Among Dwarves

The air was dry, thin, ready to crack, and hung with anticipation. Trianna couldn't see the ground as it felt way from them, but she felt closer to the sky as silver-lined clouds came nearer.

It was odd being in the air. A feeling of weightlessness took Trianna and made her feel as if reality had left her behind on the ground.

The Nausea Trianna had expected didn't come. Instead, she felt wonder, only grounded by the flying patterned yellow-red carpet beneath her and the wizard's presence beside her.

It had been a day since Theodore had taken over Du Vrangr Gata, and in that time, Trianna had refused to see or talk to him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he had shown up in her tent and told her to come with him. He had asked if she wanted to fly. Flying wasn't something you could say no to. Not when there might never be another opportunity.

The sorceress should have felt cold. The night held a chill this time of year, even on the burning plains, but the cold was held at bay by the man sitting beside her. She looked now and watched Theodore's moonlit back as he held the flying carpet's reigns. She leaned against him.

The wind made an anxious howling noise around them as Theodore flew, but Trianna only felt Its trickle as strands of hair were picked up by the wind and given gentle teasing tugs and strokes.

"I'm sorry," Theodore said suddenly. Trianna still leaned against him and didn't move or acknowledge that he spoke. She didn't know what she would do if she did.

Trianna enjoyed the wizard's warmth but could help feel a burst of irrational anger toward the man. The sorceress had forgotten herself during the flight, but now she remembered what Theodore had stolen.

It had taken years to earn Du Vrangr Gata's trust, and she had shed blood, sweat, and tears under the Nasuada only to be thrown away like a used doll, yet it made sense.

Humans lusted for power, and it was something Trianna understood and craved herself. It was why she had tried with her available means to make Eragon join them. It is also why she found Theodore so irresistible. Theodore was human, no matter his orange eyes and unnatural good looks. Trianna was confident he was only human. That did not make it any easier to forgive him.

Trianna was beginning to realize something about the wizard: that he was a planner. He had outed those spies not only to help the Varden but to take power and had shown his strength in battle with unnecessary shows of force to solidify his reputation. Had he planned to take Du Vrangr Gata from her from the moment they met? Had he used her?

The wizard, as if sensing her discomfort, finally stalled in the air. The wizard moved, and Trianna was forced to give up his back warmth in favor of a hug.

Theodore's lips nestled closely to Trianna's ear, and his breath tickled something primal in her, making her forget her anger again despite herself and appreciating his warmth. Trianna's soft comfort didn't last long.

"Do get over yourself," Theodore whispered. His voice was soft and supple, sweet even, but it left Trianna feeling lost. Her stomach dropped and then became tight and painful.

"Get over myself? How dare you." Trianna couldn't hide her vitriol as she spoke. She began to curse at him, and Theodore, for his part, let her curses land, which did not make her feel any better.

Theodore pulled away and looked out down at the burning plains. The moon pulled away from behind the clouds and lit the ground beneath them suddenly. Trianna was aware of their dizzying height from the ground. The Varden's tents were thimble-sized, and the few patrols beneath them were like little black ants marching in line.

Even high up in the clouds, Trianna could see battle scars and smoke. Mounds of bodies stacked larger than the thimbles-sized tents seemed to stretch toward them. Eventually, tired of his lack of response, she fell silent.

"You feel like I've taken your Du Vrangr Gata?" Theodore looked at her and waited for her to respond. Trianna could only bring herself to nod.

When Theodore pulled her from her tent and asked her if she wanted to fly, this wasn't what she had in mind. She felt naked as he watched her interrogated her. His eyes were cold and unemotive.

"You can have it. I never asked for it anyway." Theodore said, grunting as he stood. He drew a knife black as midnight, the blade's edge hidden behind its biting black. Trianna looked at it with shock.

Theodore walked over to the edge of the Flying carpet, holding his hand out and muttering foreign words before slicing the blade across his palm. It barely touched his skin as it made a clean cut. There was a busy humming before a glowing drop of blood fell. Trianna watched it on its way to the ground.

