Sìlfae

PROLOGUE: Letting Sleeping Dragons Lie

The little boy in white jumped over the top of the mountain of gold pieces and jewels, skiing down without making a noise, with the light feet levitating a few inches from the treasure. The sleeping dragon snarled, his massive red scaled coils slithering over the marbled floor of the dark volcanic lair.

Lomy had spent at least on hour now messing with the countless piles of treasures, magic artifacts, trophies and furniture carefully ordered by the kobolds servants, but the reptile had yet to give any sign of awakening.

Huff… I’m just too good. And now I’m bored…

Lomy floated over the dragon’s head, jumping and dancing silently from horns to crests, holding its gloved tapered fingers over its mouth in anticipation from time to time. At the second growl the dragon slowly shook his head and the boy puffed away keeping itself from laughing still.

Wait for it… Wait for it!.. Oh, come on!

With a tired hmpf, the dragon lowered the snout, starting to snore again. Lomy reappeared and shouted, quivering.

“That’s it! Now I’m also annoyed! Hey, helloo? Big bad evil scary red dragon? Is there an intruder screaming in your lair?”

Vanishing and reappearing beyond his tail, Lomy patiently waited a little more, before tapping its feet on the ground, coughing and mocking in a whining whimper.

“Oh Maaaster? Dinner is ready! Freshly baked valiant knight on a stick with.. oh, please!”

Another teleport later.

“What a cruel Fate have the gods doomed me to, a fair, young virgin sexy princess, lost, far away from my realm and now ending up in the lair of this terrible… Come on, I thought you were into this! Weren’t you dreaming something like it when I was probing you an hour ago?!”

The boy flew again near the dragon’s snout, charging a kick to his closed eye, but managing only to sore its foot. Rolling over in the air with the accused limb between its hands, it crashed into one of the treasure chests of holding. While shaking its head, seized by the tingling fountain of gold and enchanted items, its eyes fell over a falling jeweled scepter imbued by a glowing pulsing blue magical light.

Oooh, sparkly! Nothing like all those others crummy dark artifacts of doom I screwed over on the pillars!..

Lomy grabbed the staff with a lunge mid-flight, grinning, and took off again.

Bah, forget ol’Breart, I’ll play with this! Let’s see what happens zapping a couple of kobolds with it…

The boy was still flying toward the marbled door of the main trophies’ chamber when a deep rasp thundering voice resonated all over the cave.

“Is there a theft I smell?”

Lomy rolled over itself, hiding the scepter behind its back and smiling.

“Oh? Not at all!”

It puffed again, but rather than reappearing in the High Sycophant quarters, it felt itself squashed on the floor with the Great Wyrm staring with a weary look at it, nostril slowly smoking and eyes half-closed. Lomy clenched its lips badly covering the grin and shook the free hand to say hello, winking with false shyness its golden eyes.

“O-hi, ol’Breart, how do you do? Going for a run?”

Squirting as fast as it could, Lomy dodged the first crackling black lightning, but let out a squeal when the second one hit it just when it reappeared on the other side of the cave, sending shivering of corruption through its spine.

“Whoa, how did you do that? Do you have clairvoyance or something?”

“You’d better come back here before I’m completely awake, you poor excuse of a butterfly.”

“That’s not fair! I don’t even got wings!”

Running and chuckling in the air, the boy came to a rush stop when the door was suddenly wrapped in a clenching swirling wall of metal spikes. Lomy opened its mouth, excited by the display, and clapped its hands.

“Oh, I see! You’re a dragon and a wizard! How awesome is that?”

Breart was still half-coiled on himself, following the boy with his gaze, yawning and speaking in a tired tone.

“You have to hope this is over before I decide to actually remember my spells. And how would you even came to be in this Demiplane?”

Lomy disappeared and shifted behind an onyx statue of the dragon, carved in a triumphant pose over a multitude of animated tentacles.

“We’re in a Demiplane? You know, I actually started to wonder.. there was an obscenely high amount of portals in the other rooms…”

“We’re hovering in the Far Realm, how did you even find your way to my dreams across the infinite layers of madness all around?”

“Well you do have a really big ego…”

Lomy chuckled again, evading a third lightning and rolling away in the air. The dragon emitted an irritated growl, snorting a cloud of black smoke.

“We both know how this is going to end, you’d do best to spare me the-”

“No no no no no! You don’t, but I do: look!”

After puffing away another time, the boy reappeared on the top of a giant sacrificial jeweled cup and, after balancing itself, it tapped the border of an enchanted sword left there in precarious balance with the stolen staff. As the weapon started to fall, the dragon’s eyes opened wide.

“What’s that doing over th-”

The sword fell blazing with dark flames on the ethereal orb hovering on a misplaced pedestal; the following explosion triggered the defense mechanism of a minor artifact removed from its place in one of the high pillars, which in turn primed the teleportation of two chests of holding. As the disaster escalated over Lomy’s giggles, the red dragon pronounced another spell as fast as he could, trying to counteract the rampaging magical catastrophe.

“You see? You see? You didn’t really thought it was to end this way, did you?”

Now we’re talking! This is fun! But now I really wander what this does. Couldn’t the lizard sleep for another hour or so?

A sudden silence accompanied the imposition of the anti-magic field conjured by the dragon, swiftly followed by the boy’s thud as it sorely hit the ground.

“Hey, no spoiling the fun!”

As Lomy rolled through a pile of treasure, stumbling and unsuccessfully trying to dislocate itself, the dragon rose completely his long spiked neck, giving an exasperated glance at the whole chamber.

“Alright, I’m starting to actually get upset here. Deliver the rod and yourself up now, little freak, and I shall maul you so much your native Plane will feel sore.”

Abandoning the idea of flying for the moment, the boy kept on running around, maintaining itself hidden from pile of treasure to pedestal to trophy and starting to examine again the scepter.

“Shouldn’t be ‘or’?”

Maybe this could overcome the…

“Let me think about it…”

The dragon removed the interdiction as he declaimed another spell; Lomy felt choking for a second and right after, when it blinked and took breath again, it found itself suddenly in the clutches of Breart.

“…after long consideration.. no, it would not.”

As the dragon inhaled deeply and the staff’s glow increased, Lomy shut its eyes and instinctively slipped inside the artifact on verge of activation.

“What are you trying to do, you worthless scrap of…”

Enveloped in a shroud of light, the possessed rod disappeared again, this time far beyond the dragon’s senses. Tapping nervously his left claws on the ground, the Great Wyrm focused on his innate divination senses and casted another spell, but no mental image was projected nor the new location discerned.

“Hmpf. Well, that ain’t good.”

Clenching his teeth and slowly growling, Brearcharos attempted to remain calm, despite the rising tic on the right eye and growing awareness of the damage caused by the little intruder both before and after his wake, all over the lair.

“Now.. let us not be hasty… We didn’t really lose anything valuable, only some minor artifact and loot. Now now, I’m supposed to be on vacation, my time off is certainly more important than petty blood-tripping soul-flaying world-shattering revenge, now, isn’t it?”

The dragon stayed still, pondering for a moment.

“Fine. I’m going to track down the little fairy twerp thief and slam its dimension-shifting entrails one by one all over the Great Wheel. But it will be mostly to recover the rod.”

CHAPTER 1: Thrusting in the Aftermath

Whooo.. feeling dizzy…

Lomy rapidly blinked a dozen times, clenching at the border of the blanket and looking around as woke up.

Wait a second? In a bed?

“Well, hello there, sleepyhead. Feeling better?”

As it crossed the gaze of a short old woman, an embarrassed and frightened look passed over its face.

“No way! I’m too young to retire!”

Jumping out of the blanket, the boy looked desperately around.

“I’m still cool, I don’t want to be babysat by some..! Oh, right…”

Flying near the startled and intrigued woman, the boy pat patted her head, charmingly smiling.

“Sorry: condolences, mommy, shrugging we ate the real one. …Which is even sadder, because I don’t even remember that part and waaaait a second!.. I’m flying! I still got powah, baby! That means those ungrateful sons of myself didn’t force me to retire just yet. raising the index This cause for celebration!”

The old woman rose from her chair, leaving her knitting and trying to get its attention.

“But you…”

“Awesome.”

Before she could attempt to stop it, Lomy puffed again, leaving the room.

The songs of the dead are the lamentations of the…

“Hey! Did someone already partied this place down? No fair! I didn’t even get started!”

The high-pitched infantile voice and the cheerful tone were so conflicting with the grim sense of pain and death stirring over the battlefield and gripping at Eragon’s mind that they disrupted the young Rider’s numbing feel of emptiness. He followed the voice to its source, a short skinny boy in a white and golden tunic jigging about the ground of Farthen Dûr, hopping on rocks and corpses alike with no apparent notion of the dread sight all around him. Such a view unsettled Eragon, who had yet to come to terms with the brutality of war and death.

How can someone be so oblivious to pain?

Maybe he doesn’t know…

The consciousness of Saphira tapped in, comfortably shrouding his mind.

…the white one seems in some sort of stupor, he might’ve just woken up.

«Look at this! pointing a corpse an orc – with horns! Is that some kind of minotaur hybrid? clapping hands Oh-uh, I wonder which one of the parents was the raped one? Hmm, that’s tricky…»

Eragon slightly nodded to himself.

You might be right. I should talk to him, he may need more resting.

I’m coming.

Do not be too sudden: if he’s still confounded, a scare could hinder him more.

Don’t worry, little one, I will not startle him. Much.

Eragon grumbled something and walked towards the young boy. He welcomed that distraction; in the past three days he had found the best way to avoid gritting at the dark memories of the battle of the Farthen Dûr was distracting himself, do not linger on those wrenching thoughts and go on in his life.

He was shorten than him, could have been eleven or twelve if his plain white skin, his silvery hair, his big oblique golden eyes and his long pointed ears didn’t qualified him as something more than a human.

Brom said elves are immortal, but now I wonder if that means they still take the same as humans to grow up? You think maybe he really is just a child?

Looks strange for an elf though.

But we only saw Arya, maybe not all elves are the same?

The boy’s gaze focused on Eragon and he shackled his fingers in greeting, chuckling to himself and resuming his graceful and light walk among the fallen.

He seems so.. detached…

Shortening the distance between them, Eragon took breath, addressing him with a gentle but high enough tone to be heard.

“Kvetha, Eka fricai un Shur’tugal.”

Using the same formula in ancient language employed days before with Arya to acquire the wounded elf’s confidence, when they were running across the Beor Mountains, Eragon hoped to put the boy at ease and gain his attention.

Initially the elf didn’t appeared to even have heard his voice but, when the Rider approached him even more and was thinking about repeating himself, the boy jumped around, with an interrogative expression and asked something in the elves’ language. After taking some time to ponder about its significance, Eragon just shook his head, answering in the tongue of men.

“I’m sorry, friend, but I do not have full comprehension of the ancient language. Can we..?”

“Oh, don’t worry, everyone’s fine. So, among the other things, I was asking: Rider of what?”

Since the look of the boy appeared intrigued as well, Eragon’s baffling grew.

“Rider.. of Dragon. I’m…”

“Whoa, hold on a second!”

The boy opened wide his eyes stifling a smile of anticipation.

“Did you just say dragon? As in you people here just jump over the big bad flying fire-breathing lizards and use them as glorified mounts? That’s pretty hardcore for you. And pretty humiliating for them. Pfffhh!..”

The little elf bent over himself, covering his mouth with his hands and laughing frantically, while Eragon looked at him more and more puzzled.

He must be the way he got here. He clearly doesn’t know.

Clearly. Although he’ll have something more to trouble him than amnesia when I’ll be there.

Come on, don’t be too hard on him, he’s just confused.

Hmpf.

“How can you not know about Dragon Riders? You’re a member of the fair folk.”

The boy breathed again and rose back, putting proudly his hands on his flanks and nodding with a flown expression on his face, still betraying the access of hilarity held back.

“I sure am.”

“Elves were the first Dragon Riders. Didn’t your.. parents told you about them?”

“Why would th..? Waaait right there…”

After a second of uncertainty another more ravenous smile crossed the boy’s face as his gaze sharpened.

“Yes.. of course. …Elves. We know that kind of things…”

The boy chuckled to himself, tapping his fingers for a second before assuming a more plain and inquiring face.

“But I do confess I’m kind of lost here. Could you give me a fast recap?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Of the situation. Who the ether are you in the first place, you know, beside a dragon’s pride castrator…”

Yet a little confused and embarrassed, Eragon respectfully hung his head.

“Hum.. sorry. My name is Eragon. Eragon. Eragon Shadeslayer, they called me.”

“You mean like a dragon who leveled up is first letter?”

The boy giggled again, passing a finger on his lips.

“This just gets sillier and sillier…”

Once again the Rider could not feel but disordered; at the last sentence a vein of offence started as well to drive itself into his heart, steadily accompanied by the snarling voice of Saphira.

Oh, don’t be too hard on him, little one, he’s just confounded.

“You have to know this! It’s the name of the first Rider! An elf, like you!”

The little elf shrugged, trying to suppress his smile.

“Well I guess his parents really hated his guts. …But, hey, don’t be too hard on yourself, I’ve heard worst names.”

Frowning and attempting to maintain a calm tone, Eragon pressed back.

“And yours instead?”

“Oh, I’m Lomyolèndri, or just Lomy, for short. Come on. Presentations made. Bored now.”

The elf started running away, but Eragon, exasperated, grabbed him by the wrist to stop him.

“Wait! Where are you going? Didn’t you want to know where are you, how did you come here?”

“Not really. Come on! How can you be so boring with such an amazing setting?”

Eragon’s look darkened and his tone grew cold as he left the boy.

“People died.”

“I know, and isn’t that hilarious? snicket Suckers. Can’t even manage to breathe anymore. Why are they dead again?”

“There was a battle, they tried to siege Tronjheim.”

“Awesome. Were there any monsters?”

An heavy thump shook the ground behind the little elf, accompanied by a sudden gust of wind which ruffled his snowy tunic. A grin slipped Eragon’s face as the boy lower his eyes to the large shadow projected by Saphira at his feet.

“Just one.”

Lomy startled, pointing at the black form on the ground, with an expression of mixed fear and amusement.

“Gah! Ol’Breart! He followed me with one of his crazy epic ritual-portal spells!.. Waaaait a second! This can’t be him. Ol’Breart shadow’s supposed to be far more spiked and badass.. confused, gesticulating and big and less girly rising the gaze and turning That’s it, you’re just a little blue one! Whoa, do you mean I just got teleported in another lair? It sure looks empty. Except for the corpses, that is. Do dragons here collect those too?”

Eragon’s coming protest choked in his throat when Lomy started flying, flowing around Saphira’s neck to examine her more closely.

“You’re sure cute. Look! Not even the big horn on the nose, you really are a cub!”

“You’re.. you’re flying! But how?”

“Magic, duh? turning to Saphira He really isn’t that smart… Oh, wait! Is he your, you know, dragon knight, or something?»

A mage!

An insufferable one at that.

By then already upset, Eragon stepped forward, gazing harshly upon the little elf.

“But you didn’t say anything in the ancient language.”

“Well I.. tapping his ear you know? Elves. We do that sort of things. Silent casting and all.”

How?

Lomy twitchingly turned a couple times before realizing who had spoken and covered amazed his mouth, looking back at Saphira.

“Are you a dragon and a psionic too? I just find the craziest ones!”

“What do you mean?”

Still mid-air, the little elf pointed at Saphira’s head.

“She just talked to me with mindpower!”

“Dragons can communicate telepathically with others, if they deem so. It is a great honor.”

Or did you think I was a common beast? What did you said, a glorified mount?

“Yeah, everything a dragon does to anything is obviously a great honor. It just seems so shy of you go like that. Certainly you’ll feel entitled to have everyone know what you want to say in your actual voice, which of course you’ll think is the most frightening awe-inspiring snarl humanoid has ever heard…”

Both dragon and Rider remained speechless for a long second.

“Lomy.. dragons can’t speak. They only converse telepathically.”

The boy quickly blinked a dozen times, standing still mid-air with a blank expression.

«You’re kidding, right? watching Eragon shake his head So let me get this straight. pointing at Saphira You carry him like some kind of winged horse and you have telepathy, but you can’t speak like a normal person? starting to giggle What’s next? Are going to say you don’t have a lair to hoard treasure in? Pfffh-aha ah ah!»

Lomy rolled laughing to the ground, diving among the corpses of Varden and Urgals.

I’m going to roast him now.

No, Saphira, wait..!

“Eragon Shadeslayer.”

The Rider turned around, recognizing the voice of Jörmundur, Ajihad second-in-command, hurrying towards them from Tronjheim.

“I’m glad I f… frowning Is that the new elf?»

Eragon nodded, sighing.

“Aye. He just woke, although I’m not sure it was sound to let him go out here already; Angela should have kept him to bed another day or two. He seems.. confused.”

“Ah ah ah ah!.. rolling and chuckling Mute psionic dragons! Please just stop it you make my bowels hurt! Ah ah!”

“Anyway, Jörmundur, is there something you need me and Saphira for?”

After another baffled look at the elf, the warrior nodded slowly, coming back from the stupor caused by that unusual display, and handed the Rider a note.

“Ajihad is returning. The others are waiting for him at the west gate already. You two should hurry up to get there in time.”

“We shall. Maybe.. call someone to take him back to Angela’s chambers?”

“Wait! Where are you going?”

Both Eragon and Jörmundur startled when Lomy sprang from behind them, groping both of them from their shoulders.

Saphira, how did he..?

I don’t know. …He just.. disappeared.

Another spell?

Maybe.

“Listen.. Lomy.. you need to rest. We’ll visit you later, now we have to go.”

“No no no no no! hovering over them I’m fine, let’s go, let’s go!”

“You really should hurry, Shadeslayer.”

Arya gazed over the west gate, watching for the coming patrol. The dwarf was shifting again on his legs, anxious and impatient; the recurring sound of his feet on the ground and the rasping breath, mixed with elf’s own worries and the otherwise silent plain, were starting to somehow disrupt her mood. After all she had passed of course it would have taken a lot more than some annoying noise and dwarf stench to unsettle her composure, but at that precise moment she couldn’t stop but lingering for a while on that exasperating disturbance.

With the battle of the Farthen Dûr the existence of the new Rider and his allegiance to the free people of Alagaësia had been made clear to everyone, for good or ill. The young human had to be sent to Ellesméra to complete his training if he were to have any chance in defeating Galbatorix and free humans, dwarves and elves from his tyranny. It was her first priority at that point assuring Eragon reached Du Weldenvarden as soon as possible, rather than being tangled beforehand in the power struggle between Varden and Empire. She was confident Ajihad would have backed her, but the mere presence of the Rider there could stir other among the rebels’ high ranks to try and drag him in what was soon to become an open war.

Her senses captured a slight buzz anticipating the flash of smoke from which the young white elf appeared, hovering on them.

“Bam! Hey everybody!”

The small group of soldiers startled; the dwarf cursed, getting hold of his axe, but a simple gesture of Arya was enough to calm everyone down. The elf ambassador stepped forward, examining the boy floating a few meters from the ground. In all the commotion of the past three days she had almost forgotten him. As if she hadn’t enough worries on her mind, the strange young elf had popped out of nowhere in Tronjheim, found no far away from the broken remains of Isidar Mithrim after the battle.

Arya touched her lips with two fingers, in the formal greeting of her people, before speaking in the ancient language.

“May good fortune rule over you.”

“Yeah, no way I’m letting luck be the boss of me.”

Arya maintained her calm, ignoring the rude answer and the disregarded salutation, and spoke again, though now fairly sure he either didn’t know her or was suffering from amnesia. The soldiers around them where still nervous, but neither her nor the boy paid any attention to them.

“I see you are awake and well, young friend, but I shall ask you to refrain from using too much magic, lest you strain yourself to exhaustion.”

“Pfh, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon…”

“May I ask you what your name is and if you remember anything of the events that brought you here?”

“Nothing major, really. And I’m Lomyolèndri, who are you instead?”

“I am Arya, young Lomyolèndri, it is nice to meet another of my race so far away, albeit if in dire circumstances.”

“Don’t be too hasty about it. Far away, uh? looking around Guess we’re in Dwarfland, not a lair after all.”

“You are correct. This is Tronjheim we’re in, deep in the Beor Mountains.”

“Figures. Who’s that coming?”

The dwarf inadvertently answered the question by yelling the Varden’s leader name, pointing at the tunnel opening to caught the soldier’s attention. Lomy leant over in the same direction, while Orik addressed Arya with a harsh tone.

“Eragon should’ve been here already.”

“Is that really the dragon’s dude name? looking at the coming group Well, bored now, I’m going to see this Ajihad guy.»

Another flash and the young elf disappeared; this time Arya was able to see the whole spell, watching Lomyolèndri pop up on the other side of the plain, flying directly over Ajihad patrol. She kept her sight upon the boy and the far Varden, ready to intervene if necessary, still unsure on what to think about that quick conversation.

It looks like some sort of teleportation, but I never heard about usage of that spell with people as subjects; even so, it should be something at least as complex and exhausting as the usual version, an elf that young couldn’t possibly both silent-cast it and be able to sustain a fly spell. Or even remain conscious. Not even an expert elder could. What kind of mage is that?

Her thread of thought was interrupted as she perceived the heavy stomping of feet and paws. When one of the soldiers yelled ‘Argetlam’ confirming Eragon’s imminent arrival, Arya temporarily detached her gaze from the tunnel, laying it on the dragon and his Rider. She indulged herself admiring for a long second the marvel embodied by Saphira, their last hope. All the years passed carrying her all over Alagaësia, searching, hoping to find someone for whom she would have finally hatched, and now Arya was able to see her, strong, majestic, all the splendor of a young promising dragon. And then was Eragon, the boy from Carvahall, so young and yet already able to prove himself time and again, the one who rescued her from the living nightmare of Gilead, the one who killed Durza.

“It was about time you came here, Eragon.”

“Sorry, Orik, we were delayed. addressing Arya We saw Lom.. Lomyolèndri. The other.. he was just walking on the battlefield. Did he came here too? He said he wanted to see Ajihad.”

The dwarf snorted and frowned.

“We saw him, alright. Came out of nowhere, scared the knurl out of the men. Then he and Arya spent quite some time chatting in their gibberish to each other.”

Arya glanced at Orik for a time, before lowering her head and softening her expression.

“I’m sorry if the secrecy of our exchange has offended you, master dwarf. The young one was disoriented, I wouldn’t know if he were able to speak but elven and even so, I didn’t want to confuse him more. I shall provide that in future such a situation may not be repeated.”

“Hmpf. That’s fine. But if you ask me, it just looks… Wait. What’s happening there?”

Eragon gasped, the eyes pointed on Saphira betraying a silent dialog, then he leaped onto her, yelling at the others.

“Urgals!”

****************************

“Hey, look at the aim down there! That was close!”

Lomy dived over the fight between men and Urgals and turned invisible to avoid further harassment by any of the two parties. Descending behind the warrior who shot the last arrow, the boy pointed its leg on his ankle, chuckling when he fell over the horns of a fallen Kull.

Hmmnnn… Nyeh, this isn’t that much fun. Let’s guess which is the chief.. can’t be the bald ones, they’re strange enough, but they’re two. Maybe is the other boy? That would totally make sense.

“Hey, come on! Wizard guys? Where’s the sparkly artillery? You have enough to go spitting piles of Power Word of Killing but you can’t just throw a fireball or two? How about some polymorphing? Can’t I be amused? Laaaame!”

When one of the twin wizards aimed at it, Lomy nosedived away, but the human was able somehow to still perceive him. The boy felt choked for short time, before stumbling and taking height again.

Whoohoo! Innate Spell Resistance rocks! Although that was pretty close.

“Hey, baldie! What you say we go on racing in the Ethereal Plane?”

Lomy giggled and flew in a circle, ready to shift, but somehow no passage appeared to it.

That’s weird. Why I’m still corporeal?

Just to be sure, it tried to puff again, teleporting with success twice back and forth over the edge of the tunnel, but at a second trial the ethereal jaunt failed again.

That’s a first. Is that supposed to be some kind of specific dimension locking?

“Hey, you there, why is that..? Looking down and around Hey! Where did everyone go?!”

The boy lowered down to the fresh corpses, soon verifying there was no trace of the two wizards.

Aw man! Now I’m never going to know what spell was… Hope is one of those with short expiration date…

“Please.. come…”

“Wut?”

Lomy blinked its eyes for a while and puffed three times before finding the man faintly calling, a black warrior severely injured, surrounded by the corpses of some Urgals. Lomy lowered slowly, gently landing on the ripped and blooded breastplate of the agonizing man and bending over to watch him more closely.

“You. Are.. him.. the elf? Can.. can you..?”

“Yeah, do I look like a cleric to you? I don’t heal things.”

“Then.. you have to.. listen to me…”

“Are you gonna death-curse me? Because it was the five orcs here who killed you, I just kinda watched. And might or might not have enjoyed it in some creepy way.. standing straight and going on hanging over the dying human Not as much as I’m enjoying stretching my feet over your ribcage right now, but still…”

“You have.. to.. to tell Eragon.. not to let the Varden fall.. into chaos and that.. that is my.. my… he can’t.. he must. They’re.. They are the only hope of resisting the Empire.. they.. must be kept strong. He.. he must.. promise.”

“Hey there goes the dragon’s dude! pointing at the flying figure swiftly closing in He’s actually riding the dragon! That’s just hilarious. lowering its sight again Sorry, what were you saying again?»

The body of the leader of the Varden lied motionless on the ground, below Lomy’s feet.

“Oh, well, no great loss. shrugging I’ll ask him again when they raise him.»

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CHAPTER 2: The Everlosing Argument

“So, let me get this straight again…”

Lomy kept on swinging over the back of the chair; it had collapsed twice already, but the elf just stayed mid-air and took it back with a flinch of his hand. He had popped with no warning in the kitchen and wouldn’t go away.

“…you don’t just let him ride you, you also share consciousness with him, like some sort of bond, or whatever?”

Eragon ignored him completely. The death of Ajihad had led an heavy stroke on their victory; if that wasn’t enough, Murtagh was dead and gone as well, another lost filling with grief the young Rider’s soul. Finally, he had another agonizing stitch of back pain. He and Saphira had left their rooms and barely finished to think about the current predicament of the Varden and confirmed their decision of travelling to complete their training with the elves, when Lomy had appeared out of nowhere in a puff of smoke.

For the last time, aye. The bond is made when a dragon is still in his egg; when the right one is near, he decides to hatch and make the one his or her Rider.

The little elf blinked his long wide eyes in surprise.

“So it was your decision? You weren’t even forced to do it? It just seems so off.. dragonwise, I mean. How many did you change insofar? Five? Seven?”

Eragon is and will always be my only Rider.

“What do you mean only one? glancing shortly at Eragon, who still sat on the table He’s a puny human, couldn’t possibly have been around for all your.. what? Four, five hundred?»

Saphira grunted, amused by the last affirmation of the young elf. Like Arya, he was the only one beside Eragon to treat her and address her as a full-fledged intelligent being, an appreciable trait, if one managed to overlook his loathsome attitude, something the Rider was not keen to at the moment. To further his irritation, Saphira didn’t seemed to have much problem chatting with him about that nonsense.

I’m only six months old.

The bewildered look and sudden immobility of Lomy seemed to please even more the dragon.

“You got. To be. Freaking. Kidding me. jumping over towards her Not even a year old?! You’re not even a cub, you’re just a.. a.. baby. A frigging hatchling out of the egg! It takes centuries for dragons to grow, how can you possibly be a year old?!”

Eragon shook his head and got up, still gloomy.

“You fancy yourself to know a great deal about dragons, Lomy, but most of it appears to be wrong.”

“Is not!”

Eragon was about to try and change the subject, hoping to pull out some insight on Ajihad’s last moments from Lomy, but a human boy called for him, nervously informing him he had been just summoned to the Council of Elders. The young Rider was about to thank the messenger when Lomy jumped from beyond his shoulder to inquire.

“Is that some kind of magi court? Ah, never mind, I’ll find out by myself.”

Jarsha, the young boy, moved anxiously from one foot to the other, tormenting his fingers.

“Hem.. elf, sir, you.. the Council, they invited only Argetlam. I…”

“Well little boy, hugging Jarsha from the back and smirking I’d like to see them try to keep me out. »

****************************

Arya wasn’t surprised when she saw Lomyolèndri preceding Eragon into the corridor to the Elders’ Council chamber. The young elf had proven impervious to any kind of approach to shed light on his inexplicable coming and didn’t even seemed to care at all about returning to his kin. At first she thought it could have been the shock, perhaps enhanced by magical strain, but now she had grown more confident the young elf’s behavior was genuine. That, along with his apparently unending reserve of magical power, had aroused new suspicions in Arya’s mind. While he had been zapping back and forth across the whole Tronjheim from after Ajihad’s death, she knew he would have somehow shown up when the succession matters of the Varden would have been discussed.

