aDisclaimer: I don't own Eragon (wah, sob, cry). It all belongs to Christopher Paolini (ALL HAIL THE MASTER!). I only own Lizé (my OC) and this plot. This disclaimer applies to all chapters.
A/N: Please review so I'm not wasting my time…
Full Summary: After all that has happened, will Eragon still find the strength to be a Rider? Will Arya ever love him? And what of Murtagh? Will he remain loyal to Galbatorix? And what of the third egg?
Important Note: MY OC WILL NOT BECOME A RIDER! Like so many of you, I am getting tired of these "new rider" stories. Instead, someone else will be the new Rider, one of Paolini's characters. But I'm not telling you…(conspiratorial snicker)
Chapter 1: The Aftermath
The scenes from the night before played over and over again in Eragon's mind, waking him from his fitful sleep. Orange sunlight streamed into the tent, announcing daylight's arrival. In the bedroll to his left, Roran tossed and turned restlessly. To his right, Orik lay in a dreamless slumber, his beard still stained with tears.
Then, Saphira's voice echoed in his mind. Eragon, wake Roran and Orik. Nasuada is asking for you.
What about Arya?
She is waiting with Nasuada. You would do well to hurry. I get the feeling that this is something urgent.
All right. Eragon severed the contact and awaked Roran and Orik. Both got up quickly, with many grumblings and mumblings that were silenced as soon as Eragon told them of Nasuada's request.
After dressing quickly, the three men made their way to Nasuada's tent. Despite it being early morning, the red clouds hovering above the Burning Plains had not dissipated, and darkness still hung heavily over the land.
The guard at the entrance to the tent did not speak, only nodding as he opened the flap and let them in. The Varden's female leader stood before a wooden table, upon which was unrolled a map of Alagaësia. She bore no sign of the injuries that she had suffered in the battle, other then the weariness in her stance. Beside her stood Arya, likewise unmarked. The two women were conversing in hushed tones.
"Lady Nasuada," Eragon spoke, "you asked for us?"
Nasuada and Arya both looked up, but while the elf quickly averted her gaze, Nasuada offered them a warm smile. "Thank you for coming," she said. "We have much to discuss. Orik, what of the dwarves, and of Hrothgar?"
Grief was evident in the dwarf's eyes, but his voice did not waver when he spoke. "The dwarves from other clans will return to their homes today, as will Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. We will entomb Hrothgar in Tronjheim, and, as his heir, I will become the new grimstborith of mine clan. Then the thirteen clan chiefs will choose the new king."
"Thank you, Orik. Now, I have heard that Saphira has offered to restore Isidar Mithrim," said Nasuada, turning now to Eragon. "When do you plan to do this?"
"When I return to Ellesméra," replied Eragon. "I will accompany the dwarves to Farthen Dûr and attend Hrothgar's funeral and pay my respects. While there, Saphira can restore Isidar Mithrim, and after that, continue on to Du Weldenvarden."
"Do you forget your promise, Eragon?" protested Roran. "You vowed to help me track down the Ra'zac and rescue Katrina."
Eragon opened his mouth to answer, but Nasuada raised her hand, commanding silence. "I apologize, Roran, but I cannot allow Eragon to pursue the Ra'zac while his training is incomplete."
Under normal circumstances, Eragon knew Roran would never have spoken as such: "Forgive me, Lady Nasuada, but I cannot allow my cousin to go back on his word!" Roran glared fiercely at Eragon before continuing. "The Ra'zac killed my—our father, and now I find you refuse to avenge him! Poor thanks that would be for all of Garrow's care for you."
"Peace, Roran!" Arya ordered. "Saphira and Eragon's battle skills pale in comparison to the Ra'zac and the lethrblaka…they would be slaughtered within minutes of setting foot in Helgrind, and where would that leave you? That was not meant as a slight," she added, turning her gaze from Roran to Eragon.
Blushing, Eragon closed his mouth.
"How long would this training take?" demanded Roran. "I doubt that the Ra'zac would keep Katrina alive for long."
"A month…two or three at the most," said Arya.
Roran exploded once more. "I hardly think that Katrina would be alive after all that time!" he roared.
