Okay, here’s the next chapter. If there are any words in other languages, I’ll put them in different colours: red for Urgal, green for AL and blue for dwarven.
{edit: I've added another chapter 2. It wasn't there before.
The funeral has been edited to include descriptions and emotions.}
CHAPTER 2
A UNIQUE JOURNEY
Eragon climbed onto Saphira’s back. To be honest, he was glad to get away from the Varden’s camp. Since the battle, an overpowering stench of death had been prevailing there. Despair was commonplace. The first day, Eragon had been too grief-stricken to do anything but sit alone with Saphira. The next day, however, he had gone around the camp, healing the seriously injured and comforting those who had lost their near and dear ones in the battle. He would never forget how, later that day, Nasuada had managed to inspire everyone and convince the inhabitants of Feinster to join the Varden. He had hurriedly declined from giving a speech.
But now he could fly, away from all the troubles and pressures of being a Rider. Eragon hated being involved in politics and other such boring things.
I am, all said and done, a mere farmboy, and farmboys do not enjoy complicated things.He heard Saphira’s reproachful voice in his head.
You are a Dragon Rider, little one. With that prestigious position comes responsibilities.
But I don’t like being responsible, Eragon complained.
Don’t whine like a child. Would you prefer it if I hadn’t hatched for you? You would still be a farmboy then. Is that what you crave?
Don’t be silly! You know that I could never live without you. He threw his arms around her neck and she hummed with pleasure.
By the way, where is Arya? She should have been here long ago.
You two-legs are all the same. No sense of time.
Tell that to Orik. He’ll murder you! And besides, I do have a sense of time. I used to be the one who was always early to wake up. At least I was better than Roran.
Dwarves are an exception, and that too, not all of them. And I shudder to think how bad Roran’s sense of time must be, if he was worse than you!Eragon was about to retaliate hotly when Arya showed up. He helped her onto Saphira and they took off. He shouted with joy as he felt the rush of air against his face. Arya, however, put her hands around his waist and held on so tightly that it seemed like her very life depended on it.
There was little talking done. Eragon and Saphira were too busy enjoying each others’ company and watching the view. Arya, however, seemed to think differently.
Eragon decided to strike a conversation. He breached Arya’s mental barriers.
Hello, Arya.
Good morning. Why do you want to speak mentally?
Because I am too lazy to do otherwise. Besides, if we talk verbally, we’ll need to shout at the top of our voices.
Oh.Eragon grinned to himself. Arya had not had the time to hide her feelings before he had breached her mind. He could tell that she was feeling extremely queasy, though she had been trying her hardest to hide it. He was about to comment on this, but when Saphira reminded him how sick he had felt when he first flew with her, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
Dusk fell soon. Eragon volunteered to cook while Arya sat down and tended the fire. Some of her green-ness was disappearing; she looked much more comfortable on the ground. They had a silent meal of hot soup and then slept.
The next day, when Arya woke up, she looked sore from the previous day’s flight. But she seemed to have few problems with flying, as if she had become more accustomed to it. The day passed fairly quickly. All three of them played games in the air, asking each other riddles, and generally making conversation.
Saphira seemed to be in a mischievous mood. She kept poking fun at Eragon, teaming up with Arya. If he was younger, Eragon would have felt intensely hurt and jealous. But now, he was able to put up with teasing sportively, and sometimes even able to match Saphira’s wit. All the time, though, he had a nagging suspicion that Saphira was about to play a prank on Arya. At first, he thought this was just his imagination, but soon, he was sure bout this. He smiled smugly to himself. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.
Sure enough, without warning, Saphira suddenly plummeted downwards. She looked like she was going to crash into the ground. Eragon shouted in joy at the adrenaline rush. Arya, on the other hand, screamed her throat off, and hugged Eragon for dear life. At the last moment before hitting the ground, Saphira pulled out of the dive, spreading her wings and gliding a few feet off the ground.
Eragon turned to grin at Arya. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
She glared at Eragon, but replied shakily, “I guess it could be…….”
He laughed out loud. Breaching her mental barriers, he said,
You were crying for mercy! Admit it, flying is not for you.At this, she grew hysterical.
I am an elf. Elves are not meant to fly, for a reason. At this point, she shouted out to Saphira as well.
Do you know how dangerous that was? You could have killed us! Besides, we could have been seen!
Calm down, Arya. You know as well as I do that this area is completely deserted. Nobody lives in this area. We have already passed Dras-Leona and Urû’baen; we did that yesterday. And that’s not to say that I flew over those cities. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to transport us to Gil’ead by tonight. My muscles are strained from flying so swiftly, though the wind is in the right direction for me. I am not as tired as I was when I flew from Ellesméra to Feinster, but that does not mean that I am fully energetic. I have better things to do than listen to reprimands for having fun. Arya seemed to decide to shut her mouth after this. Eragon talked to Spahira privately and a little concerned.
