Has it really been almost a year since I updated this? -dies a little on the inside- And there was a half-finished draft for this thing sitting right on my computer, too. So, to curious new readers and highly impatient old readers, welcome back to a very delayed chapter :D.
Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle belongs to Christopher Paolini, who happens to not be this writer. All original material belongs to me. However, if it turns out that Faolin really did survive and is actually the Green Rider... just remember who called it months before we even learned Book 4's name!
When Brom had made Eragon relay a message to Roran about the whereabouts of their first lesson, the rebel agent had selected a place perfect for two men and several dragons to converse in comfort and privacy. Unfortunately, that location just happened to be Eragon's cave. While it was large enough for everyone, it was also a freezing winter morning and the hike up to the brown dragon's lair on foot was very exhausting.
Still, Roran had dare not complain about the arrangements. Considering the frigid temperatures and lack of space, Eragon's cave was the only viable option. Bundled up properly this time in thick furs and sturdy boots, Saphira and her Rider had ventured outside into the frigid cold together to take the long journey to the designated meeting place. Aye, Roran was content to walk the whole way. He'd rather eat his own boots than fly anytime soon. And Saphira? Her wings wouldn't be strong enough to support her weight for several more weeks and her newly developed sense of pride refused to hitch a ride on Eragon.
Looking back, both mutually agreed their prideful decision had been a foolish one and cursed their own pigheadedness. Roran's clothing was damp from the snow and his body refused to warm up. Saphira's young body shivered from the extended exposure to the cold. Even her sapphire scales looked bluer than before. Together the two huddled for heat, the twin scowls they aimed directly at Eragon showing who they blamed for their predicament.
Returning their bad looks with a confused one of his own, the brown dragon cocked his head in earnest bewilderment. Are you two honestly attempting to blame your misfortune on me? he asked incredulously. Who refused the free flight over? You could have gotten here ages ago that way.
Baring her miniscule fangs, Saphira hissed. Had she been capable of speech yet, gods knew what horrible insults would be spewing forth from her mind. Being raised by two foulmouthed farmers and an older dragon with colorful vocabulary certainly killed her chances of ever refraining from excess vulgarity.
Roran glanced up at his "cousin" grumpily. "Really, Eragon? If you hadn't been so huge, we all could have met somewhere warmer and not so far a distance from home. So thank you for nothing, you useless reptile."
That was probably the shivering and tired of the young man speaking, but the comment had still managed to draw the brown dragon's irritation. Saphira wasn't helping matters. Ever the brown noser since she accidentally sent Roran whirling into unconsciousness, she took every moment to endear herself to her Rider. Currently her head rested in his lap while she hummed in contentment as he once began to stroke her.
Amber eyes narrowing in extreme dislike, Eragon barely restrained the rumbling growl that longed to burble up from his throat. He wanted to be on friendly terms with Saphira, but the damned hatchling always insisted on being difficult. The petty female probably still carried the grudge she'd had against him while in the egg. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, indeed.
"I take it you three don't get along well if you're left alone for extended periods of time," Brom commented smoothly. The old man was just strolling into the cave, wrapped up in a thick cloak to protect him from the chill. Despite his advanced age, he didn't seem winded in the slightest. Eragon noticed Roran's eyes shine a little enviously at this, but the brown male thoughtfully decided to just leave the potential argument be.
About time you got here, old man, he quipped instead. I was afraid I'd have to leave my warm spot on the ground and carry you here.
Brom flashed the cheeky brown dragon a docile smile. "Try all the best mediocre insults you have, hatchling. I've handled far more rebellious young dragons than you. Though your illogical jealously coupled with your body's rampant hormones make a formidable combination that I'm proud to say remains unmatched."
Golden eyes bulged in disbelief and embarrassment. What did you just say?
Brom shrugged, walking over and taking a place near Roran. Glancing up suspiciously at the questionable man that had ventured almost too close, Saphira thankfully didn't act up about it. She just squealed commandingly, butting Roran's idle hand until he began scratching her scales again.
"Nothing, Eragon, nothing. I was just merely stating how your jealously for Saphira coupled with your new territorial instincts are a volatile mix. This anger against an innocent youngling who is spending too much time with your self-proclaimed "cousin" is immature yet amusing for me. Forgive me for remarking upon it."
