Chapter 4: Drunk and Disorderly.

Wearing only his breeches Eragon, who had woke up a little over an hour ago, was focused on the long, arduous and rather boring task of oiling and cleaning Saphira's saddle.

Something monotonous and repetitive like this was a good way to calm himself down, plus it needed cleaning and provided him with something to do whilst he thought, mostly about anything that was slightly more interesting than cleaning the saddle, which included just about everything.

There was a knock at the door, but Eragon ignored it.

But the most important reason for why he was bothering to do this was that Saphira had bugged him into doing it because 'lying in bed staring at the ceiling is just being lazy, better to do something useful and productive instead'.

Two more, far louder knocks were also ignored.

'I mean how dare she lecture me about being lazy' he thought rubbing at one particular stain, Urgal blood probably 'I've been doing this for over an hour and awake longer than that and she is still lying on her pillow, with one eye half open. How the hell can she accuse me of being lazy?'

A fist pounding loudly on the door finally made him pause long enough to shout "It's open."

Orik entered, muttering darkly to himself, Eragon smirked with amusement and nodded to him, but didn't stop until he was finished with his current strap.

"Something up?" he asked, grinning as Orik glared at him.

"You knew it was me all along, didn't you?"

"Of course not" said Eragon, his grin somewhat giving him away.

Orik grumbled again but it died down quickly "Are you well?" he asked now, looking around to Eragon's back, more specifically the great scar that marred it, with worry.

"I'm alright."

"Good" Orik wasn't too convinced "We all need our strength. I came partly to see to your health, and also because Hrothgar wishes to speak with you, if you're free."

"I will be once I finish with this" he gestured to the saddle, and got right back to work.

"Want some help?"

"Sure" with the dwarf's added assistance they soon had the saddle cleaned and looking as good as new, if not better, aside from the various bloodstains and gashes on the leather, but Eragon felt they gave it character and a story, it was no simple saddle but rather… a saddle with some blood and tears on/in it.

"So what does Hrothgar want?" he asked, pulling a tunic on over his head and grabbing his twin swords from where he had tossed them to the ground earlier the previous night. The pair were lucky not to have been stabbed through the stone floor given the frustrations he had faced yesterday

"Just to speak."

Saphira, who had finally gotten up, strolled over and greeted Orik with a friendly growl, well a growl as friendly as a growl can get.

"Morning to you as well" Orik responded with a bow.

"So let's go" Eragon said with all his usual lack of enthusiasm.

"Aye" Orik led the pair out of their room and to one of the four main corridors of Tronjheim's, towards its central chamber and the two mirroring stairs that curved underground to the dwarf king's throne room.

However, before they reached the central chamber, Orik turned and led them down a small flight of stairs, small and somewhat of a squeeze for Saphira, quite big for everyone else.

Eragon quickly realised that Orik had taken a side passage so that he could avoid seeing the wreckage of the Isidar Mithrim, which Eragon both could and couldn't understand, having seen the wreck himself he thought it looked awesome, massive jagged great chunks of gemstone lying about, it was brilliant.

Perhaps, to those who appreciated such beauty, not as appealing as the Isidar Mithrim was in its original form, but still rather spectacular.

They paused before the granite doors marked with the seven pointed crown that provided entry into the throne room.

Fourteen armoured dwarves, seven on each side of the entrance, pounded on the floor simultaneously with the hafts of their mattocks. Though it showcased their synchronisation Eragon didn't understand why they didn't just shout to Hrothgar that it was Eragon and Saphira, much simpler and more effective.

Eragon nodded to Orik then advanced alone, Saphira didn't count she was his mind partner, past the old statues, hirna as the dwarves called them, of the ancient to previous dwarven kings, to where the current one sat upon his black throne.

And then he stood, casual and disrespectful as ever, before the enthroned king, who sat with the might war hammer Volund lain across his mail covered legs.

"Hello."

The dwarf inclined his silver haired head in response to Eragon's greeting, the rubies of his gold helm glinting as he did so, shining like flecks of hot iron.

"Shadeslayer" he said, their gazes finally meeting "Welcome to my hall, again. You have done much since last we met. And, so it seems, I have been proven wrong about Zar'roc. Morzan's blade will be welcome in Tronjheim so long as you bear it, although, it seems you have already chosen another blade of ill repute" he gazed darkly at Durza's sword, which rested at Eragon's side.