You know, if you are tired, you could stop any time. It’s okay if we’re late.
I’m not tired, little one. While I rested for so long, my energy came back in full force. I have been flying fast, but the wind is with us. It is strong, but in the right direction. We will certainly reach Gil’ead by today. Eragon feinted a yawn. Since when have you been one for such long speeches?
Saphira acted as if she hadn’t heard and continued on her way.
That night, they landed in Gil’ead, after having travelled for two days. They rested for what was left of the night, knowing that they had to rise early for the funeral.
CHAPTER 3
THE FUNERAL
That morning, Eragon awoke to the sound of birds chirping. The sky was a glorious mixture of red, orange and yellow. The clouds were tinged with pink. The early morning air felt cool against his face. It was a beautiful morning. But today, the air was tainted with grief, the grief of all the elves who had known the great Rider and his three-legged dragon. Eragon scarcely noticed the beauty of the morning, focusing instead on trying to control his bitter regret and sadness. Today, he knew, he would set his eyes on his masters for the very last time.
He turned around at a tap on his shoulder. Arya was standing next to him. He dimly registered that Saphira was also awake, her scales glowing in the morning light. “We need to get dressed, Eragon,” Arya said gently. Eragon hurriedly washed and pulled out the suit that he had been given for Ajihad’s funeral. He didn’t feel up to dressing in such finery, but knew that he had to, what with the elves’ obsession with customs. After, he walked with Arya – who was wearing a simple but stunning midnight blue gown – and Saphira to Islanzadí’s tent.
In the morning light, it became evident that Gil’ead was a changed place. The air was now heavy with the fragrance of flowers. Small saplings and tree of different types were scattered around the city: evidently, the elves were adding their own touches to the place. It was hard to imagine that about a year ago, Eragon had been imprisoned in the selfsame city.
It was barely five minutes’ walk to the elven queen’s large green tent. After exchanging the traditional greetings, they joined a long line of elves. They had scarcely done so, however, when Islanzadí ushered them to the front. “You knew them well, perhaps more than anyone else, so you have every right to stand in front.” Eragon walked to stand in front of the first elf – as per Islanzadí’s request – and sensed a slight resentment from him, though his face remained as exp
ressionless as ever. They were standing in order of intimacy with the deceased. Saphira and Eragon were quite surprised that they were at the very beginning of the line. They weren’t in front for long, however: Islanzadí, Arya, and a female elf who Eragon vaguely remembered seeing during Agaetí Blödhren, came to stand in front of them.
Suddenly, a loud drumbeat sounded, shattering the silence of the day. On hearing it, the crowd took one step forward. Step by slow step, they walked, until they reached the place where the funeral was to be conducted.
It was the exact spot where Glaedr had fallen from mid-air during the battle, killing quite a few Empire soldiers in the process. Due to the fall, Oromis’ body had been broken. It was now, however, arranged to look as if it was still normal.
A huge mound of earth had been dug up beside Glaedr’s body. A smaller one had been dug near Oromis’ maimed one. Eragon felt a lump arise in his throat. Here were his masters, who had taught him so much, lying lifelessly in front of him. Who would he consult in times of need now? Of course, there were other people, but no one quite as wise as his masters. He was now the eldest Rider.
And we shall hold that post with dignity, Saphira said.
She stopped speaking as Islanzadí ascended a small platform made of earth upon which the bodies lay. She began to speak. “To everyone present here, a very good morning. But alas, today is not a good day.” She paused. “Today is a day of mourning. Today is the day we mourn the loss of the last Rider and dragon of the old order.”
She spoke in the Ancient Language. Eragon felt his heart sink even further. A small, tiny part of him had hoped against hope that there was another Rider in hiding. But the queen had just contradicted that in the language of no lies. That small spark of hope was extinguished, leaving him stranded on a lonely island of despair.
By then, Islanzadí had finished speaking. Arya had gone to stand next to her mother, shedding silent tears. Carefully, with magic, the two of them lowered the bodies into their graves.
The woman standing in front of Eragon suddenly walked up to the platform. She opened her mouth and began to sing. Her wordless song was heart-rending, but somehow, it gave Eragon hope. It made him almost cry, but it also began to heal the void left in his heart by the loss of not only his masters, but also his father and uncle. It gave his warmth and strength. Bit by bit, his numb feeling began to disappear.
I am not alone, he told himself.
I still have Saphira. Slowly, a list of people who he cared for and were still alive came to him.
Roran, Katrina, Nasuada, and of course, Arya. With that realization, he brought peace to himself. He was still not over the deaths of his masters – he was far from it – but he now knew that he had the strength to control his grief.
The unknown elven lady ended her song. A strange sense of mental peace seemed to prevail throughout the line of elves. Eragon’s mind, which had been refusing to work, now cleared. And straight through his mind, with piercing clarity, came one thought.
He knew not whether he had the energy to do this, yet, he didn’t care. This was his last chance to honour his masters.
