Chapter 26: Cliffhanging.

His fingers strained to keep a grip on the slippery rock. The wind battered him, constantly trying to rip him away and toss him into the abyss. The sheer rock wall stretched out above him, presented no handholds at present, at least none within reach.

He was, in essence, hanging on a cliff.

"Why the hell am I here?" Eragon wondered, pulling himself closer to the cliff, hugging it to prevent himself from being taken and thrown by the wind, or at least have his precarious grip challenge by said force of nature "Oh right!" he remembered then shook his head "How'd I forget that?" it was reasonably important in truth, and not the sort of thing he should've forgotten.

But he supposed that all that climbing must've taken the full force of his attention, and thus he forget little details like why he was climbing.

There was a handhold, not quite in reach, but if he jumped he could make it. Of course if he failed to grab hold he'd plummet to his death on the rock below, or catch himself with magic, and he wasn't sure which of those would be more humiliating. So with thoughts of his humiliation in mind, he leapt.

And managed to quite easily grab a hold and regain his balance on the cliff and found multiple handholds for his way up, rapidly scaling the sheer cliffside and emerging over the top in a little under a minute.

It was almost disappointingly less dramatic than what he had expected. But at least it wasn't humiliating.

"Phew" he said, wiping sweat from his brow and glancing back down at the certain death that lay below "That was a good workout" he turned to face the object of his adventure, a massive cave full of brittle bones that were scattered all over the place, scorch marks singed the walls, fresh ones and all, and finally, sat huddled in a corner at the back of the cave, was the sapphire blue dragon known as Saphira "Hey Saphy!"

She snarled at him, and for a moment Eragon didn't think she recognised who she was, so holed up her own turbulent emotions that, even though she had blocked her mind from his, he could still feel despite all the barrier in between.

There was a long ragged gash along her upper thigh, and Eragon had to clench his fists to stop himself, and instead forced a smile onto his face "How you been beautiful?"

She just roared at him, turning her head to face him and breathing out hot streams of air and sounds so loud it felt like his eardrums would burst. Eragon smiled all the way through, until the sound died away, until even the echoes bellowing through the cave faded, and the dragon turned away from him.

"That's not very nice" he said softly, kicking some bones and a stone away and taking a seat on the cold floor.

And there he sat, for... a rather long time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun was going down when she finally addressed him 'I have been a fool' her Rider blinked, having been busy playing with skull and doing stupid voices for the past half hour. He immediately dropped the skull, which he had at some point imaginatively named 'Skully', and, placing his chin in his palms, stared intently at her.

"Cool."

That was not an answer she appreciate. 'No you haven't' would've been a lie but not an unwelcome one, 'We all are' would've been nice and somewhat comforting and and 'Saphira do I look like a give a fuck if you're a fool or a turd sandwich?' would've been something she would expect from her Rider. His simple acknowledgement, nay agreement even, was far worse than any of those.

But she continued, nonetheless, it was true after all, she had been a fool 'It's strange, I've always known what to do, always been the one guiding us' she saw Eragon roll his eyes here but ignored him 'When Garrow died I knew we should pursue the Ra'zac. When Brom died I knew we should go to Gil'ead and then on to the Varden, and when Ajihad died…'

"Saphira" Eragon cut over her words softly, and she was struck by the lack of snark or humour on his face, only soft sombre sorrow "It's okay to be lost, it's okay to not know what to do, what you're supposed to do or even what you want to do. The road of life is long, you'll find an answer" he then cracked a small bitter smile "You may not like the answer, but you'll find it."

She said nothing, forcing all of her emotions back. Her relief, her gratefulness, her sorrow, she wouldn't let him see it, she didn't want him to see her weak 'Do you know this place is called the Stone of Broken Eggs.'

Eragon didn't say a word.

'During the war between the elves and dragon, we were tracked to this location and murdered while we slept. They tore apart our nests, shattered our eggs with their magic. That day, blood rained in the forest below. We paid them back in equal measure, burning an entire city, and carrying charred bodies of their children and dumping them from on high into the surviving settlements, but no dragon lived here since that day.'

