Chapter Thirty-Four: Eragon—Bonds
When they realized Saphira was going to lay eggs, Eragon almost panicked.
The closer they got to her nesting period, the more uncomfortable she got and the more nervous he grew. It was affecting him heavily and frequently had him on edge. He knew dragons didn't have nearly as many problems laying eggs as opposed to humans giving birth. The risks were lower and the process was a lot easier on the mother. Perks of being a reptile, he supposed.
He knew it was safer. He knew that, but even so…
The other Riders and dragons quickly noticed the pair who were going nearly mad with agitation as the days went on. Finally, Glaedr had enough and told them to get lost.
Eragon was on Saphira's back in a matter of minutes and they were flying as fast as they could. She had already scouted out a small cave to nest in a few days prior. They arrived quickly and as soon as they landed, Eragon was bounding off of her.
How do I help?
I will build the nest to my satisfaction, Saphira told him, tail flicking and claws scratching at stone anxiously. But if you could gather materials that are soft, dry, and warm—perhaps objects I cannot get on my own—I would appreciate that.
He nodded and hurried into the forest. Searching was good. Searching meant he could focus and not worry about something going wrong when Saphira started laying.
Eragon spent hours searching and slowly gathering a collection of nest material for his dragon. He got whatever he could that seemed suitable; lots of moss, any bird feathers he could track down, the softest grasses he could find…
He had a large pile built up by the time he deemed his work sufficient for the time being. Having gathered what he needed, Eragon carried it up to the cave in armfuls to show Saphira, who had built a large circle of stones and thick branches.
She looked up to see what he'd gathered and sniffed it momentarily. That will do. You have more?
This is just the first batch. I've got a large pile of it outside.
That pleased her. Bring all of it.
He took a look around the nest and nodded, deciding he might go and hunt down some more once he had delivered everything he'd already gathered.
A few days passed. Eragon grew more and more nervous as Saphira began to spend more time at the nest. She was getting close to laying and he was terrified.
Eragon, she pressed her nose to his shoulder blades one evening. All will be well.
I can't help it.
I know. You went through something terrible, and I am so sorry for that. But everything is going to be alright. I swear that to you.
He shivered and turned to rub the underside of her jaw. I know. I'm trying not to freak out.
She crooned and hummed to him until his quivering stopped, and Eragon appreciated it more than words could express. They sat there together by the nest in silence for hours, taking comfort in the presence of their life-partner.
As the moon rose that evening, Saphira stirred.
Go, Eragon.
He froze and looked back at her, eyes wide. Now?
Now. It will not be long.
He nodded, unwilling to stress her by arguing. He stood up and briefly turned to kiss her brow. Please be okay.
She sent him a pulse of love through their bond. I will be alright. Go, little one. It will be behind us before you know it.
Eragon practically ran out of the cave and into the woods close by. He started pacing; struggling to keep his breath steady. He was aware of Saphira's presence muting itself in his mind, but she was still connected and completely silent. She didn't make the slightest sound—nothing his ears could pick up, anyways—throughout the process.
It was the longest hour of his life.
It's over, Eragon.
He was bolting back to the cave before he could even bother formulating a response. Eragon's heart was in his throat until he ran inside and found Saphira coiled around the nest; she felt tired through their bond, but happy and content. She was much more relaxed.
His eyes trailed over his dragon and found, to his relief, that she was perfectly fine. It was only then that his gaze fell to the two violet eggs tucked safely amidst the soft nesting materials he'd gathered.
Eragon's shoulders sagged as the weight of the world was lifted from them. Oh, thank gods above and below.
Saphira hummed. I told you I would be fine.
He looked at her for a moment. Can I come over to them?
Yes.
Eragon strode over and climbed into the nest carefully, sitting in a place where he could rest against Saphira's flank and still touch the eggs. He made sure she was able to see them, a well—he didn't want her upset with him right now. He'd heard enough from Glaedr about how a mother dragon's temper and protective instincts rested on a hair-trigger.
He set his hands on the eggs and found them to be as warm and full of life as the one that had set him on this journey over a year ago. They were beautiful, and he couldn't help the way his eyes stung.
I'm proud of you, Saphira.
Thank you little one, she murmured. And thank you for staying with me.
Always and forever, he promised.
Nearly seven months later, when they eggs had been bound to the Riders by Oromis and had grown long enough to hatch for their Riders, Eragon and Saphira were instructed to take the pale, Wisteria-colored egg in their care to the elven city of Osilon. They had never been there before, so Arya and Firnen were going with them to show the other Rider and dragon the right way.
The trip only took them a few days. Osilon was west of Ellesmera—the biggest elven city in the western reaches of Du Weldenvarden as far as Eragon knew. There were smaller dwellings further out, but they weren't on the map.
It was a beautiful city, much like Ellesmera, although the residents seemed to favor different types of trees. Massive redwoods were used for homes and most other buildings, although some elves lived in smaller trees.
When they arrived, Eragon and Arya met with the elf who was in charge of the city—a female named Zaelem—and learned something unexpected.
Zaelem glanced at Eragon before murmuring lowly to Arya. He took a moment to speak to Saphira, but blinked when he saw Arya's face practically light up. She was almost radiant in her joy.
The Princess faced him and Saphira after a short exchange with the elven lady, and it was clear she was excited.
"Fortune seems to have smiled upon us," Arya told them with excitement. "Lady Zaelem's sister is with child—and it seems she may give birth during our visit here."
