Outskirts of Carvahall
"This might be a problem"
"That's the understatement of the century father".
Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel Saphira silently shaking her head at the two of them.
"I still say that we just ignore it and continue as intended".
"Ignore it? Did I not tell you what happened the last time soldiers came in force to Carvahall?"
The eldest of the two sighed "Well what would you have us do Eragon? Kill every single one of them perhaps. We might as well assault Urû'baen next".
Eragon seethed in silence.
The apparent conundrum in front of them was that the delegation of soldiers sent to Carvahall had nearly tripled in size. Not only that, but Saphira had spotted various patrols and scouts for miles outside of the village. It was obvious what they were searching for.
At first he had been confused as to where all these men had come from this quickly, but then he remembered how his father had mentioned, that all villages in the spine had gotten their own personal delegation of soldiers.
The official reason had been heightened Urgal aggression, which was of course laughable when one considered that the men had appeared shortly after Saphira's egg reached his father.
Still, killing every single soldier and magician within Carvahall's vicinity could prove troublesome in the long run. It might very well cause the very thing that Eragon sought to avoid.
The destruction and abandonment of his home.
Eliminating every single member of this delegation would prove too difficult to cover up, and ultimately just lead to his village being scrutinized even further.
He would not be the one to cause Carvahall's exodus a second time.
Perhaps doing nothing was the best way to move forward. There weren't any obvious things leading back to Saphira's egg, at least nothing that any being currently stationed in Carvahall could pick up on. In this timeline Sloan had never seen any "blue stone" and Eragon was, for all intents and purposes nothing out of the usual.
The Ra'zac were also dead, and from what Roran had told him, those two had been the main instigator's of the conflict leading up to the battle for Carvahall. This of course didn't mean that the threat had been averted, but anywhere that Ra'zac and humans mingled, tragedy was sure to follow.
Crushing the warring emotions within him he decided their course.
"We move on, but precautions will have to be made".
His father nodded, but also expected him to elaborate.
"I am for all intents and purposes still hunting in the spine whilst you are visiting family. I say we fake our deaths and make these soldiers reach a dead end".
It wouldn't be difficult to make it look like he had perished somewhere in the spine. The soldiers would most likely not bat an eye, and simply think it youthful arrogance that a boy thought he could hunt for game within the spine without problems. His family might be suspicious, but he did not doubt that, they would be destroyed at his supposed death.
He felt horrible at having to make them go through that.
At the very least it wouldn't be indefinite. At some point he would reveal himself to his family, but first he and Brom had to establish some solid powerbase. As things were Galbatorix could simply fly out and capture them at his leisure, which was also why they couldn't just leave a trail of bodies wherever they went.
Roran might break his jaw at the deception, but that seemed like a small price to pay.
The simple truth was that stealth was absolutely necessary. Killing the Ra'zac seemed sort of counter intuitive to that objective, but nothing in this world could have stopped his vengeance. They had to die or his village would suffer.
But for the moment they wouldn't be able to move in the open. The king would soon know of his servant's demise if he didn't already.
He still remembered how Oromis had chastised Islanzadí for her inaction in watching over the land. His mentor had known of Eragon and Saphira's existence long before they even entered Fathren Dur, so he did not doubt that Galbatorix could pinpoint their location, if he put his mind to it. Alagaësia sang to those willing to listen, or in the kings example, those that could bend the continent to their will.
Still, he could make it extremely difficult for the king to track them. His father was a master at remaining hidden, having stayed out of the Wyrdfell's reach for decades whilst slowly destroying them all. He also doubted that Galbatorix expected them to fly straight for Vroengard, which meant that they should be out of harms reach for the time being.
The soldiers could harass and annoy the villagers of Carvahall, but he doubted that they would cause the inhabitants any lethal harm. Most men in the world were not inherent beasts, almost anyone had the potential to become remorseless killers, but most truly weren't.
If anything, he would simply make sure to scry the village multiple times a day. If it seemed as though things were about to escalate, then they could return with all haste on dragon back.
"I need to cleanse my house before we move on, the remains of Saphira's hatching still lingers and there are scrolls within that would cause questions".
He didn't need his father to elaborate. If the Magicians sent with these delegations found scrolls written in the ancient language, then all kinds of questions would be raised as to what the apparently innocent storyteller had been doing.
"I understand, and whilst you do that I'll be orchestrating my death".
The two men nodded at each other before going their separate ways. They would also have to stop by Therinsford, if to simply make it seem as though Brom had died to a stroke or something.
They'd figure it out on the way.
Urû'baen
King, usurper, traitor and savior, promising pupil or madman, he had been called many things over the years, but sitting upon his throne overlooking all the vapid nobles clamoring around like peacocks what did he care?.