He still didn't speak.

'Say something!'

"What do you want me to say?" Eragon asked her, looking up at the roof of the cave "Sorry about your kind being murdered, but in fairness they were kinda dicks, but so were the elves. So basically you're both at fault? Or would you prefer to me ask you to address the issue at hand, or request that you let me heal your leg, or would you rather I tell you to go fuck yourself? What do you want Saphira?"

'I…' she said nothing, she had nothing to say in response.

"Let me heal your leg" he requested.

'No.'

"Then tell me what happened."

'No.'

"Pick one Saphira" his voice took on a stern edge that reminded her oddly of Oromis, and she considered her Rider, sat there amidst bones, watching her like a hawk watching prey.

'I… I thought Glaedr… When we first came here, you cannot understand my joy that another member of my race survived. I had only seen another dragon in Brom's memories and… and I thought Glaedr was as pleased by my existence as I was by his' her Rider didn't interrupt, so she was forced to continue 'I thought that he would be my mate, that together we could rebuild our race that…' she shook her head 'I was mistaken. He has no desire for me. He does not want me.'

She felt him poke her mind, just a little, to try to gather a vague view of what had occurred between the two of them, and let him take just a vague view. But only that before she shut him from that part of her mind.

"You're stupid" Eragon said, once he was done.

'Say's you' Saphira snapped, snarling angrily 'You fucked the mother of the girl you like, and you dare call me stupid?'

Eragon stared at her aghast for several moment "Hey!" he exclaimed "Don't go rooting about in my memories without my permission."

She just rolled her eyes 'I didn't.;

"Well how else did you know about it?" Eragon said, huffing in false anger and folding his arms sternly "I buried that shit deep."

'Oh please, you masturbated to it last night.'

"That may or may not be true" he confessed"But that does excuse this blatant disregard for my privacy."

Saphira gave him a long, hard, stern look, to tell him that this section of the conversation was over.

He just chuckled at her "Very well then" he folded his legs, and smiled ambiguously at her "I am stupid, true. But does that mean that I can't tell you are also stupid? Does my stupidity mean I am ignorant to others stupidity? Does my own stupidity limit my capacity to notice and observe stupidity in people not myself?"

She roared 'Don't talk like one of the damnable elves!'

"Then I won't" he said, pushing himself up off the ground, and when he spoke again there was fury in his voice "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" his shout echoed loud through the caves, repeating over and over, and made Saphira flinch "Getting injured, I can handle, being at odds with your mentor, I can handle, having turbulent emotions and being hurt emotionally, I can handle. BUT ALL OF THEM!" once again his shout made her flinch "What am I supposed to do Saphira? Now I want to murder Glaedr for daring to harm you, I want to hit you for being stupid, heck I want to fuck apologise to our mentors for this. ME, I WANT TO APOLOGISE!" he took a moment to regain his breath "Now let me look at your injury, and this time I'm not taking no for an answer!"

He stalked towards her, a single look at his face told her resistance was not only futile, it would just piss him off further. So she hesitantly lifted her wing and let him view the injury on her leg. He was angry with her, but he was angry because he was worried about her. It was odd, a strangely comforting yet burning heat. Saphira chuckled somberly.

'Eragon…'

"Don't" he said softly, gently, as he cast a spell on her wound that itched like hell but healed it till it was like it was never even there "Not to me. Not ever."

'What do I do?' she asked, helplessly 'He was so angry with me. How can I even face him again?'

Eragon placed his hand softly on her snout, and gave a smile so warm and gentle it melted what remain of the cold sorrow within her "What the fuck you looking at me for, do I look like the adult here?" his words… they kinda pissed her off.

'Thanks little one, you're such a big help' she snarked back at him 'Wait, does that make me the adult here?'

"No" he chortled at the thought "You're more a child than I am."

That also irked her, but was not unwarranted, so she refrained from being too annoyed 'So we are both children then.'

"Exactly" Eragon nodded, folding his arms and looking smart "And you don't ask for advice from children, you go ask an adult, jeez."

'Who then, Oromis?'

