I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or any of the scenes I've borrowed from the books. All credit goes to Christopher Paolini.
Premise: Every decision has a consequence, and behind every decision is a reason. Only through her steadfast beliefs can Arya make choices that impact not only her life, but the world around her. A book four and beyond narrative seen through Arya's eyes.
Ethos
"Focus, Eragon. Frustration won't serve you in battle," Arya admonished. She knew her words only further frustrated the Rider, but his survival was far more important than his displeasure.
The elves encompassing the field were watching as per Arya's request, a fact unbeknownst to Eragon. She was acutely aware of the discomfort they provided Eragon, but a warrior had to adapt to environments of all natures. Coddling the Rider during training would only get him killed when the danger was real.
Arya closed the distance between the two quickly, sensing that Eragon was hesitant to initiate the first strike. She swung her sword lithely at his head, anticipating him to duck and strike at her ribs.
True to form, Arya's blade whistled through empty air as Eragon avoided her swipe. Quickly, she sidestepped to her right and Brisingr narrowly missed her ribcage. Arya exploited the opening and throttled Eragon's backside in one fluid motion.
"Again!" She exclaimed as Eragon picked himself up and stomped his way to the edge of the field. Arya saw that the Rider was nearing his breaking point, for better or for worse. It was only a matter of time before he snapped and Arya would see what Eragon was capable of. Only under great pressure would the true potential of a warrior would become apparent.
They faced each other, attempting to decipher the other's movement. Playing to Eragon's cautious style, Arya bounded across the field, battering him with a series of vicious, controlled strikes. None managed to reach Eragon, as expected; but sooner or later, his defense would crack.
Sensing an abrupt change in her opponent's movements, Arya predicted that Eragon would attempt a haphazard trick similar to the ones previously used. But as his arm rose in the air, a thunderous consciousness halted the battle mid-attack.
Enough, Glaedr rumbled.
Arya stiffened in surprise as the ancient dragon awakened from his mourning. Across from her, Eragon lost his balance and missed a step before composing himself.
Glaedr-elda! She exclaimed, her voice mixing with the voices of the assembled group.
Arya glanced towards Eragon, trading an excited look with him briefly. Listening as Glaedr admonished Eragon for neglecting to train his mind, she waited curiously for Eragon's response. To think logically and set aside anger was the next step he had to take; for those who were calm in battle, won the battle.
A small bout of guilt crept into her consciousness as Eragon vented his frustration at his incompetence. Trained as she was in diplomatic skills, Arya quickly dismissed the notion. If she allowed Eragon to become complacent, then defeat would be swift and relentless.
Still, even she could not entirely deny her vulnerable side, so Arya said, Ebrithil, he is right. Eragon is not at the level he needs to be. To prepare for what lies before us, he has to attain mastery.
Arya…Blӧdhgarm…Yaela…you know the mind is more important to train. Why have none of you taken it upon yourselves to continue Eragon's instruction in the area? Glaedr admonished, causing her to affix her eyes to the ground in humiliation.
Silence lingered in the air until Blӧdhgarm spoke up, insinuating the task to train Eragon was Glaedr's alone. Unperturbed by his aggressive tone, Arya immediately realized exactly what Blӧdhgarm was attempting to do. It was a clever ploy undoubtedly, though one with a dangerous risk. Should Glaedr lose control, he could crush all of the elves' minds easily.
Without missing a beat, Saphira joined the conversation, acting as the respectful counterpart to Blӧdhgarm's outburst. Offering him a chance to fly again, she managed to successfully temper Glaedr's outrage, directing its intensity towards Eragon's training.
Arya let loose the breath she had been holding when Glaedr agreed to help Eragon attain mastery over his swordsmanship. As smoothly as the ruse Blӧdhgarm and Saphira participated in worked, the wrath of the golden dragon would have been disastrous to face had he lost his temper.
She waited, sword in hand, as Glaedr privately mentored Eragon. Arya knew what Glaedr was teaching him, so she was expecting a different approach to the battle than before. She readied her weapon as Eragon studied her attentively.
Shuffling to her side, Eragon began the fight similar to how several others started. A tactic to obscure his true intentions Arya figured. A nearly imperceptible hitch in his step enabled her to make the first move, lunging towards Eragon with unmatched ferocity.
They clashed swords, exchanging blows with neither giving any ground. Eragon had anticipated a chop to the head and stabbed quickly towards her breast. It was a well-placed strike; but far too quick, for Arya was unable to move her sword out of the way and Brisingr was deflected away from her body innocuously. Taking advantage of the opening, Arya swung at his head, her sword connecting with his helmet.
Frustration once again colored Eragon's countenance before it cooled into a blank façade. He would be hard pressed to defeat her, Arya knew, in his angry state. The more he failed, the more aggressive Eragon became; a weakness which would be his undoing time and time again.
