This update is pretty late because for the last two months, I've been writing my Masters dissertation. I do apologize for the lateness, but this writing is meant to serve as a form of productive relaxation for me. When I was already spending hours writing something and looking at a screen, I could no longer find it relaxing. Now that the submission is done, I can find this relaxing once more.

I hope you enjoy the latest chapter!

"Captain, the beasts say this is where the confrontation happened."

Captain Darius, part of King Galbatorix's elite army, suppressed the weary sigh that came to his lips and looked at the soldier, wondering why all of his men were incapable of exercising the ability to think. The derogatory reference to the Urgals, who were pacing the edge of the trail nervously, was perhaps the biggest use of his mind in recent days.

"The bones and scorch marks make that abundantly clear, whoreson. What are you still waiting around for? Get the trackers and magician to work!"

The Corporal's face reddened slightly, and he looked to the ground guiltily before blundering off in a hurry. Darius sighed again. He missed his former second in command. Oh, that man had been an idiot at the start too. But he had taken the time to teach the man. To groom him. And then he had been promoted, leaving Darius once again amongst a herd of donkeys.

"Captain," a smooth voice prompted him to look to the other side, only to see the magician Galbatorix had sent with his soldiers to survey the area where the feared Shade had been taken out of commission.. All he knew was that the magician, while perhaps the one intelligent person in the vicinity apart from him, was also one of the most repellant individuals he had come across. Ungar was the name he had given, though even that was a matter of trust. Magicians serving the king were given great liberty in the military structure, when compared to normal humans at least.

"It would be conducive to my work if you prevented your inept men from trampling over the area," Ungar said, his voice practically dripping grease. Darius grimaced, looking at his men, half of whom were already discussing the rations for the evening meal in low tones. He drew faith in the fact that the trackers, at least, seemed to be making progress with their work.

"You lot! Stop standing about and find a place to set up camp! I want everything ready by sunset," he shouted at his men, and they jumped with fright before hurrying to do as he said.

"If your voice is enough to frighten them so, I wonder how they are meant to chivalrously defend our fine empire," the magician commented snidely. Darius wished he could refute the accusation, but in point of fact, he could not help but agree. As the fight against the Varden continued to drag on, he was simply used instead of a military trainer to whip the soldiers into reasonable shape before they would be called away to bolster the fighting force. In other words, he was condemned to working with men who looked and acted as if they had just left their mother's teats.

"Work, magician," he growled in lieu of a better response, "We are ill suited to staying here for long. Do what you must, and let us report to Lord Tábor with haste."

With a final sneer, the magician walked towards the center of the clearing, standing between two scorch marks that were clearly the result of fire spells. While one of the areas of impact were small, the other had utterly scorched the earth. It was wrong, seeing the ground so utterly lifeless. The magician stood near the center of the clearing and closed his eyes, muttering steadily as he did so.

A trickle of cold went down his spine. While the magician had yet to speak, the outcome of the battle - with Lord Durza incapacitated - suggested that whoever attacked him was responsible for the second scorch mark.

Such a powerful individual would be a prime threat to the peace that the Empire had been building. Even more so if this individual belonged to the Varden. If anything, he knew that they would do their best to recruit the attacker.

They would win in the end, of course. No one could stand against the might of The Black King for long. The Varden were suffered as a nuisance, and for that he was grateful. If they became enough of an annoyance to be taken seriously, then even more farmers would be ripped from their livelihood. Sons would be torn away from their mothers, and many homes would be shattered, perhaps forever.

His fist clenched, even as burning anger filled him for what the Varden was doing. They were the reason there was so much misery in Alagaesia. They deserved to burn.

"I believe I have what is required," Ungar spoke up, distracting him from his thoughts. Curiosity overwhelmed his dislike for the magician.

"So quickly? It looked merely as if you were looking to a deity for supplication. Is that perhaps what you were sent here for? To pray for our success?" he asked, his face the very picture of sincere interest.

