Disclaimer: I don't own anything vaguely familiar.
I was missing for such a long time, wasn't I? My Facebook news feed exploded because of Paul Walker's death and some scumbags even posted a DISTURBING image that was supposedly his face after the crash. Well thank you, "friends", for I spent two nights with horrific nightmares and was unable to write anything as a result. It was a terrible way to die, I must admit, especially as he was trying to do some good for the world right before that. Fate is cruel. Seriously.
Well, to make up for that, I'm posting a 12-page long (Calibri, font size 11 anyway) chapter. Hope you guys like it! ;)
The wind-morning-heat-above-the-mountains was the best way to clear a dragon's head. Valnad-blood-scales soared over the Beors, bored of circling Farthen Dur. The-partner-of-his-mind-and-heart Livia was down there, in the white-city-mountain-Tronjheim. She was busy conversing with the short-two-legs-dwarfs, leaving him alone with his thoughts. War was brewing on the horizon because of the maddened-Rider-without-dragon Galbatorix and his cursed-egg-oath-breakers Forsworn. Ilirea was in shambles, many eggs were shattered, and he was busy worrying about the six eggs that were spirited away.
Wise-leader-Vrael assured the surviving dragon-parents that it was for the best. Their little ones will be taken by the right people in the right time. When questioned about it, all he could say was that a wise one told him that it had to be done.
It still kept him awake long after Livia and his wild mate, Naneldin, were asleep at night. He worried about the ruby-blood-red-egg of his little one, kept away from the world for who knows how long. Sadness gnawed at his belly. Will he see this fine young dragon someday? Will his son grow up to be a fearsome dragon too?
Chapter 4: Promises in the Midst of Stirring Darkness
The dirt crunching under Garrow's boots provided a steady rhythm as he marched down the valley with young Baldor close behind him. Both men, young and old, clutched their strung bows and were ready to draw an arrow anytime. None of them spoke, both searching for signs of the deer in the pale, cold hours of the overcast morning.
"There," Baldor said, breaking the hours of silence. He pointed to a set of tracks that led to some of the bramble around the edge of the Anora River.
The tracks seem to be about a day old, but Garrow began to follow it. His body may not have been as strong as it was before, but it had to be enough for hunting. He caught Baldor staring and raised an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?"
Baldor looked down, running a hand through his honey-colored hair. "N-nothing much." He fell quiet for a while, the way that Garrow's own boys did when they did not know how to continue. "It's about Albreich," he finally said.
"Oh, did he really have a problem with Thane, then?" Garrow asked.
"No, it's not that." Baldor smiled. "I'm just worried about my brother's temper. He has always had hot blood but it has never gotten him into so many arguments. He's fought with a lot of the men in town who spread rumors that Katrina eloped with Roran, and that the twins helped them run away – which is why they're missing." The boy turned red. "He has been eyeing Katrina as a potential bride for years."
"I do remember an incident a few years ago," Garrow agreed. He remembered pulling a screaming, kicking Murtagh away from a crying Baldor, dragging Eragon off Albreich who had a black eye, and calming an enraged Roran down. Weren't all five of you interested in Katrina at some point?"
"Well, yes, though some of us did let go of it once we grew up. I don't think that Roran and Albreich did."
"Ah, yes." Garrow very well knew of Roran's interest in Katrina for months, even before the dragons came into the story and flipped their world upside-down. He told his son to wait for a few more months or even years before wooing her. After all, even if they were adults by sixteen, they were still very young. "I knew about Roran. But Albreich is truly in love with Katrina?"
"N-no! Not like that," Baldor said quickly. He paused again before continuing. "It's like… like… Albreich is not interested in her romantically. Not even lustfully. It's more like he thinks that Katrina would be a good wife. She would be kind and caring, good in housework, and could even bear them a lot of children since she's healthy."
"Oh." Garrow knew men who did take wives who provided a lot of convenience, without the love that wasere important in such unions. "Katrina could do the housework, bear his children and care for them. She would be more capable of being a wife than the other girls in the village. But Albreich and Katrina will not love each other, making it simply a marriage of convenience. Now that my… sons… ran off with her, it means that he could lose the only potential wife he has."
