He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.
The unspoken motto of the Riders; after all, they did seem to spend most of their time with a sword in their hand … the studying, the teaching, the healing and what not was always second to the fact that they were keepers of the peace. Funnily enough, the peace keeping involved an awful lot of blood being spilt and lives being lost as they went off to fight. It was a rather morbid and sobering thought, and served to tether the Riders to reality and encouraged their inborn sense of self-preservation. But then you always get the odd one ignoring reason, who temps Fate's hand that one time too many.
Eragon let out a sigh and sat up, swinging his leg over the side of the narrow cot and let his head fall into his hands. No matter how many times he convinced himself that this war wouldn't last forever, Eragon still had trouble thinking past it … a future beyond the blade seemed implausible. There was, he reflected dully, a certainty that he'd die due to a sword in the gut at some point – no Rider had ever died naturally, after all – and sometimes he half wondered why he was going to the trouble to put off the event.
Groaning, he lurched to his feet and ducked out of his tent, shivering as the night air chilled his bare torso. Too preoccupied to acknowledge his guards, Eragon began to restlessly pace back and forth in front of his tent as he fought with the dark thoughts settling into his mind. Saphira opened one eye lazily and watched him for a full minute before closing it again and settling back down to sleep. The ground was slightly damp beneath his bare feet as he paced. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and continued his agitated march.
Blödhgarm watched him intently while the others remained watchful for danger. The elf's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the Rider, and at least twice he opened his mouth to speak before deciding better of it and closing it again. Eventually the elf motioned to one of the elves – a woman with hair like starlight – and murmured something to her in a voice too low for Eragon to hear. She nodded and without a word, disappeared into the vast camp of the Varden.
He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.
Both Oromis and Brom had mentioned the saying in passing on several occasions – and Eragon had immediately known better than to ask its meaning. It hadn't taken long, however, for him to grasp what the phrase meant and he wasn't all that encouraged by the thought when he'd first figured it out as he and Murtagh were skirting round Urǔ'baen on their way to Gil'ead. But the meaning of the phrase had made him question and re-evaluate everything he had thought to be true and unquestioningly so. It had made him weary of strangers and taught him to be mindful of what people might not be saying.
"Eragon?" he blinked and turned on his heel to find Arya standing several paces behind him. She wore a plain, if slightly over-sized, shirt and leggings and like him, her feet were bare. She was unarmed and her hair was pulled back into a somewhat untidy knot at the back of her head.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly.
"Blödhgarm sent for me," she replied softly as Eragon turned to the elf and raised an eyebrow.
"You seem on edge, Shadeslayer," he said without a trace of regret over what he'd done. "And since I knew you were unlike to unburden yourself on one of us, I sent for one you would."
"You presume too much, Blödhgarm-vodhr." Eragon told him tightly, "what makes you think there is anything bothering me?"
"Isn't there?" the elf quipped. "If there is not, then forgive me Rider … but I do not believe that you are merely out here passing the time."
Shaking his head, Eragon stalked off into the sea of tents in need of a respite from the ever present presence of the elves sent by Islanzadí to guard him and Saphira. He found himself at the outer defences of the camp and climbed up to stand atop the dwarven breastwork and look out at the city of Belatona resting on the shores of Leona Lake. Running a hand over his face, and noticing that he was due shave, Eragon sighed and sat down with one leg dangling over the fortifications and an arm slung over his other knee.
"Surely you know better than to sit on the outer defences unarmed and unprotected?" Eragon wasn't surprised she was there. "Luckily for you, however, your intelligent friend thought to bring your sword with her."
"While she left hers in her own tent," he glanced over his shoulder to find Arya shaking her head with a small smile upon her lips at being caught out by him so quickly. She handed over Brisingr and joined him at the low wall, leaning against it as she stared out across the empty land in front of the city.
"I told them to stay," Arya said in answer to Eragon's brief search of the nearby makeshift walkways and alleys with his gaze.
"Why?"
"Because we both know Blödhgarm's right and I don't want the pair of you at blows with each other when Nasuada wants you to lead the assault on the city." Arya explained, still looking out over the fortifications. The men on watch were shooting sidelong glances at the pair of them, but there was no way of them understanding their conversation – unless they were secretly fluent in the ancient language. Both Eragon and Arya pointedly ignored their audience.
