A bit of a breather chapter as Eragon and Saphira get their bearings a bit more. You know, one last respite before Eragon is thrown out of the frying pen and into the fire.
Awakening to his second full day trapped as a dragon, Eragon was relieved to discover his exhaustion had greatly subsided. He could think more clearly than he had since the morning the fire had taken him, without agony or a heavy head clogging his thoughts. His insatiable stomach ordered him up by the time the servants entered with breakfast.
Eragon had graduated from scarcely a person by duine-arach standards to an invalid best kept hidden away. The servants placed down breakfast without even looking his way, like they disturbed his self-imposed solitude by doing so. Not even Erna lingered long, save to inform him Oisin would soon be in to resume their lessons.
Eragon growled as he tore into his breakfast. This state makes me a cripple to the weredragons, doesn't it? I can't speak aloud or throw around their strange magic. What can he possibly have to show me today?
Saphira purposefully ruffled her wings. Eragon's twitched limply against his sides. He was still working to fold them properly when Oisin made his appearance.
"My prince," their tutor said neutrally, for once standing tall in his dragon form. "I am relieved to discover the Lord Moon most wise in his judgement. You do your blood proud."
His neck rippled oddly. Distantly he realized his hackles were raised. I was under the impression my existence was most inconvenient to a family that has never deigned speak to me, he answered icily, for Oisin's mind was open and honest.
Amber eyes studied him. "You stand in your first dragon-time, my prince, within a body you have not held two full days. Do you truly wish to face any of them until you have full control of yourself?"
Eragon conceded this grudgingly. He was already less than dirt beneath their paws. If surviving the full moon hadn't rankled them enough than mastering the body it had forced upon him.
Oisin's gaze flicked from his limp wings to Saphira. "When did you gain control of your wings?"
As a hatchling, she answered tersely.
"Too young to properly remember it?" he prompted. She nodded reluctantly. Patient eyes fell upon Eragon. "Daonna-arach shift from the womb. A babe cannot learn to walk in both forms until they can fully furl their wings, after weeks and weeks of building up the muscle. And your wings did not exist until two days ago, my prince."
Eragon's eyes boggled. He remembered how clumsy Saphira had been out of the egg. Dragons were sexually mature at six months, an age where most human infants were not even crawling.
Oisin's snout twitched. Eragon realized he was biting back a grin. "I presume you are eager to catch up, my prince?"
Whatever it takes.
"Will is how we impose our needs on the world around us. It does far more than pour water or imprison a rebellious soul." Amber eyes searched his own. "If you consent, my prince, I can facilitate in mastering the basics. Fighting my Will on it might break your wings."
Could you not show me how to do it? Saphira countered at Eragon's hot tide of refusal.
"Child, do you have an ounce more of control in more than breathing fire?" Oisin retorted firmly. "Or might your wild magic cripple him in your zeal to help?"
The she-dragon snarled. Eragon growled as he stepped between them. Enough! Do what you must, Oisin. I'm not wasting weeks on this if it can be avoided.
"My prince, your Will is my own."
A large, gentle paw grabbed his right wing. Eragon bared his teeth in surprise at the fire that surged across point of contact. It was much like the force on Doru Araeba that had overwhelmed him into unconsciousness or onto the floor of the prison. Only this power flowed with him. He did not pull away when Oisin gently rose his wing from the floor and guided it against his side. This time it stayed there.
Long used to the demands of magic training Eragon did not buckle at the wave of weariness that washed over him when Oisin withdrew his paw. He inspected the wing critically. For all it trembled slightly it stayed where it belonged. The arm of his wing looked stronger, the muscles where the membranes joined his back noticeably more robust than the left.
Oisin repeated the same to his left. Once Eragon could fold both wings he ordered them to unfurl them as if for flight. He snarled at the unfamiliar sensation of throwing out his wings so wide. The base of them trembled, the outer edges flopping for all he struggled to hold them up.
"Once more, my prince."
