AN: Hi guys! A very happy new year to all of you! Thank you all for those who reviewed….
This chapter is longer than my usual chapters… but more of a filler actually… not that happy with it, really.
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Chapter 8: Whiterun
Murtagh was worried… he understood where his father came from and what he wished for himself and him…. He had himself witnessed the decadence and corruption that had spread through the order, sapping morale and ambition among the riders.
"We are the mightiest and most powerful warriors in all of Alagaeisa!," his father had stated, anger filling his voice, "and what do we do with this power? Police the roads and kingdoms like beat cops!"
"We should be lords and rulers in our own right, above the pettiness of lowly kings! Our elders bicker and spat as the kingdoms engage in proxy wars, as drought and famine devastate the countryside, as marauders and pirates rule the roads and waterways. We can bring order and rule to these pathetic mortals, we can bring about peace in our time. It is our moral duty to do so!"
Indeed, his father's words had had a rousing effect in Murtagh and he had vowed to become better, stronger in every possible way. And today he had finally gotten a chance to serve their cause. He had been spreading his father's message throughout his fellow apprentices and most had become like-minded. Tonight, Lord Galbatorix would return form his forced exile and lead them to their destiny!
He knew not what drew him to the Throat of the World so intensely, but did know that it was a safe haven and closer than any other alternative place, certainly closer than any questions of their bases in the valley. He walked silently through the high altitude forests, the sun weakly shining through the pine trees. It was a struggle to survive every night with the temperature dropping to well before freezing. He had so far been able to build a fire every night and that coupled with meat from the animals he hunted had saved his life. The dragonbone bow was truly a godsend…. It was slow going however, the reality of survival meant that he could only travel during the daytime, but that also meant that he had to carefully avoid the many predators who called the forests their home, since they too, were active during the daytime. However he did notice that the animals had a natural proclivity to leave him alone, for the most part.
He was currently walking uphill and was nearing the crest of the cliffl; he had hoped to be able to see the valley below him for miles and chart a course to the mountain. And indeed, when he did crest the cliff, he was confronted by a beautiful vista…. The valley stretched out before him, painted green and gold by the spring with the White river snaking its way through the valley, appearing like a sliver of molten silver under the sun's weak light. In the distance, at the horizon, the Throat of the World rose for miles into the sky, like a beacon, a lighthouse guiding him home.
Eragon took a few deep breaths, taking time to enjoy the beauty of the deadly landscape. The route that he had to take was rather obvious, he simply had to descend into the valley and reach the river after which he could follow it all the way to the mountain.. there were two waterfalls that he would have to cross, but he felt that the obstacles weren't insurmountable. He reckoned it would take three more days to reach the mountain, if all went well.
"The Urgals will not know what hit them. i have asked the empire's army to deploy itself along the river's northern bank, in a classsical defensive position, in an effort to lure the Urgals into an ambush. The Urgals have demonstrated a surprisingly good knowledge of battle tactics and discipline, something that was severely lacking in all accounts of their previous rebellions," Aester spoke to the assembled group of riders and dragons under his command. this comment was overheard by the Lord Commander himself.
Vrael had always felt that something was extremely wrong with the whole Urgal situation, he just couldn't exactly say what it was... but this obvious truth about the Urgals' lack of knowledge of military tactics and dicsipline of any knid whatsoeverhad been taken for granted... but if what the Brodding army had reported was correct, then the Urgals had not only learnt the basis of military tactics but had become literal experts...often using baits and setting up ambushes... they had even executed perfect pincer traps. This was worrying development, giving credence to the Lord Aeldarian's belief that there was indeed something incrediblty fishy about the enitre invasion.
"My lord!" a runner came towards him from the castle, one of their youngest riders, "my lord," the lad had reached him, breathing heavily, "sir, Doru Araeba is under attack!"
Arya knew that Eragon, with his skills and experience in the wild, wouldn't think twice before deciding to take up shelter in the ruins of Whiterun on his way to the mountain. Thus, it made sense for her to await his arrival in the same ruins and meet up with him once he reached the ancient city.
When last she had scryed him, he was almost a day away from the city, meaning that she could reasonably expect him be the evening.
She decide to set up camp away form the main road, in one of the cottages close to the outer walls and await nightfall.
Eragon felt supremely confident that his goal of reaching the mountain was close at hand. Once there, he would contact Brom and return to his unit. Night was about to fall and he knew better than to travel through the dangerous terrain in darkness.
