Alternative writings

Night had fallen sending the sky into a blackness covered with a splay of glimmering white stars. Behind them loomed the great mountain of the Heligrand, a dark shadow staring down at them daring them to try and probe its depth and gain its inner most secrets. Here though, in front of the campfire, things seemed a bit warmer.

Eragon could see Roran tending to his meat.

Stiff on the stick, he turned and twisted it, touching it to make sure it was well done. Roran did love his meat. The noises he made while eating it was pure pleasure. And then he savored the final juices licking them from his fingers. Sucking them to make sure he got every last gooey bit off.

Alone, by himself, though, Eragon twisted his staff absently -nervously- as he watched. It looked so good. He could remember the feel the meat deep in his throat, taking it down, the juices over flowing; leaking out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. The taste of it, so good, so warm.

Oh! How he wished he could share Roran's meat!

As if noticing his studious gaze, Roran stood up and held his meat stick; pointing it at Eragon.

"You want this, don't you?" he said, waving it temptingly. Oh so temptingly!

Eragon waved his hand. His voice horse, "I can't Roran, I swore off it. It's not good to eat meat." He didn't sound convincing to himself and to Roran.

The meat stick waved closer so that he could smell it! "I know you want it Eragon, we always shared our meat back home. It was so good on those cold winter nights as we huddled together. Take it! I want to share with you!"

Eragon shook his head, turning away from the meat trying to quell his longing for it.

If you don't wish to have Roran's meat, then I shall," Saphira interjected. Her great head reached for the meat and sucked it off so quickly Roran only had time for a loud gasp of surprise.

If possible, she had a smirk on her face. "You have good meat, Roran Stronghammer. I shall
wish to enjoy more of it later.

Breathing hard, Roran could barely say, "Yes... it's good to know that someone enjoys it."

*whistles innocently*

Orik's Bow (a Meat Story)


Much to Eragon's surprise, Orik had given him meat. In fact he gave meat for the entire camp of dwarves. Everyone got it. Except Arya, because she wouldn't partake in meat. (Except rarely. Eragon hoped that he would be the one to give her that meat. To make her discover the wonders and joy of having meat often.) Orik had used his bow to get the meat. When Eragon had seen Orik's bow, jealously had risen up in him like a one eyed snake. Oh sure, it was thick and tough, but it was small. Though it did look strong, which made Eragon feel inadequate with his bow, which was slim and bendy.

Orik was very proud of his bow and told him all about it, especially the decorations on it, which were fascinating. He had never thought about decorating his bow before. Another reason why he felt lacking with his bow. Vaguely he thought about decorating his bow, wondering what it would feel like with decoration. Would it be better?

He wanted to try Orik's bow. He wanted to handle it. See what it felt like in his hands. Run his fingers across the decorations. Caress the horny length.

But he didn't know how to ask Orik. He was afraid to ask to handle the bow. That he wouldn't be able to handle it correctly.

Then, Orik let him handle it! Offered it to him!

He hefted it carefully. Running his fingers over the decorations, feeling its horniness. It felt amazing, like nothing he had held before.

He then shot off Orik's bow, watching as the arrow flew away. Amazing! He had never managed to shoot off so far. Orik's bow was truly an amazing weapon. He was sad when Orik put it back in it's jeweled case, watching enviously as it was put away.

The next day he watched the sunrise with Ayra and Saphira and something strange happened to him.

Arya had looked at him, with her perfect face and deep emerald orbs that seemed pierce into his soul, peeling him apart like an onion, her raven hair fluttering lightly in the breeze like a loose cloak, and it stirred something deep inside of him.

Something that he had never felt before... except when he was with Saphira. That same sort of connection. The same sort of desires. It frightened him. He never thought he could feel that way about another person... a woman at that.

He was unprepared for such stirrings with in him. Garrow, who had taught him how to use meat, who had taught him so much, never told him about this. Even the few times he had wrestled with Roran or Murtagh, didn't compare to this unknown strange feeling.

