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Hey guys, this is a really short filler. Chapter. Thingie. But I put it up separately just to address Eragon's curse and other little things... and because I'll be having a busy week and might not be able to update much (and I have another fic, you might want to check it out! XD)
Chapter 14: Light Amidst Pain
The dragons began to swim in the river as they continued their journey – after all, taking to the skies now felt unsafe since they were in the territory of the Fanghur. Roran sat lazily, nestled on Askanir's back. The sun was shining in the distance, and the light reflected from the dragons' scales cast beautiful colors on the river surface.
Though he knew that it was far from it, life felt peaceful for Roran that day.
Something is troubling you, Askanir noted.
I've been having… strange dreams. Roran gave him a quizzical look. I haven't shared them with you last night?
No, I wish I did, something's bothering you. It's not a nice dream with lots of delicious meat, right?
It was a dream. A dream of… I don't know. Roran sighed and shared the images of a smoky battlefield, of armored dragons and three warriors sprawled on the mud – and the terrible, terrible image of a warrior with a wine-red sword. I don't know why, but thinking of it makes me feel afraid.
Askanir closed his eyes lazily as a shaft of sunlight hit him, making him glitter in varying violet hues. I once, ah, overheard Faolin and Brom talking about this. Magic users apparently sometimes have the ability to see possible futures – and that though they are the biggest possibilities, something may still be done to avoid them.
Roran closed his eyes, quietly contemplating on them. I hope that it was just a dream. It didn't bode well.
What about the warrior with the red blade? Do you think that it's someone that we know?
Roran's eyes flickered to Murtagh, who was panicking as Luneria and Solaris submerged their unsuspecting Riders – and Orik, who was riding with Nasuada – in the water. No. It's… Roran's thoughts turned unpleasant and he shuddered. I think it's someone worse.
Dragon and Rider fell quiet, finally understanding who the man in a red blade was. Neither wanted to voice their horror.
"Faolin? Is it possible for me to scry my memories?" Eragon asked from somewhere behind them. "I mean, I've seen everything in them so I can view all details with magic, right?"
"What? Eragon, no! Don't try it, don't think of it if you value your life. Some elven spellweavers tried to defeat some of time's enigmas long before our times. They attempted to summon the past – and managed to come up with a blurred image in the mirror before the spell killed them. Experiments on the subject is now forbidden – though it is argued that it may work with more magicians. Of course, nobody would be willing to take the risk." Faolin paused. "Nobody has proven the theory, then. Besides, scrying the past? It won't be that useful, I think. Scrying the future would be more useful, I think, but of course you'll need what is going to happen, where and when it will happen. And if that is the case, then there's no need to scry it, right?"
"But premonitions during sleep – visions of the past and the future, how do they happen?" Roran found himself asking. He could feel his youngest cousin's stare. Later. I'll explain later.
"Mmmm, yes, it is a mystery, that. People's premonitions, their capability to do something while sound asleep is something not even our greatest sages could explain." Arya shrugged. "I can't believe that you haven't thought of asking about it before, you've been traveling with an elf for quite some time."
Faolin laughed. "True, true. Premonitions are thought to be related to the very nature of magic itself – or something similar to the ancestral memories that dragons have. Actually it's just a very educated way of saying that, well, we don't know. A lot of things about magic are still mysteries even to the wisest people."
Throughout the beautiful morning, the dragons swam on the river, passing through a valley which widened as they passed between two mountains. By lunch, they reached the opening and reached a sunny prairie fading gently to the north. The powerful dragons launched themselves into the current and the frosted crags fell away, revealing the great blue sky and the horizon. The air began to grow warmer, less sweet. The Az Ragni veered to the east, to the foothils of the Beors on one side and the vast plains on the other.
"Though I felt quite trapped within it, I will sorely miss the Beor Mountains," Murtagh said wistfully.
Roran smiled. "True, the dwarves and the Varden have been nothing but gracious hosts."
Orik looked uncomfortable, muttering to himself while glancing longingly back to the mountains. "Aye, except for the fiasco with Az Sweldn rak Anhuin."
With a gleeful roar, Askanir launched himself out of the river, flying above the prairie to get a good view. He was quiet for a while, with Roran quietly clinging to him. They could see gazelles grazing to the north and east, while the Hadarac Desert stretched to the west.
No Urgals, no slavers, no nomads.
They were truly and fully alone.