Rumbling warningly, the grouchy brown dragon didn't attempt to constrain the fury that bubbled up new and hot. Little did Eragon know that was the sensitive and easily provoke emotional side of an adolescent dragon speaking for him. Watch it, Brom. Besides, my feelings aren't petty. It's true that Saphira really is-
Blue eyes narrowed at this discovery, something dark and dangerously unknown surging through them. "Saphira?" the old man whispered quietly. "You named the she-dragon Saphira?"
Puzzled as to way her name had been used in so negatively a manner, Saphira cocked her head innocently and chirped inquisitively. Both Eragon and Roran exchanged a glance, silently debating over who should explain the story to Brom and risk possible injury by a bereaved former Dragon Rider. Thanks to the threat burning in the dragons' eyes, Roran lost the struggle.
Procrastinating the inevitable by inhaling as slowly as physically possible, the young man began his explanation. Tail twitching in agitation, Eragon's muscles tensed as he prepared to intervene if something were to go wrong. "While I was... away for a short while, Eragon was left temporarily left alone with the she-dragon," Roran said. He shot a pointed scowl at the male dragon. "The foolish lizard somehow got it into his head that she deserved a permanent name at that very moment. Essentially he suggested several hundred names and accidentally dropped 'Saphira' along with them."
Blue eyes still unreadable, Brom nodded in understanding. "So the hatchling decided she liked the name and chose it for herself? Now she's too attached to 'Saphira' to give it up willingly?"
Saphira, confused as to why her name was uttered so frequently but she herself was completely ignored, had grown tired of it. Cheeping commandingly, she rose out of her restful position near Roran's side, nipping his hand reproachfully at his total disregard of her. Roran jumped back with a startled yelp. His 'loving' she-dragon used this momentary distraction to her sadistic advantage. Pouncing on her Rider, the two went crashing to the ground.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Eragon turned back to Brom, comical spectacle forgotten. It was truly my error that I suggested the name of your dragon to an impressionable hatchling, he admitted seriously. Do not punish her or Roran for this. The blame belongs solely to me and I shall do my best to persuade Saphira to select a different name.
Brom's lips twitched slightly in amusement. "You just subconsciously called her 'Saphira'." While Eragon's golden eyes widened in horror at that unintentional slip-up, the old man only chuckled benignly. "It's official. The name has already stuck. Changing it now would be like forcing your "cousin" to grow accustomed to a new name." Those bright blue eyes lost their darkness, mainly friendly while nostalgia for happier times glittered deep within. "What kind of person would I be if I were to strip a young one of her newly discovered name?"
Are you certain? It won't be too hard for you to be around a she-dragon that bears the same name you bestowed upon your own companion?
Looking at the ruthless blue hatchling that had a full-grown man entirely at her mercy, Brom shook his head with a smile. "It will be impossible for these old eyes to make similarities between the two. Aside for their color and name, I can already discern your... Saphira will be entirely different from my own. My dragon never had the audacity to tackle her Rider, for example." He winced when Saphira still refused to relinquish her hold over Roran. "Or the capability to be unrelenting in her vengeance."
Amends made, the two males could only watch in morbid fascination as Saphira continued to 'scold' her Rider. Though Roran's irritation toward all three of them lasted almost as long as it took for his numerous bite-marks and scratches to heal, he eventually came around.
For now that all potential problems had been solved, true learning between the wise mentor and his three troublesome pupils could truly begin.
Fighting and failing to awaken so many infuriating times, a very broken and very cursed Faolin at last succeeded in the struggle to wrench open his bloodshot green eyes. The blackness that had long ensnared him crumbled away to let in a swirl of blinding light and nauseating colors. Reflexively bolting up and leaning over the bed he had been placed in, he began to vomit. Stomach so achingly empty, only a few strands of bilious saliva were expelled.
Collapsing back onto the hard mattress, the severely weakened elf groaned wearily. Finally, a sense of order seemed to return to his mind. The colors stopped swirling and settled into solid shapes. Even his initial vertigo subsided so Faolin was in as best a condition he could be in such dire circumstances. Once again hoisting himself up into a sitting position, the captive inspected his new surroundings.