She started to close the gap between them once again, but stopped short as Eragon shuffled to his right. A strategy to lure her into the sun Arya guessed. A solid plan, but she would not fall for the obvious bait. With the added presence of Glaedr observing the duel, she felt obligated to maintain her image by fighting to her fullest ability.
Arya growled softly, watching carefully for a lapse in concentration. She had little faith in the cheap tactic, but she wished to observe how much Eragon had grown. Compared to an average elf's lifespan, the time passed since Eragon's immature confession had been short. Arya knew he had changed, that much was obvious; but she did not know to what extent and curiosity took a hold of her.
As she expected, Eragon was not affected by her impulsive ploy, so Arya crossed the remaining distance and utilized long, powerful strokes that kept the Rider off-balance. Slowly, her opponent yielded as her blows drove him back. With each successive attack, Arya felt Eragon's defense soften.
Confident in her position in the fierce battle, Arya unleashed a vicious downward slice at the Rider's head, meaning to end the duel right there. To her astonishment, Eragon lithely sidestepped her sword; the sun shining directly into her eyes as she followed his movements. Momentarily stunned, Arya was helpless as Eragon stabbed her in the ribs, claiming the victory.
Her vision flashed red as Arya held her side gingerly. She experienced an odd mixture of anger and pride as she stood there defeated. She shot Eragon a congratulatory look to acknowledge his complete victory, but the pain morphed the expression into an indecipherable message.
They continued to fight after that brief interlude; but with the bitter taste of defeat, Arya was careful to not underestimate Eragon's abilities again. And Eragon fought fiercely, revitalized with the success he had tasted. Evenly matched, the two danced with their blades for what seemed like hours until their swings were half-hearted and their shoulders drooped.
The pair eventually ended up with the hilts of their swords locked, their faces inches apart. Arya raised her eyes to meet his in an intimate deadlock and Eragon whispered intensely, "I…see…you."
That was the confirmation Arya had been searching for all along and an indescribable feeling swept through her before she suppressed the emotion.
Hours later, the elf and Rider sat closely in Eragon's tent, relaxing after an intense bout of mental training. They talked of inconsequential tidbits, things a passerby would have dismissed as mindless banter. But to Arya, these conversations were a calming force that she could only experience with Eragon. It was a special form of friendship that bonded them, and Arya was loath to relinquish it.
"What will you do if we win the war?" Eragon asked her suddenly. Night had fallen and the question startled her.
"I will continue to serve my mother as her ambassador," She said slowly. It was a topic Arya had never given much thought. Her life was the war and it was all she knew. "There will still be much that needs doing if we manage to topple Galbatorix, much that needs putting right, and I would be a part of it."
Eragon replied noncommittally; an observation Arya noted, but did not comment on. Her life was her own and she could not imagine doing anything but serving her people.
Arya stood up to leave, grateful for the hours they had spent amicably. There was an undeniable tension permeating the air, one which threatened the very nature of the war. Before she opened the flaps to the tent, Eragon acted on a whim and whispered hoarsely, "Wait."
The word came as hesitant and hopeful, but not forceful. She could hear the unsaid question burning beneath the surface and for a split-second, Arya considered answering it. But there was a war raging and nothing good could come of the response. So she merely said, "Good night, Eragon," before exposing herself to the cold air outside.
Arya murmured a silent spell designed to locate dead-ends. While she searched the various passage-ways that twisted beneath Dras-Leona, the rest of the expedition studiously examined the peculiar runes covering the ceiling. Angela, Wyrden and Eragon all stared at the ancient words in an attempt to translate them. While Arya knew she would regret missing the opportunity to study the runes, surviving the mission was more important to their cause.
Her spell detected a dead-end in the first passage, so she moved on, in search of the path that would lead them out of the damp caverns. Each successive corridor also led to a dead-end and frustration began to creep its way into the elf's thoughts.
Upon finishing the fifth archway, Arya ignored the opening Eragon stood in front of and instead ventured towards the seventh and final corridor. Before she could cast her location spell, a hair-raising yowl filled the caverns. "Solembum!" Angela shouted, whirling towards the sound's source.
Arya drew her sword, scanning the immediate area for danger. Something or someone was in the underground maze with them, threatening the very nature of their mission. "This way," Arya said, starting towards the corridor she had been about examine.
"No! We have to help him," The herbalist said stubbornly. It was an irrational thought, for her obstinacy put the entire war in jeopardy.
Arya ground her teeth in frustration, "If Murtagh learns we're here, we'll—"
Before she could finish the sentence, trapdoors sprang open throughout the various passages. Black-clothed men swarmed out of the entrances, advancing towards the group with their weapons bared.
