Chance Encounters
Jun. 27th, 2022 11:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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The fishing village on the edge of the land was a quaint thing, and certainly nothing Vanora had ever seen before. The buildings were low, long, and made of driftwood and the hides of creatures she had only heard tell of but hadn’t seen for herself. Smoke rose from many chimneys, and the sound of voices echoed in the chilly air, along with the gentle sound of waves lapping at the hulls of longboats and the icy, pebble-strewn shore. She followed Murtagh’s path with quick steps that kept her slightly behind and to his right, which kept her in his line of sight. That was more for his benefit than hers, mostly because he had promised Verja that he would keep Vanora in his sight at all times. Vanora thought Verja was being a little overprotective, but this was the first time they had been separated by any sort of distance where they couldn’t come to each other’s aid. The village was too small to accommodate any dragon, and the fishermen who lived in the village weren’t used to having dragons among them. They had seen Thorn before, of course, but he has never entered the village, instead preferring to wait outside the limits and watch while Murtagh did what he needed to do.
Vanora took everything in with an excited smile on her face. She had never seen such a village before, and she found it to be beautiful and peaceful. She had also never seen the ocean before, though she’d heard tell of it, so when she laid eyes on the giant expanse of dark blue water, Vanora stopped walking just so she could absorb everything. Murtagh stopped as well, half turning to look back at her with a knowing smile to his lips.
She noticed him looking and felt a flush creep into her cheeks. “What?” She demanded.
“Nothing.” Murtagh replied, failing to hide his amusement, if he was even bothering to try to hide it at all. “I did the same thing when I first saw the ocean. I’d never seen it before, and it was difficult to imagine such a huge expanse of water that didn’t seem to have an end.”
“Does it have an end?”
“Those who sail the seas say it does. There are other continents out there. Other cultures and civilizations. I’m not sure why, but Alagaesia doesn’t trade with any place beyond Surda. Perhaps…” Murtagh stopped and shook his head. “Thorn and I once discussed traveling beyond the ocean, but that is an undertaking we haven’t fully committed to yet.”
“Why?” Vanora asked. “Seems like you’d want to jump at the chance to get away from here. I would.” A flicker from Verja made her grin. “So would Verja. At least we’d be out of the reach of the Riders.”
Murtagh gave her a sardonic smile. “And make then someone else’s problem?”
That sobered her a little. Vanora cracked her knuckles through her gloves, popping each finger once as she let Murtagh’s words roll around in her mind. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing they were someone else’s problem.”
“I think everyone wishes that about their problems quite a bit throughout their lives. The only thing is, do you have the power to change those things? If yes, don’t you think you have the responsibility to do so? Or do you just accept them as they are and do nothing?”
Philosophy shouldn’t be allowed this early in the morning. Verja said, making Vanora smile. She saw a quick image of Thorn digging in the deeper snow, showing Verja how to build an ice den under the snow should they ever be caught outside in the same kind of storm that has forced them to hide in a cave.
But he’s right, Vanora responded. That’s why we’re here, after all. And why Murtagh and Thorn are willing to help us. Why they’re protecting us.
I still wish Thorn wouldn’t look at me like I’m cute.
Vanora grinned. Murtagh caught her expression and smiled as if he knew exactly what had taken place between her and Verja. Perhaps he did, seeing as Verja suddenly became very attentive to the snow den and the tip of Thorn’s tail twitched with a cadence that Vanora had seen only when the great red dragon was amused by something.
Murtagh gestured, and continued through the village, nodding at the men and women in the packed-snow lanes as he passed them. Vanora saw some nod back before going about their business while others watched Murtagh - and her - as if they were strangers who couldn’t be trusted. She kept close to Murtagh as he strode confidently along, trying to match the bravado and swagger that seemed to come off the man in waves. If Murtagh was afraid or nervous, he wasn’t showing it, and indeed he seemed to have an air of indifference about him that seemed to be as much armor as the shirt of mail he wore under the many layers of clothes he had on to protect him from the cold.
Together they walked down to where the water touched land, where the fishermen were putting their nets into their boats and setting off before the tides changed. Vanora bent and picked up a handful of the gravel shore, picking out stones that had been worn smooth by time and the constant ebb and flow of the water. She found one that was as big as her palm with an indentation in the center, almost as if someone had pressed their thumb into the rock when it was still being hardened. She wondered if Serrill would appreciate such a rock and smiled. Then the smile faded as she remembered where he was, and where she was, and how she might never see him again. Vanora shook her head and tightened her fist around the rock. No, she would see him again. She would. And she would give him this silly little rock and tell him that she’d picked it up on a pebble beach far to the north. She could almost imagine the skeptical look on his face as she presented it to him, and that made her more determined to keep the stone. She slid it into her pocket and hurried to keep up with Murtagh, keeping an eye out for other stones that looked interesting, picking up those she and Verja found pretty. Vanora hoped her pockets wouldn’t be full of stones by the time Murtagh decided to return home, but what an interesting collection she and Verja would have from what she’d found already!
