No love, just words best left unuttered
A week had past since she said his name.
Arya swore, "barzûl" she said, ill fate indeed! She knew deep down how foolish she was, but to keep her from staying away from the world, and from shunning the duties she so could not object, she uttered it. His true name, the very fibre of his being, his very essence. His name spoke of the light and dark, but what was most prominent, even more prominent then that with his bonding with Saphira, was the deep rooted love and affection for her, unquestionable loyalty, perhaps, a devotion to her that no other being elf or human, dwarf or urgal would share.
She treasured this most, but by saying his name, she could see him, as well as she could see him as if he were in the courts of elléssmíra as she was her self.
But she swore never the less, she felt no wiser for saying it, she condemned herself more because of the trust she felt she broke from saying it. Fírnen, the beautiful dragon of evergreen that she was so fortunate to be bonded with perked up, as if aroused by a scent, his mourning intermingled with hers about the loss of saphira, as she was of Eragon, to perhaps never to see them again.
Thoughts from an elf in the court hesitantly asked arya for her attention, which she responded affirmatively. He said concisely "a mirror in the room of táfalt has requested your presence, our bearer of the yëwë, speaker for the varden, Vanir is there" she thanked him. And walked over to a tree that was called tàfalt and asked it to open for her, a knot in the centre opened and gave her entrence, fìrnen did not follow, though the tree gave enough room for him and the room was spacious, but kept his thoughts tethered to her allowing him to be informed of the proceedings.
The älfa in the mirror stared blankly and reacted only slightly to arya's presence, then raised two fingers to his sternum in a gesture of respect.
He stated the traditional words of greeting.
"Arya drötting Atra esternì ono thelduin"
To which she replied
"Mor'ranr lìfa unin hjarta onr"
He then added, perhaps out of habit
"Un du evarìnya ono varda"
Vanir inclined his head slightly, waiting for arya to ask why she was to be called, she acted to his wishes "to what do I owe the pleasure vanir? Is there perhaps a war starting? A political wrong doing?" She said these as to give vanir a message, she wanted him to be succinct.
"Your exalted, there has been great news, the egg dispatched by vàlidor has hatched, a women of 23 named rochelle has been bonded with a Dragon which is female also, I alert to you this so you may be able to talk to her in your own time, what would you like me to do?" He spoke with a slightly annoyed tone, though it peppered through his voice, he feigned "pleasant talk" well thought arya.
"Inform the rider of her position and give her all that she asks for, weather that be knowledge or of service, but do not inform her of magic, as nusuada would find it untasteful to see humans gaining more magical knowledge under the guidance of the älfya, she still wishes to control the magic users of alagaësia. Ask her wether she wishes to journey to du weldenvarden to gain more knowledge as a rider, and help her look after her dragon." She spoke short and strained, thinking quickly about the consequences, her thoughts getting progressively lighter and mellower, Fírnen was jubilant about another of his brethren entering the world.
Vanir accepted the instructions and thanked arya for her time, by which she then made her way towards the throne and sat, it was then that she experienced it, a tremor pass through her body, her very being yearned to shield it self, but she could hear distinctly in her minds eye, the deep and somber thoughts, they were familiar, but more graceful then the last, more knowing, as if he had lived hundreds of years more then he had, for she knew what had happened, Eragon whispered her true name. She tried speaking his, but could not, because his new name had changed, the words seemed stale and stilted, useless and unwelcoming, they meant no more then a wave of wind in the air, soothing, perhaps interesting for some, but useless never the less.
She smacked her fist upon the arm of her throne, she noticed lately that she was getting angrier then late, spending many a days in the sparring grounds of Ellísmira, completely destroying any opponent that wished to face her. Among her emotional change, be that for good or ill, her hair had grown brown, a lighter mousy brown then the black that she possessed, she did not sing her self this way, for she welcomed any natural means that her body had shaped, and was not like that of her kind, who sung them-self into any shape or animal.
vanity; the tool of our destruction she thought grimly.
Though she hardly cared nor noticed, her scent had changed ever so slightly, fírnen pointed it out one morning, almost startled by her change. He tossed aside this emotion like a yacht in the ocean, saying that he preferred the smell anyway.
These changes are not from my emotions, they are equating to something she said to Fírnen. It was this that Fírnen pondered, curled up in a nest that was sung so he could rest near arya's throne. He thought for a while on this and started trying to find changes in himself, arya questioned him, equating any change that he might of had to growth as he was only a hatchling, yet to achieve the size of thorn or saphira, which he would achieve roughly the same size at the age of five, before growth depended on the diet of the dragon.
"No," he spoke with his mind, the music of his voice deep and regal, like that of a commanding king. "The changes in me are more subtle, like trying to catch a salmon in a stream. My thoughts shade the world around me differently, and have been so ever since that of Eragons magic. I believe that his magic will have further reaching implications then you think, neither will a dwarf rider be fully dwarf, perhaps take on more characteristics then just that of the Älfa that humans take on. Perhaps, arya partner-of-heart-and-mind, you will grow horns, and your voice grate like stones as do dwarves, perhaps, your hair is that of a humans. For the most powerful race in the world is them, they may not live like elves do, but perhaps soon they will."
She considered him for a moment, "let us hope i have not to grow horns on my head" she said. She then got up from the throne and went out to the main halls where many were gathered. She cried out to all who were present,
"Atho uno lètha agletham! Lèthia seelàt nutha"
A joyful shout shook the walls of ellísmira like the arms of a hurricane, the jubilant expressions of those who were there, a feast was to be had.