Burning Things (Eragon/Fasail)

[Harbor]

Aroure, for once, had very few disagreements with Fasail’s chosen endeavor for the day. She agreed that this would be the safer place for the small, fingernail-sized gems Fasail kept on her person to store energy she absolutely could neither use nor bear. Her only disagreement was that she believed Fasail ought not be the one to resituate them.

”If I am to be practicing magic,” Fasail said, not for the first time, as she trudged through the long grasses surrounding the Varden’s camp, ”then I ought to be doing it on myself.”

See I disagree. Why not practice magic around yourself instead? This is an unnecessary risk.”

”It is high time I stop avoiding all the things that frighten me,” Fasail firmly replied.

There’s a boulder in front of you. Go twenty degrees to your right for four paces and you’ll avoid it. Yes but why practice now only a dozen hours before a vast battle is about to erupt? You will be sorely needed tomorrow. Aroure flew a hundred feet above Fasail, wheeling in place to make sure her Rider didn’t unintentionally bring herself to unintentional harm.

Not in the way I wanted to be, Fasail thought, but didn’t share. Aroure already knew that part. She took her dragon’s advice and avoided the boulder. She could have found it herself, listening to the existences of the moss growing over it, if she had been paying attention. She had forgotten, again, to pay attention. ”I only just thought of this last night. I have spent the last dozen hours composing the spell that ought to work best, and a variety of others to correct it if something goes awry.”

Your judgment has failed you in the past.

”In the past I had more I could bear to lose.”

As loathe as I am to call you a fool I believe in this instance I may be warranted.

Fasail grimaced. ”That you may be. Am I out of sight of the camp yet?”

For humans. Possibly dwarves. I don’t know how their height changes their perception of the land.

Fasail sat without further ado and tugged the bottom of her loose shirt out of her trousers, unbuttoning her vest and sitting it aside. She had diverted as much of her energy of that day into her gems as she could, but the stones were small, and she had been diverting into them for decades. They couldn’t hold the energy properly anymore and remain stable; it was time she used some of it up. Her own stores were just low enough to grant her an easy, steady mind, but that wouldn’t be so once her spells had been cast—she would have to take the day’s energy back; the gems couldn’t hold it until the battle, they would begin to crack. Out of a tiny pouch hidden inside her belt Fasail tugged two small gems—a pair of sapphires, one indigo and one turquoise—and she balanced them lightly in her palm, going over the spell in her mind several more times. She heard, then felt, Aroure landing not far from her. Far enough to avoid any potential backlash from the spell, but not so far she couldn’t leap forward in an instant if she felt the need.

Fasail resolved herself. She pinched one of the gems and held it up for Aroure to see. ”Which is this one?”

The turquoise.

Fasail put it back into the pouch and retrieved the indigo. She threaded her hand up through her shirt and pressed the gem between the ribs a hand’s with above her elbow. Taking a breath, she murmured, ”Let the gem beneath my fingertip reside just underneath the skin between my ribs and outside all muscle.” She let it go.

The gem burrowed through her skin and Fasail leaped sideways with a howl, realizing immediately what her mistake had been. She felt the skin closing over the gem, gasping, and pressed firmly all over the area, stretching, to make sure the gem didn’t nick against her ribs. It didn’t, and could only just be felt from the outside.

You forgot to ask for it not to hurt, Aroure blandly remarked, but it was clear from her tone that she was relieved Fasail had made it through a spellcasting without causing herself any more permanent damage. Fasail hadn’t worked any magic more involved than a ward in years—not since she’d botched her sight. Will you be altering the spell for the second one?

Fasail righted herself and retrieved the turquoise sapphire. ”No. Now that I know the spell is functional I’ll just tolerate it.” She repeated the spell, cursing again. ”Damnation, tarnation, and exsanguinations!” she snarled. ”Bloody bollocks to it all.” She checked the area of that gem as well, glad they now were far less likely to be lost or stolen or even noticed, and straightened her shirt, unbuckling her pants to tuck it back in. ”Well that’s that done.”

Don’t forget to take your day’s worth back out.

Fasail whimpered. ”I don’t want to.” But she knew she had to, so she did, and immediately scowled down at the grass as she stood. Her bones were thrumming, she could feel them vibrating under her skin, heating as though made of iron left too long in the embers. ”This will be hell twice roasted.”