'"Eh, maybe, dunno if the elven fuck would tell you anything though, probably just say 'You must learn yourself how best to proceed' or something bullshit like that" funnily enough, it was this little interaction that made her feel better. Him being snarky and her snarking back. It was fun. And she realised he was doing it for her, but kept her gratitude to herself. It would spoil the moment otherwise.

'I should apologise to him' she acknowledge. Eragon just shrugged. Glaedr did deserve an apology, he had put up with countless annoyances with her as his student, and she… she had taken it all for granted, abused his patience for her own amusement. And it was only now, after his patience had run out, after he stated things truthfully to her, and after she had responded with violence, and he had responded in kind, did she realise that fact.

It was no play to the elder dragon, it was a nuisance.

Eragon patted her on the neck 'If you want… we can wait a little while before heading back.'

'I…' she wondered which would be best. Would it be best to stay a while, and possibly lose her nerve, or go now when Glaedr was likely still angry with her. Saphira searched for an answer in the darkening sky and found none, she searched for an answer in Eragon and found none, she searched for an answer in herself, and finally she found one 'Let's…'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was a not a moment warning, not a single second for him to prepare. He felt pain, and then, directly after, he felt more.

Looking down he found a knife gripped by a twisted demonic hand, buried in his stomach. He could feel the knife in his guts, it was of atypical design, flared and curved and barbed, not straight and clean and smooth and knives tended to be. It might cause more damage when handled properly, but it was also a more inefficient weapon.

It was strange how logically he could think of this situation, with the knife stabbing into his stomach. The pain was intense, yet oddly his mind was clear. This did not make it better, indeed it made it worse, without pain clouding his thoughts he could feel it, hear it squelch in his insides, hot acid rushing from his stomach burning as it flooded over his sensitive insides.

Before the creature could twist the knife and gut him clean, or not as the case would likely have been, a pair of massive jaws came and snatched the monstrous freak before him from the ground, it screamed and cried and shouted a in language foreign to him, if it was even a language, as it was chewed into bloody pieces. Only once the screaming stopped were the remains stap out, and then torched by blistering white flame.

Finished, Whitey considered the man on the throne, holding his stomach and groaning, silently, with blood dripping down the pure white scales around its mouth.

Eragon forced himself to stand, grabbing his longsword Durza as he did so. Despite his injury he forced himself to walk forwards. An earthquake sent him tumbling. The ground cracked, the ceiling split and broke apart, walls collapsed.

He was protected from it all by Whitey's immense bulk, bits of rock bouncing off of the dragons scales as he stood protectively over the downed man. Eragon groaned as the pain in his back flared, and made the pain in his stomach worse.

"We have..." he managed to gasp out from the floor. With that intense pain ravaging him, extorting his senses, holding them hostage and trying to prevent any other conscious thought than mere pain, he still had the mental faculties to realise that there was "... a problem."

Whitey snarled, that was probably agreement.

The roof had stopped falling so the massive beast removed himself from his guarding position over Eragon, allowing the Rider to clamber to his feet, offering his snout as support, which Eragon, at first pressing up by himself, took after he fell the first time.

Eragon smoothed back his hair with a bloody hand, returning said hand to his stomach shortly thereafter "Now then" though his hands were shaking, though he was genuinely scared, he had to think of the here and now, and what was best in this situation "Where did I leave my fucking trebuchets?"

Nothing really happened after that. Well, that was not entirely true, plenty occurred, but nothing of particular note, and looking back at it Eragon realised that nothing was particularly distinct, which was odd as some things should be. Like when his left eye was gouged out. When his leg was sliced off. When his arm was broken, these should be notable events, but he found he could not distinguish them from anything else that occurred.

This fight had gone on for so long, and there so many of them.

So many.

He had feared they would never end, never stop coming, so vast and endless seemed the horde, and though each was distinct and different, he knew they were all Legion, he could see Legion's face, his own face, in each and every one of their twisted monstrous demonic faces.

They had won.

The enemy was repelled, the fortress made safe, the complete totality of this invading force, every last one fo the bastards, had been purged from this castle, not a single one remained at least not within these walls.