"And so, he will be in a dilemma. As the eldest son, he will be expected to marry and have an heir but without a good wife to marry…" Garrow shook his head. "Your brother needs to learn more about the ways of love."
"I know. He doesn't have any grudge on you. It's all about Roran right now." Baldor sighed. "Anyway, thank you for listening. I'm afraid to talk to Father about it."
"That's perfectly fine," Garrow said. He missed Roran, Murtagh and Eragon even more with this small conversation, but what could he do? They were off being Riders and going on their adventure, leaving him behind to rebuild his life in Carvahall. He did not resent them for that, but he hoped, at least, that he could have been with them instead. He didn't want to burden them, though.
The two men stopped and drank for their waterskins before proceeding for a few more yards. They halted as a scent wafted through the air. It smelled of seared meat and charred pinewood. Garrow gave Baldor a silencing look. He began to breathe deeply, trying to pinpoint exactly where the scent was coming from. The hot, smoky, enticing scent came from farther down the road, and Garrow felt his stomach rumble.
"Smell that? Who could be here aside from us?" he asked Baldor.
"I don't know, but I don't like the feeling of this," Baldor replied.
The two stalked quietly back to the road and followed the scent. Fear began to nibble its way into Garrow's very being. He had too much bad experiences with the king's men, and knew that it was only a matter of time before Enduriel tracked him back to Carvahall. He still forged on, following the road to the south. A hundred feet away, the road curved behind a small grove cottonwoods and out of view. As they approached quietly, voices began to reach the two, barely muffled by the thick, pearly fog that swirled languidly over the valley.
Garrow slowed down before outright stopping at the fringe of the grove. Surprising fellow hunters would be foolish. He recalled a rumor during his youth about a man who was shot on the backside after being mistaken for a wild animal by a fellow hunter. He didn't want to share that young hunter's fate. There was something wrong about the number of voices that he heard. They were more than an average family, or group of hunters. He gave Baldor a warning look before stepping off the road and slipping behind the underbrush which lined the copse.
"What – what are you doing?" Baldor asked in alarm.
One doesn't get kidnapped, get rescued and travel for a while with young Riders without learning a few things. Garrow put a finger on his lips to silence Baldor before creeping along. He kept his footsteps quiet as he walked parallel to the road. He rounded the bend and froze.
There was a camp of around thirty soldiers on the grassy land by the road. The baleful morning sun gleamed off the soldiers' helms as they ate their meal of roasted fowl and stew. Though their clothes were stained and worn out from travel, the twisting golden flame of Galbatorix was visibly embroidered on their crimson tunics. They wore light armor beneath their tunics, and most of them carried wicked-looking broadsoard. A dozen of them brought halberds and bows instead, though.
What was even more chilling were the two people accompanying them. They were taller than the soldiers, and held empty bowls of stew with distaste on their cruel, fair faces. One was a slender female, with pale, pale hair that looked almost white. The other one was male, with brown hair that was tied back by a piece of string. They both wore gleaming plate armor with spiked ridges down the back. Black cloaks billowed behind them. Above them, massive brown and violet dragons soared, glinting malevolently.
Forsworn. Garrow recognized the armor, since Enduriel owned a set too.
"They're back," he choked. As if by instinct, he began throwing up the defenses in his mind, the way that Brom taught him on the way to Gil'ead.
"We have to return to the village," Baldor said, trying hard to fight his terror. "We have to warn everyone, but you also have to hide. Only two have dragons, and no one has a horse. We can hide from people who will try to search for us from the sky, I think. But we must run."
For a while, Garrow couldn't move, doing his best to keep his mind shielded from people who may read it. He steeled himself and nodded to Baldor. "Home." Before the young lad could reply, he slipped through the trees as fast as he dared. He made sure that the camp – and those horrid dragons – were out of sight before running down the dirt track. He used his rising terror and anger to make himself run faster. He was past his prime, but the years of toiling on the fields lent him more strength.
Baldor caught up with him after they reached the open stretches of the valley. An icy spring air was blowing as they slowed down to a comfortable trot. "I'll spread word to the village. You have to talk to Father."
