I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or its characters.
Premise: As the stitches holding Alagaësia together slowly unravel, Eragon and Arya slowly learn that happiness requires a price to be paid, one that demands that they forsake everything they once knew.
Blood Rose
Barely audible crunches could be heard as he walked across the rocky incline, facing the sea to the west. Eragon's tough leather boots, enhanced with layers of impenetrable magic, squashed tiny, colorful shards that resembled a shattered mosaic, its fragments strewn across the crag. They could be easily mistaken as specks of glass from far away, but Eragon knew better.
Three years had passed since he departed from Alagaësia. Three of the longest years of his life, undoubtedly; time ticked by slowly here in this forsaken fortress, each passing minute feeling like an hour. Year after year Eragon waited, anticipating the arrival of a new generation of wild dragons and Dragon Riders alike. Time spent in vain, as he had waited as day turned to night, and night to day; yet the forthcoming dragons never came.
The failure to restore the once-glorious Dragon Riders stung Eragon's pride and dashed his hopes. Time and time again he had been warned of the inevitability: the Riders would never rise again. This was before the Vault of Souls was made known to him, to the world. Before hope had been restored and the anticipation nearly palpable.
The inability to resurrect the mythical order of the past did not lie on Eragon's shoulders, no matter how much he wished it did. No, the sorrow belonged to fate and time, their whimsical natures playing a cruel joke upon the hopes of Eragon and the people of Alagaësia.
The dragon eggs, revered by many as the future of peace, had been corrupted down to the veins encompassing the mystical orbs. At first, the eggs lay dormant while Eragon and his elven companions watched eagerly for signs of hatching. But they were to be disappointed; unbeknownst to the caretakers, a darkness had contaminated the innocent shells. The brilliant hues of the eggs darkened and the creatures inside warped. And seemingly simultaneously, years removed from their dormancy, the eggs began to hatch and spawned not dragons, but dark mutations of them.
Alarm was rampant as everyone searched for a solution, each individual arguing his remedy to the outbreak. Time had been short though and no agreement had been met. Some wished to use magic to cure the taint, much as they would sing to a tree. Others were fiercely loyal to the dragons, claiming the innocence of the hatchlings. Eragon had voiced his opinion, that killing the dragons was the only solution. It had been hard for him to come to terms with, for the eggs represented the culmination of his life, their existence proclaiming that Galbatorix no longer stalked the land.
The other elves had vehemently opposed his idea, their reverence towards the dragons blinding them to the imminent danger. Eragon knew that given time, dragons would grow exponentially. Saphira had known this as well, though she had been more reluctant to exterminate the hatchlings. But his other companions had ignored him, attempting to cleanse the taint.
Eragon kicked at the brilliant shards on the ground, grinding his frustration into the blood-soaked earth. He glared at his hand, at the grime underneath his nails. No matter how vigorously he scrubbed them, Eragon could never seem to remove the stains.
All the elves had all failed of course, each method more miserable than the last. And eventually the dragons became too large and too dangerous. While the elves sang to them, the dragons killed them effortlessly. One by one, each met their fate and perished in the disaster they had embarked upon.
Their deaths had come so rapidly that Eragon and Saphira were forced to slaughter the dark beasts before they grew any larger. The dragons were easily overcome, not yet been a threat for the Rider and dragon. Nor had they matched any of the elves; but Eragon's companions had stood mutely as they were killed, never lifting a sword or uttering a spell.
The blame isn't yours, Eragon, his partner-of-the-mind sent through their link. A wave of calming empathy washed over Eragon, easing the torrent of guilt and despair coursing through him.
He knew Saphira felt equally as appalled about the situation as he did, for she had been forced to slaughter the future of his race, her own kin. But Saphira was stronger than he and supported Eragon with a strong demeanor. I know, but there must have been something we could've done.
We cannot be blamed for our ignorance, Saphira started, using the same argument each time a new wave of doubt overcame him, No one had ever thought it possible that the dragon eggs could be corrupted by time.
Eragon nodded; his mind knew Saphira was right, but his heart still spun in circles, confused. What should we do now? I can't bear the thought of remaining on this small island any longer.
Return to Alagaësia. Where our friends are. Perhaps we will find another path in life.
Agreed, and the eggs we sent to Arya—his heart clenched painfully at the name—likely met the same fate as these, Eragon said, gesturing at the broken shells around them. They will want answers.
Another thought struck him, How will we travel there? Since the Eldunarí went mad, you cannot fly us over, for we lack the strength to do so.
We shall sail back to Alagaësia; the ship is still in perfect condition, no? said Saphira.
Eragon agreed; it was the only feasible option open to them. It's a pity the Eldunarí are no longer with us, flying would be much quicker.
It's understandable they lost their sanity, Saphira said softly, They had spent over a hundred years protecting those hatchlings, only to discover that they had been tainted by darkness.
No matter how much grief Eragon endured, he was sure it was nothing compared to that of the Eldunarí. Once the hatchlings had been killed, all of the old dragons became demented, lashing out with their minds at everything and anything. They were so dangerous, that the Rider and dragon had been forced to shatter each one, breaking a piece of their mind each time.
Eager to escape the haunted island-fortress, Eragon asked, When do we leave?
Her answer was short and curt, Now, our friends are waiting.
The sun was just setting as the small vessel landed gracefully upon the sandy embankment. Eragon stepped out onto the soft surface in wonder and awe. I never thought to stand here again.
Nor I, Saphira hummed in agreement, It was not our time yet.
Eragon covered his eyes with his hand, blocking the light that faced him. Scanning the horizon, he saw the sandy flats of the Hadarac Desert miles ahead and the leafy foliage of Du Weldenvarden to his right. Where should we go first?
Wherever we want, and Saphira let out a savage roar, announcing her arrival to the land.
He smiled at her enthusiasm; they had last stood in the exact spot three years ago and it felt good to return. Patting her scaly shoulder, Eragon headed towards the inviting darkness of the forest. He had thought of no one but Queen Arya since their separation and undoubtedly, Saphira wished to see Fírnen again as well.
Plucking a fruit from a nearby tree, Eragon planted himself on the ground, determined to enjoy his fruit while Saphira hunted wild game. While on the ship, there had been nothing but leafy vegetables and elven bread for him to eat. The fresh fruit was a welcome reprieve from that diet.
He had just finished the fruit when Saphira returned. I had nearly forgotten how delicious the deer of Du Weldenvarden had tasted, she crowed.
Eragon chuckled a little at her satisfaction. On the island-fortress, there had been no deer to eat, only wolves and rabbits.
How long will it take to fly straight to Ellesméra? He asked, peering at the open map in front of him.
We can be there by nightfall tomorrow, Saphira replied, My wings are stronger than they were last time we made the journey.
Good, he said, excitement growing in the pit of his stomach. It's been far too long.
The wind blowing through Eragon's hair felt good. They had not had as much time to fly together as they would have liked, and this was the freedom he cherished the most. Looking down, the tall treetops raced by underneath them. It was an awe-inspiring sight, to watch the land recede in the distance was a privilege few ever had.
We're almost there, look, said Saphira.
Eragon squinted; he could see the buildings of Ellesméra in the far horizon, barely visible to his elven eyesight. Thoughts jumbled his mind of what could have been and what could be. Though he would have to be wary, for three years would have diminished the friendship they had shared before Eragon's departure.
Before long, the once-distant outlines became towering tree-houses, signifying the end of their long sojourn. Even though they were still flying above the outskirts of the city, exclamations of excitement and bewilderment alike could be heard from the elves below.
Landing in the clearing Eragon once sparred in, Saphira created a monstrous whirlwind of dust and activity. The surrounding elves had stared at them for a split second before they ran over with cries of "Brightscales!" and "Shadeslayer!". He greeted them politely before making his way towards Tialdarí Hall, where Arya sat.
As always, the sight of the beautiful palace stole his breath without fail. It was one of the most beautiful structures ever built he thought. Opening the doors to the interior, Eragon found himself interrupting a meeting in session. "The eggs are of the utmost—" The speaker, whom Eragon could not identify, halted his speech as he noticed the intruder.
He felt a bit self-conscious as the whole court turned to stare at him, the usual elven detachment gone in favor of shock. Eragon noticed that Arya, seated on the throne, had gone mute as well, her usual cool demeanor disrupted. Go Little One, Saphira nudged, poking her head through the elaborate doorway.
Eragon walked slowly through the center of the meeting on his way to the throne. He could feel all eyes following his every step, still mute from shock. But as he neared the queen, none of their eyes mattered. The only pair he felt was Arya's, drilling a hole through his chest. The tension in the room was palpable and Eragon had to force himself to breathe.
"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Drӧttning," Eragon said softly, slowly. Though she had initially started the conversation previously, he considered her without a doubt to be of greater importance than he.
His courtesy did not escape Arya's attention, but she did not question him either. "Atra du evarínya ono varda, Eragon-finiarel."
"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," Eragon finished, locking eyes with the woman before him.
"It has been a long time Eragon, Saphira," said Arya, gesturing towards them. "I had never thought to see you here again."
"Nor I you."
It seems we have much to catch up on, Arya, Saphira said, projecting her mind to all those gathered in the room.
"Indeed," Arya agreed. Her eyes were intently looking at him, searching. A moment later, her intensity was gone and she merely said, "It is good of you to come at such an opportune time, we have need of your knowledge."
Eragon was fairly certain he knew what was coming next and he was not to be disappointed. "Recently, the eggs you gave to us have…attacked their couriers. They seemed bewitched and cursed," She stopped, recollecting her thoughts, "It pains me to say it, but we were forced to take action before any more were injured."
He sighed; Eragon had foreseen this conversation occurring for a long time coming. "It is not just your eggs; it is all the dragon eggs." At this, every single elf in attendance seemed to stand up in shock and dismay. They shouted questions up to him, but there was so much noise that he could not make out coherent phrases.
"Enough!" Arya shouted over the din, immediately quelling any outrageous questions. "We shall hear his account first, before you bombard him with your thoughts.
She's become powerful, Eragon noted to Saphira. He could feel her agreement through their bond.
He took a deep breath before plunging into his heart-wrenching narrative. By the time he finished, every elf in attendance was white in the face, with fury or disbelief he did not know.
Arya sat upon the Knotted Throne, gripping its sides with a quiet intensity. When she spoke, he voice was calm, belying the gravity of the situation. "How did this happen?"
Every single elf in the room was leaning forward in their seat, straining to catch every word of the conversation. We don't know, Saphira admitted, speaking before Eragon had a chance to open his mouth. Our best guess is that the time the eggs lay dormant corrupted them to the core. Even as she said this, Eragon could hear the grief coloring her tone.
"I see," Arya's voice was curt. "What of the Riders? How will you rebuild them?"
Eragon averted his eyes from Arya's probing ones, unable to face her, or his failure. "The Riders will never be. It's over."
Stunned, the lords and ladies of the court broke their silence and whispered in hushed tones to whomever they were seated next to. A general sense of panic had enveloped the present elves and various political schemes would appear without a doubt. Arya herself looked stricken by the news and remained quiet, contemplating the grim news unveiled.
Several minutes passed before Arya spoke again and the entire room quieted in a heartbeat to hear her words. "With the news Eragon Shadeslayer has revealed today, I think it prudent that we each ponder the dilemma carefully and meet again tomorrow." With that, the elven lords and ladies mumbled their assent and made their way through the side doors, for Saphira was blocking the central one.
Eragon stood to leave as well, assuming Arya would wish to think alone, with Fírnen. Before he could move, Arya said, "Wait, Eragon, there is still more to discuss."
Unsure as of how he stood in her favor trailing the disaster, Eragon merely said, "As you wish, Arya Drӧttning."
"There is no need for honorifics while we're in private," Arya assured him, settling his growing apprehension. "And," She added, "It is not your fault that this tragedy befell us. We were all blind, the elves included."
Eragon nodded gratefully, relieved. "What are you going to do?"
Arya laughed harshly, "What can I do?" Her rhetorical question served only to display her frustration and dismay.
There is nothing you can do; nor is there anything we can do. All that's left is to weather this storm, Saphira said sagely.
"You're right," Arya agreed wearily, "But it's so difficult to sit by and watch as our dreams disappear."
"We know all too well what that feels like," Eragon admitted.
A long stretch of time passed between the occupants of the room as they each pondered their thoughts separately. "How have you been, Arya," He asked, breaking the heavy silence.
"I have been...well," Arya said after a pause, searching for the right words.
Eragon was quite proficient at bypassing the limitations of the Ancient Language and discerned easily that Arya told only a half-truth. But he said nothing of his inclination.
What's happened in Alagaësia since we last left? Saphira inquired.
Numerous internal struggles in each kingdom," Arya replied. "Rebuilding has been, and still is, a long and arduous process. It has not been easy while people fight for power."
"Have you had any difficulty?" asked Eragon, worried that the pressure might be too much for Arya to handle alone. And knowing her, she and Fírnen would be dealing with it in isolation.
"Some," She admitted, "But only of late. They have begun to raise issues of my ability to rule a kingdom while serving as a Dragon Rider," She finished, referring to the people of the elven court.
