The Wayward Son

Orik hadn't stopped talking since the feast started, and for most of his stories, Eragon was an attentive listener. After a while though, it became hard to remember all the names and facts, because he felt overwhelmed by the presence of his old friends at his new home, suffocated even. Feeling distracted, Eragon looked at Orik and realized he was expecting a response to his question.

"Pardon me, I didn't catch that," Eragon said with a guilty look.

His friend smiled and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I asked how long it would take for the first Riders to be ready."

Eragon took a sip of his ale. He had already told all the leaders in Alagaësia when he expected the first Riders to be ready to take their roles as protectors of the land. He did it on more than one occasion, and he felt the pressure to hurry the process every time they would talk to him via scrying. The only exception was Arya, who appeared to understand why he was being so thorough in educating the new Riders.

"Next spring," Eragon said simply.

"Oh, right, I remember you saying something about that. It's a good thing, people in Alagaësia are starting to think they are a myth, you know. After eight years since the first egg has hatched for one of us."

Eragon remembered his time in Carvahall, when Brom used to tell the stories about dragons and their Riders, men and women who protected and served, with great courage and wisdom. The villagers, born after the Fall of the last Riders, thought of those stories to be an exaggeration of what was the time of the Riders. He thought Brom was exaggerating in benefit of storytelling, so the audience was moved by his words. Eragon later found out that to be a Rider, one should be at least courageous and wise. The reality was even greater than the stories but harder as well.

He sighed.

"I know. But I couldn't rush the process. If there is one person in this world that knows the consequences of a rushed education, this person is me. I didn't want to do the same to any of them, or even to the people of Alagaësia. They all deserve the best Riders, you all do."

"Consequences? Killing Galbatorix and freeing the land from tyranny sound like an outstanding outcome from your rushed education."

Eragon chose not to discuss his merit in the case, so he just took the tacit compliment.

"True, but they were the results of a desperate effort. We are in times of peace, so they have time to better themselves without the constant fear of failing miserably and leading thousands of people to their death or enslavement. As you can see, I had a lot of incentive to do well." He grinned at his obscure joke.

Orik didn't find it as amusing as his friend did but refrained from commenting.

They both took their cups to their lips, and Eragon enjoyed the small period of quietness. The silence was only between the two of them because the whole room resonated with the loud voices coming from the six big, long tables set in the common dining area. There, the residents of Mount Arngor feasted alongside the competitors, soldiers, and the servants of the monarchs coming from Surda, The Broddring Kingdom, Du Weldenvarden, and The Beor Mountains. Mostly the different races stayed among themselves, especially the elves and the Urgals. Humans and dwarves were the most prone to mingle, but only a small portion of them did.

Eragon did not consider this separation as a failure in trying to install peace between them all, but only a natural course of social dynamics. In the beginning, he would lose sleep wondering what else he could do to make the races come together, but with time he noted that the races did not have to mix if it weren't their volition, they had only to respect each other and cooperate. Later even Eragon came to one conclusion that changed the game completely for him, he discovered the one reason why all those people would do exactly what he expected. They all had one factor in common, one thing that made them a cohesive unit: the trust in Eragon.

He was the reason people would work alongside individuals so different from them, even when conflicts were inevitable. Urgals and dwarves would look down on each other but with the same intensity would apply themselves to a task demanded by Eragon, because they believed he knew what was best, because they trusted him, because they even loved him.

Eragon kept that realization for the days he felt most alone.

A memory of nine years prior came to his mind as his eyes landed on the elves who had come to Arngor with him a decade earlier. They were the most loyal to him, the first ones to call him Master, even all of them being several years older than the Rider. In his memory, he recalled feeling especially lonely on the last day of that year's winter. They had worked nonstop for almost two years, they had lost and gained friends, they had cried and laughed. And through all of that, Saphira was still his only comfort, for the love and trust he would discover coming from his people were still clouded by his busy and young eyes.