"Nice to see you as well" Eragon responded blandly.

Hrothgar grunted a chuckle "Aye. We wish you to keep the armour you wore in the battle of Farthen Dur. Even now our most skilled smiths are repairing it. The dragon armour is being treated likewise, and when it is restored, Saphira may use it as long as she wishes, or until she outgrows it. This is the least we can do to show our gratitude. If it weren't for the war with Galbatorix there would be feasts and celebrations in your name... but those must wait until a more appropriate time."

Eragon nodded, distracted by something he had only just remembered "That reminds me, I have to retract that screw you, that armour did save my lift about fifty times. Anyways, thanks."

Hrothgar smiled at this, apparently used to Eragon's attitude "I'm afraid we cannot linger on pleasantries though. I am besieged by the clans with that I do one thing or another about Ajihad's successor. When the Council of Elder's proclaimed yesterday that they would support Nasuada, it created an uproar the likes of which I haven't seen since I ascended to the throne. The chiefs have to decide whether to accept Nasuada or to look for another candidate. Most have concluded that Nasuada should lead the Varden, but I wish to know where you stand on this, Eragon, before I lend my word to either side. The worst thing a king can do is look foolish."

Eragon nodded and considered the question "I'm supporting Nasuada, she'll be much the same as her father, this I assure you. And you should do the same" he said calmly, though unusually seriously, for him "The Varden can't afford to fight amongst themselves or with the dwarves right now, and there are enough people trying to crush us into dust without creating more."

"Oei" Hrothgar leaned back "You suggestion speaks of wisdom, but it does raise a question. Do you believe Nasuada will be a wise leader, or are there other motives for choosing her?"

'It's a test' Saphira warned 'He wants to know why we've backed her.'

'I noticed. I'm not stupid Saphira.'

'Really? That is something that I, little one, did not notice.'

Eragon gave Saphira the finger before answering "There are always other motives. But if you've ever met Nasuada you'll know she is wise and canny beyond her years, not to mention hot. She'll be a good leader."

"And that is why you support her?"

"Of course, I like my leaders strong, powerful, smart and sexually attractive... no offense" he said realising how the dwarf king could take the comment "or compliment" he added realising how else the dwarf king could take the comment.

Hrothgar frowned, shaking his head in disapproval, but the thin smile on his face betrayed his amusement "As usual you speak your mind without fear. Saying what you please, when you please, and how you please. It is a gift Shadeslayer, one you should try not to lose" he finished, letting a grin break through, having concluded that Eragon had been joking, mostly.

"I won't" Eragon assured him "I've seen Nasuada strength with my own two eyes" he continued, poking at each of his crimson eye in turn "She will not bend or break, nor bow to the wishes of any one group, only to the majority. And as a leader that is kind of her job."

"Good" Hrothgar said a few moments later "I'm glad. Too much talk lately has been concerned about individual power instead of what is right and good. One cannot watch such idiocy and not be angry."

"True."

A long silence fell over the pair, one that quickly had Eragon bouncing on his heels and fidgeting with his hands.

'Eragon stop that, it's unbecoming.'

'But I'm bored!' Eragon complained, whining at her.

'Then talk about something, don't act like an impatient child.'

"So what about the Dragonhold" there was something he half wanted to know about, thank the gods "Will a new floor be put down?"

Hrothgar's face turned mournful, in fact he looked close to tears "Much talk is needed before that step can be taken" he said sorrowfully "It was a terrible deed what Saphira and Arya did. Necessary, perhaps, but terrible. Ah, it might have been better if the Urgals had overrun us before Isidar Mithrim was ever broken. The heart of Tronjheim has been shattered, as has our own."

Hrothgar placed a fist over his breast, where his heart beat within, then relaxed the hand and reached down to clasp Volund comfortingly.

'What a load of piss, a big shiny gem was shattered, bad yes, but they, notice, are still alive, what is wrong with these people?!'

'Eragon...'

Saphira sounded hesitant to ask and Eragon thought he could feel something very odd, regret 'Yes, my dear' he said in his best faux charming voice.

'I need you help' Eragon blinked in real surprise as actual sorrow and regret entered his mind from hers 'Ask Hrothgar if the dwarves can reconstruct the Isidar Mithrim out of the shards?'

