Another long chapter, and I apologize. Also, I realize Arya coming to Alalëa is a tad unlikely given the circumstances and her sense of duty, but it's crucial to the story that she meets them for other plot elements. Plus, politically speaking, she'd remain the closest to the Riders, so I guess she's the best to go. The same things I said last time apply and will for every chapter. For those of you who hate long chapters, hang in there. At least read the next one, because it should be considerably shorter, and in my opinion, much more amusing.
I still don't own Inheritance Cycle; it hasn't changed since the five minutes you read the last chapter.
Eldunarí: (Elvish; pl. Eldunarya) A dispensable organ of a dragon which contains its consciousness (lit. "Heart of Hearts") el-dune-ARE-ee
II
Eragon woke up with no recollection of his dreams. However, the sweat and tense muscles hinted at another night terror.
Ever since the war had ended, the young Rider's recovery had seemed delayed. He thought about the people he'd killed, about how they might have had families. Some of them had known love, and some of them didn't. Thanks to Eragon, none of them ever would.
Nightmares, harder than cockroaches to exterminate, disturbed his sleeping. Even when awake, they still found him. Flashbacks. Garrow dying, the fight with Galbatorix, Durza... All of it haunted him.
And then there was the sickness. There had been and would always be a profound human need to have friends, someone to rely on, someone to confide in. Eragon used to have that, until Fate stripped it away.
It probably enjoyed doing it, too. His basic needs, ignored. He laughed, although no humor accompanied his thoughts.
His eyelids refusing to seal, Eragon crouched under Saphira's wing, shifting out through the gap, limiting contact with her scales as to avoid waking her. He let his eyes adjust the the moonlight and gazed around his room. It replicated the one he had stayed in at Ellesméra, except sung from a different tree. The trees here were taller, with more of a reddish hue. Their leaves were different too, the trunks typically the size of the room he currently occupied. They even rivaled the Menoa tree. He couldn't wait to show Arya; she would never believe him until he did.
At the mention of the former companion, Eragon's core filled with a dull ache, and a deep soreness permeated his heart each breath. No... His chest. He'd read that his heart resided on the right side, behind his ribcage. He also learned that his brain thought and felt, which Eragon found ridiculous. As smart as elves were, how could they think that one felt through their head?
Eragon headed to a balcony wide enough for Saphira to land, and began his descent along a vine. Upon reaching the bottom, he made sure to avoid the shrubbery with three-tipped leaves. Eragon and his elven crew had once experienced the misfortune of discovering the rashes it left.
Eragon hiked along a dirt path, cleared of plant life, towards the beach below. The forest around him blocked out the sky, so he cast a spell to illuminate the area around him. He reviewed the former scenery. The woods appeared taller than even Urû'baen, or dare he mention it, Helgrind. He shuddered at the name, remembering the Ra'zac and Galbatorix's warning.
He continued to a beach and squatted at the wet sand's edge, mesmerized by the waves, fog prickling his skin. Through the haze, he noticed light. Then, he noticed something one with normal human vision wouldn't: a mast. The sail depicted undefined shapes, but as the ship sailed closer, Eragon could trace the contours and lines clearly enough to see the elven insignia. Hope and anticipation filled him, and he ran along the side of the beach to be parallel with the dock, hoping the ship could find it. He doubted it in this fog.
How are they going to land? There's no light... What am I saying? I'm a magician! The Rider chuckled at not having the idea sooner.
"Garjzla!" An orb of light appeared above Eragon's outstretched hand. He waved it, hoping to attract the ship's attention. Slowly, the ship approached the docks, releasing an anchor next to the Talíta.
Saphira?
What? snapped the dragon.
They're here.
Arya walked through the sand, flanked by an Urgal, Kurdka, Théraen. Fírnen spiraled overhead amongst two dragons, one as orange as the sunset, and the other whose scales mimicked pearls. Saphira, her scales bluer than the daytime sky soared down a mountain over an unbelievably tall forest. Eragon emerged from the fog, unfazed by the time.
Arya halted, tailgated by her two followers.
She concentrated on the face of the greeter, and their gazes matched. Eragon lifted his hand, then stopped, hesitating. He let it drop, but Arya's arm flicked out to grab it.
The dwarf glanced between the two, saying, "Greetings, Ebrithil. While I would like to meet you, I believe there will be time for proper introductions later. Young Kurdka and I must rest, and our partners wish to spread their wings."
Eragon, without faltering in his staring at Arya, said, "The way up is steep, and there are inconveniences to avoid. I suggest reaching the hangars on dragonback. Saphira, would you be so kind as to guide them?"
The dragon landed beside him, huffing, yet compliant. Théraen bowed, and Saphira straightened her posture.
"We are honored by your hospitality. Let us leave these two in each other's company," she said, winking at Arya. She ignored the gesture.
"Goodnight, Théraen."
The orange and white dragons swooped down, forming a cloud of sand. Once mounted, they glanced at Saphira, who shot off towards the forest. Fírnen drifted from above, landing as softly as a leave by Arya. He let her on, and albeit grudgingly, Eragon too, before taking off.
Arya felt the warmth radiating from Eragon, satisfied and uncomfortable. Unsure of how she felt about having his arms wrapped around her, her eyelids burned in protest, demanding rest. Resistance proved futile, and she slouched forwards in her saddle.
Arya panted, her back against a wall, must permeating the hallway. Empty prison cells lined the wall opposite to her.
Voices echoed around the corner, and she tensed. If she moved, the scuffling would alert the sources of the conversation.
She needed to escape, but she didn't know why. Still, certainty gripped her, telling her she had to get out.
Hunger burned her stomach, and the need for flesh banished rationality. She turned the corner, charging the humans, her beak tearing at their flesh...
Arya's vision fluttered on and off with her eyelids, before, groaning, she pushed her self into a sitting position. Her brain felt shrouded in mist, and she shook her head, trying to soothe its aching. Her stress response has been activated, but she couldn't decipher the reason.
The elf noted the quality of the comforters, and then the aesthetics of their room.
Reddish-brown wood defined walls the walls under a transparent ceiling. Stone baseboards complimented the earthly tones of the bark, but it felt awkward, for no other grey hues occupied the room. She supposed Eragon designed it; he couldn't dress in a way that was visually appealing, much less design a chamber.
Branches extended from the floor to form a wide balcony, large enough for a dragon to land, but still containing an over-abundance of brown.
She meandered to a dresser parallel to her bed on the opposite wall. A cupboard sat beneath a drawer, and the handles consisted of twisted vines. She pulled the drawer open, revealing clean clothes. She also explored the cupboard's contents, which contained Fírnen's saddle.
Arya paced over to the balcony, resting her arms on wooden rails, gazing over the forest that flowed down the mountainside, cut off by distance. She looked up, and the sun nearly blinded her. If the sun hung directly above, that'd make it roughly noon.
The elven queen summarized the previous night in her head. There was fog, and the captain had warned of crashing, but then there was a light leading them to the docks.
Eragon must have seen the ship and cast a spell, she concluded. She also remembered mounting Fírnen with Eragon. She could feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around her waist, gently squeezing whenever Fírnen turned.
Enough! I cannot dwell on such things.
She couldn't recall landing, so she reckoned she'd fallen asleep. Did Eragon carry me all the way here? I wouldn't be surprised. He carried me for miles on the way to the Varden.
Exhausting the activities left to do in the chamber, she exited into a a rectangular area filled with doors. At the end of the room was an arched corridor with some etchings along the walls. She recognized the artwork as dwarven, though not as precise. The pictures seemed to tell of a mad king, who fled to an area on the map which seemed oddly like... Carvahall, Arya decided. The carvings told the tale of King Carvahall.
An Urgal stood at the end. "Master Arya!"
"Yes, Kurdka?"
"Théraen says to hurry before your lunch gets cold."
"You'll have to lead me there, for I do not know the way."
Arya gasped upon entering the next room, but regretted the openness. She'd seen the fountain, walls and floor when scrying with Eragon, but the angle of the mirror had blocked out the major details.
Something flickered in her upper peripheral vision. All four dragons flew below a large glass sphere, practicing aerial maneuvers.
Kurdka led her into a large dining area, filled with long stone tables, with strips of slab on either side for seating. Eragon, seated on their left, beckoned to them with his hand.
Arya positioned herself next to him, across from Théraen. Kurdka didn't take a seat, but instead took advantage of the pause in conversation.
"Excuse me, Masters, but I haven't had the opportunity to explore, and as an Urgal, I like to know the lay of the land."
Eragon appeared confused, but Arya gave permission, and when Kurdka left, explained. "Urgals believe the land to be holy. While it isn't a warzone, which is treasured above all else, it's his sanctuary. It's as close to a sacred homeland as he gets."
"Ebrithilar, while I hate to interrupt you two," Théraen led, stopping to laugh as they raised their eyebrows in unison, "I must inquire on the subject of my training. As you may know, my body isn't what it used to be."
Eragon pondered this, but Arya, who knew the dwarf better, offered, "Since your magic is above the basics of which we can teach you, I think it'd be best for you to learn from the Eldunarya."
Eragon, however, seemed troubled. "I'm not sure we can have you do physical combat. I don't even know if you can carry out missions."
"A topic for another time," the student dismissed.
"Théraen," Arya suggested, "perhaps you're not destined for the life of an ordinary Rider. I think you'd best serve as a caretaker for the eggs and Eldunarí."
The elder frowned, staring at the tabletop.
"I think you'd best consult Umaroth," Eragon decided.