Answers to reviews:
Dreagon D. Dragon: Trust me, I made twenty chapters of this before I posted.
Guest: Thanks.
Spedyalarm: Yeah, thinking on that now made me realize, so I went back and gave Saphira bit of a violent reaction to Daemon's memories of him slaying dragons, with her lunging for the kill and threatening to rip him apart. I also dimmed down on Daemon and Eragon's friendship, and made it that they are as close as best friends, not brothers... thejourney ahead will develop their friendship. Does that help?
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.
How did things go from bad to worse in the span of a couple of days? Daemon thought as he was in his cabin, packing away supplies, clothes, essentials, including his Nightingale armour. He had his sheathed sword strapped to the left side of his waist.
After Saphira left him so suddenly in the woods, Daemon had raced back to Carvahall. It had taken him until the next morning to get back, and when he did, he saw smoke rising from the direction of Eragon's farm. He had sprinted down there like a man on a mission. On the road, he found the old storyteller Brom hunched over a collapsed Eragon and severely injured Garrow. His heart had skipped a beat and his mind raced, but then pure protective instinct took over. Not waiting for an explanation, he had grabbed his friend and hauled him up on his back, looping the unconscious boy's arms around his neck for support as he helped Brom half carry, half drag the older Garrow towards Carvahall.
They took Garrow to Horst's house so he can be treated, while Daemon took Eragon to Gertrude's house seeing as she was the village's healer. Offering his help, he was nonetheless turned away by Gertrude, stating that he had already done his part. Knowing only one person could help him, he went searching for Saphira in the forest and it didn't take him long to find her as she was beside herself with worry for her Rider and her only comfort was Daemon, seeing as he proved he could be trusted and was loyal to Eragon. he had asked what had happened, and Saphira filled him in as best she can.
Two strangers had come to Carvahall, and from the emotion that washed over Saphira as she spoke, she despised these strangers. Long story short, they were clearly the ones responsible for Garrow's condition... they were looking for Eragon and Saphira, and had targeted Garrow to draw him out or because they had been directed there only to not find their prey. Daemon had comforted Saphira as best as he can, reassuring her that Eragon will be fine... and vowed to hunt down the ones responsible for this.
So for two days, Daemon kept visiting Saphira, keeping her company and updating her on Eragon's condition. She took solace in his mind, and Daemon gave her permission to project her thoughts and enter his mind to communicate, and she in turn granted the same to him but it was nowhere near the same level of connection that Rider and dragon shared; their minds were still their own. But it did make things easier, and the two had begun to form a quick friendship.
Saphira had said it was nice to have another friend to speak with.
Daemon showed her his many adventures, the people he's met, doing the best he can to take her mind off the events that had happened and comfort her.
However, not too long ago, during one of their talks, Saphira had stiffened before remorsefully telling Daemon that Garrow had passed... and that Eragon intended to hunt down the ones responsible. Daemon had merely nodded and told her he was coming with, since it was his job to protect Eragon and Saphira, the reason he was here. Garrow had been kind to Daemon, allowing him into his home for inner some nights, and Daemon intended to repay that debt by avenging him.
And so, that's how Daemon was currently packing.
Saphira, where's Eragon? Daemon asked as he slung his pack over his shoulder.
He intends to go collect supplies such as hides and meat. The dragoness replied. I have told him about meeting you and your decision to come along with us. He was shocked, a little reluctant and defiant, but he accepted it soon enough.
That's good to hear. Daemon said and Saphira retracted her mind from his while Jayden exited the cabin, giving it one last look before he closed the door and walked away.
Now to find Eragon.
Eragon went to Gedric's tanning vats on the outskirts of Carvahall. The vile smell made him cringe, but he kept moving, heading for a shack set into the side of a hill where the cured hides were stored. He cut down three large ox hides from the rows of skins hanging from the ceiling. The thievery made him feel guilty, but he reasoned, It's not really stealing. I'll pay Gedric back someday, along with Horst. He rolled up the thick leather and took it to a stand of trees away from the village. He wedged the hides between the branches of a tree, then returned to Carvahall.
