Chapter 1: New Beginnings

About a week after that great battle on the Burning Plains Eragon woke very late in the day. This was unusual for him. Almost a year of non-stop traveling had him up at the dawn every day. Even recently, with the aftermath of the battle, he had woken early to help out as much as he could. He had been about, healing, cleaning up, improving morale, and generally helping out. When absolutely necessary, he and Saphira attended Council meetings.

In all honesty, he was keeping busy to avoid the thoughts that had been wracking his mind. He had barely slept the past week, they were so horrible. Murtagh was a Rider, in the service to Galbatorix. He was far stronger than Eragon and had taken the sword Zar'roc. Worse, he and Murtagh were brothers, the two Sons of Morzan, who was the First and Last of the Forsworn. He had thought it way back: they were like a pair of matched blades. Every time he thought of the fact that he was a Son of Morzan, he felt sick to his stomach.

But today was different. Eragon had managed to, with some effort, sleep through the night, and well into the next day. No one had come by to wake him or tell him to come to Council Meetings. No one was there. His tent had been left alone, though that was probably because the hulking form of Saphira's massive bulk was usually wrapped protectively around the tent. He hated having the tent there. He'd much rather sleep under Saphira's wing, but he couldn't very well tell Nasuada that he didn't appreciate the tent she'd had set up for him.

His mind floating back to Murtagh and Morzan, Eragon found some solace in knowing that although it was Morzan who had sired him; it was Garrow, his uncle, who was his father. And though Murtagh was his blood-kin, it was Roran who was his brother. He was Eragon. He would not bear the sins of his sire. That made Eragon feel slightly better, even if it still left a foul taste in his mouth. He hauled his body out of his bed roll.

Eragon washed out his mouth and looked at his face in a mirror. It was still so odd to see the pointed ears, the almost elfish slant to his eyes and cheeks. The changes to his skin were also new and odd every time he looked at. He still expected to see the scars on his wrists and hands and found none. When he examined his body, he found himself far too muscular, far too big and bulky to be an elf. Elves were lean and stream-lined. Like dancers. Eragon was definitely human in that aspect. He also had a human voice, one that was far too deep and far too coarse and common to be elfish. But all in all, he didn't mind the half-human place he was at. It made him stronger than any human, and at least at-par with most elves.

Finally awake,grumbled Saphira, sticking her nose in the tent-flap. Good afternoon, little one. She loved calling him 'little one' for although Saphira was younger and had, a year ago, been about the size of a cat, he was now the little one. She had grown large and sleek in Du Weldenvarden, chasing game that was in the prime of health. Her blue scaled nose snorted warm air into the tent and Eragon lay his hand on it, pushing it back slightly as he walked out of the tent. He inhaled the air, surprised to find it so brisk. It was definitely not summer anymore.

"Good afternoon to you too, Saphira. Why didn't anyone wake me? It's well past noon." He asked the blue dragon, still patting her scaled nose. She snorted and Eragon was wary of the small amount of flame that flickered around her nose.

I wouldn't let them. You've been tiring yourself out this past week. When you finally managed to sleep without dreams, I thought it best to leave you alone. She said it so tenderly, like a mother that was worried for her offspring, that Eragon felt both loved and cared for, and was appreciative of her tenderness. Roran is behind you.Eragon patted her again and turned to face his 'brother.'

"Afternoon." He loped over. Roran and Eragon had been built on the same lines. Roran was taller and older, but not by much. He had gained some bulk to his muscles through his skills with a war-hammer and at Horsts forge. From what Eragon had heard around camp, Roran was handsome and well-liked, but he rarely smiled. His worry for Katrina, his betrothed, showed in the lines on his face. Eragon grunted and looked around in his bags for food of some kind. He brought out an elven bread, that was made without yeast, and a travel cake made with ground dried fruit, nuts, and some other ingredients he didn't care to identify.

Roran snorted when he saw Eragon's breakfast. "I had fried eggs, bacon, and a lovely biscuit with butter for breakfast." He was teasing Eragon because of his turn to vegetarianism. Roran would eat his vegetables, but he liked a good steak too. "You'll lose all that muscle mass you've gained, not eating meat."

"No" muttered Eragon, trying to get the water to come to a boil so he could have some tea. "Nuts have just as much protein as meat. I'll be fine. Barzuln, this is taking too long." He dropped his striker of flint and looked over at Saphira. "If you would be so kind" he gestured to the fire and with a sneeze-like sound, Saphira blew a ball of blue flame into the hearth and it caught flame. Eragon's tea was ready in no time. "Thank you, Saphira."

"I'm always surprised when she does that." Said Roran, hunkering down next to Eragon, who was leaning back to enjoy his tea. Eragon gave Roran a quizzical look? "Breathes fire. I know she's a Dragon, I know she's intelligent, but it still amazes me. I guess because it proves she's real, and not just some insane hallucination." Saphira chuckled and hunkered down behind Eragon. They sat in silence for a moment, Saphira's mind picking up the voices and feelings of hundreds, while Eragon's mind siphoned them off into important and unimportant conversations.

"What next?" Asked Roran, breaching the silence. "What do we do next?" Eragon knew he was itching to go after Katrina. But Eragon had explained that, much as he wanted to, Eragon and Saphira could not just leave. He and Saphira were an important part of the Varden, and they had to stay. His loyalties were torn between his Liege-lord, Nasuada. His dead king, Hrothgar, and his brother, Roran. He knew they couldn't stay here forever, but he wanted to take a few moments to breathe.

"I think hunting the Ra'Zac is a fine quest for the two of us. Not only will we rescue the damsel in distress, like good heroes are supposed to do, but we'll provide a service to the Varden, hurt the Empire, and complete our own personal revenge." He said finally, knowing it was what Roran wanted to hear. Saphira gave a rumble of encouragement, she was ready for the next adventure too!

Saphira projected her thoughts so that they touched Roran's mind as well, Eragon and I need to be outfitted properly to travel. Helgrind is North and West of here, by Leona Lake. That's at least 10 days of flying. Less if nothing goes wrong. We need provisions for that, and Eragon you will need a sword, and Roran needs armor. She was so sensible, Eragon loved her for that. He nodded his agreement. Roran shook his head a bit whenever Saphira projected her thoughts to him: it made him feel weird, but he took it much better than others.

"Not to mention, we'll have to fly across a decent part of the Empire, and risk exposure to Galbatorix and his men on our way there. Saphira and I will talk to Nasuada today, to see if she will let us go." Said Eragon decisively, he knew this would be a good plan. Nasuada would find it hard to deny him. "She won't like it, but if we can convince her of our intent to finish the Ra'zac once and for all, she might just let us go. I know the war campaign is moving towards Cithrì in the next few days, and that's at least a two week trek from where we are now. Not only that, but the dwarves return to Farthen Dur, and with luck, won't be back for at least a month."

"Ample time for us to fly to Helgrind, save Katrina, and be back in time." Roran's enthusiasm is evident and it brings a small smile to his face. He sips tea with Eragon for several minutes, silence extending into the space between them. "You slept late today. Anything wrong?" He asked, general concern for his cousins welfare showing on Roran's face.

"Eta, no." said Eragon, imitating his dwarf brother, Orik. "I was tired and have been having disturbing dreams. Last night was the first time in a week that I slept through the night."

"What kind of dreams could terrify a Rider out of his sleep?" joked Roran, though he did show concern. Eragon couldn't remember. It wasn't so much a series of images, or a particular event, but Eragon was dreaming in emotions.

"I can't give you specifics. It's odd. There's no pictures just yet, just feelings. Fear, anticipation, exhaustion, more fear, and pain. All I know is that there is a lot of pain, and I shoot awake, with this lingering feeling of hope. Nothing else." Eragon could feel each emotion shoot through him every night, and at first he thought the pain was just his memories of Durza's attack. But it wasn't. It was the kind of pain felt through the entire body, the pain of loss. He couldn't put his finger on it.

"Will it stop us from flying out in a few days, to go hunt the Ra'zac?" asked Roran, his brow furrowed in concern again. He looked like Garrow when he did that.

"I shouldn't think so. If anything, my dreams may get clearer, and I'll finally know what they are supposed to be telling me. It's happened before." Eragon explained his dreams of the once captive Arya. When he finished, he also explained his vision of the recent battle. "They tend to come to me in my sleep. I don't know why. But they end up meaning something."

"Let me know if and when they become clearer. I've been listening to Gertrude's discussion's on healing and magic. She mentioned dreams being a way for us to work out our problems. Though yours just seem to create problems for you." Eragon smiled and the thought of Roran listening to Carvahall's resident healer about magic and healing and the sort of esoteric things that only gave Roran headaches.

"Well, I didn't dream last night. Maybe my problems were resolved." Eragon knew it wasn't true, but it would do no one any good to fret about it now. "What have you been up to?"

"Not much. Spoke with Horst this morning. Turns out, he's probably the only blacksmith working for the Varden who, for one, has no idea how to make swords, and two, isn't a dwarf." Eragon laughed at the thought of the monstrous Carvahall blacksmith, Horst, standing in a dwarf-sized forge and smiled. Saphira picked up his train of thought and chuckled.

He looks a bit like an oversized dwarf though: with that beard and those arms! She thought into Eragon's mind. He felt her rumble a chuckle and turned his attention back to Roran.

"Though they are glad to have him. He's been working on a new catapult idea with two of the Varden's General's, and he's been learning a few tricks from the Dwarves." Roran was getting some joy, albeit vicariously, at how well his village was adapting to the lifestyle of the Varden. Morn was making ale again, which brought up the army's morale. Even the women were helping out in ways that they enjoyed. Sewing and cooking were amongst some of the things they liked. When Nasuada had seen some of the styles of lace made by the northern women, she immediately sent them off to speak with the spell-weavers who were mass producing the stuff. The combinations they came up with were astounding and rivaled even the dwarves best.