He looked for a suitable place to camp for the night, realising too late that he had passed several promising spots, but reluctant as he was to trace back his steps, he forged ahead.
Suddenly he broke through the outskirts of the pine forest and came upon a rather massive clearing… the forest appeared to continue in the distant horizon and the mountain still loomed in the distance… impossibly tall. What drew his attention was at the center of the plains, right on the banks of the White river; a moderately size hill with a ruined citadel on the top and tall walls which ran along the slopes all the way to the plains.
"Whiterun!" Eragon whispered.
The ancient citadel looked mystical in the glow of the setting sun, painted golden and purple. The city was quite obviously in a decayed state- but that only added to its charm and mystique. Eragon felt his excitement and curiosity rise as he beheld the ancient city- which once held the throne of the High King of all of what then had been Skyrim, where the bow at his back had been forged millennia ago…. He knew that he couldn't not explore the ancient city- the fact that it would make for an excellent camping site was only incidental…
Nodding to himself, Eragon decided, it would indeed make a fine camping place and set out to cross the open ground between here and the walls as quickly as possible. Everything was fading away into darkness as the sun slowly set and Eragon's progress slowed down… it wouldn't do to stumble in the rough terrain and break his leg, or worse his neck.
Sometime later….
It was early evening- the moon had come about two thirds up in the night sky, casting a milky glow over the world. Wild night blooms danced in the meadows, their sweet fragrance wafting in the cold breeze.
Eragon shivered slightly; nights here were without exception long and cold; but that was of little import.. he was merely a stone's throw away from the main gates of the city. The city was entirely built on a hill. One face of the hill, the northern one, was a steep cliff at whose summit stood a citadel, from which the hill sloped down gently to meet the plains. Tall walls surrounded the city , but only the walls around the gate could be attacked, the rest were far too high, built as they were on an already elevated surface. The walls extended on either side of the drawbridge to surround the drawbridge, forming a killbox in front of the main gates.
Eragon was mightily impressed with the ancient city's fortifications- no wonder the ancient city had never fallen! Alas, the city's builders hadn't thought of dragons when they had built the fortifications.
The drawbridge had long since rotten away… a fast brook still ran through the stone canal below. Eragon refilled his canteen with the sweet glacial melt water before jumping up and grabbing the ledge.
The main gates still stood-leaning awkwardly- their iron hinges having rusted through long ago. The gates were huge, atleast thirty feet wide, double doored, made from ironwood most likely and reinforced with horizontal steel bands. They were slightly ajar, for which he was grateful… he knew very well that he didn't have the strength to pull them open.
Inside, Eragon was humbled by what he saw… the walls and the towers, they were largely intact but inside…all he saw was rubble and scorch marks… Centuries had passed since the dragons had razed this once proud city…but to Eragon, it felt as if mere days had passed since the attack… nothing grew within…not even the tiniest tuft of weed and grass.. Snow covered the small heaps of broken wood and charred stones that were once homes and businesses…. Nothing was left standing, as Eragon walked towards the distant summit, wondering how the city might have looked before the attack. Eragon shook his head…..the wanton destruction spoke volumes of the horrors his people had faced so many years ago… he quietly moved to an elevated part of the city.
The first thing that he saw was the beautiful giant tree that stood in the center of the square- he tree's trunk had twisted around itself as it rose thirty feet above the ground before spreading out into a massively wide canopy, filled with purple leaves… He recognised the tree- the Gildergreen, a symbol of the goddess Kynareth- his eyes remained glued to the tree as his legs, almost of their own will, dragged him closer. He reverently placed his palm on the trunk and then a breeze suddenly picked up- the leaves rustled and the branches swayed rhythmically, almost hypnotically and a motherly voice called out on the wind….
"Eragon Dovahkin," the voice whispered, " welcome my child."
He drew a sharp breath and stiffened immediately- for in that breath, he had picked up a whiff of pinecones and something else—something which gave him goosebumps.
She had been observing him very carefully ever since he had entered the city.
His appearance matched with what she had been seeing for the last few days while scrying , but she couldn't afford to be careless.
He moved powerfully, and yet gracefully, scarcely making any noise. She observed how his eyes would dart all over the place, carefully observing the city and its ancient fortifications- she was glad she had wiped off all her tracks magically otherwise he would have surely have noticed them.
