The sun had not made its appearance when he awoke. It was a good sign, they would need to leave earlier than expected. He adjusted his sack on the saddle, making sure it would not have fallen off.
Silent murmurs towards his right signaled that the princess was heading his way from Tialdari Hall with her farewell troupe.
Once Queen Islanzadi was nearby, he stopped setting his sack and greeted her properly before touching two fingers to his lips and bowing to the princess.
"Drottningu."
His voice was formal, but not unkind. He had not forgotten her anger and from her unusually cold face, neither had she.
"Shadeslayer."
He cringed inwardly at the voice. In one night he had gone from Eragon, her friend to Shadeslayer, her unfortunate acquaintance. Nevertheless, he took her sack from her hands, purposely oblivious to her slightly shocked features. Pulling some straps, he attached that to the saddle properly and swung himself in his spot in the front of Saphira's saddle. A lithe body movement behind him signaled Arya had swung up into place.
They bid their farewells while Saphira took off in the air.
Did you rest well, Arya svit-kona?
Wonderfully. And you, Shadeslayer?
Quite well.
He was lying through his teeth, but she did not seem to care.
When they were taking off on Saphira, the princess had placed a loose arm around his waist to brace herself. But now, she tired her muscles by gripping the saddle so tightly instead of holding on to him. She was, most definitely, not as comfortable as she was coming to Ellesmera.
Did her aversion towards anything to do with him run that strong?
He supposed so. If he were her, he probably would be too.
Saphira covered a large distance in one day, there were halfway across the Spine when she claimed she was tired. And when she said it, she was actually deathly exhausted.
She was going through a cloud, but her vision was compromised enough that she did not see the mountain beyond it until the last minute. She spiked up causing Arya to jolt herself and finally grab on to him to keep from falling.
The strength of the pulling on his waist signaled that something was not okay. And so, he reached his long arm around her body and kept her from going backwards and falling off. It normally would not have happened, but the saddle had lost the roughness of leather required to stay stable, instead a sheen of smoothness remained.
Thank you, Shadeslayer.
It is no matter.
He had to thank Saphira's exhaustion for at least that temporary closeness.
Are you alright, Saphira? You should rest.
Yes, I suppose so.
He held amusement in his mind that even when she was exhausted, she only supposed she would require rest. She, nevertheless, landed with a grace unknown to anyone's eyes and fell promptly asleep curled up in a corner of the campsite.
Her Rider dutifully took the saddle off and laid it next to her, observing the features of it for longer than someone would consider normal.
"Is there a particular reason you are staring at that saddle with such concentration?"
The voice of his companion eased over his mind and for a split second he had forgotten what he was thinking so intently about.
"Yes, there is."
But he refused to elaborate further, merely continuing to observe the saddle. Sighing, he turned around and headed back over to the middle and started a small fire in the space.
"Did you not have an intention to elaborate on your thinking?"
He looked at her, formulating his answer.
"Actually, you did not ask the reason. I would have no problem answering a question you ask, but I have learned from experiences with many elves that answering a question they did not ask is looked down upon."
She seemed to briefly consider reprimanding him because of his wayward answer, but she must have sensed the honesty in his words, for she said nothing further on the matter.
"Why were you looking at the saddle with such concentration?"
"It has worn out. I must make a new one so that less experienced fliers will not fall."
"Why such concentration for such a trivial matter?"
He gave her a hard stare, "My father made it for me. I was remembering how he taught me, that is all."
Eragon let his head sink in on his chest. He was sitting against a log, one leg bent and close to his chest, the other stretched far in front of him. His elbows rested on the log behind him, successfully stretching out his shoulder blades as he needed to.
"He was a good man. I am glad he was your father."
He chuckled darkly, "Yes, considerable improvement over the last. At least I no longer must be shamed to let the identity of my father be known."
She frowned, "You told no one."
"Not besides you and Nasuada, and Roran, of course. Blood always tells, he told me."
He clenched his hand in frustration as he remembered the anger then.
"And the other elves? They do not know?"
"I explained to them that Murtagh called me brother because Galbatorix wanted me and him to be his Riders. I considered him a brother once. I still do, the Murtagh that traveled with me, I consider my brother."
He looked at her eyes, they bore into him filled with doubt and uncertainty.
Placing his most emotionless features in place, he read her emotions like a book.
"You do not have to fear my hesitation. I will kill him as long as he serves King Galbatorix."
A mild wave of surprise flitted over her features until she fell into her usual composed self.
"How do you do it?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her question.
"Never in my hundred or so years of existence has anyone able to discern my emotions so accurately. And yet you do."
He took a long swing from his water skin.
"It is no doing of mine. You have spent the majority of your lifetime among humans. Perhaps you are not as emotionless as you perceive yourself to look. I may not be the only one, the others simply may not choose to react appropriately."
