Legend
By Somigliana
Disclaimer: All things Inheritance belong to CP.
Roran's lips twitched with amusement as his grandson skidded across the smooth marble tiles and attempted to stop with a measure of decorum. His constant companion, Thysta - now too big to ride on his shoulders - skittered across the floor after him, growling softly as her claws failed to grip the slippery surface for a sufficient display of grace.
The gangly young man - almost painfully identical to Roran's cousin - touched his index and middle fingers to his lips. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."
Roran repeated the gesture. "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." Roran nodded to Thysta. The young dragon dipped her head briefly, regarding him with serious amethyst eyes.
"Garrow-finiarel. How go your lessons?" he asked.
"I'm still learning to read and write the Ancient Language, Grandfather," Garrow whined. "We haven't started to learn real magic yet."
Roran gave him an amused look. "Patience, Shur'tugal, patience."
Garrow sighed dramatically. "You promised the rest of the story, Grandfather," he said, and Thysta nodded her head in tandem.
Roran leant back in his chair. "So I did, so I did," he said. "Now, where was I?" he asked – always a pretence of forgetfulness; a test of attentiveness.
"Helgrind, the Ra'zac, remember?"
Thysta hissed at the mention of the grey scourge which had once plagued Alagaësia. Garrow's young dragon enjoyed these 'tales of legend' as much as Garrow did, punctuating his narrative with snorts, rasping laughter and whisps of smoke.
"Yes, a nasty lot, the Ra'zac," he said, then shrugged, waving his hand vaguely. "Or so the legends say... "
"What happened to Eragon and the rebel?" Garrow asked excitedly as he settled on a rug with Thysta.
"They rescued the rebel's fair maiden from the impenetrable Helgrind, of course." It sounded so simple now, but then, it had been the most frightening experience of Roran's life – not knowing if Katrina was alive or not, riding a dragon, freeing slaves, fighting the Ra'zac. And the stench, the unbelievable stench of death and decay inside Helgrind.
Roran wove the tale of gallant rescue for Garrow and Thysta. He smiled with remembered relief and pure joy as he recounted seeing Katrina alive, and the feeling of camaraderie with Eragon as they'd fought side-by-side. Roran still had his long-handled hammer; a symbol of a long-past time where he'd fought for the very survival and moral fabric of this land, for the life of his love.
"And then the rebel and Eragon and the dwarves and the elves and the Varden beat the evil Galbaltorix." Garrow pounded his small fist into his palm, where the gedwey ignasia shone. "Beat him into a pulp."
Roran nodded. "Aye, lad, that he did." That part of the story was well known across the land, passed on in the history books and from father to son.
"And then the riders, Eragon and Arya, left Alagaësia with their dragons, to go to the land of the elves, far, far away," Garrow continued his part of the narrative. "But Saphira left her legacy here ... Thysta and the other dragons. And she waited and waited until I came along. And then she hatched." Thysta put her head on Garrow's shoulder, purring like a werecat.
It always warmed Roran's heart to see the relationship between the riders of his realm and their dragons, most particularly the bond between his kin and his dragon. "Aye. She waited just for you."
Garrow tilted his head with a curious look. "What happened to the rebel?"
The King of Alagaësia glanced up to see his Queen standing at the door, still beautiful after all of these years. He smiled. "Oh, he married his love, and they lived happily ever after."
The Ancient Language
"Atra esterní ono thelduin" - May good fortune rule over you.
"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." - May the stars watch over you.
Gedwey ignasia- Shining palm
Helgrind- The gates of death
finiarel - an honorific for a young man of great promise
Shur'tugal - dragon rider