Eragon nodded and relayed the question.

Hrothgar muttered something in his own tongue, before speaking in the human language "The skill we have, but what of it? The task would take months, or years, and the end result would be a ruined mockery of the beauty that once graced Tronjheim! It is an abomination I will not sanction."

'Now tell him this: If the Isidar Mithrim were put together again, with not one piece missing, I believe I could make it whole once more.'

Eragon completely ignored the dwarf king and turned to look right at Saphira 'Saphira, the amount of magic that would take, I might not even have enough' his strength, in terms of magic, surpassed Saphira's own, however his body failed to put it into physical strength or stamina. But Saphira remained steadfast in her decision 'Are you certain? This means a lot to him, and I don't want to give him false hope, only to crush it, not on something like this Saphira, pathetically insignificant though it may be, AND' he raised a finger and stopped her from speaking immediately 'think before you answer. Can you really do it?'

She stared at him long and hard as she thought 'I can little one' it was a whole ten minutes later that she answered.

He searched her for any doubt, finding only the tiniest smidgen 'Alright.'

"Reconstruct the stone" said Eragon, turning to look straight at the patient king, along with Saphira "And Saphira will make it whole once more. The heart of Tronjheim will shine again."

Hrothgar stared at them in shock, not speaking, until he was finally brought out of it when Eragon started humming a jaunty tune to himself "Is it possible? Not even the elves might attempt such a feat."

"She will do it. It will be her gift to the dwarves" he said, adding his confidence to her own.

Hrothgar turned to gaze to Saphira and bowed, he actually bowed "Then we will rebuild Isidar Mithrim, no matter if it takes a hundred years. We will assemble a frame for the gem and set each piece in its original place. Not a single chip will be forgotten. Even if we must break the large pieces to move them, it will be done with all our skill in working stone, so that no dust or flecks are lost. You will come then, when we are finished, and heal the Star Rose."

"We will come" Eragon promise "You have our word as Dragon and Shade."

Hrothgar laughed and wiped a joyful tear from his eye, a smile split his face, like a great crack on a granite wall "Such joy you have given me, Saphira. I feel once more a reason to rule and live. If you do this, dwarves everywhere will honour your name for uncounted generations. Go now with my blessing while I spread tidings among the clans. And do not feel bound to wait upon my announcement, for no dwarf should be denied this news, convey it to all whom you meet. May the halls echo with the jubilation of our race."

With a nod the pair left, leaving the still smiling king sat upon his throne, and exited the throne room into the hall.

"Well, how did it go?" asked Orik, eyeing them.

"Pretty well, Saphira's going to fix the Star Rose."

"Oh, is that so" said Orik following in step with Eragon as he walked "Well that's good."

'I give it five seconds' Eragon betted.

'Nay, little one, at least ten' was Saphira's counter.

Seven seconds later Orik pulled to a sudden stop "I'm sorry, but did you just say that..." one look at Eragon amused face was all the answer he needed.

He dropped to his knees and kissed the floor before Saphira. When he rose there was a bright grin on his face and he clasped Eragon's arm saying "That is... unbelievable, can you actually do it?"

"Wouldn't say that" Eragon warned "Dragons are prideful creatures, you know."

"I do not doubt your abilities" said Orik quickly waving his hands in a pacifying manner in Saphira's direction "It is only that, truly?"

"Truly" the rider confirmed.

"A wonder indeed" Orik's smile grew larger still, happiness radiating from every pore "You have given us exactly the hope we needed to combat recent events. There will be drinking tonight I wager!"

"Try not to get too drunk, there is a funeral tomorrow."

Orik sobered instantly "Tomorrow yes. But until then we shall not let unhappy thoughts disturb us! Come!"

Dragging Eragon along with him through Tronjheim, Orik headed for the great feast hall where many a dwarf sat at stone tables.

He jumped up onto one of the tables, scattering dishes onto the ground, and a few onto dwarves, gathering the attention of the entire room on him. In a booming voice he proclaimed the news 'The Isidar Mithrim will be healed by the mighty dragon Saphira' at least Eragon assumed he was saying something like that, he wasn't certain as the dwarf was speaking in dwarven.

Whether he was proclaiming the news or saying that they would roast Saphira for Sunday lunch either way the cheer was deafening, literally, Eragon couldn't hear for several seconds afterwards and, despite his deafness, which he made sure everyone knew about, each dwarf insisted on coming up to, and kissing, the floor before Saphira, the same as Orik had.

When each had performed said ritual they proceeded to abandon their food and fill stone tankards to their brims with beer and mead.

Orik insisted that the dragon and rider stay, and, unwilling to insult the hospitality of the dwarves, he, of course, drank heartily of their beer and mead, along with the occasional cup of wine.

Dwarves certainly knew how to brew, and that was an understatement!

Their mead was delicious, the dominating flavour most often of sweet honey, though one could taste the distinct aroma of flower nectar. Sometimes the mead was spicy, other times there was a definite fruitiness, but always the taste of honey was there, sometimes in the background, sometimes in the foreground, but it was always there.

Eragon decided, after more than a few mugs, around nine, or five, or thirteen for that matter, somewhere between all of them anyway, that he liked mead, and that was probably the last clear thought in his head.

Even Saphira took a sip of mead, and, finding it was to her liking, the dwarves rolled out a whole barrel just for her.

By now Eragon was fairly certain, no actually he was definitely and completely certain, that everyone was drunk, including himself for that matter, as, for some strange reason, he thought it was a marvellous idea.

Carefully lowering her nose in through the casks open end, Saphira swiftly drained the barrel in three long draughts, and then lifted her head towards the ceiling and belched a great jet of flame.

It only took the dwarves seven minutes to regain their courage and approach again, coincidently the same amount of time it took for Eragon to stop laughing, but when they did they just brought her another barrel, overriding the cooks very verbal protests, which, despite him shouting at the top of his lungs, were barely audible over the joyous singing and laughter that filled the hall, and they watched, in amazement, as she drained that one as well.

'Saphira, are you drunk?' he asked as her emotions and sense started washing over him and overriding his own, as since he was also drunk he didn't have any real will to resist it. Often his vision would change, blurring over or changing angle all together, and even things he heard, things he smelt and things he tasted were starting to twist together or separate violently and sometimes both at the same time.

In response Saphira just snorted out another burst of fire, it was only narrowly that a dwarf avoided a short roasting, but that was of little consequence.

Eragon wasn't sure how long had passed, in fact he'd be surprised if anyone knew, but musicians had definitely entered the hall at some point and everyone had started singing at some point too, probably before the musicians entered, actually.

Hundreds of dwarves poured into the hall, some pushing forwards to thank Saphira and Eragon, other just leaping headfirst into the merriment, regardless of that the pair were surrounded by a thick band of dwarves throughout.

It was also around this point that Eragon started on the strong beers and ale and got properly pissed, to the point where he started joining in on the singing, shouting loudly and tunelessly along with the dwarves, which, in his defence, was what everyone else was doing.

Of course when, instead of barely understandable words, a dragon's rasp started issuing from his mouth Eragon knew something was seriously wrong, and so he drank another couple of mugs of beer, though about it a while, had some more beer, and then decided that it didn't matter and started singing again.

It was many hours, and many, many, many, many beers, later that the hall finally started to quiet down, the jubilation becoming tamer as everyone was so drunk they couldn't be arsed to be boisterous or loud anymore and a few of the dwarves were crying on the floor for some reason.

The musicians followed the mood, half of their members were half drunk, playing calmer, softer tunes, suitable as background music rather than sing-along's, and if sometimes one of their number missed a note or a beat or a string, who cared they were all pissed of their tits and chainmail boots, the musicians could be farting the tune and it was unlikely that anyone would care, if they even noticed.

"Hear, hear!" cried Orik as he climbed onto the table, which was a difficult feat for the drunk dwarf, his iron cap was askew, a tankard was in his hand and he was forced to stand with his legs spread wide for balance, and even so he wobbled back and forth slightly "At last we have celebrated as is proper" he called out, slurring the words awfully, yet the entire hall quieted and listened "The Urgal are gone, the Shade is dead, and we have won!" the dwarves cheer and pounded the tables in approval, but Orik want finished "To Eragon and Saphira!" he cast an arm in their general direction, almost tumbling over as he did so and lifted his tankard.

