‘Are you sure Saphira?’ Eragon asked for the third time and this time unlike before he only received a grunt in response instead of her perfectly calm assurance that she wasn’t in the least bit upset that she had no role to play in his past life.
And what a life it had been! At that time, nearly five thousand years ago, it had all seemed a bit too emotional and too painful. But millennia into the future, that life now seemed a perfectly happy one - only devoid of its happiest days as they had sacrificed it for Alagaesia’s good. He promised himself that he would make up for the lost opportunity in their second chance.
‘Hah! I told you, you are upset for not being with me!’ He exclaimed having wearied Saphira into grunting.
‘Five thousand years, Eragon! You are five thousand years old. I would expect you to be more matured,’ Saphira censured him.
‘You can’t hide your disappointment by teasing me! I am wiser than that.’ He replied.
The truth was that he was upset that Saphira hadn’t been there with him back then. But Saphira, as was usual, was beyond jealousy and such other feelings he playfully wanted to incite in her.
Saphira let him have his enjoyment for they were fast flying into the doom and gloom of Uru’baen. Fast wasn’t just figurative in this context; it was literal, for fast was the only way to describe the speed with which Saphira and Indra were now flying.
The power of the ultimate sacrifice might belong only to Eragon and Arya. But their dragons shared in the power as they did with everything else, hence the increased speed of flight.
Eragon would be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. It was like flying with Saphira for the first time all over again. He had begged her to slow down but she said that it was much too enjoyable for her to slow down and that it was absolutely necessary for them to reach Uru’baen in all haste. Eragon agreed to it, but still it was too scary.
Kuthian had explained that they would now be able to perform wordless magic at will without fear of being killed by a demanding spell.
“Thank the gods, this is the sweetest thing you could have said.” Eragon blurted out surprising Kuthian for he was in a perfectly sombre mood.
When Arya explained that Galbatorix had taken control of the ancient language effectively reducing them to magic-less creatures, Kuthian had mentally nodded and replied, ‘That youngling is too resourceful for a evil one.’
“That he is,” Eragon had agreed, “who else would have thought of using dragons to obliterate their entire race?”
‘You must be careful,’ Kuthian had warned, ‘From the sound of it, it seems that he is the personification all that is evil in this world.’
‘Two hours, little one. That is all it will take us to reach Uru’baen,’ Saphira informed him, bringing his attention back to the present, ‘Are we ready this time?’
‘We are as ready as we will ever be.’ Eragon said gravely. Then in a much lighter vein, he teased Saphira for her use of the epithet ‘little one’, ‘But little one! Am I really?’
‘You are still puny. Yes, you are still the little one among us.’ Saphira fell in stride with his light mood. ‘Besides, you will always be my little one,’ stressed she.
‘Jealous, are we?’ Eragon teased eyeing fondly at Arya - his Arya - who was riding atop Indra just beside Saphira.
‘I am a dragon, Eragon!’ Saphira admonished him.
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t be jealous of Arya. She is in no way lesser than a dragon in beauty.’
‘She is beautiful for an elf. But dragon? Eragon you must know that even the ugliest dragon is prettier than the most charming elf.’
‘This is not you, but your vanity that speaks.’
‘Then you think her more beautiful than me?’ Saphira demanded.
‘Well, the two of you are the most beautiful creatures in existence.’
‘Is she prettier than me or not?’ Saphira kept to the point.
‘In a way, yes,’ Eragon replied feeling his cheeks heat up.
‘Oh, you are beyond rescue!’ Saphira dismissed him and then added in a tender voice, ‘I am happy for you, Eragon.’
Eragon patted Saphira’s sides and hugged her neck.
With that comfortable exchange of emotions, they fell silent. The gravity of what they will find in Uru’baen overshadowing their euphoria of having discovered the biggest secret of their life.
During the rest of the journey, Eragon grew more and more worried until he could do no more than throw concerned glances at Arya and the dragons as if some evil scheme of Galbatorix would swallow them whole at any moment.
Moments after they went past the Ramr river, Saphira panicked and dropped down at an alarming pace. In the fidgety state Eragon was in, he could do no more than enquire as to what had gone wrong.
Saphira did not answer him but rather pulled him into her conscience, forcing him to look through her eyes. What he saw through the blue tinted vision, made his heart stop.
There was Thorn lying in a heap. He could also make out three two-legged figures around Thorn. But nothing else was clear. Saphira closed her wings so that the wind would not slow their descent. As they neared Eragon could deduce that Angela was part of the company from the smells wafting through the air of foul concoctions.
