"… Do I really have to kill him?" asked the boy, as his brown eyes looked up pleading at the elder. "… You are a Dragon Rider now… Yes," and this broke the man's heart. Eragon was only seven years old when Saphira chose him, throwing him into the world of war and hatred. See how he will be forced to grow up at killing speed, to make him ready for his battle against Galbatorix.
When I was reading this cycles multiple times I paused at what Oromis said, that Dragon Riders where trained at a very young age. Saying that Eragon was pretty "old" to be chosen by a dragon. So I thought by myself, what would happen ifEragon was very young when he touched the egg?
Very young? Let's say about the age of seven in this story, seeing as a specific age was not mentioned.
Let me know what you think and if I should or shouldn't continue with this fanfiction.
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE INHERITANCE CYCLE, THOSE WONDERFUL PIECES OF ART BELONG TO CHRISTOPHER PAOLINI.
The boy worked up his way, higher and higher until he would reach the point he left off the day before. The tree was bending and cracking with displeasing sounds as the youngEragon beamed with joy. He would definitely break his previous record now! Eragon would tell Roran as soon as possible, but he'd be careful not to let his uncle listen would scold him for sure, and he didn't want that.
The green needles sticking out of the tree were pricking painfully into the boy's hands, but he continued to grab them tightly. If he didn't, he knew, he would fall. And that would hurt much and much more. Eragon grunted and pushed himself up once more. He really did like climbing, even though his uncle didn't allow him. Roran would simply laugh at Eragon if he messed up. Katrina was the only one who would be worried for his health, but the moment she saw the boy pouting on the ground she knew he was fine and laughed along.
Roran would often pretend to be a lot wiser than Eragon. The boy would complain that they were only two years apart, but his cousin acted like he was deaf and completely ignored him. Even though Roran was stronger, Eragon could climb better. His cousin would shake his head and say that climbing wasn't much of a useful skill, but for the younger it was at least something he was better at.
The next branch snapped under the pressure of Eragon's weight, but he didn't fall. He had himself supported and mentally gave himself a complement for being so smart. He reached up for a more sturdy one, but that took him a while. The tree became weaker the higher you came, knew Eragon, so he didn't panic.
He knew that he should be reaching his old record. Eragon had cut the tree at that spot, and he saw it now. A small stripe that went horizontal over the wood, like an ugly scar on a man's arm.
Eragon yelped when a sudden, extremely loud noise emerged out of nowhere. He lost his grip quickly and realized to his horror that he began to fall. The boy landed painfully on the ground and heard something snap. Everything went a bit darker and the world was spinning above his head. Eragon felt like vomiting each time he tried to move, so remained still. Something wet dripped down his forehead. It felt warm and strange, making the boy wanting to wipe it away. But his arm wouldn't move, and every bit of air entered his throat hand in hand with pain. Tears welled up as he began to feel scared. What if he would be able to stand up again? Then he would lie there forever and slowly grow old, being laughed at by people who saw him. No, he didn't want that at all. If only he hadn't climbed in the first place.
"Eragon?"
Uncle! That really made the boy relieved. Now he wouldn't grow old while lying on the cold, hard ground. Or maybe he still would, if Garrow would be very mad.
"Eragon!"
His uncle seated himself next to the boy and began to inspect him. Eragon's sight was still slightly off so he couldn't see the man's expression. So the boy simply figured Garrow was angry.
"It really wasn't my fault, uncle," mumbled Eragon, with a voice sounding like he was drunk. "The sky made a weird noise and scared me."
His uncle hushed him to be quiet. The boy blinked a couple of times and now saw that Garrow looked worried. "Where does it hurt?" asked the man fearful.
Hurt. He hadn't really thought about it much. "My chest. It hurts to breath," said Eragon slowly. "And my forehead hurts, too."
"Not your back?"
Eragon thought about that, he knew his uncle hated it when he would talk in a fast manner. "I think it's bruised."
This made his uncle sigh in relieve, which the boy thought was pretty mean. He was hurting, after all. The man shouldn't be so happy as he was now. "Can you stand?"
As a response tried Eragon to stand up. Breathing came easier, luckily. He wobbled a bit, and the world kept turning. "I'm a bit dizzy," complained the boy and he pouted. Garrow chuckled and made sure the boy could lean on him. "The sky made a weird noise," mumbled he. Garrow chuckled. "I'll remember that one."
"It really did!" said Eragon. He pointed to the trees behind him. "It was over there!"
The man frowned and led the boy to a nearby tree, telling him to lean on it. "Aye!" came the response. His uncle went to the spot Eragon pointed at and bend into the bushes. There was a slightly burned circle in the grass, and in the midst of it lay a stone. A beautiful blue, with white lines covering it like veins visible just under your skin. When Garrow slowly picked it up, fearing it might make a loud noise again, he noted that it was quite heavy. He walked back and noticed that Eragon was looking at him with glazed and tired eyes. "Uncle... Can we go home now?" The man frowned at this. He pretended he wasn't, but that cut on his nephew's head concerned him. He'll have Gertrude to look at it. When he saw Eragon lying on the ground, he feared that the boy would have broken his back. That would throw away his chances of a happy life. But he had been lucky, falling through a lot of branches to stop his fall before hitting the solid ground. Truly, his nephew had the Devil's luck. Garrow thanked again all the gods he knew, making sure to not miss a single one. Eragon only looked at him with his clouded, confused eyes. Why was his uncle carrying an egg?
