I apologize for taking longer with this update. It has been kind of hard to write a certain part, and I confess that it did not turn out as well as I expected. Still, it does not hold a huge importance, so its status remains to the one of a detail.
Also, I would like to take a moment and point out something that itched me for a while. I know that most of you are wandering: Why is Galbatorix acting this way? What's with Oromis and his secret? What the heck is going on here? I sincerely don't blame you, but at the same time, I feel like I should let you know something important: The story is now 8 chapters long. Yes, it is still in the beginning phase, so you cannot really expect clues or answers to every question. They will all be answered, I promise, so bear with me in this one.
Enjoy the read, and be sure to leave a review at the end of the chapter. More reviews= happier author=more motivation to write.
Not even the stillness of the night, with its soothing sounds of crickets melodically competing into a symphony of pleasant buzzing, could diminish the inner anger that slowly consumed Eragon. He was completely blinded by it, like a seer which lost his capabilities to predict what would happen. However, it was not only plain anger that had driven Eragon close to the point of breaking; it was also a fear that he could not comprehend, and envy… the most tainted of feelings.
Saphira was right about one thing. The present matters now, and I can only learn from my past mistakes, Eragon thought while he sidestepped to avoid a loose boulder. In the distance, he could distinguish the shape of Feinster's stone walls, but he felt slightly reluctant to go into the city. The defeat still weighed hard on his mind, and he was not yet prepared to face the consequences for his failures.
With a violent shook of his head, Eragon attempted to drive this irrational fear out of his mind. Did he now fear his own people? If anything, they should be grateful for his sacrifice, when it could have been worse. Still, this thought alone failed to please him. He needed a more physical form to release his anger, not just thoughts.
Suddenly, Eragon stopped in his tracks. Galbatorix wasn't just aided by the eldunari. His skill with the sword was impressive, he thought with envy, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. If I cannot match rigors of such swordsmanship, then I deserve to lose!
With a lightning fast move, Eragon turned around and unsheathed his sword, yelling the true name of his blade right before it made contact with the boulder. The magical sword cut through the tough surface with ease, releasing a distinctive metallic screech as it slid across the boulder.
After this peculiar feat of strength, Eragon evaluated the damage he had done to his immobile, lifeless opponent. While it was not an even cut, the magical flames of Brisingr darkened everything in their path, charring even a resilient surface. Taking a deep breath, Eragon lifted his head. Before his eyes, trees of various sizes towered defiantly towards the sky, mocking him with their tall and solid structures.
Such image acted like a real spur to Eragon, who cared about nothing if it couldn't help him become stronger. Gritting his teeth, he lunged towards a tree and leaned to one side to gather enough momentum for the upcoming impact. With the tip of his sword almost touching the ground, Eragon brought Brisingr up in an oblique strike, using all the strength he could muster.
The wooden trunk of the tree posed no resistance to his enchanted blade that slit through it like it was human flesh. One by one, each of the trees in the area surrounding Eragon bended down before his might. No matter their kind, age and thickness, the Rider danced skillfully through the forest, evading the falling victims with ease.
Only when fatigue claimed his body had Eragon's rampage subsided. Panting heavily, he extinguished the eternal flames of his sword and sheathed it quickly before he dropped on his back, near one of the fallen trees. Drops of sweat slithered across his smooth brow, sliding across the red hot surface before they fell into the grass.
His impassive figure denoted no sadness, or remorse, at such loss of life. Perhaps, after so much death, Eragon himself grew accustomed to it. Still, the rational and caring part of him refused to surrender to this nonsense, yet finding the right way to conquer this rage was not an easy task.
I failed everybody, but I will not do so again, Eragon thought with conviction while one hand wiped away the beads of sweat from his brow. The cool air of the night refreshed him, and because of the momentary fatigue, his breath evened and the anger slowly subsided, reaching a manageable level.
Only now could he finally understand a part of his mistakes, along with the repercussions for his reckless action. He felt bad about what he said to Saphira, but in a way, his ego refused to back down. After all, he wasn't wrong to begin with. It was her that blatantly refused to accept the present and live among hopes and dreams that would never happen were it not for his decision to change it.
Unless I get stronger, I cannot really protect Saphira. I cannot protect anybody, not even myself, he mused. With his training complete, Eragon resentfully accepted the fact that most of the mysteries of the Riders were revealed to him. Yet, despite the truth this mentality offered, Eragon wished it was more. Maybe there was a secret Oromis hasn't told him, maybe…
That old fool seems to have taken his last secrets to his grave, rather than sharing them with the Varden's last hope. The words of Galbatorix suddenly returned to his mind, like an ill-omened answer to his desperate demand. Even if he totally rejected what Galbatorix said at first, his words now seemed mysterious and coated with an eerie power. What if, despite all the lies he said, there was a flicker of truth in his words?
