Summary: I'm not thin, I'm not pretty, and I don't want to fall in love with a dragon rider. How the hell did I end up in Alagaësia?! Not a romance fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. My character may be original, but Alagaësia is not mine. I just get to play around in it, that's all!
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Okay, so I've had a bad day. Everyone has a bad day once in a while, alright? Kezzia and her mates have been a royal pain in the arse today; Mr Callis had a problem with the fact I haven't done my homework (what's the big deal? It's not as if a sheet is going to stop me failing maths. Trust me, if there was something that could do that, I'd know about it); and I twiddled my thumbs outside the headmistress's office for half an hour before getting chewed out (for reason, see item one on the list).
I think I have a right to retaliate if that snotty little brat is being an idiot. And I didn't even touch her. Just innocently stretched out my legs. It's not my fault she went sprawling everywhere and then decided to make a tiny little nosebleed public property. Ugh. Even if I can get those stains out of my jeans, I'm not sure I want to wear them again. Ever.
Anyway, Kezzia went squealing to her precious auntie, Miss Freeman, who just so happens to be friends with the head. Cue the right royal chewing out. There's just one small detail that that irritating brunette drone left out of her sob story: the part where she happened to insult my little brother. Or half-brother, if you want to get technical, but to be frank I don't give a flying hoot about technical. He's my brother. End of story.
Mrs Grayson didn't seem to think so. Even when I set her straight, (what does she mean, 'unprovoked attack?'), her lips got that funny pursed look and she told me in that gentle way of hers that the way to deal with my aggressive defensiveness (ooh, hark at her) over Sam's "condition" was ideally not tripping a fellow student over. So my smart mouth shot off that that might be an ideal reaction, but then the provocation wasn't really ideal, and if someone (namely Kezzia) calls Sam an effing little retard then I have a right to get pissy. So, clever old me got another week of afterschool detentions for using bad language in front of a teacher and by the time I was cycling home (because I'm a student, therefore poor, therefore can't buy a car) I was in a really foul mood.
And Amy doesn't deserve to have to put up with a stressy teenager PMSing all over the place because Sam's been really difficult today, so she's got these shadows under her eyes and I feel bad about the phone call she's bound to get in ten minutes from school. So I call Ben, our mongrel, and clip on his lead. It's the coward's way out, I know, but I don't want to face the music just yet.
"Where're you going, lovie?" Amy calls from the kitchen, where she's trying to get Sam to eat some milk and cookies.
"Out for a walk." I wince at how terse I still sound.
"Could you take the dog? He needs to get out."
"Got it covered, Amy," I say. Ben bounces around my feet, his big eyes shining, his wiry tail wagging eighty-two to the dozen. He's fairly young, so he's at the stage where he hasn't grown into his paws and those massive feet go absolutely everywhere. He's also got a wiry, stiff fur that's short all around his round little belly and silky as anything on his rather patchy ears. Ben is a canine that could quite proudly say (if dogs could talk) that his pedigree is probably in the minuses because he's got so many different breeds mashed up together that it's a ruddy miracle he's actually considered a dog, no matter how loosely the term is applied.
I don't wait for Amy's reply, slipping out through the front door into the autumn air. I should have put a jacket on or something, because it's starting to get cold in the evenings. If I walk quickly, though, I should be okay. It would probably help if I go and get six pints of milk or something, because from what I could see Sam has kindly redecorated most of the kitchen floor with the contents of our last bottle. I start heading towards the corner shop that Gavin owns, because I can't be bothered with the spiffy new supermarket just up the road. Besides, there's this copse you can walk through on the other side of rec that's just right for a dog who has yet to realise it should be impossible to have quite this much energy...
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Saphira, love, what is it? Eragon asked anxiously. It was quite clear from his lifemate's tense position on the ground and the twitching of her tail that she could sense something was amiss. Saphira jerked her finely moulded muzzle over towards a sparsely wooded copse barely a mile from where they were standing. With his enhanced eyesight, it was ridiculously easy to make out the detail on every leaf on each of the slender saplings from this slight distance. It would probably take him less than three minutes to run it, and only one or two (admittedly graceless, but certainly efficient) bound from Saphira's muscled hindlegs to cover it.
There is a new scent in the undergrowth, she said at last, her head cocked on one side. She sent the impression of a very animal smell to his mind, similar to Urgal, almost, but not quite. And underlying that, the faint scent of a youngling human.
Here? Now? Eragon's thoughts whirled. Is the human in trouble? Is the Urgal attacking her?
Eragon, Saphira reprimanded sternly. That isn't Urgal. She sniffed again. It smells like... And suddenly she gave a bark of draconic laughter. It smells like wet dog.
Wet dog? Eragon repeated. Here? He fingered the belt, studded with precious stones, that was clasped around his waist, and though battle weary and tired, he could sense the spark of energy still residing in their depths. Do you think we should investigate? Nasuada wishes to speak with us. The deep blue hide of his dragon rippled as Saphira rolled her shoulders.
I am bored of politics, she admitted. I would like to investigate. It's much more fun. Eragon's hand slipped gently onto her belly, right next to the odd swirl of scales present there that was so dear to him, and a little itchy. He relieved her uncomfortable hide by swathing it in a soothing golden glow, allowing the ancient language to drive it from its place with several musical words. Saphira gave a delighted shiver. Thank you, she said sincerely. Her eyes glinted mischievously. Now can we go and see who these intruders are, little one? They should not be so far east. They are too close to the camp for comfort.
"I agree." He spoke the words aloud, and the hoarseness of his voice, tired after the commotion of battle, surprised him. He cleared his throat. "Shall we?"
They entered the sparse copse a few minutes later, cautiously looking to the right and left as they sought the two intruders. It was not particularly difficult, as Eragon found them almost immediately. Even without his senses telling him that they anomalous in this small clearing, with its rather more natural consciousnesses dotted generously around them, their physical attributes were rather startling.
The girl herself was nothing particularly striking. She had frizzy brown hair that was slightly tangled, which was more similar in its tidiness and colour to the scruffy canine sitting at her feet than was exactly attractive, and her figure was wavering on the verge of being "comfortable" to "chubby". She was wearing men's trousers, rather than the traditional dress, and a bright red top with some sort of drawing on it. She was reclining against a tree trunk with a rather odd satchel in her hand. Although Eragon recognised the lettering across it as some sort of rune, he could not decipher them, but had he been able to read English, he would have known that it was "McColl's", branded in bright blue block capitals across a plastic bag. Even as he watched, she took a bar of some sort of brown food out of the satchel and bit into it enthusiastically. So enthusiastically, in fact, that she had noticed neither him nor Saphira, although they were barely ten paces from her and her companion.
The mongrel barked. It was quite clearly a mongrel, Eragon thought, slightly repelled, because its silly head was too large for its body, and its hide was a patchwork quilt of texture and colour unlike any he'd ever seen on a dog. The sound ricocheted off of the surrounding trees with the slightly sharp tone to it that came with youth. It was barely a puppy. Unfortunately, it had the effect of causing its mistress's head to jerk up, her eyes fixating on a point above his head, where he knew Saphira's to be.
"Holy crap."
Her language might be unfamiliar, and totally incomprehensible, but Eragon wasn't an idiot. It didn't take a genius to figure out the gist of that sentence.
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Author's note: I think this will be rather a short story, as I'm certain of where I want it to go and it seems like a good 'un. But I won't be inspired to post the second chapter if I don't get any feedback, 'cause it would be silly to do that if no one's reading this. Take the time to leave a review please!
I do apologise for my character's – uh – eloquence in this chapter. She's not usually like this, but she's had a day of it.