He woke up that morning, feeling the last cool winds penetrate the Eyrie. He looked at Saphira and saw her fast asleep and felt a bit of heartache. If he were still a farmer in Palancar Valley, without Saphira ever hatching for him, his uncle Garrow would give him a few coins, dismiss him from working that day, and send him to Carvahall to celebrate his nineteenth birthday along with his cousin Roran. They would certainly spend the day listening to Brom's stories and songs and drink until late at night at the local tavern.

He used to enjoy his birthdays, waiting anxiously for the last day of winter. However, the only one who knew about it was leagues and leagues away, and he felt lonely. Without waking up his partner, he got ready for the day and left for the kitchens, where he prepared his breakfast and ate standing by the fire. The cooks didn't mind, they were used to his behavior and appreciated his presence there. Eragon intended to continue his routine normally when he was approached at the main hall by Blödhgarm, who greeted him touching his lips with two fingers.

"Good day, Master."

"Hello, Blödhgarm, good day to you too. Does anything need my attention for the day?"

The elf smiled with uncharacteristic easiness.

"I believe there is, Master. Your rest."

Eragon frowned.

"What do you mean? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Don't worry, Master. We will take care of your duties so you can enjoy the last day of winter. I just conversed with Saphira. She's expecting you to join her on a day trip."

Eragon felt confused.

"Blödhgarm, I appreciate the gesture, but I don't think it would be wise of me to just leave when there is so much to do."

"Just go, Master, and don't worry," he repeated and started to leave. After a few steps, he halted. "And Happy Birthday, Eragon Shadeslayer. I hope it's just one of many more to come. It is an honor to be part of your history."

The elf's words touched Eragon and he felt his eyes sting. He remembered his birthday! Saphira must have told him, but still, it brought a warm feeling to his heart.

"Thank you, Blödhgarm. The honor is all mine." Eragon bowed his head to the other and watched the gentle smile emerge from his dark fur again. Maybe he wasn't as lonely as he thought he was.

Sitting with all the leaders of Alagaësia, he locked eyes with the eccentric-looking elf from across the hall, who gave him a nod and raised his cup to him. Blödhgarm was sitting between Ästrich and Indivia, at the end of the table closest to the right wall. They couldn't be farther away from where he was sitting, at the left end of the "Important two-legged's table" as Saphira called it earlier that night. He could only think of how much he wanted to be with those who made him feel less alone throughout the last decade.

Go join them, already! Saphira said.

Would it not be rude?

Only if you leave without saying anything.

Eragon nodded to her, who was sitting by his left side. He then stood up with his cup in hand and positioned himself in front of the table. Directly in front of him was Nasuada, at the middle of the table. By her right side, sat King Orrin and his wife Queen Manuella, Nar Garzhvog and his mate Inhara. On her left, were Arya, Hvedra, and Orik. They all occupied one side of the table that stood on a step by the back wall opposite the entry doors. The other tables were set perpendicular to theirs, almost the same length as the sidewalls of sixty feet long. There were three fireplaces along each side wall, around which people would pull their chairs after dinner to chat and smoke their pipes enjoying the comforting heat. Eragon liked that particular habit very much, having acquired a pipe of his own.

"Will you all excuse me." He bowed to his companions and touched two fingers on his lips to Arya in a sign of respect, "Your majesties, Nar Garzhvog, Lady Inhara. But I must give my attention to my fellows and maybe get to know some of the competitors."

"Of course, Eragon. Although I regret not having the opportunity of a conversation with you," Nasuada spoke.

"I agree. But I doubt there won't be plenty of opportunities to do so in the days to come."

"You are right. Go now." She smiled friendly, to which he responded in kind and bowed again.

Moving away from the table, he caught a glimpse of Angela sharing a quiet moment with Fírnen. He decided to approach the pair.

"Hello Angela, Fírnen."

"Oh, hello Kingslayer." Of all his titles and nicknames, that one he hated the most, so he wrinkled his nose. "All right. Shadeslayer then. Satisfied?"

"That's better, thank you."

Hello Eragon! It's good to see you again. Fírnen's incredibly low voice filled his mind and he felt a rush of emotions coming from the dragon, which made Eragon think that he was very much missed by Fírnen in the decade they haven't seen each other.

