Author's Note:
Readers of my Pokémon story will probably be wondering what this is.
This is the first multi-chapter fan fiction I ever wrote. It was written back in 2006-2007. I'm reposting the story on this site because I want to preserve it for posterity. It's not my best work, but I can see how a lot of my writing style developed through writing this. It's an important piece of history to me.
This was written after I read Eldest but before Brisingr was released; it operates on the assumption that Eragon and Arya flew off together into a new world, and that the rest of the dragons really were dead all along. So you might say it's an "alternate universe" story. But the story isn't really about those two anyway. It's about an overly emo teen who badly wishes he was a dragon rider. You know, like a lot of Eragon's fanbase. (I kid, I kid…)
Before you assume, I'll let you know that Oren is not a self-insert; if anything, Scythe is the self-insert character here! My goal with Oren was to write a character that Inheritance fans could relate to (even though they'd never admit it). It's very similar to what I did with Char in Silver Resistance. In fact, you might say that Oren is Char's previous incarnation; they share some personality traits in common.
Originally, this was supposed to be the first half of a two-part story. I lost interest in the Inheritance fandom before beginning the second half. Oh well; the final book of the series covered all the themes I wanted to cover anyway, so no harm was done.
Also, you might notice that this story is where my username originated from. Now I can finally dispel all of those strange images everyone had of someone riding on the back of the Silver Resistance character.
Anyway, let's get going! Here's "Oren's Blade", my first attempt at a long-term fan fiction project. Enjoy!
-1-
A Longing
In the far-off land of Aephea, Oren, a blacksmith's son, spends his days and nights dreaming of dragons.
…
In all of Alagaësia, no legend has ever spread as quickly as the story of Eragon, the unlikely farm boy who one day found himself a Rider, and how he grew to bring the twisted king Galbatorix to his knees and defeat the heartless Empire which held the land in oppression. For centuries, the song of Eragon and his majestic dragon Saphira has been sung at human carnivals, Dwarven feasts, and Elven celebrations as a grand tribute to the mysterious ways of fate- a joyous reminder that no matter how dark the hour, a single twist of its thread can have the power to move mountains and restore what was once taken away. It was a song of hope for the future, a resounding ballad that would forever echo from the caves of Farthen Dûr to the forests of Ellesméra to the streets of New Carvahall. It was a legend which all of Alagaësia treasured dearly, one which would not be soon forgotten.
But the legend of Eragon was not content to say within the boundaries of its homeland. You see, shortly after his victory over the Empire, Eragon left the land of Alagaësia for unknown reasons. He took nothing with him but his closest companions and the story of his life. He spread this story wherever he went, telling of magic, ancient pacts, Dragon Riders, dark betrayals, and most of all, hope and determination in the face of the impossible. Perhaps it was because he wished the evils of the past be learned so as to not be repeated. Perhaps it was just because he wanted to follow in the footsteps of a childhood hero. Whatever the reason, he became a storyteller and spread his tales of adventure along his journeys to whoever would listen.
And spread, it did. People who had never before known about dragons or magic suddenly found their minds engulfed in a new reality of ideas and possibilities which they would never have believed. People of all races and nationalities were abuzz with wonder and hope that maybe, just maybe, a Dragon Rider might rise among them and ease their discomforts, fix their problems, right their wrongs, and change their world.
And a few, a select few, found themselves with a head full of a very different kind of thought: what if they themselves were to someday be chosen as a Rider? What if, by some twist of fate, a dragon would hatch for them just like it had hatched for the unlikely Eragon? What if they were to one day be irrevocably bonded to a nigh-omnipotent creature such as a dragon, and thus, given the ultimate freedom and power to alter their own reality? Those few, those select few, spent many sleepless nights just contemplating this possibility. Some of them longed for it so badly, it seemed that a gaping hole was missing from their heart that nothing else could ever hope to fill.
In the town of Rassan-Kaya, a lonely little place buried somewhere in the far-off continent of Aephea, there lived such a boy. His name was Oren Glaedrson. This is his story. Though it may be a small and simple story compared to that of the mighty Eragon Shadeslayer, it is a story worth telling.
Rassan-Kaya was a forest town. It stood in the northern recesses of the land, just before the foothills of an unnamed mountain range. These mountains were so brutal and high that nobody had ever crossed them, and it was said that even animals were not able to traverse their towering peaks. The mountain was known only by names such as The Place Where The Map Ends. Being so far north, the little town was forced to tolerate a very cold climate. Winters were long, summers were short, and even the mountains cast a shade which robbed them of their well-deserved sunlight for a few hours each evening. It was not a pleasant place to live by any means, but it was kept very alive by its hardworking inhabitants who loved their village like a son.
Luckily for Oren, the bitter cold was the least of his worries. You see, Oren was a young blacksmith. He spent his days walled up in the forge with his father, Glaedr, and his uncle, Ulan, being taught the secrets of molding and pounding the raw metal found in the mountain's foothills into any conceivable shape. It was because of Glaedr's expert craft, as well as all the other equally dedicated trades which were rooted in the town, that Rassan-Kaya was able to thrive despite its cold, harsh setting.
It was safe to say that Oren was in no danger of dying from cold or starvation, as his father's trade made him quite wealthy. Instead, he found himself a much more likely candidate to die from heat, exhaustion, boredom, or even mental agony: his father had taught him so well (although sometimes against his will) that he knew by heart how to make five different kinds of shovels, forty-eight different kinds of knives and swords, twelve styles of chain, shoes for at least eight species of animals he had never seen in his life, and countless other things that were no doubt needed all around the world and brought in a very hefty profit. But even though Oren was strong, skilled, and wealthy, leading a life that countless others would cut off their arm to take for themselves, he was not happy. He desired something more.
Oren was taught by his father to read from a very early age. When he was only eight, his father had acquired a copy of Eragon's book, entitled The First and the Last of the Riders, which told a greatly abridged story of how magnificent beasts called dragons made friends with elves and humans to keep the peace, how they were betrayed by the evil traitors called the Foresworn, and how he and Saphira arose from the ashes of the past to defeat the evil and continue the legacy of the Riders where it might have been lost forever. Although Glaedr's intent in giving him the book was simply to have Oren practice his comprehension of the written word (storybooks were quite rare, so he didn't have much of a choice over which one he wanted), Oren drank in every page and let his imagination fly away with the story. He read the book over and over until his Uncle gave him a new one on his eleventh birthday, and even then, he still found his mind drifting back to that magical land where a Rider and dragon could rule the sky and carve out history as they would see fit.
Shortly after his twelfth birthday, when he heard the rumor that that Saphira had laid eggs and that Eragon was on a journey to find Riders whom they would hatch for, he had that fateful thought. What if he were to be chosen by one of these dragons? What if he was destined to be a Rider?
It was then that Oren made his decision. His wandering curiosity of the strings of fate turned into a powerful desire. He wanted to be a rider. He found himself longing for this freedom, this power, this friendship; he found his mind constantly soaring through the sky on the back of his imaginary dragons and exploring a world where he could actually use these swords he spent his entire life learning to make. He imagined a world where he could make a difference. It was a childhood fantasy, just like every other child normally has, except that this one never went away. His desire for a dragon to find him was so real to him that it could never be overcome. For years, it enveloped every aspect of his work, his play, and his thoughts. He kept his dream a secret from everybody, sharing it only with his journal each night before he went to bed.
Year 6, Day 15.
I had a thought today. It's a thought that I have had a few times before, but this time it was stronger and wouldn't go away.
Today, it's been six years since father first told me about Saphira's eggs. What has happened since then? I have not heard word of Eragon or any dragons for all this time. I feel abandoned by Saphira and by fate itself.
By the tiny light of a candle, a trembling pair of eyes scanned over the page. They nervously darted from line to line, as if afraid to dwell on any one for too long.
I have never known such a heartbroken feeling before, and how it grows greater with every passing day! Whether I am to be a Rider or not, it doesn't matter anymore. All I want is the chance to touch the eggs and know for sure. I might feel just as much joy if they were to reject me as if one were to hatch for me. Just knowing my fate would give me enough peace of mind to last for the rest of my life. But where have Saphira and Eragon gone? They have disappeared from the face of the planet and forgotten to visit my little village. Even knowing that the eggs are already hatched would bring me a certain level of comfort.
I'm getting angry more often, even though I don't want to be angry. I yelled at my father today! And to think it was over something as pathetic as chores. I didn't mean a word of it, but I'm afraid to talk to him again after what happened. No matter what I say, he wouldn't understand. It's all because of this distress. I feel like leaving and going to look for Saphira myself, but I don't want to break my father's heart. I love him.
I need to get away from Rassan-Kaya for a while. Maybe I can trick myself into thinking I'm looking for Saphira or making it more likely that I will hear news of her. But truthfully I think it would calm my distress. Tomorrow, I will get up early and leave for Rohall City and stay there for a week. I have spent the evening packing and I'm all ready to go at the crack of dawn. I'll leave my father a note to tell him when I will be back. I hope he understands.
The words holding much more gravity now, it was harder to swallow them as they came. A finger trembling with a solemn understanding rose to the page to keep pace with the words and help bring focus.
Is it wrong to feel like this? Every night, the dreams are the same. Xandar is there, flying me over the impassible mountains. He is there standing proudly over me, guiding my thoughts with his wordless wisdom. He is with me as we stand before kings and armies, pledging our support for a happy future. We venture together into the darkest caves, yet I feel no fear because he is at my side. I feel so at home in these dreams! I feel I belong there, even though I know I belong here. The dreams won't stop, even though I tried to stop them sometimes. And they keep flowing even in my waking hours whenever I'm not focused on my work. What started as a hope has become a burden of feelings which is destroying me! I will keep looking for ways to lighten this burden. For now, I can leave my family for a bit and see if that helps.
Another day has ended. I will be seeing Xandar again soon.
It was the end of the page. Glaedr paused, trying feebly to process the difficult words which he had just read. Giving a deep and sincere sigh to nobody but himself, he held his face in his hands as he tried to comprehend the tangled feelings and decisions within his own heart as well as those within his son. After a few moments of anguishing reflection, he folded the journal and carried it back to his son's room where he carefully slid it back under his bed.
When the book was replaced, his heavy eyes rose to his son who lay upon the bed. There, he looked over his eighteen-year-old boy, trying for a second to imagine the dreams of dragons which were undoubtedly surging through his mind as he lay there. He laid with his face straight down into his pillow, his muscular arms and callous hands clenched under and around it as if trying to suffocate himself with it. His expensive sheets were hopelessly tangled around his arms and legs, and his short but messy black hair was pointed in every direction possible. Pausing at the sight, Glaedr whispered a solemn blessing over him before quietly leaving the room.
It had been such a long day for both Glaedr and his son. Since early that morning, Glaedr could tell something was amiss with Oren. He seemed to shrug off all his chores as if distracted with something, trying to avoid speaking or even eye contact with his father, his uncle, and everyone else. Then, at dinner, Oren nearly brought his father to tears when he erupted into rage. A short argument followed before Oren retired to his room, leaving his bewildered father staring at the empty chair and wondering what in the world would be the right thing to do for his son.
It wasn't the first time Glaedr had read Oren's journal. He read it on quite a regular basis, nearly once a week in fact. He knew all about Oren's desire to become a Rider and his growing anguish at all his unanswered prayers. He loved his son so dearly, and told himself that reading his journal would allow him to love Oren even more by helping him to understand the deepest levels of his feelings. He felt ashamed that, while his son was so engrossed in thoughts of adventures with dragons, he knew little about them aside from the fact that he was named after one. But with each peek into Oren's diary, he seemed to learn more and more about the dragons in Eragon's book (which he had never read himself, as it never seemed to leave Oren's room), and he eventually learned enough to sincerely pity his son in his times of difficulty. He secretly shared in his sorrow and always treated him with an insightful respect regardless of his mood.
But this, he thought to himself as he lay awake in his bed that night, was just too much. He couldn't bear to see Oren tearing up his own heart any longer. He decided that, after six years, it was finally time for him to have a talk with his son. He muttered a small prayer to himself to calm his nerves, then finally drifted off to sleep.
The night didn't last as long as either of them wanted it to. Dawn broke in just a couple of hours, and as promised, Oren was at his feet the moment it did. His higher intelligence barely working at that hour, he mindlessly grabbed the medium-sized bag of supplies which he had packed the night before and left his room with squinted eyes and a cloudy mind.
It wasn't until he approached the front door of his stone-walled house that he realized what he was doing. He realized that he really didn't want to go through with it. He told himself that his vacation was a foolish idea in the first place, that leaving his father and spending some time alone was not worth walking for hours straight through the cold morning air, and that he could practically have the same solitude if he locked himself up in his room. He rubbed his eyes and sagged his bag low to the ground, as if to drop it.
"No," he decided in a silent whisper. "I have to go. I need it."
And with that, Oren slung his bag back onto his shoulder, dropped the message for his father on a nearby table, clenched his coat tightly, and stepped out the door. He took one last look into the house as the freezing air surrounded him, realizing just what- and who- he was leaving behind. He shut the door as quietly as he could manage, then turned his attention to the path ahead.
"Son?"
At the sound of the voice, Oren's blood ran cold. He turned to see his father sitting against the side of the house, waiting for him.
"Father?" was the only reply he could choke out.
"Want to take a walk?" he asked.
Oren knew he was in no position to refuse. He nodded, and his father stood and began to walk with him down the street.
"I'm sorry," Oren said weakly as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
"It's okay," his father replied quietly and sincerely. "It wasn't your fault."
They walked for a while in silence, the simple presence of each other's' company complementing the apology and forgiveness. It was cold, but neither of them were very bothered by it; their minds were busy racing and questioning what to say to or expect from the other. The silence ensued until Glaedr finally decided on something to say.
"Oren," he said, a little wider awake now, "I have a question for you."
"Yes, father?"
"What do you want the most out of your life?" he asked carefully. "What is your greatest dream?"
"I want to take over your work," he mumbled. "That's all I ever wanted to do."
"Anything else?" his father said, nearly breaking a nervous laugh.
There was no response. Glaedr did his best to pretend he didn't know the exact thoughts circling around in his son's mind as he struggled for words to form an answer.
Taking a deep breath, Glaedr said, "What about being a Dragon Rider?"
Oren winced at the question, but still couldn't answer. He found it even harder now to think of a reply. His face suddenly turned from a comforted sadness to a confused anguish, his gaze falling to the ground a bit before accusingly snapping back up to meet father's eyes.
"You knew?" was his eventual response.
"Aw, it wasn't that hard to figure out," said his father casually. "Ever since I gave you Eragon's book, you've been a different person. You've been distracted, your mind wasn't focused on your work. Add to that the fact that the Dragon Riders were constantly coming up in everyday conversation with you, and, well…"
"How long did you know?" he demanded softly.
"It's been in the back of my head ever since you were fourteen or so," he explained, "but I tried not to mind too much because I thought it would be a touchy subject with you. But now, you started getting so… well, I noticed that it started getting worse, so I figured I'd talk it out with you. Son, if there's anything you want to say, say it. I want to help you however I can."
"I feel like a Rider without a dragon," he said simply and firmly. "Well, I used to think I was. Now, I don't know. I waited so long for an answer, but nothing happened, so I'm trying to block it. I'm trying to get over it. But it's hard to do without doing things I don't want, like yelling at you."
Oren looked like he was going to say more, but his voice trailed off and went silent. As soon as he realized he was finished, Glaedr tried to respond.
"Oren, there's nothing t— "
"Is it wrong?" Oren quickly interrupted. "Is it wrong to want to be a Rider?"
"Oren, sometimes you can't do anything to change how you feel. It doesn't mean that how you feel has to change what you do. What if I wanted to be the richest man in all of Aephea? Is that wrong? Do you think it would be wrong if I wanted that really badly? No, of course not. Those are the kind of desires that drive a man to accomplish great things. But what if I were to let my desire to be rich distract myself, make myself a selfish, coldhearted monster, or a babbling fool? Instead of accomplishing great things, I've just destroyed my future."
"But that is something you can control," Oren protested. "You can make yourself rich by, I don't know, gambling well, or being an expert at what you do. But you can't choose whether or not to be a Rider. It's chosen for you."
"Hey," said his father, "That's not true. You say you feel like a Rider without a dragon? Then act like one! Show me what a Dragon Rider is like! Expecting a dragon is a tall order, I won't deny that, but remember that you don't need a dragon to do great things. Us mere mortals can change the world too, you know? Just look at me. Sometimes I lay awake just reflecting on the fact that my swords are out there winning great battles, and my tools are building castles and houses, averting disasters, saving lives… I've changed the world through my humble skill and my desire to be a successful man. That's a reality I can't deny. Now you, you could stay here and continue my business if you want. If not, there will be others who can do that. Granted, they might need a bit more training than you, but… If you want, you could always do something different with your life. Adventure out. Find somebody to teach you how to use a sword. Slay some evildoer! Win the heart of Aephea! You don't need a dragon to do that. Those kinds of heroes are born every day without their help. Granted, it may be a bit easier if you had one, but I'd dare say that it's much more impressive without, if you get what I mean."
Oren's eyes gleamed in the light of the rising sun as he took in his father's words. While it wasn't the most fulfilling speech, he saw the truth in his words and was comforted by them.
"By the way," he added with a gentle laugh, "is it the company you want? Is that it? If so, find yourself a woman and woo her. She'll give your life more meaning than any dragon ever could, I can promise you that!"
Already having fought through several adolescent crushes and still working on a couple at the moment, Oren couldn't help but laugh at the wisdom of the comment. He smiled and turned to his dad.
"I feel better," he said. "Thank you for talking with me."
Glaedr leaned over and hugged his son closely.
"I love you, son," he sighed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "I'm always here for you."
They stood there for a long time, each enjoying the warmth of the other's embrace as well as the newfound relief that a burden had been taken off their shoulders. When they came back to their senses, Glaedr realized that they were nearly a mile out of Rassan-Kaya and that it was barely even the hour of waking.
"So… where are we headed?" Glaedr asked, parting with his son and looking at the empty road ahead of them.
"Well," said his son, "I was going to go to Rohall, but now I'm not so sure."
"Mind if I come along?" asked Glaedr. "I brought some money with me, y'know, In case you'd prefer the better food or the more expensive rooms at the inn."
"Don't you have work?" asked his son with wide eyes, surprised that he was even suggesting such a thing.
"I'm sure Ulan's more than able to hold down the house while I'm gone," he replied. "Besides, he might be able to use the extra money."
Oren smiled. He knew he couldn't reject his father's offer. They hadn't taken a break like this in years, and even then, it was never without the (somewhat annoying) company of his uncle.
They walked down the lonely road, not meeting a single fellow traveler for hours until it connected with the main thoroughfare which joined Rohall City to Zygre City. From there, it seemed that a constant stream of wagons, carriages, and lone riders were passing them in both directions.
"So, Oren," Glaedr said, speaking up again. "What's with your fascination with dragons anyway? What makes you want one so badly? I've always been under the impression that they're just terrible beasts with bad attitudes. Wouldn't they, y'know, snap up kids from the street of they're hungry enough?"
"Hah," laughed Oren. "Maybe the wild dragons would, but not the ones given to the Riders. Wild dragons would rampage around the world doing whatever they please, but the act of bonding gives them an instinct to serve and protect.
"And so the ability to rampage around the world and do whatever you please gets passed onto you, the Rider?"
Oren laughed again. Try has he might, though, he couldn't think of a rebuttal.
"Well, yes," he finally admitted. "It gives you power and freedom. But the power and freedom gives your life a greater meaning than it once had. In a way, the power to serve and protect gets passed onto you, too."
"Ah, power and freedom," laughed his father. "Two of the things every living soul on the face of the world wants to get their hands on. Really, I can't say I blame you or anyone else for that matter. What got you down in the first place so much? Hoping to see Saphira's eggs?"
"You told me about them six years ago," he explained. "Six years ago yesterday, in fact. All those years, you never once mentioned anything else about them. Here I was, waiting for something that was never coming."
"Don't tell yourself that," his father said. "Let's find out right now, shall we?"
Suddenly, Glaedr waved down a man on horseback who was traveling the road in the other direction.
"Good morning, sir!" said the horseman. "Can I do something for you?"
"Any word of the Dragon Riders or their eggs lately?" he called.
"No word," said the horseman.
"A shame!" Glaedr called back. "Oh well, good day to you, sir. Be on your way!"
Oren was about to express his surprise at his father's unexpected burst of erratic behavior when he did it again.
"You sir!" he called to a carriage driver. "Any word of the dragon eggs lately?"
"Nothing lately," answered the man.
Despite his son's complaints, he did this several more times to passing travelers. Oren couldn't tell whether his father was trying to make him laugh or whether he was actually serious…
… But either way, he couldn't help but notice that there was something amiss with the answers they received.
It was early in the evening as the two finally approached the limits of Rohall City. It was a very active place, certainly not like any of the remote villages which were scattered around the countryside. Rohall was lined with stone towers and fortresses, marketplaces, and bustling streets even in the evening. It was the trading post at which Glaedr would sell his wares every season and buy supplies for himself and the entire village to help them get through another year. Knowing the city's streets very well, he and Oren made their way to a tavern where they enjoyed a pricy dinner and a few drinks.
"This place is active enough," commented Glaedr.
"Isn't it usually this busy here?" asked Oren.
"You would think so," explained Glaedr, "but you've only been here for the trading seasons. It's not like this year-round. It shouldn't be."
Glaedr grumbled in annoyance as he looked about the tavern, which was also strangely active for the current time of year.
"So, what should we do this week?" mumbled Oren as he chewed on a turkey leg.
"Besides look for Saphira and Eragon?" his father cracked, but in a way that was impossible to tell if he was joking or serious. "I say that we should go shopping. Let's decide every single thing we should by next month when our work's done!"
"I'm all for that. What about Flag Wars?"
"Awe, a fantastic idea!" he crowed. "There must be a game scheduled for this week. But you have to promise me that you'll be on my team this time. I don't think I can stand being beaten again by my own son."
They spent the evening casually planning out their week and enjoying themselves. When they were done and the sky had turned too dark, they crossed the street to an inn where they could settle down after a long day of walking the road.
"One room for one night, please," said Glaedr to the innkeeper. "Highest class you've got. Money is no object."
The innkeeper looked astonished. "Glaedr Swordsforge, of Rassan-Kaya? What brings you to the city this early? You can't be done with all of your commissions already!"
"I'm taking a well-earned break with my son," he said. "Now, if you don't mind, sir, we've spent all day walking here and atop that we've had a bit to drink, so we're quite eager to get to our room. Would you be so kind?"
"Well, sir, I'm afraid…" the man started, then opened his guest list. Scanning it quickly, he nodded his head and sighed, "… we're full at the moment."
"Full? A shame, that is," mumbled Glaedr. "In that case, show me a man who is not yet asleep and I'll negotiate his room from him!"
"I think you'll find that quite difficult to do," warned the innkeeper. "You'd be better off setting camp outside the city limits, just like everyone else."
"Everyone else?" repeated Oren.
"What, haven't you heard?" the innkeeper replied, almost in a mocking voice. "If you've come here to relax, you've picked a very bad time to do so. The renowned Dragon Riders of Alagaësia are due to appear at Rohall three weeks from now. We can hardly keep the visitors in order with our soldiers, much less keep them fed or give them all places to sleep."