"This was why I brought you out here." Theodore sheathed his dagger, and Trianna felt the world suddenly breathe again. The color became more vibrant, and the night sky was suddenly dark blue instead of black. Theodore's orange eyes seemed to twinkle as they looked at her.

"I know you love magic, so as an apology, I thought I would show you the Varden's new source of metal," Theodore said in a tone Trianna could only identify as humor.

"Metal?" Trianna couldn't help herself. She had to know. Theodore nodded.

"A modified version of my Shrike charm. It grows metal when given blood. It would be a waste if all these dead soldiers were left to rot, don't you think."

"Nasuada said she wanted to burn them."

"I convinced her otherwise."

Trianna could only snort at his arrogance. She was about to ask how long it would take for the magic to take effect when she saw little glimmers of silver soak up moonlight.

Fractile branches erupted from the ground, and the large mound of bodies became their targets. Portions of silver branches moved as if alive, dragging bodies while others grew and spread out like typical deciduous tree branches with one significant difference: the ends of silver tree branches were long, sharp, and pointed.

From where Trianna sat, she could see their piles become visibly smaller as a forest of trees sprouted. The burning plains were changing, and a forest began to form.

She could see they were being pulled underground.

At first, Trianna worried the trees would spread among the Varden's tents as well, but instead, the trees only loosely encircled them, looming over tents at their outskirts. Trianna could see the guards running panicked below.

Trianna looked at Theodore. He was watching her.

"How does it work?"

Theodore smiled before explaining, "A bit of magic, a lot of dead bodies and ground soaked in blood. I'm sure you have heard of ritual magic. I used one just now. It's quite similar to how one might summon or manipulate spirits. You don't use your magic for that, do you."

Trianna shook her head.

"Ritual magic is complex and difficult to define, but it, in essence, deals with concepts. The shrike trees tap into one such concept. They seek to impale and grow. It sates an often-forgotten hunger humanity feels for blood and violence. It is a powerful concept that is not easily broken or warped. It was difficult for me to curb its hunger. I'm sure you noticed how the Varden was unaffected by shrike trees. Through the introduction of a secondary concept of loyalty, Shrike trees won't simply slaughter indiscriminately. It is quite complex to temper such magic, but rituals, when fully understood, can have predictable effects."

Rituals? Trianna had never known that they had such power. A forest of silver stretched the breadth of the plains, a testament to how many had died.

Looking down, Trianna could see why Theodore had brought her up so high. From above, the entire picture was clear. Moonlight streamed through the metal reflective tree branches, bouncing between reflective trees, dancing through their limbs and sharp spike branches. The trees shivered in the wind, their sound carrying to her as the metallic branches swayed and creaked with a metallic chime that continued to vibrate out. It was beautiful; the forest was singing, and Trianna felt it made a song just for her.

"Do you like it?" Theodore said as he sat beside her. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

A feeling of quiet acceptance took hold, smothering her anger. She had known that what Theodore knew, what he was, was beyond them. She was still completely aware he was human, but that only made him more terrifying and attractive to her.

How could she be the one to hold him back when she had seen what he could accomplish? What he meant for the Varden. Such magic under one person's control. Theodore had brought her here to show off. To show her how petty she was being. Trianna felt almost irritated at how well it worked.

Silence stretched for several breaths.

"Du Vrangr Gata is yours." Trianna felt her reluctance resurface but pushed it down, keeping it from her face. Trianna had never felt more vulnerable than she did now. A week ago, she would have killed for power. She still would.

"Good"

"I am yours." Trianna burned at the admission. She hadn't known Theodore long, but she was obsessed. Every second thought she had came back to him. She felt a possessiveness rising within her when she thought of him.

"I know."

The arrogant bastard's words stung Trianna. It pushed her to overcome her reluctance to voice something dangerous.

"You are mine." Trianna's ears burned as Theodore's amber eyes met hers. His expression softened.

"For now," Theodore said, his voice oddly firm as if stating a fact rather than an opinion. Trianna felt a defiant part of her wanting to say always, but she pushed it away. 'For now' was good enough for now.

