AN: Well, here we are. I'm still stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, but I have mercifully happened upon a computer geek. It's a small mercy, but one that I am very grateful for. I'm not sure that anyone can fully comprehend the pure, raw boredom that is Auchenheath unless they have experienced it for themselves. There's not even a shop in this village. Not one. I'm so bored, my boredom surpasses words. If a truck drove past, I'd throw myself under it. But trucks don't drive past. Only tractors. And they're too slow. As you can tell I've given this much thought.
So this wasn't quite the return to the story I was hoping for, mainly because my brain's been liquified from sheer lack of use, but it's something. And the next one will be up soon. It's all I have left. Feel sorry for me.
The days turned to weeks without incident as Katharean and Obsidian grew quickly to love their new home amongst the people and the soldiers of the Varden. It seemed to Katharean that time passed with exceptional speed within the city walls, and yet as the weeks stretched to a month, and then two, she found it increasingly difficult to account for her time spent there.
The first week had been wearisome, as it had consisted largely of unpleasant meetings with the council, which seemed to Katharean and Obsidian more like interrogations than anything else. Once they had established exactly where her loyalties lay, however, she had been free to do almost exactly as she pleased, with few exceptions.
So, having for the first time in her eighteen years, her own time with no obligations to anyone else, she spent most days traversing the land and skies with Obsidian and, often, Eragon and Saphira.
On the days that the other dragon rider chose to accompany her, she learned much more about both Obsidian and herself. Eragon taught her all he knew about dragons, their abilities, their weaknesses, their history, and the first dragon rider who was also, he told her, named Eragon. He told her of his own experiences with Saphira, from the time she was a hatchling, to their first battle against Derza and Galbatorix's army, to their encounter (her heart skipped a beat) with his treacherous brother, Murtagh.
She listened to his stories in rapt and silent awe, bombarding him with questions each time he stopped talking.
"How did you first realise you could communicate with animals? So you were not always so elven in appearance? When did Saphira first breathe fire? What was it like to perform magic without learning? What are the elven elders like? Were you afraid during battle? What was more difficult? The fear of dying or the fear of killing? Was Brom very wise? You must have been very sad when he died...I wish I could have met him. Is your sword heavy? Does it hurt very much when you use the energy from your belt? Do you miss home?"
The only question to which he could not provide a satisfactory answer was the one she had asked most often, and the one she was most keen to learn the answer to.
"Will that happen to me too?"
He did not know, he said, being that the only other riders in a thousand years besides themselves were either dead or "not exactly on speaking terms" with him. He was referring, of course, to Murtagh. This was a subject that Katharean was very interested in pursuing with Eragon, but he entertained no desire to discuss it, as she learned during one of their first conversations.
"What was he like? Before he joined with Galbatorix?" She had asked.
"He was very much like you or me, only darker, somehow."
"What do you mean? Darker...how?"
"It is difficult to explain." He had mumbled, evasively.
"Please try." She had pleaded.
"I think...I don't know. I think...he tried very hard to be good. Kind...loyal...and noble. I honestly believe he tried to be all those things. But I think deep down he fought a constant battle with his truer self."
"How can you be so sure that the darkness was really his truer self?" She had asked, almost hopefully.
"I am sure." He said, with a note of determination that she could not quite fathom. "I am sure that our true self must always win in the end. And now he has sworn fealty to Galbatorix."
"Perhaps you are right." She had replied, thoughtfully. "But we have not yet reached the end. Maybe his inner war is still being waged. Perhaps, even now, he continues to battle his own demons as we do Galbatorix. Nothing is certain...not as yet."
"You do not think him evil?" He had asked, unable to mask the hope and curiosity in his voice. She shrugged.
"Who are we to say who is good and who is evil? But I do believe that anyone who tries to be 'good, kind, loyal and noble' with any kind of fervour can change their stars and become so, no matter how impossible such a task may appear to you or me. It is much to fight for, and Murtagh is nothing if not a fighter. I believe...or I hope, rather, that he will return to us both. Someday. The man who travelled with me was caring and gentle. I do not believe that everything we had together was a lie. I cannot believe that. And so, I still have hope."
"Then you hope in vain." He muttered, bitterly.
"Is there any other way?" She had sighed.
He had grunted and left her in foul spirits and she resolved to ask him no more questions about Murtagh. It distressed him, and left her with a feeling of emptiness and longing, an unbearable combination that kept her from sleep but did not stir her to weep.
Her lack of visible emotion worried her, as every day she had spent since leaving Murtagh, she had felt herself become less and less angry, less and less sad, less and less hurt and, in turn, less and less alive. She confided this to Obsidian without consciously meaning to, and he did his best to soothe her. That was the thing about being numb, though. As nothing hurt, nothing was soothed.