That information calmed his nerves considerably. The witch-herbalist had on more than one occasion proved that she was as resourceful as she was quirky. When he extended his mind down on the plain, his suspicion was confirmed. The witch was indeed there and contrary to his fears Thorn was alive. The others of the party were Murtagh and Nasuada.
‘They escaped the king then!’ Eragon thought with much elation.
Indra joined them, scolding Saphira for leaving the path without warning. When Saphira pointed him towards what she saw below, all his hard feelings were brushed away.
They landed just a little away from where the company and on seeing Thorn clearly the earlier pangs of him being dead returned to Eragon.
“Blockhead! Where have you been? Your brother is on his deathbed and you chose to go on vacation?” Angela shrieked sounding quite serious.
“Eragon!” Nasuada called out and came running towards him. A red and glowing sphere that was in Nasuada’s hands caught his attention, sending him into a frenzy. His three companions were affected much like him.
For two years, Saphira had hated Thorn and wished that he was never born but now that he was gone, she wished nothing but his return. He would have been a great hunt-mate. She raised her head to the heavens and let out a mourning roar.
“Thorn… he is dead, Eragon, he is gone,” Nasuada wailed, streaks of tears making her face wet. She tried to hand over the red dragon’s eldunari to him.
He refused to accept, saying, “He gave it to you. He is yours to keep, Nasuada.”
Nasuada dropped her head. “But… Galbatorix ordered me to return.” She said in a low embarrassed voice.
Eragon looked kindly at his former liege-lord. “You are not going anywhere near that monster,” stated he firmly.
“He knows my true name. He will summon me.” Nasuada said sounding half-hopeful.
“What was his last order?” Eragon asked in a cold and formal tone.
Nasuada seemed shocked at his countenance and back away a little. But she told him that she was supposed to return and inform Galbatorix about the death of Thorn.
Eragon smiled hearing the exact words. There was a huge hole in the command that could very well be exploited. Nasuada looked mortified seeing his smile. He explained: “You need not go to him. Ever. Thorn lives. He lives in your hand right this moment and he will live forever.”
An expression most akin to satisfaction crossed Nasuada’s face. But she did not seem entirely convinced.
Eragon frowned as if he was missing something. Then suddenly remembering a great part of the puzzle, Eragon asked, “But what happened to Murtagh? How is my brother?”
“About time you remembered your blood!” Angela shouted from behind Thorn’s body “He is being treated by me, blockhead.”
He ran around Thorn’s body glancing at the great red dragon with sorrow to find Arya bent over Murtagh’s frame and Angela protesting that magic doesn’t work. Arya ignored the herbalist and concentrated closing her eyes. Murtagh was badly wounded: both his legs were crippled beyond repair and he had collected numerous stab and cut wounds which were still bleeding angrily as if poisoned.
He went and knelt by his brother and touched his body. The temperature was erratic. He had a fair idea that if Angela hadn’t covered his body with whatever it was that she had covered his body with, he would have succumbed to the loss of blood and in the sheer pain. He was thankful to the witch for her help but he did not say so to her.
At Arya’s touch, Murtagh’s irreparably broken legs popped back into position.
“You are not!” Angela screamed and pushed Arya away. “Don’t use wordless magic.” She censured as if to her daughter.
Arya who had risen to her feet in anger at being pushed down so unceremoniously stopped short of hurting Angela when she heard her speak so. Eragon left the ladies to sort out their differences while he set out to complete what Arya had begun.
He reached into his magic and willed Murtagh to be healed completely. That was it. The energy required for the spell flowed as if from a perennial river of energy. Every cut and every stab in Murtagh’s body were washed away - only his smooth and dark skin remained to be seen. The fever too receded gradually.
Angela who had been arguing with Arya, hearing his relieved sigh, turned around to see what he had done and shouted, “Mad! The two of you have gone mad!”
‘Thank you,’ Thorn’s weak voice said, ‘I am eternally grateful to you for reviving Murtagh. If he had been lost, I would not have wanted to continue.’
Eragon could not provide the dragon any reply for he felt in his heart that he had failed him; that he should have done more for Murtagh and Thorn than the indifference and at times open hatred that he gave them.
‘Eragon… We have been of no use at all to anyone we loved. Worse we hurt them all so badly. Forgi…’ the dragon was saying when Eragon decided to forestall him and say, “I must ask for your forgiveness, Thorn, for not understanding you. I… we all… the ones whom you love… should have been more considerate of your situation. Being born in slavery is no small matter. You must forgive us for our indifference to your suffering.”