“Well, it is pretty clear to me by now that you’re not the boss around here, dragon’s dude, so why would I care? I never saw a dwarf city with so little magical warding, I tell you. If the wanted to keep me out, they should have…”

“Atra esterní ono thelduin, Lomyolèndri-finiarel.”

The young elf stopped himself, pondering for a while before pointing at her, smiling and answering in the ancient language.

“Yeah, hello there, elf buddy. Come to peek in humans’ business as well?”

“I will offer my advice to the Varden’s Council whenever they will ask for it.”

“Blah blah hypocritical fluff blah blah. Come on, now! Let’s go meddling!”

“I will rather speak with you first for a moment now, in private.”

“This may be really very interesting or really very boring, depending on how much innuendo was actually there inside.”

Arya slowly shook her head, before shifting back to the human tongue and addressing Eragon and Saphira, still waiting beside Lomyolèndri, and the messenger boy, facing the wide stone door for the Council chamber.

“Eragon, I will take Lomyolèndri from here; go ahead, I will join you later.”

The Rider mumbled a thank you and slipped away, while Lomyolèndri hovered closer to her, with fingers crossed.

“So, is it going to be frolicking or long boring conversation?”

“It will just be a minute, young Lomyolèndri. We need to solve the problem of your appearance here in Tronjheim.”

The young elf groaned, lashing the head back.

“Damn, it’s the second one, isn’t it?”

“In future I would also ask you if you’d be so kind to converse with me in the tongue of humans, as I know now you can speak it rather well, to avoid causing any offence on their part.”

Lomyolèndri frowned, putting his fists on his sides.

“Well, that doesn’t seem very elfy of us. Who cares about humans or dwarves anyway? Oh, I get it! It’s some kind of false compliance thing, right? Got it. Have to start now?”

“No. I will need this conversation to happen in our people’s tongue.”

turning to the door «What do you think dragon’s dude’s talking about? I’m going to check out.»

“Please, Lomyolèndri, focus for a little time, may you do that, as a sign of kindness for me?”

“Fffine. But why are we going to talk elven again?”

“I’ll need for this conversation to be truthful; I’m sorry if this offends you, but in the recent events we can’t be too careful.”

The young elf considered far longer than usual the last phrase, circling around the hall. For the second time from when he awakened, Arya considered reading his mind. The first time was when he refused to give any insight on the death of Ajihad, but she dismissed it quickly. With the Twins gone, she might have been the only one able to safely penetrate another elf’s mind, but if her recent suspicions were wrong, she couldn’t risk traumatizing one of the few existing elf children in Alagaësia.

“Oh, I get it! Come on, this should be fun! Go on with the first question!”

“If you know how did you came here, please, tell me.”

“Yeah, I got around that by now. It was a slight accident with an enchanted item.”

“So it wasn’t linked with your ability to teleport yourself?”

“Pff! What? Nah. I can puff that way only for short distances, this is waaaay farther.”

“How much?”

“Beats me.”

A young woman entered the room and Arya turned to greet her, while Lomyolèndri dived down, rapidly circling her.

“Who’s this who’s this who’s this?”

shifting to human tongue «Lomyolèndri, may I present you Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad… Nasuada, this is Lomyolèndri.”

The young woman turned over, trying to pull herself out of the young elf orbit without appearing too rude.

“It is always a pleasure meeting an…”

shifting to human tongue «Whoa, whoa, hold on here! turning to Arya and pointing at the woman The dead boss dude had an heir and we’re still here rusting?”

“Please, Lomyolèndri-finiarel, listen to me…”

“Nah, bored now. And dragon’s dude’s still inside. That’s it! I’m going to interfere the Hells out this succession thing.”

“No, wait!”

****************************

Umérth cleaned his throat before taking word again.

“Ajihad’s funeral will be held in two days. Directly af-”

puffing in “Bam! Now listen to me, you.. Whoa!”

Lomy snickered flying over the chamber and looking around.

“For being a Council of Elders there’s really little old humans here. Anyway…”

Before it could go on, the doors where shut opened and Arya entered the room, shortly followed by Nasuada.

“We’re sorry to interrupt you, Elders. We shall leave immediately. Lomyolèndri?”

One of the women at the table, after an unpleasant look at the others, answered back to the elf.

“Aye, it will be better; we shall summon you shortly, ambassador. turning to Lomyolèndri Unfortunately as for you, we c-”

“Oh, just shut up!”

“I.. beg your pardon?”

“You’ve had a chance to solve this. You took too long to decide, since you’re a mess in dealing with this, _I_’ll do it myself.”

At that affirmation the large man assumed an outraged look.

“The Varden are a free government! We accept advice from elves, but we do not answer to you.”

“Oh lichdust, puh-_lease_. landing on the center of the table and bending over him You’re human rebels allied with an elven kingdom, of course you answer to us. We got the magic, we got the smarts, we got the long-life. What you got? A bunny’s reproduction rate? Pff, like that’s gonna matter in the long run.”

“Ambassador, you do realize this is outrageous. I must ask you to take your colleague and leave this room.”

Lomy snickered walking on the table to the last woman who spoke.

“You may, but we shan’t. So, let’s analyze this: you had a ruler who wasn’t neither smart enough to go out adventuring with a cleric, nor cool enough to spring a boy, just some lame chick-heiress. You just have to-”

A burst of clamors filled the chamber; the middle aged woman stood up, half a meter below the boy’s head.

“How dare you!”

“Hoy now, no talk back to the elf. See this? pointing at its ears This means I can say whatever I like and you have to shut up and take it. Why? Because you just can’t argue with elves, duh?… Now, there’s only one way this has to go for all-out gain: you just have to take the lame non-manly chick-heiress and marry her to the überpowerful dragon knight dude.”

The proposal was so unexpected and unthinkable that for a first moment Eragon remained completely speechless; Arya was the one to break the silence first.

“What!?!”

“What what? It’s the perfect solution: she’s got the blood connections, he’s got the dragon. The only even better solution would have been to have the dragon eat all of the other candidates and call dibs on the dungeon, but that would have feasible only if she weren’t a one year old treasureless baby.”

“You may not know, Lomyolèndri-finiarel, but Eragon is supposed to complete is training in Du Weldenvarden, he cannot stay here to lead the Varden.”

“Pffh, pointing at Elessari Like they wouldn’t be able to play him like a puppet into staying as a useless pawn, he’s just a frigging kid, how smart can he be?”

Once again wounded in his pride, Eragon was finally able to snap out of the shock.

“Ehi! I’m-!”

“Shush, grown-ups are talking. vanishing and reappearing behind Arya Besides, he doesn’t need to lead anything. He marries, goes out to Elfland and then, whenever he’s done, he’ll have the leverage to make us.. I mean.. to genuinely lead the rebel guys at best of capabilities. Rising an index And..!»

Lomy closed in more behind Arya’s head to whisper something to her; the action alone was enough to upset Eragon for some reason, watching that snotty young elf practically embracing her, smirking and speaking to her with complicity, but he felt even worst when Arya gazed at him from the other side of the room, with a flicker of incredulity and outrage shadowing her eyes.

Can you hear anything?

Some words

Saphira grumped, lowering her neck.

…he’s talking in the ancient language.

Blast. What he could be saying? Why is she looking at me like that?

Finally Arya’s stifling gaze moved away from the young Rider and turned to Lomy, who smiled and nodded.

“So there you have it, in the ancient whatever truth-telling tongue. flying again towards the table Now, for you I don’t see the problem. Well, besides stupidity. The other boss appointed him anyway before he died.”

“What!?!”

“Don’t mock the buddy elf, dude. And who were you deciding to appoint as new boss anyway?

“Hemm…”

As Jörmundur eyes moved to Nasuada, Lomy let out another giggle that sent a shiver through Eragon’s spine.

“And then you complain when we call you idiots.”

That reunion was going far worst that Eragon had imagined; he had already agreed to support Nasuada’s claim to command, hoping to receive help by Arya later, but now Lomy had upset the whole thing.

It’s impossible, no one will ever approve such an idea. He isn’t even an ambassador, how could he even come here?

I can still burn him, you know, little one.

Try to talk to Arya, maybe she’ll tell you what he said to her, we can figure out something.

As Eragon desperately tried to find a way out of that situation, the elf continued to fly over the heads of the Elders, spouting other preposterous sentences.

“So, do you prefer to appoint as your next new boss a kid who is probably gullible but may or may not have hidden talents for leadership, or will you appoint as your next new boss a kid who is probably gullible and may or may not have hidden talents for leadership but will be so far away he couldn’t do anything anyway, leaving the whole thing to you? Come on.. what’s what you really want here?”

While Jörmundur expression clearly showed his outrage, the other members of the Council where already exchanging shady looks with each other.

So? Anything?

I don’t know. She wouldn’t talk to me.

That’s bad. That’s bad…

Eragon clenched the border of the table with sweaty fingers, trying to think of something; he was about to formulate some kind of objection when Elessari, after cleaning her throat, cut out his sentence before he could start it, speaking with an uncertain pondering tone.

“Well, the Varden would rejoice for such a union…”

Already more sure, Falberd followed swiftly.

“Of course. It will unite us; it’ll bring new faith to the people. And if it was Ajihad’s will… Even if you were to leave, Eragon, the everlasting bound between you and Lady Nasuada will reassure both the soldiers and the common folk you still care about them and will undoubtedly return to fight for them.”

“Yeah! Go for the old chain and ball! snickering Like for ghosts, but can’t exorcize marriage, you can’t… reappearing floating over Eragon, echoing Everlasting.. everlasting.. everlaaasting! Eh eh. Ghosts.»

“This is insane!”

Eragon got up from the chair violently; the gesture was swift enough to make Lomy startle and teleport on the other side of the room, which was by itself a little satisfaction for the Rider.

“I can’t marry Nasuada! I barely know her, we have almost never even spoke to each other! How can you force us into this? We-we don’t know if we could be the right one to spend a life with to each other. shifting his confused gaze from Nasuada, to the Elders, to Arya I don’t even know if I could.. if she could be the one I could…»

“What? Dude! floating to him with open arms This’s nothing about love. Elluvia, it’s not about sex either.. well, beside that one fling you’ll need to do once in a while to sprung an heir into her belly, rolling his eyes but that’s a whole other topic… This is an arranged marriage we’re talking about! It’s all about convenience. And politics!»

Umérth nodded and bashed his fist on the table.

“Yeah!.. looking around, suddenly embarrassed Humm, sorry. But he’s right, Argetlam: this propositions assure a fair deal for every one of us.”

“«Excuse me, Elders of the Council…”

This time had been Nasuada to inadvertently interrupt Eragon; the daughter of Ajihad, chin held high and eyes steady, advanced calmly to the table, with a cold and determined look that sent some of the Elders covering uneasy in their chairs.

“…a great sorrow has descended upon me recently. My father, Ajihad, is gone. I know my duty, I knew the burden of his lead could come to me and I know it is in your interest searching for the solution which would be best for our people. But, since you so easily are persuaded by the words of a stranger, for how noble he may be, I’ll ask you let me express my opinion on the matter, since it appears I’m a part of it.”

Eragon saw the determination and indignation of her heart in the shining of her eyes, sure her words would cut through the Elders’ new deliberation. But the elf did not see. Jörmundur gave Nasuada sign to go on, in the uncertainty of the other Elders, but Lomy ignored him, hovering to her and pointing a finger to her face with derision in his eyes.

“You have no say in the matter. You’re both children, dragon’s dude and you. You’re only here to provide a ‘Yes’ and, in the near future, as many babies as your womb can manage before it breaks. He he. Opinion. By a human chick.”

Lomy shrugged, backing away from her with a smile and open arms.

“Besides, this is the best thing for you too, now that your daddy’s dead. If you were to remain without an alleged man, what kind of credibility-breaking rumors will you start? You’re a human, you’re not supposed to frolic your way across the woods like we do? Am I right? tapping Arya’s side with his elbow and leering Am I right? flying away and cleaning his throat So, in conclusion, the decision is between us and the not-really-Elder Elder dudes. Actually it’s only between me and that one, pointing at Arya but didn’t want to hurt any low-lived man feelings, do we?, so I added some humans in the deal, just as a pat-pat-good-boy thingy. And now, can we put a vote on the damn thing and finish this? I’m kinda starting to shift from bored to annoyed here…”

Comment [19]

CHAPTER 3: Promises, Promises

“Are you better today?”

“No.”

Eragon sighed and passed tiringly a hand over his face.

“Sorry, Orik. It’s just.. it has been a rough day.“»

“Yeah, I bet…”

He still couldn’t believe it. The marriage had been arranged. He couldn’t expect less from the Elders, but he was shocked when even Arya backed up Lomy, practically signing his sentence. Nasuada had tried to call the Council to reason, but the alleged last words of Ajihad were used against her by Falberd and Elessari, playing on her sense of duty and fealty to the Varden to force her acceptance. It was when they started to persuade Eragon that Saphira angrily interceded, asserting neither her nor Eragon would have been bounded to anyone without their consent. The elf just pointed out that only he and Arya knew the way to reach Ellesméra and surpass traps, guards and magical wards surrounding the forest and therefore, if Eragon and Saphira wanted to ever reach Togira Ikonoka, they’d have to accept the elves’ deliberation.

They threatened us. She threatened us. How could she listen to him over us?

I think Arya is unsettled as well by this decision, but thinks it is the better way to pursue her objectives, or those of her people. You have to remember, little one, she is an ambassador for the elves’ Queen, she may well have other duties. Although I still would happily turn the white one into a burned snack.

Eragon did not answer to her, turning to Orik.

“What do you mean?”

“The Elders’ Council informed the King, but also word is spreading out. Somehow. Heard you have to thank our new friend for your merry betrothal…”

“We.. we’re not… There’s still time to look for a better solution. We can’t be doing this, it serves no purpose when we have to leave the Varden right after the.. ceremony.”

“It has for them: if you’re the leader of the Varden, then no one could put himself in the elves’ way when they’ll want to drag you up in the woods. And when you’re gone, the Elders will be by all accounts in charge, which is what they want. The elves don’t care about that, so they’ll let them.”

“How can they not? They’re elves! We’re supposed to be allied against Galbatorix.”

“Elves are strange creatures, Eragon. They’re not like humans or dwarves.”

“I know that! But that doesn’t mean.. I already saw it with Arya.. and Brom, he talked to me about them, but he is not different, he’s malevolent. But elves cannot be so.”

“Arya has been ambassador for her people for a very long time, Eragon, has spent decades with humans and dwarves, she might have learnt a thing or two about how to treat them. The kid’s probably never seen one of us before he popped in Tronjheim.”

“He just torments us, from whence he woke I can’t pass a moment without worrying it’ll just appear out of nowhere to relish in our misfortune.”

“Bam! Hey everyone!”

Eragon shivered, giving a meaningful look at Orik while Lomy descended on his back.

«How’s the groom doing? wink wink Getting ready for the big day? And look! There’s dwarfy! Are you here to take her measures?”

Orik lowered the eyes for a short time, trying to master his temper, before answering with clenched teeth.

“What are you babbling about, elf?”

taking high_«I heard you guys made an armor for baby blue here and I had the most _brilliant intuition: she should be the bridesmaid! So, you should tailor a pretty white dress, with flowering lace and stuff. nodding twitchingly and looking at Saphira Isn’t that going to be hilarious? Well, not as much as allowing a humanoid to ride you as mule, but still…»

The dragon snapped her jaws at him, but the little elf had already teleported himself upside-down over Eragon’s head.

“To slow. Why don’t you try with the breath?”

Orik spitted on the ground, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Bah! We haven’t time for this! Eragon, Hrothgar wishes to speak with you, that’s why I came. We’d better hurry.”

“Aw, is that King dwarfy’s name? Race you there!”

“You can’t, he hasn’t summoned you, elf, only Eragon. You’re not invited.”

still upside-down, crossing his arms «Well, what am I, a vampire?»

As the elf disappeared in a puff of shining smoke, the dwarf nodded slowly, grabbing the hilt of his axe to remain as calm as possible.

“I swear, Eragon, every word out of that mouth his a new reminding of why dwarves of old didn’t stand the idea of an alliance with elves…”

The dwarf king was a barrel of laugh. First Lomy hid into one of his predecessors’ statues, letting him think his father had come back to life to lecture him about making deals with elves and letting humans enter in their dig-hole homes, then he took control of the surprisingly unenchanted war hammer, bashed his feet with it and broke a couple of hìrna.
It was starting to get bored when the dragon and the human came in, followed swiftly by some dwarves, only to see the kind lying exhausted and sore on the ground before his broken throne, surrounded by crashed things. It couldn’t shift to the Ethereal Plane still, so, while invisible, the little boy couldn’t compel his glee from echoing across the chamber. The king then spent some time yelling and threatening and giving orders to the guards, but was too soon calm again, starting a long boring conversation with the human about his future in the Varden, and possible alternative solutions to the arranged marriage.

Now that’s lame. Almost as much as the elf’s trying to expose my merry entertainment… What’s that one’s problem anyway? Didn’t I look snotty enough? Puff. If I’m thinking about this it has got to be as boring as it gets. I’m getting out…

“It was a terrible deed, what Saphira and Arya did. Maybe necessary, but terrible. Ah, it might have been better if the Urgals had overrun us before Isidar Mithrim was ever broken. The heart of Tronjheim has been shattered, and so has ours.”

What was that again?

The boy returned visible, hanging on the higher back of the throne.

“Wait wait wait wait wait there!.. What what was that you said?”

Both the human and the dragon looked at him hatefully.

“It was you before, wasn’t it? Get. Out.”

“Oh shush again, dragon’s dude. Haven’t you learned from baby blue over there to not speak when grown-ups are talking? I now she doesn’t… snickering What was that elf and blue destroyed? I already heard that name.”

The dwarf king rose, looking menacingly to the boy, and answered in a slow tone, filled with contempt.

“I was talking about Isidar Mithrim, our pride, our heart, the sapphire which sat at the center of Tronjheim.”

“Well, that I didn’t see. Was it near the big pile of little jewels I saw coming here?”

“Are you playing me, elf?”

“Yeah, not like an hour ago, but I’ll make do with what I get. pondering So it was one big thing? zapping suddenly to Saphira’s snout and pointing at her And you destroyed that thing? You, a dragon, blew up a jewel the size of a freaking house just to save the life of some puny humans and dwarves? And no remorse? Whoa, you’re something! I mean, a friend of mine hearing this would probably have a stroke, that is, after gnawing your head off. shuddering gleefully Ooooh! Now I just can’t wait to tell him a dragon willingly destroyed a lair-sized sapphire, it’s gonna be a real killer.”

Lomy was still floating, repeating to itself to remember that one particular for future reference, when the human talked again with some sort of rightful anger tone in his voice.

“That wouldn’t be necessary, Lomy. King Hrothgar, Saphira has just asked me to tell you that, if your artisans were to recompose the shattered remnants of Isidar Mithrim, she thinks she would be able to restore it to its primal splendor.”

Since the king was initially speechless, Lomy spoke first.

“You mean with magic of sorts, or others psionic powers? Yeah, you just want to call dibs on it, admit it! with a hand on his forehead, melodramatically flying away And I thought you were different from other dragons!..”

“She will restore it, Your Majesty. She is confident in her abilities.”

“Yeah, and I say she’s going to choke. Big time. You’ll see. Wanna bet?”

When Eragon and Saphira left the throne room, followed by Lomy, the young Rider was mostly doubtful: while he felt Saphira’s guilt for destroying the jewel, he couldn’t shake the thought she made that promise only to spite the insufferable little elf. Hrothgar on the other hand had taken the declaration very seriously and called for celebrations. After repeating what happened to Orik, the dwarf’s reaction was similar, he praised the dragon and even bent to kiss the ground before her pawns.

“Hey, that’s neat! Could anyone kiss my feet? sticking one up, retracting the tunic Come on! It’s got to be cleaner than the floor, I never really walk!”

Orik’s joy upon the hearing was such that he didn’t even paid attention to Lomy’s disrespectful request.

Who does he think he is?

Don’t worry about that fly, little one; since you don’t want me to squash it, it’ll be better to ignore its buzzing.

“Well, now I’m bored!”

Lomy crossed its arms and put up a grouch, hovering on a stool in the bar and watching at the dwarves’ celebrations around the human and the dragon.

“Look at that, a baby dragon getting drunk. Isn’t that kind of gross? How can I have some fun if everyone is enjoying himself? And, more importantly not kissing my feet? What’s so special about her?”

A drunken dwarf on its side, perhaps thinking it was talking to him, handed over the boy a stone tankard full of mead.

“Come on, pointy hears, don’t be so tiresome. Drink something, that should cheer you up.”

“What?! jumping up and pointing at its chest Me? Tiresome?! My very self should be boring?! That’s it! pointing at the dwarf Now I’m annoyed! And to get out of that annoyance, I shall take your stupid involuntary assumption as a challenge to my integrity as trickster, dear sir.»

The little boy hmpfed and puffed away without even waiting for the confused dwarf’s response.

Comment

CHAPTER 4: A little dose of Mischief

“Wake, Knurlhiem! You cannot sleep now. We are needed at the gate; they won’t start without us.”

That’s right, rise and shine! We sure aren’t in top condition, but that’s all your fault.

Eragon coughed and forced his eyes open, confused and sore, lying on a cold stone table.

“What?”

Come on, get your cute little tush up , we don’t want to be late to the party.

Orik tugged on his brown beard.

“Ajihad’s procession. We must be present for it!”

Are you alright, little one?

Little one? And are you the big one? Did you always call yourself like that?

Saphira, what..? What is it? I… I think I’m still not completely myself yet…

Eragon managed to get on his feet and grabbed for Saphira’s flank to avoid falling over again.

“Orik… I think I’m still… can you please excuse us for a moment? I’m a little off…”

The dwarf nodded and handed him a dress.

“Be quick about it.”

So, what am I? Am I the sexy one? The cute one?.. …White one?! What kind of nickname is that?

What are you saying? I could’ve sworn that was Lomy’s voice. We really shouldn’t drink this much…

Whoa, of all the boring short-lived nitwits… Maybe I should assume direct control? Hu, that’s a neat way to say it…

Saphira roared, shaking away the dizziness of the previous night’s festivities and nervously looking around.

It is him!

Well, baby blue has some brains around here somewhere…

Eragon desperately raised the barriers of his mind, trying to shield himself from the intrusion and find its origin, but there was no use, neither in locating him nor apparently in pulling him out of their consciousness.

How?!

Magic, duh? Turns out intoxicating oneself really messes with one’s Will capabilities. Come on, dress yourself, we stench!

Why?!

I don’t really remember by now. I think it was something about a dwarf, you can’t possibly ask me to recall that. It’s happened, like, a nap ago?

Where are you?!

Muttering, tattering teetering, wavering, somewhere around here or there or hmnmnmn…

What was the last one?

Inside your mind, idiot.

What are you?

I’m an elf, of course!

No, you’re not!

Am too!

Yet to relinquish her search, in case Lomy were lying, Saphira growled, letting her words resonate with all her fury.

Leave him! Now! Leave him or I’ll tear you apart and burn your remains to ashes!

Yes, that’d be more dragon-like if say, we were talking about a shiny bauble of some kind. But for a human? It just doesn’t have that overbloated outrage tone…

It’s for the marriage, isn’t? You feared I could get him away nevertheless and decided to take us by force!

You know that’s an even better idea than whatever I got into him for in the first place! Let’s do that too!

Grrrrr! You are dead!

Nah, still not feeling it. Come on, I’m not going to hurt him, what was that again… truth-telling ancient language thingie..? Eka weohnata neiat haina ono.

How can I believe you? You could have twisted its meaning!

Come on, now you’re just thinking crazy.

Do not listen to him! This is only a way to manipulate you into his plot.

Man, that was dragon paranoia, alright… Why the Hells are you so thorn about this marriage thing anyway? I’ve not betrothed you. …Waaaait a second!.. Now I get it!

No, you have not!

Yeah! Now I get it! My eyes were shut, but lo, for now I see! Eh eh. There it is, that bond-thing sounded fishy, sure it did…

What is he talking about now?

Shut up!

She has a crush on you. Ah ah. That’s funny.

I have not!

Have too! Ah ah! It’s real! That’s why, you wanted to keep him all to yourself, there’s some dragon’s selfishness… Didn’t want a plucky little human babe to divide your mate with. It also explains all that tucked down repressed hate for the elf buddy I stumbled upon diving into your messy dreams, guess you were the one who wanted to be laid hands upon after some drug and torture. Wink wink, anybody?

You’re insane!

Now, now, don’t get this wrong, it’s a good thing. That you still do not contemplate the concept of sharing is a sign there’s still a dragon somewhere inside that pack of scales and meat. About meat, Eragon, what do you thi-?

This isn’t true! You want to manipulate his thoughts and feelings, twisting the meaning of our bound.

Which is what, exactly?

If I’m protective to Eragon, it is because I don’t want him to make the wrong decision.

Obviously, as a one year old dragon, you know with metaphysical certainty which is what.

Grrr… If he were to pursue a relationship, with or without my consent, I would develop feelings for that person as well, because of our bound. That’s why I’m cautious, so that he will choose wisely.

Why didn’t you tell me this before, Saphira?

There wasn’t the occasion.

That’s a pretty lame excuse.

I don’t have to explain myself to you.

Yeah, but back on the subject, you should really make your move. He’s a teen, he’s got needs. And you have at least ten tons to satisfy them. Rarwh. Turned on already, dragon’s dude?

“Eragon, are you done? We need to go!”

Eragon barely heard Orik’s voice from outside; he had taken advantage of the fight between Saphira and Lomy to try and find the elf or lock at least part of his mind, at the same time distracting himself from the disturbing mental images brought up by the intruder’s speech, but, as he said, he really seemed to be inside him. He would have called for help, but by that point he didn’t know what the elf had already read from him or how he could react, and he couldn’t think of anything, because then Lomy would have known it automatically. Plus, the debauchery of the previous night had yet to wear off, adding other confusion to the whole situation.

Come on! I don’t wanna be late! Change your clothes, it will also work as foreplay for her.

You sick twisted freak! I could never feel that way for her, nor her for me! Our bound is something I know now you could never understand.

Yeah, you have constant mindmeld, it doesn’t get more intimate than that, you might as well make it official. And don’t worry about the marriage! For the humans it’s not adultery if the husband does it. Can we get going now? We should really hurry up.

I won’t.

Well, fine!

The voice silenced itself. Eragon and Saphira looked around, the human hopeful the elf had relinquished his control, but just as he was turning to the door, with his sight still blurring, an invisible grip closed on his consciousness and dragged it down; it wasn’t as painful as Durza’s attack, more like slowly suffocating. The Rider screamed, mastering all his last strength to fight back and break the hold; he felt Saphira’s bond, weak but still stable, and tried to work with her to push back the intruder. He finally opened his eyes, the vision yet to clear itself, and took a breath.

Is he gone, little one?

Yes. Yes, I think so.

The Rider took the dress and started to quickly change himself.

“We should go.”

Forget about that! We need to warn the Varden about this! We need to talk with Arya! She’ll have to explain this to us!

Eragon shrugged and took the dark pants provided by Orik, putting the first foot inside them.

“Nah, we’ll do fine like this.”

Saphira! Saphira, what’s happening?! I’m… I’m..!

The young human smiled, looking first at the growling dragon and then lowering his gaze to the bare legs.

Hot diggity, and isn’t this perfect timing?

“Race you to the corpse, baby blue!”

The possessed Rider darted to the door, swiftly followed by the angry dragon.

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Arya suppressed a sigh, waiting near Hrothgar at the head of the procession yet to depart.

Where are they now?

She couldn’t describe herself as impatient, but spending all that precious time for a useless and expensive ritual, just to please dwarves’ and humans’ gullibility was already too much for her nerves without any other incidental delays. She could hear all the breathing of the dwarf King and the bride-to-be and the Elders behind her, everyone with his particular tone and fragrance, merging together in an unbearable cacophony of snorts mixed with sweat and moisture. They had a defeated yet powerful enemy to prepare for, a Rider who had to be taken as soon as possible to be trained at Ellesméra and a young loose cannon with seemingly unlimited magical reserves to restrain, but yet there they were, waiting to bury a corpse, everyone supposed to look as somber and mournful as possible in regard of the decomposing carcass.

The previous night she was forced to spend a good amount of time appeasing the dwarf King, one of the last targets of Lomyolèndri’s violent and poorly tasteful pranks. She had been able to calm Hrothgar by offering to provide safe passage to Ellesméra to an ambassador of her people, to supervise Eragon’s training and strengthen the agreement between the two races. It really didn’t mean much, but fortunately Lomyolèndri hadn’t been there to point that out. At first she had asked herself who could have been so foolish to teach magic to such an irresponsible child, but as the time passed, darker hypothesis over the young elf’s nature had started crossing her mind.

He’ll probably want to come when Eragon leaves, we won’t even need to ask him, nor would anyone here want to keep it around. The first time alone, I’ll have to confront him. He can’t hide the truth forever. I also have to settle things with Eragon and Saphira, I wouldn’t want them wavering away from their duty. They must reach Ellesméra, one way or another, I can’t let such distractions compromise the mission…

As she was nodding to herself, the improbable sight of Eragon running half-naked towards the crowd screaming gleefully with arms opened and Saphira flying roaring behind him chocked the elf’s breath, freezing her face with eyes opened in embarrassment and disbelief.

