Eragon Fanfic (By Me)

This is a story me and my best friend wrote a few years ago we were obsessed with the inheritance cycle and decided to wase our time with this. I have another 40k words somewhere on a usb we just never bothered to upload it.

Code:

Chapter 1: Escapee by Naegling
Chapter 1:

 

Escapee

The suns heat cooked the man’s brain as he struggled to keep consciousness as he rode his black charger through the harsh desert landscape. The lavish winds whipped at his red cheeks and blew the air out of his mouth. His throat was so dry that every time he swallowed it felt as if it would split, and he would drown in his own blood.

 

The man leant down and whispered into the horse’s ear: “We’re nearly there Boy; you can have a drink and some nice sweet apples once we get there.” Straightening up in his saddle, the man squinted and screwed up his face. The sunlight hit the hot dry sand and bounced of, creating a blinding glare and making it nigh impossible for the man to see anything.

 

He laid his head on the muscular shoulder of his faithful steed. The horse was exhausted and every breath seemed as is if would be its last. Hoping that the stallion would not collapse, the man closed his eyes. And, not long after, he drifted off to sleep.

 

***

The black horse trotted into view of one of the night guards. Its rider was only half in his saddle; he had succumbed to exhaustion and starvation and had collapsed in his saddle.

 

From atop the towering wooden gates of the city a man cried in a hoarse voice:

“A horse and Rider approach!”

From across the other side of the gates another man yelled to his patrol partner:

“Shall I open the gates?”

“Yes we don’t want to be responsible for the death of one of our own. Plus the horse looks fine to me, I think once he is fed up a little he will make a fine steed”

The screeching of the rusty cogs knitting together to open the massive wooden gate filled the air.

The Stallion took a step back from the gate as it swung out wards to admit him. Once safely inside the city gates he slowly trotted past the guards and down the cobblestone streets. Apparently the horse knew where it was going because it turned left into a wide street and followed it until he reached a small farm. Into which he turned and walked through the corn fields and into the stables.

 

Kneeling down he allowed the rider to slide of the saddle and take the saddle bags of his flank. Shaking, the horse struggled to stand upright and shuffle over to the water trough.

“We did it boy… we made it home” The delirious man said to the horse, patting its jowls and stroking its mane.

He pulled a red apple from one of the hessian saddle bags and wiped it on his cloth pants before giving it to the horse.

The man stepped over a log on his way into his house. He pushed open the oak door and stepped into the familiar darkness of his home. He tipped the contents of the saddle bags onto the kitchen table. A vast number of metallic rocks tumbled out of it onto the table. Each one varied in size and shine.

 

Dropping the empty bag into the floor, he strode over to his bedroom and removed his boots and vest. Not bothering to have a meal or wash his face and hands, he went to sleep.

***

Eragon awoke from a deep slumber, feeling the strong tug of hunger in his stomach; he dressed hastily and rushed out of his to get something to eat.

“Today is going to be a big day” Eragon thought to himself.

Today was the day that Nasuada had asked for a full recount of the battles events. But before Eragon, Roran and Arya had to give the report, they had other matters to deal with. Eragon had decided that it would be best if he brought the Eldunari to the meeting, so he decided that after he ate he would duck back into his room to retrieve it and Brisingr.

 

Eragon’s somewhat meager breakfast consisted of, fruit and a loaf of sour dough. He hurriedly downed each morsel and regretted it when the food became lodged in his throat and pained him as it made its way slowly down into his gullet.

Meal finished, he Ran to his ten and thrust open the flaps. He darted to under his straw mattress, which was where he had hidden the Eldunari and grabbed his sword from the end of his bed on the way out.

Saphira… where are you? We have a meeting with Nasuada. He projected his thoughts mentally as he attached Brisingr to the belt of Beloth the wise.

Coming little one. Was all that he received in reply.

Outside Nasuada’s tent Arya and Roran were already waiting. Arya wore he tanned leather breeches and a moss green tunic and Roran wore a cotton shirt and pants.

“Finally cousin, I thought you had forgotten, but here you are and look at you, you seem no worse for ware than if you had been resting while the battle raged on.”

Roran greeted Eragon with a strong hug. “You are as skinny as a twig; I fear I could snap you in half if I patted you on the back too hard.”

Arya’s greeting was less casual; when he approached her she reprimanded him with stern words and a firm hand shake. “You need to be on time Eragon shur’tugal, Nasuada is a busy woman, you would do well to keep her from waiting while you fiddle with your beard.”

Her words stung Eragon like a thousand whips. How could she be so harsh to him?

“Eka elrun ono drottningu” He tried to remain kind, “But now we must go, tell Nasuada everything that happened, she is a wise and kind leader and will not judge us for our actions. Whether they be right or wrong.

With that the trio pushed open the entrance to the tent and stepped into the cluttered room which served as her Office and dining quarters.

“Come in, come in, make yourselves comfortable” She gestured to three armchairs that were placed in front of her desk. Roran was the first to sit down.

“Well met Roran, how fare you and your wife?” Nasuada asked from her chair behind the desk.

“Very well thank you my lady. I am hoping to start a family with her, when the war is over.”

Eragon admired Nasuada’s sense of leadership. She always knew how to make someone comfortable and be able to talk without intimidating them too much, while at the same time she always maintained her sense of formality, appearing the more dominant figure in the conversation.

Eragon sat down in one of the chairs and Arya followed suit. Nasuada’s Emerald dress stuck out in the room, she always wore a dress that contrasted well with the colour of her skin, accompanied by some gold jewelry.

With everyone settled and comfortable, Nasuada began talking.

“As you probably already know, I have asked you three to come here today so as I can gain an insight of how Galabatorix thinks. I ask that you tell me, in detail, the events of the battle in which we lost two brave and noble warriors, Oromis and Glader.” At the mention of the loss of the rider and dragon, Nasuada’s head drooped for a moment, before she regained her normal composure. “I am aware of the main events but I need to know every little thing that happened on that battle field. Because, even the slightest little bit of detail might just give us the upper hand and might be just what we need to destroy the evil king Galabatorix and rid this land of evil.”

 

This speech awoke and immaturity in Eragon the likes of which had not seen for a long time. And he began imaging the Cheers and claps of a sea of people all crowding around as Nasuada made the speech.

Eragon! Snap out of it. Keep you head out of the clouds. Nasuada is talking to you.

Uhh, sorry!

Eragon shook himself mentally and when he returned from his dreamlike trace he caught the end of a sentence.

“… And that is why, when you are recounting the battle to me, leave out no detail. I mean it. I will also use the information I might gleam from today’s meeting to assign you to your next mission. ”

With that Nasuada leaned back in her chair and gestured for Eragon to start his recount.

The seconds turned to minuets, and the minuets to hours and before long Eragon had been talking for over two hours.

“… Then Galbatorix took control of Murtagh and used him to kill Oromis while he was having one of his back spasms.” Eragon couldn’t help it, his eyes began to well up and a tongue of water formed in the corner of his eye. It over flowed and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“In the battle Murtagh and thorn were both wounded greatly and thorn might be permanently maimed, Glader bit off part of his tail. Oromis lost his Sword in the battle, if it so pleased you my lady, I ask permission to go and retrieve it. Glader and Oromis stored a vast amount of energy in its jewels which could be an asset to the Varden. Also Saphira and I would like to take some time off fighting to grow closer and learn more about the ways of magic.”

 

Nasuada made no comment, simply Nodded with glazed eyes. Seemingly deep in thought Eragon left her and did not talk for a period. Nasuada finally came around and after many breaths opened her mouth.

“I agree with you Eragon Shadeslayer. You may go to the battle sight and, with the help of Glader, find Naegling. And you will do with it what you must. However before you and Saphira have some time alone I must ask one more thing of you. That you And Arya go to Uru’baen while Galbatorix’s forces are weak and steal the remaining dragon’s egg from his keep.”

Nasuada turned to face Arya directly. “Arya, you know the way to Galbatorix’s keep don’t you, it was you who stole Saphiras egg all those years ago wasn’t it?”

“Yes” Arya’s constant formality was starting to get on Eragons nerve.

“Then you will be the perfect person to ask to steal the next one”

After that Roran and Arya were asked to recount their versions the battle. Both went into particular detail surrounding Oromis’s death. When Arya had finished recounting how she had defeated the shade Varaug with Eragons help Nasuada was astonished.

“It seems you are more adept than I first thought, you might be back with the egg sooner than I though, assuming all goes well.” She stood and gestured for the trio to do the same. “You will all need your rest; you will have exactly one week before you must leave for Galbatorix’s keep. So I need you to be quick at finding Naegling. Do not dawdle. As soon as you recover the sword, return to the varden. Arya will need all the help she can get; the mission relies upon the both of you.”

