Fun Fact: Did you know that in Alagaesia they have a stumpy little cactus called Talos? I found that kinda funny, after all the Nordic upheaval in Skyrim. :)
The second they docked, he practically jumped out of the boat. Yaela's tinkling laugh followed him as he swam the last few feet to the beach and shook himself of water like a dog. He hefted his little bag on his shoulder and ran like a small child would run in a game. He practically sprinted through the dwarven city, not bothering to say hello. He even breezed past his other elves, who knew his plans when they saw his bag. They laughed and clapped him; all of them had a vice. Uthinare liked to make flutes out of saplings. Yaela liked to read suggestive caricatures. Saphira had beer. Eragon had his carvings. Arya had her assortment of tropical and exotic teas. This was his.
Blodhgarm liked the dwarves hospitality he decided. He always wondered why Arya wanted to be the ambassador so badly. It wasn't for Saphira's egg, and it wasn't to help her people. She talked the talk, and managed to scoop herself one of the greatest luxuries in the known world. It was a wondrous beauty that the dwarves had every right to be proud of. She wanted to be ambassador for their best and most glorious creations yet.
Their baths.
The elf had barged through many a clan chief to the wash rooms when he heard that this city had the special spring-rooms, carrying his loafer and various tonics in his arms. When Eragon's clan-brother asked him what he was doing, he simply said, "an incredibly sacred cleaning regimen. Only call me if a Shade pops up." He didn't waste another word on the dwarf, and left the room as a hail of laughter rippled it.
He practically broke out into a sprint as he neared his destination, full on leaping over the grumpy old statues that tried to oppose him in the hallways. They swore at him in dwarvish, but he didn't give a shit. Politeness is for guys without split hairs. Manners are saved for after his soak in the tub. He rarely ever got to have time to himself after he left the forest, and most of the time he had to wash himself in a river with an army watching him scrub his ass. He was going to take this opportunity, even if everyone thought him a bastard for it.
He practically kicked the wooden door off its hinges, threw his tonics aside, and almost tore himself in half when he ripped off his loincloth. The room was as beautiful as he hoped. It was empty, about the size of a shaman's hut, and carved from the rock surrounding him. It was full to the brim with hot spring water, with a gentle slope to a waist height depth. It even had a little shelf where he could put his cleaning potions. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He was free in an instant, and let himself do what he always did when alone and with a big surface of water. He jumped in headfirst.
He collided with something hard.
He grabbed onto what he could. Something was kicking him. He stood quickly, spluttering, and shaking his mane away from his eyes, ready to kill whoever dared to interrupt his time alone.
"I know I'm a looker, but Guntera can't I have a bath alone without your smutty bullshit, pömnuria Konungr!"
Blodhgarm replied evenly, by wiping his wet mane across Eragon's back, earning a yelp and a swatting fist in repayment. "One night and you think you're a God. Getting a little big for your boots, aren't we, Drottningu?" Eragon flushed deeper, deeper than he had already been from the steaming bath. Blodhgarm mentally patted himself on the back, but physically, he was already cornering Eragon between the shelf and the deepest part of the bath.
He thanked Guntera, and whatever other Gods that might be listening that he had kept his fur short in the recent weeks. Hairy bathwater isn't sexy. At all.
Eragon was soon left with nowhere to run, and he knew it. He pressed his back against the smooth stone, and stared back at the predator tailing him. "Well. Who has who pinned against a bathroom wall? I'd say that if I was shit at it, you wouldn't be here."
"Even if you started making nidhwal noises and smelt like a cabbage, I'd still be here, Eragon."
The boy twitched at the sound of his name, and Blodhgarm knew exactly why. Always pet names. Never his actual given name. Always Princess. Fairy. Shadeslayer. Argetlam. Never Eragon. The elf decided he liked saying it. Liked getting that response. Nobody could say it like he could. Blodhgarm pressed up a little closer, watching. He crept in closer, until the kid had nowhere to slip off to, completely penned in by Blodhgarm's hands, braced on the shelves. "Eragon."
The boy actually shuddered like a wolf to get rid of the extra adrenaline, teeth gritted when not savaging his own mouth. His eyes suddenly became blown, and for a crazy second, Blodhgarm thought he was going to get hit for being 'embarrassing.' But the sudden hand at his throat didn't strangle him; it was fisted around the hasty braid he had turned his mane into, shaking just as much as the boy was. The boy was overheating. Breathing like a rabbit after a run through the dog kennels, eyes already darkened to old woodland pines. Just from a name.
"Eragon."
Someone growled, and much of the bathroom paraphernalia and protocol was forgotten in what the neighbouring dwarves liked to call a "cataclysm."
What remained afterwards, when the duo left the bathrooms, is what the dwarves call a "huge fucking mess."
