Oh my God, it's been so long since I updated this! Since the last chapter was published school has become a living hell, I lost someone very much loved in my family, and I finally saw every last trailer for Skyword Sword! The very creepy Demon Lord guy reminds me of a bastard love child between Vaati, Zant, Oot!Impa, Midna, and Oni!Link. I am foaming at my mouth already for this game, and may even somehow work it into the origin story I have for Hyrule in TRR. If not, I got myself one hell of an AU-Crossover-Fusion XD.
Disclaimer: The Legend of Zelda and The Inheritance Cycle do not belong to me, but to their respective owners. All original material, however, is mine.
Song of the Chapter: Drowning Valley- Chrono Cross
When the light faded, Eragon found himself on two legs once again and in Lanayru's shrine, standing on the ledge just above the spirit's spring. Saphira had automatically resumed her natural form, perched on the wider spit of land where he had first received the Light Spirit's pleas for help. Midna's shadowed form hovered lazily over the water, regarding them with eyes that still burned a sharp gold.
"Don't you forget that last Fused Shadow now, you hear," she scolded firmly. Then, with the water beneath her beginning to glow with the spirit's growing presence, the Twili slipped back into the shadows with a final cackle. "Eeh heh heh! See you later."
No sooner had Midna vanished when the shining orb of Lanayru rose from the water. Eragon patiently waited for the Light Spirit to manifest around it, only to recoil in surprise as a glowing head snatched the orb and sank back into the seemingly bottomless depths of the spring, sleek and radiant body visible for just a moment after. At first Eragon thought Lanayru some sort of water dragon, until he remembered the fanged jaws and the limbless body he had glimpsed.
The massive, glowing serpent, many times larger than Saphira herself, swam a final lap around the spring before coiling up on itself. Lanayru looked him right in the eye, but Rider and she-dragon would not soon forget just how easily it could tower over them. Or how, with its power just newly restored, annihilate them both if the Light Spirit so wished.
"My name is Lanayru. Your efforts have at last restored each of us Light Spirits in Hyrule. O Hero Chosen by the Gods, and you, the noble she-dragon who follow him even into the deepest darkness... The dark power that you seek waits in an ancient temple set in the bed of Lake Hylia." Lanayru surveyed Eragon closely, and Eragon had no doubts those eyes could peer straight into the deepest depths and secret corners of his soul. "Yet I sense that is not the only knowledge you seek."
The Fused Shadows must have been sealed away with good reason. We humbly request to know why, as the one member of the group who does know has not been the most forthcoming. Saphira growled emphatically, her scowl directed pointedly at her Rider's shadow.
Eragon nodded in agreement. "It is our right to know what we are about to unleash upon the world. If it has been locked away for centuries, do the Fused Shadows pose even more of a threat than Zant and the Twilight?"
Lanayru's unreadable gaze flickered over to Eragon's shadow, and the Twili that huddled within. Even securely cloaked in the comforting darkness, Midna couldn't help but shudder at a glimpse of the divine wrath that had driven her ancestors from the lands of their birth. "Knowledge is power, and it would be hypocritical of me to deny what you seek. Be blessed to bear witness to what I have to offer you, and be warned to never forget it, for power is a tool to be used for both good and for ill."
Eragon blinked, and the next thing he knew, he found himself floating in a black void. His green tunic was gone, replaced by the clothes that been charred beyond repair by the fateful storm that had first stranded him and Saphira in Hyrule. The sapphire she-dragon himself passed by him helplessly, her wings not even having the strength to flap against the darkness that engulfed them.
Instinctively, Eragon reached out for their bond, so they could at least speak and offer the other strength and support. His mind touched only a gaping emptiness. While they could clearly see the other, their consciousnesses were firmly divided by an uncrossable barrier, their only method of communication being the shocked and frightened glances they could send.
"When all was chaos, the Goddesses descended and gave order and life to the world."
The darkness was finally split by three streams of light that flashed by him; red, blue, and green. When the emerald-colored comet zipped by Eragon momentarily thought he could smell the rich scents of the wilderness, and smiled briefly at the comforting warmth that settled onto his chilled skin.
"They granted power equally to all who dwelt in the light, and then returned to the heavens."
The red light suddenly slowed over a patch of nothing, and solid earth was left in its stead. The green light soon followed after its companion, and wherever it touched, the barren ground became lush with life. Yet the landscape flickered uneasily, threatening to dissolve back into darkness the moment its delicate balance was upset. Then came the soft wave of blue, somehow weaving the entire little world together, leaving it strong and complete against the black jaws that longed to swallow it back up.
