Did you have a good hunt? Ophelia asked with a bright smile as she turned away from Eragon, shifting her attention to the two dragons that had just landed in the little camp they had made for the night.
The small party had been traveling for a little over a week now, and Saphira and Vanilor had not gone hunting since the evening Ophelia had told Eragon about her unusual heritage. The winged pair had become increasingly more uneasy as the days had worn on, but they refused to tell their Riders what was causing their agitation. Despite this, Ophelia had insisted they go hunting tonight on the sensible grounds that there was no way they could maintain their pace if they did not hunt more often, as their days spent flying were invariably long and their nights incredibly short. She had all but banished them from the camp, insisting she and Eragon could take care of themselves for an hour two.
But when she saw the looks of concern on the dragons' faces, however, she abandoned her first question in favor of a hurried, Whatever is the matter?
Something is amiss, Vanilor said, his deep voice taking on the harsh edge that worry always gave it.
We could not see nor hear another living creature in this forest for miles around, Saphira said in explanation. I can feel the terror radiating from the trees, and it has not been caused by us. There is a stench of putrid evil in the air.
Ophelia felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up at Saphira's words. Turning to Eragon she said, "We must leave this place immediately. It is not safe to remain."
He nodded his agreement, and they began to hastily break camp, packing up what little they had and tying Saphira and Vanilor's saddles to their backs. The evil in the forest, however, seemed to sense that its quarry was fleeing and in the distance there could be heard the sound of something heavy crashing through the trees. Whatever it was that was coming, it would be here in only a scarce few moments. Eragon's jaw took on a hard set. He knew what he had to do. Rushing over to where Ophelia stood next to Saphira, he boosted the thin girl easily onto the sapphire dragon's back.
Saphira, he said gravely, hoping his dragon could sense the seriousness of the situation well enough to see the sense in what he was about to tell her to do, regardless of whether or not she liked it. Take Ophelia and get as far away from this place as quickly as you can. Vanilor and I will follow as soon as we are able.
Ophelia, who, from both the determined expression on Eragon's face and his having haphazardly tossed her onto the back of a dragon that was not her own, seemed to have caught on that he was sending her away and immediately began to protest.
"Wait!" she cried, tearing down the heavy wool traveling hood that masked her face so she could look at him properly.
"Please," he said, with audible earnestness, cutting her off before she had a chance to speak again, though as the words left his mouth, the look on Ophelia's face gave him great pause. It suddenly struck him, right at that moment, that not only was she worried for Vanilor, but she was afraid for him as well, and despite the gravity of the situation, he felt the inexplicable soaring of his heart. Capturing her pale hand in his, he squeezed it in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture until Saphira's take-off forced him to jump back and let go.
"Atra du evarinya ono varda," he called after them softly, the look in Ophelia's eyes burned into his memory, the tingle of her touch where he had held her hand in his still present even though she was gone.
After a long moment, he sprang into action, snatching up his sword from where he had dropped it on the ground in his hurry to send Ophelia and Saphira off and swung himself unto Vanilor's saddle with relative ease, despite being unused to mounting a dragon so tall.
You did the right thing, Rider, the great creature said to Eragon with his usual quiet gravity as he settled himself into the unfamiliar saddle. He would have wondered at such an obvious declaration of praise coming from the austere creature, but he had not the time, for the moment after Vanilor said it, they were beset upon by what stalked them.
Two beasts the likes of which Eragon had never seen before smashed through the underbrush and into the clearing. In appearance they resembled what could only be described as some sort of distant ancestor of the bull, though they were easily half the size of Vanilor, who was about as small as a dairy barn. Their hides were nearly as black as dragon's as well, but whereas the Vanilor's was a handsome, glossy sable, theirs was a color reminiscent of death and darkness, and their entire bodies were covered in hair heavily matted with dried blood. The putrid odor of rotting flesh seemed to intrinsically emanate from the horrid beasts, making Eragon's stomach churn, and he felt himself having to fight to keep from becoming sick. Despite all of this, the feature that commanded Eragon's attention the most was the extremely long, sharp scimitar-like tusks that protruded from the animal's large, blocky heads, one just above each brow.
Both creatures lifted their noses into the air as though trying to catch the scent of their prey; it took Eragon a minute to realize they were blind and were thus forced to rely entirely on what was surely their acute sense of smell in place of sight to find things. Seeming to have located their quarry, the twin creatures turned their sightless heads toward where Vanilor stood with Eragon on his back. Pawing the earth with their sharp hooves, one of the beasts let out a terrible bellow before they simultaneously rushed dragon and Rider.
Vanilor responded by raising his black head into the air and letting out a feral roar, a sound that would have curdled the blood of mortal man or beast, before bounding forward to gamely meet their attackers.
