Eragon stood facing the black king of Alagaësia in his great hall. The king smiled, a dark twisted expression that did not resemble a smile so much as a spasm of his face. Eragon tried once again to loosen the invisible bonds that encased him, but he could not move even an inch. Even his mouth was frozen, so that any chance that he may have had of releasing himself through the ancient language was lost. Eragon was at a loss. He and his beloved partner of heart and mind, Saphira, had come so far, had exceeded the expectations of all the beings, had pushed himself to the limit on many occasions, and had even explored the boundaries of the world as had previously been discovered. And yet it was all for naught. He had striven so hard to get here, to Urû'baen, to defeat the fallen Rider who was now standing before him with an evil grin on his face, and he was going to fail. He could see it in the king's eyes. Eragon was going to be broken by the king, until he lost all free will and would do whatever the king asked without question. He closed his eyes and stretched his consciousness toward Saphira. They exchanged no words; they allowed themselves to simply be together with their minds and souls enveloping one another. They knew that these were their last moments as the last free Dragon and Rider in Alagaësia.
Then, Eragon felt a surge of defiance rise up from Saphira. Though they had been forced into silence by one of the king's spells, Saphira let out an earth-trembling roar, the likes of which Eragon had never heard before. It was neither sorrowful nor triumphant, but contained Saphira's entire being - her emotions, her personality, and her strength - all emitted through the noise that echoed through Urû'baen. Above all, her love for Eragon could be heard in the roar, and the sheer force of it overwhelmed all those who heard it, perhaps excluding the king and his monstrous black slave. Eragon looked at his dragon with tears in his eyes and expressed his love for her through the bond of their minds. Saphira did not respond, for she was not yet done fighting the oppressive rule of the king with the black soul. She thrust her consciousness towards Eragon and enveloped him with such energy and strength that he nearly passed out. He sensed her intentions a moment before her magic took hold, and his heart cried out for her to stop. However, now that the process had begun, neither she nor anyone else could halter it. Both Eragon and Saphira felt a stabbing, overwhelming, indescribable agony at what Saphira was about to do.
Saphira blinked her large sapphire eye slowly at Eragon.
Goodbye, little one. she said mournfully.
Then the magic took hold and Eragon's world fell away.
Eragon woke from his waking dreams with a start. He was trembling violently from the dream. Blood from scratches on his face mingled with the tears streaming out of his eyes. Eragon healed them in an instant, more out of habit than anything else. His mind was fully occupied with other things. Even after many years, so many that he had stopped counting, Eragon missed Saphira. Every time he immersed himself in his waking dreams, he dreamed of her and their last few moments together. Sometimes he would also dream of what had happened to her after she had banished his to his little nook in the forest. Those dreams were often even more painful than that of their parting. Sometimes he imagined that the thrice-cursed king had even gone so far as to kill her, but he knew it was not so. For one thing, his bond with her would have informed him, despite her distance from him and their complete lack of and communication whatsoever over almost two decades. For another, he hadn't aged a day since they parted; Eragon assumed this was because her magic and the immortality it granted him was still very much alive and connected to him. Also, he knew the king simply wouldn't kill her, at the very least until she mated. Saphira was the only female dragon left in existence, and the king himself had said that he didn't intend to let the dragon breed die out.
So Eragon knew Saphira was alive at least. But past that, he had no idea. He didn't even know if he would be able to recognize her as Saphira after she spent two decades with the king and his twisted ways. The thought that Saphira might not be Saphira anymore tortured Eragon, but that thought was nothing compared to the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to rescue her. Over the past twenty years, Eragon had been consumed with finding his way out of the seemingly infinite forest in which he had been forced to reside. He had walked for days on end trying to find the end of the forest, only to find himself in the same place he had woken up all those years ago. He had tried climbing trees to see what lay beyond the forest, but it seemed to be a never-ending ocean of spiky green tree tops. He had tried casting countless navigational spells, with infinite alternate wordings, but all failed him, no matter how much energy he poured into them or how much he changed the wordings, the result would always be the same - inconclusive.