Eragon suddenly found himself standing on firm ground, and turned to beam at Saphira in delight. The Hylian woman grinned right back, beautiful blue eyes bright in excitement at the paradise that awaited them.
"The lands where the Goddesses descended came to be known as the Sacred Realm. For ages, the people lived at ease, content in mind and body..."
Their labor complete, the three lights swirled together over what they had just created, vanishing in one last burst of radiance. But they had left something behind; three massive, gleaming triangles held together so perfectly they left a space for a missing fourth piece. There was an allure, a pull to them Eragon could feel but not entirely understand. But he could still comprehend that the lights had left Triforce behind as their last creation, one that held a fraction of the incredible power that had created everything from nothing.
And with this revelation came the all-consuming need to possess it.
"But soon, word of the Sacred Realm spread through Hyrule, and a great battle ensued..."
Saphira now could recognize the threat that stood beside her, one that could potentially possess the power that was rightfully hers. Fangs bared in a fierce snarl, the sapphire she-dragon stood as her true self again, but her clear blue gaze was clouded over with her overwhelming desire for what she have before all others.
Her maw opened, a blue flame blossoming within as she gathered up the heat for one finishing blast...
Zar'roc came ramming up into the roof her jaw, and a rain of crimson followed. The fire spluttered out with her. Eragon carelessly left his father's blade behind in the chilling corpse of what he had once cherished above all else, eagerly running unopposed towards his new heart's desire.
But he had been already been beaten to his destination. Three very familiar shadows crouched beneath the Triforce, sneering at him with narrowed red eyes. Eragon found himself to be peering into three separate dark reflections, their garb a black mockery of the Hero's green he wore.
"Among those living in the light, interlopers who excelled in magic appeared. Wielding powerful sorcery, the likes of which had not been seen since the Goddesses had departed, they tried to establish dominion over the Sacred Realm... and came close to succeeding."
From the darkness of the void beyond loomed a horned helm that towered above them all. Eragon froze in fear, gazing not into the empty red eyes of the interlopers, but into the mad gaze of the stone statue that still managed to leer maniacally down at him. The gaze of a fallen god, one whose existence solely depended on sewing chaos, one who who annihilated entire races purely for his own sick pleasure.
Entranced by the soulless stone, every instinct to flee deadened by its maddening gaze, oblivious when a fourth figure came to join the reflections. One that towered above all three, with scales as green as the Hero's tunic, and with dead white eyes that glowed like spectral stars.
Flames were building up in the dragon's maw; Eragon could recognize that familiar rumble and the sudden change in the atmosphere around him. Only, where dragon-fire should have brought searing heat, this one was only a harbinger of a cold so intense it burned his exposed flesh. As one, the three interlopers would raise their hands, the air around them crackling with sheer unnaturalness.
Their charges would be unleashed together, a billowing blackness that consumed all light and life in its path. Eragon's one feeble defense against his oncoming doom was to raise his arms as it surged in. The sensation of being devoured, of everything that he ever was and ever could be dissipating into nothingness, was one that made all prior near-death experiences reprieves from such an empty fate.
The dragon that stood amongst the interlopers had gone, replaced by what should have been Eragon's face, that of a young man way in over his head and just struggling to make sure no one else drowned alongside him. It was like looking into a too-small mask, the face pulled and stretched in such a manner that the eyes could not detect, but which made his very soul shudder in dread. A supernatural being, one that didn't belong on this plane of existence, that was never supposed to have been squeezed into a mere mortal body.
Eragon could see the inherent wrongness in the smirk that contorted features no human faces had been designed for. In eyes that were windows to a nonexistent soul, forever hungry and unchanging even after its victory had been secured and its shadows knelt before it in sheer reverence...
Even still, when the darkness dissipated before the radiant light that caused the interlopers to shrink back, the mockery of Eragon would never have the fury or fear of his expression reach his eyes.
"It was then that the Goddesses ordered us three Light Spirits to intervene. We sealed away the great magic those interlopers had mastered."
The last support the reflections possessed, the horned helm with the maddened eyes, slipped away back into the blackness that had birthed it as the light drew closer to scour away every last trace of taint. Now, with no more dark corners to scurry into, the shivering shadows found themselves forced to directly gaze into the same power they had just attempted to harness for their own purposes. A power that could destroy just as much as it had created.