“Eragon?” Murtagh’s voice called to Eragon’s immense relief and pleasure. Despite having healed Murtagh, his elder brother had not gained consciousness.
Murtagh’s eyes fell on Thorn’s body and beads of tears collected in his eyes. “My Thorn! Thorn… he is dead. No… I failed him! I failed him Eragon. I failed him like I failed you. I am a useless rascal!”
No amount of coaxing on the part of Thorn’s eldunari could stop him from blaming himself for his dragon’s death. He never even believed Thorn to be real when he spoke. He thought it a hallucination of his mind.
“I am punished as I deserved!,” cried he, “I betrayed your trust over and over again! I tried to kill the handsome green dragon in that elven city. I deserve this punishment!”
“Murtagh, listen to me…,” Eragon said kindly, “You deserve nothing of this pain. You did no wrong.”
“No… I killed many many men. Good and honest men! Will you ever forgive me?” Murtagh would not listen to Eragon. At all.
“Murtagh…” Eragon started vigorously wanting to make his brother understand that he was Bid’daum reborn into Alagaesia but trailed off not finding the right words.
“Will you accept me as your brother, Eragon?” Murtagh asked steadily, although his countenance said that he already expected an answer in the negative.
Eragon could not tolerate it anymore. Murtagh was the reason he was alive in the first place. Not just he. Even Arya owed Murtagh her freedom. Here he was blaming himself for all the wrongs of Galbatorix. He threw his arm around his brother and said tenderly in his ear, “You will always be my brother! My elder brother! I will follow you if only you will lead me, Murtagh.”
Murtagh clung back to him, probably remembering the easy camaraderie they had formed after Brom’s death. But Eragon remembered not just that but the many years he spent with Murtagh (as Bid’daum) spreading peace and prosperity among the races of Alagaesia.
“Eragon.. you need to do me a favour,” Murtagh asked.
“Do tell me brother. I will be very much obliged to be of any help.” Eragon replied earnestly.
“Kill me and free me from this miserable life,” said the elder brother deathly calm.
Eragon let go of his brother from his embrace and put him under a hard stare. But Murtagh did not retract his words. Rather he stood as if expecting Eragon to cast a spell and kill him.
“I did not get you back to die on me,” said Eragon stiffly. Then thinking it better to put Murtagh to sleep for a while, he did just that.
He then said to Nasuada, “Take them both away. Try to lead them into Du Weldenvarden.”
So saying he looked to Arya expectantly. She nodded indicating her acceptance of his scheme. He removed Aren from his hand and put it onto Murtagh’s finger. “There, the elves won’t hurt him anymore.”
Angela stood behind them smiling. She seemed to be enjoying the whole situation - interesting as it was. “How would you like to handle an elf or two?” He asked her expectantly.
“I would like it very much indeed. Although, to think that I will miss you being thoroughly beaten is very sad.” The herbalist replied.
Eragon ignored the part where he was to be beaten by Galbatorix. “You will assist Nasuada get to Du Weldenvarden then?”
“Only if you let me bring Elva too.” Angela bargained, turning to Arya.
“Receiving the child would entirely be our pleasure.” Arya replied.
And so the matter was settled despite Thorn’s protests that they would be very unwelcome in the elven forest. For all her oddity, Eragon trusted in the powers and sincerity of Angela. He was sure that there could be no better escort to the party than the witty witch.
Then he turned and faced Saphira who was in no position to enjoy Angela's quirky ways as she always could and did. Thorn's bodily death had dealt her such a blow that she doubted if her race would survive the spring. Eragon fondly scratched the underside of her face and assured her that he would see to the restoration of the glory of the dragon race at all costs.
“But Eragon, where will you all go?” Nasuada asked, looking worried.
Eragon turned towards the lady of the Varden. She was his rock. Her confidence and determination was what had taken the Varden this far. And the dejection and the subsequent rejection by her mind of her fate to serve Galbatorix was the reason for his discovering his past life. Without that parchment, he would never have found Kuthian. He bowed to her and said, “The parchment you retrieved was much helpful, my lady. If we get to prevail over the evil king know that it was all because of you.”
Author's Note:
I hope this chapter didn't sound too light-hearted. I wanted to convey the pleasures Eragon felt at being able to call Arya 'his'. Besides, where there is Angela, there there is light-heartedness. Paolini established this, not me. The complete absence of Galbatorix will be explained in the next chapter (which I must warn, may take a while to come).
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