Oisin guided his wings out, Will surging across their link. It took two more rounds for Eragon to fully extend them without shaking. They still felt like lead the last time he furled them against his sides.
"How do you feel?"
Eragon considered his wings with weary satisfaction and then frowned at the final appendage that dragged limply behind him. Rigorous training under Brom and Oromis knew he had energy enough for one last push. Once more, Oisin. Let's get it over with.
His tail was at least not so intricate his wings. It took only one for Oisin to declare himself grudgingly satisfied. Fine control for flight came through experience and personal preference, not brute force.
Saphira perked up at the implication their prison might not be so permanent. Will the Righ take mercy upon us then?
"The Righ is always most merciful," Oisin deflects easily, whilst ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. "The terms of your accommodations can be discussed later, when your bonded and I are in a better mood for it."
With a grumble Saphira let the matter go. Oisin retired for an early lunch. So did Eragon, who devoured the majority of the dishes delivered to their room.
The nap afterward was far more pleasant when he could properly coil his tail around himself.
Saphira politely declined to join him. She perched on the balcony to watch the comings and goings of the castle, too penned up to sleep.
Eragon tried hang for solidarity but crashed into sleep anyway.
Saphira was close to damn near crawling the walls when Oisin returned in the afternoon. Eragon startled awake from his nap, rising with more dignity than he had just the day before.
"Good afternoon, my prince. How do you feel?"
Better, Eragon answered. Thank you.
"And you, child?"
Saphira blinked before she realized Oisin was indeed speaking to her. Eager to hear if the circumstances of our stay have changed, she answered diplomatically. Arya would have been proud of her for not threatening to actually crawl the walls if not granted a modicum more freedom.
"I am pleased to inform you the Righ has eased both of your restrictions. You are both allowed near full reign of Crown Castle, save for those areas too sacred for casual use and the royal apartments claimed by other members of the clan. If you are up to it I can take you on a tour now."
Aye, Saphira agreed immediately. At once.
She bristled when Oisin blinked. If she was Eragon's bonded than it was well damn within her rights to make demands of him too. But their stuffy tutor only turned and escorted them out the door. Saphira hesitated on the threshold, still half-convinced the Righ was happy to make her drop dead if it meant doing away with the one true dragon in all his domain.
But she did not. Eragon followed her with only minimum hesitation. He was still learning how to both balance himself on all fours and move at a decent speed.
Oisin first led them up the stairs, waving his tail in the direction of where Caedmon and Myrna's quarters were, and then higher up where the Righ dwelt. They stopped at a respectful distance and of course did not press forward. On their level were chambers reserved for the rest of the clan; Berach and his mate Imke, and those for their son Niall. They primarily resided across the channel on Green Isle.
"Prince Amleth has quarters next to yours," Oisin said, voice purposefully level. "It is his right as the son of... the old heir apparent. By the arrangement between the Right and Lady Soraid he is a Knoth. Beyond his quarters are those of his sire Loic, the... prince consort. Those are his right as father of Prince Caedmon and mate of the old heir apparent. They are seldom used."
Eragon paused at the possibility of sleeping so close to his half-uncle and the mate his grandmother had left behind. Saphira bolstered him up with a bit of dark glee. This is your birthright, stone-head, what the gods-damned Righ has granted you. You can no more help your birth than they can theirs. Never shy away at those that might think you beneath them. Rub it in their damned faces.
There were more empty chambers on the royal floors, ones Oisin passed by without comment. Saphira inhaled curiously. She scented nothing beyond dust and stale lye for scrubbing the floors.
She and Eragon had first acted under the assumption that weredragon clans had been as large and thriving as the wild dragons clan of old. That is why they had assumed Beline to have been younger and disgraced daughter, not the Righs only gods damned child. Counting her R-.., Eragon, the Ruadhluan numbered but seven.
With a shiver Saphira breezed past the empty chambers. Obviously Crown Castle had once held far more of their royal clan, or had once planned to do so. What the seven hells had happened to them all?