It was as if she had touched him somewhere deep inside. Somewhere where he had never been touched before. (Except by Saphira). She knew him. Knew him, his thoughts, his wants and desires. He felt ashamed at such a thought. The idea that this woman could know him better than Roran, better than Garrow, Brom or Murtagh. Better than Orik, better than anyone he had shared meat with.

She was so aloof, with her ideas that he shouldn't eat meat. He scoffed at her, mentally. She didn't know him at all.

No, not like Saphira did.

Or Garrow, Murtagh, Brom, Roran, Orik.

They had shared with him meat. They had been with him, let him touch their weapons. Brought him into themselves, their families.

She never allowed him close. Never allowed him to touch her fine weapons. And she had two very fine weapons. Weapons that he would have liked to have handled. Caressed. Seen what they could do.

No, he would go with her. He would meet this Cripple Who is Whole. He would see these bows made from trees that did not grow, see how they were used and if they could bring the same pleasure of a real bow.

But he would not give up his meat.

No matter what she thought.

Mostly because I promised. And Because I didn't want to let you think I was going to leave this one alone. Eragon/Arya


Meat pt. four


Eragon sat at the fire watching the flames slowly lick and tease the pot that was cooking the meat. Through the heat of the flames he could see the elf, laying in the dirt as comfortable as the could make her. Her raven black hair was strew like a halo around her head, her rosy lips were pursed slightly as if she were thinking... or about to give a kiss. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the fire light, showing none of the bruises that she had when they had rescued her.

Eragon watched her and desired to give her some of his meat.

She must be hungry for something by now. She hadn't eaten a thing the entire time she had been with them. She hadn't moved or twitched or anything. This stillness wrought a horrible desire in him. A desire to touch her. To hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. To give her meat, little by little. Just tiny bites at first because he didn't think he could handle his meat all at once. Not after not eating for so long.

Maybe he would give her soup at first. That would whet her appetite for meat.

Then he could give her meat. He could show her how manly he was in being able to give her meat.

She would be so grateful to him for rescuing her that she would gladly partake in his meat.

It would be wonderful, being out under the stars, sharing the meat, getting to know each other intimately.

He wanted to watch her enjoy his meat. He wanted so see her expression as she took what he gave her. The gratitude for his meat. The expression of joy as she received it.

Hungrily he glanced at the pot, watching the flames, wanting his meat. Wanting to be able to give her his meat.

Murtagh stepped into view at that moment, between the elf and Eragon. His eyes were alight with the flames that cooked their meat.

"It's almost done," he said softly.

"Good," replied Eragon, wrenching his eyes from the elf, "Because I really need some."

Some Brom/Eragon with hints of Eragon/Murtagh, because I still hate you all.


Meat, pt. 2

Eragon stood by Brom's tomb and ruminated about how he would never do anything with the old man ever again. The man had been like a father to him and now he was dead. No longer would they share things together. Like meat.

They had shared a lot of meat together on this journey. Ever since Brom had caught him coming out of Sloan's they had meat together. Their first time had been in the cold and snow, a very simple affair. Eragon was almost ashamed of it. But Brom didn't mind.

So they had meat often, every day.

Sometimes it felt like Eragon never wanted meat again, but then he realized he needed it. He needed it to survive and Brom was always willing to share his meat with him.

That was the best part of their journey, the sharing of the meat.

Sometimes they would share with Saphira. That had been an awe inspiring experience, sharing her meat. It had always tasted better, knowing that it had come from her. And when Brom had shown him how to use magic to get his meat... well things were never the same between the two of them.

In fact, Eragon felt that it only made them stronger, closer.

But now Brom was dead. They never had a chance to share their meat again. Just one last drink of wine, a clumsy offering to what they had had before. And now he was alone.

Or was he?

Murtagh had given him soup.

Perhaps the young man would share meat with him too.