They camped in a small cove that night. Katrina and Nasuada were busy preparing dinner, so Murtagh took the time and cleared some space around the tents. He drew Eldsvard and settled into the ready stance so ingrained within him by Brom. With a disadvantage compared to the elves, the human Riders decided to practice. For the first part, Murtagh decided to spar with his own twin brother.
Starting the duel, Murtagh raised the blade and brought it right down with both hands – reducing the force in case he missed and injured Eragon. The rich blue blade of Kylskada met his blow halfway down and sparks flew out of both blades. He pivoted to the right to parry Eragon's strong blow.
The others were watching intently as the smell of the cooking dinner wafted around them. Murtagh tried to block it all out and focused only on the ruby blade he held, and the sapphire one held by his brother. None of them moved for a while, studying each other's moves. Then they launched themselves toward each other, blades raised. They applied the techniques taught to them by Brom, parrying, striking, blocking and slashing. The sparring reached a ferocious intensity as they gave it their all – not one of them showing any advantage or disadvantage.
Eragon spun his blade around, as if to flip the hilt to his other palm – when he dropped the sword with a cry. He staggered around before falling. Murtagh dropped his own blade and ran to his brother's side, followed by the others. Eragon writhed in pain – and everyone was too afraid to come closer.
"Can you hear me?" he yelled, trying to link his mind with his brother's. When he did, he experienced the ghost of searing pain across his back and recoiled.
"Isn't there anything that we can do?" Katrina asked somewhere behind.
"I'm not sure but we should let him rest in his tent," Arya said.
Faolin put a hand on Eragon's forehead. "Slytha." The blue Rider's eyes closed, but his face was still pained.
Roran and Murtagh worked together to bring Eragon to his tent. Lips pursed, Arya wrapped him in his blankets tightly and moved to the edge of the tent, eyes outside and probably talking to Firnen. Murtagh glanced back at his brother before following Roran out of the small, crowded tent.
Is your brother well? Thorn inquired, padding toward him with Askanir right behind.
I don't know. Murtagh rubbed his forehead. One minute he's fine, the next he's writhing on the ground in pain. I think it's his back.
Roran crossed his arms as he stood beside Askanir. "This doesn't feel good," he muttered.
"I know." Murtagh sighed. "I shudder to think of what will happen if his back hurts in the middle of a fight – or a big battle."
Minutes passed in silence. The cousins stood by their dragons, each contemplating Eragon's fate. Katrina and Nasuada stood close by, quietly discussing the situation with Orik and Faolin. Arya stood with Firnen, darkness settling in their eyes.
Eventually, she strode toward Eragon's tent and entered.
Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Did I just see that?" he asked quietly.
"I think Arya and Eragon… Ah, nevermind." Roran smiled in spite of the situation. "You know what? It's better if he wakes up with her around instead of us."
Murtagh caught on and nodded. He smiled too. "I think so too." He glanced at Nasuada longingly, wondering why he felt a dull ache in his chest whenever he locked eyes with her. As if thinking of it made it happen, Nasuada looked up from her conversation and glanced at him. She nodded grimly before turning away.
"Come to think of it, you're interested in a girl too." Roran smiled knowingly. "Nasuada is an amazing girl, isn't she?"
"Does it matter to you?" muttered Murtagh. "She's one of the Varden's most esteemed members and I'm just a lowly Rider who happens to be adopted by the dwarf king."
"Oh, don't pull yourself down. You're not some lowly Rider, dear cousin. You're Murtagh Shadeslayer, brother to Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Thorn and adopted son of King Hrothgar."
"When you say it that way, I sound more amazing than I really am." Murtagh snorted. He gave Roran a sidelong glance. "Hey, now that we're speaking about women, haven't you really told Katrina of your, uh, interest in her?"
"I don't know how to, ah, deal with it." Roran's eyes turned misty as he gazed at Katrina. "Women."
"Women," agreed Murtagh.
Pain.
That was the only sensation that Eragon was aware of for a long time. The searing pain cut across his back, and he couldn't do anything to stop it or block it out. He eventually gave in to the darkness to escape the haze of pain.
When he returned to consciousness, the first thing he noticed were the heavy blankets he was wrapped with. Then he saw Arya sitting beside him and he almost jumped out of his bed if he wasn't feeling so terrible. He blinked and averted his gaze – which settled on Saphira, who was peering from the entrance flaps.
Feeling better, little one?
