//------------------------------//
// A Rider's' Recollections (Part one) 
// Story: Reverence 
// by DaedricPrinceSheogorath 
//------------------------------//

	New Carvahall- 3rd P.O.V.


Eragon studied the structure for a while longer. As he did, his mind lingered to a time before dragons roamed the skies in his life. Where things were peaceful, and war seemed like a strange concept. A place where he lived poor, but happily with his brother Roran, of course they weren't related by blood, but they were close like brothers, and his Uncle Garrow. He smiled slightly as he remininced about life on the farm in Carvahall.



A simple path led straight through waist-high grass and up a knoll, almost hidden by the shadows of the protective elm trees. He crested the hill and saw a gentle light shinning from his home.
The house had a shingled roof and a brick chimney. Eaves hung over the whitewashed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready for the fire. A jumble of farms tools cluttered the other side
The house had been abandoned for half a century when they moved in after Garrow's wife, Marian, died. It was ten miles from Carvahall, farther than anyone else's. People considered the distance dangerous because they could not rely on help from the village in times of trouble, but Eragon's uncle wouldn't listen.
A hundred feet from the house, in a dull-colored barn, lived two horses-Birka and Brugh-with chickens, and a cow. Sometimes there would also was a pig, but they had been unable to afford one that year. A wagon sat wedged between the stalls. On the edge of their fields, a thick line of trees traced along the Anora river.



Eragon smiled that he remembered the house well, it would be saddening if he began to forget his life in his humble beginnings as some would call. To be honest, sometimes Eragon thinks he wouldn't have minded not finding Saphira's egg in the spine, to have just lived peacefully on that farm. However, when he thought of Arya or Saphira, the idea of not finding Saphira seemed wrong. No, he knew this was the way he would be happy. 

Blödhgarm walked over to Eragon, and clasped a hand to his shoulder.
"Eragon, come. We are telling stories of events long past."
Eragon smiled
"Alright, give me a moment, and I shall join you all shortly."
Blödhgarm nodded and walked back to the circle the other elves had made. Saphira was laying near the circle, listening to the tale of a great elven mage named Erimmünder, who was a hero during a war. What war it was, Eragon didn't know, for the elf spoke too softly for him to hear everything.  Eragon's mind wandered to his homeland, Alagaësia. He wondered what could be going on there since he left. Had any more assassination attempts on Nasuada occurred? Have anymore rebellions broken out? His stomach churned slightly from the worry, but Eragon deep down knew he was just homesick already. He kept listening to the elves tale as his mind wandered to someone it hadn't for a while. His father, Brom. When Eragon first met Brom, he only knew him as the town drunk, he had no clue of him being his father. When the Ra'zac attacked Carvahall, Eragon escaped with Brom. It was Brom that began Eragon's lessons as a rider. He taught Eragon his first magic, how to swing a sword, to fight, and to fly. Brom, Saphira, and Eragon tried to reach the Varden together. However, an ambush killed Brom just before they could reach Du Weldenvarden, the location of the Varden. Brom told him seven words of the ancient language he had yet to learn, just before he died. Later, his teacher and fellow rider, Oromis, who was the rider of Glaedr, told Eragon that he was infact Brom's son. Eragon and Saphira entombed his body into a casket of diamond soon after his passing. Shortly afterwards they reached the Varden. Of course, many other things occurred with Brom, from meeting Solembum and Angela, and then escaping the Ra'zac in Teirm. To rescuing Arya from the Priests of Helgrind in Dras-Leona. So many memories filled his mind of his time with Brom. A single memory came to the forefront of his mind.



"See this pebble?" 
"Yes."
"Take it." Eragon did and stared at the unremarkable lump. It was dull black, smooth, and as large as the ends of his thumb. There  were countless like it on the trail. "This is your training."
Eragon looked back at him, confused. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't." Said Brom impatiently. "That's why I'm teaching you and not the other way around. Now stop talking or we'll never get anywhere. What I want you do to is lift the rock off your palm and hold it for as long as you can. The words you're going to use are stenr reisa. Say them.
"Stenr Reisa."
"Good. Go ahead and try."
Eragon focused sourly on the pebble, searching his mind for any hint of the energy that burned in him the day before. The stone remained motionless as he stared at it, sweating and frustrated. How am I supposed to do this? Finally, he crossed his arms and snapped, "This is impossible."
"No." Said Brom gruffly. "I'll say when it is impossible or not. Fight for it! Don't give in this easily. Try again."
Frowning, Eragon closed his eyes, setting aside all distracting thoughts. He took a deep breath and reached into the farthest corners of his consciousness, trying to find where his power resided. Searching, he found only thoughts and memories until he felt something different-a small bump that was a part of him and yet was not him. Excited, he dug into it, seeking what it hid. He felt resistance, a barrier in his mind. He tried to breach it, but it held firm before his efforts. Growing angry, Eragon drove into the barrier, ramming against it with all his might until it shattered like a thin pane of glass, flooding his mind with a river of light.
"Stenr reisa," he gasped. The pebble wobbled into the air over his faintly glowing palm. He struggled to keep it floating, but the power slipped away and faded back behind the barrier. The pebble dropped into his hand with a soft plop, and his hand returned to normal. He felt tired, but grinned at his success.



Eragon smiled at the memory, he enjoyed Brom's lesson, even if they frustrated him to no end. That was his first success with intentionally using magic.

Eragon's mind strayed to the memory of his first meeting of the herbalist, Angela and the fortune she gave him.