"He still overstepped the mark." Eragon muttered stubbornly, tired of his guard treating him like he was a child they were minding. He said as much to Arya, who's only response was to give him an amused smile while he ranted on.
"Well when you behave like you are, can you blame them?" she asked. Eragon turned back to watching Belatona and ignored her. "Eragon … I'm only teasing you," she said gently, touching his shoulder with soft fingers. He shivered. "Sorry … cold hands … look, you can't change what they're here to do so I suggest you make your peace with them."
Eragon said nothing as Arya continued. "And they're probably wondering if you're planning on abandoning them like you did in Feinster."
"I don't know what they expect of me," he muttered eventually. "If it's to stand back while they do all the fighting then –"
"They expect you to respect them." Eragon frowned and turned to Arya to find she was already staring at him intently. "Every one of those elves has sworn to my mother – and to me – to protect you at all costs. They will die for you Eragon, and die knowing that they have done all they could to serve you and Saphira. Knowing that you respected them for what they did – or tried to do – is possibly the only comfort they'll have in death. Why die for a queen when you can die for a Dragon Rider?"
It was an odd thought Eragon realised, knowing that all twelve of those elves the queen had sent to protect him and Saphira would die at a moment's notice to prevent either himself or Saphira from being killed. Eragon also knew that Islanzadí would find more to replace them if and when they did die. In hindsight he realised that he had taken them for granted and strove to thwart them in their tasks at every opportunity. He suddenly feel ashamed of himself. Oromis would be disappointed, he mused, as would Brom.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked her. "I'm not used to this – to being guarded and protected all the time … I'm sorry."
"It's not me you should be apologising to," she pointed out and he nodded, once again returning his gaze to Belatona.
"Arya," he said suddenly, "how come you're mother hasn't sent anyone here to protect you? You can't honestly tell me that she let you return to the Varden without some kind of guard."
"And what good did my guard do when Durza ambushed me?" she replied. "Yes my mother wanted to send me back with a guard, but I left before she could organise it … that and she knew I was probably safer alone."
"How so?"
Arya looked down at the wall she was leaning against and then turned her back on the city, folding her arms across her chest before glancing up at the sky. "Because if I had a guard, then one would immediately assume that I must be someone of importance to my queen. Which would make it more likely of word to reach the Empire and then …"
"Galbatorix would do everything he could to have you killed." Eragon finished, "because having a guard would mean you were important enough to be in need of one."
"Indeed," she continued her study of the stars while Eragon's attention was distracted by a lone fox darting across the no-man's-land between the Varden's camp and the city.
"Yet you had Glenwing and Fäolin guarding you when you were ambushed by Durza." He wondered if it was a good idea bring up Fäolin again, but Arya showed no sign of breaking down as she had before.
"In truth they were there to guard Saphira's egg. They both swore to give their lives to keep the egg out of the hands of the Empire, rather than to ensure that nothing befell me." She sighed, her gaze still upon the heavens.
"How did you manage with your guards? I don't believe for a second that you welcomed their presence." Eragon asked as she tore her gaze from the sky.
"I befriended them," Arya told him, before hesitating, "Fäolin and I were already …"
"Friends," Eragon supplied when words failed her.
She nodded, "Well by that point … more than … just friends …" again she trailed off uncertainly, staring ahead of her and avoiding his gaze. Eragon said nothing; he'd already suspected as much. When she realised Eragon was going to let her admission pass, she continued. "And then I befriended Glenwing mainly so he wouldn't tell my mother about Fäolin and me."
"She didn't know?"
"Oh no she knew," Arya turned to face him, "she just didn't tell me she knew because she was still refusing to admit she had a daughter … despite all Oromis's petitions."
"How did she know?" Eragon asked, intrigued.
Arya shrugged, "because she's my mother? I don't know …"
Eragon shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, "At least she approved of him."
Arya frowned, "What gave you that idea?"
He floundered, "You told me she approved of him accompanying you outside Ellesméra."