Adrenaline rushed through Arya's veins as she raised her sword to welcome the oncoming enemies. The battle was fierce as steel clashed against steel and she was barely able to hear Eragon shout that the enemy could not feel pain. Armed this knowledge, the elf became a deadly whirlwind, chopping heads and stabbing hearts in every direction.
Despite her best efforts, the mass numbers of the numbed men began to overwhelm Arya. A sword would dart around her blade every now and then, only to be stopped in its tracks by her wards.
Behind her, Eragon shouted something and a gust of wind blew the enemies in front of him backwards. But the men pressed onwards, engaging the group relentlessly. Scanning the area around her, Arya spotted the archway that she had not yet examined and shouted, "This way!"
The three other warriors followed her through the unknown arch. They ran with a sense of urgency as the black-garbed men pursued them in darkness. Suddenly, Angela let out a cry followed by a solid thud. Looking back, Arya saw that the herbalist had been dragged into a side corridor that was now shut-off.
Eragon's sword caught on fire as he tried to pry open the secret door. In an attempt to calm her friend, Arya placed her hand on his shoulder and muttered a spell to open the door. As expected, the door was impervious to magic and the stone remained motionless.
By now, their pursuers had caught up to them and the pair was forced to fight them off in the narrow corridor. Several enemies fell quickly as the duo cut a path through them, but there was always a new opponent to replace the one just felled.
Wyrden called to them having found a way out. "Stenr slauta!" Arya said; buying them time as the walls exploded around the men. Following Wyrden's lead, she ran headlong for the opening at the end of the corridor.
Mere feet from the illuminated opening, a sickening crack filled the air as spikes erupted from the floor and ceiling, snaring Wyrden between their grip. Arya watched in horror as the unfortunate elf was suspended between the spikes, saved only by his wards.
In a brilliant flash of light, she saw Wyrden's wards falter and the elf screamed in agony as the spikes impaled his body. In a rare moment of shock, Arya listened to Wyrden's dying moans, helpless.
Arya allowed herself a moment to absorb the calamity, then collected her wits and analyzed the situation. In a shaky voice, she said, "Eragon, cut us a path with Brisingr." Her sword would be stopped by the magic protecting the spikes, but Brisingr would be able to cut a path through easily.
Stepping through the jagged spikes that remained on the floor and ceiling, Arya carefully avoided the sharp edges as Eragon helped her navigate. Once she made it to the other end, the pair rushed through the purplish light emitting from the opening.
Her momentum was so great as Arya entered the new room that she was barely able to see her surroundings before arriving at the edge of a platform. Unable to see anything in the dark mists below, her only option was to jump and attempt to reach the black altar on the far-side of the room. As she flew through the air, Arya only hoped that she had not made the wrong decision to come to this accursed place.
The first thing she noticed as she opened her eyes was the uncomfortably large ball of cloth stuffed into her mouth. The next was the fact that she was hanging on a stone wall, held vertical by metal cuffs. Arya shook her head, to try and clear the pounding between her eyes, but all the motion did was increase the pain.
Turning her head, Arya saw Eragon hanging limply next to her, still unconscious. She tried calling his name, but to no avail. The gag in her mouth effectively rendered her mute. Worried about his condition, Arya rattled the chains binding her limbs in an effort to gather his attention. But all that resulted was scrapped skin and thin trickles of blood rolling down her wrists.
Squeezing her thumb close to her hand, Arya attempted to squeeze her hand through the loop of the cuff. Pain shot through her arm as more skin was scraped off, exposing raw flesh beneath it.
Determined to escape the shackles binding her, the elf mentally voiced a spell, aimed at the shackles holding her. To her immense surprise, all of the energy poured into the spell backfired and raced through her body in hot rivulets of pain. The effect broke her concentration, ending the spell immediately.
Helpless, all Arya could do was wait until Eragon awoke. To her relief, her friend regained consciousness a few minutes later. His initial reaction much like hers: shock, confusion, and desperation.
At what she could only guess was a mental spell, Eragon's body stiffened in pain and muffled noises emanated from the cloth in his mouth. Arya looked at him, concerned; the pain must have been similar to that of his past seizures.
The immediate future was bleak; Wyrden was dead, Angela and Solembum likely as well, and the last free Rider was captured. Her mind raced, thinking of every possible plan of escape. Arya was determined to ensure that Eragon did not suffer the same fate as their comrades. Whether her reasons were derived from duty or feelings, Arya did not know.
An eternity passed before bells sounded in the halls beyond the chamber, the High Priest and his novitiates entering the room. Arya listened in horror as the High Priest spoke of resurrecting their Old Gods, the Ra'zac, with their flesh. "And Murtagh knows nothing of your presence here. Today is the day of your doom, Eragon Shadeslayer," The High Priest cackled, a sickening, wretched sound.