“Wooohooo! I’m going to piss on dad-in-law’s coffin and then eat him dead! Yeah! That’ll set the mood to drive this sweet, sweet mental threesome home, alright!”

Arya slowly passed her hands over her face, slowly breathing in and softly swearing below the growing clamor among the multitude.

“Er… Shadeslayer! What’s the meaning of this?”

“Shame on you, we demand that you and your…”

“Silence.”

Surpassing both Hrothgar and Nasuada, Arya put herself ahead of the coffin, blocking the way to the Rider.

I should’ve known…

“Everybody, stand down. Saphira! Stop! Land! …Please. (drawing her sword) And you…”

Eragon came to a sudden stop, hopefully smiling. Saphira landed behind him, cutting off any way out. A sepulchral silence had fallen again in the hall.

“Come on, elf buddy, let me have some fun. I’m doing this for… hmm… reasons!”

“You’re not controlling him, you’re possessing him.”

“Well, technically, it’s just a little mischief, I’ll leave him in a day tops, promise.”

Whispers started to spread around the crowd as new understanding was reached among the witnesses.

“If you’re telling the truth. Leave him now.”

“Will not! I didn’t even try him out! We spent all that time arguing, now I want to do something with it!”

The elf raised her sword.

“Leave him now or I’ll kill you both. I know you can be hurt, you were wounded when you came.”

“Got to catch me first!”

Arya hesitated for a while.

“You were running from Saphira, not flying. This tells me whatever magic you do employ, it doesn’t work while you are inside him. Not even teleporting, I’ll say.”

“_Or_ I could have run for another perfectly explainable reason…”

“Such as?”

“Well, I sorta hoped you’d cover me on that.”

Arya remained absolutely calm, aware of the actual critical danger of the situation and the current predicament of the last Rider, and started examining the adversary, looking for hints at his probable strategy; at first she thought she would have to challenge a mage with Eragon’s prowess, but the thing possessing the Rider didn’t seem to show the least amount of preparation, he just stood there, as if their conversation couldn’t possibly end in a fight. At the same time she finally succeeded in contacting Saphira over the dragon’s layer of anger and frustration and in convincing her to stand down as well no matter what.

“As you cannot flee, I suggest you to surrender and leave him, if what you said was true and you can relinquish his body and it wasn’t just another lie. Else, we shall be forced to…”

“You who? I’m one of your kin, you obviously know with our reproduction rate you cannot give yourself the luxury to be picky about who pops out. And her? (pointing with a thumb behind his back) I’m in her boytoy’s body, with all the mystical bond and stuff, she’s not going to risk him. Besides, it’s not like killing him will kill me, I’ll just rejuvenate somewhere around here a couple days from now, but man, will I be annoyed.”

“You are no elf. And even if you were, you have proven to be a threat.”

Hoping to have evaluated her opponent correctly, Arya rushed forward, taking him completely off guard and successfully knocking him to the ground. Planting a foot on his chest and the point of her sword on his neck, she addressed him again, coldly.

“And you’ll obviously know that we elves will not hesitate to remove any threat to our race.”

With a flinch of fear finally lightening his eyes, the human moved his gaze a couple of times from the sword to the elf.

“Yeah, we elves do that sort of thing… (starting to snicker) But right now I just can’t shake the thought of how secretly turned on he is for being like this. Much jealousy up there, baby blue? (to Arya) Come on! I wish you could hear his thoughts now… I’ll give you a recap later, but you have to admit, it’s got to be both the most humiliating and drool-inducing experience he’ll ever get! And who has he to thank for this?”

With an emotionless look, Arya raised the sword, preparing to strike.

“Ok, fine, I’m leaving. Sheesh, what a fuss over an attempted necrophagy and dracophily… Didn’t take you for cuthbertines… I’ve got to tell you…”

The Rider shuddered on the ground and spat lines of smoke and sparkles from mouth and nostrils, which soon took the form of Lomyolèndri.

“…you are just no fun.”

“Saphira, take Eragon to your rooms, we’ll come with you. (turning to the crowd) Argetlam will not participate in the funeral. Go on without us. (glancing at Hrothgar and the Elders) Every other arrangement will proceed as planned.”

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“Now you’ll have to confess, Lomyolèndri. _Now._”

The elf floated inside the room after Arya. Eragon was lying on the bed, surrounded by Saphira’s coils, but otherwise fine. That sight alone was enough to slightly calm Arya; when she thought the last Rider had been so foolish as to let himself be possessed, she feared all had been lost. However the fact that Lomyolèndri was actually able to enter and exit his body disturbed and confused her even more.

“What? I don’t get you! What’s to confess?”

“That you are not an elf. You’re a spirit!”

“A spirit Do I look incorporeal to you, dude? A spirit! Ah!”

Arya walked around him, staring directly at his eyes.

“You’re lack of empathy, your chaotic nature, your flight ability and Eragon’s possession. You are a spirit. Did you linger after Durza was destroyed? Or did Galbatorix send you?”

“_Who?_ Wait! There’s a necromancer guy who’s named Galbatorix?! Pffffh!..”

Finally understanding as well, Eragon pointed at him.

“Of course! He sent you here to bring me to Urû’baen, to turn me into a Shade!”

“Wait, now I’m confused? First I was a spirit.., now I’m supposed to be a necromancer too? Shouldn’t I, like, drain your life out to turn you into a shade, or something? What’s a little bodysurfing have to do with that? Anyway, can we turn back to that other dude’s name? That was hilarious, what was again?”

“We know you’re lying! Don’t play dumb with us!”

“Well, I couldn’t possibly win that game against you, (giggling) right?”

Arya emitted a frustrated sigh, placing herself between the two.

“Then tell me. In the ancient tongue.”

The young elf smiled and hovered over to her, half a meter from the ground; Arya clenched her sword’s hilt and raised her mind’s defenses, ready to anything, but the white boy just started to talk in the ancient language.

“Yes, this is funnier a game. So, let’s see… Of course I’m not a spirit, that’s ridiculous… hmm… I’m not a shade, or a necromancer, nor do I know spells that may directly or indirectly create shades. Or spirits, or whatever ghost-undead-thingies. I have not been sent by anyone to kill anybody, as I am in fact a completely free unrestrained being, I borrowed dragon’s dude body just for a day to get some laughter and stuff, certainly not to kill him. Well, unless it was incidental, but what would I care about that?… (putting a hand on his chest and rising a few feet more, abruptly surrounded by an halo of golden light) and, of course, I am a proud and fully accepted by my kin and peers member of the fair folk.”

Lomyolèndri smiled ravenously, dripping satisfaction from his face to Arya and then to Eragon and Saphira, who could barely recognize a few of his words. The elf ambassador remained frozen for a long moment, repeating all the sentences in her mind, trying to find double-meanings or other loopholes, but she could not see any.

No, not yet. I have to be sure; until he’s here, better let him talk as much as possible.

“Are you from Ellesméra or Du Weldenvarden?”

“Ahem… no? By this point, I’m pretty sure I came from a faraway land.”

“And what kind of elf are you, if you weren’t born in our land.”

“Well, that’s a tricky one… (tapping his chin) Let’s see.. is this place you named a very big wood on this land?”

“Yes.”

“But you elves that live there, you haven’t lived there always, have you?”

“Y… no. Our ancestors came from the sea.”

“Yeah, that always figures. …And what do you think there is beyond that sea, if not another elven land?”

“You… you are right.”

The astonished look on her face worried Eragon, who got up completely, ready to assist her, but she quickly recovered, gestured for him to remain calm and switched back to the human’s tongue.

“He is an elf. And doesn’t serve Galbatorix.”

Eragon’s shock was even more perceivable on his face, which only made Lomyolèndri’s entertainment more enjoying.

“Can’t be…”

“It’s true, dragon dude. You have to love and care and jerk about me, just as you do with my dear elf buddy (popping behind Arya and surrounding her shoulders with an arm) We’re all of the same nature-loving bunch.”

Arya didn’t move, answering blankly, “We are not.”

(flying back) “What do you mean?”

“Your magic works without words and doesn’t exhaust you. I can’t do that, no elf can.”

“Why of course! That’s easily explainable: I’m from your ancestral homeland, the more ancient something is, the more powerful.”

Eragon snorted.

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid! There, isn’t this lame human language less powerful than our elf buddy’s older truth-telling one? Aren’t you young lousy humans less powerful than old snotty elves? Even older elves gotta be even more powerful! It’s just common sense. Didn’t you ever saw sarrukh or aboleth, anyone?”

“Still, elf or not, you possessed Eragon, you acted with his body and forced him to obey to your commands.”

“Well he wouldn’t hear me when I was only suggesting!”

“And this was just for fun, you say?”

(in the ancient language) “Truly, I tell you: with greater powah comes greater debauchery. (switching back) He would have gotten around, if he had any sense of humor.”

“It was a torture!”

“Buh-uh, little crybaby is going to threaten me with his scary one year old baby dragon? (watching Arya waiting) Hey, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t even expect to actually make it, maybe Sleeping Drunky should be more careful about his funtime if he doesn’t want to get into mine…”

“Arya, he is an enemy, I know it! They’re all lies, somehow he’s managing to tell them, you don’t have to listen to him! Everything he’s done was to spread anger and weaken us, don’t trust him!”

The Rider rose, walking towards Arya while giving nervous glances to the white elf.

“He’s an enemy, we cannot let him be… Together… together we will manage to overpower him and…”

Arya scowled, answering slowly.

“And then what, Eragon? You are seriously suggesting that I help you kill the first link to our ancestors in generations, a child of my own kin?”

“Lookie lookie, someone’s trying to squirrel his way out of a perfectly arranged marriage of my knowing…”

Eragon came forward with an imploring look in his eyes.

“Arya, please, don’t trust him.”

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CHAPTER 5: On The Road

It was almost an hour before dawn when Eragon and Saphira reached Tronjheim’s northern gate.

“_Awww_! The marvelous sight of rocks! And rocks!.. And look just back there! Rocks! And dwarven statues all over, so tasteless you can almost feel your tongue taking things and shouting ‘_the Hells I’m outta here_’!”

The Rider grumped, trying to avoid the sight of the floating little elf.

“I’ve got to tell you, dragon’s dude, it’s been a challenge staying in the same place for so freaking long, but it was totally worth it, just for that look on your face!.. (chuckling) And what about you, baby blue? Care to share some insight on the matter at hand? Please speak freely…”

I can’t believe he’s coming.

Do not remind me about it.

I can’t believe Arya chose to trust him over me!

He’s an elf like her…

That doesn’t matter! And he’s nothing like her!

Maybe she’s also worried, maybe she wants to keep him in check. It will be easier on Ellesméra, there aren’t mages here.

I know. But… after… that… I don’t know if it’s even worth it. I guess it’s safer to have him where we can see him.

The humiliation of the funeral was echoing across the halls of Tronjheim, whispered behind the praises in honor of Eragon Shadeslayer, and, after that long list of political entanglement and mockery, the Rider was extremely relieved to leave that place and put as many miles as possible between him and the dwarves’ homeland.

The marriage had been celebrated. Rashly, poorly, but with nothing to threaten its final binding, which was heaving on Eragon’s shoulders maybe more than any act of fealty the Elders could have asked of him. Lomy had been there as well, during the ceremony; he proposed to have Saphira officiate the rite as the most divine-like being in the city, which actually genuinely pleased her, much to Eragon’s disappointment. In the end unfortunately it was the dwarven and human priests to stipulate the marriage, as it was suggested if Saphira were to unite them, she could also feel entitled to annul the union at any moment. He and Nasuada talked during the first night, trying to figure out a way to make the best of their grim situation and, by the end of it, Eragon was just glad Lomy didn’t show up to take control of any of them to force… anything.

“Hey, look there! There’s dwarfy! Hey, dwarfy! Look at him! A little grumpy man, walking on foot and carrying heavy gear on pack: he’s just the perfect sidekick!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ll see. (quickly) Your immortal soul he’s carrying your armor. (loudly) Hey, dwarfy! Is that the dragon’s dude’s armor?”

(grumbling) “…Yeah.”

“See? Come on pay up.”

Eragon looked back at him, astounded.

“No!”

“Oh, don’t worry, (pushing his shoulder) just kidding. Did you take me for a fiend? What would I do with a soul anyway? Stupid sticks-in-the-tail permanently banished me from Malabolgia anyway…”

While Lomy went on muttering nonsense, Orik showed Eragon his armor and, to add even more worries, expressed Hrothgar’s offer of adoption into the king’s clan.

“No way! A dwarf fully accepting a human in their culture? They must want you pretty badly…”

Orik glanced at him hatefully.

“It’s a gift.”

“Of course it is… (teleporting behind the dwarf) and say, if I were to accept dragon’s dude’s adoption, would he sort of become.. eligible, for any position in dwarf culture? But of course! Why am I asking? If it weren’t so, it wouldn’t be a real gift, just a cheap excuse to gain control over him and manipulate him, how could I think of that?”

“It’s Eragon’s choice, not yours.”

“Yeah, do we have to have this discussion all over? We know how’s going to end…”

“I’ll do it, Orik. I am privileged to join Dûrgrimst Ingeitum.”

“See? Good boy, (pat patting his head) there there.”

Luckily the little elf didn’t interrupt the ritual of adoption and in the end they were waiting again for Arya to come.

“I’m bored! When are we going?”

Orik gave him a stern look, checking his bag.

“You seem awfully light, elf. Didn’t you pack anything for yourself?”

“Nyeh, what for?”

“Eating, sleeping, traveling. It’s a long way to Du Weldenvarden.”

“Well, let’s see, I could rest inside dragon’s dude’s sword and fly my way to Elfland.”

Eragon instinctively grabbed for Zar’roc, almost fearing not to find the sword in its place.

“You can do that?”

“Of course.”

Orik spat on the ground, rubbing his cheek.

“And what about eating? Do you expect us to provide for you?”

“Well, since I feed on dreams, yeah, pretty much. I just need some wild and witty imagination to leech off.”

The elf suddenly frozen, looking around with a blank expression.

“Oh gods. I’m gonna die!”

“There, finally: Arya’s coming.”

(shrugging) “Then again, everything may go just fine…”

As Eragon went to make the farewells of circumstance to his wife, he asked Saphira to try and overhear what Arya and Lomy were talking about; fortunately, the two elves didn’t switch to the ancient language and the conversation was comprehensible.

“And so, Eragon accepted Hrothgar’s offer.”

“Yeah, it will work just fine, you’ll see… Are we going? I’m bored and want to see the sky again. This is going to be awesome: I’ve never been adventuring before! Only met people who were fun to play tricks on them until they threatened me with bodily harm to go away. (looking at Saphira) Yeah, not much chance of that happening with you, your Abjuration magic sucks. Not that the other parts of it are that much better…”

“You hope to find your way back to your land in Ellesméra?”

“_Nah_, I’m playing along with it, this happens to me all the times. Don’t worry elf buddy, no chance I’m leaving you for a long, long time…”

Perhaps hearing Eragon’s groan, the elf teleported himself behind him.

“Oh, don’t be too sad, you are going on a magical journey with cool-looking elves, grumpy dwarf lackeys, and a dragon mule! Even the most despicable creature in all Multiverse would be happy about it!”

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“Outstanding, let’s get this wrapped up and go, my patience is wearing thin.”

“Whatever you desire, Mosst Beloved Massster!”

The Great Wyrm growled, tapping his claws on the floor.

“Stop squirming and go on with the list. All the missing artifacts?”

The kobold nodded frantically, skimming through the scroll.

“Recovered and in place, Mossst Beloved Massster!”

“All the portals to my Demiplane closed?”

“Yesss!”

“Any collateral damage in the preparations?”

“We lost two-hundred-fourteen koboldsss.”

“Meh. That’s acceptable. Fine, we’re done. I’ll be out for a while, take my summonings and remember to polish my princesses’ collection.”

The red dragon raised the neck to a series of pillars where a parade of fair women in gowns were bound, frowned and frozen in their youth by a time stasis spell.

“I’m looking at them now, you see? It means I’ll be able to tell if some limbs went missing to make someone’s stew while I’m out.”

The High Sycophant nodded again, smiling nervously.

“Don’t worry, Mossst Beloved Massster! I will not make stupid Goorid’sss missstake! You have good travel, nobody’s touching your shinies while you’re out, yip yip!”

“I’d say, I booby-trapped this place even more.”

The dragon checked his orb one last time, focused his will, concentrated on his innate powers, and planeshifted.

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CHAPTER 6: Of Deities and Demigods

The first part of the trip had been outrageously dull and insufferable; Arya was already accustomed to riding in the unending tunnels which led in and out of Farthen Dûr, but she didn’t usually have to also withstand Eragon’s and Lomyolèndri’s incessant blathering. The young Rider tried time and again to start a conversation with her, no matter all her subtle attempts to avoid it.

“Why didn’t you bring any meat in your provisions? Don’t you eat it?”

Oh, misery…

“You will never again consume an animal’s flesh after you have been trained, or if you do, it will be only on the rarest of occasions.”

“Yeah, that is, when we’ll have brainwashed you into total obedience for our morally impeachable ploys… Starting to have second thoughts on the marvelous Elfland and its merry inhabitants, haven’t we, farm boy?”

Lomyolèndri’s words reverberated from Eragon’s hilt with crystalline clarity. After they had reached the surface again, as anticipated, Lomyolèndri had started going back and forth from Zar’roc with no apparent reason, but, taking into account his record of misdeeds, Arya considered herself lucky he didn’t do any worse, at least for the time being. On the other hand, there were the thoughts about why his doing so tormented her.

“There…”

Orik pointed over the valley.

“…Tarnag.”

(jumping out of the sword) “A dwarf city on the surface?! Man… that’s just wrong…”

“I’ll have you know, elf, we dwarves may have affinity for stone, but we like the open air as much as your kin or the humans.”

“That’s ghostwraps.”

“Don’t you even know the word ‘respect’?”

“Of course I do: it’s that funny thing stupid people ask because… reasons.”

Arya ignored the predictable degeneration of the current conversation, focusing her thoughts on the various situations to solve in short and long term. The prospect of returning to Ellesméra to face the Queen wasn’t among her greatest desires, but the future of Eragon had absolute priority on the matter and she was slowly coming to terms with a prolonged visit to her homeland. With Eragon as official leader of the Varden and the Elders left bickering among themselves for who should have been in command in the Rider’s absence, she couldn’t deny the humans would have been better suited to pass under the elves’ lead to fight Galbatorix, when the time came. For all the troubles and headache caused, Lomyolèndri had tipped the balance in their favor with his actions. If now she were to acquire a major understanding of his magic and possibly an alliance with his people, a new force could have been at their disposal against the Empire. Of course, after the possession, she couldn’t trust Eragon or Saphira enough to expose her plans.

They’re yet young after all… If they’ll have to bear me ill will for appeasing Lomyolèndri over them for the time being, so be it. If things worsen, I… suppose I could talk with them, the only imperative objective is to let them reach Ellesméra.

They had reached the city and were proceeding on the first road, when a group of masked dwarves stopped their advance and her trail of thoughts.

“Uh, look! Dwarf assassins!”

Orik grunted, without moving his sight from the dwarves, ignoring the young elf jumping out from Eragon’s hilt.

“Those are no assassins.”

“Of course they are! They have faces covered with veils!.. Only assassins do that. It makes them quite recognizable, but I guess they keep doing it because it obviously looks cool… (teleporting at Arya’s side and whispering) Hear hear, sent by a rival dwarf clan, told you! That’s awesome! And what’s the Dragon War?”

Still trying to keep up with the masked dwarf discussion, Arya addressed her kindred.

“You can understand dwarvish as well. How?”

“_Dude,_ I can understand any language I hear. It’s build in. Awww… magic inside! Eh eh. Can you imagine the boring confusion in all the dream travels if we didn’t have it?”

“Elves, my people, can’t.”

“Uh, weird. Well, we can’t all be winners. Wait, I want to see if dragon’s dude says something stupid!”

The veiled dwarf’s ring didn’t even touch the ground as Lomyolèndri caught it midflight, rolling over and examining it.

“Dibs on this! Ah! Beaten you, baby blue!… Oh, right… (smirking) you don’t have any treasure… (turning to the purple dwarves) Hey, where’re you going? Tell me, what’s this! (starting to flew after them) What does it mean? And what was the Dragon War? That sounded somewhat cool! Come back! Don’t you want to fight? I never saw dragon’s dude fighting! …Come on! (switching to dwarvish and perfectly mimicking Eragon’s voice) What about your dwarfy honor and bravery, you filthy _cowards?!_”

Arya opened her eyes wide, letting her hand flow to the hilt of her sword as the group of dwarves stopped.

A thousand curses.

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The guards of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn were able to contain the revolt, along with Eragon, Saphira, Arya and Orik, but five of the veiled dwarves and ten civilians died in the commotion before the group was able to reach the clan chief’s palace and receive haven. Naturally, clan chief Ûndin was furious when he heard the particulars as, according to him, Eragon had just started a clan war between the Sweldn rak Anhûin and the Ingeitum, with his clan caught in the middle for harboring them. That was of course without taking into account the possible conflict between the Varden, which Eragon represented, and the clan of the veiled dwarves. Arya tried to take responsibility for the elves, to contain the situation, knowing it would have been a waste of time asking Lomyolèndri to do it by himself, but Ûndin had made clear it was an unlikely possibility, as Eragon was the more renowned among them and any who witnessed the fight was more likely to remember the roaring dragon rampaging on the street rather than the small kid laughing at the whole mess from a corner.

“Well, that discussion was boring…”

The young elf walked over the table, pretended to balance himself with his arms, and hovered from one plate to another, careless of all the angry looks pointed at him from every side of the courtyard.

“…Can we talk about something fun? Or else, can’t the dragon do something fun? Like stomping on one of the important guests? That would make this more bearable… Oh, I know!..”

Arya focused on her meal with a stoic expression, ignoring the temporary disappearance of her kindred and the subsequent series of crashes and curses in the background. Ûndin, Orik and Eragon were discussing what to do about the feud, taking in consideration the Rider was still to leave as soon as possible to continue his travel to Du Weldenvarden. Another echoing boast of protests unfortunately gave the opportunity for Gannel to address the matter directly to her.

“Arya, your companion seems to have some… lack in restraint and manners.”

“He is young and has lived secluded from society till little ago, Grimstborith. You’ll have to excuse his… detachment from the bonds of mannerism.”

“Of course. Growing up in the wild, without any moral guides, any… fear of rightful reckoning from above may very well cause indiscipline and indeed wickedness.”

“Is that so?”

Arya crossed without blinking the satisfied look on Gannel’s face as the dwarf raised a cup to his lips.

We’ll see what he’ll say tomorrow…

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She spent some time to prepare without fretting herself over the following day’s departure, waiting to receive confirmation that Eragon had accepted the invitation to Celbedeil. Finding Lomyolèndri wasn’t as easy as she expected, to the point she started wondering if he wasn’t already there or had completely left them without any warning. Finally, she found him in the kitchen, spoiling and mixing the food reserves of Ûndin’s palace.

“Lomyolèndri-finiarel, yesterday you asked about the Dragon War. Would you still like to learn something about it?”

“The what now? (shaking a cloud of flour from himself) You sure have a tricky tone… is there something naughty about it?”

“Perhaps…”

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“You know, that’s that first time in a long time I managed to enter in a stuck-uppity temple, you really do suck at abjuration!”

For some reason, the young elf had decided to hide himself in the silver ring taken from the veiled dwarves for the short travel, forcing Arya to carry him, but, once inside, he had emerged again, flying from a room to the other. It wasn’t long before they reached Eragon and Gannel near a majestic mosaic representing the history of Alagaësia from the dwarves’ point of view. Arya approached the two first, inclining her head to the dwarf priest.

“Grimstborith.”

“Arya.”

Gannel looked suspiciously at the flying elf, careful he did not touch anything while admiring the mosaic from close range, a preoccupation he shared with Eragon himself, apparently.

“May I ask what brings you and your companion here?”

“I meditated upon your words from yesterday night, Grimstborith, and brought young Lomyolèndri here, so that you could teach him the respect and humility of the dwarven ways.”

“You know only members of our clans can be educated on the matters of faith.”

“You mean your wishful thinking. Here I was offering you the chance to prove the effectiveness of your teachings, if not the… contingency… of your gods.”

“Hu-hu! Someone’s racing for the Wall of the Faithless…”

Arya gave an uncertain look to her kindred, cutting any answer coming from Gannel.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you sweetly implied the inexistence of gods. You know, you’re something, that’s the one thing that makes them all really mad.”

Now she was aghast.

“You… believe in gods?”

(shrugging) “What’s to believe? They’re there. Like humans. Or roaches. Fluttering around the world to pour quests over every band of nitwits who happens to be gullible enough to listen to them…”

Apparently ignoring the last sentence, Gannel gave Arya a flown smile.

“It pleases me not everyone of your kind is lost to darkness and uncertainty. Perhaps there’s still hope for you, son, if your faith is strong, Gûntera may grant you to return to the rightful path.”

“Who? Anyway, who said anything about faith? Don’t you know for every time you pray, a god gets stronger? That’s horrible! Stupid powermongering whining self-bearing leeches, think they’re the masters of the Multiverse just because they can warp reality to their whims. Pfh.”

While yet unsure what to make of those strange beliefs, Arya was reassured by the new current taken by the argument, unlike Gannel.

“How dare you insult..?!”

“Hey! Cleric dwarfy! Who’s that?”

Anticipating Gannel, Eragon closed in, flanking the young elf near the picture.

“This is the first Eragon, Lomy. We talked about him to you, remember?”

“Not really, it was insignificant back then and it is now waaait a second! (teleporting over Gannel, grinning with surprise) This is a dwarf temple! And you have depicted in the place of honor a freaking elf! Isn’t that blasphemous or something?”

Gannel looked back at him, furious and confused.

“We honor the sacrifice and bravery of…”

“Fluff-fluff blah-blah! Nah, don’t get rhetoric, this should be… kind of obscene for you midgets! An elf! In your gods’ temple? By this point you should pretty much hear the sound of your ancestors rolling over their graves muttering, ‘Wwwwhhhyyyy?!?’ It’s just like that, seriously.”

“You know nothing of our traditions and customs! Don’t you dare fester this temple with your malicious assumptions!”

“What’s to know? You don’t like us, we don’t like you. And yet here’s a monument to one of our kind. Hidden jealousy anyone? It’s not like I never traveled in the dreams of dwarves secretly wishing to be all tall and elfeminate…”

“You shall speak no more in the presence of a gods’ emissary!”

(looking around) “Who? Where? Didn’t see any archons coming here. Or did you keep them in those silly lanterns? That would explain a lot…”

“Your insults diminish your race and will call the gods’ wrath upon you! Your indecent behavior and your faithlessness shall not protect you when your time comes.”

“Suuure. But still, no paladin is coming here to actually try and smite me, so..? What? (thoughtful) It is kinda weird, actually, where is the lightning of righteous divine anger?”

Arya shook her head, hiding a smile, answering in the priest’s stead.

“Nothing is going to happen, young friend. I don’t know about yours, but the dwarven gods are not as much proactive as their statues.”

“That’s very Aoish of them. (lighting up himself) Wait a second! That means nothing’s stopping me for desecrating the Pandemonium out of this place, right?”

“No!”

(zapping away) “Right!”

Arya saluted Gannel with a calm expression. Then Gannel threw himself on the pursuit of the young elf. Arya addressed Eragon, who was looking at both dumbstruck.

“Come on, Eragon, let’s go. Our work here… is done.”

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CHAPTER 7: A Little Dive Through the Whole World

Arya sat cross-legged on the raft, trying to meditate over the screeching of the wood tables, the dwarves’ steps and Saphira’s swishing in the Az Ragni.

The dragon, along with her Rider, had left the ship for a swim not long ago, with Lomyolèndri flying after them, skiing and dancing over the surface of the water. For how far they were, she could still hear their voices.

“So, can you hear that feeling, baby blue? His legs tight on your back, him rubbing his body on you, all wet and cozy…”

“Shut up!”

Not long before, Eragon had tried again to start a conversation with her, unknowingly springing unsettling feelings all over the deck. Remaining silent and dispensing obscure advice, she managed to drive him away, at least for the moment, although, with all the worries about returning to Ellesméra, she really started to have enough of his clumsy and unwittingly attempts at courting. She couldn’t tell him that plainly; it would have been rude. He and Saphira saved her life, after all, and they were the last hope for Alagaësia, and if she added other offences at the heap Lomyolèndri had already been discharging over them both from their first meeting, Eragon could lose the blind faith he had for the elves’ wisdom and integrity, which would have in turn hindered the purpose of having him trained and educated to accept their philosophy in Ellesméra in the first place. She had hoped the arranged marriage would have changed his frame of mind, but the necessary rush to depart and the highly likely unconsummated wedding put a strain in her expectations. She was at least confident to be able to use the matrimony against Eragon if he insisted too much with his ongoing fantasies.