That was fine by Garrow. They reached the low hills that preceded Carvahall after a quick rest. The uneven ground was slowing them down but they still reached the village in no time. Garrow rushed to the forge and Baldor ran for the village square. Along the way, Garrow wildly considered things that he could do to conceal himself. He had no dream of killing those Forsworn generals. He would get himself killed in the attempt.
He found Horst singing an old work song while placing a peg on the side of Quimby's wagon. The blacksmith's work stopped as he saw Garrow. "Back so soon? What's the matter?"
Garrow waited until he could regain his breath before telling the blacksmith about what he saw in the valley. He explained the implications, especially regarding the two elf Riders who accompanied the soldiers.
The lines around Horst's eyes tightened. "You will have to leave. They know what you look like, especially as one of them managed to kidnap you before." The blacksmith frowned at the window. "Take your horse in my stable, get some food from my house. Ride to the foothills. I'll send one of my lads to you when we know exactly what they want."
"But what if they ask for me?" Garrow asked.
"We'll tell them that you haven't come back since you disappeared." Horst grinned. "They don't even know that you headed back here. Assuming it's you that they're after, of course. You must hurry. Hiding from dragons will be difficult."
Garrow nodded, thanked him, and ran to Horst's house. He paused only to explain the situation to Elain before throwing turnips, beets, jerky, cheese and bread in his pack which was still unemptied since he arrived in Carvahall. He grabbed his horse's tack and bags. He was lucky that he managed to buy one in Therinsford, when the merchant caravan he joined stopped to sell some wares.
His silver mare was dozing when he found her in the stables. After a bit of preparation, he rode through Carvahall, past Ivor's farm and to the foothills of the Spine. He made his way up to the mountains on the northern end of Palancar Valley, perching on a place where he could observe the village unseen. He picketed his exhausted mare and sat to wait.
He could feel the dark pines of the Spine looming around him, and he shuddered. The place gave him discomfort, and many of the people in the village never dared to set foot in the mountain range. It was for good reason too, for many who did never returned. His boys just had the Riders' luck in them.
In no time at all, the soldiers began marching into the village in one line, led by the two blasted Forsworn. The dragons hovered threateningly above them, but a few brave men armed with pickets blocked them at the edge of the village. Garrow shifted a little to conceal himself from sight with the use of some conveniently placed bushes. He watched the two groups talk and fall silent, neither side refusing to budge. It took a long while before the men moved aside to let the strangers pass.
Garrow worried about what would happen next.
A field near the village was converted into a small camp for the king's dratted men as evening rolled in. The long gray block of tents cast long, ominously flickering shadows over the patrolling sentries. A large, smoking fire of swirling violet and brown was provided by the massive dragons.
Garrow retreated to a nearby cave and made his own camp. The cool air calmed him a little, but the hoot of an owl startled him every now and then. He peered outside and saw a flicker of movement. On edge, he grabbed an arrow and nocked it on his bow. Albreich entered his line of sight, face pale with worry. Garrow whistled softly.
The young man was bringing a pack, hoisting it over one shoulder as he approached Garrow's hiding place. "Thought I'd never find you. Walking through the forest after sundown was bad enough. What if I encountered a bear, or something else? This place isn't fit for men," he said in fear.
Garrow nodded in agreement. "It feels wrong. What are those men doing there?" His eyes gazed at Carvahall wearily.
"They wanted to take you – a 'fugitive' – into custody. They were willing to wait as long as it would take for you to make your way back home." Albreich snorted. "Like fugitives would even return somewhere that they can easily be found in."
"It's all… a bit strange." Garrow rubbed his forehead. "Someone must have tipped them off or knew that I was on a caravan that headed for our village. They caught up so fast."
"They've been asking questions about you and the boys. That's all they're interested in. To be honest, I'd stay. People would be suspicious if I'm missing until tomorrow, so I'll be leaving you some food, blankets and salves from Gertrude instead."
"Thank you," Garrow said genuinely. "Please thank your parents and Gertrude for me too."
"As you wish. Anyone would do it," Albreich said with an embarrassed grin. "By the way, the two
Riders? The woman's called Formora, and the other one's Kialandi.
Fires burned around the silver-haired elven Rider and his black dragon. Funeral pyres for their fallen brethren was something that he did not wish to see. Most of the few humans that joined their ranks have also fallen, and were among those that were burned, their ashes scattered on the field of Doru Araeba.