"Magic leaves traces in its vicinity. Just as your barely competent trackers blunder around in their attempts to decipher the physical signs of battle, I can use the traces of magic to gain more information that may be of use to the king," Ungar responded, not even acknowledging what Darius had said.

"And what have you learned?"

"I have been instructed to inform only Lord Tábor and the King himself. It would seem, Captain, that you were not seen to be trustworthy enough," the magician responded, the glee of revenge ever-so-subtly present in his voice.

Darius merely grunted, before turning to assess the progress his trackers were making. The battle had left many tracks to decipher, and dusk was fast approaching. They would need to make camp and resume their work the following day.

"Dilcos!" he called out, and a middle-aged man ran over to him. While Dilcos was only recently conscripted into the army, and thus was considered green around the gills, he had been a hunter before that, which made him the most qualified out of the trackers at his disposal.

"Captain?" the man asked deferentially, continuing to exhibit his talent for speaking no more than absolutely necessary. Darius felt a wave of affection rush through him for the silent tracker.

"Dusk is almost upon us. Can you continue your work tomorrow?"

"Yes, Captain. Any perishable evidence has long since disappeared. What remains now will remain for awhile yet."

"Then take the other trackers and see if you can find a nearby farm. Here," Darius threw a coin purse at the man, "Get us enough supplies, and make arrangements with them in case we need more."

His eyes hardened as he watched Dilcos walk away. He would find any evidence about Durza's attacker, with or without the magician's help. And when he did, he would exact justice upon the culprit, and Alagaesia would become a far more peaceful place. With the death of the Varden, which was fast approaching, absolute peace would reign.

He would not have to see his men die anymore.

"Do you speak the truth?" Islanzadí asked him, her power flaring wildly to his senses, even as she radiated agitation, distrust and hope. He had never seen the queen look so authoritative. He now understood, why even the more ambitious elven lords followed her as their ruler. She had the bearing and charisma of a leader, as well as the strength of one.

He simply nodded calmly, knowing what he said might be difficult for anyone in Alagaesia to believe. His reputation as a healer had seen people travelling to Konoha from all over the Elemental Nations. Those that hadn't been told stories of how he was a ruthless monster, of course, or were simply too desperate to care.

"The most skilled of elven healers have been unable to cure what ails me," Oromis spoke quietly, but the elf practically radiated sadness. Sadness not only for his plight, but for what his dragon had suffered. But he had come to terms with it, for there was also acceptance. Now he sensed disbelief and a deep pain.

I will heal them. If nothing else, they are respected and admired by almost every elf I have come across he resolved silently. What he did not add was that they had made a good impression on him as well. For all the complaints his brother and friends had about his nature to trust almost everyone, the truth was that his judgment of people often proved to be true. He knew that there was a larger struggle afoot, Arya and Siegfried had let enough slip that he had a rough idea of the tension that encompassed the land.

He could not bring himself to care. He had fought his battles. The people of this land could fight theirs.

"I mean no disrespect to your healers, but I will say that I possess an entirely different set of capabilities," he answered, "As I demonstrated to your guardian before I was allowed to enter Ellesmera."

"How may we be certain that you do not wish to harm them in the guise of helping them? You have made it very clear that you will not pledge anything in the Ancient tongue until you have learned it yourself," asked Islanzadí.

Because I certainly would not have needed an excuse if I wanted to assassinate the old geezer he thought, but bit his lip to prevent himself from saying it out loud. It was rather amusing in a way. Ninja were always perceived with suspicion, underhanded tactics expected of them. But never from him personally. In his later years, he had battled as a powerhouse, drawing the enemy to him like flies while his own shinobi used the distraction to their advantage.

"If I wanted to harm your nation or your cause, why would I have stopped the assault on your daughter?" he asked, "I do not know what it is that she was ferrying, but I do know that it was important enough for a powerful adversary to be sent after it. I have had many chances to harm her, and yet I did not. Besides, Oromis-elda told me that his existence is a closely guarded secret. Does the enemy even know that he is alive?"