Trianna could tell the words had some meaning she didn't understand. She couldn't care as he whispered soft and sweet nothings into her ear. The wizard could be caring when he wanted to be. It made her feel safe with this man who had come to mean so much to her in such a short time. Time passed quickly, and for a while, neither spoke, but Trianna could feel Theodore's restless impatience.

"The woman that attacked you was powerful. Did you know Frida?" Theodore asked as his hand gently rubbed her shoulder. Trianna cringed, wondering why the wizard had to bring that up now of all times.

"She is still alive, you know?" Theodore said casually as if he were talking about the weather.

Trianna felt her excellent mood evaporate as she glared at the wizard. Theodore suddenly became almost comically sheepish.

"What? She was too useful to kill." Theodore's light tone should have sickened Trianna at his lack of care, but somehow, it gave her the urge to smile. She fought harder than she would have liked to admit to suppress it; it wouldn't do to let him think he had won. She managed to pull off a scowl instead.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I just thought my chief lieutenant of Du Vrangr Gata should know who works under them."

Trianna didn't know what to say. A small part of her was touched that Theodore didn't hide this from her, but a more significant amount wanted to scream at him for allowing someone who almost killed her to live.

"Don't worry. Many oaths bind your assassin. She is a tool for me now. I wouldn't want a repeat of what she did before. You're too precious for that."

Trianna sighed but held her tongue.

"Eragon has left with his cousin to retrieve his cousin's betrothed. I will leave tomorrow with the dwarves. I should give you something in case the worst comes to pass."

Theodore took out a ruby necklace, and Trianna allowed him to clasp it around her neck.

"All you have to do is say my name and that necklace will Porkey you somewhere safe," Theodore said while pointing at the ruby set in her necklace.

"What shall I do while you are away." Trianna looked at Theodore and noticed how distant he had become. The man seemed to be thinking of the future.

"You and Du Vrangr Gata still have much growing to do as magicians. Tell them to learn diligently with the books I have given them. In my tent, I have set aside several enchanted blood-metal knives. They are in a black oak box on my desk. Give them out as you see fit."

"What do they do?" Trianna asked, not bothering to question what blood metal was. She had a good guess as she looked below.

"They should help you cast magic easier," Theodore said in the same casual tone he had used when mentioning Frida.

"Figures." Trianna reached a hand toward Theodore's face, directing it toward hers, and kissed him. She felt a warm tingle as he reciprocated and became utterly absorbed as the kiss deepened.

—-

Theodore had made a breakthrough in his understanding of this world's magic. He managed a kind of limited use of the ancient language.

It had already been a week since Theodore had pulled the truth from Kerr. He found out about the Prophesied note that Galbatorix received not a fortnight before he arrived in this world. He still wasn't sure how much he believed that drivel.

Prophsized anything always had to be taken with a grain of salt. To allow fate to take hold of your strings and treat you like a puppet was a way to lost identities and ruined lives. It was also dangerous for those around you. It also made for unpredictable opponents.

Theodore felt the wind lick his face as he drove his broom higher. Frost was held at bay with wisps of warming magic as He finally came to the top of the Beor Mountains.

Their frost cover peaks that loomed over him before held a beautiful canvas. Theodore felt he could almost make out the burning plains from where he stood.

Pulling a mirror, the result of his breakthrough of understanding, from a moleskin pouch and pushing magic in it, he called Orik's name. In seconds, the dwarf's face took over the mirror's reflective surface.

It had taken some time and a lot of trial and error, but the mirror was an offshoot of this world's scrying, using this world's ancient language as he would runes.

Blood metal was engraved in the form of letters into the wood on either side of the mirror. The mirror itself was fitted into a frame of wood and duplicated. Theodore held one, and Orik kept the other, allowing them to talk.

"I've arrived."

"Okay, Theodore, could you let the guards know that Orik, son of Hrogarth, will arrive soon. We wouldn't want to startle them."

The wizard nodded, stashing the mirror away, satisfied his little invention worked as intended.

Looking down using a super sensory charm, he could see the dwarves' gate entrance. It was massive and ornate, contrasting sharply with the dwarves that guarded it, who wore dull armor and were comparatively tiny.

