And here is the long-awaited chapter four! I'm really pleased with it, and it's quite long. But first I must answer a few of the reviews that I got (because I'm a polite person). So:
- First off, I would like to thank Dragonnetic for his/her continued support and reviews. Recently, he/she pointed out that if Eragon couldn't use magic WITH the AL (Ancient Language), well, what about without it? Good point, Dragonnetic. So, I PMed him/her to explain, but I should probably do so for the rest of you. Well, my explanation is that there is basically no wild magic in Panem for Eragon to tap into, unlike in Alagaësia. I'm too lazy to think up anything else. Sorry, Paolini fans!
- Secondly, a reviewer named Madhatter said (or rather, wrote) that they were surprised Eragon had fallen for someone so quickly after losing pretty much his entire life. Well, Madhatter, you're quite right. It's not plausible at all. BUT (with me, there's always a but) we don't know if he has actually fallen for Katniss at all, do we? All we know is that her smell reminds him of Arya. And that he was in love with Arya before (previously, on Inheritance Cycle Romance…) So, kids, moral of the story is: If some creepy, pointy-eared perv comes up to you and tells you that he likes the way you smell, you run. Or you drench him in pepper spray. Your choice.
Now, on with the fanfic!
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Training
"So," said Haymitch. "Let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."
He, Katniss and Eragon were eating breakfast in the dining room of their appartement in the Training Center. The table was heavy with food and Eragon had stuffed himself, knowing that it wouldn't be so easy to get a meal in the arena. Effie was nowhere to be seen.
"Why would you coach us separately?" asked Katniss.
"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," replied Haymitch, swigging a glass of spirits. Eragon wrinkled his nose at the strong smell, and shrugged. "I don't mind you knowing what I'm good at," he said to Katniss. "And I already know you're a great archer."
"You can coach us together," Katniss told Haymitch.
"All right," he said. "So give me some idea of what you can do."
"Well," said Eragon, pushing his plate away and patting his stomach in a satisfied way. "I'm as good an archer as Katniss, as it happens. But my field of predilection is swordsmanship; I'm really excellent at that. I'm also not bad at hand-to-hand combat."
Haymitch raised a bushy eyebrow. "Swordsmanship, hmm?" To Eragon's relief, he didn't press the subject, instead said, "Well, that's not a bad combination of talents. Being able to take down your ennemies at a distance is handy, but it's also important to be capable of close combat." Then he turned to Katniss. "I already know you're handy with a knife. And, according to Eragon, a bow."
"That's right," she replied. "I don't really know how to use anything else, though."
"And are you particularly good with any of them?"
Katniss appeared to consider this. "Not really with a knife," she said finally. "I'm all right with a bow."
"You're not all right," said Eragon incredulously. "You're one of the best damn archers I've ever seen." Katniss blushed and looked down at her plate. "Yeah, maybye," she replied in an embarrassed voice.
"Well," said Haymitch. "Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"
"I know a few basic snares."
"That may be significant in terms of food. And Eragon, I also want you to stay away from swords and bows. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace-"
"I already know how to do those two things," interrupted Eragon.
Katniss turned to stare at him skeptically.
"Nah, it was a joke," he added. "I don't, actually."
Haymitch shot him a dirty look and said, "When you've quite finished with the humour, Eragon… I want you both to save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. And one last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute."
"Why?" asked Katniss.
"You agreed to do as I said," drawled Haymitch. "I think that's all you really need to know. You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."
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Eragon was making his way back to his rooms to wait – after all, it was barely quarter past nine and Haymitch had said to be ready for ten – when Katniss appeared to materialize in front of him and leaned against his doorframe, blocking his way. He gave her a puzzled look.
"My field of predilection is swordsmanship; I'm really excellent at that," she said by means of explanation in what he assumed was a mimic of his voice. "Hmm. I don't seem to remember there being any swords in District Twelve. But then, you're from a land very far away, aren't you?" She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"What does it matter to you that I'm good at fighting or not?" said Eragon, trying to duck beneath her arm, but failing. "Come on, Katniss. Let me past."
"All I want to know is how you came to be apparently so good with a sword," she said. "I don't like mysteries. I guess you could say I have a naturally curious nature."
"I guess you could say you're downright nosy," muttered Eragon, but relented. Sighing, he said, "OK, I guess I don't see what harm it can do. Come on in. It's going to take a while."
Once they were both in his room, he shut the door and sat down on the bed beside Katniss.
"You know," he said slightly hesitantly, "this – what I'm about to tell you – is really important to me. So… don't make fun, or joke around, or…" He stopped, unsure how to carry on.
But Katniss nodded, an expression of understanding on her face. She put a hand on his arm. "It's OK, Eragon," she said gently. "I know what you mean. Don't worry. I'll take you seriously."