"He makes a compelling case," Oromis admitted, the wry expression on his face indicating that he had caught the use of the honorific as a subtle form of flattery.

"Perhaps for his lack of malignant intentions. That still leaves the question of competency, however," Islanzadí refuted firmly.

"Perhaps a test is will convince you," Hashirama offered, facing Oromis directly, "Glaedr's injury, while it appears to be far more severe, is the more simple one to heal. You may call your healers and anyone else you wish to be present and observe the process. As it is the less dangerous one, you may also be certain of staunching and reversing any damage, though I highly doubt that will be required."

The silence that followed was tense, at least for the two elves gathered in the alcove with him. Oromis once again had a slightly distant look on his face, no doubt speaking with Glaedr, who had been forced to wait outside. The dragon's gargantuan size had been highlighted by the slender constructions that dotted Ellesmera.

"What say you, Islanzadí-Dröttning?" Oromis asked finally.

"It is more than we had ever hoped for, to see you free of what ails you," Islanzadí whispered, "And yet, what if it fails? We cannot lose your guidance yet, Oromis-elda, Glaedr-elda."

"We made peace with our lot, because our healers could not succeed. We resigned ourselves to training the rider of the blue egg. But now, we have a chance to do more. To atone for our mistakes. It was our hubris, after all, that allowed a madman to go unchecked for so long."

"You have always been too quick to take blame for this, masters," Islanzadí protested, as if revisiting a frequent topic of contention, "The Riders allowed all of Alagaesia to grow and prosper. You could not have predicted what one apprentice would have become. Nor were you his teacher, and thus responsible for his actions."

Oromis shook his head, smiling sadly, "My comrades are dead. Their sins are mine to bear and atone for. I sat on the Council when Galbatorix was denied another egg. I did not recognize the madness in his eyes. I wish to set things right."

"Then you wish to attempt this?" Islanzadí asked quietly.

"Yes," Oromis inclined his head, "With your permission, Glaedr is willing to gamble on Hashirama's skills. He has already proved to have some unorthodox abilities. Perhaps he just might succeed, and we will have our second chance."

Hashirama could feel an animalistic resolve even where he stood. Glaedr truly was ready. Oromis' eyes burned with a similar fire, though his voice had remained serene till the very end. Their resolve was frighteningly strong. He smiled wistfully. Once, he too had been capable of such resolve. If he had not chosen to give up, could he have stayed strong for decades, as these two had?

No. That time is over. My resolve was foolish he dismissed, returning to the task at hand.

"I will not stop you, master," Islanzadí finally spoke, her head bowed slightly, "You have sacrificed everything for the nation. If you wish to do this, every single elf will support you. I say this with certainty."

"I believe you exaggerate, but it is a heartening thought all the same," Oromis replied, smiling slightly.

"I will assemble the healers by sunbreak," Islanzadí continued, glancing at him. He merely nodded. Sleep was hardly a pressing factor, he would be ready whenever needed. A loud growl signified that Glaedr too was amenable, perhaps even eagerly so.

"What will you do until then, Hashirama-finiarel?" Oromis asked curiously. Hashirama shrugged, there was only one other thing he particularly wanted to explore in the city.

"I thought I would investigate the other signature that caught my attention. The enormous tree I caught sight of while Glaedr flew us both here," he said.

"The Menoa Tree," Islanzadí responded, studying him with a glint of curiousity, "Your sensory ability is intriguing, all the more so given your inability to wield your mind the way we do."

"If everyone had the same set of abilities, the world would be a very boring place," he responded truthfully, smiling openly now.

"Perhaps. I will have my daughter escort you. You understand why it is necessary," she stated.

He simply nodded. It did not make much of a difference to him, and certainly saved him the trouble of trying to communicate with an elf who did not speak his language.