Now for food. He went to the tavern, intending to get it there, but then smiled tightly and reversed direction. If he was going to steal, it might as well be from Sloan. He sneaked up to the butcher's house. The front door was barred whenever Sloan was not there, but the side door was secured with only a thin chain.
Before Eragon could approach it, a voice spoke up behind him. "An easy break." He whirled around to see Daemon standing there, a pack slung over his shoulder, watching him with a small smirk.
"What are you doing here?" Eragon asked with a frown.
"Didn't Saphira tell you?"
Eragon's first instinct was to widen at his eyes at someone knowing about Saphira, but then he remembered that Saphira told him and showed him of her and Daemon's first meeting, who and what Daemon is, why he's here, and the talks they shared over the past two days while Eragon was out. The young Rider had been shocked that his friend was something known as the Dragonborn, was from Tamriel, a land far from this one only mentioned in books, had slain dragons.
And the nature of him wanting to aid Eragon his quest to avenge Garrow's death.
"She did but..." Eragon shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me? You're from Tamriel? You've seen dragons, slain dragons... absorbed the souls of dragons?!"
"I was going to tell you eventually, Eragon." Daemon said genuinely. "You're my friend and I'm here to watch your back and protect you. But know that I don't mean you or Saphira any harm. I don't kill dragons anymore, only those that intend to harm the innocent. The dragons of my land are far different than the ones of this land. besides, if Saphira's shown you what she's seen in my memories, you'll know I am friends with two dragons."
Eragon nodded. He had seen those memories of Odahviing and Paarthurnax, the latter being the one who sent Daemon to Alagaësia, Saphira had commented that Paarthurnax was a wise, old dragon, his very tone spoke with wisdom.
"I trust you, Daemon." Eragon said after a moment of silence. "Saphira's come to trust you as well, though she said you two had a bit of a rocky start when she found out you used to kill dragons. We know you're not here to harm us, as I think Saphira would've attacked if she thought that. You can come with us, but I want you to tell me more about Skyrim, the Dragonborn legend, what the dragons there were like, everything."
"Done." Daemon nodded. "And in return, I'll teach you how to handle yourself in combat. Something tells me you're going to need it.
Eragon nodded. That was fair. He then gestured to the butcher's. "Shall we?"
Daemon smirked and walked up, breaking the thin chain easily with a jerk of his hand. "Get in and get what you need, I'll stand guard." Daemon said. Ergon nodded and went inside. The rooms inside were dark. He fumbled blindly until his hands came upon hard piles of meat wrapped in cloth. He stuffed as many of them as he could under his shirt, then hurried back to the street and furtively closed the door.
"Got it?" Daemon asked, getting a nod from Eragon. Before either could say anything else, a woman shouted Eragon's name nearby. "Shit, we need to move! Now!"
Eragon clasped the bottom of his shirt to keep the meat from falling out and ducked behind a corner with Daemon, watching as Horst walked between two houses not ten feet away.
They ran as soon as Horst was out of sight. Eragon's legs burned as they pounded down an alley and back to the trees. They slipped between the tree trunks, then turned to see if they were being pursued. No one was there. Relieved, both let out a breath and Eragon reached into the tree for the leather. It was gone.
"Going somewhere?"
Both Eragon and Daemon whirled around, the latter unsheathing his sword. Brom scowled angrily at them, an ugly wound on the side of his head. A short sword hung at his belt in a brown sheath. The hides were in his hands.
Eragon's eyes narrowed in irritation. How had the old man managed to sneak up on them? Everything had been so quiet, he would have sworn that no one was around. "Give them back," he snapped.
"Why? So you can run off before Garrow is even buried?" The accusation was sharp.
"It's none of your business!" Eragon barked, temper flashing.
"Eragon, mind your temper." Daemon advised before he looked at Brom suspiciously. "Why did you follow us?"