Eragon felt his belly tighten with trepidation and dipped his head to the elf. "I'm pleased for your family, Lady Zaelem. May your sister birth a beautiful child."
"Thank you, Shadeslayer. Will you be joining us?"
He blinked, bewildered, but Arya hurried on. "Of course. We'd be happy to assist."
"Assist?"
Arya turned to him again and she looked so happy that he almost forgot about the pit in his stomach. "Elves come together when one of our kin gives birth. We sing in the Ancient Language to help the birthing along—it eases the pain of the mother and is safer than traditional human births."
Eragon pursed his lips. He wasn't sure about this.
Saphira nudged his mind. Eragon…
"I don't know that song."
"I will teach you."
Arya was so absurdly excited and he had no idea how to handle it. Eragon knew why she was so thrilled—there were only two other elf children in the entirety of Du Weldenvarden right now. He hadn't known a third was on the way somewhere in the vast forest. Maybe now that dragons were residing in Du Weldenvarden again, the elves were regaining a little of their lost vitality.
Of course he was pleased for the elves, but he really…really didn't want to be anywhere near this. He certainly didn't want to get involved.
In her eagerness, Arya clearly didn't realize he was uncomfortable and informed Zaelem to alert them as soon as her sister went into labor. For the time being, they were escorted to their quarters for the duration of their stay and told the egg would be shared with the elves of Osilon during a large dinner gathering the next evening.
Arya was still so thrilled by the news. Firnen seemed utterly amused by her, and Eragon really wanted to share in her joy, but still…
As soon as he had his things unpacked and safely in his room—he was sharing one of the smaller redwoods with Arya. "Smaller" being a relative term, of course. The tree was younger than its gargantuan cousins, but it was still enormous.
He barely sat down on the bed when the door knocked and he called. "Come in."
Arya strode in, still smiling and energetic. "You are unpacked?"
"Yes."
"Good. I will teach you the song we sing for the birthing ceremonies. You will learn it quickly—it is gentle and easy."
"Arya, I don't know about this."
She blinked at him. "Don't know about what?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Do you really think I need to be there when Zaelem's sister gives birth? Will I even be welcome for such an event? It seems very personal."
"All elves, related or otherwise, come together for such an occasion. We all share the love of bringing new life into the world."
"I'm not an elf."
"You are a Rider. You will be welcome."
He was struggling to find a way out of this without outright telling her he didn't want to be there. In the end, he came up with nothing before Arya regained his focus and began to teach him a soft, beautiful song that made him want to weep. It tugged at his heart in ways that were difficult to express, and he could only compare it to the feeling of complete trust and love given a voice.
She was right. He learned quickly.
His uneasiness did not disappear whatsoever. It only grew.
Why don't you just say something?
Saphira was peering at Eragon closely as he watched the elves come around her egg, introducing themselves to the dragon infant within one at a time before moving along for the next elf.
What am I supposed to say to her? 'No thank you, I don't wish to be a part of this birthing you are so incredibly excited about?'
Yes, she answered bluntly.
She won't understand, he sighed. I'll only upset her.
You are hurting yourself for her happiness.
Hardly the first time I've hurt myself for someone else.
Eragon, she sounded exasperated. Do not do this if you cannot handle it. That is a poisonous way to treat yourself.
He glanced away from the egg to Arya, who was some distance away speaking with Zaelem at the edge of the crowd. Firnen was sitting by Saphira and nudged her shoulder with his nose, only to yelp when she whacked his flank with her tail. She was in a no-touchy mood with her Rider so uncomfortable.
I'll be fine, he murmured. I think.
She growled, but pressed her head closer to him nonetheless. I will be at your side regardless of what they wish of me. That is not up for debate.
Thank you, he leaned his weight against her neck and stroked her scales gently.
He remembered being excited to see if the egg would hatch. Now he just wanted to get out of Osilon as soon as physically possible.
Maybe we can leave tomorrow, Saphira suggested. Early in the morning.
Maybe. A pre-dawn escape?
Arya and Oromis will not be pleased, but I do not care.
You are braver than me.
Nonsense. You are just as brave as I. You are simply under pressure at the moment.
He snorted. That was certainly true.
Dawn was not early enough.
He heard frantic knocking on his door in the dead of night and sat bolt-upright, grabbing Undbitr before he could even register what was happening.
Arya burst in and there was no alarm on her face—only joy. He really hoped the egg had hatched, but knew that couldn't be. It was in his room, just feet away from him. Unless the dragon infant was an escape artist who had hatched in dead silence and snuck into Arya's room, she was not here because of the egg.
"Zaelem's sister is in labor. Come—we must hurry."
Eragon left his bed and started getting dressed. The pit in his stomach returned tenfold.
Saphira looked into his room through the window. You could get on my back now and we might be able to make a break for it.
She's waiting right outside and I don't have anything packed yet, he sighed. We're going to have to go.
Eragon.
It's going to happen, Saphira, he shoved his foot into one of his boots with more force than was necessary. I'm not going to be able to get away from it.
She sent him a pulse of reassurance and he took what comfort he could in that.
He was ready quickly and as soon as he was out the door, Arya grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with such haste that he almost tripped. She was so excited and he felt guilty that he couldn't share that excitement.
They found a gathering of elves around a giant redwood. Some were standing on the roots at the base of the tree, while others were in branches so far up Eragon wondered how they'd gotten there at all. Arya pulled him through the crowd until they found Lady Zaelem at the entrance.