And with that she bade them goodbye and ushered them out of the tent.

Chapter 2: A Drunken Mistake

The Bustle of the crowd and the sound of people making merriment filled the small bar. Eragon sat at the counter with a stone pine in his hand as he swayed gently on his stool. He was so intoxicated the he barely recognized anyone. He downed the rest of his beer and asked for another one.

"That's enough for you matey" said the old bar tender as he polished a glass with his once white rag.

"Jushht one more pleasshh" Eragon begged "ohhh sc'mon ligghten up yoou old fart"

"No I think you've had quite enough to drink tonight sir" he said as he helped him off the stool and out the door of the bar. "Now you go home and have a good rest, don't go wandering around"

I tshhink im capable shhank you veryy muschh! Eragon thought to himself.

Eragon began walking to his tent with the barman keeping a very close watch on him from the doorway. Once he rounded the corner and the Barman could no longer see him he decided that he didn't want to go to bed.

"Eragon what are you doing… oh my goodness are you alright "Katrina rushed to Eragons side just in time to catch him as he tripped on one of the tents guide wires.

"Yeshhh thank you Arya" he slurred his words and spat all over Katrina.

"Im Katrina. Not Arya. "She tried to explain.

"No… your jusht trying to trick me…. hehehe…I might be drunk but im no sshhcupid"

"Ok Eragon come to my tent I think you should stay the night, Roran will be back soon he's just gone for his nightly stroll" Katrina wrapped her arm around Eragons shoulder and helped him walk to her tent.

"There you go, do you feel better now?" Katrina asked after she had wrapped him In a blanket.

"I would feel better if you were in here to" he said, pulling at her wrist and making her sit down next to him and wrap herself in the rug too.

"Eragon you know you shouldn't drink that much, it's not good for your health."

"But you are" Eragon said and leaned over to kiss who he thought was Arya.

She did not pull away like he thought she would but instead kissed him passionately. The two kissed harder and more passionately. Eragon reached for her shirt and tried to pull it off. Not succeeding, Katrina did it for him, exposing her bare breasts. Eragon reached out and touched them, savoring the warmth and soft feel. He leant down and undid her pants sliding them off with more success than the pants. He took off his own pants and lay on top of Katrina. He drove his diminutive part into her and thrusted hard, she moaned in satisfaction. Eragon drove into her with a steady rhythm and moaned with pleasure.

A sound of heavy footsteps crunching the gravel nearby approached the tent. The footsteps stopped just outside the tent and the entrance flaps flew open. Roran stepped into the tent with a look of Surprise and Hatred mingled into his features.

"Hey buddy, look Arya finally admitted she likes me!" the look of ecstasy clearly depicted on Eragons face was perfectly contrasted by the look of disgust on Roran's.

"How could you Katrina! I thought you loved me!" He stood rooted to the spot, rage, unimaginable rage rippled thought his body, and he wanted to break Eragons face.

He never wanted to see either of them again.

"Roran, it's not how it looks!" Katrina was now in tears.

"Eragon, I trusted you. You were like a brother to me, now you dirt to me. Less than dirt, you're dead to me Eragon."

Eragon still lay on the floor. He was deeply confused and felt bad for his cousin, but why was he angry at him. Had the laws changed? Was it a crime to have fun with a girl these days? It wasn't as if he had slept with Katrina!

Eragon deeply hurt and confused, shoved his pants on and trudged out of the tent. Leaving Roran and Katrina in the crisp twilight. Roran turned on his heel and departed back through the opening in the tent in time to see his drunken cousin disappearing behind the next row of tents.

He heard Katrina's gentle sobs but to him they sounded as hollow as a rotten tree. Roran left, walking along the gravel path at a brisk walk, his breath transforming into a steamy vapour in the cool evening air. He was a man possessed, fury taking over his body. He needed time to think.

With his feet carrying him he continued blindly as the light failed the encampment plunging it into darkness with tiny lanterns glowing incandescently around the place. Before long he found himself outside Horst's tent, the smith from Carvahall. Breathing deeply he pushed the flaps aside and entered the warmth of his tent. Horst's head rose slowly from his book, glancing from Roran in his doorway to his sleeping wife. "Shh," he said "Elain's asleep.

Roran nodded and collapsed into the padded armchair next to him. "Why have you come Stronghammer?" Horst asked hoarsely.

"I need. . .I need a place to spend the night," Roran stammered.

Horst's face took a look of bewilderment, "what of Katrina? Have you had an argument?"

Roran sighed, "I'd prefer we didn't talk about it."

Horst nodded. "Well your welcome to a strip on the floor, that's all I can offer," he replied as he clasped Roran firmly on the shoulder "Thank you Horst, I will take it gratefully.

Horst took out a bed roll and lay it on the ground for Roran. He went back to his book and allowed Roran to settle into the warm bed roll. He drifted into an uneasy sleep and dreamt of the scene at hand.

Roran's emotions had risen to a fever pitch. Catching Eragon with Katrina had been a living scene from one of his worst nightmares. Stalking into his tent he thrashed out at his cabinet, scattering the contents across the ground. His chest heaved as a pang of extreme hatred shot through him. He glanced around. His leather pack was still on his cot, left where he had dumped it after he had returned from the Feinster siege. Snatching up his armour from the wooden shelves, he stowed it into his pack, along with other items of clothing. After a few more odds and ends were secured into the pack, he sat on the bed. He allowed his face to drop into his hands, his breathing a steady rhythm. He couldn't stay here, not anymore. He snatched the pack from the cot and retrieved his hammer from beneath it. Slipping it through his belt he turned toward the door to the tent, halting immediately as he saw Katrina. He did not trust himself with words in his current state, instead he stared daggers at the women he had loved so dearly. "Roran. . ." Katrina began.

He simply shook his head. "No, don't Roran me, I saw what I saw," he spat.

"But you don't understand!" she exclaimed "it's all a misunderstanding."

Roran stepped forward. "It's fine Katrina, really. I understand perfectly well, he's a Dragon Rider and I am but a lowly soldier, you deserve better than me," he spat vehemently.

"Roran no!" she shuddered, bursting into tears as large droplets fell glistening down her cheeks.

Roran pushed past Katrina and stepped back into the sunlight, his mood rising from angry to foul in the span of a few minutes. Behind him he could hear Katrina's pleads but he didn't dare look back. He had been a fool to think that Katrina would stay bound to him in the same way he felt bound to her. He had had enough of it all, the Varden, Katrina, Eragon and not to mention the Empire.

The stables were bare when he entered. Snowfire looked up from his oats as Roran approached, passing the stalls as he went. He patted the brow of the pure white stallion, it's hair soft and inviting to the touch beneath his fingers. "You would never desert me boy," he whispered.

Roran pushed open the stall gate and sidled past Snowfire to where his tack was situated on hooks at the rear. Sliding the saddle blanket over his steeds back, he placed the moulded leather saddle on top. Fastening the girth on the saddle, he nudged Snowfire in the stomach, forcing him to exhale. "That's enough of that," he said.

The rains were looped over Snowfire's head as he placed the bit into the horse's mouth. Snowfire munched on the metal bit, the steel fitting perfectly between his gait. Roran heaved himself up into the saddle, his feet remaining attached in the stirrups as he urged Snowfire from the stable.

Riding between the tents he received many shouts of 'Hail Stronghammer' but he dismissed them, moving with the rise and fall of his mount. As he reached the north-eastern exit of the camp, he noticed the soldiers on the battlements. They looked at him in turn as he passed them. Riding across the moat, Roran breathed more steadily, he was leaving it all behind. But where was he to go? What was left for him in this god forsaken world. His love had left him, his cousin had betrayed him and the Empire was hunting for his blood. All he knew was that he would ride until Snowfire could carry him no more, then he would walk as far as he had to just to be alone.

Dust flew from Snowfire's hooves as they struck the arid ground of the Burning Plains. If there was one thing he wouldn't miss, that would be the stench of the sulphurous clouds that hung above the recent battlefields. The camp slowly grew smaller behind him as he travelled. He relaxed in the saddle, his mind fading in and out of thoughts of what he had seen until they were interrupted. A force was pushing its way into his mind. He felt the familiar consciousness of Saphira's vast mind and reluctantly allowed her access. Saphira? He needn't have asked as it was blatantly obvious already.

Aye Roran Stronghammer, it is I. Saphira's voice echoed within his mind.

To what do I owe the pleasure? Roran asked curiously.

