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The Last Scion
By : RotSeele
Category: A through F > Eragon
Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.
Chapter List
- 16
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Saphira’s Fear

The Varden, with the whole of the dwarves, elves, and Urgals, camped not far from where the To-Ga-Ir were now heading, sheltered in the crux of a mountain range and the borders of Surda. If the To-Ga-Ir turned a bit more south, there would be no doubt the two forces would meet. However, the To-Ga-Ir didn’t know this, and they were reluctant to send outriders into the unknown lands without direction from their adopted prince. The Varden, too, were reluctant to spare anyone save for raids on supply wagons, for their horrible defeat at Gil’ead was still fresh in their minds. If it hadn’t been for the efforts of Saphira and Eragon, and the Du Vrangr Gata, the Varden would be half of what they were.

Unfortunately, the abduction of several women, including Roran Stronghammer’s wife Katrina, weighed heavily on the minds of all. Especially Eragon’s, for he had convinced Nasuada to spare a small group for raids and had left the non-combatants unguarded.

Saphira could feel the depression of Eragon as acutely as if it were her own. After Thorn’s death, it seemed as though the young Rider had been treated to nothing but misfortune. Saphira, too, felt as though a cloud of bad luck hung over her, for she had been the one to press the issue that had been making Eragon hesitate in killing or sparing his half-brother. The blue dragon lifted her head from her paws as Arya approached her, probably coming to tell her Eragon wasn’t going to come today or tomorrow, either. Saphira wished she could give her Rider a good scolding, but he had blocked her from his mind, no doubt moping about the recent string of defeats and failures.

But instead of speaking, Arya simply sat beside the great blue dragon and propped her chin in one hand. “Seems a beautiful morning, doesn’t it?”

In truth it was slightly cloudy and Saphira could taste the coming of rain. But she recognized Arya’s sarcasm and closed her eyes halfway. -He’s ignored you, as well?-

“He sits and consults with Glaedr, Nasuada, Orrin, Orik, and Islanzadi day after day!” Arya exclaimed in a single breath. “He doesn’t stop to think about what he does have, nor does he take enjoyment in it. Vanir’s expressed a desire to beat some sense into Eragon.”

Saphira considered letting the spitfire elf have his wish with her blessing. -And he hasn’t asked Arya for her advice?- She asked instead.

“It seems as though Arya doesn’t exist for him any longer.” The elven princess confided sadly. Saphira gazed at the elf maiden knowingly, as Arya had done all she could to curb Eragon’s romantic interests in her. Still, the two had become so close that it felt strange when Arya didn’t see Eragon on an hourly basis. Saphira could empathize, for she too felt as Arya did.

-He will remember when it truly matters.- Saphira said hopefully. She nudged Arya lightly with her snout. -He does love you.-

Arya didn’t reply this time, only curling a bit closer to Saphira’s powerful shoulder. Saphira turned her eyes from Arya to the camp of the Varden. All were weary, even the tireless elves. Saphira was afraid of what the morrow would bring, for she knew the idea of failure was in the hearts of everyone in this camp. She couldn’t comfort all, but her presence kept them from truly abandoning the cause. Saphira closed her eyes and breathed softly. The Varden were powerful when they worked together, but so far, they’d only begun to fragment. If they suffered any more defeats, there would be no hope left.

-Saphira.-

Saphira opened her eyes at Eragon’s call. -Yes?-

-Nasuada would like us to fly reconnaissance.-

Saphira heaved a sigh but kept it from her words. -I come.-

She shifted, and knew that Arya had heard by the way she flinched when Saphira rose to her feet. The sleek dragon pitied the elf-maid, but left her all the same, padding toward Eragon’s tent. She waited patiently as she was fitted with a new saddle – the third in the one year this war had been going on – and crouched so Eragon could mount. She spotted little Elva watching from the shadows and she saw Vanir standing beside a scarred elf who kept a restraining arm around the younger male’s shoulders.

She studied the scarred elf, for he was the one who now carried Naegling, a high honour. A scar cut across his face on the diagonal, from the left brow to the right side of his chin, which gave his grey eyes a fierce tone. Eragon settled in the saddle and nodded.

“Go, Saphira.”

