The underlying smell of sulfur that seeped through the air of the Burning Plains caused Eragon's stomach to turn with disgust and revulsion as he looked at across the empty wasteland. The great battle had passed two moons ago, and still he troubled over the realization of who his true father was. Angela was right in her prophecy then...The thought came unbidden to his mind as it had countless times before. Betrayed by family…oh how bitter sweet it was to know all the brotherly feelings he had felt for Murtagh were the right feelings, and how painful to know he was the son of Morzan, the one who betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix.
Sighing Eragon directed his gaze away from the plains and looked out across the camp of the Varden, funeral pyres burned, sending their dark smoke wafting into the air as the cries of woman and children sounded in a musical cascade of sorrow and anger. Arya stood slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, her face an emotionless mask that it seemed elves wore from birth. Nasuada leader of the Varden cried silently, tears sliding down her toffee colored face as she mourned her brave fallen, whilst King Orin of Surda patted her arm gently, his own face wearing the mask of grief and the promise of vengeance to Galbatorix. Roran, Eragon's cousin stood stock still, shoulders thrown back and head held high as he watched the smoke rose, Eragon could almost fancy seeing the souls of the fallen rising up to whatever Gods or Goddess's they had worshipped, entering the land of the dead that he had yet to see.
Silently, so as not to bring attention to himself Eragon turned away from the fires and walked quickly through the camp, passing the tents of soldiers, stepping over bloodied swords that still needed cleaning, or the arrows that littered the ground. Grief battled a war with rage as he walked, unsure of which emotion to let loose. He had made a promise to his cousin he was unsure he could keep; there was still so much to be done! So many more battles to be fought…so many more lives to loose in a war that would sweep across Alagaesia, charring the beautiful lands of his country…all because of a single mad man and his mad dragon.
Biting at his lip Eragon sent out silent summons for Saphira his faithful and steadfast companion. She came without speaking, dropping down from the sky, her scales glittering brighter than any stars he had ever seen, the ivory spikes of her neck seeming to almost glow in the veiled light of the sun that struggled to peek through the stormy gray sky. Nimbly Eragon leaped up onto her back settling himself with ease at the base of her neck, gripping tight her closest neck spike he gave her the go ahead and she leapt up into the sky; talons digging into the charred ground, heaving her great bulk up. Her wings snapped open and with a powerful flap she and her rider soared up into the air, shooting through the gray clouds and coming out the other side, dew glistening on the beautiful sapphire scales and dampening Eragon's clothes.
Closing his eyes Eragon allowed himself to drift, relaxing his grip on Saphira and breathing in the air that was so much sweeter up in the clouds then down on the ground.
What troubles you little one? Saphira questioned gently as she soared across the Burning Plains, heading away from the camp of the Varden.
Eragon hesitated just a moment, before spilling out the thing that troubled him the most. How can you bear to have me upon you Saphira, knowing that because of my father Galbatorix rose to power…because of Morzan the dragons are gone…because of him, this war is happening.
Little one, do you not trust me at all? I would not have hatched for you if I thought you in any way evil, you are the one who can help my people, who your father was or is does not matter to me in the slightest. You are Eragon, the first rider of the new order of Dragon Riders, it will be you who helps my people, you will raise the Riders up again past their former glory…Morzan was not your father, Garrow was. At her simple words Eragon felt the worst of the weight on his shoulders slip away and he nuzzled Saphira's neck wrapping his arms around her.
Where would I be without you my dearest friend?
On the ground...but that isn't here or there now is it? Eragon laughed, and he felt Saphira's pleasure at his happiness, if it was for only this point of time, when they were alone and flying so far above the world that had indeed caused them so much pain. Content Eragon let Saphira have her head and relaxed, his thoughts drifting yet again to the elf woman that caused his palms to dampen and his heart thud. How beautiful Arya was…if only she herself could look past the difference of their age, it meant so little to him after all.
At Saphira's sudden jerking stop Eragon grimaced at the jarring of his wounds and reached out through his mental link with Saphira. Saphira, what are you stopping for? Eragon half sat up, his eyes focusing on Saphira only as he felt a trickle of fear seep through their mental link. His heart started to pound as Saphira's fear gripped him. SAPHIRA! Eragon shouted but his dragon didn't respond, only continued to stare straight ahead, her muscles quivering as her wings flapped lightly, just enough to keep them in place. Shivering from the fear he was feeling, and the cold of the air, Eragon looked past Saphira and felt his heart stop.
Hovering in the air before them was a dragon darker than the shadows with a rider perched upon its back.