"Then I shall see you at dawnbreak," she decided, the dismissal clear in her voice as she turned to face Oromis, no doubt intending to refine their plan. He merely stood there for a few seconds, fighting the urge to pout while waiting for an elven attendant to show him out.

He couldn't remember a time when he had been dismissed so casually, dammit!

"A most intriguing man," Oromis said as the he watched Hashirama leave the room. Glaedr was equally confused, not knowing what to make of the man who defied centuries of knowledge they had acquired.

Islanzadí's lips thinned slightly, heightening the severe look on her face.

"If there is one thing the Elven court does not require in further measure it is intrigue, Oromis-elda," she replied carefully.

Oromis laughed slightly, walking to the nearby table and pouring faelnirv into two goblets. He handed one to the queen and raised the other close to his face, savoring the delicate spices that wafted from the concoction.

"Those who intrigue from the shadows are a different breed of people. I speak of someone who is intriguing in himself. He was able to surprise me and Glaedr. He was able to surprise Gilderien-elda himself. The intrigue that follows him will be a cool breeze in this aged forest."

"Or a violent wind that will uproot many things in its path," Islanzadí countered, "I requested Gilderien-elda to speak further on why he allowed Hashirama-finiarel passage. He was unusually reticent on the matter, however, even he was surprised by the human."

"One thing Riders and Elves often come to admire in humans is the frequent gusts of wind that roar through their civilization. They never stop. They never rest. Their lives are lived in fear that in the blink of an eye, their time will come to an end. Much ugliness festers in their society because of this. But they do not stagnate. It is a marvelous thing, that urgency. We have been stale, Islanzadí. Since the defeat of my dear friend Evander," and here the queen's shoulder tensed at the mention of her former husband, "we have secluded ourselves, and allowed dust to gather over Elven society, have we not?"

Islanzadí heaved a sigh before sipping delicately from her goblet.

"Perhaps, but for now, we have another concern to deal with."

"The egg," Oromis nodded, "The spell was highly unstable, as there was not enough time for adequate preparation. I am certain it must have reached the vicinity of Brom-elda, but beyond that, we cannot determine the fate of the egg for certain."

"This egg is the one hope of the entire land - Our only chance to match the Mad King. We cannot simply hope for the best."

"We only know that Brom planned to travel to the region that the humans call the Spine. He had protected himself against scrying and other forms of magical contact. We have no way of informing him of these recent events," Oromis spoke thoughtfully.

Islanzadí's hands clenched the goblet with enough force to make the wood creak. A hazy nimbus of power began to surround her. Oromis seemingly took no notice of this, and continued to speak.

"Our only course of action is to look into the matter personally. We must send someone to the Spine and search for Brom and the egg. Nothing less will suffice, not when there is so much at stake. Once the egg and Brom are found, they must be protected."

"Gilderien-elda," Islanzadí whispered, the pain clear in her eyes.

"Forgive me. When your daughter chose to accept the yawe and become the ambassador, she became our conduit to the rest of Alagaesia. She knows the roads better than most, and she will be able to sense the egg better than most, having guarded it for so long. It is her duty, and you know she will take it upon herself to do it," Oromis said, laying a hand gently on her forearm.

"My daughter has just returned to me. I- I must make amends for the pain I caused her. The suffering that must have followed in the long years she spent away from her home. Away from me."

A single tear ran down the queen's face, a blemish that thousands would have died to prevent.

Oromis gently took the goblet and placed it aside, faelnirv leaking through the cracks in the goblet, a testament of the powerful emotions within the queen. Compassion and sadness radiated from him as he stood by the table, his shoulders slightly hunched as a testament to the burden he bore; the oath he and Glaedr had taken that fateful day.

"She will forever be of the forest. No matter where her honor and duty may take her, her soul belongs to the leaves and roots of Ellesmera. She can no more cast them aside than her soul. We will persevere, I believe, and no more will our forest be a hiding place, but one of joy and laughter and free comings and goings. Thus it was once, and I truly believe it will be so once more," Oromis said, his voice just a little distant, as if he were describing a waking dream.

