Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda and The Inheritance Cycle franchises belong to their respective owners, not to me. Since time travel has not yet been invented, I can not yet go back and create both of them myself. So, until driving at exactly 88 miles per hour using a flux capacitor can send me back in time, my vision belongs solely in fanfiction. With the original material that belongs to me.
Song of the Chapter: Scars of Time- Chrono Cross Original Soundtrack
Groaning groggily and in exasperation of how many aggravating times he had been falling victim to unconsciousness, Eragon snapped open his blue-gray eyes and climbed on to his own two feet. Thankfully he had not been transformed back into a dragon or into some other unfamiliar shape, and was garbed in the strange new clothes he had received after Faron had restored his human body. Even his precious new hat had remained untouched.
However, his location had seemed to have changed entirely. Silvery white mist hung heavily in the air, and he was surrounded only by the shifting light and shadows as the haze floated lazily by. Eragon glanced down, yelping in shock as he saw fluffy whiteness beneath his boots instead of green grass. Was he floating in the clouds? Desperately unsheathing his sword and shield, he frantically glanced around his unfamiliar environment while praying to every single god he knew that the ground beneath him wouldn't suddenly give way and leave him to plummet to the earth below.
There was no sign of Saphira or anything else through the drifting mist. Not even a glimpse of blue sky graced his vision to assure Eragon he was somehow miraculously hovering miles above the earth. Right now even such a ridiculous scenario was more inviting than the other gloomy situation that prowled at the corners of his mind.
Oh, sweet Farore, was he dead? That wolf had collided with him probably hard enough to shatter bones, and had sank his fangs deep into his flesh. Arteries could have easily been severed easily and he could have bled to death within mere seconds. The ache where the wolf had bitten him was nonexistent. There was not even any blood, and his tunic remained undamaged. Saphira was no where in sight. Midna did not emerge from his shadow to snap at his foolish panic and to guide him out. He was entirely alone in a featureless landscape.
Would the god or goddess of death arrive at any moment to escort him to the netherworld? Or was he already there? Eragon already half expected Garrow to come walking out of the haze to comfort him about this grim new reality. Or Brom to appear out of nowhere to start beating his foolish apprentice again with his painful walking stick. He could just imagine the lecture the old storyteller would give him for dying while Galbatorix still terrorized Alagaesia.
Eragon turned around, finally noticing the one solid object that towered out of the surrounding mist. Rising impossibly from the nothingness were the tallest towers of Hyrule Castle. Their shining white walls glimmered with all their magnificent splendor. It seemed perfectly suited for the dreamlike atmosphere. He could only gape at it for a moment, marveling at the elegant architecture even when there was the realization he was possibly dead and unable to ever return to the world of the living.
"Hello!" Eragon called hopefully, turning his back to the majestic castle as he tried to peer through the shifting mist. "Is there anyone out there?"
His voice resounded strangely in the air, as if the mist distorted sound. Echoes of his one lonely calls found their way desolately back to him. Was he completely alone in this realm? Eragon was unsure. It seemed as if people were observing him from behind the obscuring fog, watching his every action intently as if he were undergoing some kind of test. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking that imagined the low whispers that seemed to emanate from all around him.
Something undeniably real finally answered his calls. Inhuman panting came from behind him. Eragon felt a shiver run down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck rise even higher. He recognized that sound as easily he could recall the voice of Saphira or Roran. It was the golden wolf that stood behind him, right where his vulnerable side was displayed before it. Eragon could almost feel the creature's single red eye boring into his back.
Eyes flickering from left to right rapidly, Eragon remained still as he waited the golden wolf to strike. He tensed in anticipation, ready to slice the aggressive beast in half the moment it decided to lunge.
Abruptly the wolf's panting ceased. Eragon waited for it to begin growling challengingly again or to start its offensive charge. Instead the sound of labored breathing pierced the anxious silence, magnified by the strange qualities of the dream-world. It was not savage in the slightest. Raspy and strained as it may have been, every new struggled inhale and exhale sounded human.
Blood turning to ice, Eragon whirled around to face his opponent. What he saw nearly made him drop his sword from utter shock.