She shook her head, but remained silent.
"You, on the other hand, I have a hard time reading."
He looked into the flames. The dancing heat forming images in his mind, memories floating through his mind. For a split second, he could almost see his own reflection.
"I have come to learn that remaining emotionless, not just hiding emotions, when nearing a battle zone can improve concentration and leave the mind crystal clear."
"Surely, not feeling anything takes a toll on your peace."
"I have not felt any adverse effects as of late. In any case, I have often made small excursions to Ellesmera to ease my mind and release the stress in my body."
His answer seemed to satisfy her curious mind. That was another unusual aspect of hers, her curiosity. In Ellesmera, she seemed to come closer and closer and then pull so far back no one would consider them friends. But as she neared humans, her barriers seemed to fall down little by little.
"How are you and Murtagh so close? I would not think you saw each other often."
He looked at her with a worried brow.
"Surely you know that Murtagh was with me when I brought you out from Gil'ead. He and Saphira attacked the prison while I took you from the prison cell. Saphira flew overhead with you attached to her belly so you would not fall while Murtagh and I rode on underneath running from Kull and Empire soldiers tracking us to the Varden. I did not want to compromise the position of the Varden, but they had the antidote."
He sighed and looked away as she shook her head.
"It is not your fault I suppose. I did not exactly tell anyone out of fear no one would trust me after I had taken the help of a son of Morzan, and I suppose you did not talk much with Murtagh. I believed, however, that Saphira would have told you in your conversations. Perhaps I was mistaken."
"What does Saphira tell you of our conversations?"
Eragon regarded her with a guarded expression, observing her current emotions.
There was a hint of fear, apprehension, nervousness, a tad bit of some indescribable look in her eyes.
"Saphira tells me nothing of your conversations, and neither do I ask."
She let a hint of a smile show through, "I would have thought you someone to never stop until your curiosity is eased."
"My curiosity must be sparked."
"I thought my conversations with Saphira would have peaked your interests."
"Perhaps you do not know me. I do not pursue topics that will yield failing results."
Not any longer.
He kept the last bit to himself, but his words sent the implied meaning.
"I knew you, but you have changed."
She admitted quietly before turning her perceived guarded expression away.
"I was sixteen when I met you, a boy who a dragon hatched for, who lost his uncle, father and mentor, captured by a Shade, and starved for a few days before escaping with the Empire on his heels until he collapsed into the Varden. Now, four years later, I am a fully trained Rider who spends the majority of his waking hours in battle or in strategy of winning by violence. It is no surprise that I have changed. The simple farmboy is dead in me. Resilient, yes, I suppose he was. But everyone has a breaking point, and his was…quite some time ago."
After my nightmares ceased to truly trouble me. After months of instead of screaming, calmly waking up and splashing water on his face. The farm boy in him would have never ceased to be horrified at the destruction he was causing.
Arya shook her head, worried at his exposed feelings.
"Nay, you were never a simple farmboy. Simple farmboys cannot write poetry as you do."
"Neither can they lift a finger and reduce an entire army to ashes."
"You were never meant for that life."
"Arya svit-kona, what do you think I was before Saphira hatched for me? I lived on a farm with my uncle and cousin. I hunted for food and farmed when I was needed. I tended to the animals. I did not how to even read until five years ago, let alone the Ancient Language. That boy is dead."
Her incredulous look was even less masked that usual.
"You could not read?"
"No, we took a break for a few months and my father taught me how in Teirm."
"I am sorry. I had no idea how…" She trailed off, not knowing what to say.
"How an uneducated village boy like me could even have hoped to be something better, yet became a Rider."
He looked away sadly. It was a doubt he had been having as of late as well. Why did Saphira choose him? She had plenty of other honorable, stronger people around her. Hell, even Arya would have been a better Rider than he was.
"I had no idea how quickly you were able to learn to read and write and compose beautiful poems in such a short time. I have been exposed to many poets, but all of whom took centuries to develop their style and flawless compositions. All of which you have accomplished in a few years after only learning to be literate. That is further proof that you were not meant to live a simply farm life as tempting as it sounds."
He was taken aback at her answer. He expected many things, but an educated Elvin princess looking over the distinction in their social status was not one he expected.
"Thank you for your kind words, Arya svit-kona."
"I saw your final spar against three warriors yesterday."
"I was not aware you were there."
"I left before you could have known on an urgent state of affair before I had a chance to congratulate you on a remarkable round."
"Thank you, I am only as good as my teacher."
She laughed a little, "Actually, you are much better than I expected you to be. I lost that sparring match during my training. It was the only one I lost. You came to a tie, however."
"I would have lost if we had continued. My arms were tiring and I knew would not have been able to keep up the same intensity. I have not sparred in quite some time and the Empire soldiers in battle hardly put up a decent fight for one used to training with elves."
