Simple Mistakes

She was aware of the exchange as it happened, though she did not understand it. The elves had come to speak with her mother to acquire an egg for the Shur'tugal, the dragon riders. She listened from within her egg, curious. Vervada and the elves spoke much and it was decided that she was to be their dragon.

The last time she heard her mother's voice, the great dragon was speaking the words of an ancient spell, part of the treaty between dragon kind and the elves to ensure peace between them. A heavy weariness settled over her and she drifted into deep sleep.

Her dreams stretched on for an eternity. Filled with voices, words of wisdom and casual conversation, the feeling of motion and her entire world being passed from one hand to another.

Not long after the spell was cast, something troubled her sleep. Dreams became nightmares, filled with screams and the death of her own people. Now her egg had stilled, placed where no one could touch it, where she would be safe.

She was unsettled. There was something here, where ever she was, that pressed against her mind, urged her to wake, but another something told her to continue her rest.

Vaguely, she sensed that something had gone wrong, but there was nothing she could do, so she slept on.

Hands brushed against her egg and once more her dreams shifted. Time had passed and the world was somehow very different. She dreamed of constant motion and became familiar with those who carried her. She was still searching for something, someone that she felt she knew. Always she felt a strange disconnect deep in her heart, a sort of despair.

'Perhaps,' she thought, 'it is too late for me?'

The world went on as she dreamed. Always moving, never still.

Her dreams were shattered.

The surge of magic and the sudden, violent movement jarred her from her rest completely. The spell was broken and fading. She was alone and the world was cold.

Someone, an unfamiliar boy, lifted her egg and she felt the world moving more fully than she had ever felt it before. He took no great care of her and she was jostled and knocked about uncomfortably. She tried to sleep, but the constant movement and the feeling of utter wrongness kept her awake, haunted.

Now she was searching in earnest. The spell had been shattered and time was passing for her once more. Passing too quickly. There were others nearby, she felt their minds brush against hers as the reckless boy carried her through a village.

One mind in particular she felt as if she knew. She reached out to tickle his dreams. 'Hello? Do I know you?'

In his meager home, Brom woke from an unsettling dream of his own.

The careless boy, fool that he was, eventually set her down. She was grateful for the cessation of motion, but she felt lonely. There were two others near her, an old man and his son. She wanted them to come nearer, to touch the edge of her world; perhaps they were what she sought.

But they stayed away and she remained truly awake, growing, her world becoming ever smaller, more cramped. Soon, she would have to leave. And if she did not find what she sought, she would break free of her prison only to die. Or worse. The realizations frightened her.

At last, after a thousand years of dreaming, the dragon could wait no longer. On a moonlit night, she burst forth from her tiny world, so lately become a prison, to see that same careless boy staring in shock and amazement at her.

"Not a stone," he whispered. "An egg!"

The hatchling glared at him. Of course it had been an egg. What else was it supposed to be? Stupid, careless boy.

Already she could feel the magic of the spell pulling on her. An ache was rapidly growing deep in her mind and it would only get worse. She had perhaps an hour, maybe less, to find what she was looking for before the spell killed her. Now that she was free, she could feel the others in the house. The man and his son were too old and she could not reach the others in the village in time.

The boy was inching closer, his hand outstretched. She wanted to bite him, to hiss at him and frighten him away. He was not right for her, not what she was looking for. The pain was growing quickly. She was going to die...

Her decision was made for her and the dragonet reached out and touched the boy's hand with her nose. The spell leapt from her to him and a small part of her cried out in mourning. Before she slipped into unconsciousness, the dragon knew she would loose everything now.

On the day Eragon came to her with a name, she had her last free thought. His mind had slowly been overtaking her own, pushing out the personality that was and forcing her into a new mold. Most dragons spoke to their riders just days after hatching, but she had fought the connection since it had been forged. Now the struggle was nearly over. Soon, she would have nothing of herself left.

He was trying to name her, spilling out names she had heard before. Some of them she even remembered having met while in the egg. When he mentioned "Saphira", her heart lifted. She remembered Saphira...and the man. Brom, wasn't it?

'Idiot boy,' something deep and far away murmured in the back of her mind. 'You can't even give me my own name. Instead you must steal it?'

But that thought was very far away. Even the memory of the name's former owner was slipping, leaving only a vague familiarity. She'd been thinking of something, hadn't she? Perhaps if she kept the name close, she would remember again.

'Saphira...I think I like that name...'

***

As King Galbatorix lay dying, Zar'Roc pinning him to the dirt, he felt something brush against his mind.

'You,' Saphira whispered. 'It was...I was looking...for you...'

Tears welled up in the king's eyes, not of pain, but of grief.

'I couldn't find you, something was wrong...' the dragon continued, struggling to speak, as if the thoughts were hard to come by. 'Why didn't you wait for me?'

"What have I done?" Galbatorix croaked.

In that moment, he knew. Taking Shruikan had been a mistake. Whether the Shur'tugal would have given him the egg or not, if he had just waited... The blue had been meant for him. His tears mixed with his blood and he died.

Eragon would never know why Saphira had cried out then. She herself did not know why.