After reading Eragon and Eldest again I got the idea for what I think will be a short fic. I'll see what happens. And so you know Arya may seem a bit sarcastic at times…
(EragonArya, a bit Sleeping Beauty-esque) A spell causes Arya to fall asleep, a very unnatural thing to do when you're an elf. Though when she's visited by a certain Dragonrider she comes to her senses (well, two of them anyway) and falls into something deeper than sleep. But, will she wake up? Who cast the spell? And why is Eragon her only visitor?
Prologue: Falling Asleep
In Farthen Dur
I observed the celebrations, my face devoid of all emotion and my back ramrod straight. I watched the men and dwarves that surrounded me all downing enough ale to make a hardened drunkard proud. Only one man seemed to have his wits properly about him and given the circumstances he was the one least inclined to be so. No, Eragon's eyes were as sharp as ever, his mug of drink untouched, despite the fact that Saphira's own eyes were clouded by a cask or two of wine.
It was quite co-incidental really… Eragon's birthday, his eighteenth no less, had coincided with the Varden's latest military success, a resounding victory. It was also quite a co-incidence that it was my birthday today too, though it had not been publicised at all, thankfully. Today I turned 111, a proud number. A smile tweaked the corners of my lips when I realised the irony of the situation. The birthday boy and girl were both stone-cold sober.
Some man beside me belched loudly and I wrinkled my delicate nose in frank disgust, feeling a stab of jealousy at Nasuada. She was 'resting' after the battle because she had sustained a great wound, totally healable with magic, of course. I had the sneaking suspicion that it was just an excuse for solitude and time to plan for the looming future.
I looked up to find him staring and experienced a small jolt of shock. He had guarded his feelings from me carefully since the Agaetí Blödhren, yet his eyes clearly displayed a mixture of longing, frustration and apology. I gazed back defiantly, determined not to be cowed. And, as I knew he would, he looked away at his lap. I sighed, he seem like such a child to me. To start anything of the nature he desired would basically be paedophilic!
I closed my eyes; I had stayed long enough for the sake of being polite. My eyes fluttered back open as I gathered the energy to rise. This drunken behaviour was so exhausting.
Three words, whispered. No one hears amongst the drunken rabble. "Stydja, gánivë Yaeldar." Sleep, like Beauty.
I registered the sapping of the strength from my muscles with fear. Yet before I could consider why this was happening my mind began to dull, failing as fast. The edges of my vision were leeched of colour, leaving only black. I heard my name being called desperately, yet faintly. Eragon? Then I surrendered to the inky darkness, falling into something that was completely unnatural for an elf… Sleep.
XxXxX
It's short, I know, but please review! They are all appreciated. Good? Bad? Let me know.