I would have perceived that to be obvious. Saphira said in her wise tone of voice.

Unfortunately not. Roran replied.

Saphira gave a sharp sigh and paused. It appears as if I owe you an apology Roran. Saphira explained.

Whatever Roran had been expecting it was certainly not this. Saphira, you owe me nothing for you have shown me nothing but kindness ever since the day of my arrival. 

You humble me Roran, but I feel nothing but guilt for the actions that Eragon has committed, he has ruined you and for that I am truly sorry. 

Thank you Saphira, your wisdom far proceeds your reputation.

Are you sure that you will not reconsider staying with us? Saphira asked.

Unfortunately that is not possible, there is little if anything left for me here and besides I would not feel comfortable. Roran replied.

Then if that be the case, you have my full support Roran Garrowson, Atra esterní ono thelduin, Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr, Un du evarínya ono varda. Saphira said solemnly.

Although Roran had not the faintest clue of what Saphira had said, he knew that it was special. Thank you Saphira, may you glide swiftly and may your prey be blind to your attack.

Travel fast Roran, we will meet again someday. Saphira said as she withdrew contact from his mind.

Roran felt his soul become reinvigorated by Saphira's words of encouragement. He spurred Snowfire onward and together they rode off into the heat of the day, their bodies strong and their minds as equal.

By the time that Roran broke to set up camp, the sun was uttering its final words for the day. From Snowfire's saddle bags he withdrew his bed roll and placed on the warm sandy soil. Scanning the immediate vicinity quickly he spied a small grove of juniper bushes a mere seventy metres away. The sun was still prickly on his back as he walked toward the bushes. The events of the day riled him as he thought about them but he knew he had left it all behind. The juniper bushes were brittle from over exposure to the harsh sunlight and were easy to break. Snapping them with his feet, he gathered enough wood for a substantial fire and harvested the berries from the remaining bushes, wrapping them in a kerchief to keep them clean.

Assembling the would on the floor was a simple task, as was using a flint to ignite a small flame that gradually grew in size until a glowing red fire blazed before him. From the bags he retrieved a pot and filled it with water from his water skin, placing it on the coals to boil. A nice cup of coffee would do him the world of good he thought. As the water simmered nicely away, Roran diced a steak of venison and sheared off the fat, burying it in the sand to keep predators away throughout the night, not that he was expecting any in such a desolate place. He poured the boiling water into his porcelain mug, covering the coffee beans and sugar before adding a touch of milk. He took a sip and sighed. The sun had just about set and the stars were beginning to show themselves. Into the remaining water Roran deposited the chunks of venison and added with it a large pinch of salt and an even larger pinch of pepper.

Roran put his back on the bed roll as he sipped his coffee and watched the stars appearing one by one. The aroma of the simple stew wafted around him, enticing him until he thought he could bear it no more. He removed the stew from the coals and spooned some into a clay bowl. Ravenous, Roran tucked into his meal, savouring the meat with each bite. A hard day in the saddle would certainly give one an appetite worth of that of a dragon. The stew was delightful and if nothing else, left him feeling extremely satisfied. Rinsing the bowl with a small amount of water, he replaced it back in the pack and clicked the claps shut. He stretched out on the bed roll, his eyes wandering across the evening sky, forming pictures from the stars as he went. The temperature had certainly dropped and he was amazed at the difference in just an hour. The landscape had gone from a brilliant orange to a light violet colour as it worked its way into purple.

Roran's eyelids grew heavy as the orange coals on the fire, spluttered every now and then, emitting golden sparks that flew into the air before settling once again. He knew it would take time to heal from what had happened to him, but he knew it could be done and he was willing to wait. The thing that hurt him most was that his cousin, more of a brother to him for seventeen years had betrayed him with the woman that he had promised to love and cherish until the day that he died. But obviously it wasn't meant to be so. Shifting onto his side he stared out into the dark landscape and reminisced of the good times he had shared with Eragon back at their uncles farm in Carvahall. "What has happened to us?" Roran whispered to himself.

He sighed a tired sigh and allowed his eyelids to close before drifting into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter 3: Guilty as Charged

Eragon tightened the leather straps around Saphiras vast middle. Are you ready little one? Saphira asked mentally

Ready as ill ever be Saphira, I just hope Glader can help us find Naegling quickly. Eragon replied as he fastened his sword to his belt.

Eragon stepped onto Saphiras foot and grabbed an ivory neck spike hauling himself up her massive shimmering bulk.

Saphira Lurched upwards and vertigo gripped at Eragon and threatened to make him sick. Her wings spread out and thrusted downwards, rising steadily higher with every flap of her massive wings.

Saphira, who was used to carrying multiple riders and their luggage quickly climbed higher into the sky. Regarding the little amount of weight that she carried as a nice change to what was the usual baggage. On top of this, Eragon had decided to travel light. Bringing with him only what he wore, his sword, Glader's Eldunari, some Falnirv , some parchment and a pencil he had made by wedging a piece of coal from the fire the night before into a twig that had been split at the tip. With these he intended to write a letter to Roran explaining what happened and how sorry he was.

These few possessions were all that he needed as he planned to return to Feinster and the Varden by dusk the very next day.

The throbbing beat of Saphiras wings numbed Eragons mind and made it impossible to think straight. Eragon passed the time by thinking how stupid he had been to think that Arya would ever go to bed with him.

I am a fool, a fool hardy love blinded imbecile. How could I ever believe that it was Arya? I was too drunk, that's how! I cannot believe I let the Mead control me! I will never drink again. NEVER! Eragon thought to himself, Disgusted by his own stupid decisions.

Don't be so hard on yourself Eragon. Yes you made a mistake, but if you apologize to Roran and explain your predicament, he will forget his stubbornness and forgive you for your mistake. 

And what if he doesn't! Eragon asked, fear and anger now creeping into his Facade. He was quickly changing from remorse to antagonism. What if he never comes back, what if he wanders off and gets found by Galbatorix? What if he gets killed? What then? The Varden would have lost a great leader, and Galbatorix may have gained one. I don't think I could live with myself if evil comes of this.

Be calm little one. Your cousin is stronger that you think, no harm shall befall him and if Galbatorix does capture him, it will take a lot of effort on Galbatorix's part to sway Roran into joining him. 

But for now we must focus on the task at hand. Drop this subject and try your luck at remembering where Oromis may have dropped Naegling. Saphira ended in a definite tone, which Eragon interpreted as a signal to forget about Roran for the moment and relax. Eragon obeyed and with some effort, pushed all thoughts of his much loved cousin out of his mind for the time being.

Thank you Saphira, you truly are the wisest of all the creatures. 

Eragon lay low on Saphiras neck, shielding his face from the bitter torment of the dry winds that whipped at his cheeks relentlessly. Eragon had decided that in order to avoid flying over Helgrind, he would fly parallel along the Jiet River and over the town of Belatona until they reached Leona Lake. There they would circumnavigate around its western edge and when it joined Toark River they would fly north east until they reached their destination of Gil'ead and the location of Naegling.

As the pair flew over Belatona, Eragons head swam with the events of the past few days. He shuddered at the thought of Arya battling the shade, Varaug. How when all seemed lost and nothing else could go wrong the shade had appeared. He admired how, even though she had lost two great friends she managed to compose herself for battle. How she had lunged at its chest while Eragon wrestled with it mentally. And he remembered all too well the bitter sweet taste that had coated his tongue when he saw Varaug's lifeless form crumpled on the ground the metallic taste of victory marred by the acrid taste of loss, the loss of a companion, the loss of a mentor, the loss of a friend.

Now we can call Arya Shadeslayer. Eragon projected his thoughts to Saphira.

Yes. She replied bluntly.

What troubles you? He asked.

Many things. But for now you need your rest. We will arrive at a safe camp site in a few hours. We will talk about it then and not before.

Feeling slightly brushed aside, Eragon shifted in the hard leather saddle. Sitting up slightly and moving Brisingr from underneath his hip.

Closing his eyes, Eragon drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with visions, horrible life like visions. One of Murtagh and Thorn riding beside Galbatorix and his twisted black dragon Shruikan. Both were laughing their vicious, cruel laughs and pointing at their fallen foe. Another of Roran chasing after Eragon with his war hammer. Roran cornered him and Eragon saw a twinkle in his eye before the hammer came down and he could see no more.

Morning came with cruel intentions. The crisp morning air that Eragon had become so accustomed to during his time in Ellesmera had had been replaced by the hot dry winds that accompanied the Hadarac desert. Along with the intense heat, loomed the feeling one got just before going into something or someplace that they knew was unavoidable but still disliked greatly. Eragon knew he would feel that today as he approached the place where his greatest enemy has murdered his greatest ally.