He stepped forward, onto the earth platform, and Saphira followed. The earth on the graves had been replaced. On this piece of earth did Eragon concentrate as he sang his poem in the Ancient Language.
Eldhrimmer O Lenorina nuanen, dautr abr deloi
Eldhrimmer nen ono weohnataí medh solus un thringa
Eldhrimmer un fortha onr fëon var
Wiol allr sjon.(Translation: Grow O beautiful Lenorina, daughter of the earth
Grow as you would with the sun and rain
Grow and put forth your flower of the spring
For all to see.)
As he sang, another voice joined his: Arya’s. The sweet voice of the elven lady whom Eragon did not recognise came next. As Islanzadí opened her mouth to join, so did the rest of the elves in that area. Soon, everyone was singing along, their slow, silky voices helping the plant to grow. Eragon did not feel the customary drain of energy, simply because so many people were singing, each one contributing a bit of energy; together, they would probably have enough to move a mountain.
The plant grew unnaturally fast. Multiple green shoots poked out of the soil, rapidly growing into healthy plants bearing pink and white. When Eragon was satisfied with the growth of the plant, he stopped singing. The crowd quickly fell silent again.
With a sad smile, Eragon stepped back to admire the plant. He felt a sudden, alarming urge to do magic from Saphira, but sensing her intentions, he kept silent. She put her snout to the plant, as if to smell it. There was a surge of blue light, and when she stepped back, the crowd gasped. The plant had been turned to gems of every type imaginable, all its creases wrought in incredible detail in the gemstones. It was translucent, yet made of solid diamonds, emeralds, pearls, topaz, and many more gems. It was still a true, living plant, exactly like the lily Arya had transformed when they were travelling together.
It is my way of honouring our masters. As she said this, Eragon could have sworn he felt a wave of gratitude and sadness from Glaedr’s Eldunari. He quickly placed wards around the grave, to prevent the flowers from growing elsewhere and to prevent people from plucking them.
It was noon by the time everyone had gone to the graves, each person dedicating something to the deceased: poems, songs, fairths and other things were seen aplenty. Arya informed Eragon that these would then be taken to the elven library in Osilon. There was no midday meal; everyone was required to fast until the evening.
In the evening, Eragon proceeded to a huge mess tent, feeling ravenous. He had skipped breakfast due to lack of time, and had to skip lunch too. It was only an hour or so after sunset, but the mess tent was already almost full. Eragon managed to find a seat next to a few elves whom he knew, including Arya and Vanir. The latter’s attitude towards Eragon had changed considerably. He now behaved cordially, but just like everyone else, his voice was tinged with sadness.
A huge spread was placed before Eragon, similar to the few dwarven feasts he had gone to before. There was an aroma in the air, so strong that Eragon could not hope to resist the food. But there was something different in this elven feast, something very noticeable. It was not the lack of any meat, but the lack of joy during this feast. Eragon was shocked that such delicious tasting dishes could be prepared without meat, but what he noticed the most was the dead silence in the tent, apart from the sounds of plates, and people eating. It was a mark of how much the elves respected their dead.
All the sadness that had been driven away from Eragon’s heart by the elven lady’s song now returned doublefold. He felt sickened with himself for even thinking about hunger. Would Oromis have not been prepared to fast for days, if the benefit of elves depended on it? He suddenly shirked away from everyone, and found a seat alone. How could he have thought that grief would disappear so easily? He refused to talk to Arya when she came to comfort him.
Just then, Islanzadí stood, with a glass full of faelnirv raised. She proposed a toast to Oromis and Glaedr. Everyone drunk to them. As Eragon swallowed the cup full of elven liquor, he realized that this drink provided warmth and had the capacity to burn away some of his sadness. The rest of the night, he drank heavily, much to Saphira’s distaste. It took a full three hours for the feast to get over.
Saphira led the heavily drunk Eragon outside the tent, and firmly told him to climb onto her. She flew into the air, hoping that the chilly night air would somewhat revive her partner-of-life-and-mind. While in the air, Eragon sobbed drunkenly to Saphira,
Everyone I care for is dead. What is the meaning of life anymore? Why should I even live?
We have discussed this before, little one. I am still here for you. And there are so many others………
True..... He tried to feel the wind on his face. But somehow, there didn’t seem to be much wind on his face. Most of it seemed to be coming from behind. He turned slowly.
A ruby dragon and its rider were flying just behind them.
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Thanks for all the comments everyone. I know this seems the same as most book 4 beginnings, but I promise to stray off the beaten path by the next chapter!
{edit: This slipped my mind before. I have copied the poem (well, most of it) from Inheritance wiki, who, in turn, have taken it from
Brisingr (I think). I really hope all of you didn't think I was plagarising. I really did mean to say this, but then, I forgot
Oh, and Lenorina is the name of a flowering plant I invented
.gif)
}
This post has been edited by Total fan of Arya: 11 February 2010 - 06:59 AM
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