This "chapter" occurs in Eldest, after the chapter "The Obliterator." I don't own Eragon etc, etc, as I am not Christopher Paolini.
Returning to his "bird's nest," Eragon laid his head on Saphira's cerulean shoulders, contemplating Oromis's words. The elves seemed so perfect; they could be "logical," living in their perfect world where none starved or sickened, where everyone was at peace. Of course there were aberrations, like the pitiless Vanir, but the others concealed their emotions like pillars of stone.
You are troubled, little one.
You seem to be saying that a lot.
He felt her ironic smile. I'm just…feeling my humanity, that's all, he replied. She glided to a halt as they reached the platform of the apartment, turning her magnificent head to look him in the eye.
You are more than human, little one. She paused, ruffling his hair with her warm breath. I go now to hunt; Glaedr is meeting me back by the Crags, she said, the abrupt change in subject exciting her. We shouldn't be gone terribly long…will you please try to stay out of trouble in the meantime?
He chuckled, stroking her head. I won't go looking for it, at least. She seemed satisfied, waiting for him to dismount before rocketing back into the sky to join her mentor. She glanced back once. I'll be back soon.
He watched her fly off until she melted into the azure sky, leaning against the polished doorframe. From here, he could see most of Ellesméra. Du Weldenvarden stretched away before him, unbreakable. He could just glimpse the hazy outlines of mountains in the distance. The graceful panorama made him feel utterly small, so he turned his gaze to the ground below where he could watch the comings and goings of the elven people. He observed them for several minutes, unable to stop himself from comparing them to the ants he had studied earlier. For all their elegance and polish, the day-to-day actions seemed very similar from this height. He watched them for almost twenty minutes, relaxed and without incident, before a party of elf men appeared from the forest, dragging between them a struggling form.
"Lady Islanzadí!" they called in the ancient language. One of them ran forward with the poise of a deer, bounding towards Tialdari Hall. After a moment, Islanzadi came forward, Arya at her elbow. Blagden soared above them, a herald of their imminent arrival. "Wyrda!" he shrieked, circling party before settling on the Queen's shoulder. Eragon turned and descended the stairs; this was something very unusual.
He reached the group of elves as one of them explained the situation to the queen in hushed tones. He approached Arya, who glanced at him warily. He sighed. "What's going on?" he inquired in the ancient language, averting his eyes from her graceful form. They landed on the creature scuffling with the other two forest men. A boy no older than himself, dressed in a shapeless wine-dark tunic with fawn breeches twisted his arms this way and that, a hood obscuring his head and neck. The elves gripped him stoically, as though trying their best to ignore him. A thin, empty scabbard hung from a belt at his waist.
"Captured in the forest, only two miles from here" Arya replied quietly, her voice hollow. Eragon looked up at her inquisitively. Her face was drawn and agitated as she watched the futile efforts of the captive. Islanzadi nodded to the man and stepped forward.
"What manner of creature are you, that you can evade even the strongest of our spells?" she said coldly. The boy paused at the hard note in the voice, looking up. The queen reached forward and threw the hood back from his face, revealing…
Eragon gasped. What he had took to be a boy was, in fact, a fiery haired girl with pointed ears and blazing green eyes; undeniably an elf, though he had never seen one with such coloration. A long, thin scar passed from the base of her left ear down her neck until it disappeared beneath her merlot cloak. Arya straightened next to him. Her mother took an involuntary step back, her hand rising to her heart.
"You! You were told to never return!" she exclaimed, fighting to regain her composure. Blagden shrieked "Wyrda!" and exploded from his mistress's shoulder. He flew three times around the prisoner's head, then hovered before her face. The girl snapped at him with even, white teeth. He shrieked again, flying back to the queen. Islandzadi glared at her. "You know the punishment. Take her away!" she exclaimed, stalking back towards the Hall. Arya paused, as though she wanted to say something, then followed her, glancing back at Eragon for the briefest of moments before hurrying after her mother.
