Author's Note: In addition to this chapter, I have updated the Prologue to make more sense canonically and I highly recommend re-reading it. Thanks for all the support so far!
Chapter 1: Ilirea
Ismira was, by far, one of the best archers in Palacar Valley. Of that she was certain, despite the explosion of population in the area that had followed her father Roran back to the valley. It seemed to her that being a war hero had that sort of effect on people: they wanted to follow you places. And as soon as she was strong enough to draw the string fully, she began to shoot. Despite her father's protests, she found herself shooting against boys and men in the town that filled the valley. And as she aged and developed, she began to have to wear tight-fit clothing, to keep her figure from interfering with her favourite hobby. Now, at the age of twenty, she felt confident enough to go to The Games of Alagaësia. The massive celebration was being held outside Ilirea this year, and she was certain that her father would protest her participation.
But to her surprise, he relented, even as the gates of Aroughs had relented in one of his favourite stories of the war. To even further her surprise, he had asked to ride with her to The Games. His words had been, "No daughter of mine is going to best all of Alagaësia without my seeing it!" To which she had smiled and laughed and embraced him. She did not hate her father, in fact, quite the opposite. She loved her father and knew that through his best efforts to keep her home and safe all he meant was for her safety and happiness. And now that it seemed that he finally respected her abilities and was willing to ride with her to Ilirea, she loved him all the more for it. And now she stood in her room, a homely and quaint room, one that would not be found in the home of a commoner, but not one that would be found in the home of royalty. On her bed sat a large bag, one that would hold all of her clothing and equipment during their travels. With only a month until The Games, her father had said that they would have to leave almost immediately.
Her mother's eyes had watered as she stroked Ismira's full head of copper hair and stuttered out a goodbye. "Y-you be safe! Your father's a fine warrior, but he's getting old. Look out for each other. And by the gods come back to me! I'll have your head if you don't!" Ismira smiled and embraced her mother, knowing that she could fend off any sort of bandit as well as a man. Her father had taught her some swordplay, but he would always say that he could not use a sword as well as his hammer, so she often bested him once she had begun to gain some proficiency with the weapon. She saw now that Roran had his hammer upon his belt and a grim look upon his face.
"We can't afford to be slow, it's nearly a three week ride to Ilirea from here. We'll be hard pressed to make it in that time," he said, his voice hard. She nodded and adjusted her pants slightly before climbing onto the brown and white spotted horse that she had come to favor recently. Roran himself sat upon his favorite horse and the one that Eragon had gifted him, Snowfire. The white stallion gleamed in the morning light as Roran gazed at his home, after which he nodded to Ismira and they set out upon the road. The journey was not hard, but it was not easy either. They were up promptly at dawn almost daily, and Ismira worried that she would ride her poor horse, Windheart, into the ground. Alas though, the horse carried her strongly and endured until Ilirea was on the horizon. As the pair rode closer to the great city, Ismira found her anxiety growing. The great stadium where The Games were to be held was nearing completion, and looked as if it could have held all of Alagaësia within its seats. The city of Iliria itself sat beyond the stadium, and the convoy of people between the city and the stadium seemed endless.
As they rode towards the gates, a mighty red dragon swooped overhead and over the walls of the city, and Roran immediately recognized it as Thorn. So, he thought grimly, Murtagh has returned to Ilirea after all. Ismira, however, had never seen such a sight before. She had heard stories of the dragons and their riders, but had never seen them before, and the sheer size of the huge dragon staggered her. Roran spoke, noting her awe, "That's Thorn. He fought against Eragon and Saphira in the war. After Galbatorix was killed, he and his Rider, Murtagh, left Alagaësia. Must be they finally worked up the courage to return." Ismira nodded, watching the dragon circle over the city under the overhang that covered it.
"Will Eragon be here do you think?" she asked, continuing to watch Thorn as the dragon turned and disappeared into a huge pair of gates, the same gates that once held Shruiken in the palace. Roran hesitated, thinking of a response.
