I don't really know why this happened... I know it's rather out of character for Arya, maybe even both of them, but this sort of wrote itself right after I finished reading the entire series again plus a load of other fanfics. I came up with the idea of the Elves singing to guide their dead because of the way they sing to the trees and nature and generally everything. And I know they don't have a religion, but if you say 'passed into the void' then I guess you would have to find the void to pass into it :)
Anyhoo, please review to tell me what you think! I'm quite unsure about this, it's the first fic I've written in a while so, be nice? If you see anything wrong with it that you don't like etc please tell me. I crave comments, and I love criticsm (constructive!) :P
Enough rambling... it starts literally the page after the last page of Brisingr and that's about all you need to know :)
The sun was hanging low over the horizon by the time he left Nasuada's tent. Saphira padded along softly behind him, lost in her thoughts. Her sorrow at Oromis and Glaedr's deaths washed over him suddenly, and he winced as she uttered a long, sad keen and her thoughts and memories of their last moments washed over him.
Gone! Gone! We are alone, Eragon! They're GONE!
Saphira get a hold of yourself! He cried as he was forced through her to relive Glaedr's memories again and again. He felt her despair crush down on him, with such force that it felt as if he were suffocating and with all his strength he threw up his mental barriers and shoved her from his mind.
She looked at him with one huge, tormented blue orb and then blinked slowly, her eyelid snapping shut with a soft snikt, nodded, as if to say, 'As you wish,' and with a push from her powerful hind legs, leapt into the air and flew off into the darkening sky.
He wandered after that, both in mind and body, flitting through tents and people, drawing ever further from the Varden's camp and the accompanying clamor without really meaning to. He wasn't really thinking about his teachers, but unbidden memories of the time spent with them would appear in his mind's eye and he would watch and remember.
He was still numb. He hadn't really absorbed the fact that they had honestly passed into the void. He hadn't been there, hadn't seen it, as he had with the deaths of Brom and Garrow, and so he couldn't find it in himself to accept the fact that he would never see Oromis or Glaedr again.
His wanderings brought him to a small hill just outside the walls of the camp. He had been there many times with Saphira, it was their favourite place to watch the sunset, and the sunset now was an unusually beautiful one.
To his surprise, there was another, lone figure standing on the hill. Although its back was to him, he instinctively knew it was Arya, and advanced slowly, for fear of upsetting her. Silhouetted against the pinky sky with her hair whipping around her slim figure, he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Her arms were wrapped around her, and her chin was lifted high as she stared into the sun. Her shoulders trembled as she took in a breath, and as Eragon drew up beside her, he saw her cheeks dripped with tears.
He refrained from reaching out to her, for he knew she would probably just recoil from his touch, so he stood there beside her, his arms folded like hers and stared at the sun. He felt the wind tug at his clothes, felt it whisper in his ear and he felt strangely at peace, however sad and lonely that peace was.
The colours and the wind reminded him of the sunsets he had spent with Oromis on the Crags of Tel'naeír and suddenly the memories came flooding back to him, each one hitting him so hard he started to feel weak. He felt he was there, at Oromis's house, and the fact that he and Glaedr weren't there with him drove home the knowledge that he would never see them again.
An uncontrollable sob escaped from his throat before he clenched his jaw, telling himself fiercely that he was not going to cry. His eyes felt wet, and his chin trembled as he stared into the horizon. He breathed deeply, working on calming himself down. He let his mind wash over the land, let himself join with a deer, and relished in its basic, instinctual thoughts and feelings, using it as an escape from the complexity and the weight of his human ones.
Arya's voice brought him back to his body with a jolt. It took him a while to realize where he was, and after shaking his head violently to clear the buzzing in his ears, he finally managed to comprehend what she was saying.
"…. suspected for a while now that Oromis intended to leave Ellesméra. I never thought that if he did, he would be pitted against Murtagh and Thorn immediately. And now…" She trailed off, and Eragon heard the tremor in her voice as she ended her sentence. He glanced at her and saw her trembling even harder.
He reached out hesitantly and took her hand gently, unsure whether or not she would reject him. He saw her glance down at their intertwined hands, and for a moment he was sure she would pull away. Then, she sighed and squeezed his hand softly, sinking down onto the grass and pulling him with her.
She had drawn her knees up to her chest, her free hand circling them and hugging them closer to her. Her chin rested on her knees, letting her hair fall in a veil around her face. His hand rested over hers on the grass and his thumb was drawing small circles over the back of her palm.
They sat there for a while, content with each other and their thoughts for company. The wind subsided to a soft breeze and he heard Arya sniff softly.
"When my father died, my mother was so caught up in her grief and the troubles of being a monarch that she barely had time for me." Eragon turned his head slightly so that he could look at her as she talked.
"I was just ten years old, young by even your standards, and I suffered without my parents. Oromis took me in, taught me what I know.
"He was my role model, my teacher. He taught me how to fight, and was the one who cared for me when I had hurt myself sparring with the others. He was the one who found me my sword. My mother was there, albeit sporadically, but Oromis was the constant in my youth.