Eragon often considered simply killing himself to end the agony that traumatized him and drove him to the brink of madness. But, as often and as seriously as he thought about it, he could never bring himself to do it. He still lived with the hope, no matter how dim that hope may be, that he and Saphira would someday be reunited, that she would come rescue him from his green prison of solitude and isolation. Also, he reasoned, she had sacrificed much to send him here, and to end his life would be a poor way to repay her. Besides that, Eragon had not given up his will to live. Even though he had endured enough misery and pain to last him three lifetimes, Eragon wanted to live. He had experienced and witnessed too much death to give his life away so readily and willingly. Life was a precious thing, he knew, and pain only made him know that he was still alive. If he had been unable to feel anything, he didn't think he would be able to see the point in living. Without pain, there could be no happiness, for only when one experiences pain can he know what happiness truly feels like.
Eragon shook himself out of his thoughts and went outside his small wooden huts. He began to perform the Rimgar, the series of stretches taught to him by Oromis. Before long, Eragon's thoughts trailed back to Saphira and ways to escape his leafy prison. However, Eragon soon caught himself and forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing. He thought of nothing but the physical exertion through which he was putting himself: he felt his muscles burn and stretch, felt sweat drip down his back, felt his mind clear as he thought of nothing but nothing.
When he was done with his stretches, Eragon bathed and dressed. Besides the misery of being separated from his soul companion, Eragon hated the monotony of his life in the forest prison. Before he had been banished to that place, it seemed he was fighting battles and engaging in history-changing events every other day. Though it had been hard work, Eragon would have preferred that life to one of routine any day. But now he was subject to just that. He woke up every morning, healed the cuts on his face that he had caused during the night, performed the Rimgar, bathed, and decided what to do with the rest of his day. More often than not, he would commit himself to scholarly activities during the day, such as writing down every word in the ancient language that he could remember, so that as the years crawled by, he would not forget any of his most valuable knowledge. It was tedious work, but Eragon was glad to be doing it, for when he was not busy working on something, his mind would stray to things he preferred not to think about.
Today, Eragon decided to take a long walk in the surrounding woods. He packed a small, homemade pack with enough supplies to last him a night or two out in the woods. He remembered a time when he could just curl up against Saphira when he was out in the woods, but now he had to pack his sleeping roll. Eragon winced and forced his mind onto other topics. He concentrated solely on packing, which, unfortunately for him, was not an activity that required mass amounts of concentration.
Eragon quickly finished packing and set out, letting his feet pick the route. As he walked, he explored the lives of the animals who shared his woods. He immersed himself in their lives so he would not have to ponder his own. It was a very effective method for taking his mind off things. Each time he focused on a specific animal, its hopes became his, its struggles were shared, and he became a part of its battles, even lending a little energy here and there in order to help the creature along. But each time Eragon came back to himself, the memories and thoughts and desires and pains all came flooding back, and each time was just as hard as the last. He engaged himself in the life of another animal as quickly as he could.
When Eragon finally, reluctantly returned to himself for good, it was getting dark. Eragon looked around with mild interest. He was not surprised to discover that his legs were burning. After all, he had been walking the whole day as he melded his mind with animals'.
Eragon recited a quick incantation that would tell him the air pressure and humidity of the air surrounding him. Based upon the spell, he determined that it was most likely not going to rain that night, so he didn't bother casting spells or weaving a tarp to repel rain. After a quick, cold meal, Eragon rolled out his sleeping pad on the ground and stretched himself out on top of it. He hadn't realized how tired he actually was until he lay down, and was sleeping as soundly as a rock within moments.
A/N: Sorry for the extremely short prologue. I hope to get more up within a week. Please read and review! I would really like to know what I could do better. Please provide me with constructive criticism! Thanks! ~Blonds Will Rule the World