She said nothing in return. It was like that day when she grabbed his hand and healed it for him. Shifting around as if his presence made her uncomfortable. He observed a little longer, running his fingers over where she held his hand, reliving how soft it felt in his significantly larger, rougher ones. He cringed inside, she must have hated touching his scarred and rough hands. They were not exactly pleasant to look at let alone hold.
Looking away embarrassed, he placed his hands in the least offensive position, behind his body, slightly contributing to holding himself up. At least, there she would not have to see their dismal state.
He heard a shuffling in front of him and spared a glance at the movements. Arya had pulled out the poem he had given her. Surprisingly, not the beautiful parchment with calligraphy on it, but rather the original. And she was not even reading the poem, but staring at the inscription on the back.
She still had not forgotten.
Part of him reveled in the fact she kept it close to her, the other hated how that part could rationalize any small action as an indication of her feelings toward him exceeding the bounds of friendship.
As of yet, he still had no idea which part he should silence and so he let both war with the other as he sat back and became a spectator to his own mind.
"Of all the names possible, you choose Cynthia."
Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, as if unsure to whether this was an acceptable topic for them.
"Would you like me to change it?"
Eragon's voice grew softer, he too was unsure on how to talk on the subject with crossing boundaries. Yes, he could blame her…but he would not. He was a gentleman and chivalrous deeds still reigned in his mind even though she was superior to him in every aspect possible.
"What would you change it to?"
He sighed, "Arya svit-kona, I feel as if this conversation will not be beneficial to our friendship."
"Yet honesty will be."
The Rider did not know what she was doing to him. A little spark within him was put out time and again…because of her. His body sometimes shook involuntarily after their encounters…brief or not. Once he was reduced to such a violent tremor he had to leave into the forest for it to pass. And she had not even spoken to him, only acknowledged his presence with a nod when she sought out Nasuada in some important business.
He was so close to breaking. Saphira knew and often times she came to his rescue, blocking memories and feelings in his mind as she had when the Twins searched it. But Saphira was asleep and Eragon knew he had to prevent himself on his own. Arya would ask questions if he woke her up and forced her to handle him.
"Considering the original purpose of that name has been compromised, I suppose the name I should write will be the name of who that poem was intended for."
Her eyes flashed with a little anger.
"Do you think that admittance was absolutely necessary?"
"You value honesty over friendship. I honored your wishes."
Her eyes softened a little.
"What would have said if I had insisted, but allowed you to lie?"
"That the name in the poem is of no consequence and any name can fit in there and you can change it if you see fit."
"And if I told you I valued friendship over honesty? What would you have said?"
"Arya svit-kona, if I knew you to be one to value friendship over honesty, I would have never pursued you in the first place. But you value the truth and so unable to keep a lie and deceive you, I sacrificed the most important value to me…friendship, so you would know the truth."
"You would have lied to me to keep our friendship?"
"Is that not the problem? I could not bring myself to do so because you value honesty."
"Have you lied to any others to keep friendship?"
"I have never told Roran and Katrina that Sloan is alive and neither do I intend to do so. I never told Nasuada that Murtagh was hopelessly in love with her and wanted to marry her before he was captured by Galbatorix. I never told my father that sometimes, when you came into my dreams, like scrying, sometimes I would feel your pain as well. I never told Orik, my brother in honor, that the man who killed his uncle was in fact my brother by blood. I never told Saphira that when Oromis – ebirthil looked at my hands one day, he warned me to take care that they did not revel in carnal. To this day, she wonders why I sometimes hesitate before entering a battle. I never told Saphira that when I first touched her, my hand burned so badly I was writhing on the floor in pain. The only pain comparable to that was when Durza laid my back open. Yes, Arya svit-kona, I lie to keep others from being hurt."
"If you knew it would hurt me, why could you not lie then too?"
"I would rather hurt you unintentionally than lie to you intentionally. I had doubts about everyone else, but I knew you are strong enough to recover from that pain. I could not disrespect you by protecting you when I knew you did not require such protection."
"How much pain did you feel?"
He looked at her questioningly, unsure whether she was asking about the scrying or the pain after her rejection.
He correctly assumed the latter.
"Enough to know that you were repeatedly whipped with a hot barbed wire. I woke up early in the morning from the pain and often discovered blood running down my back. The injuries were similar to the ones I saw on your back. I healed them before Brom woke up and washed the shirt so he could not tell. Saphira knew though, at least, she found out when I was repeatedly flexing my back. I did not have enough magic to completely heal the cuts and bruises, but enough to make them stop bleeding so my father would not question it."
"Why did you not say anything to me?"
The Rider looked at her quizzically.
"It happened so long ago that I did not even think twice about it. It was far before my father died, nearly three and a half years ago. And when you regained consciousness, I was thrust in the Battle for Farthen Dur. And afterwards, Durza's wound wiped all thoughts of other injuries from my mind."
