Inheritance Cycle 1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the owned! All rights belong to CP and this plot has probably been used before.

**Author's Note:** Just another random idea I thought of. Don't know what I'll do with this but to readers of my latest project (Inner Wolf), don't worry! I haven't abandoned that fanfiction. This is merely an idea I had and decided to post. I just wanted to say a few things though: Number one, there is slavery, bondage and smut although not in that particular order and not all slavery/bondage is smut. So if you don't like that stuff, stop reading now!

Don't know if there will be violence but it is sure to crop up some time. Also, this is an AU and set back in time in the Dragon War. I kind of mixed up the events though so that the humans and dwarves fought when the elves and dragons did. Also, this was inspired by the Dragon Age computer games in which the elves are slaves. No copyright infringement is at all intended though, since this is just written for fun.

I hope you like it!

**P.S. **When I made the slave traders dark-skinned and eastern-looking, I did NOT mean to come across as racist or prejudice, by the way. So please don't be offended by that as I don't mean to be rude or suggestive about the slave-trader's skin color. The chapter just wrote itself and I don't mean anything by it. Hope that clears things up.

**CHAPTER 1: **

"Do I have to?" The teenager whined.

"Yes, Eragon," His mother replied. "You must buy a slave. It's only natural for someone of our station to own a slave. I have one and your father has three. You have now come of age for a short while now and people are starting to ask questions. It will not do for our reputation to be tarnished just because you don't want to keep up with tradition."

"Screw tradition," Eragon pouted. "I don't want to own a slave. That's barbaric!"

"That's your _opinion_, young man," A man's voice retorted. "And you better watch how you talk to your mother. She is really going out on a limb to accompany us to the slave market. In fact, I almost wasn't going to let you pick your own slave. But the woman insisted and she knows best about these things."

Eragon heaved a sigh and threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine Lord Brom, I shall do as you command," The boy grumbled.

"That's _father_ to you, young man," Brom said sternly but with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now, I know you are stuck up in your own ways but owning a slave does have its benefits as you shall learn in time. Just go with the flow and you will get used to it."

"Whatever," Eragon snapped.

"Youngsters these days," Lord Brom muttered under his breath. "Always think they can revolutionize the way things have been going for ages. And they're always wrong!"

Eragon's mother, Lady Selena, smiled faintly at her husband's remark. Eragon simply glared off into the distance, watching the nearing slave market with growing distaste.

That's right.

They were going to a slave market.

"Why?" You ask.

The answer is simple.

Eragon was of noble blood due to his parents' rich heritage and the fact that they were Dragon Riders. He didn't mind tradition most of the time but now it was just stupid.

Being of noble blood and the heir to his father's estate, it was expected of him to own a slave. In addition, it had to be an elvish slave.

Yes.

Elves were slaves to humans. Dwarves made themselves useful with their mines and tunnels so humans left them alone. But in the Dragon Wars, the elves had snuck into a dragon nesting ground.

They had slaughtered an entire clan of dragons while they slept: Males, females, and young ones alike even smashing the eggs. When their human and dwarvish allies heard of this deed they were horrified and disgusted with this awful act of the "Fair Folk."

As a result, they waved a white flag and called for a truce with the dragons. Eventually, after many peace talks, the three races finally came up with a plan. The humans would Bond themselves to dragons forming Dragon Riders.

The dwarves would build special armour and weapons for them, weapons they didn't even make for their own kin. They would also build houses and palaces and castles big enough to house a dragon and grand enough for their Rider.

As a result, all would be united and all would be at peace. In another time, another universe, the elves might have also been part of the pact. But due to their treachery, none of the allied races wanted to have anything to do with the pointy-eared devils.

For supposing the dragons were defeated in the war, what stopped the elves from turning against the humans and dwarves and stabbing them in the back too? For their own safety, the dragons, being unbound by the Ancient Language back then, used Wild Magic to bind all the magical core of the elves.

They didn't have the time or the energy to do so before since they were fighting on three fronts. But thanks to the peace, albeit a shaky one, the dragons were able to focus their magic and that, combined with human magicians and dwarf help, was enough to bind the cores of most elves.

Thus, elves were enslaved. Their once grand forest kingdom was destroyed and burned to ashes. The few who escaped ran for their lives and hid in the deep dark forests none else would dare to enter or in ancient caves too dangerous for any other.

Ever since that fateful alliance, elves had become slaves to all those who lived. Some masters treated them well and they even earned their freedom although most chose to remain with their masters not knowing what else to do. Others treated their slaves horribly but that was ignored for such was their fate.

And as his luck would have it, it was now the fate of fifteen-year-old Eragon to buy a slave. Well, his parents would buy it for him but he got to pick. He had no clue what slave he'd choose. Hells, he didn't even know what gender to pick.

But Eragon didn't really care. He would just pick whatever caught his attention or someone who had a really good reputation. He didn't like the act of slavery but as a nobleman's son, he had to keep up the pretence that he did or else he could get disowned easily since he'd become the laughing stock of the whole Empire.

That would never do hence why he was finally dragged out of the estate for his "birthday present." He had just turned fifteen a day ago and due to the laws of the land, he was considered of age hence his current problem.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon scanned the slave stalls feeling bored and frustrated. Why couldn't his parents respect his decision and leave him in peace? He would happily give up his titles if he could to avoid owning a slave, but his parents wouldn't hear of it.

Having grown up as a pampered prince, he had yet to learn about swordplay and fighting. Rather, he had learned the finer arts of living such as chivalry and how to act in court. He had also been taught by the finest scholar his parents could afford.

This meant he would be of little use outside his parents estate and court since he didn't know how to earn a living outside of finery. He would be useless and have to resort to beggary or thievery, both of which he despised.

Now he was a Dragon Rider but that didn't even help solve matters since both he and his dragon, Saphira, were young. Speaking of which, even his dragon hadn't helped in that matter. When he asked her why she simply told him to remember some massacre and blocked off their Bond. Why, she wouldn't even speak to him for three days afterwards!

So here he was now, dreading the afternoon ahead of him. It was hot and sweaty and Eragon was eager to get back to his tomes and scrolls. He was reading a rather interesting manuscript about a type of sea dragon when he had been rather rudely interrupted and told to put on his finest robes for the market.

They had been wandering through the crowded, fly-shrouded stalls guarded by evil-looking mercenaries and many foreign slave-traders with dark skin and wearing turbans on their heads. All the elves in the stalls were scrawny and unkempt. They looked unhealthy and sick much to Eragon's disgust, and they hadn't even been owned yet.

He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes as a random slave trader reached out his grubby hands gesturing wildly and trying to gain his attention, ranting about how good and strong his slave was. Feeling rather irritated, Eragon glanced over his shoulder to brush the man off only to freeze in shock as he saw the man's slave.

Unlike the other denizens of the slave market, this slave was good-looking and wondrous to behold. It was also a _she_ much to Eragon's embarrassment but he felt himself drawn to her.

She was tall and muscular with a finely toned chest. She looked fit and healthy as if she had seen lots of action in her life. Raven-back hair cascaded down her shoulders and her skin was clean, soft and white. Bright green eyes stared fiercely up at him, her clearly-elvish, cat-like face turned up in defiance of his gawking.

He blushed something fierce when he realised that she was stark naked and quickly turned away, his cheeks bright red. He hastily moved on only to bump into someone. Glancing up he saw it was his father who had a broad grin on his face and his hands on his hips. He looked over his shoulder at his mother only to see her smiling softly in amusement, a look of recognition in her eyes.

Eragon groaned and let his shoulders sag in defeat. Why did it always have to be him?

"So you'll buy my slave, yes?" The fat grubby man asked eagerly, a greedy glint in his eye. "Only seven thousand pieces of gold for such a fine specimen! See? I give good price."

"Five thousand?" Lord Brom asked, feigning outrage.

And just like that, the bargaining began. All too soon, however, it was over much to Eragon's dismay and soon he had a slave girl waiting at his side. The slave master tossed a tattered gray robe on her which she snatched quickly out of his hands and threw it on.

"Tell your new master your name, wench," The slave trader growled, prodding the elf with his elbow.

The elf clenched her jaw, obviously unused to this sort of treatment and looked Eragon in the eye with such determination that it shocked him to the core. He had never seen that in anyone before!

"Arya," The elf replied. "My name is Arya."

**To Be Continued!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the owned! All rights belong to CP and no copyright infringement is at all intended.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the fantastic feedback, guys! You are epic and your comments are like music to my ears! Not too much to say aside from keep up with the epic comments and enjoy the next chapter. I hope it lives up to your expectations and stay tuned for more to come.

**CHAPTER 2:**

Eragon uttered a plaintive groan as he closed the door behind him and leaned his forehead on the ebony wood, closing his eyes in despair. It was the evening after his trip to the slave market. The journey home was torture for Eragon what with his father making crude jokes about his new slave even hinting that he might want to buy her for himself. Eragon's mother would chuckle politely but remained otherwise silent leaving Eragon to contend with the insufferable company of his father.

When they finally arrived back at the manor house, Eragon tried to hide and sneak in through one of the many secret passageways that riddled the estate. Being built during the Dragon Wars, the family estate was designed in such a way to provide escape as well as protection and, of course, comfort. However, Eragon received no such comfort since he didn't want his new slave to find out about the tunnels.

Therefore, he had to take her with him the long route causing all of the servants and guards to start gossiping as the young heir finally conformed to tradition. This also included the loud and noisy giggling of the many serving and cleaning girls and rumours started spreading around rapidly like a forest fire. When he glanced back at her, Eragon noticed Arya holding her head high, a proud defiant look in her steely eyes, and the ghost of a smirk on her lips at his obvious discomfort to the servant's reactions.

Finally, after the horribly long trip through wide elegant halls and winding stairways, Eragon finally reached his rooms and was safely behind the closed door of his bed chambers. Unfortunately, another custom of owning a slave was comprised sleeping with the slave to consummate your bond and prove your dominance as master. Typically, it was best for all slaves to be virgins since the act of dominance a master had to carry out was hinged on the master taking his slave's virginity to show his or her control and authority over him or her.

But this slave was beautiful, powerful, and fiery making Eragon doubt very much that she was still a virgin. She looked like she had experienced much in her long life and had the air of a warrior. Due to the immortality of elves, Eragon had no doubt she probably fought in the Dragon War with the rest of her kin and, due to her reaction to the slave trader, had probably only been found and caught recently. This was plausible since elves were more akin with nature than any race before or after them, and could live in places most would think uninhabitable.

But that was the past and Eragon had to focus on the future or, rather, the elvish woman who stood waiting before him, her hands clasped behind her back and an impassive expression on her otherwise-gorgeous face. Eragon heaved a sigh and turned around, knowing he'd have to break the custom to her soon and also knowing she would hate every word of it and every minute of it. Unless there was a way out of this mess...

"Greetings, master," Arya said hollowly, barely any emotion in her voice aside from a hint of distaste. "Would you like me to warm your bed as seems to be the custom or could I go sleep with the pigs? Not to be rude, but the latter option would be more desirable."

Eragon cringed but tried to put on a brave face. Obviously, the slave trader who bought her originally had informed her of their customs and traditions. It was a way of taunting her and showing that elves no longer ruled the land as the most superior race. It was a low blow but a way of making her feel helpless and miserable, thus putting up the least resistance to her new master. Sadly, that plan didn't seem to have worked.

Taking a deep breath, Eragon bit back a sharp remark although it was well within his right to strike the elf down where she stood. He was a Lord, a Dragon Rider, and her master. But Eragon knew he was stuck with the elf for the rest of his life and didn't want to make things any worse than they already were, also considering that he hated these barbaric customs and didn't want to spend his first time with a slave but a woman he loved.

"Actually," The young heir sighed. "You should know that I hate the idea of slavery and find these customs and traditions barbaric. But if you keep up with that disrespectful attitude, then perhaps I will throw you in with the pigs, but rather the human ones. After a couple minutes of warming _their_ beds, you will be begging to return to mine!"

Eragon flushed as he paused to catch his breath, cursing inwardly to see the elf unfazed. If anything she looked mildly amused.

"Is that so?" Arya drawled. "Then why were you at the slave market in the first place? If you had not stared at me so then you would have not bought me and we would all be free of this mess."

"Perhaps," Eragon allowed. "But consider what your fate would have been had you not been bought."

Arya arched an eyebrow delicately making Eragon take deep breath and clench his fists, struggling to remain calm and in control.

"If you were not bought by anyone," The young Dragon Rider explained. "You would have been a disgrace to your slave trader and a waste of space. Your master would have most probably raped you into insanity and then killed you in a horrible, gruesome manner. If the slave trader had any other slaves, servants, or bodyguards, you would be passed around like a common whore to all of them whenever the trader wished. So contrary to your opinion, you should be grateful that you were bought and by someone naive and innocent enough to hate slavery. I know I am young and probably way more inexperienced in life matters as you, but that does not give you the right to mock me for what I don't know. So unless you have something civil to say, please do not utter a single word unless spoken to. Are we clear?"

The elf woman could only nod silently, a flash of surprise in her emerald green eyes appeared momentarily before fading to her expressionless mask.

"Good," Eragon said curtly. "Now you should also know that I do not wish to spend my first time with a slave but someone I love and care for. Idealistic and cliché perhaps but it is the truth and you should be thankful for that. Therefore, we shall have to put up a ruse to convince the servants, guards, and my parents. It is also my wish that we can put aside our enmity and, in time, become friends. I know it won't happen right away, if at all, so until then we must hold a truce. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes," Arya replied, a tad bit softer this time.

