I don't own Eragon, etc, etc...I'm certainly not making any money off THIS baby. DON'T TAKE AMAKA FROM ME! SHE'S ALL I HAVE!
Please R&R. It's a small price to pay for what would otherwise be some pretty ridiculous freeloading. (not that freeloading is always a bad thing...moving on.)
"Long ago, before the reign of Galbatorix, a band of soldiers arrived in the town of Dralsja, which is now dust. It was situated at the edge of Du Weldenvarden, southwest of Ellesméra; many elves mingled with the humans. They had no symbol or sign to indicate their allegiance, but claimed they had crossed the wide, spiteful desert on a mission they spoke of no one, save that it was of great importance. Their captain, Yannick, was gravely ill, and the elven healer woman, Karua that lived in the town offer to cure him. His sickness turned out to be a severe enchantment; she nearly died unbinding him from it. He recovered slowly, and in that time she cared for him. The two fell in love; the wild, red-haired soldier and the graceful elven maiden." Here she shrugged with a sad chuckle, her startling green eyes trained on the dirty stone beneath them.
"She got pregnant; the other elves were shocked. Surely, this human must have raped her! No sane elf would mate with such imperfection willingly. So, demonstrating their impeccable ability to jump to the wrong conclusion, a group of elfmen gathered outside of the house where the lovers stayed. They burned it to the ground." At this she looked up at him, horrid fury boiling behind her beautiful mask. "The elf woman was in the forest at the time, gathering herbs for her duties. When she saw the smoke, she ran as swiftly as she could, but it was too late. The captain was dead."
Eragon blinked at the stone of the floor; in its dull surface he could see the scene unfold. He could feel the heat of the fire as it licked the sides of a building with its hungry tongues, cries for help falling on the deaf ears of the elves. A woman with long raven hair tumbled from the forest, clutching her growing stomach. She collapsed to her knees when she saw she smoldering remains of her home; she tried to stager forward but one of the elfmen held her back, a self-righteous look on his beautiful face. The cries from inside ceased horribly, and the woman broke down, tears running down her soot-streaked face. The picture wavered and changed, revealing a group of soldiers charging around the corner. The building was naught but smoldering ashes now as they searched for the remains of their captain. One young man overturned a badly charred door, and cried out. Beneath lay the burned and twisted bones of a human, the skull warped a silent scream. They quickly gathered the bones and placed them in a small wooden box, angry shouts rousing the men.
"When the soldiers learned of their captain's fate, they quickly retaliated. No matter what king or country they served, they proved to be efficient ministers of death."
The entire village was now burning on the floor of the prison; a large group ofhumans huddled at the edge of the flaming town. A group of four men held aloft an oaken box; the score had been settled. The elf woman gazed into the flames, the wind whipping her dark hair about her face. She looked like a vengeful goddess as she raised her hand into the air, releasing a feral cry. The soldiers took it up with a roar of retribution as Dralsja collapsed into oblivion.
"So she led the humans of the village along the edge of the forest; she knew that the loss of so many of her kin would not go unnoticed for long. The BloodQueen, they called her; they would have followed her to the ends of the earth. She gave birth to her child on the trail; a healthy daughter they called the Fairchild. They lived like brigands, stealing from whatever hamlet or farm they came upon. For two years they reigned along the edge of Du Weldenvarden, before they were conquered."
The stones, which had been showing pictures of endless raids and camps, became a frightened mass of confusion; the former villagers had become hardened warriors. An army of elves appeared from the forest, a Rider at their head. She rode a dragon the color of steel, her platinum hair flashing in the air. She pointed her blade at the BloodQueen, shouting something in the ancient language. The rogue queen laughed, a high, insane laugh that made the Rider flinch. "You think you can destroy me, Riesarbrisingr? I have conquered fire, blighted magic! My people are undefeatable. We are of one vengeance! You have no power over us, foolish elf! Go back to your damned forest and hang yourself and that flying torch you ride!" She fired a single arrow from her long, curved bow, striking one of the soldiers in the chest. The dragon roared, a long stream of emerald flame spewing across the ranks of Dralsja. The men howled in pain, but charged forward, bringing their heavy swords down on the heads of the elven warriors. The BloodQueen cackled again, raising her hands to the sky. Storm clouds swirled like black smoke over head, exploding into torrents of sharp rain. The dragon and Rider leapt into the air, circling the maddened witch below.
"This must end, Karua!" the Rider cried. The witch seemed startled by this; no one had dared to call her by her name for nearly three years. Time stood still; a pocket of calm separated the dark elf from the raging chaos of the battle. A silver tear trickled down her dirty face. What had she done! Through the confusion, a small, red-haired child stumbled to her, and she placed her hand on the girl's head. She knelt with tired eyes. "Goodbye, darling. This must end," she repeated, kissing her daughter on the cheek. The child began to cry, raising her arms to be held. But the mother shook her head, standing. This must end.
"And end it shall, Rider! FOR YANNICK!" she cried, raising her arms to the sky. A fork of lightning struck her; in a flash, all of Dralsja vanished with a cry of despair.
"And so she destroyed herself and everything she had created, and the Raiders of Dralsja became stuff of legend," said Amaka dully, waving her hand over the cobbles. The picture vanished. He looked up at her.
"And that child was you."
"How perceptive," she replied dryly, standing. He scooted back, watching her. She watched him back with those startling green eyes, wiping sweat off of her brow. "So the Rider returned a hero, having removed a threat with four words. Karua BloodQueen was no more; but the question of my future remained. I was raised by the smith, Rhunön, until I was old enough to leave. Then I left."
Eragon blinked, shocked. She, too, was old enough to be his great-grandmother's great-grandmother. He felt very, very young and inexperienced, even as he sat below the pacing convict. He watched her dumbly as she placed her head against the stone. "Damn, it's hot."
He whistled "els rondir" quietly, freshening the air. She whipped around to face him, hands raised and looking angry. Then she smiled, looking relieved. "Cooling spell. And to think I nearly killed you just now." She shook her head, smirking. "Don't try to curse me. A scortch mark on the floor of a prison cellwould be a sad way to end such a promising career."
He shook his head fervently, standing. "And why would I want to kill you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm a dangerous criminal, Shur'tugal. The elves seem to want very much to do so. Even Ary…" She stopped, as though catching herself. She glared at him as though it were his fault. Unexpectedly, she said, "You owe me a story, dragon boy."
He sighed. "It's a long one."
She chuckled darkly, sitting. "I'm not going anywhere fast."
And so, like so many times before, he began his tale.