience in her eyes. "Oh this is hopeless." She abruptly grabbed a second poker and stepped in front of the boy.
"Have at you, Shadeslayer!"

They began sparring, the others perking up to watch the spectacle as sparks flew with each clang, metal bending at every strike. And when the metal was mangled by the harsh abuse, they stopped and she took the makeshift weapons to a pile of other ruined tools and returned with a glint of excitement in her eyes.
"Now I know exactly what shape your sword should have."

"But how will you make it?" Eragon asked, something that prompted GB to groan as Blue held out his hand with a devilish grin, eventually pocketing some change from a secret bet. The distraction had the human confused and Rhunön shaking her head in amusement.
She finally answered.
"I won't. You shall make the sword instead of me, Shadeslayer."

Eragon gaped in disbelief, then spluttered in reply.
"Me? But I was never apprenticed to a blacksmith or a bladesmith! I have not the skill to forge even a common brush knife."
She was only smiling brighter. "Nevertheless, you shall be the one to make this sword."
"But how? Will you stand beside me and give me orders as I hammer the metal?"
"Hardly. No, I shall guide your actions from within your mind so that your hands may do what mine cannot. It is not a perfect solution, but I can think of no other means of evading my oath that will also allow me to ply my craft."

Frowning, Eragon said. "If you move my hands for me, how us that any different from making the sword yourself?"
Her face darkened and her tone shifted.
"Do you want this sword or not, Shadeslayer?"
"I do."

"Then refrain from pestering me with such questions. Making the sword through you is different because I think it is different. If I believed otherwise, then my oath would prevent me from participating in the process. So, unless you wish to return to the Varden empty-handed, you would be wise to remain silent on the subject."
"Yes, Rhunön-elda."

They went to the smelter then, where Saphira did the honors of prying the metal from the trough.
Rhunön ordered her to break it into pieces, retreating as the dragon slammed her talon into the metal, cracking it. Thrice she stomped, until which the she-elf found that sufficient, collecting the fragments in her apron and bringing them to the table beside the forge.

Sorting it, they peered in as she explained how she sorted, something about the color and texture of the lumps.
"Some is too hard and some is too soft, and while I can remedy that if I wanted to, it would require another heating. So we will only use the pieces that are already suitable for a sword. On the edges of the sword will go a slightly harder steel-" she indicated some glittering fragments- "the better to take a keen edge. The middle of the sword shall be made of a slightly softer steel-" brushing over duller, greyer fragments- "the better to bend and absorb the shock of a blow. Before the metal can be forged into shape, though, it must be worked to rid it of the remaining impurities."

How is that done? Saphira queried, intrigued.
"That you shall see momentarily." Rhunön told her before moving to one of the poles supporting the roof and leaned on it, legs crossed and eyes shut.
"Are you ready, Shadeslayer?"
"I am." Eragon answered with a hint of nervousness.

After a few moments, he went stiff as she took control of his faculties, stiffly rolling his head, raising his arms, shifting in place as she experimented. It was an eerie thing to witness, and Blue was unsure of what Eragon was thinking amidst the most personal seat of it all.

He was slowly walking forward until he tripped up on a corner of the forge, flailing for a moment before gasping and grasped the horn of the anvil to right himself.
After a few seconds, he went stiff and awkward again as Rhunön took him to practice tools using another's hands.

Everyone watched with curiosity and slight discomfort as Rhunön became more experienced, finally ready when dark fell.
She took the bits of steel she was going to use and had Saphira heat them with a small stream into the forge, removing them when they glowed red and set them on the anvil to hammer into thick, glittering plates that she dropped into a trough of saltwater.

When she was done, she removed them and scraped off the black scales that had grown and sorted the metal again, but then he paused, a scowl on the she-elf's face while he stared at the plates.

Saphira spoke, in response to something she'd thought while controlling the Rider much like a puppet.
The tools do not the artist make, Rhunön-elda. Surely you can find a way to compensate for this inconvenience.

There was a long, unnervingly silent pause before the plates were taken to anvil as she took a hammer and broke them apart into flakes of metal, then collected them up into a brick that she covered with clay and birch bark to hold it together, putting it on a steel paddle with a long, long handle that was set into the forge, where she had Saphira breathe fire over for several minutes.

Then the bright, blue-hued flames stopped and the brick was taken to the anvil to be hammered back together, the woman beginning to sing with both her voice and somehow Eragon's as well, the beating continuing as it was shaped into a bar, then sliced down the center, folded back, and hammered together again all while the elf sang spells with her voice and the human's.