Flying headlong through the air, Theodore landed a little ways from the front door before dismounting. The Guards sniffled but didn't take note of him even as he was right in front of them, showing a startling lack of awareness.

Theodore was almost concerned by their lack of caution. It made him wonder if it was a feature of this reality that watchmen were terrible at their jobs. The wizard shook his head but supposed it was par for the course.

Who would these guards ever really have to fight off? An intruder not only would have to make a daring trek up the Beor Mountain but also make it past dozens of dwarven patrols.

"I have come to deliver a message." The two dwarves jumped before turning and pointed their spears at him. Theodore waited patiently for them to gather themselves.

They grumbled something to each other in their dwarven tongue. The taller one with a longer beard likely admonished the other for not seeing him. The taller dwarf seemed somewhat of a bully, his harsh voice scathing even for Theodore, who couldn't understand them. The smaller, younger dwarf seemed to shrug off the abuse as if used to it.

"What is your message human." The Taller dwarf asked, his dark brown eyes marked with suspicion. The tall dwarf was well-muscled but not tall by human standards. Theodore towered over the dwarf but was attempting to intimidate the wizard now. His motions were sharp and hostile.

Theodore had difficulty reading dwarven facial features, but with a small peek into the dwarf's mind, he discovered he was a part of Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. The wizard couldn't help but let out a small sigh.

He was almost the exact person he hadn't wanted to encounter on his visit. His name is Gram, son of Vermund Grimstborith of clan Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin.

His entire clan was supposedly Orik's largest detractors. Orik was quite persistent about Theodore limiting contact with them because of their volatile nature. The dwarf was actually quite worried Theodore might accidentally kill one of them, creating a political shitstorm. The wizard could help but agree as anger wafted off the man, projecting from his mind without effort.

Theodore tasted blood and saw globs of dark red, the color of dried blood, that clung to Gram without motion. Gram had magic; it was untrained and unused, but his connection to it was there.

"It isn't for you, Dwarf. It is for Gannel, son of Orm Bloodaxe and clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan ears alone." The use of Gannel's full title seemed to have bought Theodore some credibility as the two dwarfs, without any further questions, lifted their spears and let Theodore inside the gate before the short dwarf ran off to inform someone of his arrival.

Theodore noticed Gram 'subtly' watching him as they waited. The dwarf's unblinking gray eye unsettled the wizard. He was glad when the short dwarf returned as that let Gram turn his attention to the short dwarf instead.

Theodore didn't have to wait long before a well-built dwarf with the shoulder and chest of a warrior and hooded black eyes stood before him. Gannel wore priestly robes and was completely stoic and monotone as he led him to a private side room to speak.

Theodore was offered a drink, a feast, and a plush chair to sit in. With a muttered spell to check for poison, of which he found none, the wizard dug in, not paying the elderly dwarf's questioning stare much mind.

The food was delicious, and the mead was more decadent than the wizard had ever tried among the Varden. It was so good the wizard imbibed a decent amount more than what was considered prudent. The wizard could feel a tired laziness set in as his hunger was sated.

"Why have you come Thunderer?" Theodore looked down at himself, wondering if he, at some point, had become Thor.

The wizard knew people called him by that name, but how had Gannel known? It didn't take him long to remember his orange eyes. His self-inflicted curse of looking too interesting.

"Orik wanted me to contact you to prepare a ritual of arrival for him." Theodore took out the Seal of clan Dûrgrimst Ingeitum and handed it to the dwarven priest.

"Grimstborith Dûrgrimst Ingeitum realizes what this would mean," Gannel said idly, staring at the Oriks seal. Theodore observed the dwarf reaction with interest. He looked shocked. Orik had told Theodore that it had been many centuries since a ritual of arrival had been performed.

"What do you get out of this Grand magus?" Asked Gannel; his voice held a tremor as he spoke his title as if it was sacred.

"I help a friend succeed in one small thing. I am a kind man, after all. Let it not be said the Thuderer would not help his friends." The wizard let out a winning grin as the Gannel grunted gruffly.

The wizard wasn't sure the dwarf had bought it, and Theodore found he didn't mind much if he didn't under the soft buzz of alcohol. Gannel was a cynic. Theodore knew this despite not having peaked into the dwarf's mind.