Facing him was not any mere mortal man, but only ones decomposed remnants. Only yellowed bones remained, the skeleton holding its self together only out of some mysterious will. Above the dead figure was a set of golden armor faded with age. Even now Eragon could still see the ornate designs adorning it. The creature still wielded a rusted sword and tarnished shield, affirming in Eragon's mind that the former man had been buried with the full honors of a war hero. Its helm only covered part of its skull, allowing the fleshless face to be clearly visible. Single red eye fixated upon its living rival, the rotted figure carefully watched him.
Horror stories he heard years ago again drifted into Eragon's panicked mind. Brom and the other bards had been brimming with tales involving the undead. Necromancers had commanded hordes of reanimated corpses to conquer living armies and to swell the ever-growing ranks. Vengeful spirits possessed their own dead bodies, haunting farms and towns until their restless souls had finally been laid to rest. Those that had foolishly desecrated the peace the dead in graveyards would suffer the wrath of the vindictive ancestors that had so severely disrespected would be dragged into the earth themselves and never seen by the living again.
As if to confirm it was indeed a malevolent presence, the skeleton raised its sword and shield in preparation for battle. Its feet began to shuffle in a restless dance, but still it did not approach him. Red eye fixed upon Eragon, it seemed to mockingly goad him into response.
Burying his unbelievable terror beneath a surge of rage, Eragon unleashed a battle cry and abandoned his defensive position. With inhuman speed he dove in, aiming to pierce the creature's chest-plate.
The skeletal soldier stepped back with the same unnatural grace, swiftly bringing down his own sword in retaliation. The blade struck against Eragon's chain-mail, sending him flying through the air and crashing unceremoniously onto the ground several feet away.
Dazed and vulnerable at the undead thing's feet, Eragon waited for the blade to again come surging down and to cut his own life prematurely short. He definitely did not expect for a hoarse voice to hiss disdainfully at him, as if disgusted by his reaction.
"A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage."
Gaping in unbelieving amazement, Eragon swiftly startled to his feet. His supposed enemy did not move to attack him again. He was now close enough to notice that the armored skeleton towered over him by a good half a foot. By the width of his armor, Eragon reasoned the figure had possessed a muscular and powerful frame in life. While undead warriors were bound to be imposing, Eragon still couldn't comprehend that such a dead thing had communicated with intelligible, albeit raspy, human language.
"You may be destined to become a hero of legend..." the warrior continued critically "...but your current power would surely disgrace the proud green of the Chosen Hero's tunic you now wear!"
Eragon was not startled enough to realize that the undead man (for it was undoubtedly still a he, even so many years after departing the mortal coil) had just gravely insulted him and everything he was now supposed to represent. His blue-gray eyes narrowed furiously, clenching the hilt of his sword tighter.
"What could you possibly know of me?" he demanded angrily. "For months now I have endured every death and trial destiny had so callously chosen to throw into my path! The mentor I had come to view as my father died in my very arms after I had just come to be acquainted with his real self! My own flesh and blood is sworn to either drag me to my mortal enemy in chains or to slaughter me! Liberation for entire races of people depend upon my success! I have faced impossible odds and lived to endure the one after! You have no write to-"
Exasperated, the undead warrior lashed out with his sword, bringing its tip dangerously close to Eragon's vulnerable throat. Helpless, the young man could only fall silent and swallow nervously at the sudden death that loomed so close to his person.
"My knowledge upon your previous endeavors may be spotty in some areas, but the great Goddesses have seen fit to inform me of how you have come to survive for so long," the skeleton hissed reproachfully. "Whenever you encountered true danger, you escaped certain death either by sheer luck or the intervention of others. No longer can you so desperately rely upon such grace. Fortune shall soon run out and one day you shall face foes who desire only to kill you whatever the circumstance. Now is the time to learn to stand upon your own two feet, boy."
Ego severely bruised, Eragon forced back the retort that was itching to escape his throat. Insulting the one un-killable creature that currently decided whether he lived or died was a stupid mistake. "I still have a long way to go before I can even hope to conquer the enemies the world has decreed I must defeat," he admitted in as mild a voice as possible. "Still, I have progressed rapidly in my training and have bested the strongest warriors in swordplay and am second to only view in magic. I have endured heartbreak of my own. Calling me an ignorant fool simply because of my age is ridiculous. I have at least grown wise."
