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“And if it’s really him who Anäis and Sewbsew saw?”
“Then we'll hope that he’s smart enough not to oppose us. He doesn’t have eldunarya enslaved to his will anymore.”
Saphira threw a glance back at her rider, blue eyes sharp. “Don’t get too confident. Remember the warning Oromis gave us back then; it’s neither his sword, nor words and not even his magic that we should fear...”
“... but his mind. Yeah, I remember. But how powerful can he be now – he doesn’t have Shruikan anymore either and likely not even a rider sword. From what Anäis said, he lives like a hermit in the woods. And Sewbsew said that the air smelled heavily of other dragons.”
“Which makes me doubt that it’s truly him, but one can never know.”
Eragon blinked, then patted the dark blue scales next to the saddle. “You’re being unusually careful today.”
“Perhaps I’m not a bumbling hatchling anymore.”
She said it with an airy, almost joking tone but Eragon could feel the worry behind it. The experiences Thorn had made and told Saphira and Fírnen, had instilled a wariness in her which she didn’t have during the war against the empire. Back then, she had always been convinced that it would be them to save the day. Recent experiences had humbled both of them though. And Eragon still felt a little guilty for perhaps ribbing Murtagh a little too much about getting himself into danger all the time.
Eragon sighed and shifted in the saddle.
“Let’s hope that it’s just some recluse and we can resolve it all with a quick chat and an apology for disturbing his peace.”
Saphira hummed in agreement, the noise making her scales rattle faintly. She angled her wings to soar more slowly over the craggy landscape, her shadow becoming more visible as she dipped lower.
The rock glinting from in between the grass here was almost black, the long grass a blueish green, the dark-barked trees of a kind that Eragon hadn’t seen before. He could understand well what had pulled the young rider pair to explore further in this direction; the landscape had something mysterious about it. Enchanted almost.
Saphira jolted, nostrils twitching. “Dragons! Sewbsew was right!”
Immediately sitting up straighter, Eragon turned his head this and that way, but couldn’t spot a single hint of scales or wings, except for his partners'. What he did spot though, was the roof of a wooden house half-hidden under the trees in walking distance to a wide clearing.
“See that? Must be it.”
“Yes. I’ll land there quickly, to make it a bit of a surprise if we haven’t been spotted yet. Keep yourself ready.”
She dropped into a fast dive and Eragon leaned forward to flatten himself against her. Despite the serious occasion, he couldn’t help but grin at the speed and the air whistling past him. Things like these never got old.
Saphira beat her wings with a loud crack in the air to break her fall, then touched down onto the grass with a grunt. Lifting her head but lowering her chin, she got into a defensive stance, then quickly dropped it with a noise of confusion. Looking past her neck, Eragon spotted the source of the sudden feeling; a small white dragon hatchling was staring up at her from wide yellow eyes, something between their small fangs that suspiciously looked like a half-eaten biscuit.
They didn’t move, until Eragon loosened the saddle straps and dropped to the ground. As he took a step towards the hatchling, their eyes narrowed, flaring their wings forward as if to protect their ‘prey’ from scavengers.
“Don’t worry, I don’t want your food.”
Keeping his voice calm and reassuring, often was enough to appease startled wild hatchlings back at Arngor, but this one was clearly not all that used to people and quickly scuttled back of into the direction of the small house. Through the trees, Eragon could see someone sit in front of it at a table.
With a short glance and mental touch back at Saphira, the rider followed a path of stomped hard dirt through the dark-leafed trees. His hand immediately fell to Brisingr’s handle as he stepped out to fully see the man.
Anäis had been right. Impossible as it should be, there he was. Galbatorix; sitting at a small table with an empty chair across from him. A teapot, a stack of paper, a plate of biscuits and a tea glass set out in front of him. There was also a cup with a small spoon in it, complete with a saucer and flowery pattern, hinting one a guest that might have recently left. Although Eragon couldn’t imagine who would visit here; the last village they had seen, had been more than a few hours away. And Eragon remembered Galbatorix as not exactly a pleasant character to talk with. Another curious item was also a cane hooked to the edge of the table, made of dark wood.