The sea churned quietly around the ship, and being honest, Blodhgarm liked it better that way. He tugged his hood lower, trying to block out the rest of the gut-wrenching oceanic noises and being only partially successful. It was going to be a long trip. A really long trip. Woodland critters are not made for sea voyages, and the boy didn't even know where this magical problem-solved island was. Yaela yawned behind him, breaking the new tirade of insults from his head. He would laugh later. He would gripe and moan, but when it came down to it he would rather send someone else to go with the Rider. But Eragon? He would go with Eragon. If it was Arya sailing away into the sunset, he would have told her where to shove the anchor.
Apparently they were a packaged deal now.
He partially straightened for when Eragon boarded the boat, face pained. His mystic elven powers guessed it to be because of the howling mess on the shore. "You have a good family at your back, Eragon. You sure this is for the best?" The boy shrugged and stepped around to so stand beside Blodhgarm, still leant on his elbows against the larboard bow. He didn't say a word until he had mirrored the elf, hands dangling over the side. "I don't know. But I know that the eggs aren't safe here, and the Elunari deserve a haven that isn't in some gold plated cage. You know that if they become common knowledge we will spend our lives defending them from thieves and maniacs. At least this way, they'll all be fine and dandy."
"So, we are going to make a retirement home for dead dragons?"
"Pretty much."
"As long as I don't get nappy duty, its fine."
"No, you'll just have to settle yourself with making a few homes, a nursery, other such things. Some of the dragon eggs are rogue born. That means that out of their stasis, they'll randomly hatch and start wandering around. They'll need a baby house."
"Once again, as long as I'm not on nappy duty, its fine."
"Blodhgarm, I have to know, is all of this just orders?"
The elf didn't say a word, for the longest time instead settling further into his hood, eyes locked onto the slowly twisting waves. Invidia yelled out an order, and the other elves twittered around on deck to their various positions. They were already out into open water before Blodhgarm replied, lowly, almost drowned by everything else.
"Of course not."
"Weohnata ono sitia? Medh eka? Eka dunei ono, Blodhgarm."
"Eka Weohnata. Eka eddyr ikonoka weohnata ono. Eka dunei ono, Eragon."
The boy smiled, wide, wonderful, bright and turned away to look out over the encroaching ocean. They were almost out into the real deeps, the river's mouth widening ahead of them into that impossible distance. Eragon was gone for a moment, fully enchanted by that glowing red line in the distance, the colour slowly bleeding through the rapidly lightening skyline. "Nuanen."
The elf looked to the boy, considering the sentiment. It was a lovely view, true. A kid who started off as a backwater village boy with little more than a pick and a wooden shack to call his. A kid who had no idea what a gold piece looked like and thought that a beor was a pig of some sort. Who was thrown ass over teakettle into a world of war and blood and politics, expected to learn high level spellcasting, swordsmanship and kill a monarch to save the world. It was scary to think anyone could have done the things that Eragon had, but seeing the boy, well. You wouldn't believe it.
He turned slightly, to look quizzically at the uncharacteristically silent elf, who simply blinked back. The boy was sweet, and ridiculously silly at times. Not even a bunch of zombie dragons could change that. He was still a village hick at heart. He was Little one, get out of the Faelnirv or you'll end up in the swamps alone and naked again. The second those nobles, kings, queens and regents were gone; he wasn't Argetlam, Shadeslayer, Ebrithil, Edoc'sil Shu'tugal. He was Eragon, in his jimjams with a pile of wood getting ready to make some more badger sculptures. He was Eragon, Wolf Tamer and Tea Maker. He was the cocoa haired, moss-eyed devil, pranking and torturing his poor spellcasters with the most ridiculous of contraptions. He was the pale, Drottningu that appeared only when they were alone. He was the monster that taunted the living hell out of he elf when then were with company. He was the little bastard who woke up the spark in his chest. He loved Eragon.
The boy leant in, placing a tiny kiss on the edge of his lips, those moss-green eyes twinkling with something previously unknown.
Blodhgarm hummed in assent.
"Nuanen."
Pömnuria Konungr – My King
Weohnata ono sitia? Medh eka? Eka dunei ono, Blodhgarm. - Will you stay? With me? I love you, Blodhgarm.
Eka Weohnata. Eka eddyr ikonoka weohnata ono. Eka dunei ono. - I will, I am whole with you. I love you.
Eka Weohnata – I will.
Nuanen – Beautiful
And there you go. The End. I might do a few little oneshots in the Yarn storyline or maybe even some suff about their live on the Island, but who knows. But being honest, i always found it funny when everyone got all crazy over the real Inheritance ending. The books were never meant to be epic romance. They were a coming of age story. Or maybe Arya knows that Eragon is actually a closet case? Hmmm.
Ah Well. Hope You enjoyed it! And Thanks For Reading :o]
