She opened her eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden change of light. She looked around the room… if it could be called that. She was inside a tent with a row of crude makeshift beds extending on both sides of her. Busy looking women were running up and down the length of the tents, tending to the brutally wounded men laying on the beds. Not one bed was left open… no, now one was open. One of the warriors had just died, forcing the women to replace him with another, just barely more alive than he.
The only problem was that she felt fine. Why was she in here if the infirmary was so busy and she held nothing more than a couple scratches? She did not know the answer, she had no visible wounds, and she felt nothing. So she simply got up and left.
Once outside she saw the results of the battle, no; war. People were slowly crossing the sea of dead, and in many cases, dying bodies, helping those who still had a chance of survival. Battles were never clean, but the sea extended for as far as the eye can see, and that was a lot considering they were on the Plains. The carrion birds were already feasting upon the massacre that had ensued earlier. How long had I been unconscious? She asked herself, not really caring. Red uniforms consisted of the majority of the dead. She didn't know whether to rejoice at that fact. Did it mean that more of them had died than us, or were we just completely outnumbered? She asked herself. She didn't know, and she didn't bother finding out.
She walked on, hugging the edge of the sea. Healing some as she passed them. Over time the uniforms changed. She just finished healing a dwarf with a broken leg when she saw the beginning of the elven bodies. A sad smile suddenly graced her lips as she thought; They finally fought along side each other… She walked over to them, healing what she could, her patients raising as soon as she was done to mimic her work on another victim. Sad but grateful smiles accompanied her ministrations, their normal greeting forgotten long ago along with their usual joviality.
Eventually she ran low on strength to fuel her magic, and she simply walked forward. Soon a black hill formed in front of her, carrion birds circling it and occasionally swooping down to feed. She walked onward curious at what that monstrous thing could be. It had obviously been alive at some point, why else would the birds feed off of it?
Upon a closer view, she realized that the mound was not a monster, well, not species-wise.
It was a dragon, a colossal black dragon.
All at once memories of the battle rushed back to her. Galbatorix and Eragon battling for their lives in the sky, completing an eerie and intricate dance upon their dragon's backs. Saphira lunging forward, blue scales glinting in the early morning light, and missing only to lash out with her tail. She remembered raising her bow, as if in a dream, and aiming her arrow towards the black dragon blocking the sun from her view.
The arrow missed her original target, instead hitting the junction of the wing and spine, which was just as good. The dragon roared into the sky as Saphira lunged forward once more, catching the black one's neck in the massive jaws. The dragon fell out of the sky, crushing the newest, and last, legion to have arrived in it's last landing. She saw Galbatorix run towards her, sword raised above his head. A roar mimicking his fallen dragon's erupted out of his mouth as the sword plunged towards her, splitting open her side. Then the world went black, some one cried out her name, but it was just an afterthought. A faint flicker of blue pierced the blackness, but the oppressive black retaliated and overwhelmed it.
"Arya!" cried a voice behind her. She ignored it, thinking it was still a part of her memories.
"Arya!" the voice cried again, this time a hand landed on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and look at the source. The flow of memories had stopped now. Before her stood Eragon, panting slightly. He had probably run to catch up to her when he had seen her.
"What?" Arya asked simply, a small frown forming on her face.
"Damn it Arya. You cause an uproar and you don't even realize it." he murmured, leaning on her for support. After all, he had just fought, and won, a massive battle. Once he had recovered his breath, he removed his hand from her shoulder and shouted to the sky, verbally and through his link to the azure dragon; "Saphira, I found the escapee!" leaving Arya more confused than before.
"What happened?" Arya asked again, the frown deepening. She didn't like the fact that she didn't know what was going on. It just wasn't in her nature.
"Your mother went into hysterics after your ran away from the infirmary. Nasuada is with her now, trying to calm her down. Your mother thought you were dead…" Eragon explained as Saphira landed behind them.
"But why was I in the infirmary in the first place? I feel fine and there are others who need the space more than I do." Arya said, the frown deepening once more when a smile crept on to Eragon's lips.
"I'll show you why. Give me your hand." Eragon said, extending his own so that she could place hers above it. She complied with his orders hesitantly, wondering what could come out of them. He took her hand gently, making her marvel at how soothing they were. Arya, snap out of it! You are standing on a battlefield, your mother is in hysterics, and you are thinking of… of that! You aren't allowed to lov… like him. Snap out of it! A voice shouted in the elf princess's head. Shaking off the feeling she looked up expectantly at Eragon, waiting for something to happen. He brought her hand to her left side, letting the fingertips brush against coarse fabric. His hand left hers as she carefully explored the area, a pang running through her at the loss. Do not think about that now!!! You have more important things to do at the moment! The voice shouted once more. Instead Arya focused all her energy into figuring out what the material was, and why it was there. It felt coarse, like hastily made cloth. Her fingers explored higher up, fingertips brushing into a stick substance. She pressed harder, trying to figure out what it was when a jolt of pain coursed through her body. Her knees buckled and she pitched forward, landing in Eragon's arms.
"Now are you willing to go back?" Eragon asked, smiling at her first show of weakness in a long time. She nodded and he walked over to Saphira, hauling her into the saddle before climbing himself. He maneuvered into a position in which Arya could sit without any, or at least less, pain. That position somehow ended up as Arya lying across his lap, head resting on his chest. With a great leap Saphira flew into the air, causing visible discomfort to both passengers. It was then that Arya realized that Eragon must also have wounds of his own. If he didn't show them, she wouldn't ask; it was the immortal rule of pride, and she had relied upon it more times than she could remember.
"Arya?" asked Ergon, looking forward.
"Uhn?" Arya responded with a grunt, eyes slowly closing thanks to the rhythmic beating of Saphira's wings.
"How did you get that far away from the infirmary?" He asked, looking down to his charge.
"It didn't hurt before, it was like it wasn't there…" Arya mumbled sleepily, eyelids drooping further.
"That explains a lot…" he whispered to the wind, a smile forming on his face.
We have arrived, little ones. I will try to land as gently as possible, but it will still cause you discomfort. Saphira's voice rang through both of their minds, bracing them for the landing. Well, the only one who really braced himself was Eragon, Arya had already fallen asleep. The landing was respectively graceful for one with Saphira's size. A gathering had already formed around them when Eragon slid off, carrying Arya in his arms. He cringed as his right foot reached the ground, sending bursts of pain up his leg. Soon Islanzadí appeared, followed by Nasuada, and Eragon walked over to them. At first Islanzadí thought that her daughter was really dead, as she had suspected. The slow, but regular, rising of her Arya's chest changed that thought.
"Thank you, Argetlam, for returning my daughter, and for letting me see such a precious sight. I have not seen her asleep in over 90 years. Thank you," Islanzadí whispered, gratitude and care giving weight to her words. The crowd was perfectly quiet, trying their best to listen to the conversation.
Eragon simply smiled.