"Thank you," Eragon replied, slightly gentler as well. "I know it will be difficult if not downright torture for you considering how much you must hate us humans. However, we must put on a good show to keep the estate and the guests who come for dinner parties and meetings in the dark. Unfortunately, servants and my personal bodyguards come early in the morning. My servants will come first to clean my chambers and turn out the bed. Because of that, we shall have to make it seem like we had a rather eventful night if you get my meaning."

"I understand," Arya said, glaring slightly.

Eragon heaved a sigh of relief.

"Good, I am glad that was all over with," He mumbled. "I rued the day this would happen and now that it is upon me I know it will be ten times worse than I had imagined."

Arya remained silent but merely shrugged off her tattered robe the slave trader provided her. Eragon watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to subdue the hormones and emotions that raised their ugly heads up at the sight of the unearthly beauty. She could never find out but Arya looked like a goddess to Eragon and he knew he'd have a hard time keeping control of Eragon Junior.

His breath caught in his throat as Arya sauntered over to the bed and climbed in it, rolling over with her side facing the right wall. It was a large four poster bed fit for a king granting plenty of space for...certain activities. Eragon sucked in a deep breath and fended off the naughty images that sprung to mind. It would be torture being so near this otherworldly beauty and yet unable to touch her, after what he said which was the truth really.

_Think of honour and integrity, Eragon,_ The teenager told himself. _Honour and integrity._

Giving himself a mental shake, he forced his body to relax and stripped out of his own clothes tossing them unceremoniously on the floor to make it seem he was wild and eager. He tried not to look at Arya as she lay there, solemnly and stoically staring off into the distance at some unseen point. Shaking his head, he climbed into bed beside her.

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N:** So, no smut yet. Sorry to disappoint you all. But don't worry. There will be some eventually! The two have to become friends first though so stay tuned for more to come. Like it? Love it? Hate it? Review and comment so I know what to fix. Many thanks in advance!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the owned! All rights belong to Christopher Paolini, supreme lord and author of this series, and no copyright infringement is at all intended.

**WARNING:** The first part of this chapter features adult themes, slight lemon but no smut and not too much graphic detail. It's pretty brief and mild but there. This story is rated "M" though so don't say I didn't warn you!

**Author's Note:** Once again, you guys are fantastic and keep me grinning like an idiot despite my initial uncertainty about posting this fanfic. Since you are all such great reviewers, I'll try to keep this short as I only have a couple of things to say. First of all, I realised that Brom is in character. At first it wasn't intended but then I decided to continue with this and his character just kind of stuck. Also, I haven't read the books in ages so all my info is coming from the Internet so do forgive me if I get a few details wrong. As for Brom's OOC'ness, I thought of a couple ideas explaining it and they will be revealed in latter chapters. But for now, he's supposed to be that way for a reason that I just decided, lol. Just thought to mention that since several people asked about it.

Also, this is an AU but not a rewrite. It's set in an alternate universe where the Dragon Wars happened differently and Galbatorix never led a rebellion with the Foresworn. The Dragon Riders still live and there are plenty of them, the Order's intact as well...for now. The only thing that's different is that elves are slaves and not all of the stuff that happened in the Cycle will happen here. Several plot points, elements from the books and, of course, many of the characters will appear but at later points. This is focussing on Eragon and Arya's rather unique relationship in this fanfic and while I am no expert on such matters I just want to write this story since it hasn't really been done before and there are so many things to explore here.

Well, that's about all for now so enough rambling and let the chapter begin. I hope you like it!

**CHAPTER 3:**

Early in the morning, Eragon awoke to the rather pleasant sensation of a beautiful woman pressed against his body, leaning her head on his chest and his arms wrapped protectively around her. A faint smile brightened his face only to dim as he realised who the woman was.

The young heir had no idea how they had gotten into that position but he decided to stay like that to keep up the ruse. It was a convincing lie after all and rather comfy. He tried to ignore the emotions stirring in his nether regions and hoped Arya woke up fast before they did something neither of them wanted to happen just yet.

As if that wasn't enough, the doors to his bed chambers burst open revealing several serving girls carrying fresh sheets, pillows, and cleaning supplies. They froze at the sight and Eragon grimaced inwardly. Just then, Arya woke up and her eyes snapped open as she realised the position they lay in. But Eragon held her in a firm grip and smiled down pointedly at her. Arya forced a smile in return but Eragon could see the glare behind the smile in her eyes which made him gulp and sweat slightly. Ignoring her attitude, he rubbed her arm tenderly and planted a kiss on her forehead pretending to whisper good morning in her ear.

When the serving girls saw this interaction, they burst into a predictable fit of giggles and started gossiping in noisy whispers amongst themselves. Completely ignoring Eragon and Arya who were both looking away from each other, the maids began cleaning and dusting the room, opening up the curtains pulling back the drapes on Eragon's bed. They got a bath ready and laid out some fine clothes for Eragon and a simple but revealing outfit for Arya.

After what seemed like an eternity, the girls finally left and Eragon breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think the coast is clear now," He mumbled to Arya.

"Then would you please let go of me?" Arya hissed.

"Um, yes, of course," Eragon stammered and hastily did so.

"Would you wish to bathe first, master?" Arya asked next. "Or may I?"

"Normally _you_ would be bathing _me_," Eragon retorted. "But in this case you can go first since I need to calm down a little."

Arya glared at Eragon at first but then smirked when she realised what she caused.

"Oh, poor master!" The elf cooed, leaning over and whispering mockingly in his ear. "Look what a pickle he's in. Should I make all his problems go away? After all, I am the slave and bound to obey your every wish."

Eragon sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes, fighting an inward battle. Why was Arya so cruel?

"Cat got your tongue?" Arya asked in mock sympathy. "Or are you just too befuddled to make a coherent thought?"

To make matters worse, the elf was grinding against his groin the whole time making Eragon stifle a moan. What was her problem? She knew he didn't want to do this right away so she was obviously mocking him and trying to get back at him for the position they woke up in. But that wasn't his fault.

"You better watch yourself, woman," Eragon growled. "Or I might just let my good father fulfil his wish and buy you for himself."

Arya froze, hovering only centimetres above his groin making Eragon's whole body tense.

"Are you sure?" She asked with an arched eyebrow. "You might not get this offer again."

"Positive," Eragon growled, glaring daggers at her.

"Very well," Arya smirked. "Your wish is my command."

So saying, she climbed off him lightly flicking her foot against his groin, a positively evil glint in her eyes. Without even bothering to ask his permission to shower first, Arya sauntered off into the bathroom swaying her hips seductively as she did so.

Eragon collapsed back in his bed with a feeble groan as he watched his elf retreat. She was really making this difficult and would stop at nothing to get him to snap. Then she could taunt him even further and he would hear no end of it.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon set about relieving himself and began getting ready for the day, knowing it would be torture at breakfast.

- PAGEBREAK -

Eragon stopped by the Dragon Hold on his way to breakfast. He was curious as to why Saphira hadn't interrupted him in the morning with a cheeky remark on his predicament. He was thankful though but still curious. Perhaps it was due to the dragon's inherent hatred of all things elvish due to the massacre of the dragon nesting grounds during the war.

Whatever the case, Eragon felt slightly apprehensive as he twisted and turned through the halls and passageways through the manor house that led to the Dragon Hold. It was on the west wing of the manor and had an open balcony, large enough and strong enough for a dragon to stand on, that overlooked the sprawling grounds (including a lush forest teaming with game and wildlife) enabling Saphira to fly whenever she wished.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon finally stopped when he realised they were at the Hold already. He glanced over his shoulder at Arya who was waiting patiently with an impassive mask etched on her face. Eragon wondered if he should tell her that he was a Dragon Rider or if that would make her want to gut him all the more. After a moment of hesitation, Eragon decided to ask Saphira if she wanted to see Arya first lest he risk her wrath and that of Arya's which would not be at all pleasant even though she was his slave.

With that thought in mind, he turned around to Arya and said, "Wait here."

Arya nodded curtly and stood as still as a statue. Eragon gave her a brief nod in return and opened the door to the Hold, closing it gently behind him. Instantly, a bright light nearly blinded him and he shielded his eyes against the wall of sunlight that poured in through the open balcony.

There were giant thick curtains to block the light if Saphira so desired and powerful wards that could be summoned at any moment to protect her against the elements, but Saphira preferred to keep things natural and sometimes she even slept in the grounds if she was weary after a long hunt.

But most of the time, she respected Selena's wishes to keep the grounds nice-looking and her giant paw prints would simply ruin things. So most of the time, she slept in the Dragon Hold especially since it was easier for Eragon to reach her first thing in the morning which he did on a regular basis. She was his partner of mind and soul after all.

"Good morning, Queen of the Skies," Eragon said softly when his eyes adjusted to the light and he approached Saphira cautiously, still wary about his elf angering her. "How do you fair this fine morning? Are you well?"

In response, Saphira gave a mighty cat-like stretch, spreading her wings out and yawning releasing a puff of light blue smoke as she did so making Eragon cough slightly. Saphira snaked her head down at him and gave him a toothy grin.

_A fine morning it is, Little One,_ She replied and Eragon sighed in relief.

So far, she was not angry at him.

_And what do you have to be angry about?_ Saphira asked curiously, amusement floating through the bond.

Eragon's face flushed as he remembered that she could read his mind.

_What if I showed you the memories instead?_ He asked. _It would save me a lot of talking and speed things up a bit. Also, I ask you to maintain a grip on your anger, however justified, until I fully explain myself, please. _

_But of course, Little One!_ Saphira said in mock offence. _Don't I always?_

Eragon rolled his eyes at the comment but closed them quickly. Placing his hand on Saphira's snout (he found that helped him concentrate better), he pulled the memories of the previous day at the slave market, the conversation last night, and the incident in the morning. He blushed furiously as he recalled how Arya taunted him this morning and hoped Saphira would not get too angry.

When he was finally done showing her his memories, he pulled his hand back and opened his eyes. He looked up at his beautiful sapphire dragon praying to whatever gods existed that she would not get upset. But much to his surprise and relief, he only saw a flicker of anger in her eyes before it morphed into understanding and, annoyingly, amusement.

_So how long do you think this ruse will last?_ The blue dragon asked with a gravelly chuckle.

Eragon blushed and clenched his jaw.

_That is the first thing you ask after all this?_ He retorted. _I thought you'd be fuming mad and burning the entire estate to ashes once you heard the news._

_I would have until I realised how hard it must be for you, _Saphira sighed. _I am still angry at having another elf defile this place but there is something about the pointy-eared one that confuses me._

_What?_ Eragon asked in shock. _Arya confuses you? And I thought that was my job!_

_It still is,_ Saphira chuckled. _But she puzzles me too. Perhaps you were made for each other._

_Some way to determine whether we're a good couple or not!_ Eragon scoffed, rolling his eyes. _I don't know whether to be amused or offended. _

_Just be thankful I am not angry at you, Hatchling,_ Saphira warned.

Eragon gulped, recalling the steel in her voice all too well.

_I am always thankful for you,_ He replied hastily, but meaning every word of it. _And no slave, even an elf, could ever take your place in my heart._

Saphira only hummed happily in response and Eragon sat cross-legged on the floor, resting against her wing, and scratched her neck fondly.

_Are you coming for breakfast, oh Great One?_ Eragon asked, saying the latter name playfully.

_No,_ Saphira retorted. _I need to sort out my thoughts on your elf. I'm not ready to see her just yet. Perhaps a morning fly and a hunt in the forest will help me make up my mind. Care to join me?_

_Perhaps for the former one,_ Eragon replied with a faint smile on his face. _The other one, not so much._

_I understand,_ Saphira replied. _Go now. Your elf is growing impatient and your parents wait for you. Watch yourself around your slave, hatchling. And remember who and what she is. Never forget that._

_I shall,_ Eragon sighed reluctantly. _Farewell then._

_Farewell, Little One,_ Saphira replied.

Yawning tiredly and stretching his weary limbs, Eragon pulled himself up and stepped back. He watched Saphira fondly as she climbed into a crouching position and tucked her wings in. With a last glance at him, she leapt into the air, kicking off from the ground and soaring into the clear blue sky.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon departed from the Dragon Hold and joined his elf, making his way to the breakfast table where his parents, and much teasing and joking about their 'first night together' awaited them.

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N 1: **Like it? Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and let me know so I can make this even better yet! And stay tuned for more to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Inheritance Cycle!

**WARNING:** This chapter contains mentions of virginity and the loss of it as well as a certain event that occurs during the loss of virginity, most of the time. There is also the mention of rape but no details really. Also, I am unsure if this is how slaves were treated in medieval times (the breakfast conversation I mean) but something similar happened in a recent Game of Thrones episode which kind of inspired this chapter and it seemed like something that would happen in one such environment. So if I'm wrong, please say so in your comment but it'll stay there anyways because it's necessary for the plot to move on.

Enough said!

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for the feedback, people. You are awesome and continue to give me a reason to post this fic. Now, in answer to a couple questions – Firstly, I'll try not to make Brom too weird but he is a bit OOC in this fic because of how things are and due to peer pressure as well as another reason(s) which I shan't mention just yet. Secondly, in regards to smut I haven't included it yet since I want to make this fic a little longer and more plot-based unlike my other fanfics. So while there will be the occasional lemon, there will be no major smut scene any time soon. It will be there but not just yet. Hope that clears some stuff up and now that that's over with, allow me to present you all with the next episode of "M&S."

Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 4: **

As Eragon predicted, breakfast was a rather tense and stressful occasion. In fact, he was actually thankful that Saphira chose not to attend since her presence would have made things that much more complicated.

