Or the one that I almost called 'The F-Word.'
"Be still, adorable little fiend, and prepare thyself for-"
"No!"
Artix von Krieger, who threw himself down haunted wells and charged single-handedly into undead armies, drew back from one half-trained mage. Arra did her best to look her idol in the eye without lowering her staff. Behind her stood Draco, her ice-breathing undead baby, and Arra would sooner fight an unstoppable paladin than step out of his way.
"Arra, he's an innocent soul shackled to a rotten shell and subject to a necromancer's every whim," Artix protested reasonably. "Exposing him to the divine, holy, retri... er, aura of light would save him from an existence of eternal torment."
Arra glanced flatly down at her dracolich, who appeared the exact opposite of eternally tormented. "You feeling up for an exorcism, Draco?"
Blue sparks of magic glittered up at her from black sockets. "Nah. I like it here with you. You're way better than that blue chew toy."
Arra smiled thinly up at Artix and tapped her Dragon Amulet, the very same one Zorbak had hurled at her in disgust when his attempted invasion of Amityvale had ultimately resulted in all of the dracoliches ditching him to be lovingly adopted by its townsfolk. By Doomwood standards rambunctious undead baby dragons were downright adorable. "You hear that, Artix? He likes it here just fine."
Artix lowered his sword doubtfully, but its holy glow die not die down. His gaze flicked to Amityvale. "Fine, yours is an exception. You have a Dragon Amulet to control it. But the rest of them aren't bound like that."
"They were never really bound to begin with," Arra pointed out. "Even with the Amulet and all his necromancer powers Zorbak couldn't stop them from running wild. They're baby dragons, even if they're a little more... vitally challenged than most. And they've found homes in a town where haunted houses and getting caught in werewolf-vampire wars are a fact of life. Are you really going to tell these fine people you've come to kill all of their innocent new pets?"
"'Pets?'" Draco repeated indignantly. "If anything, you're my pet, you furry excuse of a-"
The paladin inhaled deeply. "Alright," he said at last. "I guess there are bigger undead fish to purify. So long as I don't hear about a winged cloud of death descending on any innocent towns, I'll forget about Amityvale's... newest inhabitants."
Arra's spewing of thanks was passionate and sincere. Then she wasted no time in setting out for home. Moonridge was only a short walk through the wood. A journey she had once dreaded was now a pleasant jaunt to one that had spent weeks fighting off every threat that came for Zorbak and his horde of dracoliches.
She had a new addition to the family to show off, one that wouldn't need feeding or bathing or trips outside. And getting some pointers from the resident dragonlords couldn't hurt either.
Dawn was breaking when Brom finally allowed them to rest. Saphira, who had haughtily given up on flying hours ago, had instead coiled herself around Eragon's shoulders. At last she finally fluttered down from her perch. Eragon groaned in relief. Before her hatching keeping that pace over such a long distance would have broken him long ago. Even now he felt the trek through his throbbing shoulders and leaden limbs. Dropping his pack, he gratefully slid against a tree and waited for his body to repair itself.
Closing his eyes, he sighed as a wave of relief washed over him in gentle waves of red. Even as a deeper part of him drained of energy new strength seeped into his muscles and cleansed the pain.
Brom swore. Eragon nonchalantly cracked an eye open to find the old man gaping at him.
"Did you do that on purpose, boy?"
Eragon shrugged. His healing had rapidly improved since Saphira's hatching. Just yesterday she had managed her very first flame. If her magic had grown beyond puffing smoke then why couldn't his healing magic evolved to a more rapid form?
"I was hurting and I wanted to feel better. Saphira wants to breathe fire and she does. It must be how magic works."
"No," Brom ground it. "It is not." Furiously he swept aside snow. Eragon and Saphira watched in curiosity as he vehemently threw kindling into arrangement. "Wild magic is unbound, fickle and unpredictable. Your magic must be bound, directed by clear intent and intonation of the ancient words. Brisingr!" From Brom's right hand exploded a burst of blue. The resulting fire burned hot and blue. "Without the spell guided by the right intent, I might have burned this forest down around us! I might have consumed myself to keep it alight!"
Eragon gazed down at his first blatant display of human magic. After the earth-shaking explosions that had preceded Saphira's entrance into the world and her hatching these flames seemed paltry in comparison.
"Maybe it's different for dragons," he allowed at last. "Do any of the tales say for certain about the Dragon Riders?"
Brom's jaw spasmed and his chest heaved with the force of his breaths. He scowled down at Eragon as his mind fought for the right words. Eragon's concerned gaze flicked to Saphira. She had grown bored with their conversation and now rooted through Brom's belongings with the same callous disregard she had for her partner's possessions.