Eragon ground his teeth in anger, "How could they question you when you've done so much to help them?"
They fear her power most likely. From the beginning, we all knew a Queen and a Dragon Rider would hold far too much power for a single individual, Saphira said, But Arya was the only suitable candidate for the job at the time. Now years after the settlement, the nobles believe you're becoming too powerful; isn't that right, Arya?
"It is," Arya said, her eyebrows slanting down in surprise at Saphira's depth of knowledge. "You are truly wise." She laced her fingers across her chest before continuing, "With your latest revelations, I fear the Lords and Ladies will demand I renounce the throne."
"Why would they do such a thing?" Eragon exclaimed, aghast. "Surely they cannot believe that you're responsible for this mess?"
Her laugh was quick and harsh, "They can and they will, Eragon. They fear me and what I represent and will use today's news to support their claims."
Surely you don't intend to abdicate the throne in favor of someone else? Saphira asked.
"I do," Arya said simply, stunning both Eragon and Saphira. "I agree that a Rider should not hold a title such as queen, for it is too much power consolidated into one person," She paused to catch her breath, "I only accepted the role to start the rebuilding process as I felt I was best suited for the task. Now that everything is underway, I feel it's time to renounce the title in favor of one with less clout."
Her small speech struck Eragon with a mixture of feelings. He was angry that the nobles could do such a petty thing to the one who had helped them so much. He was sad that all of her hard work would soon be replaced by another. And he was amazed at her selflessness, for self-sacrifice was what Arya had stood for all these years.
"Enough for today, you must be weary from your journey. The tree-house you stayed in while training with Oromis is unoccupied," Arya informed them.
Nodding in appreciation, Eragon said, "Thank you, Arya; a good night's sleep should relieve the aches from our bones."
A warm smile graced her features briefly, much different than the façade she wore earlier. But as quickly as it came, it vanished. "I hope you find your stay here pleasant Eragon, Saphira," Arya said, before excusing herself from the premises.
The sun was nearly at its peak by the time Eragon wakened from his slumber. He stretched, as lithe as a cat, before stumbling out of the bed prepared for him. Unaccustomed to the late start, he hurried to dress, attempting to salvage the day. Good morning Eragon, or should I say good afternoon? Saphira said. Eragon could almost hear the smirk in her voice.
I hadn't realized how tired I was, Eragon admitted, How did you sleep?
Like a rock, I had missed the comforts in Ellesméra.
Eragon smiled a little to himself, Where are you now?
At the training grounds. Before he could say anything, she added, I spent the morning watching the two-legs spar.
I see, Eragon said simply, shrugging into an elven tunic. What should we do today? I feel like we have nothing left to do.
I'm going to fly with Fírnen today; it's been so long since I visited the elven landmarks, said Saphira. Will you seek out Arya?
No, she is busy enough as a queen. I would only be doing her a disservice, Eragon replied, wishing for the opposite.
Some of his angst must have leaked through their mental link, for Saphira answered, I doubt Arya considers you a burden, Eragon. I'm sure she would be glad to see you.
Perhaps. Regardless of what she said, Eragon felt it unbecoming to pursue her whereabouts so soon after arriving. But Arya has a lot on her mind. The nobles will be going for her throat today.
Suit yourself, was the reply.
Hours later, Eragon found himself at the Menoa Tree, wondering what she had taken from him so long ago. He walked around the circumference of the roots, remembering his last confrontation with the tree. She had assured him the price had been paid already, though confusion still shrouded the matter.
Linnëa, Linnëa! I must speak to you once again, said Eragon, projecting his thoughts towards the tree. Hopelessness clouded his mind when the Menoa Tree did not deign to respond. Somewhat dejected, he made his way away from the slumbering spirit.
Just as he reached the edge of the clearing, Eragon felt a vast, mysterious mind touch his own, the dark, lyrical strands captivating his being. You called, Rider?
I did, I wish to know what you took from me years ago, Linnëa, Eragon said, hoping she would answer him straight this time.
The branches of the tree bristled, as if irritated by the question. The price has already been paid in blood, Rider.
He could feel the consciousness receding into darkness again, so he hurriedly said, I wish to know what you've taken.
Your eggs, your hopes…Linnëa whispered, trailing off into nothingness.
Though Eragon had received an answer, he did not feel relieved in the least to know the truth. In fact, he left the conversation feeling more unsullied than he started.
Turning to find an abandoned clearing to contemplate the latest revelations, Eragon was startled when he found himself staring into the eyes of his thoughts. Before him stood Arya, dressed in a comfortable elven tunic, not the usual elaborate outfit befitting a queen.
Arya greeted him in her native tongue and he hastily joined her, recovering from his surprise poorly. "I did not mean to startle you Eragon."
He nodded, accepting her unnecessary apology. "Do you have a meeting now?"
"No," She said, shaking her head, "Would you like to walk with me?" Arya asked, gesturing towards the path in front of them.
"Of course."
Silence befell them while they walked, as they were wont to do years ago. This return to the distant past comforted Eragon in a strange, indescribable way. "I apologize for not sending word that I was arriving. Saphira and I were so busy of late that—"
"It is of no concern," Arya said, quieting him with her hand. "You're here and that's all that matters."
A thought crossed Eragon's mind, "Did you meet with the court today?"
"Briefly. They're getting more aggressive with their demands." If Arya was frustrated, her features did not hint at it.
"Is it the eggs?" Eragon fervently hoped it would not be the case, though he knew there would be great outcries of foul play before the dust settled.
"That, and old debates. But let's not discuss politics here, for it has been three years since we last talked like this," said Arya, gesturing towards the people around them, or the lack thereof.
Eragon agreed with her sentiment as he followed her, unknowing of their destination. "How have you been Arya?" The inflection of his voice made it clear he was asking about her well-being, not Alagaësia's.
"Well enough, I have not had much free time recently," Arya said.
"And Fírnen?"
"Growing well, though he does not approve of being tied to the throne." Eragon could hear the doubt and concern in her voice, though she masked it well.
He sympathized with her plight; he could only imagine the stress of the situation. Eragon did not know what he could say that would not offend Arya, so remaining mute seemed a logical decision.
The trees around them thickened, pushing in at them from the sides. In all of his time in Ellesméra, Eragon had never traveled down this path once, so he was curious as to where it would lead to. Off to the right, he spotted a deer, nibbling at the grass. As soon as it noticed them, it sprinted off, leaving its meal on the ground.
Something must have piqued Arya's curiosity, for she stopped and touched his face gently with her hand. "How can you be standing here, in front of me? You were never supposed to return to Alagaësia." Her question was not an accusation, merely a thought she was voicing out loud.
"I…" His voice trailed off momentarily. The skin under Arya's hand was tingling. "I was mistaken about the prophecy."
"How so?" She asked, arching her delicate eyebrows.
Eragon had often wondered during the last three years if leaving Alagaësia had been a preemptive move. "I believe part of the reason why I left was because I thought the prophecy demanded it of me." He smiled wryly. "Instead, I was merely fulfilling the prophecy myself, believing circumstances had forced me to leave."
"So it was a self-fulfilling prophecy then?" Arya was studying him carefully; why, he did not know.
"Perhaps. It could be that it hasn't come to pass yet," He answered. One thing was for sure, he wouldn't make the mistake of rushing his departure again.
They stood like that for a minute, Arya's hand resting lightly on Eragon's cheek. Then the moment ended and Arya resumed walking with Eragon alongside her. His uncertainty about their relationship had certainly flourished of late, and this latest gesture did nothing to ease his doubt. Eragon would have given an arm and a leg to know her motives.
At long last, the pair reached a flowery grove, the edges brimming with all sorts of flowers. If there was a more picturesque scene in Alagaësia, he had never seen it. Eragon imagined Arya came here often, to escape the daily battles waged within the court.
"Where are we?" Eragon finally asked, breaking the companionable silence between them.
Arya paused for a moment, "I found this place a long time ago, soon after my mother—" Her voice cracked, nearly imperceptible to his elven hearing. But accustomed as he was to her slight nuances, Eragon had no difficulty noticing the change of pitch or the tightening of the eyes. "Had banished me," Arya finished, quickly recovering from her lapse.
A mutual understanding connected them, a nearly telepathic link on which emotions freely traversed. Though no verbal words were spoken, Eragon could distinctly feel the burdens of the past she carried and Arya, the profound concern in his heart. Despite the years forced between them, their sharp perceptions of the other's thoughts had not diminished the slightest.
As if by an unspoken command, Arya leaned towards him, seeking the slightest bit of comfort. And like a scripted play, Eragon was there to catch her in his embrace, assuring her of his presence. Without the conniving eyes and ears of the elven court surrounding her, Arya allowed herself to cry into safe confines of his arms, and he held her tightly his body, trying to regain the years they had lost.
It had been several days since their arrival in Ellesméra, and Eragon could not obtain any information regarding the elven court. He could not say exactly how many days had passed, for time seemed to blend together while he stayed in Ellesméra. Whether the elves had deemed it prudent to dethrone Arya weighed his mind, resulting in bouts of irritability.
I wish there was something we could do, said Eragon impatiently through their link.
It's none of your business, Little One, Saphira admonished. But she soon relented to his frustration and added, Though this feeling of unknowing is rather uncomfortable.
He grunted, swinging his sword haphazardly through the empty air. The other elves, generally keen on watching the Rider practice his swordplay, had noticed his overall displeasure and stayed far away from him today. The training ground was empty in his vicinity, with scant few elves daring to venture near. Brisingr whistled through the air as Eragon unleashed a particularly violent cut. None of the Lords will talk to me either. All they'll talk about is the rebuilding of Alagaësia.
They're only doing what society has trained them to do, Saphira said sagely, there would be a riot if such decisions were not taken carefully.
I know. Eragon had experienced this tight-lipped attitude several times over the past few days. Many times had he approached one of the various noble elves in an attempt to uncover the events transpiring behind protected walls. Time and time again, they had given him some roundabout answer, leaving Eragon more frustrated than he began.
Neither had approaching Arya done any good, for her duties had captured her time, leaving scant amounts of time for visitors. During those short breaks, Eragon and Arya had taken limited walks throughout Ellesméra, having time only to exchange a few snatches of inconsequential pleasantries. How come you're not worrying about Fírnen?
Because he distances himself from the court, as he should, Saphira sniffed. He is not a hatchling that requires protection.
Eragon whipped his sword in a deadly arc, cutting a sharp trail through the wind, before an unexpected impact jarred his arm. At the other end of the strike, was Arya, parrying his weapon with a simple flick of the wrist. "Eragon."
Still shaken from the collision, Eragon quickly sheathed Brisingr. "My apologies Arya, I did not sense you coming."
An amused smile softened her normally hard façade, "You must pay more attention to your surroundings then." Arya glanced at him with an intense look before continuing, "I am free today, would you like to accompany me?"
He nodded in agreement, unable to refuse the request. This time, Arya did not lead him to a secret grotto, but instead through the winding paths of the Elven capital. The direction they were headed in was one with which Eragon was already well-acquainted. The journey to Arya's room in Tialdarí Hall was forever imprinted in Eragon's mind, having frequently visited the modest room during his previous visits.
"I am truly sorry that I was unavailable these past few days Eragon, I—"
Eragon cut her off, "It's of no concern Arya," He said smiling gently. It would be highly unreasonable of him to demand personal time with her, for Arya was a queen with countless responsibilities. "How fares the court?"
The pair passed through the gardens of Tialdarí Hall and neared Arya's quarters, unchanged from the room she occupied as the Varden's ambassador. "It's going as expected."
He could hear a strained note, faint beneath her musical tone. "Are they causing you any problems?" Eragon asked, concern rising in his chest.
"You could say that," She said, opening the door to her room. Holding the door open for Eragon to enter her private sanctuary, Arya ushered him into the confines before continuing. "The court has decided to remove me from the throne." Eragon opened his mouth to interrupt, but Arya held a hand to his face, effectively silencing him. "And I have agreed to do so."
Eragon was left speechless and off in the distance, a fierce dragon roar could be heard. Saphira had undoubtedly learned of the recent political events from Fírnen. "How could they do that to you? To take everything away?" His mind could not wrap itself around the foreign concept. "Was it because of my failure with the dragons?"
Arya spoke slowly and carefully, her voice sounding more strained with each passing second. "It was a contributing factor…But they have been growing anxious to wrestle away my power for a long time now."
"Why?" His voice was hoarse, upset that he may have inadvertently caused Arya a great deal of pain. Though he had known this was a very possible scenario, Eragon wished fervently that it was not. "How could they do this after all you've done for them?"
"I'm a Dragon Rider, Eragon, I've known since I've taken the Knotted Throne that this would happen one day." Arya looked at him with flat eyes, revealing nothing within the misty green depths. Though how she could remain so calm eluded him. "The nobles fear how much power I have amassed. My position unbalances everything."
Eragon could not think of anything to comfort her, nor did he want to pour salt on the wound; so he simply asked, "When does this become official?"
Her usual bright green orbs turned dark, "It passed an hour ago…I am no longer the queen."