Arya tasted bile in the back of her mouth as she watched the novitiates place two large eggs on the floor in front of the captives. "As Tosk wrote, so shall it be," The congregated priests exclaimed before exiting the chamber.
Arya met Eragon's eyes, conveying a mutual sense of despair. In front of them, the eggs started the crack at the top and a scraping sound arose in the altar room. Horror engulfing her, Arya thrashed around, blood dripping down her arms.
Next to her, Arya could see Eragon contemplating the cuffs binding his hands. She knew what he was about to do; so to protect Eragon from the pain, Arya wrenched her right hand through the cuff, breaking her thumb and tearing the skin. Hot, fiery agony ripped through her arm and she clenched her teeth, nearly biting through the cloth.
Woozy from the ordeal, Arya sagged in her chains, allowing her body to relax before repeating the process. Dark spots colored her vision as she blacked out for a few seconds. As she prepared to break her left thumb, the door suddenly opened and a young novitiate walked through.
A chisel in hand, the novitiate set to work on the chains holding her as Eragon frantically motioned towards her. Arya nearly sighed as the inexperienced man tried unsuccessfully to cut through several different links. If this was all the help they were going to receive, she would have to break her left hand as well.
"There's nothing else I can do," The novitiate mourned, his skin becoming deathly pale. "It's for the best." He approached Eragon, a dagger in hand, ready to give the Rider a merciful death.
Arya started shaking in her chains violently, attempting to free herself and stop the novitiate. The nervous man drew back the knife and Arya shouted incoherent words at him before he collapsed on the ground unconscious.
In the opposing tunnel emerged Angela and Solembum, and never before had Arya been so relieved to see them.
Arya produced a wooden flask from the depths of her pocket and took a large gulp of its contents. She stood in front of Eragon's tent, waiting for him to arrive. It had been a trying day, for she had witnessed the Wyrden's death right in front of her eyes. It was a blunt reminder of her mortality and that frightened her.
She saw Eragon approaching in the far distance; and he had obviously spotted her, for he quickened his pace. Before she was able to greet her friend, a messenger ran up to them and hailed, "Shadeslayer! Lady Nasuada would like you to come to her tent an hour before dawn tomorrow morning, in order to confer with her. What shall I tell her, Lady Arya?"
"You may tell her I will be there when she wishes," She replied, coolly nodding her head.
"It's somewhat confusing, now that we've both killed a Shade," Eragon joked.
His small jest was a welcome reprieve from the dreary thoughts that had plagued her. She responded lightly, enjoying the teasing tone of the conversation. Arya rarely teased others, especially during such crucial times; but it was easy to be herself around Eragon, and the tipsiness from the faelnirv did not hurt either.
"Would you like to go in?" Eragon asked.
"I would." She entered the tent, its darkness no hindrance to their enhanced sight. Nevertheless, Eragon proceeded to light a lantern nearby as per social etiquette. Withdrawing the bottle of faelnirv from her pocket, Arya said, "I found this among Wyrden's belongings, and I thought we might enjoy it together."
Her friend accepted the bottle and looked apprehensively at the wooden container. Arya laughed, "Go on, you'll like it." It had been so long since she last allowed herself to drink; the freedom it granted was a welcome change.
Arya took a large quaff of the faelnirv when Eragon handed her the flask. Coming to Eragon's tent was a good decision; drinking alone would only serve to make her miserable. It was at times like these that Arya was truly grateful they shared a strong friendship.
Several more gulps later, the wooden bottle was empty and Arya watched amusedly as Eragon tried to fit the stopper into the bottle. In his inebriated state, he had lost a good amount of his coordination and dexterity.
Eragon lifted her right hand, turning it to examine the injury she was unable to heal in Helgrind. "Blӧdhgarm healed you?" He asked upon seeing no residual blemishes on her skin.
"There is still a patch of skin by the base of my thumb where I have no feeling." Arya guided his hand to the correct spot as he lightly touched the area. "He tried a half-dozen spells, but the nerves refuse to rejoin." She stared at her hand wistfully, "I can still wield a sword and I can still draw a bow. That is all that matters."
Her friend looked slightly abashed, likely feeling responsible for the injury she sustained. He tried to apologize; but Arya stopped Eragon mid-sentence, "Do not feel bad because of it. By the hurts we accumulate, we measure both our follies and our accomplishments."
Hours later, the effects of the faelnirv remained strong and Arya noticed Eragon glancing about nervously. "What is it?" She asked.
"I'm having trouble concentrating," He replied, "I can feel my blood pulsating throughout my body and everything sounds very loud." All in all, Eragon seemed rather distraught.
She suddenly realized what ailed Eragon and Arya laughed. "That is how it should be. The sensations will wear off by dawn. Until then, relax and allow yourself to enjoy them." His naivety was refreshing in this dark time.