"Did you find rest with yourself last night?" Saphira asked, stretching her wings and yawning. Her tongue uncurling ash she did

"I had no such luck" He replied as he sat, fiddling with Brisingr.

He had a habit of doing this. The new sword fascinated him so much that in his spare time he would play with it. Examining every detail, turning it over in his hands and caressing it.

Not in the mood to talk Eragon got up and left Saphira. Reaching into his saddle bag that was hanging on a branch of the big bush they had set up camp under, he pulled out an amber object about the size of a watermelon.

"Glader, can you hear me" 

Nothing.

"C'mon Glader, I need to talk. I need to know what to do next"

After what seemed like a good five minutes of silence, Glader finally spoke up.

"He's gone! Oromis is dead! Forever I am bound to this orb. Only ever noticed when you need my wisdom or power. It is the way of two-feet-no-horns, you are only ever someone's friend and companion, so long as you can use their power or gleam some wisdom to benefit yourselves. It is a sad time to live in, and one I wish to have nothing to do with."

Dissatisfied and somewhat annoyed with Glader's response, Eragon stuffed the heart of hearts back into the worn hessian sack and began readying himself and Saphira for the remainder of the flight.

Deep in the heart of the spine, where the trees were so thick and old that the sun was hard pressed sending its rays. Where the animals that lived there were strange and malformed. Where even the races of old knew not how to bypass the dark magic lurking in the deep undergrowth. Where the bravest of hunters dare not venture for fear of the terrible beats within. Where the dead trees groaned in the night breeze and their shadows seem not so friendly. All was not as it seemed. For even though the Shade Varaug had been slain and the land had been yet again rid of a great evil, even thought good had become one step closer to prevailing against the forces of evil. But another was yet to be found. An evil force stronger that any ever before it. One that it is capable of destroying the riders forever...

The steady beat of Saphiras wings put Eragon into a trance like state. As she dipped her head, vertigo once again gripped at him and nearly threw him off her back. They had left the shady campsite under the blackthorn bush earlier than expected. After trying, and failing, to communicate with Glader, he rolled up his ox hide sleeping mat and stuffed all of his belongings into his rucksack and took flight for Gil'ead.

Eragon loved flying, the feel of the wind buffeting him, the howl of speeding wind that rendered him deaf and blew away anything that he said. He loved that it gave him peace and time to think. The sheer thrill and pleasure of it made him feel as if he were in a dream. A sweet dream that he don't want to end. But despite how hard he would try to hold onto the sweet fantasy, it always manages to slip through his fingers like smoke.

The trees below began to thicken as Saphira soared high over Gil'ead, Isenstar Lake came into view, glowing like a pool river of molten gold in the sunlight.

We will camp at the edge of the lake Eragon said mentally.

There is no need we will be there in the hour and once we locate Naegling I will fly higher and we will be back at the Varden by dusk. Saphira replied.

I hope it's as easy as you make it sound Said Eragon, a little uneasy

You worry too much; will you have another try at Glader? She asked.

Without removing the Eldunari from the bag Eragon lowered the steadfast barriers in his mind and expelled a tendril of thought towards it. His mind recoiled as Glader stabbed it with his own conscience.

He's not talking; it can't be too hard though. Naegling is storing over eighty years worth of stockpiled energy. All I have to do I open my mind and I should be able to pinpoint the sword and retrieve it with magic. I might not even have to get of you. Excited at the prospect of finding the sword Eragon completely lowered his mental defenses and extended tendrils of his own being in every direction.

In his mind's eye the battle sight was a black satin back drop prickled with sparse white dots. Eragon turned around and was nearly blinded by vast patch of pulsing white light. He pinpointed the sword and reached into his reserves of energy. Flauga Fram, the faint witling sound reached Eragons ears just in time to stop the sword before it impaled him. Letta! The sword stopped dead in its tracks and Eragon reached out and grabbed the hilt of Naegling and severed the flow of magic.

The gold sword was warm and felt immensely powerful. He opened his mind and felt the colossal surge of energy from within the diamond in Naegling. Eragon's own sword, Brisingr had no energy and he decided to transfer the energy from Naegling to Brisingr.

Saphira! With this much energy I think I could lift a mountain and throw it half way across Alagaesia. Eragon explained ecstatically.

Well don't, it would be a terrible waste! 

Feeling slightly stupid, Eragon wrapped Naegling in cloth from atop Saphira and stuffed it in the sack with Glader's Eldunari.

Eragon had the feeling he was being watched and as such wanted to get back to the Varden as quickly as possible.

Make haste Saphira, Arya is waiting for us.

Eragon need say no more, for at that moment Saphira beat her wings with such force Eragons spine depressed. With another three massive beats and three more depressions, Saphira and Eragon were flying so high that the Eragon found in hard to breathe.

Saphira flew with a purpose. At break neck speeds she pelted across the country without stopping once. Her sides rose and fell at the same pace as he wings. When finally the Feinster came into view, Saphira half folded her wings and began her speedy incline. Covering over a hundred leagues in the space of an hour.

Saphira touched down and folded hew wings neatly, lowering her body to the ground so Eragon could dismount. Eragon undid the leg straps holding him in place and slid down Saphiras middle. When his legs made contact with the hard ground his knees buckled and he landed in a heap in the dust. Nasuada hurried over to help him up.

"Glad to see you made it back in one piece rider." she said once Eragon was standing again. "You and Arya will be leaving two days from now, I hope you were successful on you mission in recovering the sword."

"Yes, I wish the elves to have Naegling"

"Very well you may return it sometime "

"You need your rest, return to your quarters and I will send someone to fetch you tomorrow" with that Nasuada waved Eragon goodbye and walked in the opposite direction.

"Still no sign of Roran "Eragon thought to himself sadly.

Chapter 4: Onward I March

Roran was woken the next morning by the warmth spreading across his face. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders and his face spread with a smile, contentment spreading inside him. Then he remembered the day before. The smile vanished and he sat up.

He glanced around to orientate himself. Nothing but sand. He shook his head. Snowfire was lying a short distance away, his head resting on his forelimbs. At Roran's awakening, Snowfire stood. He was a smart horse and Roran knew it. On many occasions it had been Snowfire that had kept him alive in the thick of battle. He stood and brushed a little bit of sand from his arm. Roran chuckled as he reached up to feel his hair oddly angled from his slumber. Swinging his arms around he stretched, giving his muscles a good work out.

The camp fire still had a minority of unburnt juniper bush on it so Roran stoked it up and boiled enough water for another coffee. While he had been among the Varden Roran had become dependent on the drink and had picked up a habit of depositing a teaspoon of honey into his coffee before he drank it. Mixing a coffee, Roran made note of which way he had come. It had been from the south-west he realised as he remembered leaving from the north-east gate. The coffee went down nicely and after stowing the mug, he was ready to mount Snowfire for another hard days ride. Covering the coals with sand, Roran clambered onto the Stallions back and urged him onward, into the heat of the Hadarac Desert.

The sky was a brilliant blue over head as a lone crow circled high above, waiting for a meal. Roran noticed the scavenger and muttered to himself "Well you won't find one in me my friend."

Snowfire was an incredibly endurable horse, able to traverse almost any terrain without so much as a foot fault. Sweat coated Roran's brow, as did small particles of sand which clung to his bodily moistures. He hadn't a clue where he was heading and nor did he care but he knew he would find some place to go.

By noon Roran had traversed an enormous amount of leagues, leaving the Varden and his troubles far behind. He was happy with his progress that was for sure but he had to keep going. Snowfire's pace had somewhat decreased so he decided to take an hour out to give the horse a break. He was extremely grateful for the horse's efforts and although he could not tell Snowfire this he was sure the stallion sensed it.

Roran reached out a rough hand and stroked the horse's mane as he gave it a healthy serving of water from the wineskin. Snowfire lapped it up and nudged Roran for more. "Alright but just a bit, I don't know how long this will have to last us," he said reluctantly pouring more into his hand.

"Fancy an apple?" he asked Snowfire.

Reaching into the saddle bag Roran withdrew a large, red apple and offered to Snowfire on his palm. Snowfire did not hesitate and instead snatched up the apple, crunching it in half with his tough jaw. Roran smiled "you've earnt that boy."

After a rest the pair continued their trek across the desert, heading to where they knew not. Roran was completely sure that nothing could survive the harshness of the place and as they continued he saw nothing of the wildlife. Leaning in the saddle Roran dozed into a light sleep as Snowfire took charge and carried him forwards.