"Thank you," he replied gratefully. "Well, then, here goes. You already know I'm not from Panem. That I'm from a land called Alagaësia. I… look, I really don't know how to explain this. You see… In Alagaësia, there is a species called dragons. They're… well, they're very big, and they have scales, and wings, and they can breathe fire."
"What?" Katniss immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she said. Eragon laughed slightly.
"It doesn't matter," he replied. "I'd find it hard to believe too. But it's the truth. In Alagaësia, there are dragons. At least, there were dragons. When I was born, they were practically a myth. Well, not exactly them – their riders. The Dragon Riders. They were deeply bonded with their dragons, able to communicate with them by thought and use magic – for example, they could throw fire from their hands, or accomplish feats of strenght beyond the ability of normal men. They were a kind of order, keeping peace in Alagaësia, helping the poor, you know. But then… Listen, it's really hard trying to sum up hundreds of years of history in a few sentences, so I'll just say that this man named Galbatorix defeated the Riders and their dragons, and proclaimed himself as king of Alagaësia. He lived for an unnaturally long time, as he himself was a Rider, and his lifespan was boosted by the magic in his veins. He did a lot of cruel things and it's fair to say that he was a tyrant. So, I was originally just a farm boy, and I got possession of one of the few dragon eggs that remained in Alagaësia. Long story. I became a Rider, and it was my destiny to slay Galbatorix. So I trained with the elves – a race that ressembles humans, but with a longer lifespan, pointed ears, and far surpassing humans in terms of athletic ability. Also, they can use magic naturally. During my training, I was blessed by a spirit dragon and became half an elf myself." Here Eragon touched his long ears. "I fought a lot, and was injured many times. It was a very long, very hard struggle, but in the end I killed Galbatorix. However, during his death throes, he cast a spell upon me, a kind of teleportation spell I assume, because the next thing I knew I was in the forest outside District Twelve. Then I found you, and, well, you know the rest."
Eragon stopped, feeling slightly self-conscious, and studied Katniss's face. She seemed surprisingly calm, and appeared to be thinking.
Finally she said, "So that's how you're apparently so good at swordfighting. And archery."
"Yes," replied Eragon, a bit taken aback that she believed him.
"And that's why you were so strangely dressed when I first met you. And so beaten up."
"Yes again."
"Can you use magic here?"
"No. I tried, but it didn't work."
Katniss bit her lip and frowned slightly. "You said you were a Rider. Where's your dragon?"
Eragon felt his breath catch in his throat. He had been trying to not think about Saphira. "I assume she wasn't affected by Galbatorix's spell, and stayed in Alagaësia," he said as evenly as possible.
"But you said dragons and their Riders were deeply bonded. Don't you… don't you miss her?"
Eragon felt tears prick at his eyes, and swallowed hard. He couldn't blame Katniss. She didn't know how deep that bond ran.
"I do," he whispered, digging his nails into his palm to keep from weeping. "I do every day. Every hour. All the time."
He felt Katniss's hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Eragon," she said quietly. "I didn't know. I shouldn't have asked."
"No," he choked out, wiping his eyes. "It's not your fault. You didn't know."
"All the same…"
"No," he repeated, more firmly. "You didn't know."
Then he buried his face in his hands. "But I miss her so much," he murmured, his voice muffled. "So much."
Katniss wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she said again, softly.
Eragon found the smell of pine needles comforting, like a memory of the past, a remembrance of quiet, sunlit days spent in Du Weldenvarden, or of moonlight-filled nights. A link to Alagaësia.
To his home.
"Thank you," he whispered.
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Eragon would have liked nothing more than to stay in his room all day with Katniss – there was something deeply soothing about her, and he always felt closest to his homeland when he was with her – but he had to go to training, even though he did not need it in the slightest. So that was how he ended up in the Training Room, a huge gymnasium packed with various obstacle courses and weapons. While someone pinned a paper with 12 written on it to his back, Eragon checked out the other tributes who were all already there, gathered into a tense, aggressive-feeling knot. They were all pretty unremarkable, apart from three who stuck in his mind.
The first was the boy from District One, the big tribute that Eragon had compared to an oxen. He looked to be about eighteen, and was at least six foot five in height, with massive bulging muscles. His biceps were as large as melons, and his chest muscles were each the size of a big pillow. And as if all that wasn't frightening enough, a tattoo of a stylized, fiery dragon reared up from beneath his string vest over his left shoulderblade before writhing up his neck and breathing a burst of flame across his cheek. Eragon shuddered. If any of the tributes ressembled a Kull, it was this one.