"I am really glad you are here as well. After all, this is your home too, Fírnen, and you will be forever welcomed within these walls."

The dragon hummed with pleasure. I will remember this, Master.

Eragon smiled greatly. "You don't have to call me that, Fírnen. I'm not your teacher."

"I think he should since I plan on asking you and Saphira to train us sometime in the next days," Arya spoke walking to place a hand on Fírnen's neck.

"Train you?" Eragon was surprised. "I don't imagine there's much we can teach you that you don't already know."

"I think it would be beneficial anyway. So, do you agree? I don't want to overload you, so if you are too busy already, I'll understand."

Of course, we will train you, Arya and Fírnen. A little time in the sky is no overload to anyone. Saphira came closer to the group.

"She's right. We will set a time and a day. I'll let you know." He smiled, looking from one to another.

"Thank you, Eragon," Arya said in a kind tone.

Fírnen bent his head, saying, Thank you, Master.

His voice sounded amused and youthful in Eragon's mind, which made him feel comfortable in the dragon's presence.

Turning to Angela, he saw her curious expression for witnessing a partially quiet conversation.

"Walk with me, Angela, please? There is someone I would like you to meet."

She raised her eyebrows.

"This better be good, Shadeslayer. I wouldn't trade a conversation with a brilliant dragon such as Fírnen for a dull affair."

Fírnen hummed once more, pleased with the flattering.

"It will be anything but dull."

"Fair enough. I'll go."

They both excused themselves to the group and walked between two of the long tables. Eragon led the way, looking for a particular person he thought would benefit from an exchange with the herbalist. Seeing a head of silver hair at the end closest to the door of the second table from the left, he signaled to Angela their destination.

"He's there. Come."

She nodded and followed.

"You know, I brought the dragon knuckles with me. I bet they would tell me interesting and new things about your future."

"I bet they would. Time passed, I changed. My former future became my present or even my past."

Angela seemed amused.

"And what a future that was. It makes me curious to see what's next."

"So, you will have to wait and ask me how my life went, for I do not wish to know my fortune again."

"Are you sure about it?" She teased.

"Positive."

"Well, if you change your mind, don't hesitate to ask. I won't hesitate to tell you."

He smiled and shook his head.

"I fear you'll tell me anyway. Don't be offended if I deliberately start to avoid you from now on."

"I certainly will." Angela acted upset. "I did not come all this way to be discredited as a professional."

A wrinkle appeared on his forehead, just as they neared their destination.

"What did you come here for?"

She laughed.

"I missed you, of course. What else? You make this life interesting, Shadeslayer. Always so full of questions and ignoring the answers." She tapped his forehead between his eyebrows with her index finger.

The wrinkle disappeared but his confusion only grew. Shaking this sensation away, he turned to the silver-haired elf sitting alone at the other side of the table. His face was serious and even annoyed at the sight of Eragon.

"Angela, I'd like you to meet Renir, soon to be an official Dragon Rider."

Angela looked at Renir with great interest, but the stare she received back was less than inviting.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Renir-finiarel," she performed the elven greeting.

It was clear to Eragon that Renir had to gather all his politeness to respond to Angela despite his annoyance.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda."

Looking from his apprentice to the herbalist, Eragon explained.

"Well, I think it would be good for Renir to hear about your stories…"

"Yes, yes, I know what to do here, Shadeslayer. Be gone now!" She took a seat at the table for Renir's distaste.

Eragon didn't expect anything else from Angela since he knew she would find the young elf as interesting as she thought of himself. Without further ado, he left them alone.

He didn't have to walk too much to join his everyday companions. At the sight of him, Ästrich lifted her wine glass and Indivia smiled, while Yaela pulled him a chair. He sat down opposite Blödhgarm, took a deep breath and felt at home. His not-so-new home, among his not-so-new friends. But home, nonetheless. Maybe he was not so lonely as he thought.

Life is good, little one. He spared Saphira a look from afar and watched as Arya caressed Saphira's jaw while his partner pressed her snout on Arya's forehead.

Eragon smiled with fondness. Yes, Saphira, life is good.