Aedrae- Ancient language for rain. Isidar- Dwarven for sapphire.
Sorry I'm late guys, A week to post feels too long, maybe it's me, but I'm trying to be faster than that. Okay, on to some notes.
...With the oncoming series finale, I ought to just state outright the things I think will happen in book 4, just so I can say I called it. For example, the menoa tree. He promised her anything. In the ancient language of all things. She could quite easily make him do whatever she wanted, like... well, I probably shouldn't ruin that surprise. Of course, this is all without considering whatever she implanted/changed in him. Don't tell me you missed that... though I don't know if it was physical or magical or both.
CP puts solid hints here and there, he's like me in that regard. It's all about noticing and digging. For example, I called the thing about Brom's parentage. Though I think a lot of people did so it's not very surprising. There are better ones though, for example, on the nature of kuthian. Though I shan't leak all my opinions here, and that is hardly my last. I'll happily discuss them with anyone who is interested though. Ask in review or private message and I shall reply. ...Perhaps I should set up a thread for it or something...
Anyway, this is, as you probably guessed from the title, part one of a larger chapter. I felt it best to separate them, partly because of their length, partly cause of a certain theme involved. So, on that note, feel free to wait a little bit if you want to read it properly, the next one shouldn't be far off. Up to you. For now, I hope you like baby Saphira.
The light is so bright, so strong, that it burns. He tries to turn away from it, but it encompasses him, from every direction, growing hotter still. His flesh begins to sizzle, but then he is shrouded by blue wings. He can feel Saphira's body covering him, and he feels agony through their link, but she does her best to form words.
Live, Eragon...
And then the light breaks through, so white it blinds him, and he feels no more.
The first time around, he had not had much time to play with his young dragon. With his second, he had all the time in the world, and he was determined not to miss a second.
When he woke and found her snoring on his chest, slightly on her side with her wings splayed as wide as she could reach, he took no note of it. Sleeping arrangements had been difficult. They had only cold rock to lay on, and while that was not too much trouble for her, though she might not prefer it, as he knew dragons made a proper nest of soft things when they had the option, for him it was annoying in its entirety. However, he was so horribly sleep deprived that he may have been unconscious before his head hit the ground. It made sense that she might move closer during the night, as dragons also liked warmth, even considering the lingering heat of the desert breeze, and he knew he would be a softer alternative as well.
But when he sat up, lightly holding her to his chest, and she did not shift, he got a little suspicious. His little Saphira, it seemed, was a determined sleeper. ...Or faker. When he stood and she did not move at all save for a slight tightening of her muscles, he was sure.
Grinning, he walked to the entrance of the cave. The mountains of Du fells Nangoroth were riddled with caves and passages. Some small, some large and deep. One, Eragon did not know which, led deep under the mountain, to a safe hold where dragons had kept the only things precious to them, an age ago. Eragon had chosen a cave that had a good view of the desert from its mouth. He expected to move them to a better concealed location soon, and then explain to Saphira why, but for now it would do. From the mouth there was a five foot drop into the sand, and Eragon took the leap easily.
Upon realising they were falling, Saphira's grip tightened, her wings flaring as she squealed. Even after Eragon landed easily, his legs sliding into the dunes past his ankles, her breaths remained rapid, and her eyes were thin as her head darted in every direction.
The corner of Eragon's mouth twitched, and then he laughed long and hard. And then... realising she'd been tricked, the little dragon turned in his grip until she found exposed skin, and bit him.
Her teeth were sharp, true, but Eragon just found it amusing. She huffed, but soon quieted and snuggled into his arms once more.
Wake up you... you can't sleep all day.
Eragon heard a growl in his head, as if she was determined prove him otherwise. In response, he began loosening his grip, until Saphira realised her predicament and tightened hers. She hung to his clothing like cat on a tree, eventually squealing again as she climbed up to his shoulder, and bit him on the ear.
That one stung, and she felt it through the link, and her jaws loosened. Eragon smiled at that, and scratched her neck.
Now, I'm going to show you a little about hunting.
He felt her lean her head slightly, as if not understanding him. Eragon backtracked, collecting his bow. After rechecking his wards- internally pleased that no-one had attempted to scry them in the last day- he put on his cloak- Saphira easily readjusted, and her tail wrapped around his neck to balance again- he took them out into the desert.