The young dragon spread her wings and trotted out of the camp so her take-off wouldn’t disturb anyone, and launched into the sky. They flew in utter silence and Saphira wondered what had happened to her beloved Rider. The mental wall was still between them, so she couldn’t ask even if she desperately wanted to.

-Saphira?-

-Yes, Eragon?- The mental wall crumbled and Eragon slumped in his saddle.

-Am I doing the right thing?-

-What do you mean?-

-All this fighting! Wouldn’t it be so much easier to give in to Galbatorix? The more I think of what Murtagh told me, the more it makes sense! But…- Eragon trailed off as if expecting a tirade. Saphira kept her counsel, though, knowing Eragon needed her to listen. -But I no longer know what I must do.-

-No one ever does.- Saphira said finally. -But we can’t give up hope. Hope is what keeps us going, makes us strong. We can’t let all of the sacrifices of the past be in vain.-

-I feel as though I’m lost.-

-So do all who live to see such times.- Saphira said comfortingly. -But we’re alive now, and it’s our turn. We must fight for all those who have yet to walk this earth.-

Eragon fell silent again, but this time he didn’t block Saphira from his mind. She flew higher and rested on warm thermals, ever gazing down at the vast land of Alagaësia. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, for Galbatorix hadn’t sent an army after the wounded Varden for some time. Not even the foul king’s immortal warriors had made an appearance. Saphira twitched her wings and rose higher, above the clouds, and played with the wispy moisture while Eragon fell into some introspection.

As Saphira dipped back under the cloud cover, she finally spotted movement coming from the north. She could see a small contingent of warriors, maybe fifteen strong, being hounded by a larger force of two dozen. She knew immediately the larger force were the Immortals, for they felt foul to her even at this distance. Eragon sat upright then, peering through her eyes not at the pursuers, but at the pursued.

-It’s Roran!- Eragon exclaimed.

The volatile man had gone on raid after raid, searching for his lost wife Katrina, and always came back without her. Now, he was bringing back more than just supplies!

At Eragon’s urging, and despite her own instincts, Saphira bent her wings and dove, inhaling as she went. She banked hard and let forth an explosive ray of flame, cutting off the pursuit. She shot back up and roared as loud as she could muster, working to dodge a volley of arrows. She rose higher and shot down, legs and wings pulled tight to the bulk of her body, cutting right through the Immortals with flame as her main weapon. Hundreds of arrows bounced harmlessly off her hide, but a moment after she pulled up form her attack, she felt dizzy.

It took Saphira a long moment to recognize the dizziness didn’t belong to her. It took her another long moment to realize the pursuit had been a feint, and that the Immortals had had another goal entirely.

With a cry, Saphira raced back for the Varden camp, calling to Arya. The elf-maid answered, equally in a panic, for another sizeable force had been reported gathering at the Jiet River. Saphira’s worry overrode Arya’s and the woman instantly fell into her warrior façade, using the mounting confusion to her advantage as Saphira landed. Eragon was slumped in his saddle, an arrow piercing his shoulder. The wound was superficial, but Saphira knew it wasn’t the arrow that was causing the damage.

Blödhgarm and the other elf mages were soon by Arya’s side, taking Eragon down and away before any could see him. The confusion, coupled with the dizziness she felt and the heart-pain, made Saphira let out a tremendous roar that froze everyone to their places. To her surprise, and most likely to everyone else’s, it was Vanir who began shouting orders and soon there was no more confusion. Saphira followed the elves to the healers’ tent and there she waited.

And waited.

It was Elva who gave her comfort, the small child trapped in an unfamiliar body simply sitting beside her and waiting. The elf that bore Naegling too soon came to offer his comfort, but Saphira ignored them, trying to hear her beloved Eragon. Arya emerged from the tent and looked as though she’d seen a ghost before she turned to face Saphira.

“He will live,” she said, “but he’s in such a deep state of sleep none of our healers can bring him out of it.”

-Poison?-

“Very likely. But Galbatorix wouldn’t risk killing him for fear you would kill yourself.” Arya said softly. “I’ll stay with him. Saïle,” Arya was addressing Naegling’s bearer now, “please stay with Saphira.”

