Chapter 3 – Stalking Stars
"Arya..."
The person in question slowly opened her eyes, her gaze meeting the familiar view of what used to be Oromis' hut on the crags of Tel'naeír. After becoming queen she decided to stay here as it was the place she raised Fírnen and because it was easier here for him to stay close to her. There wasn't much space for dragons in Tialdarí-Hall.
It was late in the night by now. For a moment she enjoyed the strange magnificence which even her most ordinary belongings had adopted as they were bathed in moonlight.
"What is it, Fírnen? I was almost asleep...", she replied, her voice much more gentle than her words implied.
"You will be thankful for my rousing in all but a second. Come outside, there is another one arriving."
It took her much less than a second to realize what her dragon was talking about and to sit straight up in her bed, all sleepiness forgotten. Filled with pleasant anticipation and somewhat excited she stepped out of bed and lumbered barefooted to the door.
Once outside she strode quickly to Fírnen's side, who laid close at the edge of the crag which overlooked the vast sea of pines of Du Weldenvarden. She followed his gaze, searching for the tiny object in the air, the darkness causing no problem for her strong eyes.
She discovered it almost immediately even though it was still quite far away. Thus she had to wait for another five minutes or so till a small boat, made out of fibres of grass and other plants, floated gently into her outstretched hands. There was a tender smile on her face as she closed her delicate fingers around the fragile construction. Fírnen watched her curiously as she sat down cross-legged beside him to examine the tiny boat.
It wasn't much larger than her hand measured from the tip of her middle finger to the heel of her hand. The blades of grass, though green as they were plucked she was sure, had already begun to wither, some of them had already turned into a muddy yellow. The mast of the ship, a strong stipe of Cyperaceae, looked crooked and dry, just as the tulip leaves which were its sails.
Yet it was one of the most beautiful things she saw for months. Because, considering the vast distance she knew the tiny thing had to overcome, it was in an exemplary condition. And this, more than anything else, revealed the skill and devotion its builder had invested in it.
It was made so good and perfect. It was so beautiful. And it was just for her. She smiled.
"How much longer do you want to stare at this grass-thing?", Fírnen asked her and so brought her attention back to her surroundings, "Don't you want to know what is inside today?"
"Of course I do. Why can't I bask in my anticipation for a while?"
He puffed some smoke out of his nostrils and nudged her shoulder for an answer. Giving up, Arya gently pulled the blades of the deck apart and cautiously took the twofold flexed piece of paper out of its womb. With building excitement she unfolded it to read the lines which were written in a now familiar handwriting:
There is never a way back
Do you still remember -
Childhood… wonderful…
The world of colours and beauty
Until there comes a time
When you begin to understand
There won't be a reunion
After every goodbye
Always onwards, step for step
There is never a way back
What is now will never be undone
Time keeps running away from us
What is done is done
What is now will never be undone
There is never a way back
If I only could but once
Turn back the wheels of time
'Cause, how much of what I know today
I would have rather never seen
There is never a way back
Your life only spins in circles
Full of thrown-away time
Your dreams you procrastinate eternally
You want to live, someday, somehow…
But if not today, so when?
Because, someday, even a dream is too long ago
There is never a way back
She read through it twice, soaking up the words written by his hand and trying to see, to understand what could have made him write something like this. It was a sad but beautiful poem, written with feeling and understanding. It was aware of space and time. It was quite a good piece of poetry.
She wondered if it was about her. And a second later, she wondered if she was overcompensating.
But it brought an issue back to her mind that she was dwelling on for several weeks already.
"Where are you going?", Fírnen asked, feeling her intentions as she stood abruptly.
"I don't know for sure. I will let my feet go their own way."
"Do what you must. But do you really think you will find an answer to your question out there?"
She shrugged her shoulders, feeling slightly uneasy.
"I have to come to a decision now or it will soon be too late."
She stroked Fírnen once down his jaw for a short goodbye. This was a path she had to walk on her own.
"You are talking as though it was a decision of life and death."
She laughed out softly, her eyes sparkling for a short fraction of time.
"No, not one of life and death, but a hard one nonetheless. Though it all would feel so insignificant for a stranger...", she shook her head once.
"Sometimes", Fírnen spoke with a strange tilt in his voice, "Sometimes the seemingly insignificant decisions turn out to be the most significant of our lives."
Only minutes later Arya was alone. She was alone and walking slowly underneath the canopy of pines, where barely a flicker of moonlight reached the ground. Even for her eyes the forest was only dimly lit. Yet she didn't care. She felt herself relax in the quiet of the darkness and her solitude, felt herself entering the qualm state of mind she would require to solve her problem. Almost subconsciously her thoughts came back to the poem in the grassboat over and over again.
It wasn't the first one of its kind to find her. She didn't know how many of them came to her over all these years, bringing songs, poems and short stories of apparently randomly chosen topics to her, all of them written in the same handwriting, in the handwriting of a friend and confidant.
Nowadays, this was the only way they stayed in touch.
For after that rather painful talk through Nasuada's mirror they had never seen nor met nor spoke to each other in person again.
This development had never been of her intention, nor, or so she thought, of his, but she could perfectly understand why he hesitated to expose himself to a conversation like this again and she didn't want to force it upon him to see or talk to her.
It wasn't necessary to make life any harder than it already is, to cause yourself more pain than you had to. Because they both, or rather, all the four of them had known that they won't see each other again for a very, very long time.
And then, the first grassboat arrived. It came to her at night, like this one, and it made her heart jolt like nothing had for a very long time as it floated in gentle up-and-down movements towards her. She couldn't think what to make out of its content at first, wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her something in particular with the poem it contained and the words he wrote on the backside of the paper. Because there always stood the same words: In deepest affection, and the date he sent off the letter.
But then the next arrived, and then the next and so on, all of them with the most different kinds of writings. They were about this and that, some made her sad, some made her glad, others made her laugh, others were just for her and others were about her. And she realized that he just wanted to share something with her, something of his deepest thoughts, yet without the pain or the frustration their relation was drenched with.
As she had understood this she decided to write back. And so she had sent off her own grassboats, letting them take their journey with writings of her own to the unknown lands behind the horizon to bring comfort to someone she held dear like no one else before. The thought and feeling of this made her feel at peace with herself.
And after every piece of paper she had sent to him she kept eagerly on waiting for his "response", feeling a closeness to him when receiving his writings like no other. For this was Eragon writing to Arya, friend to friend, with love and care.
Because his other letters, the letters he was sending through a visiting Rider or some other kind of messenger, this letters of duty and politic, this were letters from the Leader of the Riders to the Queen of the Elves. They still were written with warm words, but of course held none of the intimacy of their grassboat-letters.
And now, as she meandered apparently aimlessly through the woods, now she was afraid of an idea her own mind came to think of. Because, since she came to cherish this kind of consequence-less "closeness in distance", she was afraid to break it. And if she really did what her mind came up with so recklessly, she would break it. But another part of her, and not a small one either, wanted her to do it, even if it meant to risk a confrontation with long-buried feelings.
She didn't know what Eragon's feelings considering their separation were now, but for her it was a double-edged sword: She knew that both of them only did what they deemed necessary, but it was far from being without regret on her part. For she knew she didn't feel for him as strongly as he did all this time ago, yet she did have to leave her best friend, her only confidant besides her dragon and someone she shared all of her being with. It was a devastating loss for both of them.
Like a flood of water an old and unpleasant memory pushed itself into her mind:
They watched the Talítha sail on and disappear into the darkness beyond, watched the shape of Saphira wane as well in the increasing distance. Slowly they made their way back to Roran who still stood at the shore, also gazing after the ship.
"I should have never left him after the battle in Urû'baen. I should have asked him to come with me to my mother's funeral, and to come with me as I took your egg to Ellesméra. Then he would have known. And I would have known and never had accepted the throne...", she thought bitterly to herself.
"Arya...", Fírnen spoke to her, "You hurt yourself unnecessarily. What is done is done. You cannot change the past. You know that, why do I have to remind you of it?"
