"Eragon what's wrong with you now" Saphira asked her troubled rider once again. He as always did not answer her. She could tell that something was wrong with him, he hardly slept and when he did he was restless. He had never mentioned anything, but Saphira could always tell when he was troubled. As she looked at him she was saddened to see the dark circles under his eyes, and the way he looked so tired and worn. Humans vexed her so much, mostly the men, they never admitted when something was wrong.
Eragon was so innocent yet at the same time he was so disturbed. She had turned his life upside down and backwards by hatching for him. If she had never come to him he would still be living a reasonably peaceful life. The empire would still have come, and they most certainly would have found some reason or another to destroy the village, and Eragon would most likely have been forced to join the army when he became old enough. Sometimes Saphira wondered what would have happened if she had never hatched for Eragon, or never come into contact with him at all.
Eragon carried so much weight on his shoulders, for one so young he was mature. In the terms of humans he was considered a man; yet to the elves whom he so resembled he was no more than a mere boy. Hopefully he would get better; it was so hard for her when her rider was in this state of personal distress…
It was the same dream, it always the same dream these days. Eragon tried not to sleep because of that dream. It wasn't because the dream was awful or terrible, no the dream was far from it really. His dreams were of blazing fire and flowing water melding together, yet not counteracting one another. He also dreamed of a woman, so fair that she took his breath away.
Her hair was long and blonde, flowing down her back like a rushing river, so thick and lusterous. Her skin was as pale as the moon itself, lily white, and flawless. Eyes bluer than the sea would stare into his in the dreams, making his heart skip a beat. She would call to him, beckon him away from the camp of the Varden and show him places beyond his wildest dreams. they would dance over the skies and and seas, yet every time he woke up he found himself back in the camp, alone in his tent.
After a while he wished that the woman was real, every day the Varden had some thing or another that he had to take care of or help with. With the arrival of the elves Eragon thought things would get better, unfourturatly they seemed to make things worse than when they started. All the humans, whenever an elve walked by had to stop whatever they were doing to gwack and stare. they could not get along with the dwarves very well at all either. Eragon was glad the Urgals seemed to be at least somewhat pulled together in the chaos.
for some reason Eragon could not fathom, he felt as though he despratly needed to go for a walk in the woods. The only problem was that the elves seemed to feel the need to watch and follow his every movement. they had changed his guard to a smaller number, but it was still suffucating him. Vanir had been added to the guard that watched him and that seemed to make everything even worse than it already was. Vanir seemed to hover over him, never seeming to leave him alone at all. Yet even under the watchful eyes of the guard he was able to steal away into the forest. Into the night alone, he did not feel their eyes on his back, or hear them stalk him through the trees, nor did he see the black clad figure that kept his stalkers at bay.
If he did notice her he would most likley have thought her to bo some sort of stalker herself. She was an assassin, bat she was after prey far more dangerous than some boy such as him. When she began to follow him she dissmissed it as nothing more than morbid curiousity that drove her. He was handsome though, brown blonde hair, chocolate eyes, strong body, tanned from long hours in the sun. He was like the strange man in her dreams, the one where the mans name was Eragon, but as far as she could see he could not possibly be him.