Below the royal levels were those for visiting nobles and more distant relations. They were shown a grand feasting hall that could host a hundred dragons and larger baths. Oisin primly informed them their chamber was one of the few in all of Crown Castle to have its own private amenities. It only enforced how suspiciously high Eragon was on a succession that should have sooner executed them both before ever granting him a chance.
Crown Castle's belly held cellars with great barrels of beer and cold lockers of hanging meat and sausages. Down here was where the sheep where herded on the Long Nights but the outcropping itself held few animals. Their true stables and festival grounds were across the channel on Green Isle.
Then why live here at all, if there is surely another castle on Green Isle? Saphira asked.
Oisin drew himself up, scandalized by the notion. "Crown Castle is a wonder unto itself, the home of Sparr Ruadh since before Amalia granted him name and purpose. Their descendants labored over the centuries to transform this into a fortress like no other, the first true home in the Isles man and dragon alike might share. Home Castle was the seat of the Hjorrs, but remains primarily built for men. Not dragons."
Eragon perked up. They knew Amalia as the first queen of the weredragons, the alleged daughter of the moon. She had fallen by the wayside in their lessons, when Oisin had realized how little they retained on his lectures on lineage. Instead he had pounded more of the language into their head.
Oisin sighed at the impending bombardment of questions. "Can you hold your curiosity until you can see her for yourself?"
Saphira exchanged an intrigued glance with him. Perhaps weredragon magic had a way to capture likenesses like a fairth could.
Oisin led them through a warren of hallways, scarce occupied. Saphira knew they were not alone. The lower levels hummed with activity. The scents of a hundred souls, some faintly familiar, hung on every corner. Just as she listened she knew the weredragons listened back, scurrying out of their way long before they made it down the hall or doubling back behind them. The few weredragons they met were servants who bowed deeply, not meeting their eyes and throwing themselves into their work like they did not exist. Saphira spitefully wondered if the scent of true dragon offended them.
Eragon's brow furrowed as they reached another stair and climbed up. The halls on the upper levels were large and carefully planned out. Deeper in the castle the halls were narrower, their floors more natural stone than deliberate. Yet, for how high they climbed, Oisin turned to lead the way into a hallway, oddly narrow and winding. Where most common areas were adorned in tapestries or stone carvings the walls here were blank, no matter how many braziers burned bright.
The hall was silent. Solemnly so.
Where are we? Eragon murmured.
"The Dawn Hall, my prince," Oisin murmured, hobbling on three legs when he brought up a paw to make an odd motion before his heart. "It is one route of several down to the temple, but the most sacred. This is the path Amalia took to seal herself from the wider world, so that her spirit might soar in her sire's stead. This is the path the Righ or Banrigh walks still, every Long Night. Gods willing, this is where they rise to greet the day anew."
Saphira reflexively flinched back at the eyes that suddenly glared down at her as they rounded a bend. Belatedly she saw the Righ, who loomed large as life, was merely a mural on the wall. He stood taller than she had ever seen him, his hide less scarred and eyes only fierce, not maddened. She wondered which had broken him, his daughter's unknown betrayal or the loss of his mate.
At his paws stood a giant of a man. She gawked until she confirmed it was truly the Righ's human form, proud and in his prime. Like this he looked something like her hazy recollections of Garrow, though with features far sharper. She recognized Murtagh in the intensity of his steely stare. His right hand brandished a blade bright as starlight. He was depicted in mid-stride, as if about to hand the blade off to an unknown successor. His other hand reached backward.
Behind the Righ stood another pair in much his image, though the human features were somewhat wider and the scales of the dragon a deep, dark violet.
"Raghnall," Oisin supplied quietly. "Your great-great-grandfather, my prince."
Eragon gawked up at another dragon he stood in the shadow of. Until their arrival in these damned lands he had not known the names of all his human great-grandparents on Selena's. The humans of Carvahall had been focused on their present and not the hazy days of elders long dead.
Saphira hummed at the female weredragon Raghnall received his own blade from. She was an, her eyes bright and glacial, and her human form even fiercer. I think I would have liked her.
"Taiva," Oisin answered. "The last Banrigh."
Taiva had succeeded her mother before her. Where the other dragons surged forth in fierce confidence this Banrigh was bowed. For all she marched forward her mural captured her looking partly back at the Righ before her.
"Sirona was not born to the clan. She was a distant cousin, granddaughter of a younger princess. When Prince Sioltach fell in battle on the Long Night, King Arran chose to follow him with the dawn." Oisin made another gesture with his paw, this time as if to throw something away. "We are blessed Sirona did not set with her mate and her firstborn. It was she who reforged the royal line, when her lesser cousins threatened to rip the realm apart in their quarrel."
Saphira reeled with distant sympathy. To lose both a mate and a child, to make a new life afterward? She did not think she would ever have the strength to do so.
There was no one closer? Eragon asked, sick at the thought.
"Only of degrees just as distant as her own. Vidar and Bereda were exceptionally blessed with children. Their descendants were... not so fortunate. Those of your blood are carry Triath Luan strongest in them, my prince, and so are targets who still wish to desire him. Beyond the Ruadhluans, your closest cousins on the royal side are through Sirona's other children."
D-Did they all assassinate each other!?
Oisin's eyes flickered guiltily to the murals. "Some did, my prince. Most fell to the Serpents."
Down they were led through the faces of the dead. Saphira gaped at their number. Oisin assured them these were simply the true leaders of the clan. Those that could not even survive one Long Night without getting themselves killed were not counted at all. Three were siblings. Together they had not lasted a year.
After what felt like millennium, where the ceiling swooped uncomfortably low and the path slanted down into a steep tunnel, the weredragon finally stopped before the last in the hall. She was white as moonlight in either form and her eyes burned like stars.
"Amalia Luan," Oisin murmured, bowing his head low and deep to her. "You will not find the kings of the Sea Folk in this castle, for they ruled over men alone. It was from Amalia we were birthed, and with Amalia's line we'll fall, stars forbid."
From the Dawn Hall they veered down into the Lord Moon's temple. Rather than gape up at the idol itself Saphira peered at the darkness between his paws. May we go down there?
"No," Oisin said sharply. "The catacombs are for the sleepers alone. We descend only when they must be woken."
Ah, Eragon said. We see. Are... there any sleeping now?
"The queen consort was the last. She rose many years ago."
Saphira shuddered. It was one thing to bury a body rather than simply giving it to the flames. Doing both was another damn thing entirely.
From the temple she was damn ready to be brought back to their rooms. Instead Oisin directed them to another storage room, cavernous and completely empty.
What is this?
"Your classroom, my prince. Until I deem you ready for open flight."
Eragon gaped. I-I...
Oisin huffed. "My prince, did you expect to simply push you off the balcony and let instinct assert itself?"
It's not so far removed from you taught him how to shapeshift, Saphira growled.
The weredragon's eyes flickered. At least he had the humility not to argue against it. "Dragon or duine-arach, no one is born knowing how to fly. Crown Isle is... not the most ideal location for one of your size to start. But here is where the Righ wills you and here you shall fly." He turned back to Saphira. "Child, you are obviously capable of handling yourself in the air. You are free to fly within Crown Castle's vicinity. If you heed the guards that warn you when you reach the distance of your order."
Saphira bristled at the idea of not finding freedom in the sky and even more so at the prospect she'd abandon Eragon. But her wings ached at the thought of not flying at all. She grudgingly agreed to the terms.
Oisin rounded on Eragon, still flabbergasted at flying lessons. "Obviously, my prince, the Righ's command against any use of the elf tongue stands unchanged."
I can't even speak right now, he pointed out flatly.
"Aye," Oisin agreed mildly. "And the magic binding your halves together is without words, the same Will Amalia used to bind flame and water, earth and air. To rip that sorcery through your soul would be... catastrophic."