The elf-woman brightened upon seeing them. "Drottningu. Come—we will be singing together. Shadeslayer, you as well. We would be honored to have you both present."
Eragon felt alarm rush through him as he was pulled further from Saphira, who couldn't get inside for her sheer size. She felt his fear and growled, snorting smoke and shoving her head as close to the door as she could—uncaring of the startled elves who were forced to move out of her way.
Her skull blocked the doorway and her massive, blue eye pierced the room. I am staying here and you will not move me.
Arya blinked at the dragon in bewilderment and looked at Eragon next, utterly confused by Saphira's agitation. He shook his head, heart hammering in his chest. "Just-just leave her."
The Princess frowned, but nodded and they followed Zaelem to a room just off to the side. Within it was a gathering of elves—undoubtedly family members. They stood in a semi-circle around a large, white bed, upon which was an elven woman whose belly was swollen with child. At her side was a male elf; her mate, Eragon imagined. He glanced out the door and could still see Saphira, although the angle was a little narrow for his liking.
But she was there. He took a shaky breath.
Zaelum walked to her sister's side and after a brief moment, stepped away from the woman and started to sing. Soon, they were all singing, and Eragon's whole body felt hollow, torn between the joy of the song and fear that sent his body into shivers. He sang with them and closed his eyes, trying desperately to focus on Saphira instead. His dragon held his mind steady to hers, but it was hard not to get drawn out by the magic of the gorgeous melody that should have brought nothing but joy.
He didn't know how long they sang, but after some time, the cry of a child ended the lyrics in a way that felt completely natural.
Only then did he open his eyes.
Zaelem was holding the newborn elf-child in her arms, cleaning the infant with the help of another family member. Healers were approaching the sister, who was covered in sweat and looked exhausted, albeit overjoyed to the point of tears. Her mate appeared equally moved, no doubt happy beyond words to become a parent.
"It's a boy," Arya whispered to him. She looked so happy for the family. "They will celebrate his birth for many days, I think."
Eragon wanted to agree, but then he caught sight of the sheets that were used during the birthing and the crimson blood staining them. Ice flowed through his veins and he could have sworn his heart stopped briefly.
It was too much.
"I have to go," he choked out a whisper to Arya in a hurry, then spun on his heel and fled the room. If she said something, he didn't hear it for the ringing growing louder in his ears and the way his breath came too short and fast. Saphira was already shifting and he leapt onto her back the second he stepped out of the door. She lunged into the air with two powerful flaps of her wings, causing the elves to cry out in alarm, but she completely ignored them.
Eragon bent over double in the saddle, fighting the urge to vomit. He slapped a hand over his mouth and struggled to get his heartbeat under control.
Eragon, breathe, Saphira ordered anxiously.
I can't, he gasped.
We are going to the tree to get the egg and your things, and then we are leaving.
I'm sorry.
Do not speak. Breathe, my love.
He squeezed his eyes shut and did as she asked. Anxiety was rolling off of him in waves and he could not get himself together, but by the time they reached the tree, he was composed enough that he didn't feel like he would throw up. He ran into his room and started shoving his clothes into his pack, uncaring of organization. Eragon moved the egg safely into the pouch at his waist and started going out the door.
Firnen landed the moment he stepped outside and Arya jumped off of the dragon. She stormed up to him, eyes bewildered and more than a little angry.
"Why did you leave like that? What has gotten into you to behave in such a manner?" She demanded. "You fled before the child was even named! They're afraid they insulted you and Saphira!"
Saphira snarled and Eragon shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You will explain what just happened to me, Eragon!"
"No!"
She actually stopped at his shout, stunned and outraged by his tone, but Eragon was already backing up towards Saphira. "This was a mistake—I never should have gone there. I can't handle it."
"Can't handle what? Don't tell me you are against the use of magic to ease childbirth like the rest of your race! I thought you above the belief of such superstition!"
That stung and Eragon's fear briefly faded for rage. His tone was cold. "You have been blind with joy from the moment we heard about the birthing. I told you I did not think I needed to be there, nor would I be welcome, and now you see why. You did not listen."
Her green eyes were blazing. "Well, I'm listening now—you ensured I do not have a say in that. Explain to me what made you leave such an important event in so extreme a manner."
Both of you, stop this, Firnen at last intervened, pressing his green head between the two feuding Riders. He looked up at Saphira, who still had her teeth exposed in a dangerous snarl. Calm your rage. We will only incite further anger by arguing in such a manner. We are friends, are we not?
Eragon was still shaking and he wanted nothing more than to jump onto Saphira's back and fly away. Arya took a deep breath and cooled some of her anger, but she was still frowning deeply at them.
"Tell me why."
"Fine, I'll tell you why," he hissed. "I watched my aunt miscarry and die when I was seven."
The color drained from Arya's face faster than he thought possible.
"Garrow had taken Murtagh and Roran to Therinsford to buy some new tools," Eragon looked at the ground and scuffed his boot on the dirt. "I was too young to make the trip. Marian was with child at the time. She'd done fine with Roran, but something—I don't know what went wrong."
He ran a hand through his hair sheerly out of stress and closed his eyes. "I was at the house and she was in bed, and I heard the most awful scream you can imagine. I ran to her room and—and the sheets were so red and she was hurting so badly. I was just a child, I didn't know what to—"
Eragon took a shaky breath, heartbeat rabbiting and his skin felt clammy. "I ran all the way to Carvahall and I brought back the town healer. They did what they could. It wasn't enough. She took ill and died days after Garrow came home with Murtagh and Roran."