"As a guard, yes. Other than that? No." Arya sighed heavily and wriggled her toes in the trampled grass beneath her feet as one of the men on watch duty that night paced past them. "He was everything I knew she'd hate," she explained. "Even Oromis disapproved. I needed some way of getting back at her for disowning me," she shook her head slightly and continued in a whisper. "It wasn't ever supposed to mean anything."
"Only it did," Eragon finished gently.
She swallowed and nodded; her eyes were brighter than usual in the starlight and she blinked furiously before taking a deep steadying breath. Arya flickered her gaze to Eragon and gave him a somewhat weak smile. "Don't worry," she told him softly, "I'm not about to start crying on you again."
Eragon grinned back, despite the situation. "I could always attempt making another flower?" he suggested. "Although I doubt there are any spirits about to turn it into living gold this time."
Arya laughed slightly, "No, there probably aren't," she agreed, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her shirt.
"So do you think I should try that – befriending my guard?" Eragon asked after a moment.
She blinked, "You know it won't stop them from dying for you?"
"But they would die in the knowledge that it was out of friendship and that I'd of done the same for them."
"That would just defeat the whole point of having guards …"
"But it'd be a step towards them knowing I respect them and whatnot."
Arya inclined her head, "There is that I suppose … if you die for someone it should be because you chose to not because you had to; otherwise why maintain the illusion of freedom and choice." She shook her head and squinted once more up at the sky. "No matter how dark it gets, there is always some light, somewhere."
Eragon glanced up at the star strewn sky and smiled. "And even on the blackest of nights, it just means the stars will burn all the brighter … rather like hope in a way." He gazed up at the same sky that he'd looked up at in Carvahall, remembering the evenings he'd spent with his cousin watching the night sky. "When Roran and I were boys – before my aunt died, so we were still living in the village at that point – and we'd been good enough, we used to sit on the front porch watch the stars come out at night."
He was aware of Arya watching him intently. "Sometimes Brom would join us and he'd tell us all their names – and the stories that went with them … and I'd fall asleep with my head on Roran's shoulder – we used to share a blanket and sit at the adults' feet – only to wake up next morning in my own bed with no memory of getting there."
Arya was looking at him with a tender expression upon her face when he turned his gaze away from the heavens. He frowned at her quizzically and she smiled and shook her head, "It seems strange, to think of you as a child and blissfully ignorant of the world and its perils."
Eragon shrugged, "Every child is born in innocence."
"True," she agreed, before taking another glance up at the star strewn sky. "My mother once told me that my father believed all the great folk of the past are up there; looking down on us … and that they'll always be there to guide us when we need it." Eragon allowed an amused smile to tug at his lips. "Preposterous I know … but still …"
"Surely Oromis must've taught you what stars really are?"
A small smile lit her face as she remembered the lessons she must've had with his master, "I don't think he wanted to shatter my childhood dreams – but his sense of right and wrong must've driven him to distraction until he taught me the truth." They shared a laugh at the thought of Oromis tearing his hair out over the dilemma, earning even more sidelong looks from the Varden's soldiers on duty.
"What was he like?" Arya looked at him, confusion flitting across her face, "Your father," Eragon added by way of explanation. "What was he like?"
Arya looked at the ground for a long moment, and he almost wondered if she was going to respond; he had not realised that her father was one of the countless topics that were off-limits for discussion. "I don't know," she said eventually, looking up at him, "he died before I was born." She spoke softly, as if she were unsure how she should be reacting to that fact.
"I'm sorry," Eragon told her just as softly.
"Why? It's not your fault is it?" She responded quickly, then closed her eyes and sighed, "Forgive me – I did not mean to be so rude to you."
Eragon looked out at Belatona again, "I always got a bit touchy whenever someone mentioned my father – or lack of father," he said, almost to himself, "Probably because there was nothing that I could do to change the situation."
When he turned back to her, he found a mute thank you in her eyes for understanding why she had reacted the way she had. "He never knew," she turned around and resumed her study of the landscape between the camp and the city. Her voice was still soft and uncertain. "My mother didn't tell him she was pregnant."
"Why not?" Eragon asked carefully.
She glanced at him briefly, as if to reassure herself that it was still him and not someone else. "She said because she didn't want to distract him; he was preparing for war, Eragon. Preparing to meet Galbatorix's forces in battle upon the plains of Ilirea and my mother didn't know how to tell him that she was with child."
