"My Queen, I…" Blodhgarm sighed and ran his fingers through his midnight-blue fur. The Queen, watching him with hawk-eyes from the small mirror in her tent by which they communicated, frowned.
"I have neither the energy nor the patience to guess your words before you speak them, Blodhgarm, so please; speak!"
Blodhgarm inclined his head. "It is difficult to know… where to begin, Your Majesty."
"Start with the reason why you feel the need to disturb me now, in the middle of the night, with no warning whatsoever and hints of an 'emergency'!" The Queen's voice echoed harshly around the fabric of the tent in which she sat, making the elf-wolf flinch. He spoke in a fast, low tone.
"You wished for me to report on any… strange happenings whilst here with the Varden. Anything that Arya might not think to mention."
The Queen remained unmoving. With a sigh, Blodhgarm told her what he had seen.
At the end of her spell caster's tale, Queen Islazandi remained as still as a rock. When she eventually managed to force her words through her constricted throat, they were hurried and urgent; "Fetch Arya."
"Anyone in?" Roran waved his hand in front of his cousin's face amusedly. Eragon blinked, forcing a smile.
"Sorry."
"Hmm… Anyway, how many?" Eragon blinked. "Did you kill? How many men did you kill? I counted mine at at least five-and-sixty."
Eragon frowned. "I thought it bothered you, killing these men? And now you count them like we would crops at the farm?"
Roran's reply was fiery and defensive. "I do what I must, Eragon. I must defend my wife and… child. If that means killing the men who pose a threat to them, so be it! I will defend Katrina."
"Yes, but…" Eragon's frown deepened. "You make a contest out of them! A game!"
"I do whatever I can to make my task easier, Eragon. And if a contest helps me defend my wife, who are you to argue?"
Eragon placed his hand on Roran's shoulder, looking into his brown eyes. "Your cousin," he said softly. "And you would do well to stop this game, now, before you become yet another bloodthirsty warrior."
Roran shuddered at the thought, and nodded.
I don't mind, Saphira interrupted quietly, but the interruption was meant only for Eragon. He ignored her. The two cousins lapsed into thoughtful silence as they stared out over the deserted camp that was now their home; it was long since past dusk, and finding that neither of them could sleep Roran and Eragon had made a dry log their bench and dragged it to where they sat now, observing the stars. Roran, after some time, absent-mindedly bent to the ground and picked up a small pebble. He placed it in his palm and frowned at it in concentration. "Stenr Reisa!"
Nothing happened.
With a growl of frustration, Roran attempted to lift the stone again… and again… and again. When he failed to lift the stone for the tenth time, he lost all patience and cast it onto the ground.
"It's no good! I'll never get it!"
He folded his arms, in such a childlike position that Eragon might once have laughed at; Roran's brow knitted together in agitation, and even his bottom lip stuck out. However, Eragon did not make a sound.
Turning to face his cousin, Roran observed his face with worried eyes. Eragon's eyes stared into the distance, but when his cousin turned to see what he was looking at he saw nothing- only black.
"Hello? Eragon?" Once more, Roran waved his hand in front of Eragon's face. Eragon smiled apologetically and tore his gaze from whatever had captivated it.
"Sorry, Roran. I'm just tired, I suppose." He yawned innocently to prove his point. Roran, however, remained unconvinced.
"No, you aren't! Well, maybe you are, but that isn't what is bothering you, I'm sure of it. Is there something on your mind, Eragon?" Roran watched his cousins face intently and carefully. "Women? Fighting?" Then, remembering their conversation at Helgrind, he spoke softer than ever before; "Arya?"
Eragon flinched and looked away. Roran leaned back, his smugness clear on his face. "Arya," he announced triumphantly. Eragon did not answer. His smugness fading rapidly, Roran gripped his cousin's shoulder and forced him to turn. When Eragon faced him, his eyes were full of despair and hopelessness that Roran had never seen the likes of- not in Eragon's eyes, anyway. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"I can read you like a book, Eragon!"
"You can't even read!" Eragon countered, hoping to distract his cousin.
"No, but I can tell when you are lying to me. Tell me!"
Eragon sighed in defeat. It would be nice to tell someone, he supposed. He looked his cousin deep in his eyes. "You must swear never to tell a soul. Not even Katrina."
Roran nodded, his eyes wide. "I swear."
Eragon told him what had happened.
For a long time, Roran stared into the distance with his mouth wide open.
"Oh."
"Oh," Eragon agreed.