The dwarf seemed reluctant, almost as if he didn't want to accept, before finally, Theodore saw Gannel set his jaw.

"It is his right. When should I expect him?"

"Now." Disapparating buzzed was seldom a good idea, but Theodore was too experienced to make simple mistakes.

Gannel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Theodore disappeared and reappeared with a disoriented Orik.

"I wish you would have warned me, Theodore. I feel like I was struck by Guntera's hammer straight through a hole in his anvil. Why would anyone invent such a thing."

Orik looked like he wanted to say more but quieted himself when he realized he was in Gannel's presence and decided to tug on his beard instead.

"So it is true. I did not believe the tales I had heard, but it must be true. You wield Magics Deep, Thunderer?" Gannel smiled briefly, and the wizard saw hope ignite in his eyes. It was a look Theodore was familiar with now. It was one his men gave him when they saw him in action. It was one Arya gave him after the battle of the burning plains.

"Yes." What other response could he have given him? After Eragon had coined the phrase, everyone used it in Du Vrangr Gata, and eventually, everyone knew his magic was different and more potent than ordinary magic.

"The world truly works in mysterious ways." Gannel's smile became wide and genuine, "I suppose Orik is the one you have chosen to be king."

"Yes," Theodore said, and Orik shuffled uncomfortably but said nothing.

Theodore couldn't help but feel that was an odd way to put it. Orik wasn't becoming his king, and he had no control over the final decision.

Gannel's smiling seemed out of character for him and unsettled Theodore enough to sober him. The wizard could see that despite his age, the dwarf had no laugh lines.

Gannel was just the support Orik needed, but personally, the wizard wasn't sure it was the help he wanted.

Everything about Gannel was odd, from his sedated cadence to his sudden shifts in mood, but his Dwarven friend had already explained to him the political power Gannel wielded. His help would be invaluable in getting the most desired outcome.

"You're not a man of many words, Thunderer, but you have made your point."

Theodore felt confused but, with an application occulumency, kept his face placid and unreadable.

Gannel began to size him up like a prize horse. He took in everything about him, making The Wizard feel slightly subconscious and very irritated. Theodore uncoiled his magic slightly, allowing Edges to glance at Gannel to let him taste his medicine.

What he found was interesting, to say the least. The dwarf carried almost a dozen enchanted items on him: a ceremonial dagger that wreaked of blood magic and a pendant that held dragon blood preserved in some stasis charm.

The dwarf likely felt his magic bearing down on him but, in an act of incredible fortitude, didn't react. This dwarf had steel-like control over his body, which made Theodore wonder if he had something like Occlumency to rely on as well.

The Dwarf met his orange eyes, "Very well, you have my support. The arrival ceremony will be ready in four hours."

Theodore watched Gannel hurriedly leave for preparations before turning to Orik with a knowing smirk.

"Well, I think that went well."

"Just well? Theodore, that went fantastic. I have never seen Gannel smile."

"Really?" Theodore looked at the dwarf, suddenly wholly sober. Orik was quite fond of exaggeration and loved telling tall tales. Theodore didn't blame the dwarf. His stories were entertaining and a norm in his society, but the wizard knew something was off about the dwarf. Perhaps Orik knew more than he let on.

"Yes, actually. I didn't know if Gannel could. Some dwarves never develop those muscles." Orik chuckled, "You have never heard of Dervain the unsmiling."

"I'm not a dwarf, Orik. Why would I know anything about this Dervain?" Theodore sighed before asking if Orik was serious about Gannel, never smiling.

"Why do you ask? You seem quite invested in Gannel's smile. Could it be love, Theodore?"

Theodore chuckled. He and the soon-to-be king had grown closer throughout the trek back to the Beor mountains. It turned out crass Dwarven humor held an appeal for Theodore. It was a carefree offense, a rare commodity in the Dominion.

In the Wizard's Dominion, you were either polite or powerful. Humor didn't have much place in court.

One could barely think of the scandal caused by a noble speaking informally to someone below their station. It was worse on Earth, or the Prime Merlinean plane as it was later called, than on other planets in the Dominion. Sadly, this was a large part of why Theodore liked to travel.

