A/N: I'm surprised people read this, but I'm glad I'm getting through a bit. In fact, I used to like Eragon when I hadn't read many other books, which I found were infinitely better once the bad reviews of Paolini's work had got to me.
Quick Parody: "The best adventure tale you'll ever read," said one reviewer of Eldest. Seriously, who's he kidding with that one? We're talking about a series which has ferociously, and seemingly ignorantly, ripped off the royalty of literature. This bloke was probably payed to say that – and we're talking big bucks.
Chapter Four: Miscellaneous Fun-making
I forgot to mention how Eragon gained the traditional weapon, Zar'roc, in my earlier chapters. Nothing special. Though it does have an interesting twist to it – how it's actually Luke's father Anakin's (Darth Vader) swor – excuse me. I haven't seen Star Wars but I'm aware of most of the blatant similarities, so I'm still sceptical of this small development.
Anyhow, Brom and Eragon have been travelling to Teirm. They have been sparring, for want of a less frequently used word, with Zar'roc and another sword. This is one of Eragon's favourite pastimes, as it kicks the wyrda out of being a farmboy. This would be fairly obvious seeing that he'd been a farmboy in the "remote village which is visited by strangers who change the main character's life forever" all his life and all he knew was hunting and making fun of Perrin Ayb – cough – Roran.
His other hobbies include learning Old Norse, and using the power it commanded to kill defenseless animals without the justice of giving them a chance to defend themselves. (For the confronting mechanics of this process refer to page 170 of Eragon).
One day, while they were nearing the end of their journey in the Spine (of the world), Eragon asked Brom about the sea, seeing as he'd never seen it he was naturally intrigued.
Brom then went on to tell him how it was essentially a raging bathtub the limits of which were the coasts of the clichéd country they now capered across. He also mentioned that it held a special place in the hearts of the elves, who lived in the forest because they loved it so dearly. Is this even remotely near to creating a slight ringing sensation in the bells of people's minds who may not have even read The Lord of the Rings?
"There is a song about it," said Brom, "which the elves made."
"Can I hear it?!" Eragon asked eagerly.
"Nah," Brom declined, "it's really just a hopeless attempt at rehashing Tolkien's great songs from his Arda Legendarium. If you want to hear it, you can read similar, but better stuff, in the library in Dras-Leona. The elves have a strong addiction also to Tolkien's literary works."
That night, after they'd been sparring and Brom kept alive his record of absolutely out-sparring Eragon for every night consecutively since they began this misadventure, they had a meaningful discussion.
For all you Saphira lovers out there she proudly makes her smug return now – man I love that word. She was resting her now huge blue head by the fire, listening and occasionally making meaningful comments to Eragon in the tradition of Dragonriders of Pern. These meaningful comments consisted sometimes of 'that's called a stick, little one," and sometimes questions such as: "Why do you put on a deep voice when you're around Brom, do you think it makes you sound tougher?"
"Eragon, my boy," said Brom (in this case he meant it literally as he was the biological father of Eragon, but decided for some bizarre reason not to tell him), "I'm going to tell you a bit about the history of the Dragon Riders." As you must now come to expect, Brom was making this speech with a VB in hand. The reader struggles to understand where his inexhaustible stock of this beverage is hidden… Many Truth of Inheritance enthusiasts suggest that Saphira has been commissioned by Brom to fly in slabs of 32 from any nearby town at least once a week while Eragon is out killing defenseless animals.
"Hey… can I have one of those?" asked Eragon slowly, "I've been learning all you taught me and—"
Brom laughed in his face. "Grow up boy. Dragon Riders don't drink this stuff – they can't stomach it. Uh, what I mean is that it contaminates their use of the Ancient Language."
"But I'm old enough!" Eragon protested in a whine. "I turned 16 while we were travelling in the Spine-"
"Fine then, you can have a VB when you beat me at sparring," Brom conceded, playfully punching Eragon on the shoulder.
Brom is a harsh teacher, little one, just in case you didn't kno-
"What was that Saphira!?" Demanded Brom.
He can read my thoughts? Thought Saphira worriedly, In that case, he's a great mentor.