"I have not a memory of my childhood where he is not there, always kind, always ready to help and give comfort. He would take me out on Glaedr when I was younger. We would fly for hours without speaking, just reveling in the fact that we were together."
Arya paused and wiped her streaming eyes with the back of her free hand. She gave a long shuddering sigh and closed her eyes, "Losing him; it's like losing my father all over again." Her voice broke on the last word, and her head sank down between her knees, her body shaking as she sobbed.
She pulled her hand away from him to hug herself. It was as if she was trying to hold herself together, as if she would fall apart at any moment. Eragon had never seen her so vulnerable, this Arya was so different from the reserved, composed Arya he was used to. She seemed almost human, he could relate to her pain.
He reached out and gently put a hand on her back, rubbing it gently. He could feel her trembling, and could feel each shuddering breath that she took. She relaxed under his touch and before he knew it, she had shuffled up next to him, fitting herself under the crook of his arm. He snaked his arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly and she rested her head against his shoulder.
Her eyes were still closed, and little drops of water clung to her long eyelashes. He looked down at her and then back at the sun as tears started to prick his eyes.
"I think," he said, and then paused, biting his lip while he chose what to say, "I think Oromis-elda knew that he would fight Murtagh. When we left Ellesméra, he had the same aura, I think, that Brom did before we rode into Dras-Leona. He knew he was going to die, Arya, and he had accepted that."
She moaned and buried her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking through the fabric. He rubbed her back slowly, and continued, "He loved you. Loved you as a daughter. That much I know. He told me to tell you that he was so proud of you, and of what you've become and what you've achieved.
"He's not truly gone. After Garrow died, I thought that I would never really be happy again, but they're always with you, in your thoughts, in your memories." He paused and looked down at her. She had resumed staring at the sunset, which was now sinking below the horizon. Her face was wet, diamond tears hung off her cheeks and she clung to herself as if she would never let go.
"You're not alone Arya. You'll never be alone." I'll always be here for you he added to himself. He tilted his head so it rested on hers, drawing her closer to him. She didn't resist, instead leaning into him as if he would provide her with strength.
They sat in silence, watching the sun sink ever lower. Somewhere, they heard a long, mournful keen and Saphira appeared from behind a cloud, circling higher and higher until she was no more than a speck in the sky.
"What do elves do when another has passed? Do you have rituals for the dead?" He inquired. She shifted slightly, turning her head towards him.
"We mourn alone, we prefer to reflect on whoever has passed in solitude. Our dead are always laid to rest at sun down. Glaedr and Oromis are being lowered into the earth now." Her lips brushed against his neck as she gave her murmured answer. It took all his will power not to shudder at the touch.
They remained silent until the sun was just about to sink below the line of trees on the horizon when Arya said, "Thank you, Eragon."
He looked down at her inquiringly. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and gave him a small, watery smile.
"Thank you for coming here and comforting me. I needed someone to hold me. It's been a long time since I've been in someone's arms… and my reunion with my mother doesn't count."
"You're welcome." He murmured, pulling her closer to him. She moved so that she sat between his legs, her head tucked under his chin, resting on his chest. She pulled his arms around her, circling both of them and before he knew what he was doing, he had brought his lips down to her hair, kissing it softly. He stiffened, expecting the reprimand that never came. He saw the corner of lips twitch upwards as she turned slowly to look up at him.
She had freckles, he noticed. Small, pale dots that covered her sculpted nose. He could count every one, and he could count every drop that still clung to her long, thick lashes. He leaned forward, cupping the back of her head in his hands and placed a soft kiss on her brow.
He leaned back to look at her, her eyebrows were raised, and her eyes, which had been closed, opened slowly to look up into his face. They were sad, so sad, and slightly confused. She blinked and looked away, shaking her head slightly. For a second he was afraid that she would leave, but then she leaned back into his chest.
The wind picked up, whipping her hair around them. Behind them, a dog howled and then, the sun sank below the horizon and everything went quiet.
Almost immediately, a voice from within the Varden drifted out them, it was unnaturally beautiful, a haunting, ethereal melody that tugged at Eragon's heart. Another voice joined the first, and he suddenly realized that they were singing in the Ancient Language.
"We sing to the departed," Arya's voice floated up to him, "We sing to guide them back to the land of the dead."
More voices had joined in, weaving in and out of the original melody. Then Arya sang, her clear, bell-like voice washing over him. The tears he had struggled to withhold broke free as the song continued. As he looked around him, it seemed the whole world was mourning, the grass swayed and doubled over in its sorrow, the wind rushed and whispered, tugging at people's clothes, their hair, in an effort to find comfort in the material things it could not have.
The world was weeping, he thought, weeping for two of the greatest beings that had ever lived, and barely anyone knew they were gone, barely anyone knew that they had even been alive. He wept for his teachers, wept for Garrow and Brom, for his mother, for the innocents that had had to suffer under Galbatorix's cruel reign. He wept until he could weep no more, and then he sat, holding Arya as she cried and sang.