His family was the worst of them. His father had lost his humor somewhere around the second century.

"I saw how you tugged your beard when you saw him. Were you grooming yourself or trying to be the groom? I understand that Gannel has a certain appeal. Muscles and height are what dwarves look for in women, isn't it, Orik."

The Dwarf gave a strangled chuckle at his awful jab before remembering to be offended.

"Hey, I will have you know Hvedra is beautiful even by human standards."

"Whatever you say, buddy."

A companionable silence passed between them as Orik dug into Theodore's leftover. Dwarven hunger was no joke as Orik managed to put away almost as much as Theodore.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." Orik's voice was tense, filled with a previously unknown and unyielding determination despite his mouth being full of food.

Theodore could guess what changed. Gannels support likely held more sway than Orik had even bothered to mention.

The man was a leader of all dwarven rituals, and he held magic. Together, they made him beyond reproach from his peers. He could have been another likely king candidate, and now he stood with them.

Orik had initially wanted to call an ordinary clan meeting. Still, with a captured rider and a need for an expedient trial and a return to war, they had opted for direct confrontation instead.

Theodore was told that if Orik wasn't king by the time the army arrived with Murtagh in hand. The Rider's trial would become a state affair, unable to be interfered with even by the next dwarven monarch—something Theodore couldn't allow.

What they were trying now was much more risky. The ritual of arrival was used to crown an undisputed king after the death of the previous one. It was a ritual that could only be evoked by the family of a king in times of war.

The vote involved would be much more strenuous than a simple majority vote.

If he failed, his chances of becoming king would be slim even after a clansmeet was called. Dwarves hated idle boasters.

The only advantage was a streamlined voting process with no debate or campaigning. Sadly, this also meant Orik would have little to no time to make the necessary promises to change Grimstboriths' minds about him.

"I hope you're right, Orik."

The dwarf grunted, but neither of them spoke about it further.

Hours passed quickly as Orik got one of the maids to bring him the smallest of bones from an Urzhad's paw and taught Theodore the ancient dwarven game of knuckles.

The dwarf was exceptionally nimble, tossing bones through the air like a practiced performer trying to land them in the correct position to win the game. Theodore gave it an attempt, failing miserably before they began to compete. Theodore noticed Orik seemed much more relaxed than he had ever seen him on the way back to Tronjheim, even chuckling as he got his first loss.

The two had begun the second toss when Gannel burst through the doors. He had changed clothes and now wore a white, fine-threaded ceremonial robe with a plush, frizzled hood of the same color.

"It's time. Orik, know what you do is brave. A ceremony of arrival has not been performed in centuries, and for good reason. I prepared a little something for you. Be grateful I have allowed it to fall into your hands." With those pompous words, Gannel left, leaving a dozen handmaidens to dress Orik Centuries old ceremonial armor.

Theodore could feel the heavy fold of history impress its shape on Orik as the maids worked it on him piece by piece.

The armor, despite its age, was immaculate without a speck of rust and almost perfectly reflective. The heavy, intricate overlapping plates fit like puzzle pieces and were even adjustable to Dwarfs size, overlapping in sharp, jagged angles that would cut enemies like knives.

Theodore, as a blacksmith himself, could help but admire such beautiful mundane armor. Every curve and edge was made with a decade of care to look dangerous and powerful, even if it would be highly unpractical armor to wear into battle.

The wizard wasn't sure if he could have made such armor without magic, but Theodore was almost sure the original crafter had used magic during its creation.

Theodore looked beyond its physical appearance but couldn't sense any lingering taste in the armor, but after idly searching for it, he could feel the strings of fate on it just like he did on his amber blades—fated armor. Theodore couldn't tell its purpose.

After they finished dressing Orik, the maids gave him a silver winged helmet that, when worn, made Orik appear as if he had become a different person. The wizard couldn't help but admire the charisma that came with well-worn armor. Orik was like an ancient Dwarven warrior ready to slaughter dozens in battle easily.

"So, how heavy is it."

"I feel like I'm suffocating under its weight." Orik's image of a Heroic warrior collapsed, and he became familiar again.