"No, I think not. He hasn't come to anything in Alagaësia since he left. We're lucky he still remembers to send you presents every year." Ismira frowned at her father as they passed under the huge gates of the city, thinking of the bitterness he still held for Eragon's disappearance. She remained silent however and followed him through the crowded streets, on which vendors shouted about their wares and attempted to ask every person on the street to come browse their selections. Still other people carried goods out the gates towards the looming stadium, and still more stood about, speaking of the days events and of the things of the world. Most talk was of the coming Games however, and Ismira did not hide her smile when many people turned to call out to her father, shouting "Stronghammer!" Roran returned their cries with a wave or a nod, but otherwise continued on his way, leading Ismira through the winding streets.
They worked their way to the quadrangle before the palace, and Ismira gaped at the sheer number of people clamoring to get into the palace to see Queen Nasuada. Roran had spoken of the chaos of Ilirea before upon his return from his yearly visits to the city, but Ismira had never imagined it to be so unreal. As they approached the gates, one of the guards recognized Roran and shouted out, "Make way! Make way for the Earl of Palancar Valley! Make way for Stronghammer!" And surprisingly enough, the crowds parted for the pair. Many people bowed their heads or called out to Roran, even as they had done in the streets of the city. The guard who had shouted nodded to Roran, "Go on in, Stronghammer. The Queen will see you."
Roran dismounted as a stable-hand came and took the horses from the pair, leading them to what Ismira suspected was the royal stables. A guard broke away from the crowd to escort the father and daughter down the quarter-mile corridor to the throne room of the palace of Ilirea. Queen Nasuada stood in front of her throne, speaking to a group of men. Once the men departed, Roran and Ismira approached her, stopping to kneel before her. The Queen spoke, her voice betraying her surprise at the appearance of Roran: "Rise, Earl Stronghammer and Ismira Katrinasdaughter. Welcome to Ilirea. What brings you here, Roran?" The Queen turned, her long dress flowing behind her as she sat in her throne.
Roran gave a slight bow and spoke, "I've brought my daughter to compete in The Games, your Majesty. With your blessing, I would ask that we stay in the city for the duration of them."
"Of course, Stronghammer." The Queen turned and directed her attention to Ismira, who felt her face flush with embarrassment. Ismira had never thought to be standing before the Queen of Alagaësia, much less be asked a question by her. "So, Ismira Katrinasdaughter. What will you be competing in?"
Ismira's face only brightened in redness, and out of the corner of her eye she saw her father's smirk. "A-archery, your Majesty." Nasuada nodded and shifted in her seat.
"You are brave to compete against elves in this endeavor. Few can best them." Ismira's jaw dropped at that realisation. She had completely forgotten that all the races of Alagaësia competed. To compete against elves was terrifying, as if she weren't already anxious enough. As she stood there, her voice stolen from her mouth, the thump of boots brought her out of her stupor. She looked around and saw a tall and strikingly handsome man clad in a simple black and red outfit, and as he approached he stopped a few feet away, adjusting his sword. "Murtagh, don't be shy. Introduce yourself." Nasuada encouraged.
Ismira's shock was near palpable. Here, standing before her, was a Dragon Rider. Coupled with the fact that she had forgotten about elves competing in the games and that she was standing in the throne room of the Queen of the entire land, it was no surprise when her vision faded and the ground rushed up to meet her.
Later, when Ismira awoke, she found herself being hovered over by her father and Murtagh. Roran immediately started speaking, asking her questions. She found her comprehension had not entirely returned so it took her a moment to understand what he was saying. "...okay? Ismira? Hey there! Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
She struggled and tried to sit up, but Roran held her down. "I'm alright! I'm alright. Let me sit up!" She said, pushing the two men aside so she could sit up. "How long was I out?" she asked, taking a deep breath and stretching.
"Not long." Murtagh reassured her. "I only had to touch your mind to wake you up again."
Ismira frowned and looked at him, "You did what?" Murtagh did not reply, but instead Ismira felt a light touch on her mind, as if someone were dragging a painter's brush over her thoughts. She recoiled instinctively, shying away from the man. The touch receded, and she watched him warily.
He nodded, "Don't worry. I haven't done anything to you."
Roran, who had been watching the exchange silently, nodded. "Alright then. Thank you Murtagh." Murtagh nodded and stood, departing in short order. Ismira looked at her father and shuddered, to which Roran nodded. "Be careful of those magician types. You never know with them. Now, let's get you settled."
