Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon... but I wish I did.
I got a lot of good suggestions for the names of the dragon, but I had to consult Chris Paolini himself to get the name for the Rider. No, I didn't actually talk to him. You'll find out for yourself when I write that part.
Today is Hope's birthday!!! I thought I'd finally update this for her, so everyone wish her a message at her account Zukosfire7. She has a wonderful story that I enjoy reading tho she refuses to finish the update, no matter how much I beg...pout Well, this one's dedicated to you, babe!!
Previous:
"Who are you?"
"I am one that will save you. I am Rider. I am friend. That is all you need to know for now." She looked to Arya. "Princess."
"Don't give me any of that, Aiedailia." (A/N Aiedail is the morning star, so I just made it feminine. See what I mean?)
"I would have hoped for a warmer reception from you, sister of mine."
"You are no more my sister than Eragon is. Maybe in blood, but no longer in name. Not since you tried to have me killed."
"But Arya, that was never me! I simply gave an answer when one asked me where you resided. There was no malice in my heart for you."
Eragon's head was swimming and, from the look on her long face, Saphira's was too. One thing was for sure though, he was in the company of more than one elven royal.
Saphira sniffed warily and cautiously at the silver dragon, and his light blue eyes studied her closely. I never thought I would see another of my kind! At least none that aren't evil. Saphira's voice was cheerful, giddy even. There was no doubt in her mind. He was all right.
Hello, Rider. An unfamiliar voice rang in his mind, male and full.
Hello dragon. What may I call you?
I am called Arget. It is what I am as much as what I look like.
Eragon puzzled over this for a brief instant. How did you escape from Galbatorix?
I did no such thing. I was found in a stream outside of Du Weldenvarden, one that runs deep and wide. I suppose my mother dropped me there to protect me from the evils of the land, but I have no memory of such an occurrence. I have been hatched for a little over a year now.
His story made sense. Saphira had been hatched for almost four years, and male dragons grew at a more rapid rate than females. Arget was only a little smaller than Saphira.
Saphira? Do you believe his story?
I hope he is telling the truth. Eragon! This is a chance for dragon race to thrive again! Silver tears, almost the color of the dragon standing before them, made their way down her muscular cheek, landing on the ground with a small plop.
Oh. Saphira, don't cry. He placed a hand on her crown, and rubbed her comfortingly. He felt horrible just standing there like a lump, not being able to do much to help the companion he had known so long.
Thank you, little one. I will be alright. She took off and left him standing there, like the oaf he felt himself to be.
Arya placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and pressed her fingers into his shoulder. He looked again at the new rider. "Aiedailia is it?"
"Aye. Though I have not been entirely truthful."
"As is obvious."
"I was lying for the sake of my dragon, and I do not appreciate your tone!" She pulled herself up to her full height of 5'5'' and looked him in the nose. (A/N I'm imagining Eragon about 6'0'' in this so that's about nose level)
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, princess! I meant no offense. I was just stating that there was much ot be desired at your introduction." He started at what he said and the look of approval in Arya's eyes. "That didn't come out the way I wanted it to."
She held up a hand. "Save the words. You'll need them soon enough."
He shot a surprised look at Arya, who just smiled at him. She was obviously pleased that her sister was so pissed off.
Aiedailia walked out of the room as swiftly as if she had never been there, Arget's wings whispering and fluffing their hair as the wind whipped beneath his wings.
Eragon whispered low. Arya sighed.
"Now you've met all of my insane family. All that still live, anyway." She spit out the last part with more venom in her voice than he had ever heard. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, throwing the pack full of loot over his own shoulder.
Saphira was waiting in the clearing outside of Farthen Dur. Arya leaped onto her back with the grace granted to all elves, and Eragon tried hopping on behind her, only to slide back off. Arya chuckled, and he reddened.
Saphira, help me on!
No. You are to stay here.
Why?
You shall find out.
He blanked her out, mad at her. She took off, and he was anxious at first. He saw Arya cast a surprised look over Saphira's tail, and he waved. He found a seat on a rock. He trusted Saphira, and he would wait as she had indirectly asked. He scoffed. Silly mind!! Saphira, ask?
He passed the time by blowing up rocks with magic. He had just carved a dragon when Arget touched down, riderless this time.
Hello little one.
Hello Skulblaka.
I suppose you're wondering why I asked Saphira to leave you here.
Aye.
Aiedailia is not well. She lets on that she is, but she is dying. Only one thing can cure her, and Arya possess that. Noone else in the world can heal my Rider.
What is this thing that Arya possesses?
It's a simple enough thing: love. Arya holds a hate for Aiedailia close to her heart like a drawing of a lover. There is nothing she loves more. Except you. I think that you might be able to convince her to give up her grudge, and embrace her sister once again.
Hate is killing her?
Loathing is more appropriate, but yes. Arya and Aiedailia share a special relationship. As princesses of the elves, many things will attempt to tear them apart, figuratively and literally. They need to stay strong, but Arya thinks that Aiedailia took out a hit on her. I've been in her mind, and Aiedailia bears no malice to Arya. I just want to keep my Rider, Eragon. I know that you would do the same thing for Saphira.