Roran woke with a start as he felt himself begin to slip from the saddle. His eyes jerked open and he was immediately paralysed with fear by the looming wall of sand in front of him. He looked backwards behind Snowfire to see the other half of the enormous dune that the horse had carried him up. Snowfire's muscular legs strained with each step as he struggled to keep his footing on the soft sand.

He half expected the wave of sand to break over him and crush them both like a giant wall of green water from the ocean. It reminded him of some of the treacherous waves that he and the villagers of Carvahall had journeyed up when the ventured into the Boar's Eye, a deadly swirling whirlpool off the coast of Teirm that spelt certain death for most sailors.

Step by step they inched closer to the top of the dune. Roran was in awe, it must have been at least sixty feet high with an incline of around thirty degrees. What was even more amazing was Snowfire's determination to reach the top. He felt different as though something was missing. Then it hit him, the wind. The wind was gone, probably due to the dune. Sweat poured from him as the dune trapped the sun from the west and blocked the breeze from the east.

Roran tightened his grip on his steed's reins, willing him with every fibre in his body to make it to the top of the dune. At last Snowfire lifted his forelegs over the top of the dune and scratched with his hind legs to pull himself up. Then all of a sudden the edge of the dune began to crumble away and Snowfire started to slip backwards towards the sandy wall. If he slipped the horse would be maimed for sure and Roran if he wasn't crushed would be severely injured.

Roran had to act. He vaulted over Snowfire's neck and grabbed the reins that he had dropped in the sand. Pulling with all his might, he heaved Snowfire. The white stallion fought gravity as it continued to pull itself up. At last his hind legs managed to find the top of the dune and Snowfire was pulled free from the danger. Roran collapsed on the baking ground, relief flooding through him for himself and for Snowfire.

When finally he had the strength to stand Roran stood and patted his horse on the nose once more "good job boy."

Turning, he looked to the east and saw on the horizon a long black layer, of what he could not make out. Squinting he tried to pertain a better judgement of what it was that he saw but he could not. "Shall we continue Snowfire? I have a feeling we may be close to a city," Roran said to Snowfire, lifting himself back into the saddle

Chapter 4: Dangerous Respite

As the sun began to sink that afternoon, Roran had drawn ever closer to the black layer on the horizon. It was no longer a black layer, but an immense forest of trees. Roran was awestruck. The sheer size of the trees was enough to take a man's breath away. "Fancy that! A forest in the middle of a desert!" Roran chuckled to himself.

Roran trotted Snowfire forwards toward the giant Red Wood Trees that towered before him. From a distance of two hundred metres, the trees were at least sixty metres high. As they got closer, he realised that this wasn't the case, the majority of them were pushing eighty metres and upwards. Although Roran hadn't the faintest clue as to his whereabouts, it was obvious to anyone with a basic knowledge of the Alagaesian landscape, that Roran had entered the fringe of Du Weldenvarden.

As Snowfire passed from the harsh sunlight into the cool of the forest, the difference in temperature came as a huge relief to Roran. The light was nowhere near as blinding and the shadows gave Roran some comfort. "This'll do us boy," Roran said as he tapped the horses flank.

Snowfire stopped immediately, allowing Roran to dismount. As his legs touched the soft ground, they ached. All day in the saddle had left him with very tight muscles. He stretched his legs and arms before glancing around.

He could hear birds *******ing merrily in the upper reaches of the trees, and every now and then one would dart across his field of view. Snowfire whinnied in frustration as he tried to rid himself of the luggage on his back. "Easy boy, I'll help you with that," Roran said.

He undid the leather thronging that held the saddle bags in place. Placing them up against a tree, Snowfire stood up straighter, glad to be rid of the load. Roran opened the saddle bags and withdrew his bedroll. Placing it on the soft grass, he sighed. At last he was alone, no one to order him about or to trouble him, it was just himself and Snowfire in the serenity of this ancient forest.

Glancing over at his belongings once more, Roran spotted his hunting bow attached to one of the bags. He gave a shrug, a fresh meal would do him nicely after his dried rations. He retrieved the bow from his pack and strung it. When he was satisfied with the draw weight, he slung his quiver of arrows over his back and set off through the trees.

There were hardly any game trails to follow and those that he did find were barely visible. He stepped over a fallen branch and continued onwards through the trees, his senses guiding him. Up ahead he noticed a rise in the floor so he began to climb it. On the ground he noticed small impressions that resembled a likeness to those of a deer foot. Roran crouched low in the grass, bow held outstretched in his right hand as he inspected the track. Satisfied that he was on the right track, he continued along his way. As the top of the rise approached, the sound of running water became audible. He paused. Raising his head slightly, he saw over the rise, a stream about two feet in width. Drinking from the stream was a young buck, about fifty metres away. Roran ducked back down. He drew an arrow and knocked it. He drew back until the feathers tickled the corner of his mouth. Just as his fingers slackened to fire, something solid came into contact with his temple.

Roran felt the grass tickle his face as he fell onto the ground. His vision blurred and the last thing he felt before he passed into unconsciousness was a steady trickle of hot blood running through his hair.

Roran's eyes flickered open, adjusting to the darkness of the camp. He tried to angle his head but was met with a furious barrier of pain. He gritted his teeth and lay his head back down. Roran flexed his wrists only to find them bound with a thick nylon rope, as were his ankles. He kicked out furiously but to no avail. Then behind him he heard voices and the warmth of a campfire on his back.

"The captive's awake!" exclaimed a man.

Roran froze. He felt a rough callused hand grab the scruff of his neck and drag him into a sitting position. "Well, well look at what we have here boys?" asked the man sarcastically.

Roran barred his teeth in a snarl as he observed the three men. Two of the men were around equal height with crops of black hair. The third man was a good margin shorter and had a head of brown hair, as well as a light beard that hugged his facial features. The two black haired men had clean shaven faces but were built rather solidly compared to the other man. Roran watched intently as the men inspected him. Each of them were garbed in the same fashion, a black tunic with a red fist embroided on the front. His eyes widened as a cold realisation clenched him, he was no longer safe. These three men were part of the sinister organisation faithful to Galbatorix, the Black Hand as they were known. This organisation had been feeding information to Galbatorix from within the Varden. The Black Hand were among the most dangerous people in the whole of Alagaesia, assassins trained by the King himself. They were infected with Galbatorix's black magic, giving them powers unsought of by others. "I do not fear you," spat Roran venomously.

The three men exchanged glances, before smiling malevolently. "Why should you? Have you something to hide?" said the shortest of the men.

Roran glared at the man, he wasn't going to be pushed around by anyone. "Something to hide! I shall never part with the information that I hold!" Roran growled at them.

Suddenly all three men burst into laughter, their faces contorted with fits of mirth. Roran was taken by confusion, why were they laughing? "Stupid man, we do not require your co-operation to obtain your information, we shall take it from. But, to make matters easier, tell us your name?" said the man.
Roran hesitated, what difference did it make if they knew his name? "I am Roran Stronghammer, son of Garrow, and you will not hold me forever!"he said vehemently.

"Stronghammer, yes we have heard your name many times amongst the Varden, you have caused Galbatorix a conceivable amount of damage these past few months. . .yes, you will do nicely," the man said, his voice trailing off at the end as he fingered his beard.

"Do nicely? Nicely for what?" Roran asked hesitantly.

"Let's just say that Galbatorix has awaited your arrival for a very long time," the man laughed "now, put him to sleep."

The man clicked his thumb and middle finger together, gesturing for one of the black haired me to approach. He raised his palm and hovered it an inch from Roran's brow and concentrated hard. Speaking the incantation in the Ancient Language, he wove a spell on Roran. "Slytha!" said the man softly.

Roran felt the immediate toll on his body as his eyes grew heavier with each second. He tried desperately to fight it but couldn't. The way that the magician was using magic on him made him feel helpless as his body was under total control by a stranger. Then his eyes closed and he fell into a deep slumber.

"Vakna," said the magician, waking Roran from his sleep.

All night he had been tormented by his dreams, powerless to free himself from their clutches. With another spell, the man released the bonds that were tied around Roran's ankles. "Thank you," Roran nodded.

"I did not do it for your benefit, you will find it hard to move if your legs are clamped together," he said snidely.

"I suppose I would," Roran said.

Roran was led over to a bay mare, slightly shorter than he was. He clambered on, his hands still tightly attached to one another. "He will follow us so you do not need to worry about steering," said the shortest man.

Roran had not heard any of the men use names for one another and he was beginning to doubt that they had any. "We will stop every three hours for a drink, but apart from that we ride straight to the Black City," the man informed Roran.