Even though it was early morning, and still in a cool season, the heat was scorching. He was glad for his cloak, that while it didn't protect against rain, it was perfect for shade. He didn't want to end up burnt as a tree in a forest fire. Saphira, by comparison, loved the temperature. Her wings were fanned out to absorb of much of it as she could, and her enthusiasm while doing so was almost bubbly. The position made her balance even more precarious, but she managed to hold on. As for Eragon, it was a weight he was rapidly becoming accustomed to, though he occasionally asked her to switch shoulders.
Early in the trip Eragon a cracked area of the sand, and he used the opportunity to remove one of the large solidified tiles of sand and cast a spell to draw water from the earth. It was taxing, but not as much as he expected it would be, and he wondered if he was growing stronger. Certainly, his powers had grown from when he had fought the Urgals, but they had been so very weak then.
Saphira's eyes sparked with wonder as she watched the little hole fill. After Eragon had drunk his fill, he let her to the ground to examine it. She sniffed it warily at first, her mind not making the connection to the holes filled with liquid he had once made in the darkness underneath the Beor Mountains. After a moment, she took a gulp of it, and then another. Once she felt she had drunk enough, she jumped into it like a toddler would a puddle. The water splashed here and there, scores of droplets sizzling on the sand. She looked almost depressed when it was all gone, and Eragon had to firmly remind himself that he didn't have the energy to spare right now to draw up more.
As they travelled further into the desert they began to see all kinds of creatures. He felt Saphira salivating at all the delicious scents, and he began to explain them to her. Most were lizards, smaller ones, and then the larger monitors. Occasionally they saw snakes, and each time Eragon sent her a feeling of danger. He was not sure of her ability to understand a concept such as poison yet, so he instead assured her of the death they were capable of, and she quickly began to shy away whenever they came close to one. He did the same for the scorpions, though they were much less few. He occasionally pointed out birds- Saphira's attention was focused on the ground- and told her of them. He told of her falcons and hawks, and occasionally vultures, even though they were more common. When he told her that they were hard to catch, nearly impossible for him, but maybe even easy for her, she didn't believe him.
For a moment, Eragon wondered why, and then he found it in her mind. There was something in her head, a profound belief that he was able to do anything. She believed it without a doubt, her faith in him absolute. It was a daunting thought...
Regardless, he put it aside and continued explaining the creatures of the sky. He explained prey and predator, this was a concept she understood readily. He told her that she was predator, more so than the snake or the falcon, though not yet, as she was still rather small.
She bit him again, but there was no malice in it this time.
As Eragon raised water for the third time, the sun directly overhead, a monitor lizard scurried towards them. The lizard paid little heed to Eragon, and gulped heavily at the water he had raised. Rather than feeling annoyed, the rider felt bemusement run through him.
Twenty seconds later, as if the lizard had just become aware of him, it raised its head to stare at him, ignoring the young dragon. Eragon stared back, and he noticed some things. The lizard's eyes were grey, covered with film. It was two metres long, and its scales were strangely light, a washed out brown. There were the faintest creases on what Eragon recognised to be an aged face.
Eragon tensed then, as if prepared to dive. The lizard scurried back two feet, and mirrored his stance. A moment later, the rider charged, and the lizard snapped out to bite him. Eragon dodged, jumping over it, and began punching it, his fists impacting soundly on its head. The lizard whipped around, dazed, but still managed to lay a great slash down Eragon's leg with its claws before his fists hit it once more and there was a crack, and it fell to the sand, silent.
Saphira touched his mind then. She had jumped from his shoulders as he had engaged the creature, and was now looking at it with curious eyes.
It was old. Old and weakened, desperate. But it fought all the harder for it. ...This is what prey and predator are. You kill, so you can eat. This is what you must do for the rest of your life.
The dragoness was silent in thought then, and after a long moment she wandered over to gently lick Eragon's wound. He smiled, but told her not to worry.
This was a predator, but in the end all become prey. Beware hunting a predator, for they are born with tools to kill, and will use them even if they are to be slain in the end.
She was silent again, but she still kept on licking at his wound. The blood flow was minor. It had been a long cut, almost a foot long, but quite shallow. Eragon would clean and mend it later.