The monsters called Urgals have caused nothing but trouble since they followed the humans into the land, like predators sniffing out their prey – and they were numerous, far too numerous for the slowly thriving human race to fight off. Humans joined the ranks of the Riders, who then left Ellesmera to become independent of any race or ruler, and the forces of the Shur'tugalar grew. It still wasn't enough to secure a victory over the millions of migrating Urgals.
Now the war has ended, the few thousand remaining Urgals retreated to the western mountains. The three races, one of which was small and barely hanging on, were left to bury their dead.
Anurin, senior and lead Rider, was left to grieve for the Riders that he had to hoped that his predecessor, Eragon, was still alive, but sadly the older elf and his dragon passed into the void five hundred years ago. He needed the eldest Rider's guidance.
"I am sorry for your loss," a high, chirping voice said.
A woman dressed in green and black armor strode towards him. She was shorter than both elves and humans, but was taller than dwarves. Her naturally gray, lifeless hair was dyed silver that day. Anurin approved, thinking that it matched the odd, ageless woman's gray eyes. "Rider, it is truly a day of mourning." She clutched a bundle close to her chest with a sad look on her normally distracted face. "I managed to salvage these from your burned tower."
Anurin took the small bundle from her and carefully unwrapped sixteen beautiful gemstones – paired off by color. Red, blue, green, violet, gold, silver, black and clear. "The Dragon Eyes and Hearts," he said in wonder. He bowed to the woman. "I thank you so much, Wise One. I thought that these treasures would be lost forever."
The woman's gray eyes seemed to fracture. "They will be lost for over a century, long after your time. But they will return to save your Order."
"What will happen to us? And what powers do these gems possess?"
"You will fall. All of you will fall. But you must persevere. These stones hold no power, but they will fall into the hands of those who are the last hope of the Shur'tugal."
Eragon brooded over his strange dream as he oiled Saphira's saddle, the day after meeting with the Council of Elders. Arya was pacing impatiently around the Riders' room, her eyes stuck on a thick book about dwarven religeon. The dragons snoozed nearby, another lazy day ahead of them. Meanwhile, Murtagh was busy checking and rechecking his hair on the small mirror provided for them. Roran and Katrina quietly conversed in one corner of the room, while Nasuada – who joined them that morning – was brushing dirt from Solaris' scales.
Eragon was quiet as he worked, the silence broken only when his newfound sister, Aesyr, asked some questions. The girl prefered to converse with his dragon though, so he was left to his own thoughts most of the time.
It was midmorning when the door opened. Melikir looked more exhausted than he did the day before, with the bags under his eyes being more prominent. He wrapped his arms briefly around Nasuada and shot a confused look at Aesyr.
"Our sister," Murtagh said blankly.
"Oh," Melikir said, before leaning against the wall. "Faolin and King Hrothgar talked to me yesterday, especially about your oath of fealty. Apparently, it will cause an imbalance if all free Riders are loyal to only one race."
"Oh. Oh." Arya went white and dropped her book. She picked it up in embarrassment. "So what does this mean for us? Oh, we haven't thought things through."
"This means that I can't accept all of your oaths. I can't have seven vassals. I'll be keeping two Riders though – Nasuada by virtue of being my sister, and Roran because of his attempts to apprehend the Twins and Himeria during the battle. And of course, Brom's oath of fealty to me can't be denied. He's a very important member of the Varden and a good friend of my father's."
So he wasn't going to choose the two Shadeslayers? Eragon tore his eyes off Saphira's saddle, the dismal thoughts of his dream all but gone. "But what about the rest of us?" he asked.
Melikir shrugged. "I believe that King Hrothgar and Queen Islanzadi are going to discuss it soon."
"That's it? We don't even have any freedom to choose if we wish to be loyal to them or not?" Murtagh blurted out. "I mean, we are loyal to you – and to King Hrothgar, but we haven't even decided about anything."
"Of course, you can decline," Melikir said. "It would be better for you to know more about them before securing an alliance, of course."