Refusing to flinch away like a coward, Eragon defiantly returned the skeleton's piercing gaze. Its expression was unreadable, its eerie grin perpetual and the single crimson eye concealed by the glow it emanated. Lifetimes seemed to pass before the undead warrior yielded, withdrawing his rusted blade so that Eragon could again climb to his feet.
"The wisest man on earth still concedes he does not know all, and acknowledges he was never meant to," he rasped sternly. "You must use your courage to seek power... and find it you must. Only then can you become the hero for whom this world despairs."
"Who are you?" Eragon asked cautiously. "Your life must have ended long before I arrived in Hyrule. What interest could you possibly have in me?"
Hoarse, humorless laughter emanated forth from the skeletal figure. Eragon couldn't help but shiver at the unnatural sound that seemed to rake at his very ears. "Farore does not send her champions unarmed and helpless out into the world. She provides them all the tools they need and leaves up to them to craft their own destinies. Circumstances beyond her control meant you could not receive the knowledge vital for your success. So I was sent to teach you what never should have been forgotten. These are the Hero's secrets, after all."
Realization dawned on Eragon and the sword almost clattered from his hands. His wondering gaze took in the undead figure's ornate armor, the honor he had been buried with weapons he must have valiantly wielded in life. "You were a Chosen Hero, too," he murmured in shocked awe.
Again, the dead man chuckled without true amusement. "Once upon a time, I was just like you. A young and hapless kid lost against the overwhelming tide of fate, and severely in need of guidance. I was your most recent predecessor and died before I could pass on the sacred arts to my own son. So the Goddesses charged me to remain behind until my final purpose in this world has been fulfilled. Only then can I abandon my regret and finally rest in peace as I deserve. Take my word for it, boy: Have your heirs fast and make sure you start training early. Better that than wander the world as a cursed spirit for over a century."
"What was your name?" Eragon questioned beseechingly. He was desperately trying to connect with a sentient soul locked within a rotted prison, to try and understand the unfortunate creature who now stood before him.
"I was known by several names in life. All of them are meaningless to me now," the skeleton intoned without a hint of sorrow at this grim reality. "My accomplishments are also unimportant. I was but one Hero among dozens who gladly would have sacrificed their lives to save their beloved Hyrule and to preserve the delicate balance the Goddesses struggle to maintain. Already my deeds are fading into history. Even the greatest heroes eventually have their true tales distort into legend, the story becoming almost unrecognizable from the actual events. Then the myth slowly dies away, also becoming swept away by the ever-flowing river that is time. There is no need to hold onto that which is fleeting. Fame and identity included."
Eragon swallowed nervously and nodded. He tried not to think of how the skeleton's unadulterated truth had affected him. Eventually his and Saphira's struggles would become immortalized as legend. But whether the story would end happily for all involved or if it would become a senseless tragedy, he had no idea yet.
"Fine... What can I call you now?"
"The living have invented several titles for me. The wolves call be the Golden One, for I choose to assume the form of their kind. Many call this body The Walking Death, for they believe I kill all of those unfortunate to stumble into my path. Simply call me the Hero's Shade. I am but a pale shadow of my former self, and even then I was less than the extraordinary reputation legends of my deeds created."
Reluctantly, Eragon slid his sword back into its sheath. Still mistrustful of the Hero's Shade, he felt confident enough to only keep his weapon within reach rather than in his hand. Something told him further defiance would only delay his return to the waking world. Saphira was probably ready to slap him silly by now.
"People from my homeland have taken to calling me Eragon Shadeslayer." He winced in chagrin at the presumptuous title. "Personally I never was fond of it. I only managed to kill that Shade due to a timely distraction from a dear friend of mine. Without her inference, and my mentor to drag me back from the verge of insanity, I most likely wouldn't be standing before you right now. I am just Eragon, Son of None."
The Hero's Shade studied him intently as the golden wolf had, crimson eye staring as if it could peer into the very depths of his soul. Finally the former hero inclined his head slightly, at least acknowledging Eragon with some amount of respect.
"If you wish to find true courage, Eragon, and you earnestly wish to save Hyrule from the horrors it now faces... Then you will be worthy to receive the secrets I hold!" Eragon's eyes widened, but his self-proclaimed mentor swiftly urged him into action. "Draw your blade."