"So soon?" Eragon was disconcerted by the rapid pace the process had taken. Elves generally acted slowly on such matters; to happen so quickly was a nearly-unheard of precedent. He had hoped that perhaps he would be able to persuade the nobles from the drastic measure. "Who is the new ruler?"
"None yet," Arya trailed off, evidently thinking of the precarious situation. "Däthedr is currently serving as regent until a suitable replacement can be found."
An immeasurable amount of time passed, with Arya looking through the window distantly and Eragon observing her. He knew she was aware of his unconcealed scrutiny, though she said nothing. The once towering sun had declined in the sky, casting its shadows throughout the room. It was shortly after darkness had fallen before the silence was broken. "What will you do now?" He inquired.
For the first time, Eragon saw her as a lost, confused woman, unknowing of her next step. "I haven't decided yet," Arya said quietly, "It wouldn't be a good idea to stay in Du Weldenvarden in any case."
"You could travel with us," Eragon suggested, "We were going to visit Roran soon. It's been too long since I spoke to him in person. I'm sure he and Katrina would love to meet Fírnen."
She shook her head, loose strands of her dark hair thrown across her visage. "You should not, Eragon."
"Why not?"
"Roran has just recovered from your departure from Alagaësia; do you really want him to spend another three years mourning when you leave again?" Arya asked, a slightly forceful undercurrent in her voice.
"Why would I leave again?" Eragon asked, genuinely puzzled. Now that he had just returned, why would he voluntarily set out on another journey? And to where?
"Because," She said, emphasizing her words, "You and I, as the last two Dragon Riders of this era, cannot stay in Alagaësia for much longer."
Though no light entered the room, save for the meager rays of moonlight, Eragon could still see Arya's exact features. They were harder than before, though not cold. "There is no reason to leave again," He argued.
"I was removed from the Knotted Throne because I was a Rider," Arya pressed, striving to explain her outlandish statement. "People fear us."
"They don't—"
She interrupted him midsentence, "They don't fear who we are, but the power we contain. There was hope of an Order before, one that would be able to keep its power in check. But now with the eggs gone, our power is only a liability to them."
Eragon's head was spinning and he felt like he could taste bile in the back of his throat. "We wouldn't…We wouldn't abuse our power like that," He said weakly.
"Not intentionally of course. Merely residing with the humans would give pause to the other races, believing you favor your own blood," She stopped, struggling to choose the correct words. "I am guilty of this already, having taken the elven crown. But I did what was necessary at the time."
Deep in the recesses of his mind, Eragon knew she was right: wherever they went, he would be accused of favoritism. Though he hated to admit it, Arya's suggestion to leave would be for the best. "And once everybody learns about the eggs, their faith in us will be gone."
"Yes," Arya agreed, "It is impossible for us to stay in Alagaësia; for a stable peace has a steep price, one which we must pay in full."
"Where would we go?" Eragon asked, feeling the normal feeling of desperation creep over him. "There is nothing in the east for thousands of leagues. And the north is a wilderness."
"Alalea." Her response made the situation seem so easy, but he knew it would not be so. The thought of returning home and then promptly leaving again was enough to rattle Eragon to his very core. "We can sail a magical ship, much as you did three years ago."
He nodded slowly, the idea seeming less and less dream-like the more he thought about it. But a question burst into his mind, begging to be answered, "Would you have gone to Alalea with Fírnen had Saphira and I not appeared when we had?"
Arya remained impassive for several minutes before responding, "Perhaps. But these circumstances may not have arisen so quickly had you not come."
"But if it did?" Eragon pressed. He did not know why he followed up on his question, it just felt right. "What if you abdicated the crown and we weren't here?"
"I don't know," Arya admitted, to his surprise. Rare was the occasion when Arya was unsure of herself. "But we—I would like you to accompany us regardless."
"Why?" A simple question, but a defining one.
She did not answer him directly; instead, she reached into a nearby cupboard and removed a fairth. "Do you remember," Arya started slowly, "When I told you how I discovered my true name?" He nodded mutely. "Shortly after discovering it, I created a fairth of the very flower that gave me inspiration," She said, handing him the stone tablet.
Looking at the fairth she had made, Eragon saw a flower that defied all fantasies. It was a magnificently intricate rose, with deep purple petals that hung loosely from its stem. The heart of the flower was blood red, seeming to pulsate through the stone incasing it. The stem was well protected by short, but vicious thorns; a reminder that that there was a price to pay to hold such beauty. It was unlike anything he had seen before that only one thought swam through Eragon's mind: the flower was a perfect embodiment of everything Arya was. All its imperfections were noticeable, but so too were the intricate beauty that extended beyond its petals.