"It's a stone, Eragon," corrected his uncle.
"Looks like an egg to me," said the boy.
"Well, you have a concussion."
"What's that?"
Garrow chuckled lovingly and held out his free hand. "Come here, we're going back."
Eragon took it. "Was that what made the large noise?"
"... Maybe."
"How can a stone make sound?"
"... Magic..."
"Who did it?"
"Would you quiet already, boy? You really do ask a lot of questions!"
Eragon went quiet. He was tired, too. The boy could sleep right there and then. The farm was already in sight, so it shouldn't be long. Garrow was apparently already looking for him when he had suddenly heard Eragon scream. The man looked again at the stone in his arms, cold and heavy. Magic. He had always told his boys to treat it with caution. Garrow led Eragon inside and put him on the table, he himself went to look for a clean cloth so that he could clean that nasty cut.
"Eragon! What happened?"
"Magic made me fall out of a tree."
Roran raised his eyebrow. "From how high?"
"Higher than you'll ever come!" Eragon sticked out his tongue and laughed. Roran's worry disappeared and pinched his cousin in the arm. "Still weak, though," he teased.
"Am not!" pouted the boy. He then remembered the stone his uncle found. He pointed at it and explained what had happened. Roran looked confused, but Eragon didn't get that. He had explained it perfectly.
"So..." said his cousin slowly. "This stone made a loud noise and you fell down."
Eragon nodded furiously, but stopped when he began to feel nauseous again.
"Sit still," mumbled Garrow, annoyed that his nephew hadn't listened to his earlier command of sitting still at all.
He put the wet cloth against Eragon's forehead, being sure to clean it well. "What are we going to do with the stone?" asked the drowsy boy. His eyes fluttered open and closed and they looked empty. Roran was worried, but his father smiled at him. Excitement got the better of Eragon.
"We'll probably sell it. We might afford a pig then again," he answered.
Eragon pouted slightly. "But it's pretty."
"Yes," said Garrow. "But you enjoy piggy rides far more."
The boy thought about that and giggled. "I'm better at that, too," said Eragon to Roran. He scowled, but didn't argue. Roran did fall off the pig, in front of Katrina to boot it. It was really embarrassing. The boy nodded. "Okay. We'll sell the stone."
Garrow picked his nephew up from the table, before he fell asleep right there and then. He carried Eragon to his room and lowered him gently onto his bed. The boy was already sleeping soundly. "They are supposed to come tomorrow, might as well go then and let Gertrude take a look." The man turned to a smiling Roran and sighed. "Fine, I'll teach you to ride Briska. But no telling Eragon, he's too young for that horse."
Roran let out his happiness in a wordless – quiet - exclamation and went down ahead of his uncle. Garrow shook his head, annoyed to have such happy, lively and kind children in the house. Truly.
"Roran, Eragon, move faster," grunted Garrow the next day. They were in Carvahall, looking for traders willing to buy the stone from them. "Father, Eragon isn't feeling all that well."
"I'm all fine!" exclaimed Eragon. He looked at his cousin, feeling betrayed. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He was already seven. Roran ignored it. Garrow stopped in his hasting pass and turned to look at his nephew. He seemed to be fine, but his eyes were a bit cloudy. "Headache?" The boy shrugged. Young boys and their pride. "Gertrude it is," continued the man.
Eragon blushed. "No way! I'm really fine. I'm sure it is because Roran hit me."
"Baby," huffed the elder. "It was only an encouraging push."
Garrow massaged his brows. "Would you two stop it? Really, you've been in each other's hair for days." He then continued to walk to the healer's house. The door was open, as always, so Garrow rudely entered. Eragon and Roran went slowly after him, feeling guilty for entering so boldly and fearing for the woman's wrath. "Garrow. What a surprise. What can I help you with?" Gertrude was knitting calmly in her rocking chair, presumably enjoying another quiet day. "Eragon fell down a tree, yesterday," began the man, shifting the heavy rock – covered in cloth – in his arms to a more comfortable position. "His head hurts and I think he's dizzy."
Gertrude got up and laid her project down on the little wooden table next to her chair. She pulled Eragon's bangs away and looked at him. "That's one nasty cut. Cleaned for as good as you can, I suppose. It should be fine." She felled the boy's forehead. "No fever or anything that could suggest illness. Did you fall on your head?"
The boy pouted, feeling annoyed by being looked at like that. "I did, on my back, too, but that's fine." The woman, however, clicked with her tongue and commanded the boy to lift his shirt a bit. Eragon blushed. He was sure Roran was going to pester him about it the very moment they left this house, which the boy hoped would happen soon. "This looks fine as well. A couple of bruises, but nothing serious. You really are a lucky one." She stood up and mentioned for Eragon that he could lower his shirt again. "Pretty much what you already suspect, Garrow. A slight concussion, nothing to worry too much about. I really suggest some rest for a week or so, max. I think he'll get over it fast enough. Strong gens, that boy."
Garrow nodded. "Thank you. That's a relieve."
"No problem," huffed the woman. "It's my job. It's way too quiet in this village, anyways, I have nothing to do," she laughed silently. The man bowed a bit in appreciation, telling his boys to do so as well. He then mentioned for them all to continue on their way. Gertrude interrupted them, however. "What's with that object?"
Garrow frowned. "Something I'm willing to sell."
The woman shrugged. "Keep your secrets to yourself then," she said nonchalantly. "I don't really care either. One more thing," said Gertrude. "Next time you come in so rudely, I'll kick you out."
"She didn't look really happy, uncle," chuckled Eragon when they were back on their original track. Garrow simply huffed at that.
The boy always loved going around the traders. They had so many interesting stories and things to sell. It was like entering another world. It really did make the boy happy. Eragon was a bit cold, but it wasn't all that bad. It could have snowed, but it was late this year, much to Garrow's happiness. Much to the boys happiness as well. They loved the snow, but the man would always push them into working harder and faster when it began growing colder. This situation gave them a bit more time. They soon found someone handling in jewelry, but he shook his head. He said that it was simply a buy too risky for him to take, even though he would probably have been able to sell it to someone. The trader simply didn't like the idea of buying something of which the worth he did not know.
Garrow explained it to Eragon and Roran, saying that it was understandable. But the boy thought it was mean nonetheless.
It was beginning to become dark, but that didn't matter. They had arranged to eat with Horst and his family, and Eragon was looking forward to hearing the Storytellers tales. He had taken a liking to the old Brom, enjoying his tales a bit more than he should. Garrow would always role his eyes when the boy would repeat the stories ten times when they would be back in their house. But it didn't matter, he said. Eragon's uncle was way too happy to see his nephew growing up in a kind and enthusiastic man. Roran was calmer, more collected, but even though they were completely opposites mentally, they got along just fine. Outsiders wouldn't agree, but they didn't see the moments they'd cuddle together when it was cold and cheer each other up when one of them was sad. Everyone, however, could agree with the fact that they acted more like brothers than like cousins. Garrow was sure that that was also how the two saw it, even though they weren't in the name.
"Brom! You're going to tell another story today right?" asked Eragon, making Garrow wake up out of his thoughts. He scolded himself. The kids could run out of his sight if he didn't watch out.
"Aye. That I am. You impatient brat," chuckled the old man. Eragon cheered at the news, and completely ignored the "brat"- comment. "Good evening, Garrow."
"It is," agreed the man and greeted Brom as well. "With what story will you please us today, my best man?"
Brom scratched his chin. "I'll go for another story of the great Dragon Rider Vrael."
Eragon smiled. He knew the story like the back of his hands, the version Brom had told him that is. Roran liked that story, too, so he gave an approving nod. "Ah. I'm sure we'll enjoy tonight to the fullest once again then," said Garrow. Brom shook again the man's hand, ruffled the hair of both boys and left, raising his hand. Roran fixed his hair with fingers brushing though it. "I'm looking forward to it!"
Eragon didn't even bother fixing his own. He just knew Horst would do the same, later that evening. And he was right.
Eragon was the one who eventually got the blue stone. Roran didn't necessarily want it, and Garrow was only plagued by it with the thought that there should have at least been someone to buy it from them. The boy was fairly happy and looked at it with awe whenever he was in his room. But he wasn't this happy about it this night.
Surely, he was quite excited that the stone began to move, but it did wake him from his sleep and he had to get up early in the morning. He eventually settled with watching it, choosing between that or returning to bed. Eragon wobbled along with it. From left to right. And then it cracked.
That didn't make the boy happy at all. Eragon pouted and looked sad. "Don't do that," he said to the rock, knowing full well that it wouldn't help. "You're going to break like that." And it only made him angry when the stone, of course, didn't listen.
The stone broke.
And a disfigured creature came climbing out of it. It was covered in some sort of slime, but it began cleaning it itself, like a cat would lick his fur. Its head was strange, so was its body. It just freaked Eragon out a bit. On the other hand, it fascinated him, so he stayed right where he was. He gasped. It was when the creature looked at him with incredible blue eyes, glowing in the moonlight, that Eragon recognized the creature from drawings Brom showed him. It was a dragon.
The boy dashed backwards, hitting his back against his bed. The dragon only followed him, curious. Eragon calmed down and lifted his hand, guiding it towards the dragon, who sniffed it and gently pushed its nose against his palm. The boy hissed as a stinging pain crawled up his arm. After a couple of minutes it went away, leaving Eragon to blink the stars away in his vision. He stuck out his tongue towards the dragon. "You're mean."
Tell me what you think, whether I should continue or drop it.