Here you are! The official first chapter. The story starts off in Brisingr after Saphira returns to the Varden after Helgrind and Arya goes off in search of Eragon. Enjoy!
Tasteful Accommodations
The rain made the usually hard-packed and dusty dirt deteriorate and soften. It also gave Eragon's blistered feet a much-needed relief. The constant pounding of his feet made them bleed and the hot air had dried his throat and tongue, despite how much he drank. The moon highlighted the mud path he was sprinting on and made it much easier for his keen eyes to spot a patrolling soldier or a passing villager should he come across one. He was very careful to stay away from main roads and did not run as fast as he normally would, for that would cause unwanted attention.
With the day closing he relaxed his stride and slowed down to a steady jog to find a place to rest. He had, in fact, been running for two full days. Pulling away from the path, he made for the surrounding forest, grabbing sticks along the way for a fire. He piled up the sticks and said "Brisingr." The rain had no effect on the fire's glow.
Taking off his pack he sat down on the wet grass and leaned in attempting to warm himself. When he was satisfied, he straightened up and decided to find something to eat. Reaching out with his mind he found a snake a few yards away and a couple rabbits which he promptly killed with magic.
He felt horrible for taking life, but knew that his need for survival was greater than theirs. He briefly held the creatures over the fire to cook and promptly sunk his teeth into the fatty meat of one of the rabbits. It was very greasy and the clumps of fat slowly dissolved in his mouth. Moving onto the snake he found that it didn't have much meat. Finished, but not as satisfied as he'd like he reclined onto the soft, wet grass and closed his eyes. He found it hard to sleep without Saphira, so he lay there with his eyes open for some time.
He was just on the verge of unconsciousness when there was a loud rustle in the brush next to him. He bolted into a seated position, the blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy. The fire had gone out. He reached out with his mind, feeling around the surrounding forest. His mind touched another's that seemed strangely familiar, but the mysterious person retracted their mind so quickly that he didn't get a chance to make certain who it was. Standing up and wishing he had had a weapon, he crept forward toward the bush to investigate, constantly probing into the darkness with his mind.
He was only a few feet from the bush when a silhouette jumped out and tackled him. He punched at the figure on top of him but the person caught his hand. He's fast! Eragon thought, for he could stop Eragon's supernatural speed. A fist slammed into Eragon's face, splitting his lip and sending warm, metallic blood down his throat. Eragon shoved the man off him, throwing him onto the still glowing ashes of his fire. He must have been wearing armor though for he jumped back up charged Eragon once more. He was ready though.
When the man was almost upon him, Eragon twisted to the side, grabbed his legs, and drove him to the ground. Before Eragon had a chance to do much more though, something large smacked him hard in the head and he went skidding several yards away.
His head exploded with pain, first from whatever had hit him, and second when his head landed on a large stone, and he was afraid we would fall into unconsciousness. He could hear the man converging upon him, but he was too dazed to do anything about it. When he looked at the ground by his head, it was covered in a small but growing pool of blood. But that wasn't what shocked him. What shocked him was that the stone he had slammed his head on was not a stone, but a large white claw connected to a far larger, ruby-red paw.
With a growing sense of dread, he followed the paw up its arm and into the face of a snarling dragon. Thorn had grown even more since last they met, because Galbatorix's manipulation. His eyes reflected a deep loathing so intense, Eragon had to pull his eyes away. As he did the man-whom Eragon was almost certain was Murtagh-kicked Eragon's side, pushing him onto his back, and glared at him.
Eragon stabbed his mind out at Murtagh to subdue him, but he was too powerful. He could feel the presence of many minds within Murtagh but he couldn't find their source. Thus, in a few short minutes Murtagh had already taken over Eragon's mind until all he could do was glare at Murtagh angrily. Murtagh grinned in triumph, and then abruptly turned sour.
"You've caused me a lot of pain, brother. Do you know how furious Galbatorix was with me and Thorn when we didn't bring you back to Urû'baen last time? He immediately slew five of his servants in his rage, then turned on Thorn and I."
Eragon didn't respond. He couldn't.