Complying, Eragon stood ready as the Hero's Shade backed a few steps away from him. "How much are you going to teach me?"
Stern red eye fixed upon him, the green-clad young man wisely fell silent and listened intently to the skeleton's words. "Enemies that are filled with energy will quickly recover and attack even when stunned by a powerful attack. Not even magic is enough to repel them in some circumstances. The ending blow is a secret technique you can use on discombobulated enemies to end their breath before they can spring back into action. When a foe lies collapsed, leap high into the air and deliver a final strike."
Coldness seeped into Eragon's stomach at this cruel words. Memories of that fateful day in the Beor Mountains surged back to him. That man, Torkenbrand, had unwittingly tried to capture a Rider and the son of Morzan to sell as slaves back in the Empire. Eragon and Saphira had scattered the men. Torkenbrand had fallen off his horse during the mad dash to escape and had laid prone and helpless on the ground. Murtagh had walked over and cruelly decapitated the slave-driver. He had claimed such ruthlessness was now necessary for their very survival.
"Killing men in the heat of battle is one thing, but slaughtering an incapacitated one does not sit well with me," Eragon protested stubbornly. "My uncle raised me to fight fair. Everything you're saying goes against every belief I have."
Sighing in understanding, the Hero's Shade nodded sympathetically. "Innocence is swiftly lost, but the shreds that linger refuse to die easily. Reluctance in killing off defenseless, sentient foes is normal. I would be alarmed if you slaughtered without remorse. I too once felt such treatment was cruel, but I soon learned my enemies would not return my own foolish mercy. Think, boy! Does the entire world need to suffer because you hadn't the heart to finish a hostile foe who only wished you harm?"
Biting his lip, Eragon internally battled his feelings of conflict. Roran had bashed in the heads of Imperial soldiers to ensure they would not further torment him on the Burning Plains. Arya had always checked her victims to make sure they were dead and ended them if they still weakly clung onto life. Even Saphira had not hesitated in unleashing torrents of burning flames upon all reckless enough to stand directly in her path.
"You can not kill what is already dead," the Hero's Shade assured him roughly. "Now, try it on me." Beginning that strange but effective shuffle again, he raised his weapons in anticipation for battle. Eragon instinctively knew his new mentor wouldn't hesitate in hitting him with the blunt side of his blade if he showed further reluctance.
Lunging in, Eragon now found it remarkably easily to slip past the skeletal warrior's defenses and deliver a hard blow that sent his opponent toppling onto his back like a turtle. There the Hero's Shade lay, panting heavily, as if he had never meant to put up much resistance. Eragon sprung up into his air, cleaving his sword down in the process. The combined forces were enough to drive the blade's sharp point through faded armor and into a cavity that would have housed vital organs in a regular foe.
Swiftly withdrawing his blade, Eragon backed away and turned to train his eyes on the ground. Experience told him he had just performed the ending blow incorrectly and was about to be chastised for it. Instead the Hero's Shade easily stood up, nodding in earnest approval. Even with the grinning skull he looked pleased in the movement.
"Hmm. That was a pinpoint strike. Never overlook your opportunity to finish with ending blow! It could end up saving your life one day." The Hero's Shade twirled his blade about in an elegant move that made Eragon envious, placing it safely back in its sheathe. "The first hidden skill, the ending blow, has been passed on!"
Attempting to emulate the impressive trick with his own blade, Eragon only succeeded in nearly dropping it. Flushed with embarrassment, he quickly sheathed it in his usual manner. "That felt way too simple," he admitted in concern. "I know I have talent with a blade, but even prodigies have to practice before perfecting a technique! It felt as if I already knew how to do it. Like I only needed a refresher."
Chuckling in a way that was no longer disturbingly unpleasant, Eragon sensed that the Hero's Shade would be in as elusive in his answers as Princess Zelda. "That is because you did. You have learned this all. Many, many times. The power you need to conquer the challenges you face is already dormant within. All you must do is awaken it once again. This was just the first of seven skills. I have six more tricks up my sleeves, and this was just a test to gauge your preexisting abilities. Expect to have a much more difficult battle next time."