She looked up from the latest addition to her collection to see that Murtagh was leading her toward a boat near the far end of the beach. The boat was wide and long, with a single mast and grooves cut out of the deck for long oars to rest in. Layered neatly along the railing were thick nets with pieces of light-colored wood woven in at regular intervals. Striding along the deck was a powerfully-built man dressed in animal furs. Even through the hides that made up the sleeves to his coat, Vanora could see his arms were thick with muscle. He was also tall, taller than Murtagh by a head, and he had a thick honey-colored beard coupled with long hair of the same color, and that was braided with shells and small animal bones. His skin had a bronze tone, but Vanora couldn’t tell if it was natural or if the color had been caused by years on the ocean under a blazing sun. He was coiling a thick rope around his shoulder as he walked the deck, but upon seeing Murtagh and Vanora, he stopped and stared with a sky-blue gaze that seemed to look through Vanora and take her measure.
“Hail, Tarben,” Murtagh called, raising a hand in greeting. “How’s the fishing these days?”
“Hail, Drakkenflidyr,” the man answered, his voice rumbling like thunder through Vanora’s bones. “Fishing’s been good. Seal hunt, even better.” Tarben turned his head and snapped something in a language Vanora didn’t recognize. It sounded harsh, and it made her tense. “You’ve come for hides? Fish? Gossip?”
Murtagh laughed, a warm, soothing sound. “All of the above, and maybe a drink or two.”
Tarben grinned, and the harshness about him that made Vanora nervous suddenly vanished, and the man seemed rather approachable if not personable. “The last time we had a ‘drink or two’, your drakken had to come peel you off the deck! It took me hours to grind the claw marks out!”
“I promised that wouldn’t happen again, and Thorn apologized for it.”
“That’s what both of you said the time before that.”
“There was a time before that?”
“And that’s what happens when a man can’t hold his drink.” Tarben looked at Vanora and winked. “Let that be a lesson to you, lass. Don’t imbibe to the point you can’t remember anything.”
Vanora’s cheeks reddened, but she nodded. Murtagh gave her a reassuring smile and continued toward the boat. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted, but watch your feet. Mirane just got done fixing the holes in the netting on this side.”
Murtagh nodded and pulled himself up onto the rail, then swung himself onto the deck. Turning, he reached down to grasp Vanora’s hand and pulled her up behind him. She clambered over the rail and carefully set her feet on the deck, managing to avoid stepping on the netting.
“Where is Mirane?” Murtagh asked as he followed Tarben across the deck to where the big man was placing crates around a small barrel. “Usually she comes running when visitors show up.”
Tarben glanced at Vanora for a moment before inviting them to sit with a gesture. He kept his silence as he pulled out three handmade ceramic mugs and a round glass bottle that had some sort of amber liquid inside. Murtagh gave him a questioning look, but he sat, and he directed Vanora to do the same. Tarben sat, placed the mugs in front of each of them, then poured the liquid into the mugs. Vanora leaned to peer into her mug, and the scent of apples and exotic spices filled her nose. She wrapped her hands around her mug and brought it close but didn’t drink, instead looking through her hair at the two men who seemed to be talking to one another without actually using words.
Finally Tarben lifted his mug to his temple in a salute to Murtagh, said, “Tash Vidynia, Drakkenflidyr,” and took a long swallow. He drained the mug, refilled it, and then took another, shorter sip. Then he said, “She’s hunkered down on the other side of the boat where she can’t seen. Seems a young man took a fancy to her three nights before last and said a few things that he shouldn’t have said. Her fist met his mouth, and he lost a few teeth. Punishment enough, I figure. But the lad doesn’t seem to get the message, and he’s come sniffing around the ship a couple of times since. Haven’t seen him today, which is good. That doesn’t mean he won’t show up later. So we’re working on heading out onto the water as quick as we can. To avoid trouble, if we can.”
Murtagh scowled. Even Vanora shivered. “What’s the boy look like?” Murtagh asked.
“Brown hair. Definitely a stranger. Haven’t seen him in the village before, and nobody seems to know him. From what the elders told me, he came in on a ship before the ice set in last season and just never left. Likes the ladies too much, whether they like him or not.”
“Have the elders done anything?”
“He hasn’t broken any of their laws, hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s made a fool of himself, and as I said, Mirane took a few of his teeth, so I think that’s punishment enough.” Tarben looked at Vanora. “I only warn you because he might take interest in the young lady here.”
Murtagh didn’t react beyond tightening his fingers around his mug. Vanora sat up straighter and declared, “I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Tarben replied gently, “I only said that you might end up being bothered should he see you.”
If this human bothers you, Verja said, a few missing teeth will be the least of his worries.
Vanora got the distinct feeling that Verja wasn’t talking about a warning nip. He might give you indigestion if you were to do that. she said.
She received a few negative feelings and a severe dislike of an upset stomach, and then Verja pounced on Thorn’s glittering form, playfully shoving him deep into a snowdrift that would have hidden him completely if not for his wings.
“Well,” Tarben said after a moment of silence, “let’s not let such things ruin this fine morning. I’ve got some time to spare before we need to leave with the tide. So let’s drink, let’s talk, and let’s get you what you need and on your way.”