The rest of the day passed quickly and without incident, as most of Ismira's time was spent exploring the palace and finding some of the many interesting rooms and such within. At one point she found herself within the library, a massive labyrinthine room full of looming bookcases and more tomes and scrolls than she could count. She spent most of her time in the room over the next few days, reading what she could about the world and of the world beyond. She was curious to learn about Murtagh however, and in her search was disappointed to find that there were no texts about him, only mentions in books about the Rider War. He fought in a battle here, or was spotted in another place. Just two days before The Games, she threw her hands up in protest and let out an exasperated sigh. There seemed to be nothing about him, most of the texts she found had information about Eragon or Nasuada before all others. Even texts about Riders or Galbatorix had only mentions of the man.
Frustrated, she gave up and started to leave the library. As she did, she nearly ran over Murtagh as he entered the library. "Oh! Murtagh! Uhm, hello." She said as she collected herself and he caught her to keep her from falling.
"Your father is looking for you," he said simply, moving past her and going to browse the selections within the library.
"Did he, uh, say what for?" she asked, trying to not further make a fool of herself. Murtagh shook his head and pulled a tome from the shelves, not further acknowledging her. Flustered, Ismira left and headed to the room she had been staying in since her arrival in Ilirea. When she arrived at her room, her father was sitting on the bed, a long box across his lap. Confused, Ismira walked over as her father stood and presented her with the box.
"I know you have a bow, but you're going against the best of the best. The elves are going to have the best their craftsmanship can offer. I asked Nasuada if she had anything that would be comparable, and this is what she came up with. I hope you like it," he said as she opened the box, revealing an exquisitely crafted bow in the style of the elves. She did not hide her surprise as she lifted it from its box and strung it gently. It was extremely lightweight and the pull on it must have been half of the bows she had used before. Surely this was an elven bow.
"Where did she get this?" Ismira asked, her eyes betraying her curiosity.
Roran shrugged, "She said that Eragon sent it to her one year. I don't think there's any magic in it, but he made it so it must be similar to what the elves will be using." Ismira nodded and embraced her father, thanking him for the gift. "And be sure to thank the Queen when you get the chance. I doubt she's letting you use it lightly."
The next two days passed in near boredom as Ismira continued to hone her skills and strength with the new bow, which she was still getting used to. At the end of the day before The Games began, Queen Nasuada called both Roran and Ismira to dine with her and the nobles of Ilirea. It turned out to be a huge feast, to which Ismira felt extremely under-dressed for despite wearing her finest dress. The nobles and even Queen Nasuada herself had incredible clothing and jewelry, of which she hoped that she would never have to wear for fear of ruining them. As she mingled amongst the nobles, occasionally being asked questions about who she was or where she came from, she promptly decided that this was not the life she wanted. To be among people of such status all the time was not her place. She would much rather be dealing with real people, people on the streets and farms who weren't so concerned about the politics of the land.
At one point she found herself sitting alone when the Queen approached and sat with her, motioning to the mingling nobles. "They are not terribly exciting, I know. Have you enjoyed your stay in Ilirea thus far?"
Ismira, much more used to being around people of status at this point, nodded and smiled. "Yes your Majesty. It is a wondrous city. I wish I had more time to spend among the streets and vendors however."
"Ah, yes. You are your father's daughter after all. He was never much one for all this pomp and circumstance either."
Ismira nodded, uncertain of how to continue. "Yes. I appreciate your gift, your highness-"
"No thanks are necessary, Ismira. And please, call me Lady Nasuada, or Nasuada. Your father and I worked closely during the war, there is no reason why I cannot extend the same courtesies to you as I afford to him."
Ismira nodded, again uncertain of how to continue with the Queen. "So you were close to Eragon?" she decided, but almost immediately regretted the question.
The look on Nasuada's face became grim, and she nodded. "Yes, we were. We did not agree on certain topics. I suppose he was right, things have not been too out of control." Confusion crossed Ismira's mind, so she inquired about the differences of opinion, to which Nasuada sighed. "We normal humans, dwarves, and Urgals even are at the mercy of magic-users. I asked Eragon to create a governing body for the magic-users of the land. He disagreed that it was necessary, and in the same breath told me he was leaving Alagaësia. I will admit I am still not pleased with his decision."