"The Durgrimst Ingeitum has some of the finest smiths amongst the clans. He's learning from the best, I assure you." Eragon too felt glad that Horst was fitting in so well. If he was making catapults and learning from the dwarves, he had no doubt that Horst and his family would do fine.

"But the dwarves are leaving soon, so he's bringing Albreich with him to his meetings, as well as several other men who know how to work the forges, so that it won't be a forge full of dwarves one day and only two humans when the dwarves are asked to leave." Roran brought up a point that had also been nagging Eragon in the past few days. The death of King Hrothgar, had left the dwarves leaderless. As they spoke, Hrothgar's body was making its way back to Farthen Dur, using the tunnels set up by the Dwarves, under the Beors. In a few days time, Orik and other Dwarf Generals, would be forced to go back to Farthen Dur and Tronjheim, to vote with the clans, for the next King of the Dwarves, hopefully one who would support the Varden in their battle against Galbatorix and the Empire. As a human, Eragon couldn't vote with his dwarf-kin in the Ingeitum, but he did have a right to know who the King was and give his opinion, with blessing and allegiance to the new king.

Eragon was silent as he thought. Normally, he didn't like politics. He still didn't. But as a Rider, was inextricably knotted in the politics between the human Varden, the elves, and the dwarves. What a horrible mess! He thought to Saphira, Have we even met the Grimstborth Ingeitum, who led the Clan while Hrothgar was King?

I do believe we have. Saphira responded by reaching back into her incredibly expansive memory, I do believe his name is Wodin. He's older than Arya, but still looks well. He didn't have much of a beard, and always called Orik "cousin." She brought up an image in her mind, and suddenly Eragon recognized the dwarf.

We spoke to him extensively before you got drunk that one night. Eragon teased her a bit, pulling up the memory of the very inebriated Saphira. She was not amused. I vaguely recall him being wiser than he looked, and more than capable of understanding the complexities of politics. He explained more than enough to me. Not that I can remember that much from all the mead.

I'll try to remember some of the things he said and pass them into your mind. She nosed him on the side and turned him back to Roran. Who had stopped talking and was looking at them with a quizzical look on his face.

"Sorry," said Eragon quickly. "Saphira and I live so much in each other's minds, that we sometimes lapse into conversations with each other and we often forget there are others around us. We were just discussing who was the clan-leader of the Ingeitum, and if he was a capable enough man to rule the Dwarves."

"That's alright. It's just, you went silent and then your gaze faltered, and I figured you were talking to Saphira." Roran understood, though he writhed uncomfortably because he had been forgotten. "What's it like having a Dragon in your head?" He asked his cousin. To Roran, dragons were still creatures of mystery and myth, and he still couldn't believe that Saphira was real and that Eragon, his younger cousin Eragon, was a Rider.

Saphira lightly touched Roran's mind, Like this, only more intense. It isn't just conversation, I can feel Eragon's hidden thoughts, his emotions, his memories. We hide nothing from each other. I know his soul as well as I know my own. Which is what makes Galbatorix and Shruikan so heinous and perverse a pair: to Galbatorix, Shruikan is no more than a glorified mount, no better than a horse. Galbatorix feeds on his dragon's power, but does not share his soul with him. If he weren't so twisted, I would feel sorry for Shruikan and Galbatorix.

Roran shook his head when Saphira finished. "Your voice is so deep Saphira. It makes by brain rumble in my mind." Saphira snorted at the comment and turned her nose up.

"You should hear the voices of male dragons. That's deep. But Saphira doesn't actually have a voice. No Dragon does. It's why the Dragon war was so horrible. There was no way for the elves and dragons to converse. As a Dragon, she cannot speak. But the voice you hear is a projection she gives herself." Eragon explained, drawing both on his and Saphira's thoughts.

"Well why not project a voice that sounds nicer. This one grates on the ears." Roran grumbles, still rubbing his head. Eragon was about to answer, when Saphira did it for him.

You aren't listening, o brother-of-Eragon. Your ears do not hear this voice. It is your mind that I touch. If you ignore my thoughts in your mind, you will 'hear' nothing. As to why I don't give myself a pretty voice: I am a dragon. Dragon females are fierce for all they are beautiful. How can I be fierce with a voice that sounds meek? If I had a voice like a bell, I would not inspire the fear or respect that I do with this voice. Consider yourself lucky, for I understand the ways of humans and elves. Any other dragon, male or female, would have eaten you for your cheek. She rumbles a laugh and, stretching her neck up and her head towards the sky, she let loose a spiral of blue flame.

"I'll remember that." Said Roran, trying to put some space between him and the fire-breathing Saphira. It was obvious she had frightened him: not enough to make him run. Just enough to put him on his guard.

It's a good thing to remember. But I don't know if Roran will ever get the chance to meet a Dragon outside of Saphira. Eragon mused sadly, projecting his thoughts for Saphira's mind alone.

You never know, little one. He could feel her thoughts fill with hope. You never know.