"It's beautiful," He murmured. There was nothing else to be said about the fairth, for words would only do it a grave injustice.
"Do you know why I showed you this fairth, Eragon?" Arya asked, an unidentifiable undercurrent in her voice. When he did not respond, she went on, "I have never trusted anybody like I trust you, Eragon. You have become so important to me," She said, echoing the words of the past, "That the possibility of leaving without you, to never see you again, would be unbearable." Her voice faded as the distance between them shrank. The smell of pine-needles filled his mind, leaving it a blank page, waiting to be written on. Electricity coursed through his body as their lips joined and Eragon lost himself in the wild darkness of the night.
It seemed to be a ghostly repetition of his journey years ago. The few elves aware of their departure were informally lined up along the coast to witness the legacy of the Dragon Riders. They were cloaked in white, a symbol of rebirth. Without the dragons in Alagaësia, the fragmented land could rebuild in stability, with no individuals holding immense power over another.
Eragon looked at the stars in the sky and wondered whether they were watching this event. It was difficult to believe he was leaving again, so soon after his arrival. "Are you sure about this?" He asked, turning towards Arya. She was leaving everything behind, her friends and culture.
"Yes," She replied definitively, "We must do what is right. There can be no true peace while we remain as the last two Dragon Riders."
Eragon silently agreed with her, inwardly wishing it were not the case. Men were too fickle, seeing only what they wanted to see, not the truth. Had all the races been more open-minded, perhaps leaving could have been avoided. But as it stood, their every action would be under heavy scrutiny, to judge their intentions through a biased lens.
"At least we are not alone, we will be leaving together," said Eragon.
"Yes, that is truly fortunate," Arya agreed. "But a steep price has been paid: the blood of dragons."
There was truth in her words, for Eragon would not have returned to Alagaësia had the dragons not been corrupted. Whether his personal happiness was worth the blood price had yet to be seen.
"Frame this memory forever in your mind, Eragon. We will never return to Alagaësia," Arya warned.
He had learned from past experience to never predict the uncertain future. "Perhaps, but only time will tell. It would be foolish to discount the possibility."
Arya stared at him for a few seconds with her piercing green eyes. "You are right, circumstances change as easily as the seasons pass."
Holding out his arm, Arya intertwined their limbs as they made the short descent to their vessel. Their hooded cloaks shielded them from the tempest wind and the probing eyes of onlookers. It was a majestic sight to behold: the last two Dragon Riders walking towards their future, arm-in-arm, their respective dragons flying overhead.
Eragon pushed back his hood, to view the land without obstruction. There on the coast were the elves, some impassive and others stricken. No words needed to be exchanged between the two parties; they each understood the other's motives well enough.
The ship slowly disengaged itself from the sandy vista, its magically propelled hull neatly cutting through the silky sea. Beside him, Arya watched her past dwindle into the distance, her eyes swimming with unabashed tears. It was a lonely sight to see their lives sail away from them as they forged their way toward their future.
A shrill cry arose from the sandy beach, though they were too far from the coast to see its origin. The beach soon faded into oblivion and all Eragon could see were the tall pine trees and towering mountains. It was a majestic sight to behold, with all of Alagaësia's natural beauty on display.
Procuring a stone tablet from the depths of his cloak, Eragon gazed at the landscape, magic forming on his lips. In his hand, a mesh of colors swirled on the stone, coloring the lifeless tablet. When his incantation was complete, Eragon looked at the finished product. The fairth depicted Alagaësia as he saw it, with proud trees of a vivid green in the forefront, the firm, tall mountains behind them. Above all of them were the stars on the blackest canvas, shining their radiance for all to see.
Arya gently pried the fairth from his hands, to view his work with her own eyes. A tear drop escaped and rolled down her cheek; her eyes brimming with unvoiced gratitude. Hand-in-hand, they watched their home disappear, leaving only the faintest outline of their past in the shadowy night.
Author's Note:
I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot. I couldn't stand the way Inheritance ended at all, so I felt compelled to write this. I mean, what kind of epic romance contains no romance at all? Way to ruin Eragon & Arya Christopher Paolini ..
Since this is the day before Thanksgiving, I just want to wish everyone who celebrates the holiday an enjoyable Thanksgiving tomorrow. And to everyone who doesn't, happy Thursday!
Anyways, please review if you liked this ending one-shot :).