..."Thats not all I do," Said Angela with a grin. "The fool lords pay me for love potions and the like. I never claim they work, but for some reason they keep coming back. But I don't think you need those chicaneries. Would you like your fortune told? I do that too, for all the rich fool ladies."
Eragon laughed. "No, I'm afraid my fortune is pretty much unreadable. And I don't have any money."
Angela looked at Solembum curiously. "I think..." She gestured at the crystal ball resting on the counter. "That's only for show anyway-it doesn't do anything. But I do have...Wait here; I'll be right back." She hurried into a room in the back of the shop.
She came back breathless, holding a leather pouch, which she set on the counter. "I haven't used these for so long, I almost forgot where they were. Now, sit across from me and I'll show you why I went to all this trouble." Eragon found a stool and sat. Solembum's glowed from the gap in the drawers.
Angela laid a thick cloth on the counter, then poured a handful of smooth bones, each slightly longer than a finger, onto it. Runes and symbols were inscribed along their sides. "These," she said, touching them gently, "are the knucklebones of a dragon. Don't ask where I got them; it is a secret I won't reveal. But unlike tea leaves, crystal balls, or even divining cards, these have true power. They do not lie, though understanding what they say is...complicated. If you wish, I will cast and read them for you. But understand that to know one's fate can be a terrible thing. You must be sure of your decision."
Eragon looked at the bones with a feeling of dread. there lies what was once one of Saphira's kin. To know one's fate...how can I make this decision when I don't know what lies in wait for me and whether I will like it. Ignorance is indeed bliss. "Why do you offer this?" he asked.
"Because of Solembum..."



There was more conversation between them, Eragon knew. But for the life of him he was unable to recall anything except the fortune.



"Manin! Wyrda! Hügin! and tossed the bones onto the cloth. They fell jumbled together, gleaming in the faint light.
"This," she said, wiping her mouth, "is the hardest reading I've ever done. You were right. Your future is nigh impossible to see. I've never known someone's future to be so tangled and clouded. I was, however, able to wrestle a few answers from it."
Solembum jumped onto the counter and settled there, watching them both. Eragon clenched his hands as Angela pointed to one of the bones. "I will start here," she said slowly, "because it is the clearest to understand."
The symbol on the bone was a long horizontal line with a circle resting on it. "Infinity or long life," said Angela quietly. "This is the first time I have ever seen it come up in someone's future. Most of the time it's the aspen or the elm, both signs a person will live a normal span of years. Whether this means you will live forever or that you will only have an extraordinary long life, I'm not sure. Whatever it foretells, you may be sure that many years lie ahead of you."
No surprises there-I am a rider, thought Eragon. Was Angela going to tell him things he already knew?
"Now the bones grow harder to read, as the rest are in a confused pile." Angela touched three of them. "Here the wandering path, lightning bolt, and sailing ship all lie together-a pattern I've never seen, only heard of. The wandering path shows there are many choices in your future, some you even face now. I see great battles raging around you, some of them are fought for your sake. I see mighty powers of this land struggling to control your will and destiny. Countless possible futures await you-all of them filled with blood and conflict-but only one of them will bring you happiness and peace. Beware of losing your way, for you are one of the few who are truly free to choose their own fate, That freedom is a gift, but is also a responsibility more binding than chains."
Then her face grew sad. "And yet, as if to counteract that, here is the lightning bolt. It is a terrible omen. There is a doom upon you, but what sort of I know not. Part of it lies in a death-one that rapidly approaches and will cause you much grief. But the rest awaits in a great journey. Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on the sailing ship. That is impossible to misunderstand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you end up I know not, but you will never again stand in Alagaësia. This is inescapable. It will come to pass even if you try to avoid it."
Her words frightened Eragon. Another death...who must I lose now? His thoughts immediately went to Roran. Then he thought about his homeland. What could ever force me to leave? And where would I go? If there are other lands across the sea or to the east, only the elves would know of them.
Angela rubbed her temples and breathed deeply. "The next bone is easier to read and perhaps a bit more pleasant." Eragon examined it and saw a rose blossom inscribed between the horns of a crescent moon.
Angela smiled and said, "An epic romance is in your future, extraordinary, as the moon indicates-for that is a magical symbol- and strong enough to outlast empires. I cannot say if this passion will end happily, but your love is of noble birth and heritage. She is powerful, wise, and beautiful beyond compare.
Of noble birth, thought Eragon in surprise. How could that ever happen? I have no more standing then the poorest of farmers.
"Now for the last two bones, the tree and the hawthorn root, which cross each other strongly. I wish that were not so-it can only mean more trouble-but betrayal is clear. And it will come from within your family."
"Roran wouldn't do that!" objected Eragon abruptly.
"I wouldn't know," said Angela carefully. "But the bones have never lied, and that is what they say."



As it had turned out, it wasn't Roran, but Murtagh, his half-brother he met on his journey to the Varden. Murtagh was tricked by Galbatorix and was sworn to his service.
Eragon winced at the many battles they fought over the past couple years.
Murtagh was also a rider, his dragon was Thorn. A massive red dragon a bit larger than Saphira. He then thought of how all parts of the fortune came true. He had a romance with Arya, Brom passed, many conflicts occurred, tragedy occurred in the form of Ajihad and King Hrothgar of the dwarves, and of course, he left Alagaësia and was transported to another world. There was no way back to his homeland.
Eragon heard Blödhgarm calling for him.
Eragon looked over and smiled, "Sorry, I'm coming."
Eragon walked over and listened intently to the current story of an ancient dragon rider named Raelden, and how he defeated a whole legion of soldiers, using only his sword.