With a strength and ferocity Eragon would formerly have thought impossible, even for a dragon Vanilor's size, the black dragon snatched one of the mutant bulls up by the neck in his great jaws and tossed it into its fellow, managing to knock the other bull off course. Eragon, seeing his chance as the other beast ran harmlessly along side Vanilor, sprang from the dragon's back onto that of the bull, and raising his sword into the air, thrust his broad weapon vertically downward into the creature's neck, delivering a fatal blow. Time seemed to slow to a glacial pace as the cumbersome creature continued to lumber forward for several paces before collapsing with a crash to the ground. Throwing himself from the thing's back, Eragon rolled several feet off to the left in an attempt to avoid accidentally impaling himself on one of its pointed tusks.
Landing rather hard on his back with force enough to knock the air clean from his lungs, Eragon lay on the ground for several moments, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. A roar of pain brought the life element rushing painfully back into his lungs as he remembered that Vanilor was still battling a killer bull of his own.
Springing to his feet and wrenching his sword out of his dead adversary's body, he spun around until he saw Vanilor where he was fiercely fighting, wincing at the blood that poured forth from a wound on the dragon's left foreleg, begotten by a slash of one of those razor sharp tusks. Another roar of rage rumbled from Vanilor's deep chest before he snatched the creature in his mouth once more and tore at it with his deadly silver claws, dark blood flying everywhere. The animal struggled for a few moments before going limp, and with a flick of his long neck, Vanilor tossed its mangled body into the center of the clearing.
Without thinking, Eragon rushed over to the black dragon and placed a hand on his heaving side.
I am all right, Vanilor told him, though he made no attempt to shake Eragon off, something that would have surprised the Rider greatly had the situation been any different. What in hellfire was that?
I cannot say, Eragon admitted. But whatever they are, they are not from here.
They were sent, Vanilor remarked, catching effortlessly on to Eragon's meaning.
Eragon carefully regarded the dragon out of the corner of his eye. In truth, of all the few dragon's he had ever come across, he had never met one quite like this one. While obviously not as experienced as Saphira when it came to combat, Vanilor displayed a savage tendency he had never seen to such a degree in his own dragon. No, this strange black dragon was ruthless, a seemingly merciless killer who easily could and most likely would destroy anything and everything in his path if the fancy struck him. Eragon was glad he fought alongside Vanilor rather than against him.
At least for now, he thought wryly to himself.
Let us leave this place, Vanilor said, distaste apparent in his tone as he surveyed the destruction he had wrought. I cannot bear the stench.
But your wounds healing— Eragon begain in protest, but Vanilor cut him off.
Later.
Barely waiting for Eragon to tie himself to the saddle, Vanilor unfurled his massive wings and launched himself into the air, forcing Eragon to grab on to one of his neck spikes to avoid falling off the dragon's back entirely.
They found Saphira and Ophelia quite a few miles off, having touched down at the edge of a fairly sizable freshwater lake, its dark, shining surface resembling rippling glass. Vanilor folded his wings and angled himself towards the ground, landing much more softly than Eragon would have thought him capable of for being so tired, several yards away from his Rider and Eragon's dragon.
Eragon slid out of the saddle and leaned heavily against Vanilor's side as a sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. The black dragon reached his head around to look at him, before nudging him in an almost affectionate manner. Eragon was surprised at such a display from the usually severe, reserved dragon and his surprise grew even greater when he allowed Eragon to rub his hand over the silver stripe that ran down his black reptilian face as he had seen Ophelia do on several occasions.
At the soft sound of Ophelia's light footfall approaching them, Vanilor snaked his head back around to face his Rider. He nuzzled her gently, lovingly, and she rested her soft cheek against his silver forehead, running her hand lightly up and down his scaly face.
They certainly were an odd sight to behold: a tall, slender, cat-like girl with the ears of an elf poking out from underneath her long, messy maple syrup hued hair, leaning against the silver face of a fearsome raven dragon splattered with the blood of a now dead mutant bull. But to him they—she—looked nothing short of perfect.
After watching them for several moments, he tore himself away from them, feeling like a voyeur, taking in a display of devotion that was not meant for his eyes or anyone else's. Sighing heavily, he walked over to where Saphira stood at the edge of the water, her broad back facing him. He came around to stand at her shoulder.
Are you all right? She asked him quietly, oddly refusing to turn around to look at him.
He could only nod in response, feeling too tired to say anything.
Good, she snapped, the sudden anger in her tone catching him by surprise. Then I won't feel bad when I do this.
Before he could even react to her words she had knocked him flat on his back, her large sapphire face looming ominously above him.
What on earth were you thinking, she demanded, sending me away like that?! You could have gotten yourself into serious trouble and I wouldn't have been there to help you! Are you out of your mind? What if you had been hurt? What if you had died?
Saphira… he began slowly as he ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, his tired brain seemingly unable to conjure up an explanation that would appease his dragon.