"Thank you Saphira," said Brom sweetly, generously tossing the young dragon a VB. She caught it deftly in her jaws, cracked it, sculled it, and tossed it away having had her way with it.
"You're a sucker for praise! That's hardly fair!" Exclaimed Eragon, "she's younger than me! You're going to get a dragon drunk?!"
"No, of course not," laughed Brom, "you really think that I would give up that many to her? I'm a selfish old man, you know that."
Really Eragon, don't be childish. It's not all it's cracked up to be. She said sarcastically but seriously, with a hint of smugness.
Eragon sat down grumpily to listen to the rest of Brom's lecture. "How did you hear her thoughts?" He asked after a while.
"Not so glad you asked," said Brom, "it's a trick Dragon Riders can learn, and other magicians. Thought broadcasting. Many radio technicians are also trying to figure out its working components."
"Now, as I was saying about the history of the Dragon Riders," Brom picked up where he'd left off, "the Dragon Riders were an order founded long ago to maintain peace in this miserable kingdom. Incidentally, as it is so far of no interest at all, the first Rider's name was also Eragon. Funny eh? Coincidence – undoubtedly. Anyway, about a hundred years ago the King of this Empire, and yes I'm still at a loss to explain that political little mishap, Galbatorix rose as a Dragon Rider and gathered about himself, quite literally, 13 other Riders, who were strikingly similar to the Forsaken from The Wheel of Time."
"How so?" Eragon enquired.
"Well," said Brom significantly, and Eragon got the sense that the next part of his speech was going to be significant, "For starters: they were both servants of the 'main villain', for first course: they both have similar names and there are THIRTEEN of them, and for main course: they both betrayed the rest of their magical order for a promise of power, dessert: they both vied for approval from their master. The only difference in this case is that the Forsworn conveniently died. The Wheel of Time is another book series we'll need to borrow at Dras-Leona."
"Hang on a minute," said Eragon, halting the narration, "why are we even going to Teirm? I thought the library was in Dras-Leona. I happen to like reading, but it's not as much fun as killing defenseless animals with—"
"Oh, did I forget that?" said Brom, overriding Eragon, "this VB must be getting to me. I have a friend who lives there. His name is Jeod and–"
"How do you spell that?" Asked Eragon, just out of curiosity.
"J-E-O-D."
"But what you said sounded like Jode-"
"Yeah I know, it's another curiously annoying thing about this forsworn - or is it forsaken? – country. No-one can speak properly. He, and by he I mean the creator of this world, made it that way in an obvious failed attempt to appear sophisticated, when he was just being difficult."
"Okay," said Eragon, nodding, "go on." (Which was something Brom tended to do considerably often. I don't blame him though; it's fun).
"Yeah, anyway," said Brom, "Jeod has a master library card for the Dras-Leona library. You can get any number of books for free with it."
"Why would we be needing that?"
Brom sighed in exasperation, "because we need to borrow so many books about this country which are about the only good things in it."
"Oh," said Eragon slowly in understanding.
Yes, said Saphira slowly in his mind, while we're there we should see if they have a book called Dragon Riding for Dummies. Eh, Brom?
"Yeah, I'm beginning to get tired of teaching him," said Brom as he chucked his empty VB cans on the fire.
A/N: Well, (yes I said it significantly), more of the Truth hath been revealed…
If you wish to know what happened directly after this scene, you can view it now in Truth of Inheritance uncut below, written by another extremist:
Eragon scratched his inner thigh because it was itchy.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?"
Seriously little one, that's not appropriate.
"Yeah! How dare you do that in front of company! Woman company at that!" growled Brom.
"It's my inner thi—"
"Shut up, no one's buying i—"
"I'm telling the tr—"
"Yeah… Eragon, we're not talking about you anymore. So shut up and drink your milk."
"What mil—?"
"Figuratively…Geez, didn't Paolini ever use any sort of metalanguage?"
"Nah, I don't thin—"
"What'd I say!? HUH! I said shut up! That's what I said." Brom shook his head angrily and bent down to scratch his inner thigh.