The young Dragon Rider was currently sitting on the left of his father who sat at the head of the long dining table as was the custom. His mother sat on the Lord of the estate's right outfitted in a fine light blue dress. His father wore his usual black and dark blue robes and Eragon was dressed in a light blue tunic trimmed in dark silver and trousers to match.

The youth's slave was dressed in a loose fitting tunic that revealed more than it clothed and was currently standing beside him carrying a platter of breakfast and wine and milk among other refreshments should he wish for his plate to be refilled. Arya was standing rather stiffly with her now-typical stoic look on her face, revealing no emotion whatsoever.

Eragon heaved a depressed sigh and glanced over his shoulder to see the captain of the guard and other members of the house hold seated around the table, although a little ways away from the Noble-blooded family. All around them echoed the sound of morning bustle as servants moved here and there serving out the breakfast and guards chatted quietly among themselves

Eragon had just finished drinking a cup of tea as he was wont to do more often than not and Arya was dutifully pouring him another one (although a tad bit awkwardly being evidently unused to all this) when his mother sprung a question that totally slipped his mind during his planning the night before.

"So Arya," Selena asked resting her chin on her intertwined hands. "When did a slave like you lose your virginity? My maids informed me that the sheets were not blood-stained last night."

Eragon choked on his food nearly coughing it out from shock and Arya, who in an unusual display of emotion, promptly spilled the tea losing grip on the jug, obviously caught off-guard by the question.

"Mother!" Eragon exclaimed incredulously when he regained his ability to speak and cleaned his mouth.

Brom smirked and several of the soldiers and people at the table chuckled, their eyes filled with amusement. Eragon glared at them and their laughter died in their throats.

"Oh, please, son!" Selena retorted primly. "I am your mother and the Lady of the house. It is my duty to know about these things. And if you consummated your bond last night like you were supposed to it would have showed."

"And if you did _not_," Brom added darkly. "You would be subjected to the laws of the land which state that Arya dies and your right hand is cut off to symbolize your failure to uphold tradition."

Eragon's mind reeled but he tried not to show it. He glanced at Arya out of the corner of her eye only to see a flicker of distress in her emerald orbs before they faded back to zero emotion.

"Um, I changed the sheets so we would sleep comfortably last night?" Eragon offered weakly with a feeble grin.

"Nice try, son," Selena sighed rolling her eyes. "The maids cleaned your chambers and reported no such sheets."

Now Brom was scowling and glaring daggers at Eragon who was trying to think of a way out of this mess. Why hadn't he thought of this? How could they cover this up? Were they doomed now?

However, Arya snapped him out of his dazed by squeezing his shoulder gently. Eragon's gaze snapped to her in disbelief and he was stunned to see her smiling softly, almost tenderly at him.

"It is alright, master," The elf said softly. "I told you not to cover for me. I told you your parents had the right to know. They are the Lord and Lady of the estate after all."

Eragon's mouth merely opened and closed like a fish as he struggled to make a sound of protest, of anything, only to crash and burn pathetically.

"Well?" Brom demanded. "Did you consummate the Bond? And what of Arya's apparent lack of virginity? Tell me the truth, son. Or should your woman answer for you?"

A tense hush filled the room making the atmosphere fairly crackle with tension.

"Your son is of no fault, my Lord," Arya said, bowing her head respectfully. "I am to blame."

"Explain yourself," Brom barked.

"No, Arya, don't!" Eragon protested, but Arya ignored him shooting him a warning glance.

"I was a warrior maiden before I was captured," Arya revealed. "I was one of the few elf raiders who launched ambushes and skirmishes on various outskirts of the Empire. But one such trap failed and turned against us resulting in the capture of myself, the deaths of two of my friends, and the enslavement of other elves under my lead."

Brom looked dead angry at first making Eragon pray to whatever god would listen to spare Arya's life. He didn't care about his hand although it would be nice to keep it but his elf's life was more important.

He hated slavery and utterly detested all these barbaric laws. He had no idea if Arya was lying or telling the truth but her unfamiliarity with how slaves worked in Alagaësia gave some proof to her story.

Eragon could only watch haplessly as Arya told her tale.

"As I said," Arya continued. "I was captured by a slave trader. I had killed several of the men under his command and one of them was a friend of his. Needless to say, he was most displeased and showed me by raping me for the whole night long after he defeated us. In the following morning, he killed my two dearest friends in front of me and then lead the rest of us, enslaved, to the market where your son found me. Your son, being the polite and kind gentleman he is, asked if I was a virgin last night and I told him the truth. After hearing my story, he did not want to force another round on me but I insisted not wanting to get him in trouble. So we did consummate our bond but there was no bloodshed in that particular manner last night."

It was no surprise that a dead uneasy silence filled the dining hall.

On one hand, Eragon could get into big trouble for not wanting to consummate the Bond. On the other hand, the people would consider him heroic and noble (the woman-folk at least) and Eragon's mother already had tears in her eyes and was looking so proud at Eragon who was blushing furiously.

Her speech finished, Arya paused and resumed her impassive expression clearly awaiting her fate. Eragon was determined to get the truth from her afterwards but now was not the time and if it was true, he was actually thankful that he did not sleep with the elf.

It's not that he despised her for being 'defiled.' No. He would never be so rude as that. It was simply that Arya summed up his character rather accurately. His mother had often said he was too noble for his own good, and while Eragon seriously doubted that at times he would not want to reopen old wounds horribly inflicted upon the poor elf merely to satisfy some barbaric customs.

Feeling a little more sure of himself, the boy glanced at his father bracing himself for any possible outcome. But instead of anger or disapproval, he saw a reluctant respect in his father's eyes kindling a faint spark of hope within him. He also saw Brom eyeing Arya appraisingly and Eragon cringed. He knew that look. Brom wasn't leering at Arya. Instead, he was deciding whether or not to promote her to a higher station.

He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

"Tell me, elf," Brom said briskly. "Can you still fight?"

Arya's eyes flashed for a moment but she swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good," Brom smirked. "Then as Lord of this estate, I grant you my permission to teach my son in the arts of war, battle, and tactics. Teach him everything you know and if he learns well I shall reward you well, perhaps even grant you your freedom. Fail and let's just say that your slave master will seem like a pathetic worm compared to what I am capable of. Are we clear?"

"Yes my Lord," Arya replied, a positively evil glint in her eyes.

"What, father, no!" Eragon stammered. "I thought you said you would hire a professional tutor and not to mention that my half-brother Murtagh is coming over for a fortnight."

"I have made up my mind, son," Brom said sternly. "You shall train with Arya and learn what it means to be the heir of a Lord. You must prove your worth to my estate and burying your head in dusty old tomes will not do that. It is high time you become the man you were born to be and give up your long-gone childhood. But enough talk. I have business to attend to elsewhere and you have some training to begin."

Eragon groaned and buried his face in his hands as some of the soldiers chuckled and joked with each other and gossip spread like wildfire. He could practically feel Arya gloating and Selena's concern radiated off her in waves.

But the Lord of the Estate had said what was to be done and there was nothing he could do about it. Little did he know that this decision would spark off a chain of events that had been unprecedented in times past. But for now, Eragon braced himself for gruelling training and the jeers that would be sure to come when the other Noble families learnt he was being taught by a slave.

Why were the Fates so cruel?

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Comment, critique, and review so that I can make this even better yet!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** The _Inheritance Cycle_ does NOT belong to me! All rights belong to Christopher Paolini and anyone else concerned. No copyright infringement is at all intended by the writing and posting of this fanfiction.

**Author's Note:** And Chapter 5 is here, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you so, so much for the fantastic feedback, people. I really appreciate it and seeing how this was just a random plot-bunny to start with; I doubt it would have progressed anywhere without your reviews. So keep them coming 'cause they're this story's cup of coffee and energy booster. Not too much else to say other than you guys rock (!) and this chapter takes place a few months _after_ the events of the last chapter. So there's a slight time-skip involved. Otherwise, there's not too much "M"-rated content in this chapter but there will be soon and the next chapter will also involve lots of AxE. So without any further ado, I present you with the next chapter of "M&S."

Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 5:**

Arya never told him what really happened as to whether or not she was a virgin. And truth be told, Eragon didn't know what was more frustrating: The fact that she didn't want to tell him after how lenient he was to her compared to some other masters; or the fact that he had the power to _make_ her tell him but his conscience wouldn't let him. Whatever the case, it was damn frustrating but thankfully he had a way to get it out of his system: Training.

Ever since his father's decree, Arya had been merciless in his training. She would wake him up at the crack of dawn claiming it was good practice in case of a battle or should he have to journey somewhere. Of course, he did have a bloody huge and powerfully fast dragon but pointing that out to her was of little use. The elf woman was a taskmaster in training and seemed to delight in forcing him to work hard for many gruelling hours until he'd collapse, exhausted, on his bed and fall asleep in his clothes.

She wasn't mean or cruel to him but she was firm in her training and Brom seemed to approve of that as if he would be that was if he'd train Eragon. It didn't even help matters that Murtagh was going to come for a lavish dinner party to celebrate his alliance with the trade merchant, the Ajihad. No one knew his name but that just added to his power and mystery. His daughter was pretty powerful too and also a dragon rider which made for a strong union considering that Eragon's half-brother was indeed a dragon rider too.

Murtagh was bonded to a ruby red male dragon named Thorn while the Ajihad's dark-skinned daughter, Nasuada by name, was bonded to a bronze-coloured female dragon named Bruna. Like their bonds, the two dragons were already mated as they had fallen in love at first sight and Bruna was already expecting a clutch of eggs much to their Riders' delight. So to celebrate that, and the Riders' union of course, a large festival was being held at Eragon's family estate and the place was being turned upside-down as the servants painstakingly prepared the place for a party.

Selena was in charge of the decorations and ceremonies, naturally, and Brom was seeing to the security. While he did have a small force of guards led by the Captain of the Guard who was an old friend of Brom, they had to hire a few more since many guests from other noble (even a few foreign dignitaries from Surda) were coming. Needless to say, the party was the talk of the estate and the nearby town of Carvahall. Sadly, none of the hubbub excused Eragon of his lessons. In fact, Arya pushed him harder for some reason much to his dismay.

The Dragon Rider and elf maiden were currently sparring in the courtyard under the stares, jeers, and bets of the guards and a few serving girls (the latter of which were staring wistfully at Eragon while the former were ogling Arya). There really was no cause to gamble on the outcome of the duel though since Eragon wasn't such a good fighter as opposed to a scholar and historian. He preferred his books and tomes but was forced to learn to fight nonetheless. He was learning fast though but Arya was always better than him having decades of experience to master the art of war.

Eragon staggered slightly as he blocked Arya's wooden practice sword, her fierce emerald orbs boring holes in his head. He heaved with all his might but elves were bloody strong much to his annoyance. Arya let him push for a moment before deftly swinging away causing him to stumble slightly s he was caught off-guard. With a smirk on her lips, Arya lashed out furiously backing Eragon into a corner as he desperately parried her blows. But the elf was incredibly strong and Eragon could not help but be distracted by how stunning she looked when she fought.

The result was a well-aimed blow by Arya that promptly shattered his sword causing it to split in several pieces and clatter to the ground. Eragon yelped as her wooden blade glanced off his sword-fist causing him to curse and swear as his hand was on fire with pain. The swords were for practice only so they were made of wood but that still left a nasty bruise. Arya rolled her eyes and stepped back from him as he nursed his sore fist, glaring daggers at the guards who laughed and jeered at him.

Suddenly, a loud purposeful clapping caused all the noise to hush and Eragon heard a few wistful sighs accompanied by the tromping of boots onto the marble floor of the courtyard. His heart sank and he groaned inwardly, recognizing the sound of those footsteps. He had a pretty good mind to remember things when he wanted to and he knew those footsteps a part from any other. Heaving a sigh, he folded his arms across his chest and turned around reluctantly to face the newcomer.

It was a young man, a few years older than him. The man had shaggy black hair that fell down to his shoulder and dark eyes. He was well-built and strong, unlike Eragon's slightly more nimble and lanky form. The newcomer was dressed in fine black robes trimmed in dark red and tied at the waist with a leather belt. A sword with a ruby red hilt was attached to the belt and Eragon could already identify the man just by the blade. The man wore a dark black cape that billowed in the wind and was clapping with a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Murtagh," Eragon sniffed, trying his best to look superior to his smirking half-brother. "I see you arrived early."

"Greetings, little brother," Murtagh drawled. "It's so nice to see you too."

"Oh, please," Eragon sighed, rolling his eyes. "I know you don't like coming here. You'd rather be kissing your bride-to-be senseless than seeing your bookish brother."

"Not when his brother owns a legendarily stunning elf slave," Murtagh quipped making Eragon flush and clench his jaw.

Biting back a sharp retort, Eragon glanced warily at said elf and stifled as sigh when he only saw an odd mixture of intrigue and amusement in her emerald orbs.

"My, my, little brother," Murtagh chuckled. "I'm impressed. You really know how to pick them."

"Would you shut up and quit calling me that?" Eragon hissed. "And where are your dragons. Shouldn't they be here too? How else did you get here otherwise?"

"Stop trying to change the subject," Murtagh teased. "And as for Thorn and Bruna, they are here and they are well. I believe Saphira is currently showing them the dragon hold and is tormenting them with a merciless interrogation about how good Thorn was and when she can expect to be an auntie."

Eragon groaned and reached out with his mind, scanning Saphira to see if Murtagh spoke the truth. He grimaced and quickly blocked off the bond just in time before Bruna started boasting about how well-hung he was. Saphira always was a gossip addict. He quickly decided it was high time for some justly deserved revenge.