All else faded away as the Chosen Hero found himself riveted to the face of the leader, now distorted with emotions the human body could not process. His scream would shatter the air like glass, sending shards to dig into Eragon's sanity and soul. Where all other shadows faded, the green-garbed living mask would remain, perhaps too strong to be purified completely-
Perfect silence suddenly reigned in a secluded little green isle in a sea of darkness that looked as if it had never known conflict. Eragon couldn't help but wonder if the titanic struggle between light and dark, order and chaos, had merely been dragged onto a battlefield he simply could not perceive, where it perhaps raged to that very day.
Four familiar pieces, the shards of the horned helm he had just seen in all of its devastating glory, continued to mockingly orbit around him even as all else faded into blackness. For one moment there was naught but that shattered sneer, and the echoing ring of a child's delighted laughter.
"You know this magic as the dark power you so desperately seek... the Fused Shadow. O, Hero Chosen by the Goddesses... Beware... Those who do not know the danger of power will, before too long, be ruled by it."
Saphira, in all of her majestic and draconic glory, would rise from the darkness like a phoenix from the ashes. Her graceful sapphire-scaled form, the effortless flight through oblivion, the blue eyes that sparkled like stars with fire and love... She who had boldly defied destiny and yet exceeded every expectation thrown at her, a legendary creature who inspired reverence and fear even after her race had been made a pale shadow of its self, a very symbol of the sheer perseverance of life.
By an unseen hand, Zar'roc would again slice, its thirst never to be slaked. Again it would find its target, and again it would drink its fill of lifeblood.
Saphira, she who had been a rising star mere moments before, suddenly went falling back down as a streak of blue and red that was soon entirely engulfed by black. Her scream would echo back, across the void and-
-into the light of the waking world as Eragon's blue-gray eyes snapped open. He would limply crumble to his knees, his own howl of agony dwarfed by Saphira's deafening roar.
Dragon and Rider would cling to each other physically, unmindful of the claws and cumbersome equipment, their minds desperately locked in an embrace that frantically overlooked the welfare of the one they valued above all else in their lives. Eragon's weeping would be unhindered by any sort of manly dignity. Saphira's mighty sides would heave with tears her current form could not shed. Perhaps their visions had been the same, perhaps different, but such petty things paled in comparison to the new fears that would stalk them in their nightmares that evening.
Lanayru's shrine was serene in the warm afternoon light, a peaceful and sacred place that had never seen evil. The clear blue waters would glimmer innocently as if they had never shone with their own radiance. There was no spectral serpents to be seen except for carvings that had been so lovingly crafted by ardent worshipers so many years ago.
The Light Spirit itself had become nothing more than a whisper on the wind, one only Midna was able to hear as she hugged herself in the shadow of the Hero she had called upon to retrieve and rebuild a weapon of mass destruction.
"The dark artifact you seek lies in the Lakebed Temple..."
Murtagh may have been little more than a glorified slave to a madman who happened to have supernatural control over Alagaesia, but even he had a reputation to uphold. The shriveled remnants of his dignity would not allow him to go out and request a book of simple sheet music on an instrument largely ridiculed by polite society. It had almost been beyond him to ask a servant to go in search of such a book for him. At least he could be assured that all who worked for King Galbatorix would take every last secret of his to the grave on fear of torture and a gruesome death.
Murtagh practiced on that damn ocarina, as ordered. Galbatorix's focus may have shifted to attempting to control the uprising of the cities beyond the Spine, but he was still keeping a close eye on the servant who'd far rather be ran down by a hungry Shruikan than play an instrument for hours on end.
He had wound up doing that anyway. Murtagh had memorized every single one of those accursed children's songs that he could play each and every one in alphabetical order, backwards, without missing a beat. Desperate to move on from such a deviously simple task, he had eagerly reported this to Galbatorix.
The Mad King had somewhat sanely demanded Murtagh pack his belongings and be prepare for a trip. With that most recent wave of mania thankfully passed, Galbatorix was intending for two of his most valuable servants to return to solidifying his iron rule over all of Alagaesia. At least Murtagh and Thorn would no longer be stranded in the castle with their mad master and the two dragons that wanted nothing more than to viciously rip them limb from limb.
...Until Murtagh had been ushered to Galbatorix's personal library with all of the supplies that would have been being packed up on Thorn while he was briefed on his latest assignment.
Thorn, have the servants even come up with your saddle yet? I did ask that they be prompt. Gods know how Galbatorix is always looking for an excuse to set Shruikan after us again.
Floors above him in the dragon-hold, Thorn's sigh of exasperation came across their link. Not a sign of anyone. Pity the door between here and the castle is mysteriously locked up tight. Do you think I'll get Galbatorix's second-favorite lapdog sent after me if I pitch another fit about it? A little roaring and some sparks does wonder with stubborn servants.
Murtagh glared reproachfully at the ceiling. Don't even think about stirring up trouble up there. I just want to get away from this damned city and onto something slightly less tedious. He glanced cautiously about himself, knowing Jarnunvosk's damned ability to hide in the shadows so that she could gleefully report all of his shortcomings to 'her Galbatorix.' And away from that thing he supposedly raised from the dead.
Oh, I second you on that! She eyes me like I'm dinner-
"Ah, Murtagh, glad to see you here before even myself. It makes me happy to see you so invested in this latest task." Galbatorix calmly entered the room as if he wasn't dressed in dark robes splattered with blood. Murtagh just tried to concentrate on the small miracle that Jarnunvosk wasn't at his heels like she so ordinarily was. "My apologies for the mess. Jarnunvosk hasn't eaten in a while, and I'm afraid she gets to be quite eager after seeing her first meal in ages."
Odd, Thorn mused suspiciously. She certainly didn't seem that ravenous when tearing into the piece of cow meant for me yesterday.
Murtagh only bowed respectfully and did not comment on the two anomalies. "We are prepared as ordered, my Lord. All Thorn and I need-"
The feared Red Rider fell to his knees with a terrible scream, Thorn's own agonized roar spilling across their connection in seemingly endless throes as man and dragon felt something ripped from their very souls.
When the hellish onslaught had subsided to a dull and throbbing ache, Murtagh would find himself curled up and vulnerable on the floor like he had not been since their first torture sessions to break his will after his capture. Yet, for all of the pain endured, part of him felt liberated in a way it had not been since those blissful days in Tronjheim. It served only to emphasize the massive portion of his soul still heavily shackled, a bonding Murtagh could only feel when on the verge of his breaking point that prevented him from shattering and thus becoming useless to Galbatorix.
Biting back a groan, Murtagh blearily peered up into the cheerful face of the Mad King.
"Sorry for that, my boy," Galbatorix chirped, "but I couldn't have you and Thorn going around and feeling obligated to kill Eragon. Blood no longer has to spill blood and all that. Your new task will be to observe. All you have to do is make sure Eragon dies as promised. And, if you inherited a drop of your mother's skills of persuasion, to convince my fellow believer that Saphira can be spared."
W-what did he say? Thorn murmured dazedly. Did I hear him-
Again, dragon and Rider found themselves thrown into hell as fresh agony pounded away at their heads, rendering them both temporarily deaf and blind. Stumbling blindly in the dark of his mind, Murtagh's hearing would snap back with Galbatorix happily rambling on.
"-knowledge is power, as they say, and power is the one thing life every being aspires for. Even supposedly little obedient servants like you." Galbatorix paused thoughtfully. "The man whom you seek is called Zant, King Zant of Eluryh. I do hope you are polite when speaking to him. You are being sent forth in my stead, and I will not have my reputation slandered in the eyes of such an overeager and inexperienced sycophant."
Staggering to his feet, only restraint born from months of 'conditioning' kept Murtagh's questions from bursting forth. Who in the seven hells was Zant and where was Eluryh? What had that second damned spell done to him and Thorn? And, most importantly of all, why had he pardoned from slaughtering his own little brother and dragging Eragon's dragon in to be used as a breeding machine?
On the outside, Murtagh was the perfect example of the composed and dutiful little follower both he and his master knew he was not. He merely dipped his head in acknowledgment with a simple, "As you wish, my Lord." Thorn's mental response to Galbatorix went the same way, though the bewilderment and curiosity were far harder to shield with two minds connected.
Galbatorix smiled as if Thorn and Murtagh were curious little children who wanted to know where babies came from. "Eragon Shadeslayer has caught the attention of one far greater than myself. Just remain a bystander as I ordered and only intervene when demanded. Can you read this?"
Murtagh frowned and studied the map that had just been shoved into his hands. He did not recognize a single landmark, and even momentarily sworn the writing had initially been in strange runes until it had suddenly become legible.
Lake Hylia, Death Mountain, Castle Town... Do these places even exist?
"Aye, master, the words make perfect sense."
Galbatorix nodded in approval. "Very good. Remember that every single settlement you see on that map is likely populated with those that will despise you as true Imperials do the rebels. Keep out of sight and do not reveal your allegiance except to those that call you out as a kindred spirit. Believe me, you will sense each other out due to the force that binds you all. That same connection should also keep you safe from any bandits and beasts you encounter."
Murtagh stared down at the map as he committed every last bit of information to memory. Every tidbit was potentially vital to his survival in this strange land he had only just heard about. "Are there any safe places for me to rest?"
