A/N: Right, okay... I know most of you probably don't realize this, but I write my chapters weeks, sometime even months, before I post them, so I can't really say 'sorry for keeping you waiting'. However, I HAVE been slacking off, so, I apologise deep from the depths of my shadowy, lazy soul.
I also feel need to thank Restrained Freedom once again, not only for being one of my BIGGEST supporters, but also for inspiring a spark of inspiration for my tired, lazy, overloaded mind. This inspiration will be shown in the next couple chapters (I hope).
DISCLAIMERS: I think you get the point.
CLAIMERS: See above.
Secrets of Life
Chapter Ten
(Insert Chapter Name Here(I already said I was lazy, didn't I?))
Dragons.
Young and younger, older and oldest.
None nearly as old as Bid'daum, Glaedr-Elda, or even Shadefire had been. In fact, all were younger than the green egg, whom he had met—briefly—last week at the biggest argument he had witnessed (and, after living with wolves for nigh over twenty years, he had seen quite a few enormous arguments).
Now he was faced with the prospect of meeting Fírnen's mate's Rider again, and he doubted his own Rider was very excited about it.
Perhaps he was feeling more than his own nervousness, come to think of it.
He thought back to their (very) brief stay at Iliéad, previously and hideously named Urû'baen, capitol of Alagëasia. It was short not only because they were impatient to get to Ristvak whatever-it-was, but Raven felt that Murtagh and Thorn were in danger if they stayed too long.
How right she was, though they never knew it (and details come in later).
He was jolted from his thoughts by hundreds of very, inexplicably, undeniably dragonish roars.
That was before the thunders rose up.
Hundreds of glittering, glimmering, glamorous shapes arose in an enormous, booming cloud: all of the dragons and Riders of Risty varsomething, lifting off.
Greeting?
Or turning away? Publicly?
Thorn forced himself to relax, knowing that the decision rested with the oldest Dragon Rider of the group.
(linebreak)
(Two hours later)
Murtagh paced around the small clearing, itching with nerves—though a thousand Galbatorixes couldn't have gotten him to admit it, true name or no. Overhead, perched quite precariously in the rather gargantuan pines, six dragons chattered mentally to one another, while on the ground, their six Riders did the same. They were supposedly a watch to guard him and make sure he and the others didn't get into trouble, but he suspected it was just to see how many nerves he worked up waiting for his half-brother.
Brother. That one word meant so much to him.
Thorn was his brother, yes, but he was a dragon. And Ravenfelt like the sister he never knew he had: she teased him when he needed to be teased, she cheered him up when he was down, and she had protected him from those giant rabid, raving bats that one time—but she also knew that he could protect himself like no other. Besides, he had Thorn.
But he knew that she wasn't his real sister. And Thorn was a dragon, as he had pointed out to himself before. They weren't blood related.
And why was Eragon taking so bloody long?!
He sighed, stopped pacing and stood stock still, pushing his scrambled mind into order. It took several minutes. Five more to place rock hard barriers and 'muddling puddles', as Raven called them: traps to distract whoever was trying to invade one's mind.
He sighed again. That woman had practically taught him how to breathe! And for that, he was very grateful. Bid'daum and Eragon—the original Eragon, mind—had also taught him things most beings never knew, and most likely never would.
After he pushed and pummeled his mind and nerves into proper working order, he started paying attention to their 'guards'.
On the ground, there were four young men, and two young women. Two of the men appeared to be related: they had the same curled brown hair, same tall build. They both wore gleaming, dark red short-swords. The eldest-looking had an unruly red mop of hair that flopped over his amber eyes, and had a broadsword that matched his irises. The last boy, and the youngest looking, had uneven blonde hair that reached his neck, brilliant green eyes that gleamed like a raw emerald, and a gleaming, pale silver rapier. One of the women looked like his older sister: the same brilliant green eyes sparkled with laughter, the same blonde hair shone in a golden braid down her left shoulder, and a narrow golden longsword hung at her waist. The other girl had fiery red hair that didn't quite match the red-headed boy's, it seemed to have curls of flaming gold weaved into it. Her eyes were a gleaming gold that seemed to alight with fire as well. Her sword was a saber, the sheathe glowing with a flame design of crimson and gold.