But the damage done was immense. He could feel it, not just the injuries that he felt as if they had been carved into his actual flesh, the mental strain it had caused him. His hands were shaking, and not just from fear, or pain, but from exhaustion. He was so tired, his eyes blurring with every moment.

More than all of that, more than the damage, more than the victory, all he felt was fear. The army they faced was undying, ever changing. Cut one down and it rose back up again. An army of immortals, he could not be cut down, merely held off. This was not a battle that any strategist, general, or hell even army could win.

Merely stall.

He chuckled through blood, it was hopeless.

How much longer would they hold? A week, a month, fourteen years and six days? Eleven minutes? Who knew. This had been the first assault, and it had almost ruined them, almost destroyed them utterly. The remains of the fortress and their strength all that held them through, but one of those would be beaten down eventually.

'We will hold' Whitey told him.

"Will we?" he asked sarcastically despite the agony in his voice, crawling over to the dragon and grasping a spike on the massive creatures back, letting the dragon carry him back to his throne room as he spilled blood on every hall along the way.

'Yes, we will. You will grow stronger, strong enough to defeat them. Until then, we will hold.'

He didn't respond this time. Truthfully he wanted the believe it. Legion placed him back on his throne when they finally reached the fractured throne room, the stump that was his left leg still bleeding onto the floor. He grasped the arms of the chair, only now noticing that some of the fingers on his left hand were severed, the pinky and the one next to it that wasn't the index or the pointy one, yeah that one.

'Eragon…'

He shushed Whitey with a raised hand, his whole hand "That's enough" he told the dragon "It's not like I want to lose…" he forced a smile "I will fight, tooth and nail, rip em all out, I'll still fight…" he didn't say what he thought, but the expression on the dragon's face, or the feelings he projected or… whatever, this was some weird illusion thing, so yeah, the dragons expression showed that it knew exactly what Eragon was thinking 'I'll still fight… but I don't think I'll win.'

His hand was shaking, he bit his lip, and grasped the throne's stone arm again, the tight grasp preventing them from trembling.

'We will fight' the dragon told him, lying down heavily behind the throne, its own injuries catching up 'We will.'

Eragon frowned for a second, for some strange reason the wording struck him as odd "We?" he shook his head. Why did that seem strange to him? "Yeah… I guess we will."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He awoke, suddenly, to pain and hot wetness. He struggled to untangle himself from the sheet, falling hard on the floor as he stumbled from bed. This noise woke Saphira who cracked open half an eye, then shot from her bed like an arrow, eyes searching for an intruder, nose touching Eragon where he lay on the floor.

"I'm fine" he groaned out to her, his voice weak and gravelly.

'What happened, Eragon, all this blood.'

"It's my back" he told her, now struggling to stand. She offered him her snout and, oddly enough he took it, leaning on her to find his feet, blood dripping from the now reopened wound on his back.

'We should heal that fully Eragon, remove it.'

He shook his head "It'll just come back, Saph" he said, looking at the blood soaked sheets. It looked like he had murdered someone, and done so messily as well. The worst kind of murder, messy ones. His hands were shaking, he clenched them into fists to make them stop.

'What do you mean?' she queried as he stumbled forwards, his movement lethargic and clumsy as he stripped the sheets of the bed.

"It's not a cut that keeps getting aggravated Saphira, it's deeper than that. Remove the scar, it's certainly possible to do so, but it won't resolve anything, and then it'll just come back. It's etched into me, Durza carved it into far more than my flesh. This ain't no simple cut, it's a curse" elow the mattress was almost bloodied, and Eragon used magic to clean it. And afterwards almost collapsed again.

'Eragon!'

"I'm…" he could barely talk, he was so exhausted. A spell removing his blood from the mattress made him feel like he'd run from Gilead to Dras-Leona in under a day "I'm fine" it was not a very convincing statement, given that he genuinely could not rise to his feet right now. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, and was further shocked when he found it came back wet, not from his hair, but from tears.

He grabbed a fistful of his hair and gritted teeth.

'Eragon' Saphira had noticed, she had noticed and she was worried.