"Forests," Galbatorix drawled. "Caves. Any place where a little bit of darkness will always linger. And the castle." The King of Alagaesia tapped the elegant illustration with a finger. "Even if the town surrounding has fallen back into enemy hands, Hyrule Castle shall always remain a haven for you. All you have to do is sneak past the hostile forces that may be there, and you will be recognized by your comrades as an ally. You should be allowed to tag along on whatever search is mounted for your errant brother."
"But I don't see any map that places this in the proximity of Alagaesia. How are Thorn and I supposed to fly-"
"Put the map away, Murtagh." The sudden edge to Galbatorix's tone immediately caused the younger Rider to abandon all curiosity. "Should everything go as according to plan, you shall arrive somewhere around Faron Woods. Find your way out and contact Zant. And, most importantly, play this piece perfectly, or risk being pulled into a parallel world you will be unable to return from."
Murtagh's sharp reflexes just allowed him to catch the oh so familiar ocarina tossed his way. The piece of sheet music also handed to him bore painfully familiar notes strung into an unfamiliar melody.
It's not even that long or complex a song, Murtagh couldn't help but gripe to himself. Why did he sound so insistent on that?
Find out, Thorn suggested dryly. You should be able to play a simple tune by now without me to walk you through it.
Murtagh mentally reminded himself to put his snarky dragon through his paces when they finally left Urubaen. "Do you wish me to start now, my Lord?"
Galbatorix's black eyes glittered with impatience. "So long as you are prepared for the journey ahead." His gaze flicked down to the bag at his servant's feet and to the crimson blade buckled to his belt. "I'd hold that thing steady, if I were you."
Murtagh absently slung the sack of basic necessities, like food and fresh clothing, over his shoulder as he studied the Minuet of Forest. Raising the ocarina to his lips with an ease born from hours of grueling practice, he played out the entire melody for the first time flawlessly.
He had instinctively picked a slow, soothing tone that almost seemed to cause the notes to flow from his ocarina in a stream of music. The brief moments seemed eternal to a man who found himself unwittingly drawn back into memories of happier days as the short song became timeless to him. His mind drifted back to nights curled up to his mother beside a fire flickering merrily in the hearth, a sparring session with Tornac under a warm summer sun, a conversation with Eragon as two men who were truly blood brothers became acquainted with each other for the first time...
Adrift in music and memory, Murtagh was only distantly aware of the warm emerald green light that washed over his vision, of the soft breeze that ruffled his hair. It was not until the warm scents earth and life came to his nostrils that the bewildered young man flashed open his eyes to an unfamiliar forest clearing.
Galbatorix and the room he had just occupied where nowhere in sight. There was a gaping hole in his mind that Thorn's presence usually took up, now filled with only the thrum of the animals of the wood going about their business. The only things Murtagh recognized were the clothes on his back, the bag still slung over his shoulder, and the ocarina he held in suddenly trembling hands.
"Damn!" Murtagh suddenly swore, finally snapping out of his shock. His left hand automatically went for Zar'roc while his right would almost unconsciously slipped the ocarina into the pocket of his tunic. "Where in the seven hells am I!"
Desperately glancing around at his surroundings, Murtagh vainly hoped he had only been transported to some clearing in the Spine, or perhaps just in one of the small woods just outside of Urubaen where Thorn and Shruikan sometimes liked to hunt for their own prey. None of those forests happened to include the vast expanse of crumbling ruins that jutted out from the tangled trees as if it had been there since the dawn of time.
I have to be in... Hyrule. Aye, that's it! Galbatorix somehow invented a way to enchant songs, and now I just have to shadow the people hunting Eragon until I can return home and report his death. Without a dragon to fly me back...
A sudden shiver down Murtagh's spine told him that Galbatorix's assurances of safety from even the beasts of this unknown land were probably false. There was a strong sense of other to this glade, a feeling that had much in common with the spirit that now sealed the Black King's control over his Empire. One very intolerant of interlopers...
His suspicions were confirmed by the rustling of several large animals moving through the undergrowth. The ravenous growls and the pairs of red and orange eyes that gleamed in the sunlight certainly didn't belong to this strange realm's version of the bunny rabbit.
The wolf-like beasts eagerly springing forward would soon meet their demise in a cutting arc of gleaming metal. Zar'roc would have its thirst for blood finally quenched after weeks of inactivity. And Murtagh would soon learn that perhaps this maze of twisted trees and fading ruins hated him just enough to send every mindless and bloodthirsty beast in 'Hyrule' after him.