The Black City, Roran immediately recognised the term as one that often substituted for Uru'baen. The procession moved off, walking at a steady pace towards the edge of the trees. "To think, yesterday I was a free man, today I am a captive," he could not help but chuckle at the irony of the situation.

The men gave him strange glances, unable to find the humour that was flowing from their captive. Roran looked ahead and sighed, back in the saddle.

Chapter 6: Running from the Inevitable

Ramir woke, the scent of stale sweat and dirt clung to him. He removed his singlet and walked over to the kitchen and began filling a steel tub with hot water. Once the tub was filled he carried it over to the table and began shaving with his razor sharp dagger.

"I don't have much time" he thought to himself as he wiped the excess cream off his face.

He dunked a rag into the tub of steaming water and began to wash himself. By the time he was finished, the water in the tub was a murky grey colour and his skin had become a few shades lighter. Ramir was a relatively tanned man having spent most of his life in the sun. The upper half of his body was strongly muscled from self fitness and the long hours he spent in the forge.

He walked back over to his bed room and reached under the bed for his boots. Heaving slightly, he pulled them on, grunting as he remembered that they were a good two sizes too small for him. "Oh well, they will have to do."

He got up and walked out of the cottage, the morning air stinging his cheeks as he inhaled. He walked around the side of his house and through the stables. He reached his workshop, the corrugated iron walls faded into a rustic brown. He unlocked the doors with a key and pushed them inward. Along the walls hung various tools of the trade, used for forging, mending and fighting. On one of the mahogany benches, sat a steel tub, much like his watch basin. Within it sat the ores from the day before. He was soaking them to remove any dirt or grit that was bound to have clung to them. Ramir drained the tub and placed the ores on the bench.

The ores were a dappled brown in colour with a thick vein of gold running through the centre. He turned them over in his hands and smiled. Another successful trip, he thought to himself. Picking them up from the table, he cradled them in his arms before depositing them into a hardened iron tray.

Taking a pair of tongs, he placed the ores into a large furnace that stood blazing in the corner of the room. Almost instantly they turned to a golden liquid that bubbled furiously. After a few minutes he removed the liquid from the heat, immediately pouring it into a mould. He dipped the mould into icy water. Steam exploded upwards as the hot metal touched the surface and evaporated instantly.

"I must make the three weapons quickly, Galbatorix will be coming for me soon." He said out loud as he pried the semi-solid metal bar out of the mould. It made a dull thud as it landed on the table. The golden colour had faded slightly but it still shone brightly, even in the dimly lit workshop.

He slowly shaped the bar into the crude likeness of a blade and soon his forehead and arms had a thick layer of slick sweat. The constant twang of the hammer on the metal hypnotized Ramir and he began recounting the events before he left the Empire.

He had been Galbatorix's pet blacksmith, he had make Shruikans armour and he knew the way the elves made the riders blades. He was a master at what he did. Galbatorix had found him as a child, a slave he had spared and hired as the apprentice smith. Over the years Galbatorix had grown closer to him than anyone before, treating him like the son he never had. Ramir knew some of Galbatorix's deepest darkest secrets. But Galbatorix became wary over the years and began excluding and even punishing Ramir unnecessarily. From this Ramir grew to hate Galbatorix, however Ramir had a secret as well. One even Galbatorix didn't know. He was one of an ancient race, of now only a few existed. He was a grey folk. A race more speculated than the elves even were. Ramir had been taught sword play and could best even the speediest of elves, he had also excelled in the skill of magic, which he had picked up from Galbatorix. Almost a month ago Galbatorix had sent Ramir out on an errand to fetch more ores to make swords, but Ramir never returned. For out on his errand he had run into an old hermit who had warned him that new riders were going to be created for both sides, and he would play a massive role in the outcome of the battle. For he knew all of Galbatorix's weaknesses and how to best him. Ramir had rode back to his home, he needed to make three riders swords and join the Varden, if he wanted to destroy Galbatorix once and for all. 

Ramir added a dye to the second batch of liquid metal, this part would be moulded into the hilt and pommel and be added to the already finished blade.

Ramir had finished the blades now and his muscles were cramped and sore. His body now dripping with sweat and his eyes stinging. He looked over at his finished work.

"I hope that crazy old hermit isn't colour blind" he said looking at the finished orange, Magenta and gold swords. "I wonder what my dragon will be like?"

The old hermit was also a grey folk, and he could tell the future. He had predicted that three eggs will be laid into the Varden and one, and orange dragon egg, will hatch for him.

The proposal had left Ramir giddy with excitement and he had left for his house as soon as he was told that.

Ramir sheathed the swords in their respective sheaths and stuffed them in a pack and after saddling his horse he rode towards the Varden.

Chapter 7: Parcel for the King

Two days had passed since Roran's capture and since then they group of four had traversed at least two hundred leagues. The sun stung Roran's eyes as he turned in the saddle to look at the long track of footprints the horses had left in the sand. The glare was excruciating as the harsh sunlight rebounded from the sand. The previous night, the group had been forced to take refuge beneath their blankets when a dust storm had struck, obscuring their vision for the best part of an hour.

"We will stop here, ten minutes then we move off again," said one of the men.

Roran welcomed the news, swinging his legs over in the saddle, Roran dropped onto the sun braked ground. One of the men with black hair held a wineskin to Roran's lips, allowing him to drink fervently before repossessing the skin. The towel wrapped around Roran's head blocked the majority of the sunlight, giving him little comfort from the elements. "Right, come on let's move," the short Black Hand member said "by this afternoon we will be upon the gate's of Uru'baen, and you before the king."

Roran nodded, it was inevitable that he should appear before Galbatorix.

Once again they moved off, traversing the terrain as fast as their steeds would carry them. The progress, as far as Roran was concerned was terribly slow. He let his mind wander into thoughts of the forest and how much he wished he was back there. None of the men spoke on the journey to Uru'baen, probably to save their throats from becoming scorched from the sun.

As the afternoon bore on, the sound of gushing water entered Roran's ears. It was the torrential waters of the Ramr River. They paused on the banks and watched the water flow over the rocks, winding around a corner and out of sight. To the north of them was the town of Bullridge and to the south, the Black City. They turned their backs to the Ramr and rode on into the fading sunlight. Roran's nerves grew stronger the closer that they got to Uru'baen. The road became more defined as they approached the town and rose steadily to a hilltop. Roran eagerly as anticipated the top of the hill as he had an inkling of what lay beyond. His hunched proved correct because the top of the hill brought with it a panoramic view of Uru'baen.

Roran gasped in shock, he had never seen the Black City, only heard it described. In the centre of the city was the towering spire of Galbatorix's citadel. Even from a distance Roran could make out the long blood red banners, their ends tapered, hanging from the top of the keep. Around it were rows and rows of charcoal coloured houses, all the same in size and shape. "Come on keep moving!" growled one of the men.

Roran reluctantly walked his horse forward, edging closer and closer toward the city.

The gates loomed before them, the sun disappearing behind the steel frame. "Open up!" called one of the men on the battlements as the group of four riders approached.

Roran looked up to see the men frantically running around the battlements. The gates slowly slid open, revealing a roughly cobbled road that led out of sight.

Roran passed beneath the fortifications, craning his neck upwards for a better look. As they entered the city, many faces of the residents watched them from their door ways, weary of any newcomers. He observed their pale and narrow faces, a pang of guilt racing through him. It was almost as though Galbatorix had forbidden happiness and sucked the very life out of the city.

Rounding the bend in the road, Roran could see the base of the pitch black citadel, beckoning them closer. He wanted to run as fast as he could but he knew that he had no hope, especially with the Black Hand's skill in magic. Instead, he sat there, transfixed on the banners that hung freely from the keep, allowing the Black Hand to lead him to his doom. The road was incredibly uneven but Roran had to admit that in a fighting situation, the city was very well equipped. The city was walled, the ramparts made of solid stone and iron spears protruding from the top. Each house had a flat roof providing perfect positions for archers to fire. Then he glanced up at the citadel, not to mention Galbatorix and his black dragon Shruikan, he thought.

The leading Black Hand member dismounted and approached the four door guards on foot. "We request access," said the man.

"On what grounds," said a guard, his helm studded with onyx.

"On the grounds that Galbatorix will profit from our visit!" said the man in frustration.

The guard eyed him wearily, his shift had been a long one and he wanted nothing more than to break and return to his family. "Fine, but any trouble and we'll no," he said reluctantly.