You should have begun looking for another suitable gemstone before yesterday then, Aroure smartly replied, and took back to the air to guide Fasail’s steps toward the camp. Fasail slid her arms back into her vest, buttoned it, then felt above the buttons for the needle and study thread she had pushed through the fabric and wound around the top button. Must you do that while you walk? Aroure wanted to know as Fasail swiftly braided her hair, wound it multiple times around her head and lumped it on top before very carefully threading the needle she held between her teeth and holding her hair in place.

Better than doing it while I run, Fasail replied, then took the threaded needle from her teeth and began sewing her hair firmly into place. Stitches were far better than pins when one didn’t know what the day ahead held. ”I should hate for it to be burned off at the ends if I can’t hold onto myself until when I’m needed.”
While stitching she rolled her head to crack her neck, feeling as though sparks danced between the joints. 

Aroure only sighed.



*Quetzal, you may make this at whatever particular time of day you feel is appropriate. It’s far enough before the battle that people aren’t yet rushing around making preparations. She’s also on her way back to camp, but if Eragon isn’t wandering around outside the camp he’s welcome to only greet her once she’s returned.
Also, her decided occupation during the battle is to assist the spellcasters by basically being a bottled up wealth of stockpiled energy awaiting their need. Fasail will have told him this already. 

[Quetzal]

There was a lot of work to do.

The battle was tomorrow morning. Now the waiting was over, many within the camp were starting to think that maybe waiting around hadn't been so bad after all. The city walls a safe distance away suddenly seemed a lot thicker and taller. The city itself was more menacing somehow. Every movement in the sky was an enemy dragon when looked at through the corner of the eyes. Any Varden dragons aloft were eyed with suspicion until the soldiers were quite sure they recognised them. Most had taken to the skies; some for last-minute practice; some to simply get out the way of the bustling people; some to calm their nerves; some for a final hunt to start the battle without being hungry. Saphira was with them, watching the movements of the people below her for anything that might be of interest to Eragon.

Her Rider was juggling a few duties at once. He had to prepare himself for the battle. Half his armour had been polished, his gems he had been filling with energy gradually over the past month until they were full, and Brisingr needed sharpening. Saphira's armour had been polished already. Wards needed to be made. He had a duty to the others in the camp as well. All day he had been going back and forth between various leaders, relaying the Riders' plans and going back between the other leaders and the Riders should anything need to be changed. He had met with spies, scouts, other Riders, anyone who might have useful last-minute information. Presently he was in between it all, taking the most convoluted routes he could as he had nowhere he urgently needed to be so he could pass as many people as possible.

The old and experienced Riders and himself had spoken to any nervous younger Riders. Around the camp, he would greet people and talk with some of them. It was too early for anyone to be dressing for battle, planning their attacks or getting ready to move. Most the people he met were sitting around fires, cooking their favourite foods as a comforting last dinner and glancing anxiously at the sky as the sun crept steadily lower as the afternoon grew closer to evening. Eragon was met with a huge number of different attitudes to the battle. Some were cheerful, even excited - this was mostly from the younger and less experienced soldiers, and the urgals and kull. Some were afraid. Some were scared but nervously hiding it with false confidence. Some were proudly talking of past victories, telling tales, making jokes or acting tough - this was often seen in the dwarves. The ones he thought probably had the most realistic idea of what to come were all solemn, serious, not completely afraid or lacking confidence but not taking any enjoyment in what they would face either - the elves and the older veterans. He spoke to them all if they seemed welcoming enough, sharing a few words and listening to what they had to say. He could see that his presence was appreciated. It was good to be seen around, to remind people that he was on their side and that he was no different to them. If he was like them, why couldn't they be like him on the battlefield?

Saphira had seen Aroure a while ago but had left her to it. Eragon had been busy telling a captain how best to act if his troops were attacked by a dragon. The tiny dot that was Fasail had been heading away from the camp until she was out of sight anyway. Fasail must need to be alone, else Aroure would have asked for help, and it was not right to intrude on that. When she noticed Aroure flying back towards the camp, however, Eragon was not busy and Fasail could just be seen below heading back toward people. "Aroure and Fasail are returning to the camp from somewhere. We should see how they are doing," she told her Rider. He understood Fasail better than some people they knew. She might not understand her so much on the human level, but she certainly understood the worry Aroure had for her. She herself felt that same worry on the frequent occasions Eragon did something stupid. It must be worse for the other dragon with Fasail's eyesight and constant need to burn energy. She sympathised with that and hated thinking about the other dragon having to go through it all without anyone there to help if need be.

