If any readers here read "Night of the Falling Stars", I sincerely apologize. I don't like it anymore than you do, but I just can't muster up the passion to write it when the next book is out September 20th. That's just a few weeks from now, and at my speed I'll say about three more chapters (if I work my hardest). With the previous chapters added, that's 15 of the entire story.
I can't do it. Sorry.
So now, I have moved onto another project. This one. And it will be completed.
Wish me luck!
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For the first time in her long life, Arya was truly happy.
She was loved, and she was useful. She would kill and slaughter in her father's name. Oh, how delightful it was when her terrified victims would stare into her eyes before death, searching for something that wasn't there. She didn't know what it was; probably mercy for them, maybe actual warmth.
But there was one thing she was certain of: she didn't have it.
She only knew to serve, and love, her father.
"Arya, dear? Please come here and sit on my lap." Her father said to her.
There was a war outside the palace. Men killed elves, and dwarves killed men. A world of steel and a crimson stained sky. The Empire was winning, slowly but surely. It would be over before nightfall. The Varden would be crushed. Crushed under the mighty fist of Galbatorix.
Arya walked over to her father's throne, and did as she was told. Her father stroked her hair, and motioned her to look at the bloody figure lying in front of her, still struggling to stand despite the numerous near-fatal wounds on his body.
His hair was brown, with silver streaks. His pointed ears were covered partially by them, but they did not cover his eyes. His handsome face was full of rage and anger.
"You filth… you had her all along!" He shouted.
"Papa? Who is this man?" She asked innocently.
Galbatorix smiled and motioned her to be quiet. He then smiled calmly at the shocked person before him.
"You see, Shadeslayer? She does not know you, nor does she wish to help you. The once proud princess of the elves is now my warrior, my magician and my daughter." He stroked her hair again softly.
The young man on the floor made a choking noise, but covered it with a chuckle. "I grow tired of your games, Galbatorix. She is not yours, and you know it. She is fighting you even now."
Her father laughed. "Such trust in her, Eragon! But you should know that if I told her to, she would pick up a blade and cut your head off right here. Not a sliver of regret would enter her mind."
"...you bastard!" The youth fumbled unsuccessfully with the sapphire sword lying to his side. "I'll kill you! I swear to every god there is, I'll kill you!"
"Papa?" Arya looked questioning at her father.
"Oh yes, I apologize. He's a rider, a bad person. And he tried to kill me." Her father grimaced.
Arya gasped. He tried to kill Papa? Then he's—
"A terrible man!" she shrieked. "Papa! Let me kill him! I'll let him see what happens to people—"
Galbatorix shushed her with a smile. "Not now, my sweet. We will have to place him in the dungeons first. We must not make such hasty decisions so quickly. And besides," A flash of amusement crossed his face. "I'm a forgiving man."
The man on the ground, called Eragon, was picked up by two of her father's guards.
He struggled as hard as he could, but he was fatigued. It was a miracle in itself that he could still move.
"Arya!" he screamed, his voice tinged with fear and sadness. "Arya Svit-Kona! Please! Remember!"
The man was crying, tears flowing down his face. His breaths came through rattled gasps. The blood covering his body was dripping onto the beautiful marble floor.
"Please! Princess! Princess!" he continued to shout with desperation. She decided to face him, and turned around.
"I don't speak with bad people." She said.
Arya didn't know why, but she was sure that that look of despair and grief in his eyes would haunt her dreams for as long as she lived.
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Ending number one. Next five coming up shortly.
Hope you all liked it!