They stayed like that until the moon was high above their heads and the Varden's camp had gone silent. The elves' song started to waver and fade as one by one the individuals stopped singing. Finally, only the first singer was left, her voice floating over to them, as haunting and beautiful as it was when they had first begun. A gust of wind suddenly blew towards them, flattening the grass and racing towards the Varden.
It tore the last, lingering note away from their ears as it howled and rushed by. When the wind had subsided, Arya slumped against him, shaking violently. He held her tightly, rocking back and forth as he tried to comfort her.
"It's alright, shh, you're alright." He murmured things into her hair, kissing it softly between sentences. Slowly, ever so slowly, she fell silent. The harsh, wracking sobs subsided into small sniffs, the flood of tears which had drenched his shirt ceased to flow. He held her until she was almost asleep, exhausted from her crying and the day's events.
He shook her gently as he lifted her off the ground.
"Come, Arya, I'll walk you back." She nodded in response, and, to his surprise, put out a hand to keep his arm around her waist. He tightened his grip around her and they slowly made their way back towards the Varden's camp.
A guard shouted down to them as they neared the gates, "Who goes there?"
"It is I Eragon Shadeslayer and Arya Drottningu! May we come in?" he yelled back. He heard muttering above him, and then with a loud creak the gates swung open.
"May good fortune follow you, Argetlam!" the guard shouted after Eragon had thanked him. He smiled into the darkness and led Arya away.
As they wove through the tents, she pressed closer and closer to him, and Eragon started to get increasingly paranoid that someone would come out and see them together, which would surely spark some healthy gossip. However, he relished the fact that she was so close, enjoying the feel of her body next to his and the aroma of crushed pine that clung to her hair.
They slowed as they neared her tent, walking almost reluctantly forward. He was loath to let her go after holding her for so long, he was well aware that he would probably never be near her like that again.
All too soon, they found themselves in the doorway of the tent. Eragon let her go and help the flaps of the tent open for her. She looked up at him with an incredibly tender expression on her face, her big green eyes filled with gratitude.
"Thank you." She said, "Thank you for listening." He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"Anytime, Shadeslayer." The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a crooked smile, then, before he knew what was happening, she had closed the miniscule distance between them and had placed her mouth over his in a soft, warm kiss.
For a fraction of a second, he felt like fainting in shock, then, he responded eagerly, pushing her back into the tent. Their tongues danced, her hands were threaded in his hair, his cupped the base of her head, the other wrapped around her waist.
They broke apart when her back came into contact with the wall of the tent, both of them panting, their foreheads resting against each other.
"I think," he said, his hands were still on her waist, his eyes squeezed shut, "I think, I should go now, before we do something we'll both regret."
He started to pull away when her hands reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Their lips touched in a chaste kiss and they parted, looking into each other's eyes.
"Don't go. I… I can't be alone… I need to forget, Eragon." She stared up at him, pleading with her eyes. Her hands clung to his shirt, keeping him with her. She saw him hesitate and her eyes widened, "No, Eragon, please. I'll die if I linger on it, I need you."
He started to interrupt her, but she cut across him quickly, "Please, stay with me. I don't care about what everyone else thinks. Eragon, I need you now. Just stay, you don't have to do anything else. Just… be here. Please."
She looked so sad, so lost, that he couldn't physically find it in himself to leave her there. He nodded slowly and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face into his neck and he kissed her hair. He felt his shirt start to grow wet again as she started to sob softly. He lifted her chin up and kissed her gently, savouring the feeling of her lips against his.
He drew back gently, resting his forehead against hers, "It's late. We should go to bed or we'll be near death tomorrow."
She nodded and moved to sit on her bed, looking expectantly up at him as she did so. To his horror, he felt himself blushing. He had no idea what he was supposed to do; this Arya didn't seem to have any boundaries, which, actually, he quite liked, but he was worried about what other people, especially Nasuada,Orik, Islanzadí, and the rest of the elves would say if they found out that their Rider and Elven Ambassador were sharing a bed.
"Come, Eragon. I don't care what other people," and he had a strange suspicion that she meant her mother, "think. You said you'd stay, and I know you're just as tired as me."
Again, he felt himself melt under her emerald stare (not that he was really trying to resist), so, he pulled off his boots, stripped his tunic and shirt off and almost sauntered over to the elf who was currently ogling him shamelessly.
He leaned back against the pillows, holding his arms out to Arya who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at him with a curious expression in her eyes.
"I've got to change," she whispered softly, one of her hands reaching out to trace along the panes of his stomach, "you can't expect me to come to bed in the same clothes I went into battle with." She placed a soft kiss on his lips and then glided behind a screen in the far corner of the tent.
She came back a few minutes later in a thin cotton gown that fell to just a hand's height above her knee. He devoured her with his eyes as she walked towards him, holding his arms out again, beckoning her into them. He would have loved to explore what lay under that gown in much greater detail, but tonight was not the night he told himself.
She lay back against his chest and he folded his arms around her. The last thing he remembered before he went to sleep was the sound of her soft breathing, the feel of her warm body lying against his and the crushed-pine aroma that surrounded them.
Sooo.. there it is. I know it's rough and rather unfinished and I don't agree much with the ending, but I think it turned out ok. Please R&R!
BErin