"Yes, it'll be nice to talk to them," Eragon agreed, wondering if this was going to be a friendly jokey conversation or a more serious emotional one. Probably the latter, given this was the eve of battle. He picked his way through the tents to the place Saphira pointed him, spying Aroure in the sky and walking towards the place over which she was circling. Soon Fasail's figure could be seen. He continued walking towards her. Knowing she would be able to hear his footsteps and breathing but not see who he was, he called out to her. "Fasail, it's Eragon! Saphira's flying above." The blue dragon had not bothered to land. Moving through the air was faster and easier. She flew near Aroure, though not too close. "How are you coping with all the energy you've been stockpiling? Can you hold it all with stability?"

[Harbor]

Fasail felt from Aroure that a Rider pair was approaching them, split between the ground and the air, but she wouldn’t tell her who it was. Fasail briefly scowled up at the dragon hovering some hundred or two feet above her. ”You’re no help.”

Sometimes assistance is not what you need. Since when do you either want it or accept it anyway?

She made a good point. And if she was constantly telling Fasail who approached her Fasail would never get into the habit of doing it herself. Therefore she closed her eyes—they remained open out of habit—and focused.

The dragon Fasail was too far away to sense with anything but her mind, and Fasail, raised with entirely elven habits, felt it rude to make mental contact with dragons without asking audible, verbal permission first. And she didn’t feel like shouting. But the Rider she could hear the steps of, and hear the breath. The weight and stomp of the steps suggested human, the shape of air intake suggesting male. Well, there were few male human Riders that she knew, so that narrowed it down considerably. After that the wind was blowing straight from the west, so she could catch no telling scent from them. There were a surprising number of people she could identify by scent, despite everyone’s clothes being made of the same fibers and everyone eating the same foods. She was even learning to smell the grass stains on children’s knees.

She smiled when the human male Rider introduced himself, and was gladder still that he introduced Saphira’s presence as well. She shouldn’t have been surprised—Eragon had always shown himself to be remarkably considerate, for a human and for a man. Many of her experiences of those had been mixed, granted she had spent little time before this among humans. She had found the other races more interesting. ”A fine hello to the pair of you,” she called back, judging his distance as best she could by his voice.

”How are you coping….?”

Fasail finished tying off the last of the thread she’d sewn her hair up with, tucked in the loose ends and tucked her needle back into the leather lapel of her vest. Smiling with a shiny sardonism she spread her hands at her sides and twirled. ”It is marvelously maddening. One of the deepest hells served steaming on a gold and ruby platter. Can you not see how absolutely overjoyed I am to be forced to hold onto it all and purposefully not expend any of it for the small sake of the realm?” Her false smile dropped and she grouched, ”I have to hold onto today because my gems are full. And I’m loathe to waste any of it when we are likely to need all of it today.” It took all of her inconsiderable patience to continue pacing slowly, almost measuredly toward him as opposed to striding briskly. She wanted to sprint for hours instead. ”As far as stability goes that is questionable. I am a floating leaf trying to resist the drag of the river.”

Fasail took a breath, massaging her hands and working invisible kinks from them. ”If I absolutely must I can find a way to dispense of the worst of it with as little waste as possible. Until then I will hold onto it as best I can, which truthfully I am not accustomed to having to do. I may go mad yet, but that remains to be seen.” She would not be surprised to see herself tilting a touch toward instability toward the end of her term as an energy-bearing vessel; the way the ache and pulse of the energy crackled between her bones made each one of them throb individually, heating slowly as though filled with the last blue embers of a long-burning fire, waiting for a breath strong enough to blast them back into flames. While holding still would maintain the highest possible levels of power she feared doing it—she knew her hands would begin to shake in only minutes.

”How are you?” she asked. ”Your men? And women,” she added in an afterthought. ”Or are most still asleep?” It had become more difficult for Fasail to keep track of a day or night’s hours of late, and especially recently. Her eyes had begun to sting from seeing only vast, vague blurs within the very first day, but she had delayed more than a week before doing the only thing she was comfortable with to relieve the—albeit minor—pain. A tiny spell that hovered before her and prevented any light at all entering her eyes saved her from the strain, but left her to days and nights both swathed in darkness. Only Aroure knew about this small spell, as well of why she’d chosen to take it, and since it was entirely removable Fasail did not feel as dour about it as she did about many other things.