Seeing Lomyolèndri skiing circling the raft, she took advantage of his proximity to address him. “Young friend, I was thinking about what you said at Celbedeil and I was hoping you could enlighten me about your gods.”

(pirouetting over the river and shrugging mid-flight) “They’re not my gods, they’re just gods!”

“What makes you so certain about their existence?”

“Well, where I come from, rearranging two statues of gods so they are fornicating with each other is not as simple as it was for that Helzvog and Gûntera fellas yesterday, I’ll tell you that. Unless we were speaking about some fertility or lust gods, that is. The gods meddle with mortals all the time, they speak to them, manifest to them, give them neat magical powers, and send loads of magical beings to serve them right up from the heavens or deep down from the hells. If you’re a cool enough wizard you can also travel to each one’s personal netherworld to get a preview before you die.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why not? Doesn’t it happen to you here?”

“No.”

The young elf jumped on the border of the boat, pretending to balance himself.

“Well, this place did seem dull enough…”

“If the gods you speak of are that powerful and present in people’s lives, why have they never appeared here?”

(standing on a leg and raising the other behind his neck) “I think it is because we are very, very far away from where I come from.”

Arya took her time to meditate about what all he said; it could have been all lies, of course; if there was something she had learned about Lomyolèndri in their short acquaintance was he would go to great lengths only to insult or unsettle someone’s mind.

What if he’s telling the truth, though?

(switching to the ancient language) “Have you ever actually seen one of these gods, young Lomyolèndri, and witnessed his or her power?”

Her kindred smiled, answering in the elves’ tongue as well, slowly turning on the standing leg.

“Sure, there was this sorcerer fellow who got drunk in the Olympians Glades once, I dreamsurfed straight to Arborea and met Corellon. You know him, right? It’s the elf god, all sissy and tree-humping and rainbow-eyelashing? I hoped I could waltz from there to Celestia and have some fun with the angels, but no such luck…”

Arya closed her eyes, hearing the splash of Saphira emerging from the river for a flight with Eragon.

How can he be? Maybe he only believes that he did, his memory and perceptions do seem to vary from one second to the next… But this world he’s talking about, it is so much more than what little is known to us about Alalëa… Even if a fraction of what he says were to be real, it would be much more saturated with magic than Du Weldenvarden ever was.

“Hey, elf buddy? What’s the big deal about those two?”

“You mean Eragon and Saphira?”

“Yeah! He’s an idiot, she’s a baby, elves are smart, so what gives?”

“You seemed pretty interested in both as well.”

(chuckling) “Yeah, but I’m just playing along, don’t really care. You are having no fun in all this, but you’re still here, like your elves really do have a plan for them.”

“It’s true. Galbatorix…”

“Pff-ah ah ah!”

“…the ruler of the Empire, was a Rider as well in the past, he betrayed the Order and destroyed it, killing almost all Riders and their dragons.”

“That sounds epic enough…”

“There’s only two eggs left besides the one that gave birth to Saphira and she is the only female.”

“You mean… only two dragon eggs in this entire world?”

“Aye.”

“Whoa… awesome.”

“Dragons were brought to near-extinction by Galbatorix, but you find it funny. How so?”

“Well, you said ‘Galbatorix’ again, for one… (pointing at the sky) and then you said dragons were near-extinct exactly when those three ones came down the mountain there.”

Arya raised her eyes, examining the three flying shadows diving down to Eragon and Saphira.

“They’re not dragons.”

“Well, I could say the same for baby blue, but there she goes… Whoa! Did she just breath fire? Man, that’s just wrong…”

“She is a dragon.”

“Yeah, but she’s a blue dragon: she’s supposed to spit lightning not breath fire! This is all messed up.”

You tell me…

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He saw a tortured sky, black and crimson with smoke. Crows and eagles swirled high above flights of arrows that arched from one side to another of a great battle. A man sprawled in the clotted mud with a dented helm and bloody mail—-his face concealed behind an upthrown arm.

An armored hand entered the human’s view. The gauntlet was so near it blotted out half the world with polished steel. Like an inexorable machine, the thumb and last three fingers curled into a fist, leaving the trunk of the index finger to point at the downed man with all the authority of fate itself.

Dude, a dark foreboding? Are you even that important to have those?

Lomy tumbled over the hand, growing from tiny to small size again and jumping to Eragon.

No!.. Not again! Get away from me!

Hey, don’t get jumpy, it just a..!

The bloodied field scattered and crumbled upon itself and Lomy decided to emerge again out of it.

When the human awoke, the little boy was sitting in the air beside him, inside his tent. Eragon looked at it, with a growing sense of anger.

“It was true, then! You were trying to take me again!”

“Bah, don’t be ridiculous, we only met in Dream Region. I didn’t even knew it was you until I saw your projection!”

“So you were actually feeding on my dreams as you said!”

“Pffh, did you actually believe that? I just mess with dreams, I don’t eat them.”

Lomy puffed away, preventing another boring argument with the young man; the voyage was starting to become particularly boring. Since they left the dwarf city they only encountered those three pseudo-dragons and nothing really important had happened.

The little boy in white crawled its way into one of the dwarves’ tents, touching the sleeping body of a lackey and translating itself into his dreams. Jumping from one fantasy to the next, he reached the troubled sleep of Nasuada and then traveled following the currents of wrath coming from Tarnag. He remained there for part of the day, causing mischief here and there, spicing up the coming clan war, but then decided it would have been even more repetitive and tedious to remain more and returned to the group at the sunset with the first guard’s nap.

The next days didn’t go better: first it had to hear complaints about cranking jokes on the human’s excruciating attack of back-pain, with the other elf obviously hiding disappointment the Shade had spoiled her people’s only hope, and then it had to hear useless and boring lessons of magic, with the elf trying to get other information out of it.

The dragon’s dude had fallen in hopeless broodiness and with everyone ignoring the little boy’s attempts at lightening others’ and its own mood by dwelling on his misery didn’t seem to have any success for some reason.

“You can keep it if you can put it together.”

“Oh, boy, can I!?”

Emerging from Eragon’s magical necklace, the little boy caught the eight interlinked rings in the human’s fist, flying away from him before he could grab it. The dwarf looked at him, furious.

“That’s not yours!”

“It is if I can solve it, right?”

Rapidly moving and twisting the fingers of the single hand holding the rings, Lomy resolved the puzzle in a couple seconds, letting it hang a few feet over Eragon’s face.

“See? Prestidigitated the Limbus out of it! Mine!”

The human stared at it, tightening his expression.

“Why have you devoted your life in making my life even more miserable? Can’t you leave me alone? I did nothing to you.”

“More miserable? Dude, you’re a wizard-knight who rides a dragon, it doesn’t get better than that for a human. Why do you have to whine all the time and complain about anything that doesn’t quite fit with you? You sound like one of those ensouled vampires.”

Lomy puffed again without hearing the human’s response. The travel went on, as uneventful as always, giving it time to leave at night through the Dream Region and explore the land he had come to, returning the same way at dusk, flowing on sleeping fantasies and terrors. The only one who seemed to notice and inquired about its absence was of course the elf, but it didn’t take much to avoid any boring conversation on the matter.

The group reached another dwarf town, Hedarth, as dull as it got, and traveled forth to the nearing Elfland. Lomy had tried to keep itself as far as possible for anything similar to an elf’s dream to avoid any spoilers and therefore have at least the surprise element for the last part of the journey, but now it could barely keep itself together with anticipation.

The second-to-last night before reaching Ceris, it was about to left again on the dwarves shabby dreams when it heard the human leave the encampment as discretely as possible and decided to turn invisible and follow him out of curiosity. At first it was fairly disappointed when it discovered he had been called by the elf for a long boring lesson about etiquette in the ancient language; it forced itself to wait and be quiet only out of hope the human would manage to screw up sooner or later and, fortunately for it, it wasn’t disappointed.

Arya coldly lectured Eragon and took off, with the young Rider running after her, trying to apologize, and Lomy dived over them, yet to reveal itself.

“Arya Svit-kona, I spoke badly, and for that I beg your…”

“Yeah, you’re still speaking badly, dragon boy, (appearing lying on the cold nocturnal air) and can’t you even fathom when someone wants to be left alone?”

Eragon glared at it.

“Can you?”

“Uuh, snarky! (placing a hand on its chest) At least I don’t confuse gender titles one another, what’s the matter with calling your elf buddy Wise Lady?”

A series of blank looks was exchanged with the three of them, until Arya answered with a dry tone.

“I am a woman, Lomyolèndri-finiarel.”

(after blinking for a while) “You know, that would explain a lot… (shrugging) Ah, whatever, with elves it’s always hard to tell…”

Before it could rise more in the air, Eragon managed to place himself in front of him.

“How come you could recognize what Saphira was at first glance..?”

(rolling over mid-air, still laying) “Unlike a certain someone…”

“…but cannot manage to do so with one of your own kind?!”

(shaking its index at the human’s face) “Dragons are different, elves are the tricky ones.”

“That’s absurd! I could see Arya was a woman when I first saw her!”

(smirking mincingly) “Well, I didn’t have the chance to grope at her half-naked tortured drugged unconscious body on the way to Dwarfland, for one reason…”

“That’s..! I didn’t..! That’s not what I..!”

As he tried to come up with an appropriate answer, the Rider blushed violently, turning his face away.

“And… and… that you are a man. I could see that too, just by looking at you. How is this supposed to be hard?”

“Well, it gives me no joy telling you how wrong you are! Ah ah ah ah ah! I’m no man.”

Arya looked at it surprised as well, managing to voice first the next question.

“You… you’re a girl?”

“What? No way!”

Eragon growled, exasperated.

“Then what are you?!”

“I’m what you call… an androgyne. I go both ways. (pointing at its sides with its thumbs) Because I’ve got both ways!”

The human put a hand over his mouth, suppressing his retching, speechless. After a moment of silence, Arya spoke again.

“I believe I have been witness to enough vulgarity for one night. You may return to your tent, Eragon, and remember my warning.”

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The fourth day after leaving Hedarth, they finally reached Ceris.

“Most. uneventful. journey. EVAH.”

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CHAPTER 8: Into the Woods

“It’s true! Nothing really important happened. I thought adventuring would have been more fun. This was boring. Boring!”

Lifaen, one of the elves who greeted them at Ceris, smiled at Lomyolèndri, sitting by its side on the first canoe.

“Did you expect more action from your travel, young progenitor?”

“Well, kinda!.. Weren’t adventurers supposed to be bloodthirsty and wranglers? If it wasn’t for me, it wouldn’t have happened nothing at all! It was just talking about magic and racial customs and difference and introspection fluff! Nothing even slightly interesting.”

Arya watched discretely the young elf, wondering why had it decided not to walk on water or otherwise fly in that particular day.

Maybe it has finally tired itself?

I don’t think so. It must be something else… Maybe the enchantments on Du Weldenvarden.

Narì frowned, rowing beside her.

The first thing she did upon arrival was telepathically contacting the elves, to warn them about guarding carefully their minds; for how skilled Lomyolèndri could have been in magic, it couldn’t possibly overhear, at least not without manifesting itself, which allowed her finally to communicate more freely with reliable speakers about what could be done with it. Officially Edurna and Celdin had remained watching Ceris, in reality Edurna had already departed to outrun them to Ellesméra to inform the Queen about Eragon and Saphira’s arrival and about the necessary precautions when they’d have to treat with Lomyolèndri’s capability of affecting dreams and possessing minds.

As they slid in Eldor lake, Narì’s mind reverberated with doubt at hers.

Do you really think he’s a descendant of our progenitors, Arya Dröttningu?

Everything would appear to imply it. It isn’t untreatable once you understand its moods. You have to be patient and compliant, as long as it doesn’t mean being outright offensive to Eragon and Saphira. The more amused it will be when we reach Ellesméra, the more likely will be the chance the Queen could manage to obtain valuable information out of it.

“What’s the matter about praising baby blue for anything she does? That plunge wasn’t that amazing…”

“Don’t you like the shine of her scales and her marvelous strength and bearing, young progenitor?”

“Nah, I’ve seen better. But that wasn’t the point, I meant that.. Oh, now I get it! You praise her so to make dragon’s dude even more irrelevant! That’s cool. I’ll do it. (switching to the human language) Hey, you know what? I think that..!”

Remember it to the others: if it happens to show up in any of your dreams, hide your memories, but do not let it out, play along and see if you manage to let it say something more about how that spell works.

She was about to add more when the idle chatter between Eragon and Lifaen, which the human probably thought she couldn’t hear from a boat to the other, caught her attention.

“How old is Arya?”

He’s doing it again. He really has no decency.

Lifaen mind created a quick link with hers, in a rush of embarrassment and offence.

Should I answer, Arya Dröttningu?

Aye, go ahead, it will help dissuade him from going on with this childish crush of his.

Far on the other canoe, Lifaen gave Eragon a false smile of compliance.

“Arya is quite young. She was born a year before the destruction of the Riders.”

While Eragon was struck by the revelation, Lomyolèndri couldn’t help but interfere in the topic.

“Which will mean?”

“A hundred-three years old.”

“Hey, she is practically a child! Is there no-one here at least decently old?”

The Rider shook his head, addressing it probably just so he could stop thinking about the implications of the news.

“What about you? How old are you?”

Lifaen nodded and smiled again, turning to Lomyolèndri.

“Yes, ebrivanyl, if you don’t mind, could you tell us? We are curious on the matter.”

“Well, isn’t that kind of a private question? (thinking) So, let’s see.. I should be kind of old from my point of view.. don’t remember the exact details, but maybe about twenty-three.”

Eragon snorted.

“Bah, that’s not old at all! You have just a few more years than me!”

“Dude, decades! Ah! (turning at Lifaen) Can you believe this guy? He thought I was meaning plain twenty-three…”

“But, ebrivanyl, you say you are old already at two centuries of life?”

(crossing its legs, grasping at the canoe’s side) “Well, we didn’t have some fancy binding ritual to leech off dragons’ magic, I’ll tell you that. That does explain all the undeserved praising, though…”

“But at least, ebrivanyl, you seem to be blessed as well with preternatural youth.”

“Eh, not really, that’s just magic inside. I’m altering myself to look like in my glorious mid-forties. Look…”

Arya held her breath as she saw the young elf changing appearance until it matched a perfect likeness of Lifaen. Every particular and even the clothes themselves had changed; it happened fast and Lomyolèndri didn’t look the least tired by the effort.

“See?”

This time Lifaen smiled with open mouth out of true surprise and amusement.

“Amazing! You can reshape yourself with an ease no master of our kind could outmatch, ebrivanyl. And without any word or tiredness?”

“Yup.”

“And what about your tunic? Was it the same spell or another at the same time?”

“Nah, that’s also build in. As in I’m actually completely naked.”

The white elf winked at Eragon, who rushed instinctively a few inches away from it while it took back its previous form.

“And your true form? Could we see it, ebrivanyl?”

“What for? Nah, you don’t spoil something like that for nothing, it’s a sight to be deserved.”

Eragon took back rowing, speaking again with an harsh tone.

“You’re older of both me and Arya and more of any human and most of dwarves can hope to become.. then why do you shape yourself as a child?”

“Obviously because it makes me connect with my actual inner child, y’know? Besides, a child flirting with a girl is just that cute, but if its wrinkled old man? For some strange reason it suddenly becomes disgusting. (pushing Eragon’s side with its foot) It’s the same with you, dragon’s dude. Bet you wouldn’t feel so turned on by her if she looked like a century old human, am I right? Eh? Eh?”

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“How much to it?”

“It should start any moment now, Arya Dröttningu.”

Arya nodded slowly, going back to sharpen her senses, waiting to hear the first echo. The new insight on Lomyolèndri had unsettled her again; not only could it take possession of other people’s bodies, it could also change itself to their shape, without no-one knowing or be able to foresee it. She recollected her memories of the previous days, all its absences, shuddering at the thought of what it could have done all the times it wasn’t traveling with them. With its teleport spell and shapeshifting it could have been anywhere doing who knew what.

Lifaen and Narì weren’t as much concerned as she was, they thought the white elf’s coming was in fact doubling the blessing of the new Rider’s arrival, but for some reason they were yet to receive the full extent of Lomyolèndri’s malevolence. It had visited the dreams of both of them and they confirmed it was somewhat disrespectful in its trickery, but mostly just playful and jolly.

The first singing voice came to her ears.

At that point she had could have believed Lomyolèndri had been behaving decently with the elves because of some ploy to gain their trust, but coherence and strategy didn’t really seemed qualities it could have mastered. The other alternative was everything it said were actually the truth and its actions were to be attributed to its different culture: she had grown accustomed to humans and dwarves, but she didn’t forget how had been her first years among them nor how her very people tended to treat them. If Lomyolèndri did come from Alalëa, it came from a society whose last contact with hers predated the foundation of the Riders’ Order; it would make sense for it to think of the dragons as wild and terrible creatures and of the humans and dwarves as little more than savages and even playthings. She could even start to understand its pranks as a defense mechanism of some sort; there were no doubts the white elf was a free spirit and all everybody else had done from its arrival was either complaining or threatening it for anything it did or hammering it with questions about who and what it was. It wasn’t hard to wonder Lomyolèndri just fought back in its own way.

Other voices joined the first; Arya glanced at Eragon and Orik first, in the encampment, then tried to locate the white elf, mentally asking to do the same to Lifaen and Narì.

She couldn’t deny the new perspective of things she forced herself into to better understand any possible threat Lomyolèndri could have posed had inadvertently shed some new light on Eragon as well. At first she had taken his defense at every chance against the white elf, but the more time had passed, the more she felt her actions biased. She couldn’t refute the young Rider had gone to great lengths to protect her and honor her in his own way, but now she couldn’t help but wonder how much of any of that was genuine kindness of heart and not the collateral result of the boy’s clear physical infatuation in her regards. His self-loathing and defeatist behavior throughout the journey to Du Weldenvarden had only increased her anguish and the belief that a wrong-placed instinctively gratitude and blind desperation-driven hope had led her to see in Eragon more than it actually were.

I cannot think this way. For good or ill, Saphira has chosen him. She must have had good reasons.. ach, Lomyolèndri probably would say as much good as unborn child can manage… But he is the Rider, he’ll train at Ellésmera, he can still be the one. But.. otherwise.. maybe if we were to contact again Lomyolèndri’s people, with mages as skilled, Galbatorix could be defeated, even without the employment of the Riders…

Eragon jumped to his feet, running to the forest, and Arya was forced to seize him and deafen him with a spell to the intoxicating music all around them, while Lifaen did the same to the dwarf not far away and Narì continued to look for Lomyolèndri.

“I’m sorry, Eragon, I miscounted the days, either I wouldn’t have brought us anywhere near Sìlthrim or any elven city, not during Dagshelgr. You have to know, our saturnalias, our celebrations, are perilous for mortals.”

She went on with the explanation half distracted by the marvelous and enthralling sound of her kindred voices in the air, half by the search for the white elf. She didn’t really forgot. In fact she informed herself about the celebration and timed their course. It was another test, she wanted to learn as much about Lomyolèndri’s nature as possible before presenting it to the Queen; she didn’t have much of chance to operate magic of any kind upon it and the Dagshelgr invocation offered a unique and timely opportunity to witness its reaction on a high-end spell in the ancient language.

Still recovering, the dwarf snarled at her.

“By my beard and my ax, I will not be controlled against my will by magic.”

It was about to add more when a croaky voice echoed over the singing.

“Let it go, my son, it is I, thoust chosen deity who speaks. And thou too, adopted human: abandon thyself to ye gooth ol’frolicking and fornicating ways under tis’blesseth soil…”

Eragon held the hammer-shaped necklace in his hand and shook it.

“Get out, Lomy, you’re not fooling anybody.”

(emerging in a shimmering cloud of smoke) “Aww, man!..”

Arya crossed her arms and gazed at it, giving it a hint to follow her aside from the encampment.

“Lomyolèndri-ebrivanyl, do you sing your forest as us or have you abandoned this practice?”

(flying after her) “Well, no, but I’d say mostly because Faerie is always like this. Did you need some überepic ritual spell to put your act together?”

“Faerie? Do you mean Alalëa? And it is always like this?”

“Sure. (looking around) Actually even better. It’s like a never-ending orgy with elves and eladrins and fairies and spirits and talking animals and magical beasts. It’s pretty awesome hardcore.”

“Aren’t you feeling somehow unsettled? I could teach you a spell to avoid being beguiled by our songs.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You said you’re elf but you are no immortal and our songs can light wild passions, unlock secrets desires and primal instincts, cutting any restraints that a sober mind could…”

“How’s that any different from any other day? (staring at her for a while) Although.. you didn’t spell out the sex-song from baby blue, right? Do you think I could have a better shot at her tonigh-nevermind, I’ll find out by myself.”

The white elf flew away chuckling, while Arya passed a hand over her forehead and contacted telepathically Lifaen and Narì.

No distinguishable change.

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Eragon was waiting for Saphira to land, trying to calm her with his thoughts, when Lomy popped out of nowhere in front of the dragon, forcing her to a sudden dive, grabbing on her neck while she descended. They landed a few meters from him, but his link to her allowed him to hear all the conversation as it started.

“So, feeling horny tonight, baby blue?”

Go away.

“You know what it means, right? Come on! I know you’re trying to save yourself for your knight-dude, but let’s face it: the guy’s completely clueless.”

The young Rider increased his steps, closing in.

You are disgusting. And your mind his confounded.

“Here: I’ll make it even simpler for you…”

Flying by the side of her snout he slowly took the shape of Eragon, hugging her head.

“See? Now you can have what you want too!”

Saphira growled and snapped her jaws to catch it, but the white elf dislocated itself, reappearing tumbling on her back. Eragon finally reached them, shouting at Lomy.

“Leave her alone!”

“You can still join us, you know? I wouldn’t do this if you weren’t that shy. I’m the one doing the favor, here!”

“I’m warning you..!”

“Blah blah blah.. (crawling under a wing) Besides, what’s your problem? You think this is sick, what’s your drooling all over the elf buddy? Put your priorities straight, dude.”

Saphira violently shrugged herself, temporarily getting rid of the molester, which all too soon reappeared fiddling under her neck.

You are just a little lustful freak who doesn’t know anything about love. I.. we.. may not yet understand what we feel, but, as you so often remember us, we are young. You have had two hundred years to experience and you still think of it as nothing but lust.

“That is so responsible for you to say. Too bad reality is different. It would be better for you to enjoy an healthy lustful fling with me tonight with the somber future ahead of you: either the poorly lonely last of your kind, waiting eternity to die in some treasureless cave or a glorified baby-making machine… Because if this Evil Empire thing is solved and you are the last female, you’ll have to pop out as many eggs as you can to repopulate this world with your kind, which means being screwed by any surviving male dragon. Your two yet-to-hatch half-brothers, funny name king’s big old meany black dragon, all of them, for the rest of your life. And here I was thinking you were miserable enough when you were a mute mule..!”

“Enough!”

Eragon pointed a hand at it and shouted a spell, overcome by anger. The magic grabbed Lomy before it could displace itself and tossed it on a trunk with a dry hit. The white elf squealed, holding its sore head, and disappeared, this time for good.

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Comment [2]

CHAPTER 9: Being Pre-emptive

“Hey! We’re in Elfland! Can’t you even manage to provide a unicorn?”

“What is a unicorn, ebrivanyl?”

Lomy stood giving its back to the white horse, handed to it by Lifaen, with arms crossed and a grouchy expression.

“He’s like a horse, but he’s actually smart: that is, he can speak, can even manage two languages, which makes him smarter than dragon’s dude over there. But, more importantly, he’s got a cool beard and badass horn on his forehead, that’s cool.”

Eragon ignored the lengthy discussion about to start, ordering his horse to go forward. At the beginning he didn’t mind being ignored by the elves in place of Saphira, but as the days passed, Lifaen and Narì had pretty much divided their entire attention between the dragon and the white elf, only Orik was receiving less attention than him. And more and more similarities between Du Weldenvarden’s elves and Lomy became clear in his mind.

I hate it. I hate it so much, little one.

As expected, the previous night episode’s fault was handed entirely to him since, as Arya said when she scolded him, he had to exert the composure of a Rider, rather than give in at any wordy offence, but that was only a minor inconvenience for him. While striking the insufferable brat and forcing it to flee had given Eragon a mild sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, Lomy’s words had cut deeper in both him and Saphira than they would have wanted to admit. The dragon in particular hadn’t been able to rest or enjoy what remained of the night and she was still heavily depressed that morning. The white elf on the other hand reappeared before dawn, spouting jokes and insults like nothing happened.

The days flew, but he retracted himself from the splendor and mystery of the forest, sinking in Saphira’s doomed loneliness, in his own infirmity, trying to detach from those beautiful yet alien and insensitive faces around him, missing Farthen Dûr and wondering for the first time in days about Carvahall and Roran and Murtagh as well. He glanced from time to time to Arya, hopeful to spare some time talking with her, but her answers were always short and cold, hard to say if for whatever had been worrying her about the return on her homeland or because she was still crossed with him for his actions during the journey.

Finally they arrived at Ellesméra. Saphira had been again with him, which had improved the mood of both; the elves’ capital was shunning and its inhabitants greeted Rider and dragon with all due respect, escorting them to the Queen’s palace.

It was a long journey.

And a wearing one at that, little one.

Aye. But now it’s our moment.

Eragon mentally ran through the formal signs of greetings and circumstance he had to employ before the Queen and eventually other nobles of her court.

“Hey, look there! A talking white raven! Wouldn’t it be awesome if it really was the polymorphed king?”

The Rider approached the Queen on her throne, along with the others; Arya was the first to kneel, he followed shortly and so did the others. Lomy blinked and clicked at her with an half-smile. The Queen rose and asked Arya to do the same, just before embracing her.

“O my daughter, I have wronged you!”

“Whoa.. what a twist… (looking puzzled at Arya) He’s actually a chick?»

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“I’m sorry I’ve been forced to ignore you, young progenitor.”

Lomyolèndri rolled to slouch on the other side of its chair, giving his back to the Queen.

“That’s cool. Hmm, comfy…”

Arya glanced at Eragon and Orik, placed on the two sides of the table, just after her and the white elf, with Islanzadí at the head. They had waited for the group of designated musicians and singers to start, so that Rider and dragon would be distracted, and spoke in ancient language. Her mother had suggested to have the conversation telepathically, but, having no precedents with Lomyolèndri, Arya suggested against it, in case the intrusion would scare away the white elf. That of course didn’t mean the Queen and her could bring forth other topics in the sanctuary of their minds while they talked to it.
She had yet to deal with the reconciliation Islanzadí subtly obliged her into; not an entirely unlikable action, but unexpected at least.

“Makes sense baby blue didn’t want you: she’s a female, you’re a princess: now, if you were a prince…”

“How is he?”

Arya gazed upon Eragon.

“Young. Foolish. Arrogant.”

“The perfect hero, no joke. Eh eh.”

“What about the dragon?”

“Hard to say yet.”

I feel is shying away from our culture, it wasn’t expected.

There were.. complications.

I see. And the feelings for you?

They’re unsettling and unreciprocated, don’t worry. I’m trying to make it clear to him as kindly as possible.

No.

The Queen looked at him for some time, before turning to Arya with a blank expression.

If his last link with us now it’s you, you’ll.. have to be a good host to them, my daughter, for the time being. Let him believe his delusion is not doomed.

Arya looked at her outraged, whispering the answer.

“How can you ask me this?”

The Queen’s expression didn’t change, even as she placed a hand on hers.

At least until his training will be completed and his allegiance forged beyond doubts.

He is married already. He has a woman to wait him.

A human. Far away, tangled in a war whose end she may not see…

He’s a kid. And a human.

I’m not asking you to wholly disgrace yourself with him. Just let him believe you are interested.

Arya hardened her expression, staring at her, but Islanzadí continued before she could reply.

Arya, my child, it brings me no joy asking you this, but he is our last hope to restore the Riders under our tutelage and save the dragons from extinction. If he rejects our culture, he may well turn against us to Galbatorix. And when the dragons are gone, our powers will wither and die and so shall we.

Arya held her breath, already knowing were her mother was about to get at.

You believed in your Bound of Trust so much you left me to pledge your life to our people. Now I’m asking you to honor your very decision and sacrifice yourself for the good of the elves. The human and the dragon must remain bound to us.

Arya lowered her head, nodding in silence. Her mother waited for a long moment, hoping she would sign her acceptance in the ancient language, but she remained quiet, both with her tongue and her mind.
Raising a smile again, the Queen turned to the white elf.

“Lomyolèndri-ebrivanyl?”

“Yes, elf queen?”

“I was telling you what unique honor is for us to have you here at Ellesméra. I’ve heard a great deal about you in the last days, but I confess many particulars are still eluding me. I was wondering if you could tell us something about your land…”

“Laaame!..”