He stared in the direction of Zaelem's family home and shivered. "I saw the sheets, the blood and I…"
"Why didn't you say something before?" Arya demanded, eyes wide.
"I tried to hint that I didn't want to be there several times! Besides, what was I supposed to say?" Eragon snapped, backing off until he was pressed to Saphira's front leg. "'No, I do not wish to be a part of this event you and every elf in the city is indescribably happy about?' Gods above Arya, you know why I couldn't refuse!"
"You could have told me about this!"
"This is not a subject I like talking about, if you haven't noticed!"
She pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed deeply. "You stubborn fool. I could have done something to keep you away, I could have…"
She trailed off and he looked away from her. "You know you couldn't have. They would have insisted I come and I was never going to be comfortable enough to explain why."
"Eragon…"
"I need to go," he told her, twisting so he could climb onto Saphira. "Tell them why I left if you wish. Assure them they did not insult us, but do not ask me to go back there, Arya. Not now."
She looked up at him and Saphira, and he felt terrible being the cause of the sadness in her eyes, but he could not stay here. Arya nodded at them slowly. "Go. We will meet you in Ellesmera soon."
"Fly safely," he replied. Then Saphira launched herself into the sky and they were fleeing Osilon as if it were the home of demons.
When they returned to Ellesmera, Eragon asked Oromis and Glaedr for a few days to rest and evaded answering the reason why altogether. His Masters seemed to sense that something was wrong, but they agreed not to pester him about it; though he was sure they would breach the topic if his behavior persisted for too long.
Hopefully by then he'd be less stressed about the subject.
He'd spent every day since at the river, as far downstream as he could manage to avoid any unwelcome eyes and ears. Saphira came with him, as expected, and they swam together for a very long time.
The water helped to calm him. Flying was great to work off steam and bring them happiness, but swimming was relaxing for him in a way that flight simply was not.
Eragon was back in the river two nights later, shirtless and watching the bats fly amidst the stars high overhead. He was steadily managing to push the events at Osilon to the back of his mind, but trauma clawed and gripped tight in ways that were difficult to deal with. Well, at least it was difficult for him. He'd never really figured out a good way to handle it.
His Eldunari glowed a soft blue in the darkness and he hugged his arms close to his body, trying to ignore the chill. He really needed to get out of the water. It was cooling off and the fact that he was soaking wet wasn't helping.
The sharpness of his elfin ears picked up the sound of footsteps that could only belong to a dragon. He knew Saphira was still on the bank and twisted his head slightly to see who was approaching.
Unsurprisingly, it was Firnen and Arya.
Saphira watched them come and looked back at her Rider with an unspoken question. He just shook his head and she remained on the riverbank.
Arya glanced at Saphira and then to Eragon. "May I speak with you?"
He nodded slowly and turned to walk out of the river. His leggings were soaked and hung low on his hips, but he drew the water from his clothing with a murmur of the Ancient Language, condensing the moisture into a sphere above his hand and tossing the water back into the river. In a few moments, he was mostly dry, although he toweled his hair off.
He pulled his tunic over his head and slipped into the warm clothing, then inclined his head further downstream. Arya followed him as Firnen settled down near Saphira, though the green male made sure to give the larger dragon her space—he did not think she would be interested in grooming at the moment.
Eragon led Arya to a steeper part of the bank and sat down, overlooking the river as it spilled into a small gorge. He didn't look at her as she joined him by sitting in silence.
They said nothing for a long time. He was happy to have her around again, even if they had parted on less-than-ideal terms.
"What did they name the child?" Eragon asked.
"Valorn. His namesake was one of the first Riders to fly with your's—with the first Eragon."
"It's a good name. Did you tell them?"
"I told Lady Zaelem, her sister, and the child's father. They promised to keep it a secret. They felt terrible to subject you to old fears unknowingly."
"It wasn't their fault," he shook his head, feeling exhausted. "They should not blame themselves. I just wish I could have been better for the sake of the baby, if nothing else."
"There is no shame in not being ready to face your nightmares, Eragon. There are nightmares I am not ready to face either, you know."
"I do know."
She didn't need to elaborate for him to know she was speaking of Gil'ead. They both had their scars and old wounds that were slow to heal.
"I'm sorry, Eragon. I wronged you terribly."
"It is forgiven. I was neither forthcoming nor especially polite about it."
She blinked slowly, like a cat. "Marian was the closest thing you had to a mother growing up, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
"I suppose we both lost parents around the same age, then."
Eragon shrugged. "I suppose we did."
There was another silence between them. It was slowly easing, but it was still…not quite right. Not yet.
"What did you mean before? When you mentioned my race was superstitious about using magic for childbirth?"
Arya's voice became somewhat stiff. "Humans fear what they do not understand—magic especially, for they are the most vulnerable of all races to its power. I know well the stories your people tell about my kind—too well."
Eragon frowned and waited. There was something more there; something personal.
"I was at the Varden many years ago," Arya began. "It was in my earlier years as Ambassador. I was asked to assist a woman during childbirth, and I did. It was as gentle and beautiful an event as in Osilon. The woman and her baby were fine. However, a friend of hers arrived not long after and confronted me.
"She did not trust my use of magic in helping the birthing, which was only worsened by the fact that I am an elf, and accused me of trying to steal the child to replace him with a changeling. I was forced to leave, as you can imagine. To this day, I wonder what became of them—the mother and the baby boy."
"You do not know?"
"No, I do not."