Ismira nodded, a thousand questions in her head. She chose not to ask them though, as the topic was obviously unpleasant. "I am sorry if I displeased you, Lady Nasuada. I was curious."
"Of course, I understand. You are interested to know more about your mysterious uncle who sends you, myself, your father, everyone he was close to gifts and letters every year. He is a good man. I believe that. I do not think he has changed. He was right too when he took the Riders out of this land. I have heard stories from the riders he has sent back to us of him, how he is still the Eragon I knew." Nasuada paused, contemplating how best to broach the topic. "He loves Roran. And Katrina. And you, Ismira. This I know. He was close to Queen Arya. Very close."
"Queen Arya, the queen of the elves?"
"The very same. I believe he was close to Murtagh, before Murtagh became Galbatorix's slave, but afterwards..." She sighed again. "They were never the same after Eragon killed Galbatorix. Even to this day Murtagh will not speak of Eragon."
"And what of you and Murtagh? I heard that he aided you when you were kidnapped."
"Yes, he was very kind to me. But Galbatorix changed him. He has never been the same since. Murtagh and I are close, you could say."
"Are you...?" Ismira asked.
"Involved? With Murtagh?" Nasuada smiled. "Yes. I can see why you would fancy him though."
Ismira flushed, looking away. "I did not know. I apologize."
"It is no trouble to me. I appreciate you asking before doing anything too foolish however."
After that, they spoke of smaller, more simple things and after a time the Queen excused herself to go dance with Murtagh as the band in the corner of the room struck up a merry tune. The rest of the night was spent in frustration for Ismira, and eventually she excused herself from a few of the nobles and took her leave for the evening, claiming she needed her rest before The Games the next day. When dawn broke the next morning, Ismira looked out over the city from one of the windows of her room, and realized the city was mostly empty. No doubt the people were gathering in and around the stadium where The Games were to take place, and Ismira dressed in her typical archery outfit, a tight shirt, pants, and some hunting boots Eragon had sent her one year. She shouldered her bow and checked to be sure it was in good order, before making her way to the quadrangle where her father waited for her.
Together they made their way outside the city and to the entrance to the massive stadium, a huge pair of gates that allowed admittance to all who had come, with several areas set aside for persons to put their names down to compete. "Nasuada had someone put your name in for the archery contest already, so we don't have to deal with that. You know when you compete, yes?"
"Yes, Father," she said, watching the constantly moving crowds within the interior of the stadium. She was set to compete in the evening of this day, when the sun was low and the shadows long, for that made for some of the hardest shooting conditions good weather would allow.
The day was bright and clear as Ismira and Roran took their spots in Nasuada's private section of the stands, where only nobles and personal friends of the Queen and others were allowed. The first competition of the day was wrestling, in which mostly dwarves and Urgals competed. A stunning display by an elf however left the rest of the competitors unable to continue, and so the elves took the first of the prizes to be handed out during the few days during which The Games raged. Competition after competition was presented, both mundane and magical, and even some a test of wits and skill more than strength or athletic prowess. And when finally the hour came for Ismira to descend below and prepare for her challenges, she found herself alone among the elves there. At one point she thought she saw another human amongst the group preparing their bows and gloves, testing their clothing to make sure they would have enough freedom of movement, but she lost sight of him almost immediately.
She shook her head, trying to focus as the elves around her spoke in what must have been their native tongue, the Ancient Language. And finally when she was ready to go, she formed up with the rest of the competitors and prepared to file out onto the arena above. The large wooden doors parted, and she was momentarily blinded by the light from the outside. A few people were gathered to watch them depart, including one man with a cloak hiding his face and body. As she passed him, he leaned forward and whispered into her ear briefly a phrase in the Ancient Language, one she did not understand. She regarded him, bewildered, but she was forced to walk out under the falling sun as the names of those around her were called, until finally her name was announced to all of the people gathered: "And lastly, Ismira Katrinasdaughter, of Palancar Valley!" A huge roar went up as her name was called, and she realized that many people from Palancar Valley had come to cheer her on, something that gave her a small measure of hope as she prepared to compete among the world's greatest archers.