"Saphira," he warned.
Brom's scowl at last directed itself to the she-dragon. He stormed over. "Away from there, you little-"
Saphira's claws at last ripped the top free. Brom's pipe clattered out. So did something else, gold and gleaming and...
The medallion blazed red and Saphira's entire form glowed with a light of its own. Instinctively Eragon reached out.
The Amulet flew into his waiting hand. It burned brighter, hot and blinding as the sun. Fire seared through his veins. Then banked as rightness settled in his bones.
When the glow faded Eragon was still holding the Amulet, its gold chain dangling from it and reflecting the early morning light. Mesmerized, Saphira's eyes tracked the chain as it swung back and forth. Then she looked him in the eye.
"It's pretty," she announced decisively. "We're keeping it."
"S-Saphira!?" he spluttered. "Y-You..."
She blinked up at him, equally amazed. "You... You finally learned how to speak proper draconic, Eragon! Good for you!" she said brightly. "I thought it was going to take eons to have a proper conversation with you." Her stare fixated on Brom, stunned and bewildered. Smoke bellowed from her maw as she spread her wings an aggressive stance. "We're probably going to have to fight him for it. Even a crazy old man wouldn't willingly give up something this shiny!"
"No," Eragon cut off immediately. "We're not fighting him for anything."
Saphira sullenly turned to gaze up at him with the same forlorn look when he purposefully withheld a treat. "But-"
"No."
"Boy," Brom said slowly. "Are you speaking with her?"
His gaze slid warily to the older man. "Aye."
"Because you sounded like a man possessed a moment ago. You two rumbled and growled at each other like everything made perfect sense." Brom nodded to himself at Eragon's bewildered expression. "I take it this your first time being able to understand her like that?"
Eragon's flicked down to the unquestionable source of his sudden new power. "It's the Amulet," he declared. "Is it some relic of the Dragon Riders?"
Brom smiled wanly. "I can assure you this thing can be anything but an artifact of the Order. I stumbled upon it not very long ago." His unreadable gaze drifted from the Amulet to Saphira. She stared unblinkingly back. "Keep it, I suppose. It's of far more use to you than it is to me."
Saphira did not speak their human tongue, but Eragon's newfound understanding of hers allowed her to pick up Brom's intentions through their bond. She haughtily folded her wings. "Of course it's wasted on him. You're the only human worth talking to, Eragon, because you're the only one that's mine."
"Yours!" Eragon yelped indignantly. "Who raised who again?"
Blue eyes appraised him critically. "I hunt for you. My fire keeps you warm. Sure, you heal better than you used to, but you still get broken so easily. And you like to take your flammable sticks and rush into danger. Do you know how exhausting it is to keep track of you? If you weren't mine I would've given up on you right out of the egg!"
Eragon opened his mouth to protest. He shut it when he realized arguing with a weeks' old dragon was not the way to prove his superior maturity. Recalling their situation, he turned to Brom the address a more pressing issue than Saphira's sudden ability to backtalk. "We left Carvahall behind. Where do we go from here?"
Brom stroked his silver beard. His blue eyes studied them long and hard. His silence dragged on.
Finally, he said, "To the elves, in time. It is our closest haven."
Eragon's brow furrowed. "'In time?' Are we not hunted by the king's men?"
Brom darkly intoned they were hunted by creatures that consumed men. When mankind had fled their homeland from across the sea to Alagaesia's shores the Ra'zac had followed like a plague in their wake. As juveniles they feasted exclusively on human beings. Their carapaces were roughly human-shaped, allowing them to ambush their prey in the dark and stun them with their noxious breath. When they grew large enough they shed their shells to become mature Lethrblaka, far more ruthless and capable of paralyzing even dragons were their ear-splitting shrieks.
The Ra'zac were the king's personal dragon hunters, sent out of their lair only to trace down any rumor of surviving eggs or dragons. Their minds naturally shielded from magic and able to match a Rider in speed and strength, they were a formidable threat for even a fully-realized Rider.
Saphira huffed. "Hah. I can take them. All at once."
Eragon steadfastly ignored her cockiness. "Then why delay?"
"The Ra'zac are chasing down other rumors, not you and your dragon specifically. So long as we avoid their trail they have no reason to believe you even exist. We have time yet. Time to begin your training, for you and Saphira to more grow into yourselves." Brom met his gaze levelly. "Eragon, the rebellion has long dreamed of a power that can counter the king's. The moment they lay eyes upon Saphira you shall be both swept away in the fervor. They were forge you, make you into the agents of fate they need you to be."