At some time in the cool night, music wafted through the encampment. The melody was so furious and complex that Arya thought it fit her mood perfectly. Under the growing influence of the faelnirv, Arya's body acted out of its own accord. She started moving to the music, slowly at first. As she became more accustomed to the rhythm, Arya sped up, matching the quick tempo . The elf did not know why she danced, only that it felt natural and comfortable with Eragon nearby.
Without warning, a dragon roared in the distance, and Arya was brought back to reality. Judging by Eragon's look of horror, she assumed that Saphira was not the one they heard. Cursing her stupidity to let her guard down, Arya raced towards the tent flap, followed by the stumbling Rider.
A flurry of motion greeted them as they stepped outside; the Varden was fending off the intruders while people ran to and fro in complete disarray. Eragon stepped forward to mount Saphira, but first Arya had to right her mistake in allowing him to drink. "Wait," She said, putting a hand on his arm. Muttering an incantation to restore his senses, Arya allowed the Rider to ready himself for battle.
"We need the Dauthdaert," Eragon shouted to her.
She nodded in agreement and sprinted towards her tent on the far side of the camp. Dodging friends and foes alike, Arya reached the ancient weapon quickly and turned towards the battle, not bothering to don her armor. In the heat of battle, there was no time to think of her safety
"Eragon!" She shouted as she sighted him running amongst the tents. When they were a few feet apart, Arya offered him the Dauthdaert.
"Keep it!" He responded as Orik caught up to them. Arya nodded, it would be easier if there were two people able to wound Thorn.
"Leave them, we have to help Saphira," She said in response to Orik's suggestion to attack a clump of enemy soldiers.
As they rushed towards where Saphira and Thorn fought, Orik fell behind as Arya knew he would. Nobody could keep up with the elves. Eragon halted as they passed Elva's tent, forcing her to stop as well. Looking at the Rider, Arya wondered what was going through his head. "Elva would be faster," He said, answering her question.
She knew Eragon was opposed to kill another dragon, even if it was Thorn. But this was war and they did not have the luxury of trial and error. "We have the Dauthdaert—"
"Too dangerous. Too difficult."
Arya paused for a split-second, weighing the options. She knew killing Thorn would be the best choice; but they could not afford to disagree on the matter, so the elf nodded her head in agreement.
But before they could make a move towards Elva, Murtagh appeared with Nasuada in tow. It was a nightmare, the Varden was under siege and their leader held hostage. Before Arya or Eragon could react, Thorn swooped down and grabbed Murtagh and his prisoner.
Knowing time was short and the war at stake, Arya did the only thing she knew and gave pursuit. The Dauthdaert in hand, Arya sprinted forward and leaped off of a pile of barrels, propelling herself high into the air. Far above the ground, Arya managed to catch Thorn's tail as he rose above the camp.
Unaware of her surroundings, Arya climbed up the dragon's tail, using the spikes as handholds. Drawing her left hand back, she plunged the ancient spear into Thorn's leg, resulting in a bloody roar.
Thorn dove towards the ground in a deadly spiral, dislodging both Arya and the Dauthdaert. As she fell through the air, the elf shouted a spell halting her freefall. Hovering in the air, Arya noticed Saphira approaching from one side. Turning, she faced Thorn as he opened his mouth to release a torrent of fire.
Though her wards protected her from the malicious heat, Arya could not help but be blinded by the blazing inferno. Once her vision cleared, the only thing she could see was Thorn's tail whipping towards her before pain erupted through her body and all went black.
Her vision blurred as she opened her eyes to Eragon's worried face. "Thorn…What of Thorn?" She spluttered, barely able to get the words out of her throat. But his reply, to her dismay, was negative.
"And…Nasuada? Did you rescue her?" Arya asked, hoping he had managed to rescue Nasuada at the very least. Even if Thorn had escaped, there was still a possibility that she was rescued.
Eragon shook his head and Arya closed her eyes in sorrow. Death would be more merciful than Galbatorix.
When Eragon stood to summon Blӧdhgarm, she said, "There's no need, I'm only bruised, not broken." Grasping Eragon's shoulder for support, Arya pulled herself to her feet carefully, trying to hide the full extent of her injuries. The Varden had much larger worries than her health right now; such as the future of the Varden.
Arya walked with her mother and Blӧdhgarm en route to the secret meeting Eragon had arranged. She wore her armor for they were camped near Urû'baen and danger could close in at any moment. Her mother wore armor as well, though whereas Queen Islanzadí's was gold and jeweled; Arya's was steel and plain.
Upon arriving at the designated location, Eragon was nowhere to be seen, but a shadowy impression resembling Saphira rested in the soft grass. "Show yourself, Eragon Shadeslayer," Her mother commanded. In front of them appeared the dragon and Rider, looking visibly exhausted from their journey.
