I had thought that the previous chapter was too short, so I hope this one's long enough. R&R
Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others.
Hobbled, disoriented, and shaking with trepidation, Ildruën was led into what he sensed was a brightly lit room, guessing from the light that passed through his blindfold. His legs ached from knocking into stairways and walls, which the guards encouraged by steering him into the wrong directions. Even now, Ildruën could hear their stifled snickers as they pushed him forward. His knees buckled, and Ildruën hit the hard floor with a crack! He winced as pain shot up from his legs, but silenced his cry, refusing to give the guards any more satisfaction. A hand roughly held his head in place from behind, and tugged off his blind. Ildruën squinted from the light that emanated from the windows to his right. As he eyes adjusted, he realized where he was.
He knelt in a great hall with ceiling beams that rose for at least five hundred feet, supported with sloping arches carved in likeness of dragons. A row of long, narrow windows beside him opened up to what he knew was the high view of Dras-Leona. Guards were stationed in front and behind him, from what he could tell from their breathing, and the marble floor was a shade of dark, rich green, with black spider-web like webbings forever frozen in the earth.
It was then that Ildruën noticed the throne before him. It was of elegant build, but cut angularly, and siting on it was the Queen.
She had changed from her white gown to be replaced by a vibrant purple dress, with a rippling collar and sleeves that ended at her palms. Her skin was like polished ebony, dark as the sun was bright, with striking black eyes and cheeks. Her coarse hair was bounded on top of her head and held in place by a diamond diadem.
She was of slender build, light and delicate, but there was an air of importance when her arms moves, or when her eyes flashed. No doubt that this was Nadara II, heir of the Empire and high queen.
Ildruën was surprised by how young she looked. She couldn't have been older than sixteen, seventeen, the same age as Ildruën. He started when she spoke, breaking the impenetrable silence around them. "Guards, you are dismissed." Even her voice rang with power. The soldier saluted, and then marched out of the hall, boots creating an arithmetic beat on the ground. The last of them closed the door, with a solid thump.
Silence reigned as deadly as an adder hidden in the grass; prepared to pounce at any given moment. There was the sound of shoes as she stood and began to move. Ildruën kept his eyes cast downwards, hesitating. A moment lapsed. When Nadara made no to speak, he wrenched his gaze up towards her.
Instead of gazing at him, the queen was standing with her back to Ildruën, gazing at the quilt that was slung over the wall behind her throne. It was the Empire's symbol, of a white dragon clutching a rose in its claw and with a sword pointed downwards into a purple field. Ildruën recognized the significance of the flag from his studies. This originally was the Varden's seal, two hundred years ago when this near-legend of an army marched to the gates of Urû'baen and defeated Galbatorix.
The Queen sighed, before turning to face him. Her eyes rested heavily on Ildruën, like a sword prepared to drive through him, tear open his insides, searching for the secret that he held within his mind and body. Ildruën shivered and averted his eyes.
"Two hundred years," the queen murmured. "Two hundred years since Queen Nasuada ascended the throne. Now, as her descendant, it is my duty to uphold the peace that she fought for when she was of my age. But today, this peace had been broken in the most heinous method possible . . . tell me, what is your name?"
"Ildruën Dauthirsson, your Majesty."
She sauntered over and kneeled before him. From her sleeve, she withdrew a small key and unlocked Ildruën's shackles. The metal hands clattered to the ground, giving a ring that echoed through the hall. Ildruën rubbed his wrists to start his blood flowing. "Then I must thank you, Ildruën, for saving my life today. And where had you learned such things that save me? Do you know magic?"
"What?" Ildruën's mind reeled. "N-no, your Majesty. My father was a blacksmith, and taught me how to use the crossbow and others besides. I've never learned magic either . . . or never wanted to." Except, of course, if I ever become a Rider. He quickly dismissed the thought.
He eyes bore into him again, and he sensed that she did not believe him. After a tense second, she nodded, and sat on her throne again. "I was merely testing you, Ildruën. If I knew you were lying, would I have asked you in the beginning? No, the bolts you used were enchanted; they easily would slip through any enchantments on the assassins and on me as well. I was lucky, I suppose, that you were there to save us unawares. Soon after the body fell onto the street, my magicians soon discovered the plot, and weaseled out the traitors in the crowd. You deserve a reward, for saving my life."
