Chapter 2: Despair
Eragon sheathed his sword.
"I won't kill them." He stated, in a firm voice. "And I will stop anyone who attempts to do so."
A surprised rustle passed throughout the soldiers of the Varden. Word spread from one man to another, and soon, everyone was muttering about this strange choice. Roran silenced all of them with a glare.
He then stared at his cousin as if he has lost his sanity.
"Are you mad? We kept them alive only to extract what information we wanted! They are no use after we have completed the task!"
"Then we should have finished both the task and their lives on the battlefield. But as we have not, I wish to pass the judgment to Nasuada. Or anyone who is of high enough rank to decide their fate."
Roran growled as he ran a hand through his beard. "You know what she will say, Eragon. Why keep these men alive for such a short time, while they will only drain our provisions and cause us trouble? The smart, and not to mention right, choice would be to dispose of them here and now. You know that as well."
The young dragon rider furrowed his brow and shook his head. "On the battlefield, a soldier's life is in the hands of the gods. We do not have the authority now. We spared their lives, and that is that until we have the orders to do otherwise."
"Have the elves have only taught you to use logic to defend illogical decisions? Think, Eragon! Think! There is only one correct answer for this."
Eragon crossed his arms. "I refuse to be their executioners. And I will not stand idly by while someone kills them. This is a raid, not a massacre."
The four imperial soldiers kneeling in front of them tried to sneer and chuckle. "Kill us now, you cowardly rider!" one called out through a shaking voice. "Are you afraid to wet your hands with crimson?"
Roran narrowed his eyes dangerously. "See now, Eragon? They are bound by an oath. They won't benefit us in any way if we bring them back. And their family's lives hang on their obedience to the Empire."
"We will bring them back."
"I am the commander of this—!"
Eragon's eyes blazed. "And I am a rider."
Roran opened his mouth as if to make more argument on the matter, but he slowly closed it. Grunting, he motioned for the four men of the Empire be bound.
As he passed by the Shur'tugal, he muttered into his cousin's ear.
"You are far too naïve for your own good, Eragon. This won't bode well for any of us. "
"I am not being naïve." Eragon murmured back. "I am simply doing what I think is right."
Roran sighed and continued on his way. Saphira watched the entire scene from above with unblinking eyes.
It is your own choice, little one, was her only response to his decision.
While it pained Eragon to go against his cousin, this was a thing that he had to do. They were not executioners. It was not to them to decide the lives of these four men.
It surprised him on how much his cousin had changed. A year before, he was still that shy, hardworking boy on the farm who blushed slightly whenever Katrina was near. Now? He looked like a hardened veteran, fierce and skilled in the bloodiness of battle. It was no wonder that he rose in the ranks of the Varden so extremely fast.
All of us have changed, he though grimly. Ever since he had found Saphira's egg.
For that, he felt guilt from the depths of his heart.
His cousin turned around on Snowfire, and met his eyes. Roran smiled tiredly and shrugged, to show that he was merely exasperated with his antics and not furious about them.
Eragon grinned back. Though he knew this from only a touch on his cousin's mind, it was good for this to be confirmed in person. Brom and Oromis had taught him well.
Oromis. Gleadr…
Eragon's gaze shifted to the small pack at his belt, which contained the golden dragon's Eldunari, the heart of hearts. Ever since the battle of Gil'lead, he had refused to waken and lay almost unconscious in the jewel. No matter how they tried, Gleadr remained silent.
We will wake him. Said Saphira in a firm voice.
That we will.
After the Varden had gained control over the city of Feinster, the Empire's men started to draw back further into the north. They had clearly not expected the city to be taken so swiftly, and because of this there was confusion among their movements.
And that was why they were here. To strike at the fleeing troops, and seize any supplies that they could.
Quickening his pace, he strode over to Roran.
"Those painless soldiers you had told me about. There weren't any of them in the groups we had attacked. Do have any ideas on where they are?" he asked.
Roran sighed. "You really don't know?" Pointing towards the vague direction of south, he said, "They've been attacking our forces at Feinster and the main Varden camps ever since we broke the city. It's probably the king's idea, to let them fight and die while the majority of his soldiers and supplies escape to the north."
Eragon rubbed his chin. "And that is what we are trying to prevent."
Roran peered down at Eragon from the top of his horse. "Honestly, I don't know why you joined us in the first place. This is a job for men like me, not riders. Don't you have more important things to do?"
Eragon raised his eyebrows. "You're trying to shoo me away?"
A sigh. "No, and you know it."
"It is always fun to tease my beloved and only cousin." The rider said with a smirk.
Roran groaned and turned away from him. Eragon chuckled.
While it was true that Eragon didn't need to be here, he thought that he must. He needed to see for himself how the Empire and the Varden operated besides the major battles he had fought him. Though he had only a little knowledge in the complexities of war, there was always basic—
Eragon! Behind you!
The mental cry rang through his mind, and immediately the rider shifted his weight to the side, and turned his head around.
The man leapt towards him, dagger in hand and fire in his eyes. With ease, Eragon grabbed his arms and threw him onto the ground in front of him. Brisingr was out in a flash and pressed against the man's throat.