I'm waiting, she interrupted, like a mother who was demanding to know the reason her errant child had come in after dark when he clearly knew he was supposed to be in before sunset.
He suddenly felt extremely annoyed. He was so sick of others second guessing his judgment in general, but somehow when Saphira did it hurt all the more.
Saphira, you know that I was not trying to slight you by sending you away, he snapped angrily. Ophelia is still weak even though she tries not to show it—you were there when Angela told me this before we left, and I did not want to risk a relapse in her health. I wished for you to take her away because I knew if anything happened to Vanilor or I, you would have been able to take her on to Ellesmera and to safety, for you are the only one of our party aside from myself who knows the way. You are also the more experienced dragon and I trusted that you would know how to defend yourself and Ophelia in the event the two of you were attacked as well.
He could feel her sheepishness float across their mental link when she realized the sense of his actions.
My worry for you blinded my reason, she finally said. I apologize for overreacting.
It's okay, I'm used to it, he replied impishly, a tired grin spreading across his face.
I resent that, Saphira said indignantly.
"You are hurt!" he heard Ophelia exclaim aloud from where she was standing with Vanilor.
Eragon mentally kicked himself for having forgotten about the dragon's injuries and hurried over to heal them, asking Saphira if she would lend him strength, for he had little of his own left.
When he had finished healing the gashes on the dragon's leg, Vanilor said he felt like a swim in the lake. Saphira eagerly agreed to go with him, while Eragon opted out, saying he was too tired. Ophelia decided to remain with him.
They sat down side by side on the bank of the lake, Ophelia casually skimming the bare toes of her right foot across the water as they watched their dragons dive into the cold water, disappearing under the surface just long enough to worry their Riders only to break through and soar back up into the air again. They seemed to be playing some sort of strange game of tag only they understood, and Eragon smiled at the sight of them. Even if he did not always get along with the dragon, he was glad that Saphira had found a friend in Vanilor. He knew that while she loved him dearly, she often missed the presence that only another dragon could provide for her.
Those thoughts suddenly brought to mind a conversation he had once had with Saphira. She had been incredibly sad at the time, despairing that she would have to live out her life alone, never to know the love of another of her kind. Did Saphira wish for Vanilor to be her mate? If she did, she had certainly done a good job of hiding her feelings for the other dragon from him, though Saphira could be very secretive when she wished it. He did not want for her to settle for Vanilor out of nothing more than the convenience of him being the only other suitable dragon around.
And what if Vanilor would not have Saphira? He thought of the barbaric display he had witnessed before, back at the clearing. Vanilor was a feral beast, to be sure, and he had hardly ever seen him display a soft sentiment towards another living thing aside from Ophelia. No, creatures such as Vanilor and Ophelia did not seem the most likely candidates to be touched by the tender hand of Love.
Whoa, he mentally halted himself. How on earth had Ophelia's name just cropped up back there? As a Rider, to fall in love was certainly not expected of her, and from what he knew of her, it would seem that her personality railed against it as well. What did it matter if Ophelia never loved anyone other than Vanilor?
It matters to you the nagging voice of his subconscious pointed out slyly, only too happy to make itself heard.
Annoyed, Eragon told his subconscious to shut up and leave him alone.
"I beg your pardon?" Ophelia asked, looking at him, confusion apparent on her face. "I have not even said anything."
It took a moment for him to realize he had said the command he had given himself aloud, and Ophelia, as the only person around whom his words could be directed at, was obviously nonplussed by the order.
"Please excuse me," Eragon said, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment, his only consolation being that it was probably too dark for her to notice his scarlet face. "I was thinking to myself, I did not know I spoke aloud."
"Oh," was her only reply. No doubt she was trying to figure out with he had told himself to shut up, he thought. She must think him the greatest fool to ever live—not that that conclusion was too far from the truth.
Sighing, he climbed tiredly to his feet. "I think I am going to go to sleep."
"All right," she said, rising as well. Without saying anything else, she took his arm and draped it around her shoulders, encouraging him to lean his exhausted body against hers as they walked over to where she had set up their sleep rolls, and easing him down onto the ground before wrapping herself in her blankets and lying down next to him. She feel asleep rather quickly, but he found him staying up well into the night despite his weariness, watching the moonlight play across her beautiful as slept peacefully.
A/N: Happy Chapter Ten, and a rather long chapter at that! I debated over cutting it somewhat in half and adding the shorter portion to the next chapter, but I finally decided against it. I rather like the way it turned out, and I really hadn't much to do on it, as the way it is here closely matches the portion from the original story that I took it from. That said, please enjoy, and if you like, review! I miss hearing from you guys! Also, I have been debating whether or not to up the rating a bit on this story in light of the events of this chapter. If you have any thoughts on this, pleas share!