Attempting to stifle his dismayed groan, Eragon tried to remain as calm as possible. Prolonged training would mean more time spent in Hyrule. More time he was away from the battlefields and his comrades in Alagaesia that direly required his assistance. "Isn't it better if you show me all of your secrets now? We could get this all out of the way and I don't need to worry about being trapped in a situation in which I need knowledge you haven't yet taught me. Besides, you'd be able to fulfill your responsibilities and pass into the void peacefully much sooner than expected.
Eragon could almost imagine the half-amused and half-exasperated expression that would have crossed over the skull's face if he'd had flesh left. "No Chosen Hero, I among them, starts out with all the material he needs to conquer. Wisdom can not be dispensed freely. You must earn your power and properly test your courage. Even the legendary Hero of Time had to struggle hard to become mighty. The Great Fairies made him scour the ends of Hyrule for their hidden fountains before they taught him their magical secrets. Fearsome monsters waited for him alongside every Sage that needed awakening."
The younger man's must have somehow betrayed his disappointment and frustration, for the Hero's Shade sighed. "Look on the bright side, kid. Already you have experience in battle and am somewhat skilled with the blade. You are joined by loyal companions who would follow you to the ends of the earth. Goddesses, you even have the advantage of having already have undergone puberty!" As Eragon's eye twitched at this odd statement, the skeleton swiftly elaborated. "I was still a kid when I got dragged into a parallel world I was expected to save from inevitable destruction. The Hero of Time was raised in a sheltered environment and set off on his quest an ignorant and naive child. You're already an adult with no illusions about the difficulty of your journey. There is no more innocence to rip away."
Nodding in grudging consent that he had to wait, Eragon glanced about at the shifting mist again. "Very well. I shall wait until next time. Just... how am I supposed to come here again? Surely you're not going to track me down and drag me out of my body every single time you want to train?"
"Search for the stones that whistle with the wind. They sing sacred melodies that should never be forgotten to the fog of history. Master a stone, and the way to your destination shall be made clear." Whispers that had originally been nearly inaudible to Eragon suddenly grew louder. The Hero's Shade cocked his head slightly, listening intently to a voice only he seemed able to hear. "Our time today has drawn to an end," he said simply. "Until next time, boy. Remember to practice with that blade until the ending blow becomes ingrained into your very mind!"
Familiar with the tedious process, Eragon resigned himself to the darkness that was encompassing his vision. As the blackness seeped in the dull gull of the old Hero's armor, the crimson of his single piercing eye, and the white of the dream-scape blurred together in a swirl of color. Then he was cut loose of the strange vision, drifting away from the mist and back into reality.
Saphira was sincerely regretful her new body wasn't fast enough to have stopped that damned mongrel from sinking its fangs deep into her Rider's shoulder. When Eragon had collapsed her draconic rage had surfaced immediately. Instinct demanded her to tear the golden wolf into shreds before attending to the green-clad man's injuries. Of course the wolf had turned out to be some sort of hostile spirit. It had disappeared into thin air the moment Eragon had toppled over and had left her with his unconscious form.
The wild beast had not broken the skin or had not left impressions behind in Eragon's flesh. It had not even left holes behind in his tunic! Had the wolf bypassed the physical body all together, instead only inflicting damage to Eragon's immortal soul? With such a supernatural entity, Saphira couldn't be positive on what her Rider had suffered.
She had first lowered her mental barriers and searched for his sure. Saphira had wanted to see if Eragon was merely unconscious, experiencing another senseless vision, or if his soul had been irreversibly shattered. His presence had barely even been there! It was as if Eragon had been unceremoniously pulled from his body, now only maintaining the slimmest of connections with it. The ties were just strong enough to ensure his heart continued to beat and his body automatically function.
Saphira hadn't been able to assist him any further than that. He was beyond even the reaches of her own mind. She didn't have any trust in her new magic to try and heal him by herself. Odds were she would harm more than help. Instead the she-dragon in human skin had resigned herself to preparing camp. Gathering up all of the supplies they had stored safely away until they were supposed to have been finished with the Forest Temple, she had tried her damned best to make them both comfortable.
Midna had chosen to make her presence known only after Saphira had completed all of the hard labor all by her lonesome self. Apparently Eragon had neglected to inform her the same obnoxious imp that had helped him through the Twilight Realm had remained squatting within his shadow. Now that dusk was beginning to fall upon Faron Woods Midna had been able to venture forth safely. She and Saphira glared at each other from opposite sides of the camp, sizing each other up.
