The Fallen Are The Virtuous
Chapter Two: Scars
Rating: T, Mild Language, a tiiiiiiny bit of gore
Summary: Oh, the fallen are the virtuous, and this is where Delois, a guard for Galbatorix, finds himself as he flees from both the Varden and the Empire with an unwanted dragon by his side.
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OMFGWTF
I was the featured story on shuturgal(dot)fanfiction(dot)net, a Eragon fanfic site. Holy poopsicles on a stick. That's pretty good. Well... Eh, I present you chapter two, Scars. Please review, also. EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT APART OF REVIEW!
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"... It's all your fault." He spoke softly, knowing the dragon would not respond. He kept it up, though, his voice rising sharply. "Why me! This isn't what I wanted! A fucking dragon... My life was so perfect, you awful..."
The dragon pushed it's maw against the shallow of his back. The thin, black thing was still in his knapsack; They had just barely gotten out of Ura'Baen, and he did not entirely trust how quiet Jarn could keep quiet for any amount of time. Galbatorix could already be looking ruthlessly for him and the dragon.
"Well..." He mumbled, his voice lowering as the dragon nuzzled against his back. "We'll go to Helgrind; The city of The Prayer." Nobody- of course, other then those who followed the religion- knew the exact name of the forboding practice, but many spoke ill about it and the city itself. Delois merely placed his hand over the broach that signified himself a guard and much respected of Galbatorix, offering a quick prayer to any god that would hear him before swinging his knapsack off.
He had expected a cry of surprise or protest from the baby dragon, but all he got was a glare before the hatchling jumped up, nimbly catching itself with weak wings. It beat franticly before landing on his shoulder, claws clutching tightly to their perch. He sighed, replacing the knapsack on his back.
"You will come with me, but you musn't shriek or shout. If you get caught..." The black dragon seem to bristle, it's haunches rising. Delois looked at the queer creature, then said absent-mindedly; "You don't look like Thorn nor Shrukian."
Indeed, he didn't. Now that Delois had a good look at his partner, the dragon seemed to be more serpentine then anything, with curling horns pressed against it's head and slitted nostrils. It looked bone-thin, to the point of being underfed and malnourused. It's black scales were dull, and the only thing that seemed to sparkle were it's grey eyes.
He touched a protruding rib bone, frowning grimly. "Magic does many things..." He mumbled, before speaking a few quick words in the ancient language. An apple came floating from his pack. He handed it to the dragon, who immedetly took it in it's front paws and started chewing on it.
"Try not to get anythin-"
Something hard hit him in the shoulder, making him sprawl out on the ground. He swiftly turned around, clambering for his scimitar as a Ra'Zac hissed softly.
"Damnit," He stood quickly, brandishing the scimitar defiantly in front of him, snapping a quick command. The pike he was using as a walking stick came quickly into his other hand. It was not the perfect combination of weapons- Parrying was near impossible, but that did not come into mind as the cloaked being rushed in suddenly.
Delois gave a wild stab forward at the creature, but it easily dodged the awkward blow, going left and quickly gaining in on him. With a surprised cry, he took a feint with the blade to the right, then suddenly jerked it to the left, following with a downward thrust of his pike. The Ra'Zac had to jump to avoid getting it's legs peirced- Exactly what he wanted. The blade suddenly snapped from going a little-off left to the Ra'Zac, scraping against the etheral creature's side as it twisted desperately away from the blade.
It screeched, holding the wound in it's side. A thick, black liquid seeped from the shallow wound. A hiss escaped the Ra'Zac before it uttered something in it's gutteral, clicking tongue. A long, black sword appeared in it's hand, and the beast stalked forward. Delois stumbled backward, swallowing thickly.
"Dragon!"
He had just realized the hatchling had fallen from his shoulder when he got hit. But this was not the time to worry about it; The Ra'Zac swung the sword at his head, and he just barely brought his scimitar up for a parry. The grip on his sword nearly faltered as his arm tingled from the force it took to fend off the greatsword's blow. This wasn't good.
Then the Ra'Zac uttered something else in it's gutteral tongue, and Delois felt his muscles tense, locking in upon themselves. He let out a cry, then frowned in puzzled dismay. The beast had let his face loose! But why...?
As the evil thing approached, he paled. Only to hear him scream, obviously. The Ra'Zac hissed mavolently, getting within inches of the other. His whole body would have trembled in fear if possible, but he could not move an inch. Gently, very gently, the Ra'Zac let it's sword scrape against his throat.
A scream came from Delois as it suddenly burrowed down, then it turned into a gurgle as the sword was removed. With cunning and precision possessed only of a Ra'Zac, he could feel his throat burn with blood that spilt from his cut vochal chords. He tried to speak, but it came out as a wet, painful gurgle that made tears spring from his eyes.
The thing made a sound that was it's laugh, making Delois grimace. He tried to mumble a spell- Until the cold steel of the black blade was pressed against his cheast, the point slowly digging in. A gurgled cry escaped his lips, and he started to try futily to thrash out of this hold.
Suddenly, he felt himself loosen, and the Ra'Zac jumped back, hissing. Over his head, his dragon flew, shreiking dryly, it's voice rough and harsh. He shuddered, and despite his pain stood, brandishing his scimitar. There was no need, though, as the dragon shreiked again, it's eyes blazing in anger.