Tarben and Murtagh both saluted each other with their mugs, and Vanora did the same with some hesitation. Then as the men drank, Vanora sipped, and the cold liquid washed over her tongue. She tasted apples, cinnamon, a strange flavor that was almost like a mild licorice, and then a soft buzz of something hit the back of her throat and almost made her cough. She put the mug down and covered her mouth, trying not to spray the mouthful she had all over Tarben and Murtagh. With effort, she swallowed, then turned her head and coughed. When she again found control over herself, she looked back to see Tarben giving her a knowing smile and Murtagh quietly sipping his own mug as he watched her with the same kind of warm expression that her father would give her when she did something that amused him.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What is that?”
“Home brew.” Tarben took a long swallow. “Takes some getting used to if you don’t drink. I guess you’re still a little young for it.”
Vanora flushed. Then she grabbed her mug and took a smaller, daintier sip just to prove that she could drink the concoction.
Tarben gave her an amused look, and then focused on Murtagh. “And just who is this little lass, eh? She doesn’t look like she could be yours.”
Murtagh snorted and Vanora saw the faintest bit of red to Murtagh’s cheeks. “She isn’t mine. Not like that. This is Vanora. She’s my apprentice.”
“Ah.” Turning to Vanora, Tarben asked, “I take it you’re a Drakkenflidyr, then?”
Vanora wiped her mouth again. “If that means ‘Dragon Rider’, then yes, I am.” It surprised her that she sounded overly proud about that fact. Verja definitely had pride about it, but only so far as her chosen partner was Vanora and that they were learning from two individuals who embodied everything that they themselves stood for. Vanora smiled and looked at Murtagh. “I’m learning from the best.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Tarben nodded. He returned his attention to Murtagh and ponies a finger at his chest. “You ought to find yourself a nice girl, though, Murtagh. You’re always holed up in that castle of yours. That’s not healthy for a man of your age.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Tarben.” Murtagh shot back with a bit of fire in his voice. “You’re the one out at sea all the time, practically ignoring the women when they sigh at your back and long for you to give them a sweet word they could cling to.”
“They sigh at you, too, but I don’t see you giving them sweet words.”
“Thorn doesn’t like them.” Murtagh paused, his eyes gaining a far-away look. “Well, he doesn’t like most of them. They aren’t right for me, he says.”
Tarben made a noise low in his throat. “Yes, well, the drakkenir know. They can look into a person’s heart and know them in just an instant. Still, he wouldn’t object to a…” Tarben glanced at Vanora, who was pointedly staring into her cup and pretending she wasn’t listening to a thing that was being said. Tarben coughed. “Well, you came here for business. Lass, if you’d like, you can take a look around the ship. Mirane is in the back. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind showing you around.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Vanora said, hoping her retreat wasn’t too quick. But by the small smile Murtagh wore, her haste to escape had been noticed. She met Murtagh’s eyes and nodded, silently telling him she would be safe, and then she left the men to their discussion while she headed across the deck to the rear of the ship.
What wouldn’t Thorn object to? Verja asked, her curiosity making Vanora smile.
Didn’t you ask Thorn?*Vanora asked.
An image of the red dragon appeared in her mind, his ruby eyes focused on Verja with the look of a male that had been asked a very uncomfortable question by a very young female. He said I wasn’t old enough. Verja grumped.
Well, you aren’t. Vanora replied, her smile widening at the feeling of shock and astonishment that she would agree with Thorn’s assessment. But then, neither am I.
Verja hummed, but she was still curious, still eager to pester for an answer. Then she asked, Will he tell us when we are old enough? Because I think he wishes for me to forget about it.
I’ll bet he does. Vanora stopped to stare out over the icy waters that gently lapped at the hull of the ship, then showed Verja a few memories that she remembered from her early childhood, when her mother had been pregnant with her little sister. As Verja watched Vanora ask the sensitive questions, understanding came to her.
Finally Verja said, If all of that is true, then I’ll wait to ask. She sent an image of her following Thorn into the sky to circle around the icy tundra. Besides, there are plenty of other questions to ask.
Vanora laughed. And what would those be?
Well, when I think of them I’ll tell you.
Vanora chuckled and said, Please do. I’d really like to know what it is dragons ask each other about things like that.
Verja sent her a feeling of warmth and adoration, then quickly winged after Thorn as the great dragon took off to the west along the inner coastline, having caught the scent of mule deer. Vanora felt her link to Verja grow more tenuous the more distance that was out between them, but she didn’t worry. This far north, nobody even knew she was here, and Murtagh wouldn’t have brought her and Verja out of the castle if he didn’t think it was safe enough for them to be out. Vanora cracked her knuckles, popping each joint slowly as she thought about what awaited her back south. When she was ready to face her future. She knew both Arya and Eragon were looking for her. They wouldn’t stop until she and Verja were found and killed. If she wanted to survive, she would have to grow stronger than both of them, and she would have to be prepared to fight. She didn’t want to kill anyone if she didn’t have to, but she often thought about how Arya seemed to have no qualms about hurting her if it brought about the queen’s desired result.