As if struck by a revelation, Eragon got onto his feet brushed the dirt off his torn clothes before he headed towards Feinster. Galbatorix might be vile as a shade and cunning like a snake, but if there is something, anything that might help me win this war, I will not hesitate to use it for a greater good.
The city of Feinster was unusually dark for this time, when the night was still young. This natural camouflage would help Eragon blend better among the buildings, keeping him away from unwanted eyes.
With silent moves, Eragon sneaked past the demolished gate and made his way towards his quarters, where Glaedr's eldunari was. If what Galbatorix said proved to be true, then this advantage might turn the tides of war in his favor. Still, there was no telling if the mourning dragon would even feel prepared to talk about such intimate subject, and this thought alone stabbed at Eragon's mind like a poison coated dagger.
With each step, the churn of thoughts taking place in his mind increased in intensity. Various thoughts roamed loose, some of which Eragon felt ashamed to even think of them. The worst was probably doubt, the incertitude that Glaedr might know more, but would not willingly share it with him.
What am I even thinking? Eragon berated him mentally, barely restraining from hitting himself for allowing Galbatorix to poison his mind in such twisted way. His master could not possibly work against him by guarding an ancient secret; it was all Galbatorix's doing. With this reassuring thought lingering in his mind, Eragon sighed and turned right, entering a lonely street illuminated by a few dying torches hang near the door, their flickering flames lazily swaying into the light breeze.
Gulping emptily, Eragon tightened his fists with anticipation and uncertainty before he placed one foot on the street where his dwelling was located. Situated in the lower town, the simple construction failed to summon anyone's attention due to its lack of uniqueness and creativity. However, for Eragon, the house situated somewhere at the end of the road stood out like a beacon of light in the middle of a dark and desolated desert.
When he was in front of the door, Eragon pushed it open slowly, the old wood greeting him with an unpleasant creak. As if struck by lightning, he entered the house and shut the door with haste, pulling the wooden board that secured it as soon as he did that. The least he wanted was to talk to an unexpected visitor right after his defeat.
Gathering his wits, Eragon trudged into his room, wrestling with the oncoming tide of thoughts. What spurred him into embracing his irrational side and disturb his master at such time was the sour defeat he suffered earlier, nothing more.
The room he was sleeping in was almost barren, save for a writing desk, a cot and an antique armoire that safeguarded his battle armor, along with one or two tunics and pairs of leggings. The only source of light in this windowless room was an eternal blue flame that Eragon conjured as a reminder of Saphira's sparkling blue scales.
I cannot allow morality to prevent me from doing what is right, Eragon reassured himself, closing his eyes to meditate one last time on his actions. Glaedr might be furious for being roused so early after his Rider died and might not reciprocate Eragon's desire to find an answer to his question.
With his mind picturing Saphira, Arya, Nasuada and everyone else he failed to protect, a fire ignited in Eragon's eyes that now burned with determination. Waiting no longer, he hunkered down and withdrew a wooden chest from under his bed, which he lifted slowly before placing it onto his cot. His almost unsteady hands opened the chest slowly, revealing an almost round shaped, golden object that one could almost mistake for a gemstone. Its faint and mysterious glow rippled from within its center, erasing any doubt that this object stored a once powerful, living being.
Master, I pledge to you that my disturbance is instigated by a defeat the Varden suffered today, Eragon said with a firm voice, his eyes locked into the object before his eyes. The golden light within flickered, but nothing else happened. A bit reluctant due to his first failed attempt to gain the attention of the ancient dragon, Eragon pressed on.
Without your guidance, I fear that everything we've fought for has been for naught. Again, no answer came from the eldunari, and Eragon wandered whether to pursue this topic further or avoid incurring his master's wrath. If he would back down in this moment, then Galbatorix truly won the war. Motivated by the strong desire to elucidate this mystery, Eragon mentally consented that such pitiful attempts would never summon his master's attention.
Galbatorix himself attacked Feinster. His power was far beyond my imagining, and without your help, Alagaesia will forever be shrouded in darkness. The golden light increased in intensity and a deep voice laced with power and sadness entered Eragon's mind.
The life of mortals cannot concern me anymore. I've taught you everything there was to know. Eragon was almost shocked by how much sadness was present in Glaedr's still coherent as ever voice. It was the voice of a dragon that had lost everything that was worth living for, and the only escape lied in death. Still, this was not the answer Eragon was looking for, and even if it pained him to do such cruel thing, it was a dire necessity, both for him and the Varden.
Retaining his calmness, Eragon asked, Master, Oromis would not have wanted this. He fought for a righteous ideal, and abandoning his ideology in such critical moment means turning our backs on everything he done for us.
The eldunari crackled with energy, a booming voice following, that he did, and as his sole apprentice, he passed on this legacy to you. By this time, a surge of sadness and grief tainted Glaedr, and Eragon had the impression that he wanted nothing more than to end the pitiful dialogue and retreat to the confines of the solitude he was damned with. Biting his lip in reluctance, he continued.