Eragon digested that for several minutes and shook his head. "I am sorry you had to experience that. You did not deserve it."
"I am sorry for accusing you of giving your ear to the same kind of superstition," she returned. "I spoke harshly."
"We both spoke out of hurt," he murmured. "Emotions were running high."
"Yes. They were."
They fell into a slightly easier silence. And then:
"Do you think you'll ever desire to see the child? Valorn?"
"I would be happy to see him. Who knows? Maybe when he's a little older, the egg will hatch for him," Eragon shrugged. His lips twitched into a slight smile as he tilted his head back to look at the stars. "It'd be sort of poetic, don't you think? Another Eragon and Valorn amidst the Riders again."
"It would certainly be a quirk of fate."
They stayed together for a long while afterwards, content in their company and the aftermath of their conversation.
Something was different between them after that.
Maybe it was because they'd opened up a little more, but it became easier to talk to one another about subjects neither of them had been comfortable speaking of before. It wasn't all at once, but slowly, month by month, they were sharing more of themselves.
"It was Faolin," Arya murmured softly.
They had flown out to one of the far-off cliffs amidst the Crags of Tel'naeir after training one day, mostly because Saphira and Firnen wanted to inspect them. The dragons were currently walking along the cliff a hundred yards away, seemingly looking for something over the edge.
Eragon blinked at Arya and tilted his head slightly. It wasn't a question; merely an acknowledgement. She didn't have to spell it out to him, and he didn't need to say that he'd suspected or wondered or didn't want to make her uncomfortable. He knew the elf had been important to Arya from little things he'd heard here and there. It was simply what she'd told him before, albeit in not so many words.
"Were were about your age," she went on. Her fingers trailed along the strands of grass absently. "Kindred spirits for years. We always said that we wanted to see the world beyond Du Weldenvarden, but when I became Ambassador, he didn't come. I was almost as angry with him as I was with my mother. He struggled to place working with me over his duties here and it felt like what we'd shared had been little more than empty words."
It sounded selfish, but it was how she'd felt at the time. Eragon would never judge her—he had plenty of faults himself.
"My mother assigned him as my guard with Glenwing some time after that. I didn't like it at first; I didn't want protection. Looking back on it, I wonder if she was using him to regain favor with me, but I never found out. Not that it matters now."
She trailed off and didn't speak for nearly another ten minutes. "We reconciled eventually, but I was cautious after he chose to stay in Ellesmera. Honeyed words and empty promises did not lure me again. He was patient and I think he really was trying to find a balance between me and his duty at home. I gave him my friendship and confidence, but never my heart.
"…I know he hoped we would become mates eventually, yet even after fifty years of traveling together, I could not bring myself to accept his advances. Looking back on it, I'm even more certain it wouldn't have worked out between us, even if I had felt differently. He was too bound to Du Weldenvarden and I wanted to be free."
Eragon processed her words in silence for a time, considering what he'd learned about Arya and Faolin's friendship from her story. He couldn't fight the sting of jealousy in his heart, despite knowing that Arya hadn't returned the elf's romantic feelings for her.
He didn't know if that was the dragon side of him or the human side of him. He could believe it was both.
But more than that, he was grateful she trusted him enough to share this. He knew it wasn't easy for her, even if he needed to get over himself a little to hear it.
"The black morning glories in the garden," he started, looking at her carefully. She nodded. "He sung those?"
"Yes. He knew they were my favorites."
Eragon pulled his legs up to his chest, leaning his cheek on his kneecap as he looked at her. "Tell me more about him?"
It was the best way she knew to mourn—to just talk about the people she'd lost or the trauma she'd faced. Arya had seen so much over her century of life. Granted, many of her losses took place slowly over the years. Before the dragon eggs had hatched, the whole of Alagaesia had been in a more…passive state of aggression. It spaced things out.
By comparison, Eragon's short life had been a frenzy of loss, fighting, and destruction—mostly over the past three years.
Another evening, once again at the river.
Arya watched him toss his tunic aside as he strode into the water. "Has anyone ever told you that you swim quite often?"
"Saphira thinks it," he smirked, watching as the dragon-lady leapt into the water and submerged entirely in the deeper sections. "But she likes to swim as well, so she never complains."
"Is there any particular reason why?"
He thought of the Moon Singers far to the northwest and pursed his lips. "There is."
"And?"
"Perhaps I'll tell you one day."
She raised an eyebrow, but accepted his answer.
They talked casually for a while, and eventually the topic drew to the Varden and how Brom had been organizing the magicians to more tightly regulate security.
Eragon dipped his hand into the shallow water and smiled as tiny fish swam up to mouth at his fingertips. Arya, still sitting on the bank with Firnen sleeping beside her, watched him closely. "What do you think of Brom these days?"
He considered the question for several minutes. "I don't know. I think back on everything I remember of him and how he was always there, albeit in the background as I was growing up. I know…I love him for that. On the other hand, he let my mother go so soon after she gave birth to me and all I can think of is how Marian died. Selena was only human; she couldn't have recovered fully before…"
Eragon trailed off. Arya absorbed that for a time. "Do you think she's alive?"
"I'm scared to hope," he confessed. "I don't know if I could handle losing a mother again."
"I understand," she murmured. "After my father died, Oromis and Glaedr often looked out for me when my mother was too busy with work. I think it was good for them; having someone to look out for after the Riders fell. They filled the void my father left in their own way. Now…the closer the war draws near, the more I fear for them."
"They intend to come out of hiding eventually, right?"