That didn't make him feel any better "I'm fine" there was more edge, more force to his words now, they were harsher, harsher than he had intended in fact. He struggled to his feet, falling over twice before he managed, Saphira would've offered to help both times, but she was afraid of angering him further and he didn't ask.

He wouldn't ask.

He stumbled into the wash room with the dirty sheets and set about washing them, and himself. It took a while, magic could've helped, but it was nice to have something to do with his hands, something to focus on. And he didn't feel like jerking off today, for understandable reasons that was the last thing on his mind.

By the time he was done he was late for his fight with Vanir, late, tired, and aching already.

The elf was stood waiting for him at the edge of the training grounds, as he always seemed to be, near the same tree as ever, stood in the same way as ever, doing absolutely nothing, but reacting as Eragon approached, turning to face the Rider from whatever direction he had come, and touching two fingers to his lips.

What followed was perhaps the most pathetic fight he had had. His movements were clumsy, his body tired and slow, everything about it was absolutely terrible. It reminded him of his first fights with Brom in a way, he was simply dominated. Hell, he even saw Vanir hold back from trouncing him too thoroughly.

The elfs confusion at this was somewhat amusing, he looked genuinely bewildered by Eragon's inability to wield a sword properly, at a loss even.

He was so fucking tired.

"Eragon-elda" the Rider grinned at those words, so despite the pathetic showing today, Vanir still respected him? You couldn't lie in the ancient language, and this applied to honorifics as well, so when you called someone an honorific, it was because you truly believed they deserved it. And 'elda' was a honorific of great praise, it did not imply potential or possibility like finiarel, higher than vodhr in terms of praise. To call Eragon that implied Vanir had great respect, admiration, or belief in Eragon. Still had, that is "Forgive me for asking, I do not mean to be presumptuous, but are you quite well?"

Eragon sent Vanir a grin "I am perfectly fine" he said, struggling to keep his sword in hand.

He swung, but Vanir, in a single swift movement, disarmed him. His sword fell to the dirt and Eragon smiled graciously at his defeat, before charging at the elf. Vanir reacted in an instant, and his sword stabbed straight into Eragon's thigh.

On any other day he would've avoided it, and found it amusing, hell even been happy at the fact that Vanir managed to wound him, that would make for an exciting day wouldn't it? But that wasn't what happened. Vanir hadn't 'managed' to wound Eragon, he had accidently wounded Eragon.

Vanir looked stricken as his guarded blade stabbed into Eragon's flesh, his face becoming horrified as blood started spilling. But he couldn't react much, as Eragon literally collapsed on him, his body becoming loose, like a puppet cut from its strings, and as he had been charging it collided with Vanir. Vanir dropped his sword, so his hands were free. Loosed from his grasp the sword just fell out of the wound, as it hadn't gone in deep enough to hold itself up.

The elf kept them standing, embraced Eragon to keep the Rider upright when he felt the body begin to fall away, not move back, but limply sag.

For a while they remained that they, in an awkward embrace.

'Eragon…'

Tension ran through Eragon's body like a knife, his hands balled into fists in Vanir's clothing, he bit the elf's shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, to keep himself from screaming. It didn't help that much as pain flared up his back, like a white hot poker being pressed into his flesh.

'Haha, you'll be ours Eragon, you won't win… WE WILL.'

He shoved the elf back, and looked down at him with fury in his gaze. Vanir stared back, a hand coming to clasp the wound Eragon had bitten into his flesh, fear prevalent in his gaze as he looked up at the Rider.

'You haven't a single chance.'

The fear made Eragon roar, he turned and began stalking away, stumbling as more pain flared in his back. He punched a tree, the pain of his hand brought him back to reality, made the voice a little quieter.

'You can't silence us.'

'It's hopeless.'

'Just give in.'

'Surrender.'

'Become ours.'

'Be one with us.'

'Just let us take control.'

'There's no reason for this.'

'It'll hurt until we are one.'

'YOU BELONG TO US.'

