Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or things would be a heck of a lot different. Also, forgive me if this idea has been used before but as of yet I don't think it has. So here it is. R&R please!
Chapter I:
The Accident
(Excerpt from the end of Brisingr)
They (Eragon and Saphira) stood together on the battlements for the better part of an hour and watched as the sun rose. One by one, rays of pale gold light streaked across the verdant fields from the east, illuminating the countless motes of dust that drifted through the air. Where the rays struck a column of smoke, the smoke glowed orange and red and billowed with renewed urgency.
The fires among the hovels outside the city walls had mostly died out, although since Eragon and Saphira had arrived, the fighting had set a score of houses within Feinster ablaze, and the pillars of flame that leaped up from the disintegrating houses lent the cityscape an eerie beauty.
Behind Feinster, the shimmering sea stretched out to the far, flat horizon, where the sails of a ship plowing its way northward were just visible. As the sun warmed Eragon through his armor, his melancholy gradually dissipated like the wreaths of mist that adorned the rivers below. He took a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing his muscles.
No,he said, we are not alone. I have you, and you have me. And there is Arya and Nasuada and Orik, and many others besides who will help us along our way.
And Glaedr too,said Saphira.
Aye.
Eragon gazed down at the Eldunarí that lay covered within his arms and felt a rush of sympathy and protectiveness toward the dragon who was trapped inside the heart of hearts. He hugged the stone closer to his chest and laid a hand upon Saphira, grateful for their companionship.
We can do this,he thought. Galbatorix isn't invulnerable. He has a weakness, and we can use that weakness against him. . . . We can do this .
We can, and we must,said Saphira.
For the sake of our friends and our family—
—and for the rest of Alagaësia—
—we must do this.
Eragon lifted Glaedr's Eldunarí over his head, presenting it to the sun and the new day, and he smiled, eager for the battles yet to come, so that he and Saphira might finally confront Galbatorix and kill the dark king.
(Now continues my fanfic from where Brisingr left off)
"Shadeslayer! Shadeslayer!" A voice called from behind.
Startled, Eragon spun around nearly dropping the Eldunarí. Not knowing who the newcomer was, he hid it behind his back signaling for Saphira to be on the lookout. Even though they had won Feinster from the Empire, there were still strong supporters of the Oath-breaker within the city either hiding out somewhere or trying to escape. They would, most likely, attempt to rile up the common people into fighting back against them while running for their lives as the diversion played out.
Instead, it was only Jarsha the messenger boy. Heaving a sigh of relief, Eragon allowed his body to relax and clasped his hands behind his back in an easy manner so as to not give away the secret he held there. While loyal to Eragon and the Varden, Jarsha was still a boy and would most likely babble any secret that passed his eyes or ears. Eragon couldn't blame him either knowing full and well that he had been a boy not more than a short while before.
And you still are sometimes, Saphira scoffed gently.
Eragon stifled a grin not wanting to embarrass Jarsha who couldn't tell what Eragon was thinking.
"Yes?" He asked politely, turning his attention to the panting messenger.
The boy was gawking at the huge, sapphire she-dragon that stood at his side but he quickly snapped out of it when Eragon called his attention. It would never do to upset a Dragon Rider who had just won a major battle, the boy reasoned.
"Oh, Eragon," The boy gasped.
Then his voice quivered and his face pinched up and he seemed about to cry.
"What's the matter, lad?" Eragon asked as soothingly as possible.
He was probably covered in blood and guts of enemy soldiers not to mention fully-clad in Dwarf armor. Thus, he probably appeared to be a terrifying sight like a thing out of legend. Kneeling down, he took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm, pulling the boy's chin up in a fatherly gesture with his free hand. Seeming a little braver, the boy took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
"Lady Nasuada has commanded me to bring you to her, m'lord," He said, his voice trembling. "Oh, it is terrible, sir!"
"What's wrong?" Eragon asked, trying his best to keep frustration and worry out of his voice.
Jarsha quavered and looked away as if afraid of suffering a Rider's wrath at giving bad news. If Eragon hadn't been so weary and in front of someone like him, he would have laughed at the foolishness of it all. Finally, Jarsha spoke but so softly that even with his elvish ears Eragon had to strain to listen to him.
"Arya…Arya is injured," The boy gasped.
Eragon felt a cold hand of fear clutch his heart in an iron fist and chills raced down his spine. Panic flared within him and goose-bumps broke out on his arms.
Time seemed to slow.
Nasuada herself wouldn't send a messenger if Arya got wounded in battle. She was a tough elf, that one, and could more than sufficiently take care of herself. It would have to be a mortal wound to call for his assistance as a Dragon Rider, life-threatening really. Hot tears sprang to his eyes and his hands shook.
This couldn't be! Arya could not be on the brink of death. Not after he painstakingly repaired their friendship and just won a major victory against the diabolical Empire. Galbatorix be damned! He refused to believe that Arya was this badly hurt. As if sensing his fury, Jarsha flinched and took half a step back.
Eragon! Saphira growled. Buckle up and have some courage. Don't shoot the messenger, as you two-legs say. He is just doing his job and it would never do to harm someone so innocent as him in your anger.
Of course not, Saphira, Eragon managed, talking a deep shuddering breath. I just cannot stand the notion of Arya damaged so badly as to require my aid. She has already suffered torturously at the hands of Durza and does not deserve any further pain. It's not fair!