The dwarves cheer and clapped, the atmosphere of the room making drunk even those who weren't.

Eragon jumped up onto the table besides Orik with a loud cheer, lifting his tankard into the air, sloppily mind you as the vast majority of it was tipped onto the table, but even that only brought more cheers.

Behind him Saphira stood on her hind legs, gripping in her claws a barrel, and lifted it towards the ceiling in an attempt to replicate his move.

And she stumbled.

Dwarves ran in panic as Saphira lost her footing and started to tumble, a few narrowly missing being squashed to death. She landed on her back on a banquet table, the table cracking in two underneath her bulk.

Eragon watched all of this numbly, he could hear Orik saying something in a worried tone but couldn't make it out, the dwarves running and shouting was all muted to him. Then, moving with the swiftness of a forest fire on a hot summers day, pain raced over him, consuming his entire body, focusing on a large scar on his back, murderous whispers filled his head and his body felt like it was being dipped in molten metal.

Eragon fell backwards, off of the table, his head met the floor and he could feel, not hear, the sickening crack, and he blacked out.

Voices filled his head, the same murderous and twisted voices that had taunted him as he choked Arya, the ones that had told him to kill her, now they filled up his dreams and sparked off his nightmares.

'Poor little Eragon, fell and broke his head. Mind you, we'll make sure, he won't end up dead' the voice was amused yet horrified, Eragon himself could find no amusement in the small rhyme, only torment.

'Stupid fool!' one reprimanded, no mercy in their tone.

'You cannot escape' this voice twisted, going from a deep pitch to a high one, all, though, were squelching and hate filled tones 'not in sleep, not in dark, not in light, not in death!'

'Rest now, Eragon' a female voice, her tone low and sultry 'we'll... haha, look after you.'

'Without us you are nothing!' angry, angry at him, yet commanding, like the voice of a military general 'Remember that.'

'Drinking away your sorrows, how pathetic' another voice commented, whispering into his ear, soft and cold, like a serpents hiss.

'Haha' another joined in this the previous voice 'drinking in the name of... Murtagh' Eragon shivered as all the words passed over him, coming at him all at once yet all separated, none of them angered him, none pleased him, amused him or even annoyed him, they all just scared him. He was so very scared.

They were everywhere, behind him, in front of him, to his left and his right, above and below, no matter what he did, how fast he ran or where he went there was no escape from them, they pursued him like a wolf after its prey, like a fly after a corpse, like a shark after blood.

And then suddenly yet not suddenly, as if he had been there all along, he was sat on a large stone chair. Though hard and cold it was comforting and indeed pleasant to sit in, sat there he felt... protected, as though the chair itself offered him some measure of protection.

Light, beamed down from on high, surrounded him and the chair, in a perfectly formed circle that at its widest didn't stretch a single pace from the chair. Beyond it border darkness swirled and flowed like a powerful wind, blasting chaotically around where he sat. On the wind the whispers could be heard once, angry teases and taunts, innocent voices calling for horrifying violence, vengeful tones shouting, all directed towards him. But here, they were muted, quieter, no longer as clear or profound as before, no longer did the whispers cause fear in him, he only felt calmness, a calmness he hadn't felt in so long.

This calmness was true tranquillity of spirit, he had that on the farm when life was simple and fair, he had that on the road training with Brom, he had had it travelling with Murtagh, but he lost it when he had bowed down to Durza and begged for power.

Within the darkness a pair of crimson eyes snapped open.

There was no body to support them, or if there was one it could not be seen. But for all intents and purposes it appeared as though thee eyes were simply hanging in the darkness itself.

The eyes glowered up at the light before looking down and meeting his own.

"You will never be free of us, Eragon" said a voice, a hundred different voices, or maybe a thousand, a million, no it was so many that if it didn't matter the number, but they all spoke as one, and the strongest voice of them all was Eragon's own, layered over the top of the others.

"We will live forever, for we are Legion" Eragon knew this speech, he had repeated it to himself many times, and it had echoed through his thoughts and dreams many more times "and we are many. And so long as one of us lives, we live."

Crimson eyes snapped open.


Really struggled with this one, at the time, which was several weeks, possibly months, ago, so there's a lot of fleshing out which you may find boring dull and shitty, sorry about that. Sorry its late too I forgot all about it.

Toodles.