"So Murtagh," Eragon asked slyly. "How are you looking forward to the party and your upcoming wedding? I heard the Ajihad can pack a punch when he wants too."

Murtagh closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory.

Even though it had been an arranged marriage, the two were rather attracted to each other and their dragons had already been in a relationship which helped form the union. Even so, the Ajihad had given the notorious over-protective father speech which was especially scary considering how he was famous throughout the Empire for his combat and strategy skills.

He had been a commander in the army before during the Dragon Wars but then he retired when it was all over and became a merchant. Needless to say, the Talk was quiet scary and Murtagh always got the chills whenever he remembered it.

"Yep," Murtagh gulped. "He can be quite nasty when he wants too. As for the party, the first half is going to be torture but when the dancing starts it is going to fun, hopefully. As for the wedding, what can I say? I am a lucky man."

Eragon just rolled his eyes and shook his head at Murtagh's nonchalant remarks. But what his half-brother had said reminded him of something.

"Blast!" He exclaimed, feeling suddenly nervous and sweat beading on his forehead. "I have no idea how to dance."

Murtagh chuckled and smirked at his relation's dilemma. Lucky for him, Nasuada had taught him lessons herself since the upcoming wedding demanded that the bride and groom share the first dance.

"How about you ask your pretty elf yonder?" Murtagh teased with a twinkle in his eyes.

Knowing Eragon, the naive teenager was stuck rigidly in his old-fashioned ways and quaint ideals about a love-marriage. He didn't originally love Nasuada but they got to know each other and became good friends. While he wasn't exactly head over heels in love with her, there was definitely a connection between them and they both shared an attraction towards each other. Love would come in time. Eragon had yet to learn that but perhaps he could point him in the right direction.

"Are you mental?" Eragon exclaimed incredulously, darting a nervous glance at Arya who was looking off into the distance impassively. "Elves don't know how to dance!"

"How do you know?" Murtagh shot back. "Have you ever asked her?"

Eragon shook his head in defeat.

Murtagh was right. He didn't really know until he tried. It was worth a shot. Besides, he didn't want the entire estate to know about his lack of dancing knowledge so what did he have to lose by asking the one person he held in the closest confidence?

"Fine," He sighed, letting his shoulders sag as he relented. "I'll ask her. But no one hears about this or you're dead. Are we clear?"

"Damn right, little brother," Murtagh chuckled. "Have fun and don't get too carried away."

"Shut it," Eragon growled good-naturedly.

"I was done talking anyways," Murtagh drawled. "I think Nasuada wants to talk about something and I should go check up on Thorn."

"I'd check up on Saphira," Eragon said nervously. "But I think we both know what she'd rant on about and I really don't want to know about the size of Thorn's boy bits."

Murtagh laughed and Eragon grinned.

It felt good to have some fun and take a break from his hard training. Murtagh should come more often.

"Well, see you later, wimp," Murtagh said, slapping Eragon on the back. "We should talk tonight again and you can tell me what all has been happening at the estate lately."

"Perhaps," Eragon shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

Murtagh smirked and punched him in the arm.

"Damn it!" Eragon growled. "Be gone, wretched imp before I decide to exact my revenge!"

Plugging his ears with his fingers, Murtagh sang off-key and swaggered off in the direction of the west wing. Eragon watched him go fondly, missing the times they shared as brothers. Heaving a sigh, he squared his shoulders, steeled his manly resolve, and forced himself towards Arya in order to ask her how to dance.

Little did he know that a pair of vermillion black eyes with no pupils or irises were peering out at him from the shadows of an empty nearby alcove and an angry demonic snarl followed after it subsequently. For now, all was well and things were peaceful.

But soon, that tranquil, blissful peace would shatter and the whole world would be flung into chaos. And both Eragon and Arya would get caught up in the middle of it!

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Critique and comment so that I can make this even better yet!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I'd say I own the _Inheritance Cycle_ but then Saphira would probably come and eat me. Or torch me with dragon fire, lol.

**Author's Note:** You guys are awesome and I really enjoy hearing from you! Sadly, I got hit with a bout of Writer's Block when trying to write this chapter hence the delay. Sorry about that. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. Just be warned though since this contains some "M"-rated content and some slightly yucky stuff, the next chapter also but that's more violence than adult themes as opposed to this chapter. It's all for a purpose though so without any further ado, allow me to present you with the latest episode of "M&S!"

**CHAPTER 6:**

Eragon stepped gingerly over pairs of tangled, naked, sweaty bodies scattered haphazardly in the dimly-lit hallway. If it weren't for the fact that the couples were writhing, moaning, kissing, and caressing each other, one would have thought they were dead. Unfortunately for Eragon, such was not the case and he almost rued his reluctant decision of taking a break from hiding in the library.

After all of his intense reading, he was thirsty and his mother was probably looking for him, Murtagh as well. Since Lady Selena was in charge of the festival celebrating Murtagh and Nasuada's union, he was forced to attend and he knew that his mother would have her spies fanned out and combing the entire estate. Fortunately though, the mass of guests and foreign dignitaries that attended would make that a rather tough thing to do.

He had considered falling asleep in the library and putting wards on the door preventing anyone from entering. Being a Dragon Rider, he had learnt a bit of magic but not much. He was supposed to have magic lessons but his current tutor was rather lazy and extremely vulgar making Eragon put off classes more and more often than not. They would have come in handy now, if he could find a spell to block out sound, smell, and just about anything.

One of the decorations for the party was incense that was hung throughout the hall. Eragon supposed it minimized the stench of sweaty bodies generated by the wild dancing and...other activities. But it was hardly any more pleasant. Needless to say, festivals among the higher-born in the Empire were a wild affair. There would be an overflowing abundance of wine causing many nobles to become drunk and chaotic.

It would have been funny if Eragon wasn't so pissed off right now. He was upset since the tome he was reading had been damaged somehow, or rather by _someone_. The page he was reading was ripped out and a messily scrawled note was pinned on it basically telling him to quit being a hermit and go fraternize. It even encouraged him to get drunk and bed as many women as he could. It was signed, 'A Friend.' But Eragon knew who it was: Murtagh.

His half-brother was constantly trying to get him out of his shell but he couldn't. It just felt wrong. This drunken stupor people got in was insane and drove him up the wall. He didn't mind being sociable and holding a decent conversation with people but parties among the higher-born were notorious for being wild and scandalous. Crazy things went on there that he didn't even want to think about. Even if you were a piss-poor lesser lord, you still had to host a party as if it were for a god or else you would be the laughing stock of the Empire.

Eragon heaved a sigh and winced as he heard chanting coming from the courtyard.

"_Fight! Fight! Fight!"_

Men and woman alike slurred the chant loudly, probably waving fists in the air and stomping their feet. The sound of clenched fists smashing into meaty flesh made him grimace and he shook his head sadly as it continued, whipping the people up into a frenzy. They'd have to inflict martial law soon if things got out of hand.

That would not be pleasant.

But suddenly, a loud burst of musical feminine laughter caught his attention. Eragon's whole body froze. His muscles tensed and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he recognized that angelic, all-too-familiar sound.

It was one he was only graced with once or twice, but a sound that was music to his ears and better than hearing the voice of the gods themselves.

His piercing gaze snapped to the sound of the laughter inexorably and they widened in shock to see none other than Arya draped over a man with extremely pale skin, crimson-red hair, and maroon-coloured eyes. The man wore a black outfit and a snake-skin cape. He flashed an evil smile revealing finely pointed teeth and his eyes glinted cruelly.

Arya, on the other hand, took Eragon's breath away. She was dressed in a sheer forest green dress without any sleeves and wore white gloves up to her shoulders. Her feet were bare and her midnight-black hair was tied into a braid and wound into a fancy ado atop her head.

She was smiling and laughing at something the red-haired man said but the smile never reached her eyes. Whether the man knew it or not, they were cold and distant. Eragon's blood boiled.

Sucking in a deep breath, he struggled to remain calm and clasped his hands behind his back. He crossed the floor space in quick, strong strides trying his best to ignore the fact that there were other elves as well being used nastily by men and women, sometimes both at the same time.

He wanted to catch the red-haired man off-guard, using the element of surprise to his advantage, but the stranger seemed to know he was coming. As if expecting him, he turned around snaking an arm around Arya's waist and leaning his head on her shoulder. His lips twisted into a cocky smirk.

"Ah, Eragon is it?" He drawled. "May a offer my congratulations on your knew slave? She's quite a catch really."

Eragon fought to remain calm and pasted a plastic grin on his face.

"That she is," He agreed, with a curt nod. "She was one of the better looking wretches at the market. But I think the trader I bought her from ripped me off somewhat. She is actually quite useless."

Eragon glimpsed a flash of anger in Arya's eyes for the fraction of a second but then it morphed into realization, understanding, and finally morphed into her usual impassive mask.

Once again, the stranger seemed oblivious to this. Instead, he reached down and patted her bum affectionately.

"Ah but even this devil does have her uses if you know what I mean," The man chuckled. "I found that she has quite the talent with her tongue actually. Your good father was more than willing to let me test her abilities and see if the legend surrounding this wench was true or not. I tried to be gentle but she wouldn't let me. I never knew she had a submissive streak in her."

Eragon wanted to strangle the bastard but gave a good-natured laugh and signaled a serving girl who was carrying some goblets of wine on a tray.

"Do forgive me," He said while waiting. "You seem to know my name but alas I do not know yours."

"Ah yes, of course," The man drawled. "Where are my manners? After all letting me use your slave demands the proper respect. Not every master has the stomach for that."

Eragon's smile was positively feral and he was going through a list of all the most horrible ways to kill the freak of nature.

It was true though, sadly. During these riotous parties, it was common place for a rich lord or noble to let his guests and friends use one of his elf slaves, or more if the guest so desired.

It was a boast of the man's wealth, power, and also the ability he had to control his slave and order him or her around like so. Unfortunately for Eragon, the stranger was outright mocking him since he did not lend out his elf slave and, apparently, his father did.

Eragon knew full well that Brom hated elves for some reason, a tale he never told Eragon no matter how many times he asked him. But this was taking it to an extreme. It was like he was trying to make Eragon's life miserable.

Perhaps Brom felt he had been too lenient with Arya what with letting her teach Eragon how to fight and such. Perchance he believed that Arya was getting out of line and needed a reminder that she was a slave and nothing more, a piece of property.

But Eragon highly doubted that his father would be so cruel. Still, he would never know until he asked him. However, his father was conveniently away on a business trip. He always was. Eragon wondered where he went many a time but Brom would never tell him, he never told him anything.

"Ah yes, that's right," The stranger exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm, jolting Eragon out of his thoughts. "My name is Lord Durza and I hail from House Gilead. I have several summer houses and other estates sprinkled throughout the Empire though so I rarely go there. I do believe my home nearest your place is Hellgrind, a pathetic fort that is. I mainly use that for storage and such."

The serving girl arrived and Eragon took a goblet of wine and offered one to Durza. The pale man took the proffered glass and raised it in a mock toast. He downed it all in one gulp and sighed deeply. Leaning over, he kissed Arya passionately for several moments before pulling back and giving Eragon a mock salute.

"Well, lad," He smirked, obviously drunk. "I must be off as I believe me and your little wench have much better things to do this evening than chat. But don't worry. I have several other slaves at Hellgrind if you want one in exchange. You might need another after I'm finished with her."

Laughing uproariously, he sauntered off with a proud swagger locking lips with Arya and pulling her along with him to a nearby room. Arya pulled back just enough to glance over her shoulder desperately at Eragon who could only watch helplessly as she was dragged away from him.

All too soon, she was gone and Eragon came back to himself. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and all he saw was red. He could not get back at Durza though since he was one of Brom's recent contacts, he recalled. Eragon didn't know if Durza forced Brom to some agreement since the noble was extremely powerful and a good friend of the Emperor, Galbatorix.

All of that vanished from his mind though as he downed another goblet of wine and then some more. Feeling dizzy and giddy, Eragon's mind reeled. He had to get some air before he threw up and made a fool of himself. He could barely think straight since it was the first time he had ever drunk wine in this quantity before.

Swallowing hard and leaning against the wall for support, he stumbled through hallways and alcoves avoiding the partying denizens. Every single elf in the vicinity seemed to turn directly to him and his or her face took the desperate gaze of Arya, pleading him for help.

Eragon didn't know how long he was walking for but finally, the blaringly loud drum beats and harps and flutes faded into the background and the noises ceased. His vision cleared slightly and he sank onto the floor leaning his back wearily against the wall. He cradled his head in his palms and tried to contain the rage he felt bubbling up uncontrollably within him.

Eventually, he began to feel numb and all he could hear was a faint methodical heartbeat pounding ominously in his ears. He staggered to his feet and trudged forward listlessly. Glancing around vaguely, he realized that he was in the armoury. He hardly came here since he never had to fight in battles or was required to wear armour save for formal ceremonies.

And that was always gaudy weak stuff that would shatter in a real fight. Even so, he was drawn like a man in a trance to a small backroom. A wooden door covered in cobwebs creaked back and forth eerily in the frigid evening wind. Ignoring the fear that reared its ugly head at the foreboding scene, he pushed the door open and found a place he never saw before.

Chests, barrels, closets, and weapon racks stood dismally and forgotten in the cellar. The floor was covered by several inches of dust and cobwebs were strewn everywhere. A single round window at the centre of the ceiling allowed a beam of pale moonlight to filter into the room.