He punched again, and again, and again, and again and again. Over and over and over. He watched, oddly detached, as his blows ripped the flesh from his fists. He slammed his head into the tree, feeling blood pouring down his face, into his eyes. Although he was aware of the pain, he didn't really feel it. It was like he was looking at it from an outside perspective, that would be painful, but he wouldn't feel it, not like he could feel his own.

He felt something touch his back, and whirled about furiously, his fist swinging before he even saw who it was.

Saphira smashed him bodily into the tree with her clawed hand, hard enough that the blow from his head smashing into the tree stunned him.

'Eragon!'

Her voice sounded over the cacophony inside his head. He bit his lip, blood filling his mouth.

'Calm down, focus on me.'

He spat blood out to one side, wiping the blood from his face "I'm done" he told Saphira, patting her snout with a bloodied hand. She stared at him worried, but he truly was. The pain had faded away, with it gone, Legion no longer assaulted. Perhaps it did not think it could win without the assistance of Durza's curse. Or perhaps it knew it could not.

He let out a long breath, forcing himself to his feet, wincing as he felt the wound in his leg far more keenly than he had done at the time.

Eragon strode to Vanir, well truthfully it was more slowly stumbled over, and offered the elf, still sat on the dirt, his ruined and bloodied left hand.

The elf took it after but a moment's hesitation "Apologies, Vanir-vodhr" he said as calmly and resolutely as he could, not letting any indication of unease into his voice "I lost my temper for a moment."

"That…" Vanir looked the Rider's hands, to the tree, and then back to Eragon's face "I see. Would you allow me to heal you Eragon-elda?"

"No" was Eragon's simple response "I'm calling our training here. I shall see you tomorrow" he told the elf, his voice clipped and taciturn.

Vanir nodded and bowed to him, touching two fingers to his lips.

'Eragon' Saphira said worriedly as he approached her, struggling to clamber onto her back 'You need to…'

'Shut up and fly.'

Those words stung, and there was no room for maneuver from them. Saphira twitched, anger rising in her, but she gritted her teeth and took off into the sky.

He'd get more than an earful about this later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At Eragon's request she landed some distance from Oromis's hut. She knew why, and waited silently as he healed his hands, and his back, even cleaning his shirt with magic. Saphira loaned him her strength, as he had very little to spare right now. Although he said nothing, she knew he was grateful.

And ashamed.

Ashamed that he needed help for such a simple task that usually he would perform without breaking a sweat. Ashamed that he was so weak as to need her help. Ashamed to need help at all.

'Eragon, you should…'

"No."

Saphira growled, annoyed at being cut off so quickly 'This is a serious problem Eragon. I know what I felt. What the hell might happen if things…'

"I said, no."

'AND I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAID!"

His hand whipped out, faster than she would've expected, and came to rest of her snout. Saphira felt her body tense, as if Eragon was about to attack her. But that was such a stupid thought, Eragon, attack her? No, never, not ever, nothing would make him do that, not even if he lost every drip of sanity he had left.

He let out a soft sigh "This is my problem…" he said, fingers running down along her snout "I'll deal with it" his fingers trailed off of her, and he slowly turned and walked away.

She didn't like it, she didn't agree, she was not pleased. But she let him go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You looked tired" Oromis noted. All through the day Eragon had been distracted and tired, occasional bouts vicious anger mixed with far longer periods of disinterest and weariness. It was noteworthy, if for no other reason than the lack of sass and snark. Not once was their a quip, or a jibe. He was just… apathetic, aside from the prior mentioned moments of rage, but even they died quickly, almost immediately.

"Hmm" was the younger man's response, not looking at Oromis.

They were stood outside, on the cliff's edge, they had been practising magic, or rather Oromis had been trying to impart some manner of delicacy and finesse into Eragon's rather brutish style. It had not gone terribly well, not least because Eragon could barely manage magic.

"Did you not sleep well?"

The Rider shrugged.

Oromis raised an eyebrow at him, and watched a while longer. His lethargic movements, tired expression, the slight quiver to his hands "Enough" he said, calling their training to a close as the two dragons appeared on the horizon "We shall continue tomorrow."

He waited until both dragons had landed before moving onto his next point, as his next words were meant for both Eragon and Saphira.