Vanora shivered with cold that wasn’t because of the air and brought her arms around her waist, squeezing her eyes shut as a sudden wave of utter helplessness and anxiety rolled over her. Suddenly she felt exposed on the ship, and even though she knew Murtagh wouldn’t let harm come to her, Vanora still wanted to hide somewhere until he was ready to leave and she could follow in his shadow. Opening her eyes, she started back toward where Murtagh and Tarben had been sitting, then hesitated as she picked up a whisper of a word behind her. She tensed for a moment, putting her hand on the hilt of her sword in response to the expected attack, but when none came she realized that the voice she’d heard wasn’t an elvish assassin coming to take her head. It was Mirane, Tarben’s companion.
It had to be.
Slowly Vanora continued toward the rear of the ship. As she came around the corner of the cabin, she saw a sea of black netting spread out over the deck. There were holes in some places and fist-sized knots in others. Sitting amid this mess was a flaxen-haired young woman, shoulders hunched, her back turned to Vanora. She wore the same kind of clothes as Tarben - animal furs and hides - and her hair was braided and decorated in much the same manner as well. The only difference seemed to be that both sides of the girl’s head were shaved close to the skin, leaving only fuzz in the space between her neck and the last inch or so of her scalp. She was scowling at a piece of white wood that was tangled in a knot of netting while her long fingers carefully picked and pulled at each string of the net, trying to free the piece of wood. Vanora watched the gentle way Mirane slid her fingers between the layers of the netting, trying to find where the tangle began so she could pull it apart. She was careful about finding each layer, about tugging on the net and then pulling on the individual pieces until they were loose enough to pry apart.
“You can come closer, if you want to.” Mirane said, her voice husky and low-toned, like she wasn’t used to speaking, or she was trying to stay extraordinarily silent. Mirane lifted her eyes from the net to Vanora and offered her a tight smile. “I don’t bite. Not unless there’s a reason for me to.”
“Have you ever had a reason to?” Vanora asked, edging closer until she was only a handsbreadth away from Mirane.
“Sometimes.” Mirane returned her attention to her work. “Did Tarben send you back here to check on me? Make sure I was staying out of trouble?”
“Not exactly.” Vanora said, sitting down. She lifted up a piece of knotted netting and trying to see if she couldn’t unravel it. “They started talking about… man… things, I guess, and then I got sent away so they could talk about that stuff and also probably haggle over the price of what Murtagh came here to buy.”
Mirane grunted. “Men’s talk, as my mother used to call it. Girls aren’t allowed to hear it, and women only sometimes.”
“Did you really knock out someone’s teeth?”
Mirane paused in her work and glanced at Vanora. Then a knowing smile crept onto her face. “He told you that story, eh? As a matter of fact, I did. The bastard put his hand where it shouldn’t go, and I admit that I was wrong to hit him, but I don’t like it when people put their hands on me without my permission. And I don’t put my hands on anyone else without their permission.”
“Except to knock out teeth.” Vanora said with a small smile.
“Yes, well.” Mirane busied her fingers with teasing loose a knot. “I wasn’t the first he tried with, but I made damn sure I was the last.”
“Is it hard? Being a woman fisherman? Being on a boat with a man for hours and hours, who might be judging everything you do because you aren’t like him?”
“Are you asking the questions for genuine curiosity or to answer your own doubts?”
Vanora lifted her shoulders and dropped them. She picked at another knot as she tried to order her thoughts and ask her question in a different way. But she couldn’t, so she picked up the knot and scrutinized it to avoid looking at Mirane.
There was a length of silence before Mirane spoke again. “Yes, it’s hard, but then nothing that’s worth doing is ever supposed to be easy. And if it becomes easy, then you need to take a step back and ask why it’s suddenly become so easy. Is it because you’ve just become stronger? Is it because you’ve found a better and more efficient way of doing the task? Or have you sacrificed everything you believe in, your honor and integrity, just so you don’t have to put in any effort?” Mirane untangled the wood and set it aside. She picked up a piece of the net that had a gaping hole and with deft movements, threaded a bone needle with sinew and began to patch the hole. “Tarben is one of those rare men who look at a person not by what’s on the outside, but by what’s on the inside. If you genuinely want to do this thing, put your best effort in and don’t be deterred if you fail. Failing is normal. Natural. It’s wanting to continue after that failure and applying what you’ve learned that determines what those men think about you.” Mirane paused. “Also, I really don’t give a flying uskit what people think of me, so long as I’m proud of myself and my accomplishments.”
Vanora paused in untangling the knot and looked toward the pale blue sky. “It’s just… difficult.”
“That’s life. It sucks most of the time, and then you feast with the gods.” Vanora snorted with an aborted laugh. Mirane smiled as well and paused in her sewing. “The thing is, Vanora, you can’t concern yourself with what others think. No matter how hard you try, you may not be able to change their minds, or you may prove to them why they think they’re right. You never know. One of the most important lessons I ever learned was to be true to myself. What anyone else thinks of me doesn’t matter, so long as I’m happy with myself. Sure, it hurts to hear what’s whispered about you and it hurts to know what’s thought about you, but is it the truth? Or is it someone’s belief?” Mirane shrugged and returned to her sewing.
