Chapter 6: Progress–Kind of?

It's been a while, huh? I am truly sorry for letting y'all down and not updating for so long, but things have been going well for me! I'm doing well in school and things are reaching an end. This chapter has been worked on over the course of a year–so judge accordingly–but I was so happy to finally finish it. I can't guarantee I'll update soon but I will try my best once things quiet down more–I'll talk more after the chapter.

Thank you to all who support me, you are the reason I keep updating and keep thinking about this story so often!

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The glittering blue stone sat still as he stared into it, begging for it to give him any sign of the dragon he so loved inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of his party packing up and preparing to set out again. They had decided to rest the night in that clearing and set out the next day. His palm glowed as he pumped energy into the stone, supplying it with much-needed magic. Eragon didn't know if it would do anything, but anything was better than the rift in his soul.

Before they rested-or tried to, Eragon had explained somewhat of the situation to Glenwing, whom he never had the pleasure of meeting in his past life, and Arya, who sat there as stoically as ever. It irked him to see her so closed off, the emotions swirling in her emerald orbs so painstakingly unreadable. Just at the thought of her, his mind, uncontrolled, flitted back in time, exposing the deepest memories and emotions that sat repressed for so long. Images of small smiles and beautiful laughter replayed in the back of his mind, annoying him to no end. Eragon, in every other aspect of his being, had full control–and yet the things he couldn't control proved the most dominant.

A figure casting its shadow over him returned him to reality. He looked up, his eyes partially blinded by the sun, to see his father's figure. He held out his hand and Eragon gladly took it, pulling himself up and stretching his back, satisfying pops confirming the strain he had put on them the previous day.

"Everyone is packed up." Brom told him, waiting for Eragon to gather his things, eyes lingering on how his son took the utmost care with the egg, "Just to make sure you're aware," Eragon's eyes now flitted up to his father's, questioning, "We only have two horses. I've already established that me and Glenwing will be traveling with each other; we have much to learn from each other's experiences. That leaves you and Arya sharing the other." A faint smirk could be seen on Brom's face, and Eragon glared at him. "I trust you two millennials are mature enough to figure it out."

With that, his father walked away, a particular strut in his step showing that he did indeed know what he was doing. What does he think he's going to achieve by this? He knows our past, Eragon thought with a scowl. His eyes, of course, drifted towards the elven figure finishing attaching her bags to her horse–their horse, he thought with a sigh and started to make his way over.

His feet padded across the ground, mind heavy with the anticipating and jitters that came with being around the problematic elf. Problematic to who, Eragon, your heart? He pushed those voices down before he started an argument in his head.

"Looks like we are stuck together a little longer, eh?" Eragon jests, placing himself on the opposite side of the horse, peeking at Arya. She paused her work to stare into his eyes, her green eyes so captivating and yet so unemotional.

"Get your stuff on the horse. We leave in five." With that Arya stalked off, leaving Eragon speechless and slightly irritated. He was extending an olive branch–one that she snapped and fed to the crows. With a little bit of pep in his step, Eragon jogged to catch up to the elf, reaching out to touch her arm. As soon as his fingers brushed her tunic she whipped around, eyes flashing with what seemed to be annoyance.

"Why do you follow me," she hissed, causing Eragon to take a step back. Had he angered her? "What do you want, Eragon?" He raised his hands pleadingly in response.

"I just want…" He stuttered. What did he want? Yes, he yearned for Saphira, his heart and soul, but what else–peace, Galbatorix's head? "No matter what I want, we can't be jumping at each other's throats everytime we talk." He shook his head, gesturing between the two of them, "We have to maintain some semblance of maturity, for everyone else's sakes at the very least."

His words seemed to ease the tensions in her brow as she shifted into a less aggressive stance.

"So now I lack maturity, eh?" A small quirk of her lips signaled she wasn't entirely serious–Arya was pulling his leg! A warmth spread through Eragon as he inwardly smiled.

He lightly scoffed and looked down, an uncharacteristic shyness coming over him. "Nay, the Arya I know lacks few things, and maturity is not one of them." He looked back up, smiling slightly only to see her face stony once again.

"Used to know, Eragon." She finished picking up her last few belongings and looked him in the face once more, "Used to know."

Aye, used to know. Eragon could only wonder what made her so reserved and closed off–though he could assume–as he walked over to where Brom and Glenwing were getting ready to leave. At the current moment, they were conversing in low murmurs so he tapped on Brom's shoulder to get his attention.

"Almost ready?" Eragon questioned, "Should be a week or two until we reach Dras Leona. You'll have more than enough time to chat with your new friend." He half-smiled at Glenwing, who returned the expression.

Brom chuckled and pulled himself up on the horse. He looked at Glenwing and they shared a smirk before returning to look down at Eragon.

"Aye. You'll have more than enough time to get well acquainted with your firecracker as well." Eragon rolled his eyes and made his way back to where Arya was waiting for him near their steed. He could hear Brom's low chuckles and Glenwing's silent laugh as he turned his back on them. As he approached, Arya turned to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"How are we doing thi–" Arya swung up onto the horse and held a hand down to him. He took it after a second, her strength pulling him up behind her.

"I trust you are mature enough not to lose a hand." Arya quipped. Eragon grumbled and rested his hands on Arya's midsection, careful to not let them linger in any disrespectful positions. His hands felt her body tense underneath his digits before quickly relaxing. He would be lying if the feeling did not awaken something in his brain–feelings long repressed, perhaps–although like Arya he made sure to quiet his thoughts.

