saphiras_rider: (Default)
There are a lot of ways I could answer that.

My innocence.

It happened when Garrow died. Then I knew nothing would be the same. That I would never be the same. Garrow had been my father and mother. He taught me how to be a good man. And he sheltered me from the world. When he died, I had to leave. I had to learn how to fight. I had to learn how to kill.

Which I enjoy. I enjoy the blood. Watching the death over take a person as what ever they were leaves their body and they become nothing but a slab of meat. Meat that Sloan could cut up in his shop and no one would know the difference. It's power.

In his world, everything was safe. I knew what to expect. I knew what was expected of me.

To live and die as a nothing. A nobody. Forgotten. Now the world trembles before me. Now I can change the world to my liking. To save it.

Now I don't know what will happen and what is expected of me. I'm surrounded by blood and violence.

Of my own making. Of my own desire.

I can never go back to being a farm boy. I can never go back to being who I was.

And why would I want to?
saphiras_rider: (Default)
197: Is there anyone in your life who you feel is exceptionally wise? Who, and how did you meet this person?


Many people fit that description. Exceptionally wise. It felt, sometimes, that everyone around him was wiser than him.

His uncle Garrow, the man who had raised him. The man who had taken him into his home after his mother had abandoned him just after he had been born. The man he had thought was his father. The shock of learning this wasn't so had dazed him, making him feel betrayed. How could this man not be his father? This man who lovingly raised him? The man who was more a father to him than anyone? Who had taught him how to live, how to be, what was right, what was wrong? He could still smell the timbers burning in the ruins of the house, the blood covering him like some sort of second skin, Garrow looking up at him, horror etched on his face, fear filling his kind eyes, his betraying ... no... that never happened ... it was the Ra'zac who killed him, who tore him nearly to death, who struck at him with their poisoned claws

And Brom who had shown him how to be a Dragon Rider. Who had shown him how to fight with sword and magic. Who wanted to use him as a pawn in his personal vendetta against Galbatorix the man who had taken his dragon away. He had taken him from his small sleepy village and taught him about the larger world and how to read even! It was hard to believe that such an old lecherous man that he had met when he was a child, always offering to tell him stories Just right in the hut, that's right was one of the fabled Dragon Riders. Whose dragon had been blue and named Saphira. Just like she belongs to me, you and me belong together Eragon... His death the knife moved on its own, didn't it, Eragon? The Ra'zac shot him with the poisoned arrows, didn't they? Strange isn't it, Eragon, all these people you love dying? hit him hard. And for days he had been like a zombie. Unable to function without the help of Murtagh.

Then, Ajihad. He had known him so briefly, but to him, that was what a leader should be. Strong, confident. In charge. Eragon wished that he could be half the man that he was. Too bad he was dead. If only you had waited near the entrance instead of a mile away... but then he'd still be alive to steal your glory. He had led the Varden through hundreds of crisis. He had wished to learn all about battle and tactics from this great man. It was a shame he'd never be able to now. Yes, a shame, isn't it Eragon?

Yes, Eragon knew a lot of wise people. Shame that they all died because of him died.


Muse: Eragon
Fandom: Eragon
Words: 477

Profile

saphiras_rider: (Default)
Eragon Shadeslayer-Elf friend- Bromson

January 2009

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
252627 28293031

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 8th, 2025 01:28 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios