This is designed to fit in just before the A Fitting Epitaph chapter in Inheritance, and will of course more likely lean towards an alternate future, however for the time being it is simply a small piece which someone I know suggested I write, as they wished for me, oddly enough, to kill Arya.
Usual disclaimer; more or less everything owned by Paolini.
She walked slowly but gracefully down a darkened back street near the centre of Ilirea from the tower where they had been debating to the gate. There were no people here, as the night began to reign; all hiding from the invaders, or all rejoicing for the death of their king, or all dead. Whether for those reasons or more, the street and the buildings lining it were silent, unlit, and still. The street was narrow but still burdened with a mix of shops and houses.
She had wanted to be alone. Alone with her grief. So many dead, so many injured, and amongst them her Queen, her mother; the one she had for so long shunned. She wished no more than to wind back the past 70 years of her life and relive them. Relive them and this time not run off into the wild. She had been young, carefree and bold. Yet she knew, deep down, that it had been the right decision. If she had not lived in the way that she had, then Galbatorix would still hold his iron fist tight over the land. The past, present and future would all be very different. A solitary tear slid across her cheek.
She froze. Her exceptional hearing had picked up a noise; a rustle of cloth so soft she could have been imagining. Then another noise. She drew the sword at her belt and spun round to face whatever it was behind her, and found her blade to blade with a cloaked figure, shadowed by the building. For a split instant his eyes gleamed in the low light, and neither of them moved, then his hand faltered and her blow continued across his chest.
The cloak tore, and he was forced back, but he did not seem to be disturbed by the blow and instead attempted to slash at her exposed arm. She parried the blow and continued with her thrust, the sword sticking in her assailants lower chest. He gurgled, but made no other noise, and ignoring the blade passing straight through his body he pulled her closer by the neck, then punched into her abdomen with the dagger.
At the last instant, she realised she had not refreshed her wards, warn out during the battle. She cursed herself for making a stupid mistake, for underestimating an assassin who's master was dead, and for not crying out for help. Her tendrils of though clutched at those individuals she could reach; Eragon and Saphira, Lord Dathedr and other Elves with him, Angela, and several werecats.
Before she could pass on any information, before she could cry for help, or do anything, the knife sunk home.
She gasped at the pain and her vision blurred. She tried to focus on the ground but couldn't, and realised she was kneeling on the paving and the blurs of red in the gaps must be her own blood. She repeatedly tried to gain focus, each time seeing more blurred blood, not all her own she realised as she identified the shape in front of her as the assassin, face down. She blacked out again, and then someone was there, someone shouting. Each time she focused, there were more people. There was more noise. Someone who's touch she recognised was trying to gain entry to her head, someone was holding her, someone was screaming. Then she was on her back, and it became easier to focus, thought still impossible to see things further away than a few meters, through a blur of tears and stars.
In front of her knelt Eragon, saying words she could not quite hear, and behind him a mottled blue mass which she guessed was Saphira. To Eragon's side were several elves including Blogharm and Dathedr. Some other humans were crowded around, many who she did not recognise.
She felt a flow of energy and it became easier to see, to hear, to move. She opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a pained moan as several people pressed hard on her wound. She tried again, this time managing "How long have I lain here?" in a pained, weak voice.
"A few minutes, no more than five. Stay still, I'm trying to stop the bleeding. I can't heal the wound for some reason." Eragon's voiced echoed in her head.
He and others seemed to become increasingly desperate. There was more blood. She caught snatches of conversation; enchanted dagger, internal bleeding, huge blood loss… In the corner of her vision, Blodgharm looked at the other elves and shook his head slowly.
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Blodgharm, if I'm going to die then at least have the courtesy to tell me." She managed.
"I apologise, Your Majesty." She waved her hand weakly.
"I am only jesting. Please, where is Lord Dathedr…" she managed.
"I am here, Arya." He spoke, grasping her cool hand. "I am here. We cannot remove the dagger. We cannot heal the wound. It lashes out with lightning at those who do. We cannot do anything."
"Then do nothing. I have achieved what I have set out to do. The King is dead, is he not? Our people… my people will look towards you to lead them. You know that. They will choose you as the start of a new line. You have my support." The lord nodded in understanding.
During the discussion, Eragon and several of the other elves had been arguing heatedly. He knelt next to her, spoke once in the ancient language, Forgive me, then yanked the dagger from her body.
She gasped as the knife pulled from the wound and a fresh wave of pain assailed her, the adrenaline in her veins almost used up. Eragon jolted his arm and threw the weapon down the street, sparks flying as it skidded along the stones. He shook his hand and groaned, and Saphira hissed.
He leant over her face and spoke again. "I'm going to try and heal the wound again."
Seemingly distracted, she frowned then said "Would now be a cruel time to say I have grown to love you?" He sobbed slightly.
"Yes. Yes actually. But… if it's true then be cruel." She smiled.
"Fate is cruel. Goodbye Eragon. Goodbye Saphira." She spoke, and then smiled.
He placed a hand on her heart. The slow erratic beating was struggling to pump the remaining blood round her body. He poured energy into her and nothing changed. She seemed to laugh slightly. Then, with a final breath, her head lolled back, and her eyes grew lustreless. Her heart stopped. And his broke.
Hope you enjoyed that. I question the sanity of the person who wanted me to write it too, but I did it anyway and it was quite fun. I've got a second part planned out too… so…