I would. I will try.
Arget nodded his great head, and went to take off again. Wait, one more thing, little one.
What is that?
Is it alright if I court your dragon?
Eragon was surprised at first, but recovered quickly. You have my permission. I just want Saphira to be happy. If you can do that for her, then please do.
Thank you. She is beautiful.
Yes. She is.
He felt Arget slip from his mind, and soar across the skies. Saphira, you want to get me out of this godsforsaken place?
I'm already on my way, little one.
Wow, that was fast.
What do you expect? Do you think that I would leave you out here in the wilderness by yourself with all the animals and Urgals? Do you think I have a death wish?
Good to know you care.
Oh, Eragon, don't be like that.
She erupted from the trees, and settled down on her back with ease. You purposely let me fall, didn't you? In front of Arya too!
You needed to have your ego knocked back a few places. She didn't sound sheepish at all as she took off into the skies, heading for yet another temporary home.
They touched down in front of a large wall about ten miles away from Tronjheim, and Saphira roared once. The doors shot opened, and a very pale Orin stood at his post at the door. "Eragon!!" He regained a little color, but was still very pale.
"Orin!! How have you been, my brother?" (A/N Remember Hrothgar's invitation?)
"I've been better. All this hiding and dodging shadows has me going paranoid." His rough voice was a welcome relief.
"I understand. Where do you have me?"
"In the dragonhold, as usual."
"But-"
"Do you honestly think Tronjheim was the only city the Riders visited in the past? No. Welcome, my dear friend, to Hfaour, the city of gold." He pulled open the rock doors, and Eragon gasped in amazement. Immediatly, he was tackled to the ground by a little girl with hair the color of chocolate, and eyes as blue as ice.
"Argetlam!!!"
Eragon looked at Saphira over the girls head. Do you know her?
No. Do you?
Never seen her before in my life.
"Excuse me? Do I know you?"
"No, but I know you!! You saved me from the Ra'zac!"
"I did?"
"Yes! I was with the girl, Katrina. When you rescued her, I had an opportunity to stab one of those awful creatures in the back with their own knives! You saved my life!!"
"It seems to me you saved your own life."
"Maybe, but that's not what I'm talking about. Because of you, my father is letting me join the Varden! I'm an archer!" She looked so proud of this statement that he couldn't help but smile.
"And who is your father?"
"I think you know him well. My father, Argetlam, is Oromis, the Cripple who is Whole."
Eragon was shocked speechless. But only for a second. "Oromis. The Rider Oromis? But..."
"Yes, I'm his daughter. I haven't seen him so long that I have forgotten his face."
"Yes. Me too." Eragon bowed his head, shamed over not seeing his only live father figure in almost two years.
"But its alright now!! You're here!" She squeezed him again, and ran off into the many halls and corridors that led from the entrance to who knows where.
"Incorrigible elf that one. She's done nothing but talk about you since she got here."
"Is that a good or a bad thing?"
"Its up to you to judge. She's a scribbler that one. Can draw anything she's seen so perfectly you feel as though you've seen it too. Her best friend is a writer, and together they write the books that entertain the children and adults alike. We are all going stir-crazy in this city."
"How long have you been here?"
"Two months. Just days after you and Saphira took off on the horizons. Nasuada is waiting for you in the great hall, and I think we all know better than to keep her waiting."
"Indeed." Are you going to the dragonhold?
Yes. I will meet you there. Arget and Aiedailia are already there. I will tell you when they are asleep.
No, that's alright. I've been wanting to talk to Aiedailia privately since I met her. At least as personally as I can with two dragons waiting at our backs.
That is true.
Now, go have fun. I love you, Saphira.
And I you.
She took off again, clipping the wall with her wing and knocking a gem off of the walls. Eragon held it in his hands, and handed it to an amazed Orin. "We must get her mining. We've been trying to remove that gem for weeks."
"I don't think she'd like that. She likes places that people can admire her beauty."
You do know that I can hear you, right?
Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way.
That's it. I'm toasting your butt when you get up here.
Do you have a death wish?
Who said I was going to kill you?
Eragon chuckled in his mind. He turned his attention back to Orin, who was already fifty paces ahead of him. "Hurry up, Argetlam. Just because you are Rider doesn't mean she won't give you a good beating."
"She's almost like Saphira in that respect."
"I think she would consider that a compliment."
"Indeed."
Nasuada was as regal as ever, dressed in an overcoat made entirely of Varden lace, more beautiful than the nimblest of weavers could have spun. She had a head piece of chained gold, wrapped delicately around her crown and joining behind her head. She looked at him, and relief and joy passed through her eyes briefly.
"Argetlam."
"Nasuada. How my eyes have missed such beauty." He kissed her hands.
"Eragon. You are such a joker. I know you have been traveling with the egg-courier, Arya." She pretended to be scorn, and laughed.
"Yes, but I was never so relieved than to not find your remains upon the wreckage that is Tronjheim."
"Me as well. Luckily I had Elva or they would have been."
"Where is the child?"