Next was the blond boy fom four. He was a lot smaller than the giant from One, about Eragon's size, and quite thin. He seemed to be harmless, but his face gave him away. His mouth was twisted into a confident smirk, and his black eyes glittered with eager menace. He was dangerous. Very dangerous. Of that Eragon had no doubt.
The last one to be noticed by him was the albino girl from District Eight. She really was tiny, about four foot five, and thin. Her hair was bleached like her skin and her large, slightly slanted eyes were a pale reddish-pink. She couldn't be any older than twelve years old. Eragon knew that she wouldn't stand a chance once the Games began.
After the head trainer had finished explaining the rules of training, Eragon nudged Katniss. "Where would you like to start?"
Katniss shrugged. "I don't know… Practice using a new weapon, like Haymitch said?"
"OK, sure. What weapon, then? Mace? Spear? Axe?"
"Um… Axe, why not."
They made their way over to that station, which already had quite a crowd . Halfway through the lesson, Eragon started getting distracted by the male tribute from One, who had just smashed a dummy's head off with an enormous spiked club that must have weighed easily twenty kilos and sent it flying across the Training Room. Blaze.That was his name. Eragon remembered it now.
The days wore by, a blend of different stations, of knifes and snares and medicinal plants. Halfway through each day, the tributes stopped for lunch, and Eragon and Katniss kept up their cheery banter, which by now was starting to exhaust both of them. In fact, Eragon was exhausted by everything: the training, the food, the tributes. He was fed up with this place. Frustrated.
At lunch on the third day, it was time for their private sessions with the Gamemakers. Eragon knew that he would be the penultimate tribute to pass, and so stayed in the dining room with Katniss, who had slipped into a tense silence. He didn't exactly relish the hours of waiting as the tributes were called one by one, and so was actually relieved when it was his turn. He got up, shaky with adrenaline.
"Good luck," said Katniss.
"You too. Have fun," said Eragon, stress loading his words with a sarcasm he didn't mean. He left the room feeling bad, which didn't help his mood.
The Gamemakers looked profoundly bored as he stepped into the Training Room, the remains of a feast laid out on the table in front of them that they were still picking at. Barely any noticed his presence, it seemed to him. Eragon cracked his knuckles and walked over to the swords, racks and racks of them laid out against the wall. Long, short, straight, curved… He picked one out that matched Brisingr in size and shape before realizing that he didn't have an opponent. He cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, I need a partner to fight with."
The Gamemakers were deep in conversation and didn't hear him, so Eragon repeated, loudly, almost shouting: "I need a partner!" They looked over to him and one or two apologized, then they sent over a member of staff to assist him, a tall, lean, wiry man with a curly black beard who picked up a sword and saluted Eragon before attacking. Eragon was slightly taken aback at the sudden offensive but his weeks of training with Oromis kicked in and he brought up his own sword to parry, neatly knocking the other man's weapon away. Then he ducked around behind him, light on his feet, and when his opponent turned to face him, his arm snaked out and connected with the man's sword just beneath the crossguard, sending it spiralling out of his hand and clattering to the floor. Eragon raised an eyebrow, not even slightly out of breath. "Is that all you've got?"
The man flushed and muttered something indistinct about warming up before going to retrieve his sword. Eragon felt slightly bad about humiliating him, especially when he remembered his many bitter defeats at the hands of Vanir the elf in Du Weldenvarden, but shook it off as the man attacked again. His blows were stronger this time and came more swiftly, and Eragon recognized a man skilled with the blade beyond the abilities of a normal soldier – a bit more and he equalled Brom or even perhaps Murtagh – but there was a fundamental difference between them, a difference that was less in their individual techniques, even though that did have some part to play, but in their bodies. His opponent had the body of a human and Eragon had the body of an elf, and it was for that reason that none of their combats lasted more than a minute, the longest ending at forty-five seconds. The man grew flustered and out of breath, and his skin became shiny with perspiration, whereas Eragon remained cool, calm, and collected, watching for flaws in his enemy's technique and ruthlessly using them against him, each time sending his blade to wrench or bash that of the man's out of his hand and skittering across the floor.
When the Gamemakers eventually gave the signal for Eragon to finish, he knocked his opponent's sword away and couldn't quite resist tapping the man on the chest with the tip of his own and saying in a voice that sounded a lot like one that he had heard many, many times before in a forest very far away, in another land, at another time, when he was still young and inexperienced, not yet a kingkiller, or a tribute in the Hunger Games.
"Dead."
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And that's that! I hope you liked it. I have to admit, I was pretty pleased with that finishing paragraph: "Dead." Lol. Eragon can be a thug life when he wants to be. Anyway, don't forget to review, and I'll update soon, probably in three or four days.
Happy New Year and see you soon!