"Yes," Islanzadí smiled weakly, but drew herself up to her full stature once more, "We must inform our allies of what has transpired. Their information network will be vital in order to gain information on Brom and help with safe passage through Alagaesia."

"He also asked to teach the new dragon rider at the beginning," Oromis smiled as Islanzadí began to walk towards the nearby mirror, no doubt to communicate with Varden magicians, "I will wait and hope that when my time comes, Glaedr and I will be able to instruct the new rider without our...impediments."

"Are you perhaps tending to the crops with the power of your mind, dear daughter?"

Leola's cheeks blushed crimson with embarrassment at her mother's gentle rebuke, and she immediately began to resume working. Her mother walked back towards the livestock, satisfied that the work would be resumed.

I blame him entirely she huffed as the red in her cheeks refused to fade away. In recent weeks, she had rather alarmingly picked up on her father's habit of staring into space, work forgotten in favor of some distant thoughts. Of course, while she was still quite clueless as to what occupied her father's thoughts, her parents had easily discerned the only thought on her mind.

Hashirama.

Her parents were the only people she interacted with on a regular basis, living as she did in the middle of nowhere. Oh, there would be farmhands looking for temporary work, an occasional merchant, an occasional neighbor seeking to borrow something - but they were not significant interactions by any means. Hashirama, on the other hand, had been a matter of curiosity at the beginning. The sheer exoticism surrounding him had made him by far the most interesting person she had encountered.

That was only the beginning, however. It quickly became apparent to her that he was similar to her father in many ways. Both carried themselves with a certain dignity, and also held a deep sadness within them. After his revelations about his past life, he had once confided in her that she reminded him greatly of his granddaughter.

A grandfather.

She had liked that idea very much indeed. Her parents rarely mentioned her grandparents, save to tell her that they had passed away. A frown of discontentment marred her face for a second, before she willed it away. The reticence of her parents on certain issues was something she had made peace with.

I must remember to tend to Millie she reminded herself, and yet again she remembered how Hashirama had taught her to make the best use of the herbs. Was that not what a grandfather would have done?

When he visited again - and he had promised her that he would - she would call him 'grandfather' once, simply to see how it felt. Then she would kick him in the leg for taking so long.

Satisfied with her plan of action, Leola was about to return to the field when she heard it - A steady drum roll of sound that seemed to grow by the second, turning into a thunderous clap of what she recognized as hoofs striking the hard earth. She stood now, wary of who it could be. One heard tales of bandits prowling the traveller routes, but they tended not to bother the farms, as that was where they got their supplies. City traders did not exactly make a point of selling to the people who often robbed their supply lines. She unearthed the small knife that she always kept around her waist, tied in a pouch. The knife was a slender thing, more useful for cutting away the herbs she needed than for any form of violence.

Three men were now visible on the trail, the gleaming armor leaving her in no doubt about who they were. Fear gripped her heart even as she reminded herself of what her father had told her. There was simply no evidence that Hashirama had stayed with him. If anyone asked, they had not seen or heard anything. Their biggest concern was ensuring their crop grew well. And that was all they would tell anyone who asked.

They slowed as they drew close to her, and the man in front, clearly the one in charge among the three of them, coaxed his horse to a halt before looking down at her.

"Do your parents own this farm lass?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Yes," she replied, sounding as hesitant as anyone would when talking to a stranger, "They are tending to the animals near the house."

"Do not fear, we are His Majesty's soldiers. My name is Dilcos. Show me to your parents, I have matters to discuss with them," the soldier, Dilcos, told her. She nodded dumbly, walking towards the house at a brisk pace to keep up with the horses.

"Father!" She called out as she neared the house, and her father walked out of the animal shed, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes were guarded as he surveyed the soldiers, and he gestured briefly to her, asking her to move away. She went into the barn to inform her mother of what had transpired. Her father's sword hung there on a nail, and she would need to bring it to him if the need arose.