”I have always found the hours before battle to be the worst,” she said, ”based upon the few in which I have been engaged. My favorite way to dispel the anxiety was to find something to do which occupied both my mind and my hands. You ought to take up embroidery if you are concerned.” Her lips twitched up, trying to lighten as best she could the shadow she thought she could feel him suppressing. Were she in his position, required to be responsible for the welfare and direction of so many people, she may well have buried herself by now and prayed anyone under her command thought she was dead. Eragon appeared to have adapted to command better than she ever would, however, so she put more faith in him. He was better equipped for the stress. Regardless, Fasail’s first interest in her own life was to, whenever possible, ease the lives of those she cared for, and Eragon was one of the precious few here she allowed herself to feel close to. His welfare was of high interest to her.

How are you? Aroure asked Saphira, arcing around her in a single, wide loop in a manner of saying hello. I am often glad humans cannot read our expressions; if they could they might be far more worried at any given time. At least today they are entitled to it. She kept her words between the two of them for multiple reasons, among which being that she was talking to Saphira and not expressing a sentiment which would amuse the other two, as was her primary reason for sharing her thoughts with those she wasn't strictly addressing. 

[Quetzal]

That Fasail was unhappy with storing so much energy was not surprising to Eragon. What concerned him was the lack of stability she claimed. He had hoped she might be more able to contain it, unaware of how much her energy wanted to escape her. For him, storing huge amounts of energy was uncomfortable or even painful, but the issue was never the risk of it all trying to leave. It must be different for someone whose bones burned with a need for constant action as Fasail's did. She found any state aside from complete exhaustion unpleasant. This had to be unbearable.

"Don't let it get to you. Alagaesia needs all the Riders it can get, and it also needs the Varden to have as much energy as possible tomorrow," was all he could say. There was little he could do to help. He knew it was a lot to ask and potentially harmful. It had not occurred to him just how maddening her task was. He was as of yet unsure whether or not all this holding back would cause her any physical damage, but had not thought it much more than an irritant of huge proportions. Her actually going mad seemed a little extreme, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a genuine risk. "I sincerely hope it isn't too much for you. Let some go if you have to, you won't be of any use dead or mad," there was no advice he knew of that might help her. He had never been in her situation before.

"I'm scared of what tomorrow will bring. And I'm sick of pretending I'm not to keep up morale. The rest of the Varden are mostly having dinner, but I imagine they'll want to get an early night to be well rested for the battle, and to avoid waiting any longer." It was so good to not pretend he was happy and excited. He could be honest with Fasail, show weakness. Not showing weakness was surprisingly hard at times like these, when all he really wanted to do was go away with Saphira and hit things until it was time for the battle. It took a lot of self-control to keep himself from hitting cheerful soldiers sometimes, especially when they praised him for being brave or fearless. "I'm busy enough with organising people and talking to soldiers to boost their spirit. I have no doubt they would love it if I embroidered them a nice handkerchief at the same time. I just wish the battle would hurry up and start. I'm not a very patient person," he admitted. "Still, not long to go now. What are you going to do tonight? That energy must keep you awake."

Saphira kept her reply to herself and Aroure as well. "You aren't wrong there, I feel like a concerned mother duck worrying over Eragon far too often. We're entitled to that as well now more than ever. With all this Varden Champion business I can't help but think he'll do something stupid. He often does, for the sake of helping people or his own honour, and this time there's so much risk I don't think he can get away with that." She knew Aroure would sympathise with that, having heard the other dragon's own concerns about Fasail in the past.

[Harbor]

"Get to me," she repeated to herself, inexplicably grinning at the phrase. "No no, I am fully in tune with our goals. Eloquently Complaining about my part in them just amuses me." Coming up with amusing and only half-genuine complaints was a pleasant pastime of hers.

