A/N: Hello, It's been a while since I updated my other story, but in my defense I was working on this. So here it is. Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or anything else. OH, the tragedy!
Who could possibly be in my tent? Eragon thought as he entered his twilight- darkened tent. The day had been long and trying for Eragon; the death of Oromis, the siege of Feinster, the slaying of yet another shade, and the simple toll of battle had all left their indelible mark on Eragon. He was bruised, battered, cut, and exhausted physically as well as mentally. All he truly wanted was to lie down and rest his weary limbs and fatigued mind and drift in the subtle visions of his dreams. Still, on the plus side, Saphira was an infinite comfort with her soft reassurances, and simply sharing the mourning of the death of a wonderful mentor and friend was a blessing.
They had made their way through the camp. The smell of smoke and death was still thick in the air mingling with the cries of those who were dying even now and those who had lost loved ones. The wails wound in one ear, rattled the brain and set teeth on edge before sialing out the other. The camp seemed to find balance for the tortured cries with drinks. Men were toasting to their victories and raising glasses to fallen comrades, while others became raucous and began drinking songs.
Eragon had been running to and fro nearly the whole time, assisting the Du Vrangar Gata and Angela the witch, and the elvish members of his guard with the wounded. Mending broken bones and fixing most ailments battles brought was easy for him, what Eragon couldn't handle was the fact he could not be everywhere at once, people died before they could be brought to him. Their pleas for help still rang fresh in his ears when the Angela had shooed him from her tent telling him that unless he rested he would drop dead himself from exhaustion and using too much energy in a spell when he had none left to give. Numbly, he had abided by Angela's request and was at that moment hastening to his tent.
He was almost at the entrance of his tent when he sensed another consciousness dwelling inside it.
"Blodhgarm?" he whispered as quietly as he could, knowing the fur- covered elf could hear him.
"Yes Shadeslayer, we feel it as well," the elf all but breathed in his ear. "However, we feel no hostility, and it is no conscious we recognize."
"Perhaps it is a solider with news from Nasuada?" Eragon suggested.
"This is no solider. I can smell no blood, no sweat, nor any of the things that are associated with the battle we have just fought some hours hence."
"Do you think it wise to enter?" Eragon frowned.
"I think we have a need to know who is in this tent. No harm shall come to you Argetlam, you can be sure of that." The other elves nodded and mumbled their reassurances. Eragon had no doubt the elves would protect him from any threat or catch any clue he was likely to miss, but the battle and all the healing had frayed his nerves.
Saphira. Eragon reached for Saphira's comforting presence.
Yes, little one, I think it is safe to enter. You and I have been in enough battles and we both seem to know when something too dangerous is nearby.
We do?
Well, at least I do, she amended. My scales tend to itch when anything terribly dangerous is near.
Do they now?
Yes, they do. Now get in there and kick whoever it is out. We both need to rest.
Eragon chuckled and slowly drew back the tent flap. Once inside, he saw a lamp had been lit, but was almost gone out. Whoever had come to his tent had been there awhile. His eyes drifted slowly around the room, searching for any kind of signal or clue as to whether the person in his tent was truly hostile.
He spotted nothing until his eyes drifted to the cot. There was a strange sort of sack near the foot; it was made of several different colored yarn, and several long pieces of ribbon seemed to hang down from it for no particular reason. Many objects were either sewn into the bag or were pinned there. All were small but some were glittered strangely while others were the oddest colors. A number of objects protruded from the bag: several bottle full of poisonous looking liquids, tiny bottles that seemed to be filled with paint, a number of strange silver devices whose purpose escaped him and a small bunch of feathers of varying length and colors had completely fallen out of the bag and now lay next to it.
Next to it lied a long case it had the general shape of a gourd but was flatter and a long neck extended from it. The case itself was made from a thick black sort of wool covering a hardened shell, there were numerous pockets and bags hanging from it as well. While the bag had been somewhat given a clue as to what it was, but this was just confusing.
Eragon had become distracted by the bag and case, but now his attention was fully devoted to the figure as it moved.