The guard rammed the haft of his axe against the stone floor and the doors slid open on well greased hinges. "Off your horse," said another member, forcing Roran down from his mount. His hands were still bound and the nylon rope was beginning to leave marks from where the chafing had burnt him.

Roran was pushed forward towards the door. "I can walk by myself," he growled.

The man withdrew his hands and stepped back. Roran followed the others forward, entering into the citadel.

He shivered as he entered, he was so close to Galbatorix. Roran felt as though his death was imminent, expecting Galbatorix to jump out and slay him at any moment. Before him in the entrance hall was a large circular room with two giant black marble staircases spiralling up to a hall. They climbed the stairs and entered the next room where they were met by more stairs. As they continued to climb, Roran supposed that they must have been nearing the summit when the party stopped outside a ruby clad door. Two heavily armed guards stood outside it, watching them suspiciously. "We are here to see King Galbatorix," said the bearded magician.

"What is it that you want?" said one of the guards.

"Tell him that a certain Roran Stronghammer is here to see him," he smirked.

The guards exchanged confused looks before one of the shrugged and knocked twice on the door before entering. The door swung shot behind him, leaving the other guard fingering his axe and eyeing them wearily. After an anxious five minutes wait for Roran, the guard returned and nodded "Aye, you may enter, but beware, any trickery and we won't hesitate to kill you."

The man nodded, "You need not fear friend, we are loyal to your cause and your king."

As they entered through the door, Roran's blood turned to ice, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into darkness.

From what Roran could gather, the room was long and narrow, a carpet leading to the end of the room. His vision was impaired by the darkness as he struggled to focus his eyes. Suddenly a voice boomed from the opposite end of the chamber.

"Roran Stronghammer...how long I have waited for this day," Galbatorix said in his cold drawl.

Roran flinched involuntarily, but he said nothing. "Come closer, let me see you," the king said.

One of the Black hand members shoved Roran forward. His moments of courage were gone, leaving him alone and afraid. However, continued to walk forward, his mind said no but his feet said yes. He estimated that he had walked about twenty feet when all of sudden, torches flared on either side of him, bathing his immediate area into a golden light. He jerked his head either way, intimidated by the torches sudden appearances. He refocused on the path ahead which re-entered into darkness. He walked forward another four steps only to have another two torches illuminate on either side of him. He took no notice and walked onwards, eager to lay eyes on the man that had spiked fear into the hearts of so many across Alagaesia. Six more sets of torches flared into existence until finally a raised platform became visible ahead. Roran paused at the platform, glancing upwards to see a large black throne. He could just make out the outline of its occupant but apart from that he knew not. "Come closer boy, my eyesight fails me in my old age," he said with his dead sense of humour.

Roran obeyed, stepping up onto the platform. As he did, the last two torches flared and light fell across the king's face, it was Galbatorix himself, smiling a wicked smile.

Roran could not take his eyes off Galbatorix, the man was as pale as a shade! His hair was none, a bald crown on his head. A speckled grey moustache lined his mouth and chin, hiding an evil grin. "Well, don't you know it's rude to stare!" shouted Galbatorix.

Roran recoiled slightly. The king laughed, a laugh devoid of mirth but replaced with iniquity. Roran dropped his gaze, instead inspecting the laces on his boots. "At last we meet, I have been looking forward to this day" Galbatorix drawled.

Roran did not know what to say, how do you address a man whom you know can kill you with a single thought, Roran thought to himself. "Unfortunately your majesty," spat Roran "those feelings cannot be returned."

At first he had thought it to be the wrong thing to say but when he noticed Galbatorix's lips turn into a thin smile. Roran sighed in relief. "Of course," the king said.

There was a silence as the king gazed past him, his gaze an endless black. "The Black Hand tells me they caught you on the fringe of Du Weldenvarden? What were you skulking around there for?" he asked strongly.

Roran snapped his head up, "I do not skulk, for I have no reason, unlike a treacherous fiend such as yourself who hides all day in his citadel!" Roran roared in anger.
He was not going to be insulted by a man who ruled the country by fear. Even at these words Galbatorix did not frown. "You have fighting spirit, that could be of a great use to us," he said, raising his eyebrows.

Roran sneered, "I shall never serve you!"

He nodded "But what of your love, surely you would wish to keep her safe would you not?"

Roran faltered. Katrina, he had not given her much thought. Ever since he had caught her and Eragon together he had pushed her from his mind. But despite his efforts, deep down he knew that he still loved her. "Well...yes, of course, but what has that got to do with her! She has never wronged the Empire!" he retorted "kill me if you must!"

Galbatorix shook his head and replied "I do not wish to kill you, however, I ask of you a favour."

"A favour!" Roran bellowed "why on earth would I do you a favour! You have taken everything from me! My home, my father and many of my friends, I have no reason to help you..."

"I did not expect you to, but what if I was to tell you by giving me your cousin's whereabouts, when this war is done, you and your betrothed may live in peace, free of my rule," he posed.

Roran's heart skipped a beat, Galbatorix was offering him friendship in return for his cousins whereabouts! Roran did not need to think twice, Eragon had taken his love from him and now he would pay. "I agree to your terms," Roran spluttered.

Galbatorix grinned. "Excellent, well in that case, have my guards escort you to your own private quarters, I shall summon you when the sun rises again," he said.

Roran nodded. "I will come then," he replied flatly, a deep pang of remorse already filling his stomach.

With that he turned on his heel and retraced his steps back along the corridor, the torches extinguishing behind him. As he reached the door Galbatorix called to him. "You will come to trust me Stronghammer," he said snidely.

With that Roran exited the chamber, the guards leading him back down the stairs to his quarters.

Chapter 8: A Surprise for All

The sun poured into the room, falling softly across Roran's face. His mouth twitched and his eyes flittered open. It took him a moment to register where he was as he laid on his back, his head between two soft pillows. He sat up. Inspecting the room around him, he noticed the fine quality of the furniture which he had neglected the previous night as he fumbled in the dark. Beside the bed was a large circular floor rug, woven intricately from a fine wool. Across the room sat a large dresser, fashioned expertly from the massive stump of an oak tree. Atop the dresser sat his belongings, placed there by one of Galbatorix's attendants the night before.

Roran stretched his weary arms high above his head and yawned. He folded back the thin blanket and swung his muscular legs over the side of the bed. Standing, he realised that he felt sick. Not an illness sick, however a fear sick. He thought aloud to himself about his current position. I am taking residence in Galbatorix's citadel, today is the day I betray my cousin as he has done to me, but is it right? After all, I am ensuring Katrina's safety by doing so, however my treachery will haunt me forever. But alas, I cannot fall back on my word, as long as I am here, Galbatorix owns me. He shook the thought from his head, what's done is done and what will happen will happen. Roran walked over to his belongings and pulled on a fresh tunic. Also on the dresser were a few smaller bottles of cologne. Roran sprayed a little on his neck, enjoying the scent. He nodded once before slipping on his boots that were at the bottom of the dresser. Properly attired, he left his suite, shutting the door lightly behind him. Looking up, he was surprised to see two armed guards standing outside his door. "Are you ready to seek audience with the king?" asked one of the guards.

"Almost, you wouldn't happen to know where one could find a hearty breakfast would you?" Roran replied, attempting to hide the nerves that filled him.

"Of course," said the guard "we will guide you, you are not allowed to leave our sight."

"Yes, that is understandable."

With that Roran followed the two guards along the corridor and down two flights of stairs before they reached a kitchen. "We will wait here, return once you have finished," said the guard, his voice devoid of emotion.

Roran complied and entered the kitchen.

He sat down at an empty table, his stomach panging with hunger. Before long, a middle age cook approached him spared him an inquisitive look. "Haven't seen your face around here?" he said.

Roran observed the cook, his face was pale like most of the other citizens of Uru'baen. He had a large moustache lining the edges of his mouth and a goatee. "No, I'm not from around here, I have...business," Roran said.

The man's eyebrows raised as if to say, why on earth would you come here? "Oh well, that's nothing to do with me," he shrugged "what can I get you?"

Roran considered for a moment, what to get for breakfast. "Have you bacon with scrambled eggs and toast?" he asked.

The cook smiled, "why what kitchen doesn't have bacon and eggs!"

Roran smiled in return, feeling it only polite. "Well I shall have that then."

"Right away, I will bring it to you," the cook said as he hurried off back towards the stoves and fires. Roran inspected a carving in the wooden table as he waited patiently for his meal to arrive. It was not long before the plate was set down before him and he began to devour it ravenously. The bacon was cooked to perfection and the scrambled eggs were light and fluffy. When he finished he washed it down with a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice. He sighed with contentment as his belly was filled, however this did not push the anxiety from him. He thanked the cook for his meal and exited the kitchen, returning to the guards as asked. "I will see Galbatorix now," Roran said hesitantly.