Perhaps I shall fade away... She thought that night. She waited for Obsidian's comforting reply, but it did not come. She sighed. Perhaps, then, I already have.
One morning, after her first couple of months in Tronjheim, she was awoken early in the morning by Saphira, who was nudging furiously at her with her mind.
She sat up groggily, disorientated at first, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She recognised the familiar voice on the edges of her consciousness, and shoved the great dragon away, irritated.
Be gone. It is barely even morning! She grumbled, sleepily.
I have been trying to wake you since dawn, girl! Where do you go in your sleep? Came Saphira's exasperated reply.
To a beautiful land far away where young women are allowed a full night's rest and not awoken at the crack of dawn by mythical creatures prodding incessantly at their exhausted minds. She grumbled, facetiously. From outside of her tent, she heard Saphira's snort of annoyance, accompanied by a low, male chuckle which could only belong to Eragon. She groaned and dragged herself out of bed to stand unsteadily beside it.
"Are you decent?" He called to her. She looked down at herself, blinking sleep out of her eyes. Am I decent? She asked herself, uncaringly. She was clothed in a short black top with thin straps and baggy, ill-fitting grey trousers. Am I decent? She asked herself again. She shrugged, too weary to care.
"Sure, come in." She replied, stifling a yawn. He swept the entrance flap aside and entered, smiling. Anybody would have thought he had been awake for hours already. "You're looking...chipper." She grumbled.
"So are you." He grinned in reply.
"Now you are abusing sarcasm." She muttered.
"I try."
"Yes, you are very trying. Now, if it is not too much trouble, would you mind telling me why you are here? You woke me from a very pleasant dream." She replied, tonelessly.
"Was I in it?" He asked, smiling, mischievously.
"I am not inclined to answer that. It was improper of you to ask." She said, allowing the well-trained words to fall from her tongue, automatically. He shrugged.
"Very well. I'll get right down to business." He unsheathed a sword from his belt and threw it at her. In her drowsy state, she almost did not react quickly enough, but she managed to catch it before it struck her face.
"Well, thank you for the warning, kind sir. I shall remember to return the favour some time." She snapped, with no real anger. "I assume you have a good reason for trying to behead me with a flying scimitar?"
"Training. And it would not have beheaded you. Check for yourself...it's blunt."
She ran her fingers along the edges of the blade, but Eragon was right. The edges had been filed down. She smirked.
"A blunt blade. Well, that's useful. If you plan to club your enemies to death. I am sorry, why do I have this?" She asked, squinting up at him.
"I told you. Training." He replied, annoyingly shortly.
"Training. Right. I just have one or two questions about that, actually." She muttered, looking back at the sword resting heavily in her hands.
"Which are?" Eragon asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Why?" She looked up at him.
"Because sooner or later you will have to fight in battle. And if you do not learn how to fight better than you do now, sooner or later, there will be one less dragon rider in Tronjheim." He answered, matter-of-factly. She frowned up at him.
"Okay, okay, I get it; I am not the most skilled fighter in Alagaesia. Sheesh, you did not have to be as blunt as this sword, you know. Has no one ever told you that you catch more flies with honey?"
He nodded, grinning, as he turned to leave the tent.
"Meet me by my quarters once you are dressed. Bring Obsidian. And Kate?"
"Yes?" She spun around to face him, annoyed. He looked at her for a few moments, silently, before finishing.
"You are funny when you're angry."
He left her tent, chuckling, and there was a rush of air as Saphira took to the skies, leaving her very much alone.
"I'm not angry." She mumbled to the empty tent. "I'm exhausted." She stumbled to the entrance of her tent and peered out through the flaps, groaning as the cold air hit her bare arms at the same time she realised, bitterly, that it was still dark outside.
She contemplated going back to sleep, but decided that even if Eragon had made his point in the most irritating way he possibly could, he still had one. Her desire to curl back up in bed was great, but her desire to stay alive long enough to make a difference was greater, and she reluctantly pulled on some loose, comfortable clothes and headed to Eragon's quarters, calling Obsidian as she went. She hoped for Eragon's sake that he did not want to launch into one on one sparring. In the mood she was in, she thought, he would be beaten to a bloody pulp.
Well look on the bright side, Katharean. Obsidian mused wearily, as he landed with a clumsy thud on the grass beside her.
Which is? She asked, sceptically, not breaking her stride as the earth shook beneath her feet with the shock of Obsidian's landing.
At least you don't feel numb anymore. He sounded amused, and somewhat pleased with himself.
They walked in silence for a few moments while Katharean pondered what he had said.
I guess you are right. I don't feel numb anymore. She twirled the useless, blunt sword in her hands, expertly. And anger is so much more useful in these situations.
AN: Please review. You have to give me something to hold on to, people!