Strangely enough, the light fell upon a lone mannequin in the centre of the room. It was a plain wooden one but what it displayed made Eragon's breath catch in his throat and his heart skip a beat: It was a suit of mesmerizing black armor and an equally dark, foreboding helm that was covered and looked like it was made in the Underworld itself.

Suddenly, the events of the evening rushed back to Eragon in a torrent of rage and emotion. He could only stare in awe and wonder at the armour and the wicked-looking long-sword and kite-shaped black shield, without a coat of arms, resting at its feet.

The armor looked plain, black and simple as if it had been started a while back but was never finished. And yet, without sparkling gaudy decorations, it looked more terrifying and fearful than anything he had laid his eyes on.

An evil gleam lit up Eragon's eyes and the grin on his face was positively feral. The armor looked like it hadn't been used before but no matter. It needed a bit of polishing but would suit his purposes. He could think of a use or two for it.

He most certainly could indeed!

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**A/N 1:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Comment and critique so I know what to change and can make this even better yet!

**A/N 2:** The suit of armor is inspired by the historical Black Prince and the Heath Ledger movie "A Knight's Tale." Just thought to let you know. The next chapter contains some violence though so it might take a short while to write. So stay tuned!

**P.S.** About Durza, he's obviously a bad guy in this fic but he's not entirely possessed by spirits. Therefore, he's not really a Shade in this fic. He's more like a sorcerer, if that makes sense. Also, I have nothing against parties and dancing and whatnot but I tried to make them like the parties in Ancient Rome, Greece, and those times. They weren't too great back then so that kind of inspired this since it's similar in a way. Hope that clears some stuff up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Yep! I'm still saying it: "I do not own the Inheritance Cycle!" I also don't own the Black Prince although I borrowed his name from historical events since this version of Eragon was inspired by parts of him and the Heath Ledger's movie – "A Knight's Tale."

**Author's Note:** First of all, I'm sorry for the wait but the chapter was a struggle to write for some reason. I fear my inspiration for this story is slipping but I will try my uttermost best to continue it so do not worry that it will be ended prematurely. Moving on, I want to thank you all profusely for sticking with the story. Your response is heart-warming and I really appreciate it. About this chapter, I don't have too much to say other than some of you probably saw this coming. Also, I want to warn you that there will be violence, death, and bloodshed. On that happy note, I shall end the preface and let the chapter begin.

Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 7:**

It was well past midnight and the star-filled heavens were all but blocked from view due to the billowing, menacing storm clouds that brewed forebodingly on high. As was wont to happen on such occasions before a storm, a thick dense fog accompanied by a merciless frigid chill prevailed through the air rendering an all together dismal and ominous atmosphere.

Nonetheless, the guards of Fort Hellgrind did not seem to object. Perhaps it was the pile of glimmering gold coins in the centre of the table and the cards in their hands. Their beady, shifty eyes betrayed their gleeful joy although it was more like a lust as they eyed the coins up for gambling and while more than one of them mulled over the notion of simply ending the game and taking the coin for themselves.

Unfortunately, that would most likely end in a nasty brawl since the guards were all in a half-drunken state of mind or rather, the lack of one. Their senses were bogged down in a blurry stupor and they could hardly think straight. Their eyes were mostly fastened on each other and the coins or the occasional elf maiden unlucky enough to be the one to refill their mugs of ale.

Being large burly fellows with wide girths and meaty arms, they failed to recognize the cold. But it seemed that their lack of recognition also supplied that they were a bit dull in the head or slightly deaf whether due to their drunken stupor or otherwise. For none of them heard the cantering of hooves until it was quite too late and when they did the site that greeted their eyes seemed much larger and fiercer than it actually was.

What they saw exactly would have been disputed had there been a more favourable outcome to the incident in their regard, but luck was not with them tonight and this was indeed apparent by the stranger who approached them unchecked through the gates. The guards on duty must have fallen asleep or been busy making use of the slaves since the stranger received no quarrel as he casually rode into the courtyard of the fort they were hired to protect.

But all such thoughts vanished as their dulled minds raced back and forth with doubts, worries, and fear as the stranger's unusual outfit took effect. They watched a trifle nervously as the stranger cantered into the fort on a black steed with dark eyes and a black leather saddle. The stranger himself was dressed entirely in black, making his suit of silver-plate armour appear seamless as if it was fashioned in one piece and not several. His helm had a visor that was covered leaving a thin slit for his eyes which were shadowed but glinted eerily in the light of the torches on the wall and the small fires in the stone urns. The stranger wore the armour as if it was a part of him, as if they were one the same. A massive lethal-looking long-sword was strapped to his back although it was clearly a lighter, one-handed weapon, oddly enough, and a kite-shaped shield without a coat of arms was attached to the saddle. Another thing that caused them to grow apprehensive was that the stranger did not hold the reigns when he rode the black stallion. Instead, they were placed comfily in his lap as if he was an expert rider which made them think he was some kind of knight or a fierce warrior. Needless to say, the inky black armour without coat of arms or emblem sent the warning bells ringing. The armour looked as if it was forged in the fires of the Underworld itself. But the guards were fighters themselves and did not want a single warrior to scare them into submission as he was obviously trying to. So instead, one of the braver and more reckless of the gang stood up quickly hoping to startle the mounted warrior, slamming his chair aside as he did so.

"Halt in the name of Lord Durza!" The guard roared. "Who are you and where do you hail from?"

"I go by many names," The stranger said simply.

"Well give me one of them," The guard spat. "So that I can at least know half of the man I am going to kill."

Despite his closed helm, the stranger seemed to give the guard a feral smile as if he was completely used to this behaviour and not afraid in the slightest. Needless to say, this sent chills down his spine but he shoved his doubts brutally aside and picked up a large war axe that was resting by his chair as a warning.

"Men call me the Black Prince, the Knight of Chaos, the Lord of Shadow and Flame, the Blade of Destiny," The stranger drawled. "The list grows on but I tire of your word games. Feigned hospitality clearly does not suit brigands like yourselves. Now tell me something in return: Who amongst you is your leader?"

"And why do you wish to know?" The guard standing up asked gruffly since the others were too terrified to say anything. _Wimps!_

"So I may know who to kill first!" The stranger retorted, spreading his arms wide in a mock welcoming gesture.

The guard did not believe this dark-armoured warrior was capable of delivering on his threat. He was also feeling in a spiteful mood and since none of the cowards dared put the bastard in his place, he felt it was his duty to do so. After all, the son of a bitch was ruining their fun and after this pathetic game the guard was wanted to try out one of the new slaves they brought in recently.

"I am!" He bellowed, roaring with laughter.

Finally snapping out of their reverie, the other guards echoed the standing guard's laughter, raising their fists in the air eager for a challenge.

But before any of them could react, the dark-armoured warrior leapt nimbly off his steed, slid his sword out of its sheath with an eerie hiss and lashed out swiftly. In one fluid motion, the long glinting blade plunged into the guard's belly piercing through his coarse brown tunic and suit of chainmail. The guard's laugh turned to a gurgle, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

He didn't even have time to scream as the stranger pulled his sword out of the man's belly and let him topple to the ground. He fell limp resulting in an unearthly silence. All that could be heard was the war horse whinnying and stomping as if it knew that trouble was ahead. As one being, the guards gazed downwards with pure shock etched on their face.

Their mouths agape, they stared incomprehensively at their fallen comrade until it registered in the ruffians' minds that the poor brute was dead. As shock faded to understanding it transformed to momentary confusion and then rage. The stranger seemed to expect this for he had quietly pulled his black shield off the horse and patted its flanks softly but firmly causing the animal to neigh and bolt away in panic.

He now stood at the ready with his shield out protectively and his sword pointed flat at the guards whose faces were purple with fury. As their anger brewed, it finally exploded into action propelling them forward. They roared battle cries and vows of vengeance as they pulled out their weapons which consisted of clubs, iron maces, pikes, daggers, and axes. Swords were expensive to make so the simple hirelings possessed the cruder and harsher weapons.

The warrior seemed to count on this for he swerved to the sided as a guard swung a mace at him and lashed out with his sword. It didn't slice clean through the man's abdomen but rather got stuck half-way. The warrior grunted as he dislodged his sword from the man who fell limply aside screaming in pain. A kick to his temple with his metal boot knocked him out but almost caused the warrior to get hit by a mace that lunged for his head.

Eragon blocked the mace with his shield just in time and winced as the blow made him stagger backwards slightly. He pushed forward twice with his shield making the guard slip in his stance. Steeling himself, Eragon bashed his left arm with the shield and hacked at his mace-arm with the sword. The man toppled over with a cry of pain. Eragon couldn't do anything for him though since another soldier rushed up to him swinging two smaller war axes.

"I'll gut you like a pig, you bastard!" He shrieked, spitting in his fervour.

Eragon grimaced and ducked from side to side, avoiding the axe blow right and left. But the warrior was persistent and his arms moved in a whirl as he flung his axes about wildly, not being weighed down by a shield. Running out of time, Eragon caught the axes on his shield and stabbed his sword downwards, penetrating the man's throat.

The young dragon rider hacked and slashed furiously as soldiers rushed at him. Once his concentration almost slipped and he nearly got his arm chopped off, taking a thin slice on his shoulder instead. It hurt like hell and his vision swam with red as he cut through the soldiers rapidly.

Nothing else mattered to him now as he poured all of his bottled, pent-up rage into the fight. All of his anger at the Empire, its barbaric traditions, having to buy a slave, being taught by a slave, and now Durza.

It was akin to dancing with death as Eragon whirled around gracefully and fluidly as only experience, not training, would make one master. It was nasty business but happened faster than Eragon expected. All too soon, it was over and the young man dropped to his knees.

Gasping and panting for breath, Eragon struggled not to pass out as he heard a plaintive whimper from the shed beside the main keep of the fort. Struggling to his knees, he whispered "_**Waíse heill"**_ in the Ancient Language and sighed in relief as he felt the pain in his shoulder slipping away despite the itching it rendered.

Feeling stronger and better, he renewed his grip on his sword in case there were any other guards about. But this was a small fort compared to most and only consisted of a small cave-like house in the centre of the stone wall which was accessed by a wooden door and some steps. There was a wooden ladder that led up to the flat, fenced-in roof and a few wooden sheds outside also surrounded by the stone wall.

It was in one of these that Eragon heard the whimpering and mustered up all his courage for the cry sounded desperate and pleading. As the adrenalin rush of battle cleared, he knew instantly where the sound was coming from and feared the worst but hoped for the best. Sucking in a deep breath, he quickened his pace and stepped over the dead bodies trickling with dark blood.

Upon reaching the door, he found it unlatched. Closing his eyes momentarily, he summoned up all his bravery and courage knowing he would need it. Giving himself a mental shake, he kicked the door open and staggered back seconds later. A revolting, putrid stench assaulted his nostrils and he quickly covered his nose with his mailed hand, placing his shield on the ground by the door.

Sword lowered but ready, he stepped gingerly inside and peered around struggling to adjust to the dimly lit hut. His blood boiled as his eyes fell on a wall of bars blocking off one side of the hut. The cage was filled near to the brim with elves most of them sickly-looking and the majority women. There were a few men but they were younger and there were even a few children, although mostly girls.

Eragon fought down the vomit that threatened to dislodge itself from his stomach at the disgusting sight. It wasn't the elves that bothered him but how they were treated. All of them had hand-cuffs on. They were filthy and covered nearly from head to toe in soot and grime. Most had bags under their eyes and all looked exceptionally tired and hopeless.

The sound of whimpering did not come from them though but from the opposite corner of the room. Eragon whirled around, bracing himself, only to grimace in disgust and hatred as he saw a scrawny-looking guard cowering on the floor in the corner. He was hiding under a table that contained chains, manacles, and other tools of torture that he tried his best to ignore, especially since the table and walls around it were stained with blood.

"Please don't hurt me!" The man squeaked. "Please! I beseech you, oh great one! I will tell you everything you want to know."

Clenching his jaw, Eragon sheathed his sword and marched over to the man. Burning with fury, he yanked him by the feet and pulled him out from under the table. The man wailed in fear and slight pain as he was dragged against the cobblestone floor.

Eragon ignored his cries for mercy and gripped his arm instead, shoving him up viciously against the wall especially close to a flickering torch that was hung there. The man's eyes were wide with fear as they darted back and forth between the torch and Eragon who was trying his best not to strangle the wimp to death.

"Where is the trader who was stationed here?" Eragon hissed. "Why has he not come as his master commanded and where has he gone? Are there more elves coming here?"

"Yes, yes!" The man gasped, nearly choking in panic. "He has gone to Dras-Leona for a conference with the Council of Traders and I overheard rumours about a recent development with Lord Durza he was supposedly involved with. The trader is set to return by the Western Pass in three days time."

"You lie," Eragon growled, making the man squirm.

"Of course not!" The man stammered. "Why would I do such a thing when my life is on the line?"

"Because there is no Western Pass you idiot!" Eragon barked, punching the guard in the gut.

With his mailed fist it only added to the man's pain and discomfort.

"Alright, alright!" He sobbed. "I'll tell you everything you need to know but promise me one thing."

"What?" Eragon drawled, not trusting the guard in the slightest.

"A quick and painless death?" The man asked. "I don't even want to think about what would happen to me if my master found out."

"Deal," Eragon sighed. "Now tell me quickly. I haven't much time."

The man nodded mournfully and told Eragon where the trader really was. Apparently, he was residing in a brothel located not far away in a small town. Having made a lot of coin in selling the imprisoned elves, he was feeling rather content with himself and decided to relax.