Black eyes fell on Eragon and for just a second, he felt fear gnaw on him. The feeling passed though. Swept away by either said eyes looking down at the paper, or Saphira’s mind leaning further into his. Still, he almost flinched at hearing the unnervingly familiar and still disturbingly too pretty voice.
“I’ll spare us both the further awkwardness of you standing around and me having no idea how to formulate an invitation.” Galbatorix gestured at the seat across from him. “My equal half just left for a walk with some of the older hatchlings, so feel free to sit.”
A little baffled by the casual offer, Eragon carefully moved up to the table then pulled the chair back a little further than necessary before he sat. He had no illusion that Galbatorix didn’t notice it, but he rather cared more for safety than politeness and appearances.
Regarding appearances, the former tyrant looked both better and worse since the last time Eragon had seen him. If that was possible. He wasn’t as gaunt anymore; his cheeks actually filled out in a way that suited his features more and something about his whole posture seemed less... haunted. Less animalistic. But there were also scars over every visible part of skin where he had pushed up his sleeves, hands noticeably glove-less. A few even ran across his face in thin almost silver-white lines, creating a strong contrast to his copper skin.
Before Eragon could fully decide on what he wanted to say – or rather; all the questions he wanted to ask – or if he should perhaps take a page from Murtagh’s book and just stab Galbatorix and be done with it, the white hatchling reappeared. This time without a biscuit, but with another hatchling in tow, with pale green scales.
And to Eragon’s utter astonishment, the hatchlings proceeded to scuttle up the robe the former tyrant was wearing over his plain black clothes, hooking their claws into the thick fabric as if it was made for it. The man didn’t so much as bat an eye.
The white eventually settled in Galbatorix’ lap, resting their chin on the table and staring longingly at the sugary biscuits. The pale green, apparently less of a food enthusiast, perched on his shoulder and observed their surroundings with a very important expression.
“I...” Eragon angrily swallowed against the confusion making his voice waver. “I have some questions. And I think that it’s clear that your answers might decide over your life.”
Galbatorix smiled, then quickly grabbed the hatchling’s snout as it shot forward to grab another of the biscuits.
“You got enough sugar for today; I won’t have you chirping on the chimney all night again. Or you can try and fly with your parents if you feel so wise and grown up.” He turned his attention back to Eragon, raising an eyebrow. “I think we both wouldn’t like the outcome of another attempt on my life. You might think me in a weaker position, but I can assure you that even if you somehow manage to best me, you won’t have a single day of joy in your life afterwards. Ask away – I can see that you want to - but I’m not obligated to answer every single one of your questions.”
“He’s bluffing. He got nothing except for his head.”
Eragon squinted at the threat and Galbatorix’ odd glance at the abandoned tea-cup, and demonstratively tapped his fingers on Brisingr’s sapphire pommel.
“I think it’s in your interest not to provoke me in any way. You’re clearly in no position to do that, nor to negotiate. So, I’ll ask, and you will answer.”
Galbatorix’ expression soured and with the swiftness of an elf, he reached into the folds of his long robe. It was open and hanging back and by some impossible way had apparently neatly hidden a purple rider sword. Eragon was already half out of his seat, but Galbatorix hadn’t even intended to properly draw his blade. He merely slammed the amethyst pommel onto the table, revealing the name rune ‘Kveykva’ on the scabbard for a second. A small lightning-bolt lurched out towards Eragon with a cracking noise and the threat of the high energy magic made him swiftly take a step backwards, causing him to sit back down involuntarily. The hatchlings rustled their wings, chittering for a moment but quickly settled again. The rider had the strong feeling though that they eyed him far more sharply now. Even more so, when a larger orange hatchling – roughly the size of a big dog – appeared from around the corner of the small house and settled close to where Eragon could only barely see them from the corner of his eye.
He took a deep breath, sent Saphira a feeling of reassurance and gritted out a reluctant “Fine. For now.”
“That’s all I ask. For now.” Galbatorix let the sword disappear into the folds of his robe again in the same impossible way he had fetched it with, hinting on some kind of enchantment, and started absentmindedly scratching the white hatchling’s neck. “Ask away then.”
Eragon chewed on his words, then finally settled on his biggest worry. “What’s with the hatchlings? If you plan on using them to-”
A loud scoff interrupted him rather rudely. “Always assuming the worst. It wasn’t fun, but I saw some of the ways in which I erred before. Some of these hatchlings are direct descendants from the wild dragons which left the empire and its surroundings, during the well-deserved Fall of the Order. When I looked for a quiet place to do to my studies and spell experiments here, me and my equal half were... politely asked to do some repairs for the stress we’ve wrought back then. Protecting hatchlings from Basilisks and the one or other Lethrblaka, isn’t too bad of a task. And unlike other animals, young dragons are delightfully smart for their age.”
Eragon almost fell for the bait and asked after the odd creature named Basilisk and the potential of Lethrblaka attacks in this area, but Saphira roughly pushed his thoughts back on course.
“There weren’t any stories of dragons leaving the empire during the fall and I didn’t see any older ones around. Who tells me that you haven’t just stolen some eggs to hatch for whatever you’re planning.”
“Ah, I’m sure that the elves kept very quiet about that. Why would wild dragons care about their brethren, which they’ve already looked down on as too docile before? A good number of dragons have never supported the creation of the bond between elves and dragons in the first place – they viewed it as shackles earned by a fault that wasn’t theirs and grieved every dragon who bonded to an elf, or later, to a human. Draconic story telling is far harder to get to, since they rarely ever have things written down, but the one or other text exists and some individuals are quite chatty.”
“Saphira? Do you hear this?”
To his surprise, he felt some quiet awkwardness from her, before she answered rather hesitantly. “Glaedr once mentioned something in that direction. And one of the older eldunari did so too when talking about a nestmate. It’s nothing that is spoken about at large.”
Eragon ground his teeth. Across from him, Galbatorix looked awfully smug and the rider got the strong urge to punch him. Not unlike he had felt back in Uru’bâen. Instead of doing so, he took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed his shoulders.
“But surely there were enough wild dragons who helped. The ones who fled where certainly only the smaller part.”
“You know, I think I prefer your half-brother’s more pessimistic temper – he at least was often far more realistic in his thinking. The dragons didn’t flee; they left. We didn’t chase them out; they simply decided that it wasn’t worth it to become collateral damage. And for those who’ve staid...” His gaze grew distant. “You’ve been to Vroengard and saw Belgabad’s bones, right? A dragon only has two eyes and during a fight, they’re only set on their target. A sweep of Belgabad’s claws at one of ours, could easily mean his tail breaking the necks of three of the Order’s dragons.”
“You lie. You just want to push over some of the guilt of having killed all of the Order onto someone else.”
“Does it help you to believe, if I tell you that we had our own issues? There were wild ones on our side too and it was the reason why there were only twelve and not thirteen riders who followed me out of the battle at Vroengard. Not to mention those who died in petty squabbles before.” He shrugged. “In hindsight it isn’t that surprising. But as a rider, one does get far too used to the kinder sides of dragons.”
Silence sunk down on the small clearing, only broken shortly by the white hatchling’s attempt to wriggle past Galbatorix’ hands still keeping them from the biscuits.
Eragon chewed the inside of his cheek. He had a decision to make here and he didn’t like either possible way of action. If Galbatorix spoke the truth – and judging by the hatchlings, he might – it wouldn’t be fair towards the wild dragons to kill him. It didn’t erase anything he’d done either. And he could still be lying.
“How though?”
“Can you be a bit more precise with that? I’ll gladly explain to you how the tides are connected to the moon, but I doubt that’s what you’re asking for.”
Eragon really wished that Galbatorix would stop tossing out bait for his curiosity.
“How did you survive Uru’bâen? I saw you-”
“You didn’t.”
“What?” Eragon really wanted to strangle the annoying asshole. He deserved a medal for his restraint.
“You didn’t see me. At least not past a certain point. I made sure of that in my planning. I had to make a bit of a show of course, hope for Elva to do what she does, for you to do some quick thinking and a little bit of concentration. I can admit though that you and the eldunarya’s nasty spell did cost me a few important seconds.” He tapped one of the three white scars crossing his face where it pulled his lip up slightly. “As if that spell wasn’t painful enough. Because whatever your intention was with it; the eldunarya oh so kindly turned it into an incomprehensible nightmare. And then, first thing I arrived here, I got scolded by my equal half for not taking better care of myself.” He scowled, as if he was the last person to deserve such a fate.
With Galbatorix’ previous mentions of his ‘equal half’, Eragon suddenly was hit by the suspicion that the former tyrant might have lost even more of his mind and was merely talking about himself. Eragon felt almost a bit sorry for him. Almost.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. The scents of other dragons are strong here and mask everything else for a good part, but I think I smelled another human just as the wind changed. A rider.”
“A rider?”
“I think. I wouldn’t swear an oath on it. It’s barely distinguishable.”
Eragon shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Which apparently brought Galbatorix’ attention to his own manners.
“Do you want tea?”
The question caught Eragon oddly off-guard and he nodded more out of habitual politeness, immediately regretting it a second after.
Galbatorix rose from his seat, reaching for the cane. The white hatchling gave up on his biscuit-quest for the moment and scrambled up to his free shoulder.
“Cup or glass?”
“Mug?” Eragon received a look for that single word as if he had just said that he’d rather drink it from a puddle off the ground. He resisted throwing his hands up in frustration. “Cup.”
The former tyrant muttered something that sounded neither like common nor like the ancient language but certainly like an insult and limped into the house, leaning heavily onto the cane. Eragon couldn’t remember Galbatorix receiving an injury to his leg during the fight in the throne room, nor did he remember him limping beforehand. Perhaps something he sustained during his escape, or in the confrontation with the wild dragons.
“Or perhaps he simply hid it before.”
“Why wouldn’t he simply have healed it? He had dozens of eldunarya in his grasp. Even a bigger healing spell to erase a scar would have been possible with them.”
“Perhaps it’s similar to Arya’s hand. She never regained feeling in part of it.”
Eragon gritted his teeth, trying very much to not think about Arya. Their recent argument sat like a rotting wood splinter in his chest and he didn’t want to admit to himself that following this hint had also been a bit of an excuse to escape her cold shoulder that she was giving him. It reminded him too much of his first time in Ellesmera, where he had stumbled after her like a love-sick fool. A rather embarrassing one at that, which was a realization that had only come to him slowly and thinking of it still made him want to hide inside a deep hole sometimes. He could perfectly understand why Arya had avoided him back then.
“You’re failing quite well at not thinking about her.”
“What am I doing.”
“Being a love-sick-”
“I was referring to the fact that I’m about to have tea with the former tyrant of the empire, oath breaker, ruin of the old Order, egg-breaker-”
“To be perfectly precise; that last one wasn’t my idea.”
Eragon whipped his head around to where Galbatorix had reappeared in the doorframe, cup in hand. Realizing that the other had just spied on his conversation with Saphira without him noticing, he drew up his mental barrier immediately, hand slipping back to Brisingr’s pommel.
Galbatorix set the cup down before him with barely a sound, then poured him black tea with a practiced motion.
“Nothing to get worked up about. I was in your head once; makes repeats of it easier. Once I’ve walked a road, it’s in my head. Minds are not so different. Sometimes it happens almost on accident.” He sat, hooking the cane back on the table edge. “You didn’t truly think that I’d trust you and Saphira out here without me keeping an eye... ah... rather a thought, on you.”
Eragon thought that if anyone had a reason for holding mistrust in this situation, it was certainly them, not Galbatorix, and he decided to keep his barriers up. Even if it barred him from speaking with Saphira. Looking down at the tea cup, he wondered if he should check it for poison, but decided that his wards should keep him safe enough.
Taking a sip at least allowed him to gather some of his thoughts and regain some composure. It didn’t taste bad either – as much as he wanted it to. He sat the cup back down very carefully and for a moment he was uncomfortably reminded of the times he had been drinking tea with Oromis. This was far different though.
“You’re lying.”
“I didn’t lie a single time since you showed up. And a long time before that.” He looked almost as if he expected some kind of praise for it.
“Who else would have commanded the forsworn to break the eggs, if not you?”
Galbatorix blinked, then grinned widely. It wasn’t a cheerful one; more a baring of teeth like someone was only imitating a grin without knowing its purpose.
“Is that what’s being told, still? I thought that someone would spill the truth, if only to make me look a little less scary, now that I’m gone. You really need to question things more, instead of accepting everything as the truth.” He held up a hand so that the white hatchling could crawl back down from his shoulder onto it and into his lap easier. “The only reason why I didn’t get stabbed in the back by most of my not so loyal following, was because I was clever enough to keep them distracted.”
“And destroying the eggs was a distraction?” Eragon didn’t bother hiding his disgust.
“No. I already said that it wasn’t my idea.” Impatience gave his deceivingly gentle voice a far more fitting sharp tone. “It was a consequence of the banishing of names. I’m sure that the eldunarya cowering on Vroengard felt themselves very clever for it – until they got to see the well-deserved consequences.”
“Well deserved? If anything was deserved, it was for the dragons to be punished for their betrayal!”
“Because how dare one look at the individual and not rather punish an entire group instead with one of the worst fates there could be.” He cut Eragon’s protest off with a sharp gesture. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what that curse did. I’m sure it was told to you as a grim but necessary measure. It wasn’t. It was cruelty for the simple sake of it. Turning the dragons into rabid animals, with some of them starting to claw at everything except their partner, if they so much as stepped on a sharp stone, was more a hindrance to the Varden’s oh so noble cause.”
“I don’t think you have any right to judge someone for what you perceive as cruelty. I saw enough and Murtagh and Thorn could only further prove it.”
Crossing his arms, Galbatorix scoffed. There was something almost defensive in it and Eragon couldn’t help but compare him to a pouting child in that moment.
“They’ll be grateful that I didn’t teach them on sugar and feathers, one day.”
“Because of Bachel?”
It hadn’t been Eragon’s intention to poke Galbatorix with that name or to draw out any kind of reaction with it.
It had simply slipped out as he remembered Murtagh hinting on the torture he had suffered in the north. Unlike Arya who had opened up to what Durza had done to her in Gil’ead, Murtagh never had told Eragon much about his own sufferings. He suspected that he had found someone else to speak with about it.
Now though, three simple words had stilled Galbatorix as if he got caught in a spell. When he moved again, it was to take a flat breath and to dig his fingers into his own arms.
“How do you know that name?” His normally faint accent had grown thicker; making the words flow together and begin on rough sounds.
The blue rider shifted in his seat, a little nervous. He wasn’t sure what he should tell, but judging by how tense Galbatorix looked, he might run into the risk of having it all simply shaken out of him, if he said nothing at all.
“Murtagh and Thorn had a run in with her. It didn’t end well for Bachel.”
He had expected for Galbatorix to perhaps curse or show some mild satisfaction, depending on what his allegiance with her had been in the end. The man’s reaction was far harsher though, despite clearly trying to keep it in. Barks of uncontrolled laughter escaped from behind his hands with which he had covered his face, interspersed by what sounded like mutterings of words that where unfamiliar to Eragon. He had curled forward where he sat, trembling faintly. On his shoulder, the pale green hatchling kept roughly nudging Galbatorix’ temple, while the white in his lap was glancing back and forth between him and the suddenly not quite as important plate of biscuits.
Watching what looked like a breakdown that had been brewing for years, Eragon slowly stood. In any other situation he would have used the opportunity to make a quick escape – this reminded him far too much of Tenga. But in this case, he couldn’t just walk back to Saphira and fly away with her as if they had merely looked at some interesting rock formation. He couldn’t just let Galbatorix stay here, unsupervised except for a few unknown wild dragons. It was too dangerous. And knowing that he was alive, would make Eragon feel like he had failed his initial task in Uru’bâen after all.
Seeing that Galbatorix was starting to collect himself, Eragon drew Brisingr as silently as he could and took a step around the table. When Galbatorix finally looked up again, the former tyrant was facing the blue blade, tip close to his neck.
“Do you really think that that’s a good idea? I’ve already warned you. You don’t want to be haunted by the ghost you’ll create with that.”
“I can’t let you live.”
“Is that so?” Galbatorix raised an eyebrow, looking down at the blade pointing at his throat. He suddenly seemed oddly cheery, as if trying to spite his own outburst only moments before.
“I owe it to those you’ve killed and harmed. And it’s too much of a risk; you know the name of names.”
“You say that as if it’s my only strength and I didn’t also casually walk into your head without you noticing. And it’s an interesting word you chose there. Owe. Why would you owe it? And to whom? You weren’t alive when the Order fell and the dead are dead. The only thing you ever did, was being pushed around.”
Eragon wavered for a moment, first confused and then quickly annoyed by Galbatorix bragging of all things and his insistence to say things which Eragon didn’t want to think about.
“I’ll make it quick and painless this time.”
“Without a hoard of eldunarya at your back? I doubt that-”
“You don’t have any either. Nor do you have a partner to support you.”
A shadow flitted across Galbatorix’ face, but before Eragon could react, the older had stood abruptly and put his hand on the broad of the blade. While only pushing on dop of it for the most part, he still cut his fingers on the sharp edges. Fully ignoring the blood dripping down, he took a step closer and the tension on the sword rose, forcing it at an angle in which Eragon could neither easily stab nor swing it at the other. He had to make the uncomfortable discovery that Galbatorix could easily take it up with him strength-wise.
“There’s no need for this.” The former tyrant pushed the blade down just enough so that a sudden stab wouldn’t be fatal. At least not immediately. The hatchling on his shoulder nervously chewed on his collar.
“There is. And it would be done and over with if you didn’t insist on unnecessary prolonging it by using magic.”
The other looked genuinely confused for a moment, then looked annoyingly smug once more. “Oh, I see. You gained a fast forward in the effects of the bond and now you think that you’re above all, just because the visual changes were sped-up and ended up more pronounced with it.” He raised his free hand where he had leaned onto the table and tapped one of his own pointed ears. “It works from the inside to the outside. The ears might change very early, but the face is after everything else. You forget that I’m past a hundred.” He tilted his head, then tried to subtly lean on the table again, likely to spare his leg the weight. “But I guess no one bothered to teach you on details of the bond. Or details of anything really.”
The fact that Galbatorix would dare to mention Oromis and Glaedr in such a way, made Eragon fume. “My teachers didn’t exactly have much time. So, you can keep your bad-mouthing to yourself, bastard.”
“Not a bastard - unlike other people present here. Not that I care much about it; parents are just slavers of another kind anyway. So are some teachers. And your fine teachers had all the time in the world. They simply decided that you’d be more malleable if you were still young and naive.”
Eragon pushed his sword a few hairs higher again. “They didn’t. We came just in time to keep you from using the name of names for your plans.”
“You should have figured out by now that the name is just another tool. A powerful one, yes. But not the ultimate weapon. There’s always a bigger sandworm.”
The older rider was starting to sweat, a drop running down his temple. Eragon suddenly realized that while he might not overpower Galbatorix by trying to push up his sword, the older rider visibly had trouble standing without proper support for long. Gritting his teeth, he tried to shift his sword so that Galbatorix would have to move away from the table. He wished that he could reach out to Saphira; with her strength, this would have been done and over already.