Eragon exchanged a glance with Saphira. I trust Melikir, and I think Hrothgar is wise, but it feels like we're being manipulated into taking sides, being claimed by different leades so that they would all have Riders loyal to them.
Saphira gave him a steady look. We shall see, Eragon. We need allies. We have Melikir as an ally right now, but how can we secure allies from other races? Orik and Faolin are our friends, but they are loyal to their rulers first and foremost – and we must secure an alliance with these rulers and their people.
Eragon rubbed his forehead. I just wish we had a choice instead of being tossed from one situation and decision to another. I know alliances are important, but we could make our own decisions, thank you very much.
Saphira merely let out a dragon yawn. She curled up closer to Eragon and closed her eyes, ending their conversation.
Orik slipped into the room. He nodded to Melikir, who smiled tiredly. He gave Aesyr a curious look, making the girl stand up, fumble for an excuse and dash out of the room. "Good morning, young Riders."
"We haven't seen you for a while, Orik!" Katrina stood up and dusted her tunic. Her coppery hair rippled as she strode towards the others.
Orik smiled. "True, so many things have happened lately. Hrothgar wishes to speak to you all today, though I'm here to inquire about Eragon's health too." He smiled as Thorn gave him a friendly growl. "A good morning to you too, dragons. I hope you are all doing fine."
"We're always free for your king," Eragon said with a smile. "He must know that. And I'm well, don't worry about my back."
"You know," Melikir said, "it's polite to ask nicely." He straightened up and headed for the door. "I must go for now. We shall meet again."
"True enough, what he said." Orik chuckled. "We'd best be going."
The Riders and their dragons followed the dwarf through one of the city-mountain's main corridors and towards the central chamber that had two mirroring staircases that both led to the throne room. Orik took a turn and went down a small flight of stairs though.
I think that he's avoiding the central chamber and the wreckage there, Saphira noted with a small hint of regret.
The granite doors of the throne room was still engraved with the seven-pointed crown. The seven dwarven guards nodded to them and pounded the hafts of ther mattocks on the floor. The sound echoed for a good while before the doors swung inward.
Eragon put a hand on Saphira and they led the other Riders into the dimly-lit room. They passed through the statues – hirna – of past dwarven kings. Eragon bowed at the foot of the black throne. The mighty king of the dwarves inclined his head in return, his silvery hair gleaming. The rubies on his helm of gold glimmered dimly like dying coals. As usual, his war hammer Volund lay across his mail-covered legs.
"Welcome to my hall once more, young Riders." Hrothgar smiled warmly. His dark eyes twinkled. "I am aware that two of you have earned the name Shadeslayer. You have all done so much good since last we met, and for that I am so proud of you. Young though you may all be, you have truly proven that you are more than worthy of inheriting the legacy of the Dragon Riders, and the fearsome dragons who are at their side."
"Thank you," the Riders chorused as they rose to their feet.
"We also wish you to keep the armor that you wore – and used greatly – in the battle of Farthen Dur. Our most skilled smiths are currently working hard to restore them. Even the dragon armor are under restoration as we speak, so you may keep using them as long as you wish," the king continued, even addressing the dimly glinting forms of the dragons, "or until you outgrow them. This is the least that we can do right now to show you our gratitude, what with the war raging. Else, we would hold countless feasts and celebrations for you and your feats. Sadly, those must wait for a more appropriate time."
Arya bowed, her silky hair falling around her face as she did. "Your Highness, you are generous beyond all expectations. We cherish your noble gifts. We all do." Her face glowed with a smile that lit up the dark room.
You… fancy her? Saphira asked, the words uncomfortable in her thoughts.
Stop that, grumbled Eragon.
"Forgive me," Hrothgar said, though he was clearly pleased. A frown creased upon his ancient brow. "I wish to talk of more pleasant matters with you, as I enjoy your company, but there are more pressing matters to talk about. The clans have been pestering me to do one thing or another about Ajihad's successor. The Council of Elders proclaimed their support of Melikir yesterday. I will be honest with you. They caused such an uproar which I haven't seen since I ascended the throne. Chiefs have been divided over supporting him too, and searching for a different candidate. Most of them agreed on supporting Melikir but I want to know your opinions before I support either side. The worst thing that a king could do is to look like a fool."