His worst mistake.

Eragon grinned inside his helm and dropped the man, turning aside to free the elves. His mind awhirl with plans and ideas, he failed to notice the man scramble for a dagger.

"Master Elberith!" One of the female elves cried fearfully. "Look out!"

Eragon swerved just in time as the guard stabbed at his back with an angry cry. Being too far away from his sword, Eragon grasped the man by the shoulders, lifted him up, and slammed him down on the cobblestone floor.

It all happened in seconds leaving Eragon no time to brace himself as a sickening crack confirmed his plan worked: The treacherous guard had split his skull on the hard stone floor. Eragon tossed his now limp body aside in disgust and the dagger fell out of his hand, clattering loudly to the ground.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon pulled himself to his feet. He picked up the sword and smashed its hilt against the iron lock on the cage door. Some of the elves winced as the lock was obliterated but they all cheered weakly, being feeble from their mistreatment, as the door opened and Eragon ushered them all out.

He spent the next few hours healing them all as much as they were able and asking them how they fared and if there were any more guards inside the main of the fort along with any more prisoners. Luckily, there were none since all the guards were deathly bored of this assignment and had finally gotten together for a game of drinking and gambling when Eragon intercepted them.

However, one of the more pretty female elves told Eragon that while being used in bed by the guard she had spotted what looked like plans or books of some sort. Perhaps they were records of more slaves. Since they had grown up in slavery they could not read but Eragon, being a nobleman's son, could and perchance he could figure out what to do next by reading those pages.

Eragon thanked all the elves and let them take control of the fort and take what they would from the dead soldiers. He had no need of any treasure that might be stored in the fort. His only goal was to free all the elf slaves primarily to get back at Durza for using Arya. He had won one victory but he knew that things wouldn't be so easy next time.

He would probably fail a few times if not several so he needed records and plans that would make his preparations easier. Lady Luck proved to be on his side once more for a quick search in the study which had a bed in it, obviously for the leader of the brutes, contained a couple maps, tomes, and records of slaves as well as markets and everything.

Eragon would need a small army to free them all and, sadly, he did not have that. He didn't know what he could do but by taking the items with him they would surely prove useful. One thing was for certain though: Eragon needed a story to tell Saphira and his parents.

He had rushed off during the party in the heat of the moment, throwing caution to the wind. He threw on the black armour, grabbed the nearest horse he could find and raced off to Fort Hellgrind having found out from a drunken nobleman where it was located which was surprisingly close by. Subsequently, he had blocked off his mind link to Saphira so he knew she would be angry even though she had been consuming a few barrels of mead.

He would have to think fast but dawn was coming and he had to hurry before he aroused suspicion. If he got out of the armour fast enough, he could say that he had just gone for a morning ride to clear his head having drunk more than a few goblets of wine in front of witnesses. It was as good a tale as any so with that thought in mind, he departed from the fort keep and sat astride one of the horses in the fort stables.

He was so caught up in his scheming that he had completely forgotten about the elf slaves he rescued. So when he was just at the gate, he was shocked and nearly toppled off his saddle to hear the elves cheer. Naturally, this caused the horse to rear in fright but posed a dashing look since the first rays of dawn pierced the gray morning sky causing him to look like a hero out of legend as his horse reared on its hind legs and Eragon raised his sword in order to keep balance, which he had got back along with his shield.

He got the horse under control hastily and turned back momentarily at the elf slaves. Every single one of them were gathered in a semi-throng in the courtyard beside a pile of dead rotting soldiers. The elves were dressed better now and cleaned up somewhat having a few hours to themselves whilst Eragon was preoccupied with research.

He could now see why they had once been called the Fair Folk for now without the grime and sorry looks that often clothed them like an extra garment, they looked glorious to behold. Instantly the beautiful face of Arya staring desperately at him swam unbidden before his eyes and he choked back a sob.

Wanting to return home swiftly so as to learn of her fate, Eragon sheathed his sword, strapped his shield to his saddle, and raised his armoured fist to his chest in salute. He bowed low and respectfully before taking grip of the reigns. He looked on in shock as all of the elves fell in a ripple to their knees before him.

They watched him in sheer, unmasked joy and happiness as he bowed shortly one last time before rearing again and galloping off into the distance, their loud cheering reverberating in his mind.

Eragon did not feel proud of himself but if there was ever anything in his useless, tome-filled life he could be satisfied and proud of, it was this. And for once, he felt like had a destiny to fulfil. And he would not rest until it was finished utterly and completely, or die trying.

**TO BE CONTINUDE...**

**A/N:** Like it? Love it? Hate it? Comment and critique so I can make this even better yet!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Just singing the same old song – _The Inheritance Cycle_ does NOT belong to me!

**A/N 01:** What someone mentioned about chapter 9 was a mistake. Sorry about that! On accident I posted this chapter 3 times for some crazy reason, lol. My computer kind of snapped or something. Anyhow, there's only chapter 8 written I believe. Again, sorry to disappoint you about that but chapter 9 and all will come in time. Also, about Durza I am not sure how far he'll have gone with Arya. It's an intense story though so things can't all be sunshine and butterflies but I'll try not to make it too awful. I'm not sure though. Anyhow, moving on...

**Author's Note:** Glad you all liked the chapter since I was a bit uncertain about posting it due to the violence and the recent flare in the TOS inflictors who seem to be upping the site rules. It wasn't too violent I hope although there were some kind of intense parts, I guess. Anyhow, I want to thank you all for your fantastic response as it's music to my ears and almost like a good cup of coffee when I can't stay awake any longer. But enough babbling! I don't have too much to say in the way of an A/N other than Eragon will have a confrontation with Brom as well as Saphira. So without any further ado, allow me to present you with the next episode of "M&S!"

**CHAPTER 8:**

It was about midday when Eragon trotted on his weary horse into the main courtyard of the estate. The sun was high above him and its sweltering heat beat down without mercy. Luckily for him, he had doffed his armour and shoved it in an old sack which he charmed with magic to hide the clanking of metal and chainmail so none would know what the sack contained. That would have been a dead give-away and already he needed a convincing cover story.

However, he had more important things on his mind, the first and foremost of which was none other than the most important person in his life right now: His elf slave, Arya. Odd how that worked out since only days ago he was frustrated at her for having to tutor him. But now in the wake of Durza's drunken nastiness, he ached for her and just wanted to know if she was alright. It was strange how close they got during training, as if they were companions, or more.

But now, that damned Durza might have stripped that all away from him without a second thought. Eragon should have stopped him. He should have said something along the lines that him actually owning Arya vetoed Brom's commands. But Brom was the Lord and owner of the estate so in a way he owned everything that Eragon owned especially since Eragon was his son. Yep. That's how things worked and Eragon hated it.

The young man heaved a sigh as his horse slowed to a halt and finally came to himself realizing that there was a crowd of servants and a few guards standing in attention. Even Selena was there and looking worriedly at him. Eragon realized that he had been so caught up in his stupor that he hadn't noticed the lush beauty of the estate, nor that he was even home for that manner.

He knew it, in the back of his mind, but it was a vague unimportant realization in comparison to what Durza might have done to Arya and how he could have and should have stopped it. Instead, he had gallivanted off to a nobleman's fort in the dead of night and slaughtered all his hired minions releasing the elves who would most likely loot, burn, and pillage the Empire wherever they could once they had fully regained their strength.

They would probably make their way to the elvish resistance in the northern forests, the records had mentioned this briefly, and bolster the rebellion. But Eragon knew that the true downfall of the Empire would be its arrogant and steadfastness in the old ways. Change was needed to wash out and cleanse the stagnant filth that polluted their civilization.

If things weren't put to right, it would be the end of the world before he could even say dragon. Fortunately for him, the apocalypse would have to wait due to the huge wooden doors of the manor house bursting open and an all too familiar person rushing out of them and hastening down the steps. Eragon's blood boiled in sheer rage as he saw the dignified posh form of Brom who looked positively furious at him.

"Eragon, my boy!" He called imperiously. "We have been searching all over for you. The whole place was in an uproar. We..."

Brom didn't have time to finish his sentence for Eragon had swiftly dismounted his horse while Brom was ambling down the stars and strode over to him.

Eragon's clenched fist flew into Brom's face before the man even stopped walking.

The gathered crowd gasped and Selena cried out in shock and horror. Brom staggered backwards, clutching his face in surprise and pain. He looked up at Eragon in stunned disbelief, his mouth agape and his eyes fearful.

Eragon ignored him.

Instead, he clenched his hands, one on his sword hilt which was drawn slightly, and took a step backwards glaring daggers at his father.

"What were you thinking?" Eragon seethed, hissing in rage.

The crowd hushed although the guards bristled, keeping their spears at the ready and bracing their shields in case a fight broke out.

A few moments later, the door to an upper balcony opened and a sleepy-looking Murtagh stumbled out followed by a bleary looking Nasuada. If the situation weren't so dire, Eragon would have broken out into a smug grin and immediately pestered them for details.

But now he was focusing all of his rage at Brom working together with that bastard and even lending out his elf to him. Eragon didn't even know if Arya was still alive!

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" He roared, yanking Brom by the shirt towards him. "How dare you let that snake anywhere near her? Is she still alive even? Is she even sane after what that merciless bastard inflicted upon her?"

Brom's face was white as a sheet and he was trembling slightly, too shocked to form a coherent sentence. Eragon tossed Brom aside in disgust and slid out his sword holding it toyingly in his hand.

He had just experienced his first battle and come out of it mostly unscathed except for a minuscule scar that would remain on his shoulder. He didn't care about that though but the strength and boldness the knowing of that victory gave Eragon was enough to propel him into action.

The young Dragon Rider thought he heard someone calling his name and glanced upwards to see Murtagh shocked and worried being hushed up by Nasuada who was peering down at Eragon mournfully as if she had been expecting this but was helpless to intervene.

Finally, Brom seemed to find his voice.

"What in the name of the Empire are you talking about my son?" The old man asked rapidly, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Eragon grimaced.

Brom should _not_ have said that.

"The Empire did not let Durza violate my elf," Eragon whispered hoarsely, pointing his sword dangerously at Brom. "_You _did."

"I don't understand," Brom rambled. "I wasn't there. I..."

"And you never are!" Eragon cried in frustration. "You are never there when I need a father to talk to. It's always, Lord this and Lord that. I have duties to fulfil and meetings to attend. You are the heir of the estate Eragon and you have to learn to do your job. You must adhere to the laws of the land and fulfil the ancient traditions that have shaped us as who we are. It is a great debt we owe the Empire against the tyranny of the elves!"

All this time, the guards were inching closer to Eragon, their spears trained on him. Murtagh looked panicky and even Nasuada seemed scared but was trying to hide it.

The serving girls were sobbing and the menservants looked full of trepidation and anxiety. The few nobles who had managed to drag themselves out of bed and ignore their hangovers looked simply confused and utterly lost as if they didn't know what in the blazes was going on here.

All this time, Eragon had been pacing back and forth his arms spread wide as he ranted. His sword flying and twisting back and forth as he unwittingly practiced the moves Arya taught him.

Finally, he stopped with his back turned to Brom. His back was hunched and the tip of his long blade was planted firmly on the ground. Brom's hand was hovering over a ceremonial dagger that was attached to his belt and glanced up desperately at Murtagh as if pleading for him to lend a hand.

Murtagh could only shake his head sadly, remorsefully, and continually while Nasuada tried to restrain him. The party was supposed to celebrate their union and now it had all spiralled out of control.

Time seemed to crawl by as Eragon simply stood there, hunched over and his chest heaving as if waging an inner war with his conflicting emotions. A side seemed to have won though, for he turned around at an excruciatingly slow pace.

His sword was tucked under his arm and he was still hunched, breathing deeply as if shouldering a heavy burden. But it was the look in his and the feral, evil grin on his face – the smile of a maniacal madman.

The guards froze as they gazed at Eragon in shock and worry. Everyone else looked at Eragon as if he had grown a second head and Brom gazed upon him as if he had seen him for the first time.

Eragon didn't seem to care though.

Instead, he held up his right arm and the guards hunched, bracing themselves, as if Eragon was about to punch Brom in the face again. Instead, Eragon slipped off the glove he wore and tossed it violently at Brom's feet.

Brom's jaw practically hit the floor and everyone gasped in shock. Selena's sobbing was renewed a hundred fold and Nasuada cried out in protest. Murtagh looked in aghast and Brom could not believe his eyes.

He glanced down slowly at the glove and looked back at Eragon who was standing in a fighting position, holding his sword with both hands tilted flat towards him as if to attack at any moment.

"Pick it up," Eragon growled.

Brom said nothing as he fingered his dagger, a myriad of emotions flashing across his eyes.

"Pick up the glove you heartless bastard," Eragon hissed. "At least do me this one kindness for what you let happen to Arya. I want to see how well you fight before I kill you. Or are you a coward as well?"

Brom's face was dumbstruck and he moved in slow motion but he stooped low nonetheless ignoring the cries of protest from the guards and servants. A look of pure remorse on his face, he picked up the glove and held it to his chest in salute.

"I accept your challenge," Brom said tonelessly. "But Eragon..."

He didn't even have time to finish his sentence, for Eragon was mad with rage. His imagination got the better of him concerning Arya's fate. He was so angry with the Empire, what happened to the elves, and now was reminded about his elf who suffered horribly at the hands of Durza due to Brom's neglect and incompetence.

Roaring in fury, he lashed out at Brom. The old man swerved in the nick of time before he pulled out his gaudy ceremonial dagger that would probably shatter on impact and blocked a furious blow from Eragon.