A thought came through their link then, a not understanding. Old, she questioned, what was that?
Old, Eragon answered, was when you had lived for a long long time, long enough to be at your end.
She did not understand that in full, not yet, but then a panicked thought came through the link. What about him, would he not grow old? Would he not meet his end? The thought terrified her.
No, I will not grow old. I shall not meet my end... and neither... will you... We will live forever, and I shall be there as long as you want me.
Always, her thoughts said.
Eragon said nothing, but pulled her into his arms again, and hugged her tight.
The cool of the cave was very welcome. Saphira didn't entirely agree. Eragon, though, was tired and sweaty. She'd not relinquished the spot on his shoulder for two hours, and he'd also carried the monitor lizard back to the cave.
Also, there were the dead plants he'd collected on the way. Most of the plants in the desert were surprisingly moist within, if not without. If one failed to get enough water, however, they would soon be as dry as grass in a drought, and were good for burning. It had been difficult to collect them, and Eragon suspected it would be something he could do rarely, as it had been hard enough just to get supplies for a single fire without traversing half of the desert, and there were no trees for leagues.
Still, this was their first real night here. Eragon planned to make it special.
The plants took to flame as easily as a tinderbox, roaring into life. He'd made a small hollow for them, small but deep, enough to stop them burning out quickly. Cooking the lizard proved difficult, and Eragon had to expend a spell- and a negligible amount of energy- to keep it in the right place.
Saphira eyed it curiously as it rotated, her mouth opening wider and wider as she drooled. It was... strangely cute. Eragon's own stomach gave its complaints, but he ignored it. Soon enough, he pulled the lizard from the fire and cut it open with one of the swords, and a rush of smell filled the cave.
The little dragon rushed forward as Eragon gestured, almost diving into the opening Eragon had made in its chest. He hadn't cooked it enough to go all the way through, and she disdained to cooked meat as she went for the organs. Eragon was content to eat the flesh. Soon enough, there was a great deal missing from the lizard, and both their stomachs were full to bursting. Eragon could not help but let out a contented sigh, happy to be eating properly again.
Night had fallen an hour ago, and cool air had begun to seep in, but the fire kept it at bay. Eragon rolled over to collect something he had gathered earlier- tiny nuggets of metal he had drawn from the earth.
He gestured for Saphira to approach, and she sluggishly got to her feet. He pulled her into his lap once she was in reach, and he lazily threw a nugget into the fire.
There was a rush of sparks, and suddenly the flame shifted to cherry-red. It lasted only a moment, but then Eragon collected another, copper this time, and the flames were streaked with green. It sparked greatly, and for several minutes Saphira's attention was rooted on it.
Eragon continued for some time, throwing in the pieces he had found, and the fire coloured most of the rainbow. Finally, he threw a final piece, and it became ocean-blue.
Saphira's eyes widened at this, and the cave was empty of voice or movement or thought for a long while, as they both stared entranced.
There was something soothing about a flame, Eragon mused. He rubbed the little dragoness's back absently, and he head swayed from side to side as she began humming.
It was a slow, melancholy tune, but soon rose to be hopeful. Her thoughts, strangely enough, did not reflect it. She just... sang.
An hour later, the fire flickered, on its last breaths. Saphira became silent then, and turned to face him. Eragon felt a tear run down his cheek, but he did not react. He just let it be.
The dragoness cocked her head at him, but he just smiled, smiled and drew her into his arms, where she nuzzled against his throat.
My Saphira... don't grow up too fast.
She was silent for a moment, and then hummed once more.
When Eragon woke the next morning, he found Saphira yet again snoring on his chest. Though considering he'd wrapped his arms around her, he didn't know who was to blame. Since she was genuinely asleep this time, he gently moved her onto the warm stone he'd been laying on, and stretched as he wandered to have breakfast.
As he chewed on lizard meat- he was beginning to regret the lack of salt or spices- he contemplated what to do next. He didn't need to go anywhere, nor did he want to, he realised. The mountains were a perfect home for a dragon and rider, if they could look after themselves. Moving further into the mountains would be a good idea though, and there was something else they needed.