"I didn't," grunted Brom. "I've been waiting for you both here. Now where are you going?"
"Nowhere." Eragon lunged for the skins and grabbed them from Brom's hands. Brom did nothing to stop him.
"I hope you have enough meat to feed your dragon."
Eragon froze and Daemon's grip on his sword tightened. "What are you talking about?"
Brom crossed his arms. "Don't fool with me. I know where that mark on your hand, the gedwëy ignasia, the shining palm, comes from: you have touched a dragon hatchling. I know why you came to me with those questions, and I know that once more the Riders live."
Eragon dropped the leather and meat. We have to get away! I can't run faster than him with my injured legs, Daemon could hold him off but I refuse to leave him, but if... Saphira! he called.
For a few agonizing seconds she did not answer, but then, Yes.
We've been discovered! Daemon and I need you! He sent her a picture of where they were, and she took off immediately. Now he just had to stall Brom. "How did you find out?" he asked in a hollow voice.
Brom stared into the distance and moved his lips soundlessly as if he were talking to someone else. Then he said, "There were clues and hints everywhere; I had only to pay attention. Anyone with the right knowledge could have done the same. Tell me, how is your dragon?"
"She," said Eragon, "is fine. We weren't at the farm when the strangers came."
"Ah, your legs. You were flying?"
How did Brom figure that out? What if the strangers coerced him into doing this? Maybe they want him to discover where I'm going so they can ambush us. And where is Saphira? He reached out with his mind and found her circling far overhead. Come!
No, I will watch for a time.
Why!
Because of the slaughter at Dorú Areaba.
What?
Brom leaned against a tree with a slight smile. "I have talked with her, and she has agreed to stay above us until we settle our differences. As you can see, you really don't have any choice but to answer my questions. Now tell me, where are you going?"
Bewildered, Eragon put a hand to his temple. How could Brom speak to Saphira? The back of his head throbbed and ideas whirled through his mind, but he kept reaching the same conclusion: he had to tell the old man something. He looked at Daemon for help and the Dragonborn gave a subtle nod of his head before speaking.
"We were going to find a safe place to stay while Eragon's legs heal."
"And after that?"
Daemon hesitated for a moment and looked at Eragon, who looked reluctant before he nodded. "Then we were going to hunt down the strangers and kill them."
"A mighty task for two so young," Brom said in a normal tone, as if they had proposed the most obvious and suitable thing to do. "Certainly a worthy endeavor and one you are both fit to carry out, yet it strikes me that help would not be unwelcome." He reached behind a bush and pulled out a large pack. His tone became gruff. "Anyway, I'm not going to stay behind while some stripling and his mysterious bodyguard gets to run around with a dragon."
Mysterious bodyguard? What?! Daemon thought, annoyed at the storyteller's words.
Is he really offering help, or is it a trap? Eragon was afraid of what his mysterious enemies could do. But Brom convinced Saphira to trust him, and they've talked through the mind touch. If she isn't worried... He decided to put his suspicions aside for the present. "We don't need help, Daemon and I are enough and can handle ourselves." said Eragon, then grudgingly added, "but you can come."
"Then we had best be going," said Brom. His face blanked for a moment. "I think you'll find that your dragon will listen to you again."
Saphira? asked Eragon.
Yes.
He resisted the urge to question her. Will you meet us at the farm?
Yes. So you reached an agreement?
I guess so. She broke contact and soared away.
Daemon glanced at Carvahall and saw people running from house to house. "I think it's time we leave. the village will be looking for Eragon."
Brom raised an eyebrow. "Probably. Shall we go?"
Eragon hesitated. "I'd like to leave a message for Roran. It doesn't seem right to run off without telling him why."
"It's been taken care of," assured Brom. "I left a letter for him with Gertrude, explaining a few things. I also cautioned him to be on guard for certain dangers. Is that satisfactory?"
Eragon nodded. He wrapped the leather around the meat and started off with Daemon beside him, Brom behind them.