Vanora sat with the knot clasped between her hands and let her fingers work as she thought about what Mirane had told her. It was true, all of it. Wasn’t it? Because the whole reason she and Verja had fled Ellesmera was because of what Arya had done to her, what she believed Vanora to be, and the elf queen wouldn’t easily change her mind, no matter what Vanora and Verja did. The other problem was that Arya had many allies, allies that shared her way of thinking and would be easily turned against Vanora because of Vanora’s own feelings. Yes, she hated the elves, and she didn’t like Queen Nasuada, and she hated Eragon Shadeslayer, but that was because of what they did, not because of who they were. Vanora had never come face to face with Eragon, and her time spent in the presence of Queen Nasuada had been brief. It was Arya she was terrified of, Arya that she feared the most, because Arya had hurt her in a way that she has never been hurt before. Arya was the one who had condemned her, was the one who had compared her to King Galbatorix, because that was what Arya had wanted to see. That was the only thing Arya could believe because of what she had found in Vanora’s mind.
She didn’t care that my father had been killed by one of her people. She didn’t care that my sister had been taken by that illness, or that my mother… my mother… Tears welled in Vanora’s eyes and she bit down hard on her lip to try and get the tears to stop. Nobody cared about the circumstances that made up her life. Nobody even thought to wonder why Vanora’s was so angry with the so-called “heroes” of Alagaesia. They didn’t care. It didn’t fit into their perfect little narrative, and anything that didn’t fit disappeared. I don’t want to disappear. Everything else has been taken from me, and I don’t want anything else to be.
She wasn’t aware that her sorrow and pain was so tangible until she felt a faint thread of worry coming from Verja. Vanora quickly assured her that she was fine, that she was just thinking about life and how unfair it had been, but how ultimately it had led her to Verja, so despite all the bad that was happening, the best thing that had happened so far since then was Verja hatching for her. Verja sent back a wave of warmth and the impression she and Thorn would soon return, and that they would be together again. Vanora rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, and was glad that Mirane said nothing about her crying, even though the fisherwoman certainly had noticed.
Casting about for something else to talk about other than things that brought up bad memories, Vanora asked, “Why does Tarben call Murtagh ‘Drakkenflidyr’,” her tongue stumbled over the strange accents, “and not Dragon Rider or shur’tugal?”
Mirane raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, it basically means the same thing. Drakken is dragon in our tongue, and flidyr means flier, or as close to it as a translation can be. Are we supposed to conform to Alagaesian terms when we’re here? I doubt an Alagaesian would use our language if they were in my homeland.”
“I suppose not.” Vanora smiled. “I like it though. It sounds so much better.”
“I’m partial, but then I’m also biased. And since Murtagh hasn’t told us not to call him that, nor told us what he’d prefer to be called aside from his given name, Tarben will just keep calling him that as a sign of respect.” Mirane looked toward Vanora and canted her head to one side. “And I suppose you’re one, too, if you’re traveling with Murtagh.”
“He’s my teacher.” Vanora said, disliking the way she suddenly sounded defensive.
“And he’s a good teacher, as far as I can tell.” Mirane lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “Do you have the blue dragon?”
Vanora felt ice creep into her veins and her head suddenly felt light. Her skin prickled and rippled as gooseflesh appeared. Her breath shortened; her lungs felt tight. She couldn’t take a deep breath. “Blue dragon?” she finally whispered.
Mirane nodded, unaware of Vanora’s reaction. “The prettiest blue I’ve ever seen.” Mirane looked at her, then dropped the net and reached out to touch Vanora’s shoulder. “Vanora? Vanora, breathe!”
Sucking in a deep, Vanora filled her lungs and turned to grab onto Mirane’s wrist, a painful grip if she could judge the sudden look of fierce concern in the woman’s eyes. “My dragon isn’t blue. She’s black.”
How long the two stared at each other, Vanora didn’t know, but then she twisted round as she heard the sound of heavy boots on wood, and looked up to see Murtagh approaching, his face set in a grim mask.
“We’re leaving.” He said, his voice almost harsh with how low he said the words. When Vanora went to speak, he held up a hand to stop her. “Thorn told me. A blue dragon.” He looked at Mirane, then over his shoulder as Tarben appeared behind him. “Where did you see this blue dragon?”
Tarben frowned. “Flying southwest-ish, just this early morning.”
“Was there a Rider on its back?”
“From what we could see, there was. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry, but they were heading toward your piece of the wild north.” Tarben’s frown grew more severe. “Do you know this drakken?”
“There’s only one blue dragon I know, and though I hadn’t expected her this soon, if it is her, then there’s bound to be trouble.” Murtagh turned to Vanora. “Come. We need to get you somewhere safe. Somewhere he won’t think to look.”
Murtagh turned on his heel, walking quickly toward the bow of the ship and the dock. His shoulders were tensely set, and Vanora could tell that he was worried and agitated.
Of all the times for this to happen… Vanora thought as she bounded down the deck after Murtagh.
Tarben and Mirane followed quickly, but they separated from Murtagh and Vanora the moment they reached the village. Vanora quickly matched her step with Murtagh’s, taking two for his one, and kept silent until they were away from the village. She soon felt Verja’s mind, and she welcomed the warm touch of her friend’s consciousness against her own. Feeling Verja so strongly meant that Vanora was no longer alone. If there was one thing that Vanora didn’t want to be in this moment, it was alone.
