The Dinner – Chapter 1

Six months after Galbatorix's inevitable death

Alagaësia's only blue dragon rider was in the middle of Du Weldenvarden, leaning against his favourite tree with a very interesting book open on his lap, and Saphira only a few metres away, half-dozing except for when Eragon needed clarification on the meaning of some word or other.

He was so engrossed in the tale of his own exploits (grossly exaggerated and often completely incorrect) that he barely registered the approach of another person entering his private space. He was so used to Saphira warning him of danger that if she didn't go on full alert, he wasn't bothered.

He also assumed that when the person started talking, it was to Saphira, not to him, so he carried on reading until one word in the one-sided conversation jumped out at him and he recognised the voice of the person talking to him, putting a leaf in to mark the spot he had got up to. So far Durza had just cut off his arm, and Eragon wondered whether he was going to grow it back or quite literally fight off the rest of his enemies single-handedly.

The rider looked up from his book with a bemused look on his face. He'd heard Arya say his name, but was completely clueless as to exactly what she had used it in reference to. He put the book aside and directed his full attention to his mate.

"Eragon, have you even been listening to a word I said?" Arya asked huffily, hands on hips in indignation. Not wanting to offend her, the Dragon Rider nodded earnestly and hastily connected his mind with Saphira's.

Saphira, what is she talking about? I was reading! She can't expect me to listen while I'm reading, can she? What should I say?

The dragon craned her head around to look serenely at him. Sometimes Eragon thought that nothing would ever perturb her if she didn't want to be perturbed. Trying to get a negative reaction out of her, without putting himself in danger, was like getting blood out of a stone. Eragon, just agree to what she says. It will do you no harm.

"So will you come?" Arya asked, having obviously asked him another question while he was talking to Saphira. "Wait, you were chatting with Saphira, weren't you? I can tell. You always get that faraway look on your face-"

"I wasn't!" Eragon denied with a little too much energy. "Of course I'll come."

Arya looked at him like he had grown a second head. "I didn't really expect you to capitulate that easily," she said with a frown. "But I suppose that's okay."

Still wondering whether his autobiography would allow him to regrow his arm, Eragon didn't notice the implied danger in her words. He just wanted to get back to his book.

"I love you," he said with his best loving smile. Arya came over and kissed his cheek.

"Midday three days from now. Don't be late."

Three days later

"Eragon, whatever are you doing? You haven't got time to go flying today! Don't you remember? You promised you'd come."

Eragon slowly replaced the saddle on its hook and backed away. He had obviously done something wrong, but he had no idea what. He had promised to do something, obviously something important, but for the life of him he didn't know what it could be. But Arya was getting steadily more and more agitated, so under the guise of appeasing her by backing away from the riding gear, he sent his mind crashing into Saphira's.

What am I meant to be doing today?

What am I, your diary?

No, sorry, but Arya wants me to do something and I don't know what.

I know.

So what is it?

You won't like it, warned the dragon. Eragon grew suspicious, especially since he detected a note of something suspiciously like glee in her thoughts.

Tell me.

You're going to visit Islanzadí for lunch today. Saphira promptly threw him out of her mind and barred him, not wanting to sense his reaction.

Eragon jolted into his own body with a cloud of impending doom hanging over his head. His life had been so good up until now, since the defeat of Galbatorix and having managed to avoid his sort-of mother-in-law for over a month, but now he was going to have to face up to the queen of the elves, listen to her well-aimed jabs at his sanity and pretend he was enjoying the conversations about clothes designing and ruling a people when he was obviously never going to do either. Sometimes he considered the option the elf-woman did it on purpose, just to annoy him. The rest of the time, there was no uncertainty involved – Islanzadí hated him.

His face went pale and he launched himself towards the saddle once more, hoping to grab it and escape through the door before Arya could catch him. The elven queen scared him far more than Galbatorix ever had.

"That's what I thought," said Arya with satisfaction, leaning against the closed door while Eragon looked around wildly for a second exit. He noticed an open window and started climbing up to it when he heard his mate mutter a few words.

The window slammed shut, trapping him inside. He didn't have the presence of mind to try breaking through the wooden walls and just stood, panicky and despairing, in the middle of the tack room, alternately looking left and right, then at Arya, with a pleading look on his face.

"Tell me honestly, in the Ancient Language, when I told you what we were doing today were you actually listening?"

"No! Of course not!" Eragon hyperventilated, his thoughts too scattered to translate his words into the Ancient Language. "Why would I agree to this TORTURE?!?! Your mother hates my guts! If you loved me, you wouldn't do this to me."

"Eragon-"

"No Arya, I'm serious. I cannot go. I cannot face… her." He stopped moving around and stared intently at the elf, trying to make her understand the extreme pain he would be in if she forced him to do this.

"I suspected this might happen. I brought a nice change of clothes for you, and we are not leaving this room until you have changed into them. If I have to force you to put them on, I will. Then we are going to visit my mother. You have no choice in the matter."

She threw a bag at him, and he caught it on reflex. He was absolutely gobsmacked.

"I-"

"No, Eragon. You nothing. Get changed."

Eragon thought about arguing, but in the back of his mind he was aware that he would have a better chance of escape once he was outside, so he put on the formal clothing Arya had brought him without too much complaint.