“As you request, princess.” Saïle replied in a deceptively low tenor. His grey eyes flicked to Saphira and he reached out a hand to touch her. Saphira accepted the touch and closed her eyes.

-Eragon…-

Elva shoved a linen-wrapped hunk of bread into her pack and tied it closed before swinging it up onto her small back. Only one year old, Elva looked like she was seven or eight, and spoke as though she were in her twenties. Her body felt awkward to her, and she blamed Eragon for that and the other curses he’d laid upon her. But what she was planning to do wasn’t for Eragon. What she was doing was for Saphira, for Elva thought herself the dragon’s lady-in-waiting. Almost.

She snuck past a sleeping Angela – her self-appointed trainer – and out into the quiet camp.

Elva heard voices, and picked out Roran’s. The man was upset because he hadn’t been around to protect his wife and unborn child, and now he believed he’d almost killed his cousin. Nasuada had forbidden anyone leaving the camp, but Elva knew, somehow, she was the only one who could help Eragon now. She’d almost made it out of the camp’s perimeter when the sentry stepped out of the shadows and simply stared at her. Elva would’ve thrown her knife had not she known the sentry.

“Saïle.” Elva breathed. The elf stared down at her and simply tilted his head. Of all the elves she knew, Elva liked Saïle the best. He was quiet and gentle which hid the fierce warrior beneath his deceptively young face. His grey eyes saw all and revealed nothing, hidden behind black bangs that did little to hide the scar on his face. He differed from most of the elves that had long, luxurious hair, because he kept his short. He was called a porcupine, sometimes, for the way his hair spiked out on his head. “You followed me?”

“As formidable as you are, Elva, you’re still small.” Saïle replied. “Allow me to be your defense.”

Elva eyed the elf curiously. Even if she said no, he’d follow her. “Saphira.” She said at last.

Saïle canted his head and Elva had her answer. “Very well.” Elva said with a huff. “I guess you can come along.”

Saïle’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened, and he fell into step beside Elva as she walked into the night. Saïle carefully guided her for his eyes were far better in the dark than hers were, and Elva soon became thankful the elf was with her. By sunrise they’d made good progress, coming out of the hills and into the flat lands, able to see the Jiet River in the far distance. They could see white smoke as well, coming from a further distance, and moved a little faster to avoid it.

Elva didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get there. It was all to help Saphira, she reminded herself. All for Saphira.

Their second day out they spent hiding for Varden riders were looking for them now, and Elva knew if she failed in her self-given task, Eragon might never wake up. Even Saphira might fall into that deep sleep and never wake! The thought made Elva shudder. She knew herblore from Angela, and knew of several plants that could help. Angela had probably tried them all already, but Elva couldn’t give up hope. Whatever poison was hurting Eragon and Saphira had to have a cure. Elva just had to find it.

Saïle was constantly beside her, a silent sentinel when she slept and a careful guardian when they encountered dangerous animals. They were days away from the Varden now, and only a flight on a dragon’s back could bring them home in time. Elva didn’t dwell on that.

They moved into rolling fields filled with wildflowers and Elva let out a whoop when she spotted one flower that could possibly counteract the poison. She broke into a sprint and fell to her knees, carefully beginning to extract the flower. Saïle knelt beside her, watching for a moment, before he turned his gaze to the sky and surrounding land. Elva went on harvesting the flowers and gasped as she was suddenly pushed onto her belly. She turned to snap at Saïle and when she spotted what he was watching, her mouth went dry.

Walking easily behind two tall young men was a massive red dragon, easily a head over Saphira. One of the men was dressed strangely, and he too was collecting flowers while the other stood as a guard. The dragon’s head tilted from side to side, talking with the men Elva figured, though she couldn’t hear the humans’ replies. The dragon stretched his wings and folded them against his sides, opening his mouth for a wide yawn.

“Can’t be,” Elva whispered. “It’s… Thorn.”

Saïle hushed her, but the dragon’s head turned toward them anyway. His ruby eyes focused on Elva most of all and he never let her eyes leave his. There was an alien brush against her mind, and Elva recoiled physically. The dragon looked amused and when the brunette man turned to them as well, Elva knew she was staring at Murtagh.

She was staring at a ghost.
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The Last Scion	By : RotSeele Category: A through F > Eragon Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.

The Last Scion