She followed him as he ascended the stairs and then stilled in wonder at the sight of the Gildergreen, a reaction not dissimilar to her own….
She drew closer as Eragon came to a stop before the trunk and placed his palms on the tree…. She was very close now, barely seven feet behind him, invisible when the wind suddenly swirled and a voice whispered, full of love and power….
"Eragon Dovahkin, welcome, my child."
That took her completely by surprise and yet caused her to relax her defenses…. If Kynareth herself was acknowledging the man as Dovahkiin, who was she to doubt it?
Before she could think of doing anything she saw Eragon stiffen and then he whipped around, drawing his sword in a flash of glinting steel…
Arya herself froze in her crouched position… this was an unexpected development, how did he notice her? The invisibility spell was by no means perfect but the low light should've hidden her completely.
Eragon muttered, "Laas!" and she felt a wave of energy hit her and reflect back…
Eragon's eyes widened comically as his shout revealed a strong humanoid presence right in front of him.
He immediately raised his sword to deliver a powerful two handed chop at the person, but the figure rolled backwards and his sword missed by mere inches.
He hefted the blade to the left to strike at the crouched form but was stopped by a feminine voice, "Letta! I mean you no harm.." the figure shimmered for a moment before becoming visible and Eragon was surprised to see a she-elf. Somewhat relieved, he pointed his blade at her, "why were you spying on me if you mean me no harm?"
"Peace, friend. I was sent by both Oromis-elda and Tenga-elda to find you and to accompany you to High Hrothgar."
He carefully observed the woman…the elves were allies of the northern Province and her words had the ring of truth to them….
He sheathed his sword and she relaxed, standing up. She twisted her wrist over her sternum and bowed in the elven way of greeting, "I am Arya of the Blades." Eragon repeated the familiar gesture- he had after all met more tha enough elven rangers to know the greeting.
"Eragon, Senior Tribune of the Twentieth, my lady."
"Come, I've made camp nearby. We will rest for the night before resuming the journey at daybreak," she lad him right from the square and the tree to a building that he easily recognised from the descriptions that he had read in books as Jorrvaskr, the legendary mead hall of the Companions-the warriors who had accompanied Ysgrammor from Atmora millennia ago.
The building was remarkably well-preserved; constructed by inverting a large long boat and then raising it on stilts with wooden walls surrounding the strucuture. The detail work and the intricate carvings on the panels were extraordinarily beautiful even though the paint had long since faded. He had stopped and was staring at the building with a dumb look.
"What happened? Are you alright?", his guide asked.
"I am fine, … just overwhelmed by the moment," he smiled weakly at her. She raised an elegant eyebrow but simply nodded after a moment.
"Ever since I was a child, I've dreamt of coming here to the old capital of Skyrim- to be able to walk through the streets, to see the Gildergreen, to see Jorrvaskr, to see…." Eragon's expression changed from wonderment to one of complete astonishment as his eyes darted around, searching for anything that resembled what he had read in ancient books. He noticed a flight of stone steps to the right of the courtyard surrounding the mead hall which disappeared behind a stone buff that rose vertically from the hillside.
He gave a shout of delight and dashed towards the steps not even registering Arya's protests.
Arya cursed before following, her elven strength and speed meant that she easily caught up with him at the top of the stairs. She found him kneeling in front of a very large forge that had been adorned with a statue of a huge eagle, carved in soft-toned sandstone, rising above the hillside.
"What is this place?", Arya asked.
Eragon smiled at her, "this is the Sky-Forge, a legendary ancient forge of unknown origins from the Merethic Era… this is quite possibly the best forge in all of Alagaesia."
"What do you mean 'best forge'? What does a forge have to do with the quality of the pieces crafted? Isn't the smith more important?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes, absolutely, the smith is extremely, vitally important… but the SkyForge is the only place known where a master smith can craft something like this-" Eragon replied, handing her the bow.
Arya took the offered weapons in her hands as Eragon slowly followed her down the flight of steps. She turned the bow over in her hands, it was very light and yet the drawstring took far greater strength than any other bow that she had ever used.
"What is this material?," she asked.
Eragon smirked at her, "dragonbone."
Doru Araeba, Vroengard Islands.
The air was heavy with the acrid stench of smoke and burning flesh…..
Thunder rolled over the tormented seas as brilliant flashes of colored light lit up the darkness of the menacing night.
Dragons flew everywhere- many were wild, others with riders. Fire! Dragon fire rained on all… the forests blazed in a fierce maelstrom of flashing heat…. The city had been long reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble… War had come to the riders.
The first to die were the many hundreds of warriors and mages in service with the Order… they were butchered mercilessly by the dov and the Forsworn, helplessly outnumbered and outmatched… most died before they even had a chance at defending themselves… killed in the first few terrible moments of sheer panic and confusion as Alduin destroyed the barracks and the fortifications.
Initially the wildings who roosted in Doru Araeba aided the defenders but when their leader, Fundor the Indomitable was slain- his wings torn apart, his throat crushed, his soul absorbed by Alduin… they fled… none had the temerity to challenge the eldest…
After that, it was a massacre….
Jorrvaskr, Whiterun
Eragon finally got a good look at the elf who had 'rescued' him.
She was, in a word, drop dead gorgeous… doe eyes that glazed like clear emeralds, beautiful raven hair that seemed to cascade down her back, pouty full lips and high cheekbones… She was tall, almost his height, making her 5' 10'' or so and figure was extremely feminine, one which DIbella herself would be envious of… Eragon blushed and averted his eyes as she bent over the small hearth to place a cooking pot over the fire, her undershirt parting to reveal the beginnings of her honey colored mounds.. She was a warrior as well, given her toned body and the slim sabre that she carried at her waist alongwith the wickedly curved dagger at her back.
"Come on, I've made soup from what herbs and vegetables I gathered earlier from the forest.." she gestured at him with a come hither motion, smiling, revealing her milky white teeth.
He smiled in return and joined her at a low bench, partaking of the warm and nutritious, if bland soup… constantly aware of the heady fragrance of crushed pine cones.
Her ethereal beauty aside, Eragon keenly observed her equipment- padded leather armor and a pack with a short bow and a full quiver of arrows were all she carried; and of course the two blades on her person. He noticed a strange rune on her left shoulder but didn't know what it meant, though it seemed strangely familiar.
She must have formed her own opinion of him, he was sure and Eragon couldn't help but wonder what she thought of him.
"May I see your sword?," she asked, her sweet voice shattering through his thoughts.
He smiled, "only if I can see yours."
She smiled before unsheathing the sabre and handing it to him, as he surrendered his hand-and-half sword.
She traced her fingers through the double fuller that spanned two thirds of the 41" blade. The blade glinted and shone in the strong firelight and Arya knew instinctively that the blade was of high quality. The hilt was of a cruciform shape with long crossguards and made for two handed grip with a heavy lead pommel the size of an apple.
She rose and held the blade vertically high, noting the heavy weight of the sword as well as its fine balance. She swung it in an overhead chop and laughed in delight as the blade seemed to thrum with energy. Turning to Eragon, she found him keenly tracing the curve of the sabre with a soft smile.. his entire attention seemingly focused on the blade.
"You like it?," she asked. He simply nodded, "this is an extraordinarily fine sword… perfect steel, perfectly tempered and incredible balance. I don't know how to wield a sabre but I know that this is deadly."
"It had to be perfect. It was made by Rhunon, the elf-smith"
"-the elf-smith who has made all the riders' swords! This is beyond rare!" Eragon exclaimed.
Arya noticed the incredulous look on her companion's face and she remembered how he excited he had been at discovering the Sky-Forge and then her eyes turned to the blade in her hand.
"Wait a moment, you made this?" she asked, pointing to the sword in her hands.
He nodded and Arya couldn't fathom how… the sword in her hands was among the very best she had ever seen, it rivaled the work of the dwarves! And yet Eragon was only twenty two!
"This is an incredible blade, Eragon and I am frankly astonished that you…. This is a masterpiece!"
"Ah!", he waved away her compliments dismissively, "it isn't that impressive- the design is common enough. You should see the polehammer that I made for my cousin, now that is something!"
She simply shook her head at the tendency of the northern warriors to downplay their achievements- a rather endearing quality. "Enough chit chat, lets sleep and we'll resume our journey on the morrow."
Eragon looked around confused, "shouldn't we take turns at keeping watch?"
"Not required, I've warded the entire perimeter, so I'll know if someone or something approaches. Besides the doors are sealed with heavy timbers… no animal can come through."
"Its obvious you haven't fought ice trolls but fortunately- they rarely venture this far south. Alright, lets sleep."
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