Seeing the white elf on the verge of getting up from the chair, Arya anticipated it.

“As I said you before, progenitor, our people and this very land are scourged by a great evil.”

“Yeah, well, spread rumors and some ragtag band of adventurers will deal with it for a proportionate reward. Calls them like flies every freaking time.”

“This is no matter hired tugs can possibly solve.”

“Pffh, that’s crazy.”

“The Empire has afflicted Alagaësia for a century now, Galbatorix grows more and more powerful, it is a matter of time until he’ll be able to break our wards and lay siege to Ellesméra itself.”

“And I’m supposed to be interested in this because..?”

“My daughter has told me about your magical prowess, you also talked to her about greater marvels yet. Your coming on this land may have been the result of chance, but we can turn it to mutual benefit for both our people. We have been divided for almost three millennia and our societies have evolved following different paths. We could share our knowledge and our strength. If you managed to contact your kin, progenitor, do you think you could be able to provide us help in freeing our land from Galbatorix?”

“Whoa.. well, I’ll have you know, we’re not a kind of ‘people’ folks. We do not hang around as much as find ourselves in the same spot for totally unrelated reasons…”

“There is much you can teach us and much we can teach you. And we could help you find your way back to Alalëa, of course.”

“That’s neat, but I’m cool like this for now.”

Could it be it doesn’t want go back, Arya?

You think it fled or was exiled?

What do you think?

I never thought of that. I never saw any resentment or anguish when it talked about its homeland or its kindred. It seemed only like it didn’t really care one way or another. But I guess it doesn’t matter much: it still remains our only link to Alalëa.

Islanzadí nodded and spoke again.

“Is there something else, then, we could do that could make you more inclined to reconsider our proposal?”

“Uh, I don’t know? What proposal was that?”

“We were asking for your people’s help against Galbatorix.”

“Who? Man, that’s a stupid name…”

“The traitor Rider, who destroyed the Order, conquered the lands of men and almost extinguished the dragon race. Please, progenitor, could you bring forth our query to your people?”

“M’kay.”

“You..?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“I.. cannot thank you enough for your…”

“Yeah yeah, can we do something funnier now? I’m kinda getting bored here… Aren’t we in Elfland? Isn’t there anything even remotely cool to see?”

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The deep thuds resonated on the plain, shaking Lomy’s tunic; the little boy hovered higher, covering his forehead to focus his view. The elves stood behind it motionless; among them there were also the human and the dwarf, completely awe-struck by the sight unfolding in front of them.

“He, would you look at that! It’s another..!”

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Comment [1]

CHAPTER 10: Incoming Predator

“…Dragon!!”

The human had just the time to shout the warning before a cascade of fire submerged him along with all the wooden guard post. The dragon dived, continuing to breathe on the border of the city to cut any escape route while his conjured firestorm struck houses and creatures in the center.

He roared a second time after the swoop, reveling in the screams of terror instilled in the men burning alive under him, and with a hoarse and thundering voice summoned swarms of locusts to descend and scourge with more chaos and suffering the few who were still trying to save themselves or extinguish the fires.

A second breathe weakened the already burning palace dominating the city for the red dragon to crush it completely when he purposely landed directly over its roof.

Brearcharos rose and bent his neck, snorting satisfied, with black and dense smoke pumping from his nostrils.

“Nothing like random spreading of horror and misery to improve someone’s mood over his own problems.”

Pondering with himself, the Great Wyrm mauled a fleeing human to the ground with one of his pawns, crushing his legs and pressing him still alive locked to the ground, oblivious to his desperate screams.

“This better be it. (sighing) Note to self: do not probe for indications grell packs which have yet to reach Faerûn. Now, where were we?”

Holding his orb in the other pawn, the dragon concentrated on it to scry for his lost rod, too tired already to use his innate ability to discern the location of objects and beings. Reducing the eyes to a fissure, the Great Wyrm growled, only able to see blurred indications in the crystal ball; he tried again, aiming at the thief, but with even less result.

“They are here… _ What _dares blocking my divinations then?”

Brearcharos snorted again and recollected the words for the language spell, casting it upon himself before lowering his neck to the half squashed man.

“You. Human. Where is the wizard tower of greater magnitude on this world? I need to extract the magical knowledge of this Alternative Material Plane to see what is counteracting my spells.”

Even if his words were comprehensible to him, the agonizing human was too taken upon his petty problems to articulate more than pitiful begging and screams of suffering.

“Fine, I shall take a direct answer.”

After a short pause he used to remember and repeat the appropriate spell, the dragon mindraped the human; he then outstretched his neck and started to meditate hereafter on the recollection of newly acquired memories, ignoring the frantic screams of the little creature.

“The dragon population of this Plane is reduced to a single whimsical swamp-crawling black one, employed as a glorified mount by a local king? That is good to know. Hrrmmnn… Four places in your mind could correspond with what I need. Since this Riders business has raised my interest, I will therefore travel first to this Vroengard and loot whatever is left from its ruins.”

“Please! Please, don’t eat me!”

The Great Wyrm lowered his gaze on the crying human, just then recollecting of his presence, and answered with a complying tone.

“Oh, I would never dream of eating you…”

With an annoyed stomp, the red dragon squashed the higher remaining half of the little creature, brushing his pawn until it was reduced to a smearing pulp of meat and broken bones, he polished his claws from the remains on the wreck of a house and took flight again, leaving the burnt ruins of what he now knew had been Ceunon.

“I wonder now, this is certainly the Plane the thief has been cast on, and so my rod. But the voyage has been tiring, the Shadowland is truly depressing after all. And I did waste a lot of my energies to restore and secure my other treasures, without considering those needed to reach this world and the fact I traveled light. Perhaps I should place a beacon and retire to gear myself, study and rest for a while.”

The dragon flew across the clouded skies of Alagaësia, preparing to planeshift.

“Nah, not worth it.”

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After two fast-forwards dislocations the Great Wyrm was flying over a long mountain chain. He could have planeshifted directly on the probable destination, but now that his curiosity had been awakened, he preferred to go with little jumps, admiring the setting in the meantime.

“I didn’t eat anybody back then and now I regret it, don’t I? Ah, no matter, the human’s mind said a village was here nearby…”

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The dark breeze of nocturnal air, mixed with the throbbing wound on his arm, would have normally made him shudder, but in that moment of clarity and desperate determination he couldn’t feel or see anything but the ghostly figure of his loved one.

“We cannot stay here, and I won’t allow Galbatorix to obliterate everything that’s worth living for.”

Roran stopped as the air around them vibrated, as if from a mighty concussion. He forced himself to ignore it, he couldn’t stop, not in that moment.

“I would rather have my eyes plucked out and my hands chopped off than see him triumph!”

His teeth jarred together and his ears hurt from the pressure; some of the villagers looked around, shaken as well. He needed their attention, just for a few seconds more. He spoke louder, coming forth to gain their gaze again, while looking up to the sky.

“I choose to fight! I choose to step from my grave and let my enemies bury themselves in it! I choose to leave Carv…”

The screeching roar resonated across the entire vale as the dark shadow emerged from the clouds. For a moment Roran beheld the gigantic form diving down to Carvahall, incapable of reacting. His first thought was the Raz’zac were back and had decided to attack them with their fiendish mounts. But as the creature approached he could see it was a far bigger monster, more than twice the size of the Raz’zac’s mounts. From the roaring jaws of the creature flew fire and the moment of immobility was lost. The crackling blow lightened the village; Roran found himself on the ground, with screams and shouts all around him. His vision was blurred and the wounded arm lost all his sensibility. The people of Carvahall were struck by panic, running around or trying to find shelter in their houses. He saw Thane and Ridley run over the Seven Sheaves, Horsts shouting something to his sons, the huts and the very land on fire all around him; a strong wind blew over the village as the thing brushed down again, roaring. It steered fast, jerked the neck down and snatched Ivor away with a gruesome cluck, swallowing him mid-flight while the poor farmer still screamed as the beast took over.

Roran felt the grip of strong hands grabbing him and putting him back on his feet; he found himself looking at Horst’s face and saw the terror in the blacksmith’s eyes.

“Pull up, Roran! Come!”

“Aye. I know, yes! (looking around, trying to clear his mind) We need to go, call the others out! Those fools will burn alive in their homes!”

The blow striken by the creature’s wings startled both men, letting them instinctively hide on the side of the street. Even with fire all around them, Roran was shivering; the rush he made to call upon all the villagers for his speech had depleted his last energies and worsened his conditions and, at the same time, reunited almost all of Carvahall population in one place to be plucked and trapped by the monster.

The second to be chosen was Isold; this time the thing prolonged the suffering of its prey, letting her hang, pierced between his fangs, slowing down its ascension so that as many survivors as possible could gaze upon her before it snapped her in a half.

This can’t be happening.

“He’ll turn and come down again! We need to hurry!”

Managing to remain conscious, Roran agreed with a nod to Horst, shambling after him on the road. The roar of the monster resonated over them and the more he heard it, the more he sounded as a laughter to him.

They shouted at the others to get out and flee, to try and find hiding on the Spine, but few listened, the others caught by panic. The huge form descended again and this time Roran could actually hear an incomprehensible voice screeching from it, before it protruded his pawns and released a shot of cackling dark lightning from its claws.

“No!”

The target this time was Albriech, whose black burnt crumbled corpse the creature didn’t even bother touching. Baldor ran through the crowd, crying his brother’s name and throwing himself at his remains. Roran turned desolated in Horst’s direction, but the blacksmith had been caught in the panicked mob and didn’t even saw his son’s death.

He looked up, burning with anger and fury he could not pour out, searching for the dark winged form in the shadows of the night, in the feeble hope knowing when it would fall again could prevent the death of others.

“It’s coming again! Quick! Run to the forest! Stop screaming!”

Roran threw himself on the ground, covering his head, with his eyes pointed up; in its fourth dive the creature did not take anybody, rasping the ground with his first pawns’ claws just to scare away some of the villagers, soring their hears with its contained rasping laughter. As it passed down, Roran glimpsed at its scales, shining over the light of the fires, its wings, its horns and a shiver passed over his spine as new understanding flew in his mind.

…A dragon?

The monster rose again with heavy flaps of its wings, and the voice spoke a second time, now in their very language, with a delighted tone.

“Scream, run, howl, cry, you pathetical little hairless monkeys… (vomiting fire) Put up a game worthy of your miserable lives..!”

The tavern!

“Horst! Horst! The tavern!”

The last breathe of the dragon had engulfed the roof of the Seven Sheaves. Roran was the first to reach the tavern’s door, but his attempts at forcing it open failed until Horst managed to get to him to help.

“Come on, everyone! You need to..!”

The hall was empty, the Urgal’s horns dominating it; after a short moment of uncertainty, Roran ran in the backroom, opening wide the hatch to Morn’s wine cellar. The frightened faces of the innkeeper and some other villagers looked back at him.

“Get out!”

Morn shook his head.

“No! Either get in or close it and go away!”

“Fools! Do you want to die here like rats?!”

Horst placed a hand on Roran’s left arm, advancing to the hatch.

“We can’t stay here. The Sheaves are on fire, you’ll die! We need to..!”

The blacksmith looked up, as an ominous crackling noise reverberated from the first floor. Roran was about to lower his good arm to urge them to come out when he felt pushed inside the opening.

“Horst, what..?!”

His protests were shut down as the floor collapsed and he fell in the cellar, passing out, overcome by pain and exhaustion.

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Brearcharos passed his right claws in his mouth, polishing ashes and burnt remains away from his fangs. He was flying again, the village and the land itself far away behind him after a couple of planeshifts forward. The villagers didn’t put much of a game, but he was surprised when he found a bunch of women and children roaming not far from the vale. Catching them without using any complex magic had been at least a little more challenging. He never really liked humanoid children, their bones weren’t crisp enough and there wasn’t much of substance to eat in the first place, but they always managed to run and hide in the most amusing places whenever they were trying to flee from him.

“Finally, this is my first plausible destination.”

The rocky island stood below him, wretched and tainted.

“It appears a magical disaster of sorts happened here, although it is easily ruled out a minor artifact like my rod, even in exceptional circumstances of use and if somehow sent back in time, could have been the cause of it; and of course, what little I’ve derived from my scrying indicates neither the item nor the thief are here. (sniffing the air) There is a mild stench of metallic dragon harboring in the air… ah, and there are the first skeletons… “

The Great Wyrm descended, crossing the wide palaces covered in plants and musk, watching more closely the remains of the dragons resting on Vroengard.

“It bears many resemblances with a regular Dragon Graveyard or this dimension’s counterpart, most of the skeletons appear to belong to Wyrms, but as some of them are even bigger it is obvious, taken into account they allegedly succumbed to humans, that my species’ counterparts in this dimension are aberrating in some way. Although I would have expected a Guardian to show up at this point, even if I am yet to desecrate anything…”

The Great Wyrm dived down, landing on the barren waste which was supposed to have been the main lair of the Riders’ Order. Walking among the ruins, he explored some of the bigger palaces; sadly not much of interest was left, besides an almost completely depleted library.

“No sign of leftovers. Whatever calamity affected this place was the masterpiece of powerful wizard. sniffing the air Or it is an illusion.”

Concentrating upon his innate abilities, the red dragon cleaned his eyes, allowing them to see reality as it truly was.

Not much change nor signs of ghost Guardians, even if now he could see magical trails and leftovers, but there was a conglomerate which easily caught his attention, pulsing with numerous spells and wards in the middle of all that nothingness.

“Do you think you could successfully hide a treasure from a dragon?”

Brearcharos took flight again, increasing his speed and ramming over the invisible gate, right after shouting a dispelling. The strike echoed across the plain, but no result was reached and the red dragon only managed to bash his horns on the barred entrance.

“Puny abjurations. Were I not tired already, I could disjoint you back to the Weave. This is not the case. However, there are many ways to crack a chest open.”

The red dragon planeshifted, this time aiming at the Shadowland. Unfortunately, his flight on the grey colorless sky over the Spire revealed the wards still compelled his passage from there. He tried to bypass them again from Ethereal Plane, but the very spell failed completely.

Returning back in the Material Plane the dragon growled, growing impatient, and conjured an Earthquake, hoping at least to be able to see what was beyond the gate. While the plain cracked open, the wood surrounding the pillar was swallowed into the abyss and a near mountain collapsed, the Spire still held.

“Hrrrrnnntt… I see. (landing before the gate) I have to come to the conclusion whatever was done here is either the work of metallic Great Wyrms or of a god’s efforts. I shall not waste any more time or energies to try and unlock this lair. The most rational course of action is to flag this island and return later after the appropriate studies and with the arcane tools to open it.”

After a second of contemplating silence, the red dragon shouted the words to conjure a meteor swarm and stroke again the entrance with no results.

“Very well. As an incentive to let me depart, for now, I shall seal whatever’s hidden here even more strongly, so that if whoever was responsible for this came back, he will find the door closed to him as well.”

After marking the nearest mountain to respond to his Word of Recall, the Great Wyrm hovered around the pillar, spouting what spells remembered from his lair’s recent reordering: he first covered the Spire with an invisible silent alarm, he magically barred the entrance with his own lock and he surrounded it with a greater Sign of Sealing; then he raised a wall of twitching eyes before the hidden gate, obscured it from divination and hid it from sight with an invisibility spell made permanent shortly after. In the end he decided to summon forth a minor fiend to watch guard and collect possible information just in case whoever placed the original wards had been able to dispel his without triggering any warning; he chose an enclosed spot, traced the binding circle and performed the spell, but the conjuration failed.

“It would appear not only this Alternative Material Plane lacks an ethereal counterpart, it also is either unbound to the Outer counterparts or completely lacking in that regard. Which will make me wonder: how much influence gods or other fiendish or celestial immortal beings could have on it? Still considering that there are any. It would make this world temptingly… helpless. (beat) …Of course this couldn’t interest me less: I’m here to recover a stolen good and punish a thief, certainly not to conquer this dimension…”

The red dragon blinked twice, looking around, and finally took over to leave the island.

“Three possible locations are left. However, I shall not be too hasty and will explore this land to gather further lore before rushing to another possibly locked door.”

Gaining height, the Great Wyrm concentrated and planeshifted away.

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Comment [3]

Disclaimer: The article represents my view on the matter, which, of course, is perfectly arguable (indeed, feel free to discuss it if you so desire).

“Alas, poor Smaug! I knew him, Author: a fellow
of infinite spite, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne no man on his back one single time; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that have breathed death I know
not how oft. Where be your snarls now? your
lair? your hoard? your flashes of wrath,
that were wont to set the country on a roar? Not one
now, to shine your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?”

There was this old Chinese tale about a rich nobleman who collected all beautiful things that were in the known world. He had paintings and sculptures and poems and the like, he also had a garden with rare flowers and animals, and, in that garden, he had lured two dragons. First they had only descended to admire the place, but the nobleman honored them, offered them rich food and everything they could ask for, so, in a matter of years, the two dragons decided to remain permanently in the garden; they would pass their days heating their coils on a rock in the middle of an artificial lake, diving to shore only to eat, living in luxury and sloth.

Another dragon happened to pass nearby one day, to create a storm over the palace, and saw the two of them; he warned his kindred to leave the nobleman for those who lived with men would have died because of men, but the two dragons had forgotten how to fly, forsaken their nature and weren’t even able to answer to him. The third dragon flew away and, not long from then, a warlord sacked the palace, killed the nobleman and have the two pets slaughtered for their skin.

Of course the oriental dragons were embodiments of the primal forces of nature, divine messengers and sometimes, divine beings in their own right, while the western varieties, which we will consider in this article, followed a different path and were seen more as malevolent creatures opposing the protagonists in their legends.

And of course, as an antagonist of that magnitude, the only two epic things coming to mind that a man can do with a dragon is either kill it or ride it, and after two thousand years of stories of heroes doing both, it’s not surprising the old Dragon Archetype has crawled bleeding to moan into a corner.

And that is just sad.

Primal elements

What distinguishes a healthy standard European dragon? What tells us that it is a dragon, not a random monster? Now, I know there are different varieties depending on the country, we can have the poisonous French wyvern or the limbless English wyrm and others in between, but, as today, we can safely assume the heraldic form most commonly recognized as “dragon” is what could be described as a flying fire-breathing reptile. I would say a dragon should be more than just that, but let us remain on the physical properties for now. We are accustomed to this form, someone who reads, sees or plays fantasy fiction is likely to easily dismiss it as one of the more classic you’re ever going to find, but let us take a moment to analyze it with new eyes.

In fact, let us destroy and reconstruct piece by piece the Dragon and try to see what each and every element is supposed to add.

Reptile
Dragons are often depicted as reptile-like and with many of the stereotypical and sometimes wrong traits reptiles are described as having. Their skin is not soft, they’re covered by hard scales, and they can have horns and crests and big fangs protruding from their mouths even when they’re closed. Overall, our Dragon Archetype has a sharp line, it’s not something chubby, hairy or soft, by all means it has been built to have all the opposites of those traits that would define something as “cute”.

It’s also a carnivore and most likely an active predator. And it’s big. At least bigger than a human, unless we’re talking about a cub or some very special variety. I would say the closest real-life animals we could compare it to would be dinosaurs, that is, if we hadn’t discovered by now they were all covered with feathers (shivers).

We don’t have these kinds of predators in our current biosphere, in fact, the high-metabolism mammal-based food-chain does not allow such an occurrence to come to be in the first place. Humans never had to deal with a predator of our Dragon Archetype’s size, resilience and (supposed) speed. Our ancestors adapted to fight their natural predators either running away, climbing trees or creating tools to defend themselves. A dragon could beat a human in every one of those circumstances: it could outrun him, reach for the top of the tree just by standing nearby and stretching its neck and (even if it varies from work to work) is resilient to a lot of weapons and traps its prey could make.

Literature has accustomed us to see dragons die at every turn, but, even in the weakest incarnation, a dragon, if correctly written, by its physic alone should already be a sight to behold and be terrified of.

Maybe in its current form our Dragon Archetype probably wouldn’t last long roaming about in the 21st century, but in his more familiar medieval settings the whole jig changes.

Fire-breathing
Whereas fire has greatly helped man in the course of his history it is, just like reptiles, something not unusually met with instinctual repulsion and fear, and for good reason. Let us now add to our Dragon Archetype its second peculiar trait: it can breathe fire at will from its mouth. It isn’t just bigger, stronger and more resilient than humans, it can roast them, the land they walk upon, and the houses they hide in, with impunity.

For a medieval man that means everything short of the castle or some other stone-made building can be destroyed with ease by our dragon. There is little defense against an unchecked fire, especially if you lack the proper tools to deal with it; the historical methods are unlikely to work, because another spit from the dragon can dry out water or burn the land/rags used to try and put out the previous one.

From what we have rebuilt thus far, imagine the scene: the townsfolk hear the roaring, then the Jurassic Park-like thundering of the stomps of the creature closing in; some of them try to hide, others to run away. There is already chaos, and then fire comes and all the houses are lit, the smoke and heat blurring vision. People run and scream, as this monster just rushes in, crushing huts, roaring and spitting more columns of fire, snatching away men from the ground.

Flying
And finally, the feature to top it all, no matter its size and its diplodocus-like form, we put two bat wings to our Dragon Archetype and let it fly. I already saw there are two articles about the realistic aerial capabilities of a dragon, which I’ll recommend, but right now let us concentrate on the effect rather than the dynamic. This is a man-eating predator that can fly. Something against which man really has no defense whatsoever. Because there aren’t any others in nature, nor have there ever been, that could threaten humans from the sky, besides the occasional eagle. A human might try to run from a dragon on the ground, but how can he escape if it comes from the sky? There has to be this sense of unknown fear and vulnerability: whereas the sky is an open window which you cannot probe, the predator may fall from it to take you at anytime. The most similar situation I can think of is that one you can feel in the sea. You are swimming in very deep waters, you happen to hear something strange, you stop, you look around and see nothing; you try to look down, but you cannot see all the way through, you do not know if there is something coming (think of the Jaws movies). It should be the same, only, with the heavens instead of the sea, the situation is reversed.

How it is for a fantasy Middle Ages setting farmer to live in a world where there are dragons? Every day he leaves his home and hopes for a clear cloudless sky; he works the land and looks up, searching for forms or glittering of scales, then he looks down, searching for shadows; he knows that there, in the middle of the camp, alone, in broad daylight, he’s completely vulnerable and can be eaten at any given time. Think of the levels of paranoia a human society can live and evolve with under such a threat. Humans in a world like this may not even live in villages and cities like they are usually described in fantasy novels, perhaps they have dug out their refuges in the mountains, living like dwarves, perhaps they live concentrated in heavily protected fortress-cities, shielded with stone, metal or magic; going out would not be something you do lightly, or for long periods of time, and if you have to, you’d probably want to stay far from any open space. The sky will not be something to look up at and wonder about, it will be something scary, something that can rain fire and death at any moment; it could be a world where the gods all dwell in the deep abyss that the heavens never touch; the souls of the virtuous will go down to be safe forever, the souls of the wicked will be caught in a wind and dragged up.

The Magic Factor

We’ve rebuilt our Archetype, looked more closely to what makes it so special and fearsome, would this be enough to make this thing worthy of the name of Dragon?

There are no doubts that, if written correctly, a creature like the one described thus far can be a worthy being; I can think of the Reign of Fire movie: they were just beasts with those very three characteristics mentioned above, but they were treated with due respect and consideration, thus making them threatening, surrounded by a halo of mystery, fear, and awe, even when we knew that they were clearly just animals. We could see how their presence influenced a human world.

Now, this is my point of view, of course, but I think that is simply not enough yet.

The dragon, a proper dragon, is the figurehead of fantasy, it is that one magical being you are always bound to think about when pondering about fantasy, it cannot be just an animal, albeit strange or dangerous. It has to be something more, something inexplicable, something unknown. It has to be terrifying but, just like Magic, it has to tingle someone’s sense of wonder as well, which is the fundamental cornerstone of what fantasy is in the first place.

When I say wondrous, I don’t mean “Oh, look! Shinyscales! Isn’t she beautiful? Let’s play a song to show our happiness at her sight, yay!”, I mean that silent personal feeling that you may have gazing at the universe through a telescope or watching lightning strike a tree or an actual predator moving into the wilderness. It’s a sight to behold. But in silence. From afar. You don’t want to get close. Because you want to live.

Paolini tries to do that when he makes Brom say “Wondrous inexplicable things happen around dragons” (or whatever it was), but he fails in practice to deliver: the “magic” he grants to his dragons is only there as a plot device.

There is no need to make something excessive either, like the D&D dragons that can shoot spells like trained sorcerers, but, for what I believe, the touch of magic and unknown has to be there, it is part of what a dragon is, else it is only a monster which happens to look like a dragon.

The Temper

We have the physic and eventually the metaphysic, what is left to analyze is the psyche and we’ll have rebuilt our Dragon Archetype.

Now, for what concerns me, this is a point as important as the previous one, and it’s deeply tied up in it: it’s what says the thing we are seeing is a dragon rather than a random animal, or a monster, or a pet; the shape can change, there are different varieties both in legends and contemporary fiction, rearrangements of the same parts or rare new well-placed features, but those are details. You can hardly make them wrong, just fail to properly give them the importance they deserve.

But this is important.

Contrary to what somebody might believe at this point, this is not just about the dragon being or not being smart.

It’s mostly about the dragon being or not being a pet.

Personally, I prefer the Archetypical Dragon to be smart at least as much if not more than human beings, to the point of being able to communicate easily with them and shame their intellectual capabilities. This is because instinctively an average reader will think of the creature walking on four legs, with the tail and the long snout, and assimilate it instinctively to the “beast-not-man” category; making the dragon smarter than the humans shakes things back into a more proper perspective. A writer can make do even with unintelligent mute dragons, in older tales they more rarely talked, but it’s harder to make it work.

For what concerns the behavior of a dragon, intelligent or not, I feel it is to maintain a certain amount of freedom: the rebuilt dragon is supposedly an unstoppable force of nature/magic, an ancient unknowable being and massive predator; it should behave in a way that is consistent with its characteristics.

By a biological point of view, a giant solitary carnivore is going to have a very different set of values and instinctive drives than a small social omnivore (like, say, man?) or a middle-sized social herbivore (like the horse). Even if the writer wants to make an intelligent virtuous dragon, he still has to remember how the creature will instinctively see the juicy humans roaming at his feet.

We know the double standard mankind treats other animals with as opposed to its own species, a dragon should be likely to consider things in similar ways and feel little shame for eating men as a man would feel little shame for eating a chicken (even more, since a man can live without meat, whereas a dragon usually cannot). Since we place it higher in the food chain in our imagination, it should behave accordingly and this is independent from the amount of mental capacities it is disposed of.

By the poetic point of view, if we made our Dragon Archetype a symbol of wilderness and untamed, unknowable magic, the remnant of an old world we have forgotten (and the like), it would be unlikely to have it be meek and subservient to man, as it defeats the purpose of the previous statement.

The Riding-Bound-Thingy

Disclaimer II: the following section may contain spoilers for A Song of Ice and Fire (first book/season), Eragon, Dragonheart, The Iron Dragon’s Daughter.

And here we come to the sore point, the growing vibe of having dragons be ridden by humans and humanoids or tamed and bound to them or put another otherwise inferior position.

Someone may argue that the dragon isn’t always subservient, sometimes they are at equal level, sometimes the dragon actually has the upper pawn in the bond, but most of the time it isn’t so, even if it is said otherwise; and even when it really is, the dragon still remains the dependent party. Finally there is always a question of perception of the reader (or watcher, or player): he sees this man riding the dragon, he’ll automatically assimilate the image to that of a man riding a horse, one is the master the other’s the beast, even if he consciously knows that the dragon is an intelligent and proud being and the rider is its companion. The writer may have said so, but it wasn’t so in what transpired from his work.

On the other hand, with what has been analyzed about the dragon, it would be more likely to be assumed that the relationship between the two should actually be the opposite: a man trying to ride a dragon shouldn’t be more successful than a raccoon trying to ride a man.

In Eragon, a dragon cannot even come to life before finding its master for life (A.K.A. its Rider). For all its infancy it will be bombarded by the alien thoughts and passions of an already grown-up two-legged, mammalian omnivore, whom it shall protect and fly across the land the very moment its wings hold. It’s a pet; it never really had the choice to link itself to humanoids; the spell was cast on its egg before it was even born. You could hardly see such a creature as a fierce and dangerous predator with mysterious powers and capacities beyond human comprehension: it’s just a pet, a nasty guard dog at best, which its master can unleash if he feels like it or that he can train to make funny tricks for guests, nothing more.

What about the three cubs in A Song of Ice and Fire? They’re a powerful symbol, but they’re treated just like that: pets. They’re kept in cages, they’re taught tricks, the first thought of their mistress is “Awesome, I can use them as weapons,” shortly followed by “Hot damnity, I hope they grow faster, I really need to ride the little freaks.” It is the approach itself that diminishes the creature.

