For Alagaesia: 68. The coward’s attack and a kingly gift

The wind whipped his hair and the open lands beyond the elven forest of Du Weldenvarden held signs. The winter was wearing off. Though the land was still covered with snow, the cold air of the winter had long since ceased to blow. The air was still cool, but there was a subtle change in the weather pattern. Having grown up in the northern parts of Alagaesia and having made his livelihood out of farming, Eragon could clearly discern the signs that the land was showing: winter was coming to an end. In a fortnight from now, the first signs of spring would be visible to all. Yet, Eragon felt no pleasure at the sight as he would have felt but four winters ago. He would soon have seen twenty winters – a fully grown up man who could do whatever he wished with his life. These were just passing thoughts – like clouds on a windy day – in his mind though that came and went unbidden when Saphira left the firs of Du Weldenvarden and reached the open grounds. His major focus remained facing off, yet again, with his brother and foe, Murtagh.

For Alagaesia: 67. Hour of need

Standstill was only a word. One half of its meaning could be realised by watching Ellesmera. Time seemed to come to a standstill in the leafy elven city. But how could one realise the other half? How could time be brought to a standstill for real? This was the question eating into Eragon’s peace for the best part of the last month.

‘What use is magic when it can’t fulfil your only wish?’ – Eragon found himself thinking. How good it would be if there was a knob like that on Oromis’s time bauble that could be wound to keep time from advancing?