Prologue
"Foolishness."
~Saphira Bjatrskular, "Queen of the Skies"
Eragon lay back against Saphira, the great dragon's breath ruffling his lengthening hair.
You need a haircut, she mused absentmindedly, and through their bond, he could see a very tasty-looking deer.
Saphira, stop thinking about deer. I feel like you're going to eat me.
The dragon sheepishly laid her head by him, Sorry. I'm just… contemplating the future. Food always helps me think.
You can go hunt if you wish.
The huntress stretched, nearly throwing Eragon off her flanks as she licked him in apology, careful not to turn him inside out with her razor-edged tongue. Figuratively speaking, and literally.
It will not be long, she promised, throwing herself into the air with a powerful push of her hind legs and a great flap of huge wings.
He sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the peace of the forest around him, meditating, trying to find that little strand of serenity inside his tumultuous and pained soul, grief and broken wishes swirling around his chest.
"Eragon?"
Just "Eragon" again. She's going to drive me insane.
He turned to find the bane of his resolve and heart walking towards him with grace that no other elf could match.
He steeled himself, placing his hand over his chest, bowing respectfully, "Arya Svit-Kona, atra esterní ono thelduin."
She returned his gesture, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."
"Un du evarínya ono varda," he finished the greeting. "Your heart must trouble you to no end to come seek me out."
She almost smiled.
"No, is it wrong to wish for the company of a person who shares in my pain?"
He bit his lip, indicating that she could sit beside him on the log, poking the fire with a stick.
"I will miss Oromis and Glaedr," the young Dragon Rider murmured. "He was someone I guess I had come to call my very, very stern father."
Arya held back her laughter, "Well placed, Shadeslayer. But it is true. I will… he was what was a father also, a father in place of the one I lost."
Eragon gently reached over to cup her chin, turning her face to look at his, his eyes gazing into his, trying to discern something.
"Arya, do not lie to me. What troubles your heart?"
She pulled out of his touch, her raven-black hair fanning out as she turned away quickly, yet not running away as she was usually prone to do.
Eragon, I think you have a way of treading on thin ice every moment of your life, Saphira warned. I do not believe it wise for you to try and get through her barriers when your relationship with her is balanced on the tip of a ledge with one leg on, one leg hanging in thin air.
Easy for the winged one to say, he teased. Do not worry. I will not push my suit upon her. I have learned my lesson.
He could sense her nodding with satisfaction, Very well.
He cut his connection with her right as she roared with delight at sighting a deer, diving down for the kill.
"It is nothing, Shur'tugal."
"And there it is again," he said with as much cool as he could manage.
She looked at him with confusion.
"I told you before you change swiftly. One moment I am 'Eragon,' and the next, 'Shur'tugal.' Arya, I am someone who wishes to call you friend. Please, trust me enough to unburden your heart with me."
She avoided his gaze, her forest-emerald looking down at the ground.
Her attention was diverted by a gentle hand that lighted on her cheek, drawing her gaze to the owner.
"Weohnata ono atra eka unin?" he asked softly, his eyes holding nothing but honesty, and for the first time, Arya could see the man Eragon was becoming.
The seventeen year-old farm boy was gone. The seventeen year-old Dragon Rider was gone. The leader of the Dragon Riders, Lord of Vroengard, rising Leader of the Dragon Riders.
And once Galbatorix was lain low in the ruins of his once-elven castle, that is what this young, once human would become.
"Eina nen ai fricai? Eina fyrir vere eru fricaya?" she asked softly.
"Eila fricaya," he replied.
Then she broke into tears, the hundred barriers and self-encasing walls she had put around herself and her mind, her heart, her last sanctuary, all falling down to assault Eragon with thousands of emotions and memories, death, pain, torture, failed attempts, wishes and wants, though some she held back.
He pulled her into his arms, though she tensed at first.
"Eila fricaya," he whispered into her pointed ear, his strong, warm embrace the best consolation she had in the world.
Her body relaxed into his welcoming arms, and her tears continued to pour down.
And through it all, her fricai abr iet hjarta held her through it all, non-judgmental, a quiet rock of strength in a flood of insecurities.
And she would rather die than admit it, but she loved his embrace.
Translation: Atra esterní ono thelduin/Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr/Un du evarínya ono varda. – May good fortunes rule over you/Peace live in your heart/And the stars watch over you
Shur'tugal – Dragon Rider
Weohnata ono atra eka unin? – Will you let me in?
Eina nen ai fricai? Eina fyrir eru fricaya? – Only as a friend? Only because we are friends?
Eila fricaya – Just friends
Fricai abr iet hjarta – Friend of my heart
AN: Ok, a bit on the fluffy side, but everyone will get over it ^-^ I made up the words eina, eila, and fyrir, all from old norse, like Paolini did. I'm not one of those people who just italicize parts that are in ancient language and then write in English, or bold, and do that. I just don't get it, there's a beauty to every language. If it means I have to make up words as I go and take thirty minutes researching, I will do it to maintain and use the language that good old Mr. Paolini started us off with. And thus ends the prologue to a story called A Shadow of a Thought. :)
IMPORTANT NOTE: I am changing the name of this story from A Shadow of a Thought to Shattering Prophesies