Eragon doubted that anyone would be able to find them here... but if they did... he needed to be able to protect them. He needed weapons... and maybe armor. The shoddy pieces of work would not hold up if Eragon encountered someone he could not defeat with magic alone. The last thing he needed was his sword shattering mid-fight. And besides, if he could have decent weapons, why not have great ones? There was no reason not to have enchanted tools, unless you were Rhunon and insisted on doing things the mundane way.
He felt something nudge his side, and he smiled as he realised that Saphira had woken and come to greet him. After a slight pat- she arched like at cat at his touch- the little dragoness began her own breakfast.
Returning his attention back to his dilemma, he came to a simple conclusion. To improve his equipment, he'd need a forge. He could do it with energy alone, but the expense would be ruinous. And he, quite simply, didn't have that much. He'd expend a fair amount just raising water for them each day. He could make a forge easy enough, though time consuming, but if he was going to make one, he'd better make it somewhere permanent. And so, when Saphira was done eating, Eragon put on his cloak once more, she climbed to his shoulder, and they began exploring the mountains.
The day passed quickly. Eragon had to climb at several different spots to traverse them, and even if he'd tried he could not have reached the higher lofts- the majority of caves where dragons used to dwell. To preserve his energy, he'd taken a path that would leave him in the shadows of the mountains as the sun moved. It was a pleasant journey, though his aching muscles protested. Saphira, though small- she bit him again as he thought it- she was heavy.
That thought had her drawing blood. He hastily told her that she wasn't heavy, per se, but carrying her all day tired him out. She acquiesced at that, but made no move to leave his shoulders. Though, as he thought about it, he didn't really mind. He was becoming rapidly used to the familiar weight.
As the day passed, he explained more things to her. Her understanding was progressing rapidly, and there was a noticeable difference between even hours. She had begun commenting on little things- in her own way, that of sounds and images- which gave Eragon a stream of thought in which to divert his attention from the heat.
Then, as the sun was beginning to go down and Eragon was beginning to regret not going back sooner- finding his way in the dark would be quite difficult- Saphira suddenly raised her head, nostrils flaring, and chirped loudly.
Eragon touched her mind, but could not identify the scent either. Once, he had been able to perceive the details within touches and tastes and smells in... her, but that had been a thing only time could achieve.
Saphira thought it smelled like water, and several other things she did not know.
Curious, Eragon turned on his heel and began following the scent, using Saphira as a guide. She led him across a series of crags, and soon he got to a large cliff that hung over a wide crevasse. There was a path below it, but to get down he would have to climb down on an angle that surpassed vertical. He knew, from the start, he wouldn't be able to do that. So he reached for magic, and jumped.
Saphira squealed as they dropped, and her claws dug into him so tightly it felt like he had hit a mound of glass. The feeling almost broke his concentration, and he dropped faster for a moment before he got it under control, and they swooped to land on the path.
The effort had tired him, but he ignored it and turned his attention to the shivering dragoness. It was then he realised something he had noticed but not understood before.
Saphira was afraid of heights.
It seemed ludicrous, but it was there, hanging in her thoughts. Thinking back, he realised how many times the thought had come up. Even though she knew dragons could fly, she did not have that faith in herself. She could flutter her wings to slow her fall, but she felt everything else to be beyond her.
Drawing her into his arms, he stroked her spine until she relaxed. It was something he knew he must repair, but how he was not sure. He decided to keep holding her as he walked forward, as now he could even detect the scent himself. It was smelt light, like a river, and had a scent of freshness to it. How that could be so in the middle of the desert he was not sure though.
As he rounded a corner and under an archway of stone into a hidden chamber, he discovered the truth.
An oasis! It seemed impossible, but it was there. The cavern was almost like a tunnel, and had only one large entrance, though it was well hidden. Small gaps in the ceiling let beams of light illuminate a pool of water Eragon guessed to be one hundred feet wide, which was so deep Eragon could not see a bottom. Around it was an expanse of lush grass, growing against logic to the ring of sand that marked its edge.
A single depression over by a wall marked the spot where a dragon had once lay, and it set Eragon's thoughts scrambling.
What was this place? It defied all he knew of the mountains. If such a place existed, the dragons would not have had to leave Du fells Nangoroth in the first place! Unless... this place had been a secret, something most dragons did not know? Perhaps it had been made, or came into existence later? Perhaps both were true. Certainly, it bore marks of being made. Dragons were mighty diggers when they put their mind to it, able to tunnel even through stone with relative ease. It would have been easy enough to make the cavern, but how to force such a supply of water? An underground well could not have done this.