"It was nothing, your Majesty. I needn't anything whatsoever." Ildruën said. Yet the thought of enchantments disturbed him. How had his apple core gotten through the assassin's wards?
. . . Odd, indeed. "Yet how were none of your magicians able to sense the assassins' minds, your Majesty? Couldn't they have spotted them before?"
Her brows rose. "You know than you take credit for, Ildruën, son of Dauthir. Certainly not, the assassins' minds were very well guarded, and covered by mild, normal everyday thoughts. It was skillfully done, but by whom, we do not know. When the remaining assassin awakes, we will interrogate him. But until then, we are left in the dark."
Ildruën lowered his eyes, playing with the shackles at hand. "If you would not mind, your Majesty, I would prefer to be free to leave."
She seemed surprised. "Why?"
"Please accept my apologies, but with the queen fawning over one of your subjects creates a wave a jealously I would rather not be involved in. It is imprudent for one in my stature, as it is to you, your Majesty. I rather like a leave and restore my quiet life than be mingled with my superiors, a place I should not belong."
"Yet there is a pro and con to the majority of arguments, Ildruën." Nadara said. "I am not aggrandizing and trying to have you made into, say, a duke, but I would like to show my appreciation for my people and what they have done for me. A Queen is not a queen for nothing. It is the people who are one of the most important factors of a kingdom. And contrary to what you said, I will not take no for an answer." A smile danced on her lips. "Tonight, we shall have a feast to honor your bravery and skill. Until then, you are welcome to food and bath and housing."
Dismay filled Ildruën; he hid it expertly behind a blank face. A celebration was the last thing he needed. If this is what I get when a save a queen, then it would've been better if I hadn't! "But—"
"Ardisia?" Nadara enquired, overriding his protests. "May you escort Ildruën to his rooms?"
The door opened, and a portly, stout maid with grey hair knotted in a bun shuffled in, hulling Ildruën to his feet. He loomed at least a foot over her wide frame.
As she started to scoot him out of the great hall, Ildruën turned around, despite the maid's objections. "Your Majesty, please, I don't need—"
With a prompt push, far stronger than Ildruën would've thought for a woman her age, Ardisia shoved Ildruën into the corridor, and shut the door behind them, blocking Nadara from view.
Nadara's smile faded from her lips, and she drummed her fingers on the armchair. What a modest man. So stubborn, and yet so dignified all the same. It would've been better if he was a greedy boot-head instead . . . Nay, perhaps not so drastic. "What do you think of him, Elva?"
Nadara sensed a person stir in the room. A harsh voice, filled with the tone of an adult that has faced all the horrors of this world, murmured from the shadows, "He speaks the truth about magic. His past, however, is not as true as it seems."
Nadara shivered without meaning to. Hearing Elva speak was always alarming for one, regardless of how long Nadara had known the Witch-Woman. "Will you tell me who he is?"
" . . . No, I will not. His reasons for hiding his true self are his own problems. I know, however, that he'll do you no harm."
"Good," Nadara shifted to the side to watch as Elva padded from the shadows. The Witch-Woman had grown over the centuries, but her life was prolonged, and her appearance youthful. This woman looked about Nadara's own age, with pale, bone-white skin that was stark against her shoulder-length hair. She wore a violet robe over her slim figure, a deeper, more violent shade than the queen's. When she lifted her bowed head, large orbs of purple gazed back at Nadara with a burning intensity, accompanied with a long nose and cupid-bow mouth. Between her brows was a silver gedwëy-ignasia, shaped as a star, which rumor has it was given to Elva when she was a babe, from the great she-dragon Saphira. She smiled, pearl-like teeth glinting, and said in her terrible voice, "Fate has finally converged upon us, Nadara, heir of Nasuada. And he shall guide us to it."
Nadara hesitated. ". . . What do you mean?"
"Exactly as I said," Smirking, Elva lowered her head, veiling her eyes behind thick black bangs, and backed away. The shadows soon devoured her again, and her steps faded to silence.
"I said," Ildruën grumbled. "That I don't need any of this!"
He thrust away a stack of silk clothes, kicking off a pair of shiny leather boots. "Please, just leave me in peace!"
The crowd of maids and servants before him charged at him again, offering fine livery that was too attractive and brightly colored for Ildruën's taste. He scowled and, grabbing a new sword along with its jewel-embedded scabbard from his bed, waved it at the people before him. "Back! Back! I'm not afraid to use this!"