Even as she heard her father and the soldier begin bartering about supplies and a place to camp - they did not explicitly suspect her family at the very least - she somehow knew that luck would not favor them.

It rarely did.

"Beautiful," Hashirama breathed, a hitch in his breath as he allowed the pure, potent nature chakra wash over him. This was beyond anything he had ever experienced. The feel of nature chakra had been especially potent in Du Weldenvarden, but this? This put even that potency to shame. The energy around the Menoa tree seemed to tremble in delight at his presence, enveloping him in a warm blanket that left him invigorated and shivering at the sheer purity of it all.

"Indeed. The Menoa Tree is utterly tied to our culture now," Arya agreed, tracing her slender fingers along a section of the massive tree's bark, "Elves do not believe in worship, but I believe many do revere the Menoa tree. Her story is a heartbreaking one, but in becoming one with the forest, she found her strength. Now she watches over us all."

"Will you tell me her story?" He asked Arya curiously, sitting on one of the gargantuan roots that eventually burrowed deep into the ground. This was so close to what he had accomplished with Sage mode. In balancing nature energy within his body, he became one with the forest around him. Every tree, every plant, every part of nature became an extension of him. This awareness had allowed him to become a feared sensor, capable of detecting anyone in quite a long radius of distance. In nature's realm, every tree, every shrub, every sapling allowed him to spread his awareness further and further.

"Linnea was an elderly elf maiden who had spent her entire life in communion with nature," Arya began, joining him where he sat, "Through her childhood and youth, she sang to them, nurtured them, and delighted in their presence. She was content to live out her life in this manner, and never felt compelled to seek out a mate. Then a young man crossed her path, and she fell in love with him. For a time, he loved her too."

Here Arya's face distorted into an unpleasant scowl, as if the thought of what followed next disgusted her.

"But then the young man began to desire for a mate closer to his own age. So he found a young elf maiden, and for a time, they too were happy together."

I almost certainly know how this story ends Hashirama thought dryly.

"Then one day, Linnea discovered the betrayal she had suffered. She found her mate with the younger elf, and killed them both. Overcome by grief and guilt, she went to the oldest tree in the forest and embraced it. For three days and three nights she continued to sing, pour her very being into the tree. When the sun rose on the fourth dawn, neither she nor the tree were the same again. Two beings melded into one. Where her elven mate betrayed her, the forest she loved with all her heart accepted her. Since then, she has always watched over the elves."

Hashirama remained silent, not quite knowing what to say to the story. Infidelity had hardly been an uncommon occurrence in the Elemental Nations. Nobles in particular were all too willing to place a contract on a cheating partner. He had ended that habit quickly, though not out of any delusions. Despite his ideals for peace, at that point, ninjas were simply blades for hire. If his dream had ever come about, he wanted the ninja force to be something more beautiful - Protectors. Guardians. People who fought for something higher than their next paycheck.

"What does it feel like? To commune with the mind of an entity like the Menoa tree?" He asked eventually.

"Vast. Despite my best efforts, I have never been able to grasp the full presence of the tree's mind. It is as encompassing as the forest itself. Some elves almost lost their minds when they tried to immerse themselves too deeply in the tree's mind."

Arya suddenly turned to face him, a troubled look in her eyes.

"Are you truly capable of healing the masters, Hashirama?"she asked. Her reverence for them was clear to behold.

"Yes," he replied simply, "I thought you would have known this of me now. I do not make idle claims."

He did not expect Arya to smile, a trace of bitterness clear in her features as she shook her head gently.

"You are wrong. I know almost nothing of you, because you have deigned to share nothing with us. I do not even know if you are truly human. The only things I can claim with certainty is that your powers puzzle even the elven elders, and your eyes sometimes take on a sadness than ever Oromis-elda would be surprised by," Arya told him.

He scratched the back of his head embarrassedly, knowing that he had indeed kept everyone at an arm's length, sharing almost nothing of himself. This was in part because he wanted nothing more than to remove himself from the war that plagued this land. The more he revealed of himself, the more he would be pressured to take on a significant role.

And yet, I am engaging with the world once more he admitted defeat with a resigned sigh before turning to face Arya. Despite everything, he saw in this new land the potential for adventure at least. A haven of peace such as Ellesmera - Konoha had never seen this, as even during the best of times, he and Madara had repelled attacks on their territory.

"Very well, a trade then," he said, a trace of his old cheer in his voice, "I cannot promise an answer to every question you ask, but for today, I will answer three things you ask of me. And you must answer three questions of mine. You too may choose not to answer a question, and ask for another. What say you?"

Arya's lips curved up in a faint, almost indiscernible smile.

"So be it. For my first question: How old are you?"

Talk about starting on a strong note he thought wryly.

"I've been alive for a little over a hundred years, I suppose. I never made it a point to track my day of birth, so I do not know my exact age for certain," he answered carefully, leaving out the part where he had apparently spent more than a few thousand years in the Shinigami's belly.

Ary's eyes widened, "Impossible! A human cannot weather time so well unless they are bonded with a dragon."

"I did say I was a little different," he replied evasively. Truth was, even his enhanced vitality had not been able to stave away the signs of old age indefinitely. Towards the end of his years, he had looked like a forty year old, the faint signs of wrinkles making themselves known.

"Indeed," Arya replied, sounding a little dubious, though she seemed to accept his answer for the moment, "What do you wish to ask me?"

"Your age, of course. So few opportunities present themselves where a man may ask a female her age without heavy consequences following shortly," Hashirama replied slyly, though he had been genuinely serious.

"Why would there be specific consequences from females simply because you question their age?" Arya asked in a puzzled tone, "We elves celebrate birth, but seldom do we elect to celebrate the event recurringly. I was born a year before the Fall, which would mean I am a little under a hundred years old."

And they thought mine and Mito's vitality was cheating Hashirama pouted internally, knowing that even he or Mito could not hope to match the preservation that the elves seemed to enjoy. Then he frowned. It was starting to bother him now, the persistent presences that had shadowed him since dawn.

"Forgive me, we will have to resume this conversation another time. I need to attend to something," he spoke up, causing Arya to look at him in surprise. But she accepted with grace, perhaps assuming that what he needed to do was in connection with his task the next day.

"I sincerely hope you will be able to help Oromis-elda and Glaedr-elda. They have suffered much for our sake, and I suspect they have a weary road ahead of them," she murmured quietly as she stood, walking away with elegant strides.

I suppose she's a friend now, huh. Don't know how I feel about that Hashirama thought, scratching the back of his head before vanishing in a burst of speed.

"Do not stay in the same area for too long," the young girl whispered as she flitted from one tree trunk to another like a ghost, the large trees comfortably hiding her slender body. It was good, for at her age, she sometimes shone faintly with vitality and magic.

"He has shown us little of what he is supposedly capable of. Are you certain they spoke true about the human?" a hushed voice spoke behind her, and she turned to face a boy so startlingly like her that none could ever think of them as anything other than what they were - twins.

Elves gossiped - more than one might think. When one lived in a near unchanging society for centuries, any new event was a breath of fresh air. But as the older elves, the ones who had interacted with other races - said, they gossiped in the Ancient Language. That kept things truthful, or what the speaker believed to be the truth. The difference was small, but it did at times cause much harm. It was, however, better than the tales told amongst the other races.

"We have no other recourse. You know this. If we wish to accomplish our goal, we must continue to wait," the girl whispered in a confident tone, though she was far less sure of herself than she sounded. Her brother said no more, however, and they continued to flit from tree to tree as they skirted the clearing.