"What do you think?" Eragon whispered to his friend.
"Until we know for certain he can be trusted and he means us no harm, be on your guard and keep your distance." Daemon whispered back lowly. "Even those who call themselves an ally can stab you in the back."
They were careful to stay out of sight until they reached the road, then quickened their pace, eager to distance themselves from Carvahall. Eragon plowed ahead determinedly, his legs burning. The mindless rhythm of walking freed his mind to think. Once we get home, I won't travel any farther with Brom until I get some answers, he told himself firmly. I hope that he can tell me more about the Riders and whom I'm fighting.
As the wreckage of the farm came into view, Brom's eyebrows beetled with anger while Daemon's fists clenched tightly and he gave a slight grit of his teeth. Eragon was dismayed to see how swiftly nature was reclaiming the farm. Snow and dirt were already piled inside the house, concealing the violence of the strangers' attack. All that remained of the barn was a rapidly eroding rectangle of soot.
The sound of Saphira's wings drifted over the trees, drawing their attention. She dived past them from behind, almost brushing their heads. They staggered as a wall of air buffeted them. Saphira's scales glittered as she wheeled over the farm and landed gracefully.
Daemon and Eragon smiled at the sight of her while Brom stepped forward with an expression both solemn and joyous. His eyes were shining, and a tear shone on his cheek before it disappeared into his beard. He stood there for a long while, breathing heavily as he watched Saphira, and she him. Eragon heard him muttering and edged closer to listen.
"So... it starts again. But how and where will it end? My sight is veiled; I cannot tell if this be tragedy or farce, for the elements of both are here... However it may be, my station is unchanged, and I..."
Whatever else he might have said faded away as Saphira proudly approached them. Eragon passed Brom, pretended he had heard nothing, and greeted her. There was something different between them now, as if they knew each other even more intimately, yet were still strangers. He rubbed her neck, and his palm tingled as their minds touched. A strong curiosity came from her.
I've seen no humans except you and Garrow, and he was badly injured, she said.
You've viewed people through my eyes.
It's not the same. She came closer and turned to Daemon first, her eyes soft. Good to see you again, Daemon.
You as well, Saphira. Daemon said and reached up, patting her on the nose which made her snort.
That tickles. She laughed in his head, making him chuckle before he lowered his hand. She then turned her attention to Brom, who she allowed to touch her on the brow. With a snort, she jerked back and retreated behind Eragon. Her tail flicked over the ground.
What is it? he asked. She did not answer.
Brom turned to him and asked in an undertone, "What's her name?"
"Saphira." A peculiar expression crossed Brom's face. He ground the butt of his staff into the earth with such force his knuckles turned white. "Of all the names you gave me, it was the only one she liked. I think it fits," Eragon added quickly.
"Fit it does," said Brom. There was something in his voice Eragon could not identify. Was it loss, wonder, fear, envy? He was not sure; it could have been none of them or all. Brom raised his voice and said, "Greetings, Saphira. I am honored to meet you." He twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed.
I like him, said Saphira quietly.
Of course you do; everyone enjoys flattery. Eragon touched her on the shoulder and went to the ruined house. Saphira and Daemon trailed behind with Brom. The old man looked vibrant and alive.
Once Eragon salvaged what he could from the remains of his home, he led them to a small clearing in the woods that suited them just fine. As they settled down, Saphira landed beside them and folded her wings, careful to avoid the thorns. She curled up beside Eragon and Daemon, snapping twigs with her hard scales, and rested her head on the ground. Her unreadable eyes followed them closely.
"So... who exactly are you?" Brom asked, looking directly at Daemon who paused while in the midst of getting a fire going. "You arrive a month ago, mysteriously and hooded. And I can tell you are not from these parts."
Daemon paused, contemplating what to tell the old man, before he gave a grunt and looked at him. "You're right, I am not from Alagaësia. I am from a land called Skyrim, in Tamriel. A land filled with people and beasts of all kind. I am here because my mentor sensed the birth of Saphira and the beginning of her and Eragon's connection as dragon and rider."