When it had cooled back down to yellow, the metal was reheated to glowing white again, folded with a hammer, and having faded again it was reheated and folded again. This happened 6 times before it bent without snapping.

When she finished with the bar, she repeated the process with some of the other fragments, during which Blue grew tenser and tenser, eyelights shifting to a rich cobalt. GB noticed this, growing anxious as he realized what that meant.
Unity rather liked what was happening here, filled with a desire to help, held back only by Blue's fear of the sword getting ruined.

Eventually he gave in, and what he did next became obvious when Eragon's voice faltered and Rhunön's face twitched as she kept singing. GB and Draco watched him cautiously before being surprised when he started humming along, flashing a smile.

By the time Eragon was finished with the second bar, Blue was quietly singing along, a strange blue glow swirling along the ceiling and in the air around the forge, illuminating the grass beyond for a few yards.

Rhunön set Eragon to work on yet another bar of brightsteel, now forging it into a thick, dense wedge before setting it down and getting Saphira to heat the rods from before back up to white-hot, then took them with a pair of tongs started twisting them together, hammering them into one.

She proceeded to have him fold the metal and beat it back out half a dozen times until satisfied, which then led to him being guided to flatten it into a sheet that was cut in half lengthwise and bent into the shape of two V's.

By the time Eragon took a break, GB was half asleep, leaning on Draco's face as Blue kept idly singing beside him in a low tenor, but Draco was still awake, staring at the pair elves standing on either side of Maud the white werecat, faintly aglow with silver amidst the dreamy blue aura around the forge.

After the brief respite from the work, Eragon was put back to work hammering the V-strips to the wedge in a singular shape, drawing it out into the recognizable shape of a sword, the wedge being its spine and the strips being the edges, point and sides. As it approached full length, things slowed down and Rhunön had the boy hammer out the shape.

She continued to let Saphira heat it in sections at a time through her nostrils at this point, shaping and reshaping the blade into a weapon. After this she afforded him another break, the songs never once ceasing in the chamber as the sword-to-be cooled.

Then she took him to a workbench, atop which sat an assortment of grinding wheels, scrapers, files, stones and other tools, spending the next hour fine-tuning the blade.

Filing finished, she had him rest briefly while she stood up herself and built a charcoal fire in the forge, then as it grew she crafted a mixture of fine clay, ash, pumice powder, and crystalized juniper sap, then returned to her place to have Eragon coat the blade in the mixture. With a spell, the clay dried and the blade was taken to the coals.

There the bellows were pumped as it was drawn through the heat, flipping it and slowly dragging it through again, flipping and pumping until it was gleaming orange at the edges and red along the middle. Then she quickly picked it up and turned to steep it in the trough of water beside the forge, which exploded into steam and boiled.

It was pulled out again and heated to a lower temperature than before, then cooled in the bath again. After that, the forge was put out with water and Eragon was taken back to the bench to polish the weapon.

This lasted a few hours, and in that time both Draco and GB had finally been lulled to sleep by the low music and sound of the scraping stones, humming contentedly in each other's presence.

Rhunön had moved on to having Eragon cover the tang with the cross-hatching when his hand slipped and dropped the file.
After a split second of staring at the fallen file, Eragon's countenance returned to normal and he swayed before he cried out.
"But we're not finished!"

The first voice that wasn't singing quietly for the first time in so many hours shocked Blue to silence and jolted the other two awake, still blinking when Rhunön stood up.
"I have no more need of you, Shadeslayer. Go and dream until dawn."

"But-"
"You are tired, and even with my magic, you are liable to ruin the sword if you continue to work on it. Now that the blade is done, I can attend to the rest without interference from my oath, so go. You will find a bed on the second floor of my house. If you are hungry, there is food in the pantry."

The human paused, loathe to part from the work he had become so invested in, but then he nodded in understanding and stumbled away, running a hand over Saphira's wing in passing, to which she huffed into his hair.
I shall watch and remember for you, little one.

Everyone but Rhunön watched him go, the young, magical elves silent when he waved, only the werecat returning the gesture.
He then went inside.

Draco and GB shifted around sleepily, getting up.
We'll uh. See you in the morning. GB explained to Blue before both were gone, leaving only the lurid half-awake light in the forge to light the place.

Blue smiled weakly as the light that was his namesake slowly returned to himself, his eyelights flashing before settling into his now familiar state.
He murmured a farewell to the she-elf, who nodded from her place in return, and he too, was gone.