The Dinner – Chapter 2

Eragon tugged nervously at his collar. He hated, absolutely hated, wearing the too-small, starchy clothing that made him look something like an idiot. It was itchy and horrible and… urgh! He shuddered. The trousers made him look like he was a clothes peg, and just as soon as he got the chance, he was going to tear them off. If Arya didn't like it, he didn't care – he'd rather run around half naked than wear these things out in public!

"I'm glad to see you've decided to co-operate," Arya said, oblivious to the thoughts running around his head.

Her words reminded him of the reason for the outfit of doom, and his expression of forlorn discomfort regained its panicked edge. His eyes widened and he started pulling harder at the tight collar. It was like someone had charmed it to get tighter and tighter the more he pulled. He was going to get strangled sometime soon, if he didn't stop.

"Arya, can I please undo my top button?" he whined, a plan formulating in his mind. "I'll do it back up as soon as we get to her house but I'm practically choking here! Look!" He faked a couple of coughs, pulling his most pathetic face.

His mate did not look amused. She gave him the look. The look that said 'really, Eragon, I'm not impressed. You're not choking, so stop complaining.' But Eragon kept the pathetic look up for another five minutes, never taking his puppy-dog eyes off of Arya's face, until finally she relented.

"Fine. Undo it. What do I care?"

Grinning with gleeful triumph, Eragon popped open his top button and reached inside the shirt. He pulled out a religious symbol on a chain, holding it just above the setting so that the whole thing was visible, and yanked it off of his neck, thrusting it towards Arya.

"BEGONE, BEAST OF DARKNESS!!!" he shouted furiously, waving the chain around like it was the most powerful weapon imaginable. "BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE!!!"

"Eragon, what are you doing?"

The Rider paused and drew his hand back a bit. "No burning sensations?" he asked, slightly confused.

"None."

"Oh." He thought about this for a bit, while Arya waited patiently. "It's just, in my autobiography, I fight vampires with a religious symbol and a stake." He held up his other hand threateningly, but the fierce effect was somewhat lost since he didn't actually have a vicious, pointy wooden implement on him. "But- You're not a vampire, are you?"

"No, I'm an elf."

"And you don't believe in any gods, do you?"

"No, Eragon, I'm a strict agnostic. You're very strange, do you know that?"

Eragon looked down at himself, and it dimly registered that his plan had failed and he had made a fool of himself.

Then inspiration struck.

He looked from the chain to Arya and back again. "I'm sorry," he apologised, withdrawing his hand so that it looked like he was giving up. At the last minute, he threw his hand back out, releasing the chain so that it flew straight towards Arya's face.

Not waiting to see if it connected, he pivoted and charged off in the opposite direction, deep into Du Weldenvarden where Saphira was theoretically waiting for their daily flight. He dodged tree in his panic, cursing when he realised that Arya, who had given chase, was gaining on him because the ridiculous trousers hampered his movement.

He yanked a sharp stick off of a branch and desperately started cutting the damn things off while running. There were a few near misses, but he managed to accomplish this feat without drawing blood and speeded up again once he was trouserless. He absently thanked the world at large that he had put on underwear that morning.

He reached the designated meeting point ahead of Arya, only to find that Saphira wasn't there.

SAPHIRA! WHERE ARE YOU?

Behind you, replied the dragon.

Eragon turned sharply, nearly falling over in the process, and took a flying leap onto the dragon's back, landing clumsily and half-falling off, but nevertheless facing the right way and upright, which was an accomplishment.

He had got himself into a semi-respectable position as Arya came into the forest without even the grace to appear out of breath. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked like she was about to start scolding him before she dragged him to her mother's house.

The remnants of his trousers were hung over her shoulder.

One look at the determination on her face convinced Eragon that he was doing the right thing. "FLY, SAPHIRA, FLY!" he shouted, throwing his arms around the dragon's neck in preparation for takeoff.

Saphira didn't move. Arya advanced, and Eragon knew that the end was nigh. "Please, Saphira. I'll do anything. Anything."

"Eragon, you look ridiculous." She murmured a word in the Ancient Language, and the trousers repaired themselves. She threw them up at him and he reluctantly caught them one-handed before they smacked him in the face. "Put them back on and get down."

"Traitor," he whispered to Saphira, climbing down before putting the trousers back on in defiance. All he got as a response was a wave of smug satisfaction, to which he stuck out his tongue.

Very mature, Eragon.

He ignored her and, with all the dignity he could muster, followed Arya back towards Ellesmera. She wasn't taking any chances, though, and she cast a spell that essentially put a collar around his neck. He couldn't move more than five metres away from his mate in any direction.