Remembering the eerie city of spirits he and Saphira had passed through while Lanayru Province had still been under Twilight, Eragon could almost not recognizing the bustling capitol he now walked through. The streets were clogged with people that deftly weaved their way through countless obstacles as they went about their everyday lives, the two flustered Alagaesians jostled back and forth by the crowds. Unnatural silence had been replaced by everything from the calls of the street vendors to the music created by the musicians in the center square. Mixed in was the idle conversation and gossip of the populace, just another part of the melody of Castle Town life.
Out of all the sights and sounds, Eragon was still most intrigued with the Hylians themselves. Aside from Princess Zelda, every Hyrulean he had encountered in the flesh had been mundane humans. The people that now walked alongside him had pointed ears and all more or less moved with a natural grace that seemed innate. Gods, he looked more like them than his own people!
"I wonder if Hylians are somehow descended from elves," he mused aloud in a voice only his companion could hear.
Saphira shrugged absently, gazing around at her surroundings and munching on the apple she had all but forced him to buy. With most of the other vendors on the street mysteriously absent, the one woman left had refused to sell anything individually. Hungry Eragon had only wolfed down two before Saphira had polished off her first three and was fast at work in finishing her fourth piece of fruit.
As a normal she-dragon, Saphira had never been able to move freely around without attracting a huge crowd of both reverent and fearful onlookers. Even her prideful self could appreciate the luxury of moving around in a fascinating new city as just another face in the crowd.
"We should come back here sometime when the world isn't in mortal peril," Saphira suggested as she eyed the signs that covered the entire portion of the street. "I know you would easily win that STAR game everyone seems to be raving about."
The three girls talking animatedly about that very game erupted into giggles as the two passed. Eragon's face flushed with a red vibrant enough to perfectly contrast his green cap.
"Just make sure you pack a change of clothes," Midna deadpanned from his shadow.
Most of the women in Castle Town may have been wearing dresses, but with the markings on her skin nearly invisible in the daylight, Saphira's tunics and breeches hardly made her the strangest person on the street.
Eragon's forest-green cap and tunic, however, were the farthest thing from inconspicuous as physically possible. Those that took the time to notice his garb would most often give a double-take before continuing on their merry way. Some of the impolite ones would openly laugh or roll their eyes. Only one had jeered something about the convention not being until next month. The one piece of positive feedback had been the envious gaze and the grudging complement on how authentic his 'costume' looked from a rather lonely street vendor.
"At least they don't think I'm the real deal," Eragon muttered as he turned into the alley that housed Telma's Bar. "See you in a bit."
Since neither felt like giving away their secrets or confusing poor Ilia, Saphira would merely wait in the main street in case Eragon needed back-up (a lesson harshly learned from past experience.) She and her Rider had even agreed to address her Hylian shape as 'Vervada', a tribute to Saphira's birth mother, while in the company of others. When Ralis had been attended to by a real doctor and Ilia was ready to make the flight to Kakariko Village, Saphira would slip into the relative privacy of Hyrule Field to resume her true shape.
Stepping into an ominously dark bar, Eragon silently thanked the fact that he had someone else other than the surly and possibly untrustworthy squatter in his shadow to rely on in case things turned nasty.
"That is a Zora child! That is beyond my expertise! Hmph!"
Only his training kept Eragon from being bowled over by the elderly short man that so rudely collided with his chest. For a moment, the man with absurdly long ears that could make a full-blooded elf jealous blinked owlishly up at the Chosen Hero through his glasses, and then stormed off without so much as an apology.
Just as the door slammed shut behind the shriveled man, another voice vainly cried after him, "Doctor, wait! If something isn't done soon, this child will..."
Ilia finally slowed at reaching the door, heaving a sigh of defeat, before her anguished eyes turned up to stare at him. Eragon had been looking for comforting words just as the young woman he remembered so fondly from Ordon Village turned around and walked away without so much as a 'hello.'
Ralis was still lying on the crates, somehow managing to look even sicker from the last time Eragon had seen him through Saphira's memories. A tan-skinned and red-haired woman who must have been Telma stood thoughtfully, hands on her hips, as she looked over the Zora child. While her face was slightly weathered and she was thin by no stretch of the imagination, Eragon could easily see the great beauty this middle-aged woman must have once been in her youth in her fine features. With an almost impish glitter to her warm brown eyes and a low-cut camisole that would have caused Eragon to die of mortification in any other situation, Telma still had the confidence of one.
"Well, this isn't good. A Hylian doctor won't work, huh..."
