Quick, eh? Gosh, it's late. Talk about role-reversal! I've had to tell my mum off for texting on her mobile too much and for leaving her CD's out where they get ruined. This bloke she fancies had better be worth it. P:) I've got to make roast dinner for him, but how do you serve a slaughterman meat? Especially chicken? -groan-.
Mind you, foot-and-mouth puts a bit of damper on it, anyway. I even had a nightmare about it last night. Lol. Decapitated mice ... eww ...
Thank-you very much for all those wonderful, lovely, supportive reviews! Thank-you!
Chapter Four.
Not a Medicine.
Eragon and Saphira had thus far not gone back into Ellesmera except to sleep. They visited the Three Mountains of Ellesmera, where pillars of melted rock bore testament to Saphira's training and Glaedr's teaching; they had landed on the Stone of Broken Eggs and wandered about, thinking of Stelmaria, the last wild female dragon and her mate and hoping that one day a family as large the one that had lived here would live in the Spine. They had been to Oromis' grave often, but had not met Arya there again. And everywhere he and Saphira went, he felt a simmering, burning anger, horribly mixed with shame and sadness.
What had she meant? What had she let fall through her grasp? What had she let go?
Why did she hate him? Why was she punishing him, but telling him that she was not? Why would she not tell him?
How long had she lived with this burden? How had he brought it on? And why ... why was the kiss they had shared so terrible as to send her away from him so permanently?
Eragon sighed, staring down at the sleeping Ellesmera from where he sat on his bed. The very day before setting out to help the Varden in Uru'Baen, Eragon had sparred with Arya. It had been gentler than the one he had fought with her so disastrously two days ago. And after ... Arya always had an endless amount of tea, provided by Bellaen, and she had brewed them blackcurrant this time ...
It had not been planned, and Eragon had not been forceful nor said harsh words; and indeed, Arya had kissed him back for a long instant. It was only afterwards that she had gasped and turned away and left her own house. The next day they had ridden with the elven army to Uru'Baen and Arya had ridden with a company far removed from his own. They had barely talked then or after Galbatorix and Murtagh's deaths, and as soon as the crowning ceremony of Roran and Katrina had taken place she had left with what remained of her elves.
The next time he saw was her coronation, where she accepted the throne with his and Saphira's blessings. And still no personal words were spoken.
Then he had gone to Vroengard with Seisei and Stelmaria the dragon and Friathi and Cria, his dragon, and the others from the Vault of Souls. They had scourged the island of the contorted beasts that lived there, given honoured burials to the remains of Riders and dragons they found there; and then had started the building work.
Roran had sent building materials; Orik had sent dwarves of his and Eragon's own Clan to design the buildings. Arya had sent food and soft elven clothes.
When it was done, and the first young Riders had touched the eggs, then the embassies had arrived. Even Orik had braved the dreaded boats to come and see the finished city of Doru Areaba.
It had taken four years to do this and in this time Eragon had no personal note from Arya.
Sitting where he was on the edge of his bed, looking down at the twinkling were-lights and glowing windows of the city, Eragon felt only the simmering loneliness that comes after a great temper. Saphira snorted in sympathy and she nudged him from her blanket-lined bed.
Do no fret so, Eragon, she said gently. Arya is only upset and confused. Soon she will stop avoiding us.
Ha, Eragon said bleakly. She is not avoiding you, she is avoiding me.
Yes, well ... be that as it may, there is nothing you can do.
I feel useless. We have never had such days of complete nothing.
Find something to do, though I understand your grief. You must think of something to present at the Agaeti Blodrhen.
I hardly think I will be able to think of anything to please the elves.
Saphira smirked. I am sure a love ballad would be well received.
Only if you asked them to sing it, Eragon smiled and poked at her nose. As Orik said, they would do just about anything for you.
Yes ... but I cannot help feeling somewhat put out by Arya - she does not make any sense and I can not even speak to her.
Eragon sat back again, feeling rather more melancholy. Many memories and sights and stayed with Eragon over the years - the feeling of the summer sun on his back as he worked, the smell of soap as his aunt washed their clothes; the sight of the Dragon Riders flying about Doru Areaba in the rising sun; and the smell of the stables in Surda; the feeling of vertigo as he stood on the Crags of Tel'naeir.
And the feel of Arya's lips on his, of her soft skin on his and her sweet hair on his neck. The rustle of her clothing ... her body in his arms. It had been so brief, but it had burned into his mind forever, something to remember with all five of his senses
And he did not understand why she hated him, why she punished him ... why she would not even speak to him of her hate. Eragon could not imagine that keeping such loathing inside herself was good for her. He knew that if he harboured such hate for nigh on a hundred years that it would eat him up inside; two years of hate had nearly destroyed him, in any case. Why wouldn't Arya speak?
And so he simmered. No angry, not sad, but mixture of both; and he was lonely too, despite Saphira's company, which, of course, he valued higher than any one else's. Never had Ellesmera seemed so entirely inhospitable.
--
Eragon plodded through Ellesmera, if a Rider with abilities of an elf could be said to plod, wondering if he would happen upon Arya. He knew he would not - there was no one better at avoiding others than Arya - but he couldn't help hoping that he would. The way they had parted had not even been a proper way to end an argument.
Where are you going, little one? The path was wide there and Saphira walked by his side.
I don't know ... not to Tialdari Hall, though I would like to see it again in full.
Why not?
Arya ... it is her home. I doubt things will improve if she thinks I have been going there just to waylay her.
You humans, you elves. Why do you make little things so complicated? Why not simply take a mate and be happy?
We are not as blessed with peace and strength of mind as dragons are, Saphira, Eragon said shortly. But I am at a loose end with what to do with myself.
As am I. This should be a relaxing, diplomatic visit, propriety observed, of course, said Saphira with a smirk in her voice.
Damn' propriety to deepest Hell, Eragon said forcefully. I think mine and Arya's disagreement crossed the boundaries of propriety a long time ago.
Probably, Saphira agreed with grim humour. She did not often swear, but Eragon's discomfit and unrest had been feeding through to her for days and she was frustrated, as full of unrest as him. Barzul! No diplomatic meeting has been so very fraught with tension as this. And the Agaeti Blodrhen is supposed to be a festival!
I'm sorry, Saphira. My actions have not been fair on you. You are as upset as me now.
Do not worry about it, Eragon. You know that we share all burdens, all things ... I do not mind.
He grunted. But I do. He paused. I need to fight something.
Saphira snorted with laughter. Wonderful, she said languidly. Let us find the nearest Ra'zac and you can try anything you wish.
Eragon shuddered. Do not say that. Every time I hear their names I think of their stinking breath, their crawling black skin ...
Foul things. After what they did to Katrina and her father, they deserved even worse than what you did to them.
Eragon sat on a lone tree, and scowled, a pain in his chest as he thought of Katrina, of Roran, as Brego as a child ... of their funerals, their graves, their lined, dead faces. A searing pain ripped through him, and how he missed them.
Oh, little one ... Saphira laid her head by his side as he sat on the root of the tree. Your pain, you do not share it.
I have you, Saphira, and you are more than I wish for.
I know that. But one day, even we must confide in someone.
Who would we speak to? A rock would be as useful. We are the Leaders, we must be strong. We must deal with our own problems.
I think you are wrong, my Rider, Saphira said gently. No voice was softer, no person better than Saphira to him, but he could not quite believe her. Even the greatest Leaders cannot hold all their thoughts inside.
We can try, Eragon said bitterly. And truly, Saphira, how can we trust any one?
We can trust old friends.
They are dead, he said bluntly. And Orik is busy with his kingdom.
Arya is your friend.
Eragon stared at her in disbelief. Are you quite in your right mind, Saphira? She growled. Arya is ... Arya is ... No, he ended firmly. No!
Saphira growled again, but it was a laugh. Eragon, but you do have an expressive face. Your horror was as plain as the sun in Surda.
How lovely, Eragon said. You know how I like Surda.
That was jibe at my favourite place, Saphira said calmly, and he realised that she had successfully drawn him out of his melancholy mood. I am sure if you spent more time in Surda you would grow to like it.
Once a year is quite enough. Orophier does not care whether we come or not.
No, but such wonderful hunting! Eragon, we are going flying. Hurry up. She stood up and shoved him in the back.
All right!
He swung himself into the saddle and Saphira leapt off the ground and was above the trees almost before he could tie the thongs that kept his legs in place.
She twisted and dove and did so many back rolls as to send a less-experienced person into realms of fear and vertigo. Still, it distracted Eragon and soon the adrenalin pounded in his ears and he knew that an opponent would be a worthy thing.
I love you, Saphira, he said suddenly and fiercely. You are worth more than any one.
Thank-you, she said, surprised. But do not shut every one else out as well, little one.
I won't, Saphira. But you know that you are always the most important to me, no matter how the centuries may pass.
I know, Eragon, she said warmly, and hummed gently as she soared through the autumn air.
--
When Eragon returned to his tree in the dusk light, he saw a lithe shadow standing beneath it. His hand dropped to the blue sword Daiithil, though he did not truly believe that an enemy could have breached the elves' walls.
"Who goes there?" he called into the darkness. The shadow moved and revealed itself to have green eyes and long black hair. It was also carrying a long, slender, silver sword.
"Arya?" he said incredulously. She sniffed, very much aloof and walked a very tiny bit closer.
"There is to be a celebration tonight, where my cousin Niduen will arrive with her mate Bellaen from where he has just visited her in Osilon. You are, of course, invited."
"I see," he said, though it seemed a bit of an inane thing to say. "And when will this celebration be?"
"Tomorrow evening. Come any time you wish."
"I will. Thank-you."
"Yes," she said in an utterly blank voice, but which spoke of her anger still. Then she turned around and went off down the forest path without so much as backward glance. Eragon growled and, to vent his frustration, ran at top speed all the way up the tree.
Dear Gods, I must go to a celebration for one of Arya's relatives. Why are the fates so set against us? He paused. I did not even know she had a cousin!
Saphira padded to her bed and lay down with a patient look in her blue eyes. Eragon ...
Oh, no ... Eragon flopped down on his bed and looked at Saphira. This is truly a test.
It is Arya's cousin you are to meet, not Arya herself. Do not worry, little one.
Eragon tapped his fingers on his old hunting knife. I am not worrying. But I need a wash. He jumped back off up the bed and made his way to the washing closet.
The water was steaming hot. Eragon waved his hand through the mist disgustedly. He felt like a chicken being broiled alive. Saphira snorted with laughter.
Oh, it is lucky that you do not have scents in there or you would serve better in Brego's court amongst the ladies than on Vroengard!
Yes, well ... Eragon remembered those dresses and expensive brocades. I am not going any where near those dresses, Saphira, understand? He said mock-threateningly. So much material that you could rig an entire fleet of ships with it all.
Yes, I know. I am very glad to be a dragon and wear naught but my scales.
You are also very lucky not to freeze in winter, he said with grin, looking at his hands and finding that they had turned soft and wrinkly. With a snort of disgust he pulled himself upright and went to find a towel while Saphira laughed at his grumpiness.
--
When Eragon arrived at the festivities he found it in full swing; elves danced, elves sang, elves ate at the long trestle table set out in the clearing. He had hoped to slip in and sit down quietly; but it was not to be: a hoard of delighted and enraptured elves descended on Saphira, blessing her (and occasionally him) for quite a while.
Arya sat at the head of the table beside a woman who looked a little like her - tall, with pale skin and large, deep blue eyes that contrasted with her rich brown hair. It took a while for him to notice a small, curly head that only just came up over the table. It was pale yellow and it bobbed about cheerily. Presently, the brown-haired elf, whom Eragon presumed to be Niduen, Arya's cousin, picked the child up and sat her on her lap as she continued to talk and laugh with Arya. The child surveyed the table with great majesty and watched the various elves eat with amusement evident in her blue eyes.
The one Eragon thought to he Niduen stood up, walking with her daughter to an elf with silver hair and quiet demeanour. She slipped her arm about him waist and they moved away to the crowds. Arya, left alone at her place, glanced up and met his gaze. She stare at him heavily and her brows contracted into what he might almost have called scowl. He glared back and then they both looked away at the same time. Eragon was vaguely aware that they were both behaving very childishly; but the idea of Arya acting childishly was very amusing and a smile threatened to break through, so he looked away.
Yes, you are, Saphira said suddenly and severely. Very childish.
He ginned and pushed her thoughts away. Arya was staring off into the darkness now and was determinedly not looking at him. He picked at the delicious food that the table groaned with, but found himself not hungry.
Shall we go for a walk? We are not any use here.
All right.
Eragon left the table and went into the darker areas, lit by soft, glowing were-lights. Elves walked in pairs or sat in silence, just contemplating nothing; no one paid Eragon or Saphira any attention and they liked the peace.
Such peace, in fact, that the little yellow-haired thunderbolt went straight into his midriff, unhindered. Eragon stared in astonishment at the young child he had seen earlier blinking dazedly after her head-long run into him. "Are you all right, child?" he asked, concerned. She stared at him, little mouth agape.
"Naiira? Naiira, do not run now, please." The brown-haired elf from the table had come from behind large oak tree and beckoned gently to the girl, who gazed at Eragon, then ran back to her mother. "You are the Rider?" she said rather than asked. "I am sorry that I missed you when you were last here, but I have been living in Osilon since the first Fall."
"I see. I presume you are the Lady Niduen?"
"My name is Niduen," she said with a soft smile, "but I am not so sure about being a Lady. You have come for the Agaeti Blodrhen, have you not?"
"I have. It is very good to be back in Ellesmera," he said. Niduen picked her daughter up, then looked at Eragon with a vaguely puzzled expression.
"My cousin did not mention that you were here until we saw Saphira Brightscales," Niduen said over the child's head. "It is a great honour."
"The honour is mine, Lady Niduen," Eragon said kindly. "And Lady Naiira as well." The child giggled then hid her curly head in the neck of Niduen's dress. Eragon and Niduen smiled at each other over her.
Niduen approached Saphira slowly. "How do you do, Great Dragon? I have certainly heard the songs of you but I always wished to meet you in person. And certainly the songs do not do you justice."
Eragon bit his tongue to stop himself from smiling broadly as Saphira graciously replied to Niduen. But little Naiira, who was looking over Niduen' shoulder, smiled shyly at him and they shared a conspiratorial grin.
Niduen dropped Naiira down on the floor, rubbing her arms and telling her daughter fondly just how heavy she was. Eragon squatted down to her level and said brightly, "And what is your name, little one?" he asked, though he knew full-well.
"I'm Naiira."
"That's a very pretty name. And how old are you?"
"I have ..." she thought very hard. "I have ... four," she said proudly. Eragon laughed quietly.
"You are getting to be a big girl, then?"
"Yes!" Naiira looked delighted. "I am big, but mama and Ada do not think so."
"Ahh ..." Eragon leaned and whispered, "you seem very grown-up to me."
Naiira giggled and he winked at her. Niduen's skirts rustled as she moved back to them and Eragon stood up again.
"You have a way with her," Niduen said quietly, staring at him much as Arya sometimes did. She came closer so that Naiira would not hear. "Many in Osilon find her hard to deal with."
Eragon felt rather surprised. "But she is as sweet a maid-child as any one could wish to know! How do you mean?"
Niduen frowned, her brow creasing momentarily. "They think her ways strange, her thoughts and speculations on life. She has but four winters but most find her too old for her age."
"You daughter seems like a very sweet and intelligent child," Eragon said stoutly, "and I think that you must be very proud of her, and your husband also."
Niduen did not seem to notice his slip of the tongue in saying 'husband'. Her face split into a friendly, comradely smile (which looked, incidentally, much like Naiira's) and there was a tinge of gratefulness in her eyes. "It is good to hear a person saying those words to me, Silver Hand, for it is hard to see strange looks sent her way very often and have no means of discouraging them."
Eragon looked sadly down at little Naiira. She was too young to be subject to prejudice. "I know that Arya is a strong person, Lady Niduen, and I know Bellaen of old; I cannot believe that your child will not have inherited this strength at all. She is a truly delightful girl," he told her earnestly, "and I am sure that the elves of Osilon will soon become used to her."
Niduen touched her two fingers to her lips, her eyes bright. "I am indebted to you for those words, Silver Hand," she said, pulling Naiira back into her arms.
"No," Eragon said firmly, "you are not. Certainly not."
Niduen gave him an unreadable look. "I must take Naiira to bed, for the hour is late. It has been a pleasure to meet and speak with you, Brightscales and Shadeslayer." She inclined her head, but was hampered by Naiira's curly head. Eragon bowed back.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Niduen," he said, smiling, as Naiia waved to him over Niduen's retreating back.
She is a nice child, Eragon said to Saphira. I would never have imagined the elves to be subject to such prejudices.
Oh, I do not think they are cruel or unkind to Naiira, merely unsure on how to react to her.
I hope so, Eragon frowned. But I am sure no harm will come to her with Arya as Queen.
I doubt it, Saphira agreed. I am going to have some food, she said suddenly. Some of those seed cakes, perhaps.
Yes, and some faelnirv to wash it down, mayhap? He said teasingly. Saphira snapped her huge teeth at him.
You had better hope that you do not have too much either, or you will certainly look worse in Arya's eyes, as a drunkard. She flicked her tongue at him and padded back to the feast table, leaving Eragon to blink at the underhandedness of this blow.
There were seed cakes and honey cakes in abundance and Eragon managed to find a gap in the rows of elves where he could sit and eat in peace and relative quiet, ignoring and yet trading looks and glares with Arya at different intervals.
--
Eragon yawned, burying his head in the pillow, tired after a day of exploring the further reaches of Ellesmera. Though he could not see them, it was with a satisfied sort of feeling that he knew that the stars were shining outside the window; and that an owl hunted outside his house; and that a stream ran along the forest floor in the moonlight, laughing and gurgling when there was no one to hear her sweet music.
He turned over and fell into a delightfully deep sleep.
--
BANG
Eragon shot up in bed and peered into the darkness. Someone stumbled over to his bed, hesitating in the dark.
"Eragon?"
"Arya?!" he said incredulously. She hissed.
"This is ridiculous. Garjzla!" A ball of green light fizzled into existence on her palm and she held it out to him, so that it illuminated the house, reflecting oddly in her emerald eyes. She was wearing only a thin shift and he could sense her shivering in the cool night.
"Arya, what -?"
"Be quiet!" She hissed again. "You have to come with me!"
"Why? What has happened?"
She dropped her hand and the ball of light fell to the floor, fizzling back out again. With a soft whimper she dropped onto his bed, mindless of his closeness, or the fact that he wore no shirt.
"Naiira has an illness. Neither I nor the Healers have seen the like and she is getting steadily worse. She coughs phlegm, but it does not leave her throat and she cries fitfully, red-faced and panicky. There is no cure, for elven children do not get ill in such a way, in the norm."
Eragon stared at her. Her eyes were wide, surrounded by dark circles, her skin was pale and her hair was tumbling all over his bed in complete disarray. She leaned closer to him, perhaps cold, and Eragon looked away, uncomfortable.
"Why have you come here?" he asked, voice low and hoarse from being asleep. Arya blinked.
"We ... I ... I thought you would know something, something that we don't. It is no ordinary illness, Eragon. We don't know what to do."
"She's coughing up phlegm?" he asked. "And restless ... Oh, but it's not so bad. Just croup. Don't elven children have croup?"
"What's croup?" Arya asked, sounding frightened. "No, I have never heard of it! Is it bad? Can you cure it?"
"Sometimes it is fatal ... most children can survive it, though. Would you like me to come and look at her?"
"Yes," Arya whispered, her shift fluttering as she shivered, whether in fear or just cold he did not know. "Please."
"Let me get a shirt," he said in answer, getting out of the bed. Arya watched in complete indifference. He picked up a soft blanket from the bed and put it around her shoulders. "Here," he murmured. "You'll catch a chill." He knew that elves did not catch chills, and he knew that Arya knew as well, but she did not object to the warm material draped over her shoulders. She pulled it closer as he shrugged on a linen shirt and turned to face her again.
"Shall we go?"
She nodded and slipped off the bed, bare feet touching the bare boards with a little shiver. But when she made to shrug off the blanket, he pulled it back over her shoulders and glanced at her with a look that made it quite clear that she must keep it. She even looked a little grateful.
"Where is she?" he asked as they reached the forest floor and Saphira hovered above; she was going to come, but not, unless it was needed, to do anything.
"Her own bedroom in Niduen and Bellaen's house. We didn't want to move her to the Healing Halls in case it upset her." Arya tightened the blanket around her shoulders in the crisp night air. Her mouth trembled."The Healers do not know what is wrong, Eragon, they are completely at a loss."
"I met Naiira today. She is a lovely child." Arya made a small choking noise. Eragon looked at her consternation. "Arya," he said, putting a hesitant hand on her arm, "do not worry. Tens of babies get croup all the time, and most recover. I have seen many children with it."
"I have never seen an illness like this, though!" Arya burst out. "She is red in the face, coughing, crying, choking!"
Her voice wobbled again. "Don't be frightened, Arya," he said softly, squeezing her arm gently. "Please don't be frightened. Naiira will be fine, you'll see." Arya looked away; he could tell she was teetering on the edge of letting herself believe him. "But shall we hurry?"
"Yes ... Yes, let's." Arya stretched out her legs and broke into a jog, which looked rather peculiar as her shift fluttered about her legs and the blanket flapped, but Eragon followed.
They reached a part of Tialdari Hall where the hangings were done in bright colours and rosemary and honeysuckle dangled from the bushes; it was a cheery place to live and the aura did not fit with the scene Eragon and Arya met inside the little side-room that served as a bedroom for Naiira.
A woman with pale hair stood by a bowl of water, dipping a flannel into and squeezing it, looking tired. A little bed filed with soft embroidered blankets lay in the middle of the room. On it lay Naiira. Her little face, normally so happy, was strained and scared, and she whimpered and gasped, a horrible gargling noise coming through her throat while sweat trickled down the tiny forehead. Niduen knelt by the bed, stroking away the hair, whispering words un the ancient language, while Bellaen, his fair hair gleaming in the candlelight, was staring down at his daughter, looking as scared as Arya did. They all turned to look as Eragon and Arya entered.
"Silver Hand -" started Bellaen, but Eragon cut him off.
"How long has she been like this? Why is there no water? And clothes -" he turned to Arya. "I thought you meant you couldn't cure her, not that you didn't know what was wrong!"
Arya stared at him, seeming to remember that she was angry with him. "I said nothing of the sort! You just jumped to a conclusion, I -"
"Sorry, sorry ..." Eragon said, turning back to little Naiira and his face softened. "Poor child. I've had it, it's not nice."
"You know what it is?" the woman with pale hair said, her eyes tired. "I've tried everything I know, but it is beyond my ken."
"Croup," he announced to the room, "just croup. It's when the phlegm gets stuck and she cannot get it out. Human children have it very often. But Naiira has it very badly, don't you, little one?" she looked at him with wide, trusting eyes.
"All right. You are the Healer?" he asked, looking to the pale-haired elf. She nodded. "Then will you please get from your stores a plant called Rubiaceae."
"But - it is a purgative! It will make her release her food!" the Healer said, grown eyes wide. "It -"
"Please, do as I say." The command and power in his voice was unmistakeable; Arya stared at him. "Grind it with alkaline syrup and bring it here as soon as you can. I can not express the urgency with which we need it."
The Healer stared, then bobbed a quick curtsey. "Yes, my Lord Shadeslayer." She left the room quickly. Eragon looked at Bellaen.
"Please get Naiira some fresh changes of clothing." Bellaen hesitated, but left to do as he bid. "Niduen, please boil some water."
"That will be in the other room, I don't want to leave her -"
"Please, Niduen. Arya is here and she will come to no harm." Something in his voice made her turn away to go into the next room and do as he said. "Arya, please calm her, hold her hand anything."
Arya came and knelt by the stressing child, holding her hand and whispering softly to her as Niduen had done. "What are all those things for?" she whispered as Eragon removed the old pillows from behind her head and turned them the other way around before gently replacing them behind her head.
"The clothes are because she will need fresh changes of clothing a lot as she becomes more and sweaty and it will make her less discomfited. The water is for washing her down with and the Rubiaceae is to make her throw up the phlegm."
"I see. You have done this before, haven't you?" The blanket had slipped to the floor and the shift had moved, showing a patch of white skin.
"Yes, I have, many times. Roran and I both had it; and Fisk's children and Birgit and Quimby's daughters all had it. It's just something you learn," he said, shrugging, turning the blanket inside out and shifting Naiira along so that she lay on cooler bedding.
"Can I help?" she asked, blinking away the tiredness.
"You are helping just by comforting her," he said with a grim smile, but a true one. Niduen opened the door and came bearing a set of clothes and a kettle of water.
"Everything is here, Silver Hand. What can I do?" she trembled and her voice shook, until tears spilled over her eyes and she sobbed silently. Arya hastened to her side.
"Go to wait with Bellaen, Niduen," she said, a hand on her cousin's arm. Niduen shook her head as the tears fell from her blue eyes.
"No, I want to be with her -"
"You'll do more use heating the water than getting upset," Eragon said not unkindly. "When you feel ready come back in."
Niduen pressed her lips together and turned, stumbling back out of the door, where Bellaen caught her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Eragon gave the clothes to Arya, standing up to take the kettle to the fire.
"Please dress her in these, but only the cotton clothes," he said, seeing that a small nightdress was included in the clothes. Arya began to change little Naiira as the Healer burst into the room. She was carrying a stone pestle and mortar and long-handled spoon was in her hand.
"Silver Hand, I have made the syrup, as you requested, but I confess, I cannot see it working. 'Tis a decoration from Surda, not a medicine."
Eragon grunted, taking the bowl from her as Arya slipped Naiira into the white nightdress. "Well, no, it is not a medicine, but it is effective."
"What do you mean it is not a medicine?" Arya said, eyes wide.
"It is not a medicine," he repeated as her mixed the syrup to the right consistency, "it is a purgative."
"What -? You mean you will make her vomit? But how can you -?"
"Arya, please remember that there is no elf here that can suggest another cure, though if you have one I would be pleased to hear it," Eragon said though slightly clenched teeth. She glared, and subsided, stroking Naiira's hand.
"Naiira!" she burst out, as the girl half-rose, choking, red-faced, her eyes wide in terror. The noise of it gurgled around the room and a stumble and sob came from outside the door. "Eragon -!"
"I know, I know ..." he dipped the spoon into the bowl and forced, as gently as he could, down her throat. She tried to spit it back out - Eragon knew from experience that it tasted foul - even as she gasped for breath. But some went down her throat. Eragon waited, pausing to see if the phlegm would come up; Arya glanced at him, wondering what he was doing, but he saw that Naiira was not going to regurgitate the phlegm with this dose.
"Here, small one," he said gently, spooning it another dose down her throat. She did not take well to this, either, and flailed her little fists, mouth screwed up in distaste. "Swallow ..." he said silently, hoping that it would work. But it did not. The sweat ran down her red body and dripped over her eyes; Arya took more water and washed her down, careful and mindful of her distress.
Down the Rubiaceae syrup went, again and again through that long night. Naiira hate it more than the choking and gasping for air and she learnt to push the spoon away, to wail when it came. But Arya was good with her and calm, and she quieted the toddler every time it happened, soothing her, cuddling her, and washing her with care; Eragon could not help thinking of just how good a mother she herself would be.
The night wore on and Naiira became more stressed; Bellaen paced outside the door and Niduen held a handkerchief to her mouth to still her cries. The north star changed its position and still Eragon and Arya persevered, fording down the Rubiaceae, washing her down, changing her clothes, comforting her when she cried out in pain and terror at the thick substance inside hat was slowly choking her.
And just as the sun touched the eastern horizon, Eragon forced down the last of the syrup of Rubiaceae. Naiira was too weak to resist now and Eragon knew that if this last dose did not work, then precious little else would. Arya watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the last of the mixture went down.
Naiira wheezed deep in her throat; Eragon could feel a slight tremor in her ribcage as her body worked against the Rubiaceae. She opened her blue eyes, tired but pained, and gazed at Eragon. Her felt a thrill of foreboding as she closed her eyes and then, with a great heave, coughed and coughed, so that the phlegm from her insides came up, over her chin and onto her clothes and blankets.
"Praise be," Eragon breathed, meeting Arya's eyes. She gazed at him with hopeful eyes.
"Is it done? Was that it, will she be better now?"
"Yes," Eragon sighed, relaxing for the first time since that nightmarish night had begun. "She has brought up the phlegm, she will be more peaceful now. Exhausted, but peaceful."
"I'm so glad," Arya whispered, so quietly that he almost did not hear. She jumped up and set about taking the dirty things, dropping by the door, cleaning Naiira yet again and slipping on another nightie. Naiira lay back down, tired out, her face flushed, but her eyes closed, and she slipped into a peaceful, natural sleep.
"Niduen can come in now," Eragon said, making to stand, but Arya got up first and opened the door, where she murmured their tidings to Bellaen and his weeping mate.
Niduen rushed in, falling to her knees by her daughter's side, stroking back the pale hair, and taking in the sweet look on the child's face. Bellaen followed her, having eyes only for his daughter, and he gazed at her with such tenderness that Eragon felt that there could hardly be better parents in the village of Osilon.