"She is at lessons. She has finally stopped growing herself as a teenage girl. She has begun to spend more time with the scribbler elf and her writer friend."
"I was attacked by the scribbler. What is her name?"
"Esperanza, I think. Her friend is Obrexok. They have done wonders with the children."
"So I've heard."
Finally, her face went from friend to queen-like. "And what have you learned in your travels, vassal?"
"Thorn is dead, and Murtagh has gone insane. He will probably campaign for a new one, but I suppose that Galbatorix will have about as much sympathy for his situation as a starving fox for a lame rabbit."
"To him, Murtagh is only a lame rabbit now."
"That I can believe."
"You should. This is good news. I suggest you go to meet the scribblers. They might just teach you something."
He nodded, and went to the door to ask Orin for directions.
He arrived at the house of the two elves to the frantic sound of charcoal moving swiftly across paper, and the familiar scratch of a quill pen. He knocked solidly on the door, and heard an annoyed moan come from the room inside. A girl, about fifteen, opened the door, her chocolate hair draggling almost to her knees, and her violet eyes burning a hole in his chest as she looked up. "May I help you?"
"Obrexok?"
"Aye. I am she." Her words flowed over him, and he was paralyzed by the honey-soaked tones.
"I am-."
"I know who you are, Argetlam." That beautiful voice erupted from the unremarkable mouth again, and he wished she would speak more. "Esperanza has been waiting for you." She stepped aside to allow him passage into the brightly lit house. Elva was lounging on a chair, her knees hooked over one arm.
"Hello, Shadeslayer."
"Elva. I see you have finally found a form to your liking?"
"Yes. I have. No thanks to you. I think I will age normally from now on."
"I am truly sorry. Do you still wish me to remove my curse?"
"Yes. But not now. It is getting less and less demanding the more and more I stay in this form. But that doesn't' mean I forgive you."
"Nor do I expect you to."
"Good."
Esperanza walked into the room carrying three mugs of hot chocolate, and nearly dropped them in surprise. "Eragon!"
"Easy!" He helped her get a grip on the plates before moving his gaze around the room. A few pictures were posted around the window, drawings of dwarves, of elves, of Du Weldenvarden, but never of Ellesmera.
He supposed she was homesick, but he was too captivated by the images to ask. The recreations were so very accurate that he couldn't breathe. Obrexok came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Beautiful, aren't they?" Came the magical voice. "They keep the homesickness. We lived in Kirtan, not a stone's throw from Du Weldenvarden. We used to hike there on weekends and do whatever nature called us to do. There is the place where inspiration flows from your fingers sitting on the hills, and drawings become all the more perfect, especially when coming from talented fingers. We used to go up with our friends, and spend days on end just honing our skills." As she spoke, hills of the greenest grass crowded with exuberant elves just playing as the breeze fluffed the grass under their feet filled his mind, and he almost reached out to touch it, wondering if it was real.
Obrexok took her hand off of his shoulder and walked down one of the hallways covered in darkness, her chocolate hair swinging, making noise as it stroked her back. Eragon almost chased her to beg to speak again, to fill his mind with the images once again.
"You're very lucky. Obrexok doesn't use her magic for just anyone. Especially in a benign way." Esperanza spoke and awoke him from his daze.
"Magic?" Had he been bewitched and never known it?
"Obre is a Pipan, a magician of words. She can capture your mind, and toy with it until you're completely defenseless with just a few words. Much the same way as I am with my drawing. I'm sure you felt the longing from looking at the Du Weldenvarden picture. That's what's known as Scocha, the art of drawing the mind into a picture. They're very rare arts. As far as I know, Obre and I are the only ones of our kind." (A/N I know what you're thinking. "You're taking serious poetic license here, babe." I totally agree. But I had to come up with something for Hope and me, and witches seemed like the best bet. I'm not an egotistical maniac! )
Eragon felt a longing for their lost culture, and wished that he could find more of the Pipan's to come together and speak for him. That the Scocha would combine to create one great picture to capture the minds of not only himself, but anyone that dared to stand against him.
"I don't use my magic in all of my drawings, but Obre pours hers into her writing. The people are usually busting down our door to try to get sequels. We just moved here to avoid that. I keep telling her to stop. She's being unfair." She pouted, and laid a fourth mug on a dresser. So this is what Nasuada meant when she said that he might learn something from these teens...
He stayed in their home for a while longer, enjoying the pleasantly hyper company of the two witches. They laughed until it was late, and then talked some more. Eragon was red in the face from laughter when he left that night. He managed to guide his own way back to the dragon hold in the winding streets of Hfaour, only getting lost once. He patted Saphira's wing, and curled himself against her warm stomach, all thoughts of talking to the other Rider replaced with the hills of green, and the magics of two certain girls...
I hope that this makes up for my lack of updates for so long!! It's 11 pages and it took me eight hours to write, so I hope you like it. R&R as always, and wish Hope a Happy Birthday at zukosfire7. I know she'd appreciate it. Lol. I hope she'll appreciate it. Okay, I love you all and I'm sorry for my writers block!!!
Love,
Sora's Kairi