I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or the characters.
A New Day
The soft sound of ocean waves never failed to soothe her. Sitting on the beach had become a favorite hobby in the month following the end of the war. With her ingrained elfin attraction to the ocean, it was easy to sit on the sands of the beach nearly every day. Arya was sure that she would never tire of the ocean.
Arya had to squint to see the figure heading towards her through the sand-filled wind. As the person drew closer, she immediately recognized Eragon's distinctive features. "What are you doing here so late Arya?" He asked when he was standing before her.
"The same could be asked of you Eragon," She replied coolly, raising an eyebrow.
"I was looking for you," said Eragon sheepishly. "We have not talked for some time. Since the end of the war."
It was true; both of them were busy rebuilding Alagaësia in the aftermath of the war and rarely had any free time. "Come, sit." Arya said, motioning for him to sit next to her. "It has been a long time since we last talked."
Arya felt the sand shift under her and Eragon seated himself next to her on the sandy beach. After so much time spent apart; his presence felt alien, yet strangely reassuring. "Everything seems so different now that the war is over. It's peaceful," She remarked.
"Everything is the same as before; they just don't have the presence of Galbatorix looming over them anymore," Eragon said.
His answer surprised Arya; it wasn't his usual hasty, ill-thought reply. "Perhaps you are right; everything seems different because Galbatorix isn't in control anymore."
Eragon looked towards the towering full moon above them. "When you look at the waves, it looks like they are constantly disappearing and reappearing."
She looked out into the vast expanse with him, "It is merely a trick of the moonlight Eragon. The waves are always there, even if you can't see them."
Eragon closed his eyes, light cascading down his gentle features. "I know. But it is nice to let your mind be tricked occasionally. To see what isn't there. To enter another world where everything is different."
Hearing his fading voice, Arya wondered if he did that when he believed that he was in love with her. Eragon was different back then. More naïve and impregnable. "Do you often allow yourself to be tricked?" She asked.
"Sometimes I would envision myself in a world without wars. Where Saphira and I didn't have to run," Eragon admitted.
That was a dream that Arya could empathize with. By virtue of being an elf, she was always on the run from Galbatorix, much like Eragon was for being a Rider. "We all wished for that, to live without fear."
She thought back to the moment when Eragon drove his sword through Galbatorix's chest and announced the end of the mad king's reign to the whole city. Arya remembered the thunderous cheers that emanated from the citizens of the city. They all praised Eragon for doing what none of them were able to do, for having the courage to stand up to Galbatorix.
Arya's mind flew through days long gone, all the way back to the beginning of Eragon's admittance into the Varden. Back then, he would constantly ask what he was supposed to do, how he was to kill the king. Eragon was a much more confidant leader now, surer of his ever-growing abilities.
"Do you watch the ocean every night?" Eragon asked, his voice piercing through the silence that engulfed them.
Arya glanced at him through the corner of her eye, "Not every night, but often enough. Why were you looking for me this late and not when the sun is in the sky?"
"I value your companionship. During the day, it seems like we are always surrounded by other people," He responded.
Eragon's response contrasted sharply to their precious encounters. The Agaetí Blӧdhren leaped to the forefront of Arya's mind. His advance during the celebration seemed brash and inconsiderate of their friendship. Eragon's actions jeopardized their friendship and only showed his immaturity.
Arya watched the rising and falling waves crash against a cliff side in the distance. "My favorite part of the sea is watching how the shape of the rocks change as waves repeatedly beat against them."
Her companion smiled wryly and shook his head, "The rocks are never changing, it's the waves which are changing them."
She understood what he was saying; the rocks were a constant, never changing; it was everything around them that made them into something else. "What's your favorite part of watching the ocean?" Arya asked.
Eragon contemplated the question for a few short seconds, "I like to watch the fish. You know that they are swimming under the waves even though you can't see them, but you're still surprised when they jump out of the water."
Picking up her hand, Arya looked at the tiny sand crystals that clung to her skin. She never thought about the fish. They did not pique her interest; they were fish, that's it, nothing spectacular.
The sound of waves crashing onto other waves filled the night air. On occasion, Arya could see the tail of a fish poking through the veil of water. The explosive energy of the sea filled the empty silence of the beach. As the moon shifted in the sky, different patches of the ocean came into light and others faded into darkness.
Arya's thoughts revolved around Eragon. When had he changed so drastically? It seemed impossible to think that not long ago, he was a still-maturing farmer who had just barely started to shoulder the enormous responsibilities of the Eragon today. Everything was different, from the way he thought to his newfound maturity. If she didn't know better, he could have been older than her, possessing that wisdom that only comes with age.
"It'll be dawn in a few hours," Eragon remarked, his voice floating over the rough cries of the waves.
"Then let us enjoy the remaining time until we return to the chaotic streets filled with men in need of help," Arya replied softly. The night provided a welcome respite from the demanding work that was expected of her.