Eragon reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, she smiled slightly as her hands clenched and unclenched where she rested them upon the low wall. "She wanted to tell him," Eragon guessed, "but knew that it wouldn't make him stay behind with her when he had to go and make his stand against what Galbatorix had done."
She nodded, "I know …" her eyes drifted shut and he cast a glance at their audience, finding them watching with an unwholesome interest. He slid down from the wall, wincing as the blood rushed into his legs, and grabbed the structure for support. "What's wrong?" Arya asked, opening her eyes as he winced again.
"Trapped a nerve – been sitting on that bloody wall too long … well at I'm glad you find my discomfort amusing, Dröttningu." Eragon growled and shook his head, although secretly pleased that Arya was smiling. "Come on," he told her, "I need to walk around a bit – and there's only so much to look at from the outer defences."
With Brisingr in one hand, Eragon led the way into the sea of tents once more, hobbling every other step as his leg and foot took time to wake up. Arya strode alongside him as they meandered through the make-shift paths; from the east they detected the paling of dawn, and also the ominous shape of what looked like rain. "If that rain is more than a late summer shower then we're in trouble," Arya predicted, "we can't afford to tarry here if Nasuada wants to winter in Dras-Leona."
Eragon nodded in agreement as the first few drops fell to the ground. A moment later they were hit by an icy sheet as a gust of wind swept through the camp. Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him through the camp and into a nearby food-tent where many of the Varden came for their meals. Already the cooks were up and stoking the fires ready for breakfast. Eragon shivered and edged towards a brazier and dragged it over to the table Arya had sat down at.
He settled onto the bench opposite her as the pounding of raindrops on the canvas reached an almighty crescendo. The cooks all paused in their work to exchange looks and gabble about whether they should tighten the support ropes. "This had better blow off by tonight," Eragon muttered darkly to Arya, "I don't fancy taking on an entire city in the rain, even if I do have twelve elves and Saphira helping me."
Arya rolled her eyes, "It's only rain, Eragon."
"You're not the one who has to clean all the rust off Saphira's armour!" He retorted.
She smiled, her eyes gleaming as the food tent slowly began to fill up with early risers and those who'd been delegated the job of night watch. "One of the many perks of being a Rider," she teased as one of the cooks strode towards them.
"Morning Shadeslayer … and uh – Shadeslayer."
"I suggest you tighten the support ropes, Harnel Farensson." Eragon said without looking up at the man, switching back into his native language with ease. "Before the whole tent collapses," he added glancing at the cook.
The tent chose that moment to flap wildly and Harnel yelled over to his fellow cooks before dashing outside to tighten the ropes. Arya leant across the table towards him, "Was there any need for that? Or were you just showing off?"
Eragon feigned an injured look, "Why would I do that? I was merely suggesting that he –"
Arya overrode him, "Eragon, you're Brom's son. He was possibly one of the biggest show offs there ever was … stands to reason that you'd inherit that unseemly trait too."
"Unseemly?" Eragon queried, "Really?"
"Yes."
He rolled his eyes and decided to let her have that one. "Although in fairness every man has the need to show off at times – it's actually an in-born part of us that …" Arya raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to continue. "That I will not go into detail about now."
"You're an idiot." She informed him, although her statement was skewed somewhat by the smile she was trying to hide and the fondness she'd spoken with.
He nodded, "Brom was of that opinion too."
Harnel Farensson and his fellow cooks ducked back into the tent, all looking thoroughly drenched to the skin. The walls of the canvas tent however, were taut and sturdy and unlikely of suddenly collapsing. While the others all saw to the line of hungry men impatient for their breakfast, Harnel carried two plates of cheese and bread and fruit over to where Eragon and Arya sat. "Thank you," Arya said before Eragon could open his mouth – probably so he wouldn't try to show off again. "I suggest you get back over there and restore order," she added when angry voices broke out as two of Orrin's cavalry men both demanded to be served first.
"Aye, I'd best at tha' hadn't I?" Harnel agreed, setting the plates down and hurrying over to the front of the line of hungry soldiers. The cook had just restored order when six of Eragon's guard strode into the tent and joined the back of the line. A hushed silence fell over the tent as those inside watched the elves; when it became clear that they weren't about to do anything interesting, the babble of conversation slowly resumed.
