Eldest [en]

That’s because he knows you are destined for someone else: one of the two remaining eggs. Nor would it be proper for him to mate with you when he is your mentor.

Or perhaps he does not find me comely enough.

Saphira, no dragon is ugly, and you are the fairest of dragons.

I am a fool, she said. But she raised her left wing and kept it in the air as permission for him to tend to her injury.

Eragon limped to Saphira’s side, where he examined the crimson wound, glad that Oromis had given him so many scrolls on anatomy to read. The blow — by claw or tooth, he was not sure — had torn the quadriceps muscle beneath Saphira’s hide, but not so much as to bare the bone. Merely closing the surface of the wound, as Eragon had done so many times, would not be enough. The muscle had to be knitted back together.

The spell Eragon used was long and complex, and even he did not understand all its parts, for he had memorized it from an ancient text that offered little explanation beyond the statement that, given no bones were broken and the internal organs were whole, “this charm will heal any ailment of violent origins, excepting that of grim death.” Once he uttered it, Eragon watched with fascination as Saphira’s muscle writhed beneath his hand — veins, nerves, and fibers weaving together — and became whole once more. The wound was big enough that, in his weakened state, he dared not heal it with just the energy from his body, so he drew upon Saphira’s strength as well.

It itches, said Saphira when he finished.

Eragon sighed and leaned his back against the rough basalt, looking at the sunset through his eyelashes. I fear that you will have to carry me off this rock. I’m too tired to move.

With a dry rustle, she twisted in place and laid her head on the bones beside him. I have treated you poorly ever since we came to Ellesmera. I ignored your advice when I should have listened. You warned me about Glaedr, but I was too proud to see the truth in your words... I have failed to be a good companion for you, betrayed what it means to be a dragon, and tarnished the honor of the Riders.

No, never that, he said vehemently. Saphira, you haven’t failed your duty. You may have made a mistake, but it was an honest one, and one that anyone might have committed in your position.

That does not excuse my behavior toward you.

He tried to meet her eye, but she avoided his gaze until he touched her upon the neck and said, Saphira, family members forgive one another, even if they don’t always understand why someone acts in a certain way... You are as much my family as Roran — more. Nothing you can do will ever change that. Nothing. When she did not respond, he reached behind her jaw and tickled the patch of leathery skin below one of her ears. Do you hear me, eh? Nothing!

She coughed low in her throat with reluctant amusement, then arched her neck and lifted her head to escape his dancing fingers. How can I face Glaedr again? He was in a terrible rage... The entire stone shook with the force of his anger.

At least you held your own when he attacked you.

It was the other way around.

Caught by surprise, Eragon raised his eyebrows. Well, in any case, the only thing to do is to apologize.

Apologize!

Aye. Go tell him that you are sorry, that this won’t happen again, and that you want to continue your training with him. I’m sure he will be sympathetic if you give him the chance.

Very well, she said in a low voice.

You’ll feel better once you do. He grinned. I know from experience.

She grunted and padded to the edge of the cave, where she crouched and surveyed the rolling forest. We should go. Soon it will be dark. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright — every movement costing him effort — and climbed onto her back, taking twice the time he usually did. Eragon?... Thank you for coming. I know what you risked with your back.

He patted her on the shoulder. Are we one again?

We are one.

THE GIFT OF DRAGONS

The days leading up to the Agaeti Blodhren were the best and worst of times for Eragon. His back troubled him more than ever, battering down his health and endurance and destroying his calm of mind; he lived in constant fear of triggering an episode. Yet, in contrast, he and Saphira had never been so close. They lived as much in each other’s minds as in their own. And every now and then Arya would visit the tree house and walk through Ellesmera with Eragon and Saphira. She never came alone, though, always bringing either Orik or Maud the werecat.

Over the course of their wanderings, Arya introduced Eragon and Saphira to elves of distinction: great warriors, poets, and artists. She took them to concerts held under the thatched pines. And she showed them many hidden wonders of Ellesmera.

Eragon seized every opportunity to talk with her. He told her about his upbringing in Palancar Valley, about Roran, Garrow, and his aunt Marian, stories of Sloan, Ethlbert, and the other villagers, and his love of the mountains surrounding Carvahall and the flaming sheets of light that adorned the winter sky at night. He told her about the time a vixen fell into Gedric’s tanning vats and had to be fished out with a net. He told her about the joy he found in planting a crop, weeding and nurturing it, and watching the tender green shoots grow under his care — a joy that he knew she, of all people, could appreciate.

In turn, Eragon gleaned occasional insights into her own life. He heard mentions of her childhood, her friends and family, and her experiences among the Varden, which she spoke about most freely, describing raids and battles she participated in, treaties she helped to negotiate, her disputes with the dwarves, and the momentous events she witnessed during her tenure as ambassador.

Between her and Saphira, a measure of peace entered Eragon’s heart, but it was a precarious balance that the slightest influence might disrupt. Time itself was an enemy, for Arya was destined to leave Du Weldenvarden after the Agaeti Blodhren. Thus, Eragon treasured his moments with her and dreaded the arrival of the forthcoming celebration.

The entire city bustled with activity as the elves prepared for the Agaeti Blodhren. Eragon had never seen them so excited before. They decorated the forest with colored bunting and lanterns, especially around the Menoa tree, while the tree itself was adorned with a lantern upon the tip of each branch, where they hung like glowing teardrops. Even the plants, Eragon noticed, took on a festive appearance with a collection of bright new flowers. He often heard the elves singing to them late at night.

Each day hundreds of elves arrived in Ellesmera from their cities scattered throughout the woods, for no elf would willingly miss the centennial observance of their treaty with the dragons. Eragon guessed that many of them also came to meet Saphira. It seems as if I do nothing but repeat their greeting, he thought. The elves who were absent because of their responsibilities would hold their own festivities simultaneously and would participate in the ceremonies at Ellesmera by scrying through enchanted mirrors that displayed the likeness of those watching, so that no one felt as if they were being spied upon.

A week before the Agaeti Blodhren, when Eragon and Saphira were about to return to their quarters from the Crags of Tel’naeir, Oromis said, “You should both think about what you can bring to the Blood-oath Celebration. Unless your creations require magic to make or to function, I suggest that you avoid using gramarye. No one will respect your work if it’s the product of a spell and not of your own hands. I also suggest you each make a separate piece. That too is custom.”

In the air, Eragon asked Saphira, Do you have any ideas?

I might have one. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to see if it works before I tell you. He caught part of an image from her of a bare knuckle of stone protruding from the forest floor before she concealed it from him.