The crowd wavered in line, the people hesitating. A moment passed, before they pounced on Ildruën again, trying to shove a pair of new gloves on his hands or yank off his tunic to replace it with a newer one. Ildruën cried out and thrashed under the sea of bodies, trying to squirm away from them and their raucous calls.
"But, sir, you must look presentable for the Queen and the royal court!"
"I think this looks fine on you!"
"Please, my lord! Wear this!"
"No, this!"
"But, my Lord—"
"My Lord—"
"My Lord—"
"ENOUGH!" A voice boomed from the door. The servants jumped, glancing nervously to the entrance, before backing away with their wares, heads bowed shamefully. They parted for Ardisia to stomp in, a fierce scowl on her brow. Even though the majority of the group was taller than her, she seemed to swell in size as she glowered at them. "Shame!" she cried. "Shame for tackling sir Ildruën like a pack of wild jackals! Shame! Shame! Shame! Now, leave us in peace!" Cowed, the servants scurried out the door with the fine suits and swords and tunics and boots hugged against their chests, and with their postures slightly bowed, as though afraid the heavens might crack with unearthly thunder.
The quiet that settled seemed too peaceful. When they had all gone, Ardisia sighed and helped Ildruën to his feet, her voice calmed. "Crazy children, all of them. In my days we would've had them strung up from the ceilings by their nose." Chuckling to herself, she rummaged through the piles still littered on his bed, searching for something.
"Thank you for that, Ardisia." Ildruën said, still shaken. "I would've taken a band of assassins any day."
"Just doing my job, youngling. I am the matron of the house, after all." Muttering, she withdrew from the pile what seemed to be a simple white tunic with lace-work by the wrists and collar. "Nothing fancy, eh? What of this?" And with it, she yanked out brown leather leggings and a silver jerkin to match.
Despite himself, Ildruën eyed it with approval. Not to fancy, not to simple . . . it was . . . Ildruën shook his head, remembering all his reasons. "But no, Ardisia, I can't go to it."
She raised a brow. "And why ever not? Being honored by the queen isn't an everyday thing. You're a hero."
"I was just doing what was reasonable." he protested. "I'm no one special."
"Ah, but you're actions betray you, sir." She winked. "You saved the queen. Want it or not, like it or not, 'tis hard not to be recognized for your feat. Tell you what; if you do this one feast, then I'll convince the queen to let you go, and you'll be thrashing around in the pigs in no time. Don't however, and I'll pester the queen to have you made as a royal captain."
His blood froze. Ildruën stumbled back, horrified. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, I would." Her eyes twinkled. "Now, are you going to pull on these pants yourself, or should I?"
"This is ridiculous."
"Hush, you look fine."
They stood before the closed doors of the great hall, defended by a set of guards and a formidable looking magician with a dense beard. Ildruën could dimly hear the sounds of laughter and music from the room within. He shifted nervously. Being so near the noble court and the queen already made him itch.
Ardisia strode towards the wiry magician, who was standing between a set of looming guards. With his thin frame and height that barely brushed the soldier's shoulders, he seemed like a doll between them. Frowning, the magician twirled his mustache with a long finger. "Name?" he drawled.
"Oh, don't be so formal, Archibald. You know who we are."
He scowled. "Name?" he insisted.
She sighed. "Ardisia Cyionesdaughter."
"Reason here?"
"To escort Ildruën Dauthirsson to his feast of honor with the queen."
"Swear that in the Ancient Language."
Ardisia sighed, shaking her head, but did as he said anyway, saying something in a strange tongue Ildruën did recognize. Even if he hadn't, he would've felt the power of the words in the air, each like a drumbeat that made him shiver. The Language of Power, and of all Beings and Truth; the Ancient Language.
When Ardisia finished, the magician grunted and waved his hand, stepping to the side. The guards beside him grasped a handle each, before pulling.
Ildruën shot a glance at Ardisia for support. She smiled encouragingly, before backing away.
Light shined through the widening space, and Ildruën's mouth watered as he smelled the delicious things wafting from the room; spiced pork and sweet fruits and honeyed cakes, all siting there just waiting to be eaten. But then he stiffened, like a deer caught in the middle of the night.