His eyes bored into hers, begging with her to understand.
"It was not that I made a conscious decision not to tell you, I made a conscious decision not to tell my father. With you, it was merely pushed so far back in my mind that I did not place much of an importance on it. I truly forgot about it."
"How did you know the pain and blood came from me?"
"I would dream of you, sometimes you would be screaming and that would be when I woke up and saw the blood."
He turned away, "I am sorry, Arya svit-kona, for what you endured carrying Saphira around. I truly am grateful for you and I wish I could have gotten you out sooner."
Arya shifted uncomfortably away, "I never realized you experienced what happened."
Eragon chuckled darkly, "What a heavy conversation for such a beautiful night."
He stared up at the stars, never ceasing to be amazed by the sight above him.
"When we were very small children, no more than five or six years, Roran and I would sit on the roof of the barn and start counting the stars. We did so every year on…on the day Aunt Marian died. It became an unspoken ritual. Six years ago, I was out hunting and I did not make it back in time. I was…injured if you will, from an angry pack of wolves trying to get the animal. I was slow to get back, it took me a week instead of a few days. Sometimes, I feel he has never forgiven me for it. That was the last year we counted the stars. I asked him about it the next year and all he did was shrug saying we had to move on. I found out that same year that Aunt Marian was in fact my aunt and not my mother. I felt like my mother had died, and when I realized my real mother left me, I felt as if I was not deserving enough to be a son."
She looked at him cautiously, but his gaze was still intent on analyzing the sky.
"And what do you think now?"
He smirked a little, the harsh lines of his anger creasing his older face.
"Now I know I am not deserving enough to be a son. I let my father die before my eyes and I feel tarnished by my mother's reputation as the Black Hand."
"I hardly think so, Shadeslayer. Everyone is deserving of parents. Some more than others, but all are, nonetheless."
Eragon let gravity pull his head back, stretching his strained neck and abdomen muscles for him. He remained there, breathing against the beautiful agony only stretching could provide him.
"But not all are so lucky in that regard."
He could sense she was looking at him with her guarded expression, wondering when his speech became so refined…or his thoughts so cynical.
"Why did you change?"
Because you did not like who I was.
He closed his eyes, formulating his answer, not lying, yet not telling the truth.
"Circumstances change people. I had no choice."
And it was true. There was no choice for him, if she did not like who he was, he would change for her. Utterly and completely with complete disregard to who he was before. But it was not as if he was making a fool of himself. He really did not feel like smiling so much anymore, or laughing, or even removing such a stoic expression from his face.
"Is the Eragon who laughed and smiled more often than he should have still there?"
His brown eyes turned so dark and menacing, the looked black against the night sky, and they were so black, they seemed to be a deep purple in dancing flames.
"Is the Arya who learned how to fly a kite in the gardens of Tialdari Hall still there?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, all playfulness and compassion gone from her face. This was the Arya he knew, the Arya capable of reducing anyone who threatened her security to mere ashes to float away in the wind.
"How do you know? Answer me!"
He prolonged the moment, unsure of how long she would stand.
"Answer me!"
Not long so it seems.
"I was walking through your home in Ellesmera with Islanzadi Drottning. Oromis-ebirthil left Naegling for me and once the elves recovered it, Islanzadi took it into her personal keeping along with a letter addressed to me in order to give it to me as soon as she did. However, not wanting to carry it around with her in the danger that something could go wrong, she placed those items under lock and key in her personal chambers and insisted I come with her to retrieve them. When I entered her room, there was a fairth on the wall to the left. There stood a proud Elvin male, love clearly shining through his eyes as he watched a small girl," he looked at her and lifted a hand tracing the features on her face from a distance, "with raven black hair so straight it made a sword look bent, eyes such a bright green it put the leaves of Du Weldonvarden to shame." He dropped his hand and looked away, "It could only be you and your father. Islanzadi Drottning saw me glancing in its direction and confirmed my beliefs."
The tips of her ears slowly became more pale as understanding filled her features.
"I am sorry. When you told me that, I had thought you-"
"Thought I looked through your memories without your knowledge or asked the Elvin population about you, am I right?"
She raised her eyes before darting down again.
"Yes."
"I may have changed, Arya svit-kona, but I will never violate such a breach of privacy for my own personal gain. In any case, your people admire you. They will not openly talk about you."
"Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. Your last sanctuary is the safety of your mind, as is the same for many warriors. If someone had brought up a childhood memory when they had no knowledge of the subject, of course I would have assumed the same."
"But you are not someone. My assumption is unforgivable."
"Arya svit-kona," he gently spoke her name, his voice becoming tender knowing she was truly in distress because of this, "I may not be able to defeat the undefeatable, or make possible the impossible, but I can forgive the unforgivable." He leaned closer in a mock gesture of secrecy, "Between the two of us, it is what I am best at." And his face erupted into a smile he had not been able to make for the longest time.