I know, Saphira soothed. Now get up on my back, Stonehead, and go see to our Emerald Eyes. She has saved your life on more than one occasion and it would never do to repay hospitality with nothing.
Aye, Eragon acknowledged, still trying to wrestle with his emotions.
Taking deep sure breaths, he nodded dismissively to Jarsha who needed no further prompting. Barely had a second gone by then the boy darted off with a squeak as Eragon clambered onto Saphira's back. It would not be wise to linger while a dragon was about to launch into the air.
Saphira was already weary from battle, as was Eragon, so they could not afford to wait around for everyone to clear the way for them. Flapping her massive wings, Saphira launched into the air with a roar sending crows and vultures on a run for their money as the lesser birds sought to prey on the dead bellow.
~ Short Time Skip During Flight ~
"Where is she?" Eragon demanded, clutching the pommel of Brisingr to maintain his fury.
"She is currently unable to accept any visitors," Nasuada said calmly as she sat regally on her chair in her command tent.
Caked in blood from the warfare, she was currently having her maid scrub her down and a spell-caster from Du Vrangr Gata tend to her own wounds. They were nasty but Eragon had only Arya on his mind. And he was seething at Nasuada's rebuttal.
"You have no right to refuse me access!" Eragon snapped. "I am a Dragon Rider and have just won a battle for you!"
"I am a liege-lord and we were doing perfectly fine until you came and took over," Nasuada sniffed.
"As I seem to recall you were grateful for my arrival," Eragon retorted.
"But refused your help to heal my wounds, yes?" Nasuada shot back with an arched eyebrow.
Eragon scowled and dug his fingernails into his palms to keep cool. Nasuada was correct but it bothered him that she could boss him around with so much as a flick of her finger. He needed to see Arya and he needed to see her now. He just wanted to make sure she was okay.
Patience, Little One, Saphira chuckled, resting outside the tent as Eragon's bodyguards labored over her wounds. Nasuada has a good head over her shoulders and it would not be wise for you to remove it.
I know, Eragon said bitterly.
"Can you at least tell me what happened to her?" Eragon begged out loud.
Nasuada gave him a sly grin as if she could sense his feelings for her and his face flushed. Was he really that obvious?
"Aye," Nasuada said slowly. "I could do that."
She paused dramatically and Eragon grew more and more impatient.
"Well?" He blurted out after a few minutes.
Nasuada sighed and shook her head.
"Boys," She muttered.
Eragon bristled but kept his cool. Nasuada was his liege-lord and it would not be a good move on his part to disrespect her in any way. There would surely be people about close enough to hear any argument that might arise. If they saw him, Eragon, arguing with her then they would have a good enough excuse to do the same. Clenching his teeth, he steeled his resolve and waited. At last, Nasuada smiled genuinely and laughed.
"You really love her don't you?" She asked suddenly.
"What?" Eragon gapped, caught entirely off-guard.
"Never mind," Nasuada said. Wait… Was that remorse in her voice? Regret? Eragon frowned thoughtfully. "I grant you permission to see her but one condition."
She paused and Eragon tensed, bracing himself.
"That you do not allow your emotions to get away with you when you see what lies beyond that curtain," Nasuada said, waving her hand to the left side of the tent.
Curiosity piqued, Eragon craned his neck to see where she pointed to and was surprised to notice a heavy, dark green curtain hanging. It was only then that he realized it had taken up half of the command tent which was normally a lot larger. He had just been so preoccupied with his worrying that he never realized.
But try as he might to stop them, a myriad of thoughts, worries, and fears flooded through him. Was Arya dead? Maimed? Blind? In a coma? Or worse yet had she gone insane from the wound? He had heard of that sometimes back home in Carvahal. He bit his lip nervously.
"You have my word," Eragon whispered solemnly.
Nasuada nodded hesitantly and gestured for Eragon to go to Arya. Saphira warned him to be careful but he ignored her. He was too worried about Arya. Nothing else mattered anymore. Sucking in a deep breath, he crossed the room in quick easy strides. His heart beat rapidly, pounding faster and faster. He could have sworn he heard it in the uneasy silence that followed.
At last, he filled the space between them and flung the curtain back. Relief washed over him when he saw what lay behind it. Arya lay on a bed, head atop pillows, and wrapped snugly in a blanket. She looked extremely warn and pale. All her armor was off and she wore naught but a thin, sheer nightgown. His eyes buldged at the sight and it was all he could to keep from gasping at her immense beauty.
Eragon! Saphira chided. But amusement flowed through the Bond.
Suddenly, all thoughts of joy and relief were replaced by shock, confusion, jealousy, and anger as Arya turned to look at him with a dazzling smile.
"Oh Faolin!" She cried out to him. "Oh Faolin, thank goodness that you are safe!"
To Be Continued…
A/N:
Well how did that go? I wonder if anyone expected that twist and I am quite proud of thinking up this, hopefully, new plot scenario. Poor Eragon! How is he going to react to the elf of his dreams thinking he's her old friend and probably mate?
Will he freak and turn into a psychopath-maniacal-zombie-madman? Or will he take advantage of the situation? Or will he try to find a cure for Arya's…disease? (Insert evil cackle here) I don't know what I'd do but have a plan for what he will. Looks like you'll have to comment and wait for the next chapter in order to find out.
So stay tuned!