"You fall so easily without your dragon," Murtagh chuckled darkly. "You must truly be the weakest Rider in existence. Don't worry, Galbatorix will help you change that, and Thorn and I will be forgiven in full when we bring you back to him, and rewarded beyond imagination," Thorn snorted at this. "Getting Saphira shouldn't be too hard, either. A little threat here, some coaxing there, and she'll be handing herself over in no time." he said with a smirk. "Don't be too disappointed. There's a lot of good in store for you. You should hear what Galbatorix has planned for Alagaesia.
With one last look at Eragon, he walked over to where Eragon had left his pack, grabbed it, tied it on Thorn, and said "Slytha."
The world went black.
When Eragon awoke his first feeling was of pain. He had a splitting headache from the night before. His hair was stiff and clumped with his own blood, and was laying on a rather soft pillow. Looking around, he was surprised he was not in a normal cell. The walls and ceiling of the room he was in seemed to be made of black marble. A black chandelier held ten candles that illuminated the room with a red, flickering glow. The bed he was on was very comfortable, and the large grated window above it let in a lot of the noonday light.
Getting up, he noticed he was wearing a loose white shirt and pants, and his ring and pack was missing.
Where am I? Eragon wondered. He walked over to the door that had a small grated window and tried to open it, but it was locked. He tried opening it with magic but couldn't seem to tap into his energy store. I must've been drugged, he thought.
Eragon backed up to the other end of the room and ran straight at the door, attempting to smash it down. When he hit it, he bounced back and landed flat on his back, causing his headache to flare up, without even denting the dark wood. The door must have been enchanted.
Turning around to face his bed, he found on a table resting against the wall, a silver platter of grapes and bread and cheese, and a large mug of water. The sight reminded him of his hunger and he went over to eat. He assumed the drug was in the water, but when he smelled it, he didn't notice anything abnormal. That's strange, he thought. Even before the Blood-oath Celebration had enhanced my senses I could smell the drug. Why not now?
He pondered it for a moment, then decided the drug must not be in the water, and he drank deeply, grateful for the reprieve, and noting that it tasted fine. After examining his food in the same manner, he ate that too and reclined back onto his bed to think.
How could I have let this happen? he thought despairingly. I was the Varden's only hope. . . I've doomed them.
Just then, the door opened and Murtagh came in with a pair of shackles and a smile on his face.
"How do you like your accommodations? I think it's quite cozy. Maybe a bit dark, but all the same." Murtagh wasn't wearing the same armor he was when he'd captured Eragon. Instead, his armor was all white with intricate, golden designs embedded into it. He had donned a dark red cloak with white seams. He also had a belt on that had eight large, red gemstones that matched the color of Zar'roc, which was resting in its scabbard on Murtagh's hip.
"The room was Galbatorix's idea, you know. He can be a very generous ruler when he wants to be. He even gave me this new ensemble as a reward for your capture along with much more. He's still in a very good mood at the moment," Murtagh said, the grin still plastered onto his face. "He'd like to meet his newest servant." Murtagh lifted the shackles he was holding and jingled them merrily. He started walking toward Eragon and when he got close enough Eragon swung his fist at Murtagh's jaw but was stopped an inch away by a ward.
Murtagh frowned and grabbed Eragon's wrists. Eragon tried to jerk away but Murtagh was just as strong as him and could clamp on the shackles.
"Don't make this harder for yourself," Murtagh said quietly. "It'll be easier for us both if you just behave. Galbatorix is being very generous now and if you anger him, he may just throw you in his dungeon with the rest of his starving prisoners." Then a wry smile appeared on Murtagh's face. "Believe me, you don't want to be down there. It smells like horse manure."
Eragon decided he'd wait until he got to Galbatorix to do anything rash, but he was determined to keep his freedom, no matter what the cost. I don't care if Galbatorix throws me in his dungeon, he thought. I won't willingly give up my mind to him and doom Alagaesia forever.
Thus, Eragon followed Murtagh out the door.
In silence, Eragon followed Murtagh down a long, dark, corridor, big enough for two well-sized dragons to walk side by side. Echoes rang out with every step they took, adding nicely to the ominous effect the hall had. At the end of the hall, nearly a mile away, was a very large, arched, golden door that could easily be seen despite its distance. Ten-foot-long, red Imperial flags donned either side of the hallway and were about twenty feet apart from each other, with doors of various sizes dotting the walls between them.