The two blades clashed and the crowd drew back swiftly, gawking at the spectacle before them. Never before in the tales, ballads, myths, or legends had there been someone who cared so much about a mere _slave_ that he would be willing to fight his own father in a duel to the death.

It was unheard of and rumours were spreading like wild fire. Seemingly in seconds, the entire household and all the guests were awake. Eragon couldn't tell if Durza was there but Arya definitely wasn't and that only enraged the young man all the more causing him to renew his assault.

But while Eragon had his fury motivating him, Brom had experience and was a master swordsman in his time. He had even fought in the Dragon War, being recruited at a very young age due to the wartime draft, and so was an expert in blade-craft.

Needless to say, if Eragon wasn't so angry at Brom he wouldn't stand half a chance against Brom who had become a Lord after saving a higher-ranking lord's life on the battlefield.

He went easy on Eragon though since he didn't know what had gotten his boy so angry. He knew he wasn't the best of father but his duties to the Empire restrained him. Besides, he only ever wanted the best for his son which was why he had gotten him that damned elf in the first place.

Brom had only returned home at around nine in the morning and was shocked and afraid when he heard that Eragon had left some time in the night for reasons unknown and hadn't returned yet and now Eragon was actually fighting him. Why did he ever let that elf train his son? Had she turned him against him?

Both the man and the son's train of thought was interrupted, however, by a mighty roar. The beating of wings stirred up strong gusts of wind making them stagger and interrupting the fight. Seconds later, a spiky azure tail the size of a tree trunk smacked onto the marble floor of the courtyard, causing it to split apart like a miniature earthquake, between Brom and Eragon.

Both men glanced up in shock at the intruder while a shuddering sigh rippled through everyone else as they saw who had stopped the fight: Saphira.

Eragon looked on in shock at Saphira as the great blue she-dragon turned her serpentine body around kicking up dust and causing more marble to crack beneath her titanic paws. Eragon could only stare at Saphira in surprise as her large blue orbs peered down angrily at him and Brom.

Saphira wasn't done with the shocks though, and projected her voice for al to hear.

_What in the name of all that is good and holy is going on here, Little One?_ Saphira hissed.

Several people thought to snicker at Saphira's pet name for Eragon but thought better of it in the face of the giant dragon's unearthly wrath.

"It's my fault, oh dragon," Brom surprised them all by saying, his head hanging shamefully. "My neglect seemed to have caused a rift between us."

Saphira spared Brom a glance but seemed proud of him making Eragon bristle.

_I understand your rage Eragon,_ Saphira growled softly but warningly. _But it is not good to attack your father for something he wasn't even here to cause. _

"I don't care," Eragon spat. "He's always away when I need him. He should have had nothing to do with that bastard."

_Careful,_ Saphira warned. _Just because you are angry does not mean that you should forget who you are angry about. Dragons have cause to be angry at the elves. One questionable friendship will not change that. Besides, your actions have shown that elves are even more dangerous than we originally thought since that wench turned you against your own flesh and blood._

The rest of the crowd seemed to nod as one although Selena looked uncertain and wary, some of the watching people murmuring their assent. But Eragon wasn't listening. He was too angry and needed to get out of here fast and check up on Arya. He had already blown his cover and needed to calm down before he did something he would regret.

_Are you quite finished then?_ Eragon asked nonchalantly. _Because I have somewhere more important to be then listen to my own dragon hold a decades-old grudge. _

Saphira roared at Eragon and everyone was silent but the young man didn't care. Instead, he threw down his sword in disgust and the blade clattered on the marble floor with an eerie racket.

Adopting a mask of impassiveness that would rival Arya's, Eragon took a deep breath before bolting ignoring the cries and questions and taunts that followed.

**TO BE CONTINUED! **

**A/N:** Well there you go! Chapter 8 written and posted as promised. Seems my muse hasn't abandoned me entirely and I'm relieved since I rather enjoy writing this severe AU and, of course, I utterly enjoy your response.

A quick word about this chapter: The fight between Brom and Eragon was inspired by the episode of the BBC Merlin TV Series where Prince Arthur learns the truth about his heritage and attacks King Uther Pendragon because of it.

As for Saphira hating the elves, dragons are known to hold long grudges even in the canon books. Despite being an egg, Saphira hates the Empire from the moment she can talk and tells Eragon about that massacre of the Vroenguard or whatever. So I don't think it would be quite so strange for something like this to happen.

They will come around in time though and next chapter you will learn of Arya's fate. But enough rambling or I'll spoil the whole thing. So fair well for now and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to review and, of course, stay tuned for more!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** _The Inheritance Cycle_ does not belong to me and I make no profit from this!

**Author's Note:** So, long time; no see, I know but I ran into a writer's block and couldn't for the life of me figure out what to write next. Criminal of me, I know, but what can I say? Anyhow, you should all be happy to know that after all I am _not_ discontinuing this fic but attempting to finish it. After much internal debate, I decided to up the ante and continue with one version I had planned for the next chapter.

And while I really want to write a small paragraph after the end of this chapter, kind of like a cliff-hanger that you see in a movie that would totally spoil the ending. Instead, I'll just warn you that nothing is as it seems in this chapter or the one before it! But enough rambling or I'll ruin things for you. So without any further ado, allow me to present you with the long awaited chapter of "Master and Slave!"

P.S. Also, I should warn you that there's violence, strong language, and a couple gruesome descriptions in this chapter along with a character death. Enjoy! :)

CHAPTER 9:

The door to the healer's wing of the manor house burst open and an angry young man stormed through. A raging fire burned in his normally weary brown eyes and his tousled brown hair was matted and tangled. He was drenched in a cold sweat and his chest was heaving rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath and calm himself lest his fury and panic result in a heart-attack. The sight that greeted his eyes, however, did little good in that regard though for there, lying on a small cot in the corner of the chamber was a certain elf whom he worried about.

And she lay limp as if dead, her body cold-looking and grey. Her previously ivory-white skin was horribly disfigured and completely marred with bruises, scars, and open wounds. Her once-lovely long black hair was chopped crudely off to give her a man's cut. Her gorgeous green eyes stared blankly and unseeingly into the distance. A distraught-looking healer was kneeling at her side and just about to close her eyelids. A burial shroud was ready at her feat for the inevitable.

For a moment, Eragon stood there, frozen with shock and horror. A cold hand of fear gripped his chest as he stared disbelievingly at Arya's mangled form. Then, reality came crashing down around him and an agonized cry was torn from his throat.

"Noooooooo!" He wailed and rushed over to Arya, uncaringly shoving aside the male healers who tried to prevent him from passing.

"Milord, it's too late," One of them protested. "There's nothing we can do to stop her!"

"Shut the fuck up, bastard!" Eragon roared, all sense and logic thrown to the wind.

Terrible, horrendous visions of Durza torturing and maiming and raping Arya flashed red in his mind's eye as he collapsed to his knees. Finally, he cracked and sobbed bitterly as he picked up the deceased elf into his arms.

Too distraught to care about what anyone thought at the present moment, he crashed his lips to hers in the hope that a kiss might wake her up. As a child, his mother had told him fairy tales about how a prince in shining silver armor would awaken a princess in disguise from a curse cast by an evil villain.

Now, Eragon realized, albeit too late, that Arya was his princess and that he loved her enough to awaken her from a curse, no matter how terrible and dark, with the pure power of his love. But the curse of death was too strong and the hatred that inflicted it upon this hapless victim was too cruel to be undone.

Eragon could not awaken his princess and she would have to pay for it with her life. But another foolish soul would also pay. Eragon would hunt Durza down and skin the demon alive. He would torture him for millennia until his thirst for vengeance was cursed. At first it was about the injustice about the elves' mistreatment and slavery but now it was personal.

He did not know Arya too long but in the short while they spent with one another Eragon realized he cared about the elf more than he knew at the time, more than he allowed himself to believe. Their petty squabbles about race and social standing were pathetic now and he wished he had showed Arya that he cared about her more than he had in his brief time with her.

He wished a lot of things, that he had stood up to Durza that night and thrashed the demon within an inch of his life. He was a Lord's Heir and a Dragon Rider. The latter alone gave him the divine right to slay Durza for even a small offence. But he hadn't been thinking right and everything happened so fast.

Now the love of his life had been brutally cut down and he had nothing worth to live for. True there was Saphira and his parents but he didn't connect with them as much as he did with Arya. He supposed it was that they were always at odds about the elvish slavery but Arya felt like his soul mate whereas Saphira was more of a companion. Companions could be replaced if lost but a piece of your soul could not and Arya's death was devouring him from the inside.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the door slammed open and metal boots crashed against the cold marble floor. Teary, red-eyed, Eragon glanced up listlessly still cradling the limp form of Arya in his arms and rocking back and forth. Nothing else matter anymore and he cared not for the consequences of his open affection.

"Eragon," A voice said softly. "Eragon!"

"What?" The young man spat, trembling from grief.

Someone pried Arya from his arms and forced him to stand. Eragon struggled but was too weak to protest especially after an entire night of riding on horseback and a vicious battle. That coupled with no sleep, his encounter with Durza, his duel with his father in the morning and the death of his beloved Arya made him a mental wreck.

"My son," The voice said tenderly and Eragon realized it was his mother who was staring at him sadly, tears welling up in her own eyes. "My poor, poor boy. What ill luck has befallen you that you might suffer a cruel fate such as this."

"Mother," Eragon whispered hoarsely and fell into her arms, his tears renewed.

"Eragon," Serena whispered soothingly and held her soon tight. "It pains me to tell you this, my dear boy, but your reputation has worsened from your public display this morning."

"So what?" Eragon hissed. "I don't give a flying fuck who cares. Let them rot."

"The law cares," Saphira said sadly. "And it has observed your hatred for the elvish slavery for a long time. The authorities have been watching you and waiting for the perfect moment to strike and crush all possible seeds of rebellion. They do not wish to return to the old ways where the elves could be restored to their former glory and gain their revenge against mortals for their demise. Spies have already sent word to the Empire and word has reached mine own ears through my personal network that Empiric soldiers are on the move to capture you and bring you to justice for threatening the life of a Lord and preaching treachery. You are not safe here."

"Well, bring it," Eragon growled, stepping back from his mother and drying his eyes roughly with his sleeve. "Let them burn me at the stake so that I might join my beloved in the Void."

"Don't speak like that, my son," Selena plead, clutching Eragon's hands desperately. "Arya would not have wanted you to die. She was a good soul and would have wanted you to move on in case of her death and enjoy life. She would hate you should you beat yourself up for her death. You know that."

Eragon was torn as he glanced at the form of Arya who was being covered with the burial shroud by a healer.

He didn't want to believe his mother.

He wanted to ride out to Durza and challenge him to public combat, a duel to the death. But if he openly supported the elves, he knew it would end badly for his family.

His father was a war hero and had many friends in high places amongst the Dwarves, the Varden (the army of the humans that he started himself), and the dragons whom he convinced to make peace with the humans and elves.

However, he had just as many enemies and they were always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and crush the man they hated the most. Eragon's public display this morning gave them the perfect opportunity to rise up against him. The law was on their side.

But Eragon knew that if he was captured and sentenced to death, it would break his father. For no matter his faults, Eragon secretly knew his father loved him and did care about him. If he died, it would ruin his father who would blame his mother for it. The marriage would shatter and his father would do something rash.

That would put Murtagh and his recent wife in jeopardy along with all the good souls who worked on the estate. The estate would either be burned to the ground or taken over by some higher lord who could buy it from the authorities.

Whatever the case, Eragon was already an outlaw and would be hunted down for the rest of his life. He knew what his mother was telling him and what he had to do but he could not find it in his heart to do it.

"Are you telling me…" Eragon croaked. "To run away? To run and hide like a coward?"

"Yes!" Selena wept. "I do not want it more than you do but it is for the best. Keep your head low until this has all died down and wait out the storm. Then when the Empire is weak and complacent, you can reap your revenge. Search for a man called Tenga. He is an eccentric hermit in the woods but he knows more about vengeance than any man in their right mind should. Tell him to remember the favor he owes the Pale Lady and he will take you under his wing. Obey him and you will be stronger for it. Now go, run, and do not turn back until this has passed. There are dark times ahead of you, my son, but you will survive. You will make Arya and me proud. I love you, my son."

Then Selena kissed him on the forehead and Eragon struggled to react but his mind was a whirl of chaos and confusion. He was shivering like a mad thing and sweating and panting. He tried to move, to run, but his legs were fixed to the ground.

For the third time, the doors flung open although this time they crashed to the ground as a battering ram smashed through the flimsy wood.

"Seriously?" One of the healers whined. "_Again_?"

"Silence!" A harsh voice barked as dozens of armed troops bearing the emblem of the Empire charged in and score of spears pointed at Eragon.

"No!" Selena gasped, her face white as a ghost.

The crowd of jeering, taunting soldiers parted almost in slow motion making way for an arrogant person to swagger in.

"You!" Selena cried in shock and horror.

Eragon looked on uncertainly as a man who bore a striking resemblance to Murtagh stepped forward. He was dressed all in black and carried a blood-colored sword in his hands. With a fancy whirl he pointed it forward at Eragon and tossed a vicious smirk to Selena.

"Greetings, mistress," He crooned, giving her a mock bow. "We meet again. You look cold and unsatisfied since we last met. But since your bed is warmed by Brom it's no wonder. Tell me, is he better than me? I'm sure I can fix that if you wish considering the trouble your son has put your husband in."

"Mother?" Eragon asked hoarsely, glancing from Lord Morzan to Selena.

