Snap-Shot One: Brom, 23, and Saphira, 13
Labeled: Brom and Saphira, just before Saphira was killed
A young man, his brown hair wind touseled, bright blue eyes dancing with laughter, leaned against a magnificent, sapphire blue dragon. They are a little ways away from a group of young Riders and their dragons, all dressed for patrol. The dragon's head is turned to look at her Rider and it is plain to all the bond they share.
Brom didn't remember how he got to the room.
Slowly, wincing from the pounding in his temples, he sat up and looked around. Clothes, his and a woman's, littered the floor, the single chair in the room was on its side and the pitcher on the wash-stand was dangerously close to falling off the stand. Next to him, a striking woman with long, nutmeg brown hair slept soundly. Brom frowned, rubbing his temples as he struggled to remember what had happened the night before. Had he paid for her, or met her at a tavern? Where exactly was he? What was her name? And most importantly, what time was it? Was he going to be late for patrol? He couldn't remember anything.
Tossing the covers back, he slowly swung his legs over the bed and rose, stumbling to the washstand and splashing water on his face. It did little to revive him, so he carefully pulled his clothes back on and crept from the room. Downstairs in the inn's dining area, he chose a secluded booth and ordered his standard sobering drink. After knocking back a few glasses of the revolting tonic, his head was clear enough for him to send a mental call.
Saphira?
He got a sleepy grumble for a reply and smiled. She had been affected by his night of drinking as much as he had. When she woke up, she would be as mad as an fhangur at him. It was almost worth the tongue lashing to see his normally calm, sarcastically pessimistic partner as mellow as an elf when he drank. He and Morzan had…
No. He would not think about the traitor today. The damn oathbreaker occupied far too much of his thoughts already.
Determined to have a good day, Brom paid for his drinks and the room, tightened his sword-belt, brushing his fingers reverently over the new, sapphire blue sword, Andura, and left.
Saphira, wake up. We are back on shift at noon.
Why didn't you think of that last night? she grumbled, allowing him to feel the stabbing pains she felt in her head. I've told you again and again, I want you to find a vice that won't force me to deal with the side-effects! From the groans she punctuated her complaints with, he figured she was moving around, finding the water-trough. As he walked through the streets of Illeria, continuing his mental conversation, he nodded to the people who greeted him with a slight bow and murmured "Argetlam". He waved to the few Riders he saw, easily identified by their rich cloaks of satin or silk, dyed to match their dragon's scales. He wore his, but it was wrinkled and dirty.
Quit your whining and get something to eat, he advised as he strode through the gates of the Riders' Citadel. I'll be up there as soon as I get clean and eat something.
Just you wait, she warned as she withdrew from the mental link, I'm going to give you a piece of my mind when I see you.
Funny, I thought that happened years ago, he mused, climbing the eastern stairs to the Riders' Quarters. He took a short cut to his rooms, passing the door to the right of his without looking in, as he had forced himself to do for the past three weeks, shoving any thought of the former occupant out of his mind. Quickly showering and changing, grabbing a premade packet of traveling food, dried fruits, meat and flat bread, to munch on as he hurried to the Dragonshold, he managed to get there, withstand Saphira's tongue lashing, and have them saddled and ready to patrol by noon. As they leapt into the sky to join their patrol, he sighed. Just a normal day in Illeria, life went on has it had before Galbatorix became a threat. Or so he thought.