She lowered her head, feeling a slowly increasing pain in her chest. Fírnen now circled high above Roran, giving his Rider some time to compose herself.
"I know. It's just... just look at the odds! It was misfortune upon misfortune. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret becoming queen, but... I wouldn't have taken the crown if I knew he were to leave with the eggs and the Eldunarí. I would have gone with him. I would have build the Riders anew with him. You and Saphira would still be together. And for Eragon and me... I don't know, but maybe... Just maybe..."
Despite his words she felt Fírnen's regret mingle with hers as she spoke and their combined despair nearly made her black-out. She heard Fírnen give a heart-breaking wail, a lament for their loss and the bitter game fate played with them. She tapped against his shoulder.
"Come on, Roran will be waiting."
With her words Fírnen relaxed the muscles of his strong wings, spiralling towards the ground slowly, still biding their time and letting Arya brushing off the tears that were running down her cheeks.
The heartache she felt after his leave-taking took its time to go by. It were many weeks that she felt very lonely, despite Fírnen, for not being alone doesn't mean you cannot feel lonely. The pain dulled in time as it always did, yet a fragment remained within her, stabbing and annoying her whenever she expect it the least. This was one of the things she couldn't bring herself to show him while they spoke through the mirror.
But she felt better now after this long, long time, distracted by the work that was constantly waiting for her and comforted by Fírnen – and the letters that came with the grassboats. Yet better was not good, and sometimes she still missed him dearly.
All the while she was walking on, ever deeper into the forest, walking farther than a human would have felt comfortable with, and she knew subconsciously were her feet were taking her.
She wondered how Eragon felt by now. Was he feeling better now, too? She was quite sure he was. No heart can carry a pain this long and this intensive. She was sure he was off fine, with all the others now with him.
But on the other hand, there was one of Eragon's poems, one that she knew by heart; despite the hurt and sadness in it, it was one of her favourite. It wasn't so long ago that he sent her this, just a few years, and it made her wonder if she was right with her suggestions:
So silent
That each one of us knew
This here is for eternity
For eternity and one life
And it was so silent
That each one of us knew
For this there is no word
That could ever describe this feeling.
So silent
That all the clocks stopped working
Yes, time itself stopped beating
So silent and lost I went away
So silent and lost I walked away
I listened to so much and yet
It never reached my ears
The reason why I cannot go to sleep at night
Even if I write a thousand songs about longing
Doesn't mean I understand
Why this feeling remains within
So loud
The times after the impact
To consider everything and understand
And it was so loud
That every thought brought nothing but emptiness to us
So loud and so lost it was here
As silence dwelled with me and not you
Even if I write a thousand songs about longing
Doesn't mean I understand
Why this feeling remains within
She didn't know what to make out of this. It could be about her. It could be about Alagaësia as a whole, his former home. It could be about something entirely else. But she wondered.
Finally she slowed down as she reached what might have been her destination from the very beginning. Devoutly she took her last steps forward, entering a small meadow like thousand others deep within Du Weldenvarden. Yet for her it was a unique place.
She came to a halt as she stood beneath the open skies and closed her eyes solemnly. For a moment she only concentrated on what was surrounding her: The light breeze of a summer night on her only scantily clad skin; the smell of wood and rich clay in the air, the sound of the wind in the trees, the soft moss underneath her bare feet… She remained listening like this till she felt her body practically humming, becoming one with the subtle symphony of the night. It was then that she opened her eyes again, looking straight up to the stars. A strong feeling of nostalgia was gripping her.
You are still the same. You are still here. You are very lucky stars.
She gulped once as she felt her throat tightening. Giving in to the feelings inside as she did so very rarely, she let herself fall down onto her knees, now sitting all on her own in the middle of the forest, her hands intertwined and pressed firmly into her lap. Yet her gaze never lowered.
They are shining so innocently down on me, so indifferent. Have they been indifferent too, as I was here with him, hearing gentle words and talking foolishness?