"Yes, she will be," replied Nasuada. When Roran cocked an eyebrow at her, she explained, "Don't you see it, Roran? Katrina is bait! The Ra'zac know that she and you are close—"
"—thanks to that bastard of a father of hers," Roran muttered underneath his breath.
"—and that you and Eragon are cousins," finished Nasuada. "Keep Katrina there, alive"—she stressed the word—"and they know you will come eventually. And, as Eragon is of your blood, there would be no doubt he would accompany you. And if Eragon were to be captured, or worse, killed, that would spell utter doom for the Varden."
"Do you understand now, Roran-finiarel?" asked Arya.
Roran fell silent for a moment, then said, "I understand."
"Good. Eragon, there is one more thing we need to talk about." Nasuada and Arya exchanged glances, then the former finally spoke. "Elva has told me that you have found a way to remove the spell you cast on her."
"Aye," said Eragon. "I have."
"Do you believe you can remove the spell without causing any harm to Elva?"
"I believe I can."
"Then you will do so right after this meeting. Am I clear?" Albeit unintentionally, Nasuada's tone became sharp and commanding.
Eragon inclined his head. "Of course, my Lady."
"We are well understood, then." Nasuada then turned to Roran. "The Varden praises your efforts and your deeds, Roran. Do you speak for all of your people when you say you wish to join us?"
"I do," replied Roran.
"Then join you shall. At a different time, you and your people might have been presented at a ceremony, for it is rare that we get an entire village of new recruits. Worry not. The men are all aware of your deeds, and none of your people will be mocked as being unworthy to fight."
Roran bowed low. "Thank you, Lady Nasuada."
"It is my pleasure, Roran." Then, finally, she turned to Arya. "Arya Svit-kona, have you any news on who will carry out the mission?"
Arya nodded. "The queen revealed to me some information regarding this before I left Ellesméra, but in all the recent events, I have not had a chance to report you, and for that, I apologize. I was not able to glean a name, for I left in a hurry, but I did find out that the person is from House Miolandra, and is more then suitable for the task."
Eragon and Roran exchanged glances, and both saw that one was just as baffled as the other. Orik, however, seemed to understand what they were talking about.
"I see." Nasuada looked thoughtful for a moment, then removed herself from her stupor. "Eragon, Roran, Orik, thank you for your time. The cook has prepared a bountiful spread of food. But before you eat, Eragon, I wish you to assist Elva."
Roran and Orik bowed and left the tent, followed by Arya, who cast Eragon a fleeting glance that nearly stopped his heart. Just as soon as the flap had closed, it opened again, and in stepped Elva.
"Lady Nasuada," the four-year-old girl said, curtseying.
"Elva," replied Nasuada, nodding at the girl.
The girl's cold violet eyes turned to Eragon. "Am I to understand then, Shadeslayer," she said, "that you are to remove my…curse…and I shall be able to live normally again?"
"Aye," said Eragon, suppressing a wince at her too-grown-up tone. "But I must warn you, Elva, that once I remove your foresight, you will once again be reduced to a baby. Your advanced growth is a result of my spell, and if I take away that spell, I also take away your growth. You will remember not what it is like to be a child. You will have to grow up again."
"It matters not, Shadeslayer," murmured Elva. "I just want to be rid of this pain."
"Very well." Eragon knelt before Elva and placed his fingertips on her temples, and reached into the magic at his very core. He then said in the ancient language, "May you live as you did before I blessed you with your curse."
He felt the magic in his body flow from his fingertips and into Elva's body. The pulsating points of bright light sought out the beads of darkness that swept through the child. The points of light and dark battled for a moment, one trying to cleanse Elva's body, the other trying to take over it. Finally, the light won, and the darkness dissipated.
Feeling weary, Eragon removed his hands from Elva's forehead and watched as, slowly, she began to change. She became smaller and smaller, her black hair receding into soft wisps on a smooth head, her limbs becoming less slender and turning into the chubby appendages of an infant. Finally, a small baby lay amongst the nest Elva's dress and cloak made.
Nasuada stepped forward and bent over, picking up the baby Elva and wrapping her in the cloak. She brushed back the dark tufts of hair on her head, and saw that the gedwëy ignasia on her forehead was not removed.