The sincere depth of Eragon's concern brought Fasail to a halt and she opened her eyes to look as closely to his voice as she could. Brow furrowed she said firmly, "Eragon I assure you there is no imminent danger in what I'm doing. If I must lose some of the energy I can give it to Aroure, she and I just agree that it is high time I learned to tolerate it." Because she believed in honesty, and because she needed him to know that she understood and had long considered the possible dangers, she admitted, "The worst that could happen is if my two gems shatter, but since I know they are at their limits I will not be adding anything more to them and they are presently stable. The madness I speak of is in truth more a temporary ...irrationality or foolishness in my mind, an extreme distraction. Nothing that will not fade when the energy does. The only manifested side effect I am suffering now is where wisps of it escape and I cannot reel them back in. They are insignificant in comparison to the rest." To demonstrate the escaping wisps she worked her ring off her right smallest finger--it was a plain, slender silver band, unadorned with anything but reflected moonlight. Fasail held it out so Eragon could pluck it from where she pinched it hopefully without touching her skin. The ring was as hot as though it had been dropped into a fire and not immediately removed--heat it had absorbed in the last half hour from what she couldn't fully control. Already she could feel the sweat in her hair, but at least she wasn't trembling.

Fasail watched the darkness that held onto the person she could no longer see, wondering what lines his face held and knowing that hers contained several of its own. "You needn't add concern for me to your shoulders. Aroure has a handle on it all." Poor Eragon, to be so young and to be responsible for so many. What was he, twenty years old? She had surpassed him in age centuries ago and still would fight being shackled with the responsibility he had willingly accepted. But were the chains one willingly bore any lighter than those that had been forced upon them?

To his nervous anxiety Fasaio reasonably offered, "I can make you sleep. Aroure can hold onto your energy for you until tomorrow. She has done it for me before." As for herself, Fasail sighed. "You are right, I shall not sleep tonight. I suppose I will find some cool place to rest until tomorrow. If you need a jump in the morning let me know. I will be giving Aroure something as well, whether she likes it or not."

She doesn't, Aroure audibly, dryly said from above them.

But since Aroure would be flying into battle alone Fasail insisted upon giving her everything she could spare to ensure the survival of her life partner. Fasail's stomach wrenched and she felt abruptly ill, but vomiting now would not be putting a good face on the matter, and she refused to give in to a physical representation of how she felt. She pressed a hand over her stomach and resolutely held it in.

Fasail threw her head back and circumvented her own propriety as she quested with her mind for Saphira's, for a brief, private conversation. Saphira, please. Please look out for her tomorrow.

Aroure considered Saphira's concern regarding Eragon and what she knew of her own Rider. Perhaps you ought to pick him up and shake him. Somewhere out of others' sight, preferably. Fasail can be difficult until she vents some of her anxiety, and what appears to be most effective for her is through yelling at things. Before she got a better handle on herself I used to carry her off and knock her down until she was yelling at me, and then she got some of the anxiety out and no one was the worse for it. You would know better if that method would be effective for Eragon, however. He may not respond well to being stepped on.

[Quetzal]

It was a relief to hear that uncomfortable as Fasail might be, she had ways of dealing with it. Aroure was there to help. The dragon would not allow her Rider to cause herself serious harm if she was able to prevent it. Eragon reached out and went to touch the ring, unsure what this proved, but his hand jerked back as a reflex after feeling how hot it was. He looked at it in mild bewilderment for a moment before looking up at Fasail. "That's so hot! Does that always happen? I've never had things around me warm up when I've had a lot of energy before. You weren't lying when it said your bones were burning," he had always assumed she meant they felt like they were burning but were behaving perfectly normally, and now he suspected there may be more truth to the temperature analogy.

"Oh, there's no need for that. I have a dragon of my own if it gets that bad. Besides, it's the worry and not the energy that will keep me awake however exhausted I may be." He declined her offer, knowing it was unlikely to help much. He'd drop off eventually. The purple dragon's response made him smile. "I might just manage. Good to see Aroure has something to look forward to tomorrow, though,"

"I know it's probably not the best idea to think ahead to after the battle, but I can't help but imagine the celebrations if we win. There'll be loads of work, but if all goes well, tomorrow will be the biggest feast I've ever seen. I hope everyone gets to work clearing things up and making arrangements to make the city liveable in as soon as possible. Once that's all over, I reckon the partying will go on for days," that idea never failed to cheer him up. He didn't like to get his hopes up. It was still a wonderful image though.