...Eragon sighed, perhaps he needn't over-think it. However it had happened, it was there now. A dragon had obviously taken advantage of it, and had crafted small fissures in the stone above which light could breach. There was enough to allow the growth of plants, mostly grass, but not enough to dry out the place.
He wandered up to the pool and Saphira fluttered out of his arms, forgetting the incident earlier for now. She looked at Eragon curiously as he went to his knees and smelt the pool. It still smelt fresh, and the water was crystal clear. He muttered a spell, and surely enough, it was free of contaminants.
...This place was perfect. Perhaps his luck was turning around after all.
Gesturing to Saphira, she chirped happily and dived into the shallow edges of the pool, splashing about with great enthusiasm. Eragon grinned and took a drink, appreciating the taste. Water drawn up from the ground was rather stale, and he was happy to be returning to something normal.
"Welcome to our new home Saphira. What do you think?"
Her reply was to splash him.
After a few nights to recover, skipping sleep became incredibly easy. It was also the first time he was parted from Saphira since she had been born however, so he doubted his ability to rest in the first place. She was no better.
Once he'd spent the better part of an hour assuring her he'd be right back, and that she should not under any circumstances leave the cave, he took the path back to their first one. He would have taken her with him, but with her currently unable to fly, she'd be one weight too many.
It mattered little anyway. He kept a closer watch on her with his mind than he ever could with his eyes.
Soon, he found himself back. After a tearful reunion on Saphira's part- which surprised him a great deal- they shared a cold dinner. Lizard, fortunately, kept rather well, and he then found himself rocking the tiny dragon in his arms, his back to the wall of the cave and warm sand beneath his toes. The cave itself seemed to keep cool in the day and warm at night. How, Eragon could only guess. He'd caught a view of the stars through a hold in the roof, and it was that which he and Saphira found themselves staring.
Gods... had it really only been a week?
He felt her poke his mind, her touch loose and languid. She presented him with an image of himself, tiredly distorted, and a burning curiosity. She was wondering what he was thinking.
Eragon smiled and scratched behind her chin. Nothing. She seemed to disagree, and again she poked him. Instead of replying, Eragon drew her mind into a fanciful stream of illusions. As expected, she latched onto them quickly, and he flitted between images of open fields and great cities and mighty beasts who obeyed no logic but what he gave them. Soon, his mind turned, almost by itself, and Eragon told her stories, stories he himself had been told, so long ago.
Garrow, if nothing else, had been a devoted father. Though he could be harshly realistic at times, the tales he had told Roran and Eragon in their youth had been worthy of a storyteller. It had been part of the reason Eragon had found Brom's company so appealing in later years... it was a return to happier times.
...He was barely a third of the way through the tale when Saphira's consciousness slipped, and she entered the world of dreams.
...It really had been a week. Less, even. Eragon stroked the dragoness's wings tenderly, and she quivered, though she did not wake. He wondered, for a moment, if this was what it was like to be a father. He smiled then, and carefully made a hollow her in the sand, which was where he placed her. She moved, he sleep disturbed, but he stoked her for a long moment, and she fell silent.
A week since she had come to him. Two months since the egg was taken. Four since he had returned.
Merely the last week felt like forever. The last few days were particularly guilty. And now, as he sat down in the grass waiting for the pangs of sleep, they would not come.
He stared into the distance, and his mind wandered. Memories rose up, memories of happy times.
Happy times, that all ended.
...Why could he not forget that? Why could he never escape it? He knew he must, for that time was now. He was safe. They were safe. And he would keep it that way. That was all they needed.
Eragon dug into his own mind then, and slowly, surely, he began burying memories. Deep, behind a wall that only he could find. Good times, bad times, all were locked away.
If he was to make a new future, he must put his past behind him.
Besides, he didn't want Saphira to share in his nightmares.
It was at that moment that he knew sleep would not come that night. So, Eragon instead sat in the grass, his attention on the world around him as he dug into his magic, and lost himself within it.
Sunlight had been streaming into the cave for hours when Eragon broke from his trance, though it was not the sun that did it. He felt pressure at his side, and he felt Saphira climb to his shoulder so she could better see what he was doing.