There are instances of successful stories with dragons chaining themselves to humanoids, but it is a characterization so easy to get wrong and demean the Dragon Archetype…

In The Iron Dragon’s Daughter, as a first example, it is justified because the mechanic beast needs a pilot to move itself; apparently the mammal is getting the position of absolute authority, but she soon becomes the enslaved one, the process is subtle and against the more immediate expectations of readers, but it works perfectly.

In Dragonheart, as another successful example, it isn’t out of the desire of becoming linked with a human that the dragon creates the bound: he only thought he could buy through his action his way to heaven. It was a selfish choice, which backfires on him.

In both of the examples we have always the dragon in the position of power, he is making the choice out of his personal needs and desires. The human may propose (as in Dragonheart), but he doesn’t have the power to impose, in fact he has to beg. The bond and its implications are explored with due importance, it’s not hand-waved, it becomes part of the plot. In the examples provided the two humans on the receiving hand of the business try to turn it to their advantage, but it’s far from easy, since they are dealing with real dragons, not huge lizard pets.

Conclusion

Well, we rebuilt it, hopefully not a mess. After all this writing, I would say, in conclusion, the Dragon is a species easy to add in fantasy, like elves and dwarves, with good premises to drum up success, but, since it has been so overused in the course of the history of fiction, just putting it in the setting doesn’t work anymore; there has to be the need to reconstruct the spirit of what a dragon was supposed to be in the beginning and how deeply its mere existence should influence a setting; the author has to be aware and be able to show the implications of its features and the consequences of its addition to the world. Else better try for something else, there are plenty of monsters that could suit the needs of other particular circumstances, letting the old sleeping dragon lie.

Comment [48]

Disclaimer I: May contain spoilers of: Star Wars (Old Trilogy), The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, The Order of the Stick

Disclaimer II: The topic is about applicability of a wider moral system in fiction, it is not fitted to verge on real-life philosophy and ethics.

I remember a comment about morality from George R. R. Martin; it went more or less like this:

“I see our world and I don’t see black or white in it, only different shades of grey.”

Do you know what else you do not see in our world? Dragons. Or magic. Or starships. Or aliens.

Where am I going?

This is no different from, for instance, supernatural-influenced governments: it is an easy mistake to research a particular feature or situation in real life to make the setting more realistic only to forget the influences of the imaginary features of said setting that might intervene to change it.

I wouldn’t argue in reality that there aren’t wholly evil or good people and that morality can easily become a subjective matter; I also wouldn’t argue that creating characters with two-dimensional black or white morality can become shallow rather quickly.

But.

Depending on the setting a character might not need at all to be greyish to be complex and even an axiomatic character might serve his purpose better in certain situations.

It has become a common trend both in general and fantasy fiction to go for the grey & grey morality system since it is assumed, it being closer to our reality, that it will necessarily be more realistic than any other in any circumstance. While this can be true for other genres, in fantasy and sci-fi there may be other factors which could make grey & grey morality unrealistic.

Black & Grey & White according to the setting

For simplicity, let us take a classic fantasy/sci-fi setting. There is no doubt there will be a lot of shades of grey in such a world, applied to the majority of ordinary people, but we will also have the chance, for certain individuals or species, to find completely white and completely black characters. Their presence gives added variety, something to be treated carefully and underlined; it is not a feature to just be hinted at nor to be put in to simplify one’s narrative, it is a factor to be emphasized properly. Having a Great Good being and showing his unnatural behavior can indirectly define the more natural flaws of an average heroic protagonist; in the same way, a greyish antagonist will appear more sympathetic when compared to a Big Bad. A classic example of this is Star Wars, where we have a composite sympathetic antagonist (Darth Vader) and a monolithic axiomatic antagonist (Darth Sidious): the hidden good in the first is even more visible when compared to the utter corruption of the second; interacting together they complete each other and give a greater impact to the story. Such differences need to be perceived, by the public inside and outside the work, and exploited by the author to enrich the targeted character rather than make it blank. The correct mindset with which to treat this type of characterization in my opinion is to consider that completely black or white behavior is either idealistic or alien to the human condition, meaning that it can be experienced only by something that should not or should no longer be considered human by the audience. That is why it’s unlikely to come into place as a realistic tool outside the fantasy/sci-fi settings.

Without humans

That’s the easiest to explain: different species are bound to have different moralities. Certain species might have evolved from different roots: in the previous article I was talking about dragons, which can be considered to have evolved as large solitary predators, whereas humans are small social omnivores; it is not hard to imagine a dragon could see humans as humans see chickens, or that he could be naturally driven to stay away from others of his kind, rather than form families and clans with them. On the other hand a creature evolved as an herbivore, or maybe even a sentient plant, could have such a restrictive moral code that it could perceive an average human as a horrible monster and which a human could see as an obscenely pure and meek being.

This is even truer in sci-fi settings, where aliens have evolved in different worlds and times and are therefore bound to have extremely different biology, societies, and customs and might very well not even understand why humans act in certain ways.

There is also the case of magical, divine, or otherwise unnatural beings, which are even more keen to conform to the black & white morality: a construct/droid (if complex enough to be considered an intelligent being) has a moral system strictly dependent on how it was built, it might not have the capacity to feel some or any emotions or to just consider certain lines of thought, simply because they were not built in. An angel/devil might be the living embodiment of a certain set of virtues/vices (depending on the setting) and be physically and psychically unable to stray from that line: like a construct, it will only have a particular set of feelings, will perform only a particular set of actions and only for a particular set of ends, and if it is allowed to have the possibility of straying, that single act will most likely provoke its fall/ascension to the completely opposite side of the moral system, provoking a radical change in its very nature.

With humans

More subtle but still present is the existence of humans (or average humanoids) assimilated to either the black or white end of the moral system. Of course, since we have some experience on the drives and morality of this particular species, I’m likely to admit that, unless we are talking of a very unusual setting (like, say, Warhammer 40K?), it would be more realistic to picture the majority of humankind in shades of grey. But, depending on the setting once again, not necessarily all of them. Sometimes experiences of the worst or best kind may deeply influence a man or a group. It can range from very subtle to violently direct: for example some people may be stationed in an enchanted valley that provides for them all food and shelter they need and which protects them from illness. When other normal humans will reach the valley at the distance of a century or so and try and conquer it for its resources, the descendants of the local residents might not be able to offer resistance or even understand their motives. A wizard studying forbidden knowledge, summoning and treating with demons, is likely to become more accustomed to and keen to perform inhumane atrocities for the same reasons: because he has been familiarized with them so much that he doesn’t find them repellent as an average person does. An even more direct way is when the human character reaches his new axiomatic morality while losing his humanity in the process, thanks to the supernatural powers provided by the setting. As a classic example, the same wizard decides to turn into a lich: he doesn’t need to eat or drink or rest, he doesn’t fear disease or death by old age anymore, he’s bound to see the world and himself in a very different light.

Another less drastic example could be the Force in Star Wars: the Dark Side feeds and produces strong emotions, therefore the more a person indulges in his passions and uses the Force to empower his desires, the stronger and the more twisted his passions become, to the point he feels no longer like a human (or humanoid), but he’s rather become a jar for craving and corruption. On the flip side, the more a Jedi detaches himself from emotions, the more he detaches himself from the human condition: rather than feel abnormally, he doesn’t feel at all anymore.

*****************

For my next number, I will attempt to provide examples of creation of tridimensional axiomatic characters. Beware, these are extreme cases, they are not supposed to be rigidly applied when needed, they are just here to show how to behave while creating a completely black or a completely white character, but can be pretty useful to create very dark grey or very light grey characters as well.

The Irredeemably Wicked

This is the easiest one and the most commonly seen in its shallow form. There are lots of articles about how to build a realistic villain from the grey & grey (sometimes very dark grey) point of view scattered across the internet and on this very site. I would suggest reading them as this is more of a supplement for a particular instance. A common error (that many of those articles address) in fiction is to create a flat or otherwise unbelievable villain with no realistic behavior and motives. The main suggestions given on the matter are to search for what drives him to commit his deeds, to add depth and make him a composite independent living character rather than an obstacle on the protagonist’s quest for glory. I can obviously agree with all this. The point I’ll have to make is that, contrary to common belief, it doesn’t mean that, to make a character composite, you need to add sympathetic traits. You only have to add traits. If the author explores the reasons and the nature of the villain, he is giving depth to it, no matter if the features he adds are not likable in the least. What is important is for the character to both be realistic (according to the setting) and arouse a response in the public; nothing says the response must be an Aristotelian pity, which can become redundant and shallow if forced where it does not belong or treated poorly and for too many times. A villain might only provoke fear, hate or disgust and work just as well; what is to avoid is a flat villain that does not create a response from the public, adding the sympathetic pity trope becomes only a cheap way to avoid this occurrence. A good author should be able to create a character with no redeeming qualities which is yet appreciated by the public and considered original.

Step 1: What is it?

The better way to go for in this case is beginning with what this villain is. The main possibilities are:

Non-humanoid creature: Common in fantasy and of an easier approach for both the author and the audience; these creatures neither think nor are like humans. Their nature might not be inherently contrasting with the common welfare of other beings and just seem alien, but more often than not it is cancerous to them and has to be shown. A man-eating dragon or a mind-raping abomination fall into this category. The author should put great attention to emphasize what makes the creature different from humanoids not only on the outside but on the inside as well. Its behavior should hardly be even remotely similar to that of mankind and the like. The common error for this category is, I believe, to either portray these kinds of villains as mindless or to not give them even the slightest inch of motivation. We know they are monsters because of how they look and we assume they are “evil” because of how they behave, yet we have no insight into them: more like natural disasters than opponents. While this can be successfully exploited, it has to be highlighted, as Lovecraft did with his creations: the protagonists of his stories spend a great deal of time aimlessly trying to understand what do the Old Ones and their horrors want and why they act like they do. While I can appreciate those unknowable eldritch kinds of entities, I believe they are more appropriate as threats lingering outside the plot; when the author wants to create a monstrous villain inside the plot as the main opponent to the protagonists, he should take the chance to explore its mind and make it as alien as its body is from the human perspective.

Monstrous humanoid: While this kind of creatures is as common (if not more) than the previous one, they are the hardest to render. The main problem, to which I’ve seen a lot of authors and actors fall into, is the opposite of the one I wrote about in my previous rant, about dragons assimilated to beasts for their physiology: in the case of a monstrous humanoid, it’s all too easily assimilated to a man due to his appearance. This isn’t necessarily bad when we are talking about an hybrid spawned by a humanoid and something else, or about someone who was adopted by humanoids, or someone who had been a humanoid (like certain types of undead), but, for everyone else I’d consider it the worst mistake to make. We are considering something that might have a various amount of semblance with humanoids, but, in this case, it has to be a mostly exterior resemblance (like a dolphin may look like a fish but it’s not). It could be a demon possessing a human, or it could be an alien evolved through a parallel line; in any case the differences in its way of thinking and acting should come out the moment it goes on scene. The point of creating a monstrous humanoid lies in its comparison with actual humanoids: it looks like one at first, but closer search will show there’s something wrong with it. Once again, this something must be both in its body and its mind. There is to be a special care in its psyche particularly when the body is completely human (again, like in a demonic possession or with some shape-shifting species).

Humanoid: With this I will consider humans and those humanoid species with moral systems akin to those of the average human. The major point with this category is to remain consistent with the established behavior of the villain and explore the reasons that brought it where it is. It is a rare thing for a human to fall in the very deep end of the alignment pool whilst still remaining a human being and that is the contradiction the author needs to address the most: it is a human in body but not in mind. Such a being should be able to provoke the same uncanny feeling of a monstrous humanoid, sometimes even more than a monstrous humanoid, because its apparently unnatural actions are not justified by unnatural means (having a dragon father, turning into a vampire, seeing Chtulhu…). A prime example I think would be Hannibal Lecter: the way he speaks, the way he looks, the way he acts, in another setting they could have been very likely interpreted as clues of an non-human nature; this is not the case and such awareness only makes him more unsettling. Think of the recording when he attacks a nurse in the asylum: from completely calm and still and silent, to suddenly jumping forward to bite.

All three categories have the potential to generate an axiomatic villain, but it is usually better not to push humans or humanoids with natural morality established as similar to humans’ too much over the edge unless extraordinary justifications apply. I would say we have a borderline example in Star Wars Ep. IV: Darth Vader, the (yet apparently) soulless, faceless, half-machine black knight-sorcerer ruthlessly kills his underlings and mercilessly tortures the captive princess, but it is the absolutely normal-looking human Governor Tarkin who decides to coldly and casually blow up a planet, killing billions just to prove a point.

For our example, to make things interesting, we shall take the harder type, the monstrous humanoid, and one of the worst and most likely to go shallow subtypes: the ensouled vampire.

Alec, our prototype, will be inspired by Stoker’s archetype, therefore he will neither be one of the older demon-possessed corpses nor a human infected by some really bizarre disease: it is the soul of an evil man, whose actions were so despicable, that, instead of going to the Hells, was given the reward of retaining his dead body to torment the mortals yet some more.

He was sixteen when he died, but, after long centuries of unliving, he has become pretty powerful by the time of the main story and his features will include: dominating the minds of men and beasts, turning into wolf or bat or mist or other unsavory nocturnal predators; mild supernatural strength, speed and reflexes and dark vision, to which we will add some other powers coming from his long studies in magic and which come from his background, thus being independent from his nature, such as his touch and bite carrying the mortal disease that killed him. As for his weaknesses: he’ll feel repulsion for holy objects (water, symbols, weapons) and garlic, he’ll not reflect on mirrors and similar surfaces, he’ll need to rest in the land where he was originally engraved, he’ll be vulnerable to the stake through the heart and sunlight, but, if he has eaten enough, he’ll be able to temporarily bear the light of day without turning to ashes.

Alec appears as a young human and, while, if starved, he can become unnaturally pale, corpse-looking and show principle of acral necrosis, most of time there is nothing in his body that could betray his nature. His way of acting on the other hand can easily stand out: silent, contemplative, detached, with serious problems of communication in the current language and a usually tired and empty gaze; he can hardly blend in as a young man in the alternative 21st century Earth. We won’t see him mixing with high society nor seducing young women with his charms: he’ll walk alone in the darkest hours of the night to casually subdue a prey with his mind and suck it dry in the corner of an alley. He still has some passions and beliefs, but the changes the world has had in all the centuries from his death have alienated him completely from humans, whom he sees mostly as arrogant and degenerate bags of blood. In this case the charade is double: he looks like a boy and he’s not, he looks like a human and he’s not (anymore); so much time has passed that he cannot nor does he want to pretend otherwise, preferring to shun society (and thus alienating himself even more) and showing clearly unnatural behavior when interacting with others.

Step 2: Characterization

This is the main passage, the one most commonly examined in other articles about creating villains, therefore I will not go into detail to repeat what others already exposed better. As I said before, the process to make a character composite does not inevitably imply adding sympathetic traits: the important is to add realistic and compatible traits; for a completely black villain none of them will be likable.

A common dichotomy that I would like to highlight in this instance is the Amorality vs. Malevolence dilemma in the creation of the villain.

Amoral Villain: With this term I imply a lot of categories, shortly it means that the villain in question does not comply to the objective moral system considered for the story (usually the real-life humans’). It has a various range of applications, but it pretty much means the villain commits seemingly evil acts justifying itself with one or more reasons. It can be an inquisitor killing a thousand innocents just to be sure to have caught that one sneaky witch, it can be a queen poisoning her husband to take over the throne completely, it can be a dragon eating a dozen men to satiate his appetite. The villain may or may not enjoy or suffer from the choice, but will have plenty of reasonable (at least from its point of view) justifications: the inquisitor? The witch was dangerous, I needed to stop her, if the others I burned were truly innocents, then they are in heaven now, I did them a favor. The queen? The king mistreated me, he bankrupted the realm, we are better off without him. The dragon? I was hungry. It really goes from a simple “the ends justify the means” to “I’m beyond the petty concepts of Good and Evil”, in both cases the villain does not consider itself a villain; it either has a different set of moral values or it lacks them completely. The inquisitor may enjoy burning people or may be horrified by his own act, but he’ll do it anyway because he believes it’s the right thing to do; even if he does find the sight of people burning at the stake hilarious, he is still burning them mainly because of reasons. This category also encompasses the sympathetic villains, with their (somewhat) reasonable excuses for vicious behavior, but there is no doubt this sort of villainy can be taken to its extreme and be even more vicious than true Malevolence, especially when the villain does not care one way or the other about the collateral damage of its actions on other living beings. If well exploited by the author, a completely cold villain might become more frightening than one with a grudge against the protagonists: the second type will at least have an interest in them, if not in their well-being, while the first will just say “I don’t care”.

Malevolence: It has been seen rarely in the last times, I would say fortunately, because this is another easily misused category, which, in its worst embodiment, is summed into “He’s Evil because he’s Evil/Crazy.” A malevolent being is one that actually revels in its despicable acts. It doesn’t have reasons except its own amusement or a desire to cause even more suffering in other beings, which could be seen as evil for evil’s sake. It’s also the one type of villain that could, in fact, admit that yes, it actually is a villain. While a villain can fall both in the black & white and the grey & grey morality and belong the amoral category, a malevolent villain is unlikely to be grey. Since the category is so restrictive, there is no surprise that it can be easily misused and flatten the character it is applied to. Devils and demons are the more common example of this type: they don’t gain anything from spreading misery into the world or from damning the souls of men yet they do it and enjoy doing it (of course, depending on the setting, they might be acting on behalf of a deity’s dispositions or have other reasons, but that’s another topic). I would admit it is hard to create a villain with malevolence as its main (or only) drive and give depth to it, but it can still be done with the proper attention. One first trick, as already repeated many times over, is to lean on the feature, have the other characters react to its unnatural and extreme tendencies: the protagonists are not going to dismiss it as “He’s Evil, nothing we can do.”, they’ll go question that possibility, they’re going to ask and say to themselves “It cannot really be this cruel, how is it possible? Why?” and so on. The second trick is to mix the malevolent urge with reasons. An example employing both of the tricks could be Heath Ledger’s Joker: he mainly acts out of fun, but he also wants to expose society’s hypocrisy and spread his nihilistic ideals about Chaos; it takes a while for both the protagonist and the other characters to understand how cruel and dangerous he can be, and for a long time they just cannot fathom his completely black morality.

Let us return to Alec, we’ll take the hardest course again and make him a malevolent villain. In his first two centuries our vampire followed the common vibe of his kind to search among the living for those who embodied what he valued most to feed on and eventually turn them: in his case such features are noble blood, old age, and respect for knowledge and tradition, which made old wizards and teachers some of his favorite targets. Then, in the first fifty years of his third century as undead, he shifted to old nuns and widows that could have worked as surrogates for his mother after she was staked by a hunter. But right now, in his seventh century, Alec has long grown bitter with all of humanity: he cannot find the slightest amount of interest in them and therefore drinks from any random unfortunate he stumbles upon and has started turning the people who disgust him the most, so that, as enthralled undead, he can force them to a more favorable behavior. And he does go to great lengths to prolong his victims’ agony as much as possible and bully them once they are forever bound to his service. He doesn’t have his thirst for blood as a justification, because he makes his thralls suck dry and turn the special victims for him; sometimes, after one of them has learned his lesson and started to appreciate the dark gift, Alec will have it burned. This is a particular form of malevolence dear to undead: Alec doesn’t really enjoy killing and tormenting anymore, but since he cannot find anything to be entertained, he wants everyone else to be scourged by a hundred times his misery: this way, compared to them, he’s happy. He doesn’t seek death either, he likes being annoyed and melancholic and going on unliving like this, spreading suffering to mortals for the sake of it.

Step 3: The start of darkness

That is, the background story of the villain. When the villain’s life before the Plot is explored, there is little chance to make something more shallow (as opposed to, well, nothing), but there is also high chance of creating, even unwillingly or unconsciously, sympathetic traits. This happens I believe because there is the common vibe of creating a tragic backstory for the villain, which obviously is bound to stimulate the empathy of the public one way or another. While it is true that a tragic backstory can realistically justify a villain’s current behavior in the main story, it’s not the only way of doing it. Let’s see:

Tragic Backstory: Already introduced. In this category the villain either lost or outright killed his family (or equivalent) or was mistreated by them. Else there was no family and it had to crawl its way into the harsh harsh world by its own and was poor or a slave or something like that. If the villain was a normal child and its father/mother/step-whatever abused it or brainwashed it, the audience will see the parent as the real evil person and the villain as an innocent victim who finally gets its revenge when it kills him/her/it. It’s really the same if the villain’s an orphan: it just becomes a victim of Fate. If someone wants to use the tragic backstory and maintain an unsympathetic villain there is a surprisingly easy way to do it: you make it go like Xykon and kill his parents even if they are normal people who wish him no harm.

Cushy Backstory: This is really the opposite and, I would say, a more common one for the axiomatic villain. In this backstory it grew spoiled in riches, with servants answering its every whim, a fine education, healthcare and possibly a hereditary position of power waiting for it. There is still the possibility of laying the real blame on the parents: after all, if someone assured to make its priorities straight, the baby villain wouldn’t have turned into a princeling with godly delusions. But it’s much less probable for the public to feel sympathy for the villain itself, only for the circumstances. The main story doesn’t dwell on it much, but, as a recent example, Joffrey from A Song of Ice and Fire has one of these and isn’t he charming?

Zero Backstory: This is mostly for non-humanoid monsters and is highly unlikely explored. It is when the villain was born exactly as it is during the main story (although maybe somewhat smaller): it either was generated by a deity or other supernatural being for a purpose or it emerged by itself from primordial ooze or existed from the beginning of time or it was just a lonely savage creature living in the wilderness which passed from hunting bugs and lizards to men and horses. Since it hardly is a story by itself and doesn’t add much, it’s improbable it may fall into sympathetic territory, but it does have the risk of going on the shallow side of the characterization.

Back to our example, I will go with the classic Tragic Backstory: in fact, contrary to what somebody might have started to believe at this point, our Alec was not a nobleman. He lived in a castle in 14th century Europe, but he was the son of a cook and a handmaiden, and served as assistant for the court wizard. His parents were fine people and so were the wizard, the Lord and the Lady of the castle and their heir too, which was some sort of childhood friend for him. As an actual boy Alec was bright and curious, but also diligent and patient. He had a certain dose of envy for the nobles, but he remained loyal to them and was hopeful the old wizard would take him as his apprentice when the right time came. When the bubonic plague came to his country, the Lord quarantined the castle to avoid any risk, letting his subjects starve outside the walls. Alec was fine, hidden inside with the other palace servants, but, when the rabble outside revolted, he was sent with everybody else to repel them at the main gate before they could break in. Even if the revolt were prevented and the people in the castle were still safe from the Black Death festering in the land all around them, it wasn’t many days from the episode that Alec started feeling the effects of the disease. Fearing for his life, the young page sneaked into the wizard’s tower, using what little knowledge he had to invoke supernatural help. A demon answered his call and swore it would save him from death if only Alec give it the life of the Lord’s heir. Alec accepted, but, with the paranoia created by the malady, the Lord and his family were guarded more than ever and didn’t leave even their own chambers anymore. Too scared to sneak in, fearing that, as weak as he was already, the heir could outmatch him and call for help or that someone could have found him with the corpse, Alec decided to use his father’s keys to gain access to the kitchen and polluted all the food piled inside with the plague. In a few days the whole castle was infected. Alec was the first to die in agony, followed shortly by his father and the Lord. When the heir passed as well, the demon fulfilled its promise and Alec crawled his way back from the grave, his first action being killing and turning his mother so that she could care for him for the rest of eternity, or so he hoped. As second move he killed and turned the wizard; he would have kept him for the next fifty years before deciding to destroy him after having learnt everything he could from the old man. Alec passed his first centuries exploring and experiencing the pleasures of undeath, creating dozens of thralls and killing thousands of people; his mood darkened from the 18th century and has grown bitter ever more from there on, as the vampire wasn’t able to relate anymore with a society he found more and more disgusting.

Step 4: Development

Here we go with another underrated point: when someone talks about a protagonist, the character development is usually assimilated as that which it undergoes during its voyage and turns him into a different and most of the times better person, at the end of the plot. When you start talking about a villain’s character development, then for some reason you are only supposed to talk about either Fall or Redemption.

Why is that?

In the mind of many authors and readers a villain either was a good or antiheroic character who fell to the dark side or a wicked creature which will redeem to light before the end. And from what I’ve seen, this goes even for those who follow the grey & grey & composite characters courses. I would say a villain can change without necessarily redeeming itself, it could go from one type of evil to another one, equivalent, worse or a little better (but still on the darker side of the scale). Of course this applies to a completely black villain, which can radically change and still be a completely black villain while acquiring more depth. As a classic example I’ll provide Frollo (not the book version, which was an antiheroic Fall, the Disney cartoonish one): he starts as a racist religious fanatic bent on genocide and, when he goes crazy out of lust, he manages to become even worse!

What about our Alec? Well, I already leaked something, but let’s get more specific: when he was a living kid he had a white-greyish morality which turned pretty dark grey when he decided it was better to kill not just the heir but everyone else in the castle, and most gruesomely, only to save his own skin, but that’s another matter. As a vampire he didn’t take much to reach the deep end of the alignment pool already in his first centuries of unliving: he walked around the Earth feeding on innocents and enjoying both immortality and refined nobleman blood without any second thoughts or remorse; we can imagine he passed part of the 17th century depressed, killing and turning old women to replace his now fully-dead mother, but that phase passed in less than a century, mostly replaced by wrath at the ongoing great conflicts. After the American and French Revolutions his hate and alienation from mankind started to grow faster: he was angered with peasants revolting against the natural order of society and disgusted by aristocrats dying and compromising with them. Since he lived during the supremacy of the feudal system, such a change he could neither fathom nor accept. He passed the next century on a rampage trying to revert humanity to its previous condition, another common trait for undead and other immortals: they don’t change, the world does and they try to unnaturally and forcibly stop it. At the time of the Russian Revolution, Alec was too tired and bored to fly crosscurrent and decided Earth was beyond what he considered repair, thus he calmed himself, closing off even more from the outside, repulsed by science, technology and modernity stomping over magic and fear and cheapening the intrinsic value of blood and birthright. He passed from being a ruthless artist of assassination killing for kicks and fun to a disillusioned bitter creature who hates everyone and wants to make everyone suffer as much as possible, content to revel in his own disappointment.

Step 5: Effectiveness

This isn’t wholly about black & grey & white morality, but since not many articles talking of villain-building examine this point, I’ll spend a paragraph to make my case.

If you want the villain to leave a mark, it has to be effective.

It doesn’t matter how complex it’s, its background, or how many things it has done inside it, or if it is “realistic grey” or “realistic black” and it’s composite and deep and all the rest: the public will remember a villain who does something relevant on paper/screen. And this is a point where too many villains fail miserably. The live action is what makes them credible: doesn’t matter if the author or his NPCs say Overlord X kills angels and rapes puppies, unless we actually see him in one chapter killing the heroine’s angel boyfriend while raping her puppy, for the audience it’s like it’s never happened. It’s just fluff blah blah background fluff. The author might use those sorts of rumors as a buildup, but, if he doesn’t deliver with the villain when it actually shows itself, it turns into an epic failure. This works for grey villains as well, like when the reader would assume they’d kill someone and they let him go (or something analogous), but it should mostly be about showing how despicable and/or dangerous the villain is. It’s really what defines it. Retaking the Star Wars example: Tarkin needs just one action to establish both in and out-universe what kind of character he is.

Normally in a grim vampire story we’ll have the protagonist lose a friend and having him/her turned against him as a vampire in the service of the antagonist… Screw that, not enough. When the protagonist will meet Alec, the vampire will almost kill him, forcing his band to a shameful retreat. Sadly, when the protagonist will reach sanctuary, his friends will discover that he’s not only seriously injured, he was also infected. With this solution we’ll have covered four sensitive points in one move: we established the danger posed by the antagonist in direct combat, we provided the protagonist with a permanent damage and constant suffering (which is always good for protagonists), we provided the protagonist with a good reason for angst (his imminent death and the awareness he’ll need to pass what little time is left of his life alone, far from his friends, to avoid infecting them too) and we provided the protagonist with the need for a race against time to stop Alec before the bubonic plague stops him, which also possibly prepares the narration for some old fashioned heroic sacrifice, to avoid an agonizing death by disease.

The Incorruptibly Virtuous

Well, that was easy. Now comes the hard one. And I don’t think I’m the only one thinking it, considering there are so many articles and manuals describing all possible ways to make bad guys and so little for good guys.
Someone might argue there’s a lot of written stuff about how to create heroes, but, for what is my concern, that is another topic regarding the Plot and does not necessarily apply to purely good characters (especially in last years…). The main problem for the axiomatic good that we will examine at length is that he can become or just be perceived as not-really-good-after-all, with Eragon being a prime example of this, but far from the only one. A character that is just so good has the impending threat of contracting marysuism and, even if, inside its setting, has only brought joy and prosperity to everybody, the readers will be hating it deeply and consider it either an obnoxious self-righteous brat or some unrealistic naïve idiot who (in both instances) just got lucky.