The two reached the village outskirts, and a moment later, there was the sound of wings in the distance. Appearing in the hazy distance was a twinkle of red and a speck of black, quickly growing larger as the two dragons closed the distance between them and their Riders. Murtagh stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword watching Thorn grow larger and larger. Vanora watched Verja, feeling as if she were on the edge of a cliff looking down into a bottomless abyss. Her thoughts raced - a blue dragon could only mean one thing, which meant that he was here, which meant that he was looking for her, which meant that he would be looking for Murtagh’s help - and it took effort for Vanora to corral herself and push her anxiety to a place in her mind where she could deal with it later. Right now, she had to focus on the trial ahead of her and Verja, and do what she could do both of them could survive.
Thorn landed with a rush of wind, and twin fins of snow flared up from his hind legs. Verja was close behind, her landing slightly rougher than Thorn’s. Verja immediately hurried over to Vanora, then crouched so Vanora had an easier time climbing into the saddle. Vanora quickly settled into her customary spot, then loosely tied the straps around her legs.
Just enough to hold me in place, Vanora told Verja as the young dragon watched her, but not tight enough I can’t get down quick if I need to.
Hopefully you won’t need to. Verja lifted her lips away from her teeth. I’ll keep you safe, even if I have to fight the whole of the elvish army to do it.
Vanora reached forward and hugged Verja’s neck. I appreciate the thought but I think I’d rather just run away from the elvish army. I can’t imagine my life without you, so you can’t take any unnecessary risks.
The next time you take a risk, I’ll remind you of those words.
Vanora smiled thinly and cracked her knuckles through her gloves, then turned her attention to Murtagh. He was already on Thorn’s back, strapping himself down into the saddle. His eyes had a strange, faraway look to them, and Vanora knew he was deep in conversation with Thorn. The red dragon had his head angled slightly to the side so he could watch his Rider with a single ruby eye.
Finally both Murtagh and Thorn looked toward Verja and Vanora, and Murtagh said, “It’s too dangerous for you two to go back to the castle. If what Mirane said was true, and my brother really has come to the north this soon, that’s the first place he’ll look.”
Not for us. Verja said with a slightly higher tone to her voice, as if she were trying to hide her worry and failing.
No, not for you. Thorn said. The great red dragon raised his wings in preparation to take flight. But for us. We have no doubt that he wishes to ask us for our help. In all likelihood, he’ll demand to speak in the ancient language, and it’s difficult to lie in that tongue. If we are to have any chance at all of deceiving him, telling him the truth is the right path.
“Besides that, it’s not easy to hide the presence of a dragon from another dragon. It’s already going to be difficult because Saphira will smell the scent of another dragon.” Murtagh pressed his lips together and nodded his head in answer to whatever Thorn had just asked him. “We can use magic to hide your scent, Verja, but if we don’t hurry, the game will be over.”
Right now, he doesn’t know that you’re here. That is our greatest advantage. Thorn added. Were he to realize his mistake, he would attack with fire and fury. Thorn added. He swung his great head and focused on Verja and then Vanora. Your priority is to protect your partner and yourself. Going looking for trouble is a fast way to disregard that rule.
Vanora and Verja met each other’s eyes. A series of emotions passed through each of them - the desire not to be found, the desire to fight, to stand on their own feet and themselves and not rely on others, feeling helpless that they were powerless, that they were putting the only ones who had ever given a damn about them since they had bonded in danger. As if they had both come to the same decision, Vanora and Verja looked their teachers straight in the eyes and said, “We don’t want to be protected forever. We’re going to have to face them eventually. The only difference between now and a time in the future is that we have you on our side.”
Murtagh smiled wanly and said in a gentle tone, “And we’ll always be on your side. But neither of you are ready for this challenge yet.” Thorn stretched his neck toward Verja and touched her snout with his. Vanora felt something pass between the dragons, something she felt but couldn’t name. Murtagh continued, “Your training has only just begun, and Eragon isn’t your only enemy. Unless you’re willing to tarnish your honor, which I don’t think you are, then the safest path right now is for you to disappear.”
“Where should we go?” Vanora asked quietly, her stomach doing an odd little flip as a cold fist seemed to squeeze her spine.
“Wherever it may be, don’t tell us.” Murtagh replied, his eyes soft with unspoken understanding. “It will be safer that way for all of us.”
Thorn suddenly swept his wings down, and with a heave of his hind legs, launched into the air. He circled to gain altitude, then turned himself in the direction of home and flew as fast as his wings would carry him. Verja and Vanora watched his red-shaded shadow grow dimmer and dimmer until he was simply gone. Vanora shivered with cold that wasn’t from the snow or the air, and hunched her shoulders. Without speaking, Verja jumped toward the sky and wheeled around and around as she gained height. Vanora watched the ground dwindle beneath them, a small white expanse as far as the eye could see becoming a huge white expanse as far as the eye could see. Verja circled over the fishing village, steadily climbing until all they could see were the tiny figures of people and houses.
For a while, both Vanora and Verja felt lost, unsure of what to do or where to go, but they agreed that if they dawdled any longer, then any effort on the part of their teachers to protect them would be for nothing. Still, flying without direction would only serve to get them lost, and perhaps invite disaster down upon them.
