The Rising

There was one word on the wind, and Eragon could feel it. His heightened senses of the world around him brought the feeling to him, and he shivered as it caressed the whole of his being as he stood on the edge of the hill on which his house rested. Wyrda! The single ancient word meant so much to him, and yet meant nothing. He knew its literal meaning, as the word meant "fate," but he knew not what its connotations were. Though he felt a great stirring inside him, he did not yet comprehend its exact meaning. He sighed and approached the great blue dragon, Saphira, and placed a tired hand upon her shoulder.

Saphira, I don't know what to do, he told her, I'm getting old, though not by physical means. I feel it; it's as though some fire within me were flickering out.

The dragon blinked at him, considering his statement. You are, by a Rider's standards, still young, little one. Perhaps it is mere unrest.

The man sighed deeply, looking almost sadly into her sapphire eyes. I suppose you're right. I just need to get out. I've been too long in one place.

Go to your daughter, Eragon, Saphira suggested, Maybe she can help subside your feeling, whatever it may be.

Eragon smiled and patted the dragon's shoulder, nodding once. Thank you, Saphira. I think I will. Though I will return here with her. I want you to be with us when she and I talk.

Of course, little one, came the gentle reply.

Eragon left his companion momentarily to approach the house, a squat structure seated atop a hill overlooking the Palancar Valley. "Elaria, would you help me polish Saphira's saddle?" he called to his daughter, who stood just inside their small home within earshot of her father. The young woman emerged from the cottage, her long brown hair flickering in the wind. She was tall and thin, a carbon copy of her father at her age with the exception of hair color. She tossed her head, nearing her father who had gone over to sit on a little stool near the enormous blue dragon.

"Of course, father," the girl replied, the slightest hint of reluctance in her voice. Picking up a cloth, she pulled a seat up alongside him and began to polish the large saddle with her father.

"Elaria, I've been meaning to talk to you," Eragon told his daughter as their hands moved in almost identical circles, "Now that you're fifteen, almost sixteen, it's just becoming a very important time; not only for me, but also for you."

Elaria looked at him, sure of where this was going. Her hand continued to move as she replied, "Oh?"

The man's hand paused for a moment as he looked up to the sky. "This was the exact time in my life, down to the age which you are at, when I first gained Saphira."

Elaria rolled her eyes and sighed. This was just what she had been expecting. "Father, as much as you want me to – "

Eragon cut her off. "Elaria, I'm not forcing you. Just listen for a moment. When I was about your age, I began to learn things that taught me a great deal both about the world and about myself. Whether you become a Rider or not, I would like to take it upon myself to begin your instruction in magic and other areas."

Elaria closed her eyes briefly. She then opened them with a scowl. "Father, I know it means a lot to you that I carry on whatever legacy you have begun, but I am not interested. I just want to live my life in peace, no narrow brushes with death, no evening the odds…I want to stay here and be myself, not looked up to nor idolized by anyone or anything. Take that however you will, but that is my opinion."

Eragon sighed, standing and placing the cloth on the saddle. "Elaria, I know it's hard for you, being who you are. But being the daughter of a Rider, people will naturally expect certain things of you. True, you may not get a dragon – in fact, that's highly unlikely – but many people will still look to you for guidance. Strength runs in your veins because of me, and people know that. No matter what fate you choose, people will always regard you as the Rider's daughter. However, if you choose to follow a different path, what they consider you after that is open to debate."

Elaria scowled, tossing the rag to the ground. "Why can't I be my own person? I've always lived in your shadow. I've always been looked at twice by the townspeople. What if I didn't want to be the Rider's daughter? What if I wanted to be Elaria? Myself."

Her father drew his brows together, a plaintive look slowly coming over his face. "I am afraid that option is not open to you. Everyone will know who you are, and if you fail to live up to their expectations, people will talk. They will question your right to call yourself daughter of the Shadeslayer. Even if you choose not to be a Rider, you must be diplomatic, courteous, and stand for justice and right wherever you go. No matter how hard you try to remain hidden, you will stick out in a crowd. People will bow to you, you could move whole nations to battle or peace if the mood struck you. Leaders of the races and nations, once you are out in the world, will try to determine your future for you," he said, recalling his own rise to infamy.

"Maybe I want to decide my own future," Elaria said, rising and going over to stand a few feet away. She sighed and thought briefly. "Perhaps that's what my mother wanted for me, for me to be strong and not give into the wishes of others."

Eragon gave a sudden intake of breath at mention of Elaria's mother as though he had been struck in the stomach. "Your mother…" he trailed off.