They sat in absolute silence for several more minutes. The only noise that punctuated the cousin's uneasy pondering was the slow and steady rhythm of Saphira's breathing as she lay close by, drifting into a sleep that was not only easy and peaceful but undisturbed by the petty human worries that constantly ate at Eragon's soul. He envied her, watching as her chest rose and fell gently. If only he could drift away from his duties, from the heavy weight that lay upon his buckling shoulders: most of all, from the longing he had to be everything that Roran was- happy, married to the woman that he loved.
This longing grew stronger and stronger until Eragon had to fight against calling out, yelling his pain against the world. It brought a lump to his throat, and grew strong enough that Saphira woke and looked up at him, her blue eyes glistening. Oh, little one.
"Look!" Roran called abruptly, making Saphira and Eragon jump. They looked in the direction that he was pointing. Immediately, Eragon burst into peals of laughter and Saphira let out a rumbling dragon laugh. Roran blinked at them. "What?"
"Nothing," his cousin chuckled. He made to stand up, to look at it clearly, but Saphira stopped him with a gentle flick of her tail.
Wait, she commanded. She reached upwards with her snout and touched the small object.
"Beautiful," Roran, mesmerized, whispered.
They watched together until, eventually, Eragon yawned widely.
"Bed," Roran yawned conclusively.
"Bed," Eragon agreed. The pair rose in unison and strode off in opposite directions. On the way to his tent, Eragon looked up at the object that he and his cousin had spent many minutes watching: a small boat, woven from dry grass and now leaving behind it a trail of glittering star dust, drifted among the stars.
Arya was woken with a hesitant touch to her shoulder. With one shuddering gasp, her eyes flew open and in one smooth, quick movement she had her 'attacker' pinned against the wall of her tent, a knife at his throat.
"Arya Drottningu!" Gasped the elf she had attacked. She released him immediately, sheathing her knife.
"My apologies, Sareal-vodhr. You… I thought…"
"No apology needed, Drottningu," the elf said, massaging his neck. "One can never be too careful in these dangerous times."
"Indeed…" For a moment, Arya sighed, recalling to memory the times when one did not need to carry a sword everywhere they went, or be as careful with their words as they would with a hungry dragon with no other means of food. "Why did you wake me?"
Sareal looked slightly abashed. He averted his gaze, staring at the floor instead of into her emerald eyes.
"Your mother wishes to speak with you."
Arya strode into Blodhgarm's tent cautiously, nodding her head to the wolf-elf whose head turned in her direction when she entered. For some reason unbeknown to the princess, Blodhgarm too looked slightly abashed and ashamed. However, he met Arya's eyes with determination as he greeted her in the traditional Elvin manner.
When Arya had given the expected response, Blodhgarm exited the tent without a glance backward at her. Puzzled, Arya watched him disappear into the darkness before turning to greet the woman who watched her intently from the mirror on the wall.
Her mother.
"Did you not know, Arya," the Queen spoke softly and urgently, "that Blodhgarm saw what happened yesterday on the battlefield before the Northern gate? That he thought immediately- and rightly- to contact me with the knowledge that you, my daughter…" Queen Islazandi paused, at a loss for words. "Are in love with the last free Rider?"
Arya's face hardened, but her heart leapt inside her chest. I should have thought before I… before I kissed him! Eragon is but a boy! Thinking this through, Arya would have to admit that she was wrong: Eragon had aged- both physically and mentally- since she had rejected his love at the Agaetí Blödhren. "No, I did not know," she answered finally.
"Obviously." The Queen regarded her only daughter with a firm eye- which Arya met easily with her now cold ones. "Did we not speak of this, my daughter?" The Queen whispered uneasily. "You have changed- you laugh more easily, you smile more easily… you show your emotions more than is nessacery. Emotion is weakness, my child! Emotion hinders us. We need to be able to make objective decisions that do not include out emotions. We need not to offer our opponents our weaknesses on a plate, as you are doing!"
Arya turned away from her mother, but she had to admit that she was right. Love, hate, pleasure, pain… all weaknesses that Galbatorix could use against her. Sensing her victory, the Queen pressed on. "I have seen these changes occur once before, Arya. And that time, it did not end well for any concerned."
Faolin…
Arya could not help but let several tears seep from under her closed eyelids- the first and only time she had cried for her lost love. Stop this, now, She berated herself, wiping her tears away.
From the mirror, the Queen watched her daughter cry with growing unease and wished that she did not have to remind her daughter of the pain that she had suffered… so recently. However much she wished, a release did not come, so she continued with a sigh. "You must not allow this love to grow."
Helpless to her mother and Queen's demand, Arya nodded. More tears escaped her.
"Swear it."
With a gasp, Arya spoke firmly in the Ancient language; "Wiol ono."
For you.