"It is expected" Oromis said when they were both stood before him "That you will bring an offering to the Blood-Oath Celebration. A poem, a carving, or some other work of craft" Eragon nodded and moved to climb onto his dragon "Also know" but stopped when Oromis started to speak some more "That magic, while not forbidden, is frowned upon. None will respect your work if it is the product of a spell and not your own hands. If it requires magic to function or make, then gramarye is… more permissible" once again, Eragon nodded, but this time waited. That made Oromis smile a little "I also suggest you each make a separate piece. It is not required, but it is custom."

"And we elves respect custom" Eragon murmured "Even when it's fucking stupid."

Now there was a glimmer of the Eragon he had come to know, far more weary and exhausted than he had ever seen him, but there all the same.

"Now with your permission, master, might I be allowed to leave?"

Graciously Oromis waved his arm in dismissal, returning to his hut.

After a good night's sleep, Eragon would surely be back to his usual self on the morrow, full of vigor and vitriol.

Surely.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Have you thought about what you're going to do?' Saphira asked, after they had returned home and Eragon ate his meal, silently and without complaint, which was unusual.

Eragon glanced at her questioningly.

'Your offering for the Agaeti Blodhren.'

'Oh' he said slowly 'No. You?'

Saphira rolled her eyes 'I have an idea. But I'd like to try it out before I tell you' she winked at him, letting him see a glimpse of a bare knuckle of stone amidst red hot blue flames before concealing it from him.

He nodded, not really caring.

'Do you have no ideas as to what to do?' she asked him.

"Not really no" he spoke out loud, standing and placing the tray at the door of their room. Then moved to sit on the bed, unlacing his boots and taking off his shirt.

Saphira watched the scar on his back as he did this, it was red, inflamed, like an infected wound, but not open. It twisted grossly as he moved, pulling his flesh in ways she did not like to see. She wished he could be rid of it, but feared he never would be. Or rather, would never want to be. To Eragon it was a symbol, not a crude mark, a insignia of him, of who he was, of who he had become.

The Eragon from before did not possess this mark, but this one did, that made it special.

He lay down on top of the sheets, staring at the ceiling, and after a minute or two, and realising he would offer no further interaction, Saphira shrugged and closed her own eyes. She'd bother him about his offering tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He woke suddenly, covered in cold sweat, his breathing rapid, a thin line of blood dripping down the small of his back.

Gritting his teeth, Eragon pulled his knees to his chest, and hugged them tightly. Tight enough that it hurt. He took slow, deep breaths, calming himself from rapid pants to melodic inhalations, slowly loosening his grip on his knees as his breathing slowed, his jaw also becoming less tense and gritted as he did this.

"When you sleep you're at your weakest" he recited something Brom had told him, it seemed so long ago now "So you must train till the barriers in your mind remain even when you sleep" he supposed he hadn't mastered that, he had never truly trained his mind. It had never really been necessary.

He let out a long slow breath, before standing, silently padding past his dragon and up to the study. He couldn't sleep, he wouldn't be able too, not now, not after this, so instead he'd do something Oromis would likely praise him for, were he not doing it for his own reasons but out of motivation and good student-y-ness. He was doing it because there was nothing else to do, because he wanted to do nothing else.

Because he couldn't sleep.

He sat down with a scroll. Was this the dictionary? That wouldn't make for good reading, but it'd be fine for a start. A thought occurred to him as he sat there, opening the scroll and beginning to read. He needed to prepare.

Legion could attack again, at any time, at any place, it seemed to focus its assault on when Eragon's back pained him, and only then, but would it always? Probably, or at least it would win before it could overpower Eragon without the assistance.

The fortress of his mind was strong, even Eragon wasn't entirely sure how he had built it, whether he had built it even. But it could hold back Legion, with ease, and that meant that it was incredibly strong. Or that Legion wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But the fortress was slowly being rendered obsolete by Durza's scar, so eventually it wouldn't matter.

And in the time he had between then and now, he needed to ready himself.