I am weak… too weak to defeat Galbatorix. Everyone counted on me, and I failed to fulfill my role as a Rider. Eragon dug his chin into his chest, staring at the floor with a look of defeat on his face for a moment before his eyes fixed on the eldunari that stopped flickering, as if his master did not care at all about the fate of the free races of Alagaesia. Maybe it was his mistake from pressuring a sorrowful and now ephemeral being for answers, but he did not ask for it in the first place. Everything seemed to happen against his will, and he was just a pawn, a leaf swayed by the wind wherever its destiny would take it.
With all the troubles of the past days returning to haunt him, in one form or another, Eragon summoned the little and faltering courage that still resided in him and dared disturb his master once again, What is there to do, master? I would do anything, bear any burden, if this will only help me defeat Galbatorix.
The same golden light that previously flickered now churned like a golden fireball trapped inside a crystal, There are powers beyond your imagining, Eragon. Do not toy with what you cannot fathom, for it will consume your very being.
Eragon's eyes widened, the keen brown eyes following the pleasant patterns of golden light that rippled through the eldunari. Such unusual display felt conspicuous to him, yet he couldn't quite grasp his master's words, even if he felt that his persistence was finally being rewarded. Maybe Galbatorix was right, and there was something Oromis had hidden from him, but Glaedr's riddles were not making it any better, especially when he was already grumpy and tired.
Your advice is foreign to me, master, but if there is anything you haven't told me, I want you to know that I am prepared to face anything. An eerie moment of silence followed, torturing Eragon even more than necessary. A feeling of remorse began poking at the back of his mind, a reprimand that could not just pass by. During his training with Oromis and Glaedr, Eragon never doubted their trust. Yet now, because of what Galbatorix said, his trust was being shaken by doubts. The answer to his question came in a most unexpected form.
You let incertitude, anger and sate for revenge cloud your judgment, Eragon. Your power will forever be insufficient if you cannot see past appearances. The golden light that almost enveloped the eldunari previously began to fade slowly, returning to its almost impassive state. Feeling that his master wanted to talk to him no longer, Eragon grabbed his head in his hands, thinking deeply about anything Glaedr said. For some reason, he just couldn't get over what Galbatorix told him and what he found out right now. Risking everything for a rightful principle, Eragon extended his mind to the eldunari once again.
Master, there is one last thing. Galbatorix said that Oromis… the powerful voice of Glaedr overwhelmed Eragon's mind, making him grit his teeth.
What have we both taught you? Abolish the poison of his words from your mind, or suffer the same fate of a Forsworn. Shortly after, the great mind of Glaedr shut itself from his, secluding into the eldunari once again. Almost shocked due to the sudden outburst, Eragon blankly stared at the chest in front of him, his mind trying to recuperate from what just happened.
What he expected to be the secret that might save the Varden proved to be a pathway to even more entangled riddles and cords of thorns scattered throughout the winding way to the knowledge he was searching for. One of his numb hands casually drifted to the back of his head, scratching the shaggy brown hair lightly.
In such times, Eragon desperately wished that Saphira was with him, to soothe him with a friendly advice or punish him because of how he hurt her. With a sore taste in his mouth, Eragon threw down the lid of the chest and placed it back from whence he took it before he climbed onto the cot, sighing loudly.
I don't understand anything anymore, he thought, a look of defeat in his face. After his world was turned upside down, it was as if everyone was refraining from giving him a helpful hand in this great time of need: Saphira abandoned him; or he was the one to abandon her. Glaedr made things even more complicated with his mysterious advice, yet Eragon felt a vague trace of something hidden in his words.
A snort of disbeliefescaped him. He lost his partner of mind and soul, and I begin to suspect things? Eragon mentally scolded himself, as Saphira was not there to do this for him. Suddenly, his thoughts pushed aside the recent events and all the problems they brought. He missed Saphira, the only being he could confide in. Maybe this inner turmoil was caused by their separation in the first place.
Wasting no time, Eragon jumped onto his feet and ran towards the door, opening it with quickly. As soon as he was out of the tense chamber, the fresh air alerted his senses and soothed his mind. I'd better find an apology…and an answer, he thought as he made his way down the forlorn road.
"The winds of fate intertwine in mysterious ways. One can not change his destiny, as it is laid before him well ahead of his time."
"The time has come then. Our part in the cycle is not yet complete."
So the hard part I was talking about was the Glaedr one. I'm asking you very nicely to tell me in a review how I handled it, because it matters a lot to me. So far, the story registered a bit over 1200 hits, and that's quite a lot if you ask me.
Also, the very mysterious dialogue at the end will be revealed later, so do not ask me about them! They are kind of important, and I bet you can never guess who says that. If you like this story, you can also add it to favorites to keep track of it easier. At least that's what I do with the stories that interest me. The next chapter might come as soon as saturday, so until then, surprise me with the number of reviews, and I get you an extra supplies of cookies for your effort.