Saphira felt Fasail's familiar mind and let her speak. "Of course. I want as few dragons to fall. Even from the Empire." They were the enemy, of course, but if they killed Galbatorix and their oaths were broken, how many would be relieved and if not join the Varden cease to attack them? She was confident Murtagh and Thorn would not be their enemies were the king dead. There was a risk that leaving dragons alive meant if Galbatorix lived, they would find themselves facing a bigger opposition than otherwise. Some dragons would no doubt die on both sides, hopefully more on the Empire's. Some were too far gone. With some luck, those that weren't would survive long enough to turn good.

"Eragon might forgive it once as an accident, but he can have quite a temper on him. It may be good for him to get his anger out in the open, perhaps it will release a lot of tension. I scold him enough times. He hates that, it makes him feel like a child. Still, if he acts like a child, that's how he'll be treated. Humans can be so silly sometimes," she had seen other humans act just as stupid as Eragon could, though they were more driven by pride than he was. Lords and generals were mostly the ones like that.

[Harbor]

{No rush to reply--I know you're busy.}

”On occasion,” she replied. ”Energy is often expressed as heat—think of me as being a mug filled to the top, and when I move a little bit of water sloshes over the sides. The heat is the energy sloshing over my sides. It is essentially harmless.” Fasail grinned. Her internal temperatures did tend to fluctuate more than others’ and for little observable reason—it all depended on what she had yet to expend and what she was already using. Energy was a fascinating thing. ”I am glad to finally be able to put its vast quantities to tangible use,” she said at last. ”I have several decades of excess stored—I know it will comfort the spellcasters at least to have a reserve.”

As troublesome as the overabundance of energy could be Fasail would never wish the energy away with any genuine wrath. Because of both the stored and the available energies it had been nearly a decade since Fasail had taken an injury in a battle of any kind—her wards did not wear down and were subject only to another magical assault. During battle she did not exhaust. Truly it was an astonishingly useful phenomenon; it simply required attention to maintain it properly and sanely.

”I did not mean that you would be sleeping specifically,” she amended. ”taking away your available energy stores would render you temporarily unconscious, which would accomplish much the same thing. Dragons are quite handy though, aren’t they?” Fasail grinned up at her own this time, knowing how Aroure felt about being referenced as though she were an accessory. Fasail could sense her eyes rolling even from here.

Fasail started walking again, slowly, because standing still was far too difficult. She turned her ring around and around her finger—she still didn’t understand how both it and her skin could be so warm and nothing would leave a burn—as she listened to Eragon’s small conflict of interest, which amused her. ”The only trouble I see with imagining ahead is if one is too confident of victory they will not work as hard for it as they must to ensure it.” Whatever energy Fasail had left she decided then, listening to the wistfulness in Eragon’s daydream, that she would put to the task of reorganizing and cleansing the city. The cleanup afterward was often harder than fighting had been, what with the ghosts of all the people you had killed swirling around you and your heart completely rent between sorrow for those who had died and rejoicing that you had lived. She sighed as they continued at their measured pace, imagining the celebrations she’d seen throughout Du Weldenvarden, the festivities she had witnessed. Aroure would help her watch this one, she imagined, and she could always sneak observations through the minds of those who didn’t know she could trespass.

Fasail knew she would be relegated to the sidelines for the party. Knew that she couldn’t ask Aroure to avoid her own festivities to guide her Rider through the throngs of reveling people of all races. But through glimpses, and listening, she could still experience snippets of it.

”I saw a celebration of lights once at home,” she reminisced. ”Lanterns of all shapes and designs were strung between buildings and trees. My favorite were the lights through the water though. The glassmakers created a thousand clear bulbs perhaps the size of your hand or a little smaller, each with a narrow spout coming up through the top. Then others created candles inside the bulbs. We strung them out so they half-floated and half-sunk into the water of the lake and the entire surface sparkled more brightly than the stars. We had to be careful to submerge them the moment we lit each one though or the glass would break.”

Fasail wasn’t sure if the memory of the lanterns made her any happier or more melancholy at this given moment but it wasn’t important to her that she identified the sensation. Thank you, she said fervently to Saphira, knowing the azure dragon understood Fasail’s fears—Aroure would be the only dragon tomorrow fighting alone. She would be at an extreme disadvantage. And Fasail could not help her. Fasail could never again help her where she would most need it.

”If there is anything I can do to assist in alleviating any of your burdens do mention it. You are already helping me by giving me something to do.” Fasail could not always find the right things to do, and in a state like this it was difficult for her to find the small things she could afford. ”You have always been a considerate friend to me and since I am of the stronger race it irks me that I have not yet been able to assist you.” She adopted a purposefully arch tone when she made this remark, allowing him to know that the imbalance had crossed her mind but didn’t truly bother her.