"What are they doing here?" Eragon asked.
Arya glanced over her shoulder and then looked back at Eragon, "They need to eat too," she pointed out. "They usually do so before you emerge from your tent in the morning." Eragon said nothing as he finished the last of his breakfast, aware that Arya was watching him and expecting him to apologise.
"What if," he began, "I asked them to fight alongside me tonight?"
"Come again?"
"Blödhgarm and the others … what if they were to fight alongside me rather than just protect me – and end up getting in my way." He looked across the table at her and waited.
"It'd be a start," she concluded, "although I'd not mention the getting in the way part to them. My people are quick to temper at times."
"As you've so often exhibited to us."
She glared at him as Blödhgarm and the other five elves sat down beside them since theirs was the only table with a large quantity of seats free. "I believe you have something to say, Eragon," Arya said without giving him a chance to prepare, "to Blödhgarm?"
It was his turn to glare at her. She held his gaze and it was only when Blödhgarm cleared his throat that either of them turned away. "Yes … Blödhgarm … I er, um … want to apologise for the way I acted earlier," he was aware that the other six elves present – including Arya – were watching the exchange intently. "I shouldn't have spoken the way I did and –"
"It's I who should apologise, Shur'tugal." The elf said, "As you rightly pointed out, I presumed too much."
Eragon flickered his gaze towards Arya for help. You didn't say this would happen!
Just get to the point Eragon, or we'll be here all day.
"That's beside the point," Eragon said abruptly, "the point is … Saphira and I would like you and your brethren to fight alongside us tonight." The elf blinked, and Eragon supressed his smiled; he hadn't expected that offer. "With us all working together, we will be able to break into the city with far more ease than what would otherwise be."
Blödhgarm's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought the proposal over. "And this way the Varden will also see you as allies – if you're seen to be fighting alongside us. Which will make things a lot easier when we finally meet up with Islanzadí's army." Eragon could sense that he was winning them round, "Because the only way this is going to work is if we work together."
Eragon watched as Blödhgarm glanced round the tent, thinking his way through Eragon's plan; the other five elves were all watching him intently while Arya's attention was fixed upon Eragon. Finally the elf stirred, "It is an interesting scheme, Shadeslayer … very interesting."
"It'd work though, wouldn't it?" one of the female elves piped up; she dropped her gaze to her plate when Blödhgarm turned his eyes upon her.
"We must take breakfast back to the others," he said curtly, "and I will discuss this with Wyrden …" he got to his feet, and the five elves all hurried to duplicate him. Turning back to Eragon he said, with a hint of a smile, "You honour us, Shadeslayer, with your scheme. What you propose is far more than Queen Islanzadí first tasked of us … and yet …" his eye brightened, "to fight alongside a Dragon Rider is …" he shook his head and threaded his way to the back of the tent where the others were collecting a plate each to take back to the six elves that had remained behind.
Eragon glanced at Arya, "Now what?" he asked, slightly perplexed at the abruptness of Blödhgarm's exit.
"We wait," she said simply, "while they decide whether or not to fight alongside you tonight." He nodded and then jumped slightly when his cousin dropped into the seat Blödhgarm had just vacated.
"What do you want?" Eragon asked, once again switching back to his native tongue.
Roran grinned, "I'm having my breakfast, is there a problem with that?"
"Domestic bliss already run its course then?" Eragon teased, before turning to Arya and asking, "Are you going to eat that?" He pointed at the food she'd left on her plate. With an amused smile she shook her head and offered him her left overs. "What?" he asked in response to his cousin's look, "I'm hungry."
He rolled his eyes. "You always were," he accused. "Wasn't a very good poor farm boy – he never understood that being poor meant that you were going to be continually hungry." Roran said to Arya, "It's probably why he spent so much time in those damned mountains – trying to bag game so he could go to bed with a full stomach."
"Actually that was because I was more likely to bring something back," Eragon countered, "Unlike you."
"Yes, and what did you bring back last time? A rock?"
Eragon shrugged, "I thought it would be enough to buy us meat for the winter."
"Only we couldn't sell it."
"I wasn't to know that was I?"
Roran shook his head as he dug into his breakfast. Arya frowned, "Wait – you tried to sell Saphira's egg for food?"
Both Eragon and his cousin looked up at her, before exchanging a look. "I didn't know what it was did I?" he protested. "Anyway no one would buy it and everything worked out – more or less – as it was supposed to."
"More or less," Arya agreed. "Now, are you going to tell me why Blödhgarm saw the need to send for me last night?"
Eragon blinked, aware that his cousin was watching him intently. He'd almost forgotten … almost. He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. "Nothing," he shrugged. "It's not important."
Roran narrowed his eyes, "Liar," he accused. "Something's bothering you – and it was yesterday too."
Eragon groaned. "It's nothing," he insisted.
"Well it's clearly not, if you woke up in the middle of the night unable to get back to sleep." Arya pointed out.
He knew that neither of them was about to let the subject drop, so he gave in. He met Arya's gaze and then muttered the phrase in the ancient language.
"In case you'd forgotten, I don't know the ancient language." Roran pointed out.
Arya's face had paled somewhat as he'd uttered the phrase; he'd expected her to know the phrase and what it meant. He'd of been disappointed if she hadn't known it. She glanced at Roran before translating the words for him. "He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword."
"What does that mean?"
"It's the Rider's motto," Arya explained in a somewhat strained voice, as if she was involving herself in the conversation against her will.
Beside him, Eragon watched his cousin frowning, "But isn't the motto something to do with peace and whatnot?"
Arya inclined her head, "That's the official one," she told him.
"I don't understand," Roran confessed.
"It means exactly what it says," Eragon said, turning to face his cousin – the look on Arya's face was unnerving him slightly. "After all, have you ever heard of a Rider who didn't die in battle or in a duel or because of some skirmish?"
Roran swallowed and licked his lips, "Maybe you'll be the first?" he suggested.
Eragon rolled his eyes. "It's inevitable; I will die in battle when someone sticks their sword into my gut … it's going to happen so –"
"Don't." Arya's voice was sharp and they both turned to face her. "Don't even go there." She warned him sternly, her eyes staring straight into Eragon's. "Please … just don't."
Eragon held her gaze stubbornly for a moment before relenting. "Fine," he said holding up his hands in mock surrender, "Alright … I won't."
The corner of her mouth flickered in a weak smile as Eragon let it go. He turned back to cousin to see a sly grin upon his face and an unspoken insinuating comment hovering on his lips. "Shut up." Eragon said at once.
Roran's grin grew wider. "I haven't said anything."
"I mean it!"
His cousin looked positively gleeful as he got to his feet and picked up his plate, "Well I better be going anyway – Nasuada's issuing orders in a bit and I need to find out what she wants me to do later." Eragon watched his cousin hand back the plate to a cook and then stride towards the tent entrance. As he passed, Roran once again made to speak his unspoken question but Eragon once again got there first.
"I told you to shut up!"
"I'm going!" Roran laughed, and with a cheery wave to Eragon and a nod of the head to Arya he left the tent.
Eragon shook his head as he turned back to Arya. "What was that about?" she asked.
He rolled his eyes. "He was reading more of the situation than there is," Arya frowned and he sighed, "Us; he's seeing more than there is to see."
"Ah …" she fell silent for a moment before glancing up at him. "You do realise he's not the only one though?"
Eragon cast a glance round the tent, well aware of the number of people who had hastily turned back to their breakfast and of the general topic of conversation floating around the tent. "I know," he said quietly.
Arya reached out and touched his hand, gaining his attention once more, "It's in the nature of people to gossip." She pointed out softly, "they're just rumours, Eragon," she added. "Galbatorix isn't going to act upon a rumour."
Eragon looked down at her hand resting on his and then back up at her, before leaning forwards and lowering his voice, just as she had done. "But what if he does?" Arya met his gaze before swiftly looking away, not answering the question. "I am well aware that they are only rumours," he continued, "but that does not mean that Galbatorix will ignore them, not if there's a shred of truth to them."
She glanced up at him again. "What truth? That we're friends?" she shook her head, "he won't do act upon a rumour." Arya insisted.
