Disclaimer: I do not own the inheritance cycle. That belongs to Christopher Paolini. I did not write it either. George Lucas did.
Summary: Okay, the main theme for this story is the dwarven gods. I'm making them real! This is basically a sequel to Inheritance, with a few twists. You'll see! I plan to update 1 chapter a week, so I have time to stock up for when I'm busy or have writer's block.
Everything else will become clear in time...I'm not sure but I think this first part is going to be mainly Arya's POV.
Please review to this! I won't post chapter 2 until I get 10 reviews cause I'm bad like that. Also, a big shoutout to Tamerlain85 for being such a huge help, including coming up with the name for this story!
I'll also leave you with a puzzle, if you want to take it. A while ago I posted a story called "Life, Alagesia and Everything" which basically the "bread and butter" of this story. PM me once you've read it, and I'll give you a question. If you answer it correctly, then you will have uncovered a major plot point for this story, and I'll give you a few other secrets as a reward to go with it. Oh, and please review the story once you've read it!
So, without further ado...
Of course, Arya had never really expected a happy ending for herself. She had long ago come to terms with the fact that cruel fate simply didn't like her very much. Her life was made up of a long line of tragedies each one more sorrowful than the last and, since fate rarely changes its favourites, Arya had always known, deep down, that she was never going to have the things she wanted in life.
If she were a dwarf or a human or an urgal she could just accept this. She would blame Guntera or something. However, she was an elf, and so she knew Guntera had nothing to do with it. What was her problem, then? Why all these disasters? Had she brought it upon herself?
The first really awful thing that had happened to her was when her father died. He had always been kind to her, warm and loving and caring in a way that her mother was not. His death shattered her but that wasn't all; her mother completely changed when he died. She became a cold, turbulent and all round bad parent. Possibly the worst thing that her father's death did to her was the way it affected her mother. She never seemed to care much for Arya after that. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She cared; cared about the person she wanted Arya to be. As far as Islanzadi was concerned, the fact that Arya had no interest in politeness and pleasantries and being a proper Drottingu was a personal insult. Arya wondered how Evandar and Islanzadi had ever ended up mates; she took after her father and she and her mother were nothing alike.
Could this have been her fault? Well, she certainly couldn't have saved Evandar, and how could she have possibly changed her mother's personality? No, this disaster was down to Guntera.
What about Faloin? Her faithful friend. Her perfect storybook one true love. The exact kind of person she should have always dreamed of being with. Even her mother had approved of him. They'd known each other since childhood, had just about everything in common, fallen in love and then...he just died. He meant everything to her and in that one instant he was taken away. Was that her fault?
She could have stopped it. She should have stayed with him, defended him, taken the arrow herself. She had been overconfident and careless and the result had been more pain than even the loss of her father had caused.
Next of course was her torture at the hands of Durza. She had come close to death and even worse she had almost...almost gone mad. She had been hallucinating, crying at random intervals and hoping for death. Yes, that event certainly qualified as tragic.
Her fault! It was all her own fault. She hadn't been quick enough, strong enough and fast enough and for that she paid with her entire soul. Her time in Gi'lead changed her completely. She used to laugh, sing, dance, love...and in those terrible weeks it all changed. Everything her life had been was destroyed in those horrible days.
Then of course she met Eragon. The bumbling, helpless hero. Great among humans but almost laughable among elves. And he was totally infatuated with Arya, whom he thought to be beautiful and exotic. Of course she hadn't felt the same! He was barely out of childhood by her standards. And then over a few short years he'd seen and done so much; he'd grown so much. He'd changed her, helped her get over all she'd lost in his own way. He'd defeated the black tyrant and become the greatest hero Alagesia had ever known. She'd had a chance to be with him! Most women would have given anything for that, especially women who knew him. She'd turned him down with no idea what it would mean for her future. She got stuck as the queen of the elves, and then he'd just told her he was going to leave. After everything. Leave! How could he? But then of course, that was her fault. He'd had nothing to stay for! And she couldn't come. And that day when he sailed away was the worst day of her life. She'd loved him after all but as usual she'd failed to act.
After he'd left she'd felt completely hollow in a way she never had before. She didn't eat or sleep for days. Then of course, her duty called and, as always, it consumed her. She tried to become absorbed in the tasks she performed as queen, but they were not activities that were easy to be interested in. Whatever she did, she couldn't she couldn't shake the feeling of crushing loneliness that his departure left her with.
Her life became more and more miserable after that; an endless string of pointless pleasantries and shallow words that meant nothing. Most of her time was consumed by tedious meetings with her maddeningly aloof council. Arya had spent so much time around humans; around one human in particular that she had become accustomed to their ways: she was used to people saying what they meant and not trying to weave every word into a dangerous game. Worst of all were the manners: the never-ending preset greetings and phrases. Elves, though they rarely said what they actually meant due to the nature of their language, were by far the most predictable race in Alagesia from Arya's point of view. You always knew what they were going to say because the manners and expectations were so rigid that conversations were rarely very different from each other.
She had often wandered what her life would have been like if she wasn't queen of the elves. She started to blame Eragon for her current predicament. He had left her, completely and totally, to go on and live this new life she was trapped in. But the more she thought about it, the more she began to realize that it had nothing to do with Eragon. Since the day they'd met she'd been distant from him. He hadn't actually left her, because thanks to her rejection, he had no reason to think he was leaving anything. As far as he knew, she had no interest in him whatsoever. Again, that concept was her fault. It was only a few months before he'd left that he'd given up on trying to have a romantic relationship with her. He'd been so persistent but she'd still driven him away. Of course, she hadn't even been aware of her own feelings for him until he'd left and she realized how much she was missing.