Ilia, who had just barely made it to the crates before her composure broke, began to weep. The long-haired white cat that had previously stood by Telma's side jumped up to the girl's side to rub soothingly against her.
Telma's look of thought suddenly brightened with realization. "That old hack reminded me though... I've heard of a shaman in Kakariko Village who's tended Gorons and Zoras."
Ilia leaped up with renewed hope. "Really? Perhaps if we were to take him there..."
"Inadvisable!" a gruff voice boomed before Eragon could remind Ilia she knew someone with a dragon. "Far too dangerous for ladies such as yourselves to go out alone in these troubled times! But we can't turn a blind eye to a pretty girl, either." The armored guards, who Saphira had so fondly recalled, stood proudly before the bewildered Ilia. "We'll escort you. Am I right, lads?"
Every last man raised his pike with a hearty whoop.
"Goddesses," Midna sneered from his shadow. "You've been upstaged by the bottom of the barrel."
Telma turned back to Ilia with a smile. "Well, isn't that nice. To reach Kakariko, I'm afraid we have to cross through several areas of the plains those damned Bublins are roaming again. At least now we have these nice men to protect-"
Eragon deftly leaped to the side to avoid the mass of soldiers that all fought to exit the bar. Only the smallest and pudgiest of them were left, his armor clanging as he shivered inside. Then the sad little man lost his nerve entirely and went running after his comrades.
"Cowards!" Telma roared after them with a she-dragon's ferocity. "Pride of the Princess's army, you are! Don't you ever show your sorry faces here again!" She turned back toward the stricken Ilia, her furious features softening tenderly. "Don't you worry, honey. I may not be as young as I used to be, but this old girl doesn't need an escort. It'll just make everything a hell of a lot more-"
"I can escort you."
Considering the recent episode he had witnessed, Eragon wasn't surprised that he had slipped into the shadows of the bar as easily as Midna could. Ilia brightened as she finally recalled his presence. Telma scowled at him with almost mandatory skepticism, eyes first going to his unconventional garb before taking notice of sword and the earnest way he returned her piercing gaze. Her worn features turned up into an almost wry smile.
"Oh my," she remarked almost playfully as she again put her hands on her hips. "Looks like we still have ourselves one brave young swordsman here crazy enough to help us. Go and hook up the cart, pronto!"
Ilia nodded eagerly. She again turned toward Eragon, who finally expected a joyous reunion or at least a voucher of his and Saphira's skills. But the Ordonian girl would only shoot him a grateful smile before rushing out of the bar.
Eragon stared back at where Ilia had vanished in both relief and bewilderment, overjoyed to see personally her alive and well but unable to shake the uncomfortable sensation that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Midna had been on the verge of a remark, one that could have been either mocking or honestly sympathetic, before Telma again fixated him with a somber gaze.
"You know that girl, don't you? It's a realm shame what happened to her. She can't even remember her own name right now."
"Her name is Ilia," Eragon answered quietly. "Her father is the chief of Ordon Village. We've all been worried sick about her. She hadn't been heard of since the raid..."
Old nightmares of monstrous boars and waking up to a vacant and trampled spring sprang forth from the shadows of memory. Saphira was quick to drive them back, washing her Rider in soothing waves of calm that kept his composure intact. Still, some of the old demons had slipped through, and Telma's expression softened minutely.
"Good to know that Ilia is loved so by her friends and family. Bless her heart..." The barkeep glanced back at the wheezing Prince Ralis. "She found this poor boy on the side of the road and has done all she could for him ever since. Begged with every single damned doctor in this city for hours, changed his wounds herself, and even bathed him so his skin wouldn't dry up. Poor girl never once whined about having no memory of her own loved ones. More courage in her than in all of the soldiers of Hyrule, that's for sure!"
Little one? Saphira couldn't help but call him over their link. Do you think you could possibly restore her memories? Oromis and Glaedr did train you diligently in the arts of the mind.
I never healed anyone's memories before! Eragon thought back in dismay. Human minds are fragile enough as is. It usually takes only the slightest of cracks to shatter one beyond repair, and I am too inexperienced to take such a grave risk. I can't bear another Elva on my soul...
"What's your name, boy?"
"Eragon," he simply said, all inner conflict held back by nigh impenetrable mental barriers.
"Eh, not the strangest name I've ever heard." Telma shrugged before she again dropped all playfulness. "Lend her your strength now, Eragon, you hear? You sure as hell have to possess an ungodly amount to wear the Hero's green so proudly. Either that, or you're just plain old crazy."
"Sometimes even I wonder that."