How much can we tell him? Eragon asked the others nervously.
Arya gave him an uncomfortable look. He always treated us fairly – even if I'm an elf and we don't get along with dwarves much.
B-but we don't know what he promised other people! Luneria had a point too.
Roran rubbed his chin. We better be cautious until Melikir actually takes power, then.
Very well, the others agreed.
"We have all agreed to help Melikir as much as we could in our different positions," Roran said quietly. "We won't oppose him. We plead you to do the same. The Varden needs unity and can't afford to fight inner battles."
"Oei." Hrothgar's eyes brightened as he leaned back. "You speak with new authority, young one. It is a good suggestion. But do you have any other motives in choosing Melikir, aside from the fact that he is related to one of you and you think he would make a wise leader?"
That's a test,warned Saphira.
Roran flushed. "He's… timid, but I think that he's wiser and is quite canny too – more than could be expected because of his age. He's good for the Varden and therefore, we support him."
Hrothgar nodded in approval. "Your words relieve me. Too many people today forget about what is good and right, focusing more on gaining individual power. It's difficult to watch people going about with such idiocy and not feel angry."
Silence fell for a few seconds, until Eragon felt the need to break it. "Will something be done with the dragonhold?"
A mournful look passed through Hrothgar's eyes, deepening the lines on his face. That was the closest thing to weeping for a dwarf, Eragon wagered. "Much talk will have to be done before such a step could be taken. It was a terrible but necessary did. Sometimes, it feels like it would have been better to be overrun with Urgals, if it meant that Isidar Mithrim remained whole – but it would be ridiculous to wish for such a thing. The heart of Tronjheim and every dwarf has been shattered." Hrothgar placed his fist over his chest before unclenching it and grasping Volund's leather-wrapped handle instead.
Eragon felt Saphira's remorse. Judging from the others' expressions, the dragons all felt guilty for destroying it. Katrina and Arya seemed close to tears, as they were also partially responsible for the deed.
"F-Firnen wishes to ask you, Your Highness, if the dwarves can reconstruct Isidar Mithrim out of the shards," Arya said. It was strange to see an elf so uncomfortable. In fact, it seemed like she wanted to melt into the shadows because of her shame.
"We have the skill to do it," Hrothgar said slowly. He gave Arya a long look. "It would take months, even years to complete. And even if we do it, the result would end up being a ruined mockery of the graceful beauty that once graced and adorned Tronjheim. I cannot sanction it."
Arya seemed to shrink under his unwavering gaze. "If Isidar Mithrim was reconstructed with no missing piece, the dragons believe that they can make it whole, truly whole, again."
"Is it possible?" Hrothgar asked, leaning forward in sudden interest.
Eragon gazed at Saphira in alarm as the other Riders confered with their dragons too. That would require so much energy, and besides, I thought Brom told us that you can't use magic at will. How sure can you be about your success?
As long as the need is great enough, we can do it. Saphira seemed so sure of herself that Eragon felt bad for not believing in her. It will be our gift to the dwarves, not only to make up for their loss but also to thank them for their great hospitality. Now, will you please close your mouth? It ill suits you and besides, the king is watching.
"They seem confident in their abilities," Katrina said, though she seemed worried.
"Then we will start the rebuilding efforts even if it would take us a hundred years to complete it. We won't ignore even one small chip. We might have to break larger pieces but with our stoneworking skills, not even a dust will be lost. You will come once we finish and heal our Star Rose."
"We will."
Hrothgar smiled warmly. "You have given me so much joy and hope, beautiful dragons. Feel free to spread the word to any and all dwarf that you meet. If you do succeed, dwarves will sing songs of praise to honor you in our clan halls. Go now with my blessings. I must spread the news to the other clans."
The Riders bowed before departing with their dragons, leaving the king of the dwarves smiling upon them. They told Orik of what happened. The young dwarf immediately bent and kissed the floor before the dragon. He had a face-splitting grin on his face once he straightened up. "You wondrous, wondrous dragons have given us hope to fight through the current despair. I am sure that there will be much drinking tonight."
"Right, and tomorrow is my father's funeral," Nasuada said tiredly.