"You can't be sure of that," Eragon sighed and when he didn't continue Arya spoke again in voice soft as the sigh of a summer breeze.
"And if I'm wrong," she began, taking his hands in hers, "what then? Hypothetically speaking, what would you do?"
Eragon flickered his gaze back up to her and swallowed. We'd take the world apart to free her, Saphira answered.
"I would not rest until I'd gotten you out of there." He spoke to her hands, intertwined with his, rather than to her face.
"You and I both know that there is only one way you'd be able to do that," she said softly.
Eragon looked up at her, "I don't know that I can," he whispered helplessly. "I don't know that I can defeat him Arya."
Yet you'd die trying if he held her captive, Saphira pointed out.
I liked it better when you were asleep, Eragon retorted and Saphira, sensing his wanting to be alone, withdrew.
"I do," Arya murmured, "I know you can." A wave of gratitude washed over him at her words and he smiled.
"Seems like you're the only one who does."
Arya dropped her gaze and returned to their hypothetical discussion of what if. "It's what I'd hold on to," her gaze darted back up to him and then back down again. "Hypothetically speaking – if I'm wrong – knowing that you could do it would be all I have."
Eragon opened his mouth to speak, but was unsure as to what exactly he should say. Arya shook her head and then glanced up at him, "Galbatorix won't act upon a rumour; only if he were desperate would he contemplate it."
"Is that meant to reassure me or something?" Eragon asked dryly.
"You can't stop them from gossiping," Arya pointed out, "and the more you try to, the stronger the rumours will become. Just ignore them …" she cocked her head and smiled, "your cousin was only looking to wind you up."
Eragon grunted, "He's an idiot."
"Yet no doubt he sees it as a way to get you back for all the times you teased him about Katrina."
"Who says I teased him about it?" Eragon defended at once.
"I know you Eragon," Arya smiled, "and I know you'd never pass up an opportunity to tease your cousin."
It was Eragon's turn to shake his head as he took another glance round the tent. "You do realised they're talking about us?" he asked turning back to Arya.
A coy smile stretched across he lips along with a mischievous gleam her eyes as she leant further over the table towards him. "Let them talk," she breathed before letting his hands go and sitting back on the bench. Eragon remained as he was, crossing his arms on the rough table in front of him.
You got their hopes up there, Dröttningu.
Good morning Saphira, Arya replied.
And good morning to you too. The dragon replied, it's more than I got off Eragon – apparently he prefers it when I'm asleep.
Eragon rolled his eyes. I'm sorry if I upset you – I was in the middle of a conversation.
A hypothetical conversation … Saphira pointed out.
Arya glanced at him, "She was answering your questions without giving me a chance; and trying to make me give you her answers instead."
"Which you obviously didn't … why? Would I have preferred Saphira's?"
Yes. Eragon rolled his eyes again as Saphira proceeded to tell Arya what she'd do if – hypothetically speaking – Galbatorix chose to act upon the rumours. Blödhgarm is on his way back to you. Saphira told them after she'd finished. I suggested he bring some clothes with him for you, since all you're wearing is your trousers.
Arya smirked slightly at Saphira's last comment and Eragon ignored her as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "Now you look as if you've just rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to get dressed." She told him.
Eragon was spared having to answer her by Blödhgarm and another elf, Eragon assumed to be Wyrden, joined them at their table. "Blödhgarm-vodhr, I take it you have reached a decision?" Eragon asked.
"We have," the elf said.
Eragon waited.
"Blödhgarm," Arya said somewhat exasperatedly, "this is no time to play the long game; it was a simple proposition requiring a simple answer! Now give."
Eragon hid his smile at Blödhgarm's obvious discomfort at being rebuked by his princess. Eragon also suspected that Arya didn't use her position much because she sounded ever so slightly unsure of herself when she'd uttered the command. "Arya Dröttningu," he murmured, touching his first two fingers to his lips, "forgive me." Turning to Eragon the elf said, "If you'll have us, Shur'tugal, we will fight with you."
He couldn't help the smile on his face, "I would be honoured, Blödhgarm-vodhr."
"No, Shadeslayer," the elf Wyrden said, "it is us who are honoured. Not many of our race will be able to say that a Rider asked them to fight alongside him … as a friend."