As an inverted suggestion, whereas the villain is recommended to have redeeming features to humanize it, the hero is suggested to have flawed feature (also, to humanize it). Again, nothing inherently wrong with that, when creating a grey or light-grey hero, but what if we want (and have a compatible setting) to create a pure white hero? The moral requirements are seemingly even harder to meet, since there are many acts which can be objectively considered as questionable (slavery, torture, genocide, etc.) but there are not that many actions that could be objectively considered virtuous (you saved someone’s life? Why? Did you wanted to be rewarded or become his friend? And who was him? What did you risk or lose by saving his life? etc.); to see a truly evil action in a good light may be really hard, but it’s just so easy to take any good action and see its flip side, making it less of a completely good action and the topic shortly falls into moral quandaries of various sorts.

Step 1: What is it?

We start the same way, with same possibilities and yet different implications:

Non-humanoid creature: And let’s start with one of the many inversed categories… I know there are some characters of this kind.. somewhere.. but right now I cannot even recall a non-humanoid creature of pure good who was an important character. They are a lot fewer than their evil counterparts, I’d say mostly because human form is more palatable to human eyes and mind and therefore more easily assimilated as friendly. It’s not like there aren’t at all, think of unicorns in both medieval legends (well not quite, but still…) and modern fantasy, but they are rare, especially as sentient characters, especially as protagonists. I mean, unless we are in a cartoon with animal characters, but when was the last time you read a book or saw a movie with an epic adventure setting, humans as the main species and a non-humanoid pure-good protagonist? So, the problem of this category is that is not used at all? Again, as for the previous paragraph, while employing it, it is fundamental to remember the differences should be both outside and inside the creature, his mentality should be influenced by the different nature, it should not just be a human-by-any-other-form, it should have different reasons to act kindly or to protect the innocents (or even every living being disregarding of their actions). Not necessarily it has to be a shining paragon of perfection and beauty: it could be monstrous and threatening or outright ugly for an human viewer, just as an evil creature may look majestic. As the evil types have the eldritch abominations, surprisingly enough there can be unknowable beings who act unnaturally good without any discernible reasons in various settings: the numerous facets of deities (of course those that are not wrathful, crazed or most clearly fuelled by the mortals’ belief in them). Wait, that gave me an acceptable example: Aslan from Narnia.

Monstrous humanoid: This is the Gary Stu/Mary Sue category. Each and every stereotyped hero will either start here or get here before the Plot ends. Like for the evil counterpart it is the more used one and even more misused and poorly treated one. The same reasons explained before apply: if it’s not really human, it will not act as a human. You do not just stich wings on its back or sharpen its ears and pretend it can still act as a human being. As the features of fully evil monstrous humanoids should inspire a sense of disgust and wrongness as attached to an otherwise humanoid being, the features of fully good monstrous humanoids are most likely to inspire an aesthetically pleasant reaction and something of a more idealized version of humans (like Tolkien’s elves). Sometimes there might be the contradiction of having an unsavory appearance hide the inner beauty like for the previous category, but I’ll not dwell too much on it as it would be another topic entirely. As an example I’ll report Kaelyn from Neverwinter Nights 2, a winged half-celestial constantly struggling to emulate the pure Good conduct an full-blood angel should empower, even when it put her against her first patron god and kicked out of Heavens. She’s half human, but the part of her that is not so can be perceived in the way she thinks; example: if the player character approaches her with the option of starting a romance, she will kindly decline and apologize, affirming that she does care a lot about the protagonist and she does love him, in her platonic sort of way, but just as much as she loves every living being and she could not bear to enter a more restrictive relationship with the character because it would be for her a selfish act against all other creatures everywhere that might need her assistance and solidarity in the probable future. (I will restrain myself to make a Don Giovanni joke here).

Humanoid: How does a hero become completely pure whilst retaining its humanity? Just as for the villain case it needs to be deeply explored and one’s need to be assured it is something consistent with the setting, that there are reasons allowing such an unnatural condition to come into play: there are good people in real life, but everyone has its imperfections or an hypothetical breaking point, an incorruptible character has none of that. It should be someone to inspire by example and to be looked up by people; an analogue process as for the humanoid villain, inverted: the first will be seen as too twisted to be human, the other too virtuous to be real, one stirs creeps, the other stirs wonder. As an example I’ll put Parsifal (not the Arthurian one, the one from the Black Moon’s Chronicles), a Paladin of the Order of Justice. He did have a direct hotline with God, whom he could call for help basically anytime to receive the most straightforward advices and assistance deity ever gave to mortal, but he never misused his position and he had his own original ideas to prevent conflicts at any chance, even if he technically was a warrior.

I went for an attempted rejuvenation of the most clichéd archetype in the previous example, this time I’ll be as original as it gets, therefore, Etah, our pure good prototype, will be a magical giant celestial awakened eagle, descended from the heavens to aid mortals at the best of her capabilities. She spontaneously came into being when an old ill watchman sacrificed himself to stand guard and keep his light-tower lit for all night during a vicious storm, thus safely guiding ships to the coast before dying. She is as intelligent as a human being, with a wingspan of nine meters, capable of speaking and understanding any language, controlling weather to a certain degree, shooting lightning from her talons and, of course, moving back and forth from world to heaven.

From whence she came down, Etah spent a lot of time using her powers to help in all possible ways mankind: she brings sun or rain whatever one is required for crops to grow fast and strong, she sends steady and favorable winds to ships and helps lost travelers to find their way back home. Most of the time she’ll stay hidden, showing herself only when absolutely necessary; when forced into a quarrel, she might act threateningly, but only in the hope of preventing a real physical conflict. It is more the type of creature that will secretly slow down an enemy army with rain and strong winds to break its morale and force it to retreat before reaching destination, rather than one which will rain bolts from the sky to smite it down.

Step 2: Characterization

This is a tricky passage that goes always into the unsavory problem of deciding what can be considered good. For example: if an angel is created only to tend to what is virtuous, does that really give it the moral high ground, even if it doesn’t really have a choice to act differently? If a person commits a good act because it makes him feel better, could he be really considered of a good heart or is he only searching his personal pleasure and sense of self-fulfillment? If the hero sacrifices itself for the greater cause, fearing no death and knowing it’ll go to a better place, is it really sacrificing for others? Is it really sacrificing itself in the first place? It’s going to heaven after all (or it thinks so), eternal beatitude doesn’t seem like such a bad deal, where’s the actual loss which defines the meaning of sacrifice? Considering the complexity which lays in the definition of what is good, I’d say that just taking time to dwell on it is enough to make the character composite even without adding outright flaws. I could go with a Virtue vs. Benevolence dichotomy, but it would not really serve the purpose here and be just a repetition of what was said before, so I’ll rather provide some sensitive points to be hopefully used as hints:

Does the purity of the hero comes because he was born or created with a strong inclination towards good? If so, how does he react to evil? It might be astonished and incapable of even understanding why other creatures decide to commit or revel into cruel behaviors. Even a normal grey society like the humans’ could leave it shocked and confused. How would it react or try to relate to them? If it was created maybe it has already a preset of responses, if not, it should instinctively apply, at least at first, the same moral scale it uses for itself, which could, in turn, be seen as exaggerated from the other characters’ point of view (and the readers). At this point, if the hero either copes with the fact others may not be able to reach its integrity or it doesn’t and tries to still force its conduct on everyone around it, it would be showing pride, ideological racism and oppressive behavior, thus not being completely white anymore. Such a situation therefore should be avoided and another solution found (unless you’re creating a grey character).

If the purity of the hero comes as a detachment from a previous condition of imperfection, be careful not to make it insensitive (a common feature in modern depictions of angels and angelic creatures): it’s true that it has left its humanity, but, even if it doesn’t remember who it was, it still is supposedly ascended to a higher grade. Making it cold brings it closer to an amoral evil archetype (he doesn’t care): it’s self-indulgent, once again not really wholly white.

Etah isn’t shy, but she doesn’t want to be seen by humans mostly because she thinks receiving recognition would taint her actions: she is working for the good of others, it wouldn’t be the same if they paid her, whether with compliments and praises or actual tributes. She also doesn’t want the mortals to become dependable on her, which could be a possibility if they knew she was watching over them, ready to help at any time. Even if she was born pure, she actually is pretty vulnerable to evil since she finds it hard to understand and recognize, therefore she spends always a great deal of time questioning her every action to be sure she is taking the best possible choice in the given circumstances. She’s amazed by the variety of behaviors shown by humanoids and, even if she never experienced it, she is confident that, with such a diversity, pure virtuous may come into being by themselves, without any help; as for the rest, many have good hearts too and are certainly not blame for small flaws.

Step 3: Credibility

This is the main problem in the creation of a pure white character, the one that hides the risk of marysuing it. If the unnaturally good conduct of a white hero is not justified or in-name-only, instead of being an inspiring figure for the readers/public it’ll be strongly despised and rejected as unbelievable and hypocritical. If the character is human it will be shunned as unrealistic, if it isn’t it will be shunned because it proposes an unreachable idealized model. In its perfection lays its imperfection, that is to say: making a character seemingly perfect will get the public hate it, if the public hates it then it is not perfect in the first place. While in the axiomatic villain removing the grey traits (qualities and redeeming factors) helps in its build, making it less sympathetic and relatable, for the axiomatic hero it works the same, but for its disadvantage: removing its grey traits (the flaws and compromises) will also make it unsympathetic and distant from the readers, which becomes an unwillingly added flaw by itself.

How to solve this?
I don’t know, it’s a very hard problem, I suppose I can give hints.

The first is not to try and hide the fact that the hero is pure white: it has not to boast about it, but it has not to angst about it (“Oh, he is Mr. Perfect and angsts? What more does he freaking wants from life?”), it just makes it worst.

Another common mistake to avoid is the borg proselytism that both white and grey heroes tend to have: “You will embrace Good or face rightful punishment. No middle ground. I’m sorry and I pity you. Now choose.” Not only there is the common assumption that the villain might be only redeemed or defeated, but also that redemption will only ever mean joining the side of the hero. It is a very narrow attitude which makes the hero look like a religious fanatic who will either push you into its personal way of thinking or out of society (one way or another). What if the paladin faces the evil wizard in his tower and manage to resolve peacefully the conflict? The wizard will not go on with his plan, but still will not bear the sight of other people (or the paladin) and continue to pass his life in happy seclusion in his tower, with his experiments and studies, just as he was doing before. And the paladin will respect and accept his choice: he will neither see him as a crazy old loner nor will spur hypocritical compassion, assuming that, since he is alone he has to be sad and needing of help (because the paladin would if he were alone, so why the wizard wouldn’t?).

The other common fanatical trait to avoid is the one of the supposedly white hero smiting anything that is either impure or considered evil beyond salvation, without showing second thoughts or with false pity. I will explore more about this point in the next paragraph.

Finally, sometimes a white good character, even if doesn’t create hate, might just happen to be extremely dull or predictable. On this instance the small differences in physic, psyche and behavior are those that really help set them apart.

As said before, Etah doesn’t judge the mortals, she appreciates all their differences, while still being careful to constantly check her own conduct. We’ve already seen her actions are those of a benefic spirit of nature, helping individuals in their daily struggles and providing abundance for people in general. She interacts little with mortals, letting them search their own way up or down the moral scale. When she stumbles upon someone with a detrimental influence on other beings, Etah will both try to protect those harmed and, at the same time, search for what does the individual want to try and appease his spirit by giving whatever is the object of his desires. If it’s not possible to appease the enemy or he’s not satiated by what was given to him and craves for more, she’ll try to lure him someplace where at least he couldn’t be of harm to others. As an example perhaps a greedy young Lord has just inherited his land and starts squeezing his subjects. Etah will both provide food and resources to the peasants, scare away guards too violent in their collecting and at the same time secretly have the Lord find a treasure. If the Lord stops vexing his subjects, her work is done, if he wants more with no reason but his greed, she’ll provide either the peasants with enough riches to leave the feud and start a better life elsewhere or subtly bait the Lord away, maybe searching for another vast hidden treasure on the other side of the continent, hoping the long voyage and struggles will satiate his thirst and give the subjects a break.

Step 4: Hard Choices

There are a lot of opinions and material regarding this point: true heroes should be forced to make tough choices, which can inevitably shatter their alleged purity.

Usually a white (or supposedly so) hero will find a way to avoid the choice, the famous third option. While it can be well played, a similar trope can also be employed cheaply and the hero, instead of appearing as the one who epically refuses to play the villain’s or Fate’s game, seems just like the one who weasel is way out of a decision he’s too scared/self-righteous to make. It is particularly true when the character manages to take his third option due to supernatural abilities a normal person could not employ.

I will not go further on the matter of particular circumstances deeply influencing the situation in this case, but I’ll point out that, surprisingly enough, an actually completely white character is a lot easier to add in a grey & grey setting rather than in a grey & black or black & white one from this point of view. Why is that? How does the hero treat the villain? A grey villain can always have hope to redeem itself and be no longer a threat to others; a white hero will be free to struggle with all its forces to save it. But what does it do against a black villain? Even if its setting provides a chance to redeem such a creature, the hero would know that such a change will be so radical it would not be different from physically destroying said villain (as Malack from OOTS puts it: “Bringing me back to life is just a very complicate way of annihilating the person I am today […] Stake me instead.”). And if the white hero decides to kill the black villain, it is still killing another intelligent being (doesn’t matter if it is an undead or a devil or the like, it is still a person, albeit with twisted objectives and desires); doesn’t that technically falls into “the ends (saving innocents) justify the means (killing someone)”? Another option could be to contain the black villain somehow, but to what end? Incarceration in our world is based as a mean to reeducate and reinstate into society the guilty party, yet a black villain will never change: the moment it’s out (either because it served its time or because it broke out) it will go back to what was doing, maybe even more viciously, and the hero will be responsible for all the damage it’ll cause, because it spared it before (how many people have died because Batman will not lower himself to kill the Joker?). The hero could consider trapping it forever (to the end of its life or eternity, depending on the nature of that particular villain), but won’t that be a fate worse than death? What about those species that are beyond compatibility with average peaceful humanoids? Let us say the white hero lives in Faerûn and has to fight against a Mind Flayer plot: its enemies are aberrations who reproduce themselves by infesting humanoids, who feed on their brains and plan on brainwashing into submission every other living species and turn off the sun. Compromise cannot be reached, should our hero approve of genocide? In a grey situation maybe yes, but we are talking about an idealistic axiomatic good character.

Etah was horrified by her first encounter with undead: she could not fathom why would a lich kill indiscriminately and without reason every living being and reanimate them as shambling corpses to serve his bidding; he was not interested in riches, lands or people, after hundreds of years of existence he had learned everything he could care about magic too and, when she met him, his only joy left was in killing and perverting all which was natural. She tried to divert and to reason with him but with no result. In the end she was forced to confront him but, after managing to destroy his body, rather than smash it, she dragged his phylactery on an isolated uninhabited world. The lich reformed his body there and was unable to leave. Etah flies on a regular basis over that vast land to check on his status, throwing in abandoned corpses for him to reanimate once in a while.

Step 5: Suffering

What was said for villains works for heroes too: tragic backstory, psycho-physical pain and so on generate sympathy. Since an axiomatic good guy doesn’t have flaws, the only thing left to make it sympathetic is suffering, so hammer hard.
Hurt them, their feelings, their friends, everything they could care about and, most importantly make it show: as for the villain effectiveness, saying that a hero has lost what he had most dear isn’t the same as making it lose it on the page/screen and have us experience the pain it’s put through. In this case the common mistake is some sort of inverse: remember for the villain? Describing his effectiveness out of stage and then being incapable to deliver on stage? For the hero is the same thing when the reason of its suffering is not presented as something really heart-wracking and yet the character moans and angsts too much over it. It is possible to err on the other side (the hero loses someone dear to it and forget about it a chapter later), but I think it’s more annoying and common the first one, especially in modern literature where angsty heroes are so numerous.
As a specific case, when suffering takes the form of sacrifice, I’ll put my exclusively personal opinion, that is: if one wants to value the hero’s sacrifice he does not have to reward it. The hero wants to die to save the world? Let it stay dead. It wants to fall from grace or lose its powers to save a loved one? Do not give said powers/grace back to it right after it does the deed. Let it be permanent and it will be a proper sacrifice.

What about Etah? Well, she had no real parent nor close friend, but she loved and believed equally in all living beings. On the other hand we have established that precisely because of her heavenly nature she was even too sensible to all kinds of suffering and injustice. The struggle to help the mortals without force their free will nor to hinder some of them to save others can already be, if correctly explored, a soul-crushing task (consider the mere numbers of humanoids which could inhabit her world, the relations between different governments and different species, the problems presented by nature and magic, and so on…). She will strain to exhaustion and still go on, ignoring her well-being, just as the man who caused her birth, ending sacrificing herself, this time for the good of all mankind. As she dies, she knows nobody even knows she ever existed, but that’s fine for her, she just hopes she was able to make a difference.

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Why, yes, you can mix-max features from both paragraphs to create your overly complex and torn grey squid monster trying to suppress his urge to suck brains to be accepted by human society while being aware it would most likely mean condemning his cannibalistic but otherwise pacific and wise species to extinction… but why would you do that? Ugh…

Comment [9]

Let us take a moment to revel in our deep memory of fantasy and sci-fi lore and think of all the strange mysterious intelligent races inhabiting the countless worlds spawned by the authors’ imagination. There’s surely a lot of them, we could in fact spend the whole day counting them. Now let’s remove the humanoids from our list. How is that all the infinite possibilities given by physical deities, magic and billions of alien planets always come down to the bipedal monkey lookalike? Now, among the remaining species, let us also remove those which, even if non-humanoid, still behave in a manner similar to humans.
How many are left?

Human or Non-human?

I understand it is hard to create an entirely new and original sapient species, ours is already pretty complex and its features yet to be completely examined. Since it is by now the only one, it would be natural for the writer to imitate humankind when creating other sentient beings for his works, but, if all the differences he can come up with are just horns or pointed ears, the author should ask himself if it really is necessary to add other species to the Plot.

After all, dwarves, elves, orcs in modern fantasy, for the way they are depicted, could be very well be substituted by human societies as their behavior and their appearance does not really differ that much in the first place. Let us take a look at others renowned historical stereotypes: is the ugly Mongol barbarian coming from East with his horde that different from an orc? Is the fragile cultured nature-loving French illuminist that different from an elf? Is the silent short diligent Chinese worker that different from a dwarf?

If the previous examples look offensive, that’s exactly the point: so many times authors create species like they would create a single character; they put together a dominant physical feature and a dominant psychical feature and call it a race, so we can have short grumpy dwarves, tall self-righteous elves, sturdy warmongering orcs and so on. You could say in the last years it’s getting better, but I would say still not so much, let us try with a modern sci-fi example, Mass Effect, and we’ll still have: asari/elves, krogan/orcs, vorcha/goblins, salarians/gnomes, turians/dwarves, quarians/halflings. Someone could say ‘How about the hanar?’; yes, well, how much screen-time did they have in the whole trilogy again?

As the previous examples show, it is possible a society can create stereotyped visions of other societies, the problem arise when the author does it: if the dwarf NPC describes the elves as uppity effeminates living in trees, there is nothing wrong with him having a racist stereotyped view of the species, it starts becoming something wrong when the Plot shows us the elves actually are all uppity effeminates living in trees. A culture can have countless facets, if it hasn’t then that’s already an unusual feature to explore right there: after all to describe human species in its entirety a couple of adjectives are certainly not enough.

At this point I would say, when creating a fantasy or sci-fi society which is basically mankind with a difference or two, is it really needed to be another species? Can’t it be directly mankind? You might be surprised the original ideas coming with a different closer perspective.

The elves might be substituted by a realm of druids, who abandoned the more “classic” medieval human fantasy societies and decided to create their own utopia closer to nature. Maybe they actually sharpen their ears with blades, as sign of distinction from other people, perhaps each newborn cuts his own in the coming-of-age ritual.

And what do you know? Vulcan might have be one of the first planets to be colonized by the Federation, mostly by scientists and researchers. They settled there and built their own society in their laboratory base, which was then inherited by their descendants. They were all top IQ doctors, should there be any surprise earthlings now call vulcanians irritating wiseguys?

There is no need to create a parallel line of evolution when the result is a human-by-any-other-name. Both in fantasy and sci-fi there are plenty of ways for humans who wish to differentiate themselves as part of particular group to change their appearance anyway. Fantasy has magic, which can transfigure and warp matter, sci-fi has plastic surgery. Heck, even today there are plenty of ways to permanently change the color or shape of your eyes, hair, skin and teeth, is it really that hard to imagine a probable future where LOTR fans and trekkies could all feature surgically sharpened ears? There you have your obnoxious society of ear-pointed brats, was there the need to go search outside the human genetic pool?

But if we want to go all the way, to create a sentient species which is not human, what to do? How to behave?

The Physiology

The first basic quandary lays on the nature and origin of the species. How its exemplars came into being and how do they look now. To understand how the members of the species will think and how they will be perceived by other species, it is fundamental to dig deep in their biology.

The Origin

Evolution: In fantasy it is a highly disregarded option (perhaps because it would imply dwarves, elves and humans are subtypes of the same species?), but nevertheless it should be taken into account, even if there are living fully-interacting gods in the setting, that doesn’t automatically mean life will automatically be frozen or incapable of finding its own way. I would still put evolution as the cause for the majority of species in a setting, since being artificial it’s a special case unto itself which would need plenty of attention; anyway that’s more of a personal taste. If the prototype species evolved from lesser creatures, than it is a priority to imagine which were those and how they differentiated themselves in the course of ages: you’re not adding a single species dropped from above, you’re most likely adding a whole Order, if not an entire Class or Phylum. If you take humans, we’re mammalian primates, try and take a look at all the other mammalian primates which separately evolved from the same root in the course of the last couple million years. If the creature does not belong to an ordinary Class (mammalian, reptile, bird, etc.), then you have to invent all the Orders, Families, Subfamilies, Genus and Species which belong to that new Class. If there aren’t, what conditions killed them? What conditions allowed that one species of that particular customized Order to survive alone? More important: what allowed our prototype species to develop intelligence (let us not quibble on the kind for now)? Every form of life evolves in different ways and only if certain conditions are met and always in the most minimalized and efficient way. The humans’ way is not the only way nor the most complex one, it was only focused on a specialization and development of neural cognitive functions necessary for the creation of tools needed to defend the exemplars from dangers and to allow them to find food in an easier way. It is not the only way an intelligent species could evolve, there may be other needs requiring other areas of the brain to develop, which of course will greatly influence the way of thinking of our prototype.

Indipendent Genesis: This is an intermediate way, it is when a species is created by something (which can be one or more beings or just an unnatural disaster), but it has all the requirements to survive on its own (which mostly means its members can reproduce themselves). In this case nevertheless the species is something created outside the natural order; in a way, this means the author can take greater liberties in its features, he can overdo or underdo as much as it would be realistic in the condition of his particular setting and the species can be alone and isolated if confronted to all the existing other species generated through nature and evolution. It does not automatically mean the species does not abide to rules of nature or that it cannot evolve, far from it in fact: since it is not dependent from the cause of creation, it can and most likely will be integrated in the setting’s biosphere (or, if not fitted, destroyed by local creatures) and possibly evolve to adapt to the indigenous dangers. I guess it would be an easier path for a writer to go, since it has so less problems and research to be attended to, but the author should also beware that, if the creation happened sufficiently long before, the numerous generations passed interacting and interbreeding in the setting will also provide diversity and multitudes of subcategories. Droids in recent fiction are often depicted like this: they were created, but they learn out to duplicate themselves and try to find their own path.

Dependent Genesis: This is rarer and, albeit the easiest one, a less used way since it is highly dehumanizing. A species with dependent genesis not only was created, but remains subjected to the cause of its creation, to the point it cannot survive without it. Angels, demons, blobs, laboratory abominations and other unearthly creatures fall all into this category: depending on the setting other of their kind might be produced, but they cannot reproduce themselves on their own or they need to remain linked with a particular source of energy or maintain connection with their creator or they’ll either stop functioning correctly or outright die. For this category I would say it should be a great concern of the author to focus on their basically enslaved existence, much more than instinct (which would be a first reason for the previous two categories) their link with their origin or creator should be one of the main influences on their psyche and society. How were they created? Why? And do they know why (if there is a reason)? Was their habitat created with them in mind or were they created to fit in a particular habitat? Do they find themselves in that particular habitat during the Plot or were they forced to move somewhere else? If the cause of their creation was singular and unrepeatable, how do they cope with their slow inevitable extinction?

The Habitat

Talking of the setting at large would be a book by itself, therefore I shall keep this simple for a single little paragraph. The topic boils down on the compatibility of the creature to the current habitat (or habitats). It doesn’t matter if the species was created or evolved, since the habitat might have been created as well to accommodate an alien artificial being or, on the flip side, a natural creature may find itself roaming outside of its atavic land. The creature likely is structured for a particular purpose in a particular food-chain of a particular habitat (even if no habitat like that ever existed, as it could be for a laboratory experiment gone wrong). If it isn’t in its habitat, it will still try to perform its basic purpose and satisfy its basic needs; depending on the creature and the habitat, this could provoke an adaptation with catastrophic consequences from the former or the latter. There are plenty of historical examples of exported species who either went extinct or wrecked their new home. If the species disposes of the means to make a foreign place more suited for its needs, it will naturally try to change it. It’s instinctual, it applies to humans as well to any other form of life. The point is in how differently from humans the prototype species will reshape the world and in how the world will reshape the prototype species, in time.

The Features

The premises have been put, now let’s try to build it:

Sustenance: How do we classify our species? What does it need to keep going? Carnivores or omnivores usually have enhanced senses and metabolism compared to herbivores, but let us not stop here: our sentient species could very well be derived from a plant or a fungus or some other homebrew form of life. If it needs meat, what kind of meat? Of a particular group of animals, or from a particular organ? Does the creature need to breathe? And, if so, does it breathe oxygen? Does the creature needs sun to survive (even humans do to fully develop their bones)? Does the creature needs to rest? For how long? If doesn’t sleep it doesn’t dream, imagine possible consequences on its culture. Does the creature needs to drink water (or some other liquid)? And how much? Remember the creation goes in parallel: if you say the species does not need water, for example, you need to justify how it evolved (or was designed) to survive without it, especially if the setting is earthlike. The basic needs of the species not only greatly influence its appearance but will also define its way of thinking and its society. A creature evolved to be a ravager does not think as a creature evolved to be a hunter, even if both eat meat, therefore imagine how different a sentient plant would think… It is also of a certain importance how does the creature takes what it needs: does it breathe from the mouth or directly from the skin (amphibious do it)? Does it eat from the mouth or has it some other way of assimilating its favorite meal? Finally, creatures dependent from magic or completely without needs (usually artificial ones) will also have a very different approach to life.

Senses: How does the creature perceive the world? We base our interaction mostly on sight, other animals in our world do not, preferring sound or smell or touch (of course, there are others with a sight far more developed than ours too). As some creatures perceive the visual frequencies, others may perceive the infrared or the ultraviolet or whatever might be possible in the setting. And so, the way the creature perceives the world will influence how it interacts with the world. A blind species may have a different equivalent of painting focused on touch. In Star Wars Episode II you might have seen the blinding white kaminoans’ cloning facilities, it would interest you to know they are actually bright colored in the ultraviolet tones which are not perceivable by human watchers, but can be admired by the indigenous aliens.

Body: This is the most problematic point: it is easier to go with the biped humanoid line and create variation out of it: the author will see on one side the human-like form and on the other the quadruped beast-like form and automatically decide the biped one is the more fitted for another sentient species. But why should someone limit himself? You’re creating a different species, create a different form. A bird is also a biped, but its back is not straight directly on the feet and the prehensile limbs are not the first pair. The habitat the creature was meant for will greatly influence its form, if the body is protected and from what (concussions, radiations, cold, pressure, etc.). A creature might be able to fly in the dense air of its homeland as if it was swimming, and then suffocate, crushed by ours. Remember also the size, it will influence how the species treats other animals, it will influence its metabolism (the bigger it is, the more it needs to consume to keep going) and it will influence the way it treats its spawn (if it has any): imagine, if our newborn babies were just a couple of inches big when they came out, all the problems arising to take care of them without accidentally squashing them; for a forty-meters long creature remaining close to its spawn after birth might be more dangerous than just leaving it to itself. The metabolism is also of great importance to determine the psyche of our species: as homoeothermic beings, mammals are very active and with quick reflexes (which also means they need more food to maintain a constantly high body temperature and to keep moving); reptiles need less food in proportion, but they are highly dependent (without considering exceptions) on the surrounding temperatures, they are sleepy and slow until they have heated enough themselves under the sun and have reached a body temperature acceptable to search for food successfully. A society of reptiles might go in complete hibernation in winter, its members may be active only for a shorter part of every day, just to make an easy example.