And to his immense surprise, his smile was returned kindly. Perhaps not as big as his, but there nevertheless, the feeling mutual.
But once his heart started to feel the similar pangs only a smile as wonderful and beautiful as hers, he sobered quickly.
"It is late, Arya svit-kona, and we have wasted much of the night away talking. We have a long journey. We must rest."
"We do not need to," she protested, "we do not need to. Saphira is sleeping, and we can sleep on the way back tomorrow, taking turns staying awake and resting."
He could deny her nothing.
"Very well."
"What was your childhood like, Shadeslayer? I know your cousin must have had quite an entertaining one with Katrina."
He chuckled as he remembered his cousin's antics with her.
"Yes, there were some interesting instances. Roran visited Katrina in the dead of the night once. I was to be his wing man, if you will. He jumped the fence and climbed up the window. Sloan had heard the noise and I was the only one in the vicinity and Roran showed no signs of coming down. I ran towards the stables and hid in the horse's barn. He never found me, but Roran was nearly caught. We escaped a half hour later. Uncle Garrow was not happy at all when we came in the break of dawn panting."
The small smile faded a little from her features, "And no one like Katrina for you?"
Her voice was laced with apprehension, slightly, only detectable with the little nuances in her seemingly monotone voice.
He shook his head lightly.
"I never wanted a 'mare for my brood' as wives are more commonly called by their husbands who truly have no respect for women. I wanted someone who fought with me, riling me up just because she could, or even winning a leg race, or better yet a sparring match. One with whom I would never have to fall into a routine with."
Her voice was small, but he heard it sharply nonetheless.
"Did you find her?"
"It took a while, but yes, I did."
"Who was she?"
He raised his eyebrows at her, looking for any sign of mocking in her features. How could she not know?
"Cynthia…her name is Cynthia."
Understanding seemed to dawn on her features as she looked away. She muttered an apology for asking and fell silent once again.
"It's quite alright, you know. I have come to terms with it. You do not have to feel guilty at all."
"Do you think I was feeling guilty?"
He smiled a little, "Considering you have done nothing by apologize when the topic comes up, yes, I suppose I did believe you were feeling guilty."
The tips of her ears seemed to twinge red with a little embarrassment, but whether it was from the cold getting to her or actual embarrassment, he did not know. Her adamant refusal to look at him, however, hinted at the former.
"Not many would be so forgiving to such a cruel rejection."
Her words carried over to him. She truly was distressing herself over the issue more than he thought she would. Was this why she was kinder to him? Because her guilt forced her to go out of her way to make him feel better? Did she pity him?
He certainly hoped that was not true. He hoped that, deep down in the abyss of her nature, she was turning a kinder eye in his direction. He couldn't give up hope that one day…one day, just maybe she might look fondly in his direction.
"Not many have such few friends that grudges can be held when the mistake is clearly the aggressor's fault. Perhaps I am merely grateful that we still are friends."
She seemed to scoff at the suggestion.
"I hardly think I have been much of a friend to you lately."
He raised his eyebrows in protest, "On the contrary, you are. Why else did Islanzadi Drottning look kindly upon a human Rider or the fact you taught me of Elvish customs, thereby gaining favor of many elves believing I was as ignorant as the rest of my kind. It was likely I would have been captured when I stayed behind at Helgrind if you had not come if what you say about the Dragon Rider walking the lands and the forests knowing is true and I have no doubt it is. You saved me from Durza even when the relations between the Dwarves and the Varden could have been compromised. You taught me how to silence in the wolves in my head, something that would have taken my sanity away had you not pushed it from my mind. You believed in me…and that speaks volumes about you as a friend. And so, since the fault was clearly mine, I cannot hold a grudge against you for my obvious lack of judgment and I truly am grateful we are still friends."
Arya looked at him with a wondrous expression, "You must understand, I did not have the intention that had been resulted from my actions. It was merely…"
She trailed off, not knowing exactly what her actions had been.
"Then unintentionally, you have been a great friend."
His firm voice silenced the matter. He would not hear of any other belief for himself. Scrimmaging around the campsite, he threw an apple to her. Her Elvin reflexes saved her from missing the fast fruity projectile. Taking a grateful bite, she turned to munch on her late night snack in silence.
He pulled a fallen twig closer to him and started tracing patterns in the soil. At first they did not seem to have any rhyme or reason, just patterns. But after a while, they took on the appearance of names. Specifically those he loved: Saphira, Arya, Roran, Arya, Brom, Arya, Garrow, Arya, Oromis, Arya…he sighed and threw the stick in the flames, watching it lit up and burn quickly in the heat.
He couldn't help but draw parallels to that twig and his heart. Devoted to the people…person he loved and being consumed by it until there was nothing left, literally. His eyes worked their way back up to the fire, becoming more and more interested in the memories erupting from his mind.
"Why do the flames hold your interest?"
He was brought out of his rapture.
"I find them soothing. The crackling, the sounds, it seems I can go into a meditative state just by listening to the sounds. I feel at peace…one of the few times I do."
Pulling his eyes towards his hand, he watched his shadow bounce with the flames.
"Why did you change?"
"Why does that question hold your interest so?"
Her sharp gaze flicked to his, "Because it is the only one I cannot answer."
"How so?"
She sighed deeply, unsure as to how to answer her quagmire without revealing too much.
"I can figure out your motivation for nigh all else you do. Why you fight? To protect the people you love. Why you choose to write poetry? To have a way to express your love that you cannot express outside. Why you continue to stand up for your morals even though what you sacrifice is much greater? To prove to the world that you are moral and that you will not turn evil, to prove to yourself that you are good. But you continued to do this previously, when you were carefree. My question is why you changed your personality when all you believed in remains the same."
He knew the answer to that question. Hell, anyone who saw the way he looked at the Elvin princess could figure out the answer to that question, so why was she unable to see what everyone else seemed to plainly assume?
"I was too emotional, Arya svit-kona, and frankly I cannot afford to be so any longer."
"Your emotions led you to your beliefs. How can you so willingly abandon them?"
"I have not abandoned them, Arya svit-kona, I have merely learned to conceal them. Oromis-ebirthil told me the most valuable skill I could learn is not letting my enemy discover my feelings by looking at me. I have learned to separate these feelings in my mind, so my memories are simply a run down of what happened. This way, if I am ever captured, my true name cannot be discovered as the essential part of my memories, my feelings, cannot be determined."
Her eyes flashed with anger.
"I am not your enemy! And neither am I your captor."
But you are. You are the worst of each kind.
And it was true. Enemies sought his death, yet her refusal of him killed him. He no longer lived, merely existed. And she was his captor. She captured his mind and heart so fully it would not have mattered if she uttered his true name or not. He was her slave till the day his life left his body. She caused him a pain like no other, a stabbing, a piercing so deep, the blade of her indifference refused to move from his heavy heart.
"Must you be so indifferent with even me. You know the subtlest changes in my mood, yet I never know yours."
It was better that way. She would never speak to him again if she knew his emotions.
"Is that why you seek the answer to that question? Because I know you better than you know me. Because you feel inferior to me in that sense?"
He knew he should not have said anything remotely implying that. But it was for the best that she did not know why he changed, it was the best option to keep her curious mind from approaching the truth behind his actions.
"How dare you even consider such a thought! I thought you might have understood me, and now I realize exactly how mistaken I was. You truly do not know anything me and clearly I do not know anything about you either. You have learned nothing!"
Her face held poorly hidden anger as her eyes flashed a bright green.
How someone could look that attractive in anger, he would never discover. But her wrath instilled more desires in him than before.
Barzul! Would this never stop?
Even her anger could not deter his feelings.
"It is late, Arya svit-kona. Perhaps we should rest."
She narrowed her eyes at his lack of response to her accusations, but her expression turned haughty as she rose with the utmost grace from her seated position and laid down on the thin blanket she packed for travel.
Her breathing evened out and soon Eragon could tell she had sent herself into the Elvin realm of dreams. He brought his hands and wrapped them around his shoulders before resting fully against the fallen log. Staring into the flames, he finally succumbed to the sleep he forced himself into.
Saphira had risen as dawn crept into the sky. She carefully nudged her Rider awake and yawned loudly. As carefully as he could, Eragon slipped into Arya's realm of dreams and woke her gently. Her wrath at him did not wear off during the night if his assumption of her renowned Elvin fury was anywhere near where he believed it to be. Her eyes snapped open, but she carefully avoided his gaze whenever she could.
The silence between them was an uneasy one, but it was for the best. Maybe her indifference towards him would finally deter his determined heart from seeking her love. He staged the fight, letting her words remain uncontested. Perhaps that way, she could believe he truly meant them and would distance herself from him. It was safer for her anyhow. Soldiers of the Empire would no doubt see how he rushed to protect her when she was surrounded or how he attacked the Shade in his weakened state for her or even healed her when it was so detrimental to his life. They would know of his feelings for her, and for her sake, it would be better if she did not even remotely reciprocate his feelings.
He sighed deeply as he realized he was doing the one thing he hated doing to her. Protecting her by lying to her. Galbatorix would target her to get to him. This one time, he would be dishonest, knowing she hated it, and see that she remained unharmed.
She will not stay silent for long, you do realize that.
The voice of reason belonging to a certain Sapphire dragon moved easily through his head.
She is Arya Drottningu, an Elvin princess. She has the stubbornness of a mountain, she will not move from her decision once it is made.
Why did you say what you did? You do not even believe it.
