Reborn
It was one of the things that Eragon hated most. Constantly, during the war, it was all there was. Waiting. Just waiting for the unknown. When would Murtagh attack? When would the Empire send more of its hellish, painless soldiers? Never knowing what he was waiting for, but always having to do it.
It was not like the farm, or training with Oromis and Glaedr. During those times, he could wait for hours in calm and patience. Despite their many disagreements and criticisms, both of his ebrithil agreed that the Shadeslayer was a patient man, for his age. However, that was only because, in those places, he always knew what was coming next. In the morning in Carvahall, he would have his breakfast, milk the cows, then tend the field. In Ellesmere, he would shave, eat, then train. There was always some semblance of order.
However, with the Varden, in the war, there was no knowing what would happen. There was always something that could occur, something to fear. A surprise, waiting to strike. No one ever knew what would come the next day, or even if they would live to see it. He had thought that his back wound would have eliminated his fear and hate of the unpredictable, but in only enhanced it. All they could ever do was wait.
Just as Eragon had to do now.
The Talita was three weeks out. She had not seen land in half the time, as they sailed away from Alagaësia. The feeling of open sea was not exactly new to Eragon, but it unsettled him, nonetheless. It was horribly dangerous, with the sea creatures about, ready to feast.
Eragon banished the thought from his mind, instead focusing on his training. Three weeks of almost constant mental fortification made him a worthy opponent, able to defend his mind from many of the elves aboard. He was growing more and more powerful, surprising even the endlessly wise Eldunari. They agreed that his progress was astounding, and none knew what was making it so.
At this moment, Eragon was sitting, cross-legged, staring intently at one of the elves. She sat identically, staring into his eyes. Her name was Ekka, one of the strongest spell-casters aboard. They were both tense, and everyone was gathered around, mentally and/or physically.
She was good. Very good. Her defenses were strong, her attacks were sharp, and she was able to counter many of Eragon's own jabs. However, he could spot a fatal flaw in the way she was focused. She was wholly absorbed in the battle, her entire mind occupied by it. However, this total focus also meant that she was vulnerable to and outside attack. Without even a portion of her mind dedicated to expecting outside stimuli, anything could break her concentration. Something simple, like...
Without warning, Eragon slammed his palm against the deck, startling the woman. He used this to slip through her defenses, and drain a great deal of energy. Not enough to harm, but enough to simulate the result of an actual battle. She understood that, had Eragon been a rival magician, she would have died. They stood, still facing each other.
"A good fight, Shadeslayer," she stated, bowing deeply. Eragon did the same, a light grin on his face.
"Indeed, Ekka-Elda. However, I would advise that you keep an ear alert for what is around you." She would not have made that mistake during the war. The crowd of elves dispersed, as did the minds of the Eldunari. Eragon's smile faded, replaced by an irritated scowl.
Everyone was growing too relaxed. The war had ended only weeks ago, and the elves were making mistakes like that. It seemed as if everyone on this damn boat had lost their minds! Well, everyone except...
Saphira, called Eragon, mentally. He could feel her nearby, but she was out of sight.
Little one? she asked, and he could sense some glee from her end. Happiness had been rare since her parting with Fìrnen, so feeling any amount was refreshing
Where are you? he asked, looking around. This particular feeling he was sensing from her was definitely mischief. Oh, gods.
I'm about to come back down, though you may want to jump. Her answer was odd, but Eragon knew what is likely meant. She was going to-
A roard sounded to the east, and Eragon had one choice. He leapt high into the air, using magic to create a thin, strong barrier between him and any fast-moving, sharp objects. Just as he had expected, a massive, blue blur shot below him. Using his enhanced elven reaction-speed, he grabbed onto one of the alabaster spikes on her back. He braced his arm before the jolt of sudden motion hit him, rocking his entire body.
He managed to hold on, as the dragoness slowed her flight. The ship was already out of sight, but Eragon cared not. He had wanted to be off of that deck for days, but never gave himself time. Pulling himself to his spot on her back, he whispered a few words to protect his legs from her rough scales.
Good morning, little one, greeted Saphira. How was your duel?
As well as can be expected, responded the Shadeslayer. I'm not sure how I'm getting so much stronger.
Perhaps your mind is becoming clear, she suggested. There was always something clouding your thoughts during the war. I can feel the mist in your head settling. It was true. Having recently, finally made peace with their decision to leave Alagaësia, his mind felt more at ease than it had since Saphira hatched.
Maybe you're right. He began to rub her neck, earning a satisfied rumble from the dragon. She loved being scratched, rubbed, and any other kind of physical attention from him. Recently, her reactions to his gestures had grown more pronounced, having nearly crushed him more than once. A comment about her rolling over like a dog, while accurate, had irritated her immensely, and caused some level of passive aggression for a while. However, she quickly got over the strike to her vanity, knowing that the only ones they really had left were each other.