"They've told me as much. I don't know how to feel about it."
He nodded. Their vulnerabilities made them far too tender of a target for Galbatorix and Morzan. Oromis and Glaedr were far from weak, but they couldn't compete with the Empire's deadliest. They would simply be overwhelmed.
"I've been thinking about that," he admitted. "If I order them to back off at least until Morzan is dealt with, maybe the risk will be mitigated."
Arya raised an eyebrow high. "Order them?"
"I am technically our Leader," Eragon pointed out. "I'm staying in Vrael's tree, anyways."
He fell silent. "I still don't know why they put me there. It's not like we're wanting for trees to stay in. Often times when I think of it, the less sense it makes for them to let me stay there. I'm the youngest and certainly not the strongest of the four of us. I feel like an intruder."
"Who do you think should be the Leader?"
"You," he said without hesitation. Arya blinked in surprise. "Is that so shocking? You and Firnen are incredible fliers, you're the most skilled in magic by far, and your swordplay is second to none. I've only just started to bring you into draws during our matches; three years of sparring and I've still yet to best you."
She looked rather flattered and he honestly had no idea how that was a surprise to her. Well—no, it made sense, actually. Arya never held herself above anyone else. Yes, she was a Princess, but she never behaved like those around her were lesser than herself. She was who she was, and that was enough for her.
"While I'm honored that you view my and Firnen's skills so highly, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. Have you any idea how much you've progressed in only three years? Eragon, you aren't even twenty years yet and you can match my swordplay already. Perhaps you have more to learn in magic, but you and Saphira are the best fliers we have. Do not undervalue yourself—your progress is stunning."
He couldn't help it; he blushed pleasantly at her praise.
Your ears are burning, Saphira teased, and he threw a scowl at the dragon-lady who surfaced from further downriver.
"Shall we call it even, then?" Eragon suggested, grateful that the darkness was hiding the pink in his cheeks.
"I believe we could do that," Arya agreed, smiling at him softly.
He felt another wave of warm fuzziness roll over him and Eragon decided to dunk his head into the river to forcibly cool himself off, much to Saphira's amusement.
Eragon and Murtagh were reading in Vrael's tree, in relatively mutual silence.
It had been a while since they'd been in Ellesmera at the same time. Whenever Murtagh was visiting the Varden, Eragon was often with Oromis and Glaedr—vice versa, Eragon was oftentimes traveling throughout Du Weldenvarden, searching for the Rider meant to bond with the egg in his care while Murtagh trained at the Crags of Tel'naeir.
Currently, Arya and Firnen were busy sorting something out with her mother at Tialdari Hall and Garzhvog was at the Varden with Illgra. Having finished their lessons for the day, the brothers were enjoying some time to rest and recover.
The two eggs borne of their dragons were together again for the first time in several months, nestled in a warm bed of silken cushions and blankets.
There was also a Shrrg wrapped around them. That helped.
Eragon reached over absently after flipping the page of his book to scratch Arget's head. The great wolf whined happily and leaned into his touch.
Spoiled creature, he thought fondly.
Murtagh suddenly sighed and put his book down. Eragon looked over the page he was on and lifted an eyebrow.
"How is it," Murtagh muttered quietly. "That we wound up falling in love with two of the fiercest and most powerful women in all of Alagaesia?"
Eragon grew very still. "I have no idea what you're on about."
Murtagh half-glared at his little brother.
"Ok, I have half an idea what you're on about, but I'll kill you if you speak of it to anyone and I still don't understand the other half of your question."
He pursed his lips and clasped his hands together. Eragon waited patiently, somewhat curious of Murtagh's agitation.
"Nasuada and I are…" Murtagh trailed off for a while. Eragon's eyes widened a little.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing," he retorted. "Well—ok, not nothing, but..."
Eragon set his book down slowly. "Murtagh."
"We kissed," he confessed, looking torn between happiness and anxiety. "And I'm mostly certain it'll happen again. We've gotten closer than I ever imagined."
His older brother had an expression on his face Eragon could only describe as "dreamy" and he really, really hoped he looked absolutely nothing like that when Arya was on his mind.
But that was besides the point.
"Murtagh, are you sure that's a good idea? Being with her?"
The dreamy look faded. "It feels right. I know how absurdly complicated it's likely to be, but being with her is…"
"I will throw this book at you if you drift off like that one more time."
"I put up with all your longing towards Arya, don't I?"
"I do not long for her."
Murtagh repeated his question in the Ancient Language and Eragon found, to his irritation, that he could not answer.
"At least I can hide it."
"You are probably better at that than I am," Murtagh admitted. "I suppose I'd best work on it. If someone finds out…"
"Murtagh, that could throw her whole position into danger," Eragon warned. "If someone catches you together, there's going to be questions. Everything from her authenticity as a leader to her…her chastity and more importantly if the two of you intend to marry. Assumptions will be made, and they will not be kind. Many in the Varden expect Nasuada to rule over the Broddring Kingdom once Galbatorix is dead, and that would make you—"
"—Another Dragon Rider King ruling humans with a mortal Queen? Believe me, it's been heavy on my mind."
He didn't want to sound cruel, but he didn't know how else to say it. "Murtagh, you cannot marry her."
"I should not. Not cannot."
"Murtagh."
"Look, I know it's—nothing about this is easy! For one, I'm immortal and she's…"
Eragon's heart clenched. His response was a whisper. "I know."