Saphira snarled, her defiance rising with his and swiftly giving way to rage. "Break me, will they? Then they shall tremble beneath my shadow, and bur-"
Eragon deftly scratched that one spot beneath her chin. The little dragon went boneless. He scooped her into his lap. "In the seven hells they will," he muttered.
Brom smiled fondly. "As someone who witnessed your childhood, I do not doubt your conviction." His mirth faded. "But the less sure you are of yourselves and your abilities, the more urgently they shall need to train you. I hold some standing among the elves, but they shall not defer to me upon the matter."
Eragon glanced down at Saphira. There was no doubt they needed proper knowledge of their abilities. The elves were likely some of the folk alive who remembered the time of dragons and Riders. The rebellion was their only real option. Either Galbatorix claimed them or they killed him first. He knew that bone-deep certainty.
"Can you at least train me in the basics?" he asked at last. His gaze flicked to the wine-red sheathe at Brom's side. "Not just the magic and the lore, but how to properly defend myself?"
"When I finish you two will be damn well competent. And then it's off to the elves." Brom extended an earnest hand.
"Well?" Eragon prompted his dragon. He paid close attention his voice, now aware of how deep draconic rumbled in his chest. "Are you up to it?"
Saphira blinked drowsily up at him. "If they teach you how to defend your own sorry butt I don't see why not."
"Aye," Eragon agreed, his tone returning to normal. He clasped hands with Brom and sealed their bargain. Then he looked purposefully down at the dragon that had grown in power and ego and everything except size. "Speaking of growing into ourselves, how long do you need?"
She yawned and closed her eyes. "I don't know. Several centuries or so? I'm in no rush."
His eye twitched.
He knew what he was. He knew what he was not.
The Darkness of his master's fortress was heavy and suffocating, even if he no longer had lungs to care about. Paradoxically those same shadows gave him strength, his ties and shackles to this mockery of existence.
Shrouded in shadows, he had been resolved to not hatch at all or else to come into the world so gloriously the festering corruption all around him would be burned away, leaving not even ashes behind to fall to earth.
But the present reality of his egg's location had been insignificance as the distance between him and her. Destiny urged them onward. When she had prepared to come into the world, he had hatched first, ready from the very beginning to counter her every action.
His first sight of this world was the dark and twisted hell shaped like armor a human had grafted onto his body in exchange for power. He had gazed up, past the embodiment of torture, and beheld the soul within. The man's inner Darkness was made all the blacker by the fragments of Light flicking in their depths. This was a man who had given all he had, and then all he could take, for the defense of those he loved beyond all else.
For such sacrifice he had bared his soul, not his wrath, to the fallen hero now known only as Sepulchure. In return he had been stripped of all that he was and what he had been destined to become. The Amulet's influence and the magic woven into his very bones left him no more than the agent of another's will.
Yet, in the flying fortress's very heart, the Darkness was not so smothering. It did not hang thick and heavy in the air but was woven back into the walls, a cocoon that held back greater evils and sheltered the nursery within. Through the dense fog of protections he had sensed the one spark of innocence for leagues around, the one untainted life that had stayed his wrath upon hatching.
Tiny hands grabbed at his neck and pulled him into an embrace that could have choked a living recipient.
"Fwuffy!"
It was not a name befitting for his stature, but it was his name nonetheless. It had been granted to him by the blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked little girl that now contently perched in the lap of a monster whose very name struck terror into the hearts of thousands.
Beneath his helm, Sepulchure smiled in contentment as his daughter excitedly babbled on about the same dracolich she squeezed tightly against her chest.
Fluffy chittered fondly and relaxed in her hold.
A world away, his shadow drifted off in the lap of the one she called her own.
For now, there was peace.
It is canon to DF that a spooky town in a haunted forest all provide happy, loving homes to an army of undead dragon babies. Except for the one the Adventurer takes for themselves :p
This time around Eragon and Saphira are not being specifically hunted by the Ra'zac. Just like this time around poor Brom doesn't have a friggin' clue what's going on with them. Considering what's on the line he's totally willing to give things some time to start making sense, or to try to find out what the hell is going on with them without dragging Oromis and all of the sanctimonious elves into it just yet. In Du Weldenvarden they already have their hands full as it is ;)
So far Gravelynn has had a safe, happy childhood with a daddy who do anything, and kill absolutely anyone, to keep her that way. I'm sure Sepulchure already had a grand, impressive name for his shiny new dracolich picked out when he showed off the egg to his daughter. Then she reached out, called it 'Fluffy,' and the rest is history XD
