When Destiny Burns, Ep. 2 A Halo and Inheritance Cycle Crossover [Discontinued]

Chapter 15.3 Their Emotions

The elf averted his eyes and a couple of tears clung to his face. The trio of dragons was extremely quiet and Eragon could only stare in horror at what he had thought to be a human.

"Where-" Oromis began to ask, but he didn't get much farther as he suddenly stiffened. The flagon slipped from his fingers and just as Eragon flinched at the instantaneous and frightening change, the Spartan shot forwards. He caught the delicate flagon in one hand and reached for the delicate elf with the other. His face went crimson and his thin fingers tightened into hooked claws that dragged at his robe in some rabid desperation. The large rider gently pried the elf's fingers away and just as Eragon tried to get to his feet, Oromis had relaxed again, although his entire body now looked extremely weary.

"Are you well?" Eragon asked him, feeling concerned with the kind and gentle Rider.

A trail of amusement lifted the corner of Oromis' mouth. "Not only mankind, it seems, Spartan? No, I am less than I might wish. We elves fancy ourselves immortal, but not even we can escape certain maladies of the flesh, which are beyond our knowledge of magic. No, do not worry...it isn't contagious, but neither can I rid myself of it. I have spent years binding myself with hundreds of small, weak spells that, layered upon another, duplicate the effect of enchantments that are now beyond my reach. I bound myself with them so that I might live long enough to witness the birth of the last dragons and to foster the Riders' resurrection from the ruins of our mistakes."

"How long until..."

Oromis lifted a sharp eyebrow. "How long until I die? We have time, but precious little for you and me. As a result, we win begin your instruction immediately, for I must condense decades of knowledge into months...weeks, even. "

"You do know," Eragon said, struggling against the embarrassment and shame that made his cheeks burn, "about my own...my own infirmity...? I am crippled."

"A scar is a scar," Maine said without remorse as he turned to face the cliffs again. "It doesn't make you a cripple."

"The Spartan is right. You are only a cripple if you consider yourself one...but I understand how you feel. And while we will do everything we can to change that, I must ask you to remain optimistic. Had you been alone, you would have had to carry the burden all by yourself. But there are two of you...and the two of you will reach magnificent things if you can work together."

Eragon didn't want to whine about his own problems when the Spartan always seemed to survive whatever the world threw at him without a single complaint. He would not do worse than him. "I will work harder than ever before," he declared proudly.

Oromis ordered Eragon to remove his tunic and while he did, Saphira asked whether the elf knew Brom. Their master then explained that Brom had been his pupil in the past...just like Morzan had been. Morzan...the father of Murtagh and the leader of the Forsworn, first of Galbatorix' wretched followers.

Then, Oromis inspected Eragon's scar while at the same time asking Spartan various questions about his armor, history and philosophy, of all things.

The Spartan really ever gave a full reply and when Oromis asked him why he had thought himself to be more experienced than Islanzadí, the Spartan had stated that he had been part of 'one of the bloodiest wars in history of mankind', where he had fought for the very survival of his entire race.

And he could not help but feel guilty at the soldier's words. The Varden were fighting for freedom and justice...reasons that had seemed acceptable to Eragon in the past, but that would now sound empty and hollow in his ears. Even though the Spartan spoke only a few words throughout the hours that they spent there, he felt increasingly depressed.