The guard nodded and led him back up the stairs, after the third flight they reached the floor that Roran had met Galbatorix on the previous day. The guards left him with the guards that stood by the doorway. "Roran?" asked one of them.

He nodded. "In you go then, the king is growing impatient."

Roran turned the door handle and entered into the same familiar darkness, however this time he knew exactly what was ahead of him. He did not hesitate and instead walked forwards as the torches illuminated on either side of him. As he approached the platform where Galbatorix's throne resided, he noticed the large red banner that hung behind him. On it was an enlarged map of the land of Alagaesia, spreading from the west coast all the way to the Beor Mountains. Roran's eyes dropped to the high back throne, which in it, sat the slumped form of Galbatorix. "Roran, it's about time you showed up," he said.

"I'm sorry my king," Roran was unsure of whether or not the title applied but he used it anyway "I was still weary from my travels and so, missed the sunrise."

Galbatorix breathed sharply. "Of course," he said "I trust you slept well?"

"Indeed, the suite was delightful, I cannot think of what I have done to deserve so much."

"Ah, it is certainly not what you have done, it is what you will do!" Galbatorix said, raising his voice slightly.

Roran thought hard on the last statement as he remembered what he was about to do. "Yes, I must reveal Eragon's location," he said softly.

"Roran, think of it as ensuring your future abundance," he replied.

Roran nodded, it was true. He had vowed long ago that he would do anything to protect Katrina and his unborn child, and what better way than to make friends with King Galbatorix.

There was a silence as Roran thought. "The last I saw him, he was very comfortable in bed with my wife," Roran growled.

Galbatorix gave a fake cry of astonishment, "Your own cousin betrayed you to the women whom you love!" he said.

Galbatorix knew that agreeing with this man was the only way to get what it was that he wanted. "Yes he did and he hasn't a clue how much it hurt me! All he has done is think about himself all these months! He left our uncle to burn for troubles that Eragon had brought upon us!" he yelled with passion.

Galbatorix nodded along in false sympathy. "Yes, yes indeed. Have you any clue of his future plans?" he asked eagerly.

"No, I knew that Nasuada had given him a mission but regarding what, I have no idea."

Cursing his bad luck, Galbatorix changed his tactic. "Ah yes, Nasuada? What are her plans?" he asked with hope.

Roran had to think for a moment, the recent blow to the head and the heat of the desert had addled his brains. "She has planned a siege on Belatona, then Dras Leona and then onto your very own city," Roran divulged the information freely, kicking himself with every word he uttered.

Galbatorix sat back in his throne, his eyes glistening in the dancing firelight. "So that's her plan, she wants' to bleed me dry? Fool! She should know that that could never happen!" he said, turning his attention back to Roran "thank you Roran, you have been most helpful to me, it is a terrible shame for the Varden to have lost a man like you."

Galbatorix chuckled at his own twisted humour. "You are a noble man Roran, you know what you desire and you head for it, I could have use for someone like you," he offered.

There it was, Roran thought, the offer, the hand of friendship. Roran thought hard on his answer before replying. "I'm sure you could, but you promised me my freedom?" he said.

"Yes! When this war is finished you shall have whatever land you desire!" Galbatorix said, eager to clench the deal.

Roran could ask no more, his freedom and his happiness was all the desired. Then he spoke the words he vowed that he would never speak, "I will join you King Galbatorix."

The king's face split into a wide grin, exposing yellowed teeth beneath his beard. "Roran, I trust your word but there is something I require you to do," Galbatorix said softly.

Roran's ears perked up. "I need you to swear fealty to me in the Ancient Language."

"But I know nothing of the ancient language..." Roran said.

"That does not matter, you shall repeat after me," he replied with the shrug of his shoulders.

"I shall do as you say," Roran said as he bowed his head.

"Excellent, then repeat these words, finiarel, gánga fram garjzla, gath un reisa, yawë," he said slowly but definitively.

Roran struggled to repeat the phrases accurately but eventually he did. Galbatorix allowed his head to fall back as Roran completed the incantation, although Roran had not felt it, he had been bound to the king in more ways than he had perceived. "You are now one with the Empire Roran Stronghammer, a man who will have fortune wherever he walks!" Galbatorix said "would you like to take a look at something?"

Roran glanced sideways, "Yes, I would."

"Then follow," said the king, rising from his chair.

Despite his age, Galbatorix moved quickly, Roran struggled to keep up. They disappeared behind the large map and where Roran had thought to be solid stone, was in fact, yet another spiralled staircase. It wound its way upwards, even further towards the citadel. He wondered how many of the guards new about this secret stairway? As the last step neared him, Roran took a moment to recall his actions. Had he done the right or wrong thing this day? By himself he had done right, but for the Varden he had done a terrible wrong. Galbatorix stopped outside a large double door vault, his palms outstretched. Then he spoke in the ancient language once again, something unrecognisable to Roran. Then, the doors parted and a gaping entrance was left in the wall, a ray of light penetrating from somewhere within. "Come, within is something very special," he whispered.

Roran allowed his curiosity to take him over, forcing him forward into the vault. The majority of the room was dark, just like every other room in this god forsaken place, Roran thought silently. In the centre of the room was a raised pedestal which on top sat an object. Galbatorix led him closer to the pedestal, his footsteps making a dull thud on the cold floor. The closer they got, the more Roran's suspicion's gripped him. The object was definitely ovular in shape. Galbatorix stopped beside the pedestal, gesturing for Roran to join him. "Feast your eyes," he said.

Roran's jaw dropped as he gained an accurate view of the object. It was a emerald green stone that contained veins of a slightly lighter colour. It was at least a foot long and had a wide girth. "This is like something I have never seen before!" Roran said absently, his gaze transfixed on the stone.

"Yes it is something else," drawled Galbatorix as he watched Roran's fascination.

"May I?" Roran said, extending his arm slightly.

"Yes you may, but do be careful," he replied.

Roran extended his tender fingers and gently caressed the emerald stone. It was cool to his touch and seem to reverberate. He gave it a slight rap with his knuckles only to hear that it sounded immensely hollow. "What is this?" he asked, looking up.

"You do not know?" Galbatorix said perplexed.

"No I don't, should I?" he asked.

"I would have thought that Eragon would have shown you Saphira's egg?" Galbatorix said with a puzzled mannerism.

Roran gasped involuntarily. "You mean that this...this is a dragon's egg?" he muttered, once again transfixed by its beauty.

He extended his grasp once more, willing to have another touch of the unnaturally smooth surface. About an inch from the surface, the egg shook. Roran recoiled immediately, looking up at Galbatorix. He smiled at him and gestured for him to try again. Roran did so, his hand slightly shaking. Once again the egg shook, however this time one of the veins split into a hairline crack, spreading the length of the egg. From the crack stemmed several others, twisting their way around the egg until one of the pieces began to rise slowly. More pieces began to lift until a horned beak became visible to Roran who could not take his eyes off the display. As the last of the egg fell away, a small creature lay unprotected on the pedestal. "It's a dragon!" he gasped.

"Well of course it is! And he's chosen you!" the king exclaimed, overcome by a sudden burst of mirth.

Roran shook his head, "No, you mean to tell me..."

"Yes, you are his rider," he said.

Roran could not believe it, the shock of it all proved too much and he fell to his knees. With a hand, he regained his footing, looking down at the small dragon before him. "Give him your hand..." Galbatorix whispered.

Roran vacillated before tentatively offering his palm to the baby dragon. The dragon raised its head and as it met Roran's palm, a searing burst of white hot pain coursed through his body, leaving him tingling. Roran grasped his burning hand and cried out in agony before the pain subsided. He look down at his injured limb and squinted as he observed the strange symbol left burnt into his palm. It resembled the crude likeness off a flying dragon. "I have had this egg in my position for nay on three hundred years and not once has it looked like hatching," Galbatorix said with the shake of his head "and you come along and he hatches at your first touch!"

Roran could not believe it himself, he! A dragon rider! "Will you take him to your quarters?" the king asked.

"I..." Roran did not know what to do "will."

"It's perfectly fine to be nervous, I shall visit you later, there are things we must...discuss."

Roran carefully reached out again and expecting another burst of pain, touched the dragon. It looked up at him, his sparkling green eyes matching the emerald shade of his scales. What shall I call you? He thought to himself.

Without warning a force invaded his mind and an answer came to him, My name is Eridox...

anywhays flame away IDGAF

 

what is tl;dr?