Yes, thank you. Was I out long? Eragon did his very best not to glance at the elf beside him.
You were unconscious for a while. I believe you were unconscious near the end. I couldn't do much to help with you unconscious. I'm sorry.
Not your fault. Eragon sighed, feeling faint echoes of pain passing through his body. He looked up at Arya, who was gazing at him with weary green eyes. "I feel so useless. How can I train, fight, use magic now that I keep being attacked with this – this cursed pain whenever I try to do something?" He hated the way that his voice cracked. He hated feeling and looking vulnerable before Arya.
Arya put a hand on his shoulder softly – as if afraid that she might hurt him. "You can sit, watch, listen. You can read and learn. Please don't let something like that hinder you. We'll find a way to help you – all of us, together. We're a team, remember?"
Eragon still sensed her uncertainty and fear. He looked away, feeling ashamed to appear helpless before her. "How could he do this to me?"
"I don't know." Arya sighed. "I'm a young elf – just a few weeks shy of my sixteenth year. We all do our best, and nobody blames you for what happened. Maybe it just needs a little more time." Arya closed her eyes and shook her head. She pressed her hands to his brow and said, "I will always be here," in the Ancient Language. She smiled gently and left the tent.
Still sore, Eragon sat up and stared at his palm. Well, Murtagh is lucky not to suffer.
Don't talk like that, argued Saphira.
Saphira, I'm afraid. Eragon glared at his hand. I can't do anything to prevent it, or anticipate it – and no one else can. It's inevitable, and I'm afraid to do anything that could cause it. It's like waging a battle with my own body.
Saphira blew a puff of smoke, blue eyes locking into Eragon's. I can't answer that either, and you know it. I'm sorry.
Eragon sighed and pulled off his blankets. He walked to Saphira, put a hand on her snout and stumbled into the camp. The smell of dinner lingered in the air and Katrina nodded to him. "Are you ready for dinner?" she asked.
Eragon nodded glumly and settled between Roran and Murtagh. Saphira padded to the other dragons, and seemed to have a mental conversation with them. Bowls of stew were passed around, and nobody talked as they began to eat. Eragon felt himself relaxing slightly. Good food and good company were always the best solution to stress but right now, he wasn't sure if even that could have a lasting effect on him.
Right after eating, Orik lit his pipe. "Have I ever told you about the day I threw a boot at someone's face?" he asked.
"Orik, you always told me about that when I visited Tronjheim," complained Faolin. Then, he smiled. "But perhaps the young Riders would learn from it."
"That boot – I lost my temper when a dwarf left his halberd somewhere that people could step on it." The dwarf chuckled. "I broke his nose, and of course, Hrothgar heard of it. I learned a very valuable thing that every commander had to. Hrothgar beat it into me, as a matter of fact. I must treat those under my command the right way. They will die for me if I need be and trust their sacred burial to us. In turn, we must treat them with respect and never lose our temper."
"We'll remember that," promised Murtagh.
Eragon laughed, the worries of the night vanishing from his mind – even for just that time. "Brom once beat sense into a young villager who thought that someone as old as he could easily be mugged. Never thought much of it before because we were just seven years old but now… He really is stronger than average humans."
"Aye." Orik brought out something from his pouch. It was a knot of intertwined gold rings. He handed them to Erago. "This is a puzzle that we use to test cleverness and dexterity. Those eight bands can be arranged in a way that they form only one ring. I can't claim to understand what you're going through with that Shade's curse, Erago, but I've found it a great way to distract myself when troubled."
Eragon smiled. "Thank you," he murmured, eyes glued to the complex puzzle.
"If you can put it together, then it's yours."
Much later that night, after spending more time in stories, Eragon lay on his stomach and set himself upon the challenge presented by Orik. Four bands looped through four other bands, and each had smooth bottom halves and assymetrical wriggling masses on the top. It was where it was to weave through the other pieces. Saphira, any ideas? It seemed like it was impossible to make the two bands parallel. None would lie flat together.
I am many things as a dragon, but that is beyond me, replied Saphira.
Oh well. A challenge. Eragon grinned, and focused on the challenge. The terror of the night was gone from his mind – at least for a while longer.
Since it's almost midnight and my mother is yelling for me to go to bed (rock music blaring and all), I will be addressing questions next update. Sorry. :(
But I hope you liked Murtagh and Roran's guy talk!
Read and review, as always! 3