The elf men dragged the girl off and Eragon followed at a distance. He was curious as to what this female could have done to warrant such attention; he had never seen the queen so flustered. The girl tripped forward between the two strong men as they led her towards the edge of the city. She made little sound as she kicked and wrenched her arms, but they only tightened their hold and moved on. They traveled this way for several moments, silent except for the thrashing of the girl. He admired her perseverance; what ever she had done, at least she was resolute. They finally came upon a small stone hut, the first that Eragon had seen in the city of trees, and opened the heavy iron door. Tossing the girl roughly inside, they proceeded to close the weighty portal.
"Wait!" Eragon called, trotting to catch up with them. They looked up, startled, then glanced at each other. They then began closing the door once more. "Wait a moment!" he said exasperatedly, wishing that Saphira was here. They worshiped the ground she walked on; if she had requested it, he had no doubt they would have halted. Still, they paused, their swords drawn.
"I wish to visit the prisoner," he said politely, bowing. The tallest, obviously the leader, bowed back, beginning the ritual greeting. Eragon sighed, returning it. Elves were an unbending sort, refusing to waver from their traditions in even the simplest of situations. After they had finished, he repeated his request.
"I think, Shur'tugal, that that may not be wise," the first suggested, his voice firm. A muffled sound escaped from the hut, as though the inhabitant was speaking. "Silence!" he hollered, rapping his sword on the door. It rang hollowly like a giant bell, making Eragon want to cover his ears. It must have been ten times worse inside the echoic chamber. Satisfied, the elf bowed again to Eragon. "With respect, sir, perhaps you should put your request to the queen…" he trailed off, leaving no doubt in Eragon's mind that he would not allow him to enter until he had done so. Irritated, Eragon inclined his head slightly, then turned on his heal and returned to the city.
"Arya-elda! Arya!" Eragon hammered on what he had been told was Arya's door. It was one of the first solid doors he had seen; he suspected it has something to do with her special standing. "Arya, please! I need to ask you a favor."
The door slid partially into its pocket, revealing a single dark eye staring out at him. "Yes, Shur'tugal?" she asked stiffly.
"Arya…will you grant me permission to visit the captive?" he said quietly. Her milky skin paled, her visible eye widening.
"Do you know what you ask, Eragon-elda? Am…the Nameless One is condemned! We shouldn't be speaking of her so…so freely." The door opened ever so slightly, just enough for her to poke her head out. She glanced up and down the hall, then allowed him to pass through.
Her rooms were beautiful. The wood of the walls had grown in different colors, the twisting patterns arching to a point in the high-vaulted ceiling. A stained glass window in the center of the dome cast a gentle design onto the hardwood floor. An intricate rug covered the center of the floor, swirling clouds of green and gold mirrored the swaying leaves of the forest. Eragon had little time to take all of this in, how ever, before she ushered him into a chair carved into the shape of a rearing horse. He watched her carefully; she was more restless than he had ever seen her before. Normally the picture of stoney elfishness, she twisted her dress beneath her delicate fingers nervously in a very un-Arya-like manner.
"The Nameless One was banned from Du Weldenvarden many years ago. We may not speak the name of the banished; they are dead to us. The penalty for returning unbidden from exile is…is death."
Eragon stared at her, aghast. The elves, who valued life so highly above everything else, had a death sentence? It seemed so unnatural, almost sacrilegious for the perfect elves that he thought he knew. But Arya obviously believed what she was saying; she had never led him astray before. "What could one do to deserve such punishment?" he inquired.
She stood, wringing her hands. She began to pace, her dark hair falling across her face as she walked. "The Nameless One," she chuckled sadly, "is dangerous. Her deeds are…I cannot speak of them. Eragon-elda…if you must visit her, I grant your wish." She looked at him pleadingly, as though trying to convey something else to him through her dark eyes. She turned away from him and picked up a thin piece of leather. She touched her fingertip to it and a flowing silver script appeared on its surface. She handed him the hide silently. "You may go, but go quickly; she dies in the morning," she said quietly.
"Thank you, " he responded, unsure of what else to say, taking the leather from her. She released it and turned away. He left, the haunted look on her face driving him ever faster.