"And who is your mentor to sense something like that?" Brom asked skeptically.
Daemon smirked. "He's a dragon." He almost laughed at Brom's astonished look. "I have no obligation to tell you my full story, Brom. But I am here to protect Eragon, for he and Saphira are my friends. I will remain with them as long as they want me to remain with them, but if they want me gone then I will leave without arguing."
"Which will not happen." Eragon said firmly. "You've proven you can be trusted, you're my best friend, and Saphira trusts you." Saphira confirmed this with a growl and a nod. "We want you to stay."
Daemon nodded. "Thank you."
"Well then, I suppose I better do what I can to be trusted by you." Brom said, addressing them both rather than just one.
Eragon eyed him for a moment before he asked. "Why do you want to travel with us?"
A cloud of smoke left Brom's lips and spiraled up through the trees until it disappeared. "I have a vested interest in keeping you alive," he said.
"What do you mean?" demanded Eragon.
"To put it bluntly, I'm a storyteller and I happen to think that you will make a fine story. You're the first Rider to exist outside of the king's control for over a hundred years. And your friend there is the first one to come here from Skyrim in over a hundred years. What will happen? Will you perish as a martyr? Will you join the Varden? Or will you kill King Galbatorix? All fascinating questions. And I will be there to see every bit of it, no matter what I have to do."
A knot formed in Eragon's stomach. He could not see himself doing any of those things, least of all becoming a martyr. I want my vengeance, but for the rest... I have no ambition. "That may be, but tell me, how can you talk with Saphira?"
Brom took his time putting more tobacco in his pipe. Once it was relit and firmly in his mouth, he said, "Very well, if it's answers you want, it's answers you'll get, but they may not be to your liking." He got up, brought his pack over to the fire, and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. It was about five feet long and, from the way he handled it, rather heavy.
He peeled away the cloth, strip by strip, like a mummy being unswathed. Eragon gazed, transfixed, as a sword was revealed. The gold pommel was teardrop shaped with the sides cut away to reveal a ruby the size of a small egg. The hilt was wrapped in silver wire, burnished until it gleamed like starlight. The sheath was wine red and smooth as glass, adorned solely by a strange black symbol etched into it. Next to the sword was a leather belt with a heavy buckle. The last strip fell away, and Brom passed the weapon to Eragon.
The handle fit Eragon's hand as if it had been made for him. He slowly drew the sword; it slid soundlessly from the sheath. The flat blade was iridescent red and shimmered in the firelight. The keen edges curved gracefully to a sharp point. A duplicate of the black symbol was inscribed on the metal. The balance of the sword was perfect; it felt like an extension of his arm, unlike the rude farm tools he was used to. An air of power lay over it, as if an unstoppable force resided in its core. It had been created for the violent convulsions of battle, to end men's lives, yet it held a terrible beauty.
"This was once a Rider's blade," said Brom gravely. "When a Rider finished his training, the elves would present him with a sword. Their methods of forging have always remained secret. However, their swords are eternally sharp and will never stain. The custom was to have the blade's color match that of the Rider's dragon, but I think we can make an exception in this case. This sword is named Zar'roc. I don't know what it means, probably something personal to the Rider who owned it." He watched Eragon swing the sword.
"Where did you get it?" asked Eragon. He reluctantly slipped the blade back into the sheath and attempted to hand the sword back, but Brom made no move to take it.
"It doesn't matter," said Brom. "I will only say that it took me a series of nasty and dangerous adventures to attain it. Consider it yours. You have more of a claim to it than I do, and before all is done, I think you will need it."
The offer caught Eragon off guard. "It is a princely gift, thank you." Unsure of what else to say, he turned and showed the sword to Daemon, who nodded his head in approval at the fine make of the sword, which rivalled his own. Eragon examined the sword closely, sliding his hand down the sheath. "What is this symbol?" he asked.