Legion was... rebelling, and Eragon needed to 'put him in his place' so to speak. He needed to remind him of who was King of Eragon. He needed to reaffirm his status as ruler, lest Legion continue to contest it. Would Legion bow if he won? Maybe, maybe not. Either way it would buy him more time, it had taken Legion a long time to recover for the beating it had received in Farthen Dur, or at least a long time to come back to its own, to become a threat to Eragon once again.

So he needed to prepare, but had no idea how to do that.

Once again, he was reminded of something Brom said 'Mental fortitude, mental battles, and the like, are tricky things. The older you are, the more powerful your mind, because you have more memories, more knowledge, and have experienced more emotions. All of these things create weight in your mind, make it heavier, and allow you to strike with far more impact. This isn't exactly how it works, but it's a fair enough comparison.'

So how do I offset this? If someone older than me will always be better, how do I get better? Eragon had asked.

'Simple. Absorb knowledge like a sponge. Bask in emotions. And endeavour to remember every memory in perfect detail. More than that, conviction, determination, and cunning of course, will help you win most mental bouts.'

He considered that a while, absorb knowledge he could do, bask in emotions, well, he did that already, endeavour to remember every memory in perfect detail, that would take effort, and how many memories could he remember before the penultimate conflict? Probably not enough, but you had to start somewhere.

Eragon perused the scroll a while longer, half reading, half thinking, his fingers strumming a vaguely melodic pattern on the wooden desk. How does once prepare for a mental conflict? Normally he would think of building walls, but the problem was his walls were crumbling. So maybe... if walls couldn't save him, maybe armour could? It was just a difference in perspective, but it was his mind, so maybe that difference was all that was needed. So he could build armour to guard him even inside the walls, that could work.

But would it be enough?

And what else could he do?

Deep in the bowels of his mind, a bright white dragon smiled 'We will win, Eragon.'


So I'm gonna take my time with the next chapter, which is gonna be the Agaeti Blodhren and possibly beyond, depends on the scope, but there's some scenes in that that I want to get just right, so there may not be a chapter next week so that I have the time to fully realise those scenes in words.

Now that we've got that vaguely important fic stuff out of the way, time for me to ramble about something nonsensical again.

It's honestly surprising that Eragon was such a bad film, because it had some really cool parts and some really good actors. The guy who played Durza, and that guy who played Brom were both good. Ajihad was fine, he had a five minute role at best so we can't really judge. But I really like the guy who played Galbatorix, and for a while that was my image of Galbatorix, an elderly man, I actually feel that that imagining of the King was better than what Paolini put out.

Sort of. But not at the same time. My thoughts are rather confused in that regard.

Paolini's is interesting because Galbatorix is a very handsome, well built man with very tan skin, not your tyical evil Emperor who are usually pale or old, and yes I am thinking of Palpatine, because there aren't that many evil Emperor's that I can think of. But I really liked the way the actor played him. I only bring this up because I saw that actor recently in an advert for whiskey I think, Louis XIII that thing?

But yeah, just a random thought I had.

Going back to the film, even the actor who played Eragon was fine, not visually correct to Eragon true, but he was fine at acting, good even. Murtagh was pretty good. Every actor in that movie was actually good (unless I'm forgetting someone terrible), the problem was that it diverted too far from the book, and not in a good way. Angela was shit, Arya not being an elf, well they didn't really do anything with it so I'm calling it a bad thing, if they'd done something with it sure cool, but they didn't so elves would've been better, and the Varden living with midgets in a cave, instead of dwarves in a weird dwarf mountain city in a mountain.

Farthen Dur is weird, it's a mountain… in a mountain. That's some next level shit bruh.

But yeah, actors all pretty good, action was fine, story was pretty abysmal but it was based on Eragon, can't fault them too much. They just happened to miss the interesting parts of Eragon, like Angela, elves being weirdo freaks, dwarves being dumb, Urgals being pretty much the coolest and not weird brute men.

It's quite sad, because the acting talent on display is good, and yet whoever made the creative/directive decisions or wrote the scripts just turned what was already a pretty generic adventure story into something even more generic.

Also I don't like dragon's design, they're scaled you fuck, not feathered.

Toodles.