His mother's lips moved but no sound came out and she stared as if she had seen a ghost.

"Who are you?" He asked Morzan in confusion.

He had heard the man's name somewhere but he couldn't put his finger on it. The memory failed him.

"Murtagh never told you?" The Lord smirked, glee visible in his cold dark eyes.

"Told me what?" Eragon asked irritably.

Something felt wrong. He didn't know what but the fine hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end as if something bad was about to happen, not like it could be worse than…

"Morzan, please," Selena whispered demurely, in a way that sounded not quite right to Eragon considering he never even heard of this brute before. "Hasn't my boy already gone through enough? He doesn't need to know!"

"That's _Milord _to you, whore!" Morzan bellowed.

Selena gasped a sob and, burying her face in her hands, fled from the room.

"Know what?" Eragon growled, feeling increasingly uneasy.

His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, ready to whip it out in a moment's notice should the need arise. And judging by the bristling soldiers who were impatient for action, violence looked eminent.

"That your mother was my mistress before your father stole her away from me," Morzan drawled, in a bored tone.

"Liar!" Eragon protested, his fingers gripping the handle of his sword until his knuckles went white.

"Oh?" Morzan asked, his voice dripping with contempt, and arching an eyebrow. "Tell me, why does your _brother_ look so similar to me? Why do your parents argue all the time? Why did your whore of a mother act like she knew me?"

"Shut the hell up!" Eragon roared, but he knew it was true.

His parents always squabbled over something or another and he never quite got along with Murtagh. There was always something different about them, something that had kept him dethatched from his family and buried in his manuscripts, tomes, and scrolls.

It was that separation that prevented him from forming a true bond with his dragon and made him feel inferior to others and hate the social crowd that so often filled his home. It all made sense now but Eragon did not want to believe it and he said as much, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Morzan.

"Get away from me, you ilk," He warned. "I'll not hesitate to run you through and slay all your men."

For a split second, all that could be heard was his rapidly-beating heart and ragged breath. Then the guards burst into raucous laughter and Morzan joined them. When the ruckus died down one of them squeaked.

"With you and whose army?"

Everything was happening in slow motion for Eragon who was a second away from snapping due all the trauma and stress he was experiencing. Nonetheless, he could hear the distant flapping of dragon's wings and a female voice echoed throughout the chamber for all to hear.

_THIS ARMY!_

Then there was a deafening roar and the world exploded.

There was a sonic boom as the roof was rent open by the powerful hind legs of a dragon. Fire rained everywhere and men shrieked in pain as they were hit by rocks and burned alive.

"Curse you dragon!" Morzan screamed like a girl. "You are a traitor to your own kind!"

_No more than you, oath-breaker!_ Saphira retorted, directing her thoughts for all to hear.

Eragon blinked disbelievingly as his dragon picked him up by her claws and took off into the air.

Down below, it was total chaos.

Guards ran around frantically as they struggled to take control of the situation.

"Stop the traitor!" Morzan shrieked. "Stop him now, you idiots!"

"But Milord, a dragon!" One of the guards squeaked.

In answer, Morzan ran his sword through the poor man's gut, twisted it savagely, yanked it out and threw him to the floor. The man convulsed in pain and whimpered miserably.

"Anyone else have any questions?" Morzan barked, waving his bloody sword, dripping with one of their comrade's entrails.

As one body, they snapped out of their reverie and flung into action. Spears soared through the air narrowly missing Eragon and Saphira as said dragon served and dove from side to side to avoid the flying missiles.

A crackling noise emanated from below and Eragon's eyes widened in terror as an extra-fat soldier with a burnt, scarred face set an arrow on fire and notched it into a bow. He pulled the arrow back and shot it into the air. The flaming arrow hummed as it sped towards its target. Saphira jerked aside but was too late.

It caught onto Eragon's left leg and burst into flame. More arrows shot into the air as Morzan barked out orders maniacally. Eragon didn't even bother to stop his screams of excruciating pain. Luckily, they flew fast enough that the fierce wind from their flight put out the fire but the flames had ran their course and his leg was now a charred lump of useless flesh.

Unable to stay awake any longer, Eragon gradually lost consciousness and before he passed out he could vaguely see the soldiers swarming the manor. The shrieks of pain and terror from men, women, and children echoed in his mind even after he lost consciousness and the world went black.

**To Be Continued…**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Same rules apply!

**Disclaimer 2:** By the way, an idea I am using in this chapter comes from an alternate universe Eragon fic called Reversed Life. It's epic and I am simply borrowing the idea from the author and make no claim to it.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I know you guys are pissed at Arya's fate but like I said, not everything is as it seems and she probably won't be raped by Durza. Sadly, I haven't made up my mind yet. Originally, I wanted to make this a smut-filled crack-fic hence the slavery which was a good excuse for smut and Eragon's AU titles a good enough excuse to make him all badass and epic. Now, however, I want to make this a bit darker and brutal – kind of like a dark-lord Eragon fic like they have in the Harry Potter Fandom. There will still be humor but it will come in time and that time is not now. So I apologize for the changes and will be greatly saddened if that makes you stop reading this fic since I get nothing out of it but your reviews, advice, and feedback. But enough rambling and onto the story!

Chapter 10:

When Eragon woke up, he felt like half of him was missing. His body was on fire with pain and he felt like he couldn't sit up or stand straight even if he tried. His body felt unbalanced and uneven like something was twisted deep inside of him. His head ached and he fought to stay conscious. Speaking of which, he was greatly alarmed to feel several consciousnesses deep within him.

They were constantly pouring energy into his being and while it gave him strength, it also put him into a trance-like state as the constant source of energy hummed loudly in his head and made his insides feel warm and gooey. The outside of him was another cause for worry since he felt icy-cold to the touch. He felt like he was cocooned inside an icicle and panic rose in his chest as he realized he wasn't breathing.

_Eragon,_ A voice whispered wearily.

_Saphira?_ Eragon asked haltingly, even his own voice sounding cracked and hoarse like a decrepit old man's and not his own. _Saphira, my dragon, what has happened unto me?_

_Oh, Eragon!_ Saphira said mournfully and Eragon felt an over-powering sorry emanate from her side of the bond.

Strangely-enough, her half was far closer than ever before as if they were truly one the same and while that was undoubtedly a good thing; a needle of doubt pierced him.

You have been asleep many moons, my precious one, Saphira explained. Much has occurred and much has changed whilst you slumbered.

_How? What? I…don't understand, _Eragon stammered, his mind was chaos.

What was the last thing you remember? Saphira asked gently.

Eragon hesitated as he prodded the depths of his memory, desperately fighting to pierce the fog of forgetfulness that shrouded his mind.

At first, nothing happened and he was about to give up with a groan of despair.

But upon a burst of energy from Saphira, the fog abated and a myriad of visions flashed furiously before his closed eyelids. He felt dizzy simply _thinking_ about them. Gradually, he was able to latch onto one.

An elf's mangled form lay on a bed…

Lord Morzan was mocking his mother…

Savage hired thugs swarmed the estate, pillaging and raping as they went. The entire manor house…in flames…

He was flying through the air in the claws of a dragon, his dragon…

Pain lanced up his leg as a fire arrow grazed past it setting his limb ablaze…

The fire was soon put out but an intense excruciating pain filled his entire being…

For the longest time, there was nothing…

Energy filled him…

He was wrapped in steel…

Crude wires were attached to his body…

Nails were hammered into the steel around him…

The eerie sound of a heartbeat echoed in slow-motion for what felt like a hundred years…

Eragon awoke with a gasp.

His eyes shot open and he lunged up from the bed he sat on…

…only to snap back down onto his bed.

"Saphira!" Eragon growled aloud, writhing against the bonds. "Why am I chained?"

"Because we were afraid you would seek vengeance after learning what happened," A male voice floated into the room.

Eragon twisted his head around and instantly zeroed in on the speaker.

He was evidently an elf from his slim form, cat-like face, and pointed slender ears. He wore silver robes and leaned casually against the wall by the door.

Suddenly, Eragon's vision blurred as his brain sought out every single form of data he could about the male.

Strange green lights flashed in front of his eyes as a green circle in front of his eye zeroed in on the elf. A myriad of letters and numbers in a foreign language filled the air next to him, also in the strange green, semi-translucent color. They appeared and disappeared swiftly and more kept coming until Eragon knew nearly everything there was to know about the elf: His strengths and weaknesses, who he was, what he was, what he did, and what he intended. But there were two things kept from him that made him itch with frustration.

"Impressive," The elf smirked. "I see your new powers are awakening. You may be useful yet."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Eragon spat, the elf irked him already.

"When you escaped from the estate you were shot at," The elf began. "But the fire was not the least of your worries: The arrows were laced with a vicious poison. The flames were merely a distraction allowing the poison to run their course."

"Then how am I alive?" Eragon asked doubtfully, uncertain whether to believe the elf.

"Saphira brought you here and our greatest healers struggled to keep you alive," The elf explained. "You were in a comma for months as we attempted to clean your body of the poison. But alas, it had run too deep. Your body was as good as dead but your soul lingered."

"What do you mean?" Eragon asked, his heart thundering in his chest as his alarm grew.

"Do you know of the Eldunari?" The elf queried.

"Yes," Eragon retorted. "I have a great love of knowledge and study whatever I can get my hands on."

The elf simply nodded in acceptance.

"Then you must know that when a Dragon dies or is in pain they can remove their Eldunarya and give it to their Rider for safekeeping," The elf continued.

"Of course," Eragon said quickly, not liking where this was going at all.

"But I doubt you know that the same thing is possible with humans as well?" The elf asked with an eerie gleam in his eyes.

Eragon was about to deny that that was at all possible but then hesitated. He had buried himself in scrolls of arcane knowledge such as this and had come across brief mentions of it in passing, but they were merely myths and legends that spoke of an evil necromancer who decided that since humans were in plenty and easier to breed than dragons it would be far simpler to use their souls to boost his strength than that of a dragon.

However, when the elves learnt of this evil they quickly rose up against him and crushed the practice for an elf's soul was ten times more powerful than a human's or dwarf's and who would have known what would have happened if men began stealing the souls of the elves for power?

Gradually, the necromancer was forgotten as the elves purged his diabolical practice from the history books not wanting anyone else to do the same. But at the same time, they still allowed Riders to keep the souls of their dragons for safekeeping. Of course, that was largely due to the fact that a dragon and Rider would be bonded so fiercely that they would never dream of using the other's soul for evil.

"You see that I am telling the truth," The elf smirked, snapping Eragon out of his reverie.

"Yes," The rogue heir grumbled. "What of it?"

"As I said," The elf went on. "The poison had rooted into the fabric of your being too deep and we could not eliminate all of it at the risk of ending your life or making you too weak to live for very long."

"Then why am I still alive?" Eragon demanded, struggling to remain calm.

"It was a last resort," The elf said with a hint of sorrow in his voice. "It was your dragon who suggested it and we would have not even remotely considered it had she not brought it to our attention."

"Well?" Eragon snapped.

"In a forgotten era," The elf said haltingly. "During the days of Wild Magic before the Ancient Language was written, there lived a race called the Gray Folk. Who they were and what they did is now largely unknown but what is known is that they were immensely powerful. Anyhow, these Gray Folk dabbled in all sorts of things from Soul Bonds to Telekinesis and non-verbal magic. They tamed beasts that would frighten even a dragon and made discoveries that would make our whole world seem insignificant. It was these Gray Folk that discovered how to cheat death."

The elf paused, allowing his words to sink in.

Eragon had indeed heard of these legendary Gray Folk and he had no doubt that they existed, but now he was starting to wish they hadn't since all sorts of fears were assaulting his mind with this unusual tale.

"I cannot explain properly," The elf mumbled, hanging his head in shame. "You must see for yourself. But first, I demand an oath in the Ancient Language that you shall not seek vengeance or cause harm to us for attempting to save your life."

Eragon nodded uneasily and swore the oath.

Once the elf was satisfied, the bonds fell open with a _clank_ and Eragon rose stiffly from the bed. He stood in slow motion and watched in growing horror as he stepped in front of a large mirror that was placed before the bed.

For instead of where his appearance would normally be, there was, in his stead, the appearance of a man of metal.

He stood seven feet tall and was more muscular than a Kull. He had the head of a dragon and glowing yellow eyes stared back at him. He wore a breastplate and chainmail loincloth and there were two glowing circles on the palms of his metallic, claw-like hands.

Much to his disbelief, he felt not one but _two_ hearts beating in his chest.

Fumbling frantically, he unlatched the breastplate and let it crash to the ground. His mind raced as he saw two glowing crystals snug within his 'chest' attached to a viper's nest of silver wires that sparked and shimmered constantly.

One of them was intensely familiar and the other one he barely recognized.

_Saphira?_ Eragon asked uncertainly.

_Yes, my little one,_ The dragon said sadly. _Do not fear. I still live but my mortal form slumbers under a hibernation spell guarded by elves every hour. It was the only way to keep you alive and power your new form._

Eragon saw red and turned slowly but deliberately around to the elf.

Instantly, the queer letters appeared as he gauged all his weaknesses and the green circle zeroed in on the elf.

"Who…are…you?" Eragon growled, the orbs on his hands flickering as he fought not to let them explode.

Much to Eragon's surprise, the elf bowed low before him and gave one simple name in reply.

"Faolin."

**To Be Continued!**

**A/N 2:** Before you guys spam about this being non-canon, remember that creature who guards the Vault of Souls in the real book 4? If that's possible with a dragon why not with a human especially if he has another soul powering his body?


End file.

Inheritance Cycle, Angst, Romance