In response to his liege's questioning glance, Eragon answered, "The mark on her forehead was put there by a dragon. I cannot remove it. Fortunately, it will have no undesirable effects. In fact, as what my master, Oromis, tells me, that mark was what enabled Elva to partially resist her urges to aid people in trouble."
"This is good," said Nasuada, smiling slightly. "Elva deserves some luck in her life. You may go, Eragon."
He left Nasuada's tent, and found Roran waiting outside. "I am sorry, Roran," he said at once. "I did not intend to hurt you."
Roran waved the apology away, smiling wanly at his cousin. "Forget it, brother," he said. "It was unfair of me, to put one person's wellbeing above everyone else's here." He gestured vaguely at the encampment.
"There is no fault in that," Eragon said softly. "Everyone else in this world would do the same. I—"
"Eragon!"
Both turned around, and Eragon saw Angela making her way towards them. "Is it true?" the witch demanded. "Did you really lift Elva's curse?"
"Aye Angela, I did." At Roran's questioning gaze, Eragon explained everything about Elva to him, then turned back to Angela. "This is my cousin," he told her, "Roran."
"Ah. The one who killed the Twins." Angela smiled brightly at Roran. "All of the Varden is in your debt, Roran, for getting rid of those traitorous magicians. It also appears I personally am in your debt, for Nasuada tells me that just before you struck them down, their next target was to be me. Had you not come along at the right moment, that would have been the end of Angela the herbalist."
Roran started in surprise at the name. "You're the one Gertrude was talking about!" At Angela's confused look, Roran explained. "When we were in Teirm, our town healer, Gertrude, was talking about wanting to meet an extraordinary herbalist named Angela."
"Well, I'd hate to be rude," said Angela, looking thoroughly amused. "I think I'll go have a chat with Gertrude. I'll see you later, Eragon. It was nice to meet you, Roran." She walked past them, heading for the hastily-erected tents in the east part of the encampment where Nasuada had situated the people from Carvahall.
The cousins continued to walk through the camp, Eragon doing most of the talking. He told Roran of all his travels, and everything that had happened to him. He even told Roran about Angela's prophecy and Solembum's advice.
"Sounds to me like you've got yourself a big problem," said Roran, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner. "I can see why you'd need a new weapon—I saw that other Rider take yours. But what on earth is the Vault of Souls?"
"I have absolutely no idea," confessed Eragon.
Then Roran grinned. "But moving on to happier matters…an epic romance, eh?"
Eragon's cheeks colored considerably. But he couldn't think of suitable retort, so he settled for, "Shut up, Roran."
The older man chuckled. "Ah, denial is a wonderful thing, is not?" He reached up and ruffled Eragon's hair. "Could your future love possibly be the elf? Correct me if I'm wrong—Arya, was it? Good eye, brother, she certainly is beautiful."
"Aye, she is," Eragon found himself saying before he hastily amended his words. "I mean…I mean…" he sputtered.
"Think nothing of it," said Roran, though his grin had not disappeared. "No harm in admiring beauty, right? Especially if said beauty is destined for a future romance with the admirer."
"Arya and I would never work out," said Eragon firmly, albeit sadly. "She is older and wiser then I, and we both cannot afford to get involved romantically at a time like this."
"True, true," said Roran, nodding, "but think about it. After the war, who's to say that a love between you two cannot be? You have already told me that elves are immortal unless blade or poison takes them, as are Riders. You would each live as long as the other, and in time, you would gain her wisdom."
"But…but…" Eragon did not finish that sentence. Truth be told, he could think of no other reason why he and Arya could not be together. Finally, he came up with one. "She does not return my feelings."
Roran's grin became even wider. "You would think so, Eragon," he said, but when Eragon looked up at him questioningly, Roran refused to say anymore.
The endless emptiness of the Burning Plains seemed to fly by at a quick pace as Murtagh soared over them, astride Thorn. The red dragon soared in a circle above the camp before landing by a tent on its outskirts, which belonged to his Rider. Murtagh slid off of Thorn's saddle, leaning against the dragon's muscled leg, a weary sigh escaping his lips.
A scream pierced the air, and Murtagh winced. Morning had already come, and still the wounded soldiers, all confined to one tent to avoid infection, would not be silent.
A healer, even younger then Murtagh was, ran out of the infirmary tent and towards him. "Sir," the young man said, "we're running out of medical supplies. Some of us could heal the soldiers with magic, but there's precious little we could do."
Funny, thought Murtagh wryly, a few months ago, I would have been the one calling people 'sir'.
Many things have changed, little one, said Thorn wisely.
Aware that the healer was still waiting for a response, Murtagh said, "There are more provisions in the storage tent. If that runs out, I'll send messengers to the nearest town to ask for more."
The healer bowed. "Thank you, sir," he said, before turning around and running off.
Murtagh sighed as he watched the healer go before entering his tent and collapsing on the bedroll. I wonder if the Varden are facing the same dilemmas as we are. Then his lip curled. Of course they're not. They have the elf, and my oh-so wonderful brother.
The mere memory of Eragon on the battlefield was enough to stir Murtagh's anger. No, it wasn't Eragon himself that was aggravating; it was the fact that he could read Murtagh so easily. Eragon was right; he hadn't wanted to do this.
Some Dragon Rider I am, he thought bitterly. I couldn't even complete such a simple task.
Thorn's extended his head into the ten, his long neck snaking in, and stared at Murtagh with a ruby-colored eye. You are not to be faulted, my friend. The boy was a comrade, and more importantly, he is your brother. No one could look down on you for wanting to show him and his dragon mercy.
The king could, replied Murtagh. And besides, I didn't want to just show him mercy—I didn't want to confront him in the first place.
Neither did I. But you swore a vow to the king—
One that I intend to see fulfilled, a new voice declared in Murtagh's mind.
Thorn tensed and Murtagh froze as both recognized the chilling tones of King Galbatorix. Dragon and Rider exchanged looks before Murtagh answered, My king, how may I serve you? He was somewhat relieved to hear that his voice did not waver.
You may serve me by telling me why Eragon Shadeslayer is still alive! Galbatorix raged. You swore to me in the ancient language—
—that I would face my brother on the battlefield, Murtagh said smugly, knowing he would regret it later.
A howl of anger exploded that echoed strongly in Murtagh's mind. Then pay for your insolence!
Murtagh barely had time to brace himself before agonizing pain darted into his body. The last wisps of Galbatorix's presence drifted away, along with a parting message: Enjoy, traitor…
The pain felt like thousands of knives twisting their way into his skin, spreading from his mind to the rest of his body, all the way down to his toes. But Murtagh would not cry out. He bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming, tasting blood as he did so.
Thorn growled. Enough! he snarled. He wormed his way into Murtagh's mind, stealing him from his body.
Thank you, Murtagh said.
It is no problem, my friend. Thorn allowed Murtagh to tap into his eyes, allowing the Rider to see his body, twitching and twisting on the ground.
If Murtagh could wince right now, he knew he would. Sadistic old man, he thought.
I bet one of my wings he's laughing right now, replied Thorn.
Finally, the pain abated and Murtagh rejoined his mind with his body. The first thing he felt was the dull throbbing in his fingertips, then it slowly spread throughout his body. Although the pain wasn't as excruciating as before, it was still enough that Murtagh couldn't move without hurting himself. Can you help me? he asked, looking up at Thorn.
Of course. The dragon put his head near Murtagh's head and picked him up by the back of his shirt, his body dangling from like a kitten. Thorn slowly snaked his head out of the tent, and deposited his load onto the bedroll. Will you feel better in the morning?
I suppose so.
Good.
You'd better rest as well. I expect the battle took a lot out of you.
Thorn seemed to take offense at the comment and said, Excuse me, I am not one of your puny men to tire so easily.
Aye, you aren't, but you are still younger then I am, little one.
Little?! I am as big as one of your houses!
Murtagh smiled and patted Thorn's nose fondly. You will always be little to me.
A/N: Well? What do you think of it? Please review and let me know! Oh, and once again, I feel the need to reiterate: MY OC WILL NOT BECOME A RIDER! The new Rider will be a canon character, though I'm not telling you who it is! (snigger, snigger)