You know why, Saphira. You know why. If I told her I changed because she could not love who I was, she would distance herself from me, but everyone would know I loved her. I cannot have that. It would danger her. It was best if I distanced myself and she knew nothing of how I felt for her, if anything were to happen, they would be more lenient towards her. I cannot have her in danger because of me.
Protecting her is a sign of disrespect you hated last night.
I can do many things I hate for the protection of the people I love.
You would violate your rules and morals for them.
For Arya, not for them. For Arya, for her, I would rot in Hell for the rest of eternity so she could live a happier life.
Oh, Little one.
Do not pity me, Saphira. I am in love, and even though she does not love me, her safety means just as much.
Their link remained silent for the duration of the trip. Saphira covered nearly half the distance the previous day across the Spine. They had two more days of traveling at least.
It was nightfall when they landed again. It was a relatively safe clearing, or so they thought. A rustling in the bushes around them raised a light alarm. Saphira was already honing in on her senses to pinpoint the distress. The bush shook even more.
Eragon drew his flaming blade silently, waiting for what lie behind the shrubbery.
A small white furry creature emerged from the depths and he sighed in relief. He let out a chuckle and turned towards his companions. A small smile on her face showed even her relief.
"Not so fast, Rider."
He turned around quickly, fear rising in him. Eragon was easily thrown back ten feet and behind the shadows of the forest rose an eight foot tall figure.
"We are Manilov. And we are here for you, Rider."
The multiple voices gave away the identity of the thing in front of them.
Galbatorix created another Shade.
Arya immediately leapt into action, drawing her sword and attacking at its weakest point, but she was thrown back from the force of his blade against a tree. Saphira tried in vain to escape her confinement and let out a fiery, smoldering breath. But to no avail, it merely caved around him and evaporated.
Eragon leapt to his feet, quickly saying some wards for his protection. His flaming sword connected with Manilov's and he tried to keep up with the Shade's fast movements. His Elvin companion darted past him and made an attack of her own but she was thrown against Saphira, only to be joined by him moments later.
It was powerful, far more powerful than the others.
Eragon!
Arya's voice rang out through his head and he realized that her throat was being constricted.
Lifting his beaten body up, he engaged the Shade in a futile duel and attacked him with his mind. The sudden lapse in uniformity allowed Arya to breath, but Eragon was quickly overpowered.
"The King wants you later. She is ordered to die."
Fear rose through him as he realized he was speaking about Arya. In a desperate attempt to get to her, Eragon threw himself in front of the Shade's descending blade, catching it in his shoulder as he cried out in pain.
"Eragon!"
Little one!
"Go!"
Eragon held the Shade's arm to him with a renewed strength. Until they escaped, he would keep him here.
"Go! Arya! Saphira! Get out now!"
I am not leaving you!
"I am the one who should stay! You are too valuable."
He was running out of strength to hold.
"Come for me later." His voice was barely a whisper with his failing strength. The Shade cried out as he tried unsuccessfully to break the Rider's grip.
"The King will not kill me, he needs Saphira. Come for me later. Go now! There is no time."
No, Little one! I am not leaving.
He cried out in frustration.
Go, Saphira! Get out! You cannot follow me! Take Arya and get out!
He yelled at her in the Ancient Language, forcing her to see the truth in his words.
With a pained yell, Saphira scooped up the princess in her claws and flew away, releasing one fiery breath as her promise to get him back.
"You will pay for that, Rider."
And his world went black and cold.
Cold water splashed in his face. His vision was groggy when he first opened up.
Another bout of water. He yelped out, but his vision cleared.
Manilov stood in front of him with two of his Empire soldier minions. He discovered with horror he could no longer use magic and his body was thoroughly drugged with something he did not know.
"Swear you allegiance to the king and we will set you free."
He smirked at him, "Where is your king now? Off to let you do his dirty work for him."
A hand smacked his face and a little blood trickled down.
"Does he leave you to this type of work while he does something more important?"
Another hand hit him.
"To answer your question, because your dragon is not here, the king has no interest with you. He allowed me to keep a hold of you until Saphira comes. Then, and only then, will you be useful to him. In the meanwhile, you are mine, Rider."
Eragon glanced at his surroundings and groaned in vain. He had no idea where he was and neither could he find out from the Shade surreptitiously.
Trying to move his arms, he realized he was hanging from his arms, his torso left bare. His tunic lay shredded in the corner and his feet were tied separately to chains. He was hanging from a portable ledge made for spreading out a body for whipping.
"Leave us."
The soldiers obeyed the cold, chilling voice and left the room.
"We are to have fun, Rider. Do stop me if it gets to be too much."
An evil laugh filled the chamber as a whip cracked down on his back. He silently grunted, but he did not cry out. He was stronger than this, far stronger.
