Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle is owned by Christopher Paolini. This story is of my own design And is in no way Canon.
A/N: This chapter was written by leaning heavily on my "little" sister, OtherFrost, so most of the credit for this chapter should go to her.
Just a Shade darker
Chapter 4: An Explanation
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
Eragon didn't move for a few seconds, then gave Arya a lopsided grin. "Well, little queen-"
"And why do you insist on calling me that?" Arya interrupted.
Eragon chuckled. "The young princes' body is simply larger than you, so you seem small to us. That is all."
"Who is this 'young prince' you mention?" Arya asked out of curiosity. The question would burn in her mind until it was answered, so she decided to ask it.
Eragon's crooked grin suddenly vanished, and the red glow that had been gradually building had went out like a candle in a storm. "Aeon is referring to me. that cheeky bastard is annoying to no end. Also wastes time like nothing else."
Arya flinched at the sudden change in tone, and realized the speech pattern had switched as well.
"Well," Eragon continued, "I believe I was about to tell you how 'this' happened, correct? It would be easier to show you."
A strange, disjointed mental presence pressed against the boundaries of Arya's mind, and she instantly threw up the strongest defenses she could muster.
Eragon's smile returned, but instead of the uneven, sarcastic one, it was a sad, grimacing imitation of a smile. "Arya, I have little time as it is.. I need help, and every moment you waste is an irreversible moment lost."
Arya heard the truth in his voice, and dropped her mental walls. She allowed the warped mind send her images, memories, and emotions, but she decided to dive too deep into the memories and got sucked in.
"Lavera, I need to go."
The petite elf gave me an adorable pout. It was similar to what I'd seen in memories: female humans do it when they don't want their lover to leave, but it worked better because I'd never seen an elf as pretty as her do it.
"Don't worry, 'Vera." I said, stroking her cheek. "I promise, I'll be back." I got out of bed, walked over to the pile of clothes on the floor, and sorted out my clothes from the elf's, putting on the male garments as I found them. I took Brisingr from the coathook on the wall and strapped it to my waist. "Look, you wanted to keep this from the other Riders, so I need to leave before anyone else wakes up."
Lavera sighed. "No, you're right. I guess you should go."
I smiled at her. Then I went over to the polished silver mirror and tried to un-mess my hair. My eyes kept being drawn to the jagged line that started on the left side of my lower lip and trailed down my jaw and neck, and disappeared into my shirt where it spread across the left side of my chest like the cracked glaze on a piece of pottery. One of the many scars I either couldn't heal (because of the experimental magics involved) or decided to keep (because of the memories and lessons they held).
"If you really need to find me, you know how." I told Laveria. "Right now, I need to run until my lungs feel like they're killing me."
After a quick wink and a little chuckle, I silently slipped from the elf's room. And I ran.
I ran until my lungs really did feel as though they were trying to kill me. When I stopped running, I realized that I was in the barren courtyard where I had first found my true name. Huh. I thought. Ironic. I know my name has changed since then, so I guess this is a better place than any to find it again. I climbed up the very same crumbling spire to sit exactly like I had nearly nine years earlier. And I thought. Just like I had, nine years prior, and tried to sum up my very existence into a few phrases. Though it was quite difficult, I finally found my name again. I realized something about myself.
I looked down at my bare arms again, truly studying the intersecting scars that lined them, and I just collapsed inwardly. I hadn't healed any of my removable scars because I didn't want to. Not because of the lessons I thought I'd learned by keeping them, but because I didn't think myself worthy of being whole again. Because I wasn't whole without an elf in my life, and that's what drew me to Lavera; not her beauty, not her charm, but because she was a green-eyed, black-haired elf. Like Arya. The name burned in my mind as it surfaced for the first time in two years, but I barely had time to think.
I heard chanting from below, in the courtyard. I looked down and there were at least fifty cloak-clad people surrounding my pillar, reciting the same spell across the entire group. Whirls of pulsating energy sprung into existence, and I recognized them as spirits. Not ghosts, the kind that people tell fictional stories about, but spirits - the kind that made up the amalgamated personalities of Shades. After an initial moment of fatal hesitation, I attempted to create a defensive barrier between me and them, but found my magic slipping away. The orbs rushed at me the moment I tried using magic, and they turned into wisps of vapor the moment they hit my skin. The vapor then found it's way to my face and forced it's way into my mouth, filling my lungs. It felt as though a mad god had poured liquid fire down my throat, as well as directly into my veins. As the last of the vapor disappeared, my vision went completely white, then faded to black. When the last of the greyish tinge had left my vision, I heard a warped, echoing voice whispering in my ear. "Hello, young prince. Welcome to your salvation."
As the last of the echoing faded, my mind returned to me. But I wasn't alone.
Give us a name. The voice was rasping and high-pitched, but smooth and deep as well. A cacophony of a hundred echoing voices was tearing my head apart. Give us a name!
I screamed. A word surfaced, and I used it. ASONGKAYA!
The voices were quiet for a while, and then only one of them spoke. You gave us a name. Now we shall give you a title.
And what would that title be? I shouted into the abyss surrounding me.
Aeon. You are a demon of Time itself.
I woke up and sat bolt-upright, gasping for air. "I need to get off this island, now!"
I tore the sheets off my near-naked body and kicked open the door. I was expecting a clean getaway. I was NOT expecting six armed and armored, fully graduated Riders, ant their dragons to boot. Well, time for plan B.
I drew upon the ever-increasing stores of energy in my possession, be it the sapphires in Brisingr's pommel and Aren, the diamonds in my belt, or the earrings I decided to get just for the heck of it, and cast a form of magic I had only used a few times before, while training with Oromis; I transported myself instantaneously. Well, the place I showed up in was exactly as I remembered it. I was in Vrael's wooden tower.
Arya tore herself from the memory, panting from the mental strain. Eragon was holding her in his arms, looking down at her with such a worried face that she forgot herself for a moment, but recovered. "Eragon, I'm fine. Let me go."
Eragon's look of worry faded, and left behind an unreadable slate. "You saw it, didn't you?"
It wasn't phrased as a question that needed an answer, but Arya nodded anyway.
Eragon groaned in annoyance. "You weren't supposed to see that." he said. His arms tightened around Arya's slim figure for a moment, then released his grip and lowered her to her feet and fell to his knees in front of her, tears spilling from his eyes. "I feel disgusted by what I've become. I don't know how you can stand to even look at me."
"It's because you are a good person, Eragon." Arya said, bending down to kiss his forehead. "I don't pretend to understand how this happened, and I won't hide the fact that what has been done to you disgusts me, but you're inherently a better person than most. So I'm going to help you, even if it kills us both in the process."
A/N: Well, for all of you who say that my chapters are too short, here you go. This chapter is 1,559 words long. The longest yet. You're welcome.
Leave a review, tell me your thoughts, and help me make this story better.