Eragon couldn't help but tense at the woman's intense scrutiny. There was a knowing look to her too-sharp eyes that just didn't sit well with him. "How much do you know about Heroes?"
Her wry smirk returned. "The kind of people I tend to hang around with have an almost unnatural fascination with history. One of them even is obsessed with even the most obscure of Heroes and their faded lore, including all of the tripe about the Hero of Time. Just be glad his current intrigue is in mythical, or at least very long-dead, beings ranks higher."
"That's... nice." Well, at least people here won't be prodding me with sticks or researching every last minute of my past. "How do you think I'd fare against the old legends- if I really was a Hero, that is."
"Smooth," Midna hissed in his ear.
"Your hypothetical predecessor was the Hero of Termina," Telma answered breezily. "Supposedly he went and rescued an entire parallel world as a child that is very hard to stumble into. Here, he provided Princess Zelda the I with the testimony needed to condemn a Lord Dragmire as a traitor of Hyrule. He mainly faded into obscurity after that, never joined the army or did anything really heroic as an adult, but he sure as hell went out with a bang."
"Oh?" The icy chill that had suddenly seized his heart could not have been mere coincidence. "How so?"
"Those still loyal to Lord Dragmire and his failed cause hunted him down many years ago. He'd give his eye, and his life, to their vengeance while trying to protect his family. Queen Zelda, as she was then called, personally presided over their burial in a tomb that has been lost to time."
Awkward silence reigned over the group. Eragon connected the dots in his head. A Hero's Shade unable to rest in peace for failing to pass his skills down to the next generation in life, how destiny had been forced to summon a champion from another realm to redeem Hyrule, and of the one red eye that had glittered in the darkness of a rusted helm. He silently thanked Saphira for keeping any comments about the visions of the undead warrior she had seen in his memories to herself.
"So... you think I'm better because I'm still alive?"
"Leave no demons behind when all is said and done," Telma intoned ominously, a hand going to stroke the white cat that now twined around her legs. "Maybe if we can learn more from the past Farore wouldn't keep needing new defenders."
Next chapter: How exactly will a dying prince, an amnesiac Ilia, and a very flirtatious old lady react to a dragon as one of their escorts? And, according to Murtagh, the only spirits that exist are those that lie in the underworld. Try telling that to the ghost. (And, yes, the song to next week's chapter will be TP's night theme of Hyrule Field. Listen to it real closely ;). )
1. As you can see, I altered the weird-ass story Lanayru rambled on about in the real TP to better fit my own little universe and to create shameless fodder for the sequel there will eventually be that will be mostly a far more original fusion of Alagaesia and Hyrule XD. And no, no one forgot about the true nature of those Fused Shadows, there's just a dying young child to worry about first. Midna was withdrawn and quite bitchy because she's dealing with her own conflict of just HOW willing she is to use a weapon of mass destruction to regain her kingdom. Ironically, her attitude since that incident is only getting her more distrust.
2. Galbatorix has just tricked Murtagh into a totally new mission. Because Gandondorf would probably eat him if his servant was compelled to kill Eragon at any and all costs, Galby had no choice but to get rid of those oaths. Unfortunately for Murtagh, he is still inclined to listen to his superiors and merely watch his little brother get hunted down and killed. Fortunately for everyone involved, I planned out everything before unleashing this guy into Hyrule ;).
3. Twilight Realm is basically just the way of addressing everything in Midna's world, just how 'Light Realm' is a way to refer to all of the places in Eragon's world. I decided to make the technical name for their kingdom Eluryh (pronounced just like the two English words 'allure-RYE' strung together). Get it, 'cause it's Hyrule spelled backwards?
4. Murtagh's loyalty is to Galbatorix, and thus to Ganondorf, and should provide him protection from all of monsters. The spirits and such hate him because that. The creatures on Ganondorf's side can still sense the Link in Murtagh, and that is reason enough to eat him. Remember, Mur-Mur is Link's great-grandson just as much as Roran and Eragon are.
5. For anyone curious about OoT!Zelda was the only daughter to a rare man of the Royal Family, thus making her Zelda the I. Defying tradition, she would go ahead and name her daughter Lynon (pronounced Li-(as in lit)-noan (as in groan) and not care how many conservatives she offended by doing so. Lynon would be even more creative and name her own kid 'Zelda the II', in honor of her beloved mother -.-'. She would give birth to a son, who in turn would name his daughter Zelda the III. That is the TP Zelda here. (Remember that Cadoc was in his 50's when Selena was born, so there was room for an additional generation in Zelda's tree.) Her father' name?Nohansen Daphnes Hyrule.