"That was the Rider's personal crest." Eragon tried to interrupt, but Brom glared at him until he was quiet. "Now, if you must know, anyone can learn how to speak to a dragon if they have the proper training. And," he raised a finger for emphasis, "it doesn't mean anything if they can. I know more about the dragons and their abilities than almost anyone else alive. On your own it might take years to learn what I can teach you. I'm offering my knowledge as a shortcut. As for how I know so much, I will keep that to myself."
"I know much about dragons myself, old man. But Skyrim's dragons are different compared to this land's." Daemon said. "And Saphira has helped me develop the skills needed for me to communicate with her."
"Hmm, I assume it's because of your friendship with her Rider that she gave your permission to project your thoughts to her and communicate with your mind?" Brom asked, getting a nod from Daemon. "Interesting... You're proving to be more mysterious than I gave you credit for."
Saphira pulled herself up as he finished speaking and prowled over to Eragon. He pulled out the blade and showed her the sword. It has power, she said, touching the point with her nose. The metal's iridescent color rippled like water as it met her scales. She lifted her head with a satisfied snort, and the sword resumed its normal appearance. Eragon sheathed it, troubled.
Brom raised an eyebrow. "That's the sort of thing I'm talking about. Dragons will constantly amaze you. Things... happen around them, mysterious things that are impossible anywhere else. Even though the Riders worked with dragons for centuries, they never completely understood their abilities. Some say that even the dragons don't know the full extent of their own powers. They are linked with this land in a way that lets them overcome great obstacles. What Saphira just did illustrates my earlier point: there is much you don't know."
There was a long pause. "That may be," said Eragon, "but I can learn. And the strangers are the most important thing I need to know about right now. Do you have any idea who they are?"
From there, Brom told them about the strangers, or the Ra'zac as they were called. Brom didn't know if that was the name of their species or what they chose to call themselves, for they were mysterious creatures that did not reveal themselves until after Galbatorix came to power. because of how mysterious they were, not much was known about them, but Brom told them that they did not have a human appearance and resembled more of a bird due to having a beak and big black eyes the size of a fist. They were stronger than a man, capable of using magic, but their only real weakness seems to be sunlight, for they avoid it but it doesn't completely stop them.
As Brom explained how he tried to confront them on his own, bitterness swelled inside Eragon. "Who are you? How come a mere village storyteller happens to have a Rider's sword? How do you know about the Ra'zac?"
Brom tapped his pipe. "I thought I made it clear I wasn't going to talk about that."
"My uncle is dead because of this. Dead!" exclaimed Eragon, slashing a hand through the air. "I've trusted you this far because Saphira respects you, but no more! You're not the person I've known in Carvahall for all of these years."
"Eragon, calm down." Daemon said sternly but Eragon ignored him.
"No! Explain yourself!"
For a long time Brom stared at the smoke swirling between them, deep lines creasing his forehead. When he stirred, it was only to take another puff. Finally he said, "You've probably never thought about it, but most of my life has been spent outside of Palancar Valley. It was only in Carvahall that I took up the mantle of storyteller. I have played many roles to different people—I've a complicated past. It was partly through a desire to escape it that I came here. So no, I'm not the man you think I am."
"Ha!" snorted Eragon. "Then who are you?"
Brom smiled gently. "I am one who is here to help you. Do not scorn those words—they are the truest I've ever spoken. But I'm not going to answer your questions. At this point you don't need to hear my history, nor have you yet earned that right. Yes, I have knowledge Brom the storyteller wouldn't, but I'm more than he. You'll have to learn to live with that fact and the fact that I don't hand out descriptions of my life to anyone who asks!"
Eragon glared at him sullenly. "I'm going to sleep," he said, leaving the fire.
Brom did not seem surprised, but there was sorrow in his eyes. He spread his bedroll next to the fire as Eragon lay beside Saphira, who shared a concerned look with Daemon. An icy silence fell over the camp.
And that's it for this chapter. Four chapters in and we get to the beginning of the journey that is done throughout the first book.