Arya had to shield her face from the increasing velocity of the wind, pelting her with small grains of sand. Through the gaps between her fingers, Arya saw Eragon shield his eyes with a hand. With the sand coating both of their bodies, she was scarcely able to recognize him. His face had an alien look to it with sand streaming down his cheek and the thin layer of sand hid the contours of his arms.
Looking above Eragon, Arya marveled at the natural beauty of a sandstorm in conjunction with beams of moonlight. The rays of light briefly illuminated a multitude of sand particles, only to replace the visible specks with other crystals moments later.
When the wind dissipated, Eragon shook his head violently, showering Arya with grains of sand. He was like a child playing in the mud. She delicately brushed the sand off her arms and face, a civilized counterpart to Eragon. Upon examining Eragon, she could once again discern his distinct, sand-less features.
"The sandstorm came and went quickly," Eragon remarked. "But it was more violent and chaotic than I have seen before."
Arya nodded her agreement. "I am glad that it is over now; the sandstorm destroyed the quiet serenity of the ocean."
"The ocean is never quiet. It contains so much energy and life, you just have to have the right perspective," Eragon countered.
She shrugged her shoulders, "Regardless, the ocean calms my nerves whenever I watch it."
Her thoughts reached back to the time when Eragon agreed with whatever she said, be it right or wrong. When had he changed? Now he could say what he thought, even if it clashed with her own opinion. She was glad that he could think for himself of course, it just seemed different.
"What are you thinking about Arya?" Eragon inquired, interrupting her quiet reflections.
She looked at him, trying to put her thoughts into words. "I was thinking about how much you have changed in the last few years."
It was Eragon's turn to be taken by surprise, "How have I changed?" He asked with honest curiosity.
"Well," Arya started, "You are much more refined now than you were. Do you remember when you tried to woo me?"
Eragon looked out towards the sea once more, "I didn't have as much tact, but it does not take anything away from what I said that night."
"You are more mature as well Eragon," She continued, "You are able to analyze and create your own opinion." She stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. Everything she said was true, but she was having difficulty grasping just how he changed. "You seem much wiser," Arya finished.
The moon was now quickly fading from the night sky. The stars lost some of their scintillating brilliance. The waves were becoming smaller, less violent, their energetic vitality subdued. Night was quickly changing to morning; only a few precious moments of the serene night remained to be filled.
"You are wrong Arya," Eragon said quietly, "Deep down, I'm still the same person I was before. Back then, I was rougher, less educated. Now, from mentors and experience, I seem different because my edges are smoother." His face was unreadable. "My thoughts and opinions are the same today as they were years ago, but I'm able to express them more eloquently now."
Flashes of memories cycled through Arya's head. She saw Eragon as a sixteen year-old young Dragon Rider joining the Varden, as a half-elf during the Agaetí Blӧdhren, as an adult judging Sloan, and as a leader killing Galbatorix. Was he any less courageous when he killed Durza compared to when he killed Galbatorix? No, she concluded; he was just as courageous, just less deadly as a warrior.
Eragon's life was always burdened with responsibilities. The responsibility of being the Varden's only hope as a sixteen year-old boy was just as heavy as the responsibility for being a crucial leader in the Varden as a fully fledged Dragon Rider. Had he not shouldered both roles admirably and surpassed every expectation bequeathed to him?
Perhaps her earlier assumptions were just that, assumptions. Eragon, the real Eragon beneath all the hardened, sophisticated layers; was the same. The values that make Eragon who he is remain the same, untouched by time.
Then what had changed Eragon from being an immature farm boy to a wise leader? She used to think of him as the key to the war, the only person that stood between the Varden and annihilation. Then Eragon became a friend, someone whom she could trust. What was he now? Arya was not able to answer that question. Her perception of Eragon had changed drastically since she had known him. Had her own opinions shaped him into what she saw him as?
The sky was painted a milky mixture of pink and blue. The sun was peeking over the horizon and the land was coming alive around them. The light illuminated the sea before them and flowers stretched eagerly towards the sun, greedy for the warmth. Overhead, a flock of seagulls passed them, looking to start a new day.
Arya turned towards Eragon whose face was stretched toward the sun, watching it creep through the sky. His eyes reflected the light, becoming brilliantly bright beacons that alerted the world of a new day. Eragon stirred, getting up slowly. "We should return to the city." He extended a hand, offering his support.
She looked at his offer and smiled. Arya clasped his hand and hoisted herself to her feet. It was a new day, a clean slate where yesterday does not matter. She would no longer be bound by her own biased perceptions of Eragon. Arya felt foolish for ever believing that Eragon had changed. She was sure that his eyes had always shined brightly.
Author's Note:
It's been awhile since I've written something, hasn't it? Yeah, Around 7 months or so, sorry for the delay :p. I'll probably write at least one more one-shot this summer, maybe more. I have more ideas I want to write about.
Anyways, summer is here for me and I think AP Lit is on the brain because it's really evident in this one-shot. A lot of analytic things in there. But I don't mind, it was a really good class :p.
I hope you guys enjoyed the story, all reviews are greatly appreciated! ;).
Have a great summer!