Progenitor
by Nee339

Summary: After the end of Galbatorix, what will the future be like for dragons?

Tags: Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh, and Thorn.

Warnings: Sex, Violence, Incest, and Suicide.

Last Edited: November 22, 2011

Chapter One: The End

Eragon's dark eyes watched the sky, searching for the sparkling blue female dragon that had shared more than half of his life. He had lived for forty-seven years and, during that time, had witnessed the descent of dragon-kind. Instead of the glorious rebirth the elves had proclaimed as the consequence of Galbatorix's death, there had only been sadness and deformity.

Thorn and Saphira had been beautiful when they flew together. The promise for the future they symbolized had brought joy to Eragon's heart. Soon, there would be more dragons and, maybe, more riders. Eragon had been happy and excited by the possibilities of more and of an end to loneliness.

When the time had come, Saphira had been skittish, like any virgin. She had expressed her wish for at least one female ancestor to help explain what would be expected of her, but that was not meant to be. Together with Thorn, they would have to figure out how to mate and, unfortunately, they would not know if they had been successful until Saphira laid her first clutch.

Eragon had listened to these worries and had informed her that nature would take care of itself and that every species instinctively knew how to procreate. Eragon had smiled then and rubbed Saphira along her faceplate, again telling her not to worry and to enjoy the experience, because virginity - in all species - was only lost once.

Then, Thorn and Saphira were flying away, far over the horizon and out of range of any form of mental contact. They did not return for three months. Where they flew or how they mated was a mystery to Eragon and it was one that Saphira refused to enlighten. She had said, by way of explanation, that Eragon had not liked it when she had ridden in his thoughts during the times of his rutting urges; proclaiming, it a private time, not one meant for sharing.

Eragon had accepted this secrecy only because Saphira had returned successful in her mating. She had returned gravid with six eggs growing inside her and, when she finally laid them, they ran the gambit of colors between red and blue; promising, three purple hatchlings, one dark maroon, one brown, and one bright red.

Two months after their laying, the eggs hatched and the young dragons where born beautiful, healthy, and strong. There were four new females, and Eragon had felt hope for the renewal of the dragon race. All of the hatchlings were smart and were quick to learn how to fly. Within weeks of their hatching, they were hunting and catching the rodents around their den. Within six months of hatching, the fledglings were living by themselves, in their own caves.

Now that they were left with an empty nest, Thorn flew Saphira once again. She returned heavy with four eggs, again the majority of them had shells either the color of purple or maroon; however, there was one dark blue egg in the second clutch. These eggs too hatched within two months of their laying and three of them were females, including the blue.

As a dragon-rider and dragon-keeper, Eragon learned that dragons did not reach sexual maturity until they were roughly two years old. Therefore, during those first two years of growing, life was good. Eragon was happy. Thorn and Saphira was the only mating pair and, together, they conceived five clutches of eggs, resulting in over twenty new dragons. The young dragons were amusing to watch, and Saphira's contentment was satisfying after so much war and heartache.

Those two years, Eragon would later realize, where the best of his and Saphira's lives. But time moved on, and little dragons became big dragons with desires for their own hatchlings. However, without any unrelated dragons with which to mate, they instead mated with each other: sister with brother, father with daughter, and mother with son. More dragons were born, and more colors expressed.

Eragon had known that this time would come, when family mated with family, and had seen no other alternative to it if dragons were to survive. He had consulted with the elves about the possible consequences and had received only reassurances that the Dragon God would watch over his people and would ensure that they would experience no problems.

Eragon, lacking any other options, had bowed to the faith and wisdom of the elves. Afterward, Eragon would catch himself wondering if the Dragon God was even paying attention to his people, because, as time flowed by, Eragon noticed a trend in the newer generations of hatchlings.

The hatchlings, of Thorn and Saphira, were always fully formed when they broke out of the egg, but the same could not be said for the offspring of the other mating dragons. Something was being lost in the hatchlings as a consequence of the continuous incestuous mating. More and more severe deformities were popping up, such as, having no wings, weak claws, weak scales, and weak teeth. Some were born missing limbs, or having clubfoot or stumpy tails. Some were born with lung problems, others couldn't produce fire, and still others had mental problems, which left them with the processing abilities of animals.

Eragon was at a loss as to what to do. He could not heal these problems with magic; not even, with Saphira's help. The only option that he knew could fix these problems was to bring in new blood; however, Shruikan had died with Galbatorix, at war's end, and the green dragon-rider's egg, long ago rescued from the castle, hadn't hatched yet.

Over the years, with more and more crippled dragons born, he had tried tampering with the spells on the green egg, to force the infant dragon out of its shell. Even if he somehow physically damaged the tiny green male, he believed that he knew of a way to magically impregnate female dragons with the green's essence. The only problem with the plan was that he needed direct access to the dragon infant, but, with the protection of the shell, he could not reach him. Without finding the green's dragon rider, there was no hope of new blood.

However, when Eragon was being honest with himself, he knew that there wouldn't be much improvement with the addition of the green amongst the breeding pool. There would be a few clutches of young dragons born healthy, but within a few generations, the dragons would begin spiraling back down into their original incestuous problem.

What the dragons desperately needed, were twenty or more unrelated dragons to suddenly blink into existence. He prayed for this eventuality, but the Dragon God remained silent and unmoved. The elves, with their magic, could offer no help, and the dragons refused to listen to his plans concerning a breeding program, believing that, as a human, he had no say regarding their mating habits.

Twenty years passed and the dragon population continued to grow. The crippled dragons, with no alternative, hunted amongst the livestock. The farmers, angry that their livelihood was being threatened by crippled and unhealthy creatures, sought about rectifying the problem by killing any dragon they came across. It became fashionable to wear dragon-hide-clothing, to have dragon-scale-jewelry, and to use dragon teeth and claws for fancy knives.