The dragons above in the trees were quite memorable as well. Two, who appeared to be twins, were a glistening, blood-red, darker in shade than Thorn, both females. Another wasa warm, golden orange male. One was a small, silver female, with a snout, tail and wings narrower than all the others. One golden male was narrow, but larger than the rest. The last, who at the moment appeared to be laughing her wings off, was also red, but had underlying shades of gold and amber.
He had a feeling he could tell who was Rider and Dragon to whom without much debate. He just wondered if he could rename the swords they carried.
He had a feeling that the saber was Arucane. The narrow silver rapier was probably Arget Andlát. The two red shortswords looked like Eldrvarya Dauth and Eyddr Freohr, twin blades. The narrow golden blade he recognized as Maela Manin, named in honor of the previous owner's love. The amber colored one... Hmm. Aha! Ren Reona. A beautiful blade. Well, all were beautiful, being Rider's blades, but that one especially held a place in his heart. During Galbatorix's reign, it had remained in a dusty old corner of the storage room where the king kept all of those old Riders' swords.
He caught Raven's amused gaze, and quirked an eyebrow, mentally asking, What? Do I have leaves in my hair?
She only quietly chuckled mentally. Then he noticed the younger Riders giving him wary looks. He frowned. "What?"
They shrugged and continued talking. Behind him, Thorn chuckled as well. I think they noticed you analyzing them.
I wasn't analyzing them, I was just...analyzing them. He sighed in defeat and mock-glared at Thorn, who chuckled again. Besides, I recognized their swords from The Vault in That Place. Thorn sniggered this time.
Old friends? joked the dragon.
Murtagh frowned. You could say that.
Thorn sighed and looked his Rider in the eye—elegantly curving his neck and showing his spines to do so—and said If I feel you or hear that you did something like that one time, or if I even feel the stirrings of that feeling, I shall fly you back to the wolf pack and feed you to Bid'daum. Right after I lick you.
Murtagh shuddered. Don't worry, I'll keep my head on my shoulders. Promise, he added, after Thorn looked at him shrewdly.
Finally, the red dragon nodded, lowering his head once more onto his front talons.
Not a half-minute later, Saphira landed in the clearing. Immediately, the Dragon Rider trainees and Dragon trainees leapt to attention: the little silver dragoness nearly falling off her branch as she did so. The figure on the great sapphire dragon's back waved them back to their previous stances, though they still watched. The figure dismounted Saphira, slid down her left foreleg, rolled when he landed, and neatly came right back up on both feet.
Raven was obviously impressed, judging by her quick message: It took me five years with Shadefire to master that. He looks like he's been doing it for fifty.
So do you.
Really? Murtagh smiled at her quickly, then turned his attention to the boy—well, man, now—he still looked so young—quickly striding towards them. When he was little over a meter away, Eragon broke into a wide grin and embraced Murtagh with gusto.
A/N: I'm going to get yelled at for this, aren't I. Because all you people are going to have to wait until next week to find out what happens. For a WHOLE. WEEK. Hey, at least I'm not putting Coming, fall 2014, blehblehbleh, am I? Unlike a certain New York Times Bestselling author by the name of RICK RIORDAN! Who, if I may add, appears to have a certain love for hanging his devoted readers off of cliffs. With enormous spikes poking through hot magma at the bottom. WHY RIORDAN, WHY?!
Ahem. Yeah.
I've been called impatient, and here's the proof.
Quick translations for those that may need it:
Arucane — Endless Fire
Arget Andlát — Silver Death
Eldrvarya Dauth — Burning Death
Eyddr Freohr — Empty Death
Maela Manin — Quiet Memory
Ren Reona — Oath Reaper
Anyways, I would really appreciate if you could review, give me some ideas and such. Seeya!
Falcon