Another sting on his back. The cuts were shallow enough, this pain was nothing to the cuts and slices he felt. And the Shade knew it too as he yelled in frustration.
He pulled a chain from the little box of hell he decided to bring and repeatedly hit the Rider with those.
"Stronger than our will to break you, are we Rider?"
The chain whipped itself around once again, smacking his face, drawing even more blood from his lip. Long bruises formed across his body where it struck repeatedly, but he had not cried out yet.
"Fine."
Manilov let the chain sit in the roaring flames for a few minutes. Eragon shivered in anticipation, he knew what was coming next. But he was stronger, he would be stronger than this.
The gloved hand reached and grabbed the cool part of the chain. Steam floated off the metal and Eragon already could feel the hot crack across his back. Nothing prepared him for the actual sensation, however.
He finally cried out as the searing hot metal burned through his skin, leaving a red mark or bleeding in other places. The Shade laughed again and hit him again, even harder.
His entire body was covered in bruises or blood with the heat. The sun had gone down and a last resounding crack resulted in a rib cracking. Nearly crying, Eragon began to breath deeply to get through the pain.
He would not break. He could not break.
He would tell nothing of the Varden, the plans, the elves, or anything for that matter. He would survive and wait till Arya and Saphira finished the war.
Manilov let his chains down and he fell with a nasty crunch on the floor.
"Rot here till we start tomorrow."
Eragon shuddered in the corner, forcing the tears in his eyes back toward the depths they came from. He let his breathing slow as he thought of Saphira and Arya. Now, only their memories could save his sanity.
The cell door creaked open once again and the Rider inwardly groaned at the noise. He believed he would have just a little longer before he had to experience it again.
Manilov pulled at the chains he was attached to and once again he was left hanging in the middle of the room. Water was poured on his face and he mouth was forced open as the sickly liquid was thrown in his mouth carelessly. A soldier took a few bits of bread stuffed in his mouth, clamping it shut so he had no choice but to swallow if he wanted to breathe.
The Shade said nothing to him. Instead he dismissed the soldiers and turned his gaze back.
"Ready for round two? I do not understand why you resist telling me. No one will come for you."
He hoped no one did, it could be disastrous if they did.
He felt a sharp edge rake down his back, his hot blood immediately drawn as it flowed down his back. He steeled himself together and prepared for today.
"These past few weeks you have been nothing more than unresponsive. So I created something new for you."
A long, thin whip lay in his arms, but there was something off about it. Unsure as to what it was, Eragon looked closer and widened his eyes in alarm.
The whip was glistening with broken glass. The leather material was doused in some glue and then rolled in broken glass, making the edges rougher and rougher.
His understanding initiated some laughter on his torturers part.
How long had he been here?
He knew not.
Manilov took a blade and cut the pant material from his body, leaving him utterly bare. The first crap of the whip came hard on his back, opening up wounds and streaking across the formed scabs. He moved to the front and began assaulting his body from there. The glass caught on his skin and raked across, edging and tearing at his flesh. It did not take long for the Rider to scream in pain, but he still did not break. He thought of Saphira and Arya, using them to make his barriers impeccable.
The whip came hard on his body once again and soon there was not an inch on his that was not covered in wet blood.
"We start again tomorrow."
And he was left, hanging still, his body completely naked to the cold air as the blood dried on him.
Ah, the pain!
His breathing slowed down, become less labored, but still heavy nonetheless. His admiration for Arya grew immensely. Not giving up anything under the Shade's torture only made him love her more.
Barzul!
He hoped Arya could not scry him. She could not know what was happening to him, could not know at all the pain he was going through.
Struggling in vain against his chains, he gasped in distress. It was no use. They were strong and he was growing weaker and weaker.
Sleep eluded him and he sighed in resignation as Manilov opened the cell once again. Instead of that accursed whip, he had a small knife with him. It was sharp, but he was slowly forgetting why he could tell. He had blocked the pain, blocking all feelings and soon he blocked his memories.
Anything that raised his desires to leave, he blocked from his mind.
The knife glistening menacingly in front of him, and once again Eragon steeled his bloody, ravaged muscles for the onslaught.
It moved with painful slowness across his chest, straight down his chest, almost marking his sternum with a long gash.
"This is a new type of torture I have been inventing. There are certain places on your body that an injury an inch deep will not kill you. I have found these places…because of my practice on other soldiers."
The knife pierced his thigh and dragged across a small way before the blood oozed out without abandon.
He was breathing heavily, letting the pain run over him. He felt it slide along his calf muscle, yielding the same results.
It raked over his arms, his chest, his buttocks, even a few times along his manly member, all to elicit such painful experiences from his body. After the next couple of weeks, his entire body was covered in short scars that lined his body and face in multiple places. The cuts were no more than an inch long, but thousands of them covered his body. He could no longer see the skin anymore.
But it did not matter, he didn't even know who or where he was.