Good morning, little one.
She nuzzled him in greeting, and Eragon presented his night's work. In front on him lay several pebbles of metal, coloured like tarnished silver. In his hands lay a somewhat larger piece, which was closer akin to rusted iron.
Eragon put a finger to his lips as he turned to face her, and after a moment he dug for his magic once more.
"Moi."
The iron almost seemed to writhe in his hands, its form growing hot and seeming to fold in on itself. An acrid smell like the tang of ozone filled the air. Suddenly, a sliver of tarnished silver split the iron, growing wider and wider as the lump shrunk.
Eragon tossed the new pebble of tarnished silver into the air, and caught it again, grinning. He felt a heavy exhaustion pass through him, and he felt rather hungry, like he hadn't eaten. The first passed after a moment, but the second did not. Reaching for his magic again, he muttered another word, and the smell cleared.
He felt a slight push against his mind, and Eragon patted Saphira as he explained.
"That was iron. Rusted though, that's why it smelt so badly. And this-" Eragon tossed the pebble once more. "-is something the elves call brightsteel."
"It's a very rare ore, and I'm only aware of one cache of it left in existence. However, I've made a habit of breaking certain rules. You can... well, if you had magic, though in all honesty when you do, you'll be able to outdo anything I am capable of..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm digressing. You can, if you know how, turn something into another thing. For example, you could turn sand into water. It's difficult, and very draining, but here is where the trick comes in. One can save energy by preserving it. If you know how, you can expend a little energy to stop a lot from escaping. I admit, I don't know all the words to perform it in full, but one can make do without if one is skilled enough. When something turns into something else, there is a lot of ambient energy released. If one harnesses it, you can keep the transformation going."
Saphira tilted her head to the side.
"I apologise, you probably don't understand a word of that." Eragon laughed. "Anyway, it's still quite draining, but this is my night's work." He gestured to the pile of pebbles about the size of two of his fingers. It wasn't much, in all realism. The lump he had given Rhunon had been nearly a several hundred times the size.
"It's probably a good time for you to get up too... I didn't want to leave you, and I'm running out of iron to find nearby. These mountains would have been a horrible place to build a mine."
And with that, Eragon abandoned his work, and they both went to have breakfast.
Saphira looked over the edge of the cliff warily, and her grip on Eragon's neck tightened. To save himself from choking, it was all he could do to pull her into his arms. She huddled there, frightened.
She did not relax until they were back in the oasis-cave.
You're meant to fly... why are you afraid of it?
The dragon shuddered. Once again, he traced the thought, but there was no explanation he could find.
Come on, we've got to teach you. Like it or not... you need to know how. I can't always hunt for you.
She squealed and bolted from his reach. Once she was twenty feet away, she looked back, her eyes thin. Eragon sighed and walked over, but she ran away just as quickly.
I could chase you around the cave all day you know. Chances are I could catch you too.
Saphira stared at him, as if accepting that challenge, but Eragon just shrugged.
However, you forget something. I have magic.
Her eyes widened, and Eragon barked "Risa!"
A great plume of air rose beneath the dragoness, pulling her upwards. She floundered, rolling in his grasp as she rose towards the ceiling. Her wings fluttered madly, though out of tandem, and she could not get her balance. At she reached the ceiling, the force suddenly stopped, and she fell from the sky. Just before she hit the ground, Eragon caught her and pulled her into his arms.
Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and she trembled violently.
Don't be afraid... He stroked the length of her body, and she shivered, though she did not relax. After a moment, Eragon lifted her up and slowly pressed his lips to her forehead.
She froze.
You forgot something else. You don't need to be afraid... because I'll catch you. Whenever you fall, I'll be there.
They remained there for several minutes, aware only of their breaths on each-other. Finally, Eragon pulled away, and looked into her eyes. Worrying is my job... now, would you like to try again?
Her blue eyes were uncertain, but she turned all the same, her wings spread wide.
"Fly, Saphira!" He launched her from his arms. She soared high, and flapped with all her strength. Surely enough she began falling, though it was slower this time. Just before she hit the grass a cushion of air caught her, and she once again came into Eragon's arms.
Progress would be slow it seemed. But that was okay.
"Ready to go again?"
Saphira chirped eagerly.
We have all the time in the world.