"Wait until you wear a crown. Your head will never quite sit the same again."

Orik turned to Theodore, "You speak as if you have experience."

The wizard fell silent, and the dwarf, taking the hint, didn't ask further questions.

"Are you ready?" Gannel came in once again. Orik and Theodore nodded, "Good, quite the crowd has formed."

The two were led out to a square that bridged the entrance to Tronjheim. They found thousands of dwarves watching them as they made their way to the Gate of Dorabelium, the gate of kings. Orik had told him it was made by grey folk when they still roamed Alagaësia. It was made explicitly for this ceremony, crafted large and ornate to greet a new monarch. It held a natural aesthetic that seemed out of place for the artificial city of twilight.

It seemed every dwarf in Tronjheim had come to see their potential king. Dwarven children were pulled back by their mothers to make a path for them. Warriors, smiths, and priests eyed them with expectation as the crowd around them clamored with indescribable excitement.

Orik, for his part, took long, measured strides unbothered by the crowd, with Theodore following him from behind. It didn't take them long to make their way through the crowd, and Orik, with some struggle, managed to walk up almost a hundred steps to stand beside the gate. Soon, the reason behind the reflective armor made itself known.

Under Artifical light projected from five gleaming diamonds embedded in the king's gate, the armor gleamed blinding white. Theodore could see the lines of magic Ganell fed into the diamonds as Orik became like a star that had taken human form.

The spectacle silenced the surrounding crowd, and Gannel came down the steps leading to the gate. A ritual of arrival had been completed, presenting Orik with a princely crow that fit his winged mirror helm shadowed black by the contrast.

With the ritual over, the crowd dispersed, each making a half bow toward the gate where Orik stood. Even children were taught by their mothers to do the same. Orik remained motionless, humbly accepting their acknowledgments. Not that the dwarf wanted to move much anyway, as armor that heavy acted like an anchor, keeping him well-grounded.

—-

"That was quite dramatic, don't you think Orik. If I knew the ritual of arrival would have been so blinding, I would have worn my shades." Theodore, even hours after, felt his eyes throb. The image of binding white armor was seared into his retinas.

The dwarf had the nerve to laugh at that.

"How was I supposed to know Theodore? I have never witnessed the ritual of arrival myself. From what I heard, the use of mirror armor is a rarity. It seems Ganel truly supports us for granting me use of it."

After the ritual's arrival, Orik took Theodore back to his mansion in the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum clan section of the city. It turned out the clan took up a sizable chunk of Tronjheim, and Orik, being the son of the king, was gifted with a somewhat lavish mansion.

It was a tall building that loomed over the rest of the district, having seven levels, each expansive enough to host a small personal army. Orik and Theodore now had the mansion entirely to themselves, as the army was still a few weeks behind them.

"What so special about the armor?"

"It was said to be worn by Knut, the first king of Tronjheim that founded the city and united the dwarves under one faith." Orik shook his head in admiration, "It is said it was gifted to him by the god of the dwarves himself, Helzvog."

"Would you mind if I test it, Orik?"

The dwarf didn't pause before he shook his head, not paying Theodore's soured look any mind.

"We have to plan for tomorrow."

The wizard sighed knowingly.

"What is there to plan? We have no time for politicking tomorrow; you will be elected king, or I will have to interfere. I guess there is one thing still for you to decide. Do you like total monarchies, or should we play pretend?" Theodore said ominously.

Orik smiled. The prince thought he was joking.

He, in fact, wasn't joking; Theodore had already planned several permanent magical solutions. It wasn't difficult for a wizard to subvert the ordinary. Minds were delicate, and reality to powerful wizards was more a playground than anything else.

Though there was no need to disillusion his friend until such plans became necessary, it would be much easier and politically safer if Orik were legitimately elected.

"It lightens me that you can joke about such things even now. You against all the dwarves. That is something I would love to see. You would surely die but the spectacle alone." Orik let out a hearty laugh as he imagined some gruesome death for him, and Theodore said nothing, offering a cunning smile instead at dwarven arrogance.

Orik finally fell silent and let out a sigh.

"Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, they are who worries me." Orik stroked his beard idly as he puzzled about the problem, "They bear a centuries-old grudge against riders, and now for mine clan because we support Eragon."

"Do you fear assassination?"

Orik gave a dark chuckle, "Who doesn't?"

Theodore looked out at the city of eternal twilight toward where the smell of stagnant dried blood lingered.

"I could take care of them for you."

"Don't," Orik said suddenly very serious.

"I would just talk to them."

The dwarf became hesitant. He looked at Theodore as he tried to judge whether he was lying.

"Very well. Know that there is no protection I can provide you should you decide to use a violent solution."

Theodore smiled, "You obviously don't know me very well, little Orik. I love peaceful resolutions. I promise no killing."

Orik closed his eyes and grunted. Theodore had the distinct impression that the dwarf didn't believe him.

"You will keep your promise, yes?" Theodore asked.

"Yes, when I am king, I will take your opinion into account as the Rider is judged as long as sufficient punishment is meeded. There is no need for concern, wizard."

"Good."

—-

At the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin compound in the city of Tronjheim,

The city of twilight was, by all means, not a dark place despite the lack of sunlight. Lanterns filled the streets with light, allowing an atmosphere of comely happiness to be developed. The many dwarves that made Tronjheim home did not lack beautiful things to look at.

There were, however, corners where darkness cloyed, shadowed places where light wasn't allowed to flourish. Vermund knew his compound was one of them. In a clan of constant mourning, being constantly in the light was painful and embarrassing, so lighting was limited.

The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin manor stood alone in shadow, having only functional lighting. Enough to move from room to room without stubbing one's toes.

When Vermund was younger, he was annoyed about it. At that time, he had even asked his father why he couldn't have a home soaked in light like every other dwarf. His father answered because they weren't like every other dwarf.

He then went on to tell him the lack of light served a critical purpose, a reminder that their clan was in eternal mourning and who had caused it. It had taken years for Vermund to understand what he meant.

Somethings weren't meant to be done in the light, Vermund grunted as he sat in his clan's throne room with one of his phantoms in front of him.

"Have all the Grimstboriths arrived?" Vermund asked.

"Yes, Clan Leader." the shadowy figure spoke.

He was a man wearing a veil that covered his face completely. His voice but a whisper carried clearly to Vermund's ear.

"Good Orik was a fool for going through with the ritual of arrival, but I was most surprised that Gannel lent him Knut's armor. Did you find out why?"

"The Grand Magus has arrived."

"So that is why. That greedy old man."

"Sir?"

Vermund truly wished Gannel would just wither and die. The old man's plots always stank of greed but rarely failed. The Grand Magus, did the old man honestly think he had found his next teacher?

The man's appetite was dangerous—Vermund, like every dwarven noble, heard of the Thunderer. A god in human form was among them, and now the foremost dwarven magician was courting him.

Vermund gritted his teeth in frustration.

"What of the rider?"

"He still has yet to arrive."

"Prepare some phantoms. We must rid ourselves of Orik before the Clans meet begins."

"Yes, sir."

"Has there been word from the black king yet?"

"No sir, he has been silent for some time."

Vermund felt hate fill him for Galbatorix and a deep, searing anger at himself for allowing such a situation to develop into reliance. When the black king first came to them. Vermund thought he might find an opportunity to kill him if he followed along, but the king knew things. He knew secrets that would destroy Az Sweldn rak Anhûin if left unchecked.

It was better to be patient, as the tenants of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin's book of killing said those with patience would snap victory from the jaws of death, and the black king would eventually make a fatal mistake. Vermund was sure of it.

The Phantom began to retreat when Vermund noticed the shadows stir. Something was stalking them. The Phantom saw, too, as he ran to Vermund's side. The Grimstborith stood up from his ancestral throne, and it gave a crack as suddenly orange eyes looked out from a shadowed corner.

"So it's too late." A voice spoke, and Vermund could only see bright orange eyes through the cloak of shadows. As he watched, he could see the amber color melt away. A man with red hair and blue eyes steps out into the room's dim lighting.

"That is too bad. I like keeping my promises."