Nadara stopped what she was doing and studied Ildruën. The white tunic, jerkin and leggings suited him well, just as Nadara had expected from Ardisia's critical eye. She was amused at how trapped he appeared for an instant—blue eyes wide, mouth firm, and hands clenched. Then, his expression softened, and his entire appearance was transformed. Nadara was impressed by how easily he was able to blend into the style most suitable. It seemed that he had much practice with it, and Nadara again wondered who he was. To her right, the Lady Iviana giggled behind her gloved hand. "He is a handsome one, isn't he, my Lady?"
"Yes," Nadara said stiffly, raising a goblet to her lips. "He is," Elva said his past was scattered. Then does he know how great his destiny is?
Her eyes flickered over to the shadows to her left, where she knew Elva hid. I hope her guess is right.
. . . And I hope I am right as well.
Lords and ladies all stopped their conversations and turned to look at him, some appearing friendly, and others not so much. Ildruën also noticed a few nimble, noble figures sitting on the table as well; they were so beautiful and exotic, he knew them at once to be elves, as he noted from the distrustful yet intrigued glances from the people around them. The elves eyed him calmly, postures full of grace and movements elegant. He also noticed a scattering of short, incredibly hairy men with beards spilling down their front—dwarves, he assumed.
At the far end sat Queen Nadara, dressed in a brilliant gold. Beside her on her left was a man with thick brows and a sharp chin—Lord Fenvigur, Governor of the city, and on Nadara's other side, separated by an empty seat, was a very pretty girl which he guessed to be Lord Fenvigur's daughter, the Lady Iviana.
Silence reigned for a long time, before Nadara began to clap. The rest soon followed their example, including some of the elves, which finally broke into laughing cries as some of the lords stood to congratulate him. Dazed, Ildruën proceeded to be acknowledged, shaken hands with, patted on the back, and so forth by the most powerful people in Alagäesia. Finally, he made his way to Nadara.
The Queen studied him with a sharp eye, before nodding in approval. "Sit, Ildruën." And he sat between the queen and the Lady Iviana as the cheering subsided, and the talk began. Ildruën picked up his food and began to eat, careful to have his head bowed while he did. From the corner of her eye, he noticed Nadara staring at him, and he hesitated, straightening a little.
Adjacent to him, Lady Iviana chatted with Ildruën and attempted to edge a little closer. Ildruën edged away and countered her flirting with reprimanding politeness, but other than that, he enjoyed his feast. The musicians played well, the meal was delightful, and after a while some of the dwarves stood and showed then a little entertainment by battling with their axes. The people cheered.
The elves were the only ones that remained impassive through the feast. Their eyes always seemed to rest on him, strangely. But the nobles were of a different matter. They grinned and talked and laughed . . . Yet despite the smiles they showed, Ildruën sensed that the lords and ladies around him did not appreciate him sitting by their table. Ildruën snorted inwardly. Of course, they had stood to praise him only to be well with the queen. They would rather have Ildruën bowing to their knees than standing to greet him . . . like an equal. His fingers tightened on his fork. Bloody nobility. They were all the same.
Thoughts of amusement were shattered. He finally remembered by he never wanted to stay here. That's it, Ildruën growled. I'll leave at first light.
Decision made, he spent the rest of the night planning how he was going to escape. But as he raised his cup to take a sip of wine, someone in the shadows shrieked. "Stop!"
Silence. The people froze, and started as a woman wearing long purple robes stumbled from the darkness. She clutched her head, and screamed once more.
Nadara stood and raised her hand as guards were barging into the room from the sudden commotion. "Enough. You needn't draw your blades. What is it, Elva?" she asked, turning to the pale woman.
But Elva never had a chance to speak. The doors behind the guards burst open in bang! And the guards were thrown forward like feathers in a burst of red light, only to have been knocked to the ground, unconscious. The explosion was so powerful that the doors broke off their hinges to lay battered on the ground, streaked with ash. Tables crashed to the side, upending goblets and plates, and the nobles staggered to their feet, frightened as their magicians marched from the shadows, standing protectively before their masters. The elves raised their fair hands and began to chant in the Ancient Language. The dwarves hefted their axes and war hammers.
The soldiers that were by the back of the great hall rushed forward and surrounded their Queen, swords drawn.
And standing where the doors once were was two dark figures, each cloaked in dark robes that covered their faces, slightly hunchbacked, and carrying leaf-shaped blades in their claws.
In hissing voices, they screeched, "Die!"
Chapter Notes: Guess who? :)