* know where we should go. Verja announced, tilting on her left wing to bring them about and setting them on a southwestish course. It’s a place that Thorn will know to look for us once he’s certain the danger has passed.
Vanora leaned low over Verja’s neck. Where’s that?
You’ll see.
Since Verja seemed rather pleased with herself, Vanora just smiled and decided not to press. Just as well she should be surprised with the location, because if Verja has decided it was safe, then it was safe. She leaned as low as she could across Verja’s neck and kept her eyes on the white expanse of the frozen tundra beneath them as well as the pale blue of the sky all around them. The least she could do, while Verja flew them to their safe place, was keep watch. If she could spot the danger long before it reached them, then maybe they wouldn’t have to fight. Maybe they could flee and hide and avoid a confrontation. Shivering, Vanora drew her arms closer to her chest and tucked her chin closer to the collar of her coat, and let her senses spread out as far as she dared, just as Murtagh had taught her. She was careful not to touch the minds of any living creature beyond the barest acknowledgement of their existence, which allowed her to feel the presence of life below the snows settled on the ground and not much else. She was all too aware of what it felt like to have her mind invaded against her will, and Vanora loathed the idea of invading the minds of others just to ensure they meant her and Verja no harm. Murtagh had called it a necessary evil; it was one thing to reach out with your senses and feel the presence of another living breathing creature, to acknowledge their presence and their right to be there and be present, but to stretch out one’s mind and invade that creature’s thoughts was entirely another.
“It’s like… listening at a keyhole and hearing movement but not being able to see anything.” Murtagh had said. “You’re not actively opening the door, and so you’re technically doing nothing wrong, but eavesdropping is wrong in and of itself.” He’d shrugged, looking strangely uncomfortable as he met Vanora’s eyes. “It’s up to you to choose if you listen at the keyhole or open the door fully, as no one can stop you unless they’ve been trained to, but if anyone meant you harm, you’d know by other means than listening to their thoughts.”
Vanora shivered as she felt gooseflesh rise on her arms and ripple like a wave all the way to her scalp. She could remember the cruel touch of Arya, the vise-like grip she’d held as she ripped through Vanora’s memories, and it made her stomach do a funny little flip. She fundamentally understood what Murtagh meant, and therefore had practiced keeping her mental touch as light as a ray of sunshine. Not a true eavesdropping, not an invasion, but like a nod to a passing stranger in the street, a silent way of telling someone you truly see them.
Perhaps that light touch was the reason she saw him. Or perhaps it had been her keen eyesight, which was much stronger because of her bond with Verja. Perhaps it had been Verja’s eyes and Vanora’s interpretation. Whatever it was, both of them saw him below on the tundra, and both of them knew that they had been seen as well.
Is that him? Vanora asked, her voice shaking as she tried and failed to keep her fear under a tight leash.
Verja stared at the man below looking up at them. An image of the man appeared in Vanora’s mind - average of height, a mop of brown hair mostly hidden under a knit grey hat, brown eyes that seemed not quite human, pale skin, dressed in clothing meant for cold but oddly made, a pack, a sword, and a bow but strangely no quiver - but Verja ultimately said, I don’t know.
Vanora frowned and tightened her grip on the saddle until her knuckles hurt. Could it be him? Could it be Eragon Shadeslayer? She had never seen him in person, so she couldn’t know if this was him or someone who just looked like him. For all she knew, this person was a traveler, innocent yet being condemned because he was alone in a place that didn’t take kindly to those who preferred to be by themselves. Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary, save for perhaps the fact his clothes looked to be a different style than typical Alagaesian, and the fact he carried a bow but no quiver or arrows. Maybe he had lost them? That was plausible. But what if this was Eragon Shadeslayer? Vanora had heard enough stories about him and his overweening arrogance that she fully believed he would travel alone - he’d done it before, according to the stories, and he’d facilitated such travel by having the elves create an illusion of him, also according to the stories - just to trick Murtagh into going to look for him while he sought out her and Verja and took care of them before anyone could interfere or argue on their behalf.
Sitting up, Vanora gazed around the sky, looking for any telltale sign of sparkling blue. She didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean anything. Saphira and Eragon could turn themselves invisible at will, so Vanora would never see the attack coming into it was too late. Turning her eyes back toward the stranger, she watched him stop walking and lift his head to gaze at Verja. A hand raised to shield his eyes from the light, and Vanora saw the moment that the man spotted her. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open - in surprise? to cast a spell? it didn’t matter - and Vanora knew the time to attack was here. No more hesitation. It had to be Eragon Shadeslayer - he was too strange to be a native of the north, and he had seen them.
Yet still Vanora hesitated. Even if the man could be her enemy, could she really attack him in cold blood? Her enemy wouldn’t think twice about attacking her, and he was probably preparing a spell even now. Her fingers began to hurt, she was clenching her hands so tightly.
Verja made the decision for them.