As if almost from nowhere, the Ra'Zac let out a clacking call of pain, stumbling backward. It quickly fled, and the dragon flew towards Delois.
Delois tried to utter a thankful word, but the words caught in his destroyed throat painfully, coming out in a muffled gurgle. The dragon brushed against his mind- A feeling of command that made him quickly stop and sit. With a snort, the dragon then landed upon his chest, laying a head on the man's shaking body.
He would have gasped if he hadn't held it down for fear of bringing himself more pain, but the sensation as his vochal chords neatly started to thread themselves together, skin and blood connecting once more and returning to their rightful places. It was wonderful, and he gave a little sigh, reveling in the feeling of the new organs vibrating, producing sounds almost as good as normal-
And then it stopped, the little dragon giving a croak of distress. It jumped off of Delois, crawling into the knapsack that had fallen off his back and promptly falling asleep.
"Dragon?" He was horrified by his words; They came out as if his throat had been scratched with sandpaper, giving him a twinge of pain in his neck, then a burning sensation as if he needed water. He pushed away the pain, numbly struggling to sheath his scimitar before slinging his knapsack over his shoulders. Taking his pike, he started to walk down the road, testing his new voice, wincing before long as it started to bleed anew. He'd always begin again, though, taking a swig of ice-cold water from a stream to stil the blood flow before continuing once more with gritty sounding words and croaks of pain.
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Lyrnn laughed, watching as the Ra'Zac flew from the hatchling. "Petty creatures. They never were as strong as everyone always says."
Galbatorix snorted indignantly. "You, shade, do not know the power of that dragon."
Lyrnn raised a thin black eyebrow. "Oh?"
The king moved forward, looking into the scrying bowl. He snuffed it out just as the hatchling crawled into a knapsack after what looked like healing it's new rider. "I've been trying to get that damn dragon out sence... A long time. I found the egg, back when it was a pure white in color. But after so many years-"
"Dragon eggs can't go bad. And even with magic to influence it, that's just-"
The heavy hand that fell onto his shoulder silenced the shade, making him tense. "You're right, in some sense, Lyrnn," He said quietly. "But do not interupt me again. Magic can change it, but only if the creature wants it." He smiled thinly, letting the words sink in as Lyrnn pondered in amazement. A naturally born evil dragon? That can't be. But of course, the land of Algaesia was changing rapidly over the years. Anything is possible.
"So... You say this dragon chose to embrace your powers?" He asked slowly, choosing his words carefully. Galbatorix snorted. "Yes, and maybe too much."
Lyrnn waited for the Tyrant to continue- But was only met with dissapointing silence. He exscused himself with a mumble, standing from his chair and walking briskly towards the door.
His legs locked suddenly. A snarl of rage twisted his thin lips, but he said nothing as Galbatorix spoke; "Be careful, shade; You are cocky, and rightly so, but I don't want to have another Shadeslayer on my hands. I must admit, Durza was weak, more intrested in sharpening his fangs then practicing, but while the Guard is weak, the dragon is strong." His legs went suddenly limp, and he fell to his knees, scrambling upward quickly. "I will... Heed your warning, O Galbatorix." Lyrnn said before walking out the door.
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"Eitha, you stupid thing! EITHA!" Delois roared, near hitting the small hatchling that was flying around. His voice was already hoarse beyond belief, and he could feel his half-healed vochal chords bleeding. "Go! Eitha!"
He had been thinking. Walking, and thinking. And a sudden, over-whelming anger had came to him, all directed at the dragon, who was now screeching just as hoarsly as it's owner.
Delois had never felt so unstable, so wounded. Physically and mentally, he felt as helpless as a newborn babe. With a half-hearted slap, he managed to clip the dragon's wings. It cried in surprise, forcing the emotion of panic onto him; And a word:
'Delois!'
The man stopped, blinking back threatening tears. He stooped low, grabbing his knapsack before staring at the thin dragon flying in circles for at least a minute. The black little hatchling kept eye contact, hovering in place with a steady beating of his wings.
"You said my name..." He mumbled, face aghast.
'... Delois?... Eitha.'
"You want me to go?"
The dragon blinked at him, as if it was so obvious. 'Delois, Eitha.'
It had struck him then that the dragon was reffering to himself. He was Eitha. "Eitha... B-but, no-" His words came out in a splutter. "Your name is not Eitha! That's just stupid. It's a word... Well," He paused, then sighed softly. "I can't say much, can I? My loony mother named me after dirt."
'Eitha.'
"Fine, you are Eitha- I'll call you that, for no other reason then for the fact that I would not be able to call you in public." Delois said, waving his hand dismissivly at the hatchling. The newly dubbed Eitha landed on his shoulder, perching easily. Fishing out a canteen of water as the two started walking, he drowned his tender throat in ice cold water.
"Can't you heal it anymore?"
'Delois.' The word was met with a sharp prescence in his mind, making him stumble in his steps. He took that as a no.
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Oooh, plot hanger. Please TELL ME what you want to see. I do have some options...
1)They go to Helgrind and something with the ominous religion of the dank place is involved.
2) Something changes their course , and they either meet a) Eragon or b) Murtagh
Just tell me in the reviews if you'd rather see 1, 2a or 2b. You can decide Delois and Eitha's wyrda. ;)