Ok, so this is my first fanfiction. Please review and give me some ideas. Sorry it's so short!
Chapter 1: Aftermath
Eragon grasped the pommel of Brisingr tightly in his fist. His knuckles turned white from the pressure.
This has been taking hours! Will this ever end?! Eragon projected his thoughts to Saphira, whose head poked through the tent flap. He tried not to let his impatience show on his face as he stood beside Nasuada.
Eragon and his liege lord had been in an audience with members of the Varden for several hours, listening to their complaints and requests.
Patience, little one. Saphira rumbled, though her own annoyance showed through her thoughts.
It had been a day since Arya and Eragon had killed the shade together, during the siege on Feinster. The Varden were still recuperating from the amount of losses they had suffered.
To his utter relief, Eragon felt Blodhgarm and Arya approach the tent.
Greetings Shadeslayer. Eragon heard Blodhgarm project. Turning to Nasuada, he told her, with his thoughts, who approached. She nodded, saying that he could go. After bowing respectably to Nasuada and the present people, he trotted out of the stifling enclosure. Turning, he saw the two elves running towards him. They elves moved in unearthly, languid strides. Stopping before him, they gave the elvish gesture of courtesy, followed by the lines of respect. After acknowledgments, he swung onto Saphira's saddle and flew ahead of the following elves.
Almost beyond their view, the Jiet River flowed in cobalt currents toward Surda. The cool, fresh breeze poured over Eragon's perspiring body. He shivered. Below the dragon and rider sat the destruction of Galbatorix's men. The once gray stones of the pavement within the city, had been dyed a deep crimson from the blood spilled during the battle. Great funeral pyres burned acrid flames. Eragon felt misery below him as he widened his mental walls. Unease prickled at the back of his mind.
The people of Feinster have suffered so much because of Galbatorix,. Eragon told Saphira. We must find a way to strike him within his own walls.
Saphira agreed.
To ease his pestered conscience, he thought of a riddle. What can run, but has no legs? Has a mouth, but consumes nothing. Can bear great things, yet has no arms. What be me?
An easy little trifle, Saphira answered, blowing a jet blue flame into the air. A river.