A/N: Tell me honestly, who thinks of Galbatorix's origins? Who thinks of exactly how he went mad? Who thinks about how he felt when his dragon died? Answer: I do. Apparently. And here's my thoughts x)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle. I am not Christopher Paolini. If I was, Inheritance would already be released, ATHANKYOUVERYMUCH! Ahem...
Long ago, there was a young Dragon Rider named Galbatorix. You know the story of his rise to power, of his descent into madness, of the might he gained once more. You know all this, and you weep for it.
But what you do not know, and you do not weep for, is how he went mad.
Of course, you know that the death of his first dragon was what planted the seeds of the madness. But what man who lives today could tell the tale of exactly what happened on that glacier, on that sheet of ice, that resulted in such tragedy? Who is still alive who could relate the truth of that terrible night? The answer: very few. But there are some. And they are not men.
The only survivors of that night, besides Galbatorix himself, were the Urgals who did not join in the attack. They were held in reserve, as they had much to learn from watching their elders. They witnessed everything. They are long dead, but their descendants live on, and they remember the story their grandsires told them. They remember, and they share.
This, collected from the minds of those Urgals and Galbatorix himself, is the true story of the night that started the longest, bloodiest war Alagaësia had seen since Du Fyrn Skulblaka.
They sat on the ice, laughing at something one of them had said. Who said what is unimportant, and was even then. What mattered was the spirit of camaraderie the boys shared over the fire, the only spot of warmth on this plain of ice. Three dragon and their Riders in a rough circle, confident in their power. The boys leaned against their dragons' bellies for warmth, and the dragons kept the magical fire going long into the dark hours.
Galbatorix, half-asleep, looked up at the full moon above and smiled. It's beautiful, isn't it, Jarnuvosk? he said.
Quite so, little one, his dragon replied tenderly, gently flicking the top of his head with the tip of her tongue. She was about to say more, but something else caught her attention. Her head rose along with the other dragons', and they listened, sampling the air.
What is it? Galbatorix asked, not exactly worried – after all, who could hurt them?
Urgals, Jarnuvosk hissed, rising.
Calm down, her Rider told her, following suit with considerably less haste. That's why we're here, isn't it?
Many Urgals! Jarnuvosk exclaimed as the brutes exploded from the darkness.
Galbatorix and his companions fought hard that night, under the full moon. Blood ran as rivers, on both sides of the battle. Arrows flew, swords crashed, screams died mid-note. Finally, all Galbatorix could see were two Urgals, both archers. He killed them both with magic, sending their shots wide.
He had no time to feel satisfaction before one of them pierced his heart.
But no, he realized through blinding agony, not his heart. Jarnuvosk's.
He turned to the dragon behind him. She was on her side, breathing heavily, each breath sending a bolt of pain through herself and her Rider. He fell to his knees, partly because he could stand no longer, and pulled her head into his arms.
Little one, she said, her voice faint. Galbatorix.
Tears cascaded from his eyes, but he was unashamed. He would shed any amount of tears if they would save his dragon. Don't go, Jarnuvosk, he begged. Don't leave me. Please. "Don't leave me."
A feeling akin to a smile reached Galbatorix. It is the way of things.
No, he said. No, I won't let you go. You can't! You can't- He could not even think the word.
I must, little one, Jarnuvosk said, her once-bright eyes, the color of a green sea, dimming. It is the way of things.
Stop saying that! I can save you! I can-
You cannot. You know this, little one. No one can stop Death.
Galbatorix sobbed. No...he protested weakly.
You will be great someday, Galbatorix, Jarnuvosk said, though her mental voice was fading. A great man. But do not carry my soul with you forever. You must let me go. Do this, please...for me...
And she was gone.
Galbatorix cradled her head in his arms and sobbed, beyond emotion. He did not feel the small snap in his mind when she died, nor would he have cared if he had. His only thought was that Jarnuvosk, his Jarnuvosk, was gone, and she wasn't coming back.
A/N: Once again I ask for honesty. What did you think? Please drop a review! :)
Edit: Okay okay OKAY! *holds hands up in surrender* I'm sorry I forgot his dragon's name! It is Jarnuvosk, not Lenora! Thank you for correcting me, but dudes. Little more love? x)