They shuddered at the vivid image his words painted, for Eragon's first transformation was vivid for them both. For that to split apart at the seams...
Aye, he agreed meekly.
It was not quite the equinox and the late summer breeze off the sea was most welcome. It was perfect weather for a careless flight in the open sea south or to bask on that islet where seals were so plump and plentiful. Instead Myrna sipped her tea from her chambers, the door Willed to let in light and a full view of the sky beyond without anyone outside able to peer in.
Two dragons, little more than children, wheeled in circles around the castle. The blue female flew with admirable grace when one took her true age into account. Her companion followed far more uncertainly, wobbly in his flight and not quite able to keep up unless she deliberately slowed down.
"Clumsy bastard," Caedmon grumbled.
"He's been duine-arach for less than two weeks," she chided. "Where were you at two weeks, my brave infant prodigy?"
"He's no babe," he growled. His amber eyes tracked what quickly became apparent as a game of tag. "He's, what, sixteen already? Niall must be dying to rip his throat out."
Myrna sighed. Niall was a brave boy, who never shied away from all the expectations his parents and the whole damn realm thrust upon his shoulders. He always surged forward to meet them where so many other might break beneath the pressure. Yet in his race to catch up to Amleth, to prove himself a man before the Righ died, he had grown up reckless where any threats to his status were involved.
"They should be allies," she protested sadly. "They are the only Ruadhluans close to the other's age, the closest either shall ever have to a brother."
In another life it might have been so. Not here, considering what Eragon was, instead of a true-born child.
In another life he might have been theirs.
As they made another round Myrna's eye studied him sharply. With no other dragon blood to draw from this face of his had been pulled near entirely from Beline. In time he would grow into the mighty build Caedmon and the Righ shared, perhaps the same strong jaw. Yet the sleekness to his horns and overall face was all Standa. He had almost as much of Marit in him as Amleth did, right down to the unchanged eyes.
There was not a drop of Knoth in him. Loic had no part in his creation.
"You can't hide from him forever, Caedmon."
"I'm not hiding from him," he groused, turning his head from the chase to bury deeper in her lap. "I'm a crown prince. Brats in arachtide aren't worth my time."
She buried her fingers into his golden hair, gentle and relentless. "Arachtide breaks, love. Then you're left with a nephew all the realm wants to eat alive. It's up to you to keep him from that."
"My grandfather adopted the brat!"
"And you're closer in proximity," she countered sweetly. "The closest thing he has to a father."
Caedmon's eyes snapped up to her, hands transforming into claws as they sank into skirt. Myrna rolled her eyes and turned away, calling forth her fire. Her dress faded away with the rest of her form. Her mate yelped indignantly, rolling out of the way. He could not escape her tail whacking him in the head.
"I've higher priorities!" he growled after her. "Like making sure we don't all die!"
"Gods willing, there will always be Long Nights, love," she called without turning away. "You might only ever get one nephew!"
Rather than interrupt their game, she left through the door. They were children still. Let them have their bliss before another Long Night came down upon them. Before Eragon's arachtide broke, and the Righ had no more excuses to throw him to the ravenous wolves of petty politics.
My twin nephews started building up the basic muscles around two months. It took the oldest ten damn months to get up on his hands and knees. There was A LOT of frustrated crawling because he wanted to crawl and stand but didn't have the muscles to do so. Three months after that and the little guy is zooming around like hell on wheels. His brother isn't quite so fat, and so preferred to roll around until he actually learned how to army crawl XD
Eragon has three limbs that did not literally exist three days ago. He got extra help to catch up to what dragons and daonna-arach both start learning out of the egg/womb - tail and wing control.
Duine-arach taboo prevents mated pairs from sharing grandparents from any common clan - so no first cousin marriages. As second cousin to Sirona was as close to Arran as legally acceptable. And thankfully Ruadhluan enough herself to take up the clan name when he and their only son died. This was the last time the whole damn main line went extinct. It was not the first.