"Can't you do anything to revive him?" Midna questioned for the countless time that evening. "We're burning daylight."
Saphira struggled to refrain from snapping. This Twili was their only guide through the Twilit provinces. Alienating her would only make Eragon's duties in this wretched kingdom all the harder to complete. "No," she ground out as neutrally as possible. "As for the day, it's pretty much over. Nothing to do but settle down for the night and hope Eragon will wake by sunrise."
Amber eyes narrowing mutinously, Midna sniffed. "Such a waste of a day. If that damned wimp hadn't bothered to protect himself better than he would have finished up with the Forest Temple by now."
Rummaging around one of Eragon's packs, one of the young woman's sapphire eyes twitched warningly. "Much has been accomplished today," she nearly reminded in a hiss. "Light has been restored to this section of Hyrule. Eragon has regained his rightful form and I have gained a second one. Just this morning he was still hunting down the errant tears of light. Let him rest before he collapses from exhaustion!"
Midna's gaze momentarily flickered down to where an unconscious Eragon lay. Saphira had done her best to make him comfortable by putting a blanket beneath his form and using a saddlebag as a pillow to support his head. "He's shivering," she noted mildly. "This night air is going to him sick. Better make him warm before Hyrule's savior needs warm soup and bed-rest."
Saphira didn't rise to take the obvious bait. Her patience was wearing dangerously thin already. Triumphantly pulling out the flint Eragon still carried around with them to start fires, she set out to ignite the pile of kindling she had collected earlier. She didn't dare use her magic to start a fire on the likely chance she'd accidentally kill them all. If only this traditional, mundane method was reliable. Sparks repeatedly flew off of the flint, but stubbornly refused to kindle.
Floating in the air as Saphira's valiant efforts at creating fire were all in vain, Midna's bemused smirk steadily grew as the young Hylian's last reserves of patience were at long last exhausted. "Looks like we're going without a fire tonight," she remarked smugly as Saphira hurled the non-compliant flint into the darkness. "Eeh-"
The Twili female's cackle morphed into a startled shriek as she suddenly found herself staring right into the face of a snarling she-dragon. Falling onto her back, a wide-eyed Midna gazed up at her other conscious companion. Saphira had resumed her true form, and was far from pleased.
Baring bone-white fangs, the blue she-dragon had unfurled her wings to make herself appear even larger and was positively menacing in the growing darkness. Eyes burning sapphires, her hostile gaze was solely for Midna.
I know how you attempted to manipulate Eragon back there when he was imprisoned, she intoned darkly. Back when you thought him incapable of speech and only a frightened and gullible country bumpkin. You wanted only to make him into a puppet so you could accomplish your own selfish goals! He may be willing to continue to follow your orders and help you, but I have not forgotten your original intentions. Attempt to use either of us without our knowledge and consent, and I will break my vow on devouring sentient creatures.
Shock wearing off, Midna was not one to be dominated. Baring her own singular fang, she again jumped up to levitate in the air. "I care nothing for this sorry world and your pathetic boy!" she hissed coldly. "My people are my sole concern. Should I have to step on a few arrogant little light-dwellers to protect them from a godless and treacherous usurper, then so be it."
Just as I have no qualms about eating a dangerous Twili that is trying to impede us in rescuing Hyrule so we can return to our home, Saphira rumbled back. Should you become a liability, I shall do what is necessary to correct it-
Eragon suddenly trembled in his sleep, shivering more violently than ever before. Heart clenching in guilt at the realization her own blasted temper had distracted her from her Rider's well-being, Saphira rushed over to his side. Spitting a plume of fire upon the kindling that quickly jumped up into vibrant blue frames, she shrunk back down into Hylian form. She swiftly pulled a spare blanket over his prone form, leaving only enough bare flesh exposed to keep a careful eye on the shoulder the golden wolf had attacked.
Yes. Saphira had indeed ignored her Rider's dignity in favor of confirming his physical health. Even when there was no visible damage to his shoulder didn't mean she would let the matter go. How was she supposed to know whether or not the wound would not appear until later? So she erred on the side of caution and assumed Eragon could bear the humiliation of waking up with a bare chest.