The queen locked eyes with Eragon, staring at him for a moment. She was examining his changes, or perhaps she was testing him; it was difficult to tell, even for those closest to the queen. "You have improved, Shadeslayer," Queen Islanzadí noted approvingly.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Eragon replied graciously, "Such a compliment means much from one so wise and fair as you."
The queen laughed, amused by something that Arya did not perceive. "You did not tell me he had become so well spoken, Arya!"
She smiled, though they spoke casually, compliments from the queen were always highly valued. Arya was proud of how far Eragon had come in such a long time. "He is still learning," She said modestly. The elf turned to Eragon, "It is good to see you safely returned."
As the contingent of men and women finally assembled, Eragon revealed the secret he had been hiding for several months, the Eldunarí. Arya looked at him questioningly, for the Eldunarí were not a secret to be told lightly. The Rider glanced back at her reassuringly, "Open your minds," He said.
When Arya did as he said, her mind was filled with the voices of many, many Eldunarí. It was an incredible sensation as hundreds of thoughts filled her head. She knelt on the bed of grass in awe, beholding the advantage the Varden sorely needed to fight Galbatorix.
Before, the thought of defeating the king had been a hopeful glimmer in the future; but now, it was rapidly becoming a reality. A film of tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, a testament to her newfound hope. Eragon had truly surpassed all of her expectations.
Later, when their discussion turned towards developing a strategy to attack Urû'baen, it was settled by Eragon himself that he, along with a group of elven warriors and Elva, would infiltrate the castle. "Unless either you or Saphira object, I will accompany you tomorrow." It was a simple decision for Arya; if Eragon intended to place himself in immediate danger for the good of the war, then so would she.
Eragon agreed unflinchingly to her request, but Queen Islanzadí raised her own objections. "It would be selfish to insist upon going when there are others better suited of the task who are willing and close at hand."
Arya was unable to discern whether her mother's objections were founded logically or emotionally, but Eragon saved her the trouble of defending herself by replying, "And there is no one, other than Saphira, I would rather have by my side."
She glanced at him in appreciation, Eragon's support meant more to her than he knew. But her mother questioned his reasons, gently accusing him of thinking with his heart. Before Queen Islanzadí could redirect her argument, Arya said, "It is you who are allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment. You well know that I swore myself in service to our people long ago. Even if I wanted to, I would not turn away from this. I would sooner die."
Her reasons for accompanying Eragon were simple: it was her duty to watch over the still young Rider and to play her part in Galbatorix's demise. "I cannot allow Eragon and Saphira to go without me any more than you can allow your army to march into battle without you at its head. Those of our family do not turn away from what must be done; do not ask me to shame myself," Arya insisted, beseeching her mother to understand her motivation.
Placing her hand upon her mother's face, Arya continued in the unbreakable Ancient Language, "I shall not die." So strong was her conviction that it was spoken in the unbreakable language, for it was what she truly believed.
Stricken by her miniature tirade, her mother relented and said, "Then go, and take no more risks than you must."
Much later, once everybody else had departed, Arya voiced the concerns that formulated while she had listened to Eragon. "Did something else happen to you while you were gone, something that you didn't want to speak of in front of Orrin or Jӧrmundur…or my mother?"
"Why do you ask?"
Arya deliberated for a moment, attempting to summarize her feelings, "Because…you both seem to have changed. Is it the Eldunarí?"
Eragon seemed to converse briefly with Saphira before replying to her query. "We learned our true names and the Eldunarí shared many of their memories with us. I can't say we understand them all, but they make things seem…different."
"I see," Arya said quietly. It surprised her that the pair had discovered their true names, for they could burden one's soul with their heavy implications. "Do you think the change is for the better?"
"I do," Eragon said confidently, "Change itself is neither good nor bad, but knowledge is always useful."
It was an honest answer, and an eloquent one. He had learned to think and analyze instead of merely acting on whim. She was again reminded of the progress Eragon and Saphira had made as individuals.
There was a short hiatus in the conversation as Eragon spoke mentally to Saphira. When he looked at her again, Eragon said, "Would you like to hear my true name? I would like to share it with you."
His offer stunned her. To give one's true name to another required complete and utter trust. It was not a secret to be handed out lightly. "No!" Arya said emphatically, "You shouldn't tell it to me or anyone else. You should only give your true name to…" She searched her mind for the correct phrase, "To one whom you trust above all others."
"I trust you," Eragon said. It was a simple answer, but it held complex ramifications behind it.
"When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands," Arya said, trying to impress upon him, the importance of keeping his true name secret.
"I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you."