It wasn't a particularly large figure, and, by the general shape, it was a woman or girl. His guard lowered for a moment, but then rose twice as high as he remembered that his own mother had been one of the Empire's most skilled assassins. The figure's back was turned to him and she lay on her side. He slowly slipped his hunting knife from his boot, not wanting the unnecessary scraping of a swordto avoid alerting her to his presence and approached the figure ever so quietly. The figure stirred again and a hand slipped from one of the blankets, it was thin, white, smooth, and on each finger was a silver ring in a different style and design. The figure turned again fitfully and Eragon could fully see its face.
She was unmistakably beautiful: her skin was a colorless as snow, her lips were a pale pink, and her face was framed by a shock of ebony hair. The hair itself was a mysteriously dark with an almost rainbow colored sheen cut just below her ears, there were various crow and raven feathers tied into the hair.
"Oh my," remarked Blodhgarm, "She is back."
"Who is she?" Eragon demanded in a hiss. "You seem to know her, is she an elf?" Eragon immediately cancelled out that thought, he could see her ears quite well from here and they were round.
"No," Blodhgarm said. "She is human, and I met her but a short while ago."
"How long ago was it?" pressed Eragon.
"Some twelve years."
"That is a much longer time to humans. How can you tell it is the same person?"
"Oh, believe me, Argetlam, when she awakes, you will not be able to forget her either."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No, but she is very different than most humans."
"Oh." That was reassuring, she almost sounds like Angela. Saphira? What should I do?
Well first, she remarked dryly, I would wake her up. Eragon rolled his eyes. Gently, he approached the girl, but Blodhgarm reached her first. A smile was quick upon his lips as he gingerly shook the figure.
"Little thief," he called softly, "it is time to awake."
Little thief, wondered Eragon. What kind of name is that?
It could be a fond memory that caused him to call her that, as I call you little one. Saphira observed, snaking her head into the tent.
"Who?" the figure called out, her voice slightly muffled. Her eyes opened blearily at first, and Eragon was caught by their color― a strange blue, like the color of the sky on a winter morning, beautiful be very sharp.
"Blodhgarm?" she asked."The old biddy enlisted you in protecting the new Rider?"
"Old biddy?" Eragon repeated, stunned by her words.
"You should not speak of my Queen as such little thief," Blodhgarm chided, his tone fairly mild.
"I'll stop when she stops calling me an insufferable child," retorted the intruder.
Queen Islanzadi! She has just called the Queen of the elves an old biddy! Eragon all but shouted to Saphira. Saphira chuckled.
It's about time someone called her something besides wonderful, the dragonreplied. Eragon heard his name mentioned and drew his conscious back to the scene at hand.
"Eragon," called Blodhgarm, "I would like to introduce you to Thalia, the greatest thief in all of Alagaesia." At this introduction, the girl straightened up and offered her hand. Eragon was about to take it when he noticed something, slowly he took her hand by the wrist and turned her hand palm face up. There shining on her palm was the gedway ignasia.
"You're a Rider?" Eragon exclaimed, and even Blodhgarm looked shocked.
"Greatest thing I have ever stolen," she announced proudly.
"Stolen?" sputtered Eragon. "You stole the title of Rider?"
"No no silly, I stole the last dragon egg," laughed Thalia. "Imagine my surprise when I'm halfway from Uru'Baen and all of a sudden I have a brand new companion." At her final word, a small thing slithered out from the blankets. Suddenly, sitting right in the middle of Thalia's lap was a small, green, dragon hatchling.
"I'd like you all to meet Anduin, the second free dragon in all of Alagaesia. Anduin says 'Greetings o' wise ones' the shameless flatterer, also asks permission to project mentally to you all." Once they had all given their permission, a voice seemed to snake through Eragon's brain.
Greetings. the voice declared. It was young to be sure, and it greatly reminded Eragon of Saphira when she had been young. But there was something important Eragon felt he was missing.
It is male, Saphira pronounced solemnly, explaining the difference her Rider had detected.