Saphira had noted with appreciation that at least the rigorous training had payed off. Originally Eragon had been scrawny and was still slightly pudgy with lingering baby fat. Training and hard travel and maturation had substantially improved his previously poor physical condition. Of course there were still several more years ahead of him before he finished growing, but at least Eragon already displayed proof he actually possessed muscles.
Brushing her fingertips gently over his exposed skin, Saphira's heart fluttered only slightly. For though his new frame was a huge improvement upon his earlier pathetic condition, Eragon still had a long road ahead of him before being considered truly attractive in Saphira's critical eyes. If her Rider was blessed he would develop a body similar to Murtagh's by the time he reached full maturity. Only then would women see him as a genuine man and not a mere boy to be so cruelly used, as Trianna had once tried. Gods, even Arya could eventually rescind her earlier assumption that Eragon would perpetually be a naive and juvenile boy.
Her loss, Saphira thought privately with a small smirk tugging at her lips. By the time Arya realizes what a good catch she allowed to slip past her, some other opportunistic would have already snatched him up. Eragon is so devoted and kindhearted already, all he needs is a few more brief years. Give him that, and let's see if he can make an elven princess feel regret.
"How is the sleeping beauty?" Midna ventured dryly. "Did he regain consciousness yet?"
"Oh, yes," Saphira snapped back sarcastically. "He's just pretending to be asleep because he's afraid of being dragged back into another conflict."
As if her caustic response had been what was needed all along, Eragon finally began to stir at her words. Twili and Hylian watched, breathless, as the green-clad young man groaned and blearily blinked his eyes open. Noticing the darkness of the encroaching night, he looked about in slight confusion, before focusing in on the two females that hovered over him. Eragon's blue-gray eyes widened in surprise and fear as he did his best to explain.
"Not my fault!" he blurted out desperately before Saphira decided to do something rash. "That golden wolf dragged me off into some alternate world to teach me in the lost arts of the Chosen Heroes. I no choice but to comply."
Crossing her arms indignantly at the insinuation her Rider had just made, Saphira huffed angrily. "Of course I understand! Every single supernatural being in the world now seems intent on torturing you into your sanity crumbles." Pointing accusingly at Midna, her sapphire eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Neglecting to inform me that the imp still hung around, however, is unforgivable."
"I hid only because your light-dweller rightfully assumed you'd be furious after discovering me!" Midna retorted. "Two worlds, including my own, are in mortal peril. This isn't the time for petty arguments."
Gulping, Eragon did the wise thing and did not say anything about the subject to provoke female wrath against him. Midna and Saphira were both glaring daggers at him, each beckoning to cave and submit to their will. Instead he crawled out from beneath the blanket and rummaged around until he discovered peace offerings of food. He meekly offered portions to his companions before stuffing food into his own mouth to temporarily avoid further conflict.
Saphira tore into the hard biscuits and dried fruit she had received. She quickly found the meal nowhere near as satisfying as a same-sized serving of meat. Why did Ordon Village have to know about Eragon's strange aversion to meat? Gods, she'd kill just for a few handfuls of that disgusting smoked ham. Anything to appease the hungry she-dragon that lurked just beneath the superficial exterior of a humanoid appearance.
"We leave by sunrise," Eragon said after they had eaten enough food to knock the edge off of their tempers. "There is a long and difficult day ahead of us tomorrow. Whatever grudge you two have developed, refrain from the petty rivalry until after we retrieve that mysterious dark artifact."
When the last of their meager dinner had disappeared down their mouths, there was an unspoken agreement between the three to settle down for the night. Saphira tossed more wood onto the fire to sustain the flickering flames for the rest of the cold night. Eragon didn't question why he was walking around shirtless, but didn't hesitate in pulling back on the tan undershirt. He seemed flushed with more than the nocturnal chill.
Kicking off his boots and laying his equipment upon the ground, Eragon crawled back underneath the warmth of the blankets. In exasperation, Saphira noticed that the young man was still clutching his silly green hat stubbornly in his hands. Without even bothering to mutter a quick good-night, a rather rude Midna slipped back into Eragon's shadow. Only the two young people were left in awkward silence over what to do next.
"You've got more blankets, right?" Saphira asked without preamble.