Onto Dras Leona and the not-so-Red Rider.

…

SMACK.

Eragon jerked his head up, his cheek stinging from where he was slapped. His eyes snapped open, his hand reactionarily going to cradle the stinging mark. He regained his senses quite quickly, looking around to see Arya dismounting from the horse, looking slightly smug. Brom and Glenwing had already dismounted and tied their horse to a tree nearby. They seemed to be located in a clearing of some sort, similar to last night. They had decided to take a somewhat untraditional route through the landscape, bypassing Gil'ead completely and opting to trek straight through the plains of Alagaesia. The grassland was generally pretty sparse with splatters of larger vegetation and forests appearing over the hills every once and a while. It was for obvious reasons that they chose to lodge behind the denser vegetation, even with

"Wake up sleepyhead." his father called out to him. "Don't want to make that a habit, ey?" Brom's eye twinkled before he turned around again, and Eragon begrudgingly climbed his way down the steed.

"I wasn't even asleep," Eragon grumbled, causing Arya to let out an unladylike snort. He was surprised (but not really) that she managed to catch the words muttered under his breath. Blasted elf hearing. He took his time to unsaddle and unpack his belongings for the night.

Once he had unpacked and gotten himself situated for the night, he took the time to survey his surroundings once again. Glenwing and Brom were once again conversing, this time in the Ancient Language, if he heard correctly. His heart warmed at the sight of his elderly–although he would certainly oppose–father and his newfound friend. In his previous life, he had not seen Brom make acquaintances with someone so fast–something that made Eragon stop and appreciate this second chance all that more. Arya, on the other hand, stood alone, with no company but her weaponry. His heart ached with the memories of friendship and something…more; he longed to go over and converse as they once did, but he knew it was not the same–It never would be. He only hoped that a second chance would happen upon him as it did so long ago. With a forlorn sigh, he pushed such negativity from his mind and prepared himself for a spell he had forgotten to do in some time.

He made sure the immediate area was clear and closed his eyes, pushing his psyche to a farther place. His mouth started moving, words from an even more ancient language flowing from them. As his body slowly contorted into the beautifully fluid movement of the Rimgar, energy started to flow into him from his surroundings. He was not explicitly taking energy–no, the elvish part inside him would weep at such a concept–but instead, it poured into him from every conceivable weave constructing the nearby forest. It was pure magic: too much would start deteriorating his very being, but just enough would strengthen his magical capacity and improve what he was capable of. It was a spell that he had done numerous times in his past life; it required a cooldown of sorts between each cast, but over a long period significantly improved his body's magical limits. This spell could be compared to the one he had performed many times before he left Carvahall, where he took in the energy from the sun's rays–but this time he was strengthening his magical body, not his physical.

Eragon couldn't tell how much time had passed between when he started and when he opened his eyes, fatigued yet more rejuvenated than he had felt before. As he situated himself once again with his surroundings, he sat down and leaned against a rather large boulder, which although a suitable backrest, wasn't the most comfortable for sleep. His eyes surveyed the clearing, immediately meeting emerald eyes, as piercing as they were curious. He felt his mind gently prodded and, suppressing his natural urge to erect a steadfast barrier, he let in the elvish presence.

"I have to admit, Eragon," Arya's melodic voice rang through his head, "you have piqued my interest. You seemed to draw in magic from places I could not conceive, and the weave itself seemed to bend around you–care to explain?" Her eyebrow quirked as she finished her question, her slanted eyes sharpening into an almost accusatory look. Eragon allowed himself a slightly bashful smile, breaking eye contact only to rearrange himself into a more comfortable position.

"You see Arya," Eragon met her eyes, "There are many things I have learned during my time outside of Alagaesia–things that many on this continent would perceive as inconceivable. Yet this one," Eragon quirked his mouth up slightly at the corner, "was of my own creation. It allows me to increase my magical capacity and limits–simply by exposing and suffusing myself with pure, unfiltered magic. It's a slow process, and not without its dangers, but it is effective, and largely part of the reason why I was so powerful in my past life. And as for where the magic comes from–" Eragon's eyes twinkled with mischief, "everywhere."

Arya's mouth formed into a slight frown, but he could see some mirth swirling in her green orbs. "I see–is the Rimgar a part of the spell, or do you just want to show off your mediocre flexibility?" Eragon allowed himself a full smirk in response, glad that Arya was conversing with him, if only for a moment.

"It's not," Eragon answered, "but you are certainly welcome to join me the next time I cast it. I can even give you a tutoring lesson–see if you can understand magic thoroughly enough to perform the spell yourself." He quirked his eyebrow, hoping for a response even in jest. Yet Arya raised her eyebrow before schooling her features.

"Perhaps…but more seriously, has anything changed on Saphira's front?"

The change in conversation brought a downward turn to Eragon's lips, "Unfortunately not. I am imbuing the egg with as much magic as I can spare beach day, but there is no change in condition." Eragon frowned and looked at the pouch where the egg lay, "Something's not right."

Arya mirrored his frown, "That's a shame. She was always your better half." With that statement, Arya pulled out his mind and turned away, allowing Eragon a wince. That…hurt? He didn't know what to make of that statement, but he relegated to unpack it once they had got on the road the next morning. For now, he closed his eyes and turned onto his side, deciding to get some measure of rest (meditation if not sleep), before they get on the road tomorrow. They were moving quickly, but they would not reach Dras Leona for a couple of weeks still. Where are you, Murtagh?

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