None dared approach him without explicit permission, and the more intelligent ones knew he could end half the room with a flick of his finger. Shruikan would have aided his aura, but alas, the dragon did need to stretch its wings from time to time, even though it was madder than any dragon of the Forsworn.
Not that he cared of course, Shruikan was but a crude tool to be used as needed, and discarded when broken.
Luckily for the insane black dragon, his uses, though few they were, still existed.
Many of his enemies thought him mad or insane as well, and perhaps this was true to an extent. If any being lost the other half of their soul, then insanity was sure to be an option.
And what had Jarnunvösk been if not his other half.
They had truly been the best of their generation, oh how their teachers loved showing them off whenever foreign dignitaries and ambassadors arrived on Vroengard. Their skill had been unparalleled amongst the junior riders, even exceeding their seniors at times. Jarnunvösk flew as though she had been born in the air, but her intellect was what made her truly lethal. Then there was he, a prodigy with magic and blade alike. What could have stopped them?
Vrael's successor people had whispered.
They were right about that.
Hell, Jarnunvösk had even been as crystal white as Umaroth.
He fingered the pommel of Vrangr, which only caused him to reminisce about his partner.
Truly, his partner's mind was what he missed the most, an equal, if not superior to talk to and debate. If only he could have saved her Eldunarí on that fateful day.
One day he knew that they would be reunited.
His ambition was limitless, he already held more power than any being before him, and still he would go further than any had dared. Time he had in spades, what did a century matter to him? A Millennia? Time was nothing but an obstacle for lesser men.
Truly there were few if any obstacles left. None could challenge him, with the only mishap being the blue egg's disappearance. Even old Oromis hiding away in Du Weldenvarden could not fight him properly. He still remembered his talks with Formora and Kialandí as though it were yesterday. If he tried, then he could still imagine the voice of the elf, how he had boasted about crippling the old fool's ability to manipulate magic.
As he sat there in his musings a sudden feeling overcame him, a feeling that something majorly had just changed.
This sensation was immediately confirmed by a hooded figure approaching his throne. None of the chattering nobles littering the great hall noticed the man, shrouded as he was in concealment spells.
The figure stopped at a respectful distance.
A single nod of the king's head was enough for the man to approach, and hand him a sealed scroll before backing off.
Forgetting the magician he carefully opened the scroll.
A lesser man would have raised his eyes at the contents within, but he would remain in full control of his emotions, as long as Urgals weren't part of the equation.
So the Ra'zac are dead.
He had of course suspected as much when the spells binding them to him suddenly vanished several days past, but having it confirmed in a direct report was something else. He was busy most of the time, and it wasn't as though he cared much for the Ra'zac anymore. Especially not to the point of keeping tabs on them his every waking moment.
It was an unexpected development but not an unwelcome one, somehow this new dragon and rider had longer claws expected.
Or they simply had help by whatever kept the egg hidden.
Nevertheless, the Ra'zac outgrew their use the moment Thorn and Fírnen had hatched. Why use dragon hunters when one controlled the remaining dragon riders? Besides, as he had promised the dark ones long ago, their race would endure, either with the cult of Helgrind or the eggs scattered throughout the land. Still, it would have been a lot easier had they simply fulfilled their duty and brought the last female dragon to Uru'baen.
For a moment the king flirted with the idea of hunting down this rouge pair himself, but discarded the idea just as quickly.
The continent was in turmoil, due in much part to his own actions mind you, but he could not leave the governing of his realm in the hands of inferior men, much less the capital.
He had plans to carry out, research to do and rituals to perform.
With a wave of his hand the obedient magician was it at his side once again.
"Sent word to my faithful riders, their king summons them to Uru'baen.
One mile south of Therinsford
A day was all it took for them to reach Therinsford after leaving Carvahall for good this time. It still didn't sit well with Eragon having to leave his home in the hands of Galbatorix's soldiers, but Brom hadn't spoken of any tension between the foreign occupiers and the inhabitants as he was moving through the town.
That still didn't keep Eragon from scrying the town whenever possible
Like right now.
He and Saphira were hiding in the outskirts of Therinsford, whilst waiting for his father to finish business in the city. The problem was, that the time of his arrival might not add up with what the people of Carvahall had been told, but his father had reassured him that it wouldn't be a problem.
He had mumbled something about mind altering's before setting off.
So there he was, watching his home being occupied by the enemy.
"Shouldn't you focus on something else little one?"
"Always the hen mother aren't you Saphira?"
He could feel his partner make the equivalent of a draconic harrumph at his remark.
"You have developed a bad habit of dwelling too much on what is and not what will be".
He was about to respond, but noticed that Saphira had finally found the dear she had been stalking all morning. She always did get annoyed when you interrupted her in the middle of a hunt, something he could appreciate from his own time when hunting game for his family was crucial.
Not a minute later he cringed at the iron taste of blood in his mouth. Perhaps closing their bond when she was feasting on flesh would be a good idea.
"I am simply making sure nothing happens to my home, I am at peace with my past".
He knew the moment he said it that it was a lie.
"I don't think either of us can be at peace with our past yet, it is quite unprecedented"
And wasn't that the truth. They had lost everything, and now their situation felt even more hopeless than before. Killing the Ra'zac was certainly not something to scoff at, but such foes were nothing when compared to the likes of Murtagh, Durza and Galbatorix.
Or even this new rider.
Once again they had to rely on others instead of themselves. It grated on Eragon's nerves and he knew Saphira felt the same. Oh yes they were powerful, but their might was not anywhere near what was needed. He truly hoped the Eldunarya had some idea of what to do, other than to go confront Galbatorix yet again.
When the time came they would also have to seek out Oromis and Glaedr. He hoped the Illness plaguing his mentor hadn't become too crippling.
Speaking of mentors, he could feel his father approaching.
As the man entered the small camp they had set up, he once again marveled at how the old storyteller had changed during the short weeks since Eragon's appearance. Where before he had looked like someone in his sixties, the man in front of him was more akin to someone in his fourth decade. He didn't quite understand how this hadn't happened the first time around.
His father's explanation had clarified some.
"I cannot afford to look like some beggar, the circumstances with which we find ourselves in are so vastly different than what you have told me. Appearances are important, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You, the first free rider in a century must look every inch a great warrior of old, and I as the bane of the Forsworn can't be seen like some common riffraff".
None of them quite knew whether this meant his father retained his immortality from the bond, or if he had simply been gifted with exceptionally long life.
It wasn't as though there were any riders at the moment that they could ask.
He'd ask Oromis when the chance presented itself.
What he did know was that his father looked quite formidable when sparring. His movements were more energetic and his strikes more vigorous, especially with Aren fueling him, which was the case in almost every bout they had. It might have seemed like a waste to use the stores of energy on simple sparring, but Eragon was for once the one teaching his father something. Something that would make up for the use of Aren's stores.
He really hoped that Oromis and Glaedr weren't going to skin him alive for teaching Brom how to take energy from his surroundings.
It was truly one of the few aces they possessed against Galbatorix. Oromis didn't believe the man knew the technique, and Eragon didn't doubt him. From Murtagh's stories the man still consumed meat, and he had never heard stories of the king taking vast strolls through the land for extended periods of time. It was one of the his few weaknesses, how he depended on the broken Eldunarya for his power.
The eating meat part was really starting to get on his father's nerves it seemed. He had noticed how the senior rider would sometimes cringe when eating some of their salted rations. Eragon simply sustained himself with direct energy transfers when none of the food was to his liking.
He had gathered some interesting ingredients from the forest, perhaps a good soup would help-
"It went off without a hitch".
Remembering that his father had returned he turned his attention to the man.
"I didn't expect anything less, but you must be tired" Was the cheek reply with extra focus on tired. The older man did get annoyed when you insinuated these things.
His father's now brown eyebrows rose as he took in his son.
"I think it's time for another sparring session son".
"It would be my pleasure"
It always was.
As they readied themselves he still couldn't help but feel awkward as he drew Zar'roc. The blade was great, there was no doubt about that, but to him nothing would ever compare to Brisingr. His father still used a normal steel sword, warded and enchanted so as not to break against the superior bright steel. Any blow with their respective strength would still be enough to break bones, even with the edges warded to complete dullness.
They entered a small clearing with no trees and plenty of space to maneuver. For a second they just stood in front of each other, assessing, searching.
He hadn't asked, but Eragon was quite sure that his father knew how to see his foes with great precision and intuition.
Brom's boots shifted in the dirt, and Eragon was on him before anyone could do as much as blink.
It had quickly become apparent that he was physically stronger than his father, probably due to the Agaetí Blödhren, even though he still looked very much human. Still, his father would never go down without a fight. It was quite easy to see how Brom had defeated stronger opponents such as Morzan or other forsworn.
He was incredibly creative and his ingenuity was just downright scary at times.
One time, when they had allowed a bit of magic in their duel, the man had made whirlwind of sticks and leaves dance around Eragon, blinding his vision, all the while still attacking him. What was incredible was that he had achieved this feat with the simple word wind.
That man could find a weakness in anyone's defenses given enough time.
The problem was also that in essence their duels became akin to a war of attrition. Aren simply had so much energy stored that his father could just outwear him. Because of this, and his unwillingness to draw on the meager reserves stored in Zar'roc, Eragon had to finish the fights quickly.
Quickly was a relative term of course, he had excellent stamina and could keep up with Brom for a long time.
They continued trading blows, the midday sun shining down upon them through the trees.
Eragon was usually on the offensive, raining a flurry of precise but powerful blows down upon the older man, but his father always proved elusive. Sometimes it felt as though Brom were in multiple places at once, striking left, yet coming from the right, but Eragon's own defenses were impeccable as well.
Seeing an opening, Eragon sidestepped a slash to the body, whilst stepping inside of Brom's guard with lightning speed and before his father could react, a hunting knife was pointed at his throat.
They stood there for a moment, Eragon silently basking in his victory.
"Impressive, but it seems your gamble didn't quite work".
They were very close to each other so Eragon's incredulous look was probably hard to miss.
"What do you mean?"
He felt metal touching the back of his neck.
"Oh".
Brom's own dagger was at this throat.
They detangled from each other with his father shrugging his shoulder. "I was rather overextended, especially as I missed that last blow, but you could have probably punished my mistake in some less dramatic way".
"No doubt, but I was feeling adventurous". A smile was on his lips as he replied, he always did feel better after a good spar, or just any exercise for that matter.
An eye roll was his father's response as he went to sit by their now extinguished campfire. "Just don't feel too adventurous when we face this Durza that you have been telling me about".
He's right about that
Sobering up Eragon nodded as he went to sit on the opposite side of the campfire.
A sharpening stone appeared in his father's hands.
He couldn't help but think back upon the time after Murtagh took Zar'roc from him. He carefully held the aforementioned sword in his hand, marveling at the bright steel. A sword that would never dull or break, truly incredible when one could appreciate it. Much better than that crude falchion he had used after the burning plains.
Looking at the blade he couldn't help but think of Murtagh, which in turn led him to think of Morzan and his mother.
The question was out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. He really did to practice control.
"How could my mother ever love someone like Morzan?"
His father looked up at him, his pipe noticeably gone for the moment.
"Does it matter? In the end she saw him for what he was".
"Of course it matters, to me it does atleast, you speak of a woman who always helped others in need, but how could such a woman ever love one such as Morzan".
His father sighed, yet it seemed as though he had relented. "We didn't speak much on such matters, but look at it from her perspective, the older Selena became, the more she loathed the stale life of her home". He smiled "A real spitfire, that was who she was. She wanted to go out and see the world, and not just die in the same corner of the world that she had lived in".
He took a deep breath. "And then one day Morzan arrives in Carvahall, how they came to talk I know not, but talk they did". He looked upon Eragon "Selena saw a way to escape her dull fate and I'm sure Morzan felt your mother's potential at Gramarye, he simply decided to twist it to his own ends". Eragon was listening closely. "Besides son, you need to understand that Selena was young and naïve to the world".
He seemed reflective as he continued.
"Morzan, for all that I like to criticize him did not look like a brutish Urgal, and could be charming when he felt like it, I'm sure it was all too easy to convince her to leave with him".
Unbidden memories of Oromis telling him about Brom and Morzan's abusive friendship came to the forefront of his mind.
"Your mother was not a bad person Eragon. From what you've told me, your brother shared, and still shares the same curse that she did. Perhaps in time Selena's other son will find the means to break free like his mother did".
"Changing ones true name to that extent is no easy feat father".
The storyteller smiled whilst looking at Eragon.
"Yet I'm sure your true self along with Saphira's have changed after arriving here in ways you do not yet comprehend no?"
"Touché"
Speaking of Saphira, the dragoness had made it back to the camp after her hunt. There were still a few hours until sundown so they had plenty of time to reach the coast.
Rising from his position he began gathering their necessities, which few they possessed anyways, and put them into some saddlebags which Brom had procured.
"We should be able to reach the western coast before sundown. We'll set up camp for the night and then tomorrow".
He took a deep breath as if to calm himself.
"Then tomorrow we'll be off to Vroengard".
A/N
Thanks for all your kind reviews and again people are more than welcome to criticize. I am a bit worried that I'm creating an echo chamber where all I receive is positivity, but alas we'll see how it goes.
So two chapters in one month, absolutely incredible by my standards. I do hope the quality did not suffer, but I just really wanted to write something.
So we also got a short look into what Galbatorix is doing and thinking. The idea of him not showing up at all until the ending like the OG just didn't sit well with me, and we'll definitely see some more of him when he interacts with Murtagh and Arya.
As I am writing this I noticed that this might seem like a bit of a filler chapter, but I thought it important to show what was happening in Carvahall rather than just skipping straight to Vroengard.
On too other things. Some have asked whether Arya and Murtagh could retain some form of memories from the past, and in short I don't find it likely. The concept is certainly interesting, but in my mind this story is more about the world reacting to Eragon and Saphira with their superior knowledge if that makes sense.
Also I made Janunvösk white in color, but I was notified that Paolini made a tweet claiming she was purple, but I cba to change it. I sort of liked the idea of Galbatorix having been a white rider.
Thank you if you've read this far, I greatly appreciate it.