For it had been here, in this meadow, were she had been alone with Eragon after the last Agaetí Blödhren. She remembered his words as if it was but a few days ago:
"How tall the trees, how bright the stars… and how beautiful you are, o Arya Svit-kona."
It was quite interesting what a different effect his words now had on her. Back then she was angered beyond reason, now she felt a stinging sorrow in her chest. She sighed.
Svit-kona, you said? No, I've been a fool. You have seen farther than I on that night. I never thought that we were to become that close, Eragon. We have been so very different… In the end, we were no more.
The sorrow in her heart began to change slowly into something else, something much more stubborn and determined, as she thought about the injustice fate forced upon them.
This cannot be the end. You were – you are my friend. You told me that you would never lose me. I shouldn't keep you apart from me, just because I am afraid of the pain. What kind of Rider would I be, if I let my fear become the better of me?
And so she found the answer to her question she pondered for so long: She would invite Eragon to the Agaetí Blödhren that was to take place in nearly four months.
What is fate but what we decide to do? I will alter my fate now, Eragon. I will see you again.
Her decision finally made, she rose to her feet and turned back the way she came. Her pace was strong and determined and after only a few steps she found herself running swiftly through the forest, feeling a vitality in her limbs that she hadn't felt for a very long time.
The night already began to change into day as she approached her hut and the dragon resting in front of it. She felt a warmth spread inside her as they joined their minds even tighter, hearing his voice speak to her.
"Your walk was fruitful, I see."
"So it was. I cannot keep on chatting now, Fírnen. A letter is waiting that wants to be written."
For now she wanted to write a letter like he received only once before: A letter from Arya, not from the Queen, not even from the Rider. Just from her. A plea, just from her.
"And you will think that he will come, just like that?", her dragon asked her as she was already slipping through the door.
"No, not just like that. What can I do but hope? The times have changed, it's not like it was nearly a century ago, right after the war, anymore. We all are settled; there is justice and peace back in Alagaësia, and the Riders are established once again. I do believe it is possible for him come. Whether he wants to or will come, alas, that I do not now. I will just have to give it a try."
By now she was already sitting at her desk, taking a new sheet of paper out of a drawer and laid it down in front of her. She felt a thrill of joy and anxiety run through her as she picked up a quill to start writing.
Her best friend… They were so very close, yet it was so long ago. How will he have changed? How will he feel now for her?
This thoughts came back to her over and over again while she filled the sheet with black runes. She heard Fírnen chuckle in her mind.
"Come on. I know you long to see her, too", Arya tried to tease back.
"For sure. But I am not so sure anymore if I long more for her than you do for her Rider."
"Hhmpf. Maybe. But I am anxious."
"Why so?"
"However I twist and turn the odds I come to one conclusion: He won't be the same anymore."
"You cannot know that. You are, for the most part, still the Arya you have been all this years ago, aren't you?"
"I know. And that is what I fear the most." She heard Fírnen sigh.
"What can I say, Arya? He is the Leader of our order. Of course he won't be anymore the youth he was when he left these lands behind. But, considering all the things you told me about him and my own observations too, I am very sure of one thing: Whatever will have changed in him, he will always be Eragon. He is pure of heart, honest and very caring. And he is very fond of you. Nothing of these things will have changed, of that I am sure."
Arya had to stop writing as she heard Fírnen speaking these words. She looked outside the window were the sun was rising over the crags of Tel'naeír this very moment and wasn't sure whether she wanted to cry or laugh.
My god, what did I do?
This is by far the longest introspection I ever wrote. But I must say, I liked it. I think the line of Arya's thoughts is quite reasonable, tell me what you think about it.
And thanks to the bands Wolfsheim and Jupiter Jones whose songs I abused (after translating them to English) for Eragon's poems. ;)
The next chapter will see the first meeting of my two best friends after nearly a hundred years… Hmmm… This will get hard. I have a moderate plan of what to write but I didn't think about the subtleties for now, so don't be disappointed if I won't make it till next weekend, I will rather wait a week than writing some rubbish.
So, I hope you enjoyed this one, please leave LOTS of reviews! ;)
AryaNuanen