Maybe, if she hadn't been so stubbornly shutting out her emotions, things would have been different. In fact, she was almost certain they would have been. Eragon had always accepted her and cared for her even when she had treated him harshly. It was her own actions which had driven her into this predicament, nobody else's. She couldn't even put it down to fate or luck any longer. She had ruined her own life, despite all the chances she'd been given to set things on the right path and now there was no going back.
Arya stifled a sob, though nobody was listening. She remembered the times when, in her anger, she had cursed Eragon for doing this to her. Though nobody had been around to hear her, she still felt ashamed for blaming him.
She stood up and walked to her balcony. It was a few hours before dawn, and the world was engulfed in the grey twilight that separates the morning from the night. The wind blew hard in her face and she could make out dark clouds in the sky. A storm was brewing.
"I'm sorry." She whispered to the wind. "I'm so sorry." And she was sorry. For not leaving with Eragon and then for blaming him for her own mistake. Before she could stop it, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Thunder boomed overhead.
Arya strode briskly through the forest towards the great hall where their councils were held. Though the sun had risen, the forest was still in twilight as the storm clouds were now right overhead. Rain fell steadily through the canopy and onto the elves on the ground. Most of the elves there had the good sense to cast a spell that would deflect the rain and leave them completely dry, but Arya was too preoccupied with thoughts of Eragon.
Since he had left just over a year ago, Eragon had spoken to her exactly twice. Both times it was to discuss the state of new riders who were ready to undertake the journey to New Vrorengard aboard the Talita. He had exchanged the usual pleasantries, asked how her people were fairing, but never anything more personal than that. Arya supposed he couldn't be blamed for being so distant. She smiled ruefully at the cruel irony of the situation: how the tables had turned.
Still, his lack of contact only intensified the feeling of loneliness that she always carried with her these days. She was a dragon rider, sharing one of the most intimate connections between two beings that could possibly exist and yet she felt more alone than ever.
Without Firnen, Arya wasn't sure she could have coped. The sheer weight of her people's expectations might have crushed her if she had nobody to share the load with. She admired her dragon for his patience: no matter how miserable she felt, he had always been there for her. Perhaps things would have been different if she was more like that.
"Perhaps," interrupted Firnen, "may be the most common word that you ever think of."
"I can't help it Firnen," she replied sadly. "It's impossible to think about the life I could have had."
"You mean it's impossible not to think about Eragon." He corrected.
Arya was silent at that. After all of the misery she'd felt, Eragon had become a topic Firnen rarely discussed and when they did it was in vague terms.
"Little one," he said exasperatedly, "you obviously can't stand this. Why linger here? Why not leave and go back to him?"
Arya sighed, both outwardly and mentally. This was a conversation they'd had many times before.
"You know what the council is like. They would never let me."
"They would not dare stand against me" Firnen replied, sounding slightly offended that she had suggested he would not be able to drive off 'a few puny two-legs.'
"You know that's not what I mean." said Arya. "they wouldn't be that direct about it. But they wouldn't give in either."
"If they cannot understand the word 'no' then I shall deal with them" Said Firnen, a hint of menace in his voice. They both detested the council, who in truth had nothing in their hearts but deviousness.
"I know, Firnen." She said wearily. "But there's no way it could work."
That wasn't entirely true. She could have gone to the council and resigned her position, ignoring all their complaints and arguments, and simply leave. But if she did, would she still get what she wanted?
She doubted Eragon felt the same any more. Who would? She had rejected him so many times. Now, it had come to the point where they barely spoke at all, and when they did it was official business. Arya remembered the conversations perfectly: his eyes no longer held the same warmth and softness they once had when he'd looked at her. His voice had been stiff and formal, as if they weren't even friends any more.
"Well," Firnen said evenly, "You haven't contacted him either. You're not exactly helping your chances of becoming his mate, are you?"
Arya blushed slightly. Dragons were hardly subtle when it came to matters of love.
"Arya, I see how much this distresses you. If you will not leave, then you should at least visit him. It will do you good."
Arya considered the possibility wistfully for a second, but then shook her head sadly. "How? It would just put both of us through pain when I had to leave again."
Though she wouldn't admit it, Arya knew that Firnen secretly desired that once she got to New Vrorengard the pain of leaving again would be too much and she'd stay.
"You think about that like it would be a bad outcome!" Said Firnen. Arya blushed deeper. "Perhaps you are forgetting how, ah, curious I can be." He said, with the mental equivalent of a smile. She could hardly hide anything from Firnen when he had a mind to find it. Still, she felt embarrassed.
She really did want to go, but would Eragon still love her? Would they even be friends? She knew the prospect of him not loving her any more would truly break her heart.
"Well," said Firnen gently, "Is it not better to know for sure? The alternative is that you sit here and slowly diminish in your misery."
Arya was startled: he'd never put the situation so frankly before.
"Your sadness is unhealthy." He said in response to her thoughts. "I have watched you closely, Arya. It hurts to see you in such pain. You are ill, Arya. I just want you to be cured."
Arya had no reply for that. Firnen was right: she felt physically drained. She rarely smiled any more, didn't eat or drink as much as she used to.
"Arya. If nothing else, at least contact him." Said Firnen. "I know you want to see him again. Maybe you could even discuss the possibility of you paying a visit..."
Thankfully, an elf crossed her path at that very moment and, predictably, muttered the traditional greeting.
"Well," said Firnen after they had finished, "that was timely for you I'm sure. But what do you think?"
Arya continued to walk slowly in silence. A whole minute passed before she replied "Firnen, I...Very well. I shall try."