Murtagh leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face stressfully. "I'm…I'm working on it. If I absolutely must, I'll…end things with her before they get too far. But let me just try Eragon. Maybe I can find a way for it to work."
"I can't stop you," he murmured softly. "I just don't want either of you to get hurt. You're my brother, and Nasuada is a good friend."
He nodded and Murtagh thrummed his fingers on the armrest, lips quirking up into a slight smile—a futile attempt to hide sorrow behind humor. "Well, as was expected, I was the first of us to find someone to love."
"I'm not going to grace that statement with a response."
Murtagh chuckled and Eragon cracked a wry smile.
The Riders and their dragons were gathered around the small table outside Oromis' hut again.
They found themselves here more and more, Eragon reflected, the closer they got to the war. They estimated that in the next six months, it'd be time to start seeking out the Urgals and get the Varden on the move. This could very well be one of their last meetings as a group before the war began.
"You know why we're here," Oromis began. "We've already discussed our planned path of attack across the Empire to Galbatorix. Undoubtedly, things will change and need adjustments as circumstances require. But we should talk about final plans while we're together and plan beyond victory or defeat as best we can."
Eragon's finger tapped on the wood a few times. "There are two matters I would like to bring up now before we commit to war: Master Oromis, Master Glaedr, I want the two of you to remain off the field until Morzan is out of the picture."
Glaedr snorted in amusement, eyes narrowing. You think you can give orders to us, boy?
"You're the ones who put me in Vrael's tree," he reminded the golden dragon. "But Leader or not, the reason I ask this is because the moment you come out of hiding, Morzan will come for you. Galbatorix will stay in his castle and hide until we break his walls open, but the last of the Forsworn will attack you as soon as he discovers you are alive. He and his dragon will be too dangerous for the two of you to engage; mostly due to Oromis' affliction."
Glaedr rumbled, but Eragon sent the dragon a calming look. "You know I don't think either of you weak, but it's a matter of how much magic you're able to handle in combat. Morzan and his dragon will simply overpower you. He needs to be removed permanently before we call you in—and if we fail to destroy him and Galbatorix, you'll be needed here to teach the next generation of Riders, should any come. Your wisdom and experience is too important to risk."
Oromis smiled and glanced at his partner. "He has a point, Glaedr."
Bah! Now younglings are giving me orders, Glaedr grumbled.
The younger dragons all snorted with laughter. Murtagh and Garzvog chuckled while Arya cracked the barest hint of a smile.
"What's the second subject on your mind, Eragon?" Oromis queried.
Eragon paused briefly and took a breath. "The topic of where we intend to re-establish the Riders and restore the population of wild dragons, as well."
He let them consider the subject for a minute before going on. "We cannot restore the Riders on Vroengard—the fall of Doru Araeba poisoned the island from what Oromis and Glaedr say. Short of the volcano waking up again and destroying everything that was corrupted, there's nothing that will clear the venom in the land. Not anytime soon, anyways."
Why not here? Thorn asked.
"No," Arya shook her head immediately. "This place is suitable for training young Riders, but it cannot serve as the headquarters of the Order as a whole. For one, it is too close to Ellesmera and thus isolates it from the other three races. We need somewhere that is neutral ground so to speak. Beyond that, although there is certainly room in the whole of Du Weldenvarden for dragons to live once again, it cannot host both wild dragons and the training Riders. No…no, we need someplace else."
Garzhvog stroked his chin in thought. "There are not a lot of locations habitable for such…if the Hadarac were not a desert, I would suggest that massive expanse, but it is too hostile even if the dragons love the heat. The Beor Mountains are too close to the dwarves' territory and they are also too hostile with the Shrrgs, Nagra, and Urzhad residing there."
Murtagh frowned. "What does that even leave us to work with?"
"Nothing," Eragon finished. "Which is why, I think, we need to consider some place far more remote."
"Like what?"
He took a deep breath. "There is nowhere in Alagaesia suitable to reform the Riders. The only conclusion I can come to is that we have to leave the continent altogether."
Silence answered his declaration.
"Leave?" Arya whispered.
"There isn't another island like Vroengard for us to reside upon," Eragon sighed, crossing his arms. "Sharktooth and the isles to the southwest are too small and barren for dragons. Du Weldenvarden is too influenced by the elves and cannot host both the home of the Riders and wild dragons. The desert is too hostile. The mountains in the south, as well. The Broddring Kingdom and Surda cannot play home for wild dragons, either. There will be clashes between humans and the wild ones; they have never had to co-exist and I do not believe it will end well."
He was quiet for a minute before shaking his head. "There's just nothing else. Alagaesia doesn't have a place left to serve as a home for the Riders. Not long-term, in any case. Going back across the western sea to Alalea is out of the question following the Doom that caused the elves and Urgals to flee its shores. We would have to go east, following the Edda River out of these lands."
Glaedr studied the young man closely as the others digested the information. You have thought long about this.
"Since Tierm," he confessed softly. Angela's prophecy was still a closely-kept secret for him, but her prediction that he would leave the lands of Alagaesia one day, never to return, had never really stopped haunting him. Saphira lowered her snout to brush the back of his head comfortingly. "Nigh on five years ago, I suppose."
"Eragon," Murtagh looked at his brother with a troubled expression. "Alagaesia is our home."
"I do not want to leave," he answered sorrowfully. "I'm just…I'm reading the terrain. When this war is over, the whole continent is going to be in a state of recovery and upheaval for decades at the least. Maybe we could put it off for a few years, but at some point, we're going to have to start constructing a new headquarters for the Order."