Instead of walking straight for the door, Murtagh would walk a few paces, stop, mutter something under his breath, and then continue on. At that pace, it took them over 25 minutes to get to the massive door.
As they approached, Eragon noticed a design embossed on the surface of the gold door. It was a life-sized oak tree, the leaves of which formed an arching canopy that joined with the roots below to create a great circle around the trunk. Sprouting from either side of the trunk's midsection were two thick bundles of branches, which divided the space within the circle into quarters. In the top-left quarter was a carving of an army of elves marching through a thick forest. In the top-right quarter were humans building castles and forging swords. In the lower-left, Urgals burning down a village and killing the inhabitants. In the lower-right, dwarves mining caves filled with gems and veins of ore. Coiled in the very center of the bole of the tree was a dragon that held the end of its tail in its mouth, as if biting itself.
Murtagh pulled on the handle of the door, and it slowly and silently swung open. Stepping inside, Eragon was amazed at the immense size of the throne room. It was large enough for several medium-sized dragons to fly around with ease. A line of flameless lanterns mounted on iron poles ran straight out from either side of the entranceway, illuminating the patterned floor and nothing else. They ended nearly five hundred feet away, near the base of a broad dais, upon which rested a throne. On the throne sat a single black figure.
Eragon was looking around himself warily when Murtagh gave him a push to move forward. He wondered where Shruikan was. As he walked, the figure on the throne stirred, and a deep and rich voice, imbued with an authority greater than Ajihad or Oromis said, "Welcome, welcome. I have waited too long to meet you. Come forward, let us have a talk." His voice echoed off the walls and ceiling of the dark cavern.
When they were only five feet away from the dais, Murtagh stopped, prompting Eragon to do so as well. Galbatorix leaned forward and inspected Eragon intently. Eragon glared back, but had trouble maintaining eye contact with the king's unsettling gaze. His eyes were a hard black, and they showed little white around the irises.
Leaning back from his study and shifting his focus to Murtagh, Galbatorix said, "Thank you, Murtagh." With a flick of his wrist, Galbatorix beckoned Murtagh over to him. The king's eyes followed Murtagh as he stepped up the dais and stood to the right of Galbatorix's throne, his bright armor reflecting the light of the flameless lanterns.
Galbatorix slid his focus back to Eragon. His eyes glanced at Eragon's hands and he frowned. "You shackled him?", he said, addressing Murtagh.
Murtagh shifted nervously, his previously triumphant expression vanished. "He tried to attack me, sir. He needed to be restrained."
Galbatorix raised an eyebrow at him. "You could not handle a sedated, unarmed man?" The muscles in Murtagh's jaw clenched, but before he had a chance to say anything, Galbatorix waved his hand, "No matter, we will speak of this later." He lifted his hand slightly in Eragon's direction and muttered nonchalantly, "Jierda." The shackles snapped open and clanked to the ground.
"Eragon. . . . I'm so glad to have finally met you in person," Galbatorix said, in a deceptively sincere voice. "How did you enjoy your rooms the past two nights? You slept for so long we wondered if you would ever awaken."
Eragon was at a loss for what to do. He knew he couldn't escape, and fighting Galbatorix was a battle he knew he wouldn't win. Especially when he was lacking a sword and the ability to cast spells. Entering the throne room, he knew he had passed a point of no return, and delaying the inevitable seemed pointless. Galbatorix was still watching him expectantly, waiting for Eragon to say something. "Enough of the pleasantries, what do you want," Eragon said, knowing fully well what it was Galbatorix wanted.
Galbatorix's kind expression darkened a little. "So be it," he said. "What I want is for you to swear your allegiance to me. I want to make you more powerful than you could ever dream. To teach you things not even the elves know. To rebuild the Dragon Riders to their former glory, with you as my right hand," At this, Murtagh snapped his attention onto Galbatorix, an expression of shock upon his face before he collected his expression. "Saphira would be the mother of her race, appreciated and respected above all others. Now… will you accept my offer?"