Still, Eragon strove to protect the dragons. He spoke with farmers and townspeople about how they were wearing the skins of a thinking people. But they did not believe him. Twenty years after the war with Galbatorix was a long time for humans and the only dragons they ever encountered where a menace and no more deep thinking than bears or wolves. So, when a dragon became rowdy and disruptive around a human settlement, they where immediately hunted and killed, despite all of Eragon's pleas.

With the deaths of their kinsmen, the dragons grew distrustful of Eragon and of anyone else that walked on two legs and spoke out loud. It did not matter that Eragon had played with many of them when they where just hatchlings, nor did it matter that he had been the one to heal many of their broken bones and sicknesses. The dragons had made up their minds and Eragon was considered an enemy, regardless of what the Great-Blue-Saphira had to say on the subject.

The killings continued on both sides of the conflict. For ten years, the dragons fought a loosing battle. More than half of their number where malformed in someway, significantly hindering their ability to fight or escape. Their females were especially targeted, believing that with their deaths, it would only be a matter of time before the males followed them into extinction.

'How right they were,' Eragon thought to himself as his eyes continued to scan the blue sky for his blue dragon. He was 47 years old and, during that time, had witnessed the descent of dragon-kind.

'Where is she?' Eragon wondered as he probed the ragged and bleeding space in his mind where Saphira had always been. He did not know for how long he had been calling her in his mind, but she was not responding. She should have returned to the cave they shared with Thorn and Murtagh, by now.

'Saphira, where are you?' Eragon called again. He was only vaguely aware of Murtagh's hands upon his shoulders, trying to lead him back into the cave.

"Eragon, your nose is bleeding," Murtagh chastised as he gently whipped Eragon's bloody face with the back of his hand.

"Have you seen Saphira today?" Eragon asked, his voice hoarse and nasal.

"Not this again, Eragon. She died three years ago. Now come back to the cave. Thorn will block out the wind and we'll be warm."

"Why can't I hear her, Murtagh?" Eragon asked as he complacently walked with Murtagh, his eyes still scanning the sky for Saphira.

"What is wrong with Eragon?" Thorn asked, his deep mental voice rumbling through Murtagh's mind.

Murtagh sighed sadly and replied mentally, "He's looking for Saphira again. These fits are growing more frequent. Soon, I fear, he will not come back from them and will either die of despair or kill himself."

Thorn nodded his large red head and rumbled, "Bring him here, Murtagh; I will watch over him. You do not need to fear suicide tonight. Just rest, we move on in the morning."

"Damn hunters! Can't they just leave us alone?" Murtagh seethed as he directed Eragon between Thorn's large, red forelegs.

"My children where foolish, and now all must pay the price. How I wish they had listened to Eragon; then, maybe, my hatchlings would still be alive. If only they had the wit to avoid the humans and their cattle."

"I am sorry, Thorn," Murtagh said as he sat down besides Eragon and hugged his confused brother to his side.

"What do you have to apologize for? You did not counsel the Broken-Ones to eat the livestock. Instead, I should be thanking you. Without you, I would not have hatched. Without you, Saphira and Eragon would have battled the Empire by themselves; possibly, loosing in the process. Without you, there would not have been the good years of hatchlings. There would only have been loneliness and death for Saphira and Eragon. There were just too few of us to make a difference in fate of the dragon race." The red dragon sighed, despondent.

"What do you think we should do about the Green's egg?" Murtagh asked, as he uncovered the last dragon egg and stared down at the swirling green and light-blue lines on the shell.

Thorn looked down at the egg in Murtagh's hands and said, "Crush it. Even if the green ever finds his rider, there can be no hope for the dragon race now. All viable females have been killed and most of the female Broken-Ones cannot conceive and, of those that can, they are too damaged to be effective mothers for dragon hatchlings. I pity him, for should he hatch now, there will be no younglings, no mates, and no safety for him in this world. Send him on to the next, where he will be reunited with our kind and, maybe, we will have a happier destiny there than this slow death."

"Kill the egg?" Murtagh gasped out loud, surprised. He then quickly looked to the side at his younger brother. Eragon was insensible again, lost in memories of when his dragon had been with him.

Murtagh shook his head and said, "I can't kill the egg just like I can't kill Eragon, no matter how much easier it would be for us if we did. This dragon has a role to play. Maybe he won't become the progenitor the dragon race, but he has a purpose. I will live as long as I have to, to see that this dragon and his rider has someone to guide him in the ways of magic and responsibility. We will make sure that they do not become like Galbatorix."

"We?" Thorn rumbled through his mind. "Why must I be a part of this? How about we end or lives instead of living for the unification of dragon and rider. It took over a hundred years until I hatched for you and Saphira for Eragon. I do not want to turn out like Glaedr and Oromis, forever waiting in some forgotten glen. At least for them, they had hope that the skies would be filled with dragons once again. We do not have that same hope and neither does the green. Let us end it now before we have to seriously consider euthanizing children at a later date."

Murtagh shakily looked up at the red dragon that was as much a part of him as his skin. Murtagh then looked down at poor broken Eragon and at the green's egg, before he finally nodded. He stood up and leaned over to pull Eragon to his feet, with the egg tucked under his left arm.

"Come on, Eragon. It's time to go."

"Where are we going? Where's Saphira, we can't leave without her."

Murtagh smiled and hugged his brother. Confused, Eragon returned the embrace. Murtagh then said, "Do not worry, Eragon. We are going to look for her. Isn't that right, Thorn?"

Author's Note: This story has been floating around in my head for a while and I am currently undecided about whether or not I should continue with it. Therefore, please let me know what you think. If I receive enough of a favorable response for this story, I will probably continue it. Thanks.