Arya, waiting by the door, hung back. Eragon, knowing that they would want to be alone with Naiira, said to Bellaen quietly, "She will be fine now, but stay with her and give her plenty of water, or the force of the vomiting will hurt her stomach. Do not hesitate to call me if there is any need."
Bellaen nodded distractedly, but managed a smile of gratitude and understanding. Eragon left the room, closely followed by Arya. They stood in the night air, taking breaths of relief - she was all right, she was cured, she was not going to perish along with the night ...! But finally Eragon became aware of the slowly rising sun.
"We should go to bed," he said to Arya, who was gazing around with sleep-heavy eyes. She blinked slowly.
"Yes, we should." She shrugged of the blanket that was still hanging around her shoulders and tried to pass it to him, but he would not take it.
"You will need it, it is cold ... you might catch a chill."
She slowly withdrew her arm and pulled the blanket back around her shoulders one more. "Thank-you ... for your consideration."
"You are welcome." Eragon stared at her and she made no move to go. "It is all ready the morrow," he said eventually, looking away.
"Yes, indeed; I must be up tomorrow for Council."
"Council?" he repeated incredulously. "Council? But surely, you cannot be expected to take Council when you have had no sleep at all this night?"
"They do not need to know until the Council itself," Arya said, apparently unperturbed and unsurprised by this turn of events. Eragon wondered how many sleepless nights she had spent, only to get up and take Council just the same as ever. He longed to ask, but didn't. "It is of no importance. Everything will operate as normal tomorrow."
"No, it will not. You must take as much sleep as you want," Eragon said firmly. Arya coloured despite her tired state.
"You do not have bearing on my court!" she hissed up at him.
"No, but I will not have you working yourself to the bone; I know that I will sleep for some hours and I do not see why you should be denied this luxury, either."
"Oh ..." Arya stepped back from him looking down. "To find you care for my welfare that much ..." she trailed off.
"You must sleep as long as you lie, Arya, and I will see to it personally, even if you do not agree."
For the first time in a while, Arya smiled. "Who am I to fight before such stubbornness?" There was a suggestion of laughter in her expression. "But you see, we are whiling away the hours we have left to sleep."
"Farewell and sleep peacefully, Arya," Eragon said, also with a trace of a smile in his voice. Arya nodded made to go. But before he had taken more than few steps, a soft hand grabbed his own. He looked back to find Arya holding it.
"Eragon," she said seriously, "you have saved my niece's life today. I will not forget this."
"All I did was show you how; you would have so yourself had you known how."
"I will not forget this, Eragon. I have little family left and what I do, I protect with my life. But my life was useless in this case." She still held his hand tightly.
"You are never useless," he said quietly, looking into her face. "Never, Arya."
She seemed to lean unconsciously closer in her tired and weakened state. Eragon longed to comfort her, but knew she would not let him. "You have always been strong, Arya ... but you do not have to be always so."
"Yes, I must," she whispered back, almost just to herself. "I must. I can confide in no one, I cannot loan my burdens onto other people's shoulders."
Eragon felt a memory stir, of Saphira saying something like that just two days ago. "You may be wrong. The will be someone, Arya." But as these words, the spell that had seemed to be over them broke. Arya pulled back.
"Perhaps." But she did not sound convinced. "Good night, Eragon. Remember that you my thanks and my gratitude, and also a debt that I hope to repay."
"Good night, Arya." There was much he wanted to say, but he did not trust himself to put it into words; so he squeezed her arm in assurance, in understanding, and in what he hoped she would fond to be comfort.
She moved away and walked off, head held proud, but feet dragging. Eragon found his way to Saphira, eyelids drooping, and pulled himself onto her back, bereft of the saddle.
Oh, little one, what a night for you, she said sympathetically but with a great deal of pride in her voice as she took off, slowly so as not to dislodge him.
For Arya and her family, too, he said, but was not listening. Sleep beckoned to him enticingly; and when Saphira landed in the tear-drop portal, he slid off her to stumble to his bed, where he lay down without removing his shirt and fell into the very deepest of sleeps, hoping, all the while, that Arya was also at home in bed, as he was.
--
Rubiaceae is a plant from Brazil, the Ipecac plant makes a purgative: It means, 'road-side sick-making plant'. Lovely.