Oh, the elves and Eldunari were a help. However, aside from Glaedr and, to some extent, Blödhgarm, none of them had really surpassed the title of guard or ebrithil. Most of the elders could barely speak in any comprehensible fashion, and the elves were very reserved around Eragon. Even after everything they had been through and the many things he had done, he still wasn't sure if they trusted him.
For a while, the Rider and dragon enjoyed blissful silence, until Saphira exclaimed something that Eragon had been waiting for for weeks.
I-is that land!? she asked , surprised. The Rider immediately looked through her eyes and, sure enough, saw a thin line of trees in the distance. A wide, excited grin spread across his face as he gaze upon their destination.
Should we? he asked.
I believe so. We can always head back to the ship to tell them about it later. Besides, that boat is ever so slow. Waiting in anticipation would be torture.
Torture, eh? That's a bit extreme, coming from the dragon who scolded me for using similar phrasing after being stuck learning about swords for hours.
Bah!
Once they finally arrived at the shore, they were blown away by what they saw. Once, when traveling to meet the Varden for the first time, he had mistook the Beor mountains for a foggy skyline, due to their enormous height. Now, he made the same mistake. Towering mountains surrounded a small valley, appearing to be nearly as tall as the Beors. A heavily forested valley lay between them all, populated with an abundance of exotic flora and fauna.
Many plateaus extended from the mountains, large enough to have small forests growing from them. The greenery, different elevations, and many waterfalls made the entire land appear more beautiful and strange than anything he'd ever seen.
Quite the landscape, commented Saphira. Suitable, perhaps? Eragon took a moment to untangle his tongue, speechless.
"Indeed," he stated. They landed on one of the many plateaus, a large one overlooking much of the valley. It would have been completely serene, if not for Saphira hunting some wild elk. Eragon watched as she swooped down, grabbing the meaty creature with her talons. Viewing the hunt gave him an odd surge of excitement. He had never felt such a rush before, as he saw her tear into the carcass of her prey.
Enjoying the show, little one? she asked, amused by his awed expression. Since Ellesmere, you've not shown much interest in the hunt. Perhaps you'd like to participate?
Perhaps I would, slipped Eragon's mind, as he instinctually desired joining her. She heard him, and the rare look of surprise appeared on her face.
Truly? she asked. And just why have you suddenly rekindled your desire to hunt? He had no idea.
I'm not sure, he responded. It's been so long... At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel the intensity of the hunt, and rush of the kill. To feel what he could sometimes faintly sense through his bond with Saphira, whenever she would go for food. Elf customs and morals be damned. He had saved the world, he deserved a gods-damned piece of meat.
Well, I could take you, offered the dragon. On one condition.
And what would that be, O illustrious Saphira?
If you'll hunt with a dragon, you'll hunt as a dragon.
Saphira shot over the trees, leaving them trembling in her wake. Eragon positioned himself precariously on her back, no strapped down, relying on his strong, elf legs to keep his steady. In his hand was a hunting dagger, which he always had strapped to his boot. Saphira was adamant that he had to use no tool grander than a knife, as dragons had nothing more than their own bodies to hunt with.
She was completely silent, allowing him to search for the prey with his own senses, and subconsciously alter her direction as he did. Eventually, he sensed a full-grown elk, secluded from his group. Perfect prey.
Eragon had only a short opportunity to strike. Saphira was flying quickly, and he would have to leap down to kill the elk. Less than a second was his window, more than enough. As Saphira shot over the clearing where the prey lay, Eragon jumped from her back. Aiming his dagger downward, the Rider landed on its back, driving the blade into its skull with perfect precision. The unfortunate creature died almost instantly , collapsing beneath the half-elf's momentum.
As Eragon stepped away from his fresh kill, he smiled. Even having entered the mind and felt the death of such creatures, he found pleasure in such efficient hunting. He swelled with pride in the quickness of the kill. As Saphira landed, she was surprised to see Eragon cutting a piece of bloody, raw meat from his kill.
Will you not cook it, first? she inquired, curious of his actions.
I hunted as a dragon does. Perhaps I should eat as one, as well? His voice carried a seemingly familiar tone that she could not place. Somehow, it reminded her of herself, but at the same time, felt completely alien to her. In her pondering, she almost did not see her Rider bite into the meat.
Eragon had never tasted something so delicious. The meat he had been given the pleasure of eating had always been dried, salted, and drained of any real flavor. This venison was full of taste, juicy, and fed his strange bloodlust like catnip. As the blood flowed down his throat like wine, he could feel a strange sensation throughout his body. Like he was waking from a deep sleep that had dominated his life. Like he had finally plucked a long needle from his side. Like none of the problems if yesterday were real, and all that mattered was tomorrow.
He felt as if he had been reborn.
Just so you know, that last section is what I like to call EPIC FORESHADOWING!