Eragon didn't have to think about it. "I would never join a traitor like you."
Galbatorix laughed mockingly. "Is that so? How disappointing. I normally like to… convince my guests to give me their oaths voluntarily, but seeing as I'm in a particular hurry, I suppose I'm going to have to force it out of you." And with that Galbatorix stabbed his mind out at Eragon.
Eragon's mind exploded in pain as Galbatorix tore at his mind seeking to suppress his thoughts. He tried every defensive technique Oromis had ever taught him to defend his mind, but Galbatorix's presence could not be ignored. He grasped each of his thoughts and bound them in iron chains, prohibiting Eragon from moving, and little by little Eragon found himself losing control of his mind. In the next minute, he couldn't think anymore. It was as if his own mind didn't exist anymore, and it was replaced with Galbatorix's.
He sifted through every memory Eragon had created, paying particular attention when he saw Oromis and Glaedr in his memories. He now knew the exact way to Ellesmera, the prophecy Angela foretold to Eragon, the deaths of the Ra'zac, and many other critically important pieces of information. After he'd gleaned all the information Eragon had available on his enemies, he paid more attention to the personal memories Eragon had obtained, trying to decipher Eragon's true name. If he'd had any control of his mind, Eragon would have felt violated, embarrassed, for Galbatorix now knew everything about him, all his successes, all his failures, his strengths, his faults. Within minutes Galbatorix had uttered Eragon's true name.
Next, he made Eragon swear oath after oath, binding him as tightly as he could, until he finally let him have his mind back. Eragon gasped and collapsed to the floor as he regained control of his body and mind.
Confusion was the first thing Eragon felt, then he realized what had just happened. "No..." he whispered. This couldn't be happening. He shook his head, trying to wake up from the horrible nightmare, but to no avail.
"Stand up," commanded Galbatorix. When Eragon remained on his hands and knees, Galbatorix spoke his true name and, again, commanded him to rise. Eragon felt the strange urge to do as he was told and stood up on his feet. Galbatorix smiled approvingly, which only helped to irritate Eragon further. "Now that's much better. I'm sure you're wondering how you can lend your services to me, but all shall be answered in the morning. Murtagh, please escort Eragon to his chambers. I'm sure he has plenty to think about." Murtagh stepped down from the dais and started walking to the door. Eragon followed and from behind him heard Galbatorix call, "Come back here an hour before sunrise and we will discuss your future."
When they had left the throne room Eragon looked at Murtagh's face and noticed that he was scowling. Eragon couldn't understand what would put him in such a bad mood, especially after he had just been praised by Galbatorix. He put the thought away though and decided to devise a plan to escape the mess he'd gotten himself into. He thought about running, but the success rate for that didn't seem very high. Fighting them off would just be folly in itself. All he could think of was how weak he had been. He had been so determined to keep his freedom beforehand, and yet it was stripped away from him in a matter of minutes.
Murtagh stopped by a large black door with mounted torches on either side of it. He pulled out a key and unlocked it, swinging it inward and letting light from the hallway illuminate the room. Murtagh shoved the key into Eragon's hand and walked back from where he came without a second glance.
Unsure of what else to do, Eragon stepped into the dark room and was surprised by how much bigger it was than the cell he'd been in. At the far-left end of the room was a large bed with deep sapphire sheets and the Empire's flag - the flame - engraved into the headboard. Book cases towered on either side of the bed, though empty. At the wall opposite the bed, flames burned low in a highly decorative obsidian fireplace. The room was devoid of any windows, and standing against one wall was a medium sized dresser, which, upon closer inspection, was completely empty aside from the dirty clothes he had been wearing before he was captured, Aren, and the Belt of Beloth the Wise.
Eragon picked up Aren with confusion. Why would Galbatorix give him this back? And why would he return his old clothes instead of a fresh imperial uniform? Deciding he'd wait until morning to don his old armor, he walked over to the far end of the room to inspect the bed he would be sleeping on. He patted it a few times to make sure it was safe, then slouched into the bed waiting for unconsciousness to smother his awareness into oblivion.
I hope you guys enjoyed! Leave a review and let me know.
