DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything other than the plot. Everything familiar belongs to the wonderful Chris Paolini.
This is my fist fanfic, so please bear with me. Enjoy
Flashback
Just as Saphira was about to take to the air for the dragon hold, an old woman stepped forward and grasped Eragon's ankle. He tried to pull away, but her hold was like an iron talon and he could not break her obstinate seize. She fixed on him grey eyes that were surrounded by a lifetime's worth of wrinkles. A frayed bundle rested in the crook of her left hand.
"What do you want" Eragon asked, frightened.
A cloth dell from the bundle in the woman's left hand, revealing a baby's face. Desperation filled her voice as she said: "There is no one to care for her but me; she has no parents. Please, bless her with your magic Argetlam. Bless her for luck!"
For help, Eragon looked desperately at Orik, but he did naught but watch, a guarded expression on his face. The little crowd surrounding Saphira became silent and waited for his answer.
The woman continued to look at him. "Bless her, please, bless her".
Eragon had never blessed anyone before. A blessing could awry, proving to be more a curse than an advantage, therefore something not done lightly in Alagaësia. Do I dare to take that responsibility? He wondered.
"Please Argetlam, bless her, bless her". The woman persisted.
Decisive, Eragon began to search for a phrase or word to use. Nothing came to mind, until he thought of the ancient language. If he used the ancient language then it would be a true blessing, one spoken with words of power.
He jerked the glove off his right hand. He placed his hand on the baby's brow and uttered, "Atra gülai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse skölir frá rauthr". He was left unpredictably weak, almost as if he had used magic. He said to the woman as he slowly pulled back on his glove, "That is all I can do for her".
Bowing slightly, the woman whispered, "Thank you Argetlam". As she started to cover the baby, Saphira snorted, looming her head over the small child. Her breath caught in her chest as the woman froze. Saphira brushed her nose over the baby above the eyes, then gradually lifted away.
Eragon grew stiff, as he saw the baby's forehead. A patch of skin stood out against her face, as white and silvery as Eragon's gedwëy ignasia. The woman stared at Saphira with wordless thanks in her eyes before turning away.
Saphira immediately took to the sky, battering the captivated crowd with the wind from her mighty wings. What did you do? Eragon asked Saphira gently.
You gave her a future and I gave her hope, she replied.
End Flashback
Eragon now entered Nasuada's furnished pavilion, located near the back of the Varden's campsite, Saphira pushing her head in as far as she could. They were met by a steely rasp as Nasuada's commanders drew their swords.
Nasuada sat at the head of the long table situated in the center of the pavilion. Roran sat to her right, Arya to her left. Elva was seated next to Arya.
Roran and Nasuada seemed to be discussion about what the villagers of Carvahall were going to do next. Both looked up as Eragon entered. "Ah…Eragon. I am assuming that you are here to try and remove the spell that you placed on Elva before the battle of Farthen Dûr.
"Yes...I am" Eragon replied, a little gravely.
At that point, Angela the Herbalist entered the tent. "I am here, Nasuada" she panted.
"Ok – Eragon am I correct to guess that we are ready to begin. Elva – are you ready?" the daughter of Ajihad asked.
Both Eragon and Elva answered yes. Nasuada then directed her attention to Roran. "Do you want to stay for this? You can leave if you want to".
Eragon watched his cousin ponder his answer. A moment passed before he spoke "Yes, I will stay".
"Ok that's settled. Eragon?"
The young Dragon Rider stepped toward Elva, who had risen from her chair. He crouched down to her level and evenly met her gaze. His nerves were going haywire, and Saphira shifted uncomfortably. However, the hand that Eragon reached out and placed on Elva's brow was still and relaxed. He gently murmured the words in the ancient language, his tongue tracing every syllable, every sound rasping from his dry throat.
He felt the magic sap his energy, as it was transferred into the young child standing before him. She gradually stepped away from him, lightly falling to the floor, declining into a light sleep. Meanwhile, Eragon was starting to question his judgment. Was he really strong enough to do this, when the battle was only yesterday? He should have listened to Saphira.
Eragon!