He is right, Opheila agreed. Her Eldunari was set in the center of the table on a silken cushion. Until our numbers have recovered, we are going to be vulnerable to some degree. Dragons are still far too close to extinction as it is. We would need the defense of isolation that Vroengard provided—and in the absence of an island stronghold, distance is the only defense left to us.
Oromis pursed his lips. "I confess, I have not considered where the Riders would re-establish themselves, if ever we did. For a long time, I feared these lands might never see Riders again. But you make valid points…"
Their teacher was quiet for some time more. "I will think on this with Glaedr. Seeing as you've ordered us to the backlines until Morzan and his dragon are dealt with, I think we will have some time to consider the subject."
His tone was amused at the end and Eragon flushed somewhat. He knew their teachers really didn't have to listen to his "command" for them to back off until the last of the Forsworn was slain, but he appreciated the gesture of faith. It was still difficult for him to comprehend being the unofficial Leader of the Riders.
"We will table the matter for the time being," Oromis decided. "For now, there are still other things we must discuss…"
Several nights before Eragon and Garzhvog were due to leave Ellesmera to find the Bolvek Tribe, the young man was swept into a dream unlike any he'd experienced before. Different from the usual ones he only half-remembered and different from the scrying dreams that had brought him to Arya and Ristvak'baen.
He was flying with Saphira, and he could feel her mind connected to his despite their unconsciousness. Ahead of them, he could see the familiar shapes of Illgra, Thorn, and Firnen. Where they were going, he had no idea.
Suddenly, two violet dragons flew above them and raced ahead—one dark, one light. Smaller than the others, they provoked Thorn into chasing them with roars. Illgra followed, banking off after the ruby-colored male.
Saphira followed Firnen downwards to the edge of a small forest, where they landed. Eragon couldn't shift his line of sight away from the trees, where he spotted movement.
A little girl was running barefoot towards him in dappled sunlight beneath the forest canopy, and he knelt as she grew closer. The child stopped before him, and he saw she was wearing a simple, lightly-colored dress when she reached out for his hands. She was so small compared to him—so delicate.
She looked behind her and he saw that a baby dragon had been following the girl. As she turned back to him, it leapt onto her shoulders and curled around her protectively. Its scales were blue, but lighter than Saphira's; the color of a warm summer's sky.
The child looked up at him and her eyes, framed by black hair and soft, pale skin, were full of tender innocence. He stared at the large green orbs for a moment and realized her pupils were slits, like the dragon's.
Like his.
Eragon awoke with a gasp and choked on his own breath, bewildered and frightened of his inability to breathe until he realized he was crying. A sob wrenched from his throat and his chest heaved. Hot tears flowed down his flushed face and he knew not which emotion roiling within him was responsible for them.
Eragon? Saphira's voice in her mind was strangled with terrible, heartbroken longing.
He managed to regain himself enough to breathe steadily, if more rapidly than normal. It was just a dream.
Did you see them too?
Eragon froze. You mean—
—the girl and the dragon?
Did…did we just dream together?
I think so.
How? Why?
I do not know.
He swallowed. What did we just see, Saphira?
If I had to guess, our minds breathed their shared hopes into a dream. You saw the violet ones—my and Thorn's offspring, alive and well. The baby dragon…I think was also mine. Perhaps mine and Firnen's, for I do truly hope we might be mates one day. And the child—my hatchling's Rider…oh, Eragon…
Eragon felt a lump rise in his throat. They both knew who the child was. Whose she was.
It wasn't real, he forced down a sob and took shaky breaths to compose himself.
Saphira shared in his sorrow and longing, and though they didn't sleep anymore for the rest of the night, they drew close through their bond and eventually found their peace again.
Eragon stayed focused as he and Saphira followed Garzhvog and Illgra towards Marna, the small range of large hills and mountains east of Lake Isenstar. The Bolvek Tribe was somewhere nearby, having travelled away from the Beorn Mountains in the colder months of the year.
Murtagh and Arya were leading the Varden to Surda at that very moment. He would help Garzhvog convince the Urgals to assist them, and then he would fly to join the other Riders for the start of the war. While they retook Surda, Garzhvog would hunt down Kulkarvek and slay him.
It felt like all of Alagaesia was holding its breath. Like the land itself knew something terrible was about to start—a conflict of violence and bloodshed that hadn't been seen for nigh over a hundred years.
Once more, dragons and Riders would clash to the death. Once more, a Kingdom would be conquered city by city until one side annihilated the other.
Garzhvog reached out to Eragon and Saphira with his mind.
I have found them. Prepare your wards—they will not take chances when they realize we have discovered them.
Eragon nodded and began to draw on his magic to protect himself and Saphira. He could see the tribe hidden in the trees as Garzhvog and Illgra descended upon them, and watched the Urgals scramble in preparation for a fight. Hopefully, this wouldn't get too bloody before they reached a peace agreement.
He readied their wards as Saphira landed next to Illgra before the Urgal tribe, and fire raced through his blood.
A/N: I don't know why, but for some reason this particular installment feels...lacking to me, somehow. That's why it's taken me longer to get out than the others. But this is the conclusion of the four-part mini series leading up to the next arc of the story! Next chapter brings us back to the thick of things!
You guys know the deal by now. I live for reviews, which are my lifeblood and all that fun jazz. Even though this chapter didn't quite wind up being what I hoped for, I do hope you all enjoyed a little more insight into the Riders and Eragon as a character.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!