"With the thirteen of us – and Saphira – we will be able –" Eragon began before Arya interrupted him.
"Fourteen."
"Sorry?" Blödhgarm and Wyrden had also turned to look at her.
She glanced at the three of them, "What? Did you honestly expect me to stay behind with Nasuada, and endure Orrin's insults?"
Eragon laughed, "Only you could invite yourself along to fight with a Dragon Rider and not get incinerated by the dragon," Wyrden remarked. "Just as I'm sure you'd have been the only one to escape a scolding from Brom – had he lived – for loosing Saphira's egg."
You didn't see how annoyed he was when Eragon asked how I'd gotten to him. Eragon relayed Saphira's comment and got grins out of his companions while Arya let out a sigh. He was probably intending to deposit us with the Varden before dragging you out of Gil'ead just so he could give you the scolding of a lifetime.
Arya shook her head, "Well he can rest easy because Oromis saw to that the moment I returned to Ellesméra."
"I think you were the only pupil of his he ever had to scold," Blödhgarm mused. With a jolt, Eragon realised that both these elves – and probably the others who were still at his tent, and not to mention the others he'd met in Ellesméra – had known Arya as a child.
"You did meet my father didn't you?" Eragon asked. "Do you really think that he never got a scolding off Oromis?"
"Did you ever warrant a scolding off him?" Wyrden asked and Eragon frowned.
Countless times, yet he never actually gave you one. When he repeated Saphira's words the elf nodded.
"Still certain that your father got one off him?"
Eragon shook his head and turned to Arya. "Which begs the question; what did you do?"
With a small smile she got to her feet, "Another time," she said. "I will be late if I tarry here any longer."
"Late for what?" Eragon asked suspiciously. "Or is that an excuse to avoid answering the question?"
She laughed lightly, before saying, "I'll meet you later this afternoon ... and Eragon?" he looked up at her, "it's just a phrase." Eragon watched her leave the tent before turning back to the two elves that remained.
Wyrden handed him a bundle of cloth and his boots. "Saphira said you were in need of clothing, Shadeslayer." Eragon thanked him and unrolled the bundle to find a pair of socks and his leather undervest. "All your shirts were in need of a wash," the elf said by way of explanation, "and I thought you'd want to put off wearing your armour for as long as possible."
"I've been meaning to get them cleaned …" Eragon admitted, slightly ashamed of himself, "but I never seemed to have the time."
"I've already seen to it, Rider," Blödhgarm told him.
"Thank you," Eragon said as he pulled on his socks and boots. In the brief moment before he pulled his vest over his head, he caught a look between the two elves that almost echoed Roran's from earlier. "What?" he demanded as he settled the vest into place.
They didn't insult his intelligence by denying that there was a what. "You and Arya Dröttningu …" Wyrden began carefully. "You are aware of what they're saying, aren't you?"
Eragon cast his gaze around the now much emptier food tent and nodded once. "They're just rumours," He told them, "nothing more … I tire of people insisting that they see more than there is between us."
At Wyrden's prompting, Blödhgarm continued the conversation. "But … what happens when the rumours become true?"
Eragon froze, aware that he was the centre of both Wyrden's and Blödhgarm's attention just then. He also knew that they were asking because they felt they had to; Arya was, after all, the queen's heir and daughter. He opened his mouth to reassure them that the rumours would stay rumours but the words wouldn't come out as the ancient language rendered him speechless.
"You can't even say that the rumours will remain rumours can you?" Blödhgarm continued in an uncharacteristically gently voice, "Because you're no longer sure that they won't come true." He was watching Eragon intently.
"In all honesty," Wyrden said in the same low tones, "neither are we."
Eragon turned his gaze back to the two elves watching him and frowned. "I'd die for her," he told them fiercely. "You know that."
The two elves tactfully let the subject drop as they returned to planning out the attack later that night. Eragon knew he hadn't heard the last of it, but he also knew that they had felt the need to point out to him that there was every possibility that the rumours involving him and Arya could indeed become truth. He wasn't even sure how he felt anymore – and he wasn't even going to attempt to try and figure out the reasons why Arya acted the way she did around him. He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.