Eragon blinked in surprise. "Yes... But why do you need them? Surely you intend to sleep in your natural form?"
She shrugged apathetically. "Why?" she retorted. "This clearing is too small for me to curl up comfortably as a she-dragon. Besides, as a Hylian I won't attract too much attention from any travelers that could possibly be passing through the area." She grinned. "And it's a nice little surprise for any aspiring robbers."
Conceding the night was brisk, Saphira wasted no time in shedding her excess equipment and removing her boots. She prepared her own makeshift bed apparently too close to Eragon for his liking. He was blushing vividly, completely unnerved at having an attractive woman who also happened to be his dragon in such proximity.
"D-do you mind inching away a little bit? You're making me feel a little... stifled."
Reveling in his senseless unease, Saphira smiled and cocked her head in feigned confusion. "Why ever not, little one? This form doesn't radiant as much heat and the fire can only protect me so much. Sharing out body warmth is the best option right now. Besides, you have no qualms about sleeping right under my wing when I am a she-dragon. What is it about this body that alarms you so?" Lip trembling slightly as if she had been genuinely hurt by his awkwardness, she needed only one look at Eragon's face to realize the battle had already been won.
Positively scarlet, Eragon only closed his eyes for a long moment and sighed in resignation. "...Of course you can sleep with me. I'm just a little shaken up about what happened to me today. I'll tell you about it in the morning when we're not constantly on the verge of falling asleep."
Beaming brightly, Saphira moved her blankets right next to Eragon's. She pealed off her outer blue tunic and loosed her hair from its braid. The platinum blond locks went tumbling free, and her beam morphed into a slightly sadistic grin at his nervous gulp. This kind of vengeance was fun. And she imagined the snicker coming from the shadows? Perhaps she and the imp had found common ground after all.
Slipping beneath the warmth of the blankets, Saphira yawned before closing her eyes. "Good night, Eragon. Sweet dreams."
Already drifting off to sleep, the new smile that spread across her face at Eragon's chocked splutter was concealed.
This second part of the chapter was slightly more humorous to help lighten the mood. Believe me, you'll need a smile or two before I plunge into the next chapter. With the possibilities I have in an Alagaesia connected to Hyrule's darkest demons and monsters, chances are it will get somewhat morbid during the next several chapters back home...
Next chapter: We move back to the Empire and all of the building tension there. Shruikan really does have a reason to be excited, and so does Galbatorix. Their master has finally returned...
1. The Hero's Shade is tough and unwilling to take any crap, but he's sympathetic with Eragon. Both had their lives forever screwed up by fate and have to learn to face it. I plan for the Hero's Shade/Link to play a bigger role than he did in the game. With the background I gave him here, limiting the Hero of Time to mere training sessions is just impossible.
2. Link was not buried in his beloved green tunic and hat as he probably would have wished to be. Since he was a Chosen Hero who suffered a very public and very brutal death, Hyruleans expected him to be buried with all of the honor he deserved. Link was worthy of being buried in ornate armor and with weapons because he may not have been a war hero, but he had valiantly given his life to protect his home and family and had once saved both Hyrule and Termina from destruction. (Had OoT Zelda had her way, Link would have been buried in the way he really wanted.)
3. Going with a variation of the reincarnation theory for this story. Eragon has a little bit from every single past Hero floating around in him somewhere. His knowledge on the secret techniques is innate. The connection with OoT Link is strongest only because the Hero of Time is Eragon's most recent predecessor.
4. Midna introduced herself to Saphira sometime when Link was having his vision. Time passes quicker in that alternate world, by the way. Midna and Saphira shall be mainly hostile towards each other at first, but character development will ensure the female protagonists won't be constantly trying to kill each other all of the time :D.
5. Saphira is aware as to what her Hylian, hot body does to poor Eragon's rampaging hormones. Remember that she hasn't quite forgiven him yet and finds this new sort of teasing entertaining. And that previously as a dragon Saphira never really had the opportunity to test out the good old female charms on unsuspecting males :D. Saphira doesn't yet much feel attracted to Eragon. (He is somewhat built, but Saphira has seen Roran and Murtagh. She knows would he could potentially come in the future, and knows there are bigger fish in the sea. But if Eragon does turn out like his big brother...)