“You still would have-”
Behind him, Eragon could hear the orange hatchling growl deep in their chest. It wasn’t as impressive as that of a fully grown dragon, but still threatening enough. And the noise had also been just enough to distract him for long enough to give the hatchling on Galbatorix’ shoulder the opportunity to launch themselves at Eragon’s face.
Or at least they tried to. To Eragon’s surprise and the hatchling’s audible dismay, Galbatorix caught them mid-leap, then used his free hand to deliver an awfully painful punch to Eragon’s jaw, which took the younger off of his feet, causing Galbatorix to catch a deep slash over his shoulder from the blue sword. Eragon scrambled away from him and to his feet, blinking the stars from his eyes. Galbatorix didn’t follow after him though. Instead, his leg buckled, he stumbled, then fell rather inelegantly on his backside, the hatchling clutched to his chest. What Eragon had thought to be scars, were glowing faintly now.
It hit him that the wild dragons likely wouldn’t have trusted Galbatorix without some oaths on his part and magic on their part. And judging by the disgruntled expression which amusingly fit the hatchling’s own, it hadn’t been his choice to put the hatchling’s safety above taking advantage of its – misguided on Eragon’s opinion - protectiveness.
This changed things.
If Galbatorix was bound possibly by oaths and obviously by dragon magic, the chances that he would get up to anything malicious again were slim.
Brisingr loosely at his side, Eragon watched as Galbatorix healed the gash in his shoulder, muttering unknown curse words under his breath. The green hatchling was crawling back and forth over his broad shoulders, chirping, while the orange demonstratively sat in the open space between the two riders, glaring at Eragon.
“If the dragons say that you should live, I will respect their decision.” He grimaced as he wiped away the blood on Brisingr’s blade, then pushed it back into its scabbard. “But I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you.”
“Don’t bother. You might only end upsetting the dragons; if you’d have listened, you would have gathered that a lot of them aren’t fond of riders.”
Galbatorix made as if to stand, but grimaced and remained sitting on the ground. The polite part of Eragon wanted to go and help him up, while another grinned at how the oath breaker was exactly where he belonged. In the dirt.
He scoffed, not voicing whatever he had decided on in regards to Galbatorix’ comment. It was perhaps better to quietly agree with the tyrant, instead of giving him the satisfaction of doing so out loud. So, he bluffed a little.
“I won’t let you just do your thing here unobserved. And there will be consequences if you’re caught stepping out of line.”
“Sure. Come back and tell me that when you’ve practiced lying a little better.”
Swallowing a rather childish insult at having been caught in a lie so easily, Eragon turned on his heel and stomped back the path towards Saphira. He would not give the asshole the satisfaction of losing his composure. He wouldn’t.
He had made it through five different relaxation techniques the elves had taught him, when he and Saphira were high enough in the air again that Eragon dared to open his mind enough for her again.
“Sounded like it got a bit snarly down there. I was pondering if I should flatten the trees to get to you.”
“Good thing you didn’t. He would only have been even more smug about you ‘having to save me’.”
“But that’s what I’m well practiced at.”
She winked at him over her shoulder and Eragon could hardly be mad at her when he felt her amusement. He felt his shoulders relax and opened his mind further, letting her see what had happened during the time they had been separated.
“I really do hope that the wild dragons are keeping him in check.”
Saphira rumbled in contemplation. “Perhaps we should put in more hope that the wild ones don’t get the idea to use Galbatorix for some plot of theirs.”
“I doubt that his ego would allow him that. He’d probably rather die.”
“I feel like he would have already chosen to die back in Uru’bâen. Going out with an explosion-deadly-poisonous, seems dramatic enough for him. Alas... there’s likely a second rider here after all.”
Eragon frowned, mentally staring at Saphira’s thoughts until he slowly started to comprehend what she was hinting on.
“You think that they are... No. I don’t... That’s just- No.”
Beating her wings to catch a better air current, Saphira snorted in amusement. “He’s still just a person.”