Emotions overwhelmed Arya, inducing involuntarily shivers. She understood why Eragon wished to impart upon her his true name; tomorrow, they would be embarking on a mission where failure was very real and death was a virtual guarantee. But in good conscience, Arya could not accept the offering, for a true name was to be given when one has complete trust in another. She did not want to accept the gift under the guise impending doom.
Trying to impart her feelings on the subject into words, Arya said, "No one has ever offered me such a gift before…I'm honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline." She paused for a moment, allowing Eragon to absorb each and every word. "It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril." Arya searched his face for a reaction, hoping she did not offend him.
Eragon respected her wishes and dropped the subject as she had hoped. A moment passed, "Do you know what your true name is?" He asked.
"Of course," Arya replied. Nearly every elf knew their true name.
"When…how did you learn your true name?" Eragon asked again, timidly.
Arya deliberated again. Telling the story of finding one's true name was nearly as personal as sharing the actual name. It had been so long since she had opened up to anybody and Arya had never told another soul the story. But Eragon was her only true friend, and their friendship had evolved into something more complex and intricate. She trusted him more than anyone else, more than she had ever expected to again.
"A number of years after I left Du Weldenvarden," Arya started, "My other companions were away, and I had a great deal of time to myself. I spent most of it exploring Tronjheim, and one day, I discovered a room somewhere high in Tronjheim." She tried to express the sensations she had experienced into words. "In the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was growing a single flower. The petals were purple, but the center of the blossom was like a drop of blood. There were thorns upon the stem, and the flower exuded the most wonderful scent and seemed to hum with a music all its own. There, I was finally able to put words to who I was and who I am," Arya finished.
Though Arya had enjoyed the conversation, it was late and preparations had to be made for the following day. "I should go. There is much yet to be done."
Eragon nodded in agreement, he undoubtedly had several things to attend to before infiltrating the castle. "We'll see you tomorrow, then."
She turned and walked in the direction of the camp. After a few steps, a thought occurred to Arya. She had never told Eragon how proud she was of who he was and what he did. Arya stopped and turned, "I'm glad that Saphira chose you as her Rider, Eragon. And I'm proud to have fought alongside you." Her voice shook uncharacteristically. "You have become more than any of us dared hope. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that."
Arya resumed her walk, her heart now at ease. If there was one good thing brought about by this war, it was that she had chanced to befriend Eragon.
For hours it seemed, Eragon and Murtagh dueled in the depths of Urû'baen. Back and forth, the two fought, so evenly matched that neither was able to gain a significant advantage over the other. For Arya, it was nearly unbearable to watch Eragon while she remained bound by magical shackles.
At this late stage in the deathly dance, Eragon was sure to be losing energy rapidly. Arya knew that if the battle lasted much longer, they would have no chance to defeat Galbatorix. As it was, the chances of fighting the king as equals were minimal.
Her mind loosely connected to Eragon's, Arya perceived that he too sensed time was dwindling. As a result of the dire situation, the Rider conceived a plan to end the duel quickly and painfully. Saphira, as expected, objected heavily to Eragon masochistic idea.
Arya knew well the decision that Eragon contemplated. Many times she too had suffered the consequences for completing her duty. To sacrifice oneself for the greater good was an onerous resolution, one that required utter confidence to succeed. Choose wisely, Arya warned.
Grimly, Arya watched as Eragon willingly accepted a blow to his ribs in order to trap Murtagh's sword. In a lethal counter-attack, Eragon delivered a much more devastating strike to Murtagh's abdomen, a sure end to the ghastly duel. The elf sighed in relief as Eragon emerged relatively intact; their hopes still burned, no matter how dimly.
Suddenly, Murtagh uttered the Word, freeing the room from the magic ensconcing them, and Arya joined the mental assault upon Galbatorix's mind. It was a futile endeavor, but she hoped the combined strength of Eragon, the dragons, and herself would be a match for Galbatorix.
As a result of the mental siege, Galbatorix's Eldunarí reacted swiftly to their assailants. Their battering upon her mind had Arya reeling inwardly, solidifying her thoughts into an impenetrable iron wall. Rooted in place as she was, Arya could only stave off the relentless dragons..
It was a terrible sight indeed to see Eragon writhe in silent pain. The king had quelled the uprising and stood over Eragon, delving deep into his mind. At first, Eragon had resisted the temptation to scream. But after a short time, Eragon's silence was broken by long, hoarse cries of pain. Whatever Galbatorix was doing to him, Arya was certain it was depraved and cruel. It was agonizing to be helpless while her friend suffered so.
In the blink of an eye, Eragon's screams ceased and magic saturated the room due to some unknown spell that Eragon had invoked. "What have you done?" Arya heard Galbatorix roar in agony.
"Made you understand," Eragon said weakly, still recovering from the brutal onslaught.
