Thank you so much to my two reviewers! I hope you continue to like my story!
Disclaimer: See Prologue
Chapter One
Several months before Eragon discovers Saphira's egg . . .
Wynne looked up through the trees at the sky, noting the time by the sun's placement. Her son was late. She grew increasingly impatient as the time dragged on and there was still no sign of him or her granddaughter. Her granddaughter was the reason for her excitement. This will be the first time actually meeting her. Plus, ever since she was born, Wynne had eagerly waited for the time when she'd get to introduce her to the egg. She had tried to set her son up with the egg when he was small, but the dragon didn't choose him. Wynne was greatly disappointed. Not in her son, of course, for he had no choice in the matter. She was upset that she had to wait even longer for her son to have children and for them to grow before she could see one of her descendents as a Rider. Suddenly, a disconcerting thought struck her: What if Vervada meant one of her descendents in the much later future? Would she ever get to see him or her as a Rider? She bit her lip as she thought of how long that could be.
The sound of hooves upon the road not far off from her home interrupted those thoughts, and her excitement surged through her once more. She looked through the trees to see two horses approaching her with two figures, one about two-thirds the size of the other, upon them. Wynne smiled broadly as she recognized the taller one as her son, his long starlight hair glistening in the sunlight. He was a spitting image of her except for his strong jaw and broad shoulders. He also aged a little quicker than she, making it look as though they were sister and brother instead of mother and son. The smaller figure was, of course, her granddaughter.
Wynne had grown skeptical of Vervada's words of her having children. She knew that she was the only elf in this land and thought that no human could ever tempt her, but that was before she met her son's father. He was a General in the military. The first time she saw him was in his uniform, and he made her heart throb and her knees weak; especially when he smiled. She was miserable for months when he died in the war against the neighboring country when her son was only ten.
Her son helped his daughter off of the horse, and they walked up to Wynne. The young woman had long light brown tresses that framed her human-like face. Only her eyes – a brilliant greenish-hazel – resembled the shape of an elf's.
"Why, she looks just like her mother," Wynne said.
"Yep," answered her son. "All except for her eyes and ears. Show your grandmother your ears, honey." The young woman rolled her eyes at her dad and then tucked her thick hair behind her ears, showing their slightly pointed peaks. Her father beamed.
"How old are you now, dear?" Wynne asked her.
"Fifteen," she replied. "I'll be sixteen in a month." She was quiet for a moment, and then she blurted, "Are you really my grandmother?"
"Nurélia!" her father scolded. Nurélia gave him an innocent look.
"No, it's all right," Wynne told him. She turned to the young woman with a smile. "Of course I am. Why do you ask?"
"Because you don't look old enough to be my grandmother. My dad looks older than you do," she said, alternating glances between her father and Wynne.
"Did your dad ever tell you what I am?"
"Yes, but the people in our village say that elves are a myth; that they don't exist."
"Well, what do you believe?"
Nurélia's face scrunched up in thought. After several seconds, she replied, "My dad doesn't lie, so elves have to exist, because we exist. Besides, how else can they explain our pointed ears?" Wynne smiled.
"Elves look as old as we want to," she explained. "We're immortal."
"And Dad and I?"
"Well, I don't know. There haven't been many elf-human couples, let alone children from them. I'd imagine that you'll live longer than the normal life span of humans, but I don't think you'll have immortality."
"That's alright. I think it would be hard, anyway," Nurélia said.
"What would, dear?"
"Immortality."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, you'll live longer than my dad, and when I grow older and have kids, you'll out live us too and so on. I don't know if I could handle watching my loved ones die while I barely aged." Wynne stood in silence. She couldn't think of anything to say, because if Nurélia became a Rider as Wynne was hoping, then that's exactly what she'd have to do unless she married an elf . . . or another Rider.
"I'm going to go tie up the horses," her son said after awhile, breaking the tension. "I'll meet you two inside."
... ... ... ... ...
Nurélia gazed up at the house, noticing for the first time that there was a house in the giant tree that was before her. Stairs were carved into the trunk, spiraling several feet up to a small wooden house in the tree's branches.
"Are you coming?" her grandmother asked, a smile playing on her lips. She was already half way up the stairs. Nurélia nodded, walking forward to begin her climb. The stairs were quite steep, but she ascended them with little difficulty, using the smooth hand rail for support. Inside, the house felt comfortable with pictures of her father growing up and a couple pictures of a handsome gentleman in a dark green military uniform.
