Please read and if you like, review! I am also open to constructive criticism; this story has been a long time in coming and I would appreciate all the comments and opinions I can get!
Early morning a week or so after the fateful battle of the Burning Plains found Eragon at the Surdan shore, his feet planted firmly on the grainy sand as he practiced the martial exercises that had been taught to him by his master, Oromis. Saphira watched him avidly from where she sat several meters away.
You are locking your knees again, she observed brightly with the false pretense of aiding him in correcting his posture. She how much it annoyed him when she did that and was not-so-secretly hoping that if she pestered him enough, he would give up his exercises and go flying with her instead.
Thanks ever so much for noticing, my faithful friend, he retorted sarcastically, shooting a glare in her direction.
Don't mention it, she replied, unable to keep from laughing at the annoyed expression on his face.
You know, that really isn't funny.
It wouldn't be if your reaction weren't so predictable, the dragon pointed out, doing nothing to check her rumbling laughter.
Letting out a frustrated exclamation at having lost another battle of wits with a dragon, Eragon threw himself down on the sand, laying flat on his back. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. The weather had been harsh over the past few days, with rough storms rolling in from over the sea. It was no surprise that on this morning the sun was almost completely blocked out by wall of thick grey clouds.
Eragon heard a mighty booming sound not far off, and thinking it was the sound of thunder, he rose and began to approach Saphira. We should go back to camp now, or we'll get caught in a storm.
He was caught off guard when he heard the sound repeat in a rhythmic pattern and began to feel a harsh pressure bearing down on him, getting heavier as the sound grew louder and ever nearer.
It is impossible! he cried, whirling about so fast he almost fell over. Throwing his head back, he looked up at the churlish grey sky above.
Eragon! Saphira exclaimed, showing him through their mental link what he already knew instinctively to be above them, but could hardly believe was real. He simply stared as the large black dragon that loomed above them grew closer with each passing second, preparing to land on the beach directly in front of them. The closer the creature came, the clearer he appeared to Eragon; he seemed to be quite a bit bigger than Saphira, though was obviously a less experienced flyer, though the lack of aerial grace could be due to the exhaustion the animal obviously felt.
A sudden, terrible realization—a memory of part of a story he had once heard Brom tell—flashed through his mind and Eragon felt his chest constrict with fear.
Saphira, he demanded suddenly, his voice alarmed, is it—is he—
Nay, she said, cutting him off before he could say any more. He is too small and too young to be Shruiken. He also lacks the ease of movement a dragon as old and experienced as Galbatorix's would possess.
Though, I wonder… she continued on thoughtfully to herself before coming back to reality and sharply addressing her Rider once more. Eragon, he is covered in blood and appears very weak. He has obviously journeyed far. He can mean us no harm—he is in no condition to inflict any.
Then what could he possibly want? Eragon wondered as the dragon came to land a ways away from them, staggering forward as the shock from the impact of his landing washed over his weary body.
Eragon recoiled with horror when he saw up close that the great creature was indeed splashed liberally with dried blood that muted the color of his armor-like scales. The dragon approached them slowly now, his handsome head held aloft despite his exhaustion, and regarded Saphira and Eragon with a deeply penetrating look before slowly lowering his head in a bow. He was now close enough for Eragon to see that a peculiar silver streak ran down the center of the dragon's reptilian face, much like the blaze of a horse, thinning into nothingness between the beast's nostrils. An odd sense of curiosity tugged at the corner of his mind; he had always thought that dragons were solid in color, and wondered if this one had any other odd silver markings that disrupted the perfect blackness of his thick scales.
His thoughts were so occupied by the dragon's physical appearance that he felt shocked when it addressed him.
I have sought you out to beg your aid. My rider has heard tales of the existence of another Rider, a young human and his mighty sapphire dragon, who have together committed deeds of great strength and bravery. I flew hither to see ascertain for myself whether such a pair existed, and my search has not been in vain.
My Rider, he continued, gesturing with a flick of his head to the limp form of a girl tied his back, is grievously wounded. She has lost much blood; it appears that the blades which inflicted her wounds were covered with a poison that prevents clotting. She barely clings to life and is beyond the powers of a regular healer.
The creature seemed to lose all the gravity that his words had held up to this point and added in a broken voice, full of despair: Please save her. Without you she will die.
Saphira bowed her head gracefully in response to what the dragon had said and answered him, knowing that she and Eragon were of like mind on the matter. You have our aid. I am Saphira Bright Scales, and this is Eragon Shadeslayer.
Well met, Saphira Bright Scales and Eragon Shadeslayer. I am Vanilor, he said, lowering himself to the ground as Eragon came around to untie the dragon's Rider. He unknotted the ropes that tied the slumped form of the girl to the very crude makeshift saddle and pulled her off the dragon's back. He saw more wounds than he could count covering her frail body and noticed that her wounds still bled afresh almost as though they had been inflicted just moments before. Brushing her pale brown hair from her face, Eragon saw that her skin was as white as chalk and her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her breathing was shallow, and fearing that the girl would die if withheld from care a moment longer, Eragon hurriedly carried her over to Saphira.
Can you carry us both? He demanded of her. We must get back to camp as fast as we can. I will need Angela's assistance to heal her.
Saphira nodded her assent. As Eragon tied his charge to his saddle and climbed on Saphira's back, he said to Vanilor, I can tell you have traveled a great distance very quickly and you are tired. You have done well for your Rider, but Saphira and I must go ahead with her now. Find a place to hide and rest, for it may not be safe at camp for you just yet. Saphira will come for you as soon as she is able.
Then, with confidence he did not feel, Eragon said reassuringly, Do not fear. She will be well again next you see her.
With those parting words, Saphira launched herself into the air and sped off in the direction of the camp of the Varden, leaving Vanilor behind to watch them fly away, hoping he did the right thing when he put his Ophelia's life in the hands of a strange Dragon Rider and his mount.