Roran slid off his horse as fast as he could manage and came to his side. "Blasted hells, he's one of the men we captured. How did he—"
Eragon swore. "He's a damned magician. How could I have missed it?" Turning to his cousin, he said, "Get some healers to check the men who were watching over him. He must have incapacitated them in some way."
The magician sneered. "Fools!" he barked. "Fools, the lot of you! Don't you know that the king is merely toying with you? That he could incinerate you in an instant if he decided to fight? You bone-headed, cross-eyed—"
"Slytha." Eragon uttered quietly, his magical power breaking through the magician's wards as if they weren't there.
The sorcerer slumped down in an instant. Eragon ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
"It… disturbs me sometimes, to see someone willing to sacrifice their lives for a king like that. Where does their loyalty come from?"
From a twisted mind. Saphira growled.
Roran let out a tired smile, like the one before. "Still insist on tying him up and bringing him back?"
The rider hesitated before nodding firmly.
"…Too naïve for your own good." Was Roran's answer.
The rest of the journey went about in silence, all of the travelers lost in their own thoughts.
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It was a cold and quiet night in the Varden camps.
Eragon leaned back in his chair as he started to sort out the numerous requests scattered on his desk. Some asked for his hand in marriage, some asked to cure a sickened relative… the list went on and on. There were those who asked advice for the smallest of things, and there were those sought council for great decisions in life. It sometimes scared him on how they revered what was once a simple farm boy.
Once, said Saphira smugly.
Indeed. He replied as he sifted through the papers. And to think, that a few months past I didn't even know how to read.
We have grown stronger and wiser, more knowledgeable and more cautious.
Aye. He rubbed his eyes and continued to study the sheets. But still not able to defeat Murtagh alone. What is our power worth if we cannot even do that?
"Eragon." Called a voice quietly from outside of his tent.
The rider looked up from the various pieces of parchment. "Arya Svit-kona." He said in surprise. His mind reached out and scanned his surroundings, but did not feel her presence. She must have hidden herself. He thought.
"May I enter?"
"Of-of course." Eragon opened the tent flat, letting the elven princess in. "To what do I owe this honor?"
Arya hesitated for a moment, as if deciding on how to approach the subject.
"I have heard about what happened this morning." She said, previous expression gone and in her usual monotone.
Eragon sighed. He knew that she would come for him eventually.
"About that—" he started to explain.
"No, I am not here to express disagreement to that particular decision. Yet… as a friend, I must advise you to refrain from such acts in the future. Though seemingly kind, they cause nuisances for the people of the Varden and unnecessary pain for those we have captured."
"But—"
Arya's face contained no emotion. At least, Eragon couldn't find any whatsoever. "That is a thing of the past, and not my purpose here. What was brought to my attention, however, was that Oromis did not seem to have taught you about the intricacies of war. Has he?"
"Intricacies?" asked Eragon.
"Yes. As a rider of the Varden, it would be crucial for you to be able to have knowledge of the workings of an army, and how to lead one. It has become even the more important since Nasuada had named you as her successor."
Eragon stared back at Arya. "But… wouldn't it be more important for me to improve my skills? The last time we defeated Murtagh, I had twelve spellweavers at my side and yet I nearly lost. It cannot go on like this forever, and Ellesmera does not have an infinite amount of magicians."
The elf looked back at him blankly. "There is no one to train you in Ellesmera."
The rider frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said that there is no one with the skill and knowledge to teach you now." Arya paced around the tent, and for the first time, looked restless. "The teachings of the riders were considered to be the highest of all, and no house, clan nor class could ever possibly stand before them. You are on your own now, Eragon."
Eragon blinked. "But… if it were skills in magic and blade, you could destroy me easily in a fair fight! Why—"
"What I have is merely decades of training and experience." Answered Arya, without facing him. "That is why I said that you are on your own."
"We don't have time for decades of training!"
"Do you think this is easy for me to admit?" Arya turned around, a hint of anger entering her eyes. "Admitting that we may have no hope, admitting that just Murtagh himself could kill us all, given enough time?"
"I—"
"After sunset, come to my tent and wait there. I will be your mentor." Those were her last words as she turned away, and walked out.
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Aedail-Child of the Light: Really? I originally posted it out as a joke… but to think that so many people thought so as well!
... : My thoughts exactly.
EmeraldArya: Don't worry, this story won't be too short. It'll be longer than all my previous ones. And thanks for the support!
XxXmaximuM-RideRXxX: Yeah, someone carried him back. A certain someone.
Mysterious Old Man: Thanks. :)
Social Bunny: I thought the exact same things. I was waiting for fanfics on the fourth book, and when they didn't come out for a week I thought, "Hell, I'll write one myself." And yeah, there does seem to be a shortage of quality fics these days…
TheFlyingFox: Thanks for the support!
The Sun Also Rises: Yep, Arya will play a very major role in this fic. And I've found that almost everyone thinks that Brisingr is fanfiction-like. CP's getting seriously weird…
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Sigh… though it didn't have much action, Brisingr fleshed out most of the characters, leaving less room for me to develop them (Those who have read my story Shadow Rider will know what I mean.) Anyhow, this will be one hard story to write.
So, readers out there! If you like my story, please leave a review! While it may not take a minute of your time, it will certainly speed up my update speed tenfold!