The magic binding Arya in place disappeared and Arya instinctively started towards Shruikan with the Dauthdaert in hand. Arya looked at Eragon, internally debating whether she should check on him before joining the dueling dragons. He could have been gravely hurt when Galbatorix tortured his mind. But another opportunity such as this might not present itself again, and hesitation on her part could be the difference between victory and defeat.
So Arya turned towards Shruikan who was brawling with Saphira and Thorn. Despite their superior numbers, the black dragon's sheer size made him more than a match for the pair. Priming the spear in her hand for a single deadly strike, Arya sprinted towards the dragon.
She dodged behind a nearby pillar as a fiery inferno erupted from Shruikan's mouth. Resuming her journey after the fire abated, Arya barely noticed the flames licking the tips of her hair. With a massive leap, Arya landed on the dragon's head and impaled the spear in the center of his eye.
A ferocious roar echoed throughout the hall as Shruikan roared in agony before collapsing on the ground. The whole palace shook and pillars crumbled as the giant dragon struck the floor. Before Arya could recover from the impact, a brilliant flash of light emanated from where Eragon and Galbatorix fought. The last thing Arya felt was Eragon's protective magic encompassing her before the light exploded around them.
The castle was crumbling around them; if they did not escape soon, they would be trapped under the debris raining down. A thought struck her, "Wait! Where is the egg? And the Eldunarí? We can't leave them!"
In the treasure room at the very center of the castle, Murtagh informed her through his mind. A picture of the castle's layout was sent through the link. But you'll never make it out alive.
Arya did not answer him. Turning around, she bolted for a door on the opposite side of the room. Allowing the last dragon egg and the numerous Eldunarí to be destroyed was a travesty in her eyes.
The elf heard Eragon yelling after her. But there was no time to reason with him, so she merely said, Go, get the children to safety. Go! You haven't much time!
Racing down the twisting tunnels, Arya mentally checked the map Murtagh had sent her, making sure she was headed down the correct path. One wrong turn and there would be no time to escape the falling fortress.
A large chunk of rock fell from the ceiling, landing right in front of her. Had Arya been moving quicker, she would have been crushed by the debris. Momentarily stunned, Arya forced herself to continue her torrid pace, despite the ever present peril.
She was thirty feet from the door to the treasure room when the elves captured earlier appeared through a side door. "Arya!" Blӧdhgarm shouted across the rumbling cacophony. "We have to get out of here."
"Not yet," She said hurriedly, time was growing short. "The treasure room is nearby with the green egg and the Eldunarí."
Blӧdhgarm nodded as he and the rest of the elves followed Arya's lead. Running to the door at the far end of the hall, Arya turned the knob, relieved when it gave way. The enchantments must have disappeared after Galbatorix was killed.
Inside the room, all of the elves were awestruck. In the center, on a gilded pedestal, lay the green egg. Lining the walls were several chests of what Arya could only guess were full of Eldunarí. Scattered haphazardly on the ground were mysterious objects exuding dark power. They were full of terrible secrets, but likely dangerous as such items commonly were.
Minds reached out to them, full of mad whispers and ravings. But having been held captive so long, the assaults on the elves' minds were weak. It had been Galbatorix's unifying power which had made them formidable.
"Hurry," Arya urged, "We need to take the chests outside. There's no time to retrieve the artifacts here." Scooping up the green egg, Arya deposited it into a nearby empty chest. Holding the casket to her chest, Arya shouted, "This way!"
She charged through the entrance to the vault, the elves close behind her. Looking back, she saw the chests floating in a caravan behind the group, held aloft by magic the elves had used. Praying Murtagh's map was accurate; Arya passed several potential exits as she turned around dizzying amount of corners.
By this time, the walls were visibly shaking and the castle threatened to topple at any second. The group of elves arrived at the end of a hallway with only one door. If this door did not lead outside, then they would surely been trapped beneath the falling stone.
Opening the door, Arya rushed through it, only to be swallowed whole by smoke and dust. When the dust settled, the ruins of Urû'baen greeted them. Houses lay in shambles and its citizens were milling about in a desperate attempt to flee. She glanced behind her and was relieved to find everybody safe and sound, including the chests full of Eldunarí. Behind them, the door they had just passed through caved inwards, blocking the entrance.
In the far distance, Arya could see Eragon and the rest of their party gathered. She smiled in disbelief; the war was over, the Eldunarí safe, and the green egg recovered. The future ahead of them was gloriously bright.
Author's Note:
I hope you all enjoyed the first multi-chapter fiction I've written since I abandoned Convergence. I had forgotten how different it is to write a longer fiction compared to a one-shot. I've been toying with the idea for this story for a long time now, probably since Inheritance debuted(and failed). And don't worry, the amount of scenes taken from the book will drastically decrease in the next two chapters.
Until next time ;).