Or, he would have, it not for the green dragon perched on his legs hadn't hindered his view. Emerald eyes shining joyously at the awakening of his Rider, the creature instantly linked his mind to Faolin's. Wincing at the painfully ecstatic onslaught of emotions, the elf instantly severed the connection. But not before he'd gotten more than his fair share of his dragon's consciousness.
Faolin had been flickering in and out of awareness for quite some while. He probably could have woken up earlier, if he had wished to. The dragon's mind was always there whenever he attempted to rouse himself. Always trying to coax him on into full consciousness. Every time, Faolin had allowed himself to fall back on that numbing black tide until it was no longer possible.
Now, however, the ravenous rumbling of his stomach and the dull ache in his very bones had both grown too demanding for him to simply ignore any longer. Trying to temporarily convince himself the young emerald-green dragon was nothing more than a hallucination of a long-since deranged and weakened mind, Faolin purposefully went back to examining his new surroundings. Undoubtedly Durza had transferred him to a more secure facility after the hatching incident, perhaps right in the heart of Urubaen itself. For all he knew, Galbatorix could be inhabiting the room next to him.
After his last hellish experience in a prison cell Faolin had no real idea what to expect. He had, however, not anticipated in being dressed in clean clothes that were a vast improvement on the threadbare rags that had served as his garments since his capture. Nor had Faolin expected to be unshackled, all remnants of his earlier torture having faded or vanished from his body completely. Focusing inward, he also discovered that, while still drugged and unable to perform magic, the effects that had limited his mind had lifted slightly. While his mind could venture no further than the confines of his room (it was far too luxurious to be deemed a cell, even for political prisoners), he would relatively freer than before.
Of course Galbatorix would want me living comfortably now. I have just become his greatest asset since the disappearance of the she-dragon's egg. He wants his new slave feeling all nice and comfortable, to try and convert him over to his side without much resistance. Faolin scowled defiantly. Weak as he was feeling, not even he would willingly betray Princess Arya and the entire race of elves just for a soft bed and a hot meal. Elves had their dignity, too.
Sighing, Faolin inspected his dragon. Judging by how it had doubled in size since he had last seen it as a newborn hatchling, he had been unconscious for quite a while. He was also concerned to note that the little beast was alarmingly skinny, enough so that his sharp-eyed gaze could just detect the hint of ribs beneath the dragon's emerald hide.
"I told you, little pest, you should not have chosen me. You have just confined us both to a fate worse than death." Faolin reached out with the hand that bore the gedwey ignasia, tentatively stroking the dragon's horned head while a sad smile ghosted his angular face. "Not that either of us can go back and change either of our mistakes now."
Ignorant, or uncaring of his Rider's cryptic talk, the green dragon only purred affectionately as he leaned into the warm hand. Again his mind brushed eagerly against Faolin's own, inviting him to freely share his memories and emotions. The elf complied. He desperately needed to acquire about as much information regarding his location and the fate of himself and his dragon. While he did not expect for his little burden to yield detailed and clear-cut memories, Faolin needed only some insight to draw a relatively accurate decision.
The blood-eyed-bad-man had brought him here, aye, along with his Father-Rider. It had been a hard and scary journey, in one of the moving-dark-rooms pulled by a snorting-giant-horse. He had only wanted his Father-Rider to comfort him, but Father-Rider was still lost in his dreamless-sleep. No matter how hard the little green hatchling had tried, his elf had remained worryingly unresponsive.
Moved now into the bigger-roomier-lighter-room, the green dragon had been unsatisfied. If anything, he had preferred the moving-room. This place was strange, and the loud noises and disgusting smells that drifted in from the world outside hurt his ears and unpleasantly tickled his nose. Still, nothing had been enough to wake his deep-sleeping-Rider. There had only been bad-people for company, so he had refused to even acknowledge them. The delicious-red-meat they had brought with them had also gone untouched. He had not wanted to eat anything they brought, especially not when Father-Rider was starving away in his sleep. Instinct told him to wait, and wait he did.