Limbs (prehensile): We humans depend greatly on our prehensile pawns, which have greatly helped our ascent in the local food chain, but again, having hands is not the only way. In real world octopi have been seen performing pretty accurate feats of manipulation of objects with their tentacles, elephants are just a little far off with just one appendix. Tentacles, proboscises, tongues and the like can all help our species prototype while greatly differentiating it from ours. Just imagine a simple difference like having three fingers for each hand.. well the decimal system and all mathematic have to be rearranged already. What’s like if the species doesn’t have fingers at all? The complete lack of prehensile limbs isn’t nevertheless an absolute requirement for an intelligent species to create cities and societies when other factors may be considered. Maybe a species evolved to exploit a condition or another species with the opposable thumb to its benefit, maybe a species has telepathic or telekinetic powers, since it can delegate or otherwise use other beings as its tools, it doesn’t need to do the work with its own body. Perhaps some of the readers will remember the glukkons from the Oddworld videogame series? They didn’t have prehensile limbs, but they were big carnivores, influential and smart enough to bully smaller and weaker (and in some cases stupider) species into building their industrial empire for them.

Limbs (locomotory): Wings, fins and the like in the more likable and realistic combination. I seem to recall there have been a lot of instances of flying fishes, just another type of amphibious life form. In this category, when an author wants to create an original species, there can be the risk of overdoing, placing too many body parts and making a mess out of it. Whether the species evolved or was created, it’s likely to have a minimalistic and efficient design (in the previous case the way the same limb can be employed for both swimming and flying or swimming and walking, there will not be two different sets); the only exceptions might be erratic or artificial creatures, something born of a magical disaster or an unsuccessful experiment might not be particularly elegant and a powerful creator can add all the pieces he wants, but remember, like size, the presence of many limbs implies the need for a lot of sustenance, but it also implies the need for a specialized mind to allow a minimal form of control over those limbs by the creature. Exactly like for the prehensile limbs, it is not implied for a species to require locomotory limbs if particular situations apply, a creature able to levitate will likely not need any, a creature dependent on others might not need them as well (as a termite queen); if the prototype species is a sentient plant, its exemplars will be stuck in the ground, they would not necessarily need to move because they can feed and reproduce themselves without walking an inch from their position.

The Psychology

The Instinct

As a starting point now, the author should recollect all the physical characteristic of the prototype and think of how they will influence the instinct of the species’ members. Their instinct will still influence them as they acquire sentience, the same way humans still fear dark, are driven to eat food and search for mates. If the species is artificial, the instinct may be built in or acquired once it is released in the setting’s habitats.

Usually a large creature fears less from predators once it has grown, a large creature has still less capacity of manipulation than a smaller one and it’s likely to be less agile or slower. Depending on the setting a species of land may fear sky and water alike: it may fear to drown or to fall and crush; species of sea will be even more scared of the dry ground, especially if you consider in our setting a lot of walking creatures are able to swim, while most of fishes are near-helpless outside the water. The instinctual need to find a mate and procreate has spawned countless quarrels and stories about Love in our case, but if our prototype reproduces by gemmation and each member doesn’t need a mate to create spawn, the whole mentality and culture change. If the creature is large or a top predator, it may be that it is solitary, it will feel fine when alone and threatened and violent when with others of its kind: a human can search comfort in the multitude, but for a tiger another tiger is a rival and an enemy. On the opposite side, species developed in hive-mind may actually be unable to live outside their groups, their members’ utter lack of individualism may result equally unsettling to the human point of view as the aggressive selfishness of solitary species. As pointed out before, the source of sustenance greatly influence physic and psyche alike, but it has to be remembered that being a carnivore (for example) doesn’t automatically make a species more threatening or aggressive, hippopotamuses are herbivores yet far more dangerous and violent than crocodiles; the same way, a person may have more to fear from a bull than it has from a vulture: if our prototype species evolved from opportunistic carnivores, we’re not talking about aggressive predators, but of meek and cautious scavengers. If the species can reproduce itself quickly and with many hatchlings, the relationship between parents and spawn will be different: remember mammalians evolved precisely to spend a heap load of energies to nurse single younglings, our very name comes from the characteristic appendixes whose only purpose is to feed the cubs. Ours take a lot of time to come out, a lot of time to grow, a lot of time to become independent; a fish will just leave clusters of dozens of eggs and be on its way, hoping a male will eventually come around to shower them with fertilizer, and that’s it. The differences in the care of infants will be brought on in the species even when it becomes sentient. The same goes for the longevity: the way an Ancient Egyptian farmer with a 30 years of life expectancy could cope with the world and society was considerably different from the way a modern day First World citizen with a 100 years of life expectancy does (we’ve topped the century: we’ve become pretty much elves by now).

Variations

This is one of the main mistakes when creating other sentient species: they are made all the same, both in physic and psyche. Humans are divided in many ethnic groups with appreciable physical differences and, even inside the same ethnos, there are infinite differences granted by the recombination of genes in the reproduction process; why must every other species be composed by clones? Of course, if we are talking about some sort of synthetic species or actual clones, the topic changes, but, if not, isn’t it possible to add variety to the species?
When I say variety of course I do not mean the lonely group of Drizzts who rebel against the otherwise fully concurring single-minded society and end up always somehow accepting the humans’ values for some reason (figures…).

The problem here lies in the fundamental error in the creation of other species I was talking about before: pick up a trait from mankind and overblow it: if we take the orcs, warmongering and with the belief the strong should rule over the weak until it is toppled by the stronger.. guess what, we had human societies who thought that way, this way the author is extending to entire species the set of belief which constitutes only a tiny winy bit of all which was spawned by human mind in the course of history. For any given subject, we have at least two opposite parties and all other of different crazy stands, this because each one’s mind reaches different conclusions according to its intrinsic characteristics and to how it was nursed and influenced over the years by different sources. If we are talking about a species with a conscious developed mind, it should have at least as many contrasting ideas as humans have.

Depending on how and with whom the species evolved, it is true it might share some traits in common with humans, but, rather than focus on some of those, the author should try to create traits which are completely alien to us, positions to which, one way or the other, we still are baffled or incapable of taking a relatable standing point. To remain in the D&D setting for another example: in illithid society there are two lines of thought about the sun, one states the Empire’s energies should be focused on creating an artifact of doom to shut off the star as soon as possible to facilitate the ascension to surface, the other states it would be better to search for ways and spells to shield the members of the species from the light without wasting too much time and energies on the star itself which will, after all, die on its own, in time. They are diametrically opposed, but neither is more favorable from the humans’ point of view.

The Society

Requirements

Nothing says an intelligent species will automatically create one or more societies as we did. As stated many times before, if the species evolved from solitary creatures, it will long for solitude, it won’t search for others of its kind (unless in the mating season), thus not providing the progressive gathering of knowledge from a generation to another which eventually creates the base for a culture. The nature of the species is not however the only requirement or impediment for the formation of a society, a Star Wars example: even if lonely, selfish and fiercely territorials, Hutts managed to create one of the oldest and most powerful societies in the Galaxy, that because for every one of them there were thousands of minions of other species to link the whole system.

Communitarian species in a hostile environment will on the other hand find themselves lacking for the requirements needed for a society to emerge; wood and stone are some of the basic materials to build solid long-term houses, if a population does not dispose of them, it will not likely reach the point when it will learn to build in concrete and steel; the possibilities of creating a stable settlement requires the capability of providing food without moving (be it agriculture as for humans or a different source of food), else the species will likely remain nomadic. For the potential expansion of the prototype society there is also to be considered the basic means of transportation the setting would provide, especially if the species cannot fly on its own or hasn’t a high endurance allowing its members to run for long distances: try to compare the different spans of the Aztec Empire (with nothing), the Inca Empire (with lamas) and the Roman Empire (with horses).

Particular circumstances are also to be considered: so many times there have been depictions of abyssal cities of mermaids and other aquatic species which do not take into account the problems of high pressure and total lack of light (and their repercussions on the species’ evolution itself); depending on the depth, the ocean has a very distinct stratification of life forms with specific needs and qualities, it’s unlikely an abyssal creature will ever see light or swim close to the surface as it’s unlikely surface fishes will go too deep down to ever see the bottom.

Other particular circumstance are the natural means of communication: a species which is provided with telepathy or long-distance pheromone contact and the like may not feel the same drive to create close packs since its members can still speak with each other from afar; on the other hand the complete lack of natural means of communication may provoke the need for closeness to maintain at least a basic understanding on each other’s state.

After having created the original species, the author should once again look at its and the setting’s characteristics and see if they provide the right conditions for societies of said species to emerge, and how.

Laws and Customs

We’ve already seen how setting and biology can influence the psyche of a particular species, the same applies on the possible culture spawned by that species. The common mistake of authors in this instance is to create cultures which are either more or less advanced than the local human population, which is just a cheap excuse to avoid spending time on creating an equivalent non-humanlike society (of course, as for the less advanced ones, the protagonist may say they’re not really primitives, just different, to remain politically correct, but, once again, it’s what we see that counts).

Since the features are mostly depending in each case, I will just provide some of the most common examples:

Contrary to what writers of elves usually say, I would think a potentially immortal species will have (or try to employ) a very strict birth control, especially if it evolved already as long-lived (and thus is sustainable in savage state), especially if one or both genders never become sterile: the comforts of society will undoubtedly increase the birth rate and decrease the infant mortality rate and the deaths by disease and starvation, and if natural death is out of the equation from the start, no matter how much infertile is the species, it would have the potential of overrunning the world. The system is doubly detrimental as a calamity or a very vicious war could suddenly bring the civilization to its knees, but an unchecked relatively short period of peace could create an overpopulation problem. Also, there is the very sensitive point that, without the fear of inevitable death by old age, such a species will be less likely to develop a religion or maintain it after some times, unless gods actively meddle in the setting (if the species’ members already have immortality, they won’t need to search for it in the afterlife).

A flying species reunited into a society might have a considerable amount of regulation for building constructions, just think of the possibilities of blocking someone’s diving point with a wall, or creating unfavorable and possibly deadly currents by raising a tower in a particular place or in a particular manner. There will also be regulations to avoid problems with aerial traffic, it is a lot harder to create roads in a tridimensional space with no base, a small settlement of ten thousand people could already be at risk of potential multiple crashing, which again could be deadly or permanently damaging (it takes very little for a bird to be unable to fly again). Such a society could also acknowledge the overweight problem a lot faster than humans, as a flying creature, if it wants to stay a flying creature, needs to always remain in top shape; else the species might have evolved from its flying ancestral predecessors to be terrestrial (you know, like pigeons are about to).

A nocturnal species might have instinctual fear of light and seek solace in the darkness, if its members have the need to warm themselves, fire might not be an option, it would appear more disturbing than it does to humans. A species living underground will fear fresh air and the sky, but it will also shun away from any open space, it will need to be closely surrounded by walls which would easily make a human claustrophobic (a nice example were Dragon Age dwarves, who genuinely feared that if they went on the surface they would have fallen into the sky).

A cold-blooded species will fear cold seasons (if there is any) or cold lands (if there are any), if technology progresses they may be likely to create complex heating systems (maybe even implanted on their own body) to remain active during winter rather than go into hibernation. They will usually alternate long periods of sleep and sloth to quick moments of febrile activity; if we are talking about reptiles, a matriarchal society might be more likely as females would generally be bigger and meaner than males.

A species living underwater, unless it has adapted to inhabit the bottom of the ocean, will face serious problems to establish settlements (again, if its biology encompasses the need and the tools to create them), maybe it will solve with travelling cities made of light materials slowly roaming into the established paths of the warm currents (which again would be necessary for cold-blooded activities). The lack of possibilities for agriculture or analogue sources of sustenance would also force the nomadic way (unless special circumstances apply, of course).

Tongues and Kingdoms

This is another point usually ignored for simplicity, it boils down to the monology of the non-human species: many authors create a sentient species and round all its members into a single society. It is the same problem I’ve written of in the previous paragraph about the psyche, applied to culture: there are and have been tens of thousands of different human societies, why there has to be only one per non-human species? Customs, cultures, religions, technology, magic knowledge and languages change for every group; you can say you talk elvish but you cannot say you can talk humanish, why is that so? Because there are countless human languages and, for each one, countless local dialects, especially if the culture lacks the universal medias (State education, television, internet, etc.) to uniform the speech and writing patterns. Unless we are talking about a species with a very reduced population, the mere spreading of individuals into different lands and the creation of more than one settlement will be enough to provoke the rise of different behaviors and cultures, heck, there are historical examples of strong cultural and ethnic divisions even inside the same city.

Interspecies Intercourses

Which brings us to the final point: how does the species (and its societies) interact with one another and other species (among which there may be humans)?
If more than one sentient species exists at the same time in the same setting, the author should ask himself what places did they occupy in the local habitat, because, since they both evolved to be smart (in the same or different way), there is a high chance they were biological rivals, like Sapiens and Neanderthal (and we have a slight idea of how that turned out…), there is to be a reason why they managed to survive both long enough to become sentient and create more or less advanced societies (whether they are integrated or separated).

In real life, we have yet to resolve our quarries about racial discrimination even if we are all of the same species, just imagine what could happen in a setting were societies are made up of actually different species, the likelihood of genocidal courses of action increase to near-certainty levels. With genocide I do not necessarily mean a WWII extermination, the process may be subtle and unconscious as one species slowly occupies the vital space and resources of the other, grows in numbers and, since the possibility of interbreeding is biologically impossible, the other becomes doomed to slow extinction.

If the different species evolved in different habitats, the clash will not be less disturbing, if you think about the Aztecs mistaking the Spanish for gods or the Europeans mistaking the Mongols for demons (hence calling them Tartars), then remember in a fantasy setting the invading species might actually be composed of supernatural creatures coming from the netherworld.

And even when a pacific relationship is reached, how will two different sentient species interact? The barrier between the two cultures might very well be a lot deeper than any historically experienced, the biological differences might prevent a total or even partial compatibility and create further reasons for conflict. Let us take a fitting juristic example to conclude:

Should an elf killing a human and human killing an elf be punished in the same way?

You see, if the elves are immortals and medieval humans can only hope for half a century (more or less), shouldn’t the second murder be graver than the first? After all the elf has only stolen some decades from the human he killed, the human has taken away eternity from his victim. Yet the act is the same, why the elf should be favored? Would this imply the value of human life is considered less than the value of elven life? How humans are likely to react?

I realize the paragraphs of this essay are obviously incomplete, but generally speaking of xenobiology and xenosociology could theoretically cover entire books and take a lot more research and time I could muster. With this article I only try to offer hints on some sensitive particulars, it is for the author to expand then the research for what he needs on more specialized sources.

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The age-old quarrel, right?
Mages against Doctors, Dragons against Starships, the Supernatural against the Artificial, Fantasy against Sci-Fi.
…No, wait, scrub the last one, we talk about something else: magic versus science inside the story. No flaming, please.

It happened a lot of times by now in different fictional works, I’m sure many readers will have examples roaming into their minds right now. The most common instance is that of an alternative reality Earth with added ghosts, demons and the like, but it can really come into place in any setting featuring a society with at least a Renaissance-like level of development.

The premises should be good: there is diversity, excellent possibilities for alternative evolutions and unusual circumstances… then how is it some authors get it so wrong?

Hhhnn…

The problem I’d say is the same as for every other setting going wrong: superficial writing. Well, let’s not be narrow: superficial scripting. In the worst examples the author will just see the complex thingies and the sparkly lights and put them one against the other to make a sufficiently loud and bright ka-boom to catch the audience’s attention. The senses subconsciously feel the potential, but the mind does not timely exploit it.

In this article, I will try to follow the conflict from its probable origins to explore some of the possible implications to be addressed when presented in works of fiction; finally, I will try to dispute a common misconception against wizards and scientists.

Origins

There was already some talk about it in my first Rant (the Dragon Archetype). Today, magic in fantasy is often seen at its best in its positive qualities as wonderful (that is: awe-inspiring), and, at its worst, as a perfectly rationalized form of energy… but, back in the day, it was something dark and feared, a power to be reckoned with, dangerous, alien and nigh uncontrollable.

Like supernatural creatures it had its change and decline as man overcame nature and usher himself in the new era of enlightenment. When man knew there was a reason for things to catch on fire or for some food to provoke illness (or ailment), the fear was reduced and so conception of magic. Illuminists went to great lengths to root out superstition, but I think it was the Romantic current which first knowingly represented the quarrel in its modern form. Magic: the unknown, the dream, the darkness, the monsters and dark wonders on one side. Reason: the mankind, the triumph of mind, the light and the order of society on the other side.

Fight!

Contrary to some of its spawn, Magic didn’t really come out as bad as it could have been assumed, it survived adapting into an alternative form: the sanctuary of imagination against an otherwise cold and rational world, another representation to which the old arcane evil magic latched on to quicken itself. Thus we can find it fortunately today in both its flavors.

Then let us give a better look to both Magic and Science, see how are they represented when together in a story and what are the inherent problems about it:

The problem with Magic

In this kind of narration, Magic is usually represented in two ways, which depends mostly on whether Magic will be on the side of the protagonists or the antagonists (no, really?). On one hand we have a sugary fairy world threatened by the merciless machine of modernity, on the other hand we have the resentful remnants of a primal maddened old world bent on revenge against their historical vanquishers. There is also the third way when magic is belligerent without being evil or good, but just to forward its different needs, but that becomes incidental.

The problem to pose to oneself when writing this kind of story is: why would magic be against technology in the first place? Fortunately there’s already been quite an amount of successful cases of settings with magic and technology blending in successfully, so why would a magical species or faction or character feel threatened or upset by a technological world or person?

I would say the answer lies in comprehending the basic principle of magic: it cannot be known. Ever.

Magic in fiction is the perceptible representation of unknown powers, it is that which inspires wonders; the glittering and explosions, those are only for added flavor: it is the inexplicability the causes awe and leaves aghast. Magic is what human (or non-magical humanoids) cannot possibly understand, no matter how hard they try, no matter the means at their disposal. It fundamentally contradicts the basic positivist principle that applied reason will always be able to explain any given phenomenon through experience and study. It is the very meaning of magic to contradict reason (and the technology it spawns), that’s what creates contrasts: a profound conceptual incompatibility between the two.

On the Magic’s part, its mere existence is enough: it upsets the perceived order and the systems created by technology and its unknowable nature compels science to adapt to it and exploit it like all other natural resources. Or so it should be.

And so we come to the second common problem about these representations of magic: not only the author propones the contest ignoring the basic cause, he also operates a naturalization of Magic. This is wrong on two levels: the first one considering Magic closer to any other natural phenomenon than Science and the second considering Magic explainable through scientific means.

Talking about the first level of misinterpretation: it could sound strange for some readers, but Science is natural, while Magic is not. Think about it: sciences and technologies are the product of an undoubtedly natural creature (man), they employ natural resources and obey to natural and physical laws; magic on the other hand twists, subverts and otherwise denies Nature in all its forms. Even the pixie covering the forest with flowers and leashes is twisting the natural course of life much more than the bulldozers about to level the whole place down.

For the second level of misinterpretation: I’m talking about the incessant need of explain the way Magic works. Don’t get me wrong, this is a very realistic process for the human mind to make and a character perceiving something unexplainable as a magical phenomenon will be brought to explain it to himself or to others in some way; the problem is when this need becomes one of the author for his readers. And I know it’s hard not to do it, it is a very tricky point, but it’s also a major one: what happens when normal physics and magical physics clash? How do we calculate the damage and the score? Let’s see an example:

A wizard is fleeting, a soldier shoots at him, the wizard conjures a magic barrier. In a fantasy setting the barrier would have stopped a sword or a spear or an arrow with ease, but can it stop a bullet? Does it have a maximum limit of kinetic force it can stop before crashing or sapping all energies from the wizard? What if the soldier is using a laser gun? Does the barrier automatically protect the wizard from the energy ray as well as the physical bullet/arrow? Or does the wizard need another specific spell for that? Is there one?

These are of course legitimate questions a cautious author can ask himself when pondering about the realism of any given scene in his setting, if he doesn’t pose this questions to himself when writing, he could cause the occurrence of implausible scenarios and interrupt the suspension of disbelief or turn Magic in one big convenient deus ex machina (real or perceived).

Sadly he if does answer the questions he’ll necessarily conform Magic to natural laws, turning it into an energy by which learned or gifted individuals can create tools (spells) to accomplish tasks (in this case stopping a bullet). If the quantity of energy is enough, the tool will work, if it isn’t, it won’t and the wizard will fail.

The problem is, Magic is absence of Reason, or failure of Reason, how can you device an in-universe realistic set of rules for magic when the very establishment of such rules would be a contradiction of the nature of magic? Sorry, but I really have no idea on this one.

Even if you were to throw a die every time a character uses magic inside your story and for every solution have a different result and apply it adapting the rest of the plot to it, it would still be a standardized way of recreating magic. Many times this problem happens to be ignored by both parties, but sometimes the public will perceive an excessive rationalization of Magic and react pretty badly to it (think of the uproar caused by midichlorians).

This is after all, linked to another sensitive point: Magic, in its conception, also, being resistant to understanding, becomes a private, elusive and restrictive matter. To the dragon sleeping in a cave, the dwarves exerting their craft deep down far from surface, to the ever known lone wizard studying alone in his tower, Magic is keen to appear as selective, whereas Science is universal. After all, even for real life charlatans, it works only as long as the public doesn’t know the trick.

The problem with Science

When is represented along and against Magic, Science has a recurrent big problem: whether it is considered in a positive, negative or neutral light, it is often perceived as an inherently sterile matter compared to the wonders of Magic.
How can that be?

It is true, applied reason can be interpreted as a cold methodical calculus, but that would be more of a possible consequence rather than the basic principle.
The real basic difference is that Science is understandable, since it is the product of man (or humanoid equivalents), but that should be long from making it trivial. And the process of imagination, farther from being the neglected party, should be considered the integrant part leading to the wonders of technology. It is a creative method after all, it requires flexible and keen minds and produces extraordinary results. The point that is so often ignored in this kind of works is that Science is an evolved spawn of the arcane arts through history: from shamans to wizards to philosophers to professors to scientists, all the same category of learned men trying to understand (with different tools and methods) the strange world around them.

Magic, when pictured as real in a fictional world, is absolute antithesis with Science, but as Science as it is conceived in our world. It is true that an author going for the previous ultimately-unknowable-Magic route still puts the seeds for an inevitable hostility with Reason, but the way Science would cope with a magical world might very well be different from the behavior which real life Science would have on the matter.

Which bring us to the second problem with Science: a universe with real Magic, a society which develops under the influence of real Magic, will be extremely different from ours. From this point I would defend some “classic” fantasy settings, criticized by readers because featuring societies with thousands of years of history while still stuck in medieval-like setting: the presence of Magic or magical creatures could create such an occurrence (although maybe in less blatant ways). We were talking about dragons in the other rant, a dragon-infested society will have a lot of problems to handle for survival, therefore the basic tool of man (Reason) would be applied to create other usable tools to defend the species form fire, threats from above and the like. When Magic is also part of human society as well (that is, there can be wizards) the changes are bound to be even more extreme. Remember that our historical wizards, the wise men spending their whole lives sunk in their studies, were trying to understand and control Nature; by doing so they set the basis for what in future would have become medicine, chemistry, astronomy, biology and so on. If they actually found ways to warp reality by casting spells, how would their social class have evolved? Because, you see, if a man knows that he has the chance of finding a spell which will allow him to fly, how high are the chances he’ll try to create an airplane?

How would have a magic-filled class of wizards reacted to other attempts by common men at creating rudimental mechanical tools? Remember, Magic in human society is a lot more likely to become elitist: it can come either by innate qualities or great study, but in both cases it is a secretive and individualistic power, whereas technology has a more universal and accessible use and in fact is more likely to thrive thanks to exchange and sharing of knowledge and expertise. There is a very fitting and real life example that should give the correct hint on the matter:

You may know the invention and diffusion of crossbow was one of the major factors for the decay of the feudal aristocracy and its dominion on the battlefields of medieval Europe. The noblemen maintained their authority and supposedly divine power by blood by virtue of being able to provide themselves as knights in armies. With steel weapons and armors and warhorses (which only they could afford), trained in the art of war since they were boys, the nobles were the dominant and vital part in any field conflict. That it is, until peasants with no training started shooting them down with the relatively cheap and easily produced crossbow. In response to the unsettling change, in 1139 Pope Innocent II excommunicated the use of crossbow, condemning to eternal damnation anyone who dared to wield one. It was one desperate attempt of a mystical caste of society to protect its perceived rights (intrinsic superiority of blue-blood) over a more practical group, through the use of metaphysical means. Of course, that didn’t work out much. But if we were in a fictional alternative reality where the Second Lateran Council had the actual power of putting a deadly curse on anyone who happened to use a crossbow, what would have been the evolution of European warfare from that point?

The conflict
_{Disclaimer I: There may be spoilers from Flight of Dragons}

And here we are at the main point: what happens when the two of them clash (if they do clash)?

When we read about the confrontation on the Magic part there always is the resentment and incomprehension: the ancient magical creatures or wizards will see a world (or just a faction) of science and resent it because it doesn’t understand and denies their nature. It isn’t exactly a wrong approach for magical creatures, but it has to be pointed out that they might have been at odds against mankind from way before they invented starships, and that doesn’t mean they would be more helpless against gun than they were against arrows. Comes to mind that old Buffy episode when a student was scanning the school library’s books for a new archive and the computer’s readings of the old pages counted as a demonic summoning inside the network. It’s not hard to think magical creatures, especially thanks to their supernatural means, would be able to adapt or otherwise distort the new tools of man: a dwarf could create his artifacts employing a factory with a production line of animated machines, a fairy could jump into the internet and arm the nuclear warheads of a nation, a ghost could haunt a forum and reach on for any connected user.

Fortunately, there are already some successful examples in published fiction in this regard, but, before moving to the other side of the conflict, there is to consider the controversial situation of wizards: as said before, mages were more or less precursors of scientists, they are not magical creatures in their right, they are humans (or humanoid) who study (or try to master) magic without understanding it nor being its extension. I can understand it is plausible there could be some resentment for a master of the arcane arts if he’s considered a charlatan or a demon-worshipper or a primitive by the stereotypical scientist, but, the truth is, they really have too much in common. What are wands and scrolls and spells and filters and scrying balls and reagents and rituals if not tools created to try and rationalize and tame the mystical energies? What’s to stop a mage to think modern-like or sci-fi technology and a scientific method could help him even more in his search for truth and control over magic? Why would he consider them sterile or unnecessary?

On the other side of the trench, from what I’ve seen, the behavior of science in regards of magic has been really little scientific-like.

It is amazing how many works inadvertently depict scientists as the close-minded party of the conflict. Once again, I can understand the possible instinctual skepticism which a man of science could feel in its first experience of a supernatural phenomenon but I do not think it should be the only (or major) possible reaction. As a very fitting example, I’ll report the ending of that old cartoon, Flight of Dragons (here you find the scene), which is literary a showdown between Magic and Science. Or should be.

While the protagonist previously in the plot he tried to approach himself with logic to the supernatural to rationalize it (a very realistic reaction), in the end he instead denies all the sensorial proofs that Magic was in fact real, while still claiming to be logical. For Thoth’s sake, man, you were just inside a dragon, how did you restore your body? How are you blocking the fire spitted at you by the big bad? Big bad who just turned into a seven-head monstrosity right in front of you and cracked the ground around you. Just illusions? Fine. And how is he making those illusions, since you clearly are seeing them? How is that you can kill him by calling on the various scientific subjects? Since when shouting “Mathematic!” has had the potential of killing people?

By turning the sciences subjects into abstract concepts, shouting them one after another to the point of almost becoming barely comprehensible to the hearing, the protagonist is actually turning them into a magic spell employed to banish the monster. They are not science and logic anymore.

The problem is that, as someone could say, the protagonist puts his faith in science, which becomes quickly an oxymoron when you start to actually worship science and consider its tenets as the immutable truth (as Peter shouts). The point of logic and science is that they are far from immutable, they are keen to change, adapt and update themselves constantly as more information is gathered and examined from the universe by man.

It is the lack in this regard what makes fictional characters allegedly on the part of reason and science fall short when they see fairies raining from the skies, dragons rampaging across the streets and just cover their eyes and shout “No! La la la la lala magicdoesntexist la la la!” Even if there may be the first phase of disbelief and rejection, I would say that a doctor discovering a magical phenomenon would be ecstatic, it would think of himself like some sort of new Einstein, ready to revolutionize the current conceptions of the entire world. A more realistic scientist would be someone curious, someone who will spend weeks pestering the lonely wizard with interviews, someone who will take the baby dragon and vivisect it to see how it spits fire, someone who will mix pixie dust in his laboratory to see how it reacts to the basic elements.

Therefore, as a conclusive statement, obviously a Plot can possess magic and technology clashing against each other without having Magic vs. Science as the main reason of the conflict, but even so, in the moment they do find themselves confronting one another and interacting in the story (even if for other motives), there should be an attention on the background and the subtle rooted differences which make them hardly compatible and which empower the conflict. In an hypothetical world, Science will always try to understand and rationalize Magic and Magic will always contradict and shrink away from Science.

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