"Aye, but it is for tomorrow, and we must not let unhappy, painful thoughts pierce us all the time. Come, come." Orik took Arya and Eragon's hands as they were the nearest and led them through Tronjheim, followed by the others.
They entered a massive feast hall where some dwarves sat glumly behind stone tables. Orik jumped onto one. Dishes fell on the floor. The dwarves' gazes swivelled to the king's nephew as he announced the news regarding Isidar Mithrim.
The cheers and shouts of joy nearly deafened Roran. The dwarves all insisted on coming to the dragons and kissing the floor, as Orik had done. They abandoned their food and filled their stone tankards with mixes of beer and mead.
Roran found it easy to join in the celebration. Though he was happy with Askanir and the others, the pain of Ajihad's passing was still fresh. Now he had a way to ease the pain, at least for the moment. He did do his best not to be fully consumed by the celebration though. He will need a clear head for the activities that will come soon. Amused, he watched the dragons sip some mead. Upon realizing that they liked it, the dwarves rolled out six barrels for their consumption. Three long draughts were all it took for Saphira to drink hers, and she tilted her head to the ceiling before belching a massive tongue of vivid fire. Eragon and Roran had to reassure the dwarves that it was safe to approach the dragons. The cook protested when the happy dwarves gave the dragons another barrel each. Saphira quickly emptied that one as well.
Saphira's inebriation seemed to have an effect on Eragon, and Roran noted that his younger cousin was getting more and more wobbly. He drunk his own tankard dazedly and had to rely upon Roran to remain upright at times.
The happy dwarves sang together with the dragons humming along dunkenly. Roran felt Askanir's drunkenness blurring their connection. Sights, scents and sounds shifted horridly, and he almost slumped against the table. He watched Murtagh and Nasuada waltz ridiculously around the hall. Arya was having a drinking match with a dwarf, while Katrina dazedly sipped a single tankard of mead. Roran opened his mouth to join in the song when Eragon let out a raspy dragon roar. He wondered if he was too drunk already. He discarded the thought and kept singing, not caring if he had a dragon's voice.
More and more dwarves filed into the hall as the news kept spreading. Hundreds of them took their places with friends, packing the tables. They kept a thick ring around the equally drunk Riders and the dragons. Katrina was too inebriated and slumped against Roran, who felt the blush creep up his cheeks. He put his arm around her and continued with the song that one dwarf started. Musicians lent their harps, lutes and silver flutes to the melody. Arya and Eragon joined Murtagh and Nasuada's drunken waltz, and the two pairs kept bumping into each other.
So many hours passed before the celebration began to finally calm down. When it did, Orik tipsily clambered up the table and stood with his tankard in hand, legs spread wide and his cap sitting precariously on his head. "Hear, hear! We have properly celebrated. We should have done this sooner. The Urgals have been chased away, and our mighty slayers made sure that the Shade stays dead. For good." The dwarves cheered and pounded their tables. Arya tried to imitate them and shattered her tankard by accident. "For our mighty Riders and the valiant dragons!" He raised his tankard, receiving more cheers from his kinsmen.
The Riders gave each other a lazy smile, stood up, and bowed. Saphira reared, trying to imitate them. She swung a foreleg to her chest and lost balance. She tottered, scattering the dwarves surrounding her. They barely managed to move away when she fell backward, landing on a banquet table.
Eragon cried out and collapsed by her tail. Roran rushed towards his cousin, forgetting that Katrina was leaning on him and leaving her to slump on the long bench.
Sorry about being irritable and sorry for my rants. :(
Kialandi and Formora are alive? *gasps* But don't worry. They're crazy enough to underestimate people, and Garrow is smarter and more capable of things now!
Honestly answering a reviewer's question, I randomly make up OC names, though Luneria and Solaris' names are sort of based on words for the moon and the sun. Had to Google Translate Askanir's name though, and tacked a few extra letters at the end to at least make it sound dragon-y. Poor purply dragon almost ended up being named Mirmulnir. Himeria and Melikir are totally made up though. And Aesyr? I, uh, loaned a word for a certain group of deities fron Norse mythology.
The world seems bent on never giving our poor Riders a "normal" time, while dark things are stirring in Carvahall. Stay tuned for the next chapter and leave a review for Saphira if you can! :3