There were other things here, things that scared the little green dragon even more than the blood-eyed-bad-man himself. There was the black-unholy-beast that prowled somewhere nearby. He could smell its stink, hear its ravenous bellows, and could see its terrifying shape in his nightmares. The black-unholy-beast had once been a dragon, but now it was an abomination, something to be avoided at all costs.
And then there was the most frightening of all, the black-eyed-man. The black-eyed-one had pretended to be nice, had tried to persuade him to eat and play and meet the black-beast, but the green dragon had refused to listen. Instinct had also told him the black-eyed-man was bad, far badder than anything he had ever encountered before. His ancient-guiding-memories called the black-eyed-man "murderer" and "oath-breaker." Under no circumstances, he was told, was the black-eyed-man to be believed.
Faolin couldn't help but groan in dismay, for his worst fears had been confirmed. He was now being held captive in Castle Ilirea, beyond any help of escaping or being rescued. Arya was now all alone in that gods-forsaken prison, at the nonexistent mercy of a vengeful Shade that had been positively infuriated over the loss of his favorite plaything. Galbatorix had him, and his dragon, in his clutches now, and would take a hero the rebellion had long since been denied to loosen the Mad King's hold over the both of them.
"Don't you starve yourself for me," he chided gently, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Keep yourself strong for whatever trouble we'll encounter down here."
Given the permission he had so desired, the green dragon happily leaped off of the elf's bed and scampered over to a dish of fresh meat that had been left in the far corner of the room. This he gleefully and voraciously tore into, wolfing down what must have been his very first meal. Faolin turned his own attention to the broth and bread that had lay simmering at his bedside. Without pausing to check to see if meat had been added to the broth, he inhaled the entire thing, temporarily appeasing the rumbling animal his stomach had become due to hunger.
"Might as well name you now," Faolin muttered aloud. "Better I do so before Galbatorix or Durza can put in any suggestions."
Because of the fact that his invaluable status as a Dragon Rider now made him priceless to Galbatorix, Faolin realized he could probably name his dragon anything without being punished for it. Even his new insane master would not dream of harming his priceless, already weakened slave and his newborn dragon for something so insignificant. Even if it meant enduring an immortal lifetime of addressing the green dragon as 'Vrael' or 'Kingslayer.'
Faolin had instantly discarded both names, for he found the second one to be a horrible thing to call a dragon, and the former as all memories of the golden age already left him bitter. Why remind his dragon that he, too, was a remnant of a glorious period Alagaesia would never be able to experience again? Nor could he name his dragon Glenwing, in tribute to the elf that had once been his companion in escorting the she-dragon's egg.
His mind then went through the ancient language, sorting through words that could define his dragon. He was neither "hope" nor anything resembling it, for the Varden and all the citizens of Alagaesia would not exactly be glad that Galbatorix had another Dragon Rider under his command, one that could invade Ellesmera and easily fell the large numbers of mediocre magicians the Du Vrangr Gata was comprised of. Nor would Faolin simply name his dragon "green" or "emerald." Names were imperative, and could help define one's fate.
Faolin smiled wanly as his dragon returned to him, drowsily crawling back into his lap. Now that his "Father-Rider" had woken up and his hungry had been satiated, the naive little thing was content to simply lay down and nap. He was oblivious that the long, impossible journey that lay ahead of himself and the elf had only just begun.
"Aelath," Faolin whispered at last. "It is what ties us together, and what shall define us for a very good portion of our lives, little one." He sighed. "Perhaps you can subvert your namesake, defy destiny and strip your new name of the sorrowful connotations it now holds. But I shall leave it up to you to decide. Unbreakable oaths shall soon bind us both to my master, and I doubt I will be able to withstand interrogations from Galbatorix himself when it comes down to that. It is you who hatched for me, and so I leave it to you to guide us from here."
Aelath- A variation of the Welsh word meaning "grief, sorrowful." Considering the situation Greenie and Faolin are in, and since I can totally imagine a green dragon named Aelath, the name is sticking.
Next chapter: Dragon lessons for the world's strangest trio! Hm, two students that happen to be very proud and competitive dragons, and the other a down to earth farm-boy that was just dragged along for the ride? Poor, poor Brom. I'd take class full of middle-schoolers any day.