I shall leave you to deal with any tempers of his as best ought to be, then, Aroure said to Saphira with some amusement. It struck her as interesting how very differently different people could react to the same things. Humans do have their troublesome streaks. I believe they dislike being the most short-lived sentient race and feel they must make up for it by overcompensating in other aspects. They know they will always be children in the elves’ eyes, and most dragons’ and dwarves’. Their pride does not burn as brilliantly as that of the elves, but they protect it more fiercely because in comparison it is only a spark.

[Quetzal]

((Thanks. I finished my exams yesterday so I can post more often again now))

Eragon was interested by Fasail's description of her condition. He couldn't pretend he understood how energy worked at all beyond how to make use of it - he was a fighter first, a politician second, a scholar rarely - but her explanation made sense to him. It helped to picture things in terms of metaphor. Whenever Fasail let her energy build up, it spilled out of her reserves to heat her up quite literally. That sounded highly uncomfortable. Had he not met her, he would have thought her energy problem a huge gift. Such huge energy reserves could support spells greater than any he knew of! Now he had seen the toll it had, all its downsides, he was less enthused by the idea. It would be a curse to have so much energy build up inside you without a chance of escape, especially when you did your utmost to avoid using magic.

Giving some energy to Saphira to make him unconscious did not sound like the most restful sleep, but it was better than lying awake all night. He might try that. Dragons could hold far more energy than humans, so it was not so much of a problem for her. Perhaps she could give some to a gem temporarily if she had trouble sleeping, or to Glaedr since Eldunari did not truly need to sleep, though they could sort of switch off and rest to recover energy and clarity of thought. "They certainly are. Saphira has saved my life on more occasions than I care to count." There was no way to express how grateful he was to her simply for existing. With their strong mental connection, she could feel his feeling of gratitude for herself, and he likewise knew she felt the same way towards him. Presently she wasn't paying attention to their conversation, focusing on Aroure and how the landscape looked from the sky, in particular the city looming nearby.

"I agree," he said to her comments on confidence, "There's a good balance between not trusting yourself and being so confident you don't try. I always get the best results when I'm a little nervous." He tended to be on the overconfident side. He was aware of that now and tried to work on it. Saphira would sometimes point out when he was getting ahead of himself, which was a huge help. It was less of a problem now he realised just how much there was out there to learn, but when he'd first become a Rider he had been little more than a cocky child with an ego inflated by being the first dragon Rider to make himself known since the Fall.

It was a shame Fasail would not be able to see the celebrations. "That sounds beautiful. Perhaps we could get the magic users and anyone who makes anything delicate to create such things to honour the dead. That's the right thing to do, win or lose. Of course, us Riders will have to be seen playing a big part of it, even you, I suppose. People see us as figureheads, and we're likely to cause the most damage so it's only fair we respect those we've killed." He was used to her walking around when she talked so thought nothing of it when she began to move about. It was unusual to have a conversation in which she didn't start running or walking at some point. "You can probably help most by helping clear up the city or by helping the survivors of the Varden disappear without a trace, probably to Surda or even over the seas if need be, depending on what happens tomorrow." Her calling elves the 'stronger race' annoyed him. They were physically superior, lived longer, and had more magical abilities, true, but he didn't think humans were necessarily worse than them. He was biased, being a human himself, but he thought humans were incredible. Often they were more curious than elves, since they had less time to explore the world, and could be more daring to try new things due to the same impatience. They were less reclusive, more willing to work together, often friendlier. "Race doesn't have anything to do with who should assist who, really. Besides, we're both Riders, and I was made more elven, so there probably isn't all that much difference in our potential. Not that humans are all that worse than elves. They just excel in different areas."

Saphira had spent most of her time around humans. Before leaving Carvahall, Eragons had never met anyone aside from humans, so there was an abundance of those in his memory. "It's a shame they don't live longer. They are so ambitious and they already achieve so much. They could do truly astonishing things if only they had the time. Having said that, I think a lot of their ambition comes from their lack of time in which to do things. With longer lifespans they might become more patient like elves or dwarves. Have you had the chance to spend much time around them?" She knew Fasail didn't like getting to know non-elves that much.