Just taking a quick break from humor to write my first sorta sad story in a while… Excuse any OC-ness, and don't forget to review! Enjoy!
Ghosts of the Past
Please, just stay one more day? Hour? Minute?
I'm sorry. I can't.
It was snowing and Eragon was miserable. He had tried to dress for the weather, but the biting wind tore through his thick outer layers and froze his very bones. Distress was also emanating from his traveling partner, Saphira, as the two trudged through the snowy landscape of the Spine.
Little One, this will kill us both if we don't find shelter.
Eragon narrowed his eyes in annoyance. I know, Saphira. I'm looking. Eragon squinted his eyes again, this time surveying his surrounds with more scrutiny, but even with his Elven eyesight little could be seen in the blizzard. Just when Eragon was going to give up and simply aimlessly walk on, a small dark speck in the distance caught his eye. He pointed out his discovery to Saphira and his stretched her head forward to try to get a better look.
Are you sure that it's not a tree?
I'm sure, it looks different than the trees around it. It might be the shelter we need. Eragon's hood blew off again and the rider quickly clutched it around his head again with a gloved hand, his teeth chattering at the new blast of cold. Eragon willed his frozen legs to move faster at the prospect of a warmer place to wait out the unexpected storm. Eragon's mind was focused only on warm thoughts, and he barely noticed a collection of gray smudges advancing on him, through the sheets of snow.
A warning growl from Saphira was all he realized until a figure pounced on him, sending him into the snow. Little one! shouted Saphira. A dragon's roar sounded. Eragon blindly tried to stay his attacker. A line of pain ripped across his stomach as something sliced it. Eragon finally managed to get a hold of the attacker's neck, when he was confronted with the snapping jaws of a wolf. The rider's eyes widened in shock as the beast strained at his hold, wildly trying to rip out Eragon's throat. The rider managed to kick the starved beast in the belly, effectively throwing the creature off of him. Eragon scrambled to his feet and hastily drew his sword. A small pack had come, advancing on the rider, intending on making him into their meal. Another wolf lunged, and Eragon lashed out with Brisingr. The wolf collapsed, blood draining out from a fatal wound.
A few moments of tense stillness passed. Eragon warily held his sword out, and the wolves looked at him from all sides, yellow eyes glinting through the snow. With a silent signal, the pack lunged all at once. Eragon managed to doge and dispatch four of the wolves, but the fifth caught him by surprise. The wolf jumped and bit hard into his sword hand, causing the rider to drop his sword and give a shout of pain. Another dragon's roar sounded to answer Eragon's cry. With his free hand, Eragon grabbed his dagger from his belt and sliced it across the creature's throat, killing it.
The rider stood panting, in the midst of the carnage he had just made. Little One, are you okay? asked Saphira, as she muzzled her injured rider.
I'll be fine, replied the haggard rider. There was another nudge from his dragon and a wave of happy thoughts. Eragon smiled and scratched the scales under her chin, eliciting a content hum. Come, Saphira. We are almost there.
Eragon could now see that the dark speck was indeed a large cave that could house the two of them. Leaning on his dragon, Eragon made the rest of the journey to the much-needed shelter. Saphira curled up in the back of the cave and Eragon un-shouldered his pack. He unstrapped the wood and twigs that he collected when the first of the snow storm started, and arranged them in a pile.
I can't live without you.
Yes you can. You must. You are strong, Eragon. I believe in you. My time has come, but that doesn't mean yours has arrived too.
But- but-
No, Eragon
The fire crackled merrily and Eragon huddled close. He could feel his frozen body slowly soaking up the warmth. Unfortunately, the numbness that helped keep his injures from paining him was also thawing, and now his arm and mid-section stung terribly. He didn't have the energy to heal himself now, and was content to only defrost his water canteen and clean his wounds. Using an extra tunic from his back he hastily bandaged the wounds and fell asleep against his dragon, feeling the warmth of both the fire and the partner-of-his-mind-and-soul.
You'll live, Eragon.
I-I can't. I won't.
Yes, you will. I know you better than you know yourself, Eragon. I know you are strong. You have people who love you, people who need you.
But I need you.
Eragon, you can do this without me. Alagaësia still needs its hero.
Eragon awoke to find the storm had stopped and everything outside was blanketed in the pristine white snow. The fire was smoldering. We should go back to the Varden, Saphira said. They still are rebuilding and will need your help.
I suppose you're right, admitted Eragon. But I don't feel ready to go back and face the reality of what has happened. I like it here. It's quiet. No decisions to make, no papers to sign, no boring meetings to attend, no appearances to uphold. I can just be me with only you.
I know, Little One, but you have responsibilities as a dragon rider and the savior of Alagaësia.
Eragon let out a dejected sigh. Alright, we can walk down to the bottom of the Spine and travel on from there.
You're too much a part of me to let you go. Don't leave me alone.
Eragon halted abruptly when he passed the last small hill, signaling their exit from the Spine. Saphira, look where we are.
Carvahall.
I didn't think we went this far north.
It seems that the snow storm made us lose our way.
Eragon's hometown was in ruins, having not been occupied since Roran led the villagers to the Burning Plains. The survivors were still with the Varden, helping restore Ilirea and lending a hand anywhere else. They intended to return and rebuild their town when less help was needed. Eragon shivered, the place brought back memories that he thought he had long gotten over. Garrow, Brom, and all the others he lost because of the blasted war.
Eragon was interrupted from his sudden grief when pain blossomed from his wounds. He hadn't healed them yet. Cursing, the rider sat down on the frosted grass. Luckily the weather was more forgiving once they had traveled down from the Spine. Eragon rolled up his sleeve. He would start with the bite wound. Saphira? The dragon snorted in response, two columns of steam lazily floated up. Can you lend me some energy to heal my wounds? I don't think I have enough for the this and the trip home.
Little One, you brought some healing herbs with you. Use those.
Saphira, you have energy to spare. Why are you denying me?
Don't die. Please don't die.
Little One, you should put that bandage back on, it's starting to bleed again. Eragon looked down and saw small drops of blood bead up over the puncture marks.
I wouldn't have to wear a bandage if you would just give me some energy, snapped Eragon.
I can't Eragon.
Why not? Asked a flustered rider.
Because, Eragon.
That's not—his response has cut short when Saphira set her claw right next to where her rider sat.
Let us fly.
Eragon was taken back by her sudden demand. No, we can't. You said- Eragon's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Your wing is hurt. From-from… Eragon's sentence trailed off. When did she hurt herself? Saphira? Why are you so cold? Your leg, it's like ice. There was no response. Eragon closed his eyes, concentrating on his dragon's mind. He couldn't find it. Eragon panicked and looked up. She was there, every scale where he remembered it. But it wasn't right. Suddenly, reality hit him with full force. Eragon's lips moved on their own accord, his mind not wanting to believe what he was saying. His realization hit him with full force. In a quiet whisper, he said "You're not real."
You can't die, Saphira.
"You can't fly because you're not real," said Eragon, switching out of his mental speech. "You can't give me energy because you don't exist." Eragon's hands were balled into fists, causing more blood to flow out of his bite mark, but he didn't care. "The wolves wouldn't have attacked if a dragon was really there. You didn't even help when the wolves attacked. You stood there and roared. But it was a roar in my mind, wasn't it?"
I can't lose you now, Saphira. Don't leave me when I need you most. We won, Saphira. We won. Don't leave now.
We will see each other again. When the Void finally calls you I'll be there, waiting.
No, Saphira. I need you. I-I can't live without you. I've lost so many. My father I never knew, my uncle, Oromis, Glaedr—
My time has come, Eragon. You must accept that. Be strong.
Eragon felt his soul being ripped in two as he watched helplessly as the life drained from his other half's eyes. "Saphira," he breathed.
Eragon looked around. His hand was resting on a patch of ice. His body felt drained. A blind that he didn't realize he had placed upon his eyes had been lifted and all he could see now was a dead and lifeless landscape. A dragon was nowhere to be seen. He wished so hard that Saphira was with him that he dreamed it all up. The trip, the talks. It was just him in his mind the entire time. He buried his head in his hands and started to weep. He was a poor, broken excuse of a rider. He had shared the deepest of bonds with Saphira and now she was gone, leaving Eragon's mind and soul in ruins.
Eragon looked up from his hands and down into the ruined town. He had become a shadow of his former self, much like the broken town in front of him. He was so steeped in the past that he himself didn't notice his own antics. He wanted so badly to be happy. He tried so hard that he even could touch his imaginary Saphira. But reality was inescapable.
The statement made Eragon want to curl up and die right there. He could just escape the cruelness of his life and be forever with his dragon and the others that he lost. But there was something in the back of his mind that pushed this thought from his mind. He had family and friends depending on him in the living world.
He had something to live for.
Roran, Katrina, Arya. What would become of them to hear of his demise? To hear he was struck down because he gave up on life. No, he would not bestow the grief of another dead body on them. There was a new Alagaësia being born, and he needed to see it through. There were people that depended on him. Saphira was part of his life, and will always be in his heart. The will to live grew stronger and the shadows drifted away. The twinge of accepting her death hurt. It hurt to have to abandon his seemingly perfect fantasy but she asked him to be strong. And he would.
Eragon wiped his sleeve across his eyes, drying them. "I'll be strong, Saphira." He grabbed some of the healing herbs in his pack and placed them on his wounds, and re-bandaged them.
Saphira appeared at his side once more and gave him an approving smile. She lifted her head, the sun glinting off her sapphire scales.
"Good-bye, Saphira. We will meet again." With that, the image wavered and disappeared, leaving Eragon alone once more, but this time the rider noticed the sun was shining and a light blanket of flowers mixed in with the weeds and grass covered the town below him.
Eragon stood up and walked towards the Varden, and towards his future.
Arya greeted him when he arrived, offering a seat and pushing a mug of tea into his hands. A few moments of peaceful calm passed over the two. "Did you accomplish what you set out to do?"
Eragon looked at the elf and simply stated, "It was just what I needed."
"Then you are better?" Eragon took a small sip of tea and stared at the rising sun through the window.
"Yes. I'm better."