For elves, who had the advantage of superior stealth and speed, staying in one place to avoid detection was unnecessary. It was only useful as long as the mind arts were not brought into play, however. Fortunately, the stranger did indeed seem incapable of wielding his mind as they did, while the ambassador appeared to not be exercising it, perhaps welcoming the respite that her home offered her. It was a pity - for what they needed to do, the ambassador was perhaps the only person who would understand and help them. Her duties meant, however, that she could never tarry long in Du Weldenvarden.

Please. Show us something she entreated internally Show us that a way exists for our dreams to be achieved.

And thus the time passed, and the human and Arya Drottningu spoke quietly for a while. She sighed almost imperceptibly, debating the merits of ceasing their watch for the day. Perhaps the stranger would be less vigilant after becoming acclimatized to Ellesmera. Even as she made to turn to her brother, however, the ambassador began to walk away, their conversation clearly over. They would have to stay a while longer to ensure their presence went unnoticed.

And then it happened.

He had simply stood, a casual gesture that she paid no attention to. And then he was gone from her line of sight. She turned frantically to her brother, who had a similar panicked look on his face. Then the voice spoke from behind her, bemusement clear in the tone.

"It is a very nostalgic feeling, being spied upon once more," the stranger spoke, and she whirled around with a startled cry, only to see him squatting on his haunches as he surveyed them up close, "I wish I could say this is the first time I caught children spying on me, but even that would not be true. But tell me, who are you and why have you been following me?"

Shaken at the sudden display of prowess, for not even the fastest elf could have done what this human just did, the girl gently touched her brother's hand in an attempt to calm themselves. The moment was upon them. They had the proof they needed, and thus had taken yet another step in the path to reach their goal.

"I am Alanna, and this is my brother Dusan. We request you to teach us how to fight."

Omake #1 (A/N: I know omakes can also refer to actual events in a story that are presented outside the main story. To clarify, these are just humorous situations I think of that do NOT happen in the main story, and are just presented for a laugh or two).

"My king?"

"What?" snarled Galbatorix, "I told you I did not want to be disturbed! My search for the Name continues!"

Now the page looked confused. Had his King been sneaking sips of the ale the soldiers passed around? That concoction was deadly to one's mind.

"But you know your Name, my king. It is Galbatorix. A mighty fine name, if I say so myself. Well, you say so yourself. You had the bards executed when they told you they couldn't find a lot of words to rhyme with Galbatorix. So no one tells you it makes you sound like an evil-dragon-tavern-dominatrix any more."

Galbatorix glared at the page.

"Ahem. I was merely quoting that one bard before he was decapitated, Your Highness."

"I should certainly hope so," growled the king, "And it is not MY name I search for, you dimwit! I am searching for THE Name."

"The Name Your Highness? Oh, perhaps you have forgotten the name of the city? It is Uru'baen."

"I have not forgotten the name of the city! I named it, you misbegotten waste of space!" the King screamed, and ancient parchments floated into the air before getting caught in the candles that floated around the table, keeping it well lit.

"That is good to hear, you majesty, especially since you burned down the old city and everything in it and built this city on a sea of blood," the page spoke politely, ignoring the many pained screams from his king as ancient manuscripts worth more than a city burned merrily.

The real tragedy was that one of the maids would have to be woken at this ungodly hour to clear away all the ash. The poor girls worked so hard too. They had been so pleased that the castle had gone an entire month without the king violently executing anybody.

A/N: A bit of a slow chapter, but I can promise you now that this story will go at its own pace. Action, yes. Lots of it. But certainly not in every chapter. Doesn't make sense to me.

Note 1: Arya speaks to Hashirama without honorifics because as the ambassador, she has become accustomed to that practice.

Note 2: Certain questions you may have about Alanna and Dusan will be answered over the next couple of chapters. You must know that they're introduced briefly in IC, but never explored. A shame, in my opinion.

My engine is rusty from lack of use. Reviews fill up the tank and put it to work again :P So review!