“He’s evil.”
“And? Murtagh came from somewhere too.”
Eragon coughed awkwardly, hoping that Saphira hadn’t caught his sudden stray thought at that.
“I mean-”
Too late. He could feel a laugh vibrate through her scales.
“Did you just think of Galbatorix being Murtagh’s father? Oh, that’s hilarious. I’ll tell him that.”
“Saphira! That’s awful! He’d hate that! And I didn’t-”
“Hmmm, yes. I guess you might have to bribe me to keep it to myself then.”
“Are you stupid?”
“You know that the answer to that is a no.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure anymore. Because instead of contacting me immediately when Brom’s spawn landed, you decided to almost get yourself killed! Not to mention that you’ve completely overexerted your leg! Again!”
Considering that his equal half sounded genuinely upset with him, Galbatorix deigned to slowly open his eyes. Laying on the carpet in their small living room, with a few dozing hatchlings tucked into his sides, had seemed to be the wisest decision after he had barely managed to get himself and his writings back into the house. The scar in his leg hadn’t liked being ignored by magic for over a hundred years and every pulse of pain reminded Galbatorix of that foolishness. He should have- actually, he had known better.
Now, he looked up at familiar beloved blue and black eyes. Which glared rather fiercely down at him.
“I’m fi-”
“Finish that word and I’ll go on a week-long trip again. And this time I won’t come back just because you crawled down the deepest and narrow ravine you could find, only to take a closer look at mushrooms and couldn’t make it out again on your own.”
“They were very rare!”
“Yes, and so are you. Pretty unique even. And I’d prefer not to lose you any time soon!”
Galbatorix didn’t like how Morzan often managed to make him feel guilty. Something about the look in his eyes and the tone of his raspy voice easily struck a dusty chord inside of him.
He sighed, then stretched his arms up towards him. Getting the hint, the hatchlings migrated over to the couch with some grumbling, where they curled up in a messy pile of scales and wings. Morzan huffed, then stepped over Galbatorix and effortlessly pulled him to his feet, careful to not let go of him afterwards.
“I’m fi- I’ll be alright. As if the kid could harm me. Not without anyone to hold his hand.” He ignored Morzan’s sceptical look and slid his hands up to his jaw instead to give him a swift kiss. “How was your hike? Did they all behave?”
“Don’t think that I don’t know that this is a distraction.” Galbatorix batted his lashes at him with faux innocence and Morzan groaned, badly hiding a fanged grin. “They were all nice and polite. Big pink fell into the river because he was too curious again, but it thankfully amused him more than anything. Yellow won’t shut up since he started talking. And blue might even start flying properly soon.”
“Means she’ll leave once the older ones come by next time.” Galbatorix pulled a face. He... didn’t like goodbyes.
Morzan shrugged. “Means we might also get to witness some new ones hatching.”
He placed a kiss against Galbatorix’ temple, then pulled him into a closer hug, resting his cheek against the top of his head without leaning any of his weight on him. Galbatorix pushed his forehead against his chest, his voice coming out muffled as he spoke.
“And you’re sure that all this is still enough for you?”
“I told you that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not when you’re not there.” His fingers wandered down Galbatorix’ back, starting to massage where he’d grown tense from the pain. “My partner died. I almost died. I built this house waiting for you. And who knows, one day things might change, and then we’ll leave this place to see the world. But until then, you’re enough for me. All of this. I couldn’t be happier.”
Cheeks warming a little at the blunt honesty, Galbatorix let his hands travel up to loosen Morzan’s braid. He could feel the taller melt against him when he began massaging his scalp and the almost purring noise made him chuckle with a deep warmth further growing in his chest.
“I’m glad.”
Sometimes, Galbatorix wondered if their ease with which they had settled in this remote location was caused by their tiredness of loss and judgement. Too much introspection had always led him to dark and terrifying places in the past though, so he had decided not to overdo it. In a few years or decades perhaps. But for now, this truly was enough.