She folded her wings against her sides and dove, hurtling down down down toward the man. Vanora felt Verja’s sides expand as the black dragoness drew in air and ducked her head against her arm as Verja parted her jaws and spit fire. The dragonfire blossomed around the man, spreading outward in a dome shape and flickering from the natural red and blue of Verja’s fire to a myriad of shifting blues, greens, and violets. Vanora sat up in her saddle, starting between Verja’s horns at the man in the center of the conflagration, staring at the way his second and third fingers were interlocked together with the rest of his digits were straight out in alignment with his interlocked fingers. His arms were bent at the elbows, and his interlocked hands were pointed straight at Verja. There was such a look of severe concentration on his face - a look visible when Vanora was able to catch glimpses of it in breaks in the flames and the colors - that gave her a thrill of fear and make her even more certain that this man meant her and Verja harm. And if that was the case, they would have to defeat him before he had a chance to retaliate.
Vanora reached for her bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver, trying to quell her shaking so she could nock the arrow and hold it in place to fire.
She sighted down the shaft, saw the man’s eyes go wide, saw him realize that he was helpless against her attack because Verja had cut off her flames to give Vanora the opportunity to shoot. The man’s hands separated, and his fingers began to twist together into a new shape. Vanora pulled back on the string-
Hah! I’ll play with you, youngling!
A shadow loomed over Vanora and she barely had time to look up at the dark blue underbelly of something before talons closed around her middle and yanked. Vanora screamed as she suddenly found herself weightless, the straps holding her legs down too loose to do more than give token resistance against whatever creature had her. Verja was suddenly a hundred feet away, two hundred, three hundred, and the black dragon roared in shock and surprise, her first enemy forgotten as she focused on her second. Vanora clutched at the talon that gripped her, feeling hard scales under her gloves. Up close, she saw blue scales, the edges of which were tinged with white. Following the line off the claw upwards, she saw a muscular blue-scaled leg, then a massive blue-scaled neck, and finally a massive blue-scaled head and jaws.
The dragon cocked its head slightly to stare down at Vanora with a singular golden eye, and then the jaws parted as a sound like the rumbling of a waterfall escaped it. The dragon eyed Vanora for a minute, then turned its attention to Verja, who had banked around and was riding fast from below. The blue dragon’s wings beat once, twice, and then it folded it’s left wing to fall into a roll, narrowly missing being struck by Verja as the black dragon flashed by.
Vanora! Verja roared, frustrated. She quickly wrapped her wings around her body to fall into a dive, and chased after the blue holding her friend captive. Verja roared again, the sound filled with challenge and anger. Give her back!
If you want her, said a voice in Vanora’s head, the same voice she had heard seconds before she had been snatched off Verja’s back, come and take her, youngling!
no subject
Date: 2022-06-27 07:15 pm (UTC)Is this another way to portray the weird conflict Eragon & Saphira had at Teirm, just in a way that doesn't come across as the two of them abusing each other?
This is a very elegant way to put a topic that is by itself inelegant. Also it makes me hate this stranger very much.
Seems oddly merciful for the mass murderess herself.
Laughter. No way this is Saphira.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-28 04:39 pm (UTC)Philosophy shouldn’t be allowed this early in the morning.
You've certainly got a good handle on Verja's character with this line. I like it. You've also got a pretty good handle on Vanora; I noticed her getting into some very characteristic thought spirals, though I think she blushes a little more here than she does when I write her.
Verja definitely had pride about it, but only so far as her chosen partner was Vanora and that they were learning from two individuals who embodied everything that they themselves stood for.
This is quite accurate; there's a scene in the upcoming Chapter 10 that expresses a similar sentiment.
“Yes, it’s hard, but then nothing that’s worth doing is ever supposed to be easy."
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa, you brought back that line! This legitimately made me grin.
His shoulders were tensely set, and Vanora could tell that he was worried and agitated.
This feels a little hand-holdy; we can pick up on Murtagh's emotional state without being told here. I think you could probably do a second editing pass for brevity and a few grammar things, because there were a couple other sentences that explained a little too much.
It had to be Eragon Shadeslayer - he was too strange to be a native of the north, and he had seen them.
She actually probably wouldn't think this was Eragon, since she does actually know what he looks like from the face full of Arya's memories she got at the start of Chapter Four, but it would be less of a conscious "that's not Eragon, I know what he looks like" and more of an unconscious, "I don't feel like that's Eragon, something's off about the face." But the memories Vanora accidentally absorbed haven't really been brought up much yet, and this progresses the story, so I'm not going to say "this is wrong."
Verja made the decision for them.
100% a Verja move.
Verja parted her jaws and spit fire.
This I'm actually going to quibble with. Verja is only a few months old as of the most recently posted chapter, which is a good bit too young to be breathing fire. If it's been another few months since V&V's flight North in this fic, carry on, but I didn't get the impression it had been that long.
The dragon cocked its head slightly to stare down at Vanora with a singular golden eye
I like the subtle hint that this is definitely not Saphira with the eye color. Anyone who thought it was Saphira might at this point say "you made a mistake, Saphira has blue eyes!" but should probably wait for the next chapter.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-28 05:49 pm (UTC)The idea that I was going for was this story was set several months in the future, so not directly within any chapter’s definite timeframe. I’ll freely admit that while I was writing, I really didn’t give much thought to lining things up perfectly so they would match - I just sort of… let it flow. So things aren’t exactly matched, if at all.