"Was this Grandpa?" she asked, picking up a portrait of the man. Wynne nodded. Nurélia studied the picture. "How was this made? I can't even see the brush strokes." Her grandmother smiled.
"It's called a fairth, and it was made by magic," she explained.
"Wow, that's really neat," Nurélia replied. She was on the verge of asking her grandmother if she did them herself, when her father came through the door with his arms full of her belongings, which distracted her. She was thrilled to finally be able to meet her grandmother, since her father always raved about how great she was. The problem was how far away they lived from each other. The distance between the two houses was equivalent to four full days and nights on horseback. Plus, her father couldn't really leave his shop for too long, but since he found an assistant he could trust, he could finally take her to see her grandmother.
Her father grunted as he laid down her belongings next to the door. "Is all of this really necessary? You're only going to be staying here for a month," he said. Nurélia grinned while her grandmother laughed.
"Of course it is," Wynne replied with amusement. "This is her first time so far away from home and with a woman she hardly knows. When I came here, I surrounded myself with things that reminded me of my home." Nurélia nodded.
"Exactly. Plus, I'm a young woman and need everything I brought. My clothes, my books, my –" Her father held up his hand.
"All right, all right. It looks like I'm outnumbered here." Nurélia beamed at her grandmother, who returned the smile.
"You may put her things in your old room, dear," her grandmother told him. "I've fixed it up for her."
"I just set them down," he complained playfully as he picked them back up and headed down the hall. She turned to Nurélia. "Go ahead and go with him. He can show you around."
"Okay." After the brief tour and a dinner of nothing but fruits and vegetables, which was nothing unusual to Nurélia as they ate the same way at home, her dad stood and readied himself to leave.
"Well," he began, "if you don't need anything else, I suppose I should be going. I don't want your mother to worry more than she already is. Now get over here and give your old dad a hug."
Nurélia giggled. "Aw come on, Dad. You're not that old."
"No? Huh, sure feels like it with such a grown up young lady for a daughter."
"Yes, so you can imagine how old I feel," her grandmother added. They all laughed. Nurélia buried her face in her father's shoulder.
"I love you," he whispered in her ear.
"I love you, too, Dad," she replied, her eyes glistening with tears.
"Now you listen to your grandmother." Nurélia nodded. "And have fun. I'll be back to pick you up in a month." Then, he embraced his mother. "It was good to see you again, Mom. Keep in touch," he added with a wink and he kissed her on the forehead. Nurélia looked at them with a confused expression.
"What do you mean 'keep in touch'? How?" Her grandmother smiled.
"Through our minds. I could teach you if you want," she said.
"Yes, please!" Nurélia answered enthusiastically. Her father laughed and then headed toward the door.
"Well, goodbye!" he said. "I'll see you soon!"
"'Bye, Dad! Be safe!" The women followed him out, but stayed atop the stairs. He mounted his horse and urged her forward, while Nurélia's horse walked beside them.
"So," her grandmother began after they watched him disappear in the distance, "you must be tired after traveling for so long. If you want to go to sleep, I won't be offended," she said with a smile. "Or you're welcome to explore the house in greater detail if you like. I noticed that your father only told you what and where the rooms are."
"Okay," Nurélia replied. "Thanks . . . Grandma?" she said uncertainly. " . . . I'm sorry. It just feels so weird calling you 'grandma' when you barely look over 35."
"Perhaps you'd prefer 'Aunt Wynne' instead?" Wynne offered. Nurélia nodded her head.
"Yeah, okay. Aunt Wynne. That sounds much better. Umm . . . so, I think I'll look around."
Wynne smiled after her as Nurélia strolled down the hallway. The girl paused in the doorways to look around, and then left to explore a different room. Instead of stopping in the doorway of the study, however, she walked right in. It was cozy, filled with shelves of scrolls and spare bits of parchment. An average-sized desk was set just under the only window that looked out upon the northern part of the forest. On her right was a squashy dark green couch, a small table that barely came up to her knees was before the couch, and a rocking chair was in the corner. The rocking chair was by far her favorite piece in the room. It had a carved picture in the back of the chair of a large dragon gazing down at an elf with his long hair splayed on his left, making it look as though it were blowing in the wind.
She was about to exit the room when something caught her eye. It was a cloth, covering an object of some sort that appeared to have a rounded shape. The object was placed on a shelf above a picture of a rather large violet dragon. She walked over to it, reaching for the cloth. Her fingers grasped the light, silky fabric and gently pulled on it to reveal what was underneath. As she did so, she accidentally knocked the object off balance. Her heart caught in her throat as she watched the object fall. The noise seemed deafening as a large, fire-orange orb shattered on the floor.
"Oh no!" she cried. Her grandmother ran into the room.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice calm.
"Oh, Aunt Wynne! I'm so sorry!" Nurélia replied, not being able to look her in the eyes. "I was curious to see what was under the cloth, but now I won't even know what it was because its shattered pieces are all over the floor. I'm really sorry."
"Don't worry about it. It's easily fixed," Wynne reassured her. She muttered something in a language Nurélia wasn't familiar with, and the orb put itself back together. Her grandmother picked it up. "Close your mouth, Nurélia," she said, amused. "A bird might mistake it for a new home." The girl snapped her jaw shut.
After a few moments, Nurélia began breathlessly, "Aunt Wynne, you know magic?"
"Of course I know magic. Whom do you think made all those fairths in my living room? All elves practice magic, and I can teach you if you like." Nurélia didn't know what to say. She nodded, her eyes dancing with excitement. Wynne smiled. "Great! We'll start first thing tomorrow."
Thus began Nurélia's lessons in the Ancient Language and the history of magic. Almost a month had passed, and Nurélia was absorbing the Language like a sponge, but Wynne still wouldn't let her practice any magic. Nurélia was disappointed because of this, since her father was going to pick her up in a week, and she wanted to show him what she could do.
"Come on, Aunt Wynne," she begged in the Ancient Language – one of her grandmother's many rules. To help Nurélia learn faster, she was only allowed to speak to her in the Language. "Just one tiny spell?"
"No," her grandmother replied in the Language. "You know my rule about magic. Not until you can speak the Language fluently will you be allowed even the most minuscule spell."
"But I'm speaking the Language right now," she complained, barely comprehending several words in her grandmother's last sentence. She was pretty good at guessing what some words meant even if she didn't recognize them. Then later, she would search for the words in her translation guide, but she wasn't going to tell to her grandmother that.
"Not fluently. You're stumbling over your words."
"What about for my birthday? It's nearly here," she said, abandoning the Language altogether.
"Nope. You can't even be consistent in one language. I've noticed that you've been alternating between the two. Besides, I have something else planned for your birthday."
"Really?" she exclaimed. "What?"
"You'll see," she replied with a smile. Nurélia playfully pouted. She was too excited to really be upset.
Two days before Nurélia's sixteenth birthday, Wynne called her into the study. She was on her rocking chair, holding the oval-shaped orange object. Nurélia sat on the couch.
"Do you remember the day you accidentally broke this?" she asked, holding up the object. Nurélia nodded. "Did I ever explain to you what it was?"
"No, and I think I was too overwhelmed that you knew magic to ask," she said.
"This is a glass replica of something much greater. The original is hidden in the forest. Would you like to see the real thing?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Uh, sure, but what is it exactly?"
"A dragon's egg," she half whispered. Nurélia's eyes grew wide.
"Really? Oh, Aunt Wynne! That is so amazing! And I can really go and see it?"
"Yes, but only you."
"Why?"
"Do you remember the stories of the Dragon Riders?" Nurélia nodded her head enthusiastically, putting together what her grandmother was trying to tell her. "Well," Wynne continued, "the egg was given to me so I could place spells on it for the dragon not to hatch until a person worthy enough to be a Rider would touch the egg. I was told by the egg's mother, Vervada, that the Rider would be one of my descendants."
"You mean that I could be a Rider?" Nurélia asked eagerly. "That's awesome!"
"Careful though, dear," her grandmother warned. "Don't get too excited. You see, Vervada never specified which generation the egg will hatch under. For all we know, the egg could be intended for one of your children or one of their children and so on." Nurélia's smile faltered. Wynne looked sympathetic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just don't want you to get your hopes up and then have them crushed."
"I understand," she replied, trying her best to suppress her slight disappointment. "But even if it doesn't hatch for me, I can still say that I've seen a real dragon's egg." Wynne smiled, admiring her granddaughter's optimism.
"Now, listen to my instructions carefully."
A/N: I hope the whole concept of Nurélia calling her grandmother 'aunt' didn't confuse you. I've known some women who thought the term 'grandmother' made them seem too old and would prefer the term 'aunt' instead. I went with Nurélia calling her grandmother 'aunt', because she didn't think that the term fit her as she looked too